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Charing Cross Mystery

<h3> CHAPTER XX </h3> <h4> CONVERGING TRACKS </h4> It was an hour later when they pulled up at Matherfield's head-quarters and went in to find him. Matherfield, brought to them after some search, rubbed his hands at sight of them. "Come at the right moment!" he exclaimed, "I've got news—of Ambrose!" Matherfield evidently expected his visitors to show deep interest, if not passive enthusiasm, in respect of this announcement, and he stared wonderingly on seeing that their faces showed nothing but gloom and concern. "But you—you look as if you'd had bad news!" he exclaimed. "Something gone wrong?" "I forgot that we might have telephoned you from Riversreade Court," replied Hetherwick, suddenly realising that Matherfield seemed to know nothing of the day's happening. "But I thought the Dorking police would do that. Gone wrong!—yes, and it may have to do with Ambrose—we've heard news that seems to fit in with him. But it's this," he went on to give Matherfield a brief account of the day's events. "There you are!" he concluded. "I've no doubt whatever that Baseverie and Ambrose are in at this—kidnapping in broad daylight. Matherfield, you've got to find them!" Matherfield had listened with close attention to Hetherwick's story, and now he looked from him to Penteney; from Penteney to a printed bill which lay on his desk at his side. "I think I see what all this is about," he remarked, after a pause. "Those chaps think they've got—or they thought they got—Lady Riversreade! To hold for ransom, of course. They took Miss Hannaford because she chanced to be there. What they really kidnapped—and there's more of that done than you gentlemen might think, I can tell you!—was Lady Riversreade's sister. But now, however sisters—twin sisters—may closely resemble each other, there comes a time when difference of identity's bound to come out. By this time—perhaps long before—those men must have discovered that they laid hands on the wrong woman! And the question is—what would they do then?" "It seems to me that the more immediate question is—where are the two women?" exclaimed Hetherwick. "Think of their danger!" "Oh, well, Mr. Hetherwick, I don't suppose they're in any personal danger," answered Matherfield. "They're in the hands of brigands, no doubt, but I don't think there'll be any maltreatment of them—set your mind at rest about that. They don't do that sort of thing nowadays; it's all done politely and with every consideration, I believe. As to where they are? Why, somewhere in London! And there are over seven millions of other people in London, and hundreds upon hundreds of thousands of inhabited houses—a lot of needles in that bundle of hay, gentlemen!" "They've got to be found!" repeated Hetherwick doggedly. "You'll have to set all your machinery to work! This can't——" "Wait a bit, Hetherwick," interrupted Penteney. He turned to Matherfield. "You said you had news of this man Ambrose? What news?" Matherfield tapped the printed bill which lay on his desk. "I had that circulated broadcast this morning," he answered. "And then, of course, the newspapers have helped. Well, not so very long before you came in, I was called to the telephone by a man named Killiner, who told me he was the landlord of the Green Archer Tavern, in Wood Street, Westminster——" "Westminster again!" exclaimed Hetherwick. "That seems to be the centre point!" "And a very good thing to have a centre-point, Mr. Hetherwick," said Matherfield. "When things begin to narrow down, one gets some chance. Well, I was saying—this man rang me up to say that if I'd go down there he thought he could give me some information relative to the bill about the missing man. What he'd got to say, he said, was too long for a telephone talk. I answered that I'd be with him shortly, and I was just setting off when you arrived. Of course, I don't know what he can tell—it may be nothing, it may be something. Perhaps you gentlemen would like to go with me and hear what it is?" "I would, but I mustn't," replied Penteney. "I must go to my office and hear if Lady Riversreade or the local police have had any fresh news. Keep in touch with me, though, Matherfield—let me know what you hear." "I'll go with you," said Hetherwick. "Westminster!" he muttered again, when Penteney had gone. "It looks as if this man Ambrose was known in that district." "Likely!" assented Matherfield. "But you know, Mr. Hetherwick, there are some queer spots in that quarter! People who know the purely ornamental parts of Westminster, such as the Abbey, and the Houses of Parliament, and Victoria Street, and so on, don't know that there are some fine old slums behind 'em! But I'll show you when we get down there. We shall go through one or two savoury slices." He was putting on his overcoat as he spoke, in readiness for setting out, but before he had buttoned it a constable entered with a card. "Wants to see you particularly, and at once," he