The Lady Sleuths MEGAPACK TM(189)
“Now about his alias?” said Mr. Griffiths briskly, for the train was at that moment steaming into the station. “How did you know that Harold Cousins was identical with Harry Craven, and had sailed in the Bonnie Dundee?”
“Oh, that was easy enough,” said Loveday, as she stepped into the train; “a newspaper sent down to Mr. Craven by his wife, was folded so as to direct his attention to the shipping list. In it I saw that the Bonnie Dundee had sailed two days previously for Natal. Now it was only natural to connect Natal with Mrs. Craven, who had passed the greater part of her life there; and it was easy to understand her wish to get her scapegrace son among her early friends. The alias under which he sailed came readily enough to light. I found it scribbled all over one of Mr. Craven’s writing pads in his study; evidently it had been drummed into his ears by his wife as his son’s alias, and the old gentleman had taken this method of fixing it in his memory. We’ll hope that the young fellow, under his new name, will make a new reputation for himself—at any rate, he’ll have a better chance of doing so with the ocean between him and his evil companions. Now it’s good-bye, I think.”
“No,” said Mr. Griffiths; “it’s au revoir, for you’ll have to come back again for the assizes, and give the evidence that will shut old Mr. Craven in an asylum for the rest of his life.”
THE REDHILL SISTERHOOD, by Catherine Louisa Pirkis
“They want you at Redhill, now,” said Mr. Dyer, taking a packet of papers from one of his pigeon-holes. “The idea seems gaining ground in manly quarters that in cases of mere suspicion, women detectives are more satisfactory than men, for they are less likely to attract attention. And this Redhill affair, so far as I can make out, is one of suspicion only.”
It was a dreary November morning; every gas jet in the Lynch Court office was alight, and a yellow curtain of outside fog draped its narrow windows.
“Nevertheless, I suppose one can’t afford to leave it uninvestigated at this season of the year, with country-house robberies beginning in so many quarters,” said Miss Brooke.
“No; and the circumstances in this case certainly seem to point in the direction of the country-house burglar. Two days ago a somewhat curious application was made privately, by a man giving the name of John Murray, to Inspector Gunning, of the Reigate police—Redhill, I must tell you is in the Reigate police district. Murray stated that he had been a greengrocer somewhere in South London, had sold his business there, and had, with the proceeds of the sale, bought two small houses in Redhill, intending to let the one and live in the other. These houses are situated in a blind alley, known as Paved Court, a narrow turning leading off the London and Brighton coach road. Paved Court has been known to the sanitary authorities for the past ten years as a regular fever nest, and as the houses which Murray bought—numbers 7 and 8—stand at the very end of the blind alley, with no chance of thorough ventilation, I dare say the man got them for next to nothing. He told the Inspector that he had had great difficulty in procuring a tenant for the house he wished to let, number 8, and that consequently when, about three weeks back, a lady, dressed as a nun, made him an offer for it, he immediately closed with her. The lady gave her name simply as ‘Sister Monica,’ and stated that she was a member of an undenominational Sisterhood that had recently been founded by a wealthy lady, who wished her name kept a secret. Sister Monica gave no references, but, instead, paid a quarter’s rent in advance, saying that she wished to take possession of the house immediately, and open it as a home for crippled orphans.”
“Gave no references—home for cripples,” murmured Loveday, scribbling hard and fast in her note-book.
“Murray made no objection to this,” continued Mr. Dyer, “and, accordingly, the next day, Sister Monica, accompanied by three other Sisters and some sickly children, took possession of the house, which they furnished with the barest possible necessaries from cheap shops in the neighbourhood. For a time, Murray said, he thought he had secured most desirable tenants, but during the last ten days suspicions as to their real character have entered his mind, and these suspicions he thought it his duty to communicate to the police. Among their possessions, it seems, these Sisters number an old donkey and a tiny cart, and this they start daily on a sort of begging tour through the adjoining villages, bringing back every evening a perfect hoard of broken victuals and bundles of old garments. Now comes the extraordinary fact on which Murray bases his suspicions. He says, and Gunning verifies his statement, that in whatever direction those Sisters turn the wheels of their donkey-cart, burglaries, or attempts at burglaries, are sure to follow. A week ago they went along towards Horley, where, at an outlying house, they received much kindness from a wealthy gentleman. That very night an attempt was made to break into that gentleman’s house—an attempt, however, that was happily frustrated by the barking of the house-dog. And so on in other instances that I need not go into. Murray suggests that it might be as well to have the daily movements of these sisters closely watched, and that extra vigilance should be exercised by the police in the districts that have had the honour of a morning call from them. Gunning coincides with this idea, and so has sent to me to secure your services.”