Elk 04 White Face by Edgar Wallace Page B

can inside the gate?”
    Her pathos grew. She could only suspect a base informer, and was undecided as to which of her five neighbours had filled that despicable role.
    She was not unpretty, Mason noticed in his critical way, despite the three children—or four, if her worst fears were realised.
    The superintendent turned to his subordinate.
    “There’s the connection,” he said, “and that is where Mr. Louis Landor went—through the wicket gate. Oh, you needn’t bother: I’ve sent some men to search the yard. But if I am any judge, Mr. Landor has gone. I’ve already circulated his description.”
    Mrs. Albert, the wife of the night watchman, drooped guiltily in her chair, her agonised dark eyes fixed on Mr. Mason. Here was tragedy for her, more poignant than the death of unknown men struck down by unseen forces; the tragedy of a husband dismissed from the only job he had held in five years, of the resumption of that daily struggle for life, of aimless wanderings for employment on his part—she could always go out as a hired help for a few shillings a day.
    “He’ll get the sack,” she managed to breathe.
    Mason looked at her and shook his head.
    “I’m not reporting to the Eastern Trading Company, though you might have helped a little bit if you hadn’t hidden up the truth when I asked you about the beer. I blame myself for not realising that you had something to hide, and what it was. It might have made a big difference.”
    “You’re not reporting it, mister?” she asked tremulously, and was on the verge of tears. “I’ve had a very hard time. That poor woman could tell you how hard it was: she used to live with me till she came into money.”
    “Which poor woman is this?” asked Mason quickly.
    “Mrs. Weston.”
    She had lost some of her fear in the face of his interest.
    “She lodged with you?”
    Elk had left the room. Mason motioned her to the chair which the sergeant had vacated and which was nearer to him.
    “Come along and let’s hear all about it,” he said genially.
    A bald man, with a round, amused face and a ready smile, removed all her natural suspicions.
    “Oh, yes, sir, she used to lodge with me, till she got this money.”
    “Where did she get the money from?”
    “Gawd knows,” said Mrs. Albert piously. “I never ask questions. She paid me all that she owed me, that’s all I know. I’ve been wondering, sir”—she leaned forward confidentially—“was it her husband or her young man who was killed?”
    “Her young man was killed,” said Mason without hesitation. “You knew them?”
    She shook her head.
    “You knew the husband, at any rate?”
    “I’ve seen photographs of him in her room. They were taken in Australia—her and the two. When I say I’ve seen them,” she corrected herself, “I was just going to take a look at ‘em when she come in the room and snatched the frame out of my hand—which was funny, because it had always been on the mantelshelf before, but I never took any notice of it till she said one day it was her husband and a great friend. It was on the following day I took up the picture to have a look.”
    “And she snatched it out of your hand? How long ago was this?”
    She thought.
    “Two years last July.”
    Mason nodded.
    “And soon after that she came into money, almost immediately after?”
    Mrs. Albert was not surprised at his perspicuity. She had the impression that she had given him that information.
    “Yes, sir, she left me the next day, or two days after. I haven’t spoken to her since. She lives in the grand part of Tidal Basin now. I always say that when people are well off–-“
    “I’m perfectly sure I can guess what you always say.” He was not unkind but he was very firm. “Now, what sort of a frame would this be in—leather?”
    Yes, she thought rather that it was leather—or wood, covered with leather.
    “I know she put it in her box because I saw her do it—a little black box she used to keep under her