The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 22

took Brixey away to another part of the big house, and into a long, low-ceilinged room, the French windows of which opened out on a walled garden. He lighted a lamp, produced a box of cigars, and set a decanter, a siphon, and glasses on the table.

"Have a drink," he said hospitably.

"Well, a mere spot, then," assented Brixey. "Interesting old house this of yours," he went on, when he had helped himself to a cigar and mixed a very weak whisky and soda.

"And that looks like a delightful old garden you've got outside. I like those walled gardens that one finds in towns like these—something appealing about them."

"Like to see it?" asked Fanshawe, obviously relieved that his guest suggested something to do. "One or two fine old trees in it. Come and look round while it's still light."

Brixey followed Fanshawe out. He had been intending to suggest an exploration of the garden as soon as he saw that the room opened on it. He wanted to see for himself how it lay in relation to the dressmaker's house at the back.

Once outside in the twilight he looked curiously about him. The garden was a square, set in high old brick walls, and plentifully filled with hardy shrubs and trees. From a miniature lawn in the middle rose a cedar of considerable size. Fanshawe pointed to it with obvious pride.

"Only cedar tree in all Selchester," he said. "Don't know how old it is, but it's done well in its time, what? There are a lot of rare shrubs about here. My father used to bring cuttings from the south of France and try to grow them. Some grew and flourished, and some didn't."

Brixey strolled round the paths, looking about him, until they came to a doorway set in the wall.

"Old part of the town, this, evidently," he observed casually. "What lies behind this garden?"

Fanshawe opened the door and revealed a narrow lane.

"This is Friargate," he said. "Runs from the main street—yonder at the end—to the foot of the Priory grounds, across the Minories there. All old houses and places, there.

"That's St. Fridolin's Church along there. That place opposite is a brewery. Ramshackle property, most of it—ought to be pulled down."

"That would spoil the effect," remarked Brixey. He took a rapid glance round, and identified the house which the dressmaker had described to him as her own. "These old red-brick places would rejoice an artist—you get such colour effects out of them."

"Dare say!" said Fanshawe indifferently. "But, by George, they're full of rats! I had two of my fox-terriers in there at the brewery one day last week. We killed over fifty rats in two hours—swarms with 'em. You don't want to buy a really good dog, do you?"

"Not that I know of," answered Brixey. "Got one to sell?"

"No, but Nat Lee, the caretaker at the Priory ruins, has," replied Fanshawe. "A real good 'un, too—an Airedale terrier. Top-hole as a house-dog, or anything of that sort. If you want a house-dog, I can recommend him."

"My house is a set of chambers in the Temple," said Brixey. "I wouldn't condemn a dog to it. Nowhere to run about."

"Well, this chap's a good 'un," repeated Fanshawe, "I strolled up to Lee's on purpose to look at him the other night, and I soon got proof of his value!"

"Oh?" said Brixey. "How, then?"

"I've a key into the Priory grounds," answered Fanshawe. "All yearly subscribers have, so that you can get in when you like. I let myself in the other night, latish, and walked up to Lee's house, and this Airedale was on the steps.

"Hanged if he'd let me pass him! I had to stand there and yell for Nat Lee. A real good 'un, my boy, and I'd buy him if we hadn't half a dozen already, one sort or another. Come and see 'em?"

He led Brixey (whose chief interest in his host's story had lain in the explanation which it afforded of Fanshawe's visit to the Priory on the previous night) to another part of the garden, where half a dozen dogs were confined in a wire enclosure,

Here Brixey spent the better part of an hour, listening to dog talk in which his young host was an adept. And all the while he was wondering what was going on in that twilight-filled room where they had left Mrs. Byfield and Georgina alone.

For Brixey had watched the elder woman's face carefully during the moment in which he had seen her, and he felt instinctively that she had made up her mind to tell Georgina something. No doubt it was being told—and here he was, gazing ruminatively at Fanshawe's dogs.

There was a horse or two in a stable to be looked at when the dogs had been duly criticised, and altogether it was nearly nine o'clock when he and Fanshawe walked into the house again. Fanshawe, who had been loquacious enough in his kennels and stable, suddenly became quiet, and glanced uneasily at the door.

