Chapter 24 Chapter 24 Pursuing the Caymans

Bobby tried to keep the chauffeur's expressionless face as Frankie came out of the house alone. Frankie said to the nurse, "Go back to Steverly, Hawkins." The car sped up the driveway and out the gate.At a sparsely populated place on the way, Bobby stopped the car and looked at Frankie eager to know. "How?" he asked. Frankie, looking rather pale, replied, "Bobby, I don't think it's a good thing. She's gone, obviously." "Leaving? This morning?" "Perhaps last night." "Didn't leave us a message?" "Bobby, I don't believe it at all. The man is lying, I'm sure."

Bobby paled suddenly, and he muttered, "It's too late! We're so stupid! We shouldn't have let her go back yesterday." "You don't think she's dead?" Frankie asked in a trembling whisper. "No." Bobby's voice was very strong, as if to convince himself. There was a moment's silence between them, and then Bobby drew his conclusions in a calm tone. "She must still be alive, because the body has to be disposed of and so on. And her death will seem natural, like an accident. No, she was either forcibly abducted, or she is still in Qiu Mansion."

"At the Grange Mansion?" "right." "Well," said Frankie, "what shall we do next?" Bobby thought for a while, then said: "I don't think you can do anything. You'd better go back to London. You propose to try to track down the Caymans, so go ahead." "Oh, Bobby!" "My dear, you're useless here. You're noticeable, and you're very noticeable now. You said you were going to... what can you do? You can't stay in Merowe, and you can't stay in 'Angler You'll get the locals talking. No, you've got to go. Nicholson may be skeptical, but he's not sure you know anything. You go back to town, I'll stay."

"Stay in Angler's Haven?" "No, I think your driver is gone now. I'm going to make a base camp in Ambledever, ten miles away. If Moira's still in that damned house, I'll go find her." Frankie hesitated for a moment: "Bobby, you have to be careful." "I'll be as cunning as a snake." Frankie obeyed Bobby's arrangement with a heavy heart.Bobby was right.It was of no use to her herself to remain there.Bobby sent her back to the city.Frankie entered Kew House in Brook Street with a sudden sense of desolation. However, she is not the kind of woman who resigns herself to fate.At three o'clock that afternoon a well-dressed young woman, wearing pince-nez and frowning solemnly, walked towards St Leonard's Gardens, carrying a sheaf of pamphlets and papers.

St Leonard's Gardens in Paddington is a decidedly shady neighborhood, mostly in dilapidation.This place also shows the splendor of the "Golden Age" long ago. Frankie went down, looked up at the numbers, and stopped suddenly with an anxious look on her face. On the door of Room 17 was a Vacant For Rent sign.Frankie hastily removed her pince-nez, looking nervous. It appears that political lobbyists will no longer be needed. There were several names of real estate agents on the sign, and Frankie picked two and wrote them down.Then, she decided on the expedition plan and set about putting it into action.

The first real estate agency was Gordon and Porter Associates on Praed Street. "Good morning," said Frankie, "I was wondering if you could give me Mr Cayman's address? He doesn't live at 17 St Leonard's Gardens these days." "Yes," answered the boy Frankie asked, "he hasn't lived long, has he? We represent the landlord. Mr. Cayman only rents for a quarter when he has some foreign mail to deal with." "So you don't have his address?" "I'm afraid not. He settled the bill with us, that's all." "But he must have an original address for renting a house."

"It's a hotel. I think it's the G.W.R Hotel at Paddington Station, as you know." "The basis is..." Frankie tentatively asked. "He paid a quarter's rent in advance and a deposit for gas and electricity." "So it is!" Frankie was deeply disappointed. She saw the young man staring at her strangely.The real estate agent, who was good at summarizing the "social class" of his clients, was clearly surprised by Frankie's interest in Mr. Cayman. "Mr. Cayman still owes me a lot of money." Frankie lied. An expression of indignation suddenly appeared on the young man's face.Out of full sympathy for the beautiful woman's bankruptcy, he tried his best to search through the volumes of letters, but he still couldn't find Mr. Cayman's current and past addresses.

Frankie thanked him and left.She took a taxi to the next real estate agency company.She didn't waste time repeating the process just now.The first company was the company that rented the property to Caymanians, those people were only concerned with re-letting the property on behalf of the owner.Frankie asked for an inspection permit. This time, to counteract the surprised look on the clerk's face, she explained that she wanted a cheap house to start a girls' boarding house.The expression of surprise was gone, and Frankie came out with the key to No. 17, St. Leonard's Garden, and the keys to more than two "properties", the last few places she didn't plan to visit at all.

It was a bit of luck, Frankie thought, that the clerk didn't want to go with her, which they probably only did when it came to letting out furnished houses. When she unlocked the door of No. 17 and opened the door, a musty smell of a closed house hit her nostrils. It was a disapproving house with poor finishes and dingy and blistered paint. Frankie went through it from attic to basement.The house has been cleaned since the renter left.There are also some ropes, old newspapers, a few nails and tools in the house.But as for personal effects, Frankie hadn't found even a torn piece of paper.

The only potentially interesting thing that interested her was an open copy of the ABC Railway Guide on the seat under the window.There was no one's name on the page that had been deliberately opened, but Frankie had copied much of it in a small notebook anyway, as a substitute for what she had hoped to find. As far as the search for the Caymans was concerned, she had finally failed. She consoled herself with the thought that this was merely expected.If the Caymans were connected to the criminals, they would have taken special care not to let anyone trace them.This is at least valid evidence of a negative aspect.

