‘Yes, that describes her very well.’ ‘If Dr Nicholson is so fond of children I suppose he came to your children’s party?’ said Frankie carelessly.
‘Unfortunately he was away for a day or two just then. I think he had to go to London for some conference.’ ‘I see.’ They went up to bed. Before she went to sleep, Frankie wrote to Bobby.
CHAPTER 15 A Discovery
Bobby had had an irksome time. His forced inaction was exceedingly trying. He hated staying quietly in London and doing nothing.
He had been rung up on the telephone by George Arbuthnot who, in a few laconic words, told him that all had gone well. A couple of days later, he had a letter from Frankie, delivered to him by her maid, the letter having gone under cover to her at Lord Marchington’s town house.
Since then he had heard nothing.
‘Letter for you,’ called out Badger.
Bobby came forward excitedly but the letter was one addressed in his father’s handwriting, and postmarked Marchbolt.
At that moment, however, he caught sight of the neat blackgowned figure of Frankie’s maid approaching down the Mews.
Five minutes later he was tearing open Frankie’s second letter.
Dear Bobby (wrote Frankie,), / think it’s about time you came down. I’ve given them instructions at home that you’re to have the Bentley whenever you ask for it. Get a chauffeur’s livery – darkgreen ours always are. Put it down to father at Harrods. It’s best to be correct in details. Concentrate on making a good job of the moustache. It makes a frightful difference to anyone’s face.
Come down here and ask for me. You might bring me an ostensible note from Father. Report that the car is now in working order again. The garage here only holds two cars and as it’s got the family Daimler and Roger Bassington-ffrench ‘s two-seater in it, it is fortunately full up, so you will go to Staverley and put up there.
Get what local information you can when there – particularly about a Dr Nicholson who runs a place for dope patients. Several suspicious circumstances about him – he has a dark-blue Talbot saloon, he was away from home on the 16th when your beer was doctored, and he takes altogether too detailed an interest in the circumstances of my accident.
I think I’ve identified the corpse!
Au revoir, my fellow sleuth.
Love from your successfully concussed, Frankie.
P.S. I shall post this myself.
Bobby’s spirits rose with a bound.
Discarding his overalls and breaking the news of his immediate departure to Badger, he was about to hurry off when he remembered that he had not yet opened his father’s letter. He did so with a rather qualified enthusiasm since the Vicar’s letters were actuated by a spirit of duty rather than pleasure and breathed an atmosphere of Christian forbearance which was highly depressing.
The Vicar gave conscientious news of doings in Marchbolt, describing his own troubles with the organist and commenting on the unchristian spirit of one of his churchwardens. The rebinding of the hymn books was also touched upon. And the Vicar hoped that Bobby was sticking manfully to his job and trying to make good, and remained his ever affectionate father.
There was a postscript: By the way, someone called who asked for your address in London.
I was out at the time and he did not leave his name. Mrs Roberts describes him as a tall, stooping gentleman with pince-nez. He seemed very sorry to miss you and very anxious to see you again.
A tall, stooping man with pince-nez. Bobby ran over in his mind anyone of his acquaintance likely to fit that description but could think of nobody.
Suddenly a quick suspicion darted into his mind. Was this the forerunner of a new attempt upon his life? Were these mysterious enemies, or enemy, trying to track him down?
He sat still and did some serious thinking. They, whoever they were, had only just discovered that he had left the neighbourhood. All unsuspecting, Mrs Roberts had given his new address.
So that already they, whoever they were, might be keeping a watch upon the place. If he went out he would be followed and just as things were at the moment that would never do.