The Hog's Back Mystery (8 page)

Kidnapping French thought exceedingly unlikely, and his thoughts turned back to a voluntary disappearance. These discoveries had made it increasingly necessary to trace the lady Earle had met in London. If she could be identified, the chances were that the whole affair would be cleared up. It might not be necessary to find either herself or Earle. Proof that they had gone off together would probably end the case so far as French was concerned.

It was because he had reached this conclusion that French was so greatly pleased at the message which he found waiting for him at the police station in Farnham. It was from the Yard and read: “Parking-ticket issued to car PE 2157 from Halloway's Park, Staines, on Thursday, 6th inst.”

In a happier frame of mind than he had experienced for some time, French took a late train to Town. Tomorrow would be Sunday, but on Monday morning he would follow up this clue.

Chapter VIII

The London Lady

The fine weather of the last few days had held and the sun was shining with soft brilliance as on Monday morning French made his way to Staines. Travelling down in the train was like setting out for a day's holiday. French, thinking of his recent job at Whitechapel, congratulated himself on his good fortune. It was worth something to exchange the dreadful sordid streets of London's slums for this idyllic country.

As the train ambled gently forward he went over in his mind what he already knew of this phase of the enquiry. It did not amount to much. Earle had left St. Kilda in his car on Thursday, October 6th, at about 10 a.m. At 12.30 p.m. he was seen by Ursula Stone picking up a lady in Seymour Place and then driving westwards across Edgware Road. About 7 he arrived home. That was all. But French felt with satisfaction that the Staines discovery justified his deductions as to the distance the two had driven from London, and with a good deal of eagerness he looked forward to testing the correctness of his other conclusions also.

On reaching the historic little town, he called at the police station, partly to express his appreciation of the work the local men had done for him, and partly to learn where Halloway's Park was. Five minutes later he reached the park itself.

“Good morning,” he greeted the attendant. “I'm a police officer from Scotland Yard. Was it from you the local police got some information about the parking of a car on last Thursday week?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said French, taking from his pocket-book the scrap of paper he had found in Earle's coat pocket. “Is that a bit of one of your dockets?”

“Yes, sir,” the man repeated, producing his book for French's inspection. There was no doubt the fragment had been taken from it, and when the man turned over the leaves and found that the correspondingly numbered carbon copy bore the magic sign, PE 2157, French noted with delight that at least one point in this nebulous case was definitely fixed.

French had taken the precaution of providing himself with a number of photographs of persons as like Earle as he could find. He now handed the lot to the attendant, and had the further satisfaction of seeing him pick out Earle's without the least hesitation.

“When did the car come in?” he asked.

“You'll see that, sir, from the docket block,” the man replied. “One-fifteen.”

“Was the man alone?”

“No, sir, there was a lady with him.”

“Can you describe her?”

The attendant hesitated. “I don't know that I can, sir,” he said slowly. “You see, I wasn't speaking to her, but to the gentleman only. She got out while I was filling up the docket, and I didn't even get a good look at her.”

“Never mind,” said French. “They got out and I presume the man paid for his car. Then what happened?”

“Nothing more, sir; they just walked away.”

“They asked you no questions nor made any remarks?”

“No, sir.”

“Which direction did they go off in?”

“That way, sir, along the street.”

“And where does that lead to?”

“Well, just the town, the railway stations, the hotels.”

“Quite. Now tell me: supposing they wanted lunch, where would people of that type go?”

“To the Queen, sir, I should think, or perhaps to the Romney. Those are the two best hotels.”

“Good,” said French again. “Then when did they come back?”

“The gentleman came back by himself, sir; I didn't see the lady again. He came back about, about a quarter to six, I should think. I'm not just sure.”

“From what direction?”

“The same that he had gone in.”

“I see. Well, I'm much obliged to you. You'd better give me your address in case any other point arises. By the way, what kind of mood did they seem in? Quite normal?”

“Quite, sir.”

