Chauffeurs -- Fiction; Detective and mystery stories; Short stories
He came down to ground at this and consented to go with me. We were
back again in the Richmond Road inside a quarter of an hour and
knocking at the door of the house where I had picked the basket up
about two minutes later. A very old woman opened to us this time, and
answered very civilly that the two strange gentlemen had left for the
Continent by the evening train, and she had no idea if they would
return or no. They had always paid her regularly, she said, though not
often at home; while as for their room, we could examine that with
pleasure. The more amazing confession came after, for when she was
pressed to tell us something about the young lady, she declared stoutly
that she had never seen one, and that the Messrs. Picton--for so she
called her lodgers--kept no female company, and very rarely had asked
even a gentleman to their rooms.
The inspector listened to all she had to say and then made a formal
search of the house. It would be waste of time to insist that he found
nothing--not so much as a scrap of paper or an empty collar-box to
enlighten him; but he gave strict orders that no one was to enter the
men's room upon any pretext whatsoever; and when he had locked it and
pocketed the key, he made me drive him back to the Boundary Road and
then up to the hospital at Hampstead, to which the little girl had been
carried and where she was then lying. Naturally I had the _entree_ as
well as he--for there were three or four swagger men from Scotland Yard
on the carpet by this time, and all of them mighty anxious to make my
acquaintance. From these I learned that the child was still incoherent
in her talk, and utterly unable to remember who she was or whence she
had come. Fright had paralysed her faculties. She might have been
born yesterday for all she knew about it.
For my part, I had a strong desire to talk to the girl myself and put a
few questions which had come into my head while we were waiting; but
the police would have none of this, and the most they would permit me
to do was to look at her from the far end of the ward, which I did for
a long time, watching her face very closely, and wondering how
beautiful it was.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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