Collected works of j s f.., p.573
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 573
“Lady Riversreade, by all that’s wonderful!” he exclaimed under his breath. “That woman!”
Matherfield turned sharply, gazing after the retreating figure.
“That,” he said incredulously, “coming out of here? Certain?”
“Dead sure!” affirmed Hetherwick. “I knew her at once — I’d had a particularly good look at her, yesterday. That’s she!”
“What’s she doing at Vivian’s?” muttered Matherfield. “Queer, that!”
“But she’s going away from it,” said Hetherwick. “Come on! — let’s see where she goes. We can easily come back here. But why not follow her first?”
“Good!” agreed Matherfield. “Come on then! easily keep her in sight.”
Lady Riversreade at that moment was turning out of the passage, to her left hand. When the two men emerged from it, she was already several yards ahead, going towards St. Martin’s Church. Her tall figure made her good to follow, but Matherfield kept Hetherwick back; no use, he said, in pressing too closely on your quarry.
“Tall as she is and tall as we are,” he whispered, as they threaded in out of the crowds on the pavement, “we can spot her at twenty yards. Cautiously, now — she’s making for the cab rank!”
They watched Lady Riversreade charter and enter a taxi-cab: in another minute it moved away. But it had scarcely moved when Matherfield was at the door of the next cab on the rank.
“You saw that cab go off with a tall woman in it?” he said to the driver. “There! — just rounding the corner, know its driver? Right! — follow it carefully. Note where it stops, and if the woman gets out. Drive slowly past wherever that is, and then pull up a bit farther on. Be sharp, now — this is — —” he bent towards the man and whispered a word or two: a second later he and Hetherwick were in the cab and across the top side of Trafalgar Square.
“This is getting a bit thick, Mr. Hetherwick,” remarked Matherfield. “Your clerk tracks his man to Vivian’s on Friday night, we find Lady Riversreade coming out of Vivian’s on Monday night. Now I shouldn’t think Lady Riversreade, whom we hear of chiefly as a humanitarian, a likely sort of lady to visit Vivian’s!”
“She came out of Vivian’s, anyway!” replied Hetherwick.
“Then, of course, she’d been in!” said Matherfield. “But why? I should say — to have a meeting with Baseverie, or with somebody representing him, or having something to do with the business that took him to Riversreade Court. What business is it? Has it anything to do with our business? However, there’s Lady Riversreade in that cab in front, and we’ll just follow her to find out where she goes — no doubt she’s bound for some swell West End hotel. And that knowledge will be useful, for I may want to see her in the morning — to ask a question or two.”
“Somewhat early for that, isn’t it?” suggested Hetherwick. “Do we know enough?”
“Depends on what you call enough,” replied Matherfield dryly. “What I know is this: that man Granett was poisoned. He had on him a brand new five-pound note. That note I’ve traced as far as Vivian’s, where it was certainly paid to some customer in change on the very day before Granett and Hannaford’s deaths: Vivian’s is accordingly a place of interest. Now I hear of a mysterious man visiting Lady Riversreade — the man is tracked to Vivian’s — I myself see Lady Riversreade emerging from Vivian’s. I think I must ask Lady Riversreade what she knows about Vivian’s and a certain Dr. Baseverie, and, incidentally, if she ever heard of a place called Sellithwaite and a police-superintendent named Hannaford? Eh! But we’re leaving the region of the fashionable hotels.”
Hetherwick looked out of the window, what he saw seemed unfamiliar.
“We’re going up Edgware Road,” said Matherfield. He leaned out of the cab and gave some further instructions to the driver. “I don’t want to arouse any suspicion there in front,” he remarked, dropping into his seat again. “The probability is that she’s going to some private house, and I don’t want her to get any idea that she’s followed. Ah! — now we turn into Harrow Road.”
