One fact was quite plain. It was the false Professor who had written to
my wife. For aught I knew, the man whom I had followed from Edinburgh
to Glasgow might have already been in London, and she might have met him
by appointment.
During the morning I took the "forty-eight," and ran over to Regent's
Park, passing slowly before both front and back of the house in Sussex
Place. The blinds were up, but from the condition of the doorsteps it
was plain that the place was tenantless.
From the "London Directory" I obtained the number of Lady Mellor's, in
Upper Brook Street, and called. The fat butler told me that Morgan,
Miss Greer's maid, had left with her mistress, and as far as he knew was
down at Broadstairs with her. Her ladyship was at Bordighera.
I inquired if he knew anything of the other servants at Professor
Greer's.
"No, nothing," was the man's answer. "At least, nothing except that the
Professor went abroad suddenly, and that they were all discharged and
given wages in lieu of notice."
"That Italian fellow discharged them, didn't he?" I asked.
"Yes, sir. I never liked him. He's gone abroad with his master, they
say, and they've left a caretaker in charge."
"Oh, there is someone there, eh?"
"Yes, a policeman named Murphy and his wife. They used to take care of
this house for her ladyship, and Miss Ethelwynn has now given her
father's house over to them. They're a very steady pair, and live on
the premises."
Surely it was a master-stroke of the girl's to give over to the police
that house of tragedy! Why was she concealing the fact of her father's
death?