“Of course the grounds have been completely examined?”
“Oh, yes, every inch.”
“The weather has been very dry, unfortunately,” Hewitt said, “and it would be useless for me to look for footprints on your hard gravel, especially of so small a child. Let us come back to the room. Is the French window fastened as you found it?”
“Yes; nothing has been changed.”
The French window was, as is usual, one of two casements joining in the centre and fastened by bolts top and bottom. “It is not your habit, I see,” Hewitt observed, “to open both halves of the window.”
“No; one side is always fastened, the other we secure by the bottom bolt because the catch of the handle doesn’t always act properly.”
“And you found that bolt fastened as I see it now?”
“Yes.”
Hewitt lifted the bolt and opened the door. Four or five steps led parallel with the face of the wall to a sort of path which ran the whole length of the house on this side, and was only separated from a quiet public lane by a low fence and a thin hedge. Almost opposite a small, light gate stood in the fence, firmly padlocked.
“I see,” Hewitt remarked, “your house is placed close against one side of the grounds. Is that the side gate which you always keep locked?”
Mrs. Seton replied in the affirmative, and Hewitt laid his hand on the gate in question. “Still,” he said, “if security is the object I should recommend hinges a little less rural in pattern; see here,” and he gave the gate a jerk upward, lifting the hinge-pins from their sockets and opening the gate from that side, the padlock acting as hinge. “Those hinges,” he added, “were meant for a heavier gate than that,” and he replaced the gate.
“Yes,” Mrs. Seton replied; “I am obliged to you; but that doesn’t concern us now. The French window was bolted on the inside. Would you like to see the servants?”
The servants were produced, and Hewitt questioned each in turn, but not one would admit having seen anything of Master Charles Seton after he had been left in the small morning-room. A rather stupid groom fancied he had seen Master Charles on the side lawn, but then remembered that that must have been the day before. The cook, an uncommonly thin, sharp-featured woman for one of her trade, was especially positive that she had not seen him all that day. “And she would be sure to have remembered if she had seen him leaving the house,” she said, “because she was the more particular since he was lost the last time.”
This was news to Hewitt. “Lost the last time?” he asked; “why, what is this, Mrs. Seton? Was he lost once before?”
“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Seton answered, “six or seven weeks ago. But that was quite different. He strayed out at the front gate and was brought back from the police station in the evening.”
“But this may be most important,” Hewitt said. “You should certainly have told me. Tell me now exactly what happened on this first occasion.”
“But it was really quite an ordinary sort of accident. He was left alone and got out through an open gate. Of course we were very anxious; but we had him back the same evening. Need we waste time in talking about that?”
“But it will be no waste of time, I assure you. What was it that happened, exactly?”
“Nurse was about to take him for a short walk just before lunch. On the front lawn he suddenly remembered a whip which had been left in the nursery and insisted on taking it with him. She left him and went back for it, taking however some little time to find it. When she returned he was nowhere to be seen; but one of the gates was a couple of feet or more open—it had caught on a loose stone in swinging to—and no doubt he had wandered off that way. A lady found him some distance away and, not knowing to whom he belonged, took him that evening to a police station, and as messages had been sent to the police stations, we had him back soon after he was left there.”
“Do you know who the lady was?”
“Her name was Mrs. Clark. She left her name and address at the police station, and of course I wrote to thank her. But there was some mistake in taking it down, I suppose, for the letter was returned marked not known.’”
“Then you never saw this lady yourself?”
“No.”
“I think I will make a note of the exact description of the child and then visit the police station to which this lady took him six weeks ago. Fair, curly hair, I think, and blue eyes? Age two years and three months; walks and runs well, and speaks fairly plainly. Dress?”
“Pale blue llama frock with lace, white under-linen, linen overall, pale blue silk socks and tan shoes. Everything good as new except the shoes, which were badly worn at the backs through a habit he has of kicking back and downward with his heels when sitting. They were rather old shoes, and only used indoors.”
“If I remember aright nothing was said of those shoes in the printed bill?”
“Was that so? No, I believe not. I have been so worried.”
“Yes, Mrs. Seton, of course. It is most creditable in you to have kept up so well while I have been making my inquiries. Go now and take a good rest while I do what is possible. By the way, where was Mr. Seton yesterday morning when you missed the boy?”
“In the City. He has some important business in hand just now.”
“And to-day?”
“He has gone to the City again. Of course he is sadly worried; but he saw that everything possible was done, and his business was very important.”
“Just so. Mr. Seton was not married before, I presume—if I may?”
“No, certainly not; why do you ask?”
“I beg your pardon, but I have a habit of asking almost every question I can think of; I can’t know too much of a case, you know, and most unlikely pieces of information sometimes turn out useful. Thank you for your patience; I will try another plan now.”
Mrs. Seton had kept up remarkably well during Hewitt’s examination, but she was plainly by no means a strong woman, and her maid came again to her assistance as Hewitt left. Hewitt himself made for the police station. Few inspectors indeed of the Metropolitan Police force did not know Hewitt by sight, and the one here in charge knew him well. He remembered very well the occasion, six weeks or so before, when Mrs. Clark brought Mrs. Seton’s child to the station. He was on duty himself at the time, and he turned up the book containing an entry on the subject. From this it appeared that the lady gave the address’ No. 89 Sedgby Road, Belsize Park.
“I suppose you didn’t happen to know the lady,” Hewitt asked—“by sight or otherwise?”
“No, I didn’t, and I’m not sure I could swear to her again,” the inspector answered. “She wore a heavy veil, and I didn’t see much of her face. One rum thing I noticed though: she seemed rather fond of the baby, and as she stooped down to kiss him before she went away I could see an old scar on her throat. It was just the sort of scar I’ve seen on a man that’s had his throat cut and got over it. She wore a high collar to hide it, but stooping shifted the collar, and so I saw it.”
“Did she seem an educated woman?”
“Oh yes; perfect lady; spoke very nice. I told her a baby had been inquired after by Mrs. Seton, and from the description I’d no doubt this was the one. And so it was.”
“At what time was this?”
“7.10 p.m. exactly. Here it is, all entered properly.”
“Now as to Sedgby Road, Belsize Park. Do you