MRS. GRAHAM’S VISITOR
WHEN I returned to town that same evening and told Staffurth he became
wildly excited.
“Really, doctor,” he said, “the matter increases in interest daily.”
“When I take possession of the Manor, I think we ought to make a
search,” I replied. “We must not allow burglars to enter there, or they
may forestall us after all.”
“Of course, of course. The treasure may be hidden in the house for aught
we know. It is important that we should be the first to make a thorough
examination of the place.”
“But what is most important of all is that we’ve gained the address of
this man Purvis.”
“Calthorpe Street is not the most respectable neighbourhood in London,”
he observed. “Do you know it?”
I confessed to ignorance, but next morning went to Gray’s Inn Road and
found the dingy street running off to the right, opposite the end of
Guilford Street. No. 7 was, I discovered, a grimy, smoke-blackened
private house, like most of the others, set back behind iron railings,
with a deep basement. The windows sadly required cleaning, and at them
hung limp and sooty lace curtains which had once been white.
Walking on the opposite side of the pavement I passed and repassed it
several times, noting its exterior well. The windows of the first floor
were better kept than those of the dining-room, and on a small round
table I noticed a doll. From those facts I gathered that the place was
let out in apartments, and that the occupants of the first floor were a
man with his wife and little daughter. It was not yet eight o’clock, and
the newspaper man passing left a paper beneath the knocker—a _Sporting
Life_, which further showed the racing proclivities of at least one of
the inmates. Presently, as I watched, the postman came along, and,
slipping several letters into the slit in the front door, passed on
without knocking.
I hurried along the street into the King’s Cross Road, and, when he
turned the corner, accosted him.
At first he was inclined to be uncommunicative, as a good servant of the
Post Office should be, but by the application of a small refresher his
tongue was unloosened, and he told me that the occupants of No. 7 were
racing people.
“They’re bookmakers, I fancy,” he added. “They have lots of letters by
every post, and post-cards about tips and things.”
“Do you know the name of George Purvis?”
“Yes. It’s some one who has, I think, come to live there lately.”
“Do you know him?”
“Not at all. Never seen him.”
“How long ago did you deliver the first letter addressed to Purvis?”
“About three weeks, I think. But if you want to know more, why don’t you
ask the servant? She’s doing the steps now. I daresay she’d tell you all
about him.”
I took the man’s advice, and returning to the house found a dirty,
ill-dressed girl in canvas apron slopping water over the front steps and
rubbing hearthstone upon them.
With some caution I addressed her, and, having slipped half a crown into
her hand, told her to say nothing of my inquiries, but to respond to my
questions.
“Do you know a gentleman named Mr. George Purvis who lives here?” I
asked.
“I know Mr. Purvis, sir, but ’e don’t live ’ere. ’E only calls for his
letters sometimes, and missus gives them to him.”
“What’s your mistress’s name?”
“Mrs. Graham.”
“And who are the people who live upstairs?”
“They’re the Johnsons. Mr. Johnson is on the turf, they say. ’E goes to
race-meetin’s in a white hat and a bag slung over his shoulder.”
“But where does Mr. Purvis live?”
“I don’t know, sir. He comes sometimes to see Mrs. Graham.”
“Does he receive many letters?”
“Oh, two or three a week, perhaps.”
“Well,” I said, “if you want to earn a sovereign you can do so very
easily. Find out for me where Mr. Purvis lives, and I’ll give you a
sovereign.”
The girl, although of true Cockney type, dirty and slatternly, was
nevertheless intelligent.
She seemed somewhat dubious, replying:—
“I’m very much afraid, sir, that I won’t be able to do it. But I’ll try,
if you like.”
“Yes, try,” I said eagerly. “I shall pass by now and again about this
same hour in the morning, and when you’ve been successful, tell me. By
the way, what kind of man is Mr. Purvis?”
“Well, sir, ’e’s very thin, rather tall, with a pale face and sandy
hair. But I must get on; Mrs. Graham’s coming down.”
“Recollect what I’ve told you, and if you say nothing to anybody I’ll
make it thirty shillings. You understand?”
“All right, sir,” answered the girl, bending again to her work, and I
passed along the street and out again to the Gray’s Inn Road.
I was once more disappointed, for I believed that I had tracked my rival
to his home. But it seemed that the fellow was far too wary. He received
his correspondence through the hands of this woman, Mrs. Graham, thus
showing that he wished to conceal his place of abode. When a woman is
the receiver of a man’s letters, it is always looked upon by the police
as a bad sign.
