Betty checked the cry of horror which instinctively started to her lips, and turned to Neale with a look which he was quick to interpret. He moved nearer to the tinker, who was unwinding the rope from his waist.
"You couldn't tell—what man?" he asked, in low tones.
Creasy shook his head with a look of dislike for what he had seen by the light of his lantern.
"No!" he answered. "'Twasn't possible, mister. But—a man there is! And dead, naturally. And—a long way it is, too, down to the bottom of that place!"
"What's to be done?" asked Neale.
The tinker slowly coiled up his ropes, and laid them in order by the crowbar.
"There's only one thing to be done," he answered, after a reflective pause. "We shall have to get him up. That'll be a job! Do you and the young lady go back to Scarnham, and tell Polke what we've found, and let him come out here with a man or two. I'll go into Ellersdeane yonder and get some help—and a windlass—can't do without that. There's a manthat sinks wells in Ellersdeane—I'll get him and his men to come back with me. Then we can set to work."
Creasy moved away as he finished speaking, untethered his pony, threw an old saddle across its back, and without further remark rode off in the direction of the village, while Neale and Betty turned back to Scarnham. For a while neither broke the silence which had followed the tinker's practical suggestions; when Betty at last spoke it was in a hushed voice.
"Wallie!" she said, "do you think that can possibly be—Uncle John?"
"No!" answered Neale sharply, "I don't! I don't believe it possible that he would be so foolish as to lean over a rotten bit of walling like that—he'd know the danger of it."
"Then it must be—the other man—Hollis!" said Betty.
"Maybe," agreed Neale. "If it is——"
He paused, and Betty looked at his set face as if she were wondering what he was thinking of.
"What?" she asked timidly. "You're uneasy about something."
"It's a marvel to me—if it is Hollis—however he comes to be there," answered Neale at last. "According to all we know, he certainly went to meet somebody on Saturday night. I can't think how anybody who knew the district would have let a stranger do such a risky thing as to lean over one of those shafts. Besides, if anybody was with him, and there was an accident, why hasn't the accident been reported? Betty!—it's more like murder!"
"You think he may have been thrown down there?" she asked fearfully.
"Thrown down or forced down—it's all the same," said Neale. "There may have been a struggle—a fight. But there, what's the use of speculating? We don't even know whose body it is yet. Let's get on and tell those police chaps."
Turning off the open moor on to the highway at the corner of Scarnham Bridge, they suddenly came face to face with Gabriel Chestermarke, who, for once in a way, was walking instead of driving into the town. The two young people, emerging from the shelter of a high hedgerow which bordered the moorland at that point, started at sight of the banker's colourless face, cold and set as usual. But Gabriel betrayed no surprise, and was in no way taken aback. He lifted his hat in silence, and was marching on when Neale impulsively hailed him.
"Mr. Chestermarke!" he exclaimed.
Gabriel halted and turned, looking at his late clerk with absolute impassiveness. He made no remark, and stood like a statue, waiting for Neale to speak.
"You may like to know," said Neale, coming up to him, "we have just found the body of a man on the moor—Ellersdeane Hollow."
Gabriel showed no surprise. No light came into his eyes, no colour to his cheek. It seemed a long time before his firmly set lips relaxed.
"A man?" he said quietly. "What man?"
"We don't know," answered Neale. "All we know is, there's a man's body lying at the bottom of one of the old shafts up there—near EllersdeaneTower. The tinker who camps out there has just seen it—he's been partly down the shaft."
"And—did not recognize it?" asked Gabriel.
"No—it was too far beneath him," replied Neale. "He's gone into the village to get help."
Gabriel lingered a moment, and then, lifting his hat again, began to move forward towards the town.
"I should advise you to acquaint the police, Mr. Neale," he said. "Good-morning!"
He marched away, stiffly upright, across the bridge and up the Cornmarket, and Neale and Betty followed.
"Why did you tell—him?" asked Betty.
Neale threw a glance of something very like scorn after the retreating figure.
"Wanted to see how he'd take it!" he answered. "Bah!—Gabriel Chestermarke's no better than a wax figure! You might as well tell a marble image any news of this sort as tell him! You'd have thought he'd have had sufficient human feeling in him to say that he hoped it wasn't your uncle, anyhow!"
"No, I shouldn't," said Betty. "I sized Gabriel up—and Joseph, too—when I walked into their parlour the other afternoon. They haven't any feelings—you might as well expect to get feeling out of a fish."
They met Starmidge in the Market-Place—talking to Parkinson. Neale told the news to both. The journalist dashed into his office for his hat, and made off to Ellersdeane Hollow: Starmidge turned to the police-station with his information.
"No one else knows, I suppose?" he remarked, as they went along.
"Gabriel Chestermarke knows," answered Neale. "We met him as we were coming off the moor and I told him."
"Show any surprise?" asked the detective.
"Neither surprise nor anything else," said Neale. "Absolutely unaffected!"
Polke, hearing the news, immediately bustled into activity, sending for a cab in which to drive along the road to a point near Ellersdeane Tower, from which they could reach the lead mine. But he shook his head when he saw that Betty meant to return.
"Don't, miss!" he urged. "Stay here in town—you'd far better. It's not a nice job for ladies, aught of that sort. Wait at the hotel—do, now!"
"Doing nothing!" exclaimed Betty. "That would be far worse. Let me go—I'm not afraid of anything. And to hang about, waiting and wondering—"
Neale, who had been about to enter the cab with the police, drew back.
"You go on," he said to Polke. "Get things through—Miss Fosdyke and I will walk slowly back there. We won't come close up till you can tell us something definite. Don't you see she's anxious about her uncle?—we can't keep her waiting."
He rejoined Betty as Polke and his men drove off: together they turned again in the direction of the bridge. Once across it and on the moor, Neale made the girl sit down on a ledge of rock at some distance from the lead mine, but within sight of it: he himself, while he talked to her, stood watching the figuresgrouped about the shaft. Creasy had evidently succeeded in getting help at once: Neale saw men fixing a windlass over the mouth of the old mine; saw a man at last disappear into its depths. And after a long pause he saw from the movements of the other men that the body had been drawn to the surface and that they were bending over it. A moment later, Starmidge separated himself from the rest, and came in Neale's direction. He nodded his head energetically at Betty as he drew within speaking distance.
"All right, Miss Fosdyke!" he said. "It's not your uncle. But—it's the other man, Mr. Neale!—no doubt of it!"
"Hollis!" exclaimed Neale.
"It's the man described by Mrs. Pratt and Simmons—that's certain," answered the detective. "So there's one mystery settled—though it makes all the rest stranger than ever. Now, Miss Fosdyke, that'll be some relief to you—so don't come any nearer. But just spare Mr. Neale a few minutes—I want to speak to him."
