 CHAPTER 1 THE MISSING BANK MANAGER Every Monday morning, when the clock of the old parish church in Skarnham Marketplace struck eight, Wellington Neill asked himself why on earth he had chosen to be a bank clerk. On all the other mornings of the week this question never occurred to him. On Sunday he never allowed a thought of the bank to cross his mind. From Sunday to Saturday he was firmly settled in the usual rut and never dreamed of tearing himself out of it. But Sunday's break was unsettling. There was always an effort in starting afresh on Monday. The striking of St. Alkman's clock at eight on Monday morning invariably found him sitting down to his breakfast in his rooms, overlooking the quaint old Marketplace, once more faced by the fact that a week of dull, uninteresting work lay before him. He would go to the bank at nine, and at the bank he would remain, more or less, until five. He would do that again on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, and on Thursday, and on Friday, and on Saturday. One afternoon, strolling in the adjacent country, he had seen a horse walking round and round and round in a small paddock, turning a crank which worked some machine or other in an adjoining shed. That horse had somehow suggested himself to himself. On this particular Monday morning, Neil, happening to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror which stood on his parlor mantelpiece, propounded the usual question with added force. There were reasons. It was a beautiful morning, and it was early spring. There was a blue sky, and the rooks and jackdaws were circling in a clear air above the church tower and over the old Marketcross. He could hear thrushes singing in the trees of the vicarage garden close by. Everything was young, and he was young. It would have been an affectation on his part to deny either his youth or his good looks. He glanced at his handsome boyish face, with its cluster of chestnut hair and steady gray eyes. All that, he knew, wanted life, animation, movement. At twenty-three he was longing for something to take him out of the treadmill round in which he had been fixed for five years. He had no taste for handing out money in exchange for checks, in posting up ledgers, in writing dull, formal letters. He would have been much happier with an old flannel shirt open at the throat, a pick in his hands, making a new road in a new country, or in driving a path through some primeval wood. There would have been liberty in either occupation. He could have flung down the pick at any moment and taken up the hunter's gun. He could have turned right or left at his own will in the unexplored forest. But there at the bank, it was just doing the same thing over and over again. What he had done last week, he would do again this week. What had happened last year would happen again this year. It was all pure, unadulterated, dismal monotony. Like most things, it had come about without design. He had just drifted into it. His father and mother had both died when he was a boy. He had inherited a small property which brought in precisely one hundred and fifty pounds a year. It was tied up to him in such a fashion that he would have his three pounds a week as long as ever he lived. But his guardian, Mr. John Horbury, the manager of Chester Marks Bank in Skarnham, pointed out to him when he left school, he needed more than three pounds a week if he wished to live comfortably and like a gentleman. Still a hundred and fifty a year of sure and settled income was a fine thing, an uncommonly fine thing. All that was necessary was to supplement it. Therefore, a nice, quiet, genteel profession, banking to it, light work and honorable calling, an eminently respectable one. In a few years he would have another hundred and fifty a year, a few years more and he would be a manager, with at least six hundred. He might, well before he was a middle-aged man, be commanding a salary of a thousand a year, banking by all means, counseled Mr. Horbury, and offered him a vacancy which had just then arisen at Chester Marks. And Neil, willing to be guided by a man for whom he had much respect, took the post and settled down in the old bank in the quiet, sleepy market town, wherein one day was precisely like another day. And every year his dislike for his work increased, and sometimes grew unbearably keen, especially when spring skies and spring air set up a sudden stirring in his blood. On this Monday morning that stirring amounted to something very like a physical ache. Hang the old bank, he muttered, I'd rather be a plowman. Nevertheless the bank must be attended and, at ten minutes to nine, Neil lighted a cigarette, put on his hat and strolled slowly across the marketplace. Although he knew every single one of its cobblestones, every shop window, every landmark in it, that queer old square always fascinated him. It was a bit of old England, the ancient church and equally ancient moot hall spread along one side of it. The other three sides were filled with gabled and half timbered houses. The market cross, which stood in the middle of the open space, had been erected there in Henry VII's time. Amidst all the change and development of the 19th century, Skarnham had been left untouched. Even the bank itself was a time worn building. And the manager's house, which flanked it, was still older. Underneath all these ancient structures were queer nooks and corners, secret passages and stairs, hiding places, cellarings going far beneath the gardens at the back of the houses. Neil, as a boy, had made many an exploration in them, especially beneath the bank house, which was a veritable treasury of concealed stairways and cunningly contrived doors in the black oak of the panelings. But on this occasion, Neil did not stare admiringly at the old church, nor at the pilastered moot hall, nor at the toppling gables. His eyes were fixed on something else, something unusual. As soon as he walked out of the door of the house in which he lodged, he saw his two fellow clerks, Shirley and Patton, standing on the steps of the hall by which entrance was joined to the bank and to the bank house. They stood there looking about them. Now they looked toward Finkelway, a narrow street which led to the railway station at the far end of town. Now they looked towards Middlegate, a street which led into the open country, in the direction of Ellers-Deen, where Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, senior proprietor of the bank, resided. All that was unusual. If Patton, a mere boy, had been lounging there, Neil would not have noticed it. But it was Shirley's first duty, on arriving every morning, to get the keys at the house door and to let himself into the bank by the adjoining private entrance. It was Patton's duty, on arrival, to take the letter bag to the post office and bring the bank's correspondence back in it. Never, in all his experience, had Neil seen any of Chestermark's clerks lounging on the steps at nine o'clock in the morning, and he quickened his pace. Shirley, turning from a prolonged stare towards Finkelway, caught sight of him. Can't get in, he observed leconically, in answer to Neil's inquiring look. Mr. Horbury isn't there, and he's got the keys. What do you mean, isn't there? asked Neil, mounting the steps. Not in the house. Mean just what I say, replied Shirley. Mrs. Carswell says she hasn't seen him since Saturday. She thinks he's been weak-ending. I've been looking out for him coming along from the station. But if he came in by the eight thirty, he's a long time getting up here. And if he hasn't come in by that, there's no other train till the ten forty-five. Neil made no answer. He, too, glanced towards Finkelway. And then at the church-clock. It was just going to strike nine, and the station was only eight minutes away at the most. He passed the two junior clerks, went down the hall to the open door of the bank house, and entered. And just within he came face to face with the housekeeper, Mrs. Carswell. Mrs. Carswell had kept house for Mr. John Horbury for some years. Neil remembered her from boyhood. He had always puzzled about her age. Of late, since he knew more of grown-up folk, he had been still more puzzled. Sometimes he thought she was forty. Sometimes he was sure she could not be more than thirty-two or three. Anyway, she was a fine, handsome woman, tall, perfectly shaped, with glossy black hair and dark eyes, and a firm resolute mouth. It was rarely that Mrs. Carswell went out. When she did, she was easily the best-looking woman in Skarnham. Few Skarnham people, however, had the chance of cultivating her acquaintance. Mrs. Carswell kept herself to herself and seemed content to keep up her reputation as a model housekeeper. She ordered Mr. Horbury's domestic affairs in perfect fashion. And it had come upon Neil as a surprise to hear Shirley say that Mrs. Carswell did not know where the manager was. What's all this? he demanded, as he met her within the hall. Shirley says Mr. Horbury isn't at home. Where is he then? But I don't know, Mr. Neil, replied the housekeeper. I know no more than you do. I've been expecting him to come in by that eight-thirty train. But he can't have done that, or he'd have been up here by now. Perhaps it's late, suggested Neil. No, it's in, she said. I saw it come in from my window at the back. It was on time, so I don't know what's become of him. But what about Saturday? asked Neil. Shirley says you said Mr. Horbury went off on Saturday. Didn't he leave any word? Didn't he say where he was going? Mr. Horbury went out on Saturday evening, answered Mrs. Carswell. He didn't say a word about where he was going. He went out just before dusk, as if for a walk. I had no idea he wasn't at home until Sunday morning. You see, the servants and I went to bed at our usual time on Saturday night, and though he wasn't in then, I thought nothing of it because, of course, he'd his latchkey. He was often out late at night, as you know, Mr. Neil. And when I found that he hadn't come back, as I did find out before breakfast yesterday, I thought nothing of that either. I thought he'd gone to see some friend or other and had been persuaded to stop the night. Then, when he didn't come home yesterday at all, I thought he was staying the weekend somewhere. So I wasn't anxious nor surprised. But I am surprised he's not back here first thing this morning. So am I, agreed Neil, and more than surprised. He stood for a moment running over the list of the manager's friends and acquaintances in the neighborhood, and he shook his head as he came to the end of his mental reckoning of it. It's very odd, he remarked, very surprising, Mrs. Carswell. It's all the more surprising, remarked the housekeeper, because of his going off for his holiday tomorrow, and Miss Forstike's coming down from London today to go with him. Neil pricked his ears. Miss Forstike was the manager's niece, a young lady whom Neil remembered as a mere slip of a girl that he had met years before and never seen since. I didn't know that, he remarked. Neither did Mr. Horbury until Saturday afternoon, that is, for certain, said Mrs. Carswell. He'd asked her to go with him to Scotland on this holiday, but it wasn't settled. However, he got a wire from her about tea time on Saturday to say she'd go, and would be down here today, there to start tomorrow morning. Neil turned to the door. He was distinctly puzzled and uneasy. He had known John Horbury since his own childhood, and had always regarded him as the personification of everything that was precise, systematic, and regular. All things considered, it was most remarkable that he should not be at the bank at opening hours, and already a vague suspicion that something had happened began to steal into his mind. Did you happen to notice which way he went, Mrs. Carswell? he asked. Was it towards the station? He went out down the garden and through the orchard, replied the housekeeper. He could have got to the station that way, of course, but I do know that he never said a word about going anywhere by train, and he'd no bag or anything with him. He'd nothing but that old oak stick he generally carried when he went out for his walks. Neil pushed open the house door and went into the outer hall to the junior clerks. Little as he cared about banking as a calling, he was punctilious about rules and observances, and it seemed to him somewhat indecorious that the staff of a bank should hang about its front door, as if they were workshop assistants waiting the arrival of a belated foreman. Better come inside the house, Shirley, he said. Patten, you go off to the post office and get the letters. No good without the bag, answered Patten, a calm youth of 17. Tried that once before, don't you know? They've one key, we've another. Well, come inside then, commanded Neil. It doesn't look well to hang about those steps. Might as well just go away, muttered Shirley, stepping into the hall. If Horbury's got to come back by train from wherever he's gone to, he can't get here till 10.45, and then he's got to walk up, might as well go home for an hour. The partners will be here before an hour's over, said Neil, one of them's always here by 10. Shirley, a somewhat grumpily countenanced young man, made no answer. He began to pace the hall with looks of eminent dissatisfaction. But he had only taken a turn or two when a quietly appointed one horse, Coop Broham, came up to the open door, and a well-known face was seen at its window. Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, senior proprietor, had come an hour before his time. End of chapter one. Chapter two of The Chestermark Instinct. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter two, The Ellers-Deen Deposit. Had the three young men waiting in that hall not been so familiar with him by reason of daily and hourly acquaintance, the least observant amongst them would surely have paused in whatever task he was busy with, if Mr. Gabriel Chestermark had crossed his path for the first time. The senior partner of Chestermark's bank was a noticeable person. Wellington Neil, who possessed some small gift of imagination, always felt that his principles suggested something more than was accounted for by his mere presence. He was a little, broadly built man, somewhat inclined to stoutness, who carried himself in very upright fashion, and habitually wore the look of a man engaged in operations of serious and far-reaching importance, further heightened by an air of reserve and a trick of sparingness in speech, but more noticeable than anything else in Mr. Gabriel Chestermark was his head, a member of his body which was much out of proportion to the rest of it. It was a very big, well shaped head, on which, out of doors, invariably rested the latest styled and glossiest of silk hats. No man had ever seen Gabriel Chestermark in any other form of headgear, unless it was in a railway carriage, there he condescended to assume a checked cap. Underneath the brim of the silk hat looked out of continents as remarkable as the head of which it was a part. A broad, smooth forehead, a pair of large, deep-set eyes, the pupils of which were black as loaves, a prominent, slightly hooked nose, a firm, thin lipped mouth, a square, resolute jaw. These features were thrown into prominence by the extraordinary pallor of Mr. Chestermark's face, and the dark shade of the hair which framed it. That black hair, those black eyes, burning always with a strange, slumbering fire, the colorless cheeks, the vigorous set of the lips, these made an effect on all who came in contact with the banker, which was of a not wholly comfortable nature. It was as if you were talking to a statue rather than to a fellow creature. Mr. Chestermark stepped quietly from his braum and walked up the steps. He was one of those men who are never taken aback and never show surprise. As his eyes ran over the three young men, there was no sign from him that he saw anything out of the common. But he turned to Neil, as senior clerk, with one word. Well? Neil glanced uncomfortably at the house door. Mr. Hornberry is not at home, he answered. He has the keys. Mr. Chestermark made no reply. His hand went to his waistcoat pocket. His feet moved lower down the hall to a side door sacred to the partners. He produced a key, opened the door, and motioned the clerks to enter. Once within, he turned into the partner's room. Five minutes passed before his voice was heard. Neil. Neil hurried in and found the banker standing on the hearth rug, beneath the portrait of a former Chestermark, founder of the bank in a bygone age. He was suddenly struck by the curious resemblance between that dead Chestermark and the living one, and he wondered that he had never seen it before. But Mr. Chestermark gave him no time for speculation. Where is Mr. Hornberry? he asked. Neil told him all he knew. The banker listened in his usual fashion, keeping his eyes steadily fixed on his informant. When Neil had finished, Mr. Chestermark shook his head. Hornberry had meant to come into town by the 8.30 train and had missed it, he remarked. He would have wired or telephoned by this. Telephoned, of course. There are telephones at every station on that branch line. Very well, let things go on. Neil went out and set his fellow clerks to the usual routine. Pat and went for the letters. Neil carried them into the partner's room. At ten o'clock the street door was opened. A customer or two began to drop in. The business of the day had begun. It went on just as it would have gone on if Mr. Hornberry had been away on holiday. And at half-past ten, in walked the junior partner, Mr. Joseph Chestermark. Mr. Joseph was the exact opposite of his uncle. He was so much his opposite that it was difficult to believe, seeing them together, that they were related to each other. Mr. Joseph Chestermark, a man of apparently thirty years of age, was tall and loose a figure, easy of demeanor, and a little untidy in his dress. He wore a not over-well-fitting tweed suit, a slouch hat, a flannel shirt. His brown beard usually needed trimming. He affected loose, flowing neckties, more suited to an artist than to a banker. His face was amiable in expression, a little weak, a little speculative. All these characteristics came out most strongly when he and his uncle were seen in company. Nothing could be more in contrast to the precise severity of Gabriel than the somewhat slovenly carelessness of Joseph. Joseph, indeed, was the last man in the world that anyone would ever have expected to see in charge and direction of a bank. And there were people in Skarnham who said that he was no more than a lay figure, and that Gabriel Chestermark did all the business. The junior partner passed through the outer room, nodding affably to the clerks, and went into the private parlor. Several minutes elapsed. Then a bell rang. Neil answered it, and Shirley and Patton glanced at each other and shook their heads. Already they scented an odor of suspicion and uncertainty. What's up, whispered Patton, leaning forward over his desk to Shirley, who stood between it and the counter. Something wrong? Something that Gabriel doesn't like, anyhow, muttered Shirley. Did you see his eyes when Neil said that Horbury wasn't here? If Horbury doesn't turn up by this next train—ah!—think he sloped, asked Patton, already seething with a boyish desire of excitement. Done a bunk with the money? But Shirley shook his head at the closed door through which Neil had vanished. They're carpeting Neil about it, anyway, he answered. Gabriel will want to know the whys and wherefores you bet, but Neil won't tell us anything. He's too thick with Horbury. Neil, entering the partner's room, found them in characteristic attitudes. The senior partner sat at his desk, stern, upright, his eyes burning a little more fiercely than usual. The junior, his thought chat still on his head, his hands thrust in his pockets, lounged against the mantelpiece, staring at his uncle. Now, Neil, said Gabriel Chestermark, what do you know about this? Have you any idea where Mr. Horbury is? None, replied Neil, none whatever. When did you see him last? demanded Gabriel. You often see him out of bank hours, I know. I saw him last here at two o'clock on Saturday, replied Neil. I have not seen him since. And you never heard him mention that he was thinking of going away for the weekend? asked Gabriel. No, replied Neil. He made his answer tersely and definitely, having an idea that the senior partner looked at him as if he thought that something was being kept back. And Gabriel, after a moment's pause, shifted some of the papers on his desk with an impatient movement. Ask Mr. Horbury's housekeeper to step in here for a few minutes, he said. Neil went out by the private door and presently returned with Mrs. Carswell. By that time Joseph had lounged over to his own desk and seated himself, and when the housekeeper came in he tilted his chair back and sat idly swaying in it while he watched her and his uncle. But Gabriel, waving Mrs. Carswell to a seat, remained upright as ever, and as he turned to the housekeeper he motioned Neil to stay in the room. Just tell us all you know about Mr. Horbury's movements on Saturday afternoon and evening, Mrs. Carswell, he said. This is the most extraordinary business altogether, and I want to account for it. You say he went out just about dusk. Mrs. Carswell repeated the story which he had told to Neil. The two partners listened. Gabriel keenly attentive, Joseph, as if he were no more than mildly interested. Odd remarked Gabriel when the story had come to an end. Most strange. Very well. Thank you, Mrs. Carswell. Neil, he added when the housekeeper had gone away. Mr. Horbury always carried the more important keys on him, didn't he? Always responded Neil. Very good. Let things go on, said Gabriel. But don't come bothering me or Mr. Joseph Chestermark unless you're obliged to. Of course Mr. Horbury may come in by the next train. That'll do, Neil. Neil went back to the outer room. Things went on, but the missing manager did not come in by the ten forty-five, and nothing had been heard or seen of him at noon when Patton went to get his dinner. Nor had anything been seen or heard at one o'clock when Patton came back, and it became surely a Neil's turn to go out. And there upon arose a difficulty. In the ordinary course the two elder clerks would have left for an hour and the manager would have been on duty until they returned. But now the manager was not there. You go, said Neil to Shirley. I'll wait. Perhaps Mr. Joseph will come out. Shirley went, but neither of the partners emerged from the private room. As of rule they both went across to the Skarnham Arms Hotel at Half Pass One for lunch. A private room had been kept for them at that old world hostelry from time immemorial. But now they remained within their parlor, apparently interned from their usual business world. And Neil had a very good idea of what they were doing. The bank's strong room was entered from that parlor. Gabriel and Joseph were examining and checking its contents. The knowledge distressed Neil beyond measure, and it was only by a resolute effort that he could give his mind to his duties. Two o'clock had gone and Shirley had come back before the bell rang again. Neil went into the private room and knew at once that something had happened. Gabriel stood by his desk, which was loaded with papers and documents. Joseph leaned against a sideboard, whereupon was a decanter of Shirley and a box of biscuits. He had a glass of wine in one hand and a half nibbled biscuit in the other. The smell of the Shirley, fine old brown stuff, which the clerks were permitted to taste now and then on such occasions as the partner's birthdays, filled the room. Neil, said Gabriel, have you been out to lunch? No. Take a glass of wine and eat a biscuit. We shall all have to put off our lunches for an hour or so. Neil obeyed more because he was under order than because he was hungry. He was too much bothered, too full of vague fears, to think of his midday dinner. He took the glass which Joseph handed him and picked a couple of biscuits out of the box. And at the first sip Gabriel spoke again. Neil, he said, you've been here five years, so one can speak confidentially. There's something wrong, seriously wrong. Securities are missing. Security's representing a lot. Neil's face flushed as if he himself had been charged with abstracting those securities. His hand shook as he set down his glass, and he looked helplessly from one partner to another. Joseph merely shook his head and poured out another glass of sherry for himself. Gabriel shook his head, too, but with a different expression. We don't know exactly how things are, he continued, but there's the fact, on a superficial examination, and, Horbury, of all men in the world, Horbury. I can't believe it, Mr. Chestermark, exclaimed Neil. Surely sir, there's some mistake. Joseph brushed crumbs of biscuit off his beard and wagged his head. No mistake, he said softly. None. The thing is, what's best to do? Because he'd have laid his plans. It'll all have been thought out carefully. I'm afraid so, assented Gabriel. That's the worst of it. Everything points to premeditation. And when a man has been so fully trusted, a knock at the door prefaced the introduction of Shirley's head. He glanced into the room with an obvious desire to see what was going on, but somehow contrived to fix his eyes on the senior partner. Lord Ellersdine, sir, he announced. Can he see you? The two partners looked at each other in evidence surprise. Then Gabriel moved to the door and bowed solemnly to some person outside. Will your lordship come in? He said politely. Lord Ellersdine, a big, bustling country squire type of man, came into the room nodding cheerfully to its occupants. Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Chestermark, he said. I understand Horbury isn't at home, but of course she'll do just as well. The Countess and I only got back from a broad night before last. She wants her jewels. So I'll take them with me, if you please. Gabriel Chestermark, who is drawing forward a chair, took his hat off it and stared at his visitor. The Countess's jewels, he said. Does your lordship mean? Deposited them with Horbury, you know, some weeks ago, when we went abroad, replied Lord Ellersdine. Safekeeping, you know. Said he'd lock him up. Gabriel turned slowly to Joseph. But Joseph shook his head. And Neil, glancing from one partner to the other, felt himself turning sick with apprehension. End of chapter two. Chapter three of the Chestermark Instinct. The slip of ox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter three. Mr. Chestermark disclaims liability. Gabriel Chestermark, after that one look at his nephew, turned again to the Earl, politely motioning him to the chair which he had already drawn forward. And the Earl, whose eyes had been wandering over the pile of documents on the senior partner's desk, glancing curiously the open door of the strong room, and generally taking in a sense of some unusual occurrence, dropped into it and looked expectantly at the banker. There's nothing wrong, he asked suddenly. You look surprised. Gabriel stiffened his already upright figure. Surprised. Yes, he answered. And something more than surprised. I am astonished. Your lordship left the Countess's jewels with our manager. May I ask when and under what circumstances? About six weeks ago, replied the Earl promptly, as a rule the jewels are kept at my bankers in London. The Countess wanted them to wear at the hunt ball, so I fetched them from London myself. Then, as we were going off to the continent two days after the ball, and sailing directly from Kingsport to Hamburg, I didn't want the bother of going up to town with them, and I thought of horpory. So I drove in here with them one evening, the night before we sailed as a matter of fact, and asked him to lock them up until our return. As I said just now, we only got home the night before last, and we're going up to town tomorrow, and the Countess wants them to take with her. Of course, you've got them all right? Gabriel Chestermark spread out his hands. I know nothing whatever about them, he said. I never heard of them being here. Nor I, affirmed Joseph, not a word. Gabriel looked at Neil, and drew Lord Ellers Dean's attention to him. Our senior clerk, Mr. Neil, he said, Neil, have you heard of this transaction? Never, replied Neil. Mr. Horbury never mentioned it to me. Gabriel waved his hand toward the open door of the strong room. Any valuables of that sort would have been in there, he remarked. There's nothing of that sort there, beyond what I and my nephew know of. I'm sure your Lordship's jewels are not there. But Horbury exclaimed the Earl. Where is he? He would tell you. We don't know where Mr. Horbury is, answered Gabriel. The truth may as well be told. He's missing, and so are some of our most valuable securities. The Earl slowly looked from one partner to another. His face flushed, almost as hotly as if he himself had been accused of theft. Oh, come, he said. Horbury now of all men, come, come. You don't mean to tell me that Horbury's been playing games of that sort? There must be some mistake. I shall be glad to be assured that I am making it, said Gabriel Cooley. But it will be more to the purpose if your Lordship will tell us all about the deposit of these jewels. And there's an important matter which I must first mention. We have not the honor of reckoning your Lordship among our customers. Therefore, whatever you handed to Horbury was handed to him privately, not to us. Joseph Chestermark nodded his head at that, and the Earl stirred a little uneasily in his chair. Oh, well, he said, I—to tell you the truth, I didn't think about that, Mr. Chestermark. It's true, I don't keep any account with you. It never seemed necessary, you know, but, of course, I knew Horbury so well. He's a member of our golf club and our archaeological society that precisely interrupted Gabriel with a bow. You came to Mr. Horbury privately, not to the firm. I came to him knowing that he was your manager, and a man to be thoroughly trusted, and that he'd have safes and things in which he could deposit valuables in perfect safety, answered the Earl. I never reflected for a moment on the niceties of the matter. I just explained to him that I wanted those jewels taken care of, and handed them over. That's all. And their precise nature, asked Gabriel. And their value, added Joseph. As to their nature, replied the Earl, there was my wife's cornet, her diamond necklace, and the Eller's Dean butterfly, of which I suppose all the worlds heard, heirloom, you know. It's a thing that can be worn in a lady's hair or as a pendant. Diamonds, of course. As to their value, well, I had them valued some years ago. They're worth about a hundred thousand pounds. Gabriel turned to his desk and began to arrange some papers on it, and Neil, who was watching everything with close attention, saw that his fingers trembled a little. He made no remark, and the silence was next broken by Joseph Chestermark's soft accents. Did Horbury give your lordship any receipt or acknowledgment that he had received these jewels on deposit? He asked. I mean, of course, in our name. The Earl twisted sharply in his chair, and Neil fancied that he saw a shade of annoyance pass over his good natured face. Certainly not, he answered. I should never have dreamt of asking for a receipt from a man whom I knew so well as I knew, or thought I knew, Horbury. The whole thing was just as if, well, as if I should ask any friend to take care of something for me for a while. Did Horbury know what you were giving him, asked Joseph? Of course, replied the Earl. As a matter of fact, he'd never seen these things, and I took them out of their case and showed them to him. And he said he would lock them up. In our strong room suggested the soft voice. He said nothing about your strong room, answered the Earl, nor about where he'd put them. That was understood. It was understood, a tacit understanding, that he'd take care of them until our return. Did your Lordship give him the date of your return? persisted Joseph with the thoroughgoing air of a cross examiner. Yes, I told him exactly when we should be back, replied the Earl. The 12th of May, day before yesterday, Joseph moved away from the sideboard towards the hearth and leaning against the mantelpiece through a glance at the strong room. The jewels are not in our possession, he said, half indolently. There is nothing of that sort in there. There are two safes in the outer room of the bank. I should say that Mr. Neil here knows everything that is in them. Do you know anything of these jewels, Neil? Nothing, said Neil. I never heard of them. Gabriel looked up from his papers. None of us have heard of them, he remarked. Horbury could not have put them in this strong room without my knowledge. They are certainly not there. The safes my nephew mentioned just now are used only for books and papers. Your Lordship's casket is not in either. The Earl rose slowly from his chair. It was evident to Neil that he was more surprised than angry. He looked around him as a man looks whose understanding had suddenly brought up against something unexplainable. All I know is that I handed that casket to Mr. Horbury in his own dining room one evening some weeks ago, he said. That's certain. So I naturally expect to find it here. And it is not here that is equally certain, observed Gabriel. What is also certain is that our manager, trusted in more than he should have been, is missing, and many of our valuable securities with him. Therefore, he spread his hands again with an expressive gesture and once more bent over his papers. Once more there was silence. Then the Earl started, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him. I say, he exclaimed, don't you think Horbury might have put those jewels away in his own house? Joseph Chestermark smiled a little derisively. A hundred thousand pounds worth, he said softly, not very likely. But he may have a safe there, urged the Earl. Most people have a safe in their houses nowadays. They're so handy, you know, and so cheap. Don't you think that may be it? I am not familiar with Horbury's domestic arrangements, said Gabriel. I have not been in his house for some years. But as we are desirous of giving your lordship what assistance we can, we will go into the house and see if there is anything of the sort. Just tell the housekeeper we are coming in, Neil. The Earl nodded to Mrs. Carswell as she received him and the two partners in the adjacent hall. This lady will remember my calling on Mr. Horbury one evening a few weeks ago, he said. She saw me with him in that room. Certainly, assented Mrs. Carswell readily enough. I remember your lordship calling on Mr. Horbury very well. One night after dinner, your lordship was here an hour or so. Gabriel Chestermark opened the door of the dining room, an old fashion department which looked out on a garden and orchard at the rear of the house. Mrs. Carswell, he said, as they all went in, has Mr. Horbury a safe in this room or in any other room? You know what I mean. But the housekeeper shook her head. There was no safe in the house. There was a plate chest, there it was, standing in a recess by the sideboard. She had the key of it. Open that at any rate, commanded Gabriel. It's about as unlikely as anything could be. But well leave nothing undone. There was nothing in the plate chest, but what Gabriel expected to find there. He turned again to the housekeeper. Is there anything in this house, cupboard, chest, trunk, anything in which Mr. Horbury kept valuables, he asked. Any place in which he was in the habit of locking up papers, for instance. Mrs. Carswell again shook her head. No, she knew of no such place or receptacle. There was Mr. Horbury's desk, but she believed all its doors were open. Her belief proved to be correct. Gabriel himself opened drawer after drawer and revealed nothing of consequence. He turned to the Earl with another expressive, spreading out of his hands. I don't see what more we can do to assist your lordship, he said. I don't know what more can be done. The question is, so it seems to me, what is to be done, replied the Earl, whose face had been gradually growing graver. What, for instance, are you going to do, Mr. Chestermark? Let us be plain with each other. You disclaim all liability in connection with my affair. Most certainly, exclaimed Gabriel. We know nothing of that transaction. As I have already said, if Horbury took charge of your lordship's property, he did so as a private individual, not on our behalf, not in his capacity as our manager. If your lordship had been a customer of ours. That would have been a very different matter, said Joseph. But as we have never had any dealings with your lordship. We have, of course, no liability to you, concluded Gabriel. The true position of the case is that your lordship handed your property to Horbury as a friend, not as manager of Chestermark's bank. Then let me ask you, what are you going to do? said the Earl. I mean, not about my affair, but about finding your manager. Gabriel looked at his nephew. Joseph shook his head. So far, said Joseph, we have not quite considered that. We are not yet fully aware of how things stand. We have a pretty good idea, but it will take another day. You don't mean to tell me that you're going to let another day elapse before doing something? exclaimed the Earl. Bless my soul. I'd have had the hue and cry out before noon today if I'd been you. If you'd been Chestermark's bank, my lord, remarked Joseph in his softest manner. That's precisely what you would not have done. We don't want it noise all over the town and neighborhood that our trusted manager has suddenly run away with our money and your jewels in his pocket. There was a curious note, half sneering, half sinister, in the junior partner's quiet voice, which made the Earl turn and look at him with a sudden new interest. Before either could speak, Neil ventured to say what he had been wanting to say for half an hour. May I suggest something, sir? he said, turning to Gabriel. Speak, speak, assented Gabriel hastily, anything you like. Mr. Horbury may have met with an accident, said Neil. He was fond of taking his walks in lonely places. There are plenty outside the town. He may be lying somewhere, even now, helpless. Capital suggestion, much obliged to you, exclaimed the Earl. Gad, I wonder we never thought of that before. Much the most likely thing. I can't believe that Horbury. Before he could say more, the door of the dining room was thrown open, a clear, strong voice was heard speaking to someone without, an in-walk to handsome young woman who pulled herself up to the threshold to stare out of a pair of frank gray eyes at the door. Chapter 4 of the Chestermark Instinct. This lipovox recording is in the public domain, recording by Mary Ann. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 4. The Modern Young Woman. Mrs. Carswell, who had left the gentlemen to themselves after opening the play chest, followed the newcomer into the room and looked appealingly at the senior partner. This is Miss Faustike, sir, she said, as if accounting for the unceremonious entrance. Mr. Horbury's, but Miss Faustike, having looked round her, entered the arena of discussion as abruptly as she had entered the room. Your Mr. Chestermark, she said, turning to Gabriel. I remember you. What's all this, Mr. Chestermark? I come down from London to meet my uncle and to go on with him to Scotland for holiday, and I learn that he's disappeared. What is it? What has happened? Why are you all looking so mysterious? Is something wrong? Where's my uncle? Gabriel, who had assumed his stereotyped expression of calm attention under this tornado of questions, motioned Joseph to place a chair for the young lady. But Miss Faustike shook her head and returned to the attack. Please don't keep anything back, she said. I am not of the fainting-to-order type of young woman. Just say what is the matter if you please. Mrs. Carswell knows no more. Then we do, interrupted Joseph, with one of his peculiar smiles. Hadn't you better sit down? Not until I know what has happened, retorted the visitor. Because if anything has happened there will be something for me to do, and it's foolish to sit down when one's got to get up again immediately. Mr. Chestermark, are you going to answer my questions? Gabriel bowed stiffly. I have the honor of addressing, he began. You have the honor, if you like to put it so, of addressing Miss Betty Faustike, who is Mr. John Horbury's niece, replied the young lady impatiently. Mrs. Carswell has told you that already. Besides, you saw me more than once when I was a little girl. And that's not so very long ago. Now, Mr. Chestermark, where is my uncle? I do not know where your uncle is, replied Gabriel, suddenly, and losing his starchiness. I wish to heaven I did. None of us know where Mr. John Horbury is, repeated Joseph in his swavish tones. We all wish to heaven we did. The girl turned and gave the junior partner a look which took in every inch of him. It was a look which began with a swift speculation, and ended in something very like distaste. But Joseph Chestermark met it with his usual, quiet smile. It would make such a lot of difference if we knew, he murmured, as it is. Things are... unpleasant. Miss Faustike finished her reflection and turned away. I remember you now, she said calmly. You're Joseph Chestermark. Now I will sit down, and I insist on being told, everything. My dear young lady, exclaimed Gabriel, there is next to nothing to tell. If you will have the unpleasant truth, here it is. Your uncle, whom we have trusted for more years than I care to mention, disappeared on Saturday evening, and nobody knows where he is, nor whether he went. All we know is that we find some of our property missing. Valuable securities. And this gentleman, Lord Ellersdine, tells us that six weeks ago he entrusted jewels worth a hundred thousand pounds to your uncle's keeping. They, too, are missing. What can we think? The girl's face had flushed, and her brows had drawn together in an angry frown by the time Gabriel had finished. And Neil, silently watching her from the background, saw her fingers clench themselves. She gave a swift glance at the earl, and then fixed her eyes steadily on Gabriel. Are you telling me that my uncle is a thief, she demanded? Are you, Mr. Chestermark? I'm now to anyhow, exclaimed the earl. I, I, so far as I'm concerned, I say there is some mistake. Thank you, she answered quietly. But you, Mr. Chestermark, come, I'm entitled to an answer. Gabriel showed signs of deep annoyance. He had the reputation of being a confirmed woman-hater, and it was plain that he was ill at ease in the presence of this plain-spoken young person. You appear to be a lady of much common sense, he said. Therefore I have some common sense, interrupted Ms. Faustite Cooley, and what amount I possess tells me that I never heard anything more ridiculous in my life than the suggestion that my uncle should steal anything from anybody. Why, he was, and is, I hope, a fairly well-to-do man. And if he wanted money, he'd only to come to me. It so happens that I'm one of the wealthiest young women in England. If my uncle had wanted a few thousand, or tens of thousands, to play ducks and drakes with, he'd only to ring me up on the telephone, and he'd have had whatever he asked for in a few hours. That's not boasting, Mr. Chestermark. That's just plain truth. My uncle a thief. Mr. Chestermark, there's only one word for your suggestion. Don't think me rude if I tell you what it is. It's... Bosch. Gabriel's colorless face twitched a little, and he drew himself up. I have no acquaintance with modern young ladies, he remarked icily. I daresay they have their own way of looking at things, and of expressing themselves. I, too, have mine. Also I have my own conclusions, and... I say Mr. Chestermark, said the earl, hastening to intervene in what seemed likely to develop into a passage at arms. We're forgetting the suggestion made just before this lady, Ms. Faustike, I think. Entered. Don't let's forget it. It's a good one. Ms. Faustike turned eagerly to the earl. What suggestion was it? she asked. Do tell me. I'm sure you agree with me. I can see you do. Thank you again. This gentleman, said the earl, pointing to Neil, who had retreated into a corner and was staring out of the window, suggests that Horbury may have met with an accident, you know, and may be lying helpless somewhere. I sincerely hope he isn't, but... Ms. Faustike jumped from her chair. She interned an indignant look on Gabriel, and let it go on to Joseph. You don't mean to tell me that you have not done anything to find my uncle, she exclaimed, with fiery emphasis. You've surely had some search made, surely. We knew nothing of his disappearance until ten o'clock this morning, replied Gabriel, half angrily. But since then, why you've had five hours, she said, has nothing been done? Haven't you even told the police? Certainly not, answered Gabriel. It is not our policy. Ms. Faustike made one step to the door and flung it open. Then I shall, she exclaimed, policy indeed. High time I came down here, I think. Thank you, Lord Ellerstine, and the other gentlemen, for the suggestion. Now I'll go and act on it, and when I act, Mr. Chestermark, I do it thoroughly. The next moment she had slammed the door, and Gabriel Chestermark glanced at his partner. Annoying, he said, a most unpleasant young woman. I should have preferred not to tell the police until, well, at any rate. Tomorrow. We really do not know to what extent we are. But then, what's the use of talking of that now? We can't prevent her going to the police station. Why, really, Mr. Chestermark, observe the earl. Don't you think it's the best thing to do? To tell you the truth, considering that I'm concerned, I was going to do the very same thing myself. Gabriel bowed stiffly. We could not have prevented your lordship, either, he said, with another wave of the white hands, which seemed to go so well with the habitual polar of his face. All that is within your lordship's jurisdiction, not in ours. But, especially since this young lady seems determined to do things in her way, I will tell your lordship why we are slow to move. It's a purely business reason. It was, as I said, ten o'clock when we heard that horbery was missing. That in itself is such a very strange and unusual thing that my partner and I at once began to examine the contents of our strong room. We have been so occupied five hours when your lordship called. Do you think we could examine everything in five hours? No, nor in ten, nor in twenty. Our task is not one quarter complete. And why we don't wish publicity at once in here? We hold a vast number of securities and valuables belonging to customers, title deeds, mortgages, all sorts of things. We have valuables deposited with us. Up till now we don't know what is safe and what isn't. We do know this. Certain securities of our own, easily convertible on the market, are gone. Now if we had allowed it to be known before, say, noon to day, that our manager had disappeared and these securities with him, what would have been the result? The bank would have been besieged. Before we let the public know, we ourselves want to know exactly where we are. We want to be in a position to say to Smith, your property is safe. To Jones, your deeds are here. Does your lordship see that? But now, of course, concluded Gabriel. As this Ms. Faustite can and will spread the news all over the town, why we must face things. The Earl, who had listened to all this with an evident desire to comprehend and to sympathize, nodded his head. I see. I see, Mr. Chestermark, he said. But I say. I've got another notion. I'm not a very quick thinker, and I dare say my idea came out of Mr. Neal's suggestion. Anyway, it's this. For whatever it's worth. I told you that we only got home night before last, early on Saturday evening, as a matter of fact. Now it was known in the town here that we'd returned, we drove through the marketplace. May it to be that Horbury saw us, or heard of our return, and that when he went out that evening he had the casket in his pocket and was on his way to Ellerstine to return it to me, and that, on his way, he met with some mishap, worth considering, you know. I dare say a great many theories might, and will, be raised, my lord, replied Gabriel. But does your lordship also think, or suggest, that Horbury also carried our missing securities in his pocket, as Joseph quietly, because we, at any rate, know they're gone? Oh well, said the Earl, I merely suggested it, you know. The country between here and Ellerstine is a bit rough and wild. There's Ellerstine Hollow, you know, a queer place on a dark night. And if a man took a shortcut, as many people do, through the Hollow, there are places he could fall into. But as I say, I merely suggest that as a reasonable theory. What does your lordship propose to do? asked Gabriel. I certainly think Inquiry should be set going, answered the Earl. Already done, remarked Joseph dryly. Miss Faustyke has been with the police five minutes. I mean, it should be done by us, said the Earl. Very well, said Gabriel suddenly. It shall be done then. No doubt your lordship would like to give the police your own story. Mr. Neal, will you go with Lord Ellerstine to Superintendent Polk? Your duty will be to give him the mere information that Mr. Horbury left his house at a quarter to eight on Saturday evening, and has not been heard of since. No more, Neal. And now, he concluded with a bow to the Earl. Your lordship will excuse my partner and myself if we return to a singularly unpleasant task. Lord Ellerstine and Neal left the bank house and walked toward the police station. They crossed the marketplace in silence. But as they turned the corner of the Moot Hall, the elder man spoke, touching his companion's shoulder with a confidential gesture. I don't believe a word of all that, Mr. Neal, he said. Not one word. Neal started, and glanced at the Earl's moody face. Your lordship doesn't believe—he began and checked himself. I don't believe that Horbury's done what those two accuse him of, affirmed the Earl. Not for one moment. I can't account for those missing securities they talk about. But I'll stake my honour that Horbury hasn't got him. Nor my wife's jewels, either. You heard and saw how astonished that girl was. By the way, who is she? Mr. Horbury's niece, Miss Faustike, from London, replied Neal. She spoke of her wealth, remarked the Earl. Yes, said Neal. She must be wealthy, too. She's the sole proprietor of Faustike's brewery. Ho, ho! laughed the Earl. That's it, eh? Faustike's entire. Of course. I've seen the name on no end of public houses in London. Proprietor, dear me. Why, I have some recollection that Faustike, of that brewery, was at one time a member of Parliament. Yes, assented Neal. He married Mr. Horbury's sister. Miss Faustike is their only child. Mr. Faustike died a few years ago, and she came into the property last year when she was twenty-one. Lucky young woman, muttered the Earl, find thing to own a big brewery. Hm, a very modern and up-to-date young lady, too. I liked the way she stood up to your principles. Of course, she'll have told Polk all the story by this time. As for ourselves, what had we better do? Neal had considered that question as he came along. There's only one thing to do, my lord, he announced. We want the solution of a problem. What became of Mr. Horbury last Saturday night? End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of the Chestermark Instinct. