 CHAPTER XXII On Remand When Langton Hyde was brought up before the magistrate next morning, the court was crowded to its utmost limits, and Viner, looking round him from his seat near the solicitor's table, saw that most of the people interested in the case were present. Mr. Carles was whispering with Mr. Paul, Lord Ellingham had a seat close by, in the front of the public gallery, Miss Pankridge, grim and alert, was in charge of the timid and shrinking sisters of the unfortunate prisoner. There, too, were Mr. Armistead and Mr. Isidore Rosenbaum, and Mr. Perkwhite, all evidently very much alive to certain possibilities. But Viner looked in vain for either Methly or Woodlesford or their mysterious client. They were certainly not present when Hyde was put into the dock, and Viner began to wonder if the events of the previous day had warned Mr. Cave and those behind him to avoid publicity. And by Viner, who was determined to spare neither effort nor money to clear his old schoolmate, fell from head-engage the services of one of the most brilliant criminal barristers of the day, Mr. Millington Bywater, on behalf of his client, and he and Viner had set up half the night with him, instructing him in the various mysteries and ramifications of the case. A big, heavy-faced, shrewd eyed man, Mr. Millington Bywater made no sign, and to all outward appearance showed no very great interest while the counsel, who now appeared on behalf of the police, completed his case against the prisoner. The only new evidence produced by the prosecution was that of the greengrocer on whose premises Hyde had admitted that he passed most of the night at the murder, and in whose shed the missing valuables had been found. The greengrocer's evidence as to his discovery was given in a plain and straightforward fashion. He was evidently a man who would just tell what he actually saw, and brought neither fancy nor imagination to he bear on his observation. But when the prosecution had done with him, Mr. Millington Bywater rose and quietly asked the police to produce the watch chain-andering which the greengrocer had found in their original wrappings. He held up the wrapping papers to the witness, and asked him if he could swear that this was what he had found the valuables in and had given to the police. The greengrocer was positive as to this. He was positive, too, that the other wrappings which Felfam had carefully preserved were those which had been on the outside of the parcel and had been thrown aside by himself on its discovery and afterwards picked up by Viner. Mr. Millington Bywater handed all these papers up to the magistrate, directing his attention to the strong odor of drugs or chemicals which still pervaded them, and to the address of the manufacturing chemists which appeared on the outer wrapping. The magistrate seemed somewhat mystified. What is the object of this? He asked, glancing at the defending counsel. It is admitted that these are the wrappings in which the watch and chain-andering were found in the witness's shed, but he paused with another inquiring look. He proposed to what? He asked. I propose your worship to prove that these things were never put there by the prisoner at all, answered Mr. Millington Bywater promptly and with an assurance which was not lost in the spectators. I intend to show that they were purposely placed in that outhouse by the real murder of John Ashton after the statement made by the prisoner at the inquest became public, just there, of course, to divert any possible suspicion of himself. And now, he continued, after the greengrocer had left the box and a prosecuting counsel had intimated that he had no more evidence to bring forward at present. Now I will outline the defense which I shall set up on behalf of my client. I intend to prove that John Ashton was murdered by some man not yet discovered who killed him in order to gain possession of certain papers which he carried on him, figures of extreme importance as will be shown. We know where certain of those papers are, and we hope, before long, to know where the rest are, and also where a certain very valuable diamond is which the murdered man had on him at the time of his death. I shall indeed prove that the prisoner, certainly through his own foolishness, is wrongly accused. It will be within your worship's recollection that when the prisoner was first before you, he very unwisely refused to give his name and address or any information, he subsequently repented of that and made a statement, not only to the police but before the coroner. Now I propose to put him into that box so that he may give evidence, and I shall then call certain witnesses who will offer evidence which will go to prove that what I say as regards the murder of Ashton is more than probable, namely, that he was murdered for the sake of the documents he had on him, and that the spoiling of his money and valuables was a mere piece of bluff intended to mislead. Let the prisoner go into the box. There was a continued deep silence in court while Hyde, under examination, repeated the story which he had told to Weiner and Drilford and before the coroner and his jury. It was a plain consecutive story in which he set forth the circumstances preceding the evening of the murder and confessed his picking up of the ring which lay on the pavement by Ashton's body. He kept his eyes steadily fixed on Mr. Millington by water under this examination, never removing them from him save when the magistrate interposed with an occasional remark or question. But at one point a slight commotion in court caused him to look among the spectators and Weiner, following the direction of his eyes, saw him start and at the same instant saw what it was that he started at. Methley, followed by the claimant, was quietly pushing him away through the throng between the door and the solicitor's table. Weiner leaned closer to Mr. Paul. Do you see? He whispered. Hyde evidently recognizes one of those two, now which? Mr. Paul glanced at the prisoner. Hyde's face hither to pale had flushed a little and his eyes had grown bright. He looked as if he had suddenly seen a friend's face in a hostile crowd, but Mr. Millington by water, who had been bending over his papers, suddenly looked up with another question and Hyde again turned his attention to him. All that you really know of this matter, asked Mr. Millington by water, is that your chance to turn up long-stale passage, saw a man lying on the pavement and a ring close by, and that, being literally starving and desperate, you snatched up that ring and ran away as fast as you could. Yes, that is all, asserted Hyde, except that I had met a man, as I have already told you, at the end of the passage by which I entered. You did not even know whether this man lying on the pavement was alive or dead. I thought he might be drunk, replied Hyde. But after I had snatched up the ring I never thought at all until Hyde had run some distance. I was afraid of being followed. Now, why were you afraid of being followed? I was famishing, answered Hyde. I knew I could get something, some money on that ring in the morning, and I wanted to stick to it. I was afraid that the man whom I met as I ran out of the passage, whom I now know to have been Mr. Viner, might follow me and make me give up the ring, and the ring meant food. Mr. Millington Bywater let this answer sink into the prevalent atmosphere and suddenly turned to another matter. The knife which had been found in Hyde's possession was lying with certain other exhibits on the solicitor's table, and Mr. Millington Bywater pointed to it. Now, about that knife, he said, it is yours? Very well. How long have you had it? Three or four years, replied Hyde promptly, I bought it when I was touring in the United States at a town called Guthrie in Oklahoma, and he added suddenly and with a triumphant smile as of a man who is unexpectedly able to clinch an argument. There is a gentleman there who was with me when I bought it, Mr. Nugent Star. From the magistrate on his bench to the policeman at the door every person in court turned to look at the man to whom the person pointed an outstretched finger, and Mr. Paul let out an irrepressible exclamation. Good God! he said, the claimant fellow! But Viner said nothing. He was staring, as everybody else was, at the man who said by Methly. He suddenly, aware that Hyde had pointed to him, was obviously greatly taken aback and embarrassed. He looked sharply at the prisoner, knitted his brows, shook his head, and turning to Methly muttered something which no one else caught. Mr. Millington by water looked at him and turned to his client. You say there is a gentleman here, that gentleman, who was with you when you bought that knife, he asked. A friend of yours, then? Well, we were playing in the same company, asserted Hyde. Mr. Morby Banister's company. He was heavy-led, and I was juvenile. He knows me well enough. He was with me when I bought that knife in a hardware store in Guthrie. The magistrate's eye was on the man who said by Methly, and there was a certain amount of irritation in it. And suddenly Methly whispered something to his companion, and the man shyly, but with a noticeable composure, stood up. I beg your worship's pardon, he said quietly, with a polite bow to the bench. But really, the witness is under a mistaken impression. I don't know him, and I have never been in the town he mentions. In fact, I have never been in the United States. I am very sorry, but really, there is some strange mistake. I, the witness, is an absolute stranger to me. The attention of all present was transferred to Hyde, and Hyde flushed, leaned forward over the ledge of the witness's box, and gave the claimant a long, steady stare. No mistake at all, he suddenly exclaimed in a firm voice. That's Mr. Nugent Star. I played with him for over twelve months. While this had been going on, Falfum on one side and Carlos on the other had been whispering to Mr. Millington by water, who listened to both with growing interest, and began to nod to each with increasing intelligence, and then suddenly the prosecuting council played unexpectedly and directly into his hand. If your worship pleases, said the prosecuting council, I should like to have the prisoner's assertion categorically denied. It may be of importance. Perhaps this gentleman will go into the box and deny it on oath. Mr. Millington by water sat down as quickly as if a heavy hand had forced him into his seat, and Viner saw a swift look of gratification cross his features. Close by, Mr. Paul chuckled with joy. By the Lord, Harry, he whispered, the very thing we wanted. No need to wait for the current coroners in quest, Viner. The thing will come out now. Viner did not understand. He saw Hyde turned out of the box. He saw the claimant, after an exchange of remarks with Methly, step into it. He heard him repeat on oath, the denial he had just uttered after stating that his name was Cave and that he lived at the Bellmeade Hotel Lancaster Gate, and he saw Mr. Millington by water. After exchanging a few questions and answers in whispers with Hyde over the ledge of the dock, turned to the witness as he was about to step down. A moment, sir, he said, I want to ask you a few questions with the permission of his worship, who will soon see that they are very pertinent. So he went on, you reside at the Bellmeade Hotel, in Lancaster Gate. And your name is Edward Cave? At present, answered the witness stiffly. Do you mean that your name is Edward Cave at present? My name is Edward Cave, and at present I live, as I have stated, replied the witness with dignity. You have just stated on oath that you are not Nugent Star, have never been so called, don't know the prisoner, never met him in America, have never set foot in America. Now then, mind, you're on your oath. Is Edward Cave your real or full name? Well, strictly speaking, answered the witness after some hesitation. No, it is not. My full name is Cave Gray, my family name, but for the present. For the present you wish to be called, Mr. Cave. Now, sir, are you not the person who claims to be the rightful Earl of Ellingham? A murmur of excited interest ran round the court, and everybody recognized that a new stage of the case had been entered upon. Every eye, especially the observant eyes on the bench, were fixed on the witness, who now looked considerably ruffled. He glanced at Methly, but Methly sat with averted look and made no sign. He looked at the magistrate, the magistrate who was plain expected the question to be answered, and the answer came almost sullenly. Yes, I am. That is to say, you are really, or you claim to be really