Betty obediently turned back to the ledge of rock, and Neale walked with Starmidge towards the group around the shaft.
"Can you tell anything?" he asked. "Are there any signs of violence?—I mean, does it look as if he'd been——"
"Thrown in there?" said the detective calmly. "Ah!—it's a bit early to decide that. The only thing I'm thinking of now is the fact that this is Hollis! That's certain, Mr. Neale. Now what couldhe be doing on this lonely bit of ground? Where does this track lead?"
"It's a short cut from Scarnham Bridge corner to the middle of Ellersdeane village," answered Neale, pointing one way and then the other.
"And Gabriel Chestermarke lives in Ellersdeane, doesn't he?" asked Starmidge. "Or close by?"
Neale indicated certain chimneys rising amongst the trees on the far side of the Hollow. "He lives there—The Warren," he replied.
"Um!" mused Starmidge. "I wonder if this poor fellow was making his way there—to see him?"
"How should he—a stranger—know of this short cut?" demurred Neale. "I don't think that's very likely."
"That's true—unless he'd had it pointed out to him," rejoined Starmidge. "It's odd, anyway, that his body should be found half-way, as it were, between Gabriel Chestermarke's place and Joseph Chestermarke's house—isn't it now? But, Lord bless you!—we're only on the fringe of this business as yet. Well—just take a look at him."
Neale walked within the group of bystanders, feeling an intense dislike and loathing of the whole thing. In obedience to Starmidge's wish, he looked steadily at the dead man and turned away.
"You don't know him?—never saw him during the five years you were at the bank?" whispered the detective. "Think!—make certain, now."
"Never saw him in my life!" declared Neale, stepping back. "I neither know him nor anything about him."
"I wanted you to make sure," said Starmidge. "I thought you might—possibly—recollect him as somebody who'd called at the bank during your time."
"No!" said Neale. "Certainly not! I've never set eyes on him until now. Of course, he's Hollis, I suppose?"
"Oh, without doubt!" answered Polke, who caught Neale's question as he came up. "He's Hollis, right enough. Mr. Neale—here's a difficulty. It's a queer thing, but there isn't one of us here who knows if this spot is in Scarnham or in Ellersdeane. Do you? Is it within our borough boundary, or is it in Ellersdeane parish? The Ellersdeane policeman there doesn't know, and I'm sure I don't! It's a point of importance, because the inquest'll have to be held in the parish in which the body was found."
The Ellersdeane constable who had followed Polke suddenly raised a finger and pointed across the heather.
"Here's a gentleman coming as might know, Mr. Polke," he said. "Mr. Chestermarke!"
Neale and Starmidge turned sharply—to see the banker advancing quickly from the adjacent road. A cab, drawn up a little distance off, showed that he had driven out to hear the latest news.
Polke stepped forward to meet the new-comer: Gabriel greeted him in his usual impassive fashion.
"This body been recovered?" he asked quietly.
"A few minutes ago, Mr. Chestermarke," answered Polke. "Will you look at it?"
Gabriel moved aside the group of men withoutfurther word, and the others followed him. He looked steadily at the dead man's face and withdrew.
"Not known to me," he said, in answer to an inquiring glance from Polke. "Hollis, I suppose, of course."
He went off again as suddenly as he had come—and Starmidge drew Neale aside.
"Mr. Neale!" he whispered, with a nearer approach to excitement than Neale had yet seen in him. "Did you see Gabriel Chestermarke's eyes? He's a liar! As sure as my name's Starmidge, he's a liar! Mr. Neale!—he knows that dead man!"
Neale, startled and amazed by this sudden outburst on the part of a man whom up to that time he had taken to be unusually cool-headed and phlegmatic, did not immediately answer. He was watching the Ellersdeane constable, who was running after Gabriel Chestermarke's rapidly retreating figure. He saw Gabriel stop, listen to an evident question, and then lift his hand and point to various features of the Hollow. The policeman touched his helmet, and came back to Polke.
"Mr. Chestermarke, sir, says the moorland is in three parishes," he reported pantingly. "From Scarnham Bridge corner to Ellersdeane Tower yonder is in Scarnham parish: this side the Hollow is in Ellersdeane; everything beyond the Tower is in Middlethorpe."
"Then we're in Scarnham," said Polke. "He'll have to be taken down to the town mortuary. We'd better see to it at once. What are you going to do, Starmidge?" he asked, as the detective turned away with Neale.
"I'll take this short cut back," said Starmidge. "I want to get to the post-office. Yes, sir!" he went on, as he and Neale slowly walked towards Betty. "Isay—he knew him! knew him, Mr. Neale, knew him!—as soon as ever he clapped his eyes on him!"
"You're very certain about it," said Neale.
"Dead certain!" exclaimed the detective. "I was watching him—purposely. I've taught myself to watch men. The slightest quiver of a lip—the least bit of light in an eye—the merest twitch of a little finger—ah! don't I know 'em all, and know what they mean! And, when Gabriel Chestermarke stepped up to look at that body, I was watching that face of his as I've never watched mortal man before!"
"And you saw—what?" asked Neale.
"I saw—Recognition!" said Starmidge. "Recognition, sir! I'll stake my reputation as a detective officer that Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke has seen that dead man before. He mayn't know him personally. He may never have spoken to him. But—he knew him! He'd seen him!"
"Will your conviction of that help at all?" inquired Neale.
"It'll help me," replied the detective quickly. "I'm gradually getting some ideas. But I shan't tell Polke—nor anybody else—of it. You can tell Miss Fosdyke if you like—she'll understand: women have more intuition than men. Now I'm off—I want to get a wire away to London. Look here—drop in at the police-station when you get back. We shall examine Hollis's clothing, you know—there may be some clue to Horbury."
He hurried off towards the town, and Neale rejoined Betty. And as they slowly followed the detective,he told her what Starmidge had just said with such evident belief—and Betty understood, as Starmidge had prophesied, and she grew more thoughtful than ever.
"When are we going to find a way out of all this miserable business!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Are we any nearer a solution because of what's just happened? Does that help us to finding out what's become of my uncle?"
"I suppose one thing's sure to lead to another," said Neale. "That seems to be the detective's notion, anyhow. If Starmidge is so certain that Gabriel Chestermarke knew Hollis, he'll work that for all it's worth. It's my opinion—whatever that's worth!—that Hollis came down here to see the Chestermarkes. Did he see them? There's the problem. If one could only find out—that!"
"I wish you and I could do something—apart from the police," suggested Betty. "Isn't there anything we could do?"
Neale pointed ahead to the high roof of Joseph Chestermarke's house across the river.
