The two visitors rose, and Methley looked at Mr. Carless in a questioning fashion.
"Am I to go away with the impression that you believe our client to be an impostor?" he said quietly.
"Frankly I do!" answered Mr. Carless.
"So do I!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "Emphatically so!"
"In that case," said Methley, "I see no advantage in bringing him here."
"Not even anything to your own advantage?" suggested Mr. Carless, with a keen glance which passed from one partner to the other. "You, as reputable practitioners of our profession, don't want to be mixed up with an impostor?"
"We should be very sorry to be mixed up in any way with an impostor, Mr.Carless!" said Methley.
Mr. Carless pursed his lips for a moment as if he were never going to open them again; then he suddenly relaxed them.
"I tell you what it is, gentlemen!" he said. "I'm only anticipating matters in saying what I'm going to say, and I'm saying it because I feel sure you are quite sincere and genuine in this affair and are being deceived. If you will bring your client here, there are three of us in this office who, as my old clerk has just reminded me, can positively identify him on the instant if he is the man he claims to be. Positively, I say, and at once! There!"
"May one ask how?" said Woodlesford.
"No!" exclaimed Mr. Carless. "Bring him! Telephone an appointment—and we'll settle the matter as soon as he sets foot inside that door."
"May we tell him that?" asked Methley.
"You can do as you like," answered Mr. Carless. "Between ourselves, I shouldn't! But I assure you—we can tell in one glance! That's a fact!"
The two solicitors went away; and Viner, who had closely watched Methley during the interview, followed them out and hailed Methley in the corridor outside Mr. Carless' room.
"May I have a word with you?" he asked, drawing him aside. "I don't know if you remember, but I saw you the other night in the parlour of that old tavern in Notting Hill—you came in while I was there?"
"I had some idea that I remembered your face when we were introduced just now," said Methley. "Yes, I think I do remember—you were sitting in a corner near the hearth?"
"Just so," agreed Viner. "And I heard you ask the landlord a question about a gentleman whom you used to meet there sometimes—you left some specimen cigars with the landlord for him."
"Yes," assented Methley wonderingly.
"You never knew that man's name?" continued Viner. "Nor who he was? Just so—so I gathered. Then I'll tell you. There was a good reason why he had not been to that tavern for some nights. He was John Ashton, the man who was murdered in Lonsdale Passage!"
Viner was watching his man with all the keenness of which he was capable, and he saw that this announcement fell on Methley as an absolute surprise. He started as only a man can start who has astounding news given to him suddenly.
"God bless me!" he exclaimed. "You don't mean it! Of course, I know about that murder—our own district. And I saw Ashton's picture in the paper—but then there are so many elderly men of that type—broad features, trimmed grey beard! Dear me, dear me! A very pleasant, genial fellow. I'm astonished, Mr. Viner."
Viner resolved on a bold step—he would take it without consulting Mr.Pawle or anybody. He drew Methley further aside.
"Mr. Methley," he said. "You're a man of honour, and I trust you with a secret, to be kept until I release you from the obligation of secrecy. I have reasons for getting at the truth about Ashton's murder—so has Mr. Pawle. He and I have been making investigations and inquiries, and we are convinced, we are positive, that these papers which your partner now has in his pocket were stolen from Ashton's dead body—that, in fact, Ashton was murdered for the possession of them. And I tell you, for your own sake—find out who this client of yours is! That he was the actual murderer I don't believe for a second—he is probably a mere cat's-paw. But—who's behind him? If you can do anything to find out the truth, do it!"
That Methley was astonished beyond belief was so evident that Viner was now absolutely convinced of his sincerity. He stood staring open-mouthed for a moment: then he glanced at Woodlesford, who was waiting at some distance along the corridor.
"Mr. Viner!" he said. "You amaze me! Listen: my partner is as sound and honest a fellow as there is in all London. Let me tell him this—I'll engage for his secrecy. If you'll consent to that, I'll see that, without a word from us as to why, this man who claims to be the missing Lord Marketstoke is brought here. If what you say is true, we are not going to be partners to a crime. Let me tell Woodlesford—I'll answer for him."
Viner considered this proposition for a moment.
"Very well!" he said at last. "Tell him—I shall trust you both. Remember—it's between the three of us. I shan't say a word to Pawle, nor to Carless. You know there's a man's life at stake—Hyde's! Hyde is as innocent as I am—he's an old schoolfellow of mine."
"I understand," said Methley. "Very well, trust to me, Mr. Viner."
He went off with a reassuring nod, and Viner returned to Mr. Carless' room. The three men he had left there were deep in conversation, and as he entered, Mr. Carless smote his hand on the desk before him.
"This is certain!" he exclaimed. "We must have this Miss Avice Wickham here—at once!"
Mr. Pawle nodded assent to this proposition and rose from his chair.
"It's the only thing to do," he said. "We must get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible—whether Miss Wickham can tell us much or little, we must know what she can tell. Let us all meet here again at three o'clock—I will send one of my clerks to fetch her. But let us be clear on one point—are we to tell this young lady what our conclusions are, regarding herself?"
"Your conclusions!" said Mr. Carless, with a sly smile. "We know nothing yet, you know, Pawle."
"My conclusions, then," assented Mr. Pawle. "Are we—"
Lord Ellingham quietly interrupted the old lawyer.
"Pardon me, Mr. Pawle," he said, "but before we go any further, do you mind telling me, briefly, what your conclusions really are!"
"I will tell your lordship in a few words," answered Mr. Pawle, readily. "Wrong or right, my conclusions are these: From certain investigations which Mr. Viner and I have made since this affair began—with the murder of Ashton—and from certain evidence which we have unearthed, I believe that Ashton's friend Wickham, the father of the girl we are going to produce this afternoon, was in reality your lordship's uncle, the missing Lord Marketstoke. I believe that Ashton came to England in order to prove this, and that he was probably about to begin proceedings when he was murdered—for the sake of those papers which we have just seen. And I believe, too, that we have not seen all the papers which were stolen from his dead body. What was produced to us just now by Methley and Woodlesford was a selection—the probability is that there are other and more important papers in the hands of the murderer, whose cat's-paw or accomplice this claimant, whoever he may be, is. I believe," concluded Mr. Pawle, with emphasis, "that my conclusions will be found to be correct ones, based on indisputable fact."
Lord Ellingham looked from one solicitor to the other.
"Then," he said, with something of a smile, "if Wickham was really my uncle, Lord Marketstoke, and this young lady you tell me of is his daughter—what, definitely, is my position?"
Mr. Pawle looked at Mr. Carless, and Mr. Carless shook his head.
