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Updated: May 28, 2025
Miss Abingdon is out, I presume?" "Yes, sir," replied Benson, sadly. "At the funeral, sir." "Is Mrs. Howett in?" "She is, sir." "I shall be around in about a quarter of an hour, Benson. In the meantime, will you be good enough to lay the dining table exactly as it was laid on the night of Sir Charles's death?"
But after her rudeness, Mrs. Howett packed her off right away. She left the very next day after poor Sir Charles died." "Where has she gone?" "To a married sister, I believe, until she finds a new job. Mrs. Howett has the address." At this moment Mrs. Howett entered, bearing a tablecloth and a number of serviettes.
From the soup tureen to the serviette rings, Benson, I wish you to duplicate the dinner table as I remember it, paying particular attention to the exact position of each article. Mrs. Howett will doubtless be able to assist you in this." "Very good, sir," said Benson but his voice betokened bewilderment. "I will see Mrs. Howett at once, sir." "Right. Good-bye." "Good-bye, sir."
"Another 'phone call came for Sir Charles. I knew who it was, because I had told Sidney about the case Sir Charles was attending in the square. When Sir Charles went out I changed the serviettes. Mrs. Howett found me in the dining room and played hell. But afterward I managed to burn the box in the kitchen. That's all I know. What harm was there?" "Harm enough!" said Harley, grimly.
Then you, personally, made some modifications?" "I rearranged the flowers and moved the centre vase so." The methodical old lady illustrated her words. "I also had the dessert spoons changed. You remember, Benson?" Benson inclined his head. From a sideboard he took out two silver spoons which he substituted for those already set upon the table. "Anything else, Mrs. Howett?"
Blewitt, Webb, May, Nicholl, Hayden, Howett, Tilghmann, and last but not least, the future Sir William MacCormack. Dr. Blewitt had a variety of business to transact with the officials of the French Red Cross Society, and I was with him at his interviews with its venerable-looking President, the Count de Flavigny, and others.
Unless he was the victim of an unpleasant hallucination, those Russian spies had their peers in London. As he alighted from a cab before the house of the late Sir Charles, Benson opened the door. "We have just finished, sir," he said, as Harley ran up the steps. "But Mrs. Howett would like to see you, sir." "Very good, Benson," replied Harley, handing his hat and cane to the butler.
It had to be put there just before the meal began." "What else?" "I had to burn the box." "Well?" "That night I couldn't see how it was to be done. Benson had laid the dinner table and Mrs. Howett was pottering about. Then, when I thought I had my chance, Sir Charles sat down in the dining room and began to read.
Harley's message." Paul Harley turned to her. "May I ask you to bring the actual linen used at table on that occasion, Mrs. Howett?" he said. "My request must appear singular, I know, but I assure you it is no idle one." Benson looked positively stupid, but Mrs. Howett, who had conceived a sort of reverence for Paul Harley, hurried away excitedly.
"This was the cloth," she said, spreading it out, "but which of the serviettes were used I cannot say." "Allow me to look," replied Paul Harley. One by one he began to inspect the serviettes, opening each in turn and examining it critically. "What have we here!" he exclaimed, presently. "Have blackberries been served within the week, Mrs. Howett?" "We never had them on the table, Mr. Harley.
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