 CHAPTER XVI. THE LEADMINE. STARMAGE AND PULK presently left, to walk down to the railway station with the bewildered clerk. When they had gone, Betty turned to Neil, who was hanging about her sitting-room with no obvious intention of leaving it. While these people are doing what they can in their way, is there nothing we can do in hours? she asked. I hate sitting here doing nothing at all. You're a free man now, Wally. Can't you suggest something? Neil was thoroughly enjoying his first taste of liberty. He felt as if he had just been released from a long term of imprisonment. To be absolutely free to do what he liked with himself, during the whole of a spring day, was a sensation so novel that he was holding closely to it, half fearful that it might all be a dream from which it would be a terrible thing to awake, to see one of Chestermark's ledgers under his nose. And this being a wonderfully fine morning, he had formed certain sly designs of luring Betty away into the country and having the whole day with her. A furtive glance at her, however, showed him that Ms. Faustike's thoughts and ideas just then were entirely business-like, but a happy inspiration suggested to him that business and pleasure might be combined. We ought to go and see if that tinker-chaps found out or heard anything, he said. You remember he promised to keep his eyes and ears open, and we might do a little looking round the country for ourselves. I haven't much faith in these local policemen and gamekeepers. Why not make a day of it, going round? I know a place, nice old inn, the other side of Ellerstine, where we can get some lunch. Much better making inquiries for ourselves, he concluded insinuatingly, than sitting around waiting for news. Didn't I say so, exclaimed Betty? Come on, then. I'm ready. We're first. Let's see the tinker first, said Neil. He's a sharp man. He may have something else to tell by now. He led his companion out of the town by way of Skarnam Bridge, pointing out Joseph Chestermark's gloomy house to her as they passed it. I'd give a lot, he remarked as they turned on to the open moor which led toward Ellerstine Hollow, to know if either of the Chestermarks really did know anything about that little chap Hollis coming to town on Saturday. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if they did. Those detective fellows like Starmage are very clever in their way, but they always seem to me to stop thinking a bit too soon. Now both Starmage and Polk seem to take it for certain that this Hollis went to meet Horbury when he left the station hotel. There's no proof that he went to meet Horbury. None. Whom might he have gone to meet, then? demanded Betty. You listen to me a bit, said Neil. I've been thinking it over. Hollis comes to the station hotel and uses their telephone. Mrs. Pratt overhears him call up Chestermark's bank, that's certain. Then she goes away about her business. An interval elapses. Then she hears some appointment made with somebody along the riverbank for that evening, but that interval, during which Mrs. Pratt didn't overhear, how do we know that the person with whom Hollis began his conversation was the same person with whom he finished it? Come now. Wally, that's awfully clever of you, exclaimed Betty. How did you come to think of such an ingenious notion? Worked it out, answered Neil. This way. Hollis comes down to Skarnam to see Chestermark's bank, which means one of the partners. He rings up the bank. He speaks to somebody there. How do we know that somebody was Horbury? We don't. It may have been Mrs. Carswell. Now supposing the real person Hollis wanted to see was either Gabriel or Joseph Chestermark. Very well. This person who answered from the bank would put Hollis on to either one of them at once. Gabriel has a telephone at the Warn. Joseph has a telephone at his home yonder behind us. It may have been with either Gabriel or Joseph that Hollis finished his conversation, and if it was finished with one of them, it was, in my opinion, whatever that's worth, with Master Joseph. What makes you think that? asked Betty, startled by the suggestion. Neil laid a hand on the girl's arm and turned her round to face the town. He lifted his stick and pointed at Joseph Chestermark's high roof, towering above the houses around it. Then he swept the stick towards the river and its course, plainly to be followed in the direction of the station. You see Joseph's house there, he said. You see the river, the path along its bank, going right down to the meadow opposite the station hotel. Very well. Now supposing it was Joseph with whom Hollis wound up that telephone talk. Suppose it was Joseph whom Hollis wanted to see. What would happen? Joseph knew that Hollis was at the station hotel. The straightest and easiest way from the station hotel to Joseph's house is, straight along the river bank. Now then, call on your memory. What did Mrs. Pratt tell us? When I was going back to the bar, says Mrs. Pratt, I heard more. Along the river side, says the gentleman, straight on from where I am, all right. Then after a minute, at 7.30 then, he says, all right, I'll meet you. And after that, concludes Mrs. Pratt, he rings off. Now why shouldn't it be Joseph Chestermark that he was going to meet? Remember again, the river side path leads straight to Joseph's house. Come, Mrs. Pratt's story doesn't point conclusively to Horbury at all. It's as I say, the telephone conversation may have begun with Horbury, but it may have ended with somebody else. And what I say is, who was the precise person whom Hollis went to meet? Are you going to tell all that to Starmage? asked Betty, abiringly. Because I'm sure it's never entered his head so far. Depends, replied Neil. Let's see if the tinker has anything to tell. He's at home anyway. There's his fire. A spiral of blue smoke curling high above the green and gold of the gorse bushes revealed Creasy's whereabouts. He had shifted his camp since their first meeting with him. His tilted cart, his tethered pony, and his fire, were now in a hollow considerably near the town. Neil and Betty looked down into his retreat to find him busily mending a collection of pots and pans evidently gathered up during his round of the previous day. He greeted his visitors with a smile and fetched a three-legged stool from his cart for Betty's better accommodation. Heard anything, asked Neil, seating himself on a log of wood. The tinker pointed to several newspapers which lay near at hand, kept from blowing away by a stone placed on the uppermost. Only what's in these, he answered. I've read all that, so I'm pretty well posted up, Mr. I've just read this morning's. Bought it in the town when I went to fetch some bread. Queer affair altogether, I call it. Have you looked round about it all, asked Betty? I've been a good bit over the hollow, Miss, answered Creasy, but it's a stiff job seeking anything here. There's nobody knows what a wilderness this hollow is until they begin exploring it. Holes, corners, nooks, crannies, bracken and bushes, it's a wilderness and that's a fact. I'd engaged to hide myself safely in the square mile for many a week against a hundred seekers. It wouldn't a bit surprise me, you know, if it comes out in the end that Mr. Horbury, after all, did fall down one of these old chaffs. I couldn't believe it possible at first, knowing that he knew every in and out of the place, but I'm beginning to think he may have done. There's only one thing against that theory. What? asked Betty. Where's the other gentleman? answered the tinker. If they came together onto this waist, one couldn't fall down a shaft without the other knowing it, Day, and it's scarcely likely they'd both fall down. Neil glanced at Betty and shook his head. There you are, you see, he muttered. They all hanged to the notion that Hollis did meet Horbury. Mr. Horbury may have been alone, after all, you know, he went on turning to Creasy. There's no proof that the other gentleman was with him. I? Well, I'm going on what these paper accounts say, answered Creasy. They all take it for granted that those two were together. Well, about these old shaftings, Mr., I did notice something very early this morning that I thought might be looked into. What is it? asked Neil. Don't let's lose any chance of finding anything out, however small it may be. The tinker finished mending a kettle and set it up bright amongst the other renovated articles. He lifted the pan of solder off the fire, set it aside too, and got up. Come this way then, he said. I was going to scorn him this noon to tell Mr. Polk about it, but as long as you're here. He led the way through the thick gorse and heather until he came to a narrow track which wound across the moor in the direction of the town. There he paused, pointing toward Ellersdine on the one hand, toward Skarnam on the other. You see this track, Mr., he said. You'll notice that it goes to Ellersdine village that way and to Skarnam this. Of course, you can't see it all the way in either direction, but you can take my word for it, it does. It comes out at Ellersdine by the duck pond, at Skarnam by the bridge at the foot of Cormarket. People who know it would follow it if they wanted a shortcut across the moor from the town to the village, or the opposite, as you might say. Now then, look here, a bit this way. He proceeded them along the narrow track until, on an open space in the moorland, they came to one of the old lead mine shafts, the mouth of which had been fenced in by a roughly built wall of stone, gathered from its immediate surroundings. In this wall, extending from its parapet to the ground, was a wide gap. The stones which had been displaced to make it had disappeared into the cavernous opening. Now then, said the tinker, turning to his companions with the inquiring look of a man who advances a theory which may or may not be accepted as reasonable. You see that? What I'd like to know is, is that a recently made gap? It's difficult to tell. If this bit of stone fence had been built with mortar, one could have told, but it's never had mortar or lime in it. It's just rough masonry, as you see. Stones picked up off the moor, like all these fences round the old shafts. But there's the gap right enough. Do you know what I'm thinking? No, murmur betty, with a glance of fear and doubt at the black vista which she saw through the gap. But don't be afraid to speak. I'm thinking this, continued the tinker. Supposing a man was following this track from Ellerstine to Skarnam, or tetherway around, as it might be. Supposing he was curious to look down one of these old shafts. Supposing he looked down this one, which stands, as you see, not two yards off the very track he was following. Supposing he leaned his weight on this rotten bit of fencing. Supposing it gave way. What? Neil, who had been listening intently, made a movement as if to lay his hand on the grey stones. Betty seized him impulsively. Don't, Wally, she exclaimed. That frightens me. Creasy lifted his foot and pressed it against the stones at the edge of the gap. Before even that slight pressure three or four blocks gave way and dropped inward, the sound of their fall came dully from the depths beneath. You see, said the tinker, it's possible. It might be. And, as you can tell from the time it takes a stone to drop, it's a long way down there. They're very deep, these old mines. Neil turned from the broken wall and looked narrowly at the ground about it. I don't see any signs of anybody being around here recently, he remarked. There are no foot