"I have told Zena the whole affair as far as we know it," said Quarles,
putting his papers on the table, "and she asks me a foolish question,
Wigan. 'Why didn't the butler run for the police instead of Miss
Crosland?' Have you got any information which will help to answer it?"
"It doesn't seem to me very strange that she went," I returned. "I have been busy, but there is not very much to tell. I have got the house watched as you suggested. The Paris police telegraph that an Englishman named George Radley is at the Hotel Vendôme, a harmless tourist apparently, going about Paris seeing the sights. Schuster was able to give me Bush's address, and I called upon him, but did not see him. He had gone to a case in Yorkshire, but may be back any time. He lives in Hampstead, in quite a pleasant flat overlooking the Heath."
"Is he married?"
"No, he has a housekeeper, rather a deaf old lady who speaks of him as the doctor."
"You didn't chance to see a portrait of him?"
"No, there were no photographs about of any kind. His hobby seems to be old prints, of which he has some good specimens. I should say his temperament is artistic."
"That is an interesting conclusion," said the professor. "You didn't get any idea of his age?"
"No. This morning I went to Clarence Lodge and find you are by no means liked there."
"Indeed."
"An old gentleman called there yesterday afternoon saying you had asked him to go and see Mrs. Crosland about her rheumatism—a Mr. Morrison."