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

“He’d no meals here⁠—unless he made himself a cup of coffee or so in a morning,” said the caretaker. “All his meals out⁠—breakfast, too. Sundays as well as weekdays. We saw very little of him.”

“Who does up his rooms⁠—makes the bed and so on?” inquired Matherfield.

“My wife,” answered the caretaker. “She does all that.”

“And she hasn’t had anything to do for⁠—how long?”

“Well, it’ll be three weeks, I’m sure. He never used to say anything at any time when he went off⁠—just went. He’d call downstairs when he came back and let us know he was back, d’ye see? But we never thought he’d be as long away as this, this time. It was only this morning, just before you came, that my missus said to me that it seemed queer.”

“Why queer?”

“Because he’s taken nothing with him. However short a time he might be away before, he always took a suitcase, clean linen, shaving things, so on⁠—he was a very particular gentleman about his appearance⁠—always dressed like a swell and had a clean shirt every day; used to have a nice heavy washing-bill, anyhow!”

“Did he seem to be pretty well supplied with money?” asked Matherfield. “Or⁠—the opposite?”

“Couldn’t rightly say,” replied the caretaker. “Always paid his rent, and us, and the washing regular, but as for anything else, why, we’d no means of knowing. Of course, as I tell you, he always looked the gentleman.”

“I see!” said Matherfield. “All right⁠—you’ll see me again this afternoon.”

He strode away towards the Strand, and there ushered Hetherwick into the first empty taxicab they met.

“Where now?” asked Hetherwick as Matherfield followed him into the cab after a word to its driver.

“We’re going now, sir, to Hallam Street, to the offices of the General Medical Council,” answered Matherfield promptly. “I’ve had experience of inquiring into the antecedents of medical men before, and I know where to find out all about any of ’em. I’m going to find out all about this Dr. Charles Ambrose⁠—that is, of course, if he’s an English doctor.”

“Probably he isn’t,” remarked Hetherwick, “any more than Baseverie is.”

“Ah, Baseverie!” exclaimed Matherfield. “I’d forgotten that man for the time being! Well, while we’re about it, we’ll see if we can unearth a bit of information concerning him. We’ve done a bit of good work this morning, ye know, Mr. Hetherwick!” he went on, rubbing his hands with satisfaction. “We’ve practically made certain that Ambrose was the man who met Hannaford at Victoria, and we’re sure he’s the man to whom Macpherson supplied the bottle in which the poison was discovered at Granett’s room. And now we’ll hope for a bit more illumination in the darkness!”

Hetherwick presently found himself closeted with Matherfield and a grave official who, after seeing Matherfield’s credentials and listening to his reasons for his visit of inquiry, began to consult various books of reference. Presently he left the room and was away some time; when he returned he brought with him two slips of paper, which he handed to Matherfield.

“I have had the particulars you require written out for you,” he said, “so you can examine them at your leisure. I⁠—” here he smiled frostily⁠—“I gather that you are somewhat anxious to get in touch with these men?”

“I think it’s extremely probable, sir, that before the day’s over I shall be exceedingly anxious to get in touch with both!” answered Matherfield, with something very like a wink. “More than anxious!”

The grave official nodded and smiled again, and Matherfield and Hetherwick went away. Outside Matherfield looked right and left.

“Mr. Hetherwick,” he said, “it’s well past twelve, and I’d my breakfast before eight⁠—I’m hungry! Let’s turn into the first decent place we see and get a bite and a sup! And we’ll examine these papers.”

He presently led Hetherwick into the saloon bar of a tavern, and remarking that he had a taste for ale and bread and cheese at that time of day, provided himself with these matters and retreated to a snug corner, whither Hetherwick followed him with a whisky and soda.

“Here’s success to our endeavours, Mr. Hetherwick!” said Matherfield, lifting his tankard. “I’m now firmly under the impression that we’re adding link after link to the chain! But let’s see what we’ve got here in this crabbed writing.”

He laid the slips of paper on the table at which they sat; both bent over them. There were not many words on either, but to Hetherwick they were significant enough in their plain straightforwardness.

Charles Ambrose, M.B. (Oxon). Medical Officer of Health, Crayport, Lancs, 1903⁠–⁠4; in practice Whiteburn, Lancs, 1904⁠–⁠9; police surgeon, Sellithwaite, WR, Yorks, 1909⁠–⁠12; in practice Brondesbury, London, 1912⁠–⁠18. Struck off Register by General Medical Council for unprofessional conduct, 1918.

“So much for him!” muttered Matherfield, his cheek bulging with bread and cheese. “I thought it would turn out to be something of that sort! Now t’other!”

Cyprian Baseverie, L.R.C.P., L.R.C.S. In practice Birmingham, 1897⁠–⁠1902; at Wyborough, Northants, 1902⁠–⁠11; at Dalston, N, 1911⁠–⁠17, Convicted of fraud at Central Criminal Court, 1917, and struck off Register by General Medical Council, 1918.

“Ho-ho!” exclaimed Matherfield. “Been in the dock already, has he? Well, well, Mr. Hetherwick, we continue to learn, sir! We know still more. Baseverie’s a convicted criminal. Both have been struck off the register. Ambrose was certainly at Sellithwaite⁠—and he’d be there, according to these dates, at the time of the Whittingham affair. A promising pair⁠—for our purpose! What do you think?”

“I’m wondering if the two men know each other,” answered Hetherwick.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Matherfield. “Probably they do. Probably they’re mixed up together in this affair. Probably they’re actual partners in it⁠—accessories to each other. But now that I know this much about them, I can find out more, especially about Ambrose, as he was a police surgeon. I can find out, too, what Baseverie’s particular crime was. Defrauding a patient, I should imagine. But I’ll put one or two men on to working up particulars and records of both Baseverie and Ambrose this afternoon, and, of course, I shall go