marks. There couldn't be, Mr., said Creasy. You could march a regiment of soldiers over this moorland grass for many an hour, and there be no footprints on it when they'd gone. It's that wiry and strong. No. If half a dozen men had been standing about here when one fell in, or if two or three men had come here to throw another man in, he added significantly, there'd be no foot marks. Try it. You can't grind an iron shot heel like mine into this turf. It's all very horrible, said Betty, still staring at the black gap, with its suggestion of subterranean horror. If one only knew, the tinker turned and looked at the two young people as if he were estimating their strength. What are you wondering about? asked Neil. Creasy smiled as he glanced again at Betty. Well, he replied, you're a pretty strong young fellow, Mr., I take it, and the young lady looks as if she got a good bit of muscle about her. If you, too, could manage one end of a rope, I go down into that shaft at the other end, a bit of the way at any rate, and then I'll let down a lantern and see if there's ought to be seen. Betty turned anxiously to Neil, and Neil looked the tinker over with appraising eyes. I could pull you up myself, he answered, you're no great weight, and haven't those shafts got props and stays down the side? I, but they'll be thoroughly rotten by this, said Creasy. Well, we'll try it. Come to my cart, I have plenty of stuff there. You're sure there's no danger, asked Betty. Don't imperil yourself. No danger, so long as you too will stick to this end of the rope, said Creasy. I shan't go too far down. The tilted cart proved to contain all sorts of useful things. They presently returned to the shaft with two coils of stout rope, a crowbar, a lantern attached to a length of strong cord, and a great sledgehammer, with which the tinker drove the crowbar firmly into the ground some ten or twelve feet from the edge of the gap. He made one end of the rope vast to this, the other end he securely knotted about his waist. One end of the second rope he looped under his armpits and handed the other to Neil, then, lighting his lantern, he prepared to descend, having first explained the management of the ropes to his assistants. All you've got to do, he said reassuringly to Betty, is to hold on to this second rope and let me down gradual like. When I say pull, draw up, I'll help, hand over hand, up this first rope. Simple enough. I shan't go too far. Nevertheless he exhausted the full length of both ropes and it seemed a long time before they heard anything of him. Betty, frightened of what she might hear, fearful lest Neil should go too near the edge of the shaft, began to get nervous at the delay, and it was with a great sense of relief that she at last heard the signal. The tinker came hand over hand up the stationary rope, helped by the second one. His face, appearing over the edge of the gap, was grave and at first inscrutable. He shook himself when he stepped above the ground, as if he wanted to shake off an impression. Then he turned and spoke in a whisper. It's as I thought it might be, he said. There's a dead man down there. CHAPTER XVII BETTI checked the cry of horror which instinctively started to her lips, and turned to Neil with a look which he was quick to interpret. He moved nearer to the tinker who was unwinding the rope from his waist. You couldn't tell what man, he asked in low tones. Creasy shook his head with a look of dislike for what he had seen by the light of his lantern. No, he answered. It wasn't possible, mister, but a man there is, and dead, naturally, and a long way down it is, too, down to the bottom of that place. What's to be done? asked Neil. The tinker slowly coiled up his ropes and laid them in order by the crowbar. There's only one thing to be done, he answered, after a reflective pause. We shall have to get him up. That'll be a job. Do you and the young lady go back to Skarnam and tell Polk what we found and let him come out here with a man or two. I'll go to Ellersdine yonder and get some help, and a windlass. Can't do without that. There's a man that sings wells in Ellersdine. I'll get him and his men to come back with me. Then we can set to work. Creasy moved away as he finished speaking, untethered his pony, threw an old saddle across its back, and without further remark rode off in the direction of the village, while Neil and Betty turned back to Skarnam. For a while neither broke the silence which had followed the tinker's practical suggestions. When Betty at last spoke it was in a hushed voice. Wally, she said. Do you think that can possibly be Uncle John? No, answered Neil sharply. I don't. I don't believe it possible that he would be so foolish as to lean over a rotten bit of walling like that. He'd know the danger of it. Then it must be the other man, Hollis, said Betty. Maybe, agreed Neil. If it is, he paused, and Betty looked at his set face as if she were wondering what he was thinking of. What, she asked timidly, you're uneasy about something. It's a marvel to me, if it is Hollis, however he comes to be there, answered Neil at last. According to all we know, he certainly went to meet somebody on Saturday night. I can't think how anybody who knew the district would have let a stranger do such a risky thing as to lean over one of those shafts. Besides, if anybody was with him and there was an accident, why hasn't the accident been reported? Betty, it's more like murder. You think he may have been thrown down there, she asked fearfully. Thrown down, or forced down, it's all the same, said Neil. There may have been a struggle, a fight, but there, what's the use of speculating? We don't even know whose body it is yet. Let's go on and tell those police chaps. Turning off the open moor onto the highway at the corner of Skarnam Bridge, they suddenly came face to face with Gabriel Chestermark, who, for once in a way, was walking instead of driving into the town. The two young people, emerging from the shelter of a high hedge-row which bordered the moorland at that point, started at the site of the banker's colorless base, cold and set, as usual. But Gabriel betrayed no surprise and was in no way taken aback. He lifted his hat in silence and was marching on when Neil impulsively hailed him. Mr. Chestermark, he exclaimed. Gabriel halted and turned, looking at his late clerk with absolute impassiveness. He made no remark and stood like a statue, waiting for Neil to speak. You may like to know, said Neil, coming up to him. We have just found the body of a man on the moor, Allerstein Hollow. Gabriel showed no surprise. No light came into his eyes. No color to his cheek. It seemed a long time before his firmly set lips relaxed. A man, he said quietly. What man? We don't know, answered Neil. All we know is there's a man's body lying at the bottom of one of the old shafts up there, near Ellersdine Tower. The tinker who camps out there has just seen it. He's been partly down the shaft. And did not recognize it, asked Gabriel. No, it was too far beneath him, replied Neil. He's gone into the village to get help. Gabriel lingered a moment, and then, lifting his hat again, began to move forward towards the town. I should advise you to acquaint the police, Mr. Neil, he said. Good morning. He marched away, stiffly upright, across the bridge and up the corn market. And Neil and Betty followed. Why did you tell him, asked Betty. Neil threw a glance of something very like scorn after the retreating figure. Wanted to see how he'd take it, he answered. Bah. Gabriel chest remarks no better than a wax figure. You might as well tell a marble image any news of this sort as tell him. You'd have thought he'd have had sufficient human feeling in him to say that he hoped it wasn't your uncle anyhow. No, I shouldn't, said Betty. I sized Gabriel up, and Joseph too, when I walked into their parlor the other afternoon. They haven't any feelings. You might as well expect to get feeling out of a fish. They met Starmage in the marketplace, talking to Parkinson. Neil told the news to both. The journalist dashed into his office for his hat and made off to Ellerstein Hollow. Starmage turned to the police station with his information. No one else knows, I suppose, he remarked as they went along. Gabriel chest remarked no, answered Neil. We met him as we were coming off the moor, and I told him. Show any surprise, asked the detective. Neither surprise nor anything else, said Neil. Absolutely unaffected. Polk, hearing the news, immediately bustled into activity, sending for a cab in which to drive along the road to a point near Ellerstein Tower, from which they could reach the lead mine, but he shook his head when he saw that Betty meant to return. Don't miss, he urged. Stay here in town. You'd far better. It's not a nice job for ladies, ought of that sort. Awaited the hotel, too, now. Doing nothing, exclaimed Betty. That would be far worse. Let me go. I'm not afraid of anything, and to hang about, waiting and wondering. Neil, who had been about to enter the cab with the police, drew back. You go on, he said to Polk. Get things through. Ms. Vostak and I will walk slowly back there. We won't come close up till you can tell us something definite. Don't you see she's anxious about her uncle? We can't keep her waiting. He rejoined Betty as Polk and his men drove off. Together they turned again in the direction of the bridge. Once across it and on the moor, Neil made the girl sit down on a ledge of rock at some distance from the lead mine, but within sight of it. He himself, while he talked to her, stood watching the figures grouped about the shaft. Creasy had evidently succeeded in getting help at once. Neil saw men fixing a windlass over the mouth of the old mine, saw a man at last disappear into its depths, and after a long pause he saw from the movements of the other men that the body had been drawn to the surface and that they were bending over it. A moment later, Starmage separated himself from the rest and came in Neil's direction. He nodded his head energetically at Betty as he drew within speaking distance. All right, Ms. Faustike, he said. It's not your uncle, but it's the other man, Mr. Neil. No doubt of it. Hollis exclaimed Neil. It's the man described by Mrs. Pratt and Simmons that certain, answered the detective. So there's one mystery settled, though it makes all the rest stranger than ever. Now, Ms. Faustike, that'll be some relief to you, so don't come any nearer. But just spare Mr. Neil a few minutes. I want to speak to him. Betty obediently turned back to the ledge of the rock, and Neil walked with Starmage toward the group around the shaft. Can you tell anything, he asked. Are there any signs of violence? I mean, does it look as if he'd been thrown in there, said the detective calmly? Ah, it's a bit early to decide that. The only thing I'm thinking of now is the fact that this is Hollis. That's certain, Mr. Neil. Now what could he be doing on this lonely bit of ground? Where does this track lead? It's a shortcut from Skarnam Bridge corner to the middle of Ellersdine Village, answered Neil, pointing one way and then the other. And Gabriel Chestermark lives in Ellersdine, doesn't he? Ask Starmage? Or close by? Neil indicated certain chimneys rising amongst the trees on the far side of the hollow. He lives there, the Warren, he replied. Hmm. Mew Starmage. I wonder if this poor fellow was making his way there to see him. How should he, a stranger, know of this shortcut to murder Neil? I don't think that's very likely. That's true, unless