THE DIAMOND NECKLACE
The conviction that there was more than met the eye in Hannaford's
cutting out and putting away the handsome and distinguished woman's
photograph grew mightily in Hetherwick's mind during the next few days.
He recalled all that Hannaford had said about it in the train in those
few short minutes before his sudden death. Why had he been so keen
about showing it to the other man? Was he taking the other man
specially to his hotel to show it to him--at that time of night? Why
did the recollections which his possession of it brought up afford
him--obviously--so much interest and, it seemed, amusement? And what,
exactly, was meant by the pencilled words in the margin of the
cutting?--_Through my hands ten years ago_! Under what circumstances
had this woman been through Hannaford's hands? And who was she? The
more he thought of it, the more Hetherwick was convinced that there was
more importance in this matter than the police attached to it. They
had proved utterly indifferent to Hetherwick's account of the
conversation in the train--that, said Matherfield, with official
superiority, was nothing but a bit of chat, reminiscence, recollection,
on the ex-superintendent's part; old men, he said, were fond of talking
about incidents of the past. The only significance Matherfield saw in
it was that it seemed to argue that whoever the man who had disappeared
was, he and Hannaford had known each other ten years ago.
At the end of a week the police had heard nothing of this man. Nor had
they made any discovery in respect of the other man whom Ledbitter
swore he had seen with Hannaford at Victoria. The best Scotland Yard
hands had been hard and continuously at work, and had brought nothing
to light. Only one person had seen the first man after he darted up
the stairs of Charing Cross calling out that he was going for a doctor;
this was a policeman on duty at the front of the Underground Station.
He had seen the man run out; had watched him run at top speed up
Villiers Street, and had thought no more of it than that he was some
belated passenger hurrying to catch a last bus in the Strand. But with
that, all news and trace of him vanished. Of the tall man in the big
blue spectacles and white muffler there never was any trace, nor any
news beyond Ledbitter's. Yet Ledbitter was a thoroughly dependable
witness, and there was no doubt that he had seen Hannaford in this
man's company. So, without question, Hannaford, during his last few
hours of life, had been with two men--neither of whom could be found.
Within twenty-four hours of his death several men came forward
voluntarily who had had dealings or conversation with Hannaford since
his arrival in London. But there was a significant fact about the news
which any of them could give--not one knew anything of the tall man
seen by Ledbitter, or of the shabby man seen by Hetherwick, or of the
secret which Hannaford carried in his sealed packet. The story of that
sealed packet had been told plentifully in the newspapers--but nobody
came forward who knew anything about it. And when a week had elapsed
after the ex-Superintendent's burial, the whole mystery of his
undoubted murder seemed likely to become one of the many which are
never solved.
But Hetherwick was becoming absorbed in this affair into which he had
been so curiously thrown head-first. He had leisure on his hands;
also, he was well off in this world's goods, and much more concerned
with the psychology of his profession than with a desire to earn money
by its practice. From the moment in which he heard that the doctors
had found that Hannaford had been poisoned, he felt that here was a
murder mystery at the bottom of which he must get--it fascinated him.
And all through his speculations and theorisings about it, he was
obsessed by the picture in his pocket. Who was that woman--and what
did the dead man remember about her?
Suddenly, one morning, after a visit from Matherfield, who looked in at
his chambers casually, to tell him that the police had discovered
nothing, Hetherwick put on his hat and went round to Surrey Street. He
found Rhona Hannaford busy in preparing to leave Malter's Hotel: she was
going to live, for a time at any rate, with Mrs. Keeley. Hetherwick
went straight to the matter that had brought him.
"That print of a woman's photograph which your grandfather had in his
pocket-book," he said, "and that's now in mine. Out of what paper did
he cut it?--a newspaper, evidently."
"Yes, but I don't know what paper," answered Rhona. "All I know is
that it was a paper which he got by post, the morning that he left
Sellithwaite. We were just leaving for the station when the post came.
He put his letters and papers--there were several things--in his
overcoat pocket, and opened them in the train. It was somewhere on the
way to London that he cut out that picture. He threw the paper
away--with others. He had a habit of buying a lot of papers, and used
to cut out paragraphs."
"Well--I suppose it can be traced," muttered Hetherwick, thinking
aloud. He glanced at the evidences of Rhona's departure. "So you're
going to live with your aunt?" he said.
"For a time--yes," she answered.
"I hope you'll let me call?" suggested Hetherwick. "I'm awfully
interested in this affair, and I may be able to tell you something
about it."
