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Charing Cross Mystery

<h3> CHAPTER XXII </h3> <h4> THE HIGHLY-RESPECTABLE SOLICITOR </h4> Lord Morradale, who kept up honest, country-squire habits even in London, had gone to bed when Hetherwick and Mapperley arrived at his house, but he lost little time in making an appearance, in pyjamas and dressing-gown, and listened eagerly to Hetherwick's account of the recent transactions. "Force!" he muttered, nodding his head at each point of the story. "Force! got it out of her by force. That is, if the order's genuine." Mapperley produced the sheet of paper, which he had filched under the caretaker's eyes, and silently handed it over. "Oh, that's Madame Listorelle's handwriting!" exclaimed Lord Morradale. "Hers, without doubt. Difficult to imitate, of course. Oh, yes—hers! Well, that proves what I've just said, Mr. Hetherwick—force! She's in their power—with the young lady, Miss—Miss—Featherstone, to be sure—and they've made her write that. Next, they'll make her write an order on the Imperial Safe Deposit. We must be beforehand with them there. Early—early as possible in the morning. Meet me at Matherfield's—I think he's pretty keen. Bless me! what a pack of villains! Now I wonder where, in all London, these unfortunate ladies are?" "That's precisely what all this ought to help us to find out," remarked Hetherwick. "I'm not so much concerned about the valuables these men are after as about the safety of——" Lord Morradale gave him a quick, understanding glance. "Of Miss Featherstone, eh?" he said. "I see—I see! And I'm concerned, too, about Madame Listorelle. Well, this, as you say, ought to help. But look here—we must be cautious—very cautious! We mustn't let Matherfield—you know what the police are—we mustn't let him be too precipitate. Probably—if a man comes to the safe place, he'll go away from it to where these scoundrels are. We must follow—follow!" "I agree," said Hetherwick. "Nine o'clock, then, at Matherfield's," concluded his lordship. "And may we have a strong scent, a rousing one, and a successful kill!" With this bit of sporting phraseology in their ears, Hetherwick and Mapperley returned to the Middle Temple and retired for the rest of the night, one to bed, the other to a shake-down on the sitting-room sofa. But when Hetherwick's alarum clock awoke him at seven-thirty and he put his head into the next room to rouse the clerk, he found that Mapperley had vanished. The cushions, rugs, and blankets with which he had made himself comfortable for the night were all neatly folded and arranged—on the topmost was pinned a sheet of brief-paper, with a message scrawled in blue pencil. You won't want me this morning; off on an important notion of my own. Look out for message from me about noon. M. Muttering to himself that he hadn't the least idea as to what his clerk was about, Hetherwick made a hurried toilet, and an equally hurried breakfast, and hastened away to meet Matherfield and Lord Morradale. He found these two together, and with them a quiet, solemn-faced individual, clad in unusually sombre garments, whom Matherfield introduced as Detective-Sergeant Quigman. Matherfield went straight to business. "His lordship's just told me of your adventure last night, Mr. Hetherwick," he said, "and I'm beginning to get a sort of forecast of what's likely to happen. It was, of course, Baseverie who went to madame's flat last night—that's settled. But what do you suppose he went for?" "Can't say that I've worked that out," answered Hetherwick, with a glance at the others. "But I imagine that he went there to get, say, certain keys—having forced Madame Listorelle to tell him where they were. The keys of her safe at the Deposit place, I should think." "No!" replied Matherfield, shaking his head knowingly, and with a sly smile at Quigman. "No, not that. I'll tell you what he went for—a very simple thing. He went to get some of Madame's private notepaper! He knew well enough that if he was to take an order on that Safe Deposit to allow the bearer access to Madame's safe it would have to be what the French, I believe, call en régle—eh? Written on her own notepaper in her own handwriting, and so on. See?" "I think you're right, and I think he got it," said Hetherwick. "A drawer in her desk containing boxes of stationery had been pulled out, and some of its contents lay about the desk. As a matter of fact, though I scarcely know why I did it, I put some paper and some envelopes in my pocket—here they are! I had a faint idea that they might be useful—somehow." "Well, that's the notion, depend on it," asserted Matherfield, glancing at the paper which Hetherwick produced. "I've no doubt that somebody, representing Madame Listorelle, and bearing an authorization from her, written on her notepaper in her own writing, will present himself at the Imperial Safe Deposit this morning. But—it won't be Baseverie! And it won't be Ambrose!" "A stranger, eh?" suggested Hetherwick. "We