CHAPTER FOUR
THE ANGLO-ORIENT HOTEL
The house at which Spargo and his companions presently drew up was anold-fashioned place in the immediate vicinity of Waterloo RailwayStation--a plain-fronted, four-square erection, essentiallymid-Victorian in appearance, and suggestive, somehow, of the very earlydays of railway travelling. Anything more in contrast with the modernideas of a hotel it would have been difficult to find in London, andRonald Breton said so as he and the others crossed the pavement.
"And yet a good many people used to favour this place on their way toand from Southampton in the old days," remarked Rathbury. "And Idaresay that old travellers, coming back from the East after a goodmany years' absence, still rush in here. You see, it's close to thestation, and travellers have a knack of walking into the nearest placewhen they've a few thousand miles of steamboat and railway train behindthem. Look there, now!" They had crossed the threshold as thedetective spoke, and as they entered a square, heavily-furnished hall,he made a sidelong motion of his head towards a bar on the left,wherein stood or lounged a number of men who from their generalappearance, their slouched hats, and their bronzed faces appeared to beColonials, or at any rate to have spent a good part of their timebeneath Oriental skies. There was a murmur of tongues that had aColonial accent in it; an aroma of tobacco that suggested Sumatra andTrichinopoly, and Rathbury wagged his head sagely. "Lay you anythingthe dead man was a Colonial, Mr. Spargo," he remarked. "Well, now, Isuppose that's the landlord and landlady."
There was an office facing them, at the rear of the hall, and a man andwoman were regarding them from a box window which opened above a ledgeon which lay a register book. They were middle-aged folk: the man, afleshy, round-faced, somewhat pompous-looking individual, who might atsome time have been a butler; the woman a tall, spare-figured,thin-featured, sharp-eyed person, who examined the newcomers with anenquiring gaze. Rathbury went up to them with easy confidence.
"You the landlord of this house, sir?" he asked. "Mr. Walters? Justso--and Mrs. Walters, I presume?"
The landlord made a stiff bow and looked sharply at his questioner.
"What can I do for you, sir?" he enquired.
"A little matter of business, Mr. Walters," replied Rathbury, pullingout a card. "You'll see there who I am--Detective-Sergeant Rathbury, ofthe Yard. This is Mr. Frank Spargo, a newspaper man; this is Mr. RonaldBreton, a barrister."
The landlady, hearing their names and description, pointed to a sidedoor, and signed Rathbury and his companions to pass through. Obeyingher pointed finger, they found themselves in a small private parlour.Walters closed the two doors which led into it and looked at hisprincipal visitor.
"What is it, Mr. Rathbury?" he enquired. "Anything wrong?"
"We want a bit of information," answered Rathbury, almost withindifference.
"Did anybody of the name of Marbury put up here yesterday--elderly man,grey hair, fresh complexion?"
Mrs. Walters started, glancing at her husband.
"There!" she exclaimed. "I knew some enquiry would be made. Yes--a Mr.Marbury took a room here yesterday morning, just after the noon traingot in from Southampton. Number 20 he took. But--he didn't use it lastnight. He went out--very late--and he never came back."
Rathbury nodded. Answering a sign from the landlord, he took a chairand, sitting down, looked at Mrs. Walters.
"What made you think some enquiry would be made, ma'am?" he asked. "Hadyou noticed anything?"
Mrs. Walters seemed a little confused by this direct question. Herhusband gave vent to a species of growl.
"Nothing to notice," he muttered. "Her way of speaking--that's all."
"Well--why I said that was this," said the landlady. "He happened totell us, did Mr. Marbury, that he hadn't been in London for over twentyyears, and couldn't remember anything about it, him, he said, neverhaving known much about London at any time. And, of course, when hewent out so late and never came back, why, naturally, I thoughtsomething had happened to him, and that there'd be enquiries made."
"Just so--just so!" said Rathbury. "So you would, ma'am--so you would.Well, something has happened to him. He's dead. What's more, there'sstrong reason to think he was murdered."
Mr. and Mrs. Walters received this announcement with proper surpriseand horror, and the landlord suggested a little refreshment to hisvisitors. Spargo and Breton declined, on the ground that they had workto do during the afternoon; Rathbury accepted it, evidently as a matterof course.
"My respects," he said, lifting his glass. "Well, now, perhaps you'lljust tell me what you know of this man? I may as well tell you, Mr. andMrs. Walters, that he was found dead in Middle Temple Lane thismorning, at a quarter to three; that there wasn't anything on him buthis clothes and a scrap of paper which bore this gentleman's name andaddress; that this gentleman knows nothing whatever of him, and that Itraced him here because he bought a cap at a West End hatter'syesterday, and had it sent to your hotel."
"Yes," said Mrs. Walters quickly, "that's so. And he went out in thatcap last night. Well--we don't know much about him. As I said, he camein here about a quarter past twelve yesterday morning, and bookedNumber 20. He had a porter with him that brought a trunk and abag--they're in 20 now, of course. He told me that he had stayed atthis house over twenty years ago, on his way to Australia--that, ofcourse, was long before we took it. And he signed his name in the bookas John Marbury."
"We'll look at that, if you please," said Rathbury.
Walters fetched in the register and turned the leaf to the previousday's entries. They all bent over the dead man's writing.
