 CHAPTER XXIII The aggrieved victim If Mr. Leopold Castlemane's last word was expressive, his next actions were suggestive and significant. Returning to the door of the inner room, he turned the key in it, crossing to the door by which the detectives had been shown in. He locked that also. Proceeding to a cupboard in an adjacent recess, he performed an unlocking process, after which he produced a decanter, a siphon, three glasses, and a box of cigars. He silently placed these luxuries on a desk before his visitors, and hospitably invited their attention. Yes, he said presently, proceeding to help the two men to refreshment and pressing the cigars upon them. I have good reason to say that, gentlemen. Good would mark him, indeed. I ought to know him. If I don't look out, that devil of a blood-sucker is going to ruin me. He is, so. Isleby gave Starmage an almost imperceptible wink as he lighted a cigar. It was evident that Mr. Leopold Castlemane was not only willing to talk, but was uncommonly glad to have somebody to talk to. Indeed, his moody continents began to clear as his tongue became unloosed. He was obviously at that stage when a man is thankful to give confidences to any fellow creature. I've done business with gentlemen of your profession before, he went on, nodding to his visitors over the rim of his tumbler, and I know you're to be trusted. Naturally, you'll hear a good many queer things and queer secrets in your line of life. As you come to me in confidence, I'll tell you a thing or two, in confidence. It may help you if you're certain that the man you're wanting is the man who came here last night. Do you want him? We may do, replied Isleby. We don't know yet. Mr. Starmage here is much disposed to think that we shall, but let's be clear, sir. Were all three agreed that we're talking about the same man? Starmage has accurately described a certain man who, without a doubt, entered your stage door about eleven-thirty last night, and left with me by the box-office door in the front street a few minutes later, murmured the lessy. That's how it was. Just so, agreed Isleby. Now, Starmage, up to now, has only known that man as Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, senior partner in Chestermark's bank at Skarnam, while you, up till now, have only known him as Goodwin Markham, moneylender, financial agent, and so on, of Conduit Street, interrupted Kesselman, and known him a lot too much for my peace, I can tell you. Of course we're talking about the same man. I can quite believe he runs a double show. I know that he's a great deal away from town. It's very rarely that he's to be found at Conduit Street. Very, very rarely indeed. He's a clever manager there, who sees everybody and does everything. And I know that he's quite two-thirds of his time away from his own house. So, of course, he's got to put it in somewhere else. His own house, said Starmage, catching at an idea which presented himself. You know where he lives in London, then, Mr. Kesselmane? Do I know where my own mother lives? exclaimed the lessy. I should think I do. He's a neighbor of mine. Lives close by me, up Primrose Hillway. Nice little bachelor establishment he has. Oakfield Villa. Spent many an evening there with him. Sunday evenings, of course. Oh, yes, I know all about him, as Goodwin Markham. Bless me. So he's a country banker, is he? And mixed up in this affair, eh? Gosh, I hope you'll find out that he murdered his manager, and that you'll be able to hang him. I'd treat the town to a free show if you could hang him in public on my stage. I would indeed. They were going to tell us something, sir, suggested Easelby, something that you thought might help us. I hope it will help you, and me, too, respond to Kesselmane, who is obviously incensed and truculent. Pond my honour, when I got your cards, I wondered if I'd been sleepwalking last night, and had gone and done for this man. I really did. It was all I could do to keep from punching his nose last night in the open street, and I left him feeling very bad indeed. It's this way. I dare say you know that men like me, in this business, want a bit of financing when we start. All right? We do, like most other people. Now, when I thought of taking up the lease of this spot a few years ago, I wanted money. I knew this man Markham is a neighbour, and I mentioned the matter to him not knowing then that he was the Markham of Conduit Street. He let me know who he was then, and he offered to do things privately. No need to go to his office, do you see? And he found me a necessary capital. And I dare say I signed papers without thoroughly understanding him, and of course, when you get into the hands of a fellow like that, it's like putting your foot on a piece of butter in the street. You're down before you know what's happened. But I ain't down yet, my boys, concluded Mr. Kesselmane, drinking off the contents of his glass and replenishing it. And dammy if I'm gonna be, without a bit of fight for it, that I ain't. Putting some pressure on you, I suppose, sir, suggested Ellersby, who knew that their host would tell anything and everything if left to himself. Once his pound of flesh, no doubt. This Shakespearean illusion appeared to be lost on the lessee, but he evidently understood what pressure meant. Pressure, he exclaimed. Yeah, there's nothing would suit that fellow better than to have one of his victims under one of these steam-hammers that they have nowadays, and to bring it down on him till he'd crushed the very last drop of blood out of his toes. Pressure, I'll tell you. This place didn't do well at first. Everybody in town, in our line anyway, knows that. But even in these days I paid him his interest regular, down on the nail-mind, as prompt as the date came round. But now things are different. I'm doing well. In a bit I could pay my gentleman off, though not just yet. But there's big money ahead. This house is caught on, got a reputation, become popular. And now what do you think my lord wants? What's he screwing me for? Turns out that in one of those confidential papers I signed, there's a clause that if I didn't repay him by a certain date I should surrender my lease to him. I no doubt signed it, not quite understanding. But dammy if he didn't keep it dark till the date was expired. And now, when I've worked things up, not only as Lessee, mind you, but as manager, to success and thick prospects, hanged if he doesn't want to color my lease with all its fine possibilities, and put me into work for him at a bloomin' salary. Dear me, sir, exclaimed he shall be. Now, what might that exactly mean? We're not up in these matters, you know. Mean, vociferated the Lessee. It had mean this. I've paid that man as much in interest as the original loan was. He now wants my lease, all my interest, and my chances of reward. This lease is worth many a thousand a year now. If I surrender my lease peaceably, without fuss you understand, he'll wipe off my original debt to him and give me a bloomin' salary of twenty-five quid a week. Me, gosh, he ought to be burnt alive. And if you don't, asked Starmage deeply interested by this sidelight on financial dealings, what then? Then he relies on his damned paper and my signature to it and turns me out, replied the aggrieved one. Thievery, that's what I call it. That's his bloomin' ultimatum. Came last night to tell me. I hope you'll catch him and hang him. The two detectives had long since realized that Mr. Leopold Castlemane's interest in the banker, Moneylender, was a purely personal one, based on his own unlucky dealings with him. But they wished for something outside that interest and Starmage, after a word or two of condolence and another of advice to go to a shrewd and smart solicitor, asked a plain question. You say you've been on terms of, shall we call it, neighborly intimacy, with this man, he remarked. Have you ever met his nephew? The less he made a face expressive of deep scorn. Nephew, he exclaimed. Yeah. Do you think a fellow like that had had a nephew? I don't believe he's any relations that's flesh and blood. I don't believe he ever had a mother. I believe he's one of these ghouls you read about in the storybooks. What's he look like? A bloodsucker? That's what he is. Starmage gave his host an accurate description of Joseph Chestermark. Did you ever see a man like that at this Markham's house, he asked? Never, answered the less he. Or at his office, persisted Starmage. No, don't know such a man. I've only been to the office in Conduit Street a few times, said Castlemane. The chap you see there is a fellow called Stip, Mr. James Stip, a nice, smooth tongue mealy-mouth chap, you know. I say, do you think you'll be able to fasten anything on Markham, or Chestermark, or whatever his name is? These'll be responded jocularly that they certainly wouldn't if they sat there, and after solemnly assuring Mr. Leopold Castlemane that his confidence would be severely respected, he and Starmage went away. Once outside they walked for a while in silence, each reflecting on what he had just heard. Well, remarked Starmage at last. We're certain on one point now, anyway. Goodwin Markham, moneylender of Conduit Street, is the same person as Gabriel Chestermark, banker of Skarnam. That's flat. And now that we've got to know that much, how much near am I to finding out the real thing that I'm after? Which is—exactly what, asked Isleby. I was called in, said Starmage, to find out the secret of John Horbury's disappearance. It isn't my business to interfere with Gabriel Chestermark or Goodwin Markham in his moneylending affairs, or to trace Lord Ellers Dean's missing jewels. My job is to find John Horbury or to get to know what happened to him. And all this helps, answered Isleby. Haven't you got anything? Don't know that I have, admitted Starmage. Just now, anyway. I've had a dozen ideas, but they're a bit mixed at present. Have you, after what we've found out? What sort of banking business is it that Chestermark's carry on down there at Skarnam? asked Isleby. I suppose you'd get a general idea. Usual thing in a small country town, replied Starmage. Highly respectable, county family business, I should say, from what I saw and heard. All the squires and the parson and the farmers and the better sort of tradesmen go to him, I suppose, suggested Isleby. And all the nice old ladies and that sort. An extra-respectable connection, eh? Just as I say, regular country town business, said Starmage half impatiently. Hmm, remarked Isleby. Now, if you were a highly respectable country town banker, with a connection of that sort amongst the very proper people, and if it so happened that you were living a double life and running a money-lending business in London, do you think you'd want your banking customers to know what you were after when you weren't banking? What do you think you'd do? asked Starmage. I'm not quite sure, replied Isleby, with candor. But I think I shall get there all the same. Now, didn't you say that from all the accounts supplied to you, this Mr. John Horsberry was an eminently proper sort of person? Farewell. Supposing it suddenly came to his knowledge that his employer, or employers, for I expect both Chestermarks are inedit, were notorious money lenders in London, and that they carried on the secret business in the greedy and grasping fashion. What do you suppose he'd do, especially if he was, as you say Horsberry was, a man of considerable means? What do you think he'd do? asked Starmage. I think it's quite on the cards that he'd chuck his job there and then, said Isleby, and not only that, but that he'd probably threaten exposure. Men of a very severe type of commercial religion would, my lad. I know him. You're suggesting what? inquired the younger detective. I'm suggesting that on the night of Hollis's visit to Skarnam, Horsberry, through Hollis, became acquainted with the Chestermark secret, replied Isleby, and that he let the Chestermarks know it, and in that case, what would happen? Starmage walked slowly at his companion's side, thinking, he was trying to fit together a great many things. He felt as a child feels who was presented with a puzzle in many pieces and told to put them together. I know what you're after, he said suddenly. You think the Chestermark's murdered Horsberry. If you want it plain and straight, replied Isleby, I do. There's the other man, Hollis, suggested Starmage. I should say they finished him as well, said Isleby. Easy enough job that, on the evidence. Supposing one of them took Hollis off alone, across that moor you've told me about, and induced him to look into that old lead mine. What easier than to push him into it. Meanwhile the other could settle Horsberry. Murder, my lad. That's what it all comes to. I've known men murder for less than that. Again, Starmage reflected in silence. There's only one thing that puzzles me on that point, he said eventually. It's not a puzzle, either. It's a doubt. Do you think the Chestermark's, or we'll say Gabriel, as we're certain about him, do you think Gabriel would be so keen about keeping his secret as to go to that length? Do you think he's cultivated it as a secret, and that it's been a real important secret? We can soon solve that, answered Isleby. At least, tomorrow morning. How, demanded Starmage. By calling, said Isleby, on Mr. Goodwin Markham, in Conduit Street. End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of the Chestermark Instinct. The slipper box recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 24. Mrs. Carswell. Starmage looked at his companion as if in doubt about Isleby's exact meaning. According to what the theatre chap said just now, he remarked, Markham is very rarely to be found in Conduit Street. Exactly, agreed Isleby. That's why I want to go there. Starmage shook his head. Don't follow, he said. Make it clear. Isleby tapped his fellow detective's arm. You said just now, would Gabriel Chestermark be so keen about keeping his secret as to go to any length in keeping it? He answered. Now I say we can solve that by calling at his office. His manager, as Castlemane told us, is one step, Mr. Stip. I propose to see Mr. Stip. You and I must be fools if, inside ten minutes, we can't find out if Stip knows that Goodwin Markham is Gabriel Chestermark. We will find out. And if we find out that Stip doesn't know that, if we find that Stip is utterly unaware that there is such a person as Gabriel Chestermark, or, at any rate, that he doesn't connect Gabriel Chestermark with Goodwin Markham, why, then? He ended with a dry laugh and waved his hand as if the matter were settled, but Starmage had a love of precision and liked matters to be put in plain words. Well, and what, then, he demanded? What, then, exclaimed Isleby? Why, then we shall know for certainty that Gabriel Chestermark is keen about his secret. If he keeps it from the man who does his business for him here in London, he'd go to any length to keep it safe if it was threatened by his manager at Skarnam. Is that clear, my lad? The two men, in the course of their slow strolling away from the Adelbert Theatre, had come to the end of Shaftesbury Avenue, and had drawn aside from the crowds during the last minute or two to exchange their confidences in private. Starmage looked meditatively at the thronging multitudes of Piccadilly Circus and watched them awhile before he answered his companion's last observation. I don't want to precipitate matters, he said at last. I don't want an anti-climax. Suppose we found Markham, or Chestermark, there, or supposing he came in. Excellent, in either case, replied Isleby. Serve our purpose equally well. If he's there, you betray the greatest surprise at seeing him. You can act up to that. If he should come in, you're equally surprised, see? We haven't gone there about any Chestermark, you know. We aren't going to let it out there that we know what we do know, not likely. What have we gone there for, then, as Starmage? We've gone there to say that Mrs. Helen Lester of Lowdale Court near Cheshire has informed us, the police, that she placed a certain sum of money in the hands of her friend, Mr. Frederick Hollis, for the purpose of clearing off a debt contracted by her son, Lieutenant Lester, with Mr. Goodwin Markham. That Mr. Hollis had been found dead under strange circumstances at Skarnam, and that we should be vastly obliged to Mr. Markham if he can give us any information or light on the matter or hints about it, replied Isleby. That, of course, is what we shall say, and all that we shall say, to Mr. James Stipp. If, however, we find Gabriel Chestermark there, well, then, we shall say nothing at first. We shall leave him to do the same. It'll be his job to begin. All right, assented Starmage, after a moment's reflection. We'll try it. Meet you tomorrow morning, then, the corner of Conduit Street and New Bond Street, say at 10.30. Now I'm going home. Starmage, being a bachelor, tenanted a small flat in Westminster, with an easy reach of headquarters. He repaired to it immediately on leaving Isleby, intent on spending a couple of hours in ease and comfort before retiring to bed. But he had scarcely put on his slippers, lighted his pipe, mixed a whiskey and soda, and picked up a book, when a knock at his outer door sent him to open it, and to find Gandom standing in the lobby. Gandom glanced at him with a smile which was half apologetic and half triumphant. I've been to the office after you, Mr. Starmage, he said. They gave me your address, so I came on here. Starmage saw that the man was full of news, and he motioned him to enter and led him to his sitting-room. You've heard something, then, he asked. Seen something, Mr. Starmage, answered Gandom, taking the chair which Starmage pointed to. I'm afraid I didn't hear anything. I wish I had. Starmage gave his visitor a drink and dropped into his own easy chair again. Chestermark, of course, he suggested. Well, what? I happened to catch sight of him this evening, replied Gandom. Sheer accident it was, but there's no mistaking him. Half past six I was coming along Piccadilly, and I saw him leaving the Chamelea Club. He— What sort of clubs that now? asked Starmage. Social club, men about town, sporting men, actors, journalists, so on, replied Gandom. I know a bit about it. Had a case relating to it not long ago. Well, he went along Piccadilly, and, of course, I followed him. I wasn't going to lose sight of him after that set back of last night, Mr. Starmage. He crossed the circus and went into the café Monaco. I followed him in there. Do you know that downstairs saloon there? I know it, assented Starmage. He went straight down to it, continued Gandom. And as I knew that he didn't know me, I presently followed. When I got down, he'd taken a seat at a table in a quiet corner, and the waiter was bringing him a glass of sherry. There was a bit of talk between him. Chester Mark seemed to be telling the waiter that he was expecting somebody, and he'd wait a bit before giving an order. So I sat down, in another corner, and as I judged it was going to be a longest job, I ordered a bit of dinner. Of course I kept an eye on him, quietly. He read a newspaper, smoked a cigarette, and sipped his sherry. And at last, perhaps ten minutes after he'd got in, a woman came down the stairs, looked round, and went straight over to where he was sitting. Describe her, said Starmage. Tallish, good figure, very good looking, well dressed, but quietly, replied Gandom. Had a veil on when she came in, but lifted it when she sat down by Chester Mark. What I should call a handsome woman, Mr. Starmage, and, I should say, about thirty-five to forty, dark hair, dark eyes, taking expression. Mrs. Carswell, for a fiver, thought Starmage. Well, he said aloud, you say she went straight over to him. Straight to him, and began talking at once, answered Gandom. It seemed to me that it was what you might call an adjourned meeting. They began talking as if they were sort of taking up a conversation, but she did most of the talking. He ordered some dinner for both of them as soon as she came. She talked while they ate. Of course, being right across the room from them, I couldn't catch a word that was said. But she seemed to be explaining something to him the whole time, and I could see he was surprised, more than once. It must have been something uncommonly surprising to make him show signs of surprise, muttered Starmage, who had a vivid recollection of Gabriel Chestermark's granite continents. Yes, go on. They were there about three quarters of an hour, continued Gandom. Of course, I ate my dinner while they ate theirs, and I took good care not to let them see I was watching them. As soon as I saw signs of a move on their part, when she began putting on her gloves, I paid my waiter and slipped out upstairs to the front entrance. I got a taxicab driver to pull up by the curb and wait for me, and told him who I was and what I was after, and that if those two got into a cab he was to follow wherever they went, cautiously. Gave him a description of the man, you know. Then I hung round till they came out. They parted at once. She went off up Regent Street. I wish you'd had another man with you, exclaimed Starmage. I'd give a lot to get a hold of that woman. She's probably the housekeeper who disappeared from the bank, you know. So I guessed, Mr. Starmage. But what could I do, said Gandom. I couldn't follow both, and it was the man you'd put me on to. I decided, of course, for him. While he tried to get my cab, when he found it was engaged, he walked on a bit to the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue and got one there. And, of course, we followed. A longish follow, too. Right away up to the bank of Regent's Park. You know those detached houses, foot of Primrose Hill? It's one of those. He was a cute chap, my driver, and he contrived to slow down and keep well behind, and yet to see where Chestermark got out. The name of the house is Oakfield Villa. It's on the gatepost. Of course, I made sure. I sent my man off, and then I hung round some time, passing and repassing once or twice. And I saw Chestermark in a front room. The blinds were not drawn. And he was in a smoking cap and jacket. I reckoned he was safe for the night. But I can watch the house all night if you think it's necessary, you know, Mr. Starmage. No, answered Starmage. Not at all. But I'll tell you what. You be there first thing to-morrow morning. Can you hang about without attracting attention? Easily, replied Gandom. Easiest thing in the world. Do you know where a little lodge stands, as you go into Primrose Hill, the St. John's Woodside? Well, his house is close by that. On the other side of the road there's a path leading over a bridge into the park, close by the corner of the zoo. I can watch from that path. You can rely on me, Mr. Starmage. I'll not lose sight of him this time. Starmage saw that the man was deeply anxious to atone for his mistake of the previous night, and he nodded ascent. All right, he said. But take another man with you. Two are better than one in a job like that, and Chestermark might be meeting that woman again. Watch the house carefully tomorrow morning from first thing. Follow him wherever he goes. If he should meet the woman and they part after meeting, one of you follow her. And listen. I shall be at headquarters at twelve o'clock tomorrow. Contrive to telephone me there as to what you're doing, but don't lose him or her if you see her again. One more thing, said Gandom as he rose to go. Supposing he goes off by train. Do I follow? No, answered Starmage after a moment's reflection, but managed to find out where he goes. He sat and thought a long time after his visitor had left, and his thoughts all centered on one fact, the undoubted fact that Gabriel Chestermark and Mrs. Carswell had met. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 of the Chestermark Instinct This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 25 The Portrait The offices of Mr. Goodwin Markham, at which the two detectives presented themselves soon after half-past ten next morning, were by no means extensive in size or palatial in appearance. They were situated on the second floor of a building in Conduit Street, and apparently consisted of no more than two rooms which, if not exactly shabby, were somewhat well-worn as to furniture and fittings. It was evident, too, that Mr. Goodwin Markham's clerical staff was not extensive. There was a young man-clerk and a young woman-clerk in the outer office. The first was turning over a pile of circulars at the counter. The second seated at a typewriter was taking down a letter which was being dictated to her by a man who, still hatted and overcoded, had evidently just arrived, and was leaning against the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets. He was a very ordinary, plain-continanced, sandy-haired, quite commercial-looking man this, who might have been anything from a stock exchange-clerk to a suburban house agent. But there was a sudden alertness in his eye as he turned it on the visitors, which showed them that he was well equipped in mental acuteness, and probably as alert as his features were commonplace. The circular-sorting young man looked up with indifference as easel-beat approached the counter, and when the detective asked if Mr. Goodwin Markham could be seen, turned silently and interrogatively to the man who leaned against the mantelpiece, he, interrupting his dictation, came forward again, narrowly but continually eyeing the two men. Mr. Markham is not in town, gentlemen, he said, in a quick business-like fashion, which convinced Starmage that the speaker was not uttering any mere excuse. He was here yesterday for an hour or two, but he will be away for some days now. Can I do anything for you, his manager? Ezel be handed over the two professional cards which he had in readiness, and leaned across the counter. A word or two, in private, he whispered confidentially. Business matter. Starmage, watching Mr. James Stiff's face closely as he looked at the cards, saw that he was not the sort of man to be taken unawares. There was not the faintest flicker of an eyelid, not a motion of the lips, not the tiniest start of surprise, no show of unusual interest on the manager's part. He nodded, opened a door in the counter, and waved the two detectives towards the inner room. Be seated, gentlemen, he said, following them inside. You'll excuse me a minute, important letter to get off. I won't keep you long. He closed the door upon them, and Starmage and Ezel be glanced round before taking the chairs to which Mr. Stiff had pointed. There was little to see. A big, roomy desk, middle Victorian in style. Some heavy, middle Victorian chairs. A well-worn carpet and rug. A bookcase filled with peerages, baronetages, county directories, army lists, navy lists, and other similar volumes of reference to high life. A map or two