better than yourself. I am writing this before business-Ethel is not up. Will you take luncheon with me today in the Holborn Restaurant? I shall be in the foyer at one o'clock sharp. I shall be very pleased and graceful to find you there.
Yours sincerely,
Hawley Harvey Crippen._
Eliot's response was a laugh. 'Poor little man!' Crippen had covered his shameful abandonment and adultery with an elaborate piecrust of gentility, which crumbled to the prod. He wondered about the recipients of the black- edged envelopes. Anyone would anger at tears spilt over a corpse still enjoying life in Chicago, and liable to resurrection with a postcard.
He left Nancy to finish the surgery, found a passing hansom outside in Brecknock Road and arrived at the restaurant early. The elaborately-decorated foyer was busy as a railway-station with dark suited men and a few ladies, staring curiously at Eliot's Norfolk jacket and loose tie. He pulled out his watch. Dr Crippen was quarter of an hour late. Eliot looked up, to find his host approaching through the plate-glass doors. On one side was a burly, beef-faced man in his mid-forties with a heavy moustache, wearing a bowler hat and a blue serge suit. On the other, a younger, thinner pale one in a dark tweed suit with a cap.
Crippen smiled to them. 'This is the friend I was expecting-Dr Beckett, of Holloway. May I introduce Mr Walter Dew?'
The older man shook hands. 'Didn't I read about you in the papers, sir?'
'And Mr Mitchell.' Crippen continued politely. 'Both are from Scotland Yard.'
Eliot looked startled. Crippen continued in his affable way, 'They called this morning at Hilldrop Crescent, and Miss Le Neve brought them along to Albion House. We are all three trying to clear up the mystery of my wife's leaving home. It takes a deal of time, as everything must be written down and read over and signed-isn't that the case, Mr Dew? But we still need our lunch, before we go on. Perhaps we should eat alone, if you'd excuse me?' he apologized to Eliot.
'That would be best, Dr Crippen,' Dew agreed.
'I'll be glad when the whole business is cleared up for good and all. That's why I'm so pleased that Scotland Yard is taking a hand in it,' Crippen ended admiringly.
'I smell a rat,' remarked Nancy that evening. She was reading Crippen's letter.
'Why? He's living with his typist, exactly as I'm living with you. It shows a refreshing disrespect for middle-class convention.'
'The police wouldn't be interviewing him, if they didn't smell one, too.'
'The police don't take suspected criminals out to lunch.'
'Don't they in London? They're so awfully polite.'
When a man is last seen in the company of detectives, his future movements grow in interest. On the Saturday afternoon, Eliot strolled to Hilldrop Crescent with a notion of the tкte-а-tкte denied them at the Holborn Restaurant. Valentine opened the door, in her brown dress without the apron. She seemed distressed. The doctor and madam had gone out, she explained in French, leaving her a letter to deliver. The envelope she took from her skirt pocket Eliot saw was addressed to Wm Long Esq., The Yale Tooth Specialists, Albion House, London W, with _By Hand Urgent_ underscored on the top. Valentine deplored she knew nothing of London, having ventured barely past Regent's Park. Eliot felt the envelope. It contained a door key. He was curious. He comforted the girl that he would take it by cab himself.
Long was the only one in the office.
'I'm worried about Dr Crippen,' he said at once. 'He was here when I arrived at nine-most unusual for him. When I asked what was up, he said, 'Only a little scandal.' We had police officers here yesterday-' He started opening the envelope. 'But only to find if Mrs Crippen had any estate to pay taxes on.'
'Who told you that?' Eliot asked sharply.
Long looked surprised. 'Why, the doctor. Then this morning, he sent me out with a list of clothes to buy.' His voice grew puzzled. 'A brown tweed suit, a brown felt hat, a couple of shirts and collars, tie and boots. And braces. All boy's size. I put them in the back room, No 91. When I came back from my lunch they'd gone. Instead, there was the hat which Miss Le Neve was wearing. I haven't seen either of them since.' He gave a whistle, reading the letter. 'Looks like the doctor's done a bunk.'
Eliot took the closely written page of Yale Tooth Specialists' paper.
_Dear Mr Long,
Will you do me the very great favour of winding up as best you can my household affairs? There is Ј12.10s due to my landlord for the past quarter's rent, and there will also be this quarter's rent, a total due to him of Ј25, in lieu of which he can seize the contents of the house. I cannot manage about the girl. She will have to get back to France, but should have sufficient saved to do this.
After the girl leaves, kindly send the key with a note explaining to the landlord c/o Messrs Lown and Sons. Thanking you in anticipation of fulfilling my wishes. I am, with best wishes for your future success and happiness, yours faithfully,
H H Crippen._
'There's another addressed to Dr Rylance.' Long continued looking startled. 'Do you suppose it's all right to read it?'
Eliot glanced at the second letter, which started, _I now find that in order to escape trouble I shall be obliged to absent myself for a time…_ The other dozen lines were on business, and ended with Crippen's kind wishes for his continuing success.
'What's the game?' asked Long nervously.
'Mrs Crippen is not dead.'
'Cor!'
'She ran off to a lover in America. Dr Crippen put about the story of her death to save scandal, but it stirred up more scandal than ever.'
Long stood open-mouthed, trying to steady himself in the social earthquake. 'Where's he gone?'
'Perhaps to America, too. He could make a fresh start.'
'But why the boy's clothes?'
'Miss Le Neve's obviously gone with him. It may not be thought entirely proper for a doctor to travel with a lady not his wife.'
Long's face brightened. 'Come to think of it, Miss Le Neve was a bit of a tomboy. There were times she'd put on one of the doctor's suits, and go out in the street for a lark.'
On Sunday, Eliot had promised Nancy an excursion to Canterbury. Monday, July 11, was bright and hot, promising a 'scorcher' to Londoners tramping in their bowlers and boaters to work. Concerned about Valentine, Eliot rang the bell at Hilldrop Crescent on his way to the surgery.
The girl received him conspiratorially. _'Voilа, docteur-'_
He stared through the back window. There were the two Scotland Yard men from the Holborn Restaurant. Both had their jackets off, and were digging the garden.
On Thursday, 'The North London Cellar Murder' was created. The newspapers proclaimed that human remains had been found at No 39 Hilldrop Crescent, below loose bricks under the coal. MYSTERIOUS PURCHASE OF SUBTLE DRUG BEFORE TRAGEDY, read the headline of the _Daily Chronicle,_ facing its editor with contempt of court. By Saturday, every London police station bore a poster headed MURDER AND MUTILATION, followed by descriptions, photographs, handwriting specimens of Crippen and Ethel, for whom was offered Ј250 reward each.
'So much for your innocent little doctor,' said Nancy over the breakfast table.
'But he is. I'm sure of it,' Eliot insisted. 'He was giving his wife hyoscine, to dampen her sexual demands. He told me as much. He was so appallingly ignorant, he probably gave her a lethal dose by mistake.'
'Then why did he cut his patient up and bury her in the cellar?'
'He'd still face a manslaughter charge over the hyoscine. Which would have kept him away from the tender Ethel a good few years, if not for the rest of his natural life. Think of the scandal! He's as sensitive towards that as Mrs Keppel. And maybe he had some dark, primitive idea that Belle should silently vanish from the face of the earth,