The time of arrival at the park worked in admirably with that at which Ursula Stone had seen the car in London. Earle and his companion must have run straight down to Staines. But French was puzzled by a point which had occurred to him when making his analysis. Why had they parked in a town park? They must surely have had lunch somewhere, and it would have been natural for them to park where they lunched. However, there might be some reason for it that as yet he couldn't see.

That they must have lunched, however, was pretty certain. French turned back into the town to try the hotels.

At his very first call he was successful. The head waiter, shown Earle's photograph, remembered his having been in for lunch and tea somewhere about the date in question. Earle had been accompanied by a lady and had engaged a private room. The head called the waiter who had served them.

This man also recognised Earle's photograph. More than this, he had noticed the lady and was able to give a reasonably complete description of her. She was an attractive-looking woman, about thirty, he imagined.

“Did you hear their names? What did they call each other?” French asked.

The waiter hadn't heard.

“Did you hear anything they said?”

The man shook his head. “They were talking together, earnestly, as you might say, but I didn't 'ear what it was about. They didn't speak when I was near.”

One interesting and suggestive point was that the “parties” had appeared anxious to avoid being seen together. Earle had entered alone, shortly before half-past one, and while he was making the arrangements for lunch, the lady had followed. She had waited in the lounge till the business was complete, and had then allowed him to precede her at some little distance to the private room. They had left in the same way, separately, Earle slightly before the woman. About five they had returned, gone back again singly to the private room, had tea, and left in the same way about half-past five.

From this it was clear to French why they had used the public park. Evidently it was this fear of being seen together. The chances of being recognised were of course much greater in the case of an hotel than of a town park.

Between 5.30 then, when they had left the hotel together, and 5.45, when Earle had returned alone to his car, the friends had parted. Where had the lady gone?

French saw that if Earle was at Staines at 5.30 and had reached home by about 7, he would not have had time to drive via London. The lady must therefore have returned to London by herself—if she did return. Was there a train or bus between 5.30 and 5.45?

French found a time-table in the lounge. Two trains left for London at 5.45, a Southern reaching Waterloo at 6.16 and a Great Western reaching Paddington at 6.27. Buses left at 5.30 and at 6.00.

“How far is it from here to the stations for Town?” French asked the waiter.

“About seven or eight minutes' walk to each, sir.”

“And how far from the stations to Halloway's Car Park?”

“About the same from the Southern station and perhaps half of it from the Great Western.”

If, then, the lady had gone by train, the times would work in exactly. Five-thirty leave the hotel; 5.37 or 38 arrive at the station, take the ticket and get into the train; 5.45 the train departs, and about 5.50 Earle reaches the park. The bus times on the other hand wouldn't work in so well.

But by which line might the lady have travelled? Surely Great Western, if she were returning to where she had been picked up. It was a long way from Waterloo to Seymour Place, but Paddington was comparatively close. Convenience and economy suggested Paddington, and as far as time was concerned, French thought there would be little in it. He would try the Great Western line first. If that failed he could fall back on the Southern.

He walked down to the station and saw the station-master. He wanted to know whether a lady had travelled alone to London by the 5.45 train on Thursday, 6th inst. Could the station-master help him to find out?

The station-master laughed at the idea—very politely. How did the inspector think such a thing would be possible? There was no record of the passengers, and it was unlikely that after so long a time anyone would remember the lady, especially as there was not even a photograph of her.

“Well, let's see the booking-clerk at all events,” said French, whose reaction was always to proceed in the routine way when no special clue exhibited itself.

The clerk could not remember any individual bookers, but had a record of the bookings. By that train he had issued six firsts and twenty-three thirds to Paddington, all returns, also one first and two third singles. At the singles French's heart leaped.

“Do you issue many singles?” he asked.

“Very few,” the clerk returned. “Most of the bookings are returns, and one-day returns at that.”

Though French could find no proof that the lady had gone by the 5.45 train, he thought that the balance of probability was in favour of her having done so—he put it no higher than that. But if she had, he might get on her track at Paddington. It was worth trying at all events.

