IN WHICH WE MAKE A DISCOVERY
I had had my breakfast and a tub, and was just glancing through the
_Daily Herald_ when Whitlock entered, looking as fresh and rosy as
though he had had an excellent night's rest.
"Do you know, Keene," he said, standing upon the hearthrug and facing
me, "the puzzle has grown even more complicated."
"How?" I gasped.
"Well, you'll remember in that extraordinary telegram, alleged to
emanate from the Press Association and addressed to the _Western
Morning News_, at Plymouth last night, it was stated that we had
discovered some papers in a house in Woburn Square? Well, Kennedy
reports that that little old hunchback, after calling at several places
last night, went to a certain house in Woburn Square, the door of which
he opened with a latchkey. He remained there till 5.30, when he left
Euston for Birmingham."
"I wonder whether the object of that mysterious telegram is to put us
on the scent, as the first one undoubtedly was?" I suggested.
"Well," he said hesitatingly, "there was some mention in it of a young
London journalist--eh?" and he looked at me curiously.
"I know--I know!" I answered. "I believe, Whitlock, that the anonymous
author of those Press messages owes me a grudge."
"So it seems; yet he is certainly in possession of the secret history
of the crime. I've put a watch upon the house in question, and I'm just
going up there. You can come, too, if you like."
I required no second invitation. Over the 'phone I told old Marvin at
the _Evening Herald_ that I was still on the Barnes affair, and we both
went forth together along Theobald's Road up Southampton Row and across
Russell Square. At the corner of Upper Montague Street, a plain-clothes
officer, a youngish man dressed as a mechanic, approached my companion,
saying--
"All quiet, sir. Nobody's been to the place. It's furnished, but
untenanted, I hear. My information, from the milkman and others, shows
that a lady and gentleman took the place furnished about four months
ago, but the other day they both suddenly left, owing a lot of small
accounts to tradesmen around. The milkman is particularly sore about a
debt of four and threepence."
"Any more?" asked Whitlock, in that sharp tone habitual to him.
"Only that the tenant of the house was not a hunchback, as Mr Kennedy
believed, but quite a young man. The woman, too, was also young."
"And nobody knows where they are gone? What about letters?"
"The postman says that their name was Elkington. They had only one
or two letters, and since their departure there have been none. The
landlord lives in Ireland, and, as far as I can gather, has no agent in
London."
"But the little old fellow had a key."
"Probably left with him by Mr Elkington. He may have left some pets
there--cats or canaries--that want feeding," suggested the detective.
"Which is the house?" asked Whitlock.
"Just along on the left, sir. The one with the light green railings.
It's been recently done up."
"Very well. Remain on duty, but don't attract attention. I'll arrange
for your relief. I shall try and get in with a key, so just keep an
open eye and let us know if there are any too curious neighbours about."
"Very well, sir," the man responded; and as we parted he crossed the
road, affecting to be going in the opposite direction.
The house differed but little from the general run of those
old-fashioned residences in the squares about Bloomsbury; three
storeys, a deep basement, with railings in front, and a big hall door,
newly painted dark green, with brass knocker-handle and letter-box.
The state of the front steps betrayed that the house was tenantless,
for upon them lay wisps of straw and bits of paper, blown there by the
wind. From his pocket Whitlock produced a bunch of skeleton-keys, and
having carefully examined the lock he inserted one after another in an
endeavour to raise the wards.
"It's fortunate it isn't a very complicated latch," he remarked to me.
Nor did it prove so, for at the fourth attempt the door opened easily,
and we found ourselves within a wide, old-fashioned hall, well and
solidly furnished.
From without, save perhaps the state of the steps, there was nothing to
show that the place was unoccupied. The blinds were not down, though
lace curtains covered the windows of both the dining-room, on a level
with the street, and the drawing-room above.
"This is, no doubt, the place mentioned in the anonymous telegram,"
Whitlock remarked, looking around. Then, as we entered the dining-room,
and saw the several fine paintings on the walls, the bronzes upon the
high marble mantelshelf, and the plate--a trifle tarnished--on the
sideboard, he added: "And it seems to belong to somebody who's very
well off."
"Yes. But the Elkingtons only rented it, remember," I remarked, adding,
as the matter flashed across my mind, "have you yet established whether
the man whom we followed to Barnes last night was actually Drayton?"
"No, not yet. I hope, however, to know for certain this afternoon. Let
us now take a look round the place."
From room to room we passed. Behind the dining-room was a small
and rather cosy little study, the book-shelves of which I noticed
were filled mostly with works of science and travel, evidently
the collection of a cultured man. Set in the window was a big
writing-table, while upon the floor was a thick Turkey carpet.
Upstairs were two drawing-rooms thrown into one, solidly and
comfortably furnished. In the cabinets I noted some rare old china
and one or two pieces of antique silver of considerable value. Some
of the furniture, too, was genuine Louis XIV., yet about the room was
something chilly and repellent. The windows being closed, the place
bore a musty odour.