on the walls. A heavy safe in a corner. These things were all there was to look at. Except one thing, which Starmage was quick to see. Over the mantelpiece, with an almanac on one side of it and an interest-table on the other, hung a somewhat faded photograph of Gabriel Chestermark. The younger detective tapped his companion's arm and silently indicated this grim counterfeit of the man in whose doings they were so keenly interested just then. That's the man, he whispered. Chestermark. Gabriel. Ezel be opened mouth and eyes and stared with eager interest. He gad, he muttered. That's lucky. Makes it all the easier. I'll lay you anything you like, my lad. This manager doesn't know anything, not a thing, about the double-identity business. We shall soon find out. Leave it to me, at first, anyway. A few plain questions. Two Stip came bustling in, closing the door behind him. He took off overcoat and hat, ran his fingers through his light hair, and, seating himself, glanced, smilingly, at his visitors. Well, gentlemen, he demanded, what can I do for you now? Want to make some inquiries? Just a few small inquiries, sir, replied Ezel be. I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name. Mr. Stip's my name, sir, answered the manager promptly. Stip, James Stip. Thank you, sir, said Ezel be, with great politeness. Well, Mr. Stip, you see from our cards who we are. We've called on you, as representing Mr. Goodwin Markham, on behalf, informally, Mr. Stip, of Mrs. Lester of Lowdale Court, Chesham. Mr. Stip's face showed a little surprise at this announcement, and he glanced from one man to the other as if he were puzzled. Oh, he said, dear me, why, what has Mrs. Lester called you in for? Ezel be, who had brought another marked newspaper with him, laid it on the manager's desk. You've no doubt read of this garnum affair, Mr. Stip, he asked, pointing to his own blue pencilings. Most people have, I think, or perhaps it escaped your notice. Hardly could, answered Mr. Stip, with a friendly smile. Yes, I've read it, most extraordinary, one of the most puzzling cases I ever did read. Are you inedit? But this call hasn't anything to do with that, surely. If it has, what? This much, answered Ezel be. Mrs. Lester has told us, of course, that her son, the young officer, is in debt to your governor. Well, last week Mrs. Lester handed a certain sum of money to the Mr. Frederick Hollis who's been found dead at Skarnam to be applied to the settlement of her son's liability in that respect. Mr. Stip showed undoubted surprise at this announcement. She did, he exclaimed, gave Mr. Hollis money for that. Why? Mr. Hollis never told me of it. In the course of a long professional experience Ezel be had learned to control his facial expression. Starmage was gradually progressing towards perfection in that art, but each man was hard put to it to check an expression of astonishment, and Ezel be showed some slight sign of perplexity when he replied. Mr. Hollis has called on you, then, he said. Hollis was here last Friday afternoon, answered Mr. Stip, called on me at five o'clock, just before I was leaving for the day. He never offered me any money. Glad if he had, it's time young Lester paid up. What did Hollis come for, then, if that's a fair question, asked Ezel be. He came, I should say, to take a look at us and find out who he'd got to deal with, replied the manager, smiling. In plain language, to make an inquiry or two. He told me he'd been empowered by Mrs. Lester to deal with us, and he wanted the particulars of what we'd advanced to her son, and he got them, from me. But he never made me any offer. He just found out what he wanted to know and went away. And, evidently, next day travelled to Skarnam, observed Ezel be. Now, Mr. Stip, have you any idea whether his visit to Skarnam was in connection with the money affair of yours and young Lester's? Again the look of undoubted surprise. Again the appearance of genuine perplexity. I, exclaimed Mr. Stip, not the least, not the ghost of an idea. What could his visit to Skarnam have to do with us? Nothing, that I know of, anyway. You don't think it rather remarkable that Mr. Hollis should go down there, the very day after he called on you, asked Mr. Stip about his image, putting in a question for the first time. Why should I, asked Mr. Stip? What do I know about him and his arrangements? He never mentioned Skarnam to me. Ezel be laid a finger on the marked newspaper. You see some names of Skarnam people there, Mr. Stip, he observed. Those names, Horbury, Chester Mark, you don't happen to know them. I don't know them, replied the manager, with obvious sincerity. Banking people, all of them, aren't they? I might have heard their names, in a business way, sometime, but I don't recall them at all. You said that Mr. Markham was here yesterday, suggested Starmitch. Did you tell him, you'll excuse my asking, but it's important, did you tell him that Hollis had called last Friday on behalf of Mrs. Lester? I just mentioned it, replied Mr. Stip. He took no particular notice, except to say that what we claim from young Lester will have to be paid. You don't know if he knew Hollis, inquired Starmitch. The manager shook his head in a fashion which seemed to indicate that Hollis's case was no particular business of either his or his principles. I don't think he did, he answered. Never said so anyhow. But I say, you'll excuse me now. What is it you're trying to get at? Do you think Hollis went to Skarnam on this business of young Lester's? And if you do, why? Ezel be rose and Starmitch followed his example. We don't know yet. Exactly why Hollis went to Skarnam, said the elder detective. We hoped you could help us, but as you can't. Well, we're much obliged, Mr. Stip. Let your governor over the chimney piece there. Taken a few years ago, replied Mr. Stip carelessly, I say, you don't know what Hollis was empowered to offer us, do you? The two detectives looked at each other, a quiet nod from Starmitch indicating that he left it to Ezel be to answer this question. After a moment's reflection, Ezel be spoke. Mr. Hollis was empowered to offer ten thousand pounds in full satisfaction, Mr. Stip, he said. And what's more, a check for that amount was found on his dead body when it was discovered. Now, sir, you'll understand why we want to know who it was that he went to see at Skarnam. Both men were watching the moneylenders' manager with redoubled attention. But it needed no very keen eye to see that the surprise which Mr. Stip had already shown at various stages of the interview was nothing to that which he now felt. And in the midst of his astonishment the two detectives baited him good day and left him, disregarding and entreaty to stop and tell him more. My lad, said Ezel be, when he and Starmitch were out in the street again, that chap has no more conception that his master is Gabriel Chestermark than we had, twenty-four hours since, that Gabriel Chestermark and Goodwin Markham are one in the same man. He's a clever chap, this Gabriel, and now you see how important it's been for him to keep his secret. What's next to be done? We ought to keep in touch with him from now. I'm expecting word from Gandam at noon at headquarters, answered Starmitch, who had already told Ezel be of the visit of the previous night. Let's ride down there and hear if any message has come in. But as their taxicab turned out of Whitehall into New Scotland in Yard, they overtook Gandam, hurrying along. Starmitch stopped the cab and jumped out. Any news? he asked sharply. He's off, Mr. Starmitch, replied Gandam. I've just come straight from watching him away. He left his house about nine-twenty, walked to the St. John's Wood station, went down to Baker Street and on to King's Cross Metropolitan. We followed him, of course. He walked across to St. Pancras and left by the ten-thirty Express. Did you manage to find out where he booked for, demanded Starmitch. Ecclesborough, answered Gandam, heard him. I was close behind. He was alone, I suppose, asked Starmitch. Alone all the time, Mr. Starmitch, ascended Gandam, never saw a sign of the other party. Starmitch rejoined Ezelby. For the last twenty-four hours he had let his companion supervise matters. But now, having decided on a certain policy, he took affairs into his own hands. Now, then, he said, he's off, back to Skarnam. A word or two at the office, Ezelby, and I'm after him. And you'll come with me. CHAPTER XXVI. THE LIGHTNING FLASH. At half past seven that evening, Starmitch and Ezelby stepped out of a London Express at Ecclesborough, and walked out to the front of the station to get a taxicab for Skarnam. The news boys were rushing across the station square with the latest editions of the evening papers, and Starmitch's quick ear caught the meaning of the unfamiliar North Country shoutings. LATEST ABOUT THE SKARNAM MYSTERY, HE SAID, STOPPING A LAD AND TAKING A COUPLE OF PAPERS FROM HIM. SOMETHING ABOUT THE ADJURNED INQUEST. OF COURSE THAT WOULD BE TODAY. NOW, THEN, WHAT'S THIS? He drew aside to a quiet corner of the station portico, and with his companion looking over his shoulder, read aloud a passage from the latest of the two papers. An important witness gave evidence this afternoon at the adjourned inquest held at Skarnam on the body of Mr. Frederick Hollis, solicitor of London, who was recently found lying dead at the bottom of one of the old lead mines in Ellersdine Hollow. It will be remembered that the circumstance of this discovery, already familiar to our readers, allied with the mysterious disappearance of Mr. John Horbury, and the presumed theft of the countess of Ellersdine's jewels, seemed to indicate an extraordinary crime, and opinion varies considerably in the Skarnam district, as to whether Mr. Hollis, the reason of whose visit to Skarnam is still unexplained, fell into the old mine by accident or whether he was thrown in. At the beginning of the proceedings this afternoon, a shepherd named James Livacy of Ellersdine, employed by Mr. Marchand, farmer of the same place, was immediately called. He stated in answer to questions put by the coroner that, on Monday morning last, he had gone with his employer to an out-of-the-way part of Northumberland to buy new stock, and in consequence of his absence from home had not heard of the Skarnam affair until his return this morning, when, on Mr. Marchand's advice, he had at once called on the coroner's office to volunteer information. Livacy's evidence, in brief, was as follows. At nine o'clock last Saturday evening he was walking home from Skarnam to Ellersdine by a track which crosses the Hollow and cuts into the high road between the town and the village at a point near the Warren, an isolated house which is the private residence of Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, banker of Skarnam. As he reached this point he saw Mr. John Horbury, whom he knew very well by sight, accompanied by a stranger, come out of the Hollow by another path, cross the high road and walk down the lane which leads to the Warren. They were talking very earnestly, but Mr. Horbury saw him and said good night in answer to his own greeting. There was a strong moonlight at the time and he saw the stranger's face clearly. He was quite sure that the stranger was the dead man whose body had just been shown to him at the mortuary. Questioned further, Livacy positively adhered to all his statements. He was certain of the time, certain of the identity of the two gentlemen. He knew Mr. Horbury very well indeed and had known him for many years. Mr. Horbury had often talked to him when they met in the fields and lanes of the neighborhood. He had no doubt at all that the dead man he had seen in the mortuary was the gentleman who was with Mr. Horbury on Saturday night. He had noticed him particularly as the two gentlemen passed him and had wondered who he was. The moon was very bright that night. He saw Mr. Hollis quite plainly. He would have known him again at any time. He was positive that the two gentlemen entered the lane which led to Mr. Gabriel Chestermark's house. They were evidently making a direct line for it when he first saw them and they crossed the high road straight to its entrance. The lane led nowhere else than to the Warren. It was locally called the lane but it was really a sort of carriage drive to Mr. Chestermark's front door and there was a gate at the high road entrance to it. He saw Mr. Horbury and his companion entered that gate. He heard it clash behind them. Questioned by Mr. Polk, superintendent of that police at Skarnam, Livesey said that when he first saw the two gentlemen they were coming from the direction of Ellers Dean Tower. There was a path right across the hollow from a point in front of the Warren to the tower and thence to the woods on the Skarnam side. That was the path the two gentlemen were on. He was absolutely certain about the time for two reasons. Just before he saw Mr. Horbury and his companion he heard the clock at Skarnam Parish Church strike nine and after they had passed him he had gone on to the Green Archer Public House and had noticed that it was ten minutes past nine when he entered. Further questioned he said he saw no one else on the hollow but the two gentlemen. At the conclusion of Livesey's evidence the coroner announced to the jury that having had the gist of the witness's testimony communicated to him earlier in the day he had sent his officer to request Mr. Gabriel Chestermark's attendance. The