"We'd be pleased," she replied. "I'll give you the address. I don't
intend to be idle though--unless you call in the evening, you'll
probably find me out."
"What are you thinking of doing?" he asked.
"I think of going in for secretarial work," she answered. "As a matter
of fact, I had a training for that, in Sellithwaite. Typewriting,
correspondence, accounts, French, German--I'm pretty well equipped."
"Don't think me inquisitive," said Hetherwick, suddenly. "I hope your
grandfather hasn't forgotten you in his will--I heard he'd left one!"
"Thank you," replied Rhona. "He hasn't. He left me everything. I've
got about three hundred a year--rather more. But that's no reason why
I should sit down, and do nothing, is it?"
"Good!" said Hetherwick. "But--if that sealed packet could be found?
What was worth a hundred thousand to him, would be worth a hundred
thousand to his sole legatee. Worth finding!"
"I wonder if anything will be found?" she answered. "The whole thing's
a mystery that I'm not even on the edge of solving."
"Time!" said Hetherwick. "And--patience."
He went away presently, and strolled round to Brick Court, where
Kenthwaite had his chambers.
"Doing anything?" he asked, as he walked in.
"Nothing," replied Kenthwaite. "Go ahead!"
Hetherwick sat down, and lighted his pipe.
"You know Sellithwaite, don't you?" he asked when he had got his
tobacco well going. "Your town, eh?"
"Born and bred there, and engaged to a girl there," replied Kenthwaite.
"Ought to! What about Sellithwaite?"
"Were you there ten years ago?" demanded Hetherwick.
"Ten years ago? No--except in the holidays. I was at school ten years
ago. Why?"
"Do you remember any police case at Sellithwaite about that time in
which a very handsome woman was concerned--probably as defendant?"
"No! But I was more interested in cricket than in crime, in those
days. Are you thinking about the woman Hannaford spoke of in the train
to the chap they can't come across?"
"I am! Seems to me there's more in that than the police think."
"Shouldn't wonder. Let's see: Hannaford spoke of that woman as--what?"
"Said she'd been through his hands, ten years ago."
"Well, that's easy! If she was through Hannaford's hands, as
Superintendent of Police, ten years ago, that would be at Sellithwaite.
And there'll be records, particulars, and so on at Sellithwaite."
Hetherwick nodded, and smoked in silence for awhile.
"Think I shall go down there," he said at last.
Kenthwaite stared, wonderingly.
"Keen as all that!" he exclaimed.
"Queer business!" said Hetherwick. "Like to solve it."
"Oh, well, it's only a four hours' run from King's Cross," observed
Kenthwaite. "Interesting town, too. Old as the hills and modern as
they make 'em. Excellent hotel--'White Bear.' And I'll tell you what,
my future's brother is a solicitor there--Michael Hollis. I'll give
you a letter of introduction to him, and he'll show you round and give
you any help you need."
"Good man!" said Hetherwick. "Write it!"
Kenthwaite sat down and wrote, and handed over the result.
"What do you want to find out, exactly?" he asked, as Hetherwick
thanked him, and rose to go.
"All about the woman, and why Hannaford cut her picture out of the
paper," answered Hetherwick. "Well--see you when I get back."
He went off to his own chambers, packed a bag, and drove to King's
Cross to catch the early afternoon train for the North. At half-past
seven that evening he found himself in Sellithwaite, a grey,
smoke-laden town set in the midst of bleak and rugged hills, where the
folk--if the railway officials were anything to go by--spoke a dialect
which, to Hetherwick's southern ears, sounded like some barbaric
language. But the "White Bear," in which he was presently installed,
yielded all the comforts and luxuries of a first-class hotel: the
dining-room, into which Hetherwick turned as soon as he had booked his
room, seemed to be thronged by a thoroughly cosmopolitan crowd of men;
he heard most of the principal European languages being spoken--later,
he found that his fellow-guests were principally Continental business
men, buyers, intent on replenishing exhausted stocks from the great
warehouses and manufactories of Sellithwaite. All this was
interesting, nor was he destined to spend the remainder of his evening
in contemplating it from a solitary corner, for he had scarcely eaten
his dinner when a hall-porter came to tell him that Mr. Hollis was
asking for Mr. Hetherwick.
Hetherwick hastened into the lounge, and found a keen-faced,
friendly-eyed man of forty or thereabouts stretching out a hand to him.