he'd had it pointed out to him, rejoin Starmage. It's odd, anyway, that his body should be found halfway, as it were, between Gabriel Chestermark's place and Joseph Chestermark's house, isn't it now? But, Lord bless you, we're only on the fringe of this business as yet. Well, just take a look at him. Neil walked within the group of bystanders, feeling an intense dislike and loathing of the whole thing. In obedience to Starmage's wish, he looked steadily at the dead man and turned away. You don't know him? Never saw him during the five years you were at the bank, whispered the detective? Think. Make certain now. Never saw him in my life, declared Neil, stepping back. I neither know him nor anything about him. I wanted you to make sure, said Starmage. I thought you might, possibly, recollect him as somebody who'd called at the bank during your time. No, said Neil. Certainly not. I've never set eyes upon him until now. Of course, he's Hollis, I suppose. Oh, without a doubt, answered Polk, who caught Neil's question as he came up. He's Hollis, right enough. Mr. Neil, here's a difficulty. It's a queer thing, but there isn't one of us here who knows if this spot is in Skarnam or in Ellersden. Do you? Is it within our borough boundary, or is it in Ellersden Parish? The Ellersden policeman there doesn't know, and I'm sure I don't. It's a point of importance, because the inquest'll have to be held in the parish in which the body was found. The Ellersden constable, who had followed Polk, suddenly raised a finger and pointed across the heather. Here's a gentleman coming as might know, Mr. Polk, he said. Mr. Chestermark. Neil and Starmage turned sharply to see the banker advancing quickly from the adjacent road. A cab, drawn up a little distance off, showed that he had driven out to hear the latest news. Polk stepped forward to meet the newcomer. Gabriel greeted him in his usual, impassive fashion. This body been recovered, he asked quietly. A few minutes ago Mr. Chestermark answered Polk, will you look at it? Gabriel moved aside the group of men without further word, and the others followed him. He looked steadily at the dead man's face and withdrew. Not known to me, he said, in answer to an inquiring glance from Polk. Hollis, I suppose, of course. He went off again as suddenly as he had come, and Starmage drew Neil aside. Mr. Neil, he whispered, with a nearer approach to excitement the Neil had yet seen in him. Did you see Gabriel Chestermark's eyes? He's a liar. As sure as my name's Starmage, he's a liar. Mr. Neil, he knows that dead man. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of the Chestermark Instinct This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 18 The Incomplete Check Neil, startled and amazed by this sudden outburst on the part of a man whom up to that time he had taken to be unusually cool-headed and phlegmatic, did not immediately answer. He was watching the Ellers-Deen Constable, who was running after Gabriel Chestermark's rapidly retreating figure. He saw Gabriel stop, listen to an evident question, and then lift his hand and poke to various features of the hollow. The policeman touched his helmet and came back to poke. Mr. Chestermark, sir, says the Moorland is in three parishes, he reported pantingly. From Skarnam Bridge, corner to Ellers-Deen Tower, yonder, is in the Skarnam Parish. This side of the hollow is in Ellers-Deen. Everything beyond the tower is in Middlethorpe. Then we're in Skarnam, said Polk. He'll have to be taken down to the town mortuary. We'd better see to it at once. What are you going to do, Starmage? he asked, as the detective turned away with Neil. I'll take this shortcut back, said Starmage. I want to go to the post office. Yes, sir, he went on, as he and Neil slowly walked towards Betty. I say he knew him. He knew him, Mr. Neil, knew him as soon as he ever clapped eyes on him. You're very certain about it, said Neil. Dead certain, exclaimed the detective. I was watching him, purposely. I've taught myself to watch men, the slightest quiver of a lip, the least bit of light in an eye, the mere twitch of a little finger. Ah, don't I know them all, and know what they mean. And, when Gabriel Chestermark stepped up to look at that body, I was watching that face of his as I've never watched mortal man before. And you saw, what? asked Neil. I saw, recognition, said Starmage. Recognition, sir. I'll stake my reputation as a detective officer that Mr. Gabriel Chestermark has seen that dead man before. He may not know him personally. He may never have spoken to him, but he knew him. He'd seen him. Will your conviction of that help at all? inquired Neil. It'll help me, replied the detective quickly. I'm gradually getting some ideas. But I shan't tell Polk nor anybody else of it. You can tell Ms. Faust I give you like. She'll understand. Women have more intuition than men. Now I'm off. I want to get a wire to London. Look here. Drop in at the police station when you get back. We shall examine Hollis's clothing, you know. And there may be some clue to Horbury. He hurried off towards the town, and Neil rejoined Betty. And as they slowly followed the detective, he told her what Starmage had just said with such evident belief. And Betty understood, as Starmage had prophesied. And she grew more thoughtful than ever. When are we going to find a way out of all this miserable business? She suddenly exclaimed. Are we any near a solution because of what just happened? Does that help us to finding out what's become of my uncle? I suppose one thing's sure to lead to another, said Neil. That seems to be the detective's notion, anyhow. If Starmage is so certain that Gabriel Chestermark knew Hollis, he'll work that for all it's worth. It's my opinion, whatever that's worth, that Hollis came down here to see the Chestermarks. Did he see them? There's the problem. If one could only find out that. I wish you and I could do something, apart from the police, suggested Betty. Isn't there anything we could do? Neil pointed ahead to the high roof of Joseph Chestermark's house across the river. There's one thing I'd like to do, if I could, he answered. I'd just like to know all the secrets of that place, that there are some I'm as certain as that we're crossing this more. You see that queer-shaped structure, sort of conical chimney, sticking up amongst the trees in Joseph Chestermark's garden? That's a workshop, or laboratory, or something, in which Joseph spends his leisure moments. I'd like to know what he does there. But nobody knows. Nobody is ever allowed in that house, nor in the garden. I don't know a single soul in all Skarnam that's ever been inside either. I'm perfectly certain Mr. Horbury was never asked there. Once Joseph's across his thresholds, back or front, there's an end of him till he comes out again. But he doesn't live entirely alone, does he, asked Betty? As near as can be, replied Neil. His entire staff consists of an old man and an old woman, man and wife, who've been with him, oh, ever since he was born, I believe. You may have seen the old man about the town. Old Pulferman. Everybody knows him. Queer, old-fashioned chap. He goes out to buy in whatever's wanted. The old woman never shows. That's the trio that live in there. A queer lot, aren't they? It's all queer, sigh Betty. But now that this unfortunate man's body's been found. Wally, do you think it possible he was thrown down that mine? That would mean murder. If he were thrown down there, already dead, answered Neil Grimley, it would not only mean murder, but more than one person was concerned in it. We shall know more when they've examined the body and searched the clothing. I'm going round to the police station when I've seen you back to the hotel. I'm hoping they'll find something that'll settle the one point that's so worrying. Which point? asked Betty. The real critical point, in my opinion, answered Neil. Who it was that Hollis came to see on Saturday. There may be letters, papers on him that'll settle that. And if once we know that, ah, that will make a difference, because then, then, what then demanded Betty? Then the police can ask that person if Hollis did meet him, exclaimed Neil. And they can ask, too, what that person did with Hollis. Solve that, and we'll see daylight. But Betty shook her head with clear indications of doubt as to the validity of this theory. No, she said. It won't come off, Wally. If there's been foul play, the guilty people will have had too much cleverness to leave any evidences on their victim. I don't believe they'll find anything on Hollis that'll clear things up. Daylight isn't coming from that quarter. Where are we to look for it then? asked Neil, dismally. It's somewhere far back, declared Betty. I felt that all along. The secret of this affair isn't in anything that's been done here, and lately. It's in something deep down, and how to get added, and to find out about my uncle, I don't know. Neil felt it worse than Idle to offer more theories. Speculation was becoming useless. He left Betty at the Skarnam Arms and went round to the police station to meet Starmage. Together they went over to the mortuary, and before noon they knew all that medical examination and careful searching could tell them about the dead man. Hollis, said the police surgeon, and another medical man who had been called in to assist him, bore no marks of violence other than those which were inevitable in the case of a man who had fallen seventy feet. His neck was broken. He must have died instantaneously. There was nothing to show that there had been any struggle previous to his fall. Had such a struggle taken place, the doctors would have expected to find certain signs and traces of it on the body. There were none. Everything seemed to point to the theory that he had leaned over the insecure fencing of the old shaft to look into its steps, probably to drop stones into them, that the loose, unmorted parapet had given way with his weight, and that he had plunged headlong to the bottom. He might have been pushed in, from behind, of course, but that was conjecture. Under ordinary circumstances, agreed both doctors, everything would have seemed to point to accident. And one of them suggested that it was very probable that what really had happened was this. Hollis, on his way to call on some person in the neighborhood, or on his return from such a call, had crossed the moor, been attracted by inquisitiveness to the old mine, had leaned over its parapet, and fallen in. Accident. It all looked like sheer accident. In one of the rooms at the police station, Neil anxiously watched Polk and Starmage examine the dead man's clothing and personal effects. The detective rapidly laid aside certain articles of the sword which he evidently expected to find. A purse, a cigar case, the usual small things found in a well to do man's pockets, a watch and a chain, a ring or two. He gave no particular attention to any of these beyond ascertaining that there was a good deal of loose money in the purse, some twelve or fifteen pounds in gold, and pointing out that the watch had stopped at ten minutes to eight. That shows the time of the accident, he remarked. Are you sure? suggested Polk doubtfully. It may merely mean that the watch ran itself out then. Starmage picked up the watch, a stemwinder, and examined it. No, he said, it's broken, by the fall. See there, the spring snapped. Ten minutes to eight, Saturday night, Mr. Polk. That's when this affair happened. Now then, this is what I want. From an inner pocket of the dead man's