officer, however, had returned to say that Mr. Chestermark was away on business and that it was not known when he would be back at the bank. As it was highly important that the jury should know at once if Mr. Horbury and Mr. Hollis called at the Warren on Saturday evening last, he, the coroner, had sent for Mr. Chestermark's butler who would doubtless be able to give information on that point. They would adjourn for an hour until the witness attended. That's the end of it. In that paper remarks Starmage. Let's see if the other has any later news. Ah, here we are. There is more in the stop the press space of this one. Now then. He held the second newspaper half in front of him, half in front of Ellersby, and again rapidly read over the report. SCARNUM. Further adjournment. On the coroner's inquiry being resumed at four o'clock, Thomas Beavers, butler to Mr. Chestermark at the Warren, said that so far as he knew Mr. Horbury did not call on his master on Saturday evening last, nor did any gentlemen call who answered the description of Mr. Hollis. It was impossible for anybody to call at the Warren in the ordinary way, without his, the butler's knowledge. As a matter of fact, the witness continued, Mr. Chestermark was not at home during the greater part of that evening. Mr. Joseph Chestermark had dined at the Warren at seven o'clock, and at half past eight he and his uncle left the house together. Mr. Chestermark did not return until eleven. Asked by Mr. Polk, superintendent of the police, if he knew in which direction Mr. Gabriel and Mr. Joseph Chestermark proceeded when they went away, the witness said that a short time after they left the house, he, in drawing the curtains of the dining room, saw them walking on a side path at the garden, apparently in close conversation. He saw neither of them until Mr. Gabriel Chestermark returned home alone at the time he had mentioned. Later. The inquest was further adjourned at the close of this afternoon's proceedings, before adjourning the coroner informed the jury that he understood there were rumors in the town to the effect that Mr. Hollis had been strangled before being thrown into the old lead mine. He need hardly say that there was not the slightest grounds for those rumors, but the medical men had some suspicion that the unfortunate gentleman might have been poisoned and he, the coroner, thought it well to tell them that a specialist was being sent down by the home office who, with the scarnum doctors, would perform an autopsy on his arrival. The result would be placed before the jury when these proceedings were resumed. Starmage dropped the paper and looked at Islby with an expression of astonishment. Poison, he exclaimed. That's a new idea. Poisoned first and thrown into that old mine after. That's—but there, what's the good of theorizing? Pick out the best of those cars. Let's get to scarnum as quickly as possible. Something's got to be done tonight. Islby may know immediate answer, but presently, when they were in a fast motor and leaving the eagles' brawl straights behind them, he shook his head and spoke more gravely than was usual with him. The big question, my lad, he said, is what to do, and there's another. What's been done, and possibly what's being done? It's my impression something's being done now, still going on. I know one thing, exclaimed Starmage, determinedly. We'll confront Gabriel Chestermark tonight with what we know. That's positive. If we can find him, said Islby, you don't know. The coming down to Ecclesborough may have been all a-blind. You can reach a lot of places from Ecclesborough, and you can leave a train at more than one place between Ecclesborough and London. I telephoned Polk to keep an eye on him anyway, if he did arrive at either scarnum or the warren, answered Starmage still grimly determined. And it's my impression that he has come down to see that nephew of his, Islby. They're both in at it. Both. Again the elder detective made no answer. He was obviously much impressed by the recent developments as related in the newspapers which they had just read, and was steep in thought about them and the possibilities which they suggested to him. Well, he said at last, as the high roofs of scarnum came into view, we'll hear what Polk has to tell. Something may have happened since those inquest proceedings this afternoon. But Polk, when they reached his office, had little to tell. Lord Ellersdine, Betty Faustike, and Stephen Hollis were with him, evidently in consultation, and Starmage at once saw that Betty looked distressed and anxious in no ordinary degree. All turned eagerly on the two detectives, but Starmage addressed himself straight to Polk with one direct inquiry. Seen him, heard of him, he asked. Not a word answered Polk, nor a sign. If he came down by that train you spoke of he ought to have been in the town by four o'clock at the outside. But he's never been to the bank, and he certainly hadn't arrived at his house three quarters of an hour ago. And since ten o'clock this morning tothers disappeared, too. What, Joseph? exclaimed Starmage. Just so, replied Polk, with the expression of a man who feels that things are getting far too much for individual effort. He was in the bank at eight o'clock this morning. One of my men saw him go in by the back way, orchard way you know. The clerk says he went out, that way again, at ten, and he's never been seen since. His house, said Starmage, have you tried that? Know nothing of him there. The old man and old woman say so at any rate, answered Polk. He seems to have cleared out. And now here's fresher, bother, though I don't know if it's anything to do with this. Mr. Neil's missing. Never been seen since six yesterday evening. Miss Faust eggs anxious. He was to see me at nine last night, said Betty. No one has seen him. His landlady says he never returned home last night. Do you think anything can have happened? If anything's happened to Mr. Neil, interrupted Starmage. It's all apiece with the rest of it. Now, superintendent, went on turning to Polk. Never mind what news I've brought. We've got to find these two Chester marks at once. We must go, some of us, to the Warren, some to Corn Market. See here. Easelby and I will go on to the Corn Market now. You get some of your men and follow. If we hear nothing there, then the Warren. But, quick. The two detectives hurried out of the police station. Lord Ellerstine and Betty, after a word or two with Polk, followed. Outside, Starmage and Easelby paused a moment, consulting. The Earl stepped forward to speak to them. As regards Mr. Neil, he began. Miss Faust Ike thinks you ought to know that a sudden searching flash, as of lightning, glared across the open space in front, lighting up the tower of the old church, the high roofs of the ancient houses, and the drifting clouds above them. Then a crash, as of terrible thunder, shook the little town from end to end. And as it died away, the street lamps went out, and the tinkle of falling glass sounded on the pavements of the marketplace. And in the second of dead silence which followed, a woman's voice, shrill, terrified, shrieking loudly, once somewhere in the darkness. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 of the Chester mark instinct. This slipper vox recording is in the public domain, recording by Mary Ann. The Chester mark instinct by J. S. Fletcher, Chapter 27, The Old Dovecott. On the previous evening, Wallington Neil, who had spent most of the day with Betty Faust Ike, endeavoring to gain some further light on the disappearance of her uncle, had left her at eight o'clock in order to keep a business appointment. He was honorary treasurer of the Skarnam Cricket Club. The weekly meeting of the committee of which important institution was due that night at the Hope and Anchor Inn, an old tavern in the Corn Market. Thither Neil repaired, proposing to rejoin Betty at nine o'clock. There was little business to be done at the meeting. By a quarter to nine it was all over and Neil was going away. As he walked down the long-sanded passage which led from the committee room to the front entrance of the inn, old Robert Walford, the landlord, came out of the bow windowed bar parlor, beckoning him, with a mystery suggesting air, to follow, and led him into a private room, the door of which he carefully closed. Walford, a shrewd-eyed, astute old fellow, well known in Skarnam for his business abilities and his penetration, chiefly into other people's affairs, looked at Neil with a mingled expression of meaning and inquiry. Mr. Neil, he whispered, glancing round at the paneling of the old parlor in which they stood, as if he feared that the ancient boards might conceal eavesdroppers. I wanted a word with you, in private. How's this here a fair going? Is ought being done? Is ought being found out? Is that detective chap any good? Him from London, I mean. Is there ought new since this morning? Not to my knowledge, Mr. Walford, answered Neil, who knew well that the old innkeeper was hand in glove with the Skarnam police, and invariably kept himself well primed with information about their doings. I should think you know nearly everything, just as much as I do, more perhaps. The landlord poked a stout forefinger into Neil's waistcoat. I, he said, I, so I do. As to what you might call surface matter, Mr. Neil, but about the main thing which, in my opinion, is the whereabouts of John Horbury? Does young young lady at the Skarnam arms know ought more about her uncle? Do you? Does anybody? Is there ought behind like, ought that hasn't come out on the top? I don't know of anything, replied Neil. I wish I did. Ms. Faustach's very anxious indeed about her uncle. She'd give anything or do anything to get news of him. It's all rot, you know, to say he's run away. It's my impression he's never gone out of Skarnam or the neighborhood. But where he is, and whether dead or alive, is beyond my comprehension, he concluded, shaking his head. If he's alive, why don't we hear something or find out something? Waffer gave his companion a quick glance out of his shrewd old eyes. He might be under such circumstances as wouldn't admit of that there, Mr. Neil, he said. But come, I've got something to tell you. Something that I found out not half an hour ago. I was going on to tell Polk about it at once. But I remember that you were in the house at this cricket club meeting, so I thought you'd do instead. You can tell Polk. I'm in a bit of a hurry myself. You know it's Weimington races tomorrow. And I'm off there tonight, at once, to meet a man that I do a bit of business with in these matters. We make a book together, DC. So I can't stop. But come this way. He led Neil out into the long-sanded passage and down through the rear of the old house, into a big stable yard and closed by various shaped buildings, more or less in an almost worn-out and dilapidated condition, whose ruffs and tables showed picturesquely against the sky, faintly lighted by the waning moon. To one of these, a tower-like erection considerably higher than the rest, the old landlord pointed. I suppose you know that these back premises of mine look partly over Joseph Chestermark's garden, he whispered. They do, anyway. You can see right over his garden and into the back of his house, that is, in vids, for he's a fine lot of tall trees round his lawns. But there's a very fair view of that workshop he's built from the top story of this old dove-coat of mine. We use it as a storehouse. Come up, and mine these here broken steps. There's no rail, you see, and you could easily fall over. He led his companion up a flight of much-worn stone stairs, which were built against the wall of the old dove-cott, through an open doorway twenty feet above, across the rickety floor, and up another stairway of wood, into a chamber in which there's a lattice window, from which most of the glass and the woodwork had disappeared. Now then, he said, taking Neil to this outpost and pointing downwards. There you are. You see what I mean? Neil looked out, Joseph Chestermark's big garden lay beneath him. As Walford had said, much of it was obscured by trees, but there was a good prospect of one side of the laboratory from where Neil was standing. That side was furnished with a door, and on the level of that door, at the extreme end of the building, was a window fitted with a light-colour blind. All the other windows, as in the case of the side which Neil had seen previously from the tree on the riverbank, were high up in the walls and fitted with red material. And from the curiously shaped smokestack in the flat roof, the same differently tinted vapours, which he had noticed on the same occasion, were curling up above the elms and beaches. Now look here, whisper the landlord. Do you see that one window with the whitish blind and the light behind it? I came up here, maybe half an hour ago, to see if we were out of something that's kept here, and I chanced to look out on Joseph Chestermark's garden. Mr. Neil, there's a man in that room with a light colour blind. I saw his shadow on the blind, pass and repass, you understand? Twice while I looked, and it's not Joseph Chestermark. Could you tell, had you any idea who shadow it was, demanded Neil eagerly? No. He passed in a sort of slanting direction, back and forth, just once, answered Walford. But his build was, I should say, about the like of John Horbury's. Mr. Neil, Horbury might be locked up there. He's a bad in his Joseph