Having a description of this man Purvis, I resolved to lay in wait for
him to visit Mrs. Graham, and then to follow him home. Therefore,
through that day and several days following I kept such a watchful eye
upon all that went on in Calthorpe Street that I saw the policeman on
the beat suspected me of loitering for the purpose of committing a
felony. I therefore called him aside, gave him a card, and told him that
I was keeping observation for the arrival of a tall, fair, thin
gentleman, who would call at No. 7, and that if he assisted me I would
make it worth his while.
We were not long in making the compact, and the fact that he could watch
while I went into a saloon bar in the Gray’s Inn Road to snatch my hasty
meals made the observation much more certain and easy.
A whole week I spent in those squalid, smoky streets, sometimes lounging
at one end of Calthorpe Street and sometimes at the other, relieved now
and then by the constable, who came and stood at the opposite corner as
signal that I was allowed half an hour’s repose.
Try yourself a day at the corner of a London street awaiting the arrival
of a person you have never seen, but whose description has been given to
you, and you will at once discover how wearisome a task it is. Hundreds
of men nearly answering the description will pass you, and your hopes
are raised as every one approaches.
Still, I intended to outwit this clever adventurer, whoever he was. He,
or his accomplices, had obtained possession of at least one object that
was my property, the document with the seven signatures, and I intended
that he should be hoist by his own petard even though I had to wait for
him a year.
The servant girl was entirely in my confidence. Each morning as she
“did” the steps I passed the time of day with her, and she informed me
that Mr. Purvis had not called, although her mistress was expecting him,
as letters were awaiting him.
Now, it seemed to me probable that if Mrs. Graham knew the man’s
address, and he did not fetch his letters, she would either send him a
line or re-address the correspondence. Therefore, I gave instructions to
the girl to be on the lookout for the address on any letter she might be
sent to post, and make a note of it for me.
One afternoon about five o’clock, while I was hastily taking a cup of
tea in a shop in King’s Cross Road, my friend the constable put his head
inside and beckoned me out.
“The cove you’re waiting for has just gone into No. 7, sir,” he said;
“tall, fair moustache, freckled face, and wearin’ a straw hat.”
In an instant I was on the alert and, full of excitement, walked back
with him to the corner of Calthorpe Street.
“You’re going to follow him, I suppose?”
“Certainly. I want to discover where he lives.”
“Does he know you?”
“Probably he does.”
“Then you’ll have to be wary if you’re going to follow him.”
“Trust me,” I replied confidently. “I shall take every precaution.”
We separated, and impatiently I awaited the appearance of the man who
was my rival.
Already Mr. Kenway had written to the landlord of the Manor House, and
only that morning I had received his consent. Therefore, the matter was
concluded, and I held the tenancy of a lonely, weather-worn old place,
without possessing a stick of furniture to make it habitable.
But I was anxious to see what manner of man was this Purvis, the smart
investigator who had paid half a sovereign for that most precious of all
documents. How was it possible that he could have knowledge of the
affair, save, perhaps, from the local legend that the Knutton family
were entitled to a fortune? The gossip in Rockingham and elsewhere might
possibly have aroused his curiosity, but if so he must also have been
aware that I held the key to the cipher. Thereby hung a mystery.
Once it occurred to me that Job Seal might be working against me, but on
full reflection I saw that such suspicion was unfounded. Seal had
foregone his claim in return for half of the gold, and had sailed for
the Mediterranean perfectly satisfied.
No. The affair had, I saw, grown into a desperate one; a fortune was
awaiting one or other of us—the man who was clever enough to outwit the
other.
For an hour I waited at the street corner, my eyes ever upon that flight
of steps which led to the dark green sun-blistered door, until I was
weary and exhausted. Purvis was undoubtedly having tea and gossiping
with the widow.
I saw my friend the servant girl come to the dining-room window, pull
the yellow lace curtains aside, and, putting her head out, look up and
down the street. She caught sight of me, and with the knowledge that I
was on guard, quickly withdrew.
Was it a signal that he was about to come forth?
I waited. Seven o’clock struck, then eight, but still no sign of him. He
was surely making a long visit. As darkness closed in I moved nearer the
house, in order that he might not be able to slip away unobserved.
Suddenly, a little after nine, the girl opened the door and a visitor
emerged. But I was disappointed. A woman in deep black descended the
steps and turned to walk in my direction. The instant I saw this I
hurried on, crossed the road, and then slackened pace in order that she
should overtake me.
She was not long in doing so, and as she passed I turned and looked her
full in the face.
Judge my surprise when I recognized her to be none other than the girl
who had taken me on that mysterious journey to Blackheath!