Part 29 (1/2)
Presently Mrs Parham said suddenly,--
”I'm sure my husband will feel very indebted to you when he knows all the facts. I have not the pleasure of your name.”
”Morton,” I said, ”William Morton,” and feeling in my pocket expressed regret that I had forgotten my card-case.
A quarter of an hour later I took my leave and was walking down Sydenham Hill when I suddenly encountered my friend the police inspector of the night of the strange affair at Keymer.
He glanced at me, and our recognition was mutual.
Then when he had greeted me he turned on his heel and walked in my direction. After some conversation regarding the mysterious attempt and its fatal termination, he said in a hard voice,--
”Our people are rather surprised at your att.i.tude, you know.”
”My att.i.tude! What do you mean?” I exclaimed, looking at him in surprise.
”Well. You might have given information when you knew that we wanted to question that man Parham.”
”Information of what?”
”Of his whereabouts. You were seen one evening not long ago talking to him.”
”Where?”
”In the entrance to the Empire,” replied the inspector. ”One of our plain-clothes men saw you with Parham and another man. But the fellow managed to get away, as he always does.”
I stood aghast.
”Was he a fair bald-headed man?”
”Of course.”
I was silent. The truth was plain, the revelation a staggering one.
Winsloe had introduced his accomplice, John Parham, to me as the traveller and engineer named Humphreys!
It was in John Parham's house that the dastardly attempt had been made upon my life--in his house that other persons had met with mysterious and untimely ends.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
WHAT OCCURRED IN DEAN'S YARD, WESTMINSTER.
That same evening, attired in my working clothes, I watched Winsloe's chambers in King Street at the hour when I knew his habit was to return to dress for dinner.
From five o'clock till half-past seven I lingered in the vicinity; then returning to my hotel in the Adelphi I there met Budd, whom I sent round to the man's chambers to inquire when he would be in.
Half an hour later my valet returned with the information that Mr Winsloe was out of town, and was not expected back for several days. He had gone to the north, his man believed, but he had no instructions to forward letters.
Gone north! Had he discovered Tibbie's whereabouts and gone after her?
Mine was a tantalising position, unable to return to my own rooms for fear that Winsloe and Parham should discover that I was still alive.
They believed me to be dead--that I had ”gone home,” as ”White Feather”