“Thanks,” said Parker. “I thought you might be able to put your finger either on the hatter or the tailor.”
The first hatter they visited proved to be the right man. He directed their researches to the flat of a Mr. Horace Mountjoy, who lived in Kensington. They armed themselves with a search-warrant and visited the flat.
Mr. Mountjoy, they ascertained from the commissionaire, was a bachelor of quiet habits, except that he was frequently out rather late at night. He lived alone, and was waited upon and valeted by the staff belonging to the block of flats.
The commissionaire came on duty at 9 o’clock. There was no night porter. Between 11 p.m. and 9 a.m. the outer door was locked and could be opened by the tenants with their own keys, without disturbing him in his basement flat. He had seen Mr. Mountjoy go out the previous evening at about 7.45, in evening dress. He had not seen him return. Withers, the valet, would probably be able to say whether Mr. Mountjoy had been in that night.
Withers was able to say positively that he had not. Nobody had entered Mr. Mountjoy’s flat but himself, and the chambermaid who did the rooms. The bed had not been slept in. That was nothing unusual with Mr. Mountjoy. He was frequently out all night, though he generally returned to breakfast at 9.30.
Parker displayed his official card, and they went upstairs to a flat on the third floor. Withers was about to open the door with his pass-key, which, as he explained, he was accustomed to use in the mornings, to avoid disturbing the tenants, but Parker stopped him and produced the two keys which had been taken from the corpse. One of them fitted the lock and established, without much doubt, that they had come to the right place.
Everything in the flat was in perfect order. There was a desk in the sitting-room, containing a few bills and some note-paper, but its drawers were all unlocked and it appeared to hold no secrets. Nor was there anything remarkable about the bedroom or the small dining-room. In the bathroom was a little cupboard containing the usual toilet articles and household medicines. Parker made a rapid inventory of these, pausing for a few minutes over a packet labelled “Bicarbonate of Soda,” but touch and taste soon assured him that this contained exactly what it purported to contain. The only thing that could be considered in the slightest degree out of the ordinary in the whole establishment was the presence (also in the bathroom cupboard) of several packets of cigarette papers.
“Did Mr. Mountjoy roll his own cigarettes?”
“I never saw him do so,” replied Withers. “He smoked Turkish Abdullas as a rule.”
Parker nodded and impounded the cigarette-papers. A further search disclosed no loose tobacco. A number of boxes of cigars and cigarettes were retrieved from the dining-room sideboard. They looked innocent and a few, which Parker promptly slit open, proved to contain excellent tobacco and nothing else. Parker shook his head.
“You’ll have to go through everything very carefully, Lumley.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And letters by the first post?”
“There were none.”
“Any visitors today?”
“No, sir. Not unless you count the man from the post-office.”
“Oh? What did he want?”
“Nothing,” replied Withers, “except to bring the new telephone directory.” He indicated the two clean volumes which lay upon the sitting-room desk.
“Oh!” said Parker. This did not sound promising. “Did he come into the room?”
“No, sir. He knocked at the door when Mrs. Trabbs and I were both here. Mrs. Trabbs was sweeping, sir, and I was brushing Mr. Mountjoy’s lounge suit. I took the books in, sir, and handed him out the old ones.”
“I see. All right. And beyond sweeping and brushing and so on, you disturbed nothing?”
“No, sir.”
“Anything in the waste-paper basket?”
“I could not say, sir. Mrs. Trabbs would know.”
Mrs. Trabbs, produced, said there had been nothing in the waste-paper basket except a wine-merchant’s circular. Mr. Mountjoy wrote very little and did not receive many letters.
Satisfied that there had been no interference with the flat since the occupant had left the night before, Parker turned his attention to the wardrobe and chest of drawers, where he found various garments, all properly marked with the names of the tailor or shirt-maker responsible for them. He noticed that all were by first-class artists in their own line. Another silk hat, similar to the one now resting at Scotland Yard, but with sweat-band and crown undisfigured, was found in a hat-box; there were also several felt hats and a bowler, all by first-class makers.
“Mr. Mountjoy was a rich man?”
“He appeared to be in very easy circumstances, sir. He did himself well; the best of everything. Especially during the last year or so.”
“What was his profession?”
“I think he was a gentleman of independent means. I never heard of him being engaged in any business.”
“Did you know that he had a silk hat from which the maker’s name had been removed?”
“Yes, sir. He was very angry about it. Said that some friend of his had damaged the hat for a rag. I offered several times to get it put right, sir, but when he had cooled down he said it didn’t matter. It wasn’t a hat he very often used, sir. And besides, he said, why should he be a walking advertisement for his hatter?”
“Did you know that his dress suit had also lost his tailor’s tab?”
“Had it indeed, sir? No, I can’t say I noticed it.”
“What sort of man was Mr. Mountjoy?”
“A very pleasant gentleman, sir. I’m very sorry to hear he has met with such a sad accident.”
“How long has he lived here?”
“Six or seven years, I believe, sir. I’ve been here four years myself.”
“When was the practical joke played on his silk hat?”
“About eighteen months ago, sir, if I remember rightly.”
“As long ago as that? I fancied the hat looked newer.”
“Well, sir, as I say, he didn’t wear it above once or twice a week, sir. And Mr. Mountjoy didn’t trouble about the fashion of his hats. There was one particular shape he fancied, and he had all his hats specially made to that pattern.”
Parker nodded. He knew this already from the hatter and from Wimsey, but it was well to check matters up. He reflected that he had never yet caught Wimsey tripping in any fact pertaining to dress.
“Well,” he said, “as you may have guessed, Withers, there will have to be an inquiry about Mr. Mountjoy’s death. You had better say as little as possible to any outside person. You will give me all the keys of the flat, and I shall be leaving the police in charge here for a day or two.”
“Very good, sir.”
Parker waited to ascertain the name and address of the proprietor of the flats, and left Lumley to his investigations. From the proprietor he gained very little information. Mr. Mountjoy, of no profession, had taken the flat six years previously. He had paid his rent regularly. There had been no complaints. Nothing was known of Mr. Mountjoy’s friends or relations. It was regrettable that so good a tenant should have come to so sudden and sad an end. It was much to be hoped that nothing would transpire of a scandalous nature, as those flats had always been extremely respectable.
Parker’s next visit was to Mr. Mountjoy’s bank. Here he encountered the usual obstructive attitude, but eventually succeeded in getting access to the books. There was a regular income of about a thousand a year derived from sound investments. No irregularities. No mysterious fluctuations. Parker came away with an easy impression that Mr. Hector Puncheon had discovered a mare’s nest.
Chapter XVI. Eccentric Behaviour of a Post-Office Department
The Chief-Inspector voiced this opinion to Wimsey the same evening. His lordship, whose mind was still divided between detection and the new Whifflet campaign, which had taken clear shape during the afternoon, was curt with him: