The Gentleman who Vanished by Fergus Hume — Read

Number Forty, Beryle Square, was a handsome-looking Town residence, but, the owners now being away from London, it had rather a desolate appearance. The boxes of brilliant flowers, that had preserved a many-coloured fringe outside the windows, had all been removed, and, the shutters being up, the house had a lonely look, which was infinitely dreary. The old woman, who looked after it in the absence of its owner, was a grimy-looking party of unprepossessing appearance, addicted to the wearing of a crushed crape bonnet, a withered-looking black dress, and a large apron which had once been white. She made a daily tour of inspection through all the deserted rooms, and cherished dire suspicions of crafty burglars hiding behind doors and under couches. Mrs. Bickles was the name of this ancient damsel, but, as a matter of fact, she had never been married, but assumed the appellation which she thought was more in keeping with her dignity.

This bright July afternoon, was the day upon which Dentham was due at 40, Beryle Square, to give his information regarding Adrian Lancaster's whereabouts, and Mrs. Bickles was seated in the kitchen, moralizing over a glass of ale, and the remnants of the frugal meal, which she dignified with the name of luncheon. Like most old people, she was very garrulous, and in default of a better listener, talked to herself when alone, so she ran no chance of interruption, but had it all her own way.