On reaching London, French drove to the Houston. Showing his credentials, he asked whether two gentlemen, a Mr. Stanley and a Mr. Jefferson Pyke, had stayed there for one night towards the end of the previous .
It was not to be expected that the reception clerk would remember either visitor. But she soon turned up the register. The names appeared on , both having been written by Stanley.
“That’s scarcely good enough for me,” said French. “It doesn’t prove that they were both here.”
“Practically it does,” the clerk returned. “You see, each was allotted a room. If the rooms had not been occupied the allocation would have been cancelled, for at that time we were turning people away every night. But we can soon settle it.” She looked up her account books. “Here,” she went on after a moment, “are the accounts in question. Mr. Stanley occupied Number Three Forty-six and Mr. Jefferson Number Three Fifty-one. The accounts were paid separately. I receipted Mr. Stanley’s, and Miss Hurst, another of our staff, receipted Mr. Jefferson’s. Curiously,” she went on, “I remember Mr. Stanley paying. He broke the basin in his room and we had some discussion as to whether he would be charged for it. He was, in the end.”
This would have seemed ample confirmation of Jefferson’s statement to most people, but French, with his passion for thoroughness, decided to see the chambermaid. She remembered the incident and remembered also that the gentleman’s friend had occupied No. 351, as on her bringing his hot water in answering to his ring, he had said he was late and would she go and wake his friend in No. 351. She had done as requested, but the friend was already up.
From the Houston, French walked to Kettle Street. Yes, Mr. Jefferson had taken the rooms on the last, and though he had been frequently away for a day or two at a time, he had lived there ever since. Moreover, Mrs. Welsh’s records enabled her to say that he had been absent not only on , but also on at Swansea.
On his return to the Yard, French found that replies had come in from Paris and the Riviera. Stanley and Jefferson Pyke had stayed at the three hotels in question.
The next post brought a letter from the Lincoln police. It appeared that the three young people about whom enquiries had been made had lived in the district at the time mentioned. Dr. Considine was a well-known practitioner in the town until his death in , but little was known of his daughter Phyllis save the mere fact of her existence. Stanley and Jefferson Pyke had lived with a relative in the suburbs and had attended a private school kept by a Dr. Oates. The relations between the girl and boys were not known, but it was probable that they had met, as they were in the same social set. More could probably be learned by further enquiries.
This seemed to French sufficient to corroborate the statements of Jefferson Pyke and Mrs. Berlyn, and he advised the Lincoln police not to trouble further in the matter.
He had scarcely written his note when a cable from the Argentine police was handed to him. Jefferson Pyke was well known as the owner of an estancia in the Rosario district. He was believed to be comfortably off, though not wealthy. He answered the description given in the wire from Scotland Yard and had left for England on the boat mentioned.
With the exception of the fact that Jefferson was away from his rooms at the time of the crime, all this was disappointing to French. So far he had learned little to help in the building up of his case. On the contrary, the tendency was in Jefferson Pyke’s favour. He did not appear to be of the stuff of which murderers are made. Nor, from the purser’s description, did it seem likely that he was hatching a crime while on the Flintshire. On the other hand, there was no knowing what even the mildest man might do under the stress of passion.
But what really worried French was the fact that he had made no progress towards the tracing of his suspects’ present whereabouts. In vain he urged his men on to more intensive efforts. Nowhere could they learn anything to help.
But he realised that there was nothing for it but patience. The business was necessarily slow, as it meant individual enquiries from everyone concerned. French did not dare to advertise, lest Pyke should see the notice and take still further precautions against discovery.
The third day passed and the fourth, French growing more restless every hour. He now began to consider publicity—broadcast descriptions, advertisements in the papers, even the offer of a reward for secret information. Finally he decided that if by the following evening no news had come in, he would put these agencies in operation.
But the men of the C.I.D. are marvellously efficient and persistent. On returning from lunch on the fifth day, French learned, to his infinite satisfaction, that a taximan whose information might prove valuable had been found and was on his way to the Yard. Ten minutes later an intelligent-looking man in a driver’s uniform was shown in.
“Good afternoon,” said French. “You have something to tell me? Just let me have your name and address and then go ahead.”
William Service explained that he was the driver of a taxi in the employment of Metropolitan Transport, Ltd. On Monday night, the night in question, he had driven a fare to Euston for the express. On leaving the station he was returning through Russell Square
