Part 12 (1/2)

Now, when the verdict of the coroner's jury had been suicide, and when only he, and the servant s.e.xton suspected otherwise, it was of the utmost importance that they endeavour to unravel the crime. For her sake he could do no less, thus serving and protecting her to the best of his ability.

The chauffeur drove slowly up and down obscure streets for half an hour before West recognized familiar surroundings, and motioned for him to draw up against the curb. He had discovered the place sought, but from the street it exhibited no signs of occupancy, nor did any knocking at the front door bring response from within. He circled the building, finding an uncurtained window at the rear, which merely revealed an unfurnished room. Every door was locked, but, as he pa.s.sed along the other side to regain the taxi, a man emerged from the next house, and hailed him.

”Say, what're yer snoopin' round there for? Lookin' for somebody?”

”Yes, the parties who were here Sunday. What's become of them.”

”Hobart, you mean?”

”Is that his name? I met him down town, and he told me to come here,”

West explained rapidly. ”We had a deal on.”

”Oh, yer did, hey,” leaning his arms on the fence. ”Well, Jim Hobart was the name he giv' me. That's my house, which is why I happen to know what his name was. Something queer about that fellar, I reckon, but 'tain't none o' my business. You ain't a detective, or nothin' like that, are yer?”

”Nothing at all like that,” West laughed, although interested. ”Why? Did you think the police might be after him?”

”Not for anything I know about, only he skipped out mighty sudden. Paid me a month rent, and only stayed there three days. That looks sorter queer. Then Sunday that fellar what committed suicide out south--I read about in the papers--came to see him in a car. I got a boy workin' in his factory; that's how I come to know who the guy was. The next night Hobart, an' them with him, just naturally skipped out. So I didn't know but what the police might want him for something.”

”I don't know anything about that. I just called on a private matter.

Where did he go to?”

”h.e.l.l, man, I didn't even know he was goin'.”

”Who did he have with him here--a family?”

”A woman 'bout his age I should say, an' a younger one. I didn't see 'em only from the window; didn't get no sight o' the girl's face at all, but could tell the way she walked she was young. They didn't have nothin'

with 'em; that's all my stuff in the house there.”

Feeling the uselessness of trying to learn anything more, West thanked him, and returned to the taxi.

”Back to the Club,” he ordered briefly, and settled into his seat to think.

CHAPTER XIII

238 WRAY STREET

The information thus gained had been small enough, yet sufficient to stimulate his belief that he was at least upon the right trail. The sudden departure of this man Hobart, and the fact that no young children were in the family, were important items to consider. Coolidge then had not visited this cottage to aid a widow and orphans. There had been some other object in his call. The girl must have known and understood the real purpose; that was why they both acquiesced so readily to his remaining outside in the car. It was part of their mutual plan to thus leave him in ignorance. Yet they had made a mistake in taking him along at all. This error alone gave him now an opportunity to unravel the riddle. But did it? What did he know? Merely that Coolidge had not gone to this house on an errand of charity; that the occupant called himself, temporarily, perhaps, Jim Hobart; that his family consisted of two women, undescribed except as to age; and that all three had mysteriously disappeared together. He might take it for granted that this disappearance was caused by the death of Coolidge, but, they had left no trail, no inkling as to where they had gone. He might suspect this sudden vanis.h.i.+ng had direct connection with the crime he was endeavouring to solve, but he possessed absolutely no proof, and, apparently, any further movement on his part was completely blocked.

More puzzled than ever, although now fully convinced that murder had been committed, West could do nothing but wait the reappearance of s.e.xton. The latter arrived promptly on time, but, much to West's disappointment, merely nodded his head negatively to the general inquiry as to whether or not he had made any discoveries. The early hour enabled the host to secure a secluded table in the dining room, but there was no effort at conversation until after the meal had been ordered. Then West told his story. The retelling of these incidents of the afternoon, coupled with s.e.xton's evident interest in the narrative, and the questions the man asked, caused the discoveries made to a.s.sume a greater importance than before. His listener seemed to sense the situation clearly.

”It wasn't no mistake, your goin' out there, sir,” he said, confidently.

”What we know now gives us something to work on anyhow, an' it's just what I thought--that trip Sunday led up to this killin', an' something happened while they was in there to stir Miss Natalie all up. Now we got to find this fellow--what did you say his name was, sir?”

”Hobart--Jim Hobart; that is he was known by that name there.”

”And you say he has simply dropped out o' sight?”