He took the next train to Paddington and began one of his humdrum enquiries. There was no direct tube from Paddington to Seymour Place, and though the distance was not great, it was possible that the lady had taken a taxi. Very well; try the taxi drivers. It was a legitimate clue, though a rather long shot at best.

All that afternoon he worked away, questioning driver after driver, but without success. He was scarcely disappointed: clues of this nebulous type seldom yielded much result. All the same, when next morning came he could not bring himself to give up without a further effort. He would complete the interrogation of all the regular men at the station. If that failed, he would issue from the Yard a general notice to all taximen, and if no result came from that, it would be time enough to turn to something else.

He carried on during the next day till the mere sight of a taximan made him feel ill, and then in the afternoon he got some news which banished all his weariness. A man said he had been engaged by a lady, as near as he could remember, on the day and about the time the inspector mentioned. He could not tell anything about a grey hat, but he thought she had a grey coat.

“Where did you drive her?” French asked.

“To Bryanston Square,” answered the man, “but I'm darned if I can tell you the number.”

French's heart warmed with pleasure. It really looked as if this long shot was going to get a bull's-eye! Bryanston Square was just behind Seymour Place!

“Try and find it again,” said French, getting into the vehicle.

In Bryanston Square the driver suddenly pulled in to the kerb and stopped. “It were in this 'ere block,” he declared, “but I'm blessed if I can say which 'ouse.”

“All right,” French said after giving him time for thought, “if you can't, you can't. Try and fix limits for me. Go a little further in each direction than it could have been, so as to make sure it lies between the two places.”

This was more successful, and French dismissed the taxi with the belief that the unknown lady had entered one of a group of nine houses.

A very familiar phase ensued. He began calling at house after house to enquire for a lady with a Grecian nose and a grey coat and hat, and who was away from the house between the hours of 12.30 and 6.30 on the 6th inst.

At the fifth or middle house, No. 129B, he struck oil, showing what an extraordinarily good guess the taximan had made. Here the door was opened by an enquiring maid.

“I'm a police officer from Scotland Yard,” said French, entering upon his little saga. “I wish to make some enquiries about a lady—”

The girl stared. “What's that?” she interrupted. “Surely not another! Why, the other man got everything.”

It was now French's turn to stare. “I don't follow,” he said. “What other man?”

“Why, the other officer,” she declared. “Inspector Tanner his name was. He came and got all the particulars.”

Here was something unexpected. His good old friend Tanner on the same job! Or was it the same? French concealed his surprise.

“I see that something has happened of which I am not aware,” he explained. “Will you tell me what it is? Has anything gone wrong here?”

The girl tossed her head. “I thought you would have known, seeing you come from the same place,” she said pertly, and then as French did not reply, went on: “It was the nurse; Nurse Nankivel. She's gone.”

“A nurse? Gone? I didn't know of it. I'm evidently on another case. What do you mean by ‘gone'? Left her employment?”

“I mean gone,” the girl returned. “Left her employment, if you like. She's just gone and nobody knows where she's gone to.”

“Oh,” said French with a sudden thrill, “you mean dis-
appeared?”

“Anything you like. I called it ‘gone' and I calls it ‘gone' still.”

“You surprise me very much,” said French with truth. “What was she like, this Nurse Nankivel?”

The girl looked at him pityingly. “Why, she were an or'nary-looking woman enough,” she answered. “I suppose some people would have called her good-looking, but I never thought much of that kind. Too much of a dresser, if you ask me. If you're a nurse, you should wear a nurse's uniform, so I say. But she would never go out without dressing herself up as a fine lady. Fine lady indeed!” Jealousy peeped out of her close-set eyes.

“As a matter of fact,” French declared confidentially, “I quite agree with you. Just how did she dress when she went out?”

“Mostly in grey, as you said. Grey coat, grey hat, red brooch in hat, grey shoes and stockings, grey bag: oh,” bitterly, “all very complete and like a nurse.”

“It sounds like a nurse,” said French to humour her. “Now can you tell me if she was out on the afternoon of Thursday the 6th; that's Thursday week?”

The girl nodded. “You've got it in one,” she returned.

“Between what hours?”