Chestermark. Oh, he's a rank-bad in my lad, though most folk don't know it. You don't know what may it be happening, or what may it have happened in y'all in place. But look here, I can't stop. Me and Sam Baraklow's going off to Wilmington now, in his motor. He'll be waiting at this minute. You do what I say. Stop here and watch a bit. And if you see ought, go to pole, can insist on the police searching that place. That's my advice. I shall do that in any case, after what you've said, mothered Neil, who is staring at the lighted window. But I'll watch here a bit. You've said nothing of this to anybody else? No, replied the landlord. As I said, I knew you were in the house. Well, I'm off then. Shan't be back till late tomorrow night, and I hope you'll have some news by then, Mr. Neil. Walford went off across the creaking floor and down the stairs, and Neil leaned out of the dismantled window and stared into the garden beneath. Was it possible, he wondered, that there was anything in the old fellow's suggestion? Possible that the missing bank manager was really concealed in that mysterious laboratory, or workshop, or whatever the place was, into which Joseph Chestermark never allowed any person to enter? And if he was there at all, was it with his consent, or against his will, or what? Was he being kept a prisoner, or was he hiding? In spite of his own knowledge of Horbury, and of Betty Faustig's assertions of her uncle's absolute innocence, Neil had all along been conscious of a vague, uneasy feeling that, after all, there might be something of an unexplained nature in which the bank manager had been, or was, concerned. It might have something to do with the missing jewels. It might be mixed up with Frederick Hollis's death. It might be that Horbury and Joseph Chestermark were jointly concerned in, but there he was at a loss, not knowing or able to speculate on what they could be concerned in. Strange beyond belief it was, nevertheless, that old Rob Walford should think the shadow he had seen to be the missing man's supposing the door of Joseph Chestermark's laboratory suddenly opened, letting out a glare of light across the lawn in front. And Joseph came out, carrying a sort of sieve-light arrangement, full of glowing ashes. He went away to some distant part of the garden with his burden, came back, disappeared, reappeared with more ashes, went again down to the garden, and each time he left the door wide open, a sudden notion which he neglected to think over flashed into Neil's mind. He left the upper chamber of the old dove-cott, made his way down the stairs to the yard beneath, turned the corner of the buildings, and by the aid of some loose timber which lay piled against it, climbed to the top of Joseph Chestermark's wall. A moment of hesitation and then he quietly dropped to the other side, noiselessly, on the soft mold of the border. From behind a screen of laurel bushes he looked out on the laboratory at close quarters. Joseph was still coming and going with his sieve. Now that Neil saw him at a few yards distance, he saw that the junior partner, an amateur experimenter, was evidently cleaning out his furnace. The place into which he threw the ashes was at the far end of the garden. At least three minutes was occupied in each journey, and, yielding to sudden impulse, when Joseph made his next excursion and had his back fairly turned, Neil crossed the lawn in half a dozen agile and stealthy strides, and within a few seconds had slipped within the door and behind it. A moment later and he knew he was trapped. Joseph came back and did not enter. Neil heard him fling the sieve on the gravel. Then the door was pulled, too, with a metallic bang, from without, and the same action which closed it also cut off the electric light. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Soundproof It needed no more than a moment's reflection to prove to Neil that he had made a serious mistake in obeying that first impulse. Joseph Chestermark had gone away, probably for the night, and there had been something in the metallic clang of that closing door, something in the sure and certain fashion in which it had closed into its frame, something in the utter silence which had followed the sudden extinction of the light, which made the captive feel that he might have beat upon door or wall as hard and as long as he pleased without attracting any attention. The place into which he had come of his own free will was no ordinary place. Already he felt that he was in a trap out of which it was not going to be easy to escape. He stood for a moment, heart thumping and pulses throbbing, to listen and to look. But he saw nothing beyond the faint indication of the waning moonlight outside the red curtained circular windows high above him, and a fainter speck of glowing cinder left behind in the recently emptied furnace. He heard nothing, either, save a very faint crackling of the expiring ashes in the furnace. Presently even that minute sound died down. The one speck of light went out, and the silence and gloom were intense. Neil now knew that unless Joseph Chestermark came back to his workshop he was doomed to spend the night in it, and possibly part of the next day. He felt sure that it was impossible to obtain release otherwise than by Joseph's coming. He could do nothing in all probability to release himself. No one in the town would have the remotest idea that he was fastened up within those walls. The only man to whom such an idea could come on hearing that he, Neil, was missing, was old Rob Walford, and Walford by that time would be well on his way to Weimington, thirty miles off, and as he was to be there all night and all the next day he would hear nothing until his return to Skarnam, twenty-four hours hence. No. He was caught. Joseph Chestermark had had no idea of catching him, but he had caught him all the same. And now that he was safely caught, Neil began to wonder why he had slipped into that place. He had an elementary idea, of course. He wanted to find out if anybody was concealed in that room which the landlord had pointed to. Certainly he had felt no fear about meeting Joseph Chestermark. But now that he was there, he did not know what he should have done if Joseph had come in, as he expected he would. Nor what he should, or could do now that he was in complete possession. If he had been able to face Joseph, he would have demanded information, point blank, about the shadow on the blind. He even had some misty notion about enforcing it, if need be. But he was now helpless. He could do no good. He could not tell Polk or anybody else what Walford had reported. And if he was to be left there all night, which seemed likely, he had only got himself into a highly unpleasant situation. He moved at last, feeling about in the darkness. His hands encountered smooth, blank walls on each side of the door. He dared not step forward lest he should run against machinery or meet with some cavity in the flooring. And reflecting that the small, insignificant gleam which it would make could scarcely be noticed from outside, he struck a match, and carefully holding it within the flap of his outstretched jacket looked around him. A first quick glance gave him a general idea of his surroundings. Immediately in front of him was the furnace. A little to its side was a lathe. On one side of the place a long table stood, covered with a multitude of tools, chemical apparatus and the like. On the other was a blank wall. And in that blank wall, to which Neil chiefly directed his attention during the few seconds for which the match burned, was a door. The match went out. He dropped it on the floor and moved forward in the darkness to the door which he had just seen. That, of course, must open into the inner room to the outer window of which Walford had drawn his attention. He went on until his outstretched fingers touched the door. Then he cautiously struck another match and looked the door up and down. What he saw added to the mystery of the whole adventure. Neil had seen doors of that sort before, more than once, but they were the doors of very big safes, or strong rooms. Before the second match burned through, he knew that this particular door was of some metal, steel most likely, that it was set into a framework of similar metal, and that the room to which it afforded entrance was probably soundproof. He struck a third match and a fourth. By their light he saw that there was but one small keyhole to the door, and he judged from that that it was fitted with some patent mechanical lock. There was no way by which he could open it, of course, and though he stood for a long time listening with straining ears against it, he could not detect the slightest sound from whatever chamber or recess lay behind it. If there really was a man in there, thought Neil, he must surely feel himself to be in a living tomb. And after a time, taking the risk of being heard from the outside of the laboratory, he beat heavily upon the door with his fist. No response came. The silence all around him was more oppressive, if possible, than before. The expenditure of more matches enabled Neil to examine further into the conditions of what seemed likely to be his own prison for some hours. He was not sorry to see that in one corner stood an old satay, furnished with rugs and cushions. If he was obliged to remain locked up all night, he would, at any rate, be able to get some rest. But beyond this, the furnace, a tall three-fold screen evidently used to assist in the manipulation of draughts and the lathe, table, and apparatus which he had already seen, there was nothing in the place. There was no way of getting at the windows in the top of the high walls, even if he could have got at them they were too small for a man to squeeze through. And he was about to sit down on the satay and wait the probably slow and tedious course of events, when he caught sight of an object at the end of the table which startled him, and made him wonder more than anything he had seen up to that moment. That object was a big loaf of bread. He struck yet another match and looked at it more narrowly. It was one of those large loaves which bakers make for the use of families. Close by it lay a knife. A near inspection showed Neil that a slice had recently been cut off from the loaf. He knew that by the fact that the crumb was still soft and fresh on the surface, in spite of the great heat of the place, it was scarcely likely that Joseph Chestermark would eat unbuttered bread during his experiments in labours. Why, then, was the loaf there? Could it be that this bread was—that the slice which had just been cut was—the ration given to somebody behind that door? This idea filled Neil with the first spice of fear which he had felt since entering the laboratory. The idea of a man being fastened up in a soundproof chamber and fed on dry bread suggested possibilities which he did not and could not contemplate without a certain horror. And if there really was such a prisoner in that room, or cell, or whatever the place was, who could it be but John Horbury? And if it was John Horbury, how, under what circumstances, had he been brought there? Why was he being kept there? Neil sat down at last on the satay, and in the silence and darkness gave himself up to thoughts of a nature which he had never known in his life before. Here, at any rate, was adventure, and of a decidedly unpleasant sort. He was not afraid for himself. He had a revolver in his hip pocket, loaded. He had been carrying it since Tuesday with some strange notion that it might be wanted. Certainly he might have to go without food for perhaps many hours. But he suddenly remembered that in the pocket of his Norfolk jacket, he had a big-ish box of first-rate chocolate, which he had bought on his way to the cricket club meeting, with a view of presenting it to Betty, later on. He could get through a day on that, he thought, if it were necessary. As for the loaf of bread, something seemed to nauseate him at the mere thought of trying to swallow a mouthful of it. The rest of the evening went. The silence was never broken. Not a sound came from the mysterious chamber behind him. No step sounded on the gravel without. No hand unlocked the door from the garden. Now and then he heard the clock of the parish church strike the hours. At last he slept, at first fitfully, later soundly, and when he awoke it was morning, and the sunlight was pouring in through the red-curtained windows high in the walls of his prison. End of Chapter 28 Chapter 29 of the Chestermark Instinct This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher Chapter 29 The Sparrows and the Sphere Neil was instantly awake and on the alert. He sprang to his feet, shivering a little in spite of the rugs which he had wrapped about him before settling down. A slight current of cold air struck him as he rose. Looking in the direction from which it seemed to come, he saw that one of the circular windows in the high wall above him was open, and that a fresh northeast wind was blowing the curtain aside. The laboratory, hot and close enough when he had entered it on the previous evening, was now cool. The morning breeze freshened and sharpened his wits. He pulled out his watch, which he had been careful to wind up before lying down. Seven o'clock. In spite of his imprisonment and his unusual couch, he had slept to his accustomed hour of waking. Knowing that Joseph Chestermark might walk in upon him at any