"There's one thing I'd like to do—if I could," he answered. "I'd just like to know all the secrets of that place! That there are some I'm as certain as that we're crossing this moor. You see that queer-shaped structure—sort of conical chimney—sticking up amongst the trees in Joseph Chestermarke's garden? That's a workshop, or a laboratory, or something, in which Joseph spends his leisure moments. I'd like to know what he does there. But nobody knows! Nobody is ever allowed in that house, norin the garden. I don't know a single soul in all Scarnham that's ever been inside either. I'm perfectly certain Mr. Horbury was never asked there. Once Joseph's across his thresholds, back or front, there's an end of him—till he comes out again!"
"But—he doesn't live entirely alone, does he?" asked Betty.
"As near as can be," replied Neale. "His entire staff consists of an old man and an old woman—man and wife—who've been with him—oh, ever since he was born, I believe! You may have seen the old man about the town—old Palfreman. Everybody knows him—queer, old-fashioned chap: he goes out to buy in whatever's wanted: the old woman never shows. That's the trio that live in there—a queer lot, aren't they?"
"It's all queer!" sighed Betty. "But now that this unfortunate man's body has been found—Wallie! do you think it possible he was thrown down that mine? That would mean murder!"
"If he was thrown down there, already dead," answered Neale grimly, "it would not only mean murder but that more than one person was concerned in it. We shall know more when they've examined the body and searched the clothing. I'm going round to the police-station when I've seen you back to the hotel—I'm hoping they'll find something that'll settle the one point that's so worrying."
"Which point?" asked Betty.
"The real critical point—in my opinion," answered Neale. "Who it was that Hollis came to see on Saturday? There may be letters, papers, on him that'llsettle that. And if we once know that—ah! that will make a difference! Because then—then——"
"What then?" demanded Betty.
"Then the police can ask that person if Hollis did meet him!" exclaimed Neale. "And they can ask, too, what that person did with Hollis. Solve that, and we'll see daylight!"
But Betty shook her head with clear indications of doubt as to the validity of this theory.
"No!" she said. "It won't come off, Wallie. If there's been foul play, the guilty people will have had too much cleverness to leave any evidences on their victim. I don't believe they'll find anything on Hollis that'll clear things up. Daylight isn't coming from that quarter!"
"Where are we to look for it, then?" asked Neale dismally.
"It's somewhere far back," declared Betty. "I've felt that all along. The secret of all this affair isn't in anything that's been done here and lately—it's in something deep down. And how to get at it, and to find out about my uncle, I don't know."
Neale felt it worse than idle to offer more theories—speculation was becoming useless. He left Betty at the Scarnham Arms, and went round to the police-station to meet Starmidge: together they went over to the mortuary. And before noon they knew all that medical examination and careful searching could tell them about the dead man.
Hollis, said the police-surgeon and another medical man who had been called in to assist him, bore no marks of violence other than those which were inevitablein the case of a man who had fallen seventy feet. His neck was broken; he must have died instantaneously. There was nothing to show that there had been any struggle previous to his fall. Had such a struggle taken place, the doctors would have expected to find certain signs and traces of it on the body: there were none. Everything seemed to point to the theory that he had leaned over the insecure fencing of the old shaft to look into its depths; probably to drop stones into them; that the loose, unmortared parapet had given way with his weight, and that he had plunged headlong to the bottom. He might have been pushed in—from behind—of course, but that was conjecture. Under ordinary circumstances, agreed both doctors, everything would have seemed to point to accident. And one of them suggested that it was very probable that what really had happened was this—Hollis, on his way to call on some person in the neighbourhood, or on his return from such a call, had crossed the moor, been attracted by inquisitiveness to the old mine, had leaned over its parapet, and fallen in. Accident!—it all looked like sheer accident.
In one of the rooms at the police-station, Neale anxiously watched Polke and Starmidge examine the dead man's clothing and personal effects. The detective rapidly laid aside certain articles of the sort which he evidently expected to find—a purse, a cigar-case; the usual small things found in a well-to-do man's pockets; a watch and chain; a ring or two. He gave no particular attention to any of these beyond ascertaining that there was a good deal of loose moneyin the purse—some twelve or fifteen pounds in gold—and pointing out that the watch had stopped at ten minutes to eight.
"That shows the time of the accident," he remarked.
"Are you sure?" suggested Polke doubtfully. "It may merely mean that the watch ran itself out then."
Starmidge picked up the watch—a stem winder—and examined it.
"No," he said, "it's broken—by the fall. See there!—the spring's snapped. Ten minutes to eight, Saturday night, Mr. Polke—that's when this affair happened. Now then, this is what I want!"
From an inner pocket of the dead man's smart morning-coat, he drew a morocco-leather letter-case, and carefully extracted the papers from it. With Neale looking on at one side, and Polke at the other, Starmidge examined every separate paper. Nothing that he found bore any reference to Scarnham. There were one or two bills—from booksellers—made out to Frederick Hollis, Esquire. There was a folded playbill which showed that Mr. Hollis had recently been to a theatre, and—because of some pencilled notes on its margins—had taken an unusual interest in what he saw there. There were two or three letters from correspondents who evidently shared with Mr. Hollis a taste for collecting old books and engravings. There were some cuttings from newspapers: they, too, related to collecting. And Neale suddenly got an idea.
"I say!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Horbury was a bit of a collector of that sort of thing, as you probablysaw from his house. This man may have run down to see him about some affair of that sort."
But at that moment Starmidge unfolded a slip of paper which he had drawn from an inner pocket of the letter-case. He gave one glance at it, and laid it flat on the table before his companions.
"No!" he said. "That's probably what brought Hollis down to Scarnham! A cheque for ten thousand pounds! And—incomplete!"
The three men bent wonderingly over the bit of pink paper. Neale's quick eyes took in its contents at a glance.
London:May 12th, 1912.Vanderkiste, Mullineau & Company,563Lombard Street, E.C.Pay .............................. or Orderthe sum of Ten Thousand Pounds£10,000.00....................
"That's extraordinary!" exclaimed Neale. "Date and amount filled in—and the names of payee and drawer omitted! What does it mean?"
"Ah!" said Starmidge, "when we know that, Mr. Neale, we shall know a lot! But I'm pretty sure of one thing. Mr. Hollis came down here intending to pay somebody ten thousand pounds. And—he wasn't exactly certain who that somebody was!"
"Good!" muttered Polke. "Good! That looks like it."
"So," said Starmidge, "he didn't fill in either the name of the payee or his own name until he was—sure! See, Mr. Neale!"
"Why did he fill in the amount?" remarked Neale, sceptically.
Starmidge winked at Polke.
"Very likely to dangle before somebody's eyes," he answered slyly. "Can't you reconstruct the scene, Mr. Neale? 'Here you are!' says Hollis, showing this cheque. 'Ten thousand of the very best, lying to be picked up at my bankers. Say the word, and I'll fill in your name and mine!' Lay you a pound to a penny that's been it, gentlemen!"
