Adventures of Martin Hewitt (2 page)

“Not a trace of any sort, nor had anybody about the place seen him.”

“Did you yourself actually see him in this room, or have you merely the
nurse’s word for it?”

“I saw her put him there. She left him playing with a box of toys. When if
went to look for him the toys were there, scattered on the floor, but he had
gone.” Mrs. Seton sank on the arms of her maid and her breast heaved.

“I’m sure,” Hewitt said, “You’ll keep your nerves as steady as you can,
Mrs. Seton; much may depend on it. If you have nothing else to tell me now I
think I will come to your house at once, look at it, and question your
servants myself. Meantime what has been done?”

“The police have been notified everywhere, of course,” Mr. Raikes said,
handing Hewitt a printed bill, damp from the press; “and here is a bill
containing a description of the child and offering a reward, which is being
circulated now.”

Hewitt glanced at the bill and nodded. “That is quite right,” he said, “so
far as I can tell at present. But I must see the place. Do you feel strong
enough to come home now, Mrs. Seton?”

Hewitt’s business-like decision and confidence of manner gave the lady
fresh strength. “The brougham is here,” she said, “and we can drive home at
once. We live at Cricklewood.”

A fine pair of horses stood before the brougham, though they still bore
signs of hard work; and indeed they had been kept at their best pace all that
morning. All the way to Cricklewood Hewitt kept Mrs. Seton in conversation,
never for a moment leaving her attention disengaged. The missing child, he
learned, was the only one, and the family had only been in England for
something less than a year. Mr. Seton had become possessed of real property
in South Africa, had sold it in London, and had determined to settle
here.

A little way past Shoot-up Hill the coachman swung his pair off to the
left, and presently entering a gate pulled up before a large old-fashioned
house.

Here Hewitt immediately began a complete examination of the premises. The
possible exits from the grounds, he found, were four in number. The two wide
front gates giving on to the carriage-drive, the kitchen and stable entrance,
and a side gate in a fence—always locked, however. Inside the house,
from the central hall, a passage to the right led to another wherein was the
door of the small morning-room. This was a very ordinary room, 15 feet square
or so, lighted by the glass in the French window, the bottom panes of which,
however, had been filled in with wood. The contents of a box of toys lay
scattered on the floor, and the box itself lay near.

“Have these toys been moved,” Hewitt asked, “since the child was
missed?”

“No, we haven’t allowed anything to be disturbed. The disappearance seemed
so wholly unaccountable that we thought the police might wish to examine the
place exactly as it was. They did not seen to think it necessary,
however.”

Hewitt knelt and examined the toys without disturbing them. They were of
very good quality, and represented a farmyard, with horses, carts, ducks,
geese and cows complete. One of the carts had had a string attached so that
it might be pulled along the floor.

“Now,” Hewitt said rising, “you think, Mrs. Seton, that the child could
not have toddled through the passage, and so into some other part of the
house, without you hearing him?”

“Well,” Mrs. Seton answered with indecision, “I thought so at first, but I
begin to doubt. Because he
must
have done so, I suppose.”

They went into the passage. The door of the large morning-room was four or
five yards further toward the passage leading to the hall, and on the
opposite side. “The floor in this passage,” Hewitt observed, “is rather
thickly carpeted. See here, I can walk on it at a good pace without
noise.”

Mrs. Seton assented. “Of course,” she said, “if he got past here he might
have got anywhere about the house, and so into the grounds. There is a
veranda outside the drawing-room, and doors in various places.’

“Of course the grounds have been completely examined?”

“Oh, yes, every inch.”

“The weather has been very dry, unfortunately,” Hewitt said, “and it would
be useless for me to look for footprints on your hard gravel, especially of
so small a child. Let us come back to the room. Is the French window fastened
as you found it?”

“Yes; nothing has been changed.”

The French window was, as is usual, one of two casements joining in the
centre and fastened by bolts top and bottom. “It is not your habit, I see,”
Hewitt observed, “to open both halves of the window.”

“No; one side is always fastened, the other we secure by the bottom bolt
because the catch of the handle doesn’t always act properly.”

“And you found that bolt fastened as I see it now?”

“Yes.”

Hewitt lifted the bolt and opened the door. Four or five steps led
parallel with the face of the wall to a sort of path which ran the whole
length of the house on this side, and was only separated from a quiet public
lane by a low fence and a thin hedge. Almost opposite a small, light gate
stood in the fence, firmly padlocked.

“I see,” Hewitt remarked, “your house is placed close against one side of
the grounds. Is that the side gate which you always keep locked?”

Mrs. Seton replied in the affirmative, and Hewitt laid his hand on the
gate in question. “Still,” he said, “if security is the object I should
recommend hinges a little less rural in pattern; see here,” and he gave the
gate a jerk upward, lifting the hinge-pins from their sockets and opening the
gate from that side, the padlock acting as hinge. “Those hinges,” he added,
“were meant for a heavier gate than that,” and he replaced the gate.

“Yes,” Mrs. Seton replied; “I am obliged to you; but that doesn’t concern
us now. The French window was bolted on the inside. Would you like to see the
servants?”

The servants were produced, and Hewitt questioned each in turn, but not
one would admit having seen anything of Master Charles Seton after he had
been left in the small morning-room. A rather stupid groom fancied he had
seen Master Charles on the side lawn, but then remembered that that must have
been the day before. The cook, an uncommonly thin, sharp-featured woman for
one of her trade, was especially positive that she had not seen him all that
day. “And she would be sure to have remembered if she had seen him leaving
the house,” she said, “because she was the more particular since he was lost
the last time.”