moment, Neil kept himself on the lookout, in readiness to adopt a determined attitude whenever he was discovered. By that time he had come to the conclusion that whatever force would be necessary or not in any meeting with Joseph, it would be no unwise thing to let that worthy see at once that he had to deal with an armed man. He accordingly saw to it that his revolver, already loaded, was easily get-addable and the flap of his hip pocket unbuttoned. Under the circumstances he was not going to be slow in producing that revolver in suggestive, if not precisely menacing fashion. This done he opened his box of chocolate, calculated its resources and ate a modest quantity. And while he ate he looked about him. In the morning light everything in his surroundings showed clearly that his cursory inspection of the night before had been productive of definite conclusions. There was no doubt whatever of the character of the mysterious door set so solidly and closely in its framework in the blank wall. The door of the strong room at Chestermark's bank was not more suggestive of security. He went over to the outer door when he had eaten his chocolate and examined that at his leisure. That in lesser degree was set into the wall as strongly as the inner one. He saw no means of opening it from the inside. It was evidently secured by a patent mechanical lock of which Joseph Chestermark presumably carried the one key. He turned from it to look more closely at a shelf of books and papers which projected from the wall above the table. Papers and books were all of a scientific nature, most of them relating to experimental chemistry, some to mechanics. He noticed that there were several books on poisons. His glance fell from those books to the various bottles and files on the table, fashioned of dark colored glass and three cornered in shape, which he supposed to contain poisonous solutions. So Joseph dabbled in toxicology did he, thought Neil. In that case perhaps there was something in the theory which had been gaining ground during the last twenty-four hours that Hollis had been poisoned first and thrown into the old lead mine later on, and what of the somebody, horbrary, or whoever it was, that laid behind the grim looking door. Neil had never heard a sound during the time which had elapsed before he dropped to sleep, never a faintest rustle since he had been awake again. Was it possible that a dead man lay there, murdered? A cheerful chirping and twittering in the space behind him cost him to turn sharply, away from the books and bottles. Then he saw that he was no longer alone. Half a score sparrows, busy bustling little bodies, had come in by the open window and were strutting about amongst the gray ashes in front of the furnace. Neil's glance suddenly fell on the loaf of bread, close at hand, on the edge of the table, and of the knife which lay by it. Mechanically, without any other idea than that of feeding the sparrows and diverting himself by watching their antics, he picked up the knife, quietly cut off a half slice of the loaf, and crumbling it in his fingers through the crumbs on the floor. For a minute or two he watched his visitors fighting over this generous dole. Then he turned to the shelf again to take down a book, the title of which had attracted him. Neil was an enthusiastic member of the territorial force and had already gained his sergeant's stripes in the local battalion. He was accordingly deeply interested in all military matters. This book certainly related to those matters, though in a way with which he was happily as yet unfamiliar. For its title was, On the Use of High Explosive in Modern Warfare. And though Neil was no great reader, he was well enough first in current affairs to know the name of the author, a foreign scientist of worldwide reputation. He opened the book as he stood there and was soon absorbed in the preface, so absorbed indeed that it was some little time before he became aware that the cheerful twitterings behind him had ceased. It had made a welcome diversion, that innocent chirping of the little brown birds, and when it ceased, he missed it. He turned suddenly and dropped the book. Seven or eight of the sparrows were already lying on the floor motionless. Some lay on their sides, some on their backs, all looked as if they were already dead. Two were still on their feet, at any other time Neil would have laughed to see the way in which they staggered about, for all the world as if they were drunk. And as he watched one collapsed, the other, after an ineffective effort to spread its wings, rolled to one side and dropped helplessly. And Neil made another turn, to stare at the loaf of bread and to wonder what devilry lay in it. Poison? Of course it was poison, and what of this man in that jealously guarded room behind that steel door? Had he also eaten of the loaf? He turned to the sparrows again at last, stood staring at them as if they fascinated him, and eventually went over to the foot of the furnace and picked one up. Then he found, with something of a shock, that the small thing was not dead. The little body was warm with life. He felt the steady, regular beating of the tiny heart. He laid the bird down gently, and picked up its companions one by one, examining each. And each was warm, and the heart of each was beating. The sparrows were not dead, but they were drugged, and they were very fast to sleep. Neil now began to develop theories. If a mere tiny crumb of that loaf could put a sparrow, a remarkably vigorous and physically strong little bird, to sleep within a minute or two, what effect would, say, a good thick slice of it produce upon a human being? Anyway, the probability was that the captive in that room was lying in a heavily drugged condition, and that that was the reason of his silence. He would wake, and surely some sound, however faint would come. He himself would wait, listening. The morning wore on. He waited, watched, listened. No one came. Nothing happened. He ate more of his chocolate. He read the book on explosives. It interested him deeply, so deeply that in spite of his anxiety, his hunger, his uncertainty as to what might happen sooner or later, he became absorbed in it, and once more he was called from its pages by the sparrows. The sparrows were coming to life. After lying stupefied for some four or five hours they were showing signs of animation. One by one they were moving, staggering to their feet, beginning to chirp. As he watched them, first one, then the other got the use of its wings, and finally, with one consent, they flew off to the open window to disappear. Thereafter, Neil listened more keenly than ever for any sound from that mysterious room. But no sound came. The afternoon passed wearily away. The light began to fail, and at last he had to confess to himself that the waiting, the being always on the alert, the enforced seclusion and detention, the desire for proper food and drink, especially the latter, was becoming too much for him, and that his nerves were beginning to suffer. Was Joseph Chestermark never coming? Had he gone off somewhere? Possibly leaving a dead man behind, whose body was only a few yards away? There was no spark of comfort visible save one. Old Robb Walford would be home late that night from Weimington. Sooner or later he would hear of Neil's disappearance, and he would sharpen his naturally acute wits and come to the right conclusion. Yet that might be as far off as tomorrow. As the darkness came, Neil, now getting desperate for want of food, was suddenly startled by two sounds which, coming abruptly, at almost the same time, made him literally jump. One, the first, was a queer thump, thump, thump, which seemed to be both close at hand and yet a thousand miles away. The second was Joseph Chestermark's voice in the garden outside, heard clearly through the open window. He was bidding somebody to tell a cab driver to wait for him at the foot of the bridge. The next minute, Neil heard a key plunged into the outer door. Before it turned, he, following out a scheme which he had decided on during his long watch, had leaped behind the screen that stood near the furnace. Air the door could open, he was safely hidden, and in that second he heard the thumping repeated and knew that it came from the inner room. The electric light blazed up as Joseph Chestermark strode in. He put the door, too, behind him without quite closing it, and walked into the middle of the laboratory, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for something as he advanced. And Neil, peering at him through the high screen, felt afraid of him for the first time in his life. For the junior partner had shaved off his beard and mustache, and the face which was thus clearly revealed, and on which the bright light shone vividly, was one of such mean and benevolent cruelty that the watcher felt himself turned sick with dread. Joseph went straight to the door in the far wall, unlocked it with a twist of the key which he had brought from his pocket, and walked in. The click of an electric light switch followed, and Neil stared hard and nervously into the hitherto hidden room. But he saw nothing but Joseph Chestermark, standing, hands planted on his sides, staring at something hidden by the door. Next instant Joseph spoke, menacingly, sneeringly. "'So you're round again from one of your long sleeps, are you?' he said. That's lucky. Now then, have you come to your senses?' Neil thought his heart would burst as he waited for the unseen man's voice. But before he heard any voice he heard something which turned his blood cold with horror. The clanking, plain, unmistakable, of a chain. Whoever was in there was chained, chained like a dog, and following on that metallic sound came a very weary moan. "'Come on now,' said Joseph, none of that. Are you going to sign that paper? Speak now.' It seemed to Neil an age before an answer came, but it came at last, and in Horbury's voice. But what a changed voice. Thin, weak, weary. The voice of a man slowly being done to death. "'How long are you going to keep me here?' it asked. How long?' "'Sign that paper on the table there, and you'll be out of this within twenty-four hours,' replied Joseph. And, listen you, you'll have good food and wine, wine, within ten minutes. Come on now.' Further silence was followed by another moan, and at the sound of that, Neil, whose teeth had been clenched firmly for the last minute or two, slipped his hand round to the pocket in which the revolver lay. "'Don't be a damned fool,' said Joseph. Sign and have done with it. There's the pen. Sign. You could have signed any time the last week and been free. Get it done, damn you. I tell you, get it done. It's your last chance. I'm off to-night. If I leave you here, it's in your grave. Nobody'll ever come near this place for weeks. You'll be dead. Starve to death, mind. Long before that. Do you hear me? Come on now. Sign.' Neil half drew the revolver from his pocket. But, as he was about to step from behind the screen, a sudden step sounded on the gravel outside the outer door, and he shrank back, watching. The door opened, was thrown back with some violence, and at the same instant Joseph darted from the inner room, livid with anger, to confront Gabriel Chestermark. That the younger man had not expected to encounter the elder was instantly evident to Neil. Joseph drew back, step by step, watching his uncle, until his back was against the door through which he had just rushed. His hand went out behind him and pulled the door too, heavily, and as it closed he spoke, and Neil knew that there was fear in his voice. What? What is it, he got out. When did you come in here? Why? Gabriel Chestermark had come to a halt in the middle of the floor, and he was standing very still. His face was paler than ever, and his eyes burned in their deep-set sockets like live coals, and suddenly he lifted a forefinger and pointed it straight at his nephew. Thief, he said, with a quietness which was startlingly impressive to the excited spectator. Thief, thief and liar, and murderer for ought I know, but you are found out. Scoundrel, you stole those securities, you stole those jewels, don't trifle, don't attempt to dispute. I know. You got the jewels last Saturday night, you took those securities at the same time. You may have murdered that man Hollis for anything I know to the contrary. Probably you did, but no fencing with me. Now speak. Where are the jewels? Where are those securities? And where is Horbury? Answer, without lying. You devil. I tell you I know. I know. I have seen Mrs. Carswell. Neal had moved a little as he went on speaking, moved near to his nephew still pointing the incriminating and accusing finger at him, and Joseph had moved, too, backward. He was watching his uncle with a queer expression. Neal saw the tip of his tongue emerge from his lips, as if the lips had become dry and he wanted to moisten them, and suddenly his face changed, and Neal, closely watching him, saw his hand go quickly to his breast pocket and caught the gleam of a revolver. Neal was a cricketer, a reputation and experience. On a felt-covered stand close by him lay a couple of heavy spherical objects, fashioned of some shining surfaced material and about the size of a cricket ball, which he had previously noticed and handled in looking around. He snatched one of them up now and flung it hard and straight at Joseph Chestermark, intending to stun him. But for once in a way he missed