The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 33

two elderly solicitors, refreshed by some attention to the toilet at Linthwaite’s chambers and by a cup of coffee hastily prepared by his bedmaker, who, having diligently read the Sentinel for the last few days, was unfeignedly surprised to see him alive and well, drove up to the Grosvenor Hotel at eight o'clock and, presenting themselves at the office, asked for Mrs. Byfield. And they were at once plunged into further mystery.

"Mrs. Byfield is not here," replied the clerk. "She was here yesterday for a few hours, but she left again early in the afternoon. Mr. Fanshawe Byfield is here, and Miss Byfield."

"Better see Fanshawe at once," muttered Semmerby. "Will you send up to Mr. Fanshawe Byfield’s room?" he added, turning to the clerk. "Tell him—however, here’s my card. "Now, what’s the meaning of this?" he went on as he and Linthwaite turned away to wait. "What’s this woman mean by rushing up to town with these two, leaving them here, and going off again? Where’s she gone? And what’s it all about?"

"She’ll have reasons, of course," replied Linthwaite. "I only hope she hasn’t gone to meet those infernal Melsomes. There’s no doubt that Charles has been blackmailing her for the last two years, and if he and his precious brother get hold of her, why, I don’t know what they mayn’t do!

"You know what the poor woman’s, position is! Naturally, she doesn’t want all Selchester—a little, provincial-minded place—to know her secret, and those two are capable of anything. I wish I’d never had dealings with them. They'll probably say to her: 'Make it worth our while, or out comes the whole truth!'

"My opinion, Semmerby, is that your clerk’s been in league with Charles Melsome, whom you know better as Mesham, and that Charles is now in the happy possession of these securities. Then, of course, he’ll make Mrs. Byfield pay for silence, and the Byfield fortune will go where it was never meant to go."

"Not if I know anything!" growled Semmerby. He glanced round and saw the man who had taken his card beckoning him to the lift. "Come along!" he continued. "We'd better be careful what we say to this lad, Linthwaite," he added, as they were carried upward. "My own impression, from what your nephew told me, is that Fanshawe Byfield is in the dark as yet."

"I shall leave the saying to you," replied Linthwaite, "I'm a stranger. He doesn't know me."

Fanshawe, encountered in the act of brushing his hair, stared hard at the family solicitor's companion.

"Hallo, Mr. Semmerby!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here? Nothing wrong, I hope?"

"This gentleman is Mr. Linthwaite, who was lost," said Semmerby, brusquely. "He's come to light again."

Fanshawe laid down his brushes and grasped Linthwaite's hand.

"Very glad to hear that, sir!" he exclaimed heartily. "There's been a nice old row about you. But what does it all mean?"

"You'll hear plenty about it in time," growled Semmerby. He carefully closed the door and sat down on the edge of Fanshawe's bed. "Where's your mother?" he demanded, "They say downstairs that she was here yesterday and went off, again. Where's she gone?"

Fanshawe, who was sprinkling bay rum over his fair hair, set the bottle down with a bang.

"I don't know where my mother is!" he answered. "I've no more idea than you have, perhaps less. She and my cousin Georgina worked up some dodge or other on Sunday night. I wasn't to ask questions, and I haven't asked questions.

"We all came here yesterday morning. My mother was out, somewhere, for an hour. Then she came back and had lunch. Then she went off again, saying she wouldn't be back till to-day, and we were to—well, just, to stop here till she returned.

"You know what my mother's like about business matters, Mr. Semmerby—she'll tell nobody anything until she wants to. So I didn't press her for any explanations. Georgie and I went to the theatre last night. We'd a good time, anyhow! And I guess my mother will turn up when she's done what she came up for."

"You haven't any idea what she came up for?" asked Semmerby.

"Not the remotest!" replied Fanshawe, carefully arranging his cravat. "I tell you, I was told to ask no questions. Georgina told me."

"Where's your cousin, then?" demanded Semmerby.

"In her room, I should think," said Fanshawe, "I arranged to meet her at breakfast at eight-thirty. You gentlemen had better join us."

"You seem mightily unconcerned young man!" remarked Semmerby.

"I don't know of anything to be concerned about, now," retorted Fanshawe. "I was a good deal bothered about my mother up to Sunday night, but since Georgina took hold, I'm not. I reckon my mother's gone to do some private business, and, as I say, she'll turn up."

"Oh," said Semmerby. "Very well. And talking of business, you know that clerk of mine, Letwige?"

"Do I know my own face?" laughed Fanshawe. "Who doesn't know him—in our town, anyway?"

