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

and again we go up to see her, and stop a night or two close by. And of course we take a look round. Now I’ve seen that man two or three times about Victoria Station way⁠—I knew him at once when I saw him this morning, and⁠—”

“Just tell us what he’s like, will you?” interrupted Penteney. “As near as you can.”

“Well, sir, I ain’t good at that, but he’s a tall, good-looking, smart-dressed gentleman, with a beard and moustache⁠—taller nor what you and that other gentleman is, sir. I seen him in Victoria Street⁠—mebbe it was his height made me notice him.”

“And you’re sure that was the man you saw in the car this morning?”

“Make no doubt on it, sir! I’m as certain as that I see yourself. Oh, yes!”

Hetherwick put in a question.

“The second man in the car? Did you notice him? Can you remember him?”

Chillam reflected for awhile.

“I remember that he was a white-faced chap,” he said at last. “Wore a top-hat, silk.”

When Chillam had gone away, Hetherwick turned to his companions.

“That sounds like Ambrose, for one man, and Baseverie for the other,” he said. “What devilry are they up to now? Penteney⁠—we must get back to London!”

XX Converging Tracks

It was an hour later when they pulled up at Matherfield’s headquarters 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