two elderly solicitors, refreshed by some attention to the toilet at Linthwaite’s chambers and by a cup of coffee hastily prepared by his bedmaker, who, having diligently read the Sentinel for the last few days, was unfeignedly surprised to see him alive and well, drove up to the Grosvenor Hotel at eight o'clock and, presenting themselves at the office, asked for Mrs. Byfield. And they were at once plunged into further mystery.
"Mrs. Byfield is not here," replied the clerk. "She was here yesterday for a few hours, but she left again early in the afternoon. Mr. Fanshawe Byfield is here, and Miss Byfield."
"Better see Fanshawe at once," muttered Semmerby. "Will you send up to Mr. Fanshawe Byfield’s room?" he added, turning to the clerk. "Tell him—however, here’s my card.
"Now, what’