The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 30

old man of law’s eyebrows went up and a sharp look of suspicion flashed across his face.

"To-morrow!" he exclaimed. "And all this going on! Then we must see these Byfields at once."

"Can’t be done," said Brixey. "Mrs. Byfield and her son went off to London hurriedly first thing this morning. Why, I don’t know. I wish I did, for more reasons than one."

"More mystery?" asked Linthwaite.

"It’s all mystery," assented Brixey. "Look here! Hadn’t I better tell you everything that’s happened to me since last Thursday afternoon? You'll get the hang of things then. And it strikes me the time’s getting short."

Linthwaite, who had sat slowly sipping his whisky and water, set his glass down, drew out a cigar case and lighted a cigar. "Go on!" he said. "Everything, then."

He listened in silence while his nephew related all his doings from the arrival of Georgina at the Sentinel office to his adventures of that evening, only asking a brief question here and there. And in the end he nodded his head with decision.

"You're quite right in your conclusion, my lad!" he said. "There’s a conspiracy here, which was evidently in being before I came to Selchester last week, and which was to have matured to-morrow. My presence interfered with the prospects of success; your doings have further interfered; the sudden going away of Mrs. Byfield has presumably been another cog in the wheel.

"But why did she go? Why did she persuade that girl to go with her? What did she tell that girl last night, to induce her to go? And, by George, sir, there’s no doubt that girl is the real owner of all the Martin Byfield property—every pennyworth!"

"What do you think now you know all?" asked Brixey.

"That that scoundrel Charles Melsome—or Christopher Mesham, as he now calls himself—is at the bottom of it!" answered Linthwaite.

"The squint-eyed fellow is probably his tool, or agent. Probably, too, Charles encountered Cradock when he came here in answer to my wire, and has drawn him into it. Presumably the object was to blackmail Mrs. Byfield to a very considerable extent, and to make the lad Fanshawe another victim. Between them, mother and son will to-morrow, when the son comes of age, be in possession of a considerable amount.

"These fellows meant, no doubt, to have a big share of it on condition of keeping silence about Mrs. Byfield's marriage to Cradock before her marriage to Byfield. We don't know what they may have already done. There's only one bit of consolation that I see."

"What?" asked Brixey.

"You say that Mesham, as we'll call him, looked much taken aback when he saw those three going off this morning?" said Mr. Linthwaite.

"Clean sold!" replied Brixey. "So much so that he stood with his mouth wide open, staring!"

"That looks as if he saw his victim escaping him," remarked Linthwaite. "But we mustn't trust to chance. Now, first, do you know where these three are in London?" "No," said' Brixey, "but Brackett may know. Miss Byfield, I believe, promised to wire to him. The old chap was anxious about her."

"Go and see," commanded Linthwaite. "And then send for my overcoat and hat from my bedroom. We've got to go out."

Brixey came back in five minutes, bringing the hat and coat and the desired information. Georgina had wired to Brackett that evening. They were all staying at the Grosvenor Hotel. "Very good," observed Linthwaite. "Then come on to Semmerby's house."

Brixey looked at his watch.

"The old man will be in bed," he said. "It's eleven now."

"Doesn't matter if it's two in the morning, my lad!" answered Linthwaite. "Or three, or four. We're going to have him up!"

Brixey spoke a word or two to the old landlord as they passed out, asking him to keep up a bit of fire in the sitting-room; he already foresaw that there might be no going to bed that night. Then he took his uncle along to Semmerby's house—to find it, as he had expected, all in darkness.

It was not until they had knocked and rung several times that a window was opened just above the door and a grey head was put out.

"It's I—Brixey—Mr. Semmerby," said the young disturber. "And here's my uncle with me!" "God bless me!" exclaimed the old lawyer. "Glad to hear you're found, Mr. Linthwaite! You want me? I'll be down in two minutes."

He presently appeared at the door in his dressing-gown, carrying a lamp, which he lifted towards Linthwaite's face.

"Safe and sound, I see, at any rate!" he said cordially. "Come in! And where," he went on, when he had led them, into the room in which Brixey had found him and Faxshawe Byfield the night before, "where did you find your uncle, young man?

"He's been pretty active in looking for you, and pretty original in some of his methods," he added, turning to Linthwaite, "I thought he’d come off all right in the end."

Linthwaite laid his hand on his fellow-practitioner's arm. "My friend!" he said. "Never mind where I sprang from just now! There's mischief afoot—black, bad mischief! Mow, first, do you know why Mrs. Byfield and her son have gone to London?"

