The Charing Cross Mystery, J. S. Fletcher [portable ebook reader .txt] 📗

worked; his eyes blazed; it was dreadful to see his lips. He got out some words at last⁠—”

“Give me the exact ones, if you can,” interrupted Matherfield.

“I can⁠—I’m not likely to forget them,” said Rhona. “He said⁠—‘What⁠—you defy me, knowing what I know⁠—knowing what I know!’ ”

“ ‘Knowing what I know!’ ” muttered Matherfield. “Knowing what he knew! Um!⁠—and then?”

“Then Major Penteney just pointed to the door. ‘Get out, I tell you!’ he said. ‘And look in the papers tonight. Be off!’ ”

“ ‘Look in the papers tonight,’ eh?” said Matherfield. “Um⁠—um! And then, I suppose, he went?”

“He went without another word then,” assented Rhona. “Mitchell escorted him out and saw him off. Major Penteney looked at me when he’d gone. ‘There, Miss Featherstone,’ he said, ‘you’ve seen one of the biggest scoundrels in London⁠—or in Europe. Let’s hope you’ll never see him again, that that’s the end of him here. I think he’s had his lesson!’ I made no answer, but I was jolly glad to see Baseverie’s car scooting away down the drive!”

Matherfield picked up the tankard of ale at his side and took a hearty pull at its contents. He set the tankard down again with an emphatic bang.

“I know what this job is!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Blackmail!”

“Just so!” agreed Hetherwick. “I’ve been thinking that for the last ten minutes. Baseverie has been endeavouring to blackmail Lady Riversreade. But that’s not our affair, you know. What we’re after is the solving of the mystery surrounding Hannaford’s death. And⁠—does this look likely to fit in anywhere?”

“I should say it decidedly does look likely!” answered Matherfield. “In my opinion it’s all of a piece; at least, it’s a piece out of a piece, one of many pieces, like a puzzle. The thing is to put these pieces together. And there are two things we can try to do at once. First, find out more about this man Baseverie; the other, get hold of more information about the lady in St. Mary’s Mansions.”

“What about approaching Lady Riversreade for information⁠—or Major Penteney?” suggested Hetherwick.

“Yes⁠—why don’t you?” said Rhona, almost eagerly. “Do! I’m a bit tired of being there as Miss Featherstone. I want to tell Lady Riversreade the truth, and all the whys and wherefores of it.”

But Matherfield shook his head. The time for that was not yet, he declared; let them wait awhile. And after more conversation he and Hetherwick returned to London.

XV Revelations

The late afternoon edition of the evening papers were just out when Hetherwick and Matherfield reached Victoria. Matherfield snatched one up; a moment later he thrust it before Hetherwick, pointing to some big black capitals.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Look at that!”

Hetherwick looked, and gasped his astonishment at what he read.

Murder of Robert Hannaford.
Five Thousand Pounds Reward.

Hetherwick turned on his companion with a look that was both questioning and surprised.

“This is probably⁠—no, certainly!⁠—what Penteney referred to when he told Baseverie to look in the newspapers!” he said. “That was yesterday; it must have been in last night’s papers, and this morning’s. I saw neither.”

“Wait!” said Matherfield. He hurried back to the bookstall and returned with an armful of papers, turning the topmost over as he came. “It’s here⁠—and here!” he continued. “Let’s get a quiet corner somewhere and look this thing carefully over!”

“Come into a waiting-room, then,” said Hetherwick. “Odd!” he muttered, as they turned away. “Who should offer a reward⁠—like that, too!⁠—who isn’t concerned in the case?”

“How do we know who isn’t concerned in the case?” exclaimed Matherfield. “Somebody evidently is!⁠—somebody who can not only afford to offer five thousand pounds, but isn’t afraid to spend no end in advertising. Look at that⁠—and that⁠—and that,” he went on, turning over his purchases rapidly. “It’s in every paper in London!”

“Let’s read it carefully,” said Hetherwick. He spread out one of the newspapers on the waiting-room table and muttered the wording of the advertisement while Matherfield looked over his shoulder. “Mysterious, very!” he concluded. “What’s it mean?”

But Matherfield was rereading the advertisement.

Whereas Robert Hannaford, formerly Superintendent of Police at Sellithwaite, Yorkshire, died suddenly in an Underground Railway train, near Charing Cross (Embankment) Station about 1:15 a.m. on March 19th last, and expert medical investigation has proved that he was poisoned, and there is evidence to warrant the belief that the poison was administered by some person or persons with intent to cause his death, this is to give notice that the above-mentioned sum of Five Thousand Pounds will be paid to anyone first giving information which will lead to the arrest and conviction of the person or persons concerned in administering the said poison and that such information should be given to the undersigned, who will pay the said reward in accordance with the above-stated conditions.

Penteney, Blenkinsop & Penteney,
Solicitors.

April 22nd, 1920.
853, Lincoln’s Inn Fields,
London, WC

Matherfield pointed to the names of the signatories.

“Penteney,” he remarked. “That’s the name of the man Miss Hannaford mentioned as having given Baseverie his dismissal.”

“Of course⁠—Major Penteney,” said Hetherwick. “Probably a junior partner in the firm. I know their names, but not much about them.”

“I thought he was a soldier,” said Matherfield. “Major, she called him.”

“Very likely a Territorial officer,” replied Hetherwick. “Anyway, it’s very plain what this is, Matherfield, considering all we know. This advertisement has been issued on behalf of Lady Riversreade. Penteney, Blenkinsop & Penteney are no doubt her solicitors. But⁠—why?”

“Aye, why?” exclaimed Matherfield. “That’s just what beats me! What interest has she in Hannaford’s murder? Why should she want to bring his murderer to justice? If his granddaughter had offered, say, a hundred pounds for information, I could understand it⁠—she’s his flesh and blood. But Lady Riversreade! Why, if she’s really the woman who was once Mrs. Whittingham, you’d have thought she’d have been rather glad that Hannaford was out of the way! And, after all, this mayn’t come from her.”

“I’m absolutely certain it does,” asserted Hetherwick. “Putting everything together, what other conclusion can we come to? It comes from Lady Riversreade⁠—and her adviser⁠—Major Penteney, and it’s something to do