“Miss Sheridan’s missing, Mr. Fortune. I’ve just had her housekeeper in giving information. Miss Sheridan went out last night and hasn’t been seen since. Now you’ve picked up her bag in the river above her house. It’s a queer start, isn’t it?”
“But only a start,” said Reggie gently. “We’re not even sure the bag is hers. The handkerchiefs in it are marked S. Sheridan. But some women have a way of gleaning other women’s handkerchiefs. Her housekeeper ought to know her bag. Did her housekeeper know why she went out?”
“No, sir. That’s one of the things that rattled her. Miss Sheridan went out after dinner alone, walking. They thought she was in the garden and went to bed. In the morning she wasn’t in the house. She wasn’t in the garden either.”
“And that’s that,” said Reggie. “Better let them know at Scotland Yard. They like work.” And he rose to go. It was plain that he had disappointed Inspector Oxtoby, who asked rather plaintively if there was anything Mr. Fortune could suggest. “I should ask her friends, you know,” said Mr. Fortune, wandering dreamily to the door. “I should have a look at her house. There may be something in it,” and he left the inspector gaping.
Reggie Fortune is one of the few people in England who like going to the theatre. The others, as you must have noticed, like this kind of play or that. Mr. Fortune has an impartial and curious mind and tries everything. He had therefore formed opinions of Sylvia Sheridan and Rose Darcourt which are not commonly held. For he was unable to take either of them seriously. This hampered him, and he calls the case one of his failures.
On the next morning he came back from bathing at the lasher to hear that the telephone had called him. He took his car to Scotland Yard and was received by Superintendent Bell. That massive man was even heavier than usual. “You’ll not be pleased with me, Mr. Fortune——” he began.
“If you look at me like that I shall cry. Two hours ago I was in nice deep bubbly water. And you bring me up to this oven of a town and make me think you’re a headmaster with the gout and I’ve been a rude little boy.”
“Mr. Lomas said not to trouble you,” the Superintendent mourned. “But I put it to him you’d not wish to be out of it, Mr. Fortune.”
“Damn it, Bell, don’t appeal to my better nature. That’s infuriating.”
“It’s this Sheridan case, sir. Miss Sheridan’s vanished.”