The cab went away by Paddington Green, turned sharply at the Town Hall, and made up St. Mary’s Terrace. Presently it slowed down; proceeded still more slowly; passed the other cab which had come to a standstill in front of a block of high buildings; a few yards farther on it stopped altogether. The driver got down from his seat and came to the door.
“That tall lady!” he said confidentially. “Her as got into the other cab. She’s gone into St. Mary’s Mansions — just below.”
“Flats, aren’t they?” asked Matherfield.
“That’s it, sir,” answered the driver. He looked down the street. “Cab’s going off again, sir. Porter came out and paid.”
“That looks as if she was going to stay here awhile,” remarked Matherfield in an undertone. “Well, we’ll get out, too, and take a look round.” He paid and dismissed the driver, and crossing over to the opposite side of the roadway, pointed out to Hetherwick the block of flats into which Lady Riversreade had disappeared. “Big place,” he muttered. “Regular rabbit-warren. However, no other entrance than this — the old burial ground’s at the back, no way out there, I do know that! So she can’t very well vanish that way.”
“You’re going to wait, then?” asked Hetherwick.
“I don’t believe in starting out on any game unless I see it through,” replied Matherfield. “Yes, I think we’ll wait. But there’s no necessity to hang around in the open street. I know this district — used to be at the police station round the corner. You see all these houses on this side, Mr. Hetherwick? They’re all lodging-houses, and I know most of their keepers. Wait here a minute, and I’ll soon get a room that we can watch from, without being seen ourselves.”
He left Hetherwick standing under the shadow of a neighbouring high wall, and went a little way down the street. Hetherwick heard him open the gate of one of the little gardens and knock at a door. There some little delay. Hetherwick passed the time in staring at the long rows of lighted windows in the flats opposite, wondering to which of them Lady Riversreade had gone and what she was doing there at all. It was clear to him that this was some adventure connected with the mysterious Baseverie and with Vivian’s Night Club — but how, and of what nature?
Matherfield came back presently, cheerful and reassuring.
“Come along, Mr. Hetherwick!” he whispered. “There’s a man here — lodging-house keeper — who knows me. We can have his front parlour window to watch from. Far better that than patrolling the street. We shall be comfortable there.”
“You’re intent on watching, then?” said Hetherwick as they moved off.
“I’m not coming all that way for nothing,” replied Matherfield. “I’m going to follow her up till she settles for the night. That won’t be here; she’ll be off to some hotel or other before long.”
But Matherfield’s prediction proved to be faulty. Time dragged slowly by in the stuffy and shabby little room in which he and Hetherwick took up a position and from the window of which Matherfield kept a constant watch on the entrance of the flats, exactly opposite. Midnight came and went, but nothing happened. And at half-past twelve Hetherwick suggested that the game wasn’t worth the candle, and that he should prefer to depart.
“You do as you like, Mr. Hetherwick,” said Matherfield, stifling a suspicious yawn. “I’m sick enough of it, too. But here I stop till she comes out — whether it’s this side of breakfast or the other side!”
“And what then?” asked Hetherwick, half derisively.
“Then we’ll see — or I’ll see, if you’re going — where she goes next! Don’t believe in half measures!” retorted Matherfield.
“Oh, I’ll see it out!” said Hetherwick. “After all, it’ll be daylight soon.”
Daylight came over the house-tops at four o’clock. They had seen nothing up to then. But at twenty minutes to five Matherfield tugged his companion’s arm. Lady Riversreade, in a big ulster travelling-coat and carrying a small suit-case, was emerging alone from the opposite door.
CHAPTER XII
ALIAS MADAME LISTORELLE
THE WOMAN THUS observed marched swiftly away down the deserted street in the direction of the Town Hall at the corner, and Matherfield, after one more searching look at her, dropped the slat of the Venetian blind through which he had been peeping, and turned on his companion. At the same instant he reached a hand for his overcoat and hat.