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 5. The Search Begins Polk, superintendent of the Skarnam police force, a little round, cheery-faced man, whose mutton-chop whiskers suggested much business-like capacity, and an equal amount of common sense, rose from his desk and bowed as the Earl of Ellerstine entered his office. I know what your lord chips come for, he said, with a twinkle in the eye which betokened infinite comprehension. The young lady's been here. End has no doubt told you everything, remarked the Earl, as he dropped into the chair which the superintendent drew forth. Has she? Pretty well, my lord, replied Polk with the chuckle. She is not one to let much grass grow under her feet, I think. Given you the facts, I suppose, asked the Earl. Polk motioned to kneel to seat himself and resumed his own seat. He put his fingers together over his desk and looked from one to the other of his visitors. I'll give the young lady this much credit, he said. She can tell one what she wants in about as few words as could possibly be used. Yes, my lord. She told me the facts in a couple of sentences. Her uncle disappeared. Nobody knows where he is. Suspected already of running away with your lordship's jewels and Chester Mark's securities. A very nice business indeed. What do you think of it? asked the Earl. As a policeman, nothing, so far, answered Polk with another twinkle, as a man that I don't believe it. Nor do I, said the Earl, that is, I don't believe that Horbury's appropriated anything. There's some mistake and some mystery. We can't get away from the fact that Mr. Horbury has disappeared, remarked Neal, looking at the superintendent. That's all I'm sent here to tell you, Mr. Polk. That's an accepted fact, agreed Polk, but he's not the first man who's disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Some men, as your lordship knows, disappear and reappear with good reasons for their absence. Some never reappear. Some men aren't wanted to reappear. When a man disappears and he's wanted, why, the first job is to find him. What does Ms. Faustike wish, asked the Earl, nodding assent to these philosophies? She would say, of course. Ms. Faustike's way, my lord, so far as I could gather from ten minutes talk with her, is to tell people what to do, answered Polk dryly. She doesn't ask, she commands. We're to find her uncle, quick, at once, no pains to be spared, money no object, a hundred pounds spot cash to the first man-woman child who brings her the least fragment of news of him. That's Ms. Faustike's method. It's not a bad one. It's only rich young ladies who can follow it. So I've already put things in train, hand-bills and posters, of course, and the town crier. I suggested to her that by tonight, or tomorrow morning, there might be news of Mr. Horbury without doing all that. No good. Ms. Faustike, she can tell you a lot inside a minute, informed me that since she was seventeen she had had only one motto in life. Yes, do it now. Good, laughed the Earl, but where are you to begin? That's the difficulty, agreed Polk. A gentleman walks out of his back garden into the dusk, and he's never seen again. I don't know. We must wait and see if anybody comes forward to say that he, she, or it, saw Mr. Horbury after he left his house on Saturday night. That's all. Somebody must have seen him, said the Earl. Well, you'd think so, my lord, replied Polk, but he could get away from the back of his orchard into the open country without being seen. The geographical position of our towns a bit curious, so your lordship knows. Here we are on a ridge. Horbury's garden and orchard run down to the foot of that ridge. At that foot is the river. There's a foot bridge over the river, immediately opposite his orchard gate. He could cross that foot bridge and be in the wood on the other side in two minutes from leaving his house. That wood extends for a good mile into the country. Oh yes, he could get away without being seen. And once in that country, why, he could make his own way to one or other of half a dozen small railway stations. We shall telephone to all of them. That's all in the routine. But then, that's all supposing that he left the town. Perhaps he didn't leave the town. The Earl started, and Neil looked quickly up from a brown study. Eh? said the Earl. Didn't leave the town? Speaking as a policeman answered Polk with a knowing smile. I don't know that he even left his house. I only know that his housekeeper says he did. That's a very different matter. For anything we know, absolutely know, Mr. Horbury may have been murdered in his own house and buried in his own cellar. You're not joking, said Neil. Or you are. Far from it, Mr. Neil, answered Polk. That may seem a very, very outrageous thing to say, but I assure you one never knows what may have happened in these cases. However, Mrs. Carswell says he did leave the house, so we must take her word to begin with and see if we can find out where he went. As your lordship is here, there's just a question or two I should like to have answered. How many people know that your lordship handed over those valuables to Mr. Horbury? So far as I know, no one but the Countess and myself, replied the Earl. I never mentioned the matter to anyone, and I don't think my wife would either. There was no need to mention it. Well, I don't know, remarked Polk. One's got to consider all sorts of little things in these affairs, or else I wouldn't ask another question. Does your lordship think it possible that the Countess mentioned it to her maid? The Earl started in his chair. Ah, he said, that may be. She may have done that, of course. I hadn't thought of it. Is the maid a trustworthy woman? inquired Polk. She's been in our service twelve or fourteen years, replied the Earl. We've always found her quite trustworthy, so much so that I've more than once sent her to my bankers with those very jewels. You took her with you to the Continent, of course, my lord? asked Polk. No, we didn't, replied the Earl. The fact is, we wanted to have, for once in our lives, a thoroughly unconventional holiday. You know that the Countess and I are both very fond of walking. Well, we had always had a great desire to have a walking tour, alone, in the Ardennes district, in early spring. We decided some time ago to have it this year, so when we set off, six weeks ago, we took no servants, and precious little luggage, and we enjoyed it all the more. Therefore, of course, my wife's maid was not with us. She remained at Ellersdine, with the rest of the servants. Polk seemed to ponder over this last statement. Then he rose from his chair. Hmm, he said. Well, I'm doing what I can. There's something your lordship might do. Yes, asked the Earl. What, now? It shall be done. Let some of your men take a look round your neighborhood, once at the superintendent. Gamekeepers now, they're the fellows. Just now we're having some grand moonlight nights. If your men would look around the country between here and Ellersdine now, and tell the farmers and the cottagers and so forth, and take a particular look round Ellersdine hollow, it would be a help. Excellent idea, Polk, said the Earl. I'll ride home and set things going at once, and you'll let me know if anything turns up here during the evening or night. He strode off to the door, and Neil followed. But on the threshold Neil was pulled up by the superintendent. Mr. Neil, said Polk, Neil turned to see his questioner looking at him with a rather quizzical expression. What precise message had you for me, asked Polk. Just what I said, replied Neil. I was merely to tell you that Mr. Horbury disappeared from his house on Saturday evening and has not been seen since. No further message, from your principles, suggested Polk. Nothing, said Neil. Polk nodded, and with a bow to the Earl sat down again to his desk. He took up a pen when the door had closed on his visitors, and for a while busied himself in writing. He was thus occupied when the telephone bell rang in the farthest corner of his room. He crossed over and laid hold of the receiver. Yes, he said quietly. Yes, this is Polk, superintendent, Skarnam. I rang you up twenty minutes since. I want you to send me, at once, the smartest man you have available, case's disappearance under mysterious circumstances, of a bank manager. Securities to a large amount are missing, valuables also. No expense will be spared here, money no object. You understand, a first-class man. Tonight? Yes. Good train from town five-twenty gets here nine-fifteen. He will catch that? Good. Tell him report here on arrival. All right. Goodbye. Polk rang off and went back to his desk. What new Scotland Yard calls a first-class is often what I should call a third-class, he muttered as he picked up his pen. However, we'll live in hope that something out of the usual will arrive. Now, what are those two Chester marks after? Why didn't one of them come here? What are they doing? And what's the mystery? James, Polk, my boy, here's a handful for you. If Polk had been able to look into Chester mark's bank just then, he would have failed to notice any particular evidences of mystery. It was nearly the usual hour for closing when Wallington Neill went back, and Gabriel Chester mark immediately told him to follow out of the ordinary routine. The clerks were to finish their work and go their ways, as if nothing had happened, and, as far as they could, they were to keep their tongues quiet. As for the partners, food was being sent over for them from the hotel. They would be obliged to remain at the bank for some time yet. But there was no need for Neill to stay. He could go when the day's balancing was done. You heard what instructions this must-foss-stike has given the police, I suppose, asked Gabriel, as Neill was leaving the parlor, raising the whole town, no doubt. Neill briefly narrated all he knew. The partners listened with the expression characteristic of each, and made no comment. And in half an hour Neill handed over the keys to Joseph Chestermark and went out into the hall, his labours over. That had been the most exciting day he had ever known in his life. Was what was left of it going to yield anything still more exciting? He stood in the outer hall, trying to make up his mind about something. He wanted to speak to Betty Faustike, to talk to her. She had evidently not recognised him when she came so suddenly into the dining-room at the bank-house. But why should she, he asked himself. They had only met once, when both were children, and she had no doubt forgotten his very existence. Still. He rang the housebell at last and asked for Mrs. Carswell. The housekeeper came hurrying to him, a look of expectancy on her face. Has anything been heard, Mr. Neill, she asked, or found out? Have the police been told yet? The police know, answered Neill, and nothing has been heard. Where's Miss Faustike, Mrs. Carswell? I should like to speak to her. Gone to the scardom arms, Mr. Neill, replied the housekeeper, said she wouldn't stop two seconds in a house that belonged to men who suspected her uncle, so she's gone across there to take rooms. Do the partners suspect Mr. Horbury of something, Mr. Neill? Neill shook his head and turned away. I can't tell you anything, Mrs. Carswell, he answered. If either Mr. Chestermark or Mr. Joseph wish to give you any information, they'll give it themselves. But I can say this on my own responsibility. If you know of anything, anything however small, that would account for Mr. Horbury's absence, out with it. But I don't. I know nothing but what I've told, said Mrs. Carswell. Literally nothing. Nobody knows anything, remarked Neill. That's the worst of it. Well, we shall see. He went away from the house and crossed the marketplace to the scardom arms. An old world inn which had suffered few alterations during the last two centuries. And there, inside its wide hall, superintending the removal of various articles of luggage which had just arrived from the station, and in conversation with a much-interested landlady, he found Betty Faustike. I may be here for weeks, and I shall certainly be here for days, that young lady was saying. Put all these things in the bedroom, and I'll have what I want taken into the sitting-room later. Now Mrs. Depledge, about my dinner. I'll have it in my sitting-room, and I'll have it early. I— At this moment Mrs. Faustike became aware of Neill's presence, and that this eminently good-looking young man was not only smiling at her, but was holding out a hand which he evidently expected to be taken. You've forgotten me, said Neill. Mrs. Faustike's cheeks flushed a little and she held out her hand. Is it—is it Wally Neill? she asked. But I saw you in the bank-house, and you didn't speak to me. You didn't speak to me. Retorted Neill, smiling. Didn't know you, she answered. Heavens, how you've grown, but— Come upstairs. Mrs. Depledge, dinner for two, mind, Mr. Neill will dine with me. Neill suffered his hostess to lead him upstairs to a private parlor, and when they were once within it, Mrs. Faustike shut the door and turned on him. Now, Wally Neill, she said, out with it. What is the meaning of all this infernal mystery, and where's my uncle? CHAPTER VI Neill dropped into a chair and lifted a despairing condonance to his downright questioner. I don't know, he said. I know. Nothing. That is, beyond what I've already been told, suggested the girl. Beyond what you've been told, exactly, replied Neill. I'm literally bewildered. I've been going about all day as if—as if I were dreaming, or having a nightmare, or something. I don't understand it at all. I saw Mr. Horbury, of course, on Saturday. He was all right when I left him at the bank. He said nothing that suggested anything unusual. The whole thing is—a real facer, to me, anyhow. Betty Faustike devoted a whole minute to taking a good look at her companion. Neill, on his part, made a somewhat shyer examination of her. He remembered her as a long-legged little girl who had no great promise of good looks. He was not quite sure that she had grown into good looks now. But she was an eminently bright and vivacious young woman, strong, healthy, vigorous, with fine eyes and teeth and hair, and a colour that betokened an intimate