his mark. The missile crashed against the wall behind, and then came a great flash and the roar of all the world going to pieces and a mighty lifting and upheaving, and he saw and felt and knew no more. CHAPTER XXXIII. WRECKAGE. The four people standing beneath the portico of the police station remained as if spellbound for a full moment after the sudden flash and the sudden roar. Betty Faustike unconsciously clutched at Lord Ellerstine's arm. Lord Ellerstine spoke, wonderingly. THUNDER, he exclaimed. STRANGE. Ezelby turned sharply from Starmage, who, holding by one of the pillars, was staring towards the quarter of the marketplace from whence the scream of dire fear had come. That's no thunder, my lord, he said. That's an explosion and a terrible one, too. Are there any gasworks close at hand? It was like... Polk came rushing out of the lobby behind them, followed by some of his men. At the same instant people began running along the pavements, calling to each other. Did you hear that? cried the superintendent excitedly. An explosion. Which direction? Starmage suddenly started, as if from a reverie. He put up his hand and wiped something from his cheek, and held the hand out to a shaft of light which came from the open door behind him. A smear of blood lay across his open palm. A splinter of falling glass, he said quietly. Come on, all of you. That was an explosion, and I guess where. Get help, Polk. Come on to the Corm Market. Get the fireman out. He set off running towards the end of the marketplace, followed by Ezelby, and at a slower pace by Lord Ellerstine and Betty. Crowds were beginning to run in the same direction. Very soon the two detectives found it difficult to thread away through them. But within a few minutes they were in the Corm Market, and Starmage, seizing his companion's arm, dragged him round the corner of Joseph Chestermark's house to the high garden wall which ran down the slope to the river bank, and as they turned the corner he pointed. As I thought, he muttered, it's Joseph Chestermark's workshop. Something's happened. Look there. The wall, a good ten feet high on that sign, was blown to pieces, and lay, a mass of fallen masonry, on the green suede by the roadside. Through the gap thus made, Starmage plunged into the garden, to be brought up at once by the twisted and interlaced boughs of the trees which had been lopped off as though by some giant axe, and then instantaneously transformed into a cunningly interwoven fence. The air was still thick with fine dust, and the atmosphere was charged with a curious acid odor which made eyes and nostrils smart. No ordinary bus stopped this, muttered Starmage, as he and Easelby forced their way through the branches and obstacles to the open lawn. My God, look at it, blown to pieces! The two men stood for a moment staring at the scene before them, as it was revealed in the faint light of a waning moon. Neither had ever seen the effect of high explosives before, and they remained transfixed with utter astonishment at what they saw. Never, until then, had either believed it possible that such ruin could be wrought by such means. The laboratory was a mass of shapeless wreckage. It seemed as if the roof had been blown into the sky, only to collapse again on the shattered walls. The masonry and woodwork lay all over the lawns and gardens, and amidst the surrounding bushes and trees. In the middle of it yawned a black, deep cavity, from the heart of which curled a wisp of yellowish smoke. Between these ruins and the houses a beech-tree of considerable size had been completely uprooted and had crashed down on the lower windows of the house, part of the wall and roof of which had been wrecked. And on the opposite side of the garden a great gap had been made in the smaller trees and the shrubberies beneath them by the falling in of Robb Walford's old dove-coat, the ancient walls and timber roof of which had completely collapsed under the force of the explosion. Over the actual area of the wreckage everything was still as death, save for a faint crackling where some loose wood was just catching fire. Starmage began to make his way towards it. The thing is, he said mechanically, the thing is, the thing is, yes, is, was there anybody here? Anybody here? We must have lights. And just then as he came to where the burst of flame was growing bigger and poke with the body of firemen and constables came hurrying through the gap in the lower wall he caught sight of a man's face, turned up to the half-light. Ease will be sought at the same time. Together they went nearer and Starmage bent down and found himself looking at Gabriel Chestermark. It was him, he whispered, that he came, here. He's gone, anyway, muttered, Ease'll be, dead as can be. He lifted himself erect and called to poke who was making his way towards them. Bring a lantern, he said. There's a dead man here. And keep the crowd out, called Starmage, keep everybody out while we look around. But at that moment he caught sight of Betty Faustike, who with Lord Ellers-Deen in close attendance had made her way into the garden and was clamoring towards him. Starmage stepped back to her. Hadn't you better go back, he urged. There'll be unpleasant sights. Do go back, amongst the trees, anyway. We found one dead man already. There'll probably be. No, she said firmly. I won't. Not until I know who's here. Because I think. I'm afraid Mr. Neal may be here. I must. I will stop. I'm not afraid. Whose body have you found? Gabriel Chestermarks replied Starmage quietly, dead. And, whoever's here, Miss Faustike, I don't see how he can possibly be alive. Do go back and let us search. But Betty turned away and began to search, climbing from one massive wreckage to another. Presently an exclamation from her brought the others hurriedly to her side. She pointed between two slabs of stone. There, she whispered, a man's face. Starmage turned to Lord Ellerstine. Get her away, aside, anywhere for a moment, he muttered. Let's see what condition he's in, anyway. The other was blown to pieces. Lord Ellerstine took a firm grip of Betty's arm and turned her round. That was not Mr. Neal, he asked. No, she said faintly. No. Then leave them to deal with that and let us look elsewhere, he said. Come. After all, you don't know that he would be here. Where else should he be? she answered. I'm sure he's here somewhere. Help me. She turned away with him in another direction, and the two detectives, with some firemen helping them, got to work on the place where she had pointed out. Presently Polk directed the light of a bull's eye on the dead face beneath them. He broke into an exclamation of amazement. Who's this? he demanded. Look. One of the firemen bent closer and suddenly glanced up at the superintendent. It's young Chestermark, sir, he said. He must have shaved his beard off, but it's him. They took out what was to be found of Joseph Chestermark at that particular spot and went on to search for the rest of him and for anything else. And eventually they came across Neal, unconscious but alive. His partial protection by the projecting iron walls of the furnace had saved him. He had evidently been carried back with them when the explosion occurred and wedged between them and the outer wall of the laboratory. He came round to find a doctor administering restoratives to him on one side, and Betty Faustike kneeling at the other, and suddenly he remembered and made a great shift to speak. All right, he muttered at length. Bit knocked out, that's all, but horbury, horburies, somewhere, get at him. They got at the missing bank manager at last. He, too, had been saved by the thick wall which stood between him and the explosion. He was alive and conscious when they had dug down to him, and his rescuers stared from him to each other when they saw that the broken links of the steel chain were still securely manacled about his waist. CHAPTER 31 The Prisoner Speaks It was not until a week later that Neal, with a bandaged head and one arm in a sling, and Betty Faustike, inexpressibly thankful that the recent terrible catastrophe had at any rate brought relief in its train, were allowed to visit horbury for their first interview of more than a few minutes to ration. Neal had made a quick recovery. Beyond the fracture of a small bone in his arm, some cuts on his head and a general shock to his system, he was little worse for his experience. But the elder victim had suffered more severely. He had suffered, too, from a week's ill treatment and starvation. Nevertheless, he managed an approving smile when the two young people were brought to his bedside, and he looked at them afterwards in a narrow and scrutinizing fashion, which made Betty redden and grow somewhat conscious. Not more than three quarters of an hour at the most, the nurse said, she remarked as they sat down at the bedside. So if you have anything to say, Uncle John, you must get it said within that. One can say a lot within three quarters of an hour, my dear, answered the invalid. There is something I wanted to say, he went on, glancing at Neal. I suppose there has been an inquest on the two Chester marks. Adjourned, until you're all right, replied Neal. You and I, of course, are the two important witnesses. You, principally, you know everything. I only came in at the end. I suppose there are, and have been, all sorts of rumours, said Horbury. I don't see how anybody but myself could know all that happened in this horrible business. Hollis, for instance, have they come up to any conclusion about his death? None, replied Neal. All that's known is that he was found at the bottom of one of the old lead mines. We, he added, nodding at Betty. We're there when he was taken out. Horbury's face clouded. And I, he said, shaking his head, was there when—but I'll tell you too all about it. I should like to go over it all again, before the inquest is resumed. Not that I've forgotten it, he went on with a shudder. I will never do that. It's all like a bad dream. You remember the Saturday night when this all began, Neal, if I had had any idea of what was to happen during the next week. That night, between half past five and six o'clock, I was rung up on the telephone. Greatly to my surprise I found the caller to be Frederick Hollis, an old schoolmate of mine, whom I had only seen once. I'll tell you when later, since we were at all at school together. Hollis said he had come down specially from London to see me. He was at the station hotel, about to have some food, and would like to meet me later. He said he had reasons for not coming to the bank-house. He wished to meet me in some quiet place about the town. I told him to walk along the riverside at half past seven, and I would meet him. And after I had dined I went through my garden and orchard to meet him coming along. I took him over the footbridge into the woods. Hollis told me an extraordinary story, yet one which did not surprise me as much as you might think. I knew that he was a solicitor in London. He said that only a few days before this interview a lady friend of his had privately asked his advice. She was a Mrs. Lester, the widow of a man, an old friend of Hollis's, who in his time made a very big fortune. They had an only son, a lad who went into the army and into a crack cavalry regiment. The father made his son a handsome but not sufficient allowance. The son finding it impossible to get it increased had recourse, after he was of age, to a London moneylender named Goodwin Markham of Conduit Street, from whom, in the course of time, he borrowed some seven or eight thousand pounds. Old Lester died. Instead of leaving a handsome fortune to the son, he left every penny he had to his wife. The lad was pressed for repayment. Markham claimed some fifteen or sixteen thousand. Young Lester was obliged to tell his mother. She urged him to make terms for cash. Markham would not abate a penny of his claim, so Mrs. Lester called in Frederick Hollis and asked his advice. At his suggestion she gave him a check for ten thousand pounds. He was to see Markham and endeavour to get a settlement for that sum. The day before he came down to Skarnam, Friday, Hollis did two things. He got Young Lester to come up to town and tell him the exact particulars of his financial dealings with Goodwin Markham. Primed with these, and knowing that the demand was extortionate, he went alone to Markham's office in Conduit Street. Markham was away, but Hollis saw the manager, a man named Stipp. He saw something more, too. On Stipp's mantelpiece he saw a portrait which he recognized immediately as one of Gabriel Chestermark. Now, you want to know how Hollis knew Gabriel Chestermark. In this way. I told you just now that Hollis and I had only met once since our school days. Some few years ago—I think the year before you came to the Skarnam Arms, I showed him around the town a bit, after bank hours, and as we were standing in the upper room window of the arms, Gabriel Chestermark came out of the bank and stood talking to some person in the marketplace for a while. He was a bit of an archeologist. He was looking around the old towns and he took Skarnam in his itinerary. Knowing that an old schoolmate of his was manager at Chestermark's bank in Skarnam, he called in to see me. He and I lunched together at the Skarnam person in the marketplace for a while. I drew Hollis's attention to him and asked, joculilly, if he had ever seen a more remarkable and striking countenance. He answered