“I am sorry to say that I am not in search of lodgings,” he said. “My business is of an altogether different nature. In the first place, I think I ought to tell you that I am a detective.”
“A detective?” she cried in horror. “Lor’, I do hope, sir, there’s nothing wrong?”
“Not so far as you are concerned, you may be sure,” he answered. “I have come down here to make some inquiries regarding a gentleman who was known to be staying in your house some time back. His name was Fensden.”
The woman shook her head.
“I haven’t had a gentleman in my house of that name,” she answered. “In fact, the only gentleman I have had since the beginning of the year was a Mr. Onslow. The name of Fensden I don’t remember at all.”
Burrell consulted his pocket-book before he went further.
“And yet the information I received was most complete,” he continued. “Victor Fensden, Esq., c/o George Onslow, Laburnum Cottage, Laleham-on-Thames. There couldn’t be anything plainer than that, could there?”
“It seems all right, sir,” said the woman. “There is only one Laburnum Cottage, and Mr. Onslow was certainly staying with us. He had his wife with him, a sweet young thing, which was more than could be said of the gentleman, I can assure you.”
It was plain from this that she and Mr. Onslow had not been on the best of terms. Burrell took from his pocket the photograph of Fensden, and handed it to her. He was beginning to have an inkling of the truth.
“Is that the likeness of Fensden or of Mr. Onslow?” he inquired.