Collected works of j s f.., p.253
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 253
Mrs. Lester, who had listened to Starmidge with absorbed and almost frightened attention, looked anxiously at both men before she replied to the detective’s direct inquiry.
“You will respect my confidence, of course?” she asked at last. “Whatever I say to you will be in strict confidence?”
“Whatever you tell us, Mrs. Lester,” answered Starmidge, “we shall have to report to our superiors at the Criminal Investigation Department. You may rely on their discretion — fully. But if there is any secret in this, ma’am, it will all have to come out, now that it’s an affair of police investigation. Far better tell us here and now!”
“There’ll be no publication of anything without Mrs. Lester’s knowledge and consent,” remarked Easleby, who guessed at the reason of the lady’s diffidence. “This is a private matter, so far. All that she can tell us will be for police information — only.”
“I shall have to mention the affairs of — some other person,” said Mrs. Lester. “But — I suppose it’s absolutely necessary? Now that you know what you do, for instance, I suppose I could be made to give evidence, eh!”
“I’m afraid you’re quite right, ma’am,” admitted Starmidge. “The mystery of Mr. Hollis’s death will certainly have to be cleared up. Now that this cheque affair is out, you could be called as a witness at the inquest. Better tell us, ma’am — and leave things to us.”
Mrs. Lester, after a moment’s reflection, looked steadily at her visitors. “Very well!” she answered, “I suppose I had better. Indeed, I have been feeling, ever since my bankers rang me up this morning, that I should have to tell you — though I still can’t see how anything that I can tell you has to do — that is, precisely — with Mr. Hollis’s visit to Scarnham. Yet — it may — perhaps must have. The fact is, I recently called in Mr. Hollis, as an old friend, to give me some advice. I must tell you that my husband died last year — now about eight months ago. We have an only son — who is an officer in the Army.”
“You had better give us his name — and regiment, ma’am,” suggested Starmidge.
Mrs. Lester hesitated a little.
“Very well,” she said at last. “He is Lieutenant Guy Lester, of the 55th Lancers. Stationed where? At present at Maychester. Now I have got to tell you what is both painful and unpleasant for me to tell. My husband, though a very kind father, was a very strict one. When our son went into the Army, his father made him a certain yearly allowance which he himself considered a very handsome one. But my husband,” continued Mrs. Lester, with a faint smile, “had been engaged in commercial pursuits all his life, until a year or two before his death, and he did not know that the expenses, and the — well, the style of living in a crack cavalry regiment are — what they are. More than once Guy asked his father to increase his allowance — considerably. His father always refused — he was a strict and, in some ways, a very hard man about money. And so — my son had recourse to a money-lender.”
Starmidge, who was sitting close by his fellow-detective, pressed his elbow against Easleby’s sleeve — at last they were getting at something.
“Just so, ma’am,” he said encouragingly. “Nothing remarkable in all this so far — quite an everyday matter, I assure you! Nothing for you to distress yourself about, either — all that can be kept quiet.”
“Well,” continued Mrs. Lester, “my son borrowed money from a money-lender in London, expecting, of course, to pay it back on his father’s death. I must tell you that my husband married very late in life — he was quite thirty years my senior. No doubt this money-lender acquainted himself with Mr. Lester’s age — and state of health.”
“He would, ma’am, he would!” agreed Starmidge.
“He’d take particular good care of that, ma’am,” added Easleby. “They always do — in such cases.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Lester, “but, you see, when my husband died, he did not leave Guy anything at all! He left everything to me. So Guy had nothing to pay the money-lender with. Then, of course, the money-lender began to press him, and in the end Guy was obliged to come and tell me all about it. That was only a few weeks ago. And it was very bad news, because the man claimed much — very much — more money than he had ever advanced. His demands were outrageous!”
Starmidge gave Mrs. Lester a keen glance, and realized an idea of her innocence in financial matters.
“Ah!” he observed, “they are very grasping, ma’am, some of these money-lenders! How much was this particular one asking of your son, now?”
