Joseph Smith Fletcher

“ Patello?"
Mr. Patello waved his visitor to a seat and took one himself.
"I was not, sir!" he replied with emphasis. "Of course, if this young lady is the daughter of my sister Louisa, she's my niece, but I can honestly say that until you told me of it I didn't know it! The fact is, I've never even heard of my sister Louisa for—oh, I don't know how many years! Never, at any rate, since she married Matthew Mortover. That was the very last I ever heard of her. I don't even know if she's dead or alive!"
"This young lady's mother is dead, Mr. Patello." ”

“ MORTOVER GRANGE
Wedgwood took a good look at this venerable survival of a past age before he approached nearer. As a countryman born and bred he had some knowledge of old houses, and he knew that in this he saw one that had lasted for many and many a generation: had he possessed more technical knowledge of such things he would have been able to fix an approximate date for its buildings, for over the entrance a Tudor rose and a portcullis, the badge of Henry VII, denoted that it had been erected at some date between the years 1485 and 1509. ”

“ But I know who could tell you everything about the Mortover family history and their estates, ever since there was either estates or Mortovers!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Wedgwood. "That's what I want! Who, now?"
"Mr. Charles Umpeltye! He's a solicitor in the town—the oldest solicitor. And he's an antiquary and an historian—all that sort of thing. Mad on it! They say he knows the history and pedigree of every family round here, from peers to peasants. Queer old chap, but quite easy to approach, especially if you want information on his favourite topics," said the superintendent. ”

“ But Wedgwood, when he at last came back to him showed no symptoms of anxiety or haste: he motioned Stainsby out into a corridor where two quietly dressed men eyed him over with evident slightly amused interest.
"This is the young hopeful!" said Wedgwood, with a wink at the two strangers. "All there! Now Stainsby, my lad, your turn to be useful comes in. Go down to the Docks with these friends of mine: they know where to go, and all you've got to do is to go with them. But when you get where you're going, you're to keep your eyes skinned for Thomas Wraypoole! ”

“ Then I heard Miss Mortover go upstairs to her own room. She was there some little time; then she came down again. A minute or two later I heard them go out of the front door. And since then—in fact, since the moment in which she left my sitting-room to come up to the visitor in this parlour—I've neither set eyes on Miss Mortover nor heard a word from her!"
"She's not the sort of young woman you'd expect to be inconsiderate, I suppose?" asked Wedgwood.
"Anything but! She's always been a most considerate girl to me. That's why I'm afraid there's something wrong. ”

“ An hour later, after a hard struggle through the snow, Wedgwood and the Superintendent were taken by the colliery manager into the place where Levigne and Janet Clagne, partners in death as in certain episodes of life, lay side by side, crushed and maimed and still clothed as when the search party came across them. And Wedgwood, sternly business-like, went straight to the point he wanted to reach, and within a minute of entering the room had drawn a quantity of papers from an inner pocket of Levigne's coat. ”

“ Miss Mortover had not returned, nor had the landlady heard from her. But she had seen Nottidge's advertisement in the paper and was full of amazement at the sum offered as a reward.
"Ought to produce some information, certainly," agreed Wedgwood. "Now, did Miss Mortover ever mention this young man to you, ma'am!"
"Well, she did just say there was a young gentleman," admitted the landlady. "That was the very evening she disappeared. She was shy about it—but she did make mention of it. A well-to-do young man, evidently!" ”

“ Wedgwood motioned him to turn.
"You can see her now!" he said. "Here they all are—as I said, except Levigne!"
Nottidge turned sharply—to see Avice Mortover, a tall, spare woman in a long fur coat, a man who looked like a solicitor and had a clerk in attendance with a bag, and another man in a barrister's wig and gown. They were coming through the main entrance, all talking together. Wedgwood pulled Nottidge's sleeve.
"You see the little man—not the barrister," he whispered. "That's Curtoise, of Curtoise and Fullpage, Portugal Street—one of the cutest lawyers in London! ”

“ Some men turn first to the political news; some to the sporting, some to the financial; Wedgwood invariably turned first to the legal. And it was as he glanced over the Law Notices for that day that he saw the name Mortover. ”

“ But Janet Clagne had a sister here in London—Mrs. Patello. Was it possible that Mrs. Patello was the tall, spare woman, heavily veiled, in whose company Avice Mortover had left her lodgings? Possible, of course—and the possibility presently put Wedgwood into a taxicab and sent him hurrying away to that London suburb called Tooting.
Acacia Terrace, Tooting, proved to be one of those suburban thoroughfares of which outer London can boast its hundreds—a street of small houses built to a pattern, and every one so like its fellow that neither can be distinguished save by name or number. ”

