replies were taken down in writing. Then came questionsconcerning my friendship with Miss Thorold, and these annoyed meconsiderably. Was the rumour that I was engaged to be married to hertrue? Was there any ground for the rumour? Was I at all attached toher? Was she attached to me? Had we ever corresponded by letter? Wasit a fact that we called each other by our Christian names? Was it nottrue, that on one evening at least, we had smoked cigarettes together,alone in her boudoir?
It was. This admission seemed to gratify my cross-questionersconsiderably.
"And may I ask, Mr. Ashton," asked a legal gentleman with a mostoffensive manner, as he looked me up and down, "if this took place withSir Charles' knowledge?"
"Oh, yes it did. With his full knowledge and consent!"
"Oh, really. And you will pardon my asking, was Lady Thorold also awarethat you and her daughter sat alone together late at night, smokingcigarettes and addressing each other by your Christian names?"
Now I am fairly even-tempered, but this local solicitor's objectionableinsinuations ended by stirring me up. This, very likely, was what hedesired that they should do.
"My dear sir," I exclaimed, "will you tell me if these questions ofyours have any bearing at all upon the matter you are inquiring into,and if your very offensive innuendoes are intended as veiled, or ratheras unveiled, insults to Miss Thorold or to myself?"
I heard some one near me murmur, "Hear, hear," at the back of the room.The comment encouraged me.
"You will not address me in that fashion again, please," my interlocutoranswered hotly, reddening.
"In what fashion?"
"You will not call me `your dear sir.' I object. I strongly object."
A titter of amusement trickled through the room. My adversary's fingers--for he had become an adversary--twitched.
"I was under the impression," he remarked pompously, "that I wasaddressing a gentleman."
I am not good at smart retorts, but I got one in when I answered him.
"A gentleman--I?" I exclaimed blandly. "I assure you, my dear sir,that I don't pose as a gentleman. I am quite a common man--just likeyourself."
Considerable laughter greeted this remark, but it was at oncesuppressed. Still, I knew that this single quick rejoinder had biased"the gallery" in my favour. Common people enjoy witnessing thediscomfiture of any individual in authority.
Two days later, I left Oakham and returned to London, feeling like aschoolboy going home for Christmas.
The days went by. On the following week I again went to Oakham toattend the adjourned inquest. In the case of the butler, an openverdict was returned, but in the case of the driver, one of murder bysome person unknown.
Of Vera I had had no news.
"Twenty-six Upper..." That might be in London, or in Brighton. Itmight even be in some other town. I thought it probable, however, thatthe address she had been about to give was a London address, so I hadspent the day before the inquest in trying the various London "Uppers"contained in "Kelly's Directory."
Heavens, what an array! When my eyes fell upon the list, my heart sank.For there were no less than fifty-four "Uppers" scattered about theMetropolis. Some, obviously, might be ruled out at once, or so Iconjectured. Upper Street, Islington, for instance, close to the_Angel_, did not sound a likely "residential locality"--as the estateagents say--for people of Sir Charles and Lady Thorold's position to bestaying in. Nor did Upper Bland near the _Elephant and Castle_, norUpper Grange Road, off the Old Kent Road; nor Upper Chapman Street,Shadwell. On the other hand, Upper Brook Street; Upper George Street,Sloane Square; Upper Grosvenor Street, Park Lane; even Upper PhillimoreGardens, Kensington, seemed possible spots, and these and many other"Uppers" I tried, spinning from one to another in a taxi, until thedriver began to look at me as though he had misgivings as to my sanity.
"Twenty-six don't seem to be your lucky number, sir," he said jocularly,when he had driven me to thirty-seven different "Uppers" and called ineach at the house numbered twenty-six. "It wouldn't be twenty-six insome `Lower' Street, or Place, or Road, or Gardens, would it, sir?"
He spoke only half in jest, but I resented his familiarity, and I toldhim so. His only comment, muttered beneath his breath, but loud enoughfor me to hear, was--
"Lummy! the cove's dotty in 'is own `upper,' that's what _'ee_ is."