the Lord Market Stoke who disappeared from England some thirty-five years ago, and you have now returned, though you are legally presumed to be dead, to assert your rights to titles and estates. You absolutely claim to be the ninth Earl of Ellingham? Yes. Where have you been during the last thirty-five years? In Australia. What part? Tiffly in Melbourne, but I was for four or five years up-country. What name did you go under there? Mr. Paul, Mr. Carles, and the rest of the spectators who were in these secrets regarded the witness with keen attention when this question was put to him, but his answer came promptly. At first under the name of Wickham, later under the one I now use, Cave. Did you marry out there? Never. And so, of course, you never had a daughter. I have never been married and have never had daughter or son. Mr. Millington Bywater turned to Mr. Carles at his left elbow and exchanged two or three whispered remarks with him. At last he looked round again at the witness. Yesterday, he said, in your character of claimant to the Ellingham title and estates, you showed to Messures, Carles and Driver of Lincoln's infields, and to the present holder the title Certain Documents, letters, papers which would go some way toward establishing your claim, to be what you profess to be. Now I will set once that we believe these papers to have been stolen from the body of John Ashton when he was murdered. And I will ask you a direct question, on your oath. Have those papers always been in your possession since you left England thirty-five years ago? The witness drew himself up and looked steadily at his questioner. No, he answered firmly. They were stolen from me almost as soon as I arrived in Australia. I have only just regained possession of them. CHAPTER XXIII A murmur of astonishment ran through the court as the witness made his last reply, and those most closely interested in him turned and looked at each other with obvious amazement. And for a moment Mr. Millington by water seemed to be at a loss. In the next he bent forward towards the witness box and fixed the man standing there with a piercing look. Do you seriously tell us on your oath that these papers, your papers, if you are what you claim to be, were stolen from you many years ago and have only just been restored to you? He asked. On your oath, mind. I do tell you so. Answered the witness quietly. I am on oath. The magistrate glanced at Mr. Millington by water. What is the relevancy of this in relation to the prisoner and the charge against him, he inquired. You have some point, of course. The relevancy is this, your worship, replied Mr. Millington by water. Our contention is that the papers referred to were until recently in the custody of John Ashton, the murdered man. I can put a witness in the box who can give absolute proof of that, a highly reputable witness who is present, and that John Ashton was certainly murdered by some person or persons who, for purposes of their own, wished to gain possession of them. Now we know that they are in possession of the present witness, or rather of his solicitors to whom he has handed them. I mean to prove that Ashton was murdered in the way and for the reason I suggest, and that accordingly the prisoner is absolutely innocent of the charge brought against him. I should therefore like to ask this witness to tell us how he regained possession of these papers, for I am convinced that in what he can tell us lies a secret of Ashton's murder. Now he continued turning again to the witness as the magistrate nodded his assent. We will assume for the time being that you are what you represent yourself to be. The Lord Marketstoke who disappeared from England thirty-five years ago. You have just heard what I said to his worship about these papers, and what I put forward as regards their connection with the murder of John Ashton. Will you tell us how you lost those papers, and more particularly how you recently regained possession of them? You see the immense, the vital importance of this to the unfortunate young fellow in the dock. Who, answered the witness with a calm smile, is quite and utterly mistaken in thinking that he knew me in America, for have certainly never set foot in America, neither north nor south in my life. I am very much surprised, indeed, to be forced into publicity as I have been this morning. I came here as a merely curious spectator and had no idea whatever that I should be called into this box, but if any evidence of mine can establish or help to establish the prisoner's innocence I will give it only too gladly. Much obliged to you, sir, said Mr. Millington Bywater, who, in Viner's opinion, was evidently impressed by the witness's straightforward tone and candid demeanor. Well, if you will tell us, in your own way, about these papers now, always remembering that we have absolute proof that until recently they were in the possession of John Ashton, let me preface whatever you choose to tell us with a question. Do you know that they were in possession of John Ashton? I have no more idea or knowledge of whose hands they were in and had been in for many years until they were restored to me than the man in the moon has, affirmed the witness. I'll tell you the whole story willingly. I could have told it yesterday to certain gentlemen whom I see present if they had not treated me as an impostor as soon as they saw me. Well, here he folded his hands on the ledge of the witness's box and quietly fixing his eyes on the examining council proceeded to speak in a calm conversational tone. The story is this. I left England about five and thirty years ago after a certain domestic unpleasantness, which I felt so much that I determined to give up all connection with my family and to start an absolutely new life of my own. I went away to Australia and landed there under the name of Wickham. I had a certain amount of money which had come to me from my mother. I speculated with it on my arrival, somewhat foolishly, no doubt, and I lost it every penny. So then I was obliged to work for my living. I went up country and for some time worked as a miner in the Bendigo district. I had been working in this way perhaps fourteen months when an accident occurred in the mine at which I was engaged. There was a serious fall of earthen masonry. Two or three of my fellow workers were killed on the spot and I was taken up for dead. I was removed to a local hospital. There had been some serious injury to my head and spine, but I still had life in me and I was brought round. But I remained in hospital in a sort of semi-conscious state for a long time, months. When I went back after my discharge to my quarters, nothing but a rough shanty which I had shared with many other men all my possessions had vanished. Among them, of course, were the papers I had kept and a packet of letters written to me by my mother when I was a schoolboy at Eden. Of course I knew at once what had happened. Some one of my mates, believing me to be dead, had appropriated all my belongings and gone off with them. There was nothing at all to be wondered at in that. It was the usual thing in such a society, and I knew there was nothing to do but to accept my loss philosophically. "'Did you make no effort to recover your possessions?' asked Mr. Millington by water. "'No,' answered the witness with a quiet smile. I didn't. I knew too much of the habits of men in mining centers to waste time in that way. A great many men had left that particular camp during my illness. It would have been impossible to trace each one. No, after all I had left England in order to lose my identity, and now, of course, it was gone. I went to wait to quite another part of the country into Queensland. I began trading in Brisbane, and I did very well there and remained there many years. Then I went further south, to Sydney, and I did very well there too. It was in Sydney, years after that, that I saw the advertisements in the newspapers, England and Colonial, setting forth that my father was dead and asking for news of myself. I took no notice of them. I had not at least desired her turn to England. No wish for the title, and I was quite content that my youngest brother should get that and the estates. So I did nothing. Nobody knew who I really was. One moment, said Mr. Millington by water. While you were at the mining-camp in the Bendigo District, did you ever reveal your secret to any of your fellow miners? Never, answered the witness. I never revealed it to a living soul until I told my solicitor there, Mr. Methley, after my recent arrival in London. But of course, whoever stole your letters and so on would discover, or guess at, the truth, suggested Mr. Millington by water. Oh, of course, of course, said the witness. Well, as I was saying, I did nothing except to keep an eye on the papers. I saw in due course that leave to presume my death had been given, and that my younger brother had assumed the title, and administered the estate, and I was quite content. The fact was, I was at that time doing exceedingly well, and I was too much interested in my doings to care about what was going on in England. All my life continued the witness with a slight smile. I have had a—I had better call it a weakness—for speculating, and when I had got a goodly sum of money, together by my trading venture in Brisbane and Sydney, I began speculating again in Melbourne chiefly, and to cut my story short. Last year I had one of my periodic bad turns of fortune. I lost a lot of money. Now I am, as you see, getting on in life over sixty, and it occurred to me that if I came over to England and convinced my nephew, the present holder of the title and estates that I am really who I am, he would not be a verse. We have always been a generous family, to giving me enough to settle down on in Australia for the rest of my days. Perhaps I had better say it once, since we are making matters so very public, that I do not want the title, nor the estate. I will be quite candid and say what I do want, enough to let me live in proper comfort in Australia. With her I shall again repair as soon as I settle my affairs here. Mr. Millington, by a water, glanced at the magistrate and then at the witness. Well, now, these papers, he said, you didn't bring them to London with you? Of course not, answered the witness. I had not seen or heard of them for thirty-two years. Know I relied on coming to this country, on other things, to prove my identity, such as my knowledge of Market Stoke and Ellingham, my thorough acquaintance with the family history, my recollection of people I had known, like Mr. Carlos, Mr. Driver, and their clerk, Mr. Perhulthwaite, and on the fact that I lost this finger through a shooting accident when I was a boy at Ellingham. Curiously, he added with another smile, these things don't seem to have much weight. But no, I had no papers when I landed here. How did they come into your possession then? Asked, Mr. Millington, by a water, that is what we most earnestly desire to know. Let me impress upon you, sir, that this is the most serious and fateful question I can possibly put to you. How did you get them? From whom, said the magistrate, from whom? The witness shook his head. I can tell you exactly how I got them, he answered. But I can't tell you from whom, for I don't know. What I can tell you is this. When I arrived at Tilbury from Melbourne, I asked a fellow passenger with whom I came along to London, if he could tell me of a quiet, good hotel in the neighborhood of the parks. He recommended the Belfield in Lancaster Gate. I went there and put myself up, and from it I went out in about a good deal, looking up old haunts. I also lunched and dined a good many times at some of the new restaurants which had sprung into being since I left London. I mentioned this to show you that I was where I could be seen and noticed, as I evidently was. One afternoon while I was sitting in the smoking-room at my hotel, the page-boy came in with a letter on his tray, approached me, and said that it had been brought by a district messenger. It was addressed simply, Mr. Cave, the name by which I had registered at the hotel, and was sealed. The enclosure, on a half-sheet of note-paper, was typewritten. I have it here, continued the witness, producing a pocket-book and taking out an envelope. I will read its contents, and I shall be glad to let anyone concerned see it. There is no address and no date, and it says this. If you wish to recover the papers and letters which were lost by you when you went into the hospital at Weiraworah Bendigo thirty-two years ago, be at the Speck Monument in Kensington Gardens at five o'clock this