“ Had he seen him when he himself turned in at Henekey's—was the arrangement between them he, Thomas, was to wait at Henekey's while John went to Miss Tandy's? If they had met, did John tell Thomas the result of any investigation he'd been making down at Netherwell? Had he told him something before ever he went to Netherwell?"
"You don't trust Mr. Thomas Wraypoole?" suggested the inspector.
"No!" said Wedgwood, sharply. "In my opinion he's as clever as he's unscrupulous—both highly developed. I think he knows a lot that he's no intention of telling." ”

“ Miss Tandy breathed a sigh of horror.
"And to think that I've gone on working in this room with that dreadful thing in it!" she exclaimed. "Of course, ever since that happened, my friends have done their best to persuade me to leave this flat, and to tell you the truth, I've never actually slept in it since the—the affair. But I've worked in it, every day—though I don't think I should have done if I'd known what was behind my bureau! At my very feet, as you might say! Ugh!" ”

“ A quiet, unobtrusive man, my brother John, poor fellow! Not likely to have enemies—oh, dear me, no! Wasn't even his own enemy, as the saying is. Sober, respectable, you understand. A mystery, gentlemen, a mystery!"
Wedgwood gave Thomas Wraypoole a good, long look.
"Have you done anything towards solving it, so far?" he asked.
"I? Dear me, no! Oh, no! That, I think, is your job—eh? I—I shouldn't know what to do!"
"I've just come from your brother's lodgings, at Porteous Road," said Wedgwood, pointedly. "You've been there all the morning, examining his effects. ”

“ Many and many a Mortover must have sat in the very chair in which he sat now, stretching legs and feet to just such a blaze as that now roaring up the wide chimney; many a Mortover woman of bygone generations had doubtless kept vigil in that kitchen as the Patello girl had kept vigil the previous night. ”

“ Any right-minded man would have come here first."
"You know his excuse?" said Wedgwood.
"That whoever was clever enough to murder John as John had been murdered was clever enough to secure John's papers," answered the inspector. "Oh, yes, I know that, but I didn't accept it!"
"Nor do I," said Wedgwood. "I think Thomas Wraypoole went to Porteous Road to lay hold of and to destroy certain papers, either known to him, or the existence of which was guessed at by him, connected with the secret in that Mortover manuscript. That's what I think—now!"
"What is the secret?" muttered the inspector. ”

“ Nottidge beckoning the detective to follow him strode through the hall, and flinging open a door at the end bustled into a small room wherein, on opposite sides of the centre table each holding his hat on his knees sat two men, whose outward appearance Wedgwood immediately set himself to examine. One he at once set down as a waiter and probably an Italian; the other he saw to be a taxi-cab driver. And he saw, too, that each man was anxious to speak first. But Nottidge was equally quick to see that and was equal to the occasion. ”

“ This particular manager opened his eyes when Wedgwood explained the why and wherefore of his visit, and from a certain expression in his face the detective surmised that Thomas Wraypoole's recent doings had roused suspicion in other breasts than his own.
"Is Thomas Wraypoole actually suspected of his brother's murder?" asked the manager, assuring himself by a glance at his door that the clerk who had shown the detective in had closed it. "Actually?"
"I can't say actually," answered Wedgwood. "There are a great many circumstances which are highly suspicious. ”

“ Thomas Wraypoole, the other to his wife."
Mr. Pugh started, and stared at his visitor incredulously.
"I?" he exclaimed. "No, indeed! I don't know Mr. or Mrs. Wraypoole—never heard of them!"
"Mr. Wraypoole, until yesterday, had a business—oil and colour warehouse near here," answered Wedgwood. "But I've seen your signature to these verifications! Your signature and address!"
"Then you've seen forgeries!" said Mr. Pugh. "I've never signed a verification for a passport in my life—never even seen a form! You say you've seen my signature?" He seized pen and paper and dashed off his name. ”

“ So Thomas was bold enough to do that, was he? Well, that was a serious offence; he'd get him for that, anyhow, if he could only catch him. But this wife—who was she? Thinking that the housekeeper, turned over to Gregson with Stainsby and the furniture, might know, he went down the road to the warehouse.
The door of the warehouse was open, and a tall, somewhat distracted-looking man, in a much-stained overall, was standing in the middle of the floor, glancing around at the various goods as if either estimating their worth or thinking that they needed more orderly arrangement. ”

“ You make up to the girl!"
He went after the solicitor, unheeding the sudden exclamation which fell from Avice Mortover's lips as she recognized Nottidge. Curtoise, a sharp-featured, keen-eyed man, turned quickly at Wedgwood's touch on his arm, and gave him a questioning look as he saw who it was that accosted him.
"A word—in private!" said Wedgwood. He drew the solicitor aside. "You're expecting Mr. Levigne to turn up here, I suppose, Mr. Curtoise," he went on. "Well, between you and me, I want him!" ”

