The Charing Cross Mystery J. S. Fletcher (summer reading list TXT) 📖

was unusually taciturn⁠—silent, in fact. She took the letters in silence, signed them in silence. No, on reflection, she never spoke a word while I was in the room. I took the letters away and began putting them in their envelopes. Soon afterwards Lady Riversreade came through my room and went out, and I saw her go across the grounds to the Court. She didn’t turn up at the usual luncheon at the Home, and I didn’t see her again that afternoon. In fact, I didn’t see her again that day, for when I went home to the Court at five o’clock, Lady Riversreade’s maid told me that her mistress had gone up to town and wouldn’t be home until late that night. I went to bed before she returned.”

“Next morning?” suggested Hetherwick.

“Next morning she was just as usual, and things went on in the usual way.”

“Did she ever mention this man and his visit to you?” asked Hetherwick.

“No⁠—not a word of him. But I found out something about him myself on Friday afternoon.”

“What? Something relevant?”

“May be relevant to⁠—something. I was wondering about him⁠—and his printed card. I thought it odd that a medical man, so smartly dressed and all that, should present a card like that⁠—not one well printed, a cheap thing! Besides, it had no address. I wondered⁠—mere inquisitiveness, perhaps⁠—where the creature came from. Now, we’ve a jolly good lot of the usual reference-books there at the Home⁠—and there’s a first-class right up-to-date medical directory amongst them. So I looked up the name of Dr. Cyprian Baseverie. I say, looked it up⁠—but I didn’t do that⁠—for it wasn’t there! He’s neither an English, nor a Scottish, nor an Irish medical man.”

“Foreigner, then,” said Hetherwick. “French, perhaps, or⁠—American.”

“May be an Egyptian, or a Persian, or a Eurasian, for anything I know,” remarked Rhona. “What I know is that he’s not on the list in that directory, though from his speech and manner you’d think he’d been practising in the West End all his life! Anyway, that’s the story. Is there anything in it?”

Hetherwick picked up his glass of claret by its stem and looked thoughtfully through the contents of the bowl.

“The particular thing is⁠—the extent and quality of Lady Riversreade’s annoyance, or dismay, or perturbation, occasioned by the man’s visit,” he said at last. “If she was really very much upset⁠—”

“If you want my honest opinion as eyewitness and as woman,” remarked Rhona, “Lady Riversreade was very much upset. She gave me the impression that she’d just received very bad, disconcerting, unpleasant news. After seeing and watching her as she signed the letters I had no doubt whatever that the man had deliberately lied to me when he said he wanted to see the Home and its working⁠—what he really wanted was access to Lady Riversreade.”

“Look here!” exclaimed Hetherwick suddenly “Were you present when this man went into Lady Riversreade’s room?”

“Present? Of course I was! I took him in⁠—myself.”

“You saw them meet?”

“To be sure!”

“Well, then, you know! Were they strangers? Did she recognise him? Did she show any sign of recognition whatever when she set eyes on him?”

“No, none! I’m perfectly certain she’d never seen the man before in her life! I could see quite well that he was an absolute stranger to her.”

“And she to him?”

“Oh, that I don’t know! He may have seen her a thousand times. But I’m sure she’d never seen him.”

Hetherwick laid down his knife and fork with a gesture of finality.

“I’m going to find out who that chap is,” he answered. “Got to!”

“You think his visit may have something to do with this?” asked Rhona.

“May, yes. Anyway, I’m not going to let any chance go. There’s enough mystery in what you tell me about the man to make it worth while following him up. It must be done.”

“How will you do it?”

“You say he said that he was going there again next Friday at the same time? Well, the thing to do, then, is to watch and follow him when he goes away.”

“I’m afraid I’m no use for that! He’d know me.”

“Nor am I!⁠—I’m too conspicuous,” laughed Hetherwick. “If I were a head and shoulders shorter, I might be some use. But I’ve got the very man⁠—my clerk, one Mapperley. He’s just the sort to follow and dog anybody and yet never be seen himself. As you’ll say, when you’ve the pleasure of seeing him, Mapperley’s the most ordinary, commonplace chap you ever set eyes on⁠—pass absolutely unnoticed in any Cockney crowd. But he’s as sharp as they make ’em, veiling a peculiar astuteness under his eminently undistinguished features. And what I shall do is this⁠—I’ll give Mapperley a full and detailed description of Dr. Cyprian Baseverie: I’ve memorised yours already; Mapperley will memorise mine. Now Baseverie, whoever he may be, will probably go down to Dorking by the 10:10 from here; so will Mapperley. And after Mapperley has once spotted his man, he’ll not lose sight of him.”

“And he’ll do⁠—what?” asked Rhona.

“Follow him to Dorking⁠—watch him⁠—follow him back to London⁠—find out where he goes when he returns⁠—run him to earth, in fact. Then he’ll report to me⁠—and we shall know more than we do now, and also what to do next.”

“I wonder what it’s all going to lead to?” said Rhona. “Pretty much of a maze, isn’t it?”

“It is,” agreed Hetherwick. “But if we can only get a firm hold on a thread⁠—”

“And that might break!” she laughed.

“Well, then, one that won’t break,” he said. “There are several loose ends lying about already. Matherfield’s got a hold on one or two.”

He went to see Matherfield next morning and told him the story that he had heard from Rhona. Matherfield grew thoughtful.

“Well, Mr. Hetherwick,” he said, after a pause, “it’s as I’ve said before⁠—if this Lady Riversreade is mixed up in it, the thing to do is to go back and get as full a history as can possibly be got of her antecedents. We’ll have to get on to that⁠—but we’ll wait to see what