The old lawyer was tremulous with excited interest, and Mr. Perkwite was obviously sorry to disappoint him.
“Unfortunately, he did not!” he replied. “He merely told me that he was a man who had lived in Melbourne for some time and had known Marketstoke and himself very intimately—had left Melbourne just after Marketstoke’s death, and had settled in London. No, he did not mention his name.”
“Disappointing!” muttered Mr. Pawle. “That’s the nearest approach to a clue that we’ve had, Perkwite. If we only knew who that man was! But—what more can you tell us?”
“Nothing more, I’m afraid,” answered the barrister. “I promised to call on Ashton when I returned to London, and when he’d started housekeeping, and we parted—I went on next morning to Genoa, and he set off for Paris. He was a pleasant, kindly, sociable fellow,” concluded Mr. Perkwite, “and I was much grieved to hear of his sad fate.”
“He didn’t correspond with you at all after you left him at Marseilles?” asked Mr. Pawle.
“No,” replied the barrister. “No—I never heard of or from him until I read of his murder.”
Pawle turned to Viner.
“I think we’d better tell Perkwite of all that’s happened, within our own ken,” he said, and proceeded to give the visitor a brief account of the various important details. “Now,” he concluded, “it seems to me there’s only one conclusion to be arrived at. The man who shared the secret with Ashton is certainly the man whom Armitstead saw with him in Paris. He is probably the man whom Hyde saw leaving Londsdale Passage, just before Hyde found the body. And he is without doubt the murderer, and is the man to whom this claimant fellow is acting as cat’s-paw. And—who is he?”
“There must be some way of finding that out,” observed Mr. Perkwite. “If your theory is correct, that this claimant is merely a man who is being put forward, then surely the thing to do is to get at the person or persons behind him, through him!”
“Aye, there’s that to be thought of,” asserted Mr. Pawle. “But it may be a tougher job than we think for. It would have been a tremendous help if Ashton had only mentioned a name to you.”
“Sorry, but he didn’t,” said Mr. Perkwite. “You feel,” he continued after a moment’s silence, “you feel that this affair of the Ellingham succession lies at the root of the Ashton mystery—that he was really murdered by somebody who wanted to get possession of those papers?”
“And to remain sole repository of the secret,” declared Mr. Pawle. “Isn’t it established that beyond yourself and this unknown man nobody but Ashton knew the secret?”
“There is another matter, though,” remarked Viner. He turned to the visitor. “You said that you and Ashton became very friendly and confidential during your stay in Marseilles. Pray, did he never show you anything of a valuable nature which he carried in his pocketbook?”
The barrister’s keen eyes suddenly lighted up with recollection.
“Yes!” he exclaimed. “Now you come to suggest it, he did! A diamond!”
“Ah!” said Mr. Pawle. “So you saw that!”
“Yes, I saw it,” assented Mr. Perkwite. “He showed it to me as a sort of curiosity—a stone which had some romantic history attaching to it. But I was not half as much interested in that as in the other affair.”
“All the same,” remarked Mr. Pawle, “that diamond is worth some fifty or sixty thousand pounds, Perkwite—and it’s missing!”
Mr. Perkwite looked his astonishment.
“You mean—he had it on him when he was murdered?” he asked.
“So it’s believed,” replied Mr. Pawle.
“In that case it might form a clue,” said the barrister.
“When it’s heard of,” admitted Mr. Pawle, with a grim smile. “Not till then!”
“From what we have heard,” remarked Viner, “Ashton carried that diamond in the pocketbook which contained his papers—the papers you have told me of, and some of which have certainly come into possession of this claimant person. Now, whoever stole the papers, of course got the diamond.”
Mr. Perkwite seemed to consider matters during a moment’s silence; finally he turned to the old lawyer.
“I have been thinking over something that might be done,” he said. “I see that the coroner’s inquest was adjourned. Now, as that inquest is, of course, being held to inquire into the circumstances of Ashton’s death, I suggest that I should come forward as a witness and should prove that Ashton showed certain papers relating to the Ellingham peerage to me at Marseilles; I can tell the story, as a witness. It can then be proved by you, or by Carless, that a man claiming to be the missing Lord Marketstoke showed these stolen papers to you. In the meantime, get the coroner to summon this man as a witness, and take care that he’s brought to the court. Once there, let him be asked how he came into possession of these papers? Do you see my idea?”
“Capital!” exclaimed Mr. Pawle. “An excellent notion! Much obliged to you, Perkwite. It shall be done—I’ll see to it at once. Yes, to be sure, that will put this fellow in a tight corner.”
“Don’t be surprised if he hasn’t some very clever explanation to give,” said the barrister warningly. “The whole thing is evidently a well-concocted conspiracy. But when is the adjourned inquest?”
“Day after tomorrow,” replied Mr. Pawle, after glancing at his desk-diary.
“And tomorrow morning,” remarked Viner, “Hyde comes up before the magistrate again, on remand.”
He was half-minded to tell Mr. Pawle there and then of his secret dealings with Methley that day, but on reflection he decided that he would keep the matter to himself. Viner had an idea which he