"If Mr. Pawle's theory is correct," he said, "and mind you, Pawle, it will take a lot of proving. If Mr. Pawle's theory is correct, the position, my lord, is this. The young lady we hear of is Countess of Ellingham in her own right! She would not be the first woman to succeed to the title: there was a Countess of Ellingham in the time of George the Third. She would, of course, have to prove her claim before the House of Lords—if made good, she succeeds to titles and estates. That's the plain English of it—and upon my honour," concluded Mr. Carless, "it's one of the most extraordinary things I ever heard of. This other affair is nothing to it!"
Lord Ellingham again inspected the legal countenances.
"I see nothing at all improbable about it," he said. "We may as well face that fact at once. I will be here at three o'clock, Mr. Carless. I confess I should like to meet my cousin—if she really is that!"
"Your Lordship takes it admirably!" exclaimed Mr. Carless. "But really—well, I don't know. However, we shall see. But, 'pon my honour, it's most odd! One claimant disposed of, another, a more formidable one, comes on!"
"But we have not disposed of the first, have we?" suggested LordEllingham.
"I don't anticipate any trouble in that quarter," answered Mr. Carless. "As I said to those two who have just gone out—send or bring the man here, and we'll tell in one minute if he's what he claims to be!"
"But—how?" asked Lord Ellingham. "You seem very certain."
"Dead certain!" asserted Mr. Carless. He looked round his callers and laughed. "I may as well tell you," he said. "Portlethwaite drew me aside to remind me of it. The real Lord Marketstoke, if he were alive, could easily be identified. He lost a finger when a mere boy."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "Good—excellent! Best bit of evidence I've heard of. Hang this claimant! Now we can tell if Wickham really was Lord Marketstoke. If necessary, we can have his body exhumed and examined."
"It was a shooting accident," continued Mr. Carless. "He was out shooting in the park at Ellingham when a boy of fourteen or fifteen; he was using an old muzzle-loading gun; it burst, and he lost his second finger—the right hand. It was, of course, very noticeable. Now, that small but very important fact is most likely not known to Methley and Woodlesford's client—but it's known to Driver and to Portlethwaite and to me, and now to all of you. If this man comes here—look at his right hand! If he possesses his full complement of fingers, well—"
Mr. Carless ended with a significant grimace, and Mr. Pawle, nodding assent, returned to the question which he was putting when Lord Ellingham interrupted him.
"Now let us settle the point I raised," he said. "Are we to tell Miss Wickham what my conclusions are, or are we to leave her in ignorance until we get proof that they are correct?"
"Or—incorrect!" answered Mr. Carless with an admonitory laugh. "I should say—at present, tell her nothing. Let us find out all we can from her; there are several questions I should like to ask her, myself, arising out of what you have told us. Leave all the rest until a later period. If your theory is correct, Pawle, it can be established, if it isn't, the girl may as well be left in ignorance that you ever raised it."
"Until three o'clock, then," said Mr. Pawle.
Three o'clock found the old lawyer and Viner pacing the pavement of Lincoln's Inn Fields in expectation of Miss Wickham's arrival. She came at last in the taxicab which Mr. Pawle had sent for her, and her first words on stepping out of it were of surprise and inquiry.
"What is it, Mr. Pawle?" she demanded as she shook hands with her two squires. "More questions? What's it all about?"
Mr. Pawle nudged Viner's arm.
"My dear young lady," he answered in grave and fatherly fashion, "you must bear in mind that a man's life is in danger. We are doing all we can to clear that unfortunate young fellow Hyde of the dreadful charge which has been brought against him, and to do that we must get to know all we can about your late guardian, you know."
"I know so little about Mr. Ashton," said Miss Wickham, looking apprehensively at the building towards which she was being conducted. "Where are you taking me?"
"To a solicitor's office—friends of mine," answered Mr. Pawle. "Carless and Driver—excellent people. Mr. Carless wants to ask you a few questions in the hope that your answers will give us a little more light on Ashton's history. You needn't be afraid of Carless," he added as they began to climb the stairs. "Carless is quite a pleasant fellow—and he has with him a very amiable young gentleman, Lord Ellingham, of whom you needn't be afraid, either."
"And why is Lord Ellingham, whoever he may be, there?" inquired MissWickham.
"Lord Ellingham is also interested in your late guardian," replied Mr. Pawle. "In fact, we are all interested. So now, rub up your memory—and answer Mr. Carless' questions."
Viner remained in the background, quietly watching, while Mr. Pawle effected the necessary introductions. He was at once struck by what seemed to him an indisputable fact—between Lord Ellingham and Miss Wickham there was an unmistakable family likeness. And he judged from the curious, scrutinizing look which Mr. Carless gave the two young people as they shook hands that the same idea struck him—Mr. Carless wound up that look in a significant glance at Mr. Pawle, to whom he suddenly muttered a few words which Viner caught.
"By Jove!" he whispered. "I shouldn't wonder if you're right."
Then he placed Miss Wickham in an easy-chair on his right hand, and cast a preliminary benevolent glance on her.
"Mr. Pawle," he began, "has told us of your relationship with the lateMr. Ashton—you always regarded him as your guardian?"
"He was my guardian," answered Miss Wickham. "My father left me in his charge."
"Just so. Now, have you any recollection of your father?"
"Only very vague recollections. I was scarcely six, I think, when he died."
"What do you remember about him?"
"I think he was a tall, handsome man—I have some impression that he was. I think, too, that he had a fair complexion and hair. But it's all very vague."
"Do you remember where you lived?"
"Only that it was in a very big town—Melbourne, of course. I have recollections of busy streets—I remember, too, that when I left there it was very, very hot weather."
"Do you remember Mr. Ashton at that time?"
"Oh, yes—I remember Mr. Ashton. I had nobody else, you see; my mother had died when I was quite little; I have no recollection whatever of her. I remember Mr. Ashton's house, and that he used to buy me lots of toys. His house was in a quiet part of the town, and he had a big, shady garden."
"How long, so far as you remember, did you live with Mr. Ashton there?"
"Not very long, I think. He told me that I was to go to England, to school. For a little time before we sailed, I lived with Mrs. Roscombe, with whom I came to England. She was very kind to me; I was very fond of her."
"And who was Mrs. Roscombe?"
"I didn't know at the time, of course—I only knew she was Mrs. Roscombe. But Mr. Ashton told me, not long before his death, who she was. She was the widow of some government official, and she was returning to England in consequence of his death. So she took charge of me and brought me over. She used to visit me regularly at school, every week, and I used to spend my holidays with her until she died."
"Ah!" said Mr. Carless. "She is dead?"
"She died two years ago," answered Miss Wickham.
