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Updated: May 8, 2025
"We'll soon settle that point!" answered Hawthwaite. "Come down there." He opened the door of the dock and led Brent down an iron staircase into an arched and vaulted hall at its foot, whence they proceeded along various gloomy passages towards a heavy, iron-studded door. Near this, a police constable stood writing at a tall desk; the superintendent approached and spoke to him.
Well, naturally, the big folk of the neighbourhood called on her when she'd settled down she furnished and fitted her house from local shops, and it took her some time to get fixed up expecting, of course, that she'd return their calls. She never returned a single one! Not one, sir!" "That certainly sounds odd," admitted Brent. "Ay, doesn't it?" said Hawthwaite.
Whoever it was that was in that Mayor's Parlour tried to burn a blood-stained handkerchief there. That handkerchief was Wellesley's. Wellesley swears he was never near the Mayor's Parlour. I believe him! So that handkerchief got by error into the box or basket of some other customer of Mrs. Marriner. Trace it!" He rose and moved towards the door, and Hawthwaite nodded.
"Pretty enough and clever enough," assented Hawthwaite dryly. "And I dare say you're right about the rest. But I'll tell you why I used that term; at least, in regard to her. When Mrs. Saumarez first came here, it was understood that she was the widow of a naval officer of high rank.
"What are you going to do about this?" interrupted Brent, glancing round the room. "Set the wires to work," answered Hawthwaite half-carelessly. "Unless she and Mallett have laid their plans with extraordinary cleverness, they can't get out of the country. A noticeable pair too! Went out very early this morning, cycling, did she? I must have a talk to the servants. And that companion, now Mrs.
Consequently, this furnishing and decorating business took up all their spare time: Queenie eventually spent all hers at the house, superintending and arranging; Brent was there when he was not writing his Monitor articles or interviewing Hawthwaite.
"What have you done about it?" asked Brent. Hawthwaite gave him a knowing look. "Well, I'll tell you that too," he answered. "I've got the machine! It's there in that box in the corner. The Clothford firm will make an excuse to Mr. Crood that they've had to send this machine away for repairs eh? Of course I'm not going to let it out of my possession until well, until we know more."
"That should be followed up, more," continued Brent. "There's no doubt whatever that that handkerchief, which Wellesley admits is his, got sent by mistake to one or other of Mrs. Marriner's other customers. That's flat! Now, you can trace it." "How?" exclaimed Hawthwaite. "A small article like that!" "It can be done, with patience," said Brent. "It's got to be done.
"Well," he added, after a pause, "I dare say all sorts of small items help towards a solution, Hawthwaite. But you're already busy about it." "I'm not only busy, but actively so," replied the superintendent. "And again between you and me and nobody else I'm expecting some very special professional and expert assistance within the next few days. Oh, you leave this to me, Mr.
"As you say, Hawthwaite, I think it's something that you ought to know, both of you; but, at present, I don't know if there's anything in it I mean anything that has real, practical relation to Wallingford's death, or not. I am to speak in confidence?" "To me yes," answered Brent promptly. "It'll not go beyond me, doctor," said Hawthwaite with a smile. "I'm used to this job!
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