There were several old bills in Madame’s inlaid davenport, but save for the names of firms with whom the lady had recently been dealing, French had learned nothing from them. In the sitting-room also was an excellent cabinet photograph of a lady who seemed to him the original of Mrs. Root’s steamer snapshot, and this he had slipped into his jacket pocket.
Having completed his notes, he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and set out upon the business of the day. Returning to St. John’s Wood Road, he interviewed Esler, the constable who had been sent to relieve Caldwell, and learned that no one had as yet approached the house. Then he began to call at the adjoining houses and nearer shops. At each he stated that he was looking for Mrs. Vane, but that her house was shut up, and asked if any one could tell him how he might find her.
Aware that in a great city neighbours might live beside each other for years without ever meeting, he did not hope for much result, and at the first two houses at which he called he did not get any. But at the third he had an unexpected stroke of luck. The maid who opened the door seemed to know something about the Vane household. But she was suspicious, and on French’s putting his usual questions, showed evident unwillingness to give away information. Keeping any suggestion of eagerness out of his manner, French went on conversationally:
“I wanted to see Mrs. Vane about a question of the ownership of a field in the country near Canterbury, where she used to live. I represent Messrs. Hill & Lewesham, the solicitors of Lincoln’s Inn, and we want some information about the boundaries of her father’s place. It’s not exactly important, but it would be worth five shillings to me to get in touch with her, and if you could see your way to help me, you’d have very fairly earned it.”
The girl seemed impressed. She glanced back into the hall, came out into the porch, and drawing the door to after her, spoke rather hurriedly.
“I don’t know much about it,” she explained, “but I’ll tell you what I can,” and she went on to say that on the previous Friday, that was five days earlier, Mrs. Vane had got a cable that her husband in New York had met with a serious accident and was dying, and for her to go at once. She had packed hurriedly and driven off to catch the boat train for Liverpool, closing the house. As to Mr. Vane himself, the girl knew nothing. She seemed to consider him a negligible part of the establishment. He was but seldom at home, and even then was rarely to be seen.
French asked her how it came that she knew so much about the family, and she explained that she and Mrs. Vane’s housemaid had become acquainted over her young gentleman’s model aeroplane, which had flown over the dividing wall into the grounds of Crewe Lodge, and which had been ignominiously handed back by the girl in question. As a result of the incident an acquaintance had grown up between the two, in the course of which much information as to their respective employers had been exchanged. On that Friday evening Mrs. Vane’s maid had called the narrator to the wall by means of a certain signal which they had devised, and had hurriedly told her of her mistress’s sudden call to America, and also that the house was being closed and the services of herself and the cook dispensed with. “She’s in a most terrible fluster to catch the boat train,” the girl had said, “and we have to be out before her so that she may lock up the house.” The girl had breathlessly bid her friend good-bye and had vanished.
Though French was delighted to have learned these facts, they were not in themselves all that he could have wished. The story of the husband in New York might be true, in which case a good deal of the theory he had been building up would fall to the ground. It would, however, be an easy matter to find out whether the lady really did sail on the date in question. He turned back to the servant.
“I should like very much to find that friend of yours,” he said. “Could you give me her name and address?”
Her name, it appeared, was Susan Scott, but her address was not known. For a moment French was at a loss, then by judicious questions he elicited the facts that Miss Scott spoke like a Londoner, and that she probably patronised one of the several registry offices to be found in the region surrounding the Edgware Road.
“Now there is just one other thing,” he added. “Can you tell me the name of the landlord or agents of Crewe Lodge?”
The girl was sorry she couldn’t.
“Then of this house?” French persisted. “As they are close together, the two places may belong to the same man.”
The girl did not know that either, but she said that her master would know, and that he had not yet gone out. French asked for an interview, and on stating his identity, received the information that the agents for both houses were Messrs. Findlater & Hynd, of Cupples Street, behind the Haymarket.
Thinking he had got all the information he could, French paid over his five shillings to the maid and took his departure.
The next item on his programme was a visit to Mr. Williams, and twenty minutes later he pushed open the door of the office in Cockspur Street. Mr. Williams greeted him with what with him took the place of enthusiasm.
“Good-day, Inspector,” he exclaimed, “I’m glad to see you. You bring me some good news, I hope?”
French sat down and drew from his pocket the cabinet photograph of Mrs. Vane which he had found in that lady’s sitting-room.
“I don’t know, Mr. Williams,” he answered quietly, “whether that will be news to you or not.”
Mr. Williams’s eyes flashed with excitement as he saw the portrait.
“Bless my soul!” he cried. “Have you found her at last? Mrs. Root!”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you. Are you sure it is Mrs. Root?”
“Sure? Absolutely positive. At least, that’s the woman who got my three thousand pounds, whatever her name may be. Have you found her?”
“Well no,” French admitted. “I’ve not found her yet. But I’m in hopes.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Unfortunately, there’s not much to tell. I’ve got information to the effect that this woman, the original of the photograph, left for New York last Friday. I don’t know if it’s true. If it is, the American police will get her on the ship.”