that it was one which, once seen, would not be readily forgotten. And he had not forgotten it once he saw the portrait at Markham's office. He knew very well that it was extremely unlikely that so noticeable a man as Gabriel Chestermark could have a double. Now, Hollis was a sharp fellow. He immediately began to suspect things. He talked a while with Stipp and contrived to find out that the portrait over the mantelpiece was that of Goodwood Markham. He also found out that Mr. Goodwood Markham was rarely to be found at his office, that there was no such thing as daily or even weekly attendance there by him. And after mutual desires that the Lester affair should be satisfactorily settled, but without telling Stipp anything about the ten thousand pounds, he left the office with a promise to call a few days later. Next day, certain of what he had discovered, Hollis came down to see me and told me all that I have just told you. It did not surprise me as much as you would think. I knew that for a great many years Gabriel Chestermark had spent practically half his time in London. I had always felt sure that he had a finger in some business there, and I naturally concluded that he had some sort of pettitère in London as well. One fact had always struck me as peculiar. He never allowed letters to be sent on to him from Skarnam to London. Anything that required his personal attention had to await his return. So that when I heard all that Hollis had to tell, I was not so greatly astonished. In fact, the one thing that immediately occupied my thoughts was, was Joseph Chestermark also concerned in the Godwood Markham money-lending business. He too was constantly away at London, or believed to be so. He too never had letters sent on to him. Taking everything into consideration I came to the conclusion that Joseph was in all probability his uncle's partner in the Conduit Street Concern, just as he was in the bank at home. Hollis and I walked about the paths in the wood for some time discussing this affair. I asked at last what he proposed to do. He inquired if I thought the Chestermarks would be keen about preserving their secret. I replied that in my opinion, seeing that they were highly respectable country-town bankers, chiefly doing business with ultra-respectable folk, they would be very sorry indeed to have it come out that they were also money lenders in London, and evidently very extortionate ones. Hollis then said that that was his own opinion, and it would influence the line he proposed to take. He said that he had a check in his pocket, already made out for ten thousand pounds, and only requiring filling up the names of the payee and drawer, and that he would like to see Gabriel Chestermark, tell him what he had discovered, offer him the check in full satisfaction of young Lester's liabilities to the Markham Concern, and hint plainly that if his offer of it was not accepted he would take steps which would show that Gabriel Chestermark and Goodwin Markham were one and the same person. Now I had no objection to this. I had not told you of it, Neil, but I had already determined to resign my position as manager at Chestermarks. I had grown tired of it. I was going to resign as soon as I returned for my holiday. So I assented to Hollis's proposal, and offered to accompany him to the Warren. I don't mind admitting that I was a little, perhaps a good deal, eager to see how Gabriel would behave when he discovered that his double-dealing was found out, and known to me. We therefore set off across Ellersden Hollow. I have been told while lying here that some of you found the pipe which you, Betty, gave me last Christmas, lying near the old tower. Quite right. I lost it there that night as I was showing Hollis the view in the moonlight from the top of the crags. I meant to pick it up as we returned, but what happened put it completely out of my mind. Hollis and I crossed the moor and the high road and went into the little lane, or carriage-drive, which leads to the Warren. Halfway down it we met Joseph Chestermark. He was coming away from the Warren, from the garden. He, of course, wanted to know if we were going to see his uncle. I told him that my companion, Mr. Frederick Hollis, a London solicitor, had come specially from town to see Mr. Gabriel Chestermark and that, being an old friend of mine, he had first come to see me. Joseph therefore said that we were too late to find his uncle at home. Gabriel, he went on, had been suffering terribly from insomnia, and by his doctor's advice he was trying the effect of a long solitary walk every night before going to bed, and he had just started out over the moor at the back of his house. Turning to Hollis he asked if he could do anything, was his visit about banking business. Now I determined to settle it once the question is to Joseph's participation in the affairs of the Conduit Street Concern. Before Hollis could reply, I spoke. I said, Mr. Hollis wishes to see your uncle on the affairs of Lieutenant Lester and the Goodwin Markham loans. I watched Joseph closely. The moonlight was full on his face. He started, a little, and he gave me a swift, queer look which was gone as quickly as it came. It meant, so you know. Then he answered in quite an assured, offhand manner. Oh, I know all about that, of course. I can deal with it as well as my uncle could. Come back across the moor to my house. We'll have a drink and a cigar and talk it over with Mr. Hollis. I nudged Hollis's arm and we turned back with Joseph towards Garnham, crossing the Hollow in another direction, by a track which leads straight from a point exactly opposite the Warren to the foot of Garnham Bridge, near the wall of Joseph Chestermark's house. It is not a very long way, half an hour sharp walk. We did not begin talking business. As a matter of fact, Hollis began talking about the curious nature of that patch of Moorland and about the old lead mines. And when we were nearly halfway the affair happened which, I suppose, led to all that has happened since, it gave Joseph Chestermark an opening. Having lost my pipe and being now going in a different direction from that necessary to recover it, I had nothing to smoke. Joseph Chestermark offered me a cigar. He opened his case. I was taking a cigar from it when Hollis stepped aside to one of the old shafts which stood close by, and resting his hands on the parapet leaned over the coping, either to look down or to drop something down. Before we had grasped what he was doing, certainly before either of us could cry out and warn him, the parapet completely collapsed before him and he disappeared into the mine. He was gone in a second, with just one scream, and after that we heard nothing. We hurried to the place and got as near as we dared. Joseph Chestermark dropped on his hands and knees and peered over and listened. There was not a sound except the occasional dropping of loosened pebbles, and we both knew that in that drop of seventy or eighty feet Hollis must certainly have met his death. We hastened away to the town, to summon assistance. I don't think we'd had any very clear ideas except to tell the police, and to see if we could get one of the fire brigade men to go down. I was in a dreadful state about the affair. I felt as though some blame attached to me. By the time we reached the bridge I felt like fainting, and Joseph suggested that we should go in through his garden door to his workshop. He had some brandy there, he said. It would revive me. He took me in, up the garden, and into the workshop. I dropped down on a couch he had there, feeling very ill. He went to a side-table, mixed something which looked, and tasted, like brandy and soda, brought it to me, and bade me drink it right off. I did so. And within I should say a minute, I knew nothing more. The next thing I knew I awoke in pitch darkness, feeling very ill. It was some little time before I could gather my wits together. Then I remembered what had happened. I felt about. I was lying on what appeared to be a couch or small bed covered with rugs. But there was something strange, apart from the darkness and the silence. Then I discovered that I was chained, chained round my waist, and that the chain had other chains attached to it. I felt along one of them, then along the other. They terminated in rings on a wall. I can't tell you what I felt until daylight came. I knew, however, that I was at Joseph Chestermark's, perhaps at Gabriel's, Mercy. I had discovered their secret. Hollis was out of the way. But what were they going to do with me? Oddly enough, though I had always had a secret dislike of Gabriel, and even some sort of fear of him, believing him to be a cruel and implacable man, it was Joseph that I now feared. It was he who had drugged and trapped me without a doubt. Why? Then I remembered something else. I had told Joseph, but not Gabriel, about my temporary custody of Lady Ellerstine's jewels, and he knew where they were safely deposited at the bank, in a certain small safe in the strong room of which he had a duplicate key. I found myself, when the light came, in a small room, or cell, in which was a bed, a table, a chair, a dressing table, evidently a retreat for Joseph when he was working in his laboratory at night. But I soon saw that it was also a strong room. I could hear nothing. The silence was terrible, and, eventually, so was my hunger. I could rise, I could even pace about a little, but there was no food there, and no water. I don't know how long it was, nor when it was, that Joseph Chestermark came. But when he came, he brought his true character with him. I could not hope believe that any human being could be so callous, so brutal, so coldly indifferent to another's sufferings. I thought as I listened to him of all I had heard about that ancestor of his, who had killed a man in cold blood in the old house at the bank, and I knew that Joseph Chestermark would kill me with no more compunction, and no less than he would show in crushing a beetle that crossed his path. His cruelty came out in his frankness. He told me plainly that he had me in his power. Nobody knew where I was. Nobody could get to know. His uncle knew nothing of the holest affair. No one knew. No one would be told. His uncle, moreover, believed I had run away with the convertible securities and Lady Ellerstine's jewels. He, Joseph, would take care that he and everybody should continue to think so. And then he told me cynically that he had helped himself to the missing securities and to the jewels as well. The event of Saturday night, he said, had just given him the chance he wanted, and in a few days he would be out of this country and in another, where his great talent as a chemist and an inventor would be valued and put to grand use. But he was not going empty handed, not he. He was going with as much as ever he could rake together. And it was on that first occasion that he told me what he wanted of me. You know, Neil, that I am trustee for two or three families in this town. Joseph knew that I held certain securities deposited in a private safe of mine at the bank, which could be converted into cash in, say, London, at an hour's notice. He had already helped himself to them and had prepared a document which only needed my signature to enable him to deal with them. That signature would have put nearly a quarter million into his pocket. He used every endeavor to make me sign the paper which he brought. He said that if I would sign he would leave an ample supply of the best food and drink within my reach and that I should be released within thirty-six hours by which time he would be out of England. When I steadily refused he had recourse to cruelty. Twice he beat me severely with a dog whip, another time he assaulted me with hands and feet like a madman. And then, when he found physical violence was no good, he told me he would slowly starve me to death. But he was doing that all along. The first three days I had nothing but a little soup and dry bread. The remaining part of the time nothing but dry bread. And during the last two days I knew that there was something in that bread which sent me off into long, continued periods of absolute unconsciousness and I was glad. That's all. You know the rest, better than I do. I don't know yet how that explosion came about. He had been in to me only a few minutes before it happened, badgering me again to sign that authority and I felt myself weakening. Flesh and blood were alike at the end of their endurance. Then it came. And as I say, that's all. But there's one thing I wanted to ask you. Have those jewels been found? Yes, replied Neil. They were found, all safe, in a suitcase in Joseph's house, along with a lot of other valuables, money, securities and so on. He was evidently about to be off. In fact the luggage was already, and so was a cab which he'd ordered, and in which he was presumably going to Ellerstein. And another thing, said Horbury, turning from one to the other. I heard this morning that you'd left the bank, Neil. What are you going to do? What has happened? Betty looked at Neil, warningly. Stooped over the invalid, kissed him, rose, and took Neil's unwounded arm. No more talk today, Uncle John, she commanded. Wait until tomorrow. Then, if you're good, we shall perhaps tell you what's going to happen to both of us. End of Chapter 31 An End of the Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher Recording by Marianne Spiegel in Chicago, Illinois on July 17, 2010