When Frankie handed the keys back to the real estate agent and lied about contacting them in two days, she was still deeply disappointed. With a heavy heart she walked down the street to the park, trying to figure out what to do next.A torrential rain came, interrupting her fruitless contemplation. With no taxi in sight, she hurried to protect her beloved hat and rushed into the nearby subway entrance.She bought a ticket to Piccadilly Circus and bought two newspapers at the bookstall. The compartment was almost empty when Frankie entered.She tried her best to get rid of those annoying problems in her mind, opened the newspaper, and concentrated on reading the news in the newspaper. She read endlessly the news in the newspaper. Several people die in the street; a schoolgirl mysteriously disappears; Lady Peterhampton throws a ball at Claridge; Sir John Milkington recovers from a yacht accident, the famous "Astrado" The "La" yacht originally belonged to the late millionaire Mr. John Savage.Is this an unlucky ship?The ship's designer died tragically; Mr Savage committed suicide; only Sir John Milkington survived by a miracle. Frankie put down the newspaper and frowned trying to remember. John Savage's name has been mentioned twice before: once by Sylvia in reference to Alan Carstairs; It was mentioned in the lady's conversation. Alan Carstairs was once a friend of John Savage.Lady Rivington seems to think that Carstairs' presence in England had something to do with Savage's death.Savage commits suicide - what happened? — because he thought he had cancer. Suppose, for a moment, that Alan Carstairs was not satisfied with the account of his friend's death, and that he had come to England to investigate the truth?Suppose further that the circumstances surrounding Savage's death are the first act of the scene in which she and Bobby are playing the part. "It's possible," thought Frankie, "yes, it's possible." She was lost in thought, not knowing how best to deal with the new situation.Who was Savage's best friend she had no idea. Then she thought about Savage's will.If there was anything suspicious about his death, his will might hold some clues. Frankie knew that a will could be found somewhere in London for a shilling, but she could not remember where. The train stopped at a station, and Frankie saw the British Museum, and she passed Oxford Circus, where she was going to change trains. She jumped out of the car.The local came up with an idea when he showed up on the street.Five minutes later, she came to the law firm of Sprague & Jenkinson. Frankie was received with great respect, and was immediately ushered into Mr. Sprague's personal office.Mr. Sprague is a senior associate at the law firm. Mr. Sprague was affable.The rich and convincing voice of those who come to him when they want to get out of trouble will be a great comfort to those who have high status.It was rumored that Mr. Sprague knew more about the scandals of upper-class London families than any of his peers. "Great to see you, Miss Frances," said Mr. Sprague. "Sit down, please. You're sure that's a comfortable chair? Yes, yes. It's a fine day, isn't it? What a little spring. How is Lord Marchington? Well, I'm sure he'll be all right." Frankie answered the inquiry very gracefully. Then Mr. Sprague moved his pince-nez on the bridge of his nose like a connoisseur of legal advice. "Tell me, Miss Frances," he said, "what has brought me the honor of seeing you this afternoon in my... um... my messy office?" "Is it blackmail? An indiscreet letter? Got caught up with a bad young man? Complained by a tailor?" He frowned and thought about this series of questions quickly. The frown asked carefully is very suitable for Mr. Sprague lawyer status and income. "I want to look up a will," said Frankie, "and I don't know where or how to look. But there's a place where you can look it up for a shilling, isn't it here?" "That's Somerset & Associates," said Mr. Sprague. "But what kind of a will is that? I think I can tell you all you need to know about...well... your family's will. I It can be said that I believe our firm had the honor of drawing up those wills many years ago." "Not my family's will," said Frankie. "No?" asked Mr. Sprague. The kind of strong attraction he has to make the client trust is like hypnotism, and Frankie can't resist it, so she has to tell the truth. "It's Mr. Savage's will, John Savage, that I want to look up." "Really?" Mr. Sprague said with great surprise in his tone.He hadn't expected that. "That was unexpected, very unexpected indeed." There was so much anomalous meaning in his voice that Frankie stared at him in surprise. "Really," said Mr. Sprague, "I really don't know what to do. Maybe, Miss Frances, you can tell me why I need to look into this will." "No," said Frankie slowly, "I'm afraid I can't tell you." Frankie felt that Mr. Sprague, for some reason, was not speaking or behaving as well as he usually did, nor as well-informed.He did appear anxious. "I do think," said Mr. Sprague, "that I should have warned you." "Warn me?" Frankie asked. "Yes, although the signs are still vague, very vague, it is clear that something suspicious is going on. I will not, under any circumstances, involve you in anything suspicious." At this point, Frankie wanted to tell him that he was completely involved in the affair he was clearly opposed to.But she said nothing, just stared at Mr. Sprague suspiciously. "The whole thing is a pretty amazing coincidence," Mr. Sprague went on. "It's obviously still going on, obviously. But how it happened, I can't just say at the moment." Frankie still looked at him suspiciously. "I've just had the news," said Mr. Sprague indignantly, "that I've been impersonated, Miss Frances. Deliberately impersonating. What do you say to that?" Frankie panicked and couldn't say a word.