Mr. Williams pressed for details, but French was reticent. However, before leaving he promised to let the other know the result of his further inquiries.
From Cockspur Street it was but a short distance to the office of the house agents, Messrs. Findlater & Hynd. Here French saw Mr. Hynd, and learned that the firm were agents for Crewe Lodge. But beyond this fact he learned little of interest and nothing helpful. The house had been taken five years previously by Mrs. Vane, though Mr. Vane had signed the lease. They were very desirable tenants, paying their rent promptly and not demanding continual repairs.
“One more call before lunch,” French thought, and a few minutes later he turned into the office of the White Star line. Here, though it did not exactly surprise him, he received some information which gave him considerably to think, and incidentally reassured him that at last he was on the right track. No steamer, either of the White Star or of any other line, had left Liverpool for America before the previous Saturday afternoon, and there was no boat train from Euston on the Friday night.
Mrs. Vane was therefore without any doubt the woman of whom he was in search, and her departure was definitely a flight.
CHAPTER XVI
A HOT SCENT
Inspector French had now so many points of attack in his inquiry that he felt somewhat at a loss as to which he should proceed with first. The tracing of Mrs. Vane was the immediate goal, but it was by no means clear which particular line of inquiry would most surely and rapidly lead to that end. Nothing would be easier than to spend time on side issues, and in this case a few hours might make all the difference between success and failure. The lady had already had five days’ start, and he could not afford to allow her to increase her lead by a single unnecessary minute.
He considered the matter while he lunched, eventually concluding that the first step was the discovery of the mai
d, Susan Scott. The preliminary spadework of this required no skill and could be done by an assistant, leaving himself free for other inquiries.
Accordingly he returned to the Yard and set two men to work, one to make a list of all the registry offices in the Edgware Road district, the other to ring up those agencies one by one and inquire if the girl’s name was on their books. Then he went in to see his chief, told him of his discoveries, and obtained the necessary authority to interrogate the manager of Mrs. Vane’s bank on the affairs of that lady.
He reached the bank just before closing time and was soon closeted with the manager. Mr. Harrod, once satisfied that his usual professional reticence might in this case be set aside, gave him some quite interesting information. Mrs. Vane had opened an account with him some five years earlier, about the same time, French noted, as the house in St. John’s Wood Road had been leased. Her deposit had not been large, seldom amounting to and never exceeding a thousand pounds. It had stood at from four to eight hundred until comparatively recently, but within the past few months it had dwindled until some ten weeks earlier it had vanished altogether. Indeed, the payment of a cheque presented at this period had involved an overdraft of some fifteen pounds, and the teller had consulted Mr. Harrod before cashing it. Mr. Harrod, knowing Crewe Lodge and the scale on which the Vanes lived, had not hesitated in giving the necessary authority, and his judgment had proved correct, for some three days later Mrs. Vane had personally lodged over £100. This had since been drawn upon, and there remained at the present time a balance of eleven pounds odd in the lady’s favour.
All this information seemed to French to work in with the case he was endeavouring to make. The Vanes had apparently been living beyond their income, or at least Mrs. Vane had been living beyond hers, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to make ends meet. He did not see that any other interpretation of the dwindling balance and the overdraft could be found. That overdraft represented, he imagined, part of the lady’s ticket to America. Then a hundred pounds was paid in on the very next day, as he soon saw, to that on which Mr. Williams had paid Mrs. X her £3000. Here was at least a suggestion of motive for the robbery, and also the first fruits of its accomplishment. Moreover, the subsequent withdrawal of all but a small balance, left doubtless to disarm suspicion, would unquestionably work in with the theory of flight. On the whole, French was well pleased with the results of his call.
But he was even more pleased to find on his return to the Yard that his assistants had located a registry office whose books included the name of Susan Scott. By some extraordinary chance, the very first call they made struck oil. The men, of course, had realised that there must be many Susan Scotts in London, but when they found that this one had placed her name on the firm’s books on the day after Mrs. Vane’s departure, they felt sure that they were on the right track. They had not, therefore, proceeded further with their inquiry, but had spent their time trying to locate the Inspector with the object of passing on the information with the minimum of delay.
The address was Mrs. Gill, 75 Horsewell Street, Edgware Road, and thither before many minutes had passed Inspector French was wending his way. The registry office was a small concern, consisting of only two rooms in a private house in a quiet street running out of Edgware Road. In the outer were two young women of the servant class, and these eyed French curiously, evidently seeing in him a prospective employer. Mrs. Gill was engaged with a third girl, but a few seconds after French’s arrival she took her departure and he was called into the private room.
The lady was not at first inclined to be communicative. But when French revealed his profession and threatened her with the powers and majesty of the law, she became profusely apologetic and anxious to help. She looked up her books and informed him that the girl was lodging at No. 31 Norfolk Terrace, Mistletoe Road.
