Mr. Carless suddenly pointed to the ornament which Miss Wickham was wearing.
“Will you take that off, and let me look at it?” he asked. “Thank you,” he said, as she somewhat surprisedly obeyed. “I believe,” he continued, as he quietly passed the ornament to Lord Ellingham, “that Mr. Ashton gave you this and told you it had belonged to your father? Just so! Well,” he concluded, handing the ornament back, “I think that’s all. Much obliged to you, Miss Wickham. You won’t understand all this, but you will, later. Now, one of my clerks will get you a car, and we’ll escort you down to it.”
“No,” said Lord Ellingham, promptly jumping to his feet. “Allow me—I’m youngest. If Miss Wickham will let me—”
The two young people went out of the room together, and the three men left behind looked at each other. There was a brief and significant silence.
“Well, Carless?” said Mr. Pawle at last. “How now?”
“ ’Pon my honour,” answered Mr. Carless, “I shouldn’t wonder if you’re right!”
XX
Surprising Readiness
Mr. Pawle made a gesture which seemed to denote a certain amount of triumphant self-satisfaction.
“I’m sure I’m right!” he exclaimed. “You’ll find out that I’m right! But there’s a tremendous lot to do, Carless. If only that unfortunate man, Ashton, had lived, he could have cleared this matter up at once. I feel convinced that he possessed papers which would have proved this girl’s claim beyond dispute. Those papers, of course—”
“Now, what particular papers are you thinking of?” interrupted Mr. Carless.
“Well,” replied Mr. Pawle, “such papers as proofs of her father’s marriage, and of her own birth. According to what she told us just now, her father was married in Australia, and she herself was born there. There must be documentary proof of that.”
“Her father was probably married under his assumed name of Wickham,” observed Mr. Carless. “You’ll have to prove that Wickham and Lord Marketstoke were identical—were one and the same person. The fact is, Pawle, if this girl’s claim is persisted in, there’ll have to be a very searching inquiry made in Australia. However much I may feel that your theory may be—probably is—right, I should have to advise my client, Lord Ellingham, to insist on the most complete investigation.”
“To be sure, to be sure!” assented Mr. Pawle. “That’s absolutely necessary. But my own impression is that as we get into the secret of Ashton’s murder, as I make no doubt we shall, there will be more evidence forthcoming. Now, as regards this man, whoever he is, who claims to be the missing Lord Marketstoke—”
At that moment a clerk entered the room and glanced at Mr. Carless.
“Telephone message from Methley and Woodlesford, sir,” he announced. “Mr. Methley’s compliments, and if agreeable to you, he can bring his client on to see you this afternoon—at once, if convenient.”
Mr. Carless looked at Mr. Pawle, and Mr. Pawle nodded a silent assent.
“Tell Mr. Methley it’s quite agreeable and convenient,” answered Mr. Carless. “I shall be glad to see them both—at once. Um!” he muttered when the clerk had withdrawn. “Somewhat sudden, eh, Pawle? You might almost call it suspicious alacrity. Evidently the gentleman has no fear of meeting us!”
“You may be quite certain, Carless, if my theory about the whole thing is a sound theory, that the gentleman will have no fear of meeting anybody, not even a judge and jury!” answered Mr. Pawle sardonically. “If I apprehend things rightly, he’ll have been very carefully coached and prepared.”
“You think there’s a secret conspiracy behind all this?” suggested Mr. Carless. “With this claimant as cat’s-paw—well tutored to his task?”
“I do!” affirmed Mr. Pawle. “Emphatically, I do!”
“Aye, well!” said Mr. Carless. “Don’t forget what I told you about the missing finger—middle finger of the right hand. And I’ll have Driver in here, and Portlethwaite, too; we’ll see if he knows which is which of the three of us. I’ll go and prepare them.”
He returned presently with his partner, a quiet, elderly man; a few minutes later Portlethwaite, evidently keenly interested, joined them. They and Mr. Pawle began to discuss certain legal matters connected with the immediate business, and Viner purposely withdrew to a corner of the room, intent on silently watching whatever followed on the arrival of the visitors. A quarter of an hour later Methley was shown into the room, and the five men gathered there turned with one accord to look at his companion, a tall, fresh-coloured, slightly grey-haired man of distinctly high-bred appearance, who, Viner saw at once, was much more self-possessed and assured in manner than any of the men who rose to meet him.
“My client, Mr. Cave, who claims to be Earl of Ellingham,” said Methley, by way of introduction. “Mr. Car—”
But the other man smiled quietly and immediately assumed a lead.
“There is no need of introduction, Mr. Methley,” he said. “I remember all three gentlemen perfectly! Mr. Carless—Mr. Driver—and—yes, to be sure, Mr. Portlethwaite! I have a good memory for faces.” He bowed to each man as he named him, and smiled again. “Whether these gentlemen remember me as well as I remember them,” he remarked, “is another question!”
“May I offer you a chair?” said Mr. Carless.
The visitor bowed, sat down, and took off his gloves. And in the silence which followed, Viner saw that the eyes of Driver, Carless, Pawle and Portlethwaite were all steadily directed on the claimant’s right hand—he himself turned to it, too, with no small interest. The next instant he was conscious that an atmosphere of astonishment and surprise had been set up in that room. For the middle finger of the man’s right hand was missing!
Viner felt, rather than saw, that the three solicitors and the elderly clerk were exchanging glances of amazement. And he fancied that Mr. Carless’ voice, which had sounded cold and noncommittal as he