The Middle of Things | Page 6

gave a hurried account of the whole
circumstances as he knew them, the police watching him keenly. "I
should know the man again if I saw him," he concluded. "I saw his face
clearly enough as he passed me."
The inspector bent down and hastily felt the dead man's pockets.
"Nothing at all here," he said as he straightened himself. "No watch or
chain or purse or anything. Looks like robbery as well as murder. Does
anybody know him?"
"I know who this gentlemen is, sir," answered the policeman to whom

Viner had first gone. "He's a Mr. Ashton, who came to live not so long
since at number seven in Markendale Square, close by Mr. Viner there.
I've heard that he came from the Colonies."
"Do you know him," asked the inspector, turning to Viner.
"Only by sight," answered Viner. "I've seen him often, but I didn't
know his name. I believe he has a wife and daughter--"
"No sir," interrupted the policeman. "He was a single gentleman. The
young lady at number seven is his ward, and the older lady looked after
her--sort of a companion."
The Inspector looked round. Other policemen, attracted by the whistle,
were coming into the passage at each end, and he turned to his sergeant.
"Put a man at the top and another at the bottom of this passage," he said.
"Keep everybody out. Send for the divisional surgeon. Dr. Cortelyon,
will you see him when he comes along? I want him to see the body
before its removal. Now, then, about these ladies--they'll have to be
told." He turned to Viner. "I understand you live close by them?" he
asked. "Perhaps you'll go there with me?"
Viner nodded; and the inspector, after giving a few more words of
instruction to the sergeant, motioned him to follow; together they went
down the passage into Markendale Square.
"Been resident here long, Mr. Viner?" asked the Inspector as they
emerged. "I noticed that some of my men knew you. I've only recently
come into this part myself."
"Fifteen years," answered Viner.
"Do you know anything of this dead man?"
"Nothing--not so much as your constable knows."
"Policemen pick things up. These ladies, now? It's a most unpleasant
thing to have to go and break news like this. You know nothing about

them, sir?"
"Not even as much as your man knew. I've seen them often--with him,
the dead man. There's an elderly lady and a younger one, a mere girl. I
took them for his wife and daughter. But you heard what your man
said."
"Well, whatever they are, they've got to be told. I'd be obliged if you'd
come with me. And then--that fellow you saw running away! You'll
have to give us as near a description of him as you can. What number
did my man say it was--seven?"
Viner suddenly laid a hand on his companion's sleeve. A smart car, of
the sort let out on hire from the more pretentious automobile
establishments, had just come round the corner and was being pulled up
at the door of a house in whose porticoed front hung a brilliant lamp.
"That's number seven," said Viner. "And--those are the two ladies."
The Inspector stopped and watched. The door of the house opened,
letting a further flood of light on the broad step beneath the portico and
on the pavement beyond; the door of the car opened too, and a girl
stepped out, and for a second or two stood in the full glare of the lamps.
She was a slender, lissome young creature, gowned in white, and
muffled to the throat in an opera cloak out of which a fresh, girlish face,
bright in colour, sparkling of eye, crowned by a mass of hair of the tint
of dead gold, showed clearly ere she rapidly crossed to the open door.
After her came an elderly, well-preserved woman in an elaborate
evening toilette, the personification of the precise and conventional
chaperon. The door closed; the car drove away; the Inspector turned to
Viner with a shake of his head.
"Just home from the theatre!" he said. "And--to hear this! Well, it's got
to be done, Mr. Viner, anyhow."
Viner, who had often observed the girl whom they had just seen with
an interest for which he had never troubled to account, found himself
wishing that Miss Penkridge was there in his place. He did not know

what part he was to play, what he was to do or say; worse than that, he
did not know if the girl in whose presence he would certainly find
himself within a minute or two was very fond of the man whom he had
just found done to death. In that case--but here his musings were cut
short by the fact that