THE SATURDAY NIGHT STRANGER
Neale, who had never seen a real, live detective in the flesh, but who
cherished something of a passion for reading sensational fiction and the
reports of criminal cases in the weekly newspapers, looked at the man
from New Scotland Yard with a feeling of surprise. He knew
Detective-Sergeant Starmidge well enough by name and reputation. He was
the man who had unravelled the mysteries of the Primrose Hill murder--a
particularly exciting and underground affair. It was he who had been
intimately associated with the bringing to justice of the Camden Town
Gang--a group of daring and successful criminals which had baffled the
London police for two years. Neale had read all about Starmidge's
activities in both cases, and of the hairbreadth escape he had gone
through in connection with the second. And he had formed an idea of
him--which he now saw to be a totally erroneous one. For Starmidge did
not look at all like a detective--in Neale's opinion. Instead of being
elderly, and sinister, and close of eye and mouth, he was a somewhat
shy-looking, open-faced, fresh-coloured young man, still under thirty,
modest of demeanour, given to smiling, who might from his general
appearance have been, say, a professional cricketer, or a young
commercial traveller, or anything but an expert criminal catcher.
"Only just got here, and a bit tired, miss," continued Polke, waving his
hand again at the detective. "So I'm just giving him a refresher to
liven his brains up. He'll want 'em--before we've done."
Betty took the chair which Polke offered her, and looked at the stranger
with interest. She knew nothing about Starmidge, and she thought him
quite different to any preconceived notion which she had ever had of men
of his calling.
"I hope you'll be able to help us," she said politely, as Starmidge,
murmuring something about his best respects to his host, took a
whisky-and-soda from Polke's hand. "Do you think you will--and has Mr.
Polke told you all about it?"
"Given him a mere outline, miss," remarked Polke. "I'll prime him before
he goes to bed. Yes--he knows the main facts."
"And what do you propose to do--first?" demanded Betty.
Starmidge smiled and set down his glass.
"Why, first," he answered, "first, I think I should like to see a
photograph of Mr. Horbury."
Polke moved to a bureau in the corner of his dining-room.
"I can fit you up," he said. "I've a portrait here that Mr. Horbury gave
me not so long ago. There you are!"
He produced a cabinet photograph and handed it to Starmidge, who looked
at it and laid it down on the table without comment.
"I suppose that conveys nothing to you?" asked Betty.
"Well," replied Starmidge, with another smile, "if a man's missing, one
naturally wants to know what he's like. And if there's any advertising
of him to be done--by poster, I mean--it ought to have a recent portrait
of him."
"To be sure," agreed Polke.
"So far as I understand matters," continued Starmidge, "this gentleman
left his house on Saturday evening, hasn't been seen since, and there's
an idea that he probably walked across country to a place called
Ellersdeane. But up to now there's no proof that he did. I think that's
all, Mr. Polke?"
"All!" assented Polke.
"No!" said Neale. "Miss Fosdyke and I have brought you some news. Mr.
Horbury must have crossed Ellersdeane Hollow on Saturday night. Look at
this!--and I'll tell you all about it."
The superintendent and the detective listened silently to Neale's
account of the meeting with Creasy, and Betty, watching Starmidge's
face, saw that he was quietly taking in all the points of importance.
"Is this tin-man to be depended upon?" he asked, when Neale had
finished. "Is he known?"
"I know him," answered Polke. "He's come to this neighbourhood for many
years. Yes--an honest chap enough--bit given to poaching, no doubt, but
straight enough in all other ways--no complaint of him that I ever heard
of. I should believe all he says about this."
"Then, as that's undoubtedly Mr. Horbury's pipe, and as this gentleman
saw him smoking it at two o'clock on Saturday, and as Creasy picked it
up underneath Ellersdeane Tower on Sunday evening," said Starmidge,
"there seems no doubt that Mr. Horbury went that way, and dropped it
where it was found. But--I can't think he was carrying Lord
Ellersdeane's jewels home!"
"Why?" asked Neale.
"Is it likely?" suggested Starmidge. "One's got--always--to consider
probability. Is it probable that a bank manager would put a hundred
thousand pounds' worth of jewels in his pocket, and walk across a lonely
stretch of land at that time of night, just to hand them over to their
owner? I think not--especially as he hadn't been asked to do so. I think
that if Mr. Horbury had been in a hurry to deliver up these jewels, he'd
have driven out to Lord Ellersdeane's place."
