An Old Betrayal: A Charles Lenox Mystery (Charles Lenox Mysteries) by Charles Finch Read Free Book Online

watch and found that it was already past three o’clock. Really he ought to have been down at the Commons, but he couldn’t resist.
    The porter didn’t seem especially surprised to see him again. “Still no sign of Mr. Godwin,” he reported with a smile.
    “May I ask you a question about him?”
    For the first time the friendliness left the porter’s face. It was well enough to say whether or not a member was in, and perhaps to let slip the last time he had been in—but to offer any more would encroach upon the privacy of a selective establishment’s members. “Well?” he asked.
    “This Godwin, I only met him once. He is a tall, fair-haired gentlemen, rather slim, no?”
    The porter shook his head. “Are you after some mischief, sir?”
    Lenox handed over his card. It was like all gentlemen’s cards—his name in the center, address in the lower left, the club he frequented most often in the lower right—but it happened to say that he was a Junior Lord of the Treasury and give his address as Parliament. “We share a mutual acquaintance, a young woman,” he said.
    “I’m not sure you do, respectfully, sir,” said the porter, handing the card back with a slight and reverent incline of his head. “Mr. Godwin is a round gentleman a shade under five foot, and by every account I’ve heard he has been bald since he was seventeen.”

CHAPTER EIGHT
    “He does not sound like a prepossessing personage,” Dallington observed, chuckling, when Lenox repeated this description to him. “The hearts of the ladies of the Clinkard Meon Valley are safe, unto the most devoted beagler’s daughter.”
    “Do you think the fellow at Gilbert’s was having a joke at my expense?” asked Lenox. “Or at Godwin’s?”
    “Perhaps both.”
    “For my part, I do not.” The Member of Parliament was leaning against the windowsill above Half Moon Street, smoking a small cigar and gazing out at the tree-lined walk below. It was early evening, the light weakening away toward night. He had done his work at the Commons through the late afternoon, and then stolen twenty minutes for himself to tell Dallington of his exertions; he was due back for a debate shortly.
    “Why?”
    “The woman’s reaction, the impostor’s face. There was something sinister in it. Then, too, the note was so unsettling.”
    Dallington shrugged. “Then what do we make of him?”
    “He seemed wellborn, and knew enough to use the name of a person not likely to appear at White’s, to embarrass his alibi, in case I should search for him there. He did not count on my making more than a cursory effort.”
    “But what if you had written to him, and the letter had gone to this fellow in the country?”
    “I’m not sure. Perhaps it was a hoax. Based upon his appearance, he was a gentleman, but the gentlemen of White’s have their own rules. Not many people outside of the club like them.”
    Dallington himself was a member at White’s. He smiled. “What more can we do?”
    Lenox sighed. “I cannot see what course we have other than to wait. I fear the young woman will not write to you again, because she suspects you to have betrayed her. Although perhaps she will know otherwise and send for you a second time.”
    “What about Godwin, the false Godwin?”
    “I asked the chap at White’s whether he could identify a taller fair-haired gentleman with a silver-handled cane. Only two or three dozen, he said.”
    Dallington laughed hoarsely. He was still ill, but well enough now to have propped himself up by the warmth of the fireplace, lit though it was spring. “It’s no matter. Two more cases have come in, and when I am well enough I shall move on to other matters.”
    This reminded Lenox. “Did you know, incidentally, that there is a woman advertising a detective agency in the newspapers?”
    “Miss Strickland? Yes, I’ve seen her notices and wish her joy in her undertaking. She can’t guess how many cranks she’ll have knocking at her door. Which