"I wish she had been living," observed Mr. Carless, with a glance at Mr. Pawle. "I should have liked to see Mrs. Roscombe. Well," he continued, turning to Miss Wickham, "so Mrs. Roscombe brought you to England, to school. What school?"
"Ryedene School."
"Ryedene! That's one of the most expensive schools in England, isn't it?"
"I don't know. I—perhaps it is."
"I happen to know it is," said Mr. Carless dryly. "Two of my clients have daughters there, now. I've seen their bills! Do you know who paid yours?"
"No," she answered, "I don't know. Mr. Ashton, I suppose."
"You had everything you wanted, I dare say! Clothes, pocket-money, and so on?"
"I've always had everything I wanted," replied Miss Wickham.
"And you were at Ryedene twelve years?"
"Except for the holidays—yes."
"You must be a very learned young lady," suggested Mr. Carless.
Miss Wickham looked round the circle of attentive faces.
"I can play tennis and hockey very well," she said, smiling a little."And I wasn't bad at cricket the last season or two—we played cricketthere. But I'm not up to much at anything else, except that I can talkFrench decently."
"Physical culture, eh?" observed Mr. Carless, smiling. "Very well! Now, then, in the end Mr. Ashton came home to England, and of course came to see you, and in due course you left school, and came to his house in Markendale Square, where he got a Mrs. Killenhall to look after you. All that correct? Yes? Well, then, I think, from what Mr. Pawle tells me, Mr. Ashton handed over a lot of money to you, and told you it had been left to you, or left in his charge for you, by your father? That is correct too? Very well. Now, did Mr. Ashton never tell you anything much about your father?"
"No, he never did. Beyond telling me that my father was an Englishman who had gone out to Australia and settled there, he never told me anything. But," here Miss Wickham paused and hesitated for a while, "I have an idea," she continued in the end, "that he meant to tell me something—what, I, of course, don't know. He once or twice—hinted that he would tell me something, some day."
"You didn't press him?" suggested Mr. Carless.
"I don't think I am naturally inquisitive," replied Miss Wickham. "I certainly did not press him. I knew he'd tell me, whatever it was, in his own way."
"One or two other questions," said Mr. Carless. "Do you know who your mother was?"
"Only that she was some one whom my father met in Australia."
"Do you know what her maiden name was?"
"No, only her Christian name; that was Catherine. She and my father are buried together."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Carless. "That is something else I was going to ask.You know where they are buried?"
"Oh, yes! Because, before we sailed, Mrs. Roscombe took me to the churchyard, or cemetery, to see my father's and mother's grave. I remembered that perfectly. Her own husband was buried there too, close by. I remember how we both cried."
Mr. Carless suddenly pointed to the ornament which Miss Wickham was wearing.
"Will you take that off, and let me look at it?" he asked. "Thank you," he said, as she somewhat surprisedly obeyed. "I believe," he continued, as he quietly passed the ornament to Lord Ellingham, "that Mr. Ashton gave you this and told you it had belonged to your father? Just so! Well," he concluded, handing the ornament back, "I think that's all. Much obliged to you, Miss Wickham. You won't understand all this, but you will, later. Now, one of my clerks will get you a car, and we'll escort you down to it."
"No," said Lord Ellingham, promptly jumping to his feet. "Allow me—I'm youngest. If Miss Wickham will let me—"
The two young people went out of the room together, and the three men left behind looked at each other. There was a brief and significant silence.
"Well, Carless?" said Mr. Pawle at last. "How now?"
"'Pon my honour," answered Mr. Carless, "I shouldn't wonder if you're right!"
Mr. Pawle made a gesture which seemed to denote a certain amount of triumphant self-satisfaction.
"I'm sure I'm right!" he exclaimed. "You'll find out that I'm right! But there's a tremendous lot to do, Carless. If only that unfortunate man, Ashton, had lived, he could have cleared this matter up at once. I feel convinced that he possessed papers which would have proved this girl's claim beyond dispute. Those papers, of course—"
"Now, what particular papers are you thinking of?" interrupted Mr.Carless.
"Well," replied Mr. Pawle, "such papers as proofs of her father's marriage, and of her own birth. According to what she told us just now, her father was married in Australia, and she herself was born there. There must be documentary proof of that."
"Her father was probably married under his assumed name of Wickham," observed Mr. Carless. "You'll have to prove that Wickham and Lord Marketstoke were identical—were one and the same person. The fact is, Pawle, if this girl's claim is persisted in, there'll have to be a very searching inquiry made in Australia. However much I may feel that your theory may be—probably is—right, I should have to advise my client, Lord Ellingham, to insist on the most complete investigation."
"To be sure, to be sure!" assented Mr. Pawle. "That's absolutely necessary. But my own impression is that as we get into the secret of Ashton's murder, as I make no doubt we shall, there will be more evidence forthcoming. Now, as regards this man, whoever he is, who claims to be the missing Lord Marketstoke—"
At that moment a clerk entered the room and glanced at Mr. Carless.
"Telephone message from Methley and Woodlesford, sir," he announced. "Mr. Methley's compliments, and if agreeable to you, he can bring his client on to see you this afternoon—at once, if convenient."
Mr. Carless looked at Mr. Pawle, and Mr. Pawle nodded a silent assent.
"Tell Mr. Methley it's quite agreeable and convenient," answered Mr. Carless. "I shall be glad to see them both—at once. Um!" he muttered when the clerk had withdrawn. "Somewhat sudden, eh, Pawle? You might almost call it suspicious alacrity. Evidently the gentleman has no fear of meeting us!"
"You may be quite certain, Carless, if my theory about the whole thing is a sound theory, that the gentleman will have no fear of meeting anybody, not even a judge and jury!" answered Mr. Pawle sardonically. "If I apprehend things rightly, he'll have been very carefully coached and prepared."
"You think there's a secret conspiracy behind all this?" suggested Mr.Carless. "With this claimant as cat's-paw—well tutored to his task?"
"I do!" affirmed Mr. Pawle. "Emphatically, I do!"
"Aye, well!" said Mr. Carless. "Don't forget what I told you about the missing finger—middle finger of the right hand. And I'll have Driver in here, and Portlethwaite, too; we'll see if he knows which is which of the three of us. I'll go and prepare them."
He returned presently with his partner, a quiet, elderly man; a few minutes later Portlethwaite, evidently keenly interested, joined them. They and Mr. Pawle began to discuss certain legal matters connected with the immediate business, and Viner purposely withdrew to a corner of the room, intent on silently watching whatever followed on the arrival of the visitors. A quarter of an hour later Methley was shown into the room, and the five men gathered there turned with one accord to look at his companion, a tall, fresh-coloured, slightly grey-haired man of distinctly high-bred appearance, who, Viner saw at once, was much more self-possessed and assured in manner than any of the men who rose to meet him.
