“I understand that you have had no news of him since last Monday?” I said. “The fact is, this gentleman is a detective, and we are endeavouring to elucidate the mystery of Mr Drury’s disappearance.”
The valet recognised Hartwig as having called before, and invited us into the small bachelor sitting-room, over the mantelpiece of which were many photographs of its owner’s friends—the majority being of the opposite sex.
“Well, sir, it’s a complete mystery,” the man replied. “My master slept here on Sunday night, and left for the country on Monday afternoon. He had a directors’ meeting at Westminster on Tuesday, and told me that he should be back at midday. But he has never returned. That’s all. They sent round from the office to know if he was in town, and of course I told them that he had not come back.”
“Have there been any callers lately?” I asked. “Has a lady been here?”
“Only one lady ever calls, sir—a foreign lady named Gottorp.”
“And has she been here lately?” I inquired quickly. “She called on the Friday, and they went out together to lunch at Jules’s. She often calls. She’s a very nice young lady, sir.”
“She hasn’t called since Monday?” I asked.
“No, sir. A stranger—a foreigner—called on Tuesday afternoon and inquired for Mr Drury.”
“A foreigner!” I exclaimed. “Who was he? Describe him.”
“Oh! he was a dark, middle-aged man, dressed in a shabby brown suit. He wanted to see Mr Drury very particularly.”