“ She retreated down the hall again, and Wedgwood turned to the young man who stood lumpishly watching him.
"Merely your permission, sir, to make a sketch or two of your lovely old house if you've no objection," said the detective. "I could have drawn it from the road outside, but I wished to be polite."
The young man laughed—the laugh of a man who scorns what he has no understanding of. ”

“ If that girl in London calling herself Avice Mortover really is the daughter of Matthew Mortover, and if her father was the Matthew Mortover I am thinking of, she's the rightful owner of this Mortover property! ”

“ But at the end of half an hour when he had completed an outline of walls and gables, the girl suddenly rounded a corner of the house and, shyly smiling, came up to him.
"May I look?" she asked. "I like pictures."
"Certainly—but there's not much of a picture so far," answered Wedgwood. "I'm only making a rough sketch, you know. Do you draw!"
"No!" she said with a decisive shake of the head. "I've never gone in for that. I can play the piano, though—that's what I go in for. ”

“ Unless it's known for a fact that he's away from London, which he often is, my orders are to have dinner ready at a certain hour every night—if he comes, well, there it is; if he doesn't, well—he doesn't!"
"Trying!" said Wedgwood, sympathetically.
"Oh, it's his concern!" replied Miss Robinson. "Somebody eats what he doesn't! But I want you to understand that all the doings in that house are uncertain—I never know whether Miss Monniment will be there during the day, or whether she'll go to the City—Mr. Levigne has an office there, somewhere. ”

“ Wedgwood set down his belongings and gaped his astonishment. This was the last news he had expected to hear. That anybody should deliberately murder a man in order to gain possession of a manuscript and should then lose that manuscript seemed absurd.
"Good lord!" he exclaimed, feebly. "You don't say so!"
The inspector unlocked a drawer and produced a crumpled and mud-stained roll of crown paper. Flattening it out and spreading it on his desk he pointed significantly to a label on the front.
"There you are," he said. "See that? Mortover!" ”

“ Nobody could answer them but John Wraypoole and Janet Clagne—and he was dead and she . . . one might as well expect an answer from the Sphinx as a reply from her—unless she was pleased to give it.
But Wedgwood was determined to know more of that interview, and next morning after breakfast he walked round to the street called Horsefair and sought for Mrs. Chipchase's shop. That was soon found—an old-fashioned place, the bow-window of which was filled with cakes and pastries; through its brightly-polished panes he saw a smart, alert-looking woman busied behind a counter. ”

“ Patello. He glanced about him with a dismal, woe-begone expression. "It's to be hoped there's nothing gone wrong about that colliery!" he added, mournfully. "When one's got money in a thing———"
"No use anticipating evil," said Wedgwood. "I don't think we shall find it's that. And it's very evident your daughter was all right this morning, or she couldn't have sent off those telegrams."
"What do you think it can be, then?" asked Mrs. Patello. "Mattie's a sensible girl, Mr. Wedgwood, and she wouldn't send for us like that unless there was a reason." ”

“ But first of all I daresay you've read in the newspapers about a certain affair in London which has come to be known as the Handel Street murder? I thought you would!" he added, as Mrs. Chipchase nodded assent. "Well, ma'am, I'm the detective officer—Detective-Sergeant Wedgwood—in charge of the investigations relating to that case. I've come here as a result of those investigations, and I think you can tell me something."
Mrs. Chipchase stared at him in amazement. ”

“ Levigne is away from home a good deal, and there's no family beyond a lady who's his private secretary, Miss Monniment. And there's a day-woman comes to help—she comes at eight of a morning and stays till eight at night, so of course I'm not over-worked, and I've a good chance of observing things. Now, Mr. Levigne, he's one of those gentlemen that are what I call difficult to deal with! You never know when he'll be in for his dinner, or if he'll be in at all, or if he's coming home that night. ”

“ Why did Thomas Wraypoole make such indecent haste to Porteous Road? Why did he proceed to burn papers and documents as soon as he got there? He could have carried them away. He could have sealed them up. But—he burned them! What were they?"
"Do you know whether that girl, Avice Mortover, ever confided any documents to John Wraypoole?" asked the inspector. "Did she mention such a thing?"
"She did not!" replied Wedgwood. "But I'm going off to see her—now. I know where to find her—refreshment room, British Museum. She may be able to tell me a bit more. ”

“ Patello. "You might say, indeed, that she's one of the family, she's been so bound up in it. There were reasons. You see, just about the time that Janet lost her husband, Stephen Mortover lost his wife; they died, Clagne and Mrs. Stephen, within a few weeks of each other. And both Stephen and Janet were left with small children to bring up—Stephen had a boy, this present young Philip, and Janet had a boy, Walter. They were both about the same age, those two children. Well, now, Stephen, he was a shiftless sort of man; no good at all, and certainly not fit to bring up a motherless infant. ”