The Old Man in the Corner

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The Old Man in the Corner, by Baroness Orczy

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Title: The Old Man in the Corner
Author: Baroness Orczy
Release Date: January 1, 2004 [EBook #10556]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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[Illustration: "The old man in the corner."]

THE OLD MAN IN THE CORNER
BY
BARONESS ORCZY

TO MY DEAR UNCLE AND AUNT
COUNT AND COUNTESS WASS OF CZEGE
IN REMEMBRANCE OF MANY HAPPY DAYS SPENT IN TRANSYLVANIA
October, 1908

CONTENTS
Chapter
I.
THE FENCHURCH STREET MYSTERY II. A MILLIONAIRE IN THE DOCK III. HIS DEDUCTION IV. THE ROBBERY IN PHILLIMORE TERRACE V. A NIGHT'S ADVENTURE VI. ALL HE KNEW VII. THE YORK MYSTERY VIII. THE CAPITAL CHARGE IX. A BROKEN-HEARTED WOMAN X. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY XI. MR. ERRINGTON XII. THE LIVERPOOL MYSTERY XIII. A CUNNING RASCAL XIV. THE EDINBURGH MYSTERY XV. A TERRIBLE PLIGHT XVI. NON PROVEN XVII. UNDENIABLE FACTS XVIII. THE THEFT AT THE ENGLISH PROVIDENT BANK XIX. CONFLICTING EVIDENCE XX. AN ALIBI XXI. THE DUBLIN MYSTERY XXII. FORGERY XXIII. A MEMORABLE DAY XXIV. AN UNPARALLELED OUTRAGE XXV. THE PRISONER XXVI. A SENSATION XXVII. TWO BLACKGUARDS XXVIII. THE REGENT'S PARK MURDER XXIX. THE MOTIVE XXX. FRIENDS XXXI. THE DE GENNEVILLE PEERAGE XXXII. A HIGH-BRED GENTLEMAN XXXIII. THE LIVING AND THE DEAD XXXIV. THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN PERCY STREET XXXV. SUICIDE OR MURDER? XXXVI. THE END

THE OLD MAN IN THE CORNER
CHAPTER I
THE FENCHURCH STREET MYSTERY
The man in the corner pushed aside his glass, and leant across the table.
"Mysteries!" he commented. "There is no such thing as a mystery in connection with any crime, provided intelligence is brought to bear upon its investigation."
Very much astonished Polly Burton looked over the top of her newspaper, and fixed a pair of very severe, coldly inquiring brown eyes upon him.
She had disapproved of the man from the instant when he shuffled across the shop and sat down opposite to her, at the same marble-topped table which already held her large coffee (3d.), her roll and butter (2d.), and plate of tongue (6d.).
Now this particular corner, this very same table, that special view of the magnificent marble hall--known as the Norfolk Street branch of the A?rated Bread Company's dep?ts--were Polly's own corner, table, and view. Here she had partaken of eleven pennyworth of luncheon and one pennyworth of daily information ever since that glorious never-to-be-forgotten day when she was enrolled on the staff of the Evening Observer (we'll call it that, if you please), and became a member of that illustrious and world-famed organization known as the British Press.
She was a personality, was Miss Burton of the Evening Observer. Her cards were printed thus:
[Illustration: Miss MARY J. BURTON. Evening Observer.]
She had interviewed Miss Ellen Terry and the Bishop of Madagascar, Mr. Seymour Hicks and the Chief Commissioner of Police. She had been present at the last Marlborough House garden party--in the cloak-room, that is to say, where she caught sight of Lady Thingummy's hat, Miss What-you-may-call's sunshade, and of various other things modistical or fashionable, all of which were duly described under the heading "Royalty and Dress" in the early afternoon edition of the Evening Observer.
(The article itself is signed M.J.B., and is to be found in the files of that leading halfpennyworth.)
For these reasons--and for various others, too--Polly felt irate with the man in the corner, and told him so with her eyes, as plainly as any pair of brown eyes can speak.
She had been reading an article in the Daily Telegraph. The article was palpitatingly interesting. Had Polly been commenting audibly upon it? Certain it is that the man over there had spoken in direct answer to her thoughts.
She looked at him and frowned; the next moment she smiled. Miss Burton (of the Evening Observer) had a keen sense of humour, which two years' association with the British Press had not succeeded in destroying, and the appearance of the man was sufficient to tickle the most ultra-morose fancy. Polly thought to herself that she had never seen any one so pale, so thin, with such funny light-coloured hair, brushed very smoothly across the top of a very obviously bald crown. He looked so timid and nervous as he fidgeted incessantly with a piece of string; his long, lean, and trembling fingers tying and untying it into knots of wonderful and complicated proportions.
Having carefully studied every detail of the quaint personality Polly felt more amiable.
"And yet," she remarked kindly but authoritatively, "this article, in an otherwise well-informed journal,