afternoon. There is no signature. Another murmur of intense and excited interest ran round the court as the witness handed the letter up to the magistrate, who after looking it over passed it on to the council below. They, in their turn, showed it to Mr. Carles, Mr. Paul and Lord Ellingham, Mr. Paul showing it to Viner, whispering in his ear. If this man's telling the truth, he said, this is the most extraordinary story I ever heard in my life. It seems to me that it is the truth. Motored Viner, and I'm pretty certain that at last we're on the way to finding out who killed Ashton, but let's hear the end. Mr. Millington Bywater handed the letter back with a polite bow. It was very obvious to more than one observer that he had by this time quite accepted the witnesses what he claimed to be. We kept the appointment, he asked. I did indeed, exclaimed the witness, as much out of greatly excited curiosity as anything. It seemed to me a most extraordinary thing that papers stolen from me in Australia thirty-two years ago should be returned to me in London. Yes, I walked down to the spake monument. I saw no one about there, but a heavily veiled woman who walked about on one side of the obelisk while I patrolled the other. Eventually she approached me and at once asked me if I had kept secret the receipt of the mysterious letter. I assured her that I had. She then told me that she was the ambassador of the people who had my letters and papers, and who had seen and recognized me in London and tracked me to my hotel. She was empowered to negotiate with me for the handing over of the papers. There were stipulations. I was to give my solemn word of honour that I would not follow her, or cause her to be followed. I was not to ask questions, and I was to give a post-dated check on the bank at which I had opened an account in London on receipt of the papers. The check was to be post-dated one month. It was to be made out to bearer, and the amount was ten thousand pounds. I agreed. You really agreed, exclaimed Mr. Millington by water. I agreed. I wanted my papers. We parted, with an agreement that we were to meet two days at the same place. I was there, so was the woman. She handed me a parcel, and I immediately took it to an adjacent seat and examined it. The thing that I could remember was there, with two exceptions. The packet of letters from my mother, to which I referred just now, was missing, so was a certain locket which had belonged to her, and of which I had taken great care since her death up to the time of my accident in the mining camp. I pointed out these omissions to the woman. She answered that the papers which she had handed over were all that had been in her principal's possession, thereupon I gave her the check which had been agreed upon and we parted. And that is all you know of her, asked Mr. Millington by water, all. Can you describe her? A tallish, rather well-built woman, but so veiled that I could see nothing of her features. It was moreover, nearly dark on both occasions. From her speech and manner she was, I should say, a woman of education and refinement. Did you try to trace her or her principal's through the district messenger who brought the letter? Certainly not. I told you just now that I gave my word of honour, I couldn't. Mr. Millington by water, turn to the magistrate. I can, if your worship desires it, put a witness in the box who can prove beyond death that the papers of which we have just heard this remarkable story were recently in the possession of John Ashton, he said. He is Mr. Cecil Perkwight of the Middle Temple, a member of my own profession. But the magistrate who appeared unusually thoughtful shook his head. After what we have heard, he said, I think we had better join. The prisoner will be remanded as before for another week. When the magistrate had left the bench and the court was humming with the murmur of tongues suddenly let free, Mr. Paul forced his way to the side of the last witness. Whoever you are, sir, he said, there is one thing certain. Nobody but you can supply the solution of the mystery about Ashton's death. With me and Carlis at once. The man whose extraordinary story had excited such intense interest had become the object of universal attention. Hyde, hither to the center of attraction, was already forgotten. And instead of people going away from the court to canvass his guilt or his innocence, they surged around the witness whose testimony, strange and unexpected, had so altered the probabilities of the case. It was with difficulty that Mathly got his client away into a private room. There they were joined by Mr. Carlis, Mr. Paul, Mr. Perkwight, Lord Ellingham and Weiner, and behind a locked door these men looked at each other and at the center of interest, with the air of those to whom something extraordinary had just been told. After a moment of silence Mr. Carlis spoke, addressing the man whose story had brought matters to an undeniable crisis. I am sure, he said gravely, and with a side glance at Lord Ellingham, that if your story is true, sir, and after what we have just heard, I am beginning to think that my first conclusions may have been wrong ones. No one will welcome your reappearance more warmly than the young gentleman whom you will turn out of title and property. But you must see for yourself that your claims must be thoroughly investigated, and as what you have now just told affects other people, and we must invite you to full discussion. I propose that, for the time being, we address you as Mr. Cave. The claimant smiled, and not a geniusly, to the young man whose uncle he alleged himself to be. I wish to remain, Mr. Cave, he said. I don't want to turn my nephew out of title and property, so long as he will do something for his old uncle. Call me, Mr. Cave, by all means. We must talk, and at once, said Mr. Carlis. There are several points arising out of your evidence on which you must give me information. The phrase at the back of that woman, who handed you those papers, is probably the murderer of John Ashton, and that is what must be got had. Now, where can we have a conference, immediately? Your office, Bethlehem, is not far away, I think. My house is nearer, said Viner. Come, we shall be perfectly quiet in my study, and there will be nothing to interrupt us. Let us go now. A police official let them out by a side door, and Viner and Mr. Paul led the way through some side streets to Markendale Square. The others coming behind, conversing eagerly about the events of the morning. Mr. Paul, on his part, was full of excitement. If we can only trace that woman, Viner, he exclaimed, that's the next thing. Get hold of her, whoever she is, and then, ah, we shall be in sight of the finishing part. What about tracing the whole lot through the check he has given, suggested Viner? Wouldn't that be a good way? We should have to wait nearly a month, answered Mr. Paul, and even then it would be difficult, simple, though it seems at first sight. There are folk who deal in post-dated checks, remember. This may have been dealt with already, I, and that Diamond, too, and the men who has got the proceeds may already be many a mile away. Dip-cutting folk there are who have been in this, Viner, and now speed is the thing. Viner led his guests into his library, and as he placed chairs for them round a centre-table, an idea struck him. I have a suggestion to make. He said, with a shy smile, the legal men. My aunt, Miss Pankridge, who leaves with me, is an unusually sharp shrewd woman. She has taken vast interest in this affair, and I have kept her posted up in all its details. She was in court just now, and heard Mr. Cave's story. If no one has any objection, I should like her to be present at our deliberations. As a mysterious woman has entered into the case, Miss Pankridge may be able to suggest something. Excellent idea, exclaimed Mr. Carles. A shrewd woman is worth her weight in gold. By all means, bring Miss Pankridge in. She may, as you say, make some suggestion. Miss Pankridge, fetched into the room and duly introduced, lost no time in making a suggestion of an eminently practical nature. But as all these gentlemen had been cooped up in that stuffy police court for two or three hours, they would be none the worse for a glass of wine, and she immediately disappeared, jingling a bunch of keys, to reappear a few minutes later in charge of the parlor maid, carrying decanters and glasses. A very comfortable suggestion that, ma'am, observed Mr. Carles, bowing to his hostess over a glass of old sherry. Your intuition does you credit. But now, gentlemen and Miss Pankridge, straight to business, Mr. Cave, the first question I want to put to you is this. On what date did you receive the letter which you exhibited in court this morning? Mr. Cave produced a small pocket diary and turned over its pages. I can tell you that, he answered. I made a note of it at the time. It was, yes, here we are, on the twenty-first of November. And you received these papers, I think you said, two days later. Yes, on the twenty-third. Here is the entry. Mr. Carles looked around at the assembled faces. John Ashton was murdered on the night of the twenty-second of November. He remarked significantly, therefore he had not been murdered when the veiled woman first met Mr. Cave for the first time, and he had been murdered when she met Mr. Cave the second time. There was a silence as significant as Mr. Carles' tone upon this, broken at last by Mr. Cave. If I may say a word or two, he remarked differently, I don't understand matters about this John Ashton. The barrister who asked me questions, Mr. Millington by water, is it? Said that he or somebody had positive proof that Mr. Ashton had my papers in his possession for some time previous to his death. Is that really so? Mr. Carles pointed to Mr. Perkwight. This is the gentleman who Mr. Millington by water could have put in the box this morning to prove that, he replied. Mr. Perkwight of the Middle Temple, a barrister at law. Mr. Cave, Mr. Perkwight met Mr. Ashton some three months ago at Marseille, and Mr. Ashton then not only asked his advice about the Fellingham affair, alleging that he knew the missing Lord Markets took, but showed him the papers which you have recently deposited with Mr. Methley here, which papers Ashton alleged were entrusted to him by Lord Markets-Stoke on his deathbed. Ashton, according to Mr. Perkwight, took particular care of these papers, and always carried them about with him in a pocketbook. Mr. Cave appeared to be much exercised in thought on hearing this. It is, of course, absurd to say that Lord Markets-Stoke myself entrusted papers to any one on his deathbed since I am very much alive, he said, but it is equally, of course, quite possible that Ashton had my papers. Who was Ashton? A man who had lived in Australia for some thirty-five or forty years at least, replied Mr. Carlos, and who recently returned to England and settled down in London in this very square. He lived chiefly in Melbourne, but we have heard that for some four or five years he was somewhere up-country. You never heard of him out there. He was evidently well known in Melbourne. No, I never heard of him, replied Mr. Cave, but I don't know Melbourne very well. I know Sydney and Brisbane better. However, an idea strikes me. Ashton may have had something to do with the poor loining of my letters and the fact that we were a war when I met with the accident I told you of. So far as we are aware, remarked Mr. Carlos, Ashton was an eminently respectable man. So far as you know, said Mr. Cave, there is a good deal in the saving clause, I think. I have known a good many men in Australia who were highly respectable in the last stages of life who had been anything but that in their earlier ones. Of what class was this Ashton? I met him occasionally, said Methily, though I never knew who he was until after his death. He was a very pleasant, kindly, good-humoured man, but, he added, I should say, from his speech and manners a man who had risen from a somewhat humble position of life. I remember noticing his hands. They were the hands of a man who at some period had done hard manual labour. Mr. Cave smiled knowingly. There you are, he said, he had probably been a minor, taking everything into consideration. I am inclined to believe that he was most likely one of the men, or the man, who stole my papers thirty-two years ago. There may be something in this, remarked Mr. Paul, glancing uneasy at Mr. Carlos. It is a fact that the packet of letters to which Mr. Cave referred this morning, as having been written by the Countess of Ellingham, to Lord Marketstoke, when a boy at school