The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 21

it had not been that the old lawyer had called out to him as he waited in the hall, bidding him heartily to come straight in, Brixey would have retired on seeing Fanshawe, who on his entrance glanced at him awkwardly, and, as he thought, a little shamefacedly.

But Semmerby waved him to a chair, and indicating his other caller, said, with a sly glance at Brixey, that he believed he'd met Mr. Fanshawe Byfield before.

"We've met," assented Brixey laconically.

Fanshawe's boyish lace flushed, and his manner grew more awkward.

"Look here!" he said, suddenly turning to the new-comer. "I—I dare say you thought I was beastly rude—insolent, perhaps—when you came to our place the other night. But if you'll believe me, I was decidedly upset about my mother. She's been ill all this week, and"

"Don’t say another word!" interrupted Brixey. "No ill-feeling on my part, I assure you. If I'd known, I wouldn't have troubled you at all. I'm sorry I did. I'm sorry, too, to hear about Mrs. Byfield. I hope"

"There's something Fanshawe can tell you," broke in the old lawyer. "We were talking of it when you came. Say it, Fanshawe!"

"It's only this," said Fanshawe. "I can assure Mr. Brixey of this—I know he's suspected, naturally I suppose, that my mother's something to do with his uncle's disappearance. Well, as I say, I can assure him of this—positively assure him—my mother has never seen nor heard of Mr. Linthwaite, or Herbert, as she calls him, since he walked out of the Priory grounds talking to Kit Mesham last Tuesday. She knows nothing."

"I'll accept that frankly," answered Brixey. "I'd begun to believe it myself. But you've mentioned that man Mesham. I shouldn't believe him if he said the same."

Fanshawe and the old lawyer exchanged glances, and Semmerby nodded.

"I think you might tell Mr. Brixey what you've just told me," he said.

"Well," responded Fanshawe, turning to Brixey, "I'd a row with Kit Mesham this afternoon—happened to meet him. I told him straight out that in my opinion it was all due to some of his confounded tricks that there was all this bother, and that suspicion had been thrown, somehow, on my mother.

"And I wanted to know why the deuce he couldn't say what he did know, and—well, I said I'd a jolly good mind to take sides in finding out what he was up to, for I'll swear he's up to something.

"But you know what he is—at least Mr. Semmerby does—full of brag and bounce. And he said at last that if I wanted to know where Mr. John Linthwaite was, he was in Paris, on business that was his own concern, and that Selchester folk had nothing to do with."

"He said that, definitely, did he?" asked Brixey.

"Definitely," replied Fanshawe. "And, of course, I asked him how he knew. To which he said that was his business, and nobody else's."

The old lawyer got out of his chair and laid hold of his hat and gloves, which lay on a side table.

"Well," he said, "I must be off to church. I'm a churchwarden, and I've certain duties. I think," he added, as he went out with his callers, "I think you two young men might talk a bit. I'm sure Mr. Fanshawe Byfield would tell you anything he could that would help you in your search."

Brixey nodded, and he and Fanshawe walked slowly down the street together in the direction of the "Mitre."

"Mr. Semmerby's right," said Fanshawe, "I would tell you anything But I don't know a thing. I never saw your uncle here, and I know my mother has neither heard of nor seen him since Tuesday morning. So what can I tell? But I believe that chap Kit Mesham knows a lot!"

"You'd do me a service if you'd answer a question or two," said Brixey. "They're of real moment, or I wouldn't ask 'em."

"Answer any question you like!" responded Fanshawe with alacrity. "Anything! What is it?"

"Can you remember what you were doing with yourself last Tuesday and Wednesday evenings?" asked Brixey. "Where you spent them, and so on?"

"Can I!" exclaimed Fanshawe, with a laugh. "Can't I just! I dined with Sam Merridew, the solicitor, on Tuesday night. He'd a sort of bachelor party; three of us beside himself. We were playing bridge from nine o'clock till two in the morning—I dropped a good bit. That's where I was on Tuesday night."

"All the time—didn't go home for anything," asked Brixey.

"Go home? No!" answered Fanshawe. "Merridew lives outside the town—up Waterdale way. I was at his house every minute from seven o'clock till we broke up at two next morning."

"Where were you Wednesday night?" inquired Brixey.