"Good!" repeated Polke. "Good, sergeant! I believe you're right. Now, what'll you do about it?"
The detective carefully folded up the cheque and replaced it in the slit from which he had taken it. He also replaced all the other papers, put the letter-case in a stout envelope and handed it to the superintendent.
"Seal it up and put it away in your safe till the inquest tomorrow," he said. "What shall I do? Oh, well—you needn't mention it, either of you, except to Miss Fosdyke, of course—but as soon as the inquest is adjourned—as it'll have to be—I shall slip back to town and see those bankers. I don't know, but I don't think it's likely that Mr. Hollis would have ten thousand pounds always lying at his bank. I should say this ten thousand has been lodged there for a special purpose. And what I shall want to find out from them, in that case, is—what special purpose? And—what had it to do with Scarnham, or anybody at Scarnham? See? And I'll tell you what, Mr. Polke—I don't know whether we'll produce that cheque at the inquest on Hollis—at first, anyhow.The coroner's bound to adjourn—all he'll want tomorrow will be formal identification of the body—all other evidence can be left till later. I've wired for Simmons—he'll be able to identify. No—we'll keep this cheque business back till I've been to London. I shall find out something from Vanderkistes—they're highly respectable private bankers, and they'll tell me——"
At that moment a policeman entered the room and presented Polke with a card.
"Gentleman's just come in, sir," he said. "Wants to see you particular."
Polke glanced at the card, and read the name aloud, with a start of surprise: "Mr. Leonard Hollis!"
Polke hastily followed the policeman from the room—to return immediately with a quiet-looking elderly gentleman in whom Neale and Starmidge saw a distinct likeness to the dead man.
"His brother!" whispered Polke, as he handed a chair to the visitor. "So you've seen about this in the newspapers, sir?" he went on, turning to Mr. Leonard Hollis. "And you thought you'd better come over, I suppose?"
"I have not only read about it in the newspapers," answered the visitor, "but I last night—very late—received a telegram from my brother's clerk—Mr. Simmons—who evidently found my address at my brother's rooms. So I left Birmingham—where I now live—at once, to see you. Now, have you heard anything of my brother?"
Polke shook his head solemnly and warningly.
"I'm sorry to say we have, sir," he replied. "You'd better prepare for the worst news, Mr. Hollis. We found the body this morning—not two hours ago. And—we don't know, as yet, how he came by his death. The doctors say it may have been pure accident. Let's hope it was! But there are strange circumstances, sir—very strange!"
Hollis quietly rose from his chair.
"I suppose I can see him?" he asked.
Polke led him out of the room, and Starmidge turned to Neale.
"We're gradually getting at something, Mr. Neale," he said. "All this leads somewhere, you know. Now, since we found that incomplete cheque, there's a question I wanted to ask you. You've left Chestermarke's Bank now, and under the circumstances we're working in you needn't have any delicacy about answering questions about them. Do you know of any recent transaction of theirs which involved ten thousand pounds?"
"No!" replied Neale. "I certainly don't."
"Nor any sum approaching it?" suggested Starmidge. "Or exceeding it?"
"Nothing whatever!" reiterated Neale. "I know of all recent banking transactions at Chestermarke's, and I can't think—I've been thinking since we saw that cheque—of anything that the cheque had to do with."
"Well—it's a queer thing," remarked the detective meditatively. "I'll lay anything Hollis brought that cheque down here for some specific purpose—and who on earth is there in this place that he could bring it to but Chestermarke's? However, we'll see if I don't trace something about it when I get up to town, and then——"
Polke and the dead man's brother came back, talking earnestly. The superintendent carefully closed the door, and begging his visitor to be seated again, turned to Starmidge.
"I've told Mr. Hollis all the main facts of the case," he said. "Of course, he identified his brother at once."
"When did you see him last, sir!" asked Starmidge.
"Some eight or nine months ago," replied Hollis. "He came to see me, in Birmingham. Previous to that, I hadn't seen him for several years. I ought to tell you," he went on, turning to Polke, "that for a great many years I have lived abroad—tea-planting in Ceylon. I came back to England about a year ago, and eventually settled down at Edgbaston. I suppose my brother's clerk found my address on an old letter or something last night, and wired to me in consequence."
"When Simmons was here," observed Starmidge, "he said that your brother seemed to have no relations."
"I daresay Simmons would get that impression," remarked Hollis. "My brother was a very reserved man, who was not likely to talk much of his family. As a matter of fact, I am about the only relation he had—except some half-cousins, or something of that sort."
"Can you tell us anything about your brother's position?" asked Starmidge. "The clerk said he didn't practise very much, and had means of his own."
"Quite true," assented Hollis. "I believe he had a comfortable income, apart from his practice—perhaps five or six hundred a year. He mentioned to me that he only did business for old clients."
"Do you think he'd be likely to have a sum of ten thousand pounds lying at his bankers?" inquired Starmidge.
Hollis looked sharply at the detective and then shook his head.
"Not unless it was for some special purpose," he answered. "He might have such a sum if he'd been selling out securities for re-investment. But my impression is—in fact, it's more than an impression—I'm sure that he bought himself an annuity of about the amount I mentioned just now, some years ago. You see, he'd no children, and he knew that I was a well-to-do man, so—he used his capital in that a way."
"Would you be surprised to see a cheque of his drawn for ten thousand pounds?" asked Starmidge suddenly.
"Frankly, I should!" replied Hollis, with a smile. "That is, if it was on his private account."
"Do you happen to know who kept his private account?" inquired Starmidge.
"Yes," answered Hollis. "He banked with an old private firm called Vanderkiste, Mullineau & Company, of Lombard Street."
Starmidge, after a whispered word with Polke, took up the envelope in which he had placed the dead man's letter-case, and produced the cheque.
"Look at that, sir," he said, laying it before the visitor. "Is that your brother's handwriting?"
"His handwriting—oh, yes!" exclaimed Hollis. "Most certainly! But—there's no signature!"
"No—and there's no name of any payee," saidStarmidge. "That's where the mystery comes in. But—this—and this letter-case and its contents—was found on him, and there's no doubt he came down to Scarnham intending to pay that cheque to somebody. You can't throw any light on that, sir?"
The visitor, who continued to regard the cheque with evident amazement, at last turned away from it and glanced at his three companions.
"Well," he said, "I don't know that I can. But one principal reason why I hurried here, after getting Simmons' telegram last night, is this: In the newspapers there is a good deal of mention of a Mr. John Horbury, manager of a bank in this town. He, too, you tell me, has disappeared. Now, I happen to possess a remarkably good memory, and it was at once stirred by seeing that name. My brother Frederick and I were at school together at Selburgh—Selburgh Grammar School, you know—quite thirty-five or six years ago. One of our schoolmates was a John Horbury. And—he came from this place—Scarnham."