"Kenthwaite wired me this afternoon that you were coming down, and
asked me to look you up here," he said. "I'd have asked you to dine
with me, but I've been kept at my office until just now, and again, I
live a good many miles out of town. But to-morrow night----"
"You're awfully good," replied Hetherwick. "I'd no idea that
Kenthwaite was wiring. He gave me a letter of introduction to you, but
I suppose he thought I wanted to lose no time. And I don't, and I dare
say you can tell me something about the object of my visit--let's find
a corner and smoke."
Installed in an alcove in the big smoking-room, Hollis read
Kenthwaite's letter.
"What is it you're after?" he asked. "Kenthwaite mentions that my
knowledge of Sellithwaite is deeper than his own--naturally, it is, as
I'm several years older."
"Well," responded Hetherwick. "It's this, briefly. You're aware, of
course, of what befell your late Police-Superintendent in London--his
sudden death?"
"Oh, yes--read all the newspapers, anyway," assented Hollis. "You're
the man who was present in the train on the Underground, aren't you?"
"I am. And that's one reason why I'm keen on solving the mystery.
There's no doubt whatever that Hannaford was poisoned--that it's a case
of deliberate murder. Now, there's a feature of the case to which the
police don't seem to attach any importance. I do attach great
importance to it. It's the matter of the woman to whom Hannaford
referred when he was talking--in my presence--to the man who so
mysteriously disappeared. Hannaford spoke of that woman as having been
through his hands ten years ago. That would be some experience he had
here, in this town. Now then, do you know anything about it? Does it
arouse any recollection?"
Hollis, who was smoking a cigar, thoughtfully tapped its long ash
against the edge of his coffee-cup. Suddenly his eyes brightened.
"That's probably the Whittingham case," he said. "It was about ten
years ago."
"And what was the Whittingham case?" asked Hetherwick. "Case of a
woman?"
"Of a woman--evidently an adventuress--who came to Sellithwaite about
ten years ago, and stayed here some little time, in this very hotel,"
replied Hollis. "Oddly enough, I never saw her! But she was heard of
enough--eventually. She came here, to the 'White Bear,' alone, with
plenty of luggage and evident funds. I understand she was a very
handsome woman, twenty-eight or thirty years of age, and she was taken
for somebody of consequence. I rather think she described herself as
the Honourable Mrs. Whittingham. She paid her bills here with
unfailing punctuality every Saturday morning. She spent a good deal of
money amongst the leading tradesmen in the town, and always paid cash.
In short, she established her credit very successfully. And with
nobody more so than the principal jeweller here--Malladale. She bought
a lot of jewellery from Malladale--but in his case, she always paid by
cheque. And in the end it was through a deal with Malladale that she
got into trouble."
"And into Hannaford's hands!" suggested Hetherwick.
"Into Hannaford's hands, certainly," assented Hollis. "It was this
way. She had, as I said just now, made a lot of purchases from
Malladale, who, I may tell you, has a first-class trade amongst our
rich commercial magnates in this neighbourhood. Her transactions with
him, however, were never, at first, in amounts exceeding a hundred or
two. But they went through all right. She used to pay him by cheque
drawn on a Manchester bank--Manchester, you know, is only thirty-five
miles away. As her first cheques were always met, Malladale never
bothered about making any inquiry about her financial stability; like
everybody else he was very much impressed by her. Well, in the end,
she'd a big deal with Malladale, Malladale had a very fine diamond
necklace in stock. He and she used to discuss her acquisition of it:
according to his story they had a fine old battle as to terms.
Eventually, they struck a bargain--he let her have it for three
thousand nine hundred pounds. She gave him a cheque for that amount
there and then, and he let her carry off the necklace."
"Oh!" exclaimed Hetherwick.
"Just so!" agreed Hollis. "But--he did. However, for some reason or
other, Malladale had that cheque specially cleared. She handed it to
him on a Monday afternoon; first thing on Wednesday morning Malladale
found that it had been returned with the ominous reference to drawer
inscribed on its surface! Naturally, he hurried round to the 'White
Bear.' But the Honourable Mrs. Whittingham had disappeared. She had
paid up her account, taken her belongings, and left the hotel, and the
town, late on the Monday evening, and all that could be discovered at
the station was that she had travelled by the last train to Leeds,
where, of course, there are several big main lines to all parts of
England. And she had left no address: she had, indeed, told the people
here that she should be back before long, and that if any letters came
they were to keep them until her return. So then Malladale went to the
police, and Hannaford got busy."
"I gather that he traced her?" suggested Hetherwick.
Hollis laughed sardonically.
"Hannaford traced her--and he got her," he answered. "But he might
well use the expression that you mentioned just now. She was indeed
through his hands--just as a particularly slippery eel might have
been--she got clear away from him."