Viner, glancing at Lord Ellingham and at Mr. Carless, saw that Mr. Pawle’s words had impressed them greatly, the solicitor especially. He nodded sympathetically, and Mr. Pawle went on speaking.
“Listen here, Carless!” he continued. “Mr. Viner and I have been investigating this case as far as we could, largely to save a man whom we both believe to be absolutely innocent of murder. I have come to certain conclusions. John Ashton, many years ago, fell in with the missing Lord Marketstoke, then living under the name of Wickham, in Australia, and they became close friends. At some time or other, Wickham told Ashton the real truth about himself, and when he died, left his little daughter—”
Carless looked sharply round.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “So there’s a daughter?”
“There is a daughter, and her name is Avice—a name borne by a good many women of the Cave-Gray family,” answered Mr. Pawle with a significant glance at his fellow-practitioner. “But let me go on: Wickham left his daughter, her mother being dead, in Ashton’s guardianship. She was then about six years of age. Ashton sent her to school here in England. About twelve or thirteen years later, he came home and settled in Markendale Square. He brought Avice Wickham to live with him. He handed over to her a considerable sum, which, he said, her father had left in his hands for her. And then, secretly, Ashton went down to Marketstoke and evidently made certain inquiries and investigations. Whether he was going to reveal the truth as to what I have just told you, we don’t know—probably he was. But he was murdered, and we all know when and where. And I say he was murdered for the sake of these very papers which we now know were produced to Methley and Woodlesford by this claimant. Now, then—”
Mr. Carless suddenly bent forward.
“A moment, Pawle!” he said. “If this man Wickham really was the lost Lord Marketstoke, and he’s dead, and he left a daughter, and the daughter’s alive—”
“Well?” demanded Mr. Pawle. “Well?”
“Why, then, of course, that daughter,” said Mr. Carless slowly, “that daughter is—”
A clerk opened the door and glanced at his employer.
“Mr. Methley and Mr. Woodlesford, sir,” he announced. “By appointment.”
XVIII
Let Him Appear!
The meeting between the solicitors suggested to Viner and to Lord Ellingham, who looked on curiously while they exchanged formal greetings and explanations, a certain solemnity—each of them seemed to imply in look and manner that this was an unusually grave occasion. And Mr. Carless, assuming the direction of things, became almost judicial in his deportment.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, when they had all gathered about his desk. “Lord Ellingham has informed me of what passed between you and himself at his house yesterday. In plain language, the client whom you represent claims to be the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared so completely many years ago, and therefore the rightful Earl of Ellingham. Now, a first question—do you, as his legal advisers, believe in his claim?”
“Judging by the proofs with which he has furnished us, yes,” answered Methley. “There seems to be no doubt of it.”
“We’ll ask for these proofs presently,” remarked Mr. Carless. “But now a further question: Your client—whom we’ll now call the claimant—had, I understand, no desire to take up his rightful position, and suggests that the secret shall remain a secret, and that he shall be paid a hundred thousand pounds to hold his tongue?”
“If you put it that way—yes,” replied Methley.
“I don’t know in what other way it could be put,” said Mr. Carless grimly. “It’s the plain truth. But now, if Lord Ellingham refuses that offer, does your client intend to commence proceedings?”
“Our instructions are—yes,” answered Methley.
“Very good,” said Mr. Carless. “Now, then—what are these proofs?”
Methley turned to his partner, who immediately thrust a hand in his breastpocket and produced a long envelope.
“I have them here,” said Woodlesford. “Our client entrusted them to us so that we might show them to Lord Ellingham, if necessary. There are not many documents—they all relate to the period of our client’s life before he left England. There are one or two important letters from his father, the seventh Earl, two or three from his mother; there is also his mother’s will. There is one letter from his younger brother, to whom he had evidently, more than once, announced his determination of leaving home for a considerable time. There are two letters from your own firm, relating to some property which Lord Marketstoke disposed of before he left London. There is a schedule or memorandum of certain personal effects which he left in his rooms at Ellingham Hall: there is also a receipt from his bankers for a quantity of plate and jewellery which he had deposited with them before leaving—these things had been left him by his mother. There are also two documents which he seems to have considered it worth while to preserve all these years,” concluded Woodlesford with a smile. “One is a letter informing him that he had been elected a member of the M.C.C.; the other is his commission as a justice of the peace for the county of Buckinghamshire.”
As he detailed these things, Woodlesford laid each specified paper before