Semmerby showed his astonishment. "Haven't the ghost of a notion!" he answered. "I knew nothing about their going until your nephew told me of it this morning."

"Very well," said Linthwaite. "Another question. You know Selchester, I suppose, as well as anybody in it. Do you know a man, apparently about thirty to thirty-five years of age, dark, medium-sized commonplace in appearance, but marked by a decided cast in his left eye?"

Semmerby started back, and a suspicious gleam shot over his face,

"You're describing my head clerk—John Letwige!" he exclaimed.

"Your clerk!" said Linthwaite. He turned to Brixey and spread out his hands, "I might have guessed that!" he muttered. "Of course—he'd have facilities!"

Semmerby stared from one visitor to another.

"What is all this? " he asked sharply. "What has my clerk—who's been with me a good many years, a thoroughly trustworthy fellow—to do with this?"

Linthwaite pointed to a chair and laid hold of another himself.

"Sit down!" he said. "Late as it is you've got to listen. And then—then I think we've all got to act!"

Brixey, sitting on the edge of the table and watching intently as Linthwaite set forth his carefully marshalled facts to his brother solicitor, was struck by the conflicting emotions depicted on old Semmerby's face.

Astonishment, doubt, suspicion, incredulity, anger—all these were plain, as they were manifested in succession. But eventually they all merged in one expression of utter amazement. Semmerby was clearly mystified.

"Do you mean to tell me," he exclaimed, as soon as Linthwaite had made an end, "do you really mean to tell me that Mrs. Byfield is legally not Mrs. Byfield at all, never legally was, and therefore was never in a position to administer that estate? Do you know that to be so?"

"I know it to be so," affirmed Linthwaite. "The woman you know as Mrs. Martin Byfield is Mrs. Cradock Melsome—more's the pity she is! But she is!"

"What does this precious husband of hers want with her?" asked Semmerby. "The fact of the matter is," replied Linthwaite, "a certain relation of our family has left money to her. I'm trustee for it. I haven't been able to trace her, and I was fool enough, having failed to do so, to acquaint Cradock with the fact chinking that he might have heard of her—because, failing her, it goes to him. The result was that he crossed to England recently. Wherever there's money to be got, these two will be after it."

"You think he's the man who was seen in company with Mesham here last week?" asked Semmerby,

"Without a doubt!" agreed Linthwaite. "And he's no doubt entered into this conspiracy with his brother. Semmerby, this has got to be seen to at once!"

The old lawyer shook his head.

"A pretty coil!" he said. "I—I don't know which way to look at it. And my clerk, too—evidently in it! A man I trusted most implicitly. Why, he's practically managed my practice for some years. I've entrusted him with"

He suddenly broke off his remarks, as if a new idea had occurred to him, and Brixey noticed that when he rose he was trembling a little.

"I—I think," he said, glancing from one to the other, "I think that, late, as it is, I shall have to go to my office. I shall never sleep if I don't. Perhaps you'll come with me. I'll get ready."

The Selchester clocks were striking midnight as the three men entered Semmerby's office, and went upstairs to his private room. The old lawyer showed an almost painful nervousness as he turned on the light and went to a shelf on which were a number of boxes, each inscribed with the name of some client. He pointed to one marked "Byfield," and Brixey lifted it down and set it on the desk.

"There are securities in here," whispered Semmerby as he produced a key. "And the worst of it is, considering what we know now, they are easily negotiable securities. This is not a difficult lock, and if that man Letwige is really dishonest"

He paused as, throwing back the lid, he revealed a quantity of documents and papers, neatly parcelled and docketed. And when he spoke again it was in accents of consternation.

"Gone!" he said. "Certain securities—some East India bonds—other things! My God, Linthwaite! But I fear, I fear this may not be the worst. I must go to the bank, to the manager—he lives over it. Come with me!"

Brixey put the box on its shelf again, and Linthwaite gave the old man his arm down the stairs and along the street. All three were very silent until the bank manager had been roused and had admitted them by his private door.

By that time Semmerby was pale and shaking, and he looked to have aged ten years since the uncle and nephew had walked into his parlour an hour earlier.

"Hollinshaw!" he said, grasping the manager by the lapels of his dressing-gown. "Tell me! Have you the Byfield box of securities and papers safe? Tell me? A word will do!"

The manager started back and gazed from one anxious face to the other.

"The Byfield box!" he exclaimed. "Good heavens, Mr. Semmerby—you sent your clerk, Letwige, for it just before the bank closed this afternoon. He carried it away with him!"