smart morning coat, he drew a Morocco leather letter case and carefully extracted the papers from it. With Neil looking on at one side, and Polk at the other, Starmage examined every separate paper. Nothing that he found bore any reference to Skarnam. There were one or two bills, from booksellers, made out to Frederick Hollis, Asquire. There was a folded play bill, which showed that Mr. Hollis had recently been to a theatre, and, because of some penciled notes in its margins, had taken an unusual interest in what he saw there. There were two or three letters from correspondents who evidently shared with Mr. Hollis a taste for collecting old books and engravings. There were some cuttings from newspapers, they, too, related to collecting, and Neil suddenly got an idea. I say, he exclaimed, Mr. Horbury was a bit of a collector of that sort of thing, as you probably saw from his house. This man may have run down to see him about some affair of that sort. But at that moment Starmage unfolded a slip of paper which he had drawn from an inner pocket of the letter case. He gave one glance at it, and laid it flat on the table before his companions. No, he said, that's probably what brought Hollis down to Skarnam. A check for ten thousand pounds, and—incomplete. The three men bent wonderingly over the bit of pink paper. Neil's quick eyes took in its contents at a glance. London, May 12, 1912. Van der Kist, Mill New and Company, 563 Lombard Street, E.C. Pay, blank, or order, the sum of ten thousand pounds—blank. That's extraordinary, exclaimed Neil. Date and amount filled in, the names of Pay E, and draw her omitted. What does it mean? Ah, said Starmage, when we know that, Mr. Neil, we shall know a lot. But I'm pretty sure of one thing. Mr. Hollis came down here intending to pay somebody ten thousand pounds, and he wasn't exactly certain who that somebody was. Good, mutterpulk. Good. That looks like it. So said Starmage, he didn't fill in either the name of the Pay E or his own name until he was—sure. See, Mr. Neil? Why did he fill in the amount? remarked Neil skeptically. Starmage winked at polk. Very likely to dangle before somebody's eyes, he answered slyly. Can't you reconstruct the scene, Mr. Neil? Here you are, says Hollis, showing this check. Ten thousand of the very best, lying to be picked up at my bankers. Say the word, and I'll fill in your name and mine. Lay you a pound to a penny, that's been it, gentlemen. Good, repeated polk. Good, Sergeant. I believe you're right. Now, what'll you do about it? The detective carefully folded up the check, and replaced it in the slit from which he had taken it. He also replaced all the other papers, put the letter case in a stout envelope, and handed it to the superintendent. Seal it up, and put it away in your safe till the inquest tomorrow, he said. What shall I do? Oh, well, you needn't mention it, either of you, except to Miss Faustike, of course. But as soon as the inquest is adjourned, as it'll have to be, I shall slip back to town and see those bankers. I don't know, but I don't think it's likely that Mr. Hollis would have ten thousand pounds always lying at his bank. I should say this ten thousand has been lodged there for a special purpose. And what I shall want to find out from them, in that case, is what special purpose? And what had it to do with Skarnam, or anybody at Skarnam? See? And I'll tell you what, Mr. Polk. I don't know whether we'll produce that check at the inquest on Hollis, at first anyhow. The coroner's bound to adjourn. All he'll want tomorrow will be formal identification of the body. All other evidence can be left till later. I've wired for Simmons. He'll be able to identify. No. We'll keep this check business back till I've been to London. I shall find out something from Vanderkist. They're highly respectable private bankers. And they'll tell me. At that moment a policeman entered the room and presented Polk with a card. Gentlemen's just come in, sir, he said. Wants to see you particular. Polk glanced at the card and read the name aloud with a start of surprise. Mr. Leonard Hollis. Polk hastily followed the policeman from the room to return immediately with a quiet-looking, elderly gentleman in whom Neil and Starmage saw a distinct likeness to the dead man. His brother whispered Polk as he handed a chair to the visitor. So you've seen about this in the newspapers, sir, he went on, turning to Mr. Leonard Hollis. And you thought you'd better come over, I suppose? I have not only read about it in the newspapers, answered the visitor. But I last night, very late, received a telegram from my brother's clerk, Mr. Simmons, who evidently found my address at my brother's rooms. So I left Birmingham, where I now live, at once, to see you. Now, have you heard anything of my brother? Polk shook his head solemnly and warningly. I'm sorry to say we have, sir, he replied. You'd better prepare yourself for the worst news, Mr. Hollis. We found the body this morning, not two hours ago, and we don't know as yet how he came by his death. The doctors say it may have been pure accident. Let's hope it was. But there are strange circumstances, sir, very strange. Hollis quietly rose from his chair. I suppose I can see him, he asked. Polk led him out of the room, and Starmage turned to Neil. We're gradually getting at something, Mr. Neil, he said. All this leads somewhere, you know. Now, since we found that incomplete check, there's a question I wanted to ask you. You've left Chester Mark's bank now, and under the circumstances we're working in, you'd needn't have any delicacy about answering questions about them. Do you know of any recent transaction of theirs which involved 10,000 pounds? No, replied Neil. I certainly don't. Nor any sum approaching it, suggested Starmage, or exceeding it. Nothing whatever, reiterated Neil. I know of all recent banking transactions at Chester Mark's, and I can't think, I've been thinking since we saw that check, of anything that that check had to do with. Well, it's a queer thing, remarked the detective meditatively. I'll lay anything Hollis brought that check down here for some specific purpose, and who on earth is there in this place that he could bring it to but Chester Mark's? However, we'll see if I don't trace something about it when I get up to town, and then... Polk and the dead man's brother came back, talking earnestly. The superintendent carefully closed the door, and begging his visitor to be seated again, turned to Starmage. I've told Mr. Hollis all the main facts of the case, he said. Of course, he identified his brother at once. When did you see him last, sir? asked Starmage. Some eight or nine months ago, replied Hollis. He came to see me, in Birmingham. Previous to that I hadn't seen him for several years. I ought to tell you, he went on, turning to Polk, that for a great many years I have lived abroad, tea-planting in Salon. I came back to England about a year ago, and eventually settled down at Edgbeston. I suppose my brother's clerk found my address on an old letter or something last night, and wired me in consequence. When Simmons was here, observed Starmage, he said that your brother seemed to have no relations. I daresay Simmons would get that impression, remarked Hollis. My brother was a very reserved man, who was not likely to talk much of his family. As a matter of fact, I am about the only relation he had, except some half-cousins, or something of that sort. Can you tell us anything about your brother's position? asked Starmage. The clerk said he didn't practice very much, and had means of his own. Quite true, ascended Hollis. I believe he had a comfortable income, apart from his practice. Perhaps five or six hundred a year. He mentioned to me that he only did business for old clients. Do you think he'd be likely to have a sum of ten thousand pounds lying at his bankers, inquired Starmage? Hollis looked sharply at the detective, and then shook his head. Not unless it was there for some special purpose, he answered. He might have had such a sum if he'd been selling out securities for reinvestment. But my impression is—in fact, it's more than an impression—I'm sure that he bought himself an annuity of about the amount I mentioned just now, some years ago. You see, he'd no children, and he knew that I was a well-to-do man, so he used his capital in that way. Would you be surprised to see a check of his drawn for ten thousand pounds? asked Starmage suddenly. Frankly, I should, replied Hollis with a smile. That is, if it was on his private account. Do you happen to know who kept his private account, inquired Starmage? Yes, answered Hollis. He banked with an old private firm called Van Der Kist, Millenieu and Company of Lombard Street. Starmage, after a whispered word with Polk, took up the envelope in which he had placed the dead man's letter case and produced the check. Look at that, sir, he said, laying it down before the visitor. Is that your brother's handwriting? His handwriting? Oh, yes, exclaimed Hollis. Most certainly, but there's no signature. No, and there's no name of any payee, said Starmage. That's where the mystery comes in, but this—and this letter case and its contents—was found on him, and there's no doubt he came down to Skarnam intending to pay that check to somebody. You can't throw any light on that, sir. The visitor, who continued to regard the check with evident amazement, at last turned away from it and glanced at his three companions. Well, he said, I don't know that I can, but one principal reason why I hurried here, after getting Simmons's telegram last night, is this. In the newspapers there's a good deal of mention of Mr. John Horbury, manager of a bank in this town. He, too, you tell me, has disappeared. Now, I happened to possess a remarkably good memory, and it was at once stirred by seeing that name. My brother Frederick and I were at school together at Selbert—Selbert Grammer School, you know, quite thirty-five or six years ago. One of our schoolmates was a John Horbury, and he came from this place—Skarnam. The three listeners looked at each other, and Neil started, as if at some sudden remembrance, and he spoke quickly. I've heard Mr. Horbury speak of his school days at Selbert, he said, and—now I come to think of it—he had some books with the school coat of arms on the sides—prices. Just so, remarked Hollis, I remember Jack Horbury very well indeed, though I never saw him after I left school, nor heard of him either, until I saw all this news about him in the papers. Of course, your missing bank manager is the John Horbury, my brother and I were at school with, and I take it that the reason my brother came down to Skarnam last Saturday was to see John Horbury. Starmage had been listening to all this with close attention. He was now more than ever convinced that he was at last on some track, but so far he could not see many steps ahead. Nevertheless, his next step was clearly enough discernible. You say you saw your brother some eight or nine months ago, sir, he remarked. Did he mention Mr. Horbury to you at that time? No, he didn't, replied Hollis. Did he ever—recently, I mean—ever mention his name to you in a letter, as Starmage? No, never. I don't know, said Hollis, that he or I ever spoke to each other of John Horbury from the time we left school. John Horbury was not, as it were, a very particular chum of ours. We knew him, as we knew a hundred other boys. As I have already told you, the two names, Horbury, Skarnam, in the newspapers yesterday, immediately recall John Horbury, our