The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 18

realised that Gaffkin had made some important discovery, and hastened to shut the door.

"Found something out?" he asked. "Something really pertinent?"

"I think so," answered Gaffkin, laying stress on the personal pronoun.

"I do indeed. I’d have got back last night if I could, Mr. Brixey. I made this discovery yesterday afternoon late, but there wasn't a train. So I caught the very first one this morning."

"What is it?" demanded Brixey, pointing to the sealed packet. "In there?"

"The papers are in here," said Gaffkin. He glanced at a clock on the mantelpiece.

"We can’t go into it now he added. "It’ll be a long and serious business. And, to tell you the truth, I’m famishing. I’ve had nothing since eight o’clock."

Just then the waiter came in to lay the cloth for lunch, and Brixey had to restrain his impatience. He had to restrain it again, not being particularly hungry himself, while Gaffkin ate and drank. It seemed to him that the meal—a typically English country hotel Sunday dinner—was never coming to an end. But he knew that Gaffkin had been hard at it since they parted, and he encouraged him to enjoy himself. Moreover, when the waiter had removed the cloth, he ordered in a bottle of Brackett’s best port, knowing that his companion had an old-fashioned taste for that wine.

Gaffkin sipped his first glass with great satisfaction, remarked dryly that a man felt much better disposed towards important business when he had dined well, and, drawing the packet towards him, broke the seals and cut the strings.

"I don’t know what Mr. Linthwaite would say, sir, if he knew that I’d been going through his private papers," he remarked, glancing slyly at Brixey, "but as I'd your authority and warranty I made a pretty exhaustive search. And I'll tell you what I went for, Mr. Brixey.

"I thought the whole matter carefully over as I journeyed up to town yesterday morning, and I came to the conclusion that I’d better stick to a definite object—this object. We know that Mesham is a man who used to come, twice a year, to Mr. Linthwaite’s for money, calling himself Mr. X.

"Very well, it struck me that I’d better look for receipts for those payments, in the hope of getting at Mesham’s real name. And I’ve found receipts. Not in Mesham’s name, you may be sure, but if they don’t refer to Mesham I shall be astonished. Personally, I’ve no doubt of it, because of the dates, and the regularity of those dates. But we’ll go through things in order."

Gaffkin had by this time opened his packet. Prom it he drew a small, thin quarto manuscript book, bound in sheepskin, and furnished with a clasp. This he laid aside. He also took out two bundles of folded papers, each tied up with red tape; these he arranged before him.

"Now, look here, sir," he began, tapping the two bundles with his forefinger. "There are two series of receipts, going back for thirty years, precisely, from this present year. They refer to half-yearly payments which Mr. Linthwaite, first as Mr. John Herbert, afterwards as Mr. John Linthwaite, has been in the habit of making to two persons, evidently beneficiaries under a will of which Mr. Linthwaite is trustee and executor.

"From the wording of the receipts you will see that the will in question was that of one James Melsome; the names of the two beneficiaries are Cradock Melsome and Charles Melsome."

"Melsome—Melsome" said Brixey. "The name's somewhat familiar—at least, I've heard it. Some distant relation of my uncle's, I fancy."

"Precisely the conclusion I've come to, as I'll show you presently," agreed Gaffkin, pointing to the sheepskin-bound book. "That they are relations, certain entries in this book seem to prove.

"Well, now, I want you to look at these receipts. Mr. Linthwaite is, as you know, a highly methodical man, and they're all duly arranged in order. Let's examine those of Cradock Melsome first. Now observe the date of the first—March 28, 1889. The wording of the receipt in that of receipt is practically that of all the rest.

"'Received from John Herbert, Esquire, the sum of seventy-five pounds under the will of James Melsome deceased "'.'

"Now," continued Gaffkin, "observe, as we go through them, that these receipts of Cradock Melsome's are dated from various places. They begin in London. Later, they are from Boulogne. Still later they are from New York.

"And for the last ten or eleven years, right up to the last, they have been from Quebec, where, it's very evident, this Cradock Melsome must have settled. The last receipt, you see, Mr. Brixey, was sent from Quebec six months ago."

Brixey examined the various documents as Gaffkin laid them below him, and, without comment, glanced at the second bundle.

