The Charing Cross Mystery by J. S. Fletcher (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📕

accomplice somewhere in the background⁠—Baseverie may have been mixed with her then. And now he may have information that has led him to warn her to make herself scarce, eh?”

“There’s something in that, Matherfield,” admitted Hetherwick. “Yes⁠—decidedly something.”

“There may be a good deal,” affirmed Matherfield. “You see, we’ve let those newspaper chaps have a lot of information. I’m a believer in making use of the Press; it’s a valuable aid sometimes, perhaps generally, but there are other times when you can do too much of it: it’s a sort of giving valuable aid to the enemy. I don’t know whether we haven’t let those reporters know too much in this case. We’ve let ’em know, for instance, about the portrait found in Hannaford’s pocketbook, and about the sealed packet in which, we believe, was the secret of his patent: all that’s been in the papers, though, to be sure, they didn’t make much copy out of it. Still, there was enough for anybody who followed the case closely. Now, supposing that Baseverie was Mrs. Whittingham’s accomplice ten years ago, and that he’d read all this and seen the reproduction of the portrait, wouldn’t he see that she was in some danger and warn her? I think it likely, and I wish we hadn’t been quite so free with our news for those paper chaps. I’m glad, anyhow, that there’s one thing I haven’t told ’em of⁠—that medicine bottle found at Granett’s! There’s nobody but me, you, and the medical men know of that, so far.”

“You think this woman⁠—Lady Riversreade as she is, Mrs. Whittingham as she used to be⁠—was making off to Southampton, and possibly farther, on a hint from Baseverie?” said Hetherwick ruminatively.

“Put it this way,” replied Matherfield. “Of course, you’ve got to assume a lot, but we can’t do without assuming things in this business. Lady Riversreade was formerly Mrs. Whittingham. Mrs. Whittingham did a clever bit of fraud at Sellithwaite, and got away with the swag. Baseverie was her accomplice. Now then, ten years later Mrs. Whittingham has become my Lady Riversreade, a very wealthy woman. She’s suddenly visited by Baseverie at Riversreade Court, and is obviously upset by his first visit. He comes again. Three nights later she’s seen to come out of a club which he frequents. She spends most of the night in a flat in a quiet part of London, and next morning slopes off as early as five o’clock to a port⁠—Southampton. What inference is to be drawn? That her visit to Southampton has certainly something to do with Baseverie’s visits to her and her visit to Vivian’s!”

“I think there’s something in that, too,” said Hetherwick, “But⁠—we’re on the way to Southampton. Go on!”

“Very good train, that,” continued Matherfield. “We got to Southampton just before eight⁠—a minute or two late. I was wanting something to eat and drink by that time, and I was glad to see my lady turn into the refreshment-room as soon as she left her carriage. So did I. I knew she’d never suspect a quiet, ordinary man like me; if she deigned to give me a glance⁠—she’s a very haughty-looking woman, I observed⁠—she’d only take me for a commercial traveller. And we were not so far off each other in that room; she sat at a little table, having some tea and so on: I was at the counter. Of course, I never showed that I was taking any notice of her⁠—but I got in two or three good, comprehensive inspections. Very good-looking, no doubt of it, Mr. Hetherwick⁠—a woman that’s worn well! But of course you’ve seen that for yourself.”

“You must remember that I’ve only seen her twice,” remarked Hetherwick, with a laugh. “Once at Victoria, when Miss Hannaford pointed her out; once night before last, when it was by a poorish gaslight. But I’ll take your word, Matherfield. Well, and what happened next?”

“Oh, she took her time over her tea and toast,” continued Matherfield. “Very leisured in all her movements, I assure you. At last she moved off⁠—of course I followed, casually and carelessly. Now, as you may be aware, Southampton West, where the train set us down, is a bit out of the town, and I expected her to take a cab. But she didn’t; she walked away from the station. So did I⁠—twenty or thirty yards in the rear. She took her time; it seemed to me she was purposely loitering. It struck me at last why⁠—she was waiting until the business offices were open. I was right in that: as soon as the town clocks struck nine she quickened her pace and made a beeline for her objective. And what do you think that was?”

“No idea,” said Hetherwick.

“White Star offices!” answered Matherfield. “Went straight there, and walked straight in! Of course, I waited outside, where she wouldn’t see me when she came out again. She was in there about twenty minutes. When she came out she turned to another part of the town. And near that old gateway, or bar, or whatever it is that stands across the street, I lost her⁠—altogether!”

“Some exceptional reason, I should think, Matherfield,” remarked Hetherwick. “How was it?”

“My own stupid fault!” growled Matherfield. “Took my eye off her in a particularly crowded part⁠—the town was beginning to get very busy. I just happened to let my attention be diverted⁠—and she was gone! At first I made certain she’d gone into some shop. I looked into several⁠—risky as that was⁠—but I couldn’t find her. I hung about; no good. Then I came to the conclusion that she’d turned down one of the side streets or alleys or passages⁠—there were several about there⁠—and got clean away. And after hanging around a bit, and going up one street and down another⁠—a poor job in our business at the best of times and all dependent on mere luck!⁠—I decided to make a bold stroke and be sure of at any rate something.”

“What? How?” asked Hetherwick.

“I thought I’d find out what she’d gone to the White Star offices