schoolmate, to me. Up to then I don't suppose I'd ever thought of him for years, and I don't suppose he'd ever thought of me or my brother. Yet I feel sure my brother came here to see him, for business reasons, I suppose. The odd thing about that, Mr. Hollis, remarked Polk, is that we can't find the slightest reason, either from anybody here or from your brother's clerk in London, why your brother should come to see Horbury, whether for business or for any other purpose. And as to his remembering, Mr. Frederick Hollis, well, here's Mr. Neil, Mr. Horbury was his guardian, and Mr. Neil, of course, has known him all his life. Now, Mr. Neil has never heard him mention Mr. Frederick Hollis by name at any time. And there's now staying in the town Mr. Horbury's niece, Ms. Faustike. She, too, never heard her uncle speak of any Mr. Hollis. Then, as to business, the partners at Chester Marks Bank declare that they know nothing whatever of your brother. Mr. Gabriel, the senior partner, has seen the poor gentleman and didn't recognize him. So we at any rate are as wise as ever. We don't know what your brother came here for. Hollis bowed his head in full acceptance of the superintendent's remarks. But he looked up at Starmage and smiled. Exactly, he said. I quite understand you, Mr. Polk, but I am convinced that my brother came here to see John Horbury. Why he came, I know no more than you do, but I hope to know. You'll stay in the town a bit, sir, suggested Polk. You'll want to make arrangements for your poor brother's funeral, of course. Ott that we can do, sir, to help shall be done. I much obliged to you, Mr. Polk, replied Hollis. Yes, I shall certainly stay in Skarnam. In fact, he went on, rising and looking quietly from one man to the other. I shall stay in Skarnam until I, or you, or somebody, have satisfactorily explained how my brother came to his death. I shall spare neither effort nor money to get at the truth. That's my determination. There's somebody else in like case with you, Mr. Hollis, observed Polk. Miss Faustig's just as concerned about her uncle as you are about your brother. She declares she'll spend a fortune on finding him, or finding out what's happened to him. It was Miss Faustig insisted on having Detective Sergeant Starmage down at once. Hollis quietly scrutinized the detective. Well, he asked, and what do you make of it? But Starmage was not in the mood for saying anything more just then, and he put his questioner off, asking him, at the same time, to keep the matter of the check to himself. Presently Hollis went away with Neil, to whom he wished to talk, and Starmage, after a period of what seemed to be profound thought, turned to Polk. Superintendent, he said earnestly. With your leave I'd like to try an experiment. What experiment demanded Polk? Starmage pointed to the ten thousand pound check, which was still lying on the table. I'd like to take that check across to Chester Marks Bank, and show it to the partners, he answered. Good heavens! Why? exclaimed Polk. I thought you didn't want anybody to know about it. Never mind, I have an idea, said the detective. I'd just like them to see it anyway, and he added with a wink. I'd like to see them when they do see it. You know best, said Polk, if you think it well, do it. Starmage put the check in an envelope and walked over to the bank. He was shown into the partners' room almost immediately, and the two men glanced at him with evident curiosity. Sorry to trouble you, gentlemen, said Starmage, in his politest manner. There is a little matter you might help us in. We've been searching this unfortunate gentleman's clothing, you know, for papers and so on, and in his letter case we found this. He had the check ready behind his back, and he suddenly brought it forward, and laid it immediately before the partners, on Gabriel's desk, at the same time stepping back so that he could observe both men. Queer, isn't it, gentlemen? He remarked quietly. Incomplete. Gabriel Chester Mark, in spite of his habitual control, started. Joseph, bending near to the desk, made a curious sound of surprise. A second later they both looked at Starmage, each as calm as ever. Well, said Gabriel. You don't know anything about that, gentlemen? Asked Starmage, affecting great innocence. Nothing, answered Gabriel. Of course not, murmured Joseph a little derisively. I thought you might recognize that handwriting suggested Starmage using one of his previously invented excuses. No, replied Gabriel. Don't know it. From Adam's writing, added Joseph. You know the name of the bankers, I suppose, gentlemen? Asked the detective. Vanderkist? Oh, yes, assented Gabriel. Well-known city firm. But I don't think we've ever done business with them, he added, turning to his nephew. Never, replied Joseph, in my time at any rate. Starmage picked up the check and carefully replaced it in its envelope. Much obliged to you, gentlemen, he said, retreating towards the door. Oh, you'll be interested in hearing, no doubt, that the dead man's brother, Mr. Leonard Hollis of Birmingham, has come. He's identified the body. And what does he think, or suggest, asked Joseph, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Starmage. Has he any suggestions or ideas? He thinks his brother came here to meet Mr. Horbury, answered Starmage. That's so evident that it's no news, remarked Joseph. Perhaps he can suggest where Horbury's to be found. Starmage bowed and went out, and straight back to Polk. He handed him the check and the lettercase. Lock him up, he said. Now then, listen, you can do all that's necessary about that inquest. I'm off to town. Sit down, and I'll tell you why. And what I tell you, keep to yourself. That evening, Starmage, who had driven quietly across the country from Skarnam to Ecclesboro, joined a London Express at the Midland Station in the big town. The carriages were unusually full, and he had some difficulty in finding the corner seat that he particularly desired. But he got one at last at the very end of the train, and he had only just settled himself in it when he saw Gabriel Chestermark hurry past. Starmage put his head out of the window and watched. Gabriel entered a first-class compartment in the next coach. First stop nodding him, mused the detective, and he pulled a sheaf of telegraph forms out of his pocket, and leisurely began to write a message, which before he signed his name to it had run into many words. End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of the Chestermark Instinct. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 20. The Other Check Starmage sent off his telegram when the train stopped at nodding him, and thereafter went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it would be promptly acted upon by its recipients. And when, soon after eleven o'clock, the express ran into St. Pancras, he paid no particular attention to Gabriel Chestermark. He had no desire, indeed, that the banker should see him, and he hung back when the crowded carriage is cleared, and the platform became a scene of bustle and animation. But he had no difficulty in distinguishing Gabriel's stiffly erect figure as it made its way towards the hall of the station, and his sharp eyes were quick to notice a quietly dressed, unobtrusive sort of man who sauntered along, caught sight of the banker, and swung round to follow him. Starmage watched both pass along toward the waiting-line of vehicles. Then he turned on his heel and went to the refreshment room, and straight to a man who evidently expected him. "'You got the wire in good time, then,' said Starmage. "'Plenty,' answered the other man leconically. "'I've put a good man on to him. See anything of them?' "'Yes, but I didn't know our man,' remarked Starmage. "'Who is he? Will he do what I want?' "'He's all right, fellow who's just been promoted, and, of course, he's naturally keen,' replied Starmage's companion. "'Name of Gandham. That was a pretty good and full description of the man you want followed, Starmage,' he went on with a smile. "'You didn't leave much out.' "'I didn't want him to be overlooked, and I didn't want to show up myself,' said Starmage. "'I noticed that our man spotted him quick. Now, look here. I'll be at headquarters first thing tomorrow morning, and I want this chap Gandham's report. Nine-thirty sharp. Now we'll have a drink and I'll get home. "'Good case this,' asked the other man as they pledged each other, getting on with it. "'Tell you more tomorrow,' answered Starmage. "'When, and if, I know more. Nine-thirty, mind.' "'But when Starmage met his companion of the night before at nine-thirty next morning, it was to find him in conversation with the other man, and to see dissatisfaction on the countenances of both. And Starmage, a naturally keen observer, knew what had happened. He frowned as he looked to Gandham. "'You don't mean to say he slipped you,' he exclaimed. "'I don't know about slipped,' muttered Gandham. "'I lost him anyway, Mr. Starmage, and I don't see how I can be blamed either. Perhaps you might have done it differently, but—' "'Tell about it,' interrupted Starmage. "'What happened?' "'I spotted him, of course, from your description. As soon as he got off the train,' replied Gandham. "'No mistaking him. Naturally, he's an extra good one to watch. He'd no luggage, not even a handbag. I followed him to the taxi cabs. I was close by when he stepped into one, and I heard what he said. Stage-door, Adalpert Theatre. Off he went. I followed in another taxi. I stopped mine and got out just in time to see him walk up the entry to the stage-door. He went in. It was then half past eleven. They were beginning to close. I waited and waited until at last they closed the stage-door. I'd take my oath he'd never come out. Never.' Starmage made a face of intense disgust. "'No, of course he hadn't,' he exclaimed. He'd gone out at the front. I suppose that never struck you. I know that stage-door of the Adalpert. It's up a passage. If you'd stood at the end of that passage, man, you could have kept an eye on the front and stage-door at the same time. But, of course, it never struck you that a man could go in at the back of a place and come out at the front, did it? Well, that's off for the present, and so am I.' Vexed and disappointed that Gabriel Chestermark had not been tracked wherever he was staying in London, Starmage went out, hailed a taxicab, and was driven down to the city. He did not particularly concern himself about Gabriel's visit to the stage-door of the Adalpert Theatre. It was something, after all, to know he had gone there. If need arose he might be traced from that theatre, in which, very possibly, he had some financial interest. What Starmage had desired to ascertain was the banker's London address. He had already learned in Skarnam that Gabriel Chestermark was constantly in London for days at a time. He must have some permanent address at which he could be found, and Starmage foresaw that he might wish to find him, perhaps in a hurry. But just then his chief concern was with another banking firm, Vanderkis. He walked slowly along Lombard Street until he came to the house. A quiet, sober, eminently respectable-looking old business place, quite unlike the palatial affairs in which the great banking corporations of modern origin carry on their transactions. There was no display of marble and plaster and plate-glass and mahogany, and heavy plechloric fittings. A modest brass plate affixed to the door was the only sign and announcement that banking business was carried on within. Equally