"Good!" muttered Polke. "That's the more probable thing."
"Where are the jewels, then?" asked Neale.
Starmidge glanced at Polke with one expression, at Betty and Neale with
another.
"They haven't been searched for yet, have they?" he asked quietly. "They
may be--somewhere about, you know."
"You mean to search for them?" exclaimed Betty.
"I don't know what I intend to do," replied Starmidge, smiling. "I
haven't even thought. I shall have thought a lot by morning. But--the
country's being searched, isn't it, for news of Mr. Horbury?--perhaps
we'll hear something. It's a difficult thing for a well-known man to get
clear away from a little place like this. No!--what I'd like to
know--what I want to satisfy myself about is--did Mr. Horbury go away at
all? Is there really anything missing from the bank? Are those jewels
really missing? You see," concluded Starmidge, looking round his circle
of listeners, "there's an awful lot to take into account."
At that moment Polke's domestic servant tapped at the door and put her
head inside the room.
"If you please, Mr. Polke, there's Mrs. Pratt, from the Station Hotel,
would like a word with you," she said.
The superintendent hurried from the room--to return at once with a
stout, middle-aged woman, who, as she entered, raised her veil and
glanced half-suspiciously at Polke's other visitors.
"All friends here, Mrs. Pratt," said the superintendent reassuringly.
"You know young Mr. Neale well enough. This lady is Mr. Horbury's
niece--anxious to find him. That gentleman's a friend of mine--you can
say aught you like before him. Well, ma'am!--you think you can tell me
something about this affair? What might it be, now?"
Mrs. Pratt, taking the chair which Starmidge placed for her at the end
of the table, nodded a general greeting to the company, and lifting her
veil and untying her bonnet-strings, revealed a good-natured
countenance.
"Well, Mr. Polke," she said, turning to the superintendent, "taking your
word for it that we're all friends--me being pretty sure, all the same,
that this gentleman's one of your own profession, which I don't object
to--I'll tell you what it is I've come up for, special, as it were, and
me not waiting until after closing-time to do it. But that town-crier's
been down our way, and hearing him making his call between our house and
the station, and learning what it was all about, thinks I to myself,
'I'd best go up and see the super and tell him what I know.' And,"
concluded Mrs. Pratt, beaming around her, "here I am!"
"Ay--and what do you know, ma'am?" asked Polke. "Something, of course."
"Or I shouldn't be here," agreed Mrs. Pratt, smoothing out a fold of her
gown. "Well--Saturday afternoon, the time being not so many minutes
after the 5.30 got in, and therefore you might say at the outside twenty
minutes to six, a strange gentleman walked across from the station to
our hotel, which is, as you're all well aware, exactly opposite. I
happened to be in the bar-parlour window at the time, and I saw him
crossing--saw, likewise, from the way he looked about him, and up at the
town above us, that he'd never been in Scarnham before. And happen I'd
best tell you what like he was, while the recollection's fresh in my
mind--a little gentleman he was, very well dressed in what you might
call the professional style; dark clothes and so forth, and a silk
top-hat; I should say about fifty years of age, with a fresh complexion
and a biggish grey moustache and a nicely rolled umbrella--quite the
little swell he was. He made for our door, and I went to the bar-window
to attend to him. He wanted to know if he could get some food, and I
said of course he could--we'd some uncommon nice chops in the house. So
he ordered three chops and setterers--and then he asked if we'd a
telephone in the house, and could he use it. And, of course, I told him
we had, and showed him where it was--after which he wanted a local
directory, and I gave him Scammond's Guide. He turned that over a bit,
and then, when he'd found what he wanted, he went to our telephone
box--which, as you're well aware, Mr. Polke, is in our front hall. And
into it he popped."
Mrs. Pratt paused a moment, and gave her listeners a knowing look, as if
she was now about to narrate the most important part of her story.