The three listeners looked at each other. And Neale started, as if at some sudden reminiscence, and he spoke quickly.
"I've heard Mr. Horbury speak of his school-days at Selburgh!" he said. "And—now I come to think of it—he had some books with the school coat-of-arms on the sides—prizes."
"Just so!" remarked Hollis. "I remember Jack Horbury very well indeed, though I never saw him after I left school, nor heard of him either, until I saw all this news about him in the papers. Of course,your missing bank manager is the John Horbury my brother and I were at school with! And I take it that the reason my brother came down to Scarnham last Saturday was—to see John Horbury."
Starmidge had been listening to all this with close attention. He was now more than ever convinced that he was at last on some track—but so far he could not see many steps ahead. Nevertheless, his next step was clearly enough discernible.
"You say you saw your brother some eight or nine months ago, sir?" he remarked. "Did he mention Mr. Horbury to you at that time?"
"No, he didn't," replied Hollis.
"Did he ever—recently, I mean—ever mention his name to you in a letter?" asked Starmidge.
"No—never! I don't know," said Hollis, "that he or I ever spoke to each other of John Horbury from the time we left school. John Horbury was not, as it were, a very particular chum of ours. We knew him—as we knew a hundred other boys. As I have already told you, the two names, Horbury, Scarnham, in the newspapers yesterday, immediately recalled John Horbury, our schoolmate, to me. Up to then, I don't suppose I'd ever thought of him for—years! And I don't suppose he'd ever thought of me, or of my brother. Yet—I feel sure my brother came here to see him. For business reasons, I suppose?"
"The odd thing about that, Mr. Hollis," remarked Polke, "is that we can't find the slightest reason, either from anybody here, or from your brother'sclerk in London, why your brother should come to see Horbury, whether for business, or for any other purpose. And as to his remembering Mr. Frederick Hollis, well, here's Mr. Neale—Mr. Horbury was his guardian—and Mr. Neale, of course, has known him all his life. Now, Mr. Neale never heard him mention Mr. Frederick Hollis by name at any time. And there's now staying in the town Mr. Horbury's niece, Miss Fosdyke; she, too, never heard her uncle speak of any Mr. Hollis. Then, as to business—the partners at Chestermarke's Bank declare that they know nothing whatever of your brother—Mr. Gabriel, the senior partner, has seen the poor gentleman, and didn't recognize him. So—we at any rate, are as wise as ever. We don't know what your brother came here for!"
Hollis bowed his head in full acceptance of the superintendent's remarks. But he looked up at Starmidge and smiled.
"Exactly!" he said. "I quite understand you, Mr. Polke. But—I am convinced that my brother came here to see John Horbury. Why he came, I know no more than you do—but I hope to know!"
"You'll stay in the town a bit, sir?" suggested Polke. "You'll want to make arrangements for your poor brother's funeral, of course. Aught that we can do, sir, to help, shall be done."
"I'm much obliged to you, Mr. Polke," replied Hollis. "Yes, I shall certainly stay in Scarnham. In fact," he went on, rising and looking quietly from one man to the other, "I shall stay in Scarnhamuntil I, or you, or somebody have satisfactorily explained how my brother came to his death! I shall spare neither effort nor money to get at the truth—that's my determination!"
"There's somebody else in like case with you, Mr. Hollis," observed Polke. "Miss Fosdyke's just as concerned about her uncle as you are about your brother. She declares she'll spend a fortune on finding him—or finding out what's happened to him. It was Miss Fosdyke insisted on having Detective-Sergeant Starmidge down at once."
Hollis quietly scrutinized the detective.
"Well?" he asked. "And what do you make of it?"
But Starmidge was not in the mood for saying anything more just then, and he put his questioner off, asking him, at the same time, to keep the matter of the cheque to himself. Presently Hollis went away with Neale, to whom he wished to talk, and Starmidge, after a period of what seemed to be profound thought, turned to Polke.
"Superintendent!" he said earnestly. "With your leave, I'd like to try an experiment."
"What experiment?" demanded Polke.
Starmidge pointed to the ten thousand pound cheque, which was still lying on the table.
"I'd like to take that cheque across to Chestermarke's Bank, and show it to the partners," he answered.
"Good heavens!—why?" exclaimed Polke. "I thought you didn't want anybody to know about it."
"Never mind—I've an idea," said the detective."I'd just like them to see it, anyway, and," he added, with a wink, "I'd like to see them when they do see it!"
"You know best," said Polke. "If you think it well, do it."
Starmidge put the cheque in an envelope and walked over to the bank. He was shown into the partners' room almost immediately, and the two men glanced at him with evident curiosity.
"Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen," said Starmidge, in his politest manner. "There's a little matter you might help us in. We've been searching this unfortunate gentleman's clothing, you know, for papers and so on. And in his letter-case we found—this!"
He had the cheque ready behind his back, and he suddenly brought it forward, and laid it immediately before the partners, on Gabriel's desk, at the same time stepping back so that he could observe both men.
"Queer, isn't it, gentlemen?" he remarked quietly. "Incomplete!"
Gabriel Chestermarke, in spite of his habitual control, started: Joseph, bending nearer to the desk, made a curious sound of surprise. A second later they both looked at Starmidge—each as calm as ever. "Well?" said Gabriel.
"You don't know anything about that, gentlemen?" asked Starmidge, affecting great innocence.
"Nothing!" answered Gabriel.
"Of course not!" murmured Joseph, a little derisively.
"I thought you might recognize that handwriting,"suggested Starmidge, using one of his previously invented excuses.
"No!" replied Gabriel. "Don't know it!"
"From Adam's writing," added Joseph.
"You know the name of the bankers, I suppose, gentlemen?" asked the detective.
"Vanderkiste? Oh, yes!" assented Gabriel. "Well-known city firm. But I don't think we've ever done business with them," he added, turning to his nephew.
"Never!" replied Joseph. "In my time, at any rate."
Starmidge picked up the cheque and carefully replaced it in its envelope.
"Much obliged to you, gentlemen," he said, retreating towards the door. "Oh!—you'll be interested in hearing, no doubt, that the dead man's brother, Mr. Leonard Hollis, of Birmingham, has come. He's identified the body."
"And what does he think, or suggest?" asked Joseph, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Starmidge. "Has he any suggestions—or ideas?"
"He thinks his brother came here to meet Mr. Horbury," answered Starmidge.
"That's so evident that it's no news," remarked Joseph. "Perhaps he can suggest where Horbury's to be found."
Starmidge bowed and went out and straight back to Polke. He handed him the cheque and the letter-case.
"Lock 'em up!" he said. "Now then, listen! You can do all that's necessary about that inquest. I'moff to town. Sit down, and I'll tell you why. And what I tell you, keep to yourself."