"My client, Mr. Cave, who claims to be Earl of Ellingham," said Methley, by way of introduction. "Mr. Car—"
But the other man smiled quietly and immediately assumed a lead.
"There is no need of introduction, Mr. Methley," he said. "I remember all three gentlemen perfectly! Mr. Carless—Mr. Driver—and—yes, to be sure, Mr. Portlethwaite! I have a good memory for faces." He bowed to each man as he named him, and smiled again. "Whether these gentlemen remember me as well as I remember them," he remarked, "is another question!"
"May I offer you a chair?" said Mr. Carless.
The visitor bowed, sat down, and took off his gloves. And in the silence which followed, Viner saw that the eyes of Driver, Carless, Pawle and Portlethwaite were all steadily directed on the claimant's right hand—he himself turned to it, too, with no small interest. The next instant he was conscious that an atmosphere of astonishment and surprise had been set up in that room. For the middle finger of the man's right hand was missing!
Viner felt, rather than saw, that the three solicitors and the elderly clerk were exchanging glances of amazement. And he fancied that Mr. Carless' voice, which had sounded cold and noncommittal as he offered the visitor a seat, was somewhat uncertain when he turned to address him.
"You claim, sir, to be the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared so many years ago?" he asked, eyeing the claimant over.
"I claim to be exactly what I am, Mr. Carless," answered the visitor with another ready and pleasant smile. "I hope your memory will come to your aid."
"When a man has disappeared—absolutely—for something like thirty-five years," remarked Mr. Carless, "those whom he has left behind may well be excused if their memories don't readily respond to sudden demands. But I should like to ask you some questions? Did you see the advertisements which were issued, broadcast, at the time of the seventh Earl of Ellingham's death?"
"Yes—in several English and Colonial papers," answered the claimant.
"Why did you not reply to them?"
"At that time I still persevered in my intention of never again having anything to do with my old life. I had no desire—at all—to come forward and claim my rights. So I took no notice of your advertisements."
"And since then—of late, to be exact—you have changed your mind?" suggested Mr. Carless dryly.
"To a certain extent only," replied the visitor, whose calm assurance was evidently impressing the legal practitioners around him. "I have already told Mr. Methley and his partner, Mr. Woodlesford, that I have no desire to assume my title nor to require possession of the estates which are certainly mine. I have lived a free life too long to wish for—what I should come in for if I established my claim. But I have a right to a share in the property which I quite willingly resign to my nephew—"
"In plain language," said Mr. Carless, "if you are paid a certain considerable sum of money, you will vanish again into the obscurity from whence you came? Am I right in that supposition?"
"I don't like your terminology, Mr. Carless," answered the visitor with a slight frown. "I have not lived in obscurity, and—"
"If you are what you claim to be, sir, you are Earl of Ellingham," said Mr. Carless firmly, "and I may as well tell you at once that if you prove to us that you are, your nephew, who now holds title and estates, will at once relinquish both. There will be no bargaining. It is all or nothing. Our client, whom we know as Earl of Ellingham, is not going to traffic. If you are what you claim to be, you are head of the family and must take your place."
"We could have told you that once for all, if you had come to us in the first instance," remarked Mr. Driver. "Any other idea is out of the question. It seems to me most remarkable that such a notion as that which you suggest should ever enter your head, sir. If you are Earl of Ellingham, you are!"
"And that reminds me," said Mr. Carless, "that there is another question I should like to ask. Why, knowing that we have been legal advisers to your family for several generations, did you not come straight to us, instead of going—Mr. Methley, I'm sure, will pardon me—to a firm of solicitors which, as far as I know, has never had any connection with it!"
"I thought it best to employ absolutely independent advice," replied the visitor. "And I still think I was right. For example, you evidently do not admit my claim?"
"We certainly admit nothing, at present!" declared Mr. Carless with a laugh. "It would be absurd to expect it. The proofs which your solicitors showed us this morning are no proofs at all. That those papers belonged to the missing Lord Marketstoke there is no doubt, but your possession of them at present does not prove that you are Lord Marketstoke or Lord Ellingham. They may have been stolen!"
The claimant rose from his chair with a good deal of dignity. He glanced at Methley.
"I do not see that any good can come of this interview, Mr. Methley," he remarked in quiet, level tones. "I am evidently to be treated as an impostor. In that case,"—he bowed ceremoniously to the men gathered around Mr. Carless' desk—"I think it best to withdraw."
Therewith he walked out of the room; and Methley, after a quiet word with Carless, followed—to be stopped in the corridor, for a second time that day, by Viner, who had hurried after him.
"I'm not going to express any opinion on what we've just heard," whispered Viner, drawing Methley aside, "but in view of what I told you this morning, there's something I want you to do for me."
"Yes!" said Methley. "What?"
"That unlucky fellow Hyde, who is on remand, is to be brought before the magistrate tomorrow morning," answered Viner. "Get him—this claimant there, to attend the court as a spectator—go with him! Use any argument you like, but get him there! I've a reason—which I'll explain later."
"I'll do my best," promised Methley. "And I've an idea of what's on your mind. You want to find out if Hyde can recognize him as the man whom he met at the Markendale Square end of Lonsdale Passage?"
"Well, that is my idea!" assented Viner. "So get him there."
Methley nodded and turned away; then he turned back and pointed atCarless' room.
"What do they really think in there?" he whispered. "Tell me—between ourselves?"
"That he is an impostor, and that there's a conspiracy," replied Viner.
Methley nodded again, and Viner went back. The men whom he had left were talking excitedly.
"It was the only course to take!" Mr. Carless was declaring. "Uncompromising hostility! We could do no other. You saw—quite well—that he was all for money. I will engage that we could have settled with him for one half of what he asked. But—who is he?"
"The middle finger of his right hand is gone!" said Mr. Pawle, who had been very quiet and thoughtful during the recent proceedings. "Remember that, Carless!"
"A most extraordinary coincidence!" exclaimed Mr. Carless excitedly. "I don't care twopence what anybody says—we all know that the most surprising coincidences do occur. Nothing but a coincidence! I assert—what is it, Portlethwaite?"
The elderly clerk had been manifesting a strong desire to get in a word, and he now rapped his senior employer's elbow.
"Mr. Carless," he said earnestly, "you know that before I came to you, now nearly forty years ago, I was a medical student: you know, too, you and Mr. Driver, why I gave up medicine for the law. But—I haven't forgotten all of that I learned in the medical schools and the hospitals."
"Well, Portlethwaite," demanded Mr. Carless, "what is it? You've some idea?"