“He demanded between fourteen and fifteen thousand pounds,” replied Mrs. Lester. “An abominable demand! — for my son assured me that at the very outside he had not had more than seven or eight thousand.”
“And — what happened, ma’am?” inquired Starmidge sympathetically. “The man pestered you, of course!”
“Guy made him one or two offers,” answered Mrs. Lester. “Of course I would have made them good — to get rid of the affair. It was no use — he had papers and things signed by Guy — who had borrowed all the money since he came of age — and he refused to abate a penny. The last time that Guy called on him, he told him flatly that he would have his fifteen thousand to the last shilling. It was, of course, extortion!”
Starmidge and Easleby exchanged looks. Both felt that they were on the very edge of a discovery.
“To be sure, ma’am,” asserted Starmidge. “Absolute extortion! And — what is the name of the money-lending gentleman?”
“His name,” replied Mrs. Lester, “is Godwin Markham.”
“Did you ever see him, ma’am?” asked Starmidge.
Mrs. Lester looked her astonishment.
“I?” she exclaimed. “No — never!”
“Did your son ever describe him to you? — his personal appearance, I mean,” inquired Starmidge.
Mrs. Lester shook her head.
“No!” she replied. “Indeed, I have heard my son say that he never saw Markham himself but once. He did his — business, I suppose you would call it — with the manager — who always said — when this recent pressing began — that he was powerless — he could only do what Mr. Markham bade him do.”
“Precisely!” said Starmidge. “There generally is a manager whose chief business is to say that sort of thing, ma’am. Dear me! — and where, ma’am, is this Mr. Godwin Markham’s office? You know that, no doubt?”
“Oh, yes — it is in Conduit Street — off New Bond Street,” replied Mrs. Lester.
“Of course you never went there?” asked Starmidge. “No, of course not. All was done through your son, until you called in Mr. Hollis. Now, when did you call in Mr. Hollis, Mrs. Lester? — the date’s important.”
“About a fortnight ago,” replied Mrs. Lester— “I sent for him — I told him all about it — I asked his advice. At his suggestion I gave him a cheque for ten thousand pounds. He said he would make an endeavour to settle the whole thing for that amount, and have everything cleared up. He took the cheque away with him.”
“Between then — that day when he was here and you gave him the cheque,” asked Starmidge, “and last Saturday, when we know Mr. Hollis went to Scarnham, did you hear of or from Mr. Hollis at all?”
“Only in this way,” replied Mrs. Lester. “When he left me, he said that before approaching Markham, as intermediary, he should like to see Guy, and hear what his account of the transactions was, and that he would ask my son to come up to town from Maychester and meet him. I heard from Guy at the end of last week — last Saturday morning, as a matter of fact — that he had been to town, that he had lunched with Mr. Hollis at Mr. Hollis’s club, and that after discussing the whole affair, Mr. Hollis said that he would make a determined effort to settle the matter at once. And after that,” concluded Mrs. Lester, “I heard no more or anything until I read of this Scarnham affair in the newspapers.”
“And now that you have read it, ma’am, and have heard what I have to tell,” said Starmidge, “do you connect it in any way with Mr. Guy Lester’s affair?”
Mrs. Lester looked puzzled. She considered the detective’s proposition in silence for a time.
“No!” she answered at last. “Really, I don’t!”
Starmidge got up, and Easleby followed his lead.
“Well, ma’am,” said Starmidge, “there is a connection, without doubt, and I think that within a very short time we shall have discovered what it is. What you have told us has been of great assistance — the very greatest assistance. And you can make your mind easy for the present — I don’t see any reason for any unpleasant publicity just now — in fact, I think you’ll find there won’t be any. The unpleasant publicity, ma’am,” concluded Starmidge, with an almost imperceptible wink at Easleby, “will be for — some other people.”