On my return from Oakham I went to Brighton, wandering aimlessly aboutthe streets and on the esplanade, hoping against hope that somefortunate turn in the wheel of Fate might bring me unexpectedly face toface with my sweet-faced beloved, whose prolonged and mysterious absenceseemed to have made my heart grow fonder. Alas! fate only grinned at meironically.
Vera had vanished with her family--entirely vanished.
But not wholly ironically. I had been distressed to find that thelittle silver flask picked up at Houghton had been mislaid. For hours Ihad hunted high and low for it in my flat. John had turned out all myclothes, and pulled the pockets inside out, and I had bullied him forhis carelessness in losing it, and almost accused him of stealing it.
It was while in the train on my way back to London, after my secondfutile visit to Brighton, that I sat down on something hard. Almost atonce I guessed what it was. Briefly, there had been a hole in theinside breast-pocket of my overcoat. It had been mended by John'swife--whose duty it was to keep all my clothes in order--before I knewof its existence. Therefore, when I had naturally enough suspectedthere being a hole in one of my pockets, and sought one, I had found allthe pockets intact. The woman had mended the hole without noticing thatthe little flask, which had dropped through it, lay hidden in the bottomof the lining.
I ripped open the lining at once, and pulled out the flask, delighted atthe discovery. And, as soon as I reached town, I took the flask to achemist I knew and asked him to analyse its contents. He would do sowithout delay, he said, and let me know on the following morning theresult of his analysis.
"It's a mixture of gelsiminum and ether," he said, as soon as I enteredhis shop next day.
"Poison, of course," I remarked.
He smiled.
"Well, I should rather think so," he answered drily. "A few drops wouldsend a strong man to sleep for ever, and there is enough of the fluidhere to send fifty men to sleep--for ever. Therefore one wouldn'texactly take it for one's health."
So here was a clue--of a sort. The first clue! My spirits rose. Mynext step must be to discover the owner of the flask, presumably someone with initials "D.P.," and the reason he--or she--had carried thisfluid about.
I lunched at Brooks's, feeling more than usually bored by the members Imet there. Several men whom I had not seen for several weeks werestanding in front of the smoking-room fire, and as I entered, and theycaught sight of me, they all grinned broadly.
"`The accused then left the Court with his friends,'" one of them saidlightly, as I approached. "`He was granted a free pardon, but boundover in his own recognisances to keep the peace for six months.'"
"You _have_ been getting yourself into trouble, Dick, and no mistake,"observed his neighbour--I am generally called Dick by my friends.
"Into trouble? What do you mean?" I retorted, nettled.
"Why--you know quite well," he answered. "This Houghton affair, thescandal about the Thorolds, of course. How came you to get mixed up init? We like you, old man, but you know it makes it a bit unpleasant forsome of us. You know what people are. They will talk."
"I suppose you mean that men are judged by the company they keep, andthat because I happened to be at Houghton at the time of that affair,and was unwillingly dragged into prominence by the newspapers, thereforethat discredit reflects on me."
"Well, I should not have expressed it precisely in that way, butstill--"
"Still what?"
"As you ask me, I suppose I must answer. I do think it ratherunfortunate you should have got yourself mixed up in the business, andboth Algie and Frank agree with me--don't you, Algie?" he ended, turningto his friend.
"Awe--er--awe--quite so, quite so. We were talking of you just as youcame in, my dear old Dick, and we all agreed it was, awe--er--was--awe--a confounded pity you had anything to do with it. Bad form, you know,old Dick, all this notoriety. Never does to be unusual, singular, ordifferent from other people--eh what? One's friends don't like it--andone don't like it oneself--what?"
Their shallow views and general mental vapidity, if I may put it so,jarred upon me. After spending ten minutes in their company, I wentinto the dining-room and lunched alone. Then I read the newspapers,dozed in an armchair for half-an-hour, and finally, at about fouro'clock, returned to my flat in King