The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 29

was obviously so taken aback by this reply that his uncle, after looking him carefully over for a few seconds, turned to the landlord and the inspector with a significant glance.

"I think my nephew would like to have some explanation from me, or to give me some explanation of his own in private," he said. "I've no doubt you gentlemen, and all the town, will eventually get your fill on this before long! But just now"

Brackett took the plain hint and moved to the door. But Inspector Crabbe looked like a man whose hopes are being dashed just as they are about to be realised.

"Those Lees sir?" he asked. "You don't make any charge against them?"

"For the present, my friend," answered Linthwaite, "I make no charge against anybody. I'm too much in the dark." "You said those Lees had slipped off in a motor-car, Mr. Brixey," said Crabbe. "Seemed to be running away, you thought?"

"Yes, but I don't know that they were carrying off anybody's property, Inspector," replied Brixey. "I, too, have no charge to make. Better wait. Morning may bring revelations!"

He spoke chaffingly, but when Crabbe and the landlord had left the room he turned to his uncle with a face that was serious enough.

"What on earth is all this about?" he asked. "You don't know what strange things I've unearthed since Thursday. I've an awful lot to tell you. There's some extraordinary mystery at the bottom of all this, and I'm certain it's just about to be developed in a very serious way for somebody. "Hadn't you better tell me your story of this past week! Then I'll tell you what I've been up to. And then"

Linthwaite interrupted his nephew with a deep cough and a sly look.

"Yes, dear boy," he said, "and what then?"

"Then, I should say, it will probably be high time to call in the police," replied Brixey.

"It might be," remarked Linthwaite, "if I knew, or we knew, what to call them in about. But it seems to me that somebody else will have to do the calling, and I don't know who that somebody else really is. I don't know what's going on!

"You want to know what's happened to me. I can tell you in a very few words. Last Tuesday morning, when I went out of this hotel, bent on no more than a mere stroll to a neighbouring ruin, I met a woman whom I knew years ago as a Mrs. Cradock Melsome.

"I know—know, mind!—her husband to be living. I know where he is, or was a week ago. But I found out that she had married, twenty-two years since, a well-to-do man in this town, and was now his widow—supposed widow, that is, for she has, of course, no legal status, unfortunately for her. She is now called Mrs. Byfield.

"I spoke to her for a few minutes, but without telling her that I knew her real husband to be alive. I might have done so, but our conversation was interrupted by her brother-in-law, Charles Melsome, whom I know well enough, though I haven't seen him for two years.

"I walked away with him, leaving her. I asked him a question or two about matters. 'Does Mrs. Byfield know that Cradock is alive?' was one. 'Has she any family?' was another.

"He told me that she had one son, that she didn't know that Cradock was alive, and that she had married Byfield in good faith. I then asked him a most pertinent question—'How did Byfield leave his money?' He replied that Byfield had died intestate, and that she, as his supposed widow, had administered the estate.

"‘In that case I said, 'the unfortunate woman is going to encounter serious trouble, for your brother is here in England, seeking her for reasons of his own, and he is sure to find her. The truth will come out, and she and her son won't be entitled to a penny of Byfieid's. "He then asked me what should be done. I said I would consider matters during my walk, and speak to him again in the afternoon. We had an appointment for half-past two at the Priory, and parted. And now," added Linthwaite, "I may tell you that for thirty years I have been trustee for these two Melsomes, and"

"A moment!" interrupted Brixey. "I'd better tell you that I know all about it, through you think I don't. The fact is, I was so convinced that you'd been the victim of foul play that I sent Gaffkin to search your papers—and, to cut the story short, I've got the Melsome receipts and the pedigree safely locked up here. Sorry to have had to make such a search—but, you know, everybody here believed you'd been murdered!"

"Oh, well, then, of course, you know who these Melsomes are," said Linthwaite, somewhat surprised by his nephew's drastic methods. "Um—I hope Gaffkin was careful in looking through my papers?"

"You can be sure he was," replied Brixey. "Yes, I worked out all about the Melsomes, and I also came to the conclusion that Mrs. Martin Byfield is really Mrs. Cradock Melsome.

"And as it's well known in the town that Martin Byfield died intestate, Gaffkin and I, of course, realised that, as you said just now, Mrs. Byfield and her son aren't entitled to a penny, by the mere fact that her marriage to Martin was no marriage. So now you see that you and I are at a common point. I know what you know, so far."

"Aye, but you don't know this!" said Linthwaite. "Cradock Melsome is in London, wanting to find his wife. He has a reason. Needless to say, it's for his own benefit. But, on thinking the whole thing thoroughly over, when I got to Mardene village after leaving Charles Melsome, I wired to Cradock bidding him meet me here at the 'Mitre,' next day.

"The fact was, I saw a way out of the difficulty for his wife, and I knew that I could save her annoyance. It was better that he should know where she was than that he should begin to advertise and make inquiries, and so I told him to come here last Wednesday."