"Do you know if Letwige called to see your mother on business at all during the last few days?" asked Semmerby. Fanshawe picked up his waistcoat and carefully removed a speck of dust.

"Letwige called to see me on business on Saturday afternoon," he answered. "Cricket Club business."

Semmerby glanced at Linthwaite before he asked any more questions. His glance suggested that he was now expecting important information. "You didn't happen to let him use your mother's typewriter for a few minutes, did you?" he inquired.

Fanshawe turned sharply on the old lawyer.

"Yes, I did!" he answered. "Who told you I did?"

"Never mind," said Semmerby. "Why did he use it?"

"Nothing extraordinary," answered Fanshawe. "He just asked if he could type a letter. He wanted to put it in the pillar-box close by, on his way to the cricket ground. I went out then. I left him typing."

Semmerby looked once more at Linthwaite.

"There you are!" he said. "I knew that signature was forged, in spite of Hollinshaw! I see how the thing's been worked. But—forgery!"

"Forgery!" exclaimed Fanshawe. He was into his coat by that time, and he thrust his hands into its pockets and turned on Semmerby with a queer, nervous movement "Forgery?"

"You'd far better tell him," remarked Linthwaite. "He'll have to know."

"Sit down!" said Semmerby, nodding at Fanshawe, "You wondered what we were doing here," he continued. "We made a very serious discovery during the night—at midnight.

"Yesterday afternoon, just before the bank closed, Letwige presented Hollinshaw with a letter, typed on your mother's note-paper and purporting to be signed by her, addressed to me, asking Hollinshaw to hand over the box containing the Byfield securities. Hollinshaw believed the letter to be genuine, and gave Letwige the box.

"Letwige has disappeared, and he not only has those securities from the bank—most of them easily negotiable—he also has some which he has stolen from my office. But answer me a question, to settle one point. You say you went out and left Letwige at your typewriter? Had he any chance of seeing your mother after you left him?"

"My mother was out," declared Fanshawe. "She was at Mrs. Merrifield's all Saturday afternoon. She never signed any such letter, that I'll swear! What's being done?" he asked anxiously. "Police know?"

"Crabbe's been put on the track," said Semmerby, who was all unaware that Brixey, for reasons of his own, had never been near Crabbe.

"And Mr. Brixey is making some inquiry—I don't know what—here in town. Letwige left Selchester last night in company with Nat Lee and his daughter, by motor-car."

Fanshawe whistled.

"Whew!" he said. "Debbie Lee, eh! The devil! That explains something. Of late, I've often seen Letwige and Debbie Lee together in the Priory grounds. I say, come down and meet my cousin—she'll have to know this."

Georgina, discovered in a quiet corner of the coffee-room, awaiting Fanshawe, became remarkably reserved after her first surprise on seeing Mr. Linthwaite.

She heard Semmerby's news without comment, and it was not until the four had nearly finished breakfast that she suddenly lifted a plate which lay beside her and revealed a telegram and a letter.

"Fanshawe!" she said, bending over to her cousin. "I have just had this wire from your mother. She will be here at ten o'clock. In the meantime there is something you are to do at once. Do you see this letter? It's addressed to the manager at the Imperial Safe Deposit in the city. There's the address.

"You're to give it to him and he'll show you a safe which your mother has there. Here's the key. In that safe you'll see a sealed envelope. You're to bring it here. Now go and get a cab, Fanshawe, and go to this place, and then get back here as soon as you can."

"Hanged if I know what all this mystery is about!" muttered Fanshawe, as he took the letter and the key. "What with the mater's mysterious movements, and now this Letwige affair"

"Never mind, you'll know all about it presently," said Georgina, She turned to the two solicitors when Fanshawe had gone. "I may as well tell you something now," she continued. "Mrs. Byfield took me into her confidence on Sunday night and told me of something which has been giving her great trouble. That was the reason of her coming to London yesterday.

"I advised her to take a certain course and end her anxiety. When she comes back here you'll know all about it, Mr. Semmerby. She'll be surprised to find you here. We were to have gone back to Selchester by the eleven train."

Semmerby glanced at Georgina with unconcealed interest and curiosity.

"So there's a secret—and you know all its details, I suppose?" he said.

"Everything—since Sunday night," answered Georgina calmly. Then, remarking that she would see them again at ten o'clock, she left the two men to themselves and disappeared. And Semmerby and Linthwaite waited and wondered until, as they lounged about in the hall of the hotel, they saw Mrs. Byfield enter, accompanied by an elderly clergyman.