The two detectives bowed themselves out, re-entered their car, and were driven on to Chesham. Neither had touched food since breakfast-time and each was hungry. They discovered an old-fashioned hotel in the main street of the little town, and were presently confronting a round of cold beef, a cold ham, and two foaming tankards, in the snug parlour which they had to themselves.
“One result of our profession, young Starmidge,” observed the middle-aged Easleby, bending towards his companion over a well-filled plate, “is that it makes a man indulge in a tremendous lot of what you might call intellectual speculation!”
“What are you speculating about?” asked Starmidge.
“This — on information received,” replied Easleby, as he lifted his tankard. “There are the names of three Scarnham gentlemen before me — Gabriel Chestermarke, Joseph Chestermarke, John Horbury. Now, then — which of the three sports the other name of Godwin Markham?”
CHAPTER XXII
SPECULATION — AND CERTAINTY
STARMIDGE ATE AND drank in silence for awhile, evidently pondering his companion’s question.
“Yes,” he said at last, “there’s all that in it. It may be any one of the three. You never know! Yet, according to all I’ve been told, Horbury’s a thoroughly straight man of business.”
“According to all I’ve been told,” remarked Easleby, “and all I’ve been told about anything has been told by yourself, the two Chestermarkes have the reputation of being thoroughly straight men of business — outwardly. But one thing is certain, my lad, after what we’ve just learned — Hollis went down to Scarnham to offer that cheque to one of these three men. And whichever it was, that man’s Godwin Markham! It’s a double-life business, Jack — the man’s Godwin Markham here in London, and he’s somebody else in — somewhere else. Dead certainty, my lad!”
“It’s not Horbury,” said Starmidge, after some reflection. “I’ll stake my reputation, such as it is, on that!”
“You don’t know,” replied Easleby. “Remember, Mrs. Lester said this son of hers always did business with a manager. That’s a usual thing with these big money-lending offices — the real man doesn’t show. For aught you know, Horbury may have been running a money-lender’s office in town, unknown to anybody, under the name of Godwin Markham. And — he may have wanted new funds for it, and he may have collared those securities which the Chestermarkes say are missing, and he may have appropriated Lord Ellersdeane’s jewels — d’ye see? You never can tell — in any of these cases. You see, my lad, you’ve been going, all along, on the basis, the supposition, that Horbury’s an innocent man, and the victim of foul play. But — he may be a guilty man! Lord bless you! — I don’t attach any importance to reputation and character, not I! It isn’t ten years since Jim Chambers and myself had a case in point — a bank manager who was churchwarden, Sunday-School teacher, this, that, and t’other in the way of piety and respectability — all a cloak to cover as clever a bit of thievery and fraud as ever I heard of! — he got ten years, that chap, and he ought to have been hanged. As I say, you never can make certain. Hollis may have found out that Godwin Markham of Conduit Street was in reality John Horbury of Scarnham, and then — —”
“I’ll tell you what!” interrupted Starmidge, who had been thinking as well as listening. “There’s a very sure and certain way of finding out who Godwin Markham is! Do you remember? — Mrs. Lester said her son had only seen him once. Well, once is enough! — he’d remember him. We must go to Maychester right away and see this young Lester, and get him to describe the man he saw.”
“Good notion, of course,” assented Easleby. “Where is Maychester, now?”
“Essex,” replied Starmidge.
“That would certainly be a solver,” said Easleby. “But there’s something else we could do, following up your special line of thought. Now, honour bright, which of these men do you take Godwin Markham to be?”
“Gabriel Chestermarke!” answered Starmidge promptly. “It’s established that he’s constantly in London — as much in London as in Scarnham. Gabriel Chestermarke certainly — with, no doubt, Joseph in collusion. The probability is that they run that money-lending office in Conduit Street under the name of Godwin Markham. They’re within the law.”
“What about the Moneylenders’ Act?” asked Easleby. “Compulsory registration, you know.”