"Gentlemen," answered the elderly clerk. "I was always particularly interested in anatomy in my medical student days. I've been looking attentively at what I could see of that man's injured finger since he sat down at that desk. And I'll lay all I have that he lost the two joints of that finger within the last three months! The scar over the stump had not long been healed. That's a fact!"
Mr. Carless looked round with a triumphant smile.
"There!" he exclaimed. "What did I tell you? Coincidence—nothing but coincidence!"
But Portlethwaite shook his head.
"Why not say design, Mr. Carless?" he said meaningly. "Why not say design? If this man, or the people who are behind him, knew that the real Lord Marketstoke had a finger missing, what easier—in view of the stake they're playing for—than to remove one of this man's fingers? Design, sir, design. All part of the scheme!"
The elderly clerk's listeners looked at each other.
"I'll tell you what it is!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle with sudden emphasis. "The more we see and hear of this affair, the more I'm convinced that it is, as Portlethwaite says, a conspiracy. You know, that fellow who has just been here was distinctly taken aback when you, Carless, informed him that it was going to be a case of all or nothing. He—or the folk behind him—evidently expected that they'd be able to effect a money settlement. Now, I should say that the real reason of his somewhat hasty retirement was that he wanted to consult his principal or principals. Did you notice that he was not really affronted by your remark? Not he! His personal dignity wasn't ruffled a bit. He was taken aback! He's gone off to consult. Carless, you ought to have that man carefully shadowed, to see where and to whom he goes."
"Good idea!" muttered Mr. Driver. "We might see to that."
"I can put a splendid man on to him, at once, Mr. Carless," remarkedPortlethwaite. "If you could furnish me with his address—"
"Methley and Woodlesford know it," said Mr. Carless. "Um—yes, that might be very useful. Ring Methley's up, Portlethwaite, and ask if they would oblige us with the name of Mr. Cave's hotel—some residential hotel in Lancaster Gate, I believe."
Mr. Pawle and Viner went away, ruminating over the recent events, and walked to the old lawyer's offices in Bedford Row. Mr. Pawle's own particular clerk met them as they entered.
"There's Mr. Roland Perkwite, of the Middle Temple, in your room, sir," he said, addressing his master. "You may remember him, sir—we've briefed him once or twice in some small cases. Mr. Perkwite wants to see you about this Ashton affair—he says he's something to tell you."
Mr. Pawle looked at Viner and beckoned him to follow.
"Here a little, and there a little!" he whispered. "What are we going to hear this time?"
The man who was waiting in Mr. Pawle's room, and who rose from his chair with alacrity as the old lawyer entered with Viner at his heels, was an alert, sharp-eyed person of something under middle-age, whose clean-shaven countenance and general air immediately suggested the Law Courts. And he went straight to business before he had released the hand which Mr. Pawle extended to him.
"Your clerk has no doubt already told you what I came about, Mr. Pawle?" he said. "This Ashton affair."
"Just so," answered Mr. Pawle. "You know something about it? This gentleman is Mr. Richard Viner, who is interested in it—considerably."
"To be sure," said the barrister. "One of the witnesses, of course. I read the whole thing up last night. I have been on the Continent—the French Riviera, Italy, the Austrian Tyrol—for some time, Mr. Pawle, and only returned to town yesterday. I saw something, in an English newspaper, in Paris, the other day, about this Ashton business, and as my clerk keeps theTimesfor me when I am absent, last night I read over the proceedings before the magistrate and before the coroner. And of course I saw your request for information about Ashton and his recent movements."
"And you've some to give?" asked Mr. Pawle.
"I have some to give," assented Mr. Perkwite, as the three men sat down by Mr. Pawle's desk. "Certainly—and I should say it's of considerable importance. The fact is I met Ashton at Marseilles, and spent the better part of the week in his company at the Hotel de Louvre there."
"When was that?" asked Mr. Pawle.
"About three months ago," replied the barrister. "I had gone straight to Marseilles from London; he had come there from Italy by way of Monte Carlo and Nice. We happened to get into conversation on the night of my arrival, and we afterwards spent most of our time together. And finding out that I was a barrister, he confided certain things to me and asked my advice."
"Aye—and on what, now?" enquired the old lawyer.
"It was the last night we were together," replied Mr. Perkwite. "We had by that time become very friendly, and I had promised to renew our acquaintance on my return to London, where, Ashton told me, he intended to settle down for the rest of his life. Now on that last evening at Marseilles I had been telling him, after dinner, of some curious legal cases, and he suddenly remarked that he would like to tell me of a matter which might come within the law, and on which he should be glad of advice. He then asked me if I had ever heard of the strange disappearance of Lord Marketstoke, heir to the seventh Earl of Ellingham. I replied that I had at the time when application was made to the courts for leave to presume Lord Marketstoke's death.
"Thereupon, pledging me to secrecy for the time being, Ashton went on to tell me that Lord Marketstoke was well known to him and that he alone knew all the facts of the matter, though a certain amount of them was known to another man, now living in London. He said that Marketstoke, after a final quarrel with his father, left England in such a fashion that no one could trace him, taking with him the fortune which he had inherited from his mother, and eventually settled in Australia, where he henceforth lived under the name of Wickham. According to Ashton, he and Marketstoke became friends, close friends, at a very early period of Marketstoke's career in Australia, and the friendship deepened and existed until Marketstoke's death some twelve or thirteen years ago. But Ashton never had the slightest notion of Marketstoke's real identity until his friend's last days. Then Marketstoke told him the plain truth; and the fact who he really was at the same time was confided to another man—who, however, was not told all the details which were given to Ashton.
"Now, Marketstoke had married in Australia. His wife was dead. But he had a daughter who was about six years of age at the time of her father's death. Marketstoke confided her to Ashton, with a wish that she should be sent home to England to be educated. He also handed over to Ashton a considerable sum of money for this child. Further, he gave him a quantity of papers, letters, family documents, and so on. He had a purpose. He left it to Ashton—in whom he evidently had the most absolute confidence—as to whether this girl's claim to the title and estates should be set up. And when Ashton had finished telling me all this, I found that one of his principal reasons in coming to England to settle down, was the wish to find out how things were with the present holder of the title: if, he said, he discovered that he was a worthy sort of young fellow, he, Ashton, should be inclined to let the secret die with him. He told me that the girl already had some twelve thousand pounds of her own, and that it was his intention to leave her the whole of his own fortune, and as she was absolutely ignorant of her real position, he might perhaps leave her so. But in view of the possibility of his setting up her claim, he asked me some questions on legal points, and of course I asked him to let me see the papers of which he had spoken."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle, with a sigh of relieved satisfaction. "Then you saw them?"
