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

Lady Riversreade arrived from London yesterday morning about nine-thirty,” continued Rhona. “Major Penteney arrived with her.”

“Who’s Major Penteney?” demanded Matherfield.

“He’s a retired Army man who’s greatly interested in Lady Riversreade’s Home, and looks after its affairs in London,” replied Hetherwick. “And Miss Hannaford thinks he’s in love with the foundress. I’ve seen him⁠—saw him with Lady Riversreade on Sunday. Yes,” he added, turning to Rhona, “Major Penteney came back with her? Go on.”

“As soon as they arrived⁠—I saw them come, from my office window⁠—they came across to the Home,” continued Rhona. “It struck me that they both looked unusually grave and serious. They talked to me for a few minutes on business matters: then they went into Lady Riversreade’s private office. They were there for some little time; then Lady Riversreade came out and went away; I saw her cross to the Court. Presently Major Penteney came to me, and told me that he wanted to have a little private talk with me. He said⁠—as near as I can remember⁠—‘Miss Featherstone⁠—’ ”

Matherfield looked up quickly from his plate.

“Eh?” he said. “Miss⁠—Featherstone?”

“That’s the name Miss Hannaford’s known by⁠—there,” said Hetherwick. “Her mother’s name. I told you before, you know.”

“True, true!” assented Matherfield, with a groan. “You did⁠—I remember now. I’m muddled⁠—with yesterday’s affair.”

“ ‘Miss Featherstone,’ Rhona went on⁠—‘I believe you’re aware that Lady Riversreade has lately been visited⁠—twice⁠—by a man who called himself Dr. Cyprian Baseverie?’

“ ‘Yes,’ I answered, ‘I am, Major Penteney. I saw Dr. Baseverie on both occasions.’ ‘Well,’ he said⁠—‘I don’t suppose you were at all impressed by him?’ ‘Not at all impressed, Major Penteney,’ I replied, ‘except very unfavourably.’ ‘Didn’t like his looks, eh,’ he asked with a smile. ‘Do you?’ I inquired. ‘I’ve never seen the fellow,’ he answered. ‘But I expect to⁠—this very morning. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I believe he’ll turn up about noon⁠—as, I understand, he did before, wanting, of course, to see Lady Riversreade. I want you to tell the doorkeeper, Mitchell, to bring him straight in when he comes, and Mitchell is not to say that Lady Riversreade is not in⁠—she won’t be in⁠—he’s to admit him immediately; and you, if you please, are to show him straight into the private office. Instead of finding Lady Riversreade there, he’ll find⁠—me. Is that clear?’ ‘Perfectly clear, Major Penteney,’ I replied. ‘I’ll see to it.’ ‘Well, there’s something else,’ he said. ‘After I have had a little plainspoken talk with this fellow, I shall ring the bell. I want you to come in, and to bring Mitchell with you. And⁠—that’s all, at present. You understand?’ ‘I understand, Major Penteney,’ I answered. ‘I’ll see to it. But as you’ve never seen this man there’s one thing I’d like to say to you⁠—he’s the sort of man who looks as if he might be dangerous.’ He smiled at that. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m prepared for that, Miss Featherstone. You show him right in.’ ”

Rhona paused for a moment, to attend to the contents of her plate. But Hetherwick’s knife and fork had become idle; so had Matherfield’s; each man, it was plain, was becoming absorbed. And Matherfield suddenly brightened, and gave Hetherwick an unmistakable wink.

“Good!⁠—good!⁠—good!” he muttered, with something like a chuckle. “I’m beginning to see a bit of daylight! Excellent!⁠—when you’re ready, Miss Featherstone⁠—”

“Well,” continued Rhona, after a few minutes’ pause, “about noon, Dr. Cyprian Baseverie drove up. I had already given Mitchell his instructions, and he brought Baseverie straight into my office. Baseverie was evidently in the very best of spirits⁠—he bowed and grimaced at sight of me as if he expected to find me dying to see him. I made no answer to his flowery greetings; I just got up, ushered him to the door of the private room, and closed it after him as he stepped across the threshold. Then I laughed⁠—he wouldn’t see who was awaiting him until he got right into the room, and I’d already gathered from Major Penteney that his reception couldn’t be exactly pleasant or agreeable.”

Matherfield rubbed his hands together.

“Good!⁠—good!” he chuckled. “Wish I’d been in that room!”

“It wasn’t long before I was there, Mr. Matherfield,” said Rhona. “I was, of course, tremendously curious to know what was going on there, but the door fits closely, and I heard nothing⁠—no angry voices or anything. However, in less than ten minutes the bell rang sharply. I called Mitchell⁠—he’s a big, strapping, very determined-looking ex-Guardsman⁠—and in we went. I took everything in at a glance, Major Penteney sat at Lady Riversreade’s desk. On the blotting-pad, his right hand close to it, lay a revolver⁠—”

“Hah!” exclaimed Matherfield. “To be sure! Just so! Fine!”

“Opposite the desk stood Baseverie, staring first at Major Penteney, then at us. It’s difficult for me to describe how he looked. I think the principal expression on his face was one of intense surprise.”

“Surprise?” ejaculated Hetherwick.

“Surprise! Astonishment! He looked like a man who had just heard something that he has believed it impossible to hear. But there was also such a look of anger and rage⁠—well, if Major Penteney hadn’t had that revolver close to his finger-ends, and if Mitchell hadn’t been there, I should have screamed and run. However, it was not I who was to do the running. As soon as Mitchell and I entered, Major Penteney spoke⁠—very quietly. He nodded at Baseverie. ‘Miss Featherstone and you, Mitchell⁠—you see this man? If ever he comes here again, you, Mitchell, will deny him entrance, and you, Miss Featherstone, on hearing from Mitchell that he’s here, will telephone for the police and, if he hangs about, will give him in charge.’ Then he turned to Baseverie. ‘Now, my man!’ he continued, pointing to the door. ‘You get out⁠—quick! Go!’ Of course, I looked at Baseverie. He stood staring almost incredulously at Major Penteney. It seemed to me that he could scarcely believe his ears⁠—he gave me the impression of being unable to credit that he could be so treated. But he was also livid with anger. His fingers