That evening, Starmidge, who had driven quietly across the country from Scarnham to Ecclesborough, joined a London express at the Midland Station in the big town. The carriages were unusually full, and he had some difficulty in finding the corner seat that he particularly desired. But he got one, at last, at the very end of the train, and he had only just settled himself in it when he saw Gabriel Chestermarke hurry past. Starmidge put his head out of the window and watched—Gabriel entered a first-class compartment in the next coach.
"First stop Nottingham!" mused the detective. And he pulled a sheaf of telegram forms out of his pocket, and leisurely began to write a message which before he signed his name to it had run into many words.
Starmidge sent off his telegram when the train stopped at Nottingham, and thereafter went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it would be promptly acted upon by its recipients. And when, soon after eleven o'clock, the express ran into St. Pancras, he paid no particular attention to Gabriel Chestermarke. He had no desire, indeed, that the banker should see him, and he hung back when the crowded carriages cleared, and the platform became a scene of bustle and animation. But he had no difficulty in distinguishing Gabriel's stiffly erect figure as it made its way towards the hall of the station, and his sharp eyes were quick to notice a quietly dressed, unobtrusive sort of man who sauntered along, caught sight of the banker, and swung round to follow him. Starmidge watched both pass along towards the waiting lines of vehicles—then he turned on his heel and went to the refreshment room and straight to a man who evidently expected him.
"You got the wire in good time, then?" said Starmidge.
"Plenty!" answered the other man laconically. "I've put a good man on to him. See anything of them?"
"Yes—but I didn't know our man," remarkedStarmidge. "Who is he? Will he do what I want?"
"He's all right—fellow who's just been promoted, and, of course, he's naturally keen," replied Starmidge's companion. "Name of Gandam. That was a pretty good and full description of the man you want followed, Starmidge," he went on, with a smile. "You don't leave much out!"
"I didn't want him to be overlooked, and I didn't want to show up myself," said Starmidge. "I noticed that our man spotted him quick. Now, look here—I'll be at headquarters first thing tomorrow morning—I want this chap Gandam's report. Nine-thirty sharp! Now we'll have a drink, and I'll get home."
"Good case, this?" asked the other man, as they pledged each other. "Getting on with it?"
"Tell you more tomorrow," answered Starmidge. "When—and if—I know more. Nine-thirty, mind!"
But when Starmidge met his companion of the night before at nine-thirty next morning, it was to find him in conversation with the other man, and to see dissatisfaction on the countenances of both. And Starmidge, a naturally keen observer, knew what had happened. He frowned as he looked at Gandam.
"You don't mean to say he slipped you!" he exclaimed.
"I don't know about slipped," muttered Gandam. "I lost him, anyway, Mr. Starmidge, and I don't see how I can be blamed, either. Perhaps you might have done differently, but——"
"Tell about it!" interrupted Starmidge. "What happened?"
"I spotted him, of course, from your description, as soon as he got out of the train," replied Gandam. "No mistaking him, naturally—he's an extra good one to watch. He'd no luggage—not even a handbag. I followed him to the taxi-cabs. I was close by when he stepped into one, and I heard what he said. 'Stage door—Adalbert Theatre.' Off he went—I followed in another taxi. I stopped mine and got out, just in time to see him walk up the entry to the stage-door. He went in. It was then half-past eleven; they were beginning to close. I waited and waited until at last they closed the stage-door. I'll take my oath he'd never come out!—never!"
Starmidge made a face of intense disgust.
"No, of course he hadn't!" he exclaimed. "He'd gone out at the front. I suppose that never struck you? I know that stage-door of the Adalbert—it's up a passage. If you'd stood at the end of that passage, man, you could have kept an eye on the front and stage-door at the same time. But, of course, it never struck you that a man could go in at the back of a place and come out at the front, did it? Well—that's off for the present. And so am I."
Vexed and disappointed that Gabriel Chestermarke had not been tracked to wherever he was staying in London, Starmidge went out, hailed a taxi-cab, and was driven down to the city. He did not particularly concern himself about Gabriel's visit to the stage-door of the Adalbert Theatre; it was something, after all, to know he had gone there: if need arose, he might be traced from that theatre, in which, very possibly, he had some financial interest. What Starmidgehad desired to ascertain was the banker's London address: he had already learned in Scarnham that Gabriel Chestermarke was constantly in London for days at a time—he must have some permanent address at which he could be found. And Starmidge foresaw that he might wish to find him—perhaps in a hurry.
But just then his chief concern was with another banking firm—Vanderkiste's. He walked slowly along Lombard Street until he came to the house—a quiet, sober, eminently respectable-looking old business place, quite unlike the palatial affairs in which the great banking corporations of modern origin carry on their transactions. There was no display of marble and plaster and plate glass and mahogany and heavy plethoric fittings—a modest brass plate affixed to the door was the only sign and announcement that banking business was carried on within. Equally old-fashioned and modest was the interior—and Starmidge was quick to notice that the clerks were all elderly or middle-aged men, solemn and grave as undertakers.
The presentation of the detective's official card procured him speedy entrance to a parlour in which sat two old gentlemen, who were evidently greatly surprised to see him. They were so much surprised indeed, as to be almost childishly interested, and Starmidge had never had such attentive listeners in his life as these two elderly city men, to whom crime and detention were as unfamiliar as higher finance was to their visitor. They followed Starmidge's story point by point, nodding every now and then as hedrew their attention to particular passages, and the detective saw that they comprehended all he said. He made an end at last—and Mr. Vanderkiste, a white-bearded, benevolent-looking gentleman, looked at Mr. Mullineau, a little, rosy-faced man, and shook his head.
"It would be an unusual thing, certainly," he observed, "for Mr. Frederick Hollis to have ten thousand pounds lying here to his credit. Mr. Hollis was an old customer—we knew him very well—but he didn't keep a lot of money here. We—er—know his circumstances. He bought himself a very nice annuity some years ago—it was paid into his account here twice a year. But—ten thousand pounds!"
Mr. Mullineau leaned forward.
"We don't know if Frederick Hollis paid any large amount in lately, you know," he observed. "Hadn't you better summon Linthwaite?"
"Our manager," remarked Mr. Vanderkiste, as he touched a bell. "Ah, yes, of course—he'll know. Mr. Linthwaite," he continued, as another elderly man entered the room, "can you tell us what Mr. Frederick Hollis's balance in our hands is?"
"I have just been looking it up, sir," replied the manager, "in consequence of this sad news in the papers. Ten thousand, eight hundred, seventy-nine, five, four, Mr. Vanderkiste."
"Ten thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fourpence," repeated Mr. Vanderkiste. "Ah! An unusually large amount, I think, Mr. Linthwaite?"
"Just so, sir," agreed the manager. "The reasonis that rather more than a week ago Mr. Hollis called here himself with a cheque for ten thousand pounds which he paid into his account, explaining to me that it had been handed to him for a special purpose, and that he should draw a cheque for his own against it, for the same amount, very shortly."
