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

for,” replied Matherfield. “Of course, I didn’t want to raise any suspicion against her under the circumstances. But I flatter myself I’m a bit of a diplomatist, and I laid my plans. I went in there, got hold of a clerk who was a likely looking chap for secret keeping, told him who I was and showed my credentials, and asked him for the information I wanted. I got it. As luck would have it, my man had attended to her himself and remembered her quite well. Of course, little more than an hour and a half had passed since she’d been in there.”

“And⁠—what had she been in for?” asked Hetherwick. “What did you hear?”

Matherfield nodded significantly.

“Just what I expected to hear,” he answered. “She’d booked a second-class passage for New York in the Tartaric, sailing that afternoon, in the name of H. Cunningham. As soon as I found that out, I knew I should come across her again⁠—there’d be no need to go raking the town for her. I ascertained that passengers would be allowed to go aboard from two o’clock; the boat would sail between five and six. So, having once more admonished the clerk to secrecy and given him plausible excuses for my inquisitiveness, I went off to relax a bit, and in due time sat down to an early and comfortable lunch⁠—a man must take his ease now and then, you know, Mr. Hetherwick.”

“Exactly, Matherfield⁠—I quite agree,” said Hetherwick. “But I dare say your brain was at work, all the same, while you ate and drank?”

“It was, sir,” assented Matherfield. “Yes⁠—I made my plans. I wasn’t going to New York, of course; that was out of the question. But I was going to have speech with her. I decided that I’d watch for her coming aboard the Tartaric⁠—being alone, she’d probably come early. I proposed to get her aside, accosting her, of course, as Lady Riversreade, tell her who I was and show my papers, and ask her if she would give me any information about a certain Dr. Cyprian Baseverie. I thought I’d see how she took that before asking anything further; if I saw that she was taken aback, confused, and especially if she gave me any prevaricating or elusive answer, I’d ask her straight out if before her marriage to the late Sir John Riversreade she was the Mrs. Whittingham who, some ten years ago, stayed for a time at the White Hart Hotel at Sellithwaite. And I practically made up my mind, too, that if she admitted that and I saw good cause for it, I’d detain her.”

“You meant to go as far as that?” exclaimed Hetherwick.

“I did! I should have been justified,” replied Matherfield. “However, that’s neither here nor there, for I never saw her! I was down at the point of departure well before two, and I assured myself that nobody had gone aboard the Tartaric up to that time. I kept as sharp a look out as any man with only one pair of eyes could, right away from ten minutes to two until five-and-twenty past five, when the boat sailed, but she never turned up. Of course you’ll say that she must have slipped on unobserved by me, but I’m positive she didn’t. No, sir! It’s my opinion that she thought better of it and didn’t go⁠—forfeiting her passage money, or a part of it, would be nothing to a woman of her means⁠—or that she was frightened at the last minute of showing herself on that stage!”

“Frightened! Why?” asked Hetherwick.

Matherfield laughed significantly.

“There were two or three of our men from Scotland Yard about,” he answered. “I’m not aware of what they were after; I didn’t ask ’em. But I did ask them to give me a hand in looking out for a lady whom I fully described⁠—which is why I’m dead certain she never went aboard. Now, it may have been that she came down there, knew⁠—you never know!⁠—some of those chaps and⁠—made herself scarce! Anyway⁠—I never set eyes on her. Never, in fact, saw her again after I lost her in the morning. So⁠—that’s where I am!”

“You came back⁠—defeated?” remarked Hetherwick.

“Well, if you like to call it so,” admitted Matherfield. “Yes, I came back by the seven thirty-eight. Dog tired! But I’m not through with this yet, Mr. Hetherwick, and I want you to do something for me. This Miss Hannaford, now, is down at Riversreade Court. They’ll be on the telephone there, of course. I want you to ring her up early tomorrow morning, and ask her if she can meet you on important private business in Dorking town at noon. Where shall we say?”

“White Horse would do,” suggested Hetherwick.

“Very well⁠—White Horse Hotel, at noon,” agreed Matherfield. “We’ll go down⁠—for I’ll go with you⁠—by the 10:10 from Victoria. Now please be very careful about this, Mr. Hetherwick, when you telephone. Don’t say anything of any reason for going down to Dorking. Don’t on any account mention Lady Riversreade, in any way. Merely tell Miss Hannaford that you have urgent reasons for seeing her. And⁠—fix it up!”

“Oh, I can fix it up all right,” answered Hetherwick. “Miss Hannaford can easily drive down from Riversreade Court. But I don’t know what you want her for.”

“Wait till morning,” replied Matherfield, with a knowing look. “You’ll see. I’ll meet you at Victoria at ten o’clock, sharp.”

XIV Is It Blackmail?

Hetherwick was still in ignorance of the reason of Matherfield’s desire to see Rhona when, just before noon next day, Matherfield and he walked up from Dorking Station into the High Street, and made for the White Horse. Matherfield halted a few yards away from its door.

“Let’s wait outside for her,” he said. “Till I’ve asked her a question or two. I don’t want to even run the risk of being overheard.”

Rhona came along in a car a few minutes later, and seeing the two men advanced to meet them. Matherfield lost no time in getting