"They're having a long jaw, those two," he said at last. "I hope my mother isn't getting upset. I wish I knew what it is that's bothering her, for that there is something, I'm certain."

Just then Georgina came into the room, closed the door behind her, and, going up to Fanshawe, laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Fanshawe," she said quietly, "I've had a long talk with your mother, and now I've something to tell you as the result of it. You'll be a good boy and do exactly what she wants, won't you?"

Fanshawe turned an astonished face on his cousin.

"Something out of the common?" he asked.

"Not exactly," replied Georgina. "She wants to go to London by the first train to-morrow morning. She wants you to go with her. And I've promised to go, too. We're all three going together. The train's eight-twenty, isn't it?

"Now, will you telephone to Stillwick’s, at once, ordering a car for eight o'clock? I shall meet you at the station. And Fanshawe, don't bother your mother to-night about her reasons for going to London. She'll tell you in good time. Don't ask her any questions to-night."

"Oh, all right," assented Fanshawe. "If it'll do her any good to go—it's not to a doctor, is it?" he added anxiously.

"No, not to a doctor," replied Georgina "She'll be better when she's been to London. I'm going now," she concluded, glancing at Brixey. "Are you coming? Now, Fanshawe, remember all the arrangements. You'11 find me at the station."

Once outside the house Brixey and Georgina walked away in silence, for a time. At last she turned to him with a movement which suggested confidence.

"You won't expect me to tell you anything to-night?" she said. "What I've talked about with Mrs. Byfield must be absolutely private—yet."

"I've no right to expect anything, of course," answered Brixey. "I only hope that you've done her some good. She looked ill enough when we went in."

"I can tell you this," said Georgina. "I'm perfectly certain that Mrs. Byfield knows nothing whatever about Mr. Linthwaite's disappearance. She told me to tell you that from the time he left her, going away with Mr. Mesham, last Tuesday morning, she has never heard of or seen him."

"I took her son's assurance on that point," said Brixey. "I believe her. And that narrows things. Mesham is the man I'm going for!"

And how to get at him! That was the problem which worried Brixey. How to put a hand—the law's hand—on this man, and stay his evil course.

He was worrying about it when he went to sleep that Sunday night, and still worrying about it when he hurried downstairs next morning, in time to go with Georgina Byfield to the station. That was a bit of suddenly-conceived politeness on his part; but before the morning was out he was thinking what a piece of luck there had been in it.

Mrs. Byfield and Fanshawe were already on the platform when Georgina and Brixey walked into the station. Brixey saw at once that there was a curious but unmistakable look of relief on Mrs. Byfield's face. She looked as one looks who has been trying to decide on some eventful course, and has at last made decision, for good or ill.

And again he wondered what it was that she had told Georgina during their conversation of the previous evening. Whatever it might be, he quickly discovered that as yet Fanshawe knew nothing about it.

"I haven't the remotest notion what we're going to town for!" said Fanshawe, as he stood talking to Brixey apart from, the two women. "But, I say, my mother would be obliged if you would do something for her. It's nothing much.

"Would you mind calling in at old Semmerby's office some time this morning, and telling him that we've gone to London and shan't be back for a few days, and that to-morrow's business—he'll know what that means—must stand over until we return?"

"Certainly," replied Brixey, "I'll call on him at ten o'clock."

The express came in just then, and he helped Fanshawe to find a first-class compartment and to get his companions into it with their light luggage, Fanshawe stood at the door when the three had got in.

"Hope to find you here when we get back" he said heartily, leaning out to Brixey. "I say, that was a rare good tip of yours, getting me into touch with Georgina last night. She's done my mother a heap of good already, and—hallo—look there! Behind you!"

Brixey twisted sharply round as Fanshawe, suddenly grinning, nodded at something behind him. And as he turned the express moved away, and Fanshawe called out a word or two about somebody looking jolly well surprised or sold.

Then Brixey saw who the somebody was. Mesham had just walked into the station, had caught sight of Fanshawe and of Mrs. Byfield and of Georgina, and now, oblivious of all else, he was staring after the departing train with startled eyes and a thoroughly crestfallen look.