Before my dear lady and I had time to ask any questions, Saunders arrived in a taxicab. He was accompanied by the medical officer, Dr Townson, who at once busied himself with the dead man, whilst Saunders went up quickly to Lady Molly.
‘The chief suggested sending for you,’ he said quickly; ‘he was ’phoning you when I left. There’s a woman in this case, and we shall rely on you a good deal.’
‘What has happened?’ asked my dear lady, whose fine eyes were glowing with excitement at the mere suggestion of work.
‘I have only a few stray particulars,’ replied Saunders, ‘but the chief witness is that yellow-haired girl over there. We’ll find out what we can from her directly Dr Townson has given us his opinion.’
The medical officer, who had been kneeling beside the dead man, now rose and turned to Saunders. His face was very grave.
‘The whole matter is simple enough, so far as I am concerned,’ he said. ‘The man has been killed by a terrific dose of morphia – administered, no doubt, in this cup of chocolate,’ he added, pointing to a cup in which there still lingered the cold dregs of the thick beverage.
‘But when did this occur?’ asked Saunders, turning to the waitress.
‘I can’t say,’ she replied, speaking with obvious nervousness. ‘The gentleman came in very early with a lady, somewhere about four. They made straight for this alcove. The place was just beginning to fill, and the music had begun.’
‘And where is the lady now?’
‘She went off almost directly. She had ordered tea for herself and a cup of chocolate for the gentleman, also muffins and cakes. About five minutes afterwards, as I went past their table, I heard her say to him. “I am afraid I must go now, or Jay’s will be closed, but I’ll be back in less than half an hour. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?”’
‘Did the gentleman seem all right then?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said the waitress. ‘He had just begun to sip his chocolate, and merely said “S’long” as she gathered up her gloves and muff and then went out of the shop.’
‘And she has not returned since?’
‘No.’
‘When did you first notice there was anything wrong with this gentleman?’ asked Lady Molly.
‘Well,’ said the girl with some hesitation, ‘I looked at him once or twice as I went up and down, for he certainly seemed to have fallen all of a heap. Of course, I thought that he had gone to sleep, and I spoke to the manageress about him, but she thought that I ought to leave him alone for a bit. Then we got very busy, and I paid no more attention to him, until about six o’clock, when most afternoon tea customers had gone, and we were beginning to get the tables ready for dinners. Then I certainly did think there was something wrong with the man. I called to the manageress, and we sent for the police.’
‘And the lady who was with him at first, what was she like? Would you know her again?’ queried Saunders.
‘I don’t know,’ replied the girl; ‘you see, I have to attend to such crowds of people of an afternoon, I can’t notice each one. And she had on one of those enormous mushroom hats; no one could have seen her face – not more than her chin – unless they looked right under the hat.’
‘Would you know the hat again?’ asked Lady Molly.
‘Yes – I think I should,’ said the waitress. ‘It was black velvet and had a lot of plumes. It was enormous,’ she added, with a sigh of admiration and of longing for the monumental headgear.
During the girl’s narrative one of the constables had searched the dead man’s pockets. Among other items, he had found several letters addressed to Mark Culledon, Esq., some with an address in Lombard Street, others with one in Fitzjohn’s Avenue, Hampstead. The initials MC, which appeared both in the hat and on the silver mount of a letter-case belonging to the unfortunate gentleman, proved his identity beyond a doubt.
A house in Fitzjohn’s Avenue does not, somehow, suggest a bachelor establishment. Even whilst Saunders and the other men were looking through the belongings of the deceased, Lady Molly had already thought of his family – children, perhaps a wife, a mother – who could tell?
What awful news to bring to an unsuspecting, happy family, who might even now be expecting the return of father, husband, or son, at the very moment when he lay murdered in a public place, the victim of some hideous plot or feminine revenge!
As our amiable friends in Paris would say, it jumped to the eyes that there was a woman in the case – a woman who had worn a gargantuan hat for the obvious purpose of remaining unidentifiable when the question of the unfortunate victim’s companion that afternoon came up for solution. And all these facts to put before an expectant wife or an anxious mother!
As, no doubt, you have already foreseen, Lady Molly took the difficult task on her own kind shoulders. She and I drove together to Lorbury House, Fitzjohn’s Avenue, and on asking of the manservant who opened the door if his mistress were at home, we were told that Lady Irene Culledon was in the drawing-room.
Mine is not a story of sentiment, so I am not going to dwell on that interview, which was one of the most painful moments I recollect having lived through.
Lady Irene