"These refer to the other beneficiary, Charles Melsome," said Gaffkin. "Now, the wording is just the same. He, too, gets these payments, at half-yearly intervals, under the will of James Melsome, deceased. They begin at the same time as those made to Cradock Melsome. They, too, are from various places, but mostly they are dated in London.

"Two facts, however, are notable—I want you to pay particular regard to them. We'll take the second first. Note that the last four receipts—that means receipts for the last two years—are dated from Brighton.

"But, note, too, a much more significant fact, in view of something to which I'm going to draw your attention in this book; that some years ago—fifteen years to be exact—there was a period of five years during which no payment was made at all to Charles Melsome. You see, Mr. Brixey—there's a hiatus of five years in the payments."

"I see," assented Brixey, as Gaffkin ranged the papers in order. "Nothing paid during five years."

"Nothing," said Gaffkin. "But look. The next receipt is for five years' arrears. Note the amount. It's £772 10s.

"What does that mean? It means five years' income at £150 a year, and £22 10s. interest at three per cent. In other words, the income had been lying at the bank for five years. Then Charles Melsome drew it all in a lump."

"Something, I suppose, hangs on that?" asked Brixey.

Gaffkin sorted the various receipts into their proper places, and bundles, and, laying them aside, took up the sheepskin-bound book.

"I won't say that anything that we’re concerned with hangs on that," he replied. "But it's a highly significant, and important fact, and has a relative importance to matters in general.

"But, now, this book, Mr. Brixey—it’s a book in which your uncle seems to have written down a lot of family history and information of pedigrees and genealogies, and all that sort of stuff. You’re mentioned in it, and your mother and father."

"My mother was, of course, Mr. Linthwaite’s sister," remarked Brixey. "She was a Herbert. I told you he took the name of Linthwaite on coming into some property, some years since, before you knew him."

"Precisely, sir," agreed Gaffkin. "There’s the whole Herbert pedigree in here, and the fact recorded that your mother married Mr. Samuel Brixey, of Camberwell—your father. The Herberts, I gather, were a Warwickshire family. But we’re not concerned with either Herberts or Brixeys. We’re concerned with these Melsomes. Now, there are two pages in this book which deal with them.

"You’ll observe that about sixty years ago a Miss Susannah Herbert married a Mr. Christopher Melsome, who is here set down, in correct pedigree fashion, as. being the son of one Stephen Melsome, and the brother of James Melsome. There it is—set out in your uncle’s handwriting."

Brixey looked attentively at the page to which Gaffkin pointed, and read the tabulated entries.

"Now, observe," continued Gaffkin. "Christopher Melsome, who married Susannah Herbert, who, I make out from the Herbert pedigree, was Mr. Linthwaite’s aunt, left two sons—Cradock and Charles. We don’t know if he left them any fortune, but it’s very evident, from these receipts, that their uncle, James, who, you see, was a bachelor, did. He left them £150 a year each—evidently in trust, and Mr. Linthwaite was undoubtedly trustee and executor.

"If I’d had time, I’d have searched for James Melsome’s will. The probability is that these two, Cradock and Charles, have only a life interest in it. But that’s neither here nor there, just now. What is of importance is this. Do you see two little figures—in one case a six, in the other an eight—against the names of Cradock and Charles?"

"I see 'em!" said Brixey, deeply interested.

Gaffkin turned over the pages of the pedigree book.

"Mr. Linthwaite," he said, "has a habit, evidently, of writing down little notes—what you might call autobiographical notes—about the people mentioned in his pedigrees. There's one about your father and one about yourself, Mr, Brixey. But now, look what he's written about these two Melsomess!"

Brixey looked, and read his uncle's naïvely frank remarks.

"6. A bad egg. His wife, a decent woman, ran away from him, in less than six months, unable to stand him any longer. She made a clean disappearance, too; never could trace her."

"8. Worse, if anything, than the other—got five years for forgery. Odd that two such utterly worthless fellows should come of such good old stock!"

With a sharp exclamation, Brixey pushed the book away from him, and, jumping to his feet, stared at Gaffkin. And Gaffkin smiled and wagged his head with a knowing gesture.

"By Gad!" exclaimed, Brixey. "You've hit it in one, Gaffkin! Of course—the Christopher Mesham of Selchester is the Charles Melsome of those receipts!"

"Yes!" said Gaffkin. "But where's his brother, Cradock? And where's Cradock's wife—Harriet Sunderland?"