“But he didn’t laugh, for he missed his train,” prompted Tanner.
“Oh, he missed his train right enough. He came back and showed me his watch—three minutes slow. But he got his cigars all right.”
Tanner took Austin’s photograph from his pocket, and glancing at it casually, passed it to the girl.
“He’s a good old sport, he is,” he announced, “but to look at him there you wouldn’t think butter would melt in his mouth. What do you say?”
The girl wrinkled her pretty eyebrows.
“But that isn’t the man,” she exclaimed.
Tanner took the card.
“I’m a blooming idiot,” he said. “I’ve shown you the wrong photo. This was the one I meant.” He handed over the print of Cosgrove.
“Why, yes,” the girl answered unhesitatingly. “That’s him and no mistake.”
“He’s a good soul enough,” went on Tanner, “but he was very sick about that train, I can tell you.”
They conversed for a few moments more as the Inspector lit one of his purchases. Then with a courteous “Goodnight,” he left the bar.
Whatever else might be true or false in Cosgrove’s statement, thought Tanner, it was at least bedrock that he had missed the train as he had said. The thing now to be ascertained was whether he really had travelled by the .
By dint of persistent inquiries the Inspector found a number of the men who had been on duty when that train left. But here he was not so successful. No one so far as he could learn had seen Cosgrove.
But this was not surprising. Tanner could not and did not expect confirmation from these men. They had had no dealings with Cosgrove which would have attracted their attention to him. The point could be better tested at Grantham, where whoever gave him his luggage should remember the circumstance.
Inspector Tanner glanced at the clock. It was . Why, he thought, when he was so far, should he not carry the thing through right then? He looked up the time tables. A train left at for Grantham, arriving at . The , following, reached the same station , proceeding at . If he went by the he would have fifteen minutes at Grantham to make inquiries, and he could go on by the to Montrose and interview Colonel Archdale. And if fifteen minutes proved insufficient for his Grantham business he could sleep there, and go on in the morning.
Five minutes later he was in the train. Though, compared to that following, it was a slow train, it only made four stops—at Hatfield, Hitchin, Huntingdon and Peterborough. A it drew up at Grantham.
Here Tanner had even less difficulty than at King’s Cross. An official at the stationmaster’s office remembered the episode of the telegram, and was able in a few seconds to find the porter to whom he had entrusted the matter. This man also clearly recollected the circumstances and unhesitatingly identified Cosgrove from his photograph.
“Just tell me what occurred when you met Mr. Ponson, will you?” asked Tanner.
“Well, sir,” the man answered, “I was going along the train with ’is bag and coat, and ’e comes out of a first-class carriage bare ’eaded, and when ’e sees the bag ’e says, ‘that’s my bag, porter,’ ’e says, and ’e gives ’is name. ‘Shove it in ’ere,’ ’e says. ’E ’ad ’is ’at on the seat for to keep ’is place, and that’s all I knows about it.”
The confirmation seemed so complete that Tanner was tempted to return to town instead of taking the long journey to Montrose. But before everything he was thorough. He had paid too dearly in the past for taking obvious things for granted. In this case every point must be tested.
Soon, therefore, he was moving slowly out of Grantham on his way north. He had not been able to get a sleeping berth, but he made himself as comfortable as possible in the corner of a first-class compartment, and there he slept almost without moving till the bustle at Edinburgh aroused him. Here a restaurant car was attached, and shortly after Tanner moved in and breakfasted.
At Montrose he went to a barber’s and was shaved, then, hiring a car, he was driven out to the training stables.
Colonel Archdale was an elderly man of a school Tanner had imagined was extinct—short, red-faced and peppery, and dressed in a check suit and riding breeches. The Inspector had called at the house, a low, straggling building of the bungalow type, but had been sent on to find its master at the stables, half a mile distant.
“Mornin’,” the Colonel greeted him, as Tanner handed him his card and asked for a few moments conversation. “Certainly, I’ll go up to the house with you in a minute.”
“I shouldn’t, sir, dream of troubling you so far,” Tanner assured him. “Besides, it is not necessary. A minute or two here when you are disengaged is all I want.”
“Be gad, sir, you’re modest. Comin’ all the way from London for a minute or two,” and calling out some directions to a groom, he led the way into a kind of small office at the end of the stable.
“Well, sir,” he said as he seated himself before a small roll top desk, and pointed to a chair, “and what can I do for you?”
“I am engaged, sir,” Tanner answered, “in making some confidential inquiries into the movements of a man, who, I understand, was recently here—Mr. Cosgrove Ponson of London.”
“He was here”—the Colonel hesitated a moment—“. And what the devil has he been doin’?”
“Nothing, sir, so far as we know. It is the case of another man altogether, but it is necessary for us to know if Mr. Ponson really was out of London on that day.”
“Well I’ve told you he was here. Is
