French asked her how it came that she knew so much about the family, and she explained that she and Mrs. Vane’s housemaid had become acquainted over her young gentleman’s model aeroplane, which had flown over the dividing wall into the grounds of Crewe Lodge, and which had been ignominiously handed back by the girl in question. As a result of the incident an acquaintance had grown up between the two, in the course of which much information as to their respective employers had been exchanged. On that Friday evening Mrs. Vane’s maid had called the narrator to the wall by means of a certain signal which they had devised, and had hurriedly told her of her mistress’s sudden call to America, and also that the house was being closed and the services of herself and the cook dispensed with. “She’s in a most terrible fluster to catch the boat train,” the girl had said, “and we have to be out before her so that she may lock up the house.” The girl had breathlessly bid her friend good-bye and had vanished.
Though French was delighted to have learned these facts, they were not in themselves all that he could have wished. The story of the husband in New York might be true, in which case a good deal of the theory he had been building up would fall to the ground. It would, however, be an easy matter to find out whether the lady really did sail on the date in question. He turned back to the servant.
“I should like very much to find that friend of yours,” he said. “Could you give me her name and address?”
Her name, it appeared, was Susan Scott, but her address was not known. For a moment French was at a loss, then by judicious questions he elicited the facts that Miss Scott spoke like a Londoner, and that she probably patronised one of the several registry offices to be found in the region surrounding the Edgware Road.
“Now there is just one other thing,” he added. “Can you tell me the name of the landlord or agents of Crewe Lodge?”
The girl was sorry she couldn’t.
“Then of this house?” French persisted. “As they are close together, the two places may belong to the same man.”
The girl did not know that either, but she said that her master would know, and that he had not yet gone out. French asked for an interview, and on stating his identity, received the information that the agents for both houses were Messrs. Findlater & Hynd, of Cupples Street, behind the Haymarket.
Thinking he had got all the information he could, French paid over his five shillings to the maid and took his departure.
The next item on his programme was a visit to Mr. Williams, and twenty minutes later he pushed open the door of the office in Cockspur Street. Mr. Williams greeted him with what with him took the place of enthusiasm.