acquaintance with outdoor life. And already, in the conversation at the bank, an impolx report of his interview with him, he had learnt that she had developed certain characteristics which he faintly remembered in her as a child, when she had insisted on having her own way amongst other children. You've grown into quite a handsome young man, Wally. She observed suddenly with a frank laugh. I shouldn't have thought you would, somehow. Am I changed? I should say, not in character, answered Neill shyly. I remember you always wanted to be Top Dog. It's my fate, she said with a sigh. I've such a lot of people and things to look after. One has to be Top Dog, whether one wants to or not. But this affair, what's to be done? I understand from Polk that you've already done everything, replied Neill. I've given him orders to spare neither trouble nor expense, she asserted. He's to send for the very best detective they can give him from headquarters in London, and search is to be made. Because now, Wally, tell me truthfully. You don't believe for one moment that my uncle has run away with things? Not for a second, asserted Neill stoutly. Never did. Then there's foul play, exclaimed Betty, and I'll spin my last penny to get to the bottom of it. Here I am, and here I stick, until I've found my uncle, or discovered what's happened to him. And listen, do you think those two men across there are to be trusted? Neill shook his head as if in appeal to her. I'm their clerk, you know, he replied. I hate being there at all, but I am there. I believe they're men of absolute probity as regards business banners. Personally, I'm not very fond of either. Fond, she exclaimed. My dear boy, Joseph is a slimy sneak, and Gabriel is a bloodless sphinx. I hate both of them. Neill laughed and gave her a look of comprehension. You haven't changed, Betty, he said. I'm to call you Betty, though you're grown up. Since it's the only name I possess, I suppose you are, she answered. But now, what can we do, you and I? After all, we're the nearest people my uncle has in this town. Do let's do something. I'm not the sort to sit talking. I want action. Can you suggest something we can do? There's one thing, replied Neill, after a moment's thought. Lord Ellerstine suggested that possibly Mr. Horbury, hearing that Ellerstine had gone home on Saturday, put the jewels in his pocket and started out to Ellerstine with them. I know the exact path he'd have taken in that case, and I thought of following it this evening. One might come across something, or hear something, you know? Take me with you, as soon as we've had dinner, she said. It'll be a beginning. I mean to turn this neighborhood upside down for news. You'll see. Some person, or persons, must have seen my uncle on Saturday night. A man can't disappear like that. It's impossible. Mm, but men do disappear, remarked Neill. What I'm hoping for is that there'll eventually, and quickly, be some explanation of this disappearance, and that Mr. Horbury hasn't met with. Shall I put it plainly? You'd better put anything plainly to me, she answered. I don't understand other methods. It's possible he may have been murdered, you know, said Neill quietly. Betty got up from her chair and went over to the window to look out on the marketplace. She stood there for some time in silence. It shall be a bad job for any man who murdered him if that is so, she said at last. I was very fond of my uncle. So was I, said Neill. But I say, no past tenses yet. Aren't we a bit previous? He may be all right. Ring the bell and let's hurry up that dinner, she commanded. I didn't make it clear that we wanted it as early as possible. I want to get out and to see where he went. I want to do something active. But Miss Betty Faustike was obliged to adapt herself to the somewhat leisurely procedure of highly respectable country town hotels whose cooks will not be hurried, and it was already dusk and the moonlight was beginning to throw shadows of gable inspire over the old marketplace when she and Neill sit out on their walk. All the better, said Neill. This is just about the time that he went out on Saturday night and under very similar conditions. Now we'll take the precise path that he'd have taken if he was on his way to Ellerstine. He led his companion to a corner of the marketplace and down a narrow alley which terminated on an expanse of open ground at the side of the river. There he made her pause and look round. Now if we're going to do this thing properly, he said, just attend and take notice of what I point out. The town, as you see, stands on this ridge above us. Here we are at the foot of the gardens and orchards which sloped down from the banks of the houses on this side of the marketplace. There is the gate of the bankhouse orchard. According to Mrs. Carswell, Mr. Horbury came out of that gate on Saturday night. What did he do then? He could have turned to the left, along this river bank, or to the right, also along the river bank. But if he meant to walk out to Ellerstine, which he would reach in well under an hour, he would cross this footbridge and enter those woods. That's what we've got to do. He led his companion across to Narrow Bridge, over a strip of suede at the other side of the river, and into a grove of fur which presently deepened and thickened as it spread up a gently shelving hillside. The lights of the town behind them disappeared. The gloom increased. Presently they were alternately crossing patches of moonlight and plunging into expanses of blackness. And Betty, after stumbling over one or two of the half-exposed roots which lay across the rough path, slipped a hand into Neil's arm. You'll have to play guide, Wally, unless you wish me to break my neck, she laughed. My town eyes aren't accustomed to these depths of gloom and solitude. And now, she went on as Neil led her confidently forward through the wood. Let's talk some business. I want to know about those two, the Chestermarks, for I have an uneasy feeling that there's more in this affair than's on the surface, and I want to know all about the people I'm dealing with. Just remember, beyond the mere fact of their existence, and having seen them once or twice years ago, I don't know anything about them. What sort of men are they, as individuals? Queer, replied Neil. They're both queer. I don't know much about them. Nobody does. They're all right as businessmen, much respected in all that, you know. But as private individuals, they're decidedly odd. They're both old bachelors, at least Gabriel's an old one, and Joseph is a youngish one. They live sort of hermit lives as far as one can make out. Gabriel lives at the old house, which I'll show you when we get out of this wood. You'll see the roofs anyhow, in this moonlight. Joseph lives in another old house, but in the town, at the end of Corn Market. What they do with themselves at home, heaven knows. They don't go into such society as there is. They take no part in the town's affairs. There's a very good club here for men of their class, but they don't belong to it. You can't get either of them to attend the meeting. They keep aloof from everything. But they both go up to London a great deal. They're always going. But they never go together. When Gabriel's away, Joseph's at home. When Joseph's off, Gabriel's on show. There's always one Mr. Chestermark to be found at the bank. All the same, Mr. Horbury was the man who did all the business with customers in the ordinary way. So far as I know banking, concluded Neil, I should say he was trusted and confided in more than most bank managers are. Did they seem very much astonished when they found he'd gone, asked Betty. Did it seem a great shock? A real surprise? The cleverest man living couldn't tell what either Gabriel or Joseph Chestermark thinks about anything, answered Neil. You know what Gabriel's face is like, a stone image, and Joseph always looks as if he was sneering at you, a sort of soft, smiling sneer. No, I couldn't say they showed surprise. And I don't know what they found out. They're the closest, most reserved men about their own affairs that you could imagine. But they say some of their securities are missing, remarked Betty. They'll have to let the exact details be known, won't they? Depends on them, replied Neil. They'll only do what they like. And they don't love you for coming on the scene, I assure you. But I'm here, nevertheless, answered Betty, and here I stop. Wally, haven't you got even a bit of a theory about all this? Can't say that I have, confessed Neil woefully. I'm not a very brilliant hand at thinking. The only thing I can think of is that Mr. Horbury, knowing Lord Ellirsting had got home on Saturday, thought he'd hand back those jewels as soon as possible, and set off in the evening with that intention, possibly to be robbed and murdered on the way. Sounds horrible, but honestly I can't think of any other theory. Betty involuntarily shivered and glanced about her at the dark cavernous spaces of the wood, which had now thickened into dense masses of oak and beech. She took a firmer grip of Neil's arm. And he'd come through here, she exclaimed. How dangerous! With all those things in his pocket. Oh, but he'd think nothing of it, answered Neil. He was used to walking at night. He knew every yard of this neighborhood. Besides, he'd know very well that nobody would know what he had on him. What I'd like to know is, supposing my theory's right, and that he was taking those jewels to Ellirsting, how did anybody get to know that he had them? For the Chester marks didn't know they'd been given to him, and I didn't. Nobody at the bank knew. A sudden turn in the path brought them to the edge of the wood, and they emerged on a broad plateau of rough grass, from beneath which a wide expanse of landscapes stretched away, bathed just then in floods of moonlight. Neil paused and waved his stick toward the shadowy distances and over the low levels which lay between. Ellirsting hollow, he said. Betty paused, too, looking silently around. She saw an undulated, broken stretch of country, half heath, half covered, covering a square mile or so of land, houseless, solitary. In its midst rose a curiously shaped eminence or a promontory, at the highest point of which some ruin or other lifted gaunt, shapeless walls against the moonlit sky. Far down beneath it, in a depression amongst the heath-clad undulations, a fire glowed red in the gloom, and on the further side of this solitude, amidst groves and plantations, the moonlight shown on the roofs and gables of half-hidden houses. Over everything hung a deep silence. A wild and lonely scene, she said. Neil raced his stick again and began to point. All this in front of us is called Ellirsting hollow, he remarked. It's not just one depression, you see. It's a track of unenclosed land. It's dangerous to cross, except by the paths. It's honeycombed all over with disused minds. Some of the old shafts are a tremendous depth. All the same, you see. There's some tinker-chap or some gypsies camped out down there and got a fire. That old ruin, up on the crag there, is called Ellirsting tower. One of the Lord Ellirsting's ancestors built it for an observatory. This path will lead us right beneath it. Is this the path he would have taken if he'd gone to Ellirsting on Saturday night? Asked Betty. Precisely, straight ahead, past the tower, answered Neil. And there is Ellirsting itself, right away in the distance amongst the trees. There, where the moonlight catches it. Now let your eye follow that far line of wood over the tops of the trees about Ellirsting village. Do you see where the moonlight shines in another high roof? That's Gabriel Testermark's place, the Warren. So, he and Lord Ellirsting are neighbors, remarked Betty. Neighbors at a distance of a mile. And who do know more than nod to each other? answered Neil. Lord Ellirsting and Mr. Horbury were what you might call friends, but I don't believe his lordship ever spoke ten words with either of the Chestermarks until this morning. I tell you the Chestermarks are regular hermits. When they're at home or about Skarnam anyhow. Now let's go as far as the tower. You can see all over the country from that point. Betty followed her guide on a narrow path which led in and out through the undulations of the Hollow until it reached the foot of the promontory on which stood the old ruin that made such a prominent landmark. Seeing at close quarters Ellirsting Tower was a place of much greater size and proportion than it had appeared from the edge of the wood, and the path to its base was steep and rocky. And here the loneliness in which she and Neil had so far walked came to an end. On the edge of the promontory, outlined against the moonlit sky, two men stood, talking in low tones. End of Chapter Six Chapter Seven of the Chestermark Instinct. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter Seven, The Travelling Tinker. Neil's eye caught the gleam of silver braid on the clothing of one of the two men, and he hastened his steps a little as he and Betty emerged on the level ground at the top of the steep path. That's a policeman, he said. It'll be the constable from Ellirsting. The other man looks like a gamekeeper. Let's see if they've heard anything. The two figures turned at the sound of footsteps, and came slowly in Neil's direction. Both recognized him and touched their hats. I suppose you're looking round in search of anything about Mr. Horbury, suggested Neil. Heard any news, or found any trace? Well, were what you might call taking preliminary observation, Mr. Neil, answered the policeman. His lordships sent men out all over the neighborhood. No, we've heard nothing, nor seen anything, either, but then there's not much chance of hearing anything hereabouts. The others have gone round asking at houses and such like, to find out if he was seen to pass anywhere. Of course, his lordship was figuring on the chance that Mr. Horbury might have had a fit or something of that sort, and fallen somewhere along this path between the town and Ellirsting house. It's not much followed this path, but we've seen nothing up to now. Neil turned to the gamekeeper. Were none of your people about here on Saturday night, he asked. You've a good many watchers on the estate, haven't you? Yes, sir, a dozen or more, answered the keeper. But we don't come this way. This isn't our land. Our beat lies the other way, to the side of the village. We never come on to this part at all. This you know, Mr. Neil, remarked the policeman jerking his thumb over the hollow. This, in a manner of speaking, belongs to nobody. Some say it belongs to the crown, I don't know. All I know is that nobody has any rights over it. It's been what you might term common land ever since anybody can remember. This here, Mr. Horbury, that's missing. Your governor, sir. I once met him out here and had a bit of a talk with him, and he told me that it isn't even known who worked them old lead minds down there, nor who has any rights over all this waste. That, of course, concluded the policeman, pointing to the glowing fire which Neil and Betty had seen from the edge of the wood. That's why chaps like yonder man come and camp here just as they like. There's nobody to stop them. Who is the man? asked Neil, glancing at the fire, whose flames made a red spot amongst the bushes. Most likely a traveling tinker chap, sir, that comes this way now and again, answered the policeman. Name of Creasy. Tinner Creasy the folks call him. He's come here for many a year at odd times. Camps out with his pony and cart and goes around the villages and farmsteads, seeing if there's ought to mend and selling him pots and pans and such like. Stops a week or two, sometimes longer. And poaches all he can lay hands on, added the gamekeeper. Only he takes good care never to go off this hollow to do it. Have you made any inquiry of him? asked Neil. We were just thinking of doing that, sir, replied the policeman. He roams up and down about here at nights, when he is here. But I don't know how long he's been camping this time. It's very seldom I ever come round this way myself. There's not to come for. Let's go across there and speak to him, said Neil. He and Betty followed the two men down the side of the promontory and across the ups and downs of the hollow until they came to a deeper depression, fringed about by a natural palisading of Hawthorne. And as they drew near and could see into the dingle-like recess which the tinker had selected for his camping-ground, they became aware of a savoury and appetizing odor and the gamekeeper laughed. Cooking his supper is tin or greasy, he remarked, and good stuff he has in his pot, too. The tinker, now in full view, sat on a log near a tripod, beneath which crackled a bright fire, burning under a black pot. The leaping flames revealed a shrewd, weather-beaten face which turned sharply towards the bushes as the visitors appeared. They also lighted upon the tinker's cart in the background, the browsing pony close by, the implements of the tinner's trades droon around on the grass. It wasn't a luring picture of vagabond life, and Neil suddenly compared it with the dull existence of folk who, like himself, were chained to a desk. He would have liked to sit down by tinner greasy and ask him about his doings, but the policemen had less poetical ideas. Hello, tinner! he said with easy familiarity. Here again what? I thought we should be seeing your fire some night this spring. Then here long? The tinker, who had remained seated on his log until he saw that a lady was of the party, rose and touched the edge of his fur cap to Betty in a way which indicated that his politeness was entirely for her. Since yesterday, he answered laconically. Only since yesterday, exclaimed the policemen, ah, that's a pity now. You wasn't here Saturday night, then. The tinker turned a quizzical eye on the four inquiring faces. How would I be here Saturday night when I only came yesterday, he retorted. You're the sort of chap that wants two answers to one question. What about Saturday night? The policemen took off his helmet and rubbed the top of his head as if to encourage his faculties. Nay, he said, there's a gentleman missing from Skarnam Yonder, and it's thought he came out this way after dark, Saturday night, and something happened. But, of course, if he wasn't in these parts then. I wasn't, nor within ten miles of him, said Creasy. Who is the gentleman? Mr. Horbury, the bank manager, answered the policemen. I know Mr. Horbury, remarked Creasy with a glance at Neil and Betty. I've talked to him a hundred and one times on this waste, so it's him, is it? Well, there's one thing you can be certain about. What? asked Betty equally. Mr. Horbury wouldn't have been ought by accident to hear abouts, answered the tinker significantly. He knew every inch of this hollow. Some folks now might take a header into one of them old led-binds. He wouldn't. He could have gone blindfold over this spot. Well, he's disappeared, observed the policemen. There's a search being made all around. You heard not last night, I suppose. Creasy gave Neil and Betty a look. Heard plenty of owls and night-jars and such like, he answered, and foxes and weasels and stoats and beetles creeping in the grass. Not human. The policemen resumed his helmet and sniffed audibly. He and the keeper moved away and talked together. Then the policemen turned to Neil. Well, we'll be going back to the village, sir, he said. If so be as you see our super, Mr. Neil, you might mention that we're out and about. He and his companion went off by a different path. At the top of the rise in the ground the policemen turned again. Tinner, he called. Hello? answered Creasy. If you should hear or find ought, said the policemen, come to me, you know. All right, assented Creasy. He picked up some wood and replenished his fire, and glancing at Neil and Betty who still lingered, he let fall a muttered whisper under his breath. Bied a bit, till those chaps have gone, he said. I have a word or two. He walked away to his cart after this mysterious communication. Dived under its tilt, evidently felt for and found something, and came back, glancing over his shoulder to see that the keeper and policemen had gone their ways. I never tell chaps of that sort anything, Mr., he said, giving Neil a sly wink. Them of my turn of life look on all gamekeepers and policemen as their natural enemies. They'd both of them term me out of this if they could. Only they know they can't. For some reason or other, Ellers Dean Hollow is no man's land, and therefore mine. And so I wasn't going to say anything to them, not me. Then there is something you can say, said Neil. You were here on Saturday, exclaimed Betty. You know something. No, miss, I wasn't here Saturday, answered the tinker, and I don't know anything about what Jan Mann asked anyway. I told him the truth about all that. But you say Mr. Horbury's missing, and that he's considered to have come this way on Saturday night, so do either of you know that? He drew his right hand from behind him, and in the glare of the firelight showed them lying across its palm, a briar tobacco pipe, silver-mounted. I found that last night, gathering dry sticks, he said. Its letters engraved on the silver band, J.H. from B.F. J.H. now. Does that mean Jan Horbury? You see, I know his Christian name. Betty uttered a sharp exclamation and took the pipe in her hand. She turned to Neil with a look of sudden fear. It's the pipe I gave my uncle last Christmas, she said. Of course I know it. Where did you find it? She went on turning to Creasy. Do tell us. Do show us. Foot of the crag there, miss, right beneath the old tower, answered Creasy. And it's just as I found it. I'll give it to you, sir, to take to Superintendent Polk and Skarnam. He knows me. But just let me point something out. I ain't a detective. But in my eight and forty years I've had to keep my wit sharpened and my eyes open. Point out to Polk and notice yourself, that whenever that pipe was dropped it was being smoked. The tobacco's caked at the surface, just as it would be if the pipe had been laid down at the very time the tobacco was burning well. If you're a smoker you'll know what I mean. That's one thing. The other is, just observe that the silver band is quite bright and fresh, and that there are no stains on the briar wood. What's that indicate, young lady and young gentleman? Why, that pipe hadn't been laying so very long when I found it. Not above a day I'll warrant. That's very clever of you. Very observant, exclaimed Betty. But won't you show us the exact place where you picked it up? Creasy cast a glance at his cooking-pot, stepped to it and slightly tilted the lid. Then he signed for them to go back towards the tower by the path by which they had come. Don't want my supper to boil over or to burn, he remarked. It's the only decent meal I get in the day, you see miss. But it won't take a minute to show you where I found the pipe. Now, what's the idea, sir, he went on turning to Neil, about Mr. Horbury's disappearance. Is it known that he came out here Saturday night? Not definitely, replied Neil. But it's believed he did. He was seen to set off in this direction, and there's a probability that he crossed over here on his way to Ellerstine. But he's never been seen since he left Skarnam. Well, observed Creasy, as I said just now, he wouldn't happen anything by accident in an ordinary way. Was there any reason why anybody should set on him? There may have been, replied Neil. He wouldn't be likely to have ought valuable on him, surely, that time of night, said the tinker. He may have had, admitted Neil. I can't tell you more. Creasy asked no farther question. He led the way to the foot of the promontory, at a point where a mass of rock rose sheer out of the hollow to the plateau crowned by the ruinous tower. Here is where I picked up the pipe, he said, lying amongst this rubbish, stones and dry wood. You see? I just caught the gleam of the silver band. Now, what should Mr. Horbury be doing here? The path, you see, is a good thirty yards off, but he may have fallen over, or been thrown over, and it's a sixty foot drop from top to bottom. Neil and Betty looked up at the face of the rocks and said nothing, and Creasy presently went on, speaking in a low voice. If he met with foul play, if, for instance, he was thrown over here in a struggle, or if, taking a look from the top there, he got too near the edge and something gave way, he said. There's about as good means of getting rid of a dead man in this Ehlers-deen hollow as in any place in England, that's a fact. You mean the lead mines, Mermyn Neil? Right, sir. Do you know how many of these old workings there is, asked Creasy? There's between fifty and sixty within a square mile of this tower. Some spenced in, most isn't. Some of their mouths are grown over with bramble and bracken, and all of them are of tremendous depth. A man could be thrown down one of those mines, sir, and it'd be a long job finding his body. But all that's very frightening to the lady, and we'll hope nothing of it happen. Still. It has to be faced, said Betty. Listen. I'm Mr. Horbury's niece, and I'm offering a reward for news of him. Will you keep your eyes and ears open while you're in this neighborhood? The tinker promised that he would do his best, and presently he went back to his fire, while Neil and Betty turned away towards the town. Neither spoke until they were halfway through the wood. Then Betty uttered her fears in a question. Do you think the finding of that pipe shows he was... There, she asked. I'm sure of it, replied Neil. I wish I wasn't, but... I saw him with this pipe on his lips at two o'clock on Saturday. I recognized it at once. Let's hurry on and see the police, said Betty. We know something now, at any rate. Polk, they were told at the police station, was in his private house close by. A police constable conducted them thither, and presently they were shown into the superintendent's dining-room, where Polk, hospitably intent, was mixing a drink for a stranger. The stranger, evidently just in from a journey, rose and bowed, and Polk waved his hand at him with a smile, as he looked at the two young people. Here's your man, miss, said Polk cheerily. Allow me. Detective Sergeant Starmage of the Criminal Investigation Department. He knew Detective Sergeant Starmage well enough