“We should be very sorry to be mixed up in any way with an impostor, Mr. Carless!” said Methley.
Mr. Carless pursed his lips for a moment as if he were never going to open them again; then he suddenly relaxed them.
“I tell you what it is, gentlemen!” he said. “I’m only anticipating matters in saying what I’m going to say, and I’m saying it because I feel sure you are quite sincere and genuine in this affair and are being deceived. If you will bring your client here, there are three of us in this office who, as my old clerk has just reminded me, can positively identify him on the instant if he is the man he claims to be. Positively, I say, and at once! There!”
“May one ask how?” said Woodlesford.
“No!” exclaimed Mr. Carless. “Bring him! Telephone an appointment—and we’ll settle the matter as soon as he sets foot inside that door.”
“May we tell him that?” asked Methley.
“You can do as you like,” answered Mr. Carless. “Between ourselves, I shouldn’t! But I assure you—we can tell in one glance! That’s a fact!”
The two solicitors went away; and Viner, who had closely watched Methley during the interview, followed them out and hailed Methley in the corridor outside Mr. Carless’ room.
“May I have a word with you?” he asked, drawing him aside. “I don’t know if you remember, but I saw you the other night in the parlour of that old tavern in Notting Hill—you came in while I was there?”
“I had some idea that I remembered your face when we were introduced just now,” said Methley. “Yes, I think I do remember—you were sitting in a corner near the hearth?”
“Just so,” agreed Viner. “And I heard you ask the landlord a question about a gentleman whom you used to meet there sometimes—you left some specimen cigars with the landlord for him.”
“Yes,” assented Methley wonderingly.
“You never knew that man’s name?” continued Viner. “Nor who he was? Just so—so I gathered. Then I’ll tell you. There was a good reason why he had not been to that tavern for some nights. He was John Ashton, the man who was murdered in Lonsdale Passage!”
Viner was watching his man with all the keenness of which he was capable, and he saw that this announcement fell on Methley as an absolute surprise. He started as only a man can start who has astounding news given to him suddenly.
“God bless me!” he exclaimed. “You don’t mean it! Of course, I know about that murder—our own district. And I saw Ashton’s picture in the paper—but then there are so many elderly men of that type—broad features, trimmed grey beard! Dear me, dear me! A very pleasant, genial fellow. I’m astonished, Mr. Viner.”
Viner resolved on a bold step—he would take it without consulting Mr. Pawle or anybody. He drew Methley further aside.
“Mr. Methley,” he said. “You’re a man of honour, and I trust you with a secret, to be kept until I release you from the obligation of secrecy. I have reasons for getting at the truth about Ashton’s murder—so has Mr. Pawle. He and I have been making investigations and inquiries, and we are convinced, we are positive, that these papers which your partner now has in his pocket were stolen from Ashton’s dead body—that, in fact, Ashton was murdered for the possession of them. And I tell you, for your own sake—find out who this client of yours is! That he was the actual murderer I don’t believe for a second—he is probably a mere cat’s-paw. But—who’s behind him? If you can do anything to find out the truth, do it!”
That Methley was astonished beyond belief was so evident that Viner was now absolutely convinced of his sincerity. He stood staring open-mouthed for a moment: then he glanced at Woodlesford, who was waiting at some distance along the corridor.
“Mr. Viner!” he said. “You amaze me! Listen: my partner is as sound and honest a fellow as there is in all London. Let me tell him this—I’ll engage for his secrecy. If you’ll consent to that, I’ll see that, without a word from us as to why, this man who claims to be the missing Lord Marketstoke is brought here. If what you say is true, we are not going to be partners to a crime. Let me tell Woodlesford—I’ll answer for him.”
Viner considered this proposition for a moment.
“Very well!” he said at last. “Tell him—I shall trust you both. Remember—it’s between the three of us. I shan’t say a word to Pawle, nor to Carless. You know there’s a man’s life at stake—Hyde’s! Hyde is as innocent as I am—he’s an old schoolfellow of mine.”
“I understand,” said Methley. “Very well, trust to me, Mr. Viner.”
He went off with a reassuring nod, and Viner returned to Mr. Carless’ room. The three men he had left there were deep in conversation, and as he entered, Mr. Carless smote his hand on the desk before him.
“This is certain!” he exclaimed. “We must have this Miss Avice Wickham here—at once!”
XIX
Under Examination
Mr. Pawle nodded assent to this proposition and rose from his chair.
“It’s the only thing to do,” he said. “We must get to the bottom of this as quickly as possible—whether Miss Wickham can tell us much or little, we must know what she can tell. Let us all meet here again at three o’clock—I will send one of my clerks to fetch her. But let us be clear on one point—are we to tell this young lady what our conclusions are, regarding herself?”
“Your conclusions!” said Mr. Carless, with a sly smile. “We know nothing yet, you know, Pawle.”
“My conclusions, then,” assented Mr. Pawle. “Are we—”
Lord Ellingham quietly interrupted the old lawyer.
“Pardon me, Mr. Pawle,” he said, “but before we go any further, do you mind telling me, briefly, what your conclusions really are!”
“I will tell your lordship in a few words,” answered Mr. Pawle, readily. “Wrong or right, my