"Yes—he showed me the whole lot," replied Mr. Perkwite. "Not so many, after all—those that were really pertinent, at any rate. He carried those in a pocketbook; had so carried them, he told me, ever since Marketstoke had handed them to him; they had never, he added, been out of his possession, day or night, since Marketstoke's death. Now, on examining the papers, I at once discovered two highly important facts. Although Marketstoke went to and lived in Australia under the name of Wickham, he had taken good care to get married in his own proper name, and there, amongst the documents, was the marriage certificate, in which he was correctly described. Further, his daughter had been correctly designated in the register of her birth; there was a copy, properly attested, of the entry."
Mr. Pawle glanced at Viner, and Viner knew what he was thinking of. The two documents just described by Mr. Perkwite had not been among the papers which Methley and Woodlesford had exhibited at Carless & Driver's office.
"A moment," said Mr. Pawle, lifting an arresting finger. "Did you happen to notice where this marriage took place?"
"It was not in Melbourne," replied Mr. Perkwite.
"My recollection is that it was at some place of a curious name. Ashton told me that Marketstoke's wife had been a governess in the family of some well-to-do-sheep-farmer—she was an English girl, and an orphan. The child, however, was certainly born in Melbourne and registered in Melbourne."
"Now, that's odd!" remarked Mr. Pawle. "You'd have thought that when Lord Marketstoke was so extensively advertised for some years ago, on the death of his father, some of these officials—"
"Ah! I put that point to Ashton," interrupted Mr. Perkwite. "He said that Marketstoke, though he had taken good care to be married in his own name and had exercised equal precaution about his daughter, had pledged everybody connected with his marriage and the child's birth to secrecy."
"Aye!" muttered Mr. Pawle. "He would do that, of course. But continue."
"Well," said the barrister, "after seeing these papers, I had no doubt whatever that the case as presented by Ashton was quite clear, and that his ward Miss Avice Wickham is without doubt Countess of Ellingham (the title, I understand, going in the female as well as the male line) and rightful owner of the estates. And I told him that his best plan, on reaching England, was to put the whole matter before the family solicitors. However, he said that before doing that, there were two things he wanted to do. One was to find out for himself how things were—if the young earl was a satisfactory landlord and so on, and likely to be a credit to the family; the other was that he wanted to consult the man who shared with him the bare knowledge that the man who had been known in Melbourne as Wickham was really the missing Lord Marketstoke. And he added that he had already telegraphed to this man to meet him in Paris."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle with a look in Viner's direction. "Now we are indeed coming to something! He was to meet him in Paris! Viner, I'll wager the world against a China orange that that's the man whom Armitstead saw in company with Ashton in the Rue Royale, and—no doubt—the man of Lonsdale Passage! Mr. Perkwite, this is most important. Did Ashton tell you the name of this man?"
The old lawyer was tremulous with excited interest, and Mr. Perkwite was obviously sorry to disappoint him.
"Unfortunately, he did not!" he replied. "He merely told me that he was a man who had lived in Melbourne for some time and had known Marketstoke and himself very intimately—had left Melbourne just after Marketstoke's death, and had settled in London. No, he did not mention his name."
"Disappointing!" muttered Mr. Pawle. "That's the nearest approach to a clue that we've had, Perkwite. If we only knew who that man was! But—what more can you tell us?"
"Nothing more, I'm afraid," answered the barrister. "I promised to call on Ashton when I returned to London, and when he'd started housekeeping, and we parted—I went on next morning to Genoa, and he set off for Paris. He was a pleasant, kindly, sociable fellow," concluded Mr. Perkwite, "and I was much grieved to hear of his sad fate."
"He didn't correspond with you at all after you left him at Marseilles?" asked Mr. Pawle.
"No," replied the barrister. "No—I never heard of or from him until I read of his murder."
Pawle turned to Viner.
"I think we'd better tell Perkwite of all that's happened, within our own ken," he said, and proceeded to give the visitor a brief account of the various important details. "Now," he concluded, "it seems to me there's only one conclusion to be arrived at. The man who shared the secret with Ashton is certainly the man whom Armitstead saw with him in Paris. He is probably the man whom Hyde saw leaving Londsdale Passage, just before Hyde found the body. And he is without doubt the murderer, and is the man to whom this claimant fellow is acting as cat's-paw. And—who is he?"
"There must be some way of finding that out," observed Mr. Perkwite. "If your theory is correct, that this claimant is merely a man who is being put forward, then surely the thing to do is to get at the person or persons behind him, through him!"
"Aye, there's that to be thought of," asserted Mr. Pawle. "But it may be a tougher job than we think for. It would have been a tremendous help if Ashton had only mentioned a name to you."
"Sorry, but he didn't," said Mr. Perkwite. "You feel," he continued after a moment's silence, "you feel that this affair of the Ellingham succession lies at the root of the Ashton mystery—that he was really murdered by somebody who wanted to get possession of those papers?"
"And to remain sole repository of the secret," declared Mr. Pawle. "Isn't it established that beyond yourself and this unknown man nobody but Ashton knew the secret?"
"There is another matter, though," remarked Viner. He turned to the visitor. "You said that you and Ashton became very friendly and confidential during your stay in Marseilles. Pray, did he never show you anything of a valuable nature which he carried in his pocketbook?"
The barrister's keen eyes suddenly lighted up with recollection.
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "Now you come to suggest it, he did! A diamond!"
"Ah!" said Mr. Pawle. "So you saw that!"
"Yes, I saw it," assented Mr. Perkwite. "He showed it to me as a sort of curiosity—a stone which had some romantic history attaching to it. But I was not half as much interested in that as in the other affair."
"All the same," remarked Mr. Pawle, "that diamond is worth some fifty or sixty thousand pounds, Perkwite—and it's missing!"
Mr. Perkwite looked his astonishment.
"You mean—he had it on him when he was murdered?" he asked.
"So it's believed," replied Mr. Pawle.
"In that case it might form a clue," said the barrister.
"When it's heard of," admitted Mr. Pawle, with a grim smile. "Not till then!"
"From what we have heard," remarked Viner, "Ashton carried that diamond in the pocketbook which contained his papers—the papers you have told me of, and some of which have certainly come into possession of this claimant person. Now, whoever stole the papers, of course got the diamond."
Mr. Perkwite seemed to consider matters during a moment's silence; finally he turned to the old lawyer.
"I have been thinking over something that might be done," he said. "I see that the coroner's inquest was adjourned. Now, as that inquest is, of course, being held to inquire into the circumstances of Ashton's death, I suggest that I should come forward as a witness and should prove that Ashton showed certain papers relating to the Ellingham peerage to me at Marseilles; I can tell the story, as a witness. It can then be proved by you, or by Carless, that a man claiming to be the missing Lord Marketstoke showed these stolen papers to you. In the meantime, get the coroner to summon this man as a witness, and take care that he's brought to the court. Once there, let him be asked how he came into possession of these papers? Do you see my idea?"
