Before leaving Halford, Tanner had written to the photographers whose names he had found on the prints in the drawing-room at Luce Manor, ordering copies of Sir William’s, Austin’s, and Cosgrove’s photographs. The studio was in Regent Street, and hailing a taxi, Tanner drove there. The photographs were ready, and he put one of each in his pocket. Also he selected prints of three or four other men as like in appearance to the cousins as he could find. Then he went on to the Duchess of Frothingham’s house in Park Lane.
He saw her Grace’s butler, and representing himself as a reporter on the staff of a well-known society journal, asked for a list of the guests present at the “At Home” on the of the murder, discreetly insinuating that he was prepared to pay for the trouble given. The addendum had the desired effect, and after a considerable delay a copy of the list was in Tanner’s hands. A glance at it showed Cosgrove’s name among the others, and a few judicious questions established the fact that he had actually been present.
Once more in the street, Tanner looked at his watch. It was after .
“A little dinner and then the Empire,” he said to himself as he turned into Piccadilly. He had decided his first step must be to apply to those sources of information which could not possibly be interested in Cosgrove’s affairs; afterwards, if need be, hearing what Miss Belcher had to say on the same subject.
A couple of hours later he reached the Empire. Here he made exhaustive inquiries, but without finding anyone who had seen his man. But he was not greatly disappointed, as he had already realised that confirmation of this part of the alibi was problematical, if not unlikely.
Returning to his taxi, he continued his journey till he reached King’s Cross. It was just , and the great station was partially deserted, there being a lull in the traffic about that hour. For the first time that day Tanner felt cool, and he began to realise that he was tired. But apart from the general urgency of his business, he expected the persons he wished to see were on evening duty, and he decided he must finish his inquiries then and there. He therefore went to the stationmaster’s office, and sent in his card. A dark, intelligent looking young man with an alert manner received him, and to him Tanner explained his business.
“I did hear something about it,” the young man returned. “If you will wait a moment I’ll make inquiries.”
He left the room, returning presently with a clerk.
“Mr. Williams here remembers the affair. He dealt with it. Tell this gentleman what you know, Williams.”
“On , about or ,” began Williams, “a man called at the office and said he had booked a berth to Montrose on the , but that he had missed the train while in the refreshment room. He said his suitcase and waterproof had gone on in the train, and he asked what I would advise him to do.”
“That’s the man,” said Tanner, nodding. “Yes?”
“I told him the trains. The next to Montrose was the , and his mistake only meant that he would reach there at instead of . But it seemed he wanted to arrive early, and I mentioned the which runs from here to Dundee, suggesting he could go on by car. But on going into it he decided even this would be too late, and said he would travel on the . With regard to his luggage I offered to wire Grantham, which is the first stop of both the and the , to have it collected from the sleeping car on the , and put into the . He agreed to this, and I sent the telegram at once.”
“Would you know the man if you saw him again?”
“Yes, I believe I should.”
“Any of these he?” and Tanner handed over the half-dozen photographs.
The clerk instantly passed over Sir William’s and those of the strangers, then he examined Austin’s for some moments with a puzzled expression, but when he came to Cosgrove’s he hesitated no longer.
“That’s the man,” he said, repeating Tanner’s words of a moment before, “I should know him anywhere.”
“So far so good,” thought Tanner as he stepped out once more on to the concourse. “Now for the refreshment room.”
He found the platform from which the had started on the night in question, and looked about him. There was little doubt as to where Cosgrove had gone for his cigars. On the platform itself was a large sign “First-Class-Refreshment Room.” The Inspector pushed open the door and entered.
“Good evening,” he said, raising his hat politely to the presiding goddess. “I want a few cigars, please.”
“I have only these,” the girl answered, placing two partially emptied boxes before him.
Tanner examined them.
“I am not much of a judge,” he informed her, “but these look the lighter. I’ll have half a dozen, please. That is,” he went on with a whimsical glance at the clock, “if it’s safe.”
The barmaid looked at him as if she thought he was crazy, but she did not speak and Tanner explained:
“A friend of mine had an experience here the other night buying cigars, so he told me. He missed his train over the head of it. I was wondering if I should do the same.”
A light seemed to dawn on the girl. She laughed.
“I remember your friend. I couldn’t help smiling, but I was sorry for him too. He came in here and chose a dozen cigars, and then he looked up and saw the clock.
“ ‘Your clock’s fast,’ he says.
“ ‘I don’t think,’ I says, and with that he hooked