old-fashioned and modest was the interior, and Starmage was quick to notice that the clerks were all elderly or middle-aged men, solemn and grave as undertakers. The presentation of the detective's official card procured him speedy entrance to a parlor in which that two old gentlemen, who were evidently greatly surprised to see him. They were so much surprised, indeed, as to be almost childishly interested, and Starmage had never had such attentive listeners in his life as these two elderly citymen, to whom crime and detection were as unfamiliar as higher finance was to their visitor. They followed Starmage's story point by point, nodding every now and then as he drew their attention to particular passages, and the detective saw that they comprehended all he said. He made an end at last, and Mr. Vanderkist, a white-bearded, benevolent-looking gentleman, looked at Mr. Millinew, a little rosy-faced man, and shook his head. It would be an unusual thing, certainly, he observed, for Mr. Frederick Hollis to have ten thousand pounds laying here to his credit. Mr. Hollis was an old customer. We knew him very well, but he didn't keep a lot of money here. We, er, knew his circumstances. He bought himself a very nice annuity some years ago, and it was paid to his account here twice a year, but ten thousand pounds. Mr. Millinew leaned forward. We don't know if Frederick Hollis paid any large amount in lately, you know, he observed. Hadn't you better summon Lenthwaite? Our manager remarked Mr. Vanderkist as he touched a bell. Ah, yes, of course, he'll know. Mr. Lenthwaite, he continued, as another elderly man into the room. Can you tell us what Mr. Frederick Hollis's balance in our hands is? I have just been looking it up, sir, replied the manager, in consequence of this sad news in the papers. Ten thousand eight hundred seventy-nine five four, Mr. Vanderkist. Ten thousand eight hundred seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and four pence, repeated Mr. Vanderkist. Ah, an unusually large amount, I think, Mr. Lenthwaite. Just so, sir, agreed the manager. The reason is that rather more than a week ago Mr. Hollis called here himself with a check for ten thousand pounds, which he paid into his account, explaining to me that it had been handed to him for a special purpose, and that he should draw a check for his own against it, for the very same amount, very shortly. Ah, remarked Mr. Vanderkist, has the check which he paid in been cleared? We cleared it at once, replied the manager. Oh, yes, but the check which Mr. Hollis spoke of drawing against it has not come in, and now, of course. Just so, said Mr. Vanderkist. Now that he's dead, of course, his check is no good. That will do. Thank you, Mr. Lenthwaite. He turned and looked at Starmage when the manager had withdrawn. That explains matters, he said. The ten thousand pounds have been paid to Mr. Frederick Hollis for special purpose. But by whom, asked Starmage? That's precisely what I want to know. The knowledge will help me. Ah, I don't know how much it may entail me. For there's no doubt about it, gentlemen. Hollis went down to Skarnam to pay ten thousand pounds to somebody on somebody else's account. He was, I am sure, as it were, ambassador for somebody. Who was, and is, that somebody. Almost certainly the person who gave Hollis the check your manager has just mentioned. And whose ten thousand pounds is, as a matter of fact, still lying in your hands. Who is that person? What bank was the check drawn on? Let me have an answer to both questions and— The two old gentlemen exchanged looks, and Mr. Millineux quietly rose and left the room. In his absence, Mr. Vanderkist shook his head at the detective. A very, very queer case, officer, he remarked. An extraordinary case, sir, agreed Starmage. Before we get to the end of it there'll be some strange revelations, Mr. Vanderkist. So I should imagine, so I should imagine, assented the old gentlemen, very remarkable proceedings altogether. We shall be deeply interested in hearing how matters progress. Of course, this affair of the ten thousand pounds is very curious. We— Mr. Millineux came back with a slip of paper, which he handed to the detective. That gives you the information you want, he said. Starmage read aloud what the manager had written down on his principal's instructions. Dwar, Helen Lester, he read. Bank, London and Universal, Paul Maul Branch. He looked up at the two partners. I suppose you gentlemen don't know who this Mrs. or Miss Helen Lester is, he inquired. No, not at all, answered Mr. Millineux. Nor does Lenthwait. I thought Mr. Hollis might have told him something about that special purpose, but he told him nothing. You'll have to go to the London and Universal people, observed Mr. Vanderkist. They, of course, will know all about this customer. Millineux looked inquiringly after his partner. Don't you think that, as there are almost certain to be some complications in this matter, Lenthwait had better go with Detective Starmage, he suggested. The situation, as regards the ten thousand pounds, is a somewhat curious one. This Miss, or Mrs. Lester, will want to recover it. Now, according to what Mr. Starmage tells us, nobody, so far as he's aware, is in possession of any facts, papers, letters, anything relating to it. I think there should be some consultation between ourselves and the other bank which is concerned. Excellent suggestion, agreed Mr. Vanderkist. Let him go, by all means. Half an hour later Starmage found himself closeted with another lot of bankers, but these were younger men, who were quicker to grasp situations and comprehend points, and they quickly understood what the detective was after. Moreover, they were already well posted up in those details of the Skarner mystery which had already appeared in the newspapers. What you want, said one of them, a young and energetic man addressing Starmage at the end of their preliminary conversation, is to find out for what purpose Mrs. Lester gave Mr. Frederick Hollis ten thousand pounds? Precisely, replied Starmage. It will go far towards clearing up a good many things. I have no doubt Mrs. Lester will tell you readily enough, said the banker. In fact, as things are, I should say she'll only be too glad to give you any information you want. That ten thousand pounds being in Messers Vanderkist's hands, in Hollis's name, and Hollis being dead, there will be bother, not serious, of course, but still formal bother, about recovering it. Very well. Mrs. Lester, who, I may tell you, is a wealthy customer of ours, lives in the country as a rural, and I happen to know she's there now. I'll write down her address. Tell her, by all means, that you have been to see us on the matter. A Starmage left Mr. Lenthwaite, talking with the London and Universal people. He himself, now that he had got the desired information, had no more to say. Outside the bank he opened the slip of paper, which had just been handed to him, and saw that another journey lay before him. Mrs. Lester lived at Lodale Court, near Cheshom. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of the Chestermark Instinct This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Marianne. The Chestermark Instinct by J. S. Fletcher. Chapter 21. About cent per cent. Starmage, lingering a moment on the steps of the bank, to consider whether he would go straight to Cheshom, or repair to headquarters for a consultation with his superior, was suddenly joined by the manager who had just given him his information. You are going down to Lodale Court, asked the manager. During the morning, yes, answered Starmage. If it will be of any help to you, said the manager, I'll ring up Mrs. Lester on the telephone and let her know you're coming. She's rather a nervous woman, and it will pave the way for you if I give you a sort of introduction. Besides, he paused, and looked at the detective with an inquiring air. Don't you think Mrs. Lester had better be warned, at once, not to speak of this matter until she's seen you? You think she may be approached, asked Starmage? The manager wagged his head and smiled, knowingly. I think there's something so very queer about this affair that Mrs. Lester ought to be seen at once, he said. She shall be, answered Starmage. Tell her I'll be down there within two hours. I'll motor there. Thank you for your suggestion. Now I'll just run to headquarters, and then be straight off. He hailed a passing taxi cab and drove to New Scotland Yard, where he was presently closeted with a high personage in deep and serious consultation. The result of which was that by twelve o'clock, Starmage and a fellow officer, one easel bee, in whom he had great confidence, were spinning away towards the beach-clad hills of Buckinghamshire, and discussing the features and probabilities of the queer business which took them there. Before, too, they were in the pleasant valley which lies between Chinese and Cheshom, and pulling up at the door of a fine, old Jacobian house, which, set in the midst of delightful lawns and gardens, looked down on the windings of the river Chess, and practical as both men were, and well experienced in their profession. It struck both as strange that they should come to such a quiet and innocent-looking place, to seek some explanation of a mystery which surely had some connection with crime. The two detectives were immediately shown into a morning-room in which sat a little, middle-aged lady in a widow's cap and weeds, who looked at her visitors half timidly, half welcomingly. She sat by a small table on which lay a heap of newspapers, and Starmage's sharp eyes saw at once that she had been reading the published details of the Scarnum Affair. You have no doubt been informed by your bankers that we were coming, ma'am," began Starmage, when he and Easelby had seated themselves near Mrs. Lester. The manager there was good enough to say he'd telephone you. Mrs. Lester, who had been curiously inspecting her callers and appeared somewhat relieved to find that they were quite ordinary-looking beings, entirely unlike her own preconceived notions of detectives, bowed her head. Yes, she answered. My bankers telephoned that an officer from Scotland Yard would call on me this morning, and that I was to speak freely to him, and in confidence, but I really don't quite know what it is that I am to talk to you about, though I suppose I can guess. This, ma'am, answered Starmage, bending towards the pile of newspapers and tapping a staring headline with his finger. I see you've been reading it up. I have been in charge of this affair since Monday last, and I came up to town last night about it, specially. You will have read in this morning's paper that the body of Mr. Frederick Hollis was found at Skarnam yesterday? Yes, said Mrs. Lester, with a sigh. I have read of that. Of course, I knew Mr. Hollis. He was an old friend of my husband. I saw him last week. But what took Mr. Hollis down to Skarnam? I have been in the habit of seeing Mr. Hollis constantly, regularly, but I never even heard him mention Skarnam, nor any person living at Skarnam. There are many persons mentioned in these newspaper accounts, continued Mrs. Lester, in connection with this affair whose names I never heard before, yet they are mentioned as if Mr. Hollis had something to do with them. Why did he go there? That, ma'am, is precisely what we want to find out from you, replied Starmage, with a sigh glanced at his fellow detective. It's just what we've come for. He was watching Mrs. Lester very closely as he spoke, and