Part 17 (1/2)
Close to the corner of Park Lane I came face to face with Winsloe, dressed sprucely as usual in silk hat and frock coat, and he at once stopped and offered me his hand. Then, after greeting me, he turned on his heel and walked by my side, saying,--
”I'm just strolling back to the Burlington. I'll come with you.”
”You left the Scarcliffs earlier than you expected, didn't you?” I remarked.
”Yes. I had some business in town,” was his brief response.
”I see from the papers that they've discovered nothing regarding that affair in Charlton Wood.”
”No,” he remarked in a mechanical tone. ”And I don't expect they ever will. The a.s.sa.s.sin, whoever he was, got away without leaving a trace,”
and then he cleverly diverted our conversation into a different channel.
I feared to discuss it further. The man was Sybil's enemy, and therefore mine. He evidently knew that we had met on that evening of her arrival in London, and was actively at work to trace her.
Indeed, when I afterwards reflected, I saw that in all probability he had watched me that morning, and had purposely encountered me.
To each other we were outwardly still extremely friendly. Indeed I invited him to my rooms that evening to smoke, and he accepted, for he had a motive in so doing, while I, on my part, had resolved to watch him carefully.
I lunched at the Bachelors', and though anxious to go and see Sybil, I was compelled to content myself with sending her a telegram, saying that I had been ordered by my foreman to go up to Manchester in connection with some new linotype machinery, and must therefore be absent two or three days. I sent the message so that she might show it to Mrs Williams.
Soon after four o'clock I set forth upon another expedition, namely, by train from Victoria to Upper Sydenham Station. The autumn dusk was falling when I turned into Sydenham Hill, the wide winding road of large detached houses leading from Forest Hill up to the Crystal Palace.
Essentially the residence of the wealthy City man, and an eminently respectable district, the houses stand in their own grounds with big old trees around, commanding fine views of South London. I was in search of Keymer, and being directed by a postman, found it a little way higher up than the turning known as Rock Hill, a large old-fas.h.i.+oned red brick place, with fine old elms standing in the grounds. An oak fence divided it from the footway, and as I pa.s.sed I saw that the pink-shaded electric lamps in the drawing-room were alight, while at the grand piano was sitting a neat female figure in black.
A servant in a smart French cap was letting down the Venetian blinds, and as I watched through the gate I saw that the lady had stopped playing and turned upon the stool to speak to her.
At the same instant the figure of a man stole across the room, a tall, shadowy figure, and came up behind the woman, causing her to start from her seat, while at that moment the blind was lowered, and the artistic interior was suddenly shut out from my view.
One thing caused me to remain there in wonder. Perhaps my eyes had deceived me, but I could not help thinking that when that vague male figure crossed the room the woman started up with a look of terror.
From where I stood I could not see distinctly, yet I felt certain that the person who had entered was unwelcome and unexpected.
The other blinds had already been lowered, for it was now nearly dark, and beneath the wide portico a light shone above the door. The grounds were well kept, and the greenhouse beside the drawing-room showed careful attention, while on the gravelled drive were the wheel-marks of carriages. Mr John Parham was evidently well off, in all probability a City man, like most of his neighbours. I sauntered past, wondering by what means I could ascertain something about him.
The doleful sound of the m.u.f.fin-bell rang in the distance, and far up the road I saw the lamplighter going his round, the street lamps springing up from the darkness at regular intervals. I went towards him, and stopping him, made inquiries regarding the tenant of Keymer.
”'E's a very nice gentleman, sir,” replied the man. ”Always gives good Christmas-boxes.”
”Married?”
”Yes, sir. But 'e has no children. They keep a carriage--one o' them there open ones.”
”Now I want to know something about him,” I said, slipping a coin into the man's hand. ”Do you happen to know anybody who could tell me?”
The man looked at me suspiciously, and asked,--”Pardon me, sir, but you're a detective, p'r'aps?”
”No,” I laughed. ”Not at all. It is merely private curiosity--over-- well, over a little matter of business. I'm a business man--not a policeman.”
”Well,” he said, ”there's 'Arry Laking, what keeps the gate of the Crystal Palace grounds in Palace Park Road. 'E's their cook's brother.
'E'd tell you something, for 'e often goes there when the family are out.”
”Where's Palace Park Road?”