The Safety Pin | Page 3

partners, are both wealthy."
"An domestic trouble now? Is Mr. Deane married?"
"He's a widower. His wife died when I was a little girl."
"Any sons or daughters?"
"He's neither. I've hoard him say that he hasn't a relative in the world."
"A contented sort of man? No worries?"
"I should say, having known him all my life, that Mr. Deane hadn't a care or a trouble. He's a very sunny-natured, bright-tempered man."
"And you can't think of any reason whatever why he should disappear?"
"Not one! Not the ghost of a reason! I know he was looking forward awfully keenly to this tour on the continent; and, the last letter I had from him--here, in my bag--he promised faithfully to be waiting for me at the Chancellor today at four o'clock. He's the sort of man who's most punctilious about appointments. And I'm just certain, Mr. Shelmore--there's something wrong."
Shelmore picked up his hat.
"I'll go across with you to the Chancellor, Miss Pretty," he said, "I know Belling, the landlord--we'd better see him at once."
"He was out when I was there," remarked Miss Pretty. "And I don't see what he can know about it any more than that Mr. Deane's not there since Monday night."
"Mr. Deane may have left a message with him of which the girl in the office knows nothing," suggested Shelmore. "Anyway, Belling's the man--and there he is just going in."
He led his new client through the courtyard of the old hotel, and past the office to a private room, wherein the landlord, a cheery-faced, middle-aged man, was just taking off his hat and overcoat. He made Miss Pretty a polite bow and gave Shelmore a comprehending nod.
"I've just heard of Miss Pretty's arrival and her enquiries about Mr. Deane," he said, drawing chairs forward for his visitors. "I see you've not been long in seeking legal advice, miss!--but let's hope there's no need for that. Still, it's a fact, Mr. Shelmore. I don't know anything about Mr. Deane. He's not here--and I don't know where he is."
"Just tell me what you do know," replied Shelmore. "Miss Pretty is naturally anxious about him--she's afraid something may have happened."
"Well, sir, Mr. Deane looked to me the sort of man who could very well look after himself," answered the landlord, as he took a seat opposite his callers. "But I'll tell you everything I know. Mr. Deane arrived here, from London, I understood, on Monday afternoon, about four o'clock. He booked a room for himself--number seven. Then he booked a room for his ward. Miss Pretty, who, he said, would be here on Wednesday--number eleven. Here, of course, is Miss Pretty, and the room is all ready for her. But where's her guardian? Well, all I can tell is this: Mr. Deane's luggage was taken up to his room. He went up there himself, and had some tea sent up. He came down to dinner at seven o'clock, and dined in just the usual fashion. After dinner, he came to me in the bar-parlour and asked if there was any particular amusement in the place. I told him we'd just opened a new picture house, the first thing of its kind ever known in Southernstowe, and that it was well worth seeing. He said he'd go. He went. He came back about ten o'clock, or a little after. He asked me to join him in a drink. He had a whisky and soda in this very room--Mr. Deane sat in that very chair you're in, Mr. Shelmore. We talked about the picture house, and the money there was in that industry nowadays. Then he observed that he'd seen a very handsome lady at the picture house, who occupied what, he said, was evidently a place of honour, and seemed to be some local celebrity. I told him that that would be Mrs. Champernowne, the Mayor of Southernstowe. He was much interested in that, he said that though he'd heard of ladies being mayors before, he'd never actually seen one in office. I told him that Mrs. Champernowne was a very smart, clever woman, proprietress of one of the biggest businesses in the city, that since her coming to Southernstowe twenty-odd years ago, she's always taken a vast interest in civic affairs, and that this was her second year of office as chief magistrate. We talked a while about women's share in politics and municipal life, and then about eleven o'clock, he said he'd get off to bed. We said good-night at the foot of the stairs--and that, Mr. Shelmore, was the very last I saw of him! Never seen, nor heard of him since!"
"But--your people?" suggested Shelmore.
"Ah, to be sure!" asserted Belling. "The chambermaid--she saw him last."
"Under what circumstances?" enquired Shelmore.
"Well," replied the landlord, "a few minutes--perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour after he'd