Brixey jumped in his chair.

"Have you seen this Cradock Melsome lately?" he asked. "If so, what is he like?"

"I saw him a fortnight ago," answered Linthwaite. "Just after he came over from Canada. Elderly, greyish-haired, fresh-coloured man—good-looking."

"Then he did come to Selchester, and I believe he saw Mrs. Byfield, too, last week!" exclaimed Brixey. "That explains a lot. He was here on two different nights."

"Aye? Well, I didn't see him," said Linthwaite, with a sarcastic laugh. "I was otherwise engaged. I returned from Mardene, after a bit of lunch at the village inn, and was at the Priory a little after two.

"I looked in at the museum while I was waiting for Charles Melsome. A youngish man, an intelligent fellow, evidently a townsman, was in there—marked, I may tell you, by a peculiar cast in one eye—and I got into conversation with him.

"He asked me if I would care to examine the interior of the old tower, and as Melsome hadn't come, I went up the stairs with him. He took me, from one story to another—finally into an inner room at the top, a furnished room."

"I saw it to-night" remarked Brixey.

"Then you saw my prison!" said Linthwaite. "Before I'd scarcely crossed the threshold, the key was turned on me, and there I was, trapped! Of course, I immediately realised that my two meetings of that morning had something to do with this—but what?

"I couldn't think that Mrs. Byfield would endeavour to trap me. As for Charles Melsome, he had to look to me for a hundred and fifty pounds a year. But there I was, evidently imprisoned for a purpose. I looked round and saw that all preparations had been made for me—bed, easy chair, tables, and so on. It was very evident that all had been lately arranged.

"And there I stayed wondering and indescribably angry until about six o’clock, when the door opened, and the man whom we will call Squint—for I never learnt his name—entered. Incidentally, I may mention that when he did enter, he let me see that he had an ugly-looking revolver handy. He stood just within, close to the door, one hand on the latch, the other in a pocket from which the revolver also protruded.

"‘I’m sorry, Mr. Linthwaite,’ he said, 'but you made a great mistake in coming to Selchester just now, and you’ll have to pay for it. You'll have to remain here at least a week in this room.'

"‘You infernal blackguard!' I said, 'if you don't stand aside and let me walk freely down those stairs you'll see the inside of a jail longer than you think of.' 'I think not, sir,’ he said, coolly enough. 'And talking of jails, this of yours shall be made as comfortable as possible for you.’ Then he slightly opened the door and beckoned in a demure young woman.

"‘This young lady,’ he said, 'will take any orders you like to give her and do anything in reason for you. But,’ he added, with a sinister took, 'whenever she comes up, Mr. Linthwaite, there’ll always be a man in close attendance.

"‘Look here!' and he opened the door a few inches again and showed me a black-visaged, determined-looking fellow outside. 'Make the most of the situation, Mr. Linthwaite,' he continued. 'Only a week and you'll be free again.'

"‘Whose work is this, and what does it mean?’ I demanded. 'That,' he answered, 'is neither here nor there—so far as I'm concerned. Take my advice—and be as comfortable as you can!' After which, without as much as an if-you-please, he calmly took my hat and umbrella and walked off with them—three guineas' worth of property, which I've never seen since."

"Who the devil is this squint-eyed fellow?" growled Brixey.

"No more idea than the man in the moon!" said Linthwaite. "But he must be easily identified. However, there I was, and I had to make the best of it. So I cultivated the demure damsel. She was friendly and agreeable enough, so long as I said nothing about freedom—in fact, I am bound to say she made a very pleasant gaoler.

"She bought me some good wine—by the by, I have left three bottles of it there—and got me some books, and was very kind. And, knowing that I should be detained a week, I got her to take a telegram for you, which I suppose you duly received, eh?"

"I got a telegram from Newhaven, sent in your name by a squint-eyed man," remarked Brixey. "It informed me that you had gone to Paris for a week. That’s what I got!"

Linthwaite pursed his lips and shook his head.

"Mr. Squint," he remarked, "is certainly a person of ingenuity and resourcefulness, whoever he is! But to tell the rest, I remained immured until after dark this evening. Then Squint and the black-visaged person appeared, conducted me under stress to a punt at the edge of that lake, and took me over to the island, Squint kindly remarking as they rowed off that he would be obliged if I wouldn't shout for help for half an hour or so. And the rest you know."

"It seems to me," observed Brixey, "that the first thing to do is to find out who this squint-eyed chap is!"

"The first thing to do," said Linthwaite, "is to discover the whole circumstances and situation of the woman known here as Mrs. Byfield. I don't know why I was kidnapped and locked up, but I am sure that it had something to do with the Byfield estate.

"Now, look here! You've evidently been going into the matter. Do you know when Mrs. Byfield’s son comes of age?" "Yes," replied Brixey, with a significant nod. "He comes of age to-morrow."