he saw that up to that moment she had certainly no explanation in her own mind as to the reason of this police visit. But what can I tell you, she exclaimed? As I have said, I don't know why Frederick Hollis went to Skarnam. He never mentioned Skarnam to me when he was here last week. Let me tell you something that's not in the papers. Yet, ma'am, said Starmage. I think it will explain matters to you. When we examined Mr. Hollis's effects at Skarnam yesterday morning, after the finding of his body, we found in his letter case a check for ten thousand pounds. Starmage stopped suddenly. Mrs. Lester had started, and her pale face had grown paler. Her eyes dilated as she looked at the two men. A check, she exclaimed, for ten thousand pounds on him and whose check? It was a very curious check, ma'am, replied Starmage. It was drawn on Mr. Hollis's bankers. Van Der Kist, Millenew and Company of Lombard Street. It was stated it was filled in for ten thousand pounds in words and figures. But it was not signed, and it was not made out to anybody. No name of payee, you understand, ma'am. No name of payer. But it is very evident that Mr. Hollis made out that check intending to pay it to somebody. What we want to know is, who is, or was, that somebody. I came up to town to try to find that out. I went to Mr. Hollis's bankers this morning. They told me that last week Mr. Hollis paid into his account there a check for ten thousand pounds, drawn by Helen Lester, and told their manager that he should be drawing a check for his own against it in a day or two. I then went to your bank, ma'am, saw your bankers, and got your address. Now, Mrs. Lester, there's no doubt whatever that the check which we found on Mr. Hollis is the check he spoke of to Van Der Kist as manager. And we want you, if you please, to tell us two things. For what purpose did you give Mr. Hollis ten thousand pounds? To whom was he to pay it? Tell us, ma'am, and we shall have gone a long way to clearing this affair, and it's more serious than you'd think. Mrs. Lester, who had listened to Starmage with absorbed and almost frightened attention, looked anxiously at both men before she replied to the detective's direct inquiry. You will respect my confidence, of course, she asked at last. Whatever I say to you will be kept in strict confidence? Whatever you tell us, Mrs. Lester, answered Starmage, we shall have to report to our superiors at the criminal investigation department. You may rely on their discretion, fully, but if there is any secret in this man, it will all have to come out, now that it's an affair of police investigation. Far better tell us here and now. There will be no publication of anything without Mrs. Lester's knowledge and consent, remarked Ezelby, who guessed at the reason of the lady's diffidence. This is a private matter, so far. All that she can tell us will be for police information, only. I shall have to mention the affairs of some other person, said Mrs. Lester, but I suppose it's absolutely necessary? Now that you know what you do, for instance, I suppose I could be made to give evidence, eh? I'm afraid you're quite right, ma'am, admitted Starmage. The mystery of Mr. Hollis's death will certainly have to be cleared up. Now that this check affair is out, you could be called as a witness at the inquest. Better tell us, ma'am, and leave things to us. Mrs. Lester, after a moment's reflection, looks steadily at her visitors. Very well, she answered, I suppose I had better. Indeed, I have been feeling, ever since my bankers rang me up this morning, that I should have to tell you, though I still can't see how anything that I can tell you has to do, that is precisely, with Mr. Hollis's visit to Skarnam, yet it may, perhaps must have. The fact is, I recently called in Mr. Hollis, as an old friend, to give me some advice. I must tell you that my husband died last year, now about eight months ago. We have an only son, who is an officer in the army. You have better give us his name and regiment, ma'am, suggested Starmage. Mrs. Lester hesitated a little. Very well, she said at last. He is Lieutenant Guy Lester of the Fifty-Fifth Lancers, stationed where? At present, at Manchester. Now I have got to tell you what is both painful and unpleasant for me to tell. My husband, though a very kind father, was a very strict one. When our son went into the army, his father made him a certain yearly allowance, which he himself considered a very handsome one. But my husband, continued Mrs. Lester with a faint smile, had been engaged in commercial pursuits all his life, until a year or two before his death, and he did not know that the expenses and the—well, the style of living in a crack cavalry regiment are—what they are. More than once Guy asked his father to increase his allowance considerably. His father always refused. He was a strict and, in some ways, a very hard man about money. And so my son had recourse to a money lender. Starmage, who was sitting close by his fellow detective, pressed his elbow against Isleby's sleeve. At last they were getting at something. Just so, ma'am, he said encouragingly, Nothing remarkable in all this so far, quite an everyday matter, I assure you. Nothing for you to distress yourself about, either. All that can be kept quiet. Well, continued Mrs. Lester. My son borrowed money from a money lender in London, expecting, of course, to pay it back on his father's death. I must tell you that my husband married very late in life, he was quite thirty years my senior. No doubt this money lender acquainted himself with Mr. Lester's age and state of health. He would, ma'am, he would, agreed Starmage. He'd take particular good care of that, ma'am, added Isleby. They always do, in such cases. Yes, said Mrs. Lester, but you see, when my husband died, he did not leave Guy anything at all. He left everything to me. So Guy had nothing to pay the money lender with. Then, of course, the money lender began to press him, and in the end Guy was obliged to come and tell me about it. That was only a few weeks ago, and it was very bad news, because the man claimed much, very much, more money than he had ever advanced. His demands were outrageous. Starmage gave Mrs. Lester a keen glance, and realized an idea of her innocence in financial matters. Ah, he observed. They are very grasping, ma'am, some of these money lenders. How much was this particular one asking of your son now? He demanded between fourteen and fifteen thousand pounds, replied Mrs. Lester, an abominable demand, for my son assured me that at the very outside he had had not more than seven or eight thousand. And what happened, ma'am? inquired Starmage sympathetically. The man pestered you, of course. Guy made him one or two offers, answered Mrs. Lester. Of course I would have made them good, to get rid of the affair. It was no use. He had papers and things signed by Guy, who had borrowed all the money since he came of age, and he refused to obey to Penny. The last time that Guy called on him, he told him flatly that he would have his fifteen thousand to the last shilling. It was, of course, extortion. Starmage and Easelby exchanged looks. Both felt that they were on the very edge of a discovery. To be sure, ma'am, asserted Starmage, absolute extortion. And what was the name of this money-lending gentleman? His name, replied Mrs. Lester, is Goodwin Markham. Did you ever see him, ma'am? asked Starmage. Mrs. Lester looked her astonishment. I, she exclaimed, no, never. Did your son ever describe him to you? His personal appearance, I mean, inquired Starmage. Mrs. Lester shook her head. No, she replied. Indeed, I have heard my son say that he never saw Markham himself, but once. He did his business, I suppose you would call it, with the manager, who always said, when this recent pressing began, that he was powerless, he could only do what Mr. Markham bade him to do. Precisely, said Starmage, there generally is a manager whose chief business is to say that sort of thing, ma'am, dear me. And where, ma'am, is this Mr. Goodwin Markham's office? You know that, no doubt. Oh, yes. It is in Conduit Street, off New Bond Street, replied Mrs. Lester. Of course you never went there, asked Starmage. No, of course not. All was done through your son, until you called in Mr. Hollis. Now, when did you call in Mr. Hollis, Mrs. Lester? The date's important. About a fortnight ago, replied Mrs. Lester. I sent for him. I told him all about it. I asked his advice. At his suggestion I gave him a check for ten thousand pounds. He said he would make an endeavor to settle the whole thing for that amount, and have everything cleared up. He took the check away with him. Between then, that day when he was here, and you gave him the check, asked Starmage. And last Saturday, when we know Mr. Hollis went to Skarnam, did you hear of or from Mr. Hollis at all? Only in this way, replied Mrs. Lester. When he left me, he said that before approaching Markham, as intermediary, he should like to see Guy, and hear what his account of the transactions was, and that he would ask my son to come up to town from Manchester and meet him. I heard from Guy at the end of last week, last Saturday morning, as a matter of fact, that he had been to town, that he had lunched with Mr. Hollis at Mr. Hollis's club, and that after discussing the whole affair, Mr. Hollis had said that he would make a determined effort to settle the matter at once. And after that, concluded Mrs. Lester, I heard no more or anything until I read of the Skarnam affair in the newspapers. And now that you have read it, ma'am, and have heard what I have to tell, said Starmage, do you connect it in any way with Mr. Guy Lester's affair? Mrs. Lester looked puzzled. She considered the detective's proposition in silence for a time. No, she answered at last. Really, I don't. Starmage got up, and Easelby followed his lead. Well, ma'am, said Starmage, there is a connection, without doubt, and I think that within a very short time we shall have discovered what it is. What you have told us has been of great assistance, the very greatest assistance, and you can make your mind easy for the present. I don't see any reason for any unpleasant publicity just now. In fact, I think you'll find there won't be any. The unpleasant publicity, ma'am, continued Starmage, with an almost imperceptible wink at Easelby, will be for some other people. The two detectives bowed themselves out, re-entered their car, and were driven off to Cheshem. Neither had touched food since breakfast time, and each was hungry. They discovered an old-fashioned hotel in the main street of the little town, and were presently confronting a round of cold beef, a cold ham, and two foaming tankards in the snug parlor which they had themselves. One result of our profession, young Starmage, observed the middle-aged Easelby, bending towards his companion over a well-filled plate, is that it makes a man indulge in a tremendous lot of what you might call intellectual speculation. What are you speculating about, asked Starmage. This, on information received, replied Easelby, as he lifted his tankard. There are the names of three Skarnam gentlemen before me, Gabriel Chestermark, Joseph Chestermark, and John Horbury. Now then, which of the three sports the other name of Goodwin Markham? End of Chapter Twenty-One. Starmage ate and drank in silence for a while, evidently pondering his companion's question. Yes, he said at last. There's all that in it. It may be any one of the three, you never know. Yet, according to all I've been