shall see. Now," continued Matherfield, glancing at the clock, "we'll be off to the scene of operations. This Imperial Safe Deposit is in Kingsway—Holborn end—and very fortunately situated for our job, being close to the Tube station; there'll be lots of people about there, and we shan't attract attention. And this is the way of it—his lordship and myself will go into the Safe Deposit, see the people in charge, explain matters, and get them to tell us at once if and when the expected ambassador arrives. We shall let him——" "Or her," interrupted Quigman solemnly. "Just so, my lad—it might be a she," assented Matherfield. "Quite likely! We shall let him or her get what is wanted from the safe and go away, closely followed by all four of us. While Lord Morradale and I are inside, you and Quigman, Mr. Hetherwick, will be outside, talking, casually. When we come out—and you'll both keep a sharp watch on the entrance hall—I'll give you the office as to the particular person we're following, and wherever that person goes, you two will go. But don't come near us—we'll keep one side of the street, you the other. If the person takes to a cab or a bus—well, we'll have to do the same. But I've reasons for thinking he or she will stick to his feet!" "How do we go?—all together?" asked Hetherwick. "Because—it's a mere idea—how do you know, Matherfield, that these people—there would appear to be more than one concerned—aren't keeping an eye on you?" "I've thought of that," answered Matherfield. "No—we're all going separately. It's now nine-fifteen. That Imperial Safe Deposit doesn't open its doors till ten—nobody can get in there until that time, anyway. We all four go out of this office on our own hook. Each takes his own method of getting to the top of Kingsway. As soon as I get there, I go straight in and ask for the manager. As soon as Lord Morradale gets there, he follows suit—he and I forgather in the manager's room. As for you two, go how you like—fly, if it suits you—or wander round the side streets. But—you meet right opposite the Safe Deposit entrance at precisely ten o'clock, and under pretence of casual meeting and conversation keep your eyes on it, noticing everybody who goes in and comes out. That clear? Then we all clear out—one by one." Outside, and left to his own devices, Hetherwick walked a little way and then hailed a taxi-cab. He gave his driver a confidential smile. "You can just help me to employ forty minutes," he said, as he got in. "Drive round—anywhere you like—up and down—as long as you put me down at the corner of the Holborn Restaurant at precisely two minutes to ten. Got that?" The driver comprehended, and began a leisurely journey round certain principal streets and thoroughfares. Two minutes before ten he pulled up at the Holborn-Kingsway corner and gave his fare a grin. "Done it to the second, sir," he announced, nodding at an adjacent clock. "Good man!" said Hetherwick, handing out something over the registered fare. Then an idea struck him. "Look here!" he continued confidentially. "I—and another man—may have to follow somebody from here, presently. Just drive down the street here, keep your flag down, and wait—if I want you, I shall be close at hand." The driver showed his understanding by a nod and a wink and moved a little distance off to the kerbstone. Hetherwick walked slowly down the west side of Kingsway. And precisely as the clock struck ten he saw Lord Morradale come from one direction and enter the formidable-looking and just opened door of the Safe Deposit, and Matherfield appear from the other: looking round again he was aware of the solemn-faced Quigman who sauntered round the corner of Parker Street and came towards him. Hetherwick went on to meet him. "There you are!" he said, doing a little acting in case any inimical eyes were on him. "To the minute! We'd better appear to be doing a bit of talk, eh? The others have just gone in." "I saw 'em, sir," replied Quigman, coming to a halt on the kerb, and affecting an interest in anything rather than on what he was really working. "Ah! But the question is—when will they come out? Might be in a few minutes—so to speak. Mightn't be for hours—as it were!" "You seem to be a melancholy chap," observed Hetherwick. "Melancholy job!" muttered Quigman. "Watching isn't my line. But Matherfield—he particularly wanted me to be in at this." "Why?" asked Hetherwick. "Peculiar knowledge of solicitors and their clerks in this part o' London," replied Quigman. "My line. Matherfield, he's an idea that the order to open this safe'll be presented by a solicitor." "Good Lord!