"Wednesday night I dined at home with my mother," replied Fanshawe. "Seven o'clock's our time. Quarter to eight I went out—to the club. And I was at the club from then onwards till about ten minutes to twelve."

"Thank you," said Brixey, who now knew that the mysterious stranger mentioned by Mrs. Iddison had been taken to the Byfield house in Fanshawe's absence. "I can't tell you why just now, but you've given me some valuable information. Now I'll ask you another question. Has your mother been much upset during the last few days?"

Fanshawe groaned dismally.

"Upset?" he said. "I believe you! She's been awfully upset, and it's upsetting me. She's never been exactly well since my father died—nervous and so on—and she's a weak heart, and—well, she has been thoroughly wrong since last Tuesday. I think that sudden meeting with your uncle upset her, though she's never said so.

"You see, I’ll tell you where it is!" he went on in a sudden boyish burst of confidence. "She has nobody much to talk to, my mother—no women, anyway. She hasn't been one to make friends, and she has no particular woman friend in the place. I wish she had."

Brixey suddenly laid a hand on his companion's arm. At their first meeting he had set down Fanshawe Byfield as an arrogant, bullying, unlicked young cub.

Now, though he still thought him raw and inclined to bluster and perhaps to brag, he was discovering something human in him.

"Look here!" he said. "Don't think me officious or interfering. I'm a stranger to you, and to this town; but naturally I've learnt a bit since I've been here. If your mother wants a woman's sympathy and company, hasn't it struck you that you've got a cousin in there?" He pointed to the "Mitre," close to which they had by that time approached.

"Now, I say, don't think me interfering, but why don't you walk in and ask your cousin Georgina to go and see your mother? Hang it all, my lad, blood's thicker than water!"

Fanshawe started. His mouth opened, and his fair-complexioned cheeks flushed deeply. After a minute's hard stare at his companion he nodded his head two or three times in emphatic fashion.

"By Gad, so so I will," he said. "Good tip! I'm obliged to you. You see, there's been a coldness—I don’t know why, I never understood it—but, well, as you say, blood is thicker than water. Where can I find my cousin?"

"Come in!" commanded Brixey, He led Fanshawe into the hotel and down the hall to his own private sitting-room and installed him there while he went to find Georgina. She, evidently bent on church attendance, was coming down the stairs, prayer-book in hand.

"I've another sort of pious mission for you," said Brixey, drawing her aside. "Don't be startled. Fanshawe Byfield's here. He wants you to go with him to see his mother. Go!"

Georgina flushed as surprisedly as Fanshawe had, but she instantly turned in the direction to which Brixey pointed, flinging an inquiring glance at him.

"Your doing?" she asked.

"Well, perhaps a bit of suggestion on my part," admitted Brixey. "Well meant, I assure you. This lad’s in trouble. And from what he says, so is his mother. Do 'em a good turn."

Georgina walked into the little parlour, where Fanshawe was leaning against the table. She held out a hand. "Well, Fanshawe," she said, with a ready acceptance of the situation, for which Brixey unfeignedly admired her. "How are you?"

Fanshawe vigorously shook the offered hand.

"Hallo, Georgie!" he exclaimed with unusual enthusiasm. "Glad to see you! I say, come and see my mother, will you? There's a good girl! She's not at all well. Come and talk to her!"

"To be sure—just now," responded Georgina. Then she turned to Brixey, who was lingering at the door. "Bring Mr. Brixey with you, Fanshawe," she added. "He'll talk to you while I talk to your mother."

Ten minutes later Brixey found himself following the two cousins into a room at the Minories wherein lamps had not yet been lighted. Bright and warm as the day had been, there was a fire on the hearth, and by it in a low chair sat Mrs. Byfield, evidently deep in thought.

She started as the three entered the room, and Brixey saw that since he had last seer her her face had changed. She looked like a woman in great trouble. Fanshawe went straight to her and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Mother," he said, "you've seen Mr. Brixey before. He and I met just now at Semmerby's. I've told him you know nothing about his uncle and he believes it. And look here—here's Georgina come to see you. It'll do you good to talk to her."

Mrs. Byfield looked slowly and searchingly at Brixey and Georgina, Suddenly she pointed the girl to a chair at her side, and then turned to her son.

"Fanshawe," she said, in a curiously quiet, monotonous voice, "take Mr. Brixey to the dining-room and entertain him. I would like to speak to Georgina alone!"