I suppose it was because there was nobody else to question, that they cross-examined me so closely and so foolishly.
Their inquiries were endless. Had I known the Thorolds long? Could I name the date when I first became acquainted with them? Was it a fact that I rode Sir Charles horses while I was a guest at Houghton? About how often did I ride them? And on how many days did I hunt during the fortnight I spent at Houghton?
All my replies were taken down in writing. Then came questions concerning my friendship with Miss Thorold, and these annoyed me considerably. Was the rumour that I was engaged to be married to her true? Was there any ground for the rumour? Was I at all attached to her? Was she attached to me? Had we ever corresponded by letter? Was it a fact that we called each other by our Christian names? Was it not true, that on one evening at least, we had smoked cigarettes together, alone in her boudoir?
It was. This admission seemed to gratify my cross-questioners considerably.
And may I ask, Mr Ashton, asked a legal gentleman with a most offensive manner, as he looked me up and down, if this took place with Sir Charles knowledge?
Oh, yes it did. With his full knowledge and consent!
Oh, really. And you will pardon my asking, was Lady Thorold also aware that you and her daughter sat alone together late at night, smoking cigarettes and addressing each other by your Christian names?
Now I am fairly even-tempered, but this local solicitors objectionable insinuations ended by stirring me up. This, very likely, was what he desired that they should do.
My dear sir, I exclaimed, will you tell me if these questions of yours have any bearing at all upon the matter you are inquiring into, and if your very offensive innuendoes are intended as veiled, or rather as 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 interlocutor answered 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 adversarys fingers for he had become an adversary twitched.
I was under the impression, he remarked pompously, that I was addressing 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 dont pose as a gentleman. I am quite a common man just like yourself.
Considerable laughter greeted this remark, but it was at once suppressed. Still, I knew that this single quick rejoinder had biased the gallery in my favour. Common people enjoy witnessing the discomfiture of any individual in authority.
Two days later, I left Oakham and returned to London, feeling like a schoolboy going home for Christmas.
The days went by. On the following week I again went to Oakham to attend the adjourned inquest. In the case of the butler, an open verdict was returned, but in the case of the driver, one of murder by some person unknown.
Of Vera I had had no news.
Twenty-six Upper That might be in London, or in Brighton. It might even be in some other town. I thought it probable, however, that the address she had been about to give was a London address, so I had spent the day before the inquest in trying the various London Uppers contained in Kellys 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 the Metropolis. Some, obviously, might be ruled out at once, or so I conjectured. Upper Street, Islington, for instance, close to the Angel, did not sound a likely residential locality as the estate agents say for people of Sir Charles and Lady Thorolds position to be staying in. Nor did Upper Bland near the Elephant and Castle, nor Upper 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 Phillimore Gardens, Kensington, seemed possible spots, and these and many other Uppers I tried, spinning from one to another in a taxi, until the driver began to look at me as though he had misgivings as to my sanity.
Twenty-six dont seem to be your lucky number, sir, he said jocularly, when he had driven me to thirty-seven different Uppers and called in each at the house numbered twenty-six. It wouldnt be twenty-six in some Lower Street, or Place, or Road, or Gardens, would it, sir?
He spoke only half in jest, but I resented his familiarity, and I told him so. His only comment, muttered beneath his breath, but loud enough for me to hear, was
Lummy! the coves dotty in is own upper, thats what ee is.
On my return from Oakham I went to Brighton, wandering aimlessly about the streets and on the esplanade, hoping against hope that some fortunate turn in the wheel of Fate might bring me unexpectedly face to face with my sweet-faced beloved, whose prolonged and mysterious absence seemed to have made my heart grow fonder. Alas! fate only grinned at me ironically.
Vera had vanished with her family entirely vanished.
But not wholly ironically. I had been distressed to find that the little silver flask picked up at Houghton had been mislaid. For hours I had hunted high and low for it in my flat. John had turned out all my clothes, and pulled the pockets inside out, and I had bullied him for his 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 second futile visit to Brighton, that I sat down on something hard. Almost at once I guessed what it was. Briefly, there had been a hole in the inside breast-pocket of my overcoat. It had been mended by Johns wife whose duty it was to keep all my clothes in order before I knew of its existence. Therefore, when I had naturally enough suspected there being a hole in one of my pockets, and sought one, I had found all the pockets intact. The woman had mended the hole without noticing that the little flask, which had dropped through it, lay hidden in the bottom of the lining.
I ripped open the lining at once, and pulled out the flask, delighted at the discovery. And, as soon as I reached town, I took the flask to a chemist I knew and asked him to analyse its contents. He would do so without delay, he said, and let me know on the following morning the result of his analysis.
Its a mixture of gelsiminum and ether, he said, as soon as I entered his shop next day.
Poison, of course, I remarked.
He smiled.
Well, I should rather think so, he answered drily. A few drops would send a strong man to sleep for ever, and there is enough of the fluid here to send fifty men to sleep for ever. Therefore one wouldnt exactly take it for ones health.
So here was a clue of a sort. The first clue! My spirits rose. My next step must be to discover the owner of the flask, presumably some one with initials D.P., and the reason he or she had carried this fluid about.
I lunched at Brookss, feeling more than usually bored by the members I met there. Several men whom I had not seen for several weeks were standing in front of the smoking-room fire, and as I entered, and they caught sight of me, they all grinned broadly.
The accused then left the Court with his friends, one of them said lightly, as I approached. He was granted a free pardon, but bound over in his own recognisances to keep the peace for six months.