"Ah!" remarked Mr. Vanderkiste. "Has the cheque which he paid in been cleared?"
"We cleared it at once," replied the manager. "Oh, yes! But the cheque which Mr. Hollis spoke of drawing against it has not come in—and now, of course——"
"Just so," said Mr. Vanderkiste. "Now that he's dead, of course, his cheque is no good. Um! That will do, thank you, Mr. Linthwaite."
He turned and looked at Starmidge when the manager had withdrawn.
"That explains matters," he said. "The ten thousand pounds had been paid to Mr. Frederick Hollis for a special purpose."
"But—by whom?" asked Starmidge. "That's precisely what I want to know! The knowledge will help me—ah!—I don't know how much it mayn't help me! For there's no doubt about it, gentlemen, Hollis went down to Scarnham to pay ten thousand pounds to somebody on somebody else's account! He was, I am sure, as it were, ambassador for somebody. Who was—who is—that somebody? Almost certainly, the person who gave Hollis the cheque your manager has just mentioned—and whose ten thousand pounds is, as a matter of fact, still lying in your hands! Who is that person? What bankwas the cheque drawn on? Let me have an answer to both these questions, and——"
The two old gentlemen exchanged looks, and Mr. Mullineau quietly rose and left the room. In his absence Mr. Vanderkiste shook his head at the detective.
"A very, very queer case, officer!" he remarked.
"An extraordinary case, sir," agreed Starmidge. "Before we get to the end of it there'll be some strange revelations, Mr. Vanderkiste."
"So I should imagine—so I should imagine!" assented the old gentleman. "Very remarkable proceedings altogether! We shall be deeply interested in hearing how matters progress. Of course, this affair of the ten thousand pounds is very curious. We——"
Mr. Mullineau came back—with a slip of paper, which he handed to the detective.
"That gives you the information you want," he said.
Starmidge read aloud what the manager had written down on his principal's instructions.
"Drawer—Helen Lester," he read. "Bank—London & Universal: Pall Mall Branch." He looked up at the two partners. "I suppose you gentlemen don't know who this Mrs. or Miss Helen Lester is?" he inquired.
"No—not at all," answered Mr. Mullineau. "Nor does Linthwaite. I thought Mr. Hollis might have told him something about that special purpose. But—he told him nothing."
"You'll have to go to the London & Universalpeople," observed Mr. Vanderkiste. "They, of course, will know all about this customer."
Mullineau looked inquiringly at his partner.
"Don't you think that—as there are almost certain to be some complications about this matter—Linthwaite had better go with Detective Starmidge?" he suggested. "The situation, as regards the ten thousand pounds, is a somewhat curious one. This Miss or Mrs. Lester will want to recover it. Now, according to what Mr. Starmidge tells us, no body, so far as he's aware, is in possession of any facts, papers, letters, anything, relating to it. I think there should be some consultation between ourselves and this other bank which is concerned."
"Excellent suggestion!" agreed Mr. Vanderkiste. "Let him go—by all means."
Half an hour later, Starmidge found himself closeted with another lot of bankers. But these were younger men, who were quicker to grasp situations and comprehend points, and they quickly understood what the detective was after: moreover, they were already well posted up in those details of the Scarnham mystery which had already appeared in the newspapers.
"What you want," said one of them, a young and energetic man, addressing Starmidge at the end of their preliminary conversation, "is to find out for what purpose Mrs. Lester gave Mr. Frederick Hollis ten thousand pounds?"
"Precisely," replied Starmidge. "It will go far towards clearing up a good many things."
"I have no doubt Mrs. Lester will tell you readilyenough," said the banker. "In fact, as things are, I should say she'll only be too glad to give you any information you want. That ten thousand pounds being in Messrs. Vanderkiste's hands, in Hollis's name, and Hollis being dead, there will be bother—not serious, of course, but still formal bother—about recovering it. Very well—Mrs. Lester, who, I may tell you, is a wealthy customer of ours, lives in the country as a rule, and I happen to know she's there now. I'll write down her address. Tell her, by all means, that you have been to see us on the matter."
Starmidge left Mr. Linthwaite talking with the London & Universal people; he himself, now that he had got the desired information, had no more to say. Outside the bank he opened the slip of paper which had just been handed to him, and saw that another journey lay before him. Mrs. Lester lived at Lowdale Court, near Chesham.
Starmidge, lingering a moment on the steps of the bank to consider whether he would go straight to Chesham or repair to headquarters for a consultation with his superior, was suddenly joined by the manager who had just given him his information.
"You are going down to Lowdale Court?" asked the manager.
"During the morning—yes," answered Starmidge.
"If it will be any help to you," said the manager, "I'll ring up Mrs. Lester on the telephone, and let her know you're coming. She's rather a nervous woman and it will pave the way for you if I give you a sort of introduction. Besides—" here he paused, and looked at the detective with an inquiring air—"don't you think Mrs. Lester had better be warned—at once—not to speak of this matter until she's seen you?"
"You think she may be approached?" asked Starmidge.
The manager wagged his head and smiled knowingly.
"I think there's something so very queer about this affair that Mrs. Lester ought to be seen at once," he said.
"She shall be!" answered Starmidge. "Tell her I'll be down there within two hours—I'll motor there. Thank you for your suggestion. Now I'll just run to headquarters and then be straight off."
He hailed a passing taxi-cab and drove to New Scotland Yard, where he was presently closeted with a high personage in deep and serious consultation, the result of which was that by twelve o'clock, Starmidge and a fellow-officer, one Easleby, in whom he had great confidence, were spinning away towards the beech-clad hills of Buckinghamshire, and discussing the features and probabilities of the queer business which took them there. Before two, they were in the pleasant valley which lies between Chenies and Chesham and pulling up at the door of a fine old Jacobean house, which, set in the midst of delightful lawns and gardens, looked down on the windings of the river Chess. And practical as both men were, and well experienced in their profession, it struck both as strange that they should come to such a quiet and innocent-looking place to seek some explanation of a mystery which had surely some connection with crime.
The two detectives were immediately shown into a morning room in which sat a little, middle-aged lady in a widow's cap and weeds, who looked at her visitors half-timidly, half-welcomingly. She sat by a small table on which lay a heap of newspapers, and Starmidge's sharp eyes saw at once that she had been reading the published details of the Scarnham affair.
"You have no doubt been informed by your bankersthat we were coming, ma'am?" began Starmidge, when he and Easleby had seated themselves near Mrs. Lester. "The manager there was good enough to say he'd telephone you."
Mrs. Lester, who had been curiously inspecting her callers and appeared somewhat relieved to find that they were quite ordinary-looking beings, entirely unlike her own preconceived notions of detectives, bowed her head.
