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Now this particular corner this very same table that special view ofthe magnificent marble hallknown as the Norfolk Street branch of theA??rated Bread Companys dep??tswere Pollys own corner table andview. Here she had partaken of eleven pennyworth of luncheon and onepennyworth of daily information ever since that gloriousnevertobeforgotten day when she was enrolled on the staff of theEvening Observer well call it that if you please and became amember of that illustrious and worldfamed organization known as theBritish Press. She was a personality was Miss Burton of the Evening Observer. Hercards were printed thus: [Illustration: Miss MARY J. BURTON. Evening Observer. She had interviewed Miss Ellen Terry and the Bishop of Madagascar Mr. Seymour Hicks and the Chief Commissioner of Police. She had been presentat the last Marlborough House garden partyin the cloakroom that isto say where she caught sight of Lady Thingummys hat MissWhatyoumaycalls sunshade and of various other things modistical orfashionable all of which were duly described under the heading Royaltyand Dress in the early afternoon edition of the Evening Observer. The article itself is signed M. J. B. and is to be found in the files ofthat leading halfpennyworth. For these reasonsand for various others tooPolly felt irate withthe man in the corner and told him so with her eyes as plainly as anypair of brown eyes can speak. She had been reading an article in the Daily Telegraph. The articlewas palpitatingly interesting. Had Polly been commenting audibly uponit? Certain it is that the man over there had spoken in direct answer toher thoughts. She looked at him and frowned; the next moment she smiled. Miss Burtonof the Evening Observer had a keen sense of humour which two yearsassociation with the British Press had not succeeded in destroying andthe appearance of the man was sufficient to tickle the most ultramorosefancy. Polly thought to herself that she had never seen any one so pale so thin with such funny lightcoloured hair brushed very smoothlyacross the top of a very obviously bald crown. He looked so timid andnervous as he fidgeted incessantly with a piece of string; his long lean and trembling fingers tying and untying it into knots of derfuland complicated proportions. Having carefully studied every detail of the quaint personality Pollyfelt more amiable. And yet she remarked kindly but authoritatively this article in anotherwise wellinformed journal will tell you that even within thelast year no fewer than six crimes have completely baffled the police and the perpetrators of them are still at large. Pardon me he said gently I never for a moment ventured to suggestthat there were no mysteries to the police; I merely remarked thatthere were none where intelligence was brought to bear upon theinvestigation of crime. Not even in the Fenchurch Street mystery. I suppose she askedsarcastically. Least of all in the socalled Fenchurch Street mystery he repliedquietly. Now the Fenchurch Street mystery as that extraordinary crime hadpopularly been called had puzzledas Polly well knewthe brains ofevery thinking man and woman for the last twelve months. It had puzzledher not inconsiderably; she had been interested fascinated; she hadstudied the case formed her own theories thought about it all oftenand often had even written one or two letters to the Press on thesubjectsuggesting arguing hinting at possibilities andprobabilities adducing proofs which other amateur detectives wereequally ready to refute. The attitude of that timid man in the corner therefore was peculiarly exasperating and she retorted with sarcasmdestined to completely annihilate her selfcomplacent interlocutor. What a pity it is in that case that you do not offer your pricelessservices to our misguided though wellmeaning police. Isnt it? he replied with perfect goodhumour. Well you know forone thing I doubt if they would accept them; and in the second place myinclinations and my duty wouldwere I to become an active member of thedetective forcenearly always be in direct conflict. As often as not mysympathies go to the criminal who is clever and astute enough to leadour entire police force by the nose. I dont know how much of the case you remember he went on quietly. It certainly at first began even to puzzle me. On the 12th of lastDecember a woman poorly dressed but with an unmistakable air of havingseen better days gave information at Scotland Yard of the disappearanceof her husband William Kershaw of no occupation and apparently of nofixed abode. She was accompanied by a frienda fat oilylookingGermanand between them they told a tale which set the policeimmediately on the move. It appears that on the 10th of December at about three oclock in theafternoon Karl M??ller the German called on his friend WilliamKershaw for the purpose of collecting a small debtsome ten pounds orsowhich the latter owed him. On arriving at the squalid lodging inCharlotte Street Fitzroy Square he found William Kershaw in a wildstate of excitement and his wife in tears. M??ller attempted to statethe object of his visit but Kershaw with wild gestures waved himaside andin his own wordsflabbergasted him by asking himpointblank for another loan of two pounds which sum he declared would be the means of a speedy fortune for himself and the friend whowould help him in his need.

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The latter so it appears brought home one evening a very considerablesum of which he had on the turf and the follog morning hewas found murdered in his bed. Kershaw fortunately for himself wasable to prove a conclusive alibi; he had spent the night on duty atthe hospital; as for Barker he had disappeared that is to say as faras the police were concerned but not as far as the watchful eyes of hisfriend Kershaw were able to spyat least so the latter said. Barkervery cleverly contrived to get away out of the country and aftersundry vicissitudes finally settled down at Vladivostok in EasternSiberia where under the assumed name of Smethurst he built up anenormous fortune by trading in furs. Now mind you every one knows Smethurst the Siberian millionaire. Kershaws story that he had once been called Barker and had committed amurder thirty years ago was never proved was it? I am merely tellingyou what Kershaw said to his friend the German and to his wife on thatmemorable afternoon of December the 10th. According to him Smethurst had made one gigantic mistake in his clevercareerhe had on four occasions written to his late friend WilliamKershaw. Two of these letters had no bearing on the case since theywere written more than twentyfive years ago and Kershaw moreover hadlost themso he saidlong ago. According to him however the first ofthese letters was written when Smethurst alias Barker had spent allthe he had obtained from the crime and found himself destitute inNew York.
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