CHAPTER V

In the first heat of indignation I found my next step unexpectedly

easy to tackle. I had had a half-formed plan in my head when I went

into Scotland Yard. One to be carried out if my interview there

was unsatisfactory (it had been profoundly unsatisfactory). That

is, if I had the nerve to go through with it.

Things that one would shrink from attempting normally are easily

tackled in a flush of anger. Without giving myself time to reflect,

I walked straight to the house of Lord Nasby.

Lord Nasby was the millionaire owner of the _Daily Budget._ He

owned other papers—several of them, but the _Daily Budget_ was his

special child. It was as the owner of the _Daily Budget_ that he

was known to every householder in the United Kingdom. Owing to the

fact that an itinerary of the great man’s daily proceedings had

just been published, I knew exactly where to find him at this

moment. It was his hour for dictating to his secretary in his own

house.

I did not, of course, suppose that any young woman who chose to

come and ask for him would be at once admitted to the august

presence. But I had attended to that side of the matter. In the

card-tray in the hall of the Flemmings’ house I had observed the

card of the Marquis of Loamsley, England’s most famous sporting

peer. I had removed the card, cleaned it carefully with bread-crumbs,

and pencilled upon it the words: “Please give Miss Beddingfeld a

few moments of your time.” Adventuresses must not be too scrupulous

in their methods.

The thing worked. A powdered footman received the card and bore it

away. Presently a pale secretary appeared. I fenced with him

successfully. He retired defeated. He again reappeared and begged

me to follow him. I did so. I entered a large room, a

frightened-looking shorthand-typist fled past me like a visitant

from the spirit-world. Then the door shut and I was face to face

with Lord Nasby.

A big man. Big head. Big face. Big moustache. Big stomach. I pulled

myself together. I had not come here to comment on Lord Nasby’s

stomach. He was already roaring at me.

“Well, what is it? What does Loamsley want? You his secretary?

What’s it all about?”

“To begin with,” I said with as great an appearance of coolness as

I could manage, “I don’t know Lord Loamsley, and he certainly knows

nothing about me. I took his card from the tray in the house of

the people I’m staying with, and I wrote those words on it myself.

It was important that I should see you.”

For a moment it appeared to be a toss up as to whether Lord Nasby

had apoplexy or not. In the end, he swallowed twice and got over

it.

“I admire your coolness, young woman. Well, you see me! If you

interest me, you will continue to see me for exactly two minutes

longer.”

“That will be ample,” I replied. “And I shall interest you. It’s

the Mill House Mystery.”

“If you’ve found ‘The Man in the Brown Suit,’ write to the Editor,”

he interrupted hastily.

“If you will interrupt, I shall be more than two minutes,” I said

sternly. “I haven’t found ‘The Man in the Brown Suit,’ but I’m

quite likely to do so.”

In as few words as possible I put the facts of the Tube accident

and the conclusions I had drawn from them before him. When I had

finished he said unexpectedly:

“What do you know of brachycephalic heads?”

I mentioned Papa.

“The Monkey man? Eh? Well, you seem to have a head of some kind

upon your own shoulders, young woman. But it’s all pretty thin,

you know. Not much to go upon. And no use to us—as it stands.”

“I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“What d’you want, then?”

“I want a job on your paper to investigate this matter.”

“Can’t do that. We’ve got our own special man on it.”

“And I’ve got my own special knowledge.”

“What you’ve just told me, eh?”

“Oh, no, Lord Nasby. I’ve still got something up my sleeve.”

“Oh, you have, have you? You seem a bright sort of girl. Well, what

is it?”

“When this so-called doctor got into the lift, he dropped a piece

of paper. I picked it up. It smelt of moth balls. So did the dead

man. The doctor didn’t. So I saw at once that the doctor must have

taken it off the body. It had two words written on it and some

figures.”

“Let’s see it.”

Lord Nasby stretched out a careless hand.

“I think not,” I said, smiling. “It’s my find, you see.”

“I’m right. You _are_ a bright girl. Quite right to hang on to it.

No scruples about not handing it over to the police?”

“I went there to do so this morning. They persisted in regarding

the whole thing as having nothing to do with the Marlow affair, so

I thought that in the circumstances I was justified in retaining

the paper. Besides, the inspector put my back up.”

“Short-sighted man. Well, my dear girl, here’s all I can do for

you. Go on working on this line of yours. If you get

anything—anything that’s publishable—send it along and you shall

have your chance. There’s always room for real talent on the

_Daily Budget._ But you’ve got to make good first. See?”

I thanked him, and apologized for my methods.

“Don’t mention it. I rather like cheek—from a pretty girl. By the

way, you said two minutes and you’ve been three, allowing for

interruptions. For a woman, that’s quite remarkable! Must be your

scientific training.”

I was in the street again, breathing hard as though I had been

running. I found Lord Nasby rather wearing as a new acquaintance.