said. "Waiting outside." "Bring him in—straight!" answered Matherfield. He pushed the card along his desk in Hetherwick's direction. "Lord Morradale!" he exclaimed. "Who's he?" "The man who's engaged to Madame Listorelle," replied Hetherwick, in an undertone. "Hampshire magnate." Matherfield turned expectantly to the open door. A shortish, stoutish person, who looked more like a typical City man, prosperous and satisfied, came hustling in and gave Hetherwick and his companion a sharp, inquiring glance which finally settled on Matherfield. "Mr. Matherfield?" he asked. "Just so! I'm Lord Morradale—oh, of course, I sent in my card—just so! Well, Mr. Matherfield, I've had an extraordinary communication from Lady Riversreade. She telephoned to my house in Hill Street this morning, but I was down in the City, and didn't hear of her message till late this afternoon. She says her sister, Madame Listorelle, has been kidnapped! Kidnapped—preposterous!" "I'm afraid it's neither preposterous nor improbable, my lord," answered Matherfield. "I'm quite sure Madame Listorelle has been kidnapped, and Lady Riversreade's secretary, Miss Featherstone, with her. I've been down at Riversreade Court most of the day, and there's no doubt about it—the two ladies were carried off from there by three men in a fast car, which was driven towards London. That's a fact!" "God bless my soul!" exclaimed Lord Morradale. "In broad daylight! Twentieth century, too! And is there no clue?" "None so far, my lord. Of course, we've noised the affair as much as possible, and all our people are on the look out. But it's a difficult case," continued Matherfield. "The probability is that the ladies have been rushed to some house in London and that they're there in captivity. Of course, one theory is that the kidnappers took Madame Listorelle for her sister. They meant to get Lady Riversreade and hold her to ransom." Lord Morradale pursed his lips. Then he rubbed his chin. Then he shook his head. Finally he gave Hetherwick a shrewd glance, eyeing him from head to foot. "Um!" he said. "Ah! This gentleman? Not one of your people, I think, Matherfield?" "No, my lord. This gentleman is Mr. Hetherwick, of the Middle Temple, who is interested very deeply in certain matters connected with the affair. Mr. Hetherwick has been down to Riversreade with me, and your lordship can speak freely before him." Lord Morradale gave Hetherwick a friendly, knowing nod. Then he glanced at the door, and Matherfield made haste to close it. "Thank 'ee," said Lord Morradale. "Just as well to be in private. 'Um!—I think I'd better tell you something, Matherfield. I dare say that's a reasonable supposition of yours—that these villains took Madame Listorelle for her sister. But I don't think they did. I think they knew very well whom they were seizing. Mind you—they'd have seized Lady Riversreade too if she'd happened to be there. But it was madame they were after!" "If your lordship would explain——" suggested Matherfield. "I'm going to—it's what I come here for! I think I can just put you on the right scent. You may have heard that Madame Listorelle and I are about to marry? Very well, I accordingly knew a good deal about her affairs. Now, I don't know whether you know or not that Madame Listorelle is actively concerned—or has been—in buying and selling jewels on commission? That's her speciality." "Heard something of it, my lord," replied Matherfield. "Very well. Now, quite recently Madame Listorelle bought up in Paris a magnificent set of stones which had been at one time the property of a member of the Russian Imperial family. She brought them here to London, meaning, shortly, either to send or take them personally to America to her customer. This deal, unfortunately, got into the papers. Now, it's my belief that these fellows have kidnapped madame in order to get hold of these jewels. Do you see?" "Ah!" exclaimed Matherfield. "I see, my lord! That puts a new aspect on the case. But—surely Madame Listorelle wouldn't have the stones on her?" Lord Morradale winked—deliberately—at both his hearers. "No!" he said. "No—she wouldn't. But the scoundrels would figure on this—that when she was fairly in their power they would be in a position to make her give them up—to force her, in short, to disclose their whereabouts. If they're desperate villains, not likely to stick at anything, I think they'll have forced madame to compliance—and in doing so give you a chance to lay hands on them!" "How, my lord?" asked Matherfield eagerly. Lord Morradale gave the two men a confidential glance. "This way," he replied. "The jewels were deposited, for safety, by Madame Listorelle at the Imperial Safe Deposit. She rents a safe there. Now, don't you see what I'm suggesting? These men may force her to give them the necessary key and a signed order to the safe people to let the bearer open madame's safe and take away a certain case in which the jewels are packed. That's what I think will be done. And what you ought to do is to see the Imperial Safe Deposit officials at once, warn them of what I suggest may happen, and take your own means of watching for such a messenger arriving, and for tracking him when he departs. Eh?" "Or arresting him there and then," said Matherfield. "No, I shouldn't!" declared Lord Morradale. "I'm not a policeman, you know, but I can give a hint to one. Instead of arresting the man—who, you must remember, will be sure to have madame's written authority on him—that is if things turn out as I suggest—I should carefully follow him. For—he'll probably go back to where madame and the young lady, Miss What's-her-name, are detained! Eh?" Matherfield shook his head. "I should doubt that, my lord!" he answered. "If things work out as you suggest,—and it's a highly probable theory—that's about the last thing he would do! Once the jewels were in his possession——" "You forget this," interrupted Lord Morradale. "They may use a catspaw! Eh?" "Well, there's that in it, certainly," assented Matherfield. "However, I'll see that the Imperial Safe Deposit people are warned and that this entrance is carefully watched to-morrow morning. But—the thing may have been done already! There's been plenty of time since the ladies were carried off." "No!" said Lord Morradale. "Nothing's happened so far. I called in at the Imperial Safe Deposit as I came here; they had neither seen Madame Listorelle nor had any communication from her to-day. And now the place is closed for the night." "Did you warn them, then?" inquired Matherfield. "I didn't. I thought it best to see you first," replied Lord Morradale. "The warning and the rest of it will come best from you." "Very good, my lord. Much obliged to your lordship for looking in," said Matherfield. "We'll keep you posted up in anything that happens—at Hill Street. Now," he continued, when Lord Morradale had left the office, "we'll get along to Westminster, Mr. Hetherwick, to the 'Green Archer' and its landlord, Killiner." The "Green Archer" proved to be a respectable tavern which boasted a saloon bar. Behind the glass screens of this they found a middle-aged, sharp-eyed man, who at the sight of his visitors immediately opened the door of a parlour in the rear and ushered them into privacy. He pointed silently to a copy of the bill asking for news of Ambrose. "Aye!" said Matherfield. "Just so. I had your message. You think you know this man?" "From this description of him in that bill, yes," replied the landlord. "I think he's a man—gentleman, by all appearances—who used to come into my saloon bar pretty regularly during this last six months. Since the end of last summer, I should say, up to about three weeks or so ago." "Not since then, eh?" asked Matherfield. "Three weeks?" "About that. No—he hasn't been in for quite that. But up to then he'd been in, well, four or five days a week. Handsome, fine man—in fact, you've described him exactly there. I never knew who he was—used to pass the time o' day with him, you know, but that was all. He always came in about the same time—one to one-thirty. He'd have sometimes a glass of bitter ale and a sandwich or two; sometimes a whisky and soda and two or three biscuits. Stood and had his snack and went away. Never talked much. I took him for some gentleman that had business hereabouts, and just wanted a bite and a sup in the middle of the day, and turned in here for it. But I don't know what business he could be concerned in round here. He hadn't the tradesman's look on him, you understand. I should have said he was a professional man of some sort. Always very well dressed, you know—smart. However, I did notice one peculiar thing about him." "What now?" asked Matherfield. "It all helps!" "Well," said the landlord, "I noticed that his hands and fingers were stained—all sorts of colours. Sometimes it was more noticeable than at others. But there it was." "Um!" remarked Matherfield. He exchanged a knowing glance with Hetherwick. And when, a few minutes later, they left the tavern, he turned to him with an air of assurance. "I'm beginning to feel the end!" he said. "Feel it, if I don't see it. Stained fingers, eh? We've heard of them before, Mr. Hetherwick. And I'll tell ye what it is. Somewhere about this very spot there's some place where men are dabbling—secretly, I should think—with chemicals, and Ambrose is one of 'em, and perhaps Baseverie another, and it was there that Hannaford and that man Grannet had been that night, and where they were poisoned—and there, too, no doubt, these two ladies are at this minute! Well—come to my place first thing in the morning." Hetherwick, at a loss what to do further that night, went away and dined, and, that done, strolled home to his chambers. There was a light in his parlour, and when he opened the door he found Mapperley, evidently awaiting him, and with Mapperley a curly-headed, big-nosed, beady-eyed young Jew. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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