"But what you mayn't be aware of, Mr. Polke," she continued, "is that
our telephone box, which has glass panels in its upper parts, has at
this present time one of these panels broken--our pot-man did it,
carrying a plank through the hall. So that any one passing to and fro,
as it were, when anybody's using the telephone, can't help hearing a
word or two of what's being said inside. Now, of course, I was passing
in and out, giving orders for this gentleman's chops, when he was in the
box. And I heard a bit of what he said, though I didn't, naturally, hear
aught of what was said to him, nor who by. But it's in consequence of
what I did hear, and of what Tolson, the town-crier, has been shouting
down our way tonight, that I come up here to see you."
"Much obliged to you, Mrs. Pratt," said Polke. "Very glad to hear
anything that may have to do with Mr. Horbury's disappearance. Now,
what did you hear?"
"What I heard," replied the landlady, "was this here--disjointed, as you
would term it. First of all I hear the gentleman ask for 'Town 23.' Now,
of course, you know whose number that there is, Mr. Polke."
"Chestermarke's Bank," said Neale, turning to Betty.
"Chestermarke's Bank it is, sir," assented Mrs. Pratt. "Which you know
very well, as also do I, having oft called it up. Very well--I didn't
hear no more just then, me going into the dining-room to see that our
maid laid the table proper. But when I was going back to the bar, I
heard more. 'Along the river-side?' says the gentleman, 'Straight on
from where I am--all right.' Then after a minute, 'At seven-thirty,
then?' he says. 'All right--I'll meet you.' And after that he rings
off--and he went into the dining-room, and in due course he had his
chops, and some tart and cheese, and a pint of our bitter ale, and took
his time, and perhaps about a quarter past seven he came to the bar and
paid, and he took a drop of Scotch whisky. After which he says, 'It's
very possible, landlady, that I may have to stop in the town all
night--have you a nice room that you can let me?' 'Certainly, sir,' says
I. 'We've very good rooms, and bathrooms, and every convenience--shall I
show you one?' 'No,' says he, 'this seems a good house, and I'll take
your word for it--keep your best room for me, then.' And after that he
lighted a cigar and went out, saying he'd be back later, and he crossed
the road and went down on the river-bank, and walked slowly along
towards the bottom of the town. And Mr. Polke and company," concluded
Mrs. Pratt, solemnly turning from one listener to another, "that was the
last I saw of him. For--he never came back!"
"Never came back!" echoed Polke.
"Not even the ghost of him!" said Mrs. Pratt. "I waited up myself till
twelve, and then I decided that he'd changed his mind and was stopping
with somebody he knew, which person, Mr. Polke, I took to be Mr.
Horbury. Why? 'Cause he'd rung up Chestermarke's Bank--and who should he
want at Chestermarke's Bank at six o'clock of a Saturday evening but Mr.
Horbury? There wouldn't be nobody else there--as Mr. Neale'll agree."
"You never heard of this gentleman being in the town on Sunday or
today?" asked Polke.
"Not a word!" replied Mrs. Pratt. "And never saw him go to the station,
neither, to leave the town. Now, as you know, Mr. Polke, we've only two
trains go away from here on Sundays, and there's only four on any
week-day, us being naught but a branch line, and as our bar-parlour
window is exactly opposite the station, I see everybody that goes and
comes--I always was one for looking out of window! And I'm sure that
little gentleman didn't go away neither yesterday nor today. And that's
all I know," concluded Mrs. Pratt, rising, "and if it's any use to you,
you're welcome, and hopeful I am that your poor uncle'll be found, Miss,
for a nicer gentleman I could never wish to meet!"
Mrs. Pratt departed amidst expressions of gratitude and police
admonitions to keep her news to herself for awhile, and Betty and Neale
turned eagerly to the famous detective. But Starmidge appeared to have
entered upon a period of silence, and made no further observation than
that he would wait upon Miss Fosdyke in the morning, and presently the
two young people followed Mrs. Pratt into the street and turned into the
Market-Place. The last of the evening revellers were just coming out of
the closing taverns, and to a group of them, Tolson, the town-crier, was
dismally calling forth his announcement that one hundred pounds reward
would be paid to any person who first gave news of having seen Mr. John
Horbury on the previous Saturday evening or since. The clanging of his
bell, and the strident notes of his cracked voice, sounded in the
distance as Betty said good-night to Neale and turned sadly into the
Scarnham Arms.