The Herapath Property Part 34

"Very good suggestion," said Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite. "He may have bought something extremely valuable from this Dimambro that day, or that night, and--he may have had it on him when he was murdered. Clearly, we must see this Luigi Dimambro!"

"If he's the man who called at the House, you forget that he's been advertised for no end," said Selwood.

"No, I don't," responded the Professor. "But he may be out of the country: may have come to it specially to see Jacob Herapath, and left it again. I repeat, we must see this man, if he's to be found. We must make inquiries--cautious, guarded inquiries--at this hotel in Soho, which is probably a foreigners' house of call, a mere restaurant. And the very person to make those inquiries," he concluded, turning to Selwood and favouring him with a smack of the shoulder, "is--you!"

Selwood flinched, physically and mentally. He had no great love of the proposed role--private detective work did not appeal to him. And he suggested that Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite had far better apply to Scotland Yard.

"By no means," answered the Professor calmly. "You are the man to do the work. We don't want any police interference. This Hotel Ravenna is probably some cafe, restaurant, or saloon in Soho, frequented by foreigners--a place where, perhaps, a man can get a room for a night or two. You must go quietly, un.o.btrusively, there; if it's a restaurant, as it's sure to be, or at any rate, a place to which a restaurant is attached, go in and get some sort of a meal, keep your eyes open, find out the proprietor, get into talk with him, see if he knows Luigi Dimambro. All you need is tact, caution, and readiness to adapt yourself to circ.u.mstances."

Then, when they left Mr. Halfpenny's office he took Selwood aside and gave him certain hints and instructions, and enlarged upon the advantages of finding Dimambro if he was to be found. The Professor himself was enthusiastic about these recent developments, and he succeeded in communicating some of his enthusiasm to Selwood. After all, thought Selwood, as he went to Portman Square to tell Peggie of the afternoon's doings, whatever he did was being done for Peggie; moreover, he was by that time certain that however mean and base Barthorpe Herapath's conduct had been about the will, he was certainly not the murderer of his uncle. If that murderer was to be tracked--why, there was a certain zest, an appealing excitement in the tracking of him that presented a sure fascination to youthful spirits.

That evening found Selwood, quietly and una.s.sumingly attired, examining the purlieus of Soho. It was a district of which he knew little, and for half an hour he perambulated its streets, wondering at the distinctly foreign atmosphere. And suddenly he came across the Hotel Ravenna--there it was, confronting him, at the lower end of Dean Street. He drew back and looked it well over from the opposite pavement.

The Hotel Ravenna was rather more of a pretentious establishment than Selwood had expected it to be. It was typically Italian in outward aspect. There were the usual evergreen shrubs set in the usual green wood tubs at the entrance; the usual abundance of plate-gla.s.s and garish gilt; the usual glimpse, whenever the door opened, of the usual vista of white linen, red plush, and many mirrors; the waiter who occasionally showed himself at the door, napkin in hand, was of the type which Selwood had seen a thousand times under similar circ.u.mstances. But all this related to the restaurant--Selwood was more interested that the word "Hotel" appeared in gilt letters over a door at the side of the establishment and was repeated in the windows of the upper storeys. He was half-minded to enter the door at once, and to make a guarded inquiry for Mr. Luigi Dimambro; on reflection he walked across the street and boldly entered the restaurant.

It was half-past seven o'clock, and the place was full of customers.

Selwood took most of them to be foreigners. He also concluded after a first glance around him that the majority had some connection, more or less close, with either the dramatic, or the musical, or the artistic professions. There was much laughter and long hair, marvellous neckties and wondrous costumes; everybody seemed to be talking without regard to question or answer; the artillery of the voices mingled with the rattling of plates and popping of corks. Clearly this was no easy place in which to seek for a man whom one had never seen!

Selwood allowed a waiter to conduct him to a vacant seat--a plush throne half-way along the restaurant. He ordered a modest dinner and a bottle of light wine, and following what seemed to be the custom, lighted a cigarette until his first course appeared. And while he waited he looked about him, noting everything that presented itself. Out of all the folk there, waiters and customers, the idle and the busy, he quickly decided that there was only one man who possessed particular interest for him.

That man was the big, smiling, frock-coated, sleek-haired patron or proprietor, who strode up and down, beaming and nodding, sharp-eyed and courteous, and whom Selwood, from a glance at the emblazoned lettering of the bill-of-fare, took to rejoice in the name of Mr. Alessandro Bioni. This man, if he was landlord, or manager, of the Ravenna Hotel, was clearly the person to approach if one wanted information about the Luigi Dimambro who had given the place as his address as recently as November 12th.

While he ate and drank, Selwood wondered how to go about his business.

It seemed to him that the best thing to do, now that he had seen the place and a.s.sured himself that it was a hotel evidently doing a proper and legitimate business, was to approach its management with a plain question--was Mr. Luigi Dimambro staying there, or was he known there?

Since Dimambro, whoever he might be, had given that as his address, something must be known of him. And when the smiling patron presently came round, and, seeing a new customer, asked politely if he was being served to his satisfaction, Selwood determined to settle matters at once.

"The proprietor, I presume?" he asked.

"Manager, sir," answered the other. "The proprietor, he is an old gentleman--practically retired."

"Perhaps I can ask you a question," Selwood. "Have you got a Mr. Luigi Dimambro staying at your hotel? He is, I believe"--here Selwood made a bold shot at a possibility--"a seller of curios, or art objects. I know he stops here sometimes."

The manager rubbed his hands together and reflected.

