INSPECTOR SKARRATT INVESTIGATES
To one person, closely concerned in it, the affair which before morning
had come to be famous as the Marengo Mansions Mystery, provided very
little mystery at all. Inspector Skarratt did not believe for one
moment that John Carsdale had had anything to do with the actual
killing of Sydney Werrick. After interviewing the porter who had seen
Carsdale arrive at the Mansions and getting the deliberately given
opinion of the doctor who had first been called to Mrs. Walsingham’s
flat, he came to the conclusion that Carsdale’s story was true, and
that he had arrived there some little time after Werrick was shot and
his wife fled. But he was also convinced, from the reports furnished
to him by the friendly principal of the private detective agency,
that Carsdale had been engaged in some strange transactions, and he
was not without hope that through further inquiry into them he might
elucidate some dark points of the primary affair and get upon the track
of the escaped woman. And accordingly, having arranged for Carsdale’s
detention, and caused descriptions of Mrs. Walsingham and suggestions
as to her supposed flight to be circulated, he prepared, late as it
was, to find out a little more about Mrs. Walsingham’s recent history.
Naturally, his thoughts turned to Mrs. Walsingham’s maid. Sophie Guyner
had been kept at the police-station, entertained by a female searcher;
more than once she had wanted to know when she would be at liberty to
depart. And at last Skarratt himself went to her.
“Well, I think we shan’t want you any more to-night, Miss Guyner,” he
said. “Of course, you’re not going back to that flat?”
Sophie tossed her head. Except that she must visit it sooner or later
to collect her wardrobe and possessions, she had no desire to see the
flat Number 29 in Marengo Mansions again.
“But you must give me an address,” said Skarratt. “I shall probably
want you in the morning. And so will the coroner’s officer.”
“I’m going to a friend’s who lives up Hampstead way,” answered Sophie,
and she gave the address. “They’ll take me in there.”
“I’m walking up Tottenham Court Road,” observed Skarratt. “In fact, I’m
going to get a little supper at a quiet restaurant I know of. You look
as if you’d do with something yourself. Will you come?”
Inspector Skarratt was a good-looking man, with a pleasant and engaging
manner; Miss Guyner had no objection to accompanying him especially as
supper was in view. Moreover, she wanted to talk about the event of the
evening. And Skarratt, who had sized her up pretty conclusively before
he invited her to supper, let her talk as they walked up the street,
and he got a very retired corner in the quiet restaurant, and, without
seeming to do so, encouraged her to talk still more; and he was treated
to all her views, listening to them without agreeing with them. Amongst
all the chaff of the maid’s conversation he knew that he would probably
find some grain of wheat.
Miss Guyner was still convinced that Carsdale and Mrs. Walsingham
had lured Werrick to the flat to kill him, after which they meant to
escape. They had always wanted to be rid of him; they had deserted
him in New York; now, when he had turned up again, they had meant to
be rid of him for ever. Skarratt let her talk on, and refrained from
pointing out the unlikelinesses and inconsistencies of her narrative.
But when she had made an end he began to ask a quiet question or two,
and so presently came to hear the story of Richard Shrewsbury, and of
many things connected with him.
“And a nice surprise it will be for him,” said Miss Guyner. “He’s about
as green as grass, or he’d have seen through more things than one.
But this’ll wake him up, I should think--I expect he’ll see it in the
newspapers to-morrow, won’t he? But perhaps not--he’s abroad just now.
Paris.”
“Oh, they get the English papers in the gay city,” observed Skarratt.
“Abroad, is he? And where does he live in London?”
Sophie gave full particulars of young Mr. Shrewsbury’s palatial flat in
Berkeley Square. She had visited it twice with her mistress; the flats
at Marengo Mansions were nothing to it. She enlarged upon its grandeur,
its furniture, its appointments, and the detective listened eagerly and
quietly. And as he listened and learnt, he began to see certain things
and to understand others, and he congratulated himself on having asked
Miss Guyner to sup with him.
“Ah!” he said. “Much gone on this young fellow, was she--your mistress?”
Sophie expressed her feelings in a sniff of contempt.
“Much gone on his money, you mean,” she said. “Talk about spiders and
flies!--he was a fly, right enough, and she had him in her net right
enough. Went for him dead from the first--I saw what the game was.”
“Got a good deal out of him, I suppose?” said Skarratt, carelessly.
“Jewels and so on, of course?”
“She’d a diamond necklace out of him that was worth ten thousand,”
answered Sophie, carelessly.
“And a lot of other things besides. He must have spent a lot of money
on her--he was taking her out to dinner and to theatres, and so on,
nearly every night.”
“And you say he’s in Paris?” asked the detective. “Now, between you and
me, do you think she’ll try to get across there to him? I mean to say,
if she can get over there, is he the sort that she could get round?”
“She got round him easy enough before,” replied Sophie. “Yes--if she
could get to him there, I dare say she’d get round him all right. But
what use would that be?--I mean, what use would it be now?”
Skarratt shook his head and looked knowing.
“Ah, you don’t know all the ins and outs of our trade!” he said. “You
see, if this young fellow is really infatuated with her, he’ll believe
her before anybody, and he’s rich, he would try to get her clean away.
Money can do a lot, you know.”
“She wouldn’t be without money herself,” remarked Sophie. “She was a
keen hand at making a purse, I can assure you.”
“Ah, well, I shouldn’t wonder if she makes for Paris,” said Skarratt.
“However, there’ll be a good watch kept at all the ports from which the
boats sail to France.”