"Yes," she answered, "my bankers telephoned that an officer from Scotland Yard would call on me this morning, and that I was to speak freely to him, and in confidence, but—I really don't quite know what it is that I'm to talk to you about, though I suppose I can guess."
"This, ma'am," answered Starmidge, bending towards the pile of newspapers and tapping a staring head-line with his finger. "I see you've been reading it up. I have been in charge of this affair since Monday last, and I came up to town last night about it—specially. You will have read in this morning's paper that the body of Mr. Frederick Hollis was found at Scarnham yesterday?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Lester, with a sigh. "I have read of that. Of course, I knew Mr. Hollis—he was an old friend of my husband. I saw him last week. But—what took Mr. Hollis down to Scarnham? I have been in the habit of seeing Mr. Hollis constantly—regularly—and I never even heard him mention Scarnham, nor any person living at Scarnham. There are many persons mentioned in these newspaper accounts," continued Mrs. Lester, "in connectionwith this affair whose names I never heard before—yet they are mentioned as if Mr. Hollis had something to do with them. Why did he go there?"
"That, ma'am, is precisely what we want to find out from you!" replied Starmidge, with a side glance at his fellow-detective. "It's just what we've come for!"
He was watching Mrs. Lester very closely as he spoke, and he saw that up to that moment she had certainly no explanation in her own mind as to the reason of this police visit.
"But what can I tell you?" she exclaimed. "As I have said, I don't know why Frederick Hollis went to Scarnham! He never mentioned Scarnham to me when he was here last week."
"Let me tell you something that is not in the papers—yet—ma'am," said Starmidge. "I think it will explain matters to you. When we examined Mr. Hollis's effects at Scarnham, yesterday morning, after the finding of his body, we found in his letter-case a cheque for ten thousand pounds——"
Starmidge stopped suddenly. Mrs. Lester had started, and her pale face had grown paler. Her eyes dilated as she looked at the two men.
"A cheque!" she exclaimed. "For—ten thousand pounds. On—him? And—whose cheque?"
"It was a curious cheque, ma'am," replied Starmidge. "It was drawn on Mr. Hollis's bankers, Vanderkiste, Mullineau & Company, of Lombard Street. It was dated. It was filled in for ten thousand pounds—in words and in figures. But it was notsigned—and it was not made out to any body. No name of payee, you understand, ma'am, no name of payer. But—it is very evident Mr. Hollis made out that cheque intending to pay it to—somebody. What we want to know is—who is—or was, that somebody? I came up to town to try to find that out! I went to Mr. Hollis's bankers this morning. They told me that last week Mr. Hollis paid into his account there a cheque for ten thousand pounds, drawn by Helen Lester, and told their manager that he should be drawing a cheque for his own against it in a day or two. I then went to your bank, ma'am, saw your bankers, and got your address. Now, Mrs. Lester, there's no doubt whatever that the cheque which we found on Mr. Hollis is the cheque he spoke of to Vanderkiste's manager. And we want you, if you please, to tell us two things: For what purpose did you give Mr. Hollis ten thousand pounds?—To whom was he to pay it? Tell us, ma'am—and we shall have gone a long way to clearing this affair! And—it's more serious than you'd think."
Mrs. Lester, who had listened to Starmidge with absorbed and almost frightened attention, looked anxiously at both men before she replied to the detective's direct inquiry.
"You will respect my confidence, of course?" she asked at last. "Whatever I say to you will be in strict confidence?"
"Whatever you tell us, Mrs. Lester," answered Starmidge, "we shall have to report to our superiors at the Criminal Investigation Department. You may rely on their discretion—fully. But if there is anysecret in this, ma'am, it will all have to come out, now that it's an affair of police investigation. Far better tell us here and now!"
"There'll be no publication of anything without Mrs. Lester's knowledge and consent," remarked Easleby, who guessed at the reason of the lady's diffidence. "This is a private matter, so far. All that she can tell us will be for police information—only."
"I shall have to mention the affairs of—some other person," said Mrs. Lester. "But—I suppose it's absolutely necessary? Now that you know what you do, for instance, I suppose I could be made to give evidence, eh!"
"I'm afraid you're quite right, ma'am," admitted Starmidge. "The mystery of Mr. Hollis's death will certainly have to be cleared up. Now that this cheque affair is out, you could be called as a witness at the inquest. Better tell us, ma'am—and leave things to us."
Mrs. Lester, after a moment's reflection, looked steadily at her visitors. "Very well!" she answered, "I suppose I had better. Indeed, I have been feeling, ever since my bankers rang me up this morning, that I should have to tell you—though I still can't see how anything that I can tell you has to do—that is, precisely—with Mr. Hollis's visit to Scarnham. Yet—it may—perhaps must have. The fact is, I recently called in Mr. Hollis, as an old friend, to give me some advice. I must tell you that my husband died last year—now about eight months ago. We have an only son—who is an officer in the Army."
"You had better give us his name—and regiment, ma'am," suggested Starmidge.
Mrs. Lester hesitated a little.
"Very well," she said at last. "He is Lieutenant Guy Lester, of the 55th Lancers. Stationed where? At present at Maychester. Now I have got to tell you what is both painful and unpleasant for me to tell. My husband, though a very kind father, was a very strict one. When our son went into the Army, his father made him a certain yearly allowance which he himself considered a very handsome one. But my husband," continued Mrs. Lester, with a faint smile, "had been engaged in commercial pursuits all his life, until a year or two before his death, and he did not know that the expenses, and the—well, the style of living in a crack cavalry regiment are—what they are. More than once Guy asked his father to increase his allowance—considerably. His father always refused—he was a strict and, in some ways, a very hard man about money. And so—my son had recourse to a money-lender."
Starmidge, who was sitting close by his fellow-detective, pressed his elbow against Easleby's sleeve—at last they were getting at something.
"Just so, ma'am," he said encouragingly. "Nothing remarkable in all this so far—quite an everyday matter, I assure you! Nothing for you to distress yourself about, either—all that can be kept quiet."
"Well," continued Mrs. Lester, "my son borrowed money from a money-lender in London, expecting, of course, to pay it back on his father's death. I musttell you that my husband married very late in life—he was quite thirty years my senior. No doubt this money-lender acquainted himself with Mr. Lester's age—and state of health."
"He would, ma'am, he would!" agreed Starmidge.
"He'd take particular good care of that, ma'am," added Easleby. "They always do—in such cases."
"Yes," said Mrs. Lester, "but, you see, when my husband died, he did not leave Guy anything at all! He left everything to me. So Guy had nothing to pay the money-lender with. Then, of course, the money-lender began to press him, and in the end Guy was obliged to come and tell me all about it. That was only a few weeks ago. And it was very bad news, because the man claimed much—very much—more money than he had ever advanced. His demands were outrageous!"