was found by Mr. Viner and myself in Ashton's house, and that the locket which he also mentioned is in existence, facts which Mr. Cave will doubtless be glad to know of. But, added the old lawyer, shaking his head, what does all this imply? That Ashton, of whom up to now we have heard nothing but good, was not only a thief, but an impostor who was endeavouring, or meant to endeavour to palm off a bogus claimant on people, who but for Mr. Cave's appearance and evidence would certainly have been deceived. It is most amazing. Don't forget, said Viner quietly, that Mr. Perkwad says that Ashton showed him at Marseille a certain marriage certificate and a birth certificate. Mr. Carlos started. Ah! he exclaimed I had forgotten that. Hmm! However, don't let us forget just now that our main object in meeting was to do something towards tracking these people who gave Mr. Cave these papers. Now, Mr. Cave, you got no information out of the woman. None, answered Mr. Cave, I was not to ask questions, you remember. You took her for a gentle woman. Yes, from her speech and manner. Did she imply to you that she was an intermediary? Yes, she spoke of someone indefinitely you know, for whom she was acting. And she told you, I think, that you had been recognised in London since your arrival, by someone who had known you in Australia years before. Yes, certainly she told me that. Just let me look at that typewritten letter again, will you? asked Mr. Carlos. It seems impossible, but we might get something out of that. Mr. Cave handed the letter over, and once more it was passed from hand to hand. Finally it fell into the hands of Miss Pankridge, who began to examine it with obvious curiosity. Afraid there is nothing to be got out of that? sighed Mr. Carlos. The rogues were cunning enough to typewrite the message. If there had been any handwriting now, we might have had a chance. You say there was nothing on the envelope but your name, Mr. Cave? Mr. Cave opened his pocketbook again. There is the envelope, he said, nothing but Mr. Cave, as you see. That is also typewritten. Miss Pankridge had picked up the envelope as Mr. Cave tossed it across the table. She appeared to examine it carefully, but suddenly she turned to Mr. Carlos. There is a clue in these things, she exclaimed. A plain clue, one that's plain enough to me anyway. I could follow it up. I don't know whether you gentlemen can. Mr. Carlos, who had up to that point treated Miss Pankridge with good-humored condescension, turned sharply upon her. What do you mean, ma'am? He asked. You really see something in, in a typewritten letter? A great deal, answered Miss Pankridge. And in the stationery in which it's typed and in the envelope in which it's enclosed. Now look here. This letter has been typed on a half sheet of note paper. Hold the half sheet up to the light. What do you see? One half of the name and address of the stationer who supplied it in watermark. What is that one half? Mr. Carlos held the paper to the light and saw on the top line, s'forth, on the middle line, N-D, stationer, and N-Hall on the bottom line. My nephew there, went on Miss Pankridge, knows what that would be in full. If the other half of the sheet were here, it would be precisely what is under the flap of this envelope. There you are. Bigglesforth, bookseller, and stationer, Craven Hill. Everybody in this district knows Bigglesforth. We get our stationery from him. Now, Bigglesforth has not such a very big business in really expensive note paper like this. The other half of the sheet, of course, would have a finely engraved address on it. And you can trace the owner of this paper through him with patience and trouble. But here's still a better clue. Look at this typewritten letter. In it, the letter O occurs with frequency. Now notice, the letter is broken, imperfect. The top left-hand curve has been chipped off. Do you mean to tell me that with time and trouble and patience, you can't find out to whom that machine belongs? Taking the fact that this half sheet of note paper came from Bigglesforth of Craven Hill, concluded Miss Pankridge with emphasis, I should say that this document so important came from somebody who doesn't live a million miles from here. Mr. Carles had followed Miss Pankridge with admiring attention, and he now rose to his feet. Ma'am, he exclaimed, Mr. Viner's notion of having you to join our council has proved invaluable. I'll have that clue followed up instantly. Gentlemen, we can do no more just now. Let us separate. Mr. Cave, you'll continue to be heard of at the Belfilled Hotel. I shall be at your service any time, Mr. Carles, Mr. Viner responded, Mr. Cave, a telephone message will bring me at once to Lincoln's infields. The assembly broke up and Viner was left alone with Miss Pankridge. That was clever of you, he said admiringly. I should never have noticed that, but there are a lot of typewriting machines in London. Not so many owned by customers of Bigglesforths retorted Miss Pankridge. I'd work it out if I were a detective. The parlor maid looked in and attracted Viner's attention. Viner fell from once yet the telephone, sir, she said. End of Chapter 24 The Broken Letter Chapter 25 The Middle of Things The Middle of Things by J. S. Fletcher Chapter 25 Through the Telephone Events had crowded so thick and fast upon Viner during the last day or two that he went to the telephone fully expecting to hear of some new development, but he was scarcely prepared for his solicitor's first words. Viner, said Felfam, whose voice betrayed his excitement, is that man Cave still with you? No, answered Viner, why? Listen carefully, responded Felfam. In spite of all he asserts and his long tale this morning at the police court, I believe he's a ranking posture. I've just had another talk with Hyde. Well, demanded Viner. Hyde, answered Felfam, persists that he's not mistaken. He swears that the man is Nugent's star. He says there's no doubt of it, and he's told me of another actor, a man named George Bellingham, who is now somewhere in London who can positively identify him as star. I'm going to find Bellingham this afternoon. There's some deep-blade plot in all this, and that fellow had been cleverly coached in the event of his being unexpectedly tackled. Viner. Well, I'm listening carefully, replied Viner. Where's this man gone? demanded Felfam. To his hotel, I should think, answered Viner. He left here just before one. Listen, said Felfam, do you think it would be wise to post New Scotland Yard on to him, detectives, you know? Viner considered swiftly. In the rush of events he had forgotten that Carlos had already given instructions for the watching of the pseudo-Mr. Cave. Why not find this man Bellingham first, he suggested? If he can prove positively that the fellow is Nugent's star, you'd have something definite to work on. Where can Bellingham be found? Hyde's given me the address of a theatrical agent in Bedford Street who is likely to know of him his whereabouts, replied Felfam. I'm going over there at once. Hyde saw Bellingham in town three weeks ago. Let me know at once, said Viner. If you find Bellingham, take him to the bell-filled hotel and contrive to show him the man. Call me up later. He went away from his telephone and sought Miss Pankridge whom he found in her room arraigning herself for out-of-doors. Here's a new development, he exclaimed, shutting the door on them. Felfam's just telephone to say that Hyde persists, that the man who calls himself Cave is Nugent's star. In that case, he won't. Miss Pankridge interrupted her nephew with a sniff. My dear Richard," she said, with a note of contemptuous impatience, in a case like this you don't know who's who or who isn't who. It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest if the man turns out to be Nugent's star. How did he come by such a straight tail, then, asked Viner doubtfully, carefully prepared in case of need, declared Miss Pankridge as she tied her bonded strings with a decisive tug. The whole thing's a plant. That's what Felfam says, remarked Viner. But where are you going? He broke off his Miss Pankridge, seizing an umbrella started for the door. Lunch is just going in. My lunch can wait. I've had a biscuit and a glass of sherry. I searched Miss Pankridge. I'm going round to Bigglesforthe stationers to follow up that clue I suggested just now. I dare say I can do a bit of detective work as well as another. And in my opinion, Richard, there's no time to be lost. I have been blessed and endowed," continued Miss Pankridge, as she laid hold of the door handle, with exceedingly acute perceptions, and I saw something when I made that suggestion which I'm quite sure none of you men, with all your brains, saw. What! demanded Viner. I saw that my suggestion wasn't at all pleasing to the man who calls himself Cave, exclaimed Miss Pankridge. It was only a flash of his eye, a certain droop at the corners of his lips, but I saw, and I saw something else too, that he got away as quickly as ever he could after I had made that suggestion. Viner looked at his aunt with amused wonder. He thought she was unduly suspicious, and Miss Pankridge guessed his thoughts. You'll see, she said as she opened the door. There are going to be strange revelations, Richard Viner, my boy. You said at the beginning of this that you'd suddenly got plunged into the middle of things. Well, in my opinion, we're now coming to the end of things, and I am going to do my bit to bring it about. With that Miss Pankridge sailed away, her step-determined and her head high, and Viner, pondering many matters, went downstairs to entertain his visitors, the unlucky-eyed sisters, with stories of the morning's proceedings, and hopes of their brothers speedy acquittal. The poor ladies were of that temperament which makes its possessors clutch eagerly at any straw of hope floating on the sea of trouble, and they listened eagerly to all that their host could tell. Lankton has an excellent memory. Declared the elder Miss Hyde, don't you remember, sister, what a quantity of poetical pieces he knew by heart when he was quite a child? Before he was seven years of age, said the younger sister, and a ten he could recite the whole of the trial seen from the merchant of Venice. Oh, yes, he always had a marvellous memory. If Lankton says he remembers this man in America, dear Mr. Viner, I am sure Lankton will be right, and that this is the man, but what a very dreadful person to utter such terrible falsehoods. And on oath, said the elder Miss Hyde's sonly, on oath, sister. Sad, murmured the younger lady, most sad, we find London life very disturbing, dear Mr. Viner, after our quiet country existence. There are certainly some disturbing elements in it, admitted Viner. Just then came another interruption for the second time since his return from the police court. He was summoned to the telephone. To his great surprise, the voice that hailed him was Mrs. Killon-Halls. Is that Mr. Viner? The voice demanded, in its usual brisk, clear tones. Yes, answered Viner, is that Mrs. Killon-Hall? Yes, came the prompt reply. Mr. Viner, can you be so very kind? Miss Wickham and I have come down to the city on some business connected with Mr. Ashton, and we do so want somebody's help. Can you run down at once and join us? So sorry to trouble you, but we really do want a gentleman here. Certainly, responded Viner, I'll come to you at once, but where are you? Come to 23 Mirapore Street off Whitechapel Road, answered Mrs. Killon-Hall. There is someone here who knew Mr. Ashton, and I should like you to see him. Can you come at once, and have you the address right? A moment, repeated please, replied Viner, pulling out a memorandum book. He noted the address and spoke again. I'll be there in half an hour, Mrs. Killon-Hall. He said, sooner, if it's possible. Thank you so much, replied Mrs. Killon-Hall's steady voice. So good of you. Goodbye for the present, then. Goodbye, said Viner. He hurried away into the hall, snatched up a hat, and letting himself out of the house, ran to the nearest cab stand and back into a chauffeur who often took him about. I want to get along to Mirapore Street, Whitechapel Road, he said, as he sprang into the car. Do you know where about it is? The chauffeur knitted his brows and shook his head. There's a sight of small streets running off Whitechapel Road, both sides, sir, he answered. It'll be one of them, I'll find it. Mirapore Street? Right, sir. Get there as quickly as possible, said Viner, the quicker the better. It was not until he had gone a good half of his journey that Viner began to wonder whatever it was that had taken Miss Wickham and her chauffeur on