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

received from Hetherwick as a signal to go further, he added: “We know what a lot of wheels there are⁠—no one better! For example, gentlemen, there is the curious fashion in which this affair is mixed up with Lady Riversreade!”

In spite of their evidently habitual practice of self-control, the two solicitors could not repress signs of astonishment. Blenkinsop’s face fell; Penteney started out of his lounging attitude and stood upright. And for the first time he spoke.

“What do you know about Lady Riversreade?” he demanded.

“A good deal, sir, but not so much as I intend to know,” answered Matherfield firmly. “But I do know this⁠—that Hannaford, just previous to his sudden death, was in possession of a portrait of Lady Riversreade, and believed her to be identical with a certain Mrs. Whittingham who was through his hands on a charge of fraud, ten years ago, at Sellithwaite, in Yorkshire. I, too, believe that this Mrs. Whittingham is now Lady Riversreade, and I may tell you that I’m in full possession of all the facts relating to the Sellithwaite affair⁠—an affair of obtaining a diamond necklace, worth about four thousand pounds, by means of a worthless cheque, and⁠—”

Blenkinsop suddenly rose from his chair, holding up a hand.

“A moment, if you please!” he said. “Penteney,” he continued, turning to his partner, “a word with you in your room.”

Matherfield glanced triumphantly after the retreating pair, and laughed when a door had closed on them.

“That’s got ’em, Mr. Hetherwick!” he exclaimed. “They see that we know more than they reckoned for. In some way or other, it strikes me, this advertisement is a piece of bluff!”

“Bluff!” said Hetherwick. “What do you mean?”

“What I say,” answered Matherfield. “Bluff! Done to prevent somebody from bringing up that old Sellithwaite affair. Lay you a thousand to one it is. You’ll see these two lawyers will be more communicative when they come back. Now they shall talk⁠—and we’ll listen!”

“If you have to do any more talking, Matherfield,” said Hetherwick, “keep Miss Hannaford’s name out of it. She’s in a rather awkward position. She went there, of course, to find out what she could, and the result’s been that she’s taken a fancy to Lady Riversreade, got a genuine interest in the work there, and wants to stop. Bit of a bother, all that, and it’ll need some straightening out. Anyway, keep her name out of it here.”

“As I say, sir, when these chaps come back to us, they’ll do the talking!” answered Matherfield, with a chuckle. “You’ll see! If you want to keep Miss Hannaford’s name out, so do they want to keep Lady Riversreade’s name out⁠—I know the signs!”

Blenkinsop and Penteney suddenly came back and seated themselves, Blenkinsop at his desk and Penteney close by. And Blenkinsop immediately turned to his callers. His manner had changed; he looked now like a man who is anxious to get a settlement of a difficult question.

“We have decided to talk freely to you,” he said at once. “That means, to tell you everything we know about this matter. You, Mr. Matherfield, as representing the police, will, of course, treat our communication confidentially. I needn’t ask you, Mr. Hetherwick, to regard all that’s said here, as⁠—you know! Now, to begin with⁠—just get one fact, an absolutely irrefutable fact, into your minds at once. Lady Riversreade is not the woman who was known as Mrs. Whittingham at Sellithwaite ten years ago, nor did Hannaford believe that she was either!”

“What?” exclaimed Matherfield. “But⁠—” he turned to Hetherwick. “You hear that?” he went on. “Why, we know⁠—”

“Let Mr. Blenkinsop go on,” said Hetherwick quietly. “He’s explaining, I think.”

“Just so,” agreed Blenkinsop. “And I’m beginning by endeavouring to clear away a few mistaken ideas from your minds. Lady Riversreade is not Mrs. Whittingham. Hannaford did not think she was Mrs. Whittingham. It was not Lady Riversreade’s portrait that Hannaford cut out of the paper.”

Hetherwick could not repress a start at that.

“Whose was it, then?” he demanded. “For I certainly believed it was!”

Blenkinsop stooped and drew out a drawer from his desk. From a bundle of documents he produced a newspaper, carefully folded and labelled. Opening this, he laid it before the two visitors, pointing to a picture marked with blue pencil. And Hetherwick at once saw that here was a duplicate of the portrait in his own pocketbook. But there was this important difference⁠—while Hannaford had cut away the lettering under his picture, it was there in the one which Blenkinsop exhibited. He started again as he read it⁠—“Madame Anita Listorelle.”

“That’s the picture which Hannaford cut out of the paper,” said Blenkinsop. “It is not that of Lady Riversreade.”

“Then it’s that of a woman who’s her double!” exclaimed Matherfield. “I’ll lay anything that if you asked a hundred men who’ve seen Lady Riversreade if that’s her picture, they’d swear it is!”

“I see,” said Hetherwick, disregarding his companion’s outburst, “that this purports to be a portrait of a Madame Listorelle, who is described in the accompanying letterpress as a famous connoisseur of precious stones. Now, in relation to what we’re discussing, may I ask a plain question? Who is Madame Listorelle?”

Blenkinsop smiled⁠—oracularly.

“Madame Listorelle,” he replied, “is the twin sister of Lady Riversreade!”

XVI Still More

Blenkinsop’s sudden announcement, not altogether unexpected by Hetherwick as a result of the last few minutes’ proceedings, seemed to strike Matherfield with all the force of a lightning-like illumination. His mouth opened; his eyes widened; he turned on Hetherwick as if, having been lost for a while in a baffling maze, he had suddenly seen a way pointed out to him.

“Oh, that’s it, is it?” he exclaimed. “A twin sister, eh? Then⁠—but go on, Mr. Blenkinsop; I’m beginning to see things.”

“The matter is doubtless puzzling⁠—to outsiders,” responded Blenkinsop. “To clear it up, I shall have to go into some family history. Lady Riversreade and Madame Listorelle are, I repeat, twin sisters. They are the daughters of a man who in his time was captain of various merchant ships⁠—the old sailing ships⁠—and who knocked about the world a