XXVII
Eunice was Lady Mary’s daughter! There was no doubt of it, no possible doubt. His instinct had proved to be right. How had she got to South Africa? He had yet to find a solution to the mystery.
Mrs. Weatherwale’s rosy face was a picture of astonishment. For a moment she thought her visitor had gone mad.
“Will you read that piece again about Digby Groat burning the baby’s wrist,” said Jim slowly, and after a troubled glance at him, she complied.
“The little baby was lost soon after,” she explained. “It went out with a nurse; one of Jane’s girls took it out in a boat, and the boat must have been run down by some ship.”
And then a light dawned upon Jim.
What ships passed to the east of the Goodwins (for it was near there that the disaster must have occurred) on the day of the tragedy? He must find it out immediately and he must take the letter from Jane to her friend in order to place it before Septimus Salter. Here, however, the woman demurred, and Jim, sitting down again, told her plainly and frankly all his fears and suspicions.
“What, that beautiful girl I saw in Jane’s house?” said Mrs. Weatherwale in amazement. “You don’t tell me!”
“I do,” said Jim. “She has the mark on her wrist, a burn, and now I remember! Mrs. Groat knows she is the daughter of Lady Mary, too! It was the sight of that scar which brought about her stroke.”
“I don’t want any harm to happen to Jane, she hasn’t been a bad friend of mine, but it seems to me only justice to the young lady that she should have the letter. As a matter of fact, I nearly burnt it.”
“Thank God you didn’t,” said Jim fervently.
He carried his prize back by the first train that left for London and dashed into Salter’s office with his news.
“If your theory is correct,” said the old man when he had finished, “there ought not to be any difficulty in discovering the link between the child’s disappearance and her remarkable appearance in Cape Town as Eunice Weldon. We have had confirmation from South Africa that Eunice Weldon did die at this tender age, so, therefore, your Eunice cannot be the same girl. I should advise you to get busy because the day after tomorrow I hand over the Danton estate to Mrs. Groat’s new lawyers, and from what I can see of things,” said Mr. Salter grimly, “it is Digby Groat’s intention to sell immediately the whole of the Danton property.”
“Does that amount to much?”
“It represents more than three-quarters of the estate,” said the lawyer to Jim’s surprise. “The Lakeside properties are worth four hundred thousand pounds, they include about twenty-four homesteads and six fairly big farms. You remember he came here some time ago to question us as to whether he had the right of sale. I had a talk with Bennetts—they are his new solicitors—only this morning,” Mr. Salter went on stroking his big chin thoughtfully, “and it is pretty clear that Digby intends selling out. He showed Bennett the Power of Attorney which his mother gave him this morning.”
The lawyer was faithfully interpreting Digby Groat’s intentions. The will which Eunice had found had shocked him. He was determined that he should not be at the mercy of a capricious old woman who he knew disliked him as intensely as he hated her, and he had induced his mother to change her lawyers, not so much because he had any prejudice against Salter, but because he needed a new solicitor who would carry through the instructions which Salter would question.
Digby was determined to turn the lands and revenues of the Danton Estate into solid cash—cash which he could handle, and once it was in his bank he would breathe more freely.
That was the secret of his business in the city, the formation of a syndicate to take over the Danton properties on a cash basis, and he had so well succeeded in interesting several wealthy financiers in the scheme, that it wanted but the stroke of a pen to complete the deal.
“Aren’t there sufficient facts now,” asked Jim, “to prove that Eunice is Lady Mary’s daughter?”
Salter shook his head.
“No,” he said, “you must get a closer connection of evidence. But as I say, it should not be very difficult for you to do that. You know the date the child disappeared. It was on the 21st June, 1901. To refresh your memory I would remark that it was in that year the Boer War was being fought out.”
Jim’s first call was at the Union African Steamship Company, and he made that just when the office was closing.
Fortunately the assistant manager was there, took him into the office and made a search of his records.
“None of our ships left London River on the 20th or 21st June,” he said, “and, anyway, only our intermediate boats sail from there. The mail steamers sail from Southampton. The last ship to pass Southampton was the Central Castle. She was carrying troops to South Africa and she called at Plymouth on the 20th, so she must have passed Margate three days before.”
“What other lines of steamers run to South Africa?”
The manager gave him a list, and it was a longer one than Jim had expected.
He hurried home to break the news to Lady Mary, but she was out. Her maid, the mysterious Madge Benson, said she had left and did not expect to be back for two or three days, and Jim remembered that Lady Mary had talked of going to Paris.
“Do you know where she would stay in Paris?”
“I don’t even know she’s gone to Paris, sir,” said the woman with a smile. “Lady Mary never tells me her plans.”
Jim groaned.
There was