down to the far boundaries of the city, or indeed farther. Mrs. Killon-Hall had said the city, but Viner knew his London well enough to know that Whitechapel Road lies without the city confines. She had said, too, that a man who knew Mr. Ashton was there with her and Miss Wickham, what man, wondered Viner, and what he was doing in a district like that toward which he was speeding. The chauffeur did the run to Whitechapel Road in unusually good time. It was little more than two o'clock when the car passed the parish church. But the man had gone from one end of the road to the other, from the end of High Street to the beginning of Mile End Road without success, when he stopped and looked in at his passenger. Can't see no street of that name on either side, Mr. Viner. He said, have you got it right, sir? That's the name given me, answered Viner. He pointed to a policeman slowly patrolling the sidewalk, asked him, he said he'll know. The policeman and dooly question seemed surprised at first, then recollection evidently awoke in him. Marypore Street, he said, oh yes, second to your left, third to the right, nice sort of street for a car like yours to go into, too. Viner overheard this and put his head out of the window. Why? he demanded. The policeman, quick to recognize his superior person, touched his helmet and stepped off the curb toward his questioner. Pretty low quarter down there, sir, he said, with a significant glance in the direction concerned. If you have business that way, I should advise you to look after yourself. Some queer place is down those streets, sir. Thanks, responded Viner with a grim smile. Go on, driver, as quick as you can, and stop at the corner of the street. The car swung out of Whitechapel, rode into a long dismal street, the shabbiness of which increased the further the main thoroughfare was left behind. Then Viner, looking right and left, saw that the small streets running off that which he was traversing were still more dismal, still more shabby. Suddenly the car twisted to the right and stopped, and Viner was aware of a long narrow street, more gloomy than the rest, wherein various doubtful looking individuals moved about, and groups of poorly clad children played in the gutters. All right, he said as he got down from the car, and the chauffeur made a grimace at the unlovely vista. Look here, I don't want you to wait here. Go back to Whitechapel, rode and hang about the end of the street we've just come down. I'll come back there to you. Not afraid of going down here alone then, sir? asked the chauffeur. It's a bit of sad policeman said. I'm all right, repeated Viner. You go back and wait. I may be some time. I may need to be long. He turned away down the street, and in spite of his declaration, he felt this was certainly the most doubtful place he had ever been in. There were evil and sinister faces on the sidewalks, evil and sinister eyes looking out of dirty windows. Here and there a silent footed figure went by him in the gloom of the December day, with a soft step of a wild animal. Here and there men leaning against the wall glared suspiciously at him, or fixed rapacious eyes on his good clothes. There were shops in this street such as Viner had never seen the like of, shops wherein coarse, dreadful looking food was exposed for sale, and there were public houses from which came the odor of cheap gin and bad beer and rank tobacco. An atmosphere of fried fish in something far worse hung heavily above the dirty pavements, and at every step he took Viner asked himself the same question. What on earth could Mrs. Wickham and Mrs. Kendenhall be doing in this wretched neighborhood? Suddenly he came to the house he wanted, number twenty-three. It was just like all the other houses of somber grey brick, except for the fact that it looked somewhat cleaner than the rest, was furnished with blinds and curtains, and in the front downstairs window had a lower wire blind on which was worked in tarnished gilt letters the word surgery. On the door was a brass plate also tarnished, across which ran three lines in black. Dr. Martin Cole, attendance three to six p.m., Saturdays five to nine thirty p.m. Before Viner took the bell in hand he glanced at the houses which flanked this east end surgery. One was a poor-looking, meanly equipped chemist's shop. The other a second-hand clothing establishment, and comforting himself with a thought that if need arose the apparently fairly respectable proprietors of these places might reasonably be called upon for assistance, he rang the bell of number twenty-three and awaited the opening of the door with considerable curiosity. The door was opened by Mrs. Kendenhall herself, and Viner's quick eye failed to notice anything in her air or manner that denoted uneasiness. She smiled and motioned him to enter, shutting the door after him as he stepped into the narrow entrance hall. "'So very good of you to come, Mr. Viner, and so quickly,' she said. "'You found your way all right?' "'Yes, but I'm a good deal surprised to find you and Ms. Wickham in this neighborhood,' answered Viner. "'This is a queer place, Mrs. Kendenhall. I hope—' "'Oh, we're all right,' said Mrs. Kendenhall with a reassuring smile. It is certainly a queer neighborhood, but Dr. Martin Cole is an old friend of mine, and we are safe enough under his roof. He'll be here in a few minutes, and then—' This man who knew Mr. Ashton interrupted Viner, where is he? "'Dr. Martin Cole will bring him in,' said Mrs. Kendenhall. "'Cull up stairs, Mr. Viner.' Viner noticed that the house through which he was led was very quiet, and larger than he should have gassed it from the street frontage. From what he could see it was well furnished, but dark and gloomy. Gloomy, too, was a back room high up the stairs into which Mrs. Kendenhall presently showed him. They are looking somewhat anxious, said Miss Wickham alone. "'Here's Mr. Viner,' said Mrs. Kendenhall. I'll tell Dr. Martin Cole his come.' She motioned Viner to a chair and went out. But the next instant Viner swung quickly round. As the door closed, he had heard the unmistakable click of a patent lock. CHAPTER XXVI The Dismal Street Unknown to those who had taken part in the conference at Viner's house, unknown even to Carlos, who in the multiplicity of his engagements had forgotten the instructions which he had given on the previous afternoon to Portal Thwaite, a strict watch was being kept on the man round whom all the events of that morning had centered. Portal Thwaite, after Methly and his client had left Carlos and driver's office, had given certain instructions to one of his fellow clerks, a man named Milwaters, in whose prowess as his spy he had unlimited belief. Milwaters was a fellow of experience. He possessed all the qualities of a sleuth hound, and was not easily baffled in difficult adventures. In his time he had watched airing husbands in doubtful wives. He had followed more than one high-placed wrongdoer running away from the consequences of forgery or embezzlement. He had conducted secret investigations into the behavior of persons about whom his employers wanted to know something. In person and appearance he was eminently fitted for his job. A little inconspicuous he was plain featured man who contrived to look as if he never saw anything, and to him, knowing that he was to be thoroughly depended upon, Portal Thwaite had given precise orders. You'll go up to Lancaster Gate tonight, Milwaters, and get a good look at that chap. Portal Thwaite had told him, take plenty of money, I'll speak to the cashier about that, and be prepared for anything, even to following if he bolts. Once you've seen him you're not to lose sight of him. Make sure of him last thing to-day and first thing to-morrow. Follow him wherever he goes. Make a note of wherever he goes, and particularly of whoever he meets. And if there's need ring me up here, and let's know what's happening, or if you want assistance. There was no need for Milwaters to promise faithful compliance. Portal Thwaite knew well enough that to put him on a trail was equivalent to putting a hound on the scent of a fox or a terrier to the run of a rat. That evening, Milwaters, who had clever ways of his own, made himself well acquainted with a so-called Mr. Cave's appearance, and assured himself that his man had gone peacefully to rest at his hotel, and he had seen him again before breakfast next morning, and had been in quiet and unobtrusive attendance upon him when, later, he visited Methley's office and subsequently walked away with Methley to the police court. And Milwaters was in the police court, meditatively sucking peppermint lasanges in a corner, when Mr. Cave was unexpectedly asked to give evidence. He was there, too, until Mr. Cave left the court. Cave's remarkable story ran off Milwaters' mentality like raindrops of a steep roof. It mattered nothing to him. He did not care the value of a brass button if Cave was Earl of Ellingham or Duke of Ditchmore. His job was to keep his eye on him, whoever he was. And so, when Weiner and his party went round to Markendale Square, Milwaters slunk along in their rear, and at a corner of the square he remained, lounging about, until his quarry reappeared. Two or three of the other men came out with Cave, but Milwaters noticed that Cave immediately separated from them. He was evidently impressing upon them that he was in a great hurry about something or other and sped away from them. Milwaters' cold eye upon him. And within a minute Milwaters had observed what seemed to him highly suspicious circumstance. Cave, on leaving the others, had shot off down a side street in the direction of Lancaster Gate. But as soon as he was out of sight of Markendale Square, had doubled in his tracks, hurried down another turning, and sped away as fast as he could walk towards Paddington Station. Milwaters, shorter in the leg than the tall men in front, had to hurry to keep him in sight. But he was never far behind as Cave hastened along Craven Road and made for the terminus. Once or twice in this chase the quarry lifted a hand to an approaching taxicab, only to find each was engaged. It was not until he and his pursuer were in front of the great western hotel that Cave found an empty cab, hailed it, and sprang in. Milwaters grinned quietly at that. He was used to this sort of chase, and he had memorized car and number before Cave had been driven off. It was a mere detail to charter the next, and to give a quiet word and winked its chauffeur, who was opening its door for Milwaters when a third person came gently alongside and tapped the clerk's shoulder. Milwaters turned sharply and encountered Mr. Perkwatt's shrewd eyes. "'All right, Milwaters,' said the barrister, "'I know what you're after. I'm after the same bird. We'll go together.' Milwaters knew Mr. Perkwatt very well as a promising young barrister whom Carles and drivers sometimes favored with briefs. Mr. Perkwatt's presence did not disturb him. He moved into the farther corner, and Mr. Perkwatt slipped inside. The car moved off in pursuit of the one in front. "'So you're on that game, Mr. Perkwatt?' remarked Milwaters. "'Ah, and who might have got you on to it if one may ask?' "'You know that I was at your people's office yesterday?' said Perkwatt. "'Saw you there?' replied Milwaters. "'It was about this business,' said the barrister. "'Did you see me in the police court this morning?' "'I did, listening for all you were worth,' answered the clerk. "'And I dare say you saw me go with the rest of them to Mr. Viner's.' "'In Markandale Square,' said Perkwatt. "'Right against, sir,' as scented Milwaters, I did. This fellow in front, observed Perkwatt, made some statements at Viner's in answer to your principal, Mr. Carles, which inclined me to the opinion that he's an impostor in spite of his carefully concocted stories. "'Shouldn't wander, Mr. Perkwatt,' said Milwaters. "'But that's not my business. My job is to keep him under observation.' "'That's what I set out to do when I came out of Viner's,' said the barrister. "'He's up to something. He assured us, as we left the house, that he'd a most pressing engagement at his hotel in Lancaster Gate. The next minute, happening to glance down a side street, I saw him cutting off in the direction of Paddington, and now he's evidently making for the city. "'Well, I'm after him,' remarked Milwaters. He leaned out of his window, called the chauffeur, and gave him some further instructions. "'Intelligent chap, this Mr. Perkwatt,' he said as he sat down again. "'He understands. Some of him are poor hands at this sort of game.' "'You're a pretty good hand yourself, I think,' suggested