by name and reputation. He was the man who had unraveled the mysteries of the Primrose Hill murder, a particularly exciting and underground affair. It was he who had been intimately associated with the bringing to justice of the Camden Town Gang, a group of daring and successful criminals which had baffled the London police for two years. Neil had read all about Starmage's activities in both cases, and of the hair-breath escape he had gone through in connection with the Second, and he had formed an idea of him, which he now saw to be a totally erroneous one. For Starmage did not look at all like a detective, in Neil's opinion. Instead of being elderly, and sinister, and close of eye and mouth, he was a somewhat shy-looking, open-faced, fresh- colored young man, still under thirty, modest of demeanor, given to smiling, who might from his general appearance have been, say, a professional cricketer, or a young commercial traveller, or anything but an expert criminal-catcher. Only just got here, and a bit tired miss, continued Polk, waving his hand again at the detective, so I'm just giving him a refresher to liven his brains up. He'll want them before we're done. Betty took the chair which Polk offered her, and looked at the stranger with interest. She knew nothing about Starmage, and she thought him quite different to any preconceived notion which he had ever had of men of his calling. I hope you will be able to help us, she said politely, as Starmage, murmuring something about his best respects to his host, took a whiskey and soda from Polk's hand. Do you think you will, and has Mr. Polk told you all about it? Given him a mere outline, miss, remarked Polk, I'll prime him before he goes to bed. Yes, he knows the main facts. And what do you propose to do? First, demanded Betty. Starmage smiled and set down his glass. Why first, he answered? First I think I should like to see a photograph of Mr. Horbury. Polk moved to a bureau in the corner of his dining-room. I can fit you up, he said. I have a portrait here that Mr. Horbury gave me not so long ago. There you are. He produced a cabinet photograph and handed it to Starmage, who looked at it and laid it down on the table without comment. I suppose it conveys nothing to you, asked Betty. Well, replied Starmage with another smile. If a man's missing, one naturally wants to know what he's like. And if there's any advertising of him to be done, by poster, I mean, it ought to have a recent portrait of him. To be sure, agreed Polk. So far as I understand matters, continued Starmage. This gentleman left his house on Saturday evening, hasn't been seen since, and there's an idea that he probably walked across country to a place called Ellerstine. But up till now there's no proof that he did. I think that's all, Mr. Polk? All, assented Polk. No, said Neil. Ms. Faustig and I have brought you some news. Mr. Horbury must have crossed Ellerstine Hollow on Saturday night. Look at this, and I'll tell you all about it. The superintendent and the detective listened silently to Neil's account of the meeting with Creasy, and Betty, watching Starmage's face, saw that he was quietly taking in all the points of importance. Is this tin man to be depended upon? he asked, when Neil had finished. Is he known? I know him, answered Polk. He's come to this neighborhood for many years. Yes, and honest chap enough. Bit given to poaching, no doubt, but straight enough in all other ways, no complaint of him that I ever heard of, I should believe all that he says about this. Then, as that's undoubtedly Mr. Horbury's pipe, and as this gentleman saw him smoking it at two o'clock on Saturday, and as Creasy picked it up underneath Ellerstine Tower on Sunday evening, said Starmage, there seems to be no doubt that Mr. Horbury went that way, and dropped it where it was found, but I can't think he was carrying Lord Ellerstine's jewels home. Why, as Neil? Is it likely, suggested Starmage, one's got, always, to consider probability. Is it probable that a bank manager would put a hundred thousand pounds worth of jewels in his pocket, and walk across a lonely stretch of land at that time of night, just to hand them over to their owner? I think not, especially as he hadn't been asked to do it. I think that if Mr. Horbury had been in a hurry to deliver up those jewels, he'd have driven out to Lord Ellerstine's place. Good, muttered Polk, that's the more probable thing. Where are the jewels then? asked Neil. Starmage glanced at Polk with one expression, and Betty and Neil with another. They haven't been searched for yet, have they? He asked quietly. They may be—somewhere about, you know. You mean to search for them? exclaimed Betty. I don't know what I intend to do, replied Starmage, smiling. I haven't even thought. I shall have thought a lot by mourning. But the country's being searched, isn't it, for news of Mr. Horbury? Perhaps we'll hear something. It's a difficult thing for a well-known man to get clear away from a little place like this. No. What I'd like to know—what I want to satisfy myself about—is, did Mr. Horbury go away at all? Is there really anything missing from the bank? Are those jewels really missing? You see, concluded Starmage, looking round his circle of listeners, there's an awful lot to take into account. At that moment Polk's domestic servant tapped at the door and put her head inside the room. If you please, Mr. Polk, there's Mrs. Pratt from the station hotel, would like a word with you, she said. The superintendent hurried from the room to return at once with a stout, middle-aged woman who, as she entered, raised her veil and glanced, half suspiciously, at Polk's other visitors. All friends here, Mrs. Pratt, said the superintendent reassuringly. You know young Mr. Neo well enough. This lady is Mr. Horbury's niece, anxious to find him. That gentleman's a friend of mine. You can say ought you like before him. Well, ma'am, you think you can tell me something about this affair? What might it be now? Mrs. Pratt, taking the chair in which Starmage placed for her at the end of the table, nodded a general greeting to the company and lifting her veil and untying her bonnet strings, revealed a good-natured continence. Well, Mr. Polk, she said, turning to the superintendent, taking your word for it that we're all friends, me being pretty sure, all the same, that this gentleman's one of your own profession, which I don't object to, I'll tell you what it is I've come up for, special as it were, and me not waiting until after closing time to do it. But that town crier's been down our way, and hearing him making his call between our house and the station, and learning what it was all about, thinks I to myself, I best go up and see the Super and tell him what I know. And, concluded Mrs. Pratt, beaming around her, here I am. I, and what do you know, ma'am, asked Polk, something, of course. Or I shouldn't be here, agreed Mrs. Pratt, smoothing out a fold of her gown. Well, Saturday afternoon, the time being not so many minutes after 5.30 got in, and therefore you might say, at the outside twenty minutes to six, a strange gentleman walked across from the station to our hotel, which is, as you are all well aware, exactly opposite. I happened to be in the bar parlor window at the time, and I saw him crossing, saw likewise, from the way he looked about him, and up and down the town above us, that he'd never been in Skarnam before, and happen I'd best tell you what he was like, while the recollections fresh in my mind. A little gentleman he was, very well dressed in what you might call the professional style, dark clothes and so forth, and a silk top hat. I should say about fifty years of age, with a fresh complexion, and a bigish gray mustache, and a nicely rolled umbrella. Quite the little swell he was. He made for our door, and I went to the bar window to attend to him. He wanted to know if he could get some food, and I said of course he could. We'd some uncommon nice chops in the house. So he ordered three chops and settlers, and then asked if we'd a telephone in the house, and could he use it. And, of course, I told him we had, and showed him where it was. After which he wanted a local directory, and I gave him Skamen's guide. He turned that over a bit, and then, when he'd found what he wanted, he went to our telephone box, which, as you are well aware, Mr. Polk, is in our front hall, and into it he popped. Mrs. Pratt paused a moment and gave her listeners a knowing look, as if she was now about to narrate the most important part of her story. But what you made to be aware of, Mr. Polk, she continued, is that our telephone box, which has glass panels in its upper parts, has, at this present time, one of those panels broken, our pot man did it, carrying a plank through the hall, so that anyone passing too in fro, as it were, when anybody's using the telephone, can't help hearing a word or two of what's being said inside. Now, of course, I was passing in and out, giving orders for this gentleman's chops when he was in the box, and I heard a bit of what he said, though I didn't naturally hear ought of what was said to him, nor by who, but it's in consequence of what I did here, and of what Tolson, the town crier, has been shouting down our way to-night that I came up here to see you. Much obliged to you, Mrs. Pratt, said Polk, very glad to hear anything that may have to do with Mr. Horbury's disappearance. Now, what did you hear? What I heard, replied the landlady, was this here, disjointed as you would term it. First of all, I hear the gentleman ask for town twenty-three. Now, of course, you know whose number that there is, Mr. Polk. Chester Marks Bank, said Neil, turning to Betty. Chester Marks Bank it is, sir, assented Mrs. Pratt, which you know very well, as also I do, having oft called it up. Very well, I didn't hear no more just then, me going into the dining-room to see that our maid laid the table proper. But when I was going back to the bar, I heard more. Along the river side, says the gentleman, straight on from where I am, all right. Then after a minute, at seven-thirty then, he says, all right, I'll meet you. And after that he rings off, and he went into the dining-room, and in due course he had his chops, and some tart and cheese, and a pint of our bitter ale, and took his time. And perhaps about a quarter past seven he came to the bar and paid, and he took a drop of Scotch whiskey, after which he says, it's very possible, landlady, that I may have to stop in town all the night. Have you a nice room that you can let me? Certainly, sir, says I, we very good rooms and bathrooms in every convenience. Shall I show you one? No, says he. This seems a good house, and I'll take your word for it. Keep your best room for me then. And after that he lighted a cigar and went out, saying he be back later. And he crossed the road and went down on the river bank, and walked slowly along towards the bottom of the town. And Mr. Polk and company, concluded Mrs. Pratt, solemnly turning from one listener to another. That was the last I saw of him, for he never came back. Never came back, echoed Polk. Not even the ghost of him, said Mrs. Pratt. I waited up myself till twelve, and then I decided that he changed his mind, and was stopping with somebody he knew, which person, Mr. Polk, I took to be Mr. Horbury. Why? Because he'd rung up Chester Mark's bank. And who should he want at Chester Mark's bank at six o'clock of a Saturday evening, but Mr. Horbury? There wouldn't be nobody else there, as Mr. Neal will agree. You never heard of this gentleman being in the town on Sunday, or to-day, asked Polk. Not a word, replied Mrs. Pratt, and never saw him go to the station, neither, to leave the town. Now, as you know, Mr. Polk, we've only two trains go away from here on Sundays, and there's only four on any weekday, us being not but a branch line. And as our bar parlor window is exactly opposite the station, I see everybody that goes and comes. I always was one for looking out of the window. And I'm sure that little gentleman didn't go away neither yesterday nor today. And that's all I know, concluded Mrs. Pratt Rising. And if it's any use to you, you're welcome, and hopeful I am that your poor uncle will be found, Miss, for a nicer gentleman I could never wish to meet. Mrs. Pratt departed amidst expressions of gratitude and police admonitions to keep her news to herself for a while, and Betty and Neal turned eagerly to the famous detective. But Starmage appeared to have entered upon a period of silence and made no further observation than that he would wade upon Miss Faustike in the morning, and presently the two young people followed Mrs. Pratt into the street and turned into the marketplace. The last of the evening revelers were just coming out of the closing taverns, and to a group of them, Tolson, the town crier, was dismally calling forth his announcement that one hundred pounds reward would be paid to any person who first gave news of having seen Mr. John Horbury on the previous Saturday evening or since. The clanging of his bell and the strident notes of his cracked voice sounded in the distance as Betty said good night to Neal and turned sadly into the scarnomarms.