“Now, Mr. Hetherwick,” he said sharply, “this has got to be a one-man job! There’ll be nothing extraordinary in one man going along the streets to catch an early morning train, but it would look a bit suspicious if two men went together on the same errand and the same track! I’m off after her! I’ll run her down! I’m used to that sort of thing. You go to your chambers and get some sleep. I’ll look in later and tell you what news I have. Sharp’s the word, now!”
He was out of the room and the house within the next few seconds, and Hetherwick, half vexed with himself for having lingered there on a job which Matherfield thus unceremoniously took into his own hands, prepared to follow. Presently he went out into the shabby hall; the man of the house was just coming downstairs, stifling a big yawn. He smiled knowingly when he saw Hetherwick.
“Matherfield gone, sir?” he inquired. “I heard the door close.”
“He’s gone,” assented Hetherwick. “The person he wanted appeared suddenly, and he’s gone in pursuit.”
The man, a smug-faced, easy-going sort of person, smiled again.
“Rum doings these police have!” he remarked. “Queer job, watching all night through a window. I was just coming down to make you a cup of coffee,” he continued. “I’ll get you one in a few minutes, if you like. Or tea now? Perhaps you’d prefer tea?”
“It’s very good of you,” said Hetherwick. “But to tell you the truth I’d rather get home and to bed. Many thanks, all the same.”
Then, out of sheer good nature, he slipped a treasury note into the man’s hand, and, bidding him good morning, went away. He, too, walked down the street in the direction taken by Lady Riversreade and her pursuer. But when he came to the bottom and emerged into Harrow Road he saw nothing of them, either to left or right. The road, however, was not deserted; there were already workmen going to early morning tasks, and close by the corner of the Town Hall a roadman was busy with his broom. Hetherwick went up to him.
“Did you see a lady, and then a gentleman, come down here, from St. Mary’s Terrace, just now?” he asked. “Tall people, both of them.”
The man rested on his broom, half turned, and pointed towards Paddington Bridge.
“I see ’em, guv’nor,” he answered. “Tall lady, carrying a little portmantle. Gone along over the bridge yonder. Paddington station way. And, after her, Matherfield.”
“Oh, you know him, do you?” exclaimed Hetherwick, in surprise.
The man jerked a thumb in the direction of the adjacent police station.
“Used to be a sergeant here, did Matherfield,” he replied. “I knows him, right enough! Once run me in — me an’ a mate o’ mine — for bein’ a bit festive like. Five bob and costs that was. But I don’t bear him no grudge, not me! Thank ‘ee, guv’nor.”
Hetherwick left another tip behind him and walked slowly off towards Edgware Road. The Tube trains were just beginning to run, and he caught a south-bound one and went down to Charing Cross and thence to the Temple. And at six o’clock he tumbled into bed, and slept soundly until, four hours later, he heard Mapperley moving about in the adjoining room.
Mapperley, whose job at Hetherwick’s was a good deal of a sinecure, was leisurely reading the news when his master entered. He laid the paper aside, and gave Hetherwick a knowing glance.
“Got some more information last night,” he said. “About that chap I tracked the other day.”
“How did you get it?” asked Hetherwick.
“Put in a bit of time at Vivian’s,” answered Mapperley. “There’s a fellow there that I know. Clerk to the secretary chap, named Flowers. That man Baseverie has a share in the place — sort of director, I think.”
“What time were you at Vivian’s?” inquired Hetherwick. “Late or early?”
“Early — for them,” answered Mapperley.
“Did you see the man there?”
“I did. He was there all the time I was. In and about all the time. But at first he was in what seemed to be serious conversation with a tall, handsome woman. They sat talking in an alcove in the lounge there some time. Then she went off — alone.”
“Oh, you saw that, did you?” said Hetherwick. “Well, I may as well tell you, since you know what you do, that the woman was Lady Riversreade!”
“Oh, I guessed that!” remarked Mapperley. “I figured in that at once. But that wasn’t all. I found out more. That dead man, Hannaford — from what I heard from Flowers — I’ve no doubt whatever that Hannaford was at Vivian’s once, if not twice, during the two or three nights before his death. Anyway, Flowers recognised my description of him — which I’d got, of course, from you and the papers.”