There was a smaller sitting-room--a boudoir, evidently--on the same
floor, while above the apartments were all bedrooms, each being
furnished with taste combined with comfort. There was nothing cheap
or common about the place. The beds were all comparatively new, the
linen of the very finest quality, the carpets soft and new, and the
decorations of each apartment very tasteful.
"Well," remarked Whitlock, with a laugh, as we stood in the dining-room
again, "I wonder where those papers are which we are supposed to have
found?"
"I wonder," I echoed. "But doesn't it strike you that the person who
sent that telegram last night would, expecting you to come here, also
watch the house?"
"By Jove, Keene, I never thought of that!" he cried. "It seems very
possible that he would. I wonder whether he's watching now--whether he
saw us come in here?"
"He most likely has, I believe," was my reply.
Whitlock went carefully to the window and looked up and down. Only the
plain-clothes man, together with a nursemaid wheeling a perambulator
were in sight.
"In any case," my companion remarked, "he'd keep out of the way. But we
must search this place at once."
The keen eye of the detective outside had caught sight of Whitlock at
the window. My companion beckoned him, and he came across and entered
the door, which the inspector opened.
"We're going to look through this house, Snow," Whitlock remarked.
"There may be certain papers hidden away here."
"If the little old hunchback hasn't taken them away," said the
subordinate officer.
"He may have done that, of course," Whitlock remarked, "but we must
satisfy ourselves. We'll start with the dining-room."
With a thoroughness acquired by long practice in the art of searching,
the two officers, whom I also assisted, opened every drawer and
examined every nook and corner of the room. Even the edges of the
square of carpet they turned up, but our search was futile. We found
nothing.
The study behind seemed a more likely place. Entering there, Whitlock
and I turned our attention at once to the drawers of the writing-table,
while Snow commenced to rout out the cupboards beneath the bookcases.
The drawers, which we took separately and investigated, had evidently
been cleared by the landlord prior to letting the house, for all we
found were letters and papers which showed the occupant, Mr Edward
Elkington, to have had rather extensive dealings in American and
Canadian railway bonds and stocks, such as Grand Trunk First and Second
Preference and Atchison Adjustment Mortgage Bonds, as well as Mexican
Government Five per Cents, and Japanese Four per Cents, 1921.
My limited knowledge of the Money Market told me that his investments
were not ill-advised ones, while Whitlock, as he read the letters,
noted on a slip of paper the name and address of the broker who was his
correspondent.
There were also quantities of letters relating to betting transactions
with firms in Holland, as well as big bunches of newspaper-cuttings
relating to new inventions, new mines, and new industrial enterprises.
To me, it seemed as though the absent Elkington was a speculator on a
pretty large scale.
"From these letters, this man Elkington seems to have had his fingers
in a good many financial pies," remarked Whitlock, as, seated at the
table, he read letter after letter. Now and again Snow brought forth
the various objects he discovered, but nothing threw any light upon
the mystery, though the correspondence of Mr Edward Elkington was, in
parts, highly interesting and threw considerable light upon his present
occupation, if not upon his past.
Some of the letters were addressed to the Hôtel Beau Site at Cannes,
showing that he and his wife had spent the previous winter on the
Riviera.
We turned the library practically inside out, but found no papers
as reported in the mysterious message to Plymouth. One letter was
curious--a letter in a woman's handwriting, and dated from the Birnam
Hotel, at Dunkeld, in the Highlands. It had reference to some debt of
honour of the writer, and begging time in which to pay. Both Whitlock
and myself were of opinion that it was in reference to a gambling debt,
probably at bridge.
Of letters to Mrs Elkington there were but few, mostly from tradesmen
asking for settlement of their accounts.
Upstairs in the boudoir we found a few odd letters of hers, but they
told us very little beyond the fact that she possessed an intimate lady
friend who signed herself Amy, and who wrote from Bailey's Hotel. One
or two of these letters, which my friend handed to me for my opinion,
were curiously vague, and evidently possessed a meaning which was not
that shown upon the face of them.
One had reference to a supper at the Savoy at which somebody named
"Charlie" was present. "I have an idea," wrote the lady, "that Charlie
suspects something. If he does, then it would be best to throw up the
whole affair, at least for another year. We cannot afford to risk
failure, as you know, my dear. So I leave it to you to ascertain how
much the man really knows."
"That's rather curious," I remarked, handing it back to Whitlock. "I
wonder who the lady is? The letter is dated, as you see, about a month
ago."
"Yes, it's a little suspicious, certainly," replied the inspector. "I
can't see to what it refers."
"Neither do I. But we might discover if any lady is staying at Bailey's
whose Christian name is Amy--eh?"
"Ah!" remarked Whitlock, doubtfully. "I daresay during the past month
there have been lots of Amys. Besides, married women seldom register
their Christian names at hotels."
"But she may be unmarried."
"No," he replied decisively; "that isn't the letter of a girl."
Snow was foraging about the room, taking an eager delight in examining
everything, when, addressing his superior, he suddenly exclaimed--
"Is this anything, sir?"
I looked up quickly in his direction.
He had something in his hand--something the sight of which held us both
rigid in amazement.
I stood aghast. Whitlock and I looked at each other in blank silence.
Neither of us uttered a word.