Then, the little supper having come to an end, he gallantly escorted
Miss Guyner to the top of Tottenham Court Road and put her in a bus
going Hampstead way, asking her at the same time to attend at the
police-station early next morning. And when the bus had gone on its
journey, he stood for a moment reflecting on what he had heard, and
then he pulled out his watch, and finding that it was just eleven
o’clock, he hailed a passing taxi-cab and gave orders to its driver
to take him to the Mount Street end of Berkeley Square. But before
he had gone a hundred yards he changed his mind and altered his
instructions--he would now go to New Scotland Yard.
At New Scotland Yard Skarratt picked up a subordinate, and gave the
chauffeur his original instructions again. He wanted to make certain
inquiries at the flats wherein Richard Shrewsbury lived, and it seemed
to him that he might as well make them at once. Arrived in Berkeley
Square, he bade his companion keep the cab and await his return; he
himself got out and went to find the flats. He soon saw the object of
his search, and perceived that it was a fine town house which had been
divided up into select residential suites; he judged from that fact
that his task would be of no great difficulty.
There was a hall-porter on the ground floor of the house--a military
looking man who sat in a sort of glass-walled box near the entrance and
was reading a newspaper. Perceiving Skarratt, he laid the newspaper
aside and came out. His face suddenly changed: Skarratt saw that he
himself had been recognized. That in no way displeased him--it made his
task much easier.
“Good evening,” said Skarratt. “A word with you. Look here,” he
continued, having followed the man into his box, “I’m from New Scotland
Yard--here’s my card--Inspector Skarratt, you see.”
The hall-porter nodded.
“I know you by sight, Mr. Skarratt,” he said. “I used to be in the
Metropolitan force until I had an accident. What is it, sir?”
“There’s a young gentleman named Shrewsbury lives in this building,
isn’t there?” asked Skarratt.
The hall-porter looked surprised, and Skarratt noticed the look, and
smiled.
“Nothing against him,” he said, reassuringly. “He’s away just now,
isn’t he?”
“I believe he’s in Paris,” said the hall-porter. “His man said
something about it.”
“Man live at the flat?” said Skarratt.
“Man and wife--name of Kedgin,” answered the hall-porter. “Mrs. Kedgin
is away.”
“Ah, well, I don’t think I want to see Kedgin to-night,” said Skarratt.
“I think you’ll do. I suppose you’ve been on duty here all the evening,
eh?”
“Ever since eight o’clock, sir,” replied the hall-porter.
“Uninterruptedly?” asked Skarratt.
“Uninterruptedly,” answered the hall-porter.
“You’ve seen everybody who came in and went out, I suppose,” said
Skarratt.
“So far as I know, Mr. Skarratt,” said the man.
“Well, now,” continued Skarratt, “you needn’t mention a word of what
I’m going to say to you, but have you seen a woman enter who was
dressed as a nun or a Sister of Mercy?”
The hall-porter reflected. But he could remember nothing of the sort
suggested by the detective, nor did he remember a very important
matter--namely, that, it being a very warm evening, he had dropped
asleep for some eight or ten minutes just when twilight was fading into
darkness. Therefore he shook his head.
“No, sir. I’ve seen nobody answering that description,” he said. “I
remember everybody who went in and out to-night.”
“All right,” said Skarratt. “Well--look in the paper to-morrow morning,
and you’ll see why I asked you. By the by, have you ever seen a lady
come here to see Mr. Shrewsbury--a lady who had her maid with her?”
“That’ll be the lady he’s going to marry,” said the hall-porter.
“Kedgin told me about her. Name of Mrs. Walsingham. Yes, sir, I’ve
seen her a time or two, and the maid as well--pert young woman.”
“You haven’t seen Mrs. Walsingham here to-night?” asked Skarratt.
But the man shook his head. No--it was quite a week since he had seen
Mrs. Walsingham. And Skarratt bade him keep silence as regards his,
Skarratt’s visit, and mentioned that he should very likely call round
in the morning to see Kedgin, and again referred the hall-porter to the
morning newspaper, and went away to dismiss his subordinate as being of
no use to him that night and to go home himself. For Skarratt had no
idea of stopping out of bed to think and plan and scheme.
But he was up and at work next morning at an early hour. There was no
news of Mrs. Walsingham. Strict watch was being kept at seaports and
railway stations, but nobody answering to her description had been
seen. It was drawing near to noon before Skarratt heard any news. And
what he heard then came from an unexpected quarter--the hall-porter at
the flat in Berkeley Square.
The hall-porter sent Skarratt a wire which took him hurrying around. He
found the man looking puzzled and doubtful.
“I don’t know how it could be, Mr. Skarratt,” he said when he and the
detective were alone, “but I’ve heard that a woman dressed like a nun
did come in here last night. I say I can’t make it out, for----”
“Never mind that,” said Skarratt. “What have you heard?”
“Well, sir, Jympson, who’s caretaker of that house across there,
didn’t happen to see the papers until late this morning,” answered
the hall-porter. “As soon as he did, he hurried across to me and said
that last night, just about dark, he saw a nun come in here--certain
of it--but thought nothing of it. Then I wired you at once. But how I
could miss seeing----”
“All right,” said Skarratt. “Now, have you seen anything this
morning--of such a woman, I mean?”
“Nothing, sir. But Mr. Shrewsbury’s back. Came in about two hours ago,
and went out again soon afterwards,” said the man. “I haven’t even seen
Kedgin to-day.”
“I’m going up, then,” said Skarratt. “By the by, is this the only
entrance to this place? No back entrance, is there?”
The hall-porter replied that there was no other entrance than that, and
Skarratt went on his way upstairs. He had knocked twice at the door of
the flat without receiving any answer, when Richard and Captain Blair
came up and joined him.