Part 3 (1/2)
Mr. Sabin declined.
”Get right ahead then.”
”I am an Englishman,” Mr. Sabin said slowly, ”and consequently am not altogether at home with your ways over here. I have always understood, however, that if you are in need of any special information such as we should in England apply to the police for, over here there is a quicker and more satisfactory method of procedure.”
”You've come a long way round,” Mr. Skinner remarked, spitting upon the floor, ”but you're dead right.”
”I am in need of some information,” Mr. Sabin continued, ”and accordingly I called this morning on Mr.--”
Mr. Skinner held up his hand.
”All right,” he said. ”We don't mention names more than we can help.
Call him the boss.”
”He a.s.sured me that the information I was in need of was easily to be obtained, and gave me a card to you.”
”Go right on,” Mr. Skinner said. ”What is it?”
”On Friday last,” Mr. Sabin said, ”at four o'clock, the d.u.c.h.ess of Souspennier, whose picture I will presently show you, left the Holland House Hotel for the New York, New Haven & Hartford Depot, presumably for her home at Lenox, to which place her baggage had already been checked.
On the way she ordered the cabman to set her down at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel, which he did at a few minutes past four. The d.u.c.h.ess has not returned home or been directly heard from since. I wish to ascertain her movements since she arrived at the Waldorf.”
”Sounds dead easy,” Mr. Skinner remarked rea.s.suringly. ”Got the picture?”
Mr. Sabin touched the spring of a small gold locket which he drew from an inside waistcoat pocket, and disclosed a beautifully painted miniature. Mr. Skinner's thick lips were pursed into a whistle. He was on the point of making a remark when he chanced to glance into Mr.
Sabin's face. The remark remained unspoken.
He drew a sheet of note-paper towards him and made a few notes upon it.
”The d.u.c.h.ess many friends in New York?”
”At present none. The few people whom she knows here are at Newport or in Europe just now.”
”Any idea whom she went to the Waldorf to see? More we know the better.”
Mr. Sabin handed him the letter which had been picked up in the cab. Mr.
Skinner read it through, and spat once more upon the floor.
”What the h---'s this funny coloured pencil mean?”
”I do not know,” Mr. Sabin answered. ”You will see that the two anonymous communications which I have received since arriving in New York yesterday are written in the same manner.”
Mr. Sabin handed him the other two letters, which Mr. Skinner carefully perused.
”I guess you'd better tell me who you are,” he suggested.
”I am the husband of the d.u.c.h.ess of Souspennier,” Mr. Sabin answered.
”The d.u.c.h.ess send any word home at all?” Mr. Skinner asked.