“Do you remember it?”
Swain mentioned a number which Wimsey recognized as Penberthy’s.
“So I drives ’im there. And ’e asks me to ring the bell for ’im, and when the young man comes to the door to ask if the doctor could please see General Fenton, or Fennimore or some such name, sir.”
“Was it Fentiman, do you think?”
“Well, yes, it might ’ave been Fentiman. I think it was. So the young man comes back and says, yes, certingly, so I ’elps the old gent aht. Very faint, ’e seemed, and a very bad color, sir, breathin’ ’eavy and blue-like abaht the lips. Pore old b⸺ I thinks, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, ’e won’t be ’ere long, I thinks. So we ’elps him up the steps into the ’ouse and ’e gives me my fare and a shilling for myself, and that’s the last I see of ’im, sir.”
“That fits in all right with what Penberthy said,” agreed Wimsey. “The General felt the strain of his interview with his sister and went straight round to see him. Right. Now how about this other part of the business?”
“Well,” said Mr. Murbles, “I think this gentleman, whose name is—let me see—Hinkins—yes. I think Mr. Hinkins picked up the General when he left Harley Street.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed the other driver, a smartish-looking man with a keen profile and a sharp eye. “A very old gentleman, like what we’ve ’eard described, took my taxi at this same number in ’Arley Street at ’alf past five. I remember the day very well, sir; November 10th it was, and I remember it because, after I done taking him where I’m telling you, my magneto started to give trouble, and I didn’t ’ave the use of the bus on Armistice Day, which was a great loss to me, because that’s a good day as a rule. Well, this old military gentleman gets in, with his stick and all, just as Swain says, only I didn’t notice him looking particular ill, though I see he was pretty old. Maybe the doctor would have given him something to make him better.”
“Very likely,” said Mr. Murbles.
“Yes, sir. Well, he gets in, and he says, ‘Take me to Dover Street,’ he says, but if you was to ask me the number, sir, I’m afraid I don’t rightly remember, because, you see, we never went there after all.”
“Never went there?” cried Wimsey.
“No, sir. Just as we was comin’ out into Cavendish Square, the old gentleman puts his head out and says, ‘Stop!’ So I stops, and I see him wavin’ his hand to a gentleman on the pavement. So this other one comes up, and they has a few words together and then the old—”
“One moment. What was this other man like?”
“Dark and thin, sir, and looked about forty. He had on a gray suit and overcoat and a soft hat, with a dark handkerchief round his throat. Oh, yes, and he had a small black mustache. So the old gentleman says, ‘Cabman,’ he says, just like that, ‘cabman, go back up to Regent’s Park and drive round till I tell you to stop.’ So the other gentleman gets in with him, and I goes back and drives round the Park, quiet-like, because I guessed they wanted to ’ave a bit of a talk. So I goes twice round, and as we was going round the third time, the younger gentleman sticks ’is ’ed out and says, ‘Put me down at Gloucester Gate.’ So I puts him down there, and the old gentleman says, ‘Goodbye, George, bear in mind what I have said.’ So the gentleman says, ‘I will, sir,’ and I see him cross the road, like as if he might be going up Park Street.”
Mr. Murbles and Wimsey exchanged glances.
“And then where did you go?”
“Then, sir, the fare says to me, ‘Do you know the Bellona Club in Piccadilly?’ he says. So I says, ‘Yes, sir.’ ”
“The Bellona Club?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What time was that?”
“It might be getting on for half-past six, sir. I’d been driving very slow, as I tells you, sir. So I takes him to the Club, like he said, and in he goes, and that’s the last I see of him, sir.”
“Thanks very much,” said Wimsey. “Did he seem to be at all upset or agitated when he was talking to the man he called George?”
“No, sir, I couldn’t say that. But I thought he spoke a bit sharp-like. What you might call telling him off, sir.”
“I see. What time did you get to the Bellona?”
“I should reckon it was about twenty minutes to seven, sir, or just a little bit more. There was a tidy bit of traffic about. Between twenty and ten to seven, as near as I can recollect.”
“Excellent. Well, you have both been very helpful. That will be all today, but I’d like you to leave your names and addresses with Mr. Murbles, in case we might want some sort of a statement from either of you later on. And—er—”
A couple of Treasury notes crackled. Mr. Swain and Mr. Hinkins made suitable acknowledgment and departed, leaving their addresses behind them.
“So he went back to the Bellona Club. I wonder what for?”
“I think I know,” said Wimsey. “He was accustomed to do any writing or business there, and I fancy he went back to put down some notes as to what he meant to do with the money his sister was leaving him. Look at this sheet of paper, sir. That’s the General’s handwriting, as I’ve proved this afternoon, and those are his fingerprints. And the initials R and G probably stand for Robert and George, and these figures for the various sums he means to leave them.”
“That
