“Nothing definite, sir, but you can assure him of this. His brother is not likely to come to any particular harm. I have no absolute information to offer, but it is my impression that Mr. Reginald Wilmore will be home before a week is past. Good afternoon, sir.”
Shopland stepped out of the taxicab and, raising his hat, walked quickly away. Francis directed the man to drive to Clarges Street. As they drove off, he was conscious of a folded piece of paper in the corner where his late companion had been seated. He picked it up, opened it, realised that it was a letter from a firm of lawyers, addressed to Shopland, and deliberately read it through. It was dated from a small town not far from Hatch End:
DEAR SIR:
Mr. John Phillips of this firm, who is coroner for the
district, has desired me to answer the enquiry contained in your
official letter of the 13th. The number of inquests held upon bodies
recovered from the Thames in the neighbourhood to which you allude,
during the present year has been seven. Four of these have been
identified. Concerning the remaining three nothing has ever been heard.
Such particulars as are on our file will be available to any accredited
representative of the police at any time.
Faithfully yours,
PHILLIPS & SON.
The taxicab came to a sudden stop. Francis glanced up. Very breathless, Shopland put his head in at the window.
“I dropped a letter,” he gasped.
Francis folded it up and handed it to him.
“What about these three unidentified people, Shopland?” he asked, looking at him intently.
The man frowned angrily. There was a note of defiance in his tone as he stowed the letter away in his pocketbook.
“There were two men and one woman,” he replied, “all three of the upper classes. The bodies were recovered from Wilson's lock, some three hundred yards from The Walled House.”
“Do they form part of your case?” Francis persisted.