the barrister with a smile. "'Aught to be,' said Milwaters, had plenty of experience anyway. It seemed to Perkwatt that his companion kept no particular observation on the car in front as it sped along to and through the northern edge of the city and beyond. But Milwaters woke to action as their own car progressed up White Chapel Road and suddenly he gave a warning word to the barrister and a smart tap on the window behind their driver. The car came to a halt by the curb and Milwaters, slipping out, pushed some money into the man's hand and drew Perkwatt amongst the people who were crowding the sidewalk. The barrister looked in front and around and seemed at a loss. "'Where is he?' he asked. "'Hang it, I've lost him.' "'I haven't,' said Milwaters. He left his car before we left ours, our man knew what he was after. He slowed up and passed him, until I saw where he went. He twisted Perkwatt around and pointed to the mouth of a street which they had just passed. "'He's gone down there,' he said. "'Nice neighborhood, too. I know something of it. "'Now, Mr. Perkwatt, if you please, we'll separate. You take the right of that street, I'll take the left. Keep a look out for my gentleman's home-burg hat, gray with a black band, and keep the tail of your eye on me, too.' Cave's headgear was easily followed down the squalid street. Its owner went swiftly ahead, with Milwaters in pursuit on one pavement and the barrister on the other, until he finally turned into a narrower and shabbier thoroughfare. Then the clerk hurried across the road, attracted Perkwatt's attention, winked at him as he passed without checking his pace and whispered two or three words, "'Wait, by the street corner.'" Perkwatt pulled up and Milwaters went down the dismal street in pursuit of the home-burg hat. This excellent indication of its owner's presence suddenly vanished from Perkwatt's sight, and presently Milwaters came back. "'Ran him to earth for the time being, anyway,' he said. "'He's gone into a surgery down there, a Dr. Martin Cole's number twenty-three brass plate on door next to a drug-shop, suspicious sort of spot altogether.' "'Well,' demanded Perkwatt, "'What next? You know best, Milwaters.' The clerk jerked a thumb down the side of the dismal street on which they were standing. "'There's a public house down there,' he said, almost opposite this surgery. "'Fairly decent place for this neighborhood, Bar Parler looking out on the street. Better slip in there and look quietly out. But remember, Mr. Perkwatt don't seem to be watching anything. We're just going in for a bottle of ale and talking business together.'" "'Whatever you recommend,' said Perkwatt. He followed his companion down the street to the tavern, a joyless and shabby place. The Bar Parler, of which a dark and smoke-stained room was just then empty, and looked over its torn-half blind across the way. Certainly a queer place for a man who professes to be a peer of the realm to visit,' he muttered, "'Well, now, what do you propose to do, Milwaters?' "'Hang about here and watch.' Whispered the clerk. Look out.' A face, heavy and bloated, appeared at a hatch-window at the back of the room, and a gruff voice made itself heard. Any orders, gents? Two bottles of bass, Governor, responded Milwaters promptly, dropping into colloquial cockney speech. He turned to Perkwatt and winked, "'Well, and what about this ear-pitter business I've come round about, Mr?' he went on, nudging his companion in free and easy style. You see, it's the same way with us. If you can let us have that there stuff reasonable, do you see?' He drew Perkwatt over to the window and began to whisper, "'That'll satisfy him,' he said with a sharp glance at the little room behind the hatch where the landlord was drawing corks. He'll think we're doing a bit of trade, so we have nothing to do but stand in this window and keep an eye on the street. Out of this I'm not going till I see whether that fellow comes out or stops in.' Some time had passed, and Milwaters had been obliged to repeat his order for bottled bass before anything took place on the street outside. Suddenly he touched his companion's elbow. "'Here's a taxi cab coming along and slowing up for somewhere about here,' he whispered, "'And, Lord, if there aren't two ladies in it, in a spot like this, and, oof!' He went unexcitedly. "'Do you see them, Mr. Perkwatt?' The young Anne Smith-Wickham, who came to our office about this Ashton affair. I don't know who the old Anne is, but she evidently knows her way.' The berry-faced landlord had now shut down the hatch, and his two bar-parlor customers were alone and unobserved. Perkwatt drew away from the window, pulling Milwaters by the sleeve. "'Careful,' he said, "'There's something seriously wrong here, Milwaters. What's Miss Wickham being brought down here for? See! They've gone into the surgery, and the car's going off. Look here! We've got to do something at once!' But Milwaters shook his head. "'Not my job,' Mr. Perkwatt,' he answered. "'My business is with the man, Cave. I've nothing to do with Miss Wickham, sir, nor with the old lady that's taken her in there. Cave's my mark. Queer that the young lady's gone there, no doubt, but no affair of mine.' "'It's going to be an affair of mine, then,' said Perkwatt. "'I'm going off to the police.' Milwaters put out a detaining hand. "'Don't,' Mr. Perkwatt,' he said. "'To get police into a quarter like this is as bad as putting a light to dry straw. I'll tell you a better plan than that, sir. Find the nearest telephone box and call up our people. Call Mr. Carlos. Tell him what you've seen and get him to come down and bring somebody with him. That'll be far better than calling the police in.' "'Give me your telephone number, then,' said Perkwatt, and keep a strict watch while I'm away.' Milwaters repeated some figures in the letter, and Perkwatt ran off up the street and toured the Whatchapel Road, anxiously seeking for a telephone booth. It was not until he had got into the main thoroughfare that he found one. He then had some slight delay in getting in communication with Carlos and driver's office. Twenty minutes had elapsed by the time he got back to the dismal street. At its corner he encountered Milwaters lounging about hands in pockets. Milwaters wagged his head. "'Here's another queer go,' he said. "'There's been another arrival at number twenty-three, not five minutes since, another of our little lot.' "'Who?' demanded Perkwatt. "'Viner,' replied Milwaters, came peeping and perking along the street, took a glimpse of the premises and adjacent perlews. Riot number twenty-three was let in by the party that came with Miss Wickham. "'Now, whatever can he be doing there, Mr. Perkwatt?' "'Whatever can any of them be doing there?' muttered Perkwatt. "'Viner, what business can he have in this place?' "'It seems?' "'By George Milwaters,' he suddenly exclaimed. "'What if this is some infernal plant?' "'Trap something of that sort. "'Do you know, in spite of what you say, I really think we ought to get hold of the nearest police and tell them?' "'Wait, Mr. Perkwatt,' counseled Milwaters. "'Our governor is a pretty, cute and smart sort, and he's vastly interested in this Miss Wickham, so portal-thwait and he'll be on their way down here now, hot foot and with help too if he thinks she's in any danger. "'Now, he can go straight to that door and demand to see her, and—' "'Why can't we?' interrupted Perkwatt. "'I'd do it. "'Lord, man, she may be in real peril. "'Not while Viner's in there,' said Milwaters quietly, "'I might possibly have gone and wrung the bell myself but for that. "'But Viner's in there. Wait!' "'And Perkwatt waited, chafing at the corner of the Dismal Street, until a quarter of an hour had passed. Then a car came hurrying along and pulled up as Milwaters and his companion were reached, and from it sprang Mr. Carlos, Lord Ellingham, and two men in plain clothes, at the sight of whom Perkwatt heaved a huge sigh of intense relief. CHAPTER XXVII. THE BAGWAY. Viner was so sure that the sound which she had heard on Mrs. Killenhall's retirement was that caused by the turning of a key or slipping of a lock in the door by which he had entered. That before speaking to Miss Wickham he instantly stepped back and tried it. To his astonishment it opened readily, but the enter-room outside was empty. Mrs. Killenhall had evidently walked straight through it and disappeared. "'That's odd,' he said, turning to Miss Wickham. I distinctly thought I heard something like the snap of a lock or a bolt or something, didn't you? I certainly heard a sound of that sort,' admitted Miss Wickham. "'But the door's open, isn't it?' "'Yes, that is so,' answered Viner, who was distinctly puzzled. Yet, but then all this seems very odd. When did you come down here?' "'About an hour ago,' replied Miss Wickham, in a hurry. "'Do you know why?' asked Viner. "'To see a Dr. Martin Cole, who is to tell us something about Mr. Ashton,' replied his fellow-sharer in these strange quarters. "'Didn't Mrs. Killenhall ask you to come down for the same purpose, Mr. Viner?' Viner, before he replied, looked round the room. Considering the extreme shabbiness and squalor of the surrounding district he was greatly surprised to find that the part-ment in which he and Miss Wickham waited was extremely well furnished, if in an old-fashioned and rather heavy way. The walls were paneled in dark, aged-stained oak, to the height of several feet. Above the paneling were arranged good-oil pictures which Viner would have liked to examine at his leisure. Here and there, in cabinets, were many promising curiosities. There were old silver and brass things, and a shelf or two of well-bound books, altogether the place, and its effects were certainly not what Viner had expected to find in such a quarter. "'Yes,' he said at last, turning to his companion, "'that's what I was brought here for. Well, have you seen this doctor?' "'No,' answered Miss Wickham, "'not yet.' "'No, any thing about him,' suggested Viner. "'Nothing would ever. I have heard of him,' said Miss Wickham, with a glance of surprise. I suppose he, somehow, got into touch with Mrs. Killenhall. "'Queer,' remarked Viner, and why doesn't he come in?' Then resolved no more he walked into the enterum and, after a look rounded, tried the door by which Mrs. Killenhall had admitted him after coming up the stairs from the street. A second later he went back to Miss Wickham and shook his head. "'It's just as I supposed,' he remarked quietly. "'We're trapped. Anyway, the door of that enterum is locked, and it's a strong lock. There's something wrong.' The girls started, and paled a little, but Viner sought once that she was not likely to be seriously frightened, and presently she laughed. "'It's all very queer,' she said, but perhaps Mrs. Killenhall turned the key in the outer lock so that no patience or other callers perhaps should come in.' "'Sorry, but that doesn't strike me as a good suggestion,' replied Viner. "'I'm going to have a look at that window.' The one window of the room, a long, low one, was set high in the wall above the paneling. Viner had to climb on a bookcase to get at it, and when he had reached it, he found it to be securely fastened, and to have in front of it, at a distance of no more than a yard, a blank whitewashed wall which evidently rose from a passage between that and the next house. "'I don't like the look of this at all,' he said, as he got down from the bookcase. It seems to me that we might be kept here for a long time.' Miss Wickham showed more astonishment than fear. "'But why should anyone want to keep us here for any time?' she asked. "'What's it mean?' "'I wish I knew,' exclaimed Viner. He pulled out his watch and made a mental note of the time. "'We are being kept much longer than we should be in any ordinary case,' he remarked. "'Of course,' admitted Miss Wickham. "'Well, past three o'clock, isn't it? If we're delayed much longer, Mrs. Killenhall will be too late for the bank.' "'What bank?' asked Viner. "'My bank. I always give Mrs. Killenhall a check for the weekly bills every Friday. And as we were coming through the city to get here, she said just before we left home that it might as well give her the check and she could call and cash it as we drove back. And,' concluded Miss Wickham, the bank closes at four, Viner began to be suspicious. "'Look here,' he said suddenly. "'Don't think me inquisitive, but what was the amount of the check you gave her?' "'There was no amount, stated,' replied Miss Wickham. "'I always give her a blank check, signed, of course, and she fills in the amount herself. It varies according to what she