“Extracts of reports concerning Marie Leullier,
alias Yvonne Ferad, are herewith appended:
“Criminal Investigation Department, New Scotland
Yard, London—to the Prefecture of Police,
Paris.
“Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad rented a furnished
house at Hove, near Brighton, in June, 1918.
Afterwards moved to Worthing and to Exeter, and later
took a house in the Cromwell Road, London, in 1919.
She was accompanied by an Italian manservant named
Cataldi. Her conduct was suspicious, though she
was undoubtedly possessed of considerable means.
She was often seen at the best restaurants with various
male acquaintances, more especially with a man named
Kenworthy. Her association with this person,
and with another man named Percy Stendall, was curious,
as both men were habitual criminals and had served
several terms of penal servitude each. Certain
suspicions were aroused, and observation was kept,
but nothing tangible was discovered. It is agreed,
however, that some mystery surrounds this woman in
question. She left London quite suddenly, but
left no debts behind.”
“Information from the Borough Police Office,
Worthing, to the Prefecture of Police, Department
of Herault.
“Mademoiselle Yvonne Ferad has been identified
by the photograph sent as having lived in Worthing
in December, 1918. She rented a small furnished
house facing the sea, and was accompanied by an Italian
manservant and a French maid. Her movements were
distinctly mysterious. A serious fracas occurred
at the house on the evening of December 18th, 1918.
A middle-aged gentleman, whose name is unknown, called
there about seven o’clock and a violent quarrel
ensued between the lady and her visitor, the latter
being very seriously assaulted by the Italian.
The constable on duty was called in, but the visitor
refused to prosecute, and after having his injuries
attended to by a doctor left for London. Three
days later Mademoiselle disappeared from Worthing.
It is believed by the Chief Constable that the woman
is of the criminal class.”
Then Charles Ogier, inspector of the detective police
of Monaco, smiled, laid down his cigar, and took up
another and even more interesting document.
ON THE HOG’S BACK
Three days later. On a cold afternoon just as
the wintry light was fading a tall, dark, middle-aged,
rather handsome man with black hair and moustache,
and wearing a well-cut, dark-grey overcoat and green
velour hat, alighted from the train at the wayside
station of Wanborough, in Surrey, and inquired of
the porter the way to Shapley Manor.
“Shapley, sir? Why, take the road there
yonder up the hill till you get to the main road which
runs along the Hog’s Back from Guildford to
Farnborough. When you get on the main road, turn
sharp to the left past the old toll-gate, and you’ll
find the Manor on the left in among a big clump of
trees.”