This was news to Hewitt. “Lost the last time?” he asked; “why, what is
this, Mrs. Seton? Was he lost once before?”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Seton answered, “six or seven weeks ago. But that was
quite different. He strayed out at the front gate and was brought back from
the police station in the evening.”

“But this may be most important,” Hewitt said. “You should certainly have
told me. Tell me now exactly what happened on this first occasion.”

“But it was really quite an ordinary sort of accident. He was left alone
and got out through an open gate. Of course we were very anxious; but we had
him back the same evening. Need we waste time in talking about that?”

“But it will be no waste of time, I assure you. What was it that happened,
exactly?”

“Nurse was about to take him for a short walk just before lunch. On the
front lawn he suddenly remembered a whip which had been left in the nursery
and insisted on taking it with him. She left him and went back for it, taking
however some little time to find it. When she returned he was nowhere to be
seen; but one of the gates was a couple of feet or more open—it had
caught on a loose stone in swinging to—and no doubt he had wandered off
that way. A lady found him some distance away and, not knowing to whom he
belonged, took him that evening to a police station, and as messages had been
sent to the police stations, we had him back soon after he was left
there.”

“Do you know who the lady was?”

“Her name was Mrs. Clark. She left her name and address at the police
station, and of course I wrote to thank her. But there was some mistake in
taking it down, I suppose, for the letter was returned marked not
known.’”

“Then you never saw this lady yourself?”

“No.”

“I think I will make a note of the exact description of the child and then
visit the police station to which this lady took him six weeks ago. Fair,
curly hair, I think, and blue eyes? Age two years and three months; walks and
runs well, and speaks fairly plainly. Dress?”

“Pale blue llama frock with lace, white under-linen, linen overall, pale
blue silk socks and tan shoes. Everything good as new except the shoes, which
were badly worn at the backs through a habit he has of kicking back and
downward with his heels when sitting. They were rather old shoes, and only
used indoors.”

“If I remember aright nothing was said of those shoes in the printed
bill?”

“Was that so? No, I believe not. I have been so worried.”

“Yes, Mrs. Seton, of course. It is most creditable in you to have kept up
so well while I have been making my inquiries. Go now and take a good rest
while I do what is possible. By the way, where was Mr. Seton yesterday
morning when you missed the boy?”

“In the City. He has some important business in hand just now.”

“And to-day?”

“He has gone to the City again. Of course he is sadly worried; but he saw
that everything possible was done, and his business was very important.”

“Just so. Mr. Seton was not married before, I presume—if I may?”

“No, certainly not; why do you ask?”

“I beg your pardon, but I have a habit of asking almost every question I
can think of; I can’t know too much of a case, you know, and most unlikely
pieces of information sometimes turn out useful. Thank you for your patience;
I will try another plan now.”

Mrs. Seton had kept up remarkably well during Hewitt’s examination, but
she was plainly by no means a strong woman, and her maid came again to her
assistance as Hewitt left. Hewitt himself made for the police station. Few
inspectors indeed of the Metropolitan Police force did not know Hewitt by
sight, and the one here in charge knew him well. He remembered very well the
occasion, six weeks or so before, when Mrs. Clark brought Mrs. Seton’s child
to the station. He was on duty himself at the time, and he turned up the book
containing an entry on the subject. From this it appeared that the lady gave
the address’ No. 89 Sedgby Road, Belsize Park.

“I suppose you didn’t happen to know the lady,” Hewitt asked—“by
sight or otherwise?”

“No, I didn’t, and I’m not sure I could swear to her again,” the inspector
answered. “She wore a heavy veil, and I didn’t see much of her face. One rum
thing I noticed though: she seemed rather fond of the baby, and as she
stooped down to kiss him before she went away I could see an old scar on her
throat. It was just the sort of scar I’ve seen on a man that’s had his throat
cut and got over it. She wore a high collar to hide it, but stooping shifted
the collar, and so I saw it.”

“Did she seem an educated woman?”

“Oh yes; perfect lady; spoke very nice. I told her a baby had been
inquired after by Mrs. Seton, and from the description I’d no doubt this was
the one. And so it was.”

“At what time was this?”

“7.10 p.m. exactly. Here it is, all entered properly.”

“Now as to Sedgby Road, Belsize Park. Do you happen to know it?”

“Oh, yes, very well. Very quiet, respectable road indeed. I only know it
through walking through.”

“I see a suburban directory on the shelf behind you. Do you mind pulling
it down? Thanks. Let us find Sedgby Road. Here it is. See, there
is
no
No. 89; the highest number is 67.”

“No more there is,” the inspector answered, running his finger down the
column; “and there’s no Clark in the road, that’s more. False address, that’s
plain. And so they’ve lost him again, have they? We had notice yesterday, of
course, and I’ve just got some bills. This last seems a queer sort of affair,
don’t it? Child sitting inside the house disappeared like a ghost, and all
the doors and windows fastened inside.”

Hewitt agreed that the affair had very uncommon features, and presently
left the station and sought a cab. All the way back to his office he
considered the matter deeply. As a matter of fact he was at a loss. Certain
evidence he had seen in the house, but it went a very little way, and beyond
that there was merely no clue whatever. There were features of the child’s
first estrayal also that attracted him, though it might very easily be the
case that nothing connected the two events. There was an unknown
woman—apparently a lady—who had once had her throat cut, bringing
the child back after several hours and giving a false name and address, for
since the address was false the same was probably the case with the name. Why
was this? This time the child was still absent, and nothing whatever was
there to suggest in what direction he might be followed, neither was there
anything to indicate why he should be detained anywhere, if detained he was.
Hewitt determined, while awaiting any result that the bills might bring, to
cause certain inquiries to be made into the antecedents of the Setons.
Moreover other work was waiting, and the Seton business must be put aside for
a few hours at least.