"One moment, sir," he said. "I get the register. The hotel guests, they come in here for meals, but always I do not recollect their names, and sometimes not know them. But the register----"

He sped down the room, through a side door, vanished; to return in a moment with a book which he carried to Selwood's side.

"Dimambro?" he said. "Recently, then? We shall see."

"About the beginning or middle of November," answered Selwood.

The manager found the pages: suddenly he pointed to an entry.

"See, then!" he exclaimed dramatically. "You are right, sir. There--Luigi Dimambro--November 11th to--yes--13th. Two days only. Then he go--leave us, eh?"

"Oh, then, he's not here now," said Selwood, affecting disappointment.

"That's a pity. I wanted to see him. I wonder if he left any address?"

The manager showed more politeness in returning to the hotel office and making inquiry. He came back full of disappointment that he could not oblige his customer. No--no address--merely there for two nights--then gone--n.o.body knew where. Perhaps he would return--some day.

"Oh, it's of no great consequence, thank you," remarked Selwood. "I'm much obliged to you."

He had found out, at any rate, that a man named Dimambro had certainly stayed at the Hotel Ravenna on the critical and important date.

Presumably he was the man who had presented Jacob Herapath's cheque at Bittleston's Bank first thing on the morning after the murder. But whether this man had any connection with that murder, whether to discover his whereabouts would be to reveal something of use in establis.h.i.+ng Barthorpe Herapath's innocence, were questions which he must leave to Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite, to whom he was presently going with his news.

He had just finished his coffee, and was about to pay his bill when, looking up to summon the waiter, he suddenly saw a face appear behind the gla.s.s panel of the street door--the face of a man who had evidently stolen quietly into the entry between the evergreen shrubs and wished to take a surrept.i.tious peep into the interior of the little restaurant. It was there, clearly seen through the gla.s.s, but for one fraction of a second--then it was withdrawn as swiftly as it had come and the panel of gla.s.s was blank again. But in that flash of time Selwood had recognized it.

Burchill!

CHAPTER XXIX

THE NOTE IN THE PRAYER-BOOK

Selwood hurried out of that restaurant as soon as he had paid his bill, but it was with small hopes of finding the man whose face had appeared at the gla.s.s panel for the fraction of a second. As well look for one snowflake in a drift as for one man in those crowded streets!--all the same, he spent half an hour in wandering round the neighbourhood, looking eagerly at every tall figure he met or pa.s.sed. And at the end of that time he went off to Endsleigh Gardens and reported progress to Professor c.o.x-Raythwaite.

The Professor heard both items of news without betraying any great surprise.

"You're sure it was Burchill?" he asked.

"As sure," answered Selwood, "as that you're you! His is not a face easy to mistake."

"He's a daring fellow," observed the Professor, musingly. "A very bold fellow! There's a very good portrait of him on those bills that the police have put out and posted so freely, and he must know that every constable and detective in London is on the look-out for him, to say nothing of folk who would be glad of the reward. If that was Burchill--and I've no doubt of it, since you're so certain--it suggests a good deal to me."

"What?" asked Selwood.

"That he's not afraid of being recaptured as you'd think he would be," replied the Professor. "It suggests that he's got some card up his sleeve--which is what I've always thought. He probably knows something--you may be certain, in any case, that he's playing a deep and bold game, for his own purpose, of course. Now, I wonder if Burchill went to that restaurant on the same errand as yourself?"

"What!--to look for Dimambro?" exclaimed Selwood.

"Why not? Remember that Burchill was Jacob Herapath's secretary before you were," answered the Professor. "He was with Jacob some time, wasn't he? Well, he knew a good deal about Jacob's doings. Jacob may have had dealings with this Dimambro person in Burchill's days. You don't remember that Jacob had any such dealings in your time?"

"Never!" replied Selwood. "Never heard the man's name until yesterday--never saw any letters from him, never heard Mr. Herapath mention him. But then, as Mr. Halfpenny said, yesterday, Mr. Herapath had all sorts of queer dealings with queer people. It's a fact that he used to buy and sell all sorts of things--curios, pictures, precious stones--he'd all sorts of irons in the fire. It's a fact, too, that he was accustomed to carrying not only considerable sums of money, but valuables on him."

"Ah!" exclaimed the Professor. He rose out of his chair, put his hands behind his broad back, and began to march up and down his study. "I'll tell you what, young man!" he said earnestly. "I'm more than ever convinced that Jacob Herapath was robbed as well as murdered, and that robbery and murder--or, rather, murder and robbery, for the murder would go first--took place just before Barthorpe entered the offices to keep that appointment. Selwood!--we must find this Dimambro man!"

"Who's most likely left the country," remarked Selwood.

"That's probable--it may be certain," said the Professor. "Nevertheless, he may be here. And Burchill may be looking for him, too. Now, if Dimambro stopped two days at that Hotel Ravenna, from November 11th to 13th, there must be somebody who knows something of him. We must--you must--make more inquiry--there at the hotel. Talk quietly to that manager or the servants.

Get a description of him. Do that at once--first thing tomorrow morning."

"You don't want to tell the police all this?" asked Selwood.

"No! Not at present, at any rate," answered the Professor. "The police have their own methods, and they don't thank anybody for putting them off their beaten tracks. And--for the present--we won't tell them anything about your seeing Burchill. If we did, they'd be incredulous.

Police-like, they'll have watched the various seaports much more closely than they'll have watched London streets for Burchill. And Burchill's a clever devil--he'll know that he's much safer under the very nose of the people who want him than he would be fifty miles away from their toes!