"Soon?" asked Hetherwick.
"He wath inthide about ten minuteth. Then he came out. Alone. Thith time he went in t'other direction. I followed him acroth Paddington Green to Edgware Road Tube, and there—well, to tell you the truth, mithter, there I lotht him! There wath a lot o' people about, and I made thure he'd be going thouth. But he mutht ha' gone wetht. Anyway, I lotht him altogether."
"Well—I think you saw enough to be of help," said Hetherwick. "Now—just keep this to yourself, Goldmark." He motioned Mapperley into another room, gave him money for his assistant, and waited until the Jew had gone, shown out by the clerk. "Eleven o'clock!" he remarked, glancing at his watch as Mapperley came back. "Mapperley! we're going out—to St. Mary's Mansions. And after we've been there, and made a call, you'd better come back here with me and take a shake-down for the night—I shall want you in the morning, unless I'm mistaken."
It was one of Mapperley's chief virtues that he was always ready to go anywhere and do anything, and he at once accompanied Hetherwick to the top of Middle Temple Lane, found a taxi-cab within five minutes, and proposed himself to sit up and shakedown that night and the next, if necessary.
"Scent's getting hot, I think, sir," he remarked as they drove off, after bidding the driver carry them to Paddington Green. "Things seem to be coming to a head."
"Yes—but I don't think you know everything," answered Hetherwick. He proceeded to give the clerk an epitomised account of the day's doings as they had related to himself, concluding with Matherfield's theory as expressed after leaving the Green Archer. "You're a smart chap, Mapperley," he added. "What do you think?"
"I see Matherfield's point," answered Mapperley. "I can follow his line. He thinks like this: Hannaford, when he came to London, wanted to get rid, advantageously, of that formula of his about a new ink. He got into touch with Ambrose, whom, of course, he'd known before at Sellithwaite. Ambrose introduced him to some men who deal or dabble in chemicals, of whom one, no doubt, is Baseverie, and who seem to have a laboratory or something of that sort somewhere in the Westminster district. On the night of the murder Ambrose met Hannaford, by appointment, at Victoria, and took him there. Probably, Hannaford left the sealed packet—opened by that time—with these fellows. Probably, too, while there he told them—jokingly, very likely—what he'd discovered, from the picture in the papers, about the identity of Mrs. Whittingham and Madame Listorelle. And now comes in—Granett!"
Hetherwick gave an exclamation that denoted two or three things—surprise, for one.
"Ah!" he said. "Granett! To be sure! I'd forgotten Granett!"
"I hadn't," remarked Mapperley with a cynical laugh. "Granett—and his murder—is an essential factor. What I think is this: We know that Hannaford met Ambrose at Victoria Station that all-important evening. Ambrose, without doubt, took him to the place I hinted at just now—the exact location of which is a mystery. I think Hannaford stopped there until late in the evening. But—I also think he went back again! With—Granett!"