"Capital!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "An excellent notion! Much obliged to you, Perkwite. It shall be done—I'll see to it at once. Yes, to be sure, that will put this fellow in a tight corner."
"Don't be surprised if he hasn't some very clever explanation to give," said the barrister warningly. "The whole thing is evidently a well-concocted conspiracy. But when is the adjourned inquest?"
"Day after tomorrow," replied Mr. Pawle, after glancing at his desk-diary.
"And tomorrow morning," remarked Viner, "Hyde comes up before the magistrate again, on remand."
He was half-minded to tell Mr. Pawle there and then of his secret dealings with Methley that day, but on reflection he decided that he would keep the matter to himself. Viner had an idea which he had not communicated even to Methley. It had struck him that the mysteriousdeux ex machinawho was certainly at the back of all this business might not improbably be so anxious about his schemes that he would, unknown and unsuspected, attend the magistrates' court. Would Hyde, his wits sharpened by danger, be able to spot him as the muffled man of Lonsdale Passage?
When Langton Hyde was brought up before the magistrate next morning, the court was crowded to its utmost limits; and Viner, looking round him from his seat near the solicitors' table saw that most of the people interested in the case were present. Mr. Carless was whispering with Mr. Pawle; Lord Ellingham had a seat close by; in the front of the public gallery Miss Penkridge, grim and alert, was in charge of the timid and shrinking sisters of the unfortunate prisoner. There, too, were Mr. Armitstead and Mr. Isidore Rosenbaum, and Mr. Perkwite, all evidently very much alive to certain possibilities. But Viner looked in vain for either Methley or Woodlesford or their mysterious client; they were certainly not present when Hyde was put into the dock, and Viner began to wonder if the events of the previous day had warned Mr. Cave and those behind him to avoid publicity.
Instructed by Viner, who was determined to spare neither effort nor money to clear his old schoolmate, Felpham had engaged the services of one of the most brilliant criminal barristers of the day, Mr. Millington-Bywater, on behalf of his client; and he and Viner had sat up half the night with him, instructing him in the various mysteries and ramifications of the case. A big, heavy-faced, shrewd-eyed man, Mr. Millington-Bywater made no sign, and to all outward appearance showed no very great interest while the counsel who now appeared on behalf of the police, completed his case against the prisoner.
The only new evidence produced by the prosecution was that of the greengrocer on whose premises Hyde had admitted that he passed most of the night of the murder, and in whose shed the missing valuables had been found. The greengrocer's evidence as to his discovery was given in a plain and straightforward fashion—he was evidently a man who would just tell what he actually saw, and brought neither fancy nor imagination to bear on his observation. But when the prosecution had done with him, Mr. Millington-Bywater rose and quietly asked the police to produce the watch, chain and ring which the greengrocer had found, in their original wrappings. He held up the wrapping-papers to the witness and asked him if he could swear that this was what he had found the valuables in and had given to the police. The greengrocer was positive as to this; he was positive, too, that the other wrappings which Felpham had carefully preserved were those which had been on the outside of the parcel and had been thrown aside by himself on its discovery and afterwards picked up by Viner. Mr. Millington-Bywater handed all these papers up to the magistrate, directing his attention to the strong odour of drugs or chemicals which still pervaded them, and to the address of the manufacturing chemists which appeared on the outer wrapping. The magistrate seemed somewhat mystified.
"What is the object of this?" he asked, glancing at the defending counsel. "It is admitted that these are the wrappings in which the watch, and chain and ring were found in the witness's shed, but"—he paused, with another inquiring look—"you propose to—what?" he asked.
"I propose, Your Worship, to prove that these things were never put there by the prisoner at all!" answered Mr. Millington-Bywater, promptly and with an assurance which was not lost on the spectators. "I intend to show that they were purposely placed in that outhouse by the real murderer of John Ashton after the statement made by the prisoner at the inquest became public—placed there, of course, to divert any possible suspicion of himself.
"And now," he continued, after the greengrocer had left the box and the prosecuting counsel had intimated that he had no more evidence to bring forward at present, "now I will outline the defence which I shall set up on behalf of my client. I intend to prove that John Ashton was murdered by some man not yet discovered, who killed him in order to gain possession of certain papers which he carried on him—papers of extreme importance, as will be shown. We know where certain of those papers are, and we hope before very long to know where the rest are, and also where a certain very valuable diamond is, which the murdered man had on him at the time of his death. I shall, indeed, prove that the prisoner—certainly through his own foolishness—is wrongly accused. It will be within your worship's recollection that when the prisoner was first before you, he very unwisely refused to give his name and address or any information—he subsequently repented of that and made a statement, not only to the police but before the coroner. Now, I propose to put him into that box so that he may give evidence, and I shall then call certain witnesses who will offer evidence which will go to prove that what I say as regards the murder of Ashton is more than probable—namely, that he was murdered for the sake of the documents he had on him, and that the spoiling of his money and valuables was a mere piece of bluff, intended to mislead. Let the prisoner go into the box!"
There was a continued deep silence in court while Hyde, under examination, repeated the story which he had told to Viner and Drillford and before the coroner and his jury. It was a plain, consecutive story, in which he set forth the circumstances preceding the evening of the murder and confessed his picking up of the ring which lay on the pavement by Ashton's body. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on Mr. Millington-Bywater under this examination, never removing them from him save when the magistrate interposed with an occasional remark or question. But at one point a slight commotion in court caused him to look among the spectators, and Viner, following the direction of his eyes, saw him start, and at the same instant saw what it was that he started at. Methley, followed by the claimant, was quietly pushing a way through the throng between the door and the solicitor's table.
Viner leaned closer to Mr. Pawle.
"Do you see?" he whispered. "Hyde evidently recognizes one of those two!Now—which?"
Mr. Pawle glanced at the prisoner. Hyde's face, hitherto pale, had flushed a little, and his eyes had grown bright; he looked as if he had suddenly seen a friend's face in a hostile crowd. But Mr. Millington-Bywater, who had been bending over his papers, suddenly looked up with another question, and Hyde again turned his attention to him.
"All that you really know of this matter," asked Mr. Millington-Bywater, "is that you chanced to turn up Lonsdale Passage, saw a man lying on the pavement and a ring close by, and that, being literally starving and desperate, you snatched up that ring and ran away as fast as you could?"
"Yes—that is all," asserted Hyde. "Except that I had met a man, as I have already told you, at the end of the passage by which I entered."
"You did not even know whether this man lying on the pavement was alive or dead?"
