Chapter 3: The Conquest of Mrs. Peddar

Mrs. Peddar has her rooms at the top of the building—on the seventh floor. The lift runs all night. It had been my intention, rather than summon it and attract the attention of the porter, to have climbed the endless flights of stairs; but, as luck had it, when I reached the staircase the lift was setting some one down. Since it was there I thought I might as well use it, to save time, and also my legs. I stepped inside.

“Up or down, sir?”

“I am going up to Mrs. Peddar.”

The porter favoured me with a doubtful glance.

“Mrs. Peddar lives at the top of the building. She’s in bed long ago.”

“So I suppose. I’m afraid, however, that I shall have to wake her up again, as I am in urgent need of her assistance.”

“Anything wrong, sir?”

“No. At least nothing in which you could be of service.”

As we mounted I could see that Turner—the night porter’s name is Turner—was wondering what possible business I could have with Mrs. Peddar that I should rouse her out of her warm bed at that hour of the night. It occurred to me to ask him a question or two.

“Has a lady come up lately?”

“Up where?”

“Up to the first floor—or anywhere?” He shook his head. “You’re sure?”

“Certain. No lady’s come into this building for a good two hours, at any rate. The last was Mrs. Sabin; she and her husband’s on the fourth floor. They’ve been to the Gaiety Theatre: I took ‘em up in the lift. She was the last lady as came in, and that was just after eleven.”

His words set me thinking. If my visitor had not come in through the doorway, how then had she gained access to my balcony, which is on the first floor, and between twenty and thirty feet above the ground. Turner volunteered a statement on his own account.

“And the last man who went out was Mr. Lawrence’s brother.”

I pricked up my ears at this.

“Mr. Lawrence’s brother? Oh.”

“Yes—Mr. Philip, I think his name is. He came down not three minutes before I saw you, just as I was going to take up Mr. Maynard—that was Mr. Maynard who got out as you got in. He seemed to be in a big hurry. I said good night as he went past, but he said nothing. He had a big parcel in his arms, almost as much as he could carry.”

“You are sure it was Mr. Lawrence’s brother?”

“It was him right enough. My cousin’s his coachman—I ought to know him.”

“You say he came down three minutes ago?”

“Not three minutes ago, I said.”

Then, in that case, he must have been with his brother some time after my visitor had come to me. The knowledge occasioned me distinct relief.

Turner continued:

“He went up about an hour ago: perhaps a little more. He’d got no parcel then. I stared when I saw he’d got one when he came back. I shouldn’t have thought he was the kind to carry a parcel, and especially such a one. I’d have called him a cab if he’d given me a chance, but I was just starting with Mr. Maynard, and he was off like a shot. Shall I wait for you, sir? The first door round the corner is Mrs. Peddar’s.”