VINTAGE MYSTERIES - 70+ Stories in One Volume (Thriller Classics Series). Robert Barr

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      'No one takes breakfast to his room?'

      'No, sir.'

      'What time does he leave the house?'

      'At ten o'clock, sir.'

      'When is breakfast served?'

      'At nine o'clock, sir.'

      'At what hour does your master retire to his study?'

      'At half-past nine, sir.'

      'Locks the door on the inside?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      'Never rings for anything during the day?'

      'Not that I know of, sir.'

      'What sort of a man is he?'

      Here Podgers was on familiar ground, and he rattled off a description minute in every particular.

      'What I meant was, Podgers, is he silent, or talkative, or does he get angry? Does he seem furtive, suspicious, anxious, terrorised, calm, excitable, or what?'

      'Well, sir, he is by way of being very quiet, never has much to say for himself; never saw him angry, or excited.'

      'Now, Podgers, you've been at Park Lane for a fortnight or more. You are a sharp, alert, observant man. What happens there that strikes you as unusual?'

      'Well, I can't exactly say, sir,' replied Podgers, looking rather helplessly from his chief to myself, and back again.

      'Your professional duties have often compelled you to enact the part of butler before, otherwise you wouldn't do it so well. Isn't that the case.'

      Podgers did not reply, but glanced at his chief. This was evidently a question pertaining to the service, which a subordinate was not allowed to answer. However, Hale said at once,—

      'Certainly. Podgers has been in dozens of places.'

      'Well, Podgers, just call to mind some of the other households where you have been employed, and tell me any particulars in which Mr Summertrees' establishment differs from them.'

      Podgers pondered a long time.

      'Well, sir, he do stick to writing pretty close.'

      'Ah, that's his profession, you see, Podgers. Hard at it from half-past nine till towards seven, I imagine?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      'Anything else, Podgers? No matter how trivial.'

      'Well, sir, he's fond of reading too; leastways, he's fond of newspapers.'

      'When does he read?'

      'I've never seen him read 'em, sir; indeed, so far as I can tell, I never knew the papers to be opened, but he takes them all in, sir.'

      'What, all the morning papers?'

      'Yes, sir, and all the evening papers too.'

      'Where are the morning papers placed?'

      'On the table in his study, sir.'

      'And the evening papers?'

      'Well, sir, when the evening papers come, the study is locked. They are put on a side table in the dining-room, and he takes them upstairs with him to his study.'

      'This has happened every day since you've been there?'

      'Yes, sir.'

      'You reported that very striking fact to your chief, of course?'

      'No, sir, I don't think I did,' said Podgers, confused.

      'You should have done so. Mr. Hale would have known how to make the most of a point so vital.'

      'Oh, come now, Valmont,' interrupted Hale, 'you're chaffing us. Plenty of people take in all the papers!'

      'I think not. Even clubs and hotels subscribe to the leading journals only. You said all, I think, Podgers?'

      'Well, nearly all, sir.'

      'But which is it? There's a vast difference.'

      'He takes a good many, sir.'

      'How many?'

      'I don't just know, sir.'

      'That's easily found out, Valmont,' cried Hale, with some impatience, 'if you think it really important.'

      'I think it so important that I'm going back with Podgers myself. You can take me into the house, I suppose, when you return?'

      'Oh, yes, sir.'

      'Coming back to these newspapers for a moment, Podgers. What is done with them?'

      'They are sold to the ragman, sir, once a week.'

      'Who takes them from the study?'

      'I do, sir.'

      'Do they appear to have been read very carefully?'

      'Well, no, sir; leastways, some of them seem never to have been opened, or else folded up very carefully again.'

      'Did you notice that extracts have been clipped from any of them?'

      'No, sir.'

      'Does Mr. Summertrees keep a scrapbook?'

      'Not that I know of, sir.'

      'Oh, the case is perfectly plain,' said I, leaning back in my chair, and regarding the puzzled Hale with that cherubic expression of self-satisfaction which I know is so annoying to him.

      'What's perfectly plain?' he demanded, more gruffly perhaps than etiquette would have sanctioned.

      'Summertrees is no coiner, nor is he linked with any band of coiners.'

      'What is he, then?'

      'Ah, that opens another avenue of enquiry. For all I know to the contrary, he may be the most honest of men. On the surface it would appear that he is a reasonably industrious tradesman in Tottenham Court Road, who is anxious that there should be no visible connection between a plebian employment and so aristocratic a residence as that in Park Lane.'

      At this point Spenser Hale gave expression to one of those rare flashes of reason which are always an astonishment to his friends.

      'That is nonsense, Monsieur Valmont,' he said, 'the man who is ashamed of the connection between his business and his house is one who is trying to get into Society, or else the women of his family are trying it, as is usually the case. Now Summertrees has no family. He himself goes nowhere, gives no entertainments, and accepts no invitations. He belongs to no club, therefore to say that he is ashamed of his connection with the Tottenham Court Road shop is absurd. He is concealing the СКАЧАТЬ