As it was close by, French walked to the place. Here again his luck held in a way that he began to consider almost uncanny. A tall, coarsely good-looking blonde opened the door and announced in answer to his inquiry that she herself was Miss Scott. Soon he was sitting opposite to her in a tiny parlour, while she stared at him with something approaching insolence out of her rather bold eyes.
French, sizing her up rapidly, was courteous but firm. He began by ostentatiously laying his notebook on the table, opening it at a fresh page, and after saying, “Miss Susan Scott, isn’t it?” wrote the name at the head of the sheet.
“Now, Miss Scott,” he announced briskly, “I am Inspector French from Scotland Yard, and I am investigating a case of murder and robbery.” He paused, and seeing the girl was duly impressed, continued, “It happens that your recent mistress, Mrs. Vane, is wanted to give evidence in the case, and I have come to you for some information about where to find her.”
The girl made an exclamation of surprise, and a look, partly of fear and partly of thrilled delight, appeared in her blue eyes.
“I don’t know anything about her,” she declared.
“I’m sure you know quite a lot,” French returned. “All I want is to ask you some questions. If you answer them truly, you have nothing to fear, but, as you probably know, there are very serious penalties indeed for keeping back evidence. You could be sent to prison for that.”
Having by these remarks banished the girl’s look of insolence and reduced her to a suitable frame of mind, French got on to business.
“Am I right in believing that you have been until last Friday house and parlourmaid to Mrs. Vane, of Crewe Lodge, St. John’s Wood Road?”
“Yes, I was there for about three months.”
French, to assist not only his own memory but the impressiveness of the interview, noted the reply in his book.
“Three months,” he repeated deliberately. “Very good. Now, why did you leave?”
“Because I had to,” the girl said sulkily. “Mrs. Vane was closing the house.”
French nodded.
“So I understood. Tell me what happened, please; just in your own words.”
“She came in that afternoon shortly before four, all fussed like and hurrying, and said she was leaving immediately for New York. She said she had just had a cable that Mr. Vane had had an accident there, and they were afraid he wouldn’t get over it. She said for cook to get her some tea while I helped her pack. She just threw her clothes in her suitcases. My word, if I had done packing like that I shouldn’t half have copped it! By the time she’d finished, cook had tea ready, and while mistress was having it, cook and I packed. I started to clear away the tea things, but mistress said there wasn’t time for that, for me just to leave them and run out and get two taxis. She said there was a special for the American boat that she must catch. So I got the taxis, and she got into one and cook and I into the other, and we drove away together, and that’s all I know about it.”
“What time was that?”
“About half-past four, I should think. I didn’t look.”
“Where did you get the taxis?”
“On the stand at the end of Gardiner Street.”
“Who gave Mrs. Vane’s taximan his address?”
“I did. It was Euston.”
“It was rather hard lines on you and the cook, turning you out like that at a moment’s notice. I hope she made it up to you?”
Miss Scott smiled scornfully.
“That was all right,” she answered. “We told her about it, and she gave us a fiver apiece, as well as our months’ wages.”
“Not so bad,” French admitted. “Who locked up the house?”
“She did, and took the key.”
“And what happened to you and cook?’
“We drove on here and I got out. This is my sister’s house, you understand. Cook went on to Paddington. She lives in Reading or somewhere down that way. Mrs. Vane said that when she came back she would look us up, and if we were disengaged we could come back to her. But she said not to keep out of a place for her, as she didn’t know how long she might have to stay in America.”
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French paused in thought, then went on:
“Was Mrs. Vane much from home while you were with her?”
“No, she was only away once. But she stayed over three weeks that time. It’s a bit strange that it was an accident, too. Her sister in Scotland fell and broke her collar bone, so she told us, and she had to go to keep house till she was better. Somewhere in Scotland, she said.”
“When was that?”
The girl hesitated.
“I don’t know that I could say exactly,” she answered at last. “She’s back about six weeks or two months, and she left over three weeks before that, about a couple of weeks after I went. Say about ten weeks altogether.”
This was distinctly satisfactory. Mrs. Vane’s absence seemed to cover the period of Mrs. X’s visit to America.
“I should like to fix the exact dates if I could,” French persisted, “or at least the date she came back. Just think, will you, please. Is there nothing you can remember by?”
The girl presumably thought, for she was silent for some moments, but her cogitations were unproductive. She shook her head.
“Did you stay in the house while she was away?”
“No. I came here and cook went home.”
This was better. The attention of a number of people had been drawn to the date, and some one of them should surely be able to fix it.
“On what day of the week did you go back?” French prompted.
The girl considered this.
“It was a Thursday,” she said at last. “I remember that now, because Thursday is my night out, and I remembered thinking that that week I shouldn’t get it.”
French was delighted with the reply. It was on a Thursday night, seven weeks earlier, that Mrs. X had driven from the Savoy to Victoria, left her boxes there, and vanished. The thing was working in.
“What time of the day did she arrive?”
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