—has he?" exclaimed Hetherwick. "I wonder! But—" "Big help to these chaps, don't you see, if they can make a solicitor do the cat's-paw work," suggested Quigman. "Who'd suspect a solicitor of the High Court? And as I know pretty nearly all of 'em—there's one I know now coming up t'other side of the street," he continued suddenly. "That tallish, thin, pale-faced chap—see him? Look at him without seeming to look. Now I wonder if he's the party we want?" Hetherwick looked in the direction indicated. He saw a youngish, spectacled man in a silk hat, morning coat, and the corresponding additions of professional attire, who was walking rapidly along from South to north. He was a very mild, gentle-looking person, not at all the sort to be concerned in dark plots and mysterious aims, and Hetherwick said so. "Aye, well, you never know!" remarked Quigman lugubriously. "But, as I say, I know him. Mr. Garrowell—Mr. Octavius Garrowell—solicitor, of St. Martin's Lane, that is. Been in practice for himself about four years or so. Nice young feller!—quiet. And he is going in there—see?" Hetherwick saw. There were several people, men and women, entering the Safe Deposit just then, but Mr. Garrowell's silk hat and sloping shoulders made him easily identifiable. "I dessay it's him!" observed Quigman, with a sigh. "Just the sort to be took in, he is! Innocent, unsuspecting sort o' gentleman. However—it mayn't be. Deal o' people use these Safe Deposits nowadays." Mr. Garrowell disappeared. The two watchers waited. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes went by; then Mr. Garrowell came out. He came out just as any man would come out after transacting his business, quietly. Nobody followed him: nobody seemed to be watching him—from the Safe Deposit. But Hetherwick noticed at once that whereas he had entered carrying nothing but an umbrella, he now carried a small, square, leather-covered box. With this in his left hand he crossed the roadway, and advanced straight towards Hetherwick and Quigman. "No need to move, sir," whispered the detective. "Take no notice—spot him, though." Mr. Garrowell, seen at close quarters, looked to be a somewhat absent-minded gentleman. But, chancing to look up as he stepped on the pavement, his eyes encountered Quigman, who touched his hat. "Morning, Mr. Garrowell," said the detective. "Nice morning, sir." "Morning, Quigman," responded Mr. Garrowell. "A very nice morning!" He nodded smilingly and went on his way, and round the corner into Parker Street. Quigman glanced at Hetherwick and shook his head. "Not him!" he said. "Matherfield's not following. And, as I said, we may have to wait—hours!" But at the end of another ten minutes Matherfield and Lord Morradale came together out of the entrance hall opposite. An official, smiling and talking, accompanied them to the threshold; when they left him they came straight across the road. And it was obvious to Hetherwick that each was in a state of surprise—possibly, of perplexity. Matherfield hailed them as soon as he was within speaking distance. "Here's a queer business!" he said. "Did you see a professional-looking chap come away just now who carried a small leather box?" "We saw Mr. Garrowell, solicitor, St. Martin's Lane," answered Quigman. "I know him. Gone down Parker Street." "It was Garrowell," assented Matherfield. "I know him, too. Well," he turned to Hetherwick, "it's a queer business. They knew Garrowell across there—he's been to Madame Listorelle's safe for her before. He came there just now, with the usual authorisation, on her notepaper, went to the safe, got that small box, and went. Garrowell—a highly—respectable legal practitioner!" "Why didn't you stop him and ask him questions?" inquired Hetherwick. Matherfield exchanged a glance with Lord Morradale. "Not there!" he said. "It—well, it looks as if Madame really had sent him! Her business." "Of course she'd sent him!" exclaimed Hetherwick. "Sent him under compulsion! The whole thing's a clever plant! These fellows probably know that she's employed Garrowell now and then, and they forced her to write a letter to him, authorising him to come here again, and enclosing an order on the Safe Deposit people! Don't you see?" "By Gad, there's something in that, Matherfield!" said Lord Morradale. "Didn't strike me, though! 'Pon my honour, I really thought he had come direct from her. Couldn't think why, exactly, but then, as Matherfield says, a highly-respectable solicitor—eh?" "We'll soon settle it!" exclaimed Matherfield suddenly. "We'll go to Garrowell's office. Better discuss it there than have tackled him here. Anyway, he'll have the square box. Quigman, call a taxi!" "There's a man here waiting for me," said Hetherwick. He signalled to his former driver who quickly came alongside. "For anything we know," he continued, as all four took their seats, and were driven off, "Garrowell may have gone straight away somewhere to hand that box over! We ought to have followed." "I don't think so," replied Matherfield. "The whole thing's queer, and not at all what I expected. Lord Morradale says that he never heard of madame employing Garrowell, and yet the Safe people say he's been here two or three times on her business. But we'll soon have it out of him." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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