"I thought he might be drunk," replied Hyde. "But after I had snatched up the ring I never thought at all until I had run some distance. I was afraid of being followed."
"Now why were you afraid of being followed?"
"I was famishing!" answered Hyde. "I knew I could get something, some money, on that ring, in the morning, and I wanted to stick to it. I was afraid that the man whom I met as I ran out of the passage, whom I now know to have been Mr. Viner, might follow me and make me give up the ring. And the ring meant food."
Mr. Millington-Bywater let this answer sink into the prevalent atmosphere and suddenly turned to another matter. The knife which had been found in Hyde's possession was lying with certain other exhibits on the solicitor's table, and Mr. Millington-Bywater pointed to it.
"Now about that knife," he said. "It is yours? Very well—how long have you had it?"
"Three or four years," replied Hyde, promptly. "I bought it when I was touring in the United States, at a town called Guthrie, in Oklahoma. And," he added suddenly and with a triumphant smile as of a man who is unexpectedly able to clinch an argument, "there is a gentleman there who was with me when I bought it—Mr. Nugent Starr!"
From the magistrate on his bench to the policeman at the door every person in court turned to look at the man to whom the prisoner pointed an out-stretched finger. And Mr. Pawle let out an irrepressible exclamation.
"Good God!" he said. "The claimant fellow!"
But Viner said nothing. He was staring, as everybody else was, at the man who sat by Methley. He, suddenly aware that Hyde had pointed to him, was obviously greatly taken aback and embarrassed—he looked sharply at the prisoner, knitted his brows, shook his head, and turning to Methley muttered something which no one else caught. Mr. Millington-Bywater looked at him and turned to his client.
"You say there is a gentleman here—that gentleman!—who was with you when you bought that knife?" he asked. "A friend of yours, then?"
"Well—we were playing in the same company," asserted Hyde. "Mr. Moreby-Bannister's company. He was heavy lead—I was juvenile. He knows me well enough. He was with me when I bought that knife in a hardware store in Guthrie."
The magistrate's eye was on the man who sat by Methley, and there was a certain amount of irritation in it. And suddenly Methley whispered something to his companion and the man shyly but with a noticeable composure stood up.
"I beg Your Worship's pardon," he said, quietly, with a polite bow to the bench, "but really, the witness is under a mistaken impression! I don't know him, and I have never been in the town he mentions—in fact, I have never been in the United States. I am very sorry, but, really, there is some strange mistake—I—the witness is an absolute stranger to me!"
The attention of all present was transferred to Hyde. And Hyde flushed, leaned forward over the ledge of the witness-box and gave the claimant a long, steady stare.
"No mistake at all!" he suddenly exclaimed in a firm voice. "That's Mr.Nugent Starr! I played with him for over twelve months."
While this had been going on, Felpham on one side, and Carless on the other, had been whispering to Mr. Millington-Bywater, who listened to both with growing interest, and began to nod to each with increasing intelligence—and then, suddenly, the prosecuting counsel played unexpectedly and directly into his hand.
"If Your Worship pleases," said the prosecuting counsel, "I should like to have the prisoner's assertion categorically denied—it may be of importance. Perhaps this gentleman will go into the box and deny it on oath."
Mr. Millington-Bywater sat down as quickly as if a heavy hand had forced him into his seat, and Viner saw a swift look of gratification cross his features. Close by, Mr. Pawle chuckled with joy.
"By the Lord Harry!" he whispered, "the very thing we wanted! No need to wait for the adjourned coroner's inquest, Viner—the thing'll come out now!"
Viner did not understand. He saw Hyde turned out of the box; he saw the claimant, after an exchange of remarks with Methley, step into it; he heard him repeat on oath the denial he had just uttered, after stating that his name was Cave, and that he lived at the Belmead Hotel, Lancaster Gate; and he saw Mr. Millington-Bywater, after exchanging a few questions and answers in whispers with Hyde over the ledge of the dock, turn to the witness as he was about to step down.
"A moment, sir," he said. "I want to ask you a few questions, with the permission of His Worship, who will soon see that they are very pertinent. So," he went on, "you reside at the Belmead Hotel, in Lancaster Gate, and your name is Edward Cave?"
"At present," answered the witness, stiffly.
"Do you mean that your name is Edward Cave—at present?"
"My name is Edward Cave, and at present I live—as I have stated," replied the witness with dignity.
"You have just stated, on oath, that you are not Nugent Starr, have never been so called, don't know the prisoner, never met him in America, have never set foot in America! Now, then—mind, you're on your oath!—is Edward Cave your real or full name?"
"Well, strictly speaking," answered the witness, after some hesitation, "no, it is not. My full name is Cave-Gray—my family name; but for the present—"
"For the present you wish to be called Mr. Cave. Now, sir, are you not the person who claims to be the rightful Earl of Ellingham?"
A murmur of excited interest ran round the court, and everybody recognized that a new stage of the case had been entered upon. Every eye, especially the observant eyes on the bench, were fixed on the witness, who now looked considerably ruffled. He glanced at Methley—but Methley sat with averted look and made no sign; he looked at the magistrate; the magistrate, it was plain, expected the question to be answered. And the answer came, almost sullenly.
"Yes, I am!"
"That is to say, you are really—or you claim to be really—the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared from England some thirty-five years ago, and you have now returned, though you are legally presumed to be dead, to assert your rights to titles and estates? You absolutely claim to be the ninth Earl of Ellingham?"
"Yes!"
"Where have you been during the last thirty-five years?"
"In Australia."
"What part?"
"Chiefly in Melbourne. But I was for four or five years up-country."
"What name did you go under there?"
Mr. Pawle, Mr. Carless and the rest of the spectators who were in these secrets regarded the witness with keen attention when this question was put to him. But his answer came promptly.
"At first, under the name of Wickham. Later under the one I now use—Cave."
"Did you marry out there?"
"Never!"
"And so, of course, you never had a daughter?"
"I have never been married and have never had daughter or son!"
Mr. Millington-Bywater turned to Mr. Carless, at his left elbow, and exchanged two or three whispered remarks with him. At last he looked round again at the witness.
"Yesterday," he said, "in your character of claimant to the Ellingham title and estates you showed to Messrs. Carless & Driver, of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and to the present holder of the title, certain documents, letters, papers, which would go some way toward establishing your claim to be what you profess to be. Now, I will say at once that we believe these papers to have been stolen from the body of John Ashton when he was murdered. And I will ask you a direct question, on your oath! Have those papers always been in your possession since you left England thirty-five years ago?"
The witness drew himself up and looked steadily at his questioner.
"No!" he answered firmly. "They were stolen from me almost as soon as I arrived in Australia. I have only just regained possession of them."