wants.' Without expressing any opinion on the wisdom of handing checks to other people on this plan, Viner turned to Miss Wickham with a further question. "'Do you know anything about Mrs. Killenhall's movements this morning?' he asked. "'Did she go out anywhere?' "'Yes,' replied Miss Wickham. "'She went to the police court to hear the proceedings against Mr. Hyde. She wanted me to go, but I wouldn't. I disliked that sort of thing. She was there all the morning.' "'So was I,' said Viner. "'I didn't see her, but the place was crowded.' "'And she was veiled,' remarked Miss Wickham. "'Naturally, she didn't want people to see her in a place like that. "'Do you know whether she went to the previous sitting? I mean, when Hyde was brought up the first time.' "'Inquired Viner. I remember there were some veiled ladies there, and at the coroner's inquest, too.' "'She was at the coroner's inquest, I know,' replied Miss Wickham. "'I don't know, but the other time.' "'Viner made no remark, and Miss Wickham suddenly lowered her voice and bent nearer to him. "'Why?' she asked. "'Are you suspecting Mrs. Killenhall of anything, Mr. Viner?' "'Viner gave her a quick glance. "'Are you?' he said, in a low tone. "'Miss Wickham waved a hand towards the answer room. "'Well?' she whispered. "'What's it look like? She brings me down here in a hurry, on a message which I myself never heard nor saw delivered in any way. After I get here, you are fetched, and here we are. And where is she?' "'And possibly a much more pertinent question,' said Viner. "'Where is this, Dr. Martin Cole?' "'Look here. This is a well-furnished room. Those pictures are good. There are many valuable things here, yet the man who practices here is only in attendance for an hour or two in an afternoon, and once a week for rather longer in the evening. He can't earn much here. Certainly an East End doctor could not afford to buy things like this or that. Do you know what I think? I think this man is some West End man, who for purposes of his own has this place down here, a man who probably lives a double life, and may possibly be mixed up in some nefarious practices. And so I propose, as we've waited long enough, to get out of it, and I am going to smash that window and yell as loud as I can. Somebody will hear it.' Miss Wickham pointed to a door in the oak-penling, a door set in a corner of the room, across which hung a heavy curtain of red plush, only half-drawn. "'There's a door there,' she remarked, but I suppose it's only a cupboard.' "'Sure to be,' said Viner, however, we'll see. He went across, drew the curtain aside, tried the door, looked within, and uttered an exclamation. "'I say,' he called back,,' Stairs.' Miss Wickham came across and looked past his shoulder. There was certainly the head of a staircase before him, and a few stairs to be seen before darkness swallowed up the rest, but the darkness was deep, and the atmosphere that came up from below decidedly musty. "'Are you going down there?' she asked. "'I don't like it.' "'It seems our only chance,' answered Viner. He looked back into the room, and seeing some wax candle standing on a writing-table, seized one, and lighted it. "'Come along,' he said, "'let's get out of this altogether.'" Miss Wickham gathered up her skirts and followed down the stairs. Viner going cautiously in front, with the light held before him in such a fashion that he could see every step. At a turn in the stairway he came across the door and opening it, saw that it stood at the end of a narrow passage running through the house. At the farther end of the passage he recognized an oak cabinet which he had noticed when Mrs. Kirlenhol first admitted him. "'I see how these people, whoever they are, manage matters,' he remarked over his shoulder as he led his companion forward. This place has a front and a back entrance. If you don't want to be seen, you know well, it's convenient. We're approaching the back, and here it is.' The stairs came to an end deep down in the house, terminating in a door which Viner, after leaving his silver-stick candle only blown out on the last step, carefully opened. There before him lay a narrow white-washed yard, at the end of which they could see a street, evidently pretty much like the rest of the streets in that district. But in the yard a pale-cheeked, sharp-eyed urchin was feeding a couple of rabbits in a wire-faced soap-box, and him, Viner, immediately hailed. "'You're a smart-looking lad,' he said. "'Would you like five shillings?' "'Well, have you seen Dr. Martin Cole this afternoon? You know the doctor who comes to the house behind us.' "'See him go out about an hour ago, Governor, with another agent,' said the lad eagerly, his bright eyes wavering between Viner's face and the hand which he had thrust in his pocket. He pointed to the distant entrance of the yard. "'Went there that way, they did?' "'Ah, and what was the other gentleman like?' asked Viner. "'Swell,' answered the informant, "'proper swell he was.' "'And Dr. Martin Cole?' Viner continued. "'You've seen him many a time, of course. Know what's he like?' "'He's a tall gentleman,' said the boy, after some evidently painful thought. "'Yes, but what else? Has he got a beard?' asked Viner. "'Couldn't tell you that, Governor, do you see?' said the lad, "''Cause his one-an-enchants were also as white as a white, so can't catch it by his face up to his eyes. But he's a big man, wears black clothes.' Viner gave the boy his promised reward, and was passing on when Miss Wickham touched his arm. "'Ask if he's seen a lady go out this way,' she said. "'That's equally important.' The boy duly questioned, nodded his head. "'I see Mrs. Killerby go out not so long since,' he answered. "'Her what used to live here one time, know her well enough?' "'Come along,' muttered Viner, withhitted. "'Mrs. Killerby, who is Mrs. Killenhall, used to live here at one time. "'Good, which means very bad, considering that without doubt the doctor, who wears a white silk handkerchief about his face, is the muffled man of long-stale passage. Miss Wickham something has alarmed these birds, and they've flown. "'But why were we brought here?' asked Miss Wickham. "'I have an idea as to why you were,' said Viner, and I propose to find out at once, if I'm right. Let's get away, find a taxicab, and go to your—' "'But goodness!' he went on, breaking off as two men came into the yard. "'Here's one of Carlos' clerks and Perkwight the Barrister. What are you doing here?' He demanded as mill-waters and Perkwight hurried up. "'Are you after anybody along there, in that house, the one at the end?' "'We're after a good many things, and people in Dr. Martin Cole's place, Mr. Viner,' answered a mill-waters, "'Mr. Perkwight and I traced Mr. Cave here early in the afternoon. He went in, but he's never come out. We saw you enter, here you are. We saw Miss Wickham and Mrs. Killenhall. There's Miss Wickham, but where's the other lady? And where?' Viner stopped the clerk's questions with a glance, and he laughed a little as he gave him his answer. "'My dear fellow,' he said, "'you should have posted somebody at the back here. Why, we don't quite know yet, but Miss Wickham and myself were trapped in there. As for Cave, he must be the man who went away with Martin Cole. As for Mrs. Killenhall, she too has gone. That boy down there saw all three go, some time ago, while we were locked up. But what made you watch these people?' "'We followed Cave,' said Perkwight, "'because mill-waters had been ordered to do so, and because I considered his conduct mysterious. And when we saw what was going on here, your arrival, following on that of Miss Wickham and Mrs. Killenhall, we telephoned for Mr. Carlos and more help. Carlos and Lord Ellingham and a couple of detectives are at the front now. Mill-waters and I heard from a denizen of these unlovely parts that there was a back entrance. We tried in vain for the admittance at the front. "'But they've got in now, Mr. Perkwight,' exclaimed Mill-waters suddenly. "'See, there's Mr. Carlos at a back window waving to us to come in. I suppose we can get in by the back, Mr. Viner.' "'Yes, if you'd like to take the risk of entering people's houses without permission,' said Viner sardonically, "'I don't think you'll find anybody or anything there,' asked for Miss Wickham and myself with an engagement elsewhere. He hurried his companion away, through the street on which they emerged from the white-washed yard, and out into the white chapel road. He hurried her, too, into the first taxicab which came along empty. "'Now,' he said as he stepped in, "'tell this man the name of your bank and let him go there, quick!' CHAPTER XXVIII. Four o'clock it struck, and the doors of the bank were closed, when Miss Wickham and Viner hurried up to it. But there was a private entrance at the side, and the man who answered their summons made no difficulty about admitting them when Miss Wickham said who she was. And within a few minutes they were closeted with a manager who, surprised when they entered, was astonished before many words had been exchanged. For during their dash from the white-chapel streets, Viner had coached his companion as to the questions he wished her to put on arrival at the bank, and she went straight to the point. I wanted to know if my companion, Mrs. Killinghall had called here this afternoon. Begun, Miss Wickham. She has, answered the manager. I happened to see her, and I attended to her myself. Did she present a check from me? Inquired Miss Wickham. Certainly, and I cashed it, said the manager. He gave his customer and her companion a look of interrogation, which had a good deal of surprise in it. Why, he continued glancing at Miss Wickham. Wasn't it an order? That, replied Miss Wickham, depends upon the amount. The amount, he exclaimed. You know, if the drawer, it was for 10,000 pounds. Then Mrs. Killinghall has done me or you out of that, said Miss Wickham. The check I gave her was to have been filled up for the amount of the usual weekly bills, 20 pounds or so, 10,000, ridiculous. But it all seemed in order, exclaimed the concerned manager. She was as plausible and all that, and really, you know, Miss Wickham, we know her very well, and in addition to that, you have a very large balance lying here. Mrs. Killinghall merely mentioned that you wanted this amount in notes and that she had called for it, and of course I cashed the check, your check, remember, at once. I hadn't filled in the amount, remarked Miss Wickham. Mrs. Killinghall had often presented checks bearing your signature in which you hadn't filled in the amount, said the manager. There was nothing unusual, I assure you, in any detail of the affair. The most important detail now, observed Diviner Dryley, is to find Mrs. Killinghall. The manager, who was obviously filled with amazement at Mrs. Killinghall's audacity, looked from one to the other of his visitors, as if he could scarcely credit their suggestion. You really mean me to believe that Mrs. Killinghall has got ten thousand pounds out of Miss Wickham by a trick? Yes, fixing his gaze at last on Viner. What I really mean you to believe, said Viner Rising, is that a rapid series of events this afternoon has proved to me that Mrs. Killinghall is one of a gang who are responsible for the murder of John Ashton, who stole his diamond and certain papers, and who have endeavored very cleverly to foist one of their number, a scoundrel-y clever actor, on the public as a peer of the realm who had been missing. Mrs. Killinghall, who has another name, probably got wind of possible detection about noon to-day, and took advantage of Miss Wickham's habit of giving her a weekly check to provide herself with ample funds. That's really about the truth, and I think Miss Wickham and I had better be seeing the police. The very best thing you can do, responded the manager with alacrity, and take my advice and go straight to headquarters, go to New Scotland Yard, just think with this woman. And her accomplices could do. If she or they had one hour start of you, they can have already put a good distance between themselves and London. They can be halfway to Dover, or Harwich or Southampton, and therefore all the more reason why we should set somebody on their trail. Mr. Dweiner and hurried Miss Wickham out of the manager's room, and away to the taxi cab, which he had purposely kept in waiting. I don't think Mrs. Killinghall or Killerbee or whatever her name is. We'll have hurried away as quickly as all that. He remarked as they sped along toward Whitehall. My own idea is that, having got hold of your money, she'll probably have made for the headquarters of this precious gang. She