“It’s this way,” explained Starmidge. “The object of that Act was to enable a borrower to know for certain who it was that was lending him the money he borrowed. So registration was made compulsory. But, as in the case of many another Act of Parliament, Easleby, evasion is not only possible, but easy. A money-lender can register in a name which isn’t his own if it’s one which he generally uses in his business. So — there you are! I’ve seen that name Godwin Markham advertised ever since I was a youngster — it’s an old established business, well known. There’s nothing to prevent Abraham Moses from styling himself Fitzwilliam Simpkins, if he’s always done business as Fitzwilliam Simpkins — see? And — it’s highly probable that, as he’s so much in town, Gabriel Chestermarke lives in town under the name of Godwin Markham — double-life business, as you suggest. But you were going to suggest something else. What?”
“This,” said Easleby. “You know that Gabriel Chestermarke went to the stage-door of the Adalbert Theatre the other night. Go there — officially — and find out if he called there as Gabriel Chestermarke. That’ll solve a lot.”
“We’ll both go!” assented Starmidge. “It’s a good notion — I hadn’t thought of it. Whom shall we try to see?”
“Top man of all,” counselled Easleby. “Lessee, manager, whatever he is. Our cards’ll manage it.”
“I’m obliged to you, old man!” exclaimed Starmidge. “It’s a bright idea! Of course, somebody there’ll know who the man was that called last night — know his name, of course. And in that case — —”
“Aye, but don’t you anticipate too much, my lad!” interrupted Easleby. “There’s no doubt that Gandam traced your Gabriel Chestermarke to the stage-door of the Adalbert Theatre — and lost him there. But, you know, for anything you know, Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke, banker, of Scarnham, may have had legitimate and proper business at that theatre. For aught you know, Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke may be owner of that theatre — ground-landlord — part-proprietor — financier. He may have a mortgage on it. All sorts of reasons occur to me as to why Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke may have called. He might be a personal friend of the manager’s, or the principal actor’s — called to take ’em out to supper, d’ye see, on his arrival in town. So — whoever we see there, you want to go guardedly, eh?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Starmidge, “I’ll leave it to you. I’ll go with you, of course, but you manage it.”
“Right, my lad!” assented Easleby. “All I shall want’ll be a copy of this morning’s newspaper — to lead up from.”
One of the London morning journals had been making a great feature of the Scarnham affair from the moment Parkinson, on Starmidge’s inspiration, had supplied the Press with its details, and it had that day printed an exhaustive résumé of the entire history of the case, brought up to the discovery of Frederick Hollis’s body. Easleby bought a copy of this issue as soon as he and Starmidge returned to town, and carefully blue-pencilled the cross-headed columns and the staring capitals above them. With the folded paper in his hand, and Starmidge at his heel, he repaired to the stage-door of the Adalbert Theatre at a quarter to eight, when the actors and actresses were beginning to pass in for their evening’s work and thrust his head into the glass-fronted cage in which the stage door-keeper sat.
“A word with you, mister,” whimpered Easleby. “A quiet word, you understand. Me and my friend here are from the Yard — New Scotland Yard, you know, and we’ve an inquiry to make. Our cards, d’ye see? — I shall ask you to take ’em inside in a minute. But first, a word with you. Do you remember a gentleman coming here last night, late, who nodded to you and walked straight in? Little, stiffly built gentleman, very pale face, holds himself well up — what?”
“I know him,” answered the door-keeper, much impressed by the official cards which Easleby held before his nose. “Seen him here many a time, but I don’t know his name. He’s a friend of Mr. Castlemayne’s, and he’s the entry, d’ye see — walks in as he likes.”
“Ah, just so — and who may Mr. Castlemayne be, now?” asked Easleby confidentially.
“Mr. Castlemayne?” repeated the door-keeper. “Why, he’s the lessee, of course! — the boss!”
“Ah, the boss, is he?” said Easleby. “Much obliged to you, sir. Well, now, then, just take these two cards to Mr. Castlemayne, will you, and ask him if he’ll be good enough to see their owners for a few minutes on very important private business?”
