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Updated: May 5, 2025
But he speedily discovered that the unravelling of crime on paper was nothing like so fascinating as the actual participation in detection of crime in real life, and he threw the book aside and gave himself up to waiting. What were those two doing in Burchill's rooms? What were they finding? What would the result be? Certainly Davidge and his man took their time.
Eight o'clock came and went nine o'clock, ten o'clock followed and sped into the past, and they were still there. It was drawing near to eleven, and they had been in those rooms well over three hours, when a slight sound came at Triffitt's window and Davidge put his head in, to be presently followed by Milsey. Milsey looked as innocent as ever, but it seemed to Triffitt that Davidge looked grave.
That one skilfully concealed his real feelings under a show of feigned interest. "You never say!" exclaimed Davidge, dropping into a favourite colloquialism of his native county. "Dear me, today! A man that you knew, Mr. Burchill, and that for the present you'll call Mr. X. You knew him well, then?" "Better than I know you," replied Burchill.
Milsey snapped open the lid of his case, and revealed, instead of spoon or fork or knife a number of shining keys, of all sorts and sizes and strange patterns, all of delicate make and of evidently superior workmanship. He pushed the case across the table to the corner at which Triffitt was sitting, and Davidge regarded it fondly in transit. "Pretty things, ain't they?" he said.
The present day knows what the old school was, when it sees William Warren, Joseph Jefferson, Charles Fisher, Mrs. John Drew, John Gilbert, J.H. Stoddart, Mrs. G.H. Gilbert, William Davidge, and Lester Wallack the results and the remains of it.
I've got a second warrant for you, and the charge'll be read to you when you get to the station. You'll clear yourself of the charge of murder, but not of t'other charge, I'm thinking!" "Second warrant! Another charge!" growled Burchill. "What charge?" "I should think you know as well as I do," replied Davidge quietly. "You're a bigger fool than I take you for if you don't. Conspiracy, of course!
He took Triffitt's arm firmly in his, led him up the stairs, in at the doors. The hall-porter came forward. "Take me up," said Davidge, "to Mrs. Engledew's flat."
Not so much so, in fact. You see " But at that moment a taxi-cab came speeding round the corner, and from it presently emerged Carver and Davidge. The detective, phlegmatic, quiet as ever, nodded familiarly to Triffitt and lifted his hat to Trixie. "Evening, Mr. Triffitt," he said quietly.
When both he and Dimambro had gone, I walked out into Parliament Square, and after thinking things over, I hailed a passing taxi-cab, and told the driver to go to Kensington High Street, and to pull up by the Metropolitan Station." Burchill here paused to give Davidge a peculiarly knowing look. "Now I want you all and particularly Mr.
Engledew, no objection I'm sure to having a press gentleman at them. Mr. Triffitt, ma'am, of the Argus newspaper. Known to these gentlemen all of 'em unless it's the gentleman at the far end, there. Known, at any rate, to Mr. Selwood and the Professor," continued Davidge, nodding with much familiarity to the person he named. "And likewise to Mr. Burchill there. How do you do, sir, this evening?
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