told, Horbury's a thoroughly straight man of business. According to all I've been told, remarked Easelby, and all I've been told about anything has been told by yourself, the two Chestermarks have the reputation of being thoroughly straight men of business, outwardly. But one thing is certain, my lad, after what we've just learned. Hollis went down to Skarnam to offer that check to one of these three men, and whichever it was, that man's Goodwin Markham. It's a double life business, Jack. The man's Goodwin Markham here in London, and he's somebody else in, somewhere else. Dead certainty, my lad. It's not Horbury, said Starmage, after some reflection. I'll stake my reputation, such as it is, on that. You don't know, replied Easelby. Remember, Mrs. Lester said this son of hers always did business with a manager. That's a usual thing with these big money-lending offices. The real man doesn't show. For ought you know, Horbury may have been running a money-lender's office in town, unknown to anybody, under the name of Goodwin Markham, and he may have wanted new funds for it, and he may have collared these securities which the Chestermarks say are missing, and he may have appropriated Lord Ellersden's jewels. Do you see? You never can tell, in any of these cases. You see, my lad, you've been going, all along, on the basis, the supposition, that Horbury is an innocent man and the victim of foul play, but he may be a guilty man. Lord bless you, I don't attach any importance to reputation and character, not I. It isn't ten years since Jim Chambers and myself had a case in point. A bank manager, who was a church warden, Sunday school teacher, this, that, and to other, in the way of piety and respectability. All a cloak to cover as clever a bit of thievery and fraud as ever I heard of. He got ten years, that chap, and he ought to have been hanged. As I say, you never can make certain. Hollis may have found out that Goodwin Markham of Conduit Street was, in reality, John Horbury of Skarnam, and then... I'll tell you what, interrupted Sturmage, who have been thinking as well as listening. There's a very sure and certain way of finding out who Goodwin Markham is. Do you remember? Mrs. Lester said her son had only seen him once. Well, once is enough. He'd remember him. We must go to Maychester right away and see this young Lester and get him to describe the man he saw. Good notion, of course, assented Easelby. Where is Maychester now? Essex replied Sturmage. That would certainly be a solver, said Easelby, but there's something else we could do, a following up your special line of thought. Now, on or bright, which of these men do you take Goodwin Markham to be? Gabriel Chestermark, answered Sturmage promptly. It's established that he's constantly in London, as much in London as in Skarnam. Gabriel Chestermark certainly, with no doubt, Joseph in collusion. The probability is that they run the moneylending office in Conduit Street under the name of Goodwin Markham. They're within the law. What about the Moneylenders Act, asked Easelby. Compulsory registration, you know. It's this way, explained Sturmage. The object of that act was to enable a borrower to know for certain who it was that was lending him the money he borrowed, so registration was made compulsory. But, as in the case of many another act of parliament, Easelby, evasion is not only possible, but easy. A Moneylender can register in a name which isn't his own, if it's one which he generally uses in his business. So, there you are. I've seen the name Goodwin Markham advertised ever since I was a youngster. It's an old, established business, well known. There's nothing to prevent Abraham Moses from styling himself Fitzwilliam Simpkins, if he's always done business as Fitzwilliam Simpkins, see? And it's highly probable that, as he's so much in town, Gabriel Chestermark lives in town under the name of Goodwin Markham. Double life business, as you suggest. But you were going to suggest something else. What? This, said Easelby. You know that Gabriel Chestermark went to the stage door of the Adalbert Theatre the other night. Go there, officially, and find out if he called there as Gabriel Chestermark. That'll solve a lot. We'll both go, assented Starmage. It's a good notion, I hadn't thought of it. Whom shall we try to see? Top man of all, counseled Easelby. Let's see, manager, whatever he is. Our cards will manage it. I'm obliged to you, old man, exclaimed Starmage. It's a bright idea. Of course, somebody there'll know who the man was that called last night. Know his name, of course, and in that case— I, but don't you anticipate too much, my lad, interrupted Easelby. There's no doubt that Gandham traced your Gabriel Chestermark to the stage door of the Adalbert Theatre and lost him there. But you know, for anything you know, Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, banker of Skarnam, may have had legitimate and proper business at that theatre. For ought you know, Mr. Gabriel Chestermark may be owner of that theatre, ground landlord, part proprietor, financier. He may have a mortgage on it. All sorts of reasons occur to me as to why Mr. Gabriel Chestermark may have called. He might be a personal friend of the managers, or the principal actors, called to take him out to supper. Do you see, on his arrival in town, so, whoever we see there, you want to go guardedly, eh? I'll tell you what, said Starmage. I'll leave it to you. I'll go with you, of course, but you manage it. Right, my lad, assented Easelby. All I shall want will be a copy of this morning's newspaper to lead up from. One of the London Morning Journals had been making a great feature of the Skarnam affair from the moment Parkinson, on Starmage's inspiration, had supplied the press with its details, and it had that day printed an exhaustive resume of the entire history of the case, brought up to the discovery of Frederick Hollis's body. Easelby bought a copy of this issue as soon as he and Starmage returned to town, and carefully blue-penciled the cross-headed columns and the staring capitals above them. With the folded paper in his hand, and Starmage at his heel, he repaired the stage door of the Adelbert Theatre at quarter to eight, when the actors and actresses were beginning to pass in for their evening's work, and thrust his hand into the glass-fronted cage in which the stage door keeper sat. A word with you, Mr. Wimpered Easelby. A quiet word, you understand. Me and my friend here are from the Yard, new Scotland Yard, you know, and weave an inquiry to make. Our cards, do you see? I shall ask you to take them inside in a minute. But first, a word with you. Do you remember a gentleman coming here last night, late, who nodded to you and walked straight in? Little, stiffly-built gentleman? Very pale face, holds himself well up, what? I know him, answered the doorkeeper, much impressed by the official cards which Easelby held before his nose. Seen him here many a time, but I don't know his name. He's a friend of Mr. Castlemane's, and he's the entry. Do you see? Walks in, as he likes. Ah, just so. And who may Mr. Castlemane be now? asked Ellersby, confidentially. Mr. Castlemane, replied the doorkeeper. Why, he's the last C, of course. The boss? Ah, the boss, Izzy, said Easelby. Much obliged to you, sir. Well, now then. Just take these two cards to Mr. Castlemane, will you, and ask him if he'll be good enough to see their owners for a few minutes on very important private business. The doorkeeper departed up a dark passage, and Easelby pointed star-mage to a playbill which hung framed on the wall behind them. There you are, he said, indicating a line, near the big capitals at the top. Let's see in manager, Mr. Leopold Castlemane. That's our man. Fancy name, of course. Real name Tom Smith or Jim Johnson, you know. But Lord bless you, what's in a name? Haven't we got a case in point? There's a good deal in what's in a name in our case, old man, retorted star-mage. You're off it there. Easelby was about to combat this reply when a boy appeared and intimated that Mr. Castlemane would see the gentleman at once, and the two detectives followed up one passage and down another, and round corners and across salons and voyeurs, until they were shown into a snug room, half-office, half-parlor, very comfortably furnished and ornamented, wherein, at a desk and alone, set a gentleman in evening dress, whose continents, well-fed though it was, seemed to be just then clouded with suspicion and something that looked very like anxiety. He glanced up from the cards which lay before him to the two men who had sent them in, and silently pointed them to chairs near his own. Good evening, sir, said Easelby with a polite bow. Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Castlemane, but you see our business from our cards, and we've called, sir, to ask if you can give us a bit of much-wanted information. I don't know, sir, continued Easelby, laying the blue-penciled newspaper on the lessee's desk, if you've read in the papers any account of the affair which is here called the Skarnam Mystery. Mr. Leopold Castlemane glanced at the columns to which Easelby pointed, rubbed his chin, and nodded. Yes. Yes, he said. I have just seen the papers. Case of a strange disappearance. Bank manager, isn't it? It's more than that, sir, replied Easelby. It's a case of... all sorts of things. Now you're wondering, Mr. Castlemane, why we've come to you. I'll explain. You see there, sir, the name, blue-penciled, Gabriel Chestermark. Mr. Gabriel Chestermark is a banker at Skarnam. You don't happen to know him, Mr. Castlemane. The two detectives watched the lessee narrowly as that question was put, and each knew instantly that the prompt reply was a truthful one. Never heard of him in my life, said Mr. Castlemane. Thank you, sir, said Easelby. Just so. Well, sir, my friend here, Detective Sergeant Starmadge, has been down at Skarnam in charge of this case from the first, and he's formed some ideas about this, Mr. Gabriel Chestermark. Last night, Gabriel Chestermark traveled up to town from Ecclesboro. Mr. Starmadge arranged for him to be shadowed when he arrived at St. Pancras. A man of ours, not quite as experienced as he might be, you understand, sir, did shadow him and lost him. He lost him here at your theatre, Mr. Castlemane. Ah, so the lessee happened differently. Got amongst the audience, I suppose. No, sir, replied Easelby. Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, sir, entered your stage door at about eleven-thirty, walked straight in, but he never came out of that door, so he must have left by another exit. Mr. Leopold Castlemane suddenly sat up, very erect and rigid. His face flushed a little, his lips parted. He looked from one man to the other. Mr. Gabriel Chestermark, he said, entered my stage door, eleven-thirty, last night, here, describe him. Easelby glanced at Starmage, and Starmage, as if he were describing a picture, gave a full and accurate account of Mr. Gabriel Chestermark's appearance from head to foot. The lessee suddenly jumped up from his chair, walked over to a door, opened it, and looked into an inner room. Evidently satisfied, he closed the door again, came back and seated himself, thrust his hands in his pockets, and looked at the detectives. All in confidence, strict confidence, he said. All right then, I understand. I tell you I don't know any Gabriel Chestermark, banker of Skarnam. The man you've described, the man who came here last night, is Goodwin Markham, the Conduit Street moneylender, damn him.