and they are sure to have one, for I should say the place in Whitechapel was only an outpost, and they'll be better able to arrange an escape from there than she would to make an immediate flight. She? But what are you thinking? That I seem to be involved somehow in a very strange and curious combination of things. Answered Miss Wickham. Just so, agreed Dweiner, so do I, and I was literally pitchforked into the very midst of it all by sheer accident. If I hadn't happened to go out for a late stroll on the night on which it began, I should never have. But here we are. The official of the Criminal Investigation Department with whom they were shortly closeted listened carefully and silently to Dweiner's account of all that had happened. He was one of those never to be sufficiently praised individuals who never interrupt and always understand, and at the close of Dweiner's story he said exactly what the narrator was thinking. The real truth of all this, Mr. Dweiner, he said, is that this is probably one of the last chapters in the history of the Lonsdale passage-murder. For if you find this woman and the men who are undoubtedly her accomplices, you will most likely have found, in one or other of them, the murderer of John Ashton. Precisely, agreed Dweiner, precisely. The official rose from his seat and turned to the door. Drilford of our nearest police station had this case in charge. He remarked, I'll just call him on the telephone. He left the room and was away for several minutes when he returned there was something like a smile on his face. If you and Miss Wickham will drive along and see Drilford, Mr. Viner, he said, I think you'll find he's some news for you. Has he told it to you? demanded Viner. Well, just a little. Answered the official with another smile. But I won't rob him of the pleasure of telling you himself. You ought to be disappointed. However, I'll just tell you enough to wet your appetite for more. Drilford is confident that he's just arrested the real man. Though no more, he added with a laugh, he'll run up there in twenty minutes. Drilford, cool and confident as ever, was alone in his office with Viner and his companion were shown in. He looked at Miss Wickham with considerable curiosity as he handed her a chair, and Viner noticed that the bow he made her was unusually respectful. But he immediately plunged into the pertinent subject and turned to Viner with a laugh of self-deprecation. Well, Mr. Viner, he said, you were right and I was wrong. It wasn't that young fellow Hyde who killed Mr. Ashton. And now that I know who did, I don't mind saying that I'm jolly glad that his innocence will be established. But do you know who did? asked Viner eagerly. I do, answered Drilford. Who then? exclaimed Viner. He's in the cells at the back now, said Drilford, and I only hope he's not one of those chaps who are so clever that they can secrete poison to the very last moment and then cheat the gallows for now that I know as much as I do. I should say he's as pretty as specimen of the accomplished scoundrel as ever put on fine clothes. Dr. Cortilion of your square. This sudden and surprising revelation made in ordinary matter-of-fact tones produced different effects on the two people to whom it was made. Viner, after a stardomous, mothered exclamation, stared silently at Drilford as if he scarcely comprehended his meaning. But Ms. Wickham, with a quick flush which evidently denoted suddenly awakened recollection, broken to words. Dr. Cortilion, she exclaimed, ah, I remember now. Mr. Ashton once told me in quite a casual way as we were passing through the square, that he had known Dr. Cortilion in Australia years and years ago. Drilford glanced at Viner and smiled. I wish you'd remember that little matter before Ms. Wickham, he said. It might have saved a lot of trouble. Well, Cortilion's the man, and it all came about quite suddenly this afternoon. Through your aunt, Mr. Viner, Ms. Penkridge, smart lady, sir. My aunt! exclaimed Viner. Why, how on earth? Some of your gentlemen had a conference with that fellow cave at your house after you left court this morning, said Drilford. Ms. Penkridge was present. Cave told more of his cock and bull story, and produced a certain letter which he said had been handed to him at the hotel he'd put up at. All that and all the stuff he told at the police court was bluff, carefully concocted by himself and Cortilion in case Cave was ever put in a tight corner. Now, according to what she tells me, Ms. Penkridge immediately spotted something about that letter which none of you gentlemen were clever enough to see. I know, interrupted Viner, she saw that the envelope and paper had been supplied by Bigel's Firth of Craven Gardens, and that a certain letter in the typewriter which had been used was defective. Just so laughed Drilford, and so being, as I say, a smart woman, she went round to Bigel's Firth, got him to herself, and made some inquiries. And it's very queer, Mr. Viner, how some of these apparently intricate cases are easily solved by one chance discovery. She hadn't been talking to Bigel's Firth ten minutes before she was on the right track. Bigel's Firth, when he'd got to know the main features of the case, was willing enough to help, and your aunt immediately brought him round to here to see me, and I knew at once that we'd got right there. Yes, but how exactly? asked Viner. Bigel's Firth, answered Drilford, told me that he had supplied stationery to Dr. Cortilion for some time, and he had no doubt that the paper and envelope described by Ms. Penkridge was some which he had specially secured for the doctor. But he told something far more important. Six months ago, Cortilion went to Bigel's Firth and asked him if he could get him a good second-hand type writer. Now Bigel's Firth had a very good one for which he had no use, and he had once sold it to Cortilion. Bigel's Firth didn't mention the matter to his customer, for the machine was perfect in all other respects, but one of the letters was defective, broken. It was the same letter, Mr. Viner, which was defective in the document which Cave showed to you, gentlemen, and spoke of previously in court. Extraordinary, muttered Viner, what a piece of luck! No, sir, said Drilford stoutly, no luck at all, just a bit of good common sense, thinking on the part of a shrewd woman. But you'll want to know what we did. I was so absolutely certain of the truth of Ms. Penkridge's theory, that I immediately made preparations for a dissent on Cortilion's house. I got a number of our best men, detectives, of course, and we went round to Markendale Square back in front. Inquiries show that Cortilion was out, but we'd scarcely got that fact a certain, when he drove up in a taxicab with Cave himself. They hurriedly entered the house. I myself was watching from a good point of vantage, and I saw that both men were, to say the least, anxious and excited. Then I began to make final preparations, but before I had finished telling my men exactly what to do, another party drove up. Your companion, Ms. Wickham, Mrs. Killenhall, she too entered, then I moved quick. Some of us went to the front, I with the others went in by the back. We made straight for Cortilion's surgery, and we were on him and the other two before they had time to move, literally. The two men certainly tried to draw revolvers, but we were too many for them, and as they had tried that game, I had him handcuffed there and then. It was all an affair of a moment, and of course they saw it was all up. Now equally, of course, Mr. Viner, in all these cases in my experience, the subordinates immediately tried to save their own skins by denouncing the principal, and so it was so in this instance. Mrs. Killenhall and Cave at once denounced Cortilion as the mainspring, and the woman, who's a regular coward, got me aside and offered to turn King's evidence, and whispered that Cortilion actually killed Ashton himself, unaided, as he let him out of his back door into Lonsdale Passage. So, that settled, exclaimed Viner. Yes, I think so, agreed Drilford. Well we brought him all here and charged him and examined him. Nothing much on Cave, who, of course, is precisely what Hyde said he was, a man named Nugent Starr, an old actor, if he was as good a performer on the stage as he is in private life, he ought to have done well. But on Mrs. Killenhall we found ten thousand pounds in Bank of England notes, and one or two letters from Cortilion, which she was a fool for keeping, for they clearly proved that she was an accessory. And on Cortilion we hid a big find, that diamond that Ashton used to carry about, the other ring that Ashton was wearing when he was murdered, and perhaps most important of all, certain papers which he had no doubt taken from Ashton's body. What are they? demanded Viner. Drilford glanced at Miss Wickham. Well, he said, I've only just had time to glance at them, but I should say that they effect Miss Wickham in a very surprising fashion, and I shall be glad to hand them over to her solicitors as soon as they come for them. They are birth certificates, burial certificates, marriage certificates, and a complete memorandum of a certain case, evidently written out with great care by Ashton himself. And of course, knowing what I do now, it's very clear to me how Ashton's murder came about. Cortilion knew that if Ashton was out of the way and he himself in possession of the papers, he could use some, suppress others, and foist off an accomplice of his own as claimant to a title which, from what I've seen, appears without doubt to belong to. Drilford was again glancing at Miss Wickham, but Viner contrived to stop any further revelations and got to his feet. Extraordinary, he said, but my aunt, where is she? She remained here until we had safely caged the birds, answered Drilford, then she said she'd go home, and I suppose you'll find her there. Viner took his companion away from the police station in silence, but at the end of the street Miss Wickham looked back. Are those three people really locked up in cells close by where we were sitting with the inspector? She asked. Just so, answered Viner. And while they all be hanged, she whispered, I sincerely hope one will, exclaimed Viner. What, she inquired, did the inspector mean about the papers found on Dr. Cortilion? I have some uneasy feeling that. I think you'd better wait, said Viner. There'll have to be some queer explanations. We must let Mr. Paul and Mr. Carlos know of what's happened. We must cover people to deal with this affair. And then as they turned into Markendale Square, they saw Mr. Paul and Mr. Carlos, whom with Lord Ellingham were hurrying from Miss Wickham's house, in the direction of Viner's. Mr. Carlos quickened his pace and came toward them. I was so upset when I heard from Perkwide that Miss Wickham has been in that house in Whitechapel, he said, that on learning she'd gone off with you, Viner, Lord Ellingham and I drove to Paul's and brought him on here to learn if she'd got home and what had happened. What had happened? demanded Mr. Paul. What is it, Viner? Viner gathered them round him with a look. This has happened, he said. The whole thing solved. Ashton's murderer is found and he and his accomplices are under lock and key. Listen, and I'll tell you all that's been done since one o'clock up here, while we've been at the other end of the town, but I'll only give you an outline. Well then. The three men listened in dead silence until Viner had repeated Drilford's story, then Mr. Paul glanced around at the window of Viner's house. Miss Pencroche, by all that's wonderful, he said in a deep voice. Most extraordinary. Where is she? At home, I should imagine, answered Viner with a laugh. Then my dear sir, by all means, let us pay our respects to her, said Mr. Paul, a tribute. By all means, exclaimed Mr. Carlos, a just tribute, richly deserved. I should like to add my small quota, said Lord Ellingham. Viner led the way into his house and to the drawing-room. Miss Pencroche in her best cap was calmly dispensing tea to the two Hyde sisters, who were regarding her with obvious admiration. She looked around on her nephew in the flood of collars as if to ask what most of them were doing there. And Viner, knowing Miss Pencroche's peculiar humor rose to the occasion. My dear aunt, he said in a hushed voice, these gentlemen, having heard of your extraordinary achievement this afternoon, have come to let your feet the united tribute of Miss Pencroche shut a warning glance through her still-reamed spectacles. Don't talk nonsense, Richard! She exclaimed sharply. Ring the bell for more cups and saucers. Chapter 28 The Truth