The Paradise MysteryFletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
General
The Paradise Mystery
Fletcher, J. S. (Joseph Smith)
Detective and mystery stories
“He's dead, sir,” replied Mitchington. “And now we want to know who he
is.”
“God bless my soul! Dead? You don't say so!” exclaimed Mr. Dellingham.
“Dear, dear! Well, I can't help you--don't know him from Adam. Pleasant,
well-informed man--seemed to have travelled a great deal in foreign
countries. I can tell you this much, though,” he went on, as if a sudden
recollection had come to him; “I gathered that he'd only just arrived in
England--in fact, now I come to think of it, he said as much. Made some
remark in the train about the pleasantness of the English landscape,
don't you know?--I got an idea that he'd recently come from some country
where trees and hedges and green fields aren't much in evidence. But--if
you want to know who he is, officer, why don't you search him? He's sure
to have papers, cards, and so on about him.”
“We have searched him,” answered Mitchington. “There isn't a paper, a
letter, or even a visiting card on him.”
Mr. Dellingham looked at the landlady.
“Bless me!” he said. “Remarkable! But he'd a suit-case, or something of
the sort--something light--which he carried up from the railway station
himself. Perhaps in that--”
“I should like to see whatever he had,” said Mitchington. “We'd better
examine his room, Mrs. Partingley.”
Bryce presently followed the landlady and the inspector upstairs--Mr.
Dellingham followed him. All four went into a bedroom which looked
out on Monday Market. And there, on a side-table, lay a small leather
suit-case, one which could easily be carried, with its upper half thrown
open and back against the wall behind.
The landlady, Mr. Dellingham and Bryce stood silently by while the
inspector examined the contents of this the only piece of luggage in
the room. There was very little to see--what toilet articles the visitor
brought were spread out on the dressing-table--brushes, combs, a case
of razors, and the like. And Mitchington nodded side-wise at them as he
began to take the articles out of the suit-case.
“There's one thing strikes me at once,” he said. “I dare say you
gentlemen notice it. All these things are new! This suit-case hasn't
been in use very long--see, the leather's almost unworn--and those
things on the dressing-table are new. And what there is here
looks new, too. There's not much, you see--he evidently had
no intention of a long stop. An extra pair of trousers--some
shirts--socks--collars--neckties--slippers--handkerchiefs--that's about
all. And the first thing to do is to see if the linen's marked with name
or initials.”
He deftly examined the various articles as he took them out, and in the
end shook his head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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