“You claim, sir, to be the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared so many years ago?” he asked, eyeing the claimant over.
“I claim to be exactly what I am, Mr. Carless,” answered the visitor with another ready and pleasant smile. “I hope your memory will come to your aid.”
“When a man has disappeared—absolutely—for something like thirty-five years,” remarked Mr. Carless, “those whom he has left behind may well be excused if their memories don’t readily respond to sudden demands. But I should like to ask you some questions? Did you see the advertisements which were issued, broadcast, at the time of the seventh Earl of Ellingham’s death?”
“Yes—in several English and Colonial papers,” answered the claimant.
“Why did you not reply to them?”
“At that time I still persevered in my intention of never again having anything to do with my old life. I had no desire—at all—to come forward and claim my rights. So I took no notice of your advertisements.”
“And since then—of late, to be exact—you have changed your mind?” suggested Mr. Carless dryly.
“To a certain extent only,” replied the visitor, whose calm assurance was evidently impressing the legal practitioners around him. “I have already told Mr. Methley and his partner, Mr. Woodlesford, that I have no desire to assume my title nor to require possession of the estates which are certainly mine. I have lived a free life too long to wish for—what I should come in for if I established my claim. But I have a right to a share in the property which I quite willingly resign to my nephew—”
“In plain language,” said Mr. Carless, “if you are paid a certain considerable sum of money, you will vanish again into the obscurity from whence you came? Am I right in that supposition?”
“I don’t like your terminology, Mr. Carless,” answered the visitor with a slight frown. “I have not lived in obscurity, and—”
“If you are what you claim to be, sir, you are Earl of Ellingham,” said Mr. Carless firmly, “and I may as well tell you at once that if you prove to us that you are, your nephew, who now holds title and estates, will at once relinquish both. There will be no bargaining. It is all or nothing. Our client, whom we know as Earl of Ellingham, is not going to traffic. If you are what you claim to be, you are head of the family and must take your place.”
“We could have told you that once for all, if you had come to us in the first instance,” remarked Mr. Driver. “Any other idea is out of the question. It seems to me most remarkable that such a notion as that which you suggest should ever enter your head, sir. If you are Earl of Ellingham, you are!”
“And that reminds me,” said Mr. Carless, “that there is another question I should like to ask. Why, knowing that we have been legal advisers to your family for several generations, did you not come straight to us, instead of going—Mr. Methley, I’m sure, will pardon me—to a firm of solicitors which, as far as I know, has never had any connection with it!”
“I thought it best to employ absolutely independent advice,” replied the visitor. “And I still think I was right. For example, you evidently do not admit my claim?”
“We certainly admit nothing, at present!” declared Mr. Carless with a laugh. “It would be absurd to expect it. The proofs which your solicitors showed us this morning are no proofs at all. That those papers belonged to the missing Lord Marketstoke there is no doubt, but your possession of them at present does not prove that you are Lord Marketstoke or Lord Ellingham. They may have been stolen!”
The claimant rose from his chair with a good deal of dignity. He glanced at Methley.
“I do not see that any good can come of this interview, Mr. Methley,” he remarked in quiet, level tones. “I am evidently to be treated as an impostor. In that case,”—he bowed ceremoniously to the men gathered around Mr. Carless’ desk—“I think it best to withdraw.”
Therewith he walked out of the room; and Methley, after a quiet word with Carless, followed—to be stopped in the corridor, for a second time that day, by Viner, who had hurried after him.
“I’m not going to express any opinion on what we’ve just heard,” whispered Viner, drawing Methley aside, “but in view of what I told you this morning, there’s something I want you to do for me.”
“Yes!” said Methley. “What?”
“That unlucky fellow Hyde, who is on remand, is to be brought before the magistrate tomorrow morning,” answered Viner. “Get him—this claimant there, to attend the court as a spectator—go with him! Use any argument you like, but get him there! I’ve a reason—which I’ll explain later.”
“I’ll do my best,” promised Methley. “And I’ve an idea of what’s on your mind. You want to find out if Hyde can recognize him as the man whom he met at the Markendale Square end of Lonsdale Passage?”
“Well, that is my idea!” assented Viner. “So get him there.”
Methley nodded and turned away; then he turned back and pointed at Carless’ room.
“What do they really think in there?” he whispered. “Tell me—between ourselves?”
“That he is an impostor, and that there’s a conspiracy,” replied Viner.
Methley nodded again, and Viner went back. The men whom he had left were talking excitedly.
“It was the only course to take!” Mr. Carless was declaring. “Uncompromising hostility! We could do no other. You saw—quite well—that he was all for money. I will engage that we could have settled with him for one half of what he asked. But—who is he?”
“The middle finger of his right hand is gone!” said Mr. Pawle, who had been very quiet and thoughtful during the recent proceedings. “Remember that, Carless!”
“A most extraordinary coincidence!” exclaimed Mr. Carless excitedly. “I don’t care twopence what anybody says—we all know that the most surprising coincidences do
