A Bid for Fortune, Guy Boothby [easy books to read TXT] 📗

again, and jumped into the cab, which was directed to the street in question.

Though it was a good distance from our starting-point, in less than half an hour we had pulled up at the corner. As the cab stopped, a tall man, dressed in blue serge, who had been standing near the lamppost, came forward and touched his hat.

“Good morning, Williams,” said the Inspector. “Any sign of our man?”

“Not one, sir. He hasn’t come down the street since I’ve been here.”

“Very good. Now come along and we’ll pay the house a visit.”

So saying he told the cabman to follow us slowly, and we proceeded down the street. About halfway along he stopped and pointed to a house on the opposite side.

“That is the house his lordship mentioned, with the broken windows, and this is where Mr. Draper dwells, if I am not much mistaken⁠—see the eagles are on either side of the steps, just as described.”

It was exactly as Beckenham had told us, even to the extent of the headless eagle on the left of the walk. It was a pretty little place, and evidently still occupied, as a maid was busily engaged cleaning the steps.

Pushing open the gate, the Inspector entered the little garden and accosted the girl.

“Good morning,” he said politely. “Pray, is your master at home?”

“Yes, sir; he’s at breakfast just now.”

“Well, would you mind telling him that two gentlemen would like to see him?”

“Yes, sir.”

The girl rose to her feet, and, wiping her hands on her apron, led the way into the house. We followed close behind her. Then, asking us to wait a moment where we were, she knocked at a door on the right and opening it, disappeared within.

“Now,” said the Inspector, “our man will probably appear, and we shall have him nicely.”

The Inspector had scarcely spoken before the door opened again, and a man came out. To our surprise, however, he was very tall and stout, with a round, jovial face, and a decided air of being satisfied with himself and the world in general.

“To what do I owe the honour of this visit?” he said, looking at the Inspector.

“I am an Inspector of Police, as you see,” answered my companion, “and we are looking for a man named Draper, who yesterday was in possession of this house.”

“I am afraid you have made some little mistake,” returned the other.

“I am the occupier of this house, and have been for some months past. No Mr. Draper has anything at all to do with it.”

The Inspector’s face was a study for perfect bewilderment. Nor could mine have been much behind it. The Marquis had given such a minute description of the dwelling opposite and the two stone birds on the steps, that there could be no room for doubt that this was the house. And yet it was physically impossible that this man could be Draper; and, if it were the place where Beckenham had been drugged, why were the weapons, etc., he had described not in the hall?

“I cannot understand it at all,” said the Inspector, turning to me. “This is the house, and yet where are the things with which it ought to be furnished?”

“You have a description of the furniture, then?” said the owner. “That is good, for it will enable me to prove to you even more clearly that you are mistaken. Pray come and see my sitting-rooms for yourselves.”

He led the way into the apartment from which he had been summoned, and we followed him. It was small and nicely furnished, but not a South-Sea curio or native weapon was to be seen in it. Then we followed him to the corresponding room at the back of the house. This was upholstered in the latest fashion; but again there was no sign of what Beckenham had led us to expect we should find. We were completely nonplussed.

“I am afraid we have troubled you without cause,” said the Inspector, as we passed out into the hall again.

“Don’t mention it,” the owner answered; “I find my compensation in the knowledge that I am not involved in any police unpleasantness.”

“By the way,” said the Inspector suddenly, “have you any idea who your neighbours may be?”

“Oh, dear, yes!” the man replied. “On my right I have a frigidly respectable widow of Low Church tendencies. On my left, the Chief Teller of the Bank of New Holland. Both very worthy members of society, and not at all the sort of people to be criminally inclined.”

“In that case we can only apologize for our intrusion and wish you good morning.”

“Pray don’t apologise. I should have been glad to have assisted you. Good morning.”

We went down the steps again and out into the street. As we passed through the gate, the Inspector stopped and examined a mark on the right hand post. Then he stooped and picked up what looked like a pebble. Having done so we resumed our walk.

“What on earth can be the meaning of it all?” I asked. “Can his lordship have made a mistake?”

“No, I think not. We have been cleverly duped, that’s all.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I didn’t think so until we passed through the gate on our way out. Now I’m certain of it. Come across the street.”

I followed him across the road to a small plain-looking house, with a neatly-curtained bow window and a brass plate on the front door. From the latter I discovered that the proprietress of the place was a dressmaker, but I was completely at a loss to understand why we were visiting her.

As soon as the door was opened the Inspector asked if Miss Tiffins were at home, and, on being told that she was, enquired if we might see her. The maid went away to find out, and presently returned and begged us to follow her. We did so down a small passage towards the door of the room which contained the bow window.

Miss Tiffins was a lady of uncertain age, with a prim, precise manner,