“Hannaford. There, eh?” exclaimed Hetherwick. “Alone?”
“No — came in with this Baseverie. They don’t know him as Dr. Baseverie there, though. Plain Mister. I’m quite sure it was Hannaford who was with him.”
“Did you get the exact dates — and times?” asked Hetherwick.
“I didn’t. Flowers couldn’t say that. But he remembered such a man.”
“Well, that’s something,” said Hetherwick. He turned into another room and sat down to his breakfast, thinking. “Mapperley, come here!” he called presently. “Look here,” he went on as the clerk came in. “Since you know this Vivian place, go there again to-night, and try to find out if that friend of yours knows anything of a tall man who corresponds to the description of the man whom Hannaford was seen to meet at Victoria. You read Ledbitter’s account of that, given at the inquest?”
“Yes,” replied Mapperley. “But of what value is it? None — for practical purposes! He couldn’t even tell the shape of the man’s nose, nor the colour of his eyes! All he could tell was that he saw a man muffled in such a fashion that he saw next to nothing of his face, and that he was tall and smartly dressed. There are a few tens of thousands — scores, perhaps — of tall, smartly-dressed men in London!”
“Never mind — inquire,” said Hetherwick, “and particularly if such a man has ever been seen in Baseverie’s company there.”
He finished his breakfast, and then, instead of going down to the Central Criminal Court, after his usual habit, he hung about in his chambers, expecting Matherfield. But Matherfield did not come, and at noon Hetherwick, impelled by a new idea, left a message for him in case he called, and went out. In pursuance of the idea, he journeyed once more to the regions of Paddington and knocked at the door of the house wherein he and Matherfield had kept watch on the flats opposite.
The lodging-house keeper opened the door himself and grinned on seeing Hetherwick. Hetherwick stepped inside and nodded at the door of the room which he had left only a few hours before.
“I want a word or two with you,” he said. “In private.”
“Nobody in here, sir,” replied the man. “Come in.”
He closed the door on himself and his visitor, and offered Hetherwick a chair.
“I expected you’d be back during the day,” he said, with a sly smile. “Either you or Matherfield, or both!”
“You haven’t seen him again?” asked Hetherwick.
“No; he’s not been here,” replied the man.
“Well, I wanted to ask you a question,” continued Hetherwick. “Perhaps two or three. To begin with, have you lived here long?”
“Been here since before these flats were built — and that’s a good many years ago; I can’t say exactly how many,” said the other, glancing at the big block opposite his window. “Twenty-two or three, anyway.”
“Then I dare say you know most of the people hereabouts?” suggested Hetherwick. “By sight, at any rate.”
The lodging-house keeper smiled and shook his head.
“That would be a tall order, mister!” he answered. “There’s a few thousand of people packed into this bit of London. Of course, I do know a good many, close at hand. But if you’re a Londoner you’ll know that Londoners keep themselves to themselves. May seem queer, but it’s a fact that I don’t know the names of my next-door neighbours on either side — though to be sure they’ve only been here a few years in either case.”
“What I was suggesting,” said Hetherwick, “was that you probably knew by sight many of the people who live in the flats opposite your house.”
“Oh, I know some of ’em by sight,” assented the man. “They’re a mixed lot over in those flats! A few old gentlemen — retired — two or three old ladies — and a fair lot of actresses — very popular with the stage is those flats. But, of course, it is only by sight — I don’t know any of ’em by name. Just see them going in and coming out, you know.”
“Do you happen to know by sight a tall, handsome woman who has a flat there?” asked Hetherwick. “A woman who’s likely to be very well dressed?”
The lodging-house keeper, who was without his coat and had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, scratched his elbows and looked thoughtful.
“I think I do know the lady you mean,” he said at last. “Goes out with one o’ those pesky little poms — a black ‘un — on a lead? That her?”