"'John Marbury, Coolumbidgee, New South Wales,'" said Rathbury."Ah--now I was wondering if that writing would be the same as that onthe scrap of paper, Mr. Breton. But, you see, it isn't--it's quitedifferent."
"Quite different," said Breton. He, too, was regarding the handwritingwith great interest. And Rathbury noticed his keen inspection of it,and asked another question.
"Ever seen that writing before?" he suggested.
"Never," answered Breton. "And yet--there's something very familiarabout it."
"Then the probability is that you have seen it before," remarkedRathbury. "Well--now we'll hear a little more about Marbury's doingshere. Just tell me all you know, Mr. and Mrs. Walters."
"My wife knows most," said Walters. "I scarcely saw the man--I don'tremember speaking with him."
"No," said Mrs. Walters. "You didn't--you weren't much in his way.Well," she continued, "I showed him up to his room. He talked abit--said he'd just landed at Southampton from Melbourne."
"Did he mention his ship?" asked Rathbury. "But if he didn't, itdoesn't matter, for we can find out."
"I believe the name's on his things," answered the landlady. "There aresome labels of that sort. Well, he asked for a chop to be cooked forhim at once, as he was going out. He had his chop, and he went out atexactly one o'clock, saying to me that he expected he'd get lost, as hedidn't know London well at any time, and shouldn't know it at all now.He went outside there--I saw him--looked about him and walked offtowards Blackfriars way. During the afternoon the cap you spoke of camefor him--from Fiskie's. So, of course, I judged he'd been Piccadillyway. But he himself never came in until ten o'clock. And then hebrought a gentleman with him."
"Aye?" said Rathbury. "A gentleman, now? Did you see him?"
"Just," replied the landlady. "They went straight up to 20, and I justcaught a mere glimpse of the gentleman as they turned up the stairs. Atall, well-built gentleman, with a grey beard, very well dressed as faras I could see, with a top hat and a white silk muffler round histhroat, and carrying an umbrella."
"And they went to Marbury's room?" said Rathbury. "What then?"
"Well, then, Mr. Marbury rang for some whiskey and soda," continuedMrs. Walters. "He was particular to have a decanter of whiskey: that,and a syphon of soda were taken up there. I heard nothing more untilnearly midnight; then the hall-porter told me that the gentleman in 20had gone out, and had aske
d him if there was a night-porter--as, ofcourse, there is. He went out at half-past eleven."
"And the other gentleman?" asked Rathbury.
"The other gentleman," answered the landlady, "went out with him. Thehall-porter said they turned towards the station. And that was thelast anybody in this house saw of Mr. Marbury. He certainly never cameback."
"That," observed Rathbury with a quiet smile, "that is quite certain,ma'am? Well--I suppose we'd better see this Number 20 room, and have alook at what he left there."
"Everything," said Mrs. Walters, "is just as he left it. Nothing's beentouched."
It seemed to two of the visitors that there was little to touch. On thedressing-table lay a few ordinary articles of toilet--none of them ofany quality or value: the dead man had evidently been satisfied withthe plain necessities of life. An overcoat hung from a peg: Rathbury,without ceremony, went through its pockets; just as unceremoniously heproceeded to examine trunk and bag, and finding both unlocked, he laidout on the bed every article they contained and examined eachseparately and carefully. And he found nothing whereby he could gatherany clue to the dead owner's identity.
"There you are!" he said, making an end of his task. "You see, it'sjust the same with these things as with the clothes he had on him.There are no papers--there's nothing to tell who he was, what he wasafter, where he'd come from--though that we may find out in otherways. But it's not often that a man travels without some clue to hisidentity. Beyond the fact that some of this linen was, you see, boughtin Melbourne, we know nothing of him. Yet he must have had papers andmoney on him. Did you see anything of his money, now, ma'am?" he asked,suddenly turning to Mrs. Walters. "Did he pull out his purse in yourpresence, now?"
"Yes," answered the landlady, with promptitude. "He came into the barfor a drink after he'd been up to his room. He pulled out a handful ofgold when he paid for it--a whole handful. There must have been somethirty to forty sovereigns and half-sovereigns."
"And he hadn't a penny piece on him--when found," muttered Rathbury.
"I noticed another thing, too," remarked the landlady. "He was wearinga very fine gold watch and chain, and had a splendid ring on his lefthand--little finger--gold, with a big diamond in it."
"Yes," said the detective, thoughtfully, "I noticed that he'd worn aring, and that it had been a bit tight for him. Well--now there's onlyone thing to ask about. Did your chambermaid notice if he left any tornpaper around--tore any letters up, or anything like that?"
But the chambermaid, produced, had not noticed anything of the sort; onthe contrary, the gentleman of Number 20 had left his room very tidyindeed. So Rathbury intimated that he had no more to ask, and nothingfurther to say, just then, and he bade the landlord and landlady of theAnglo-Orient Hotel good morning, and went away, followed by the twoyoung men.
"What next?" asked Spargo, as they gained the street.
"The next thing," answered Rathbury, "is to find the man with whomMarbury left this hotel last night."
"And how's that to be done?" asked Spargo.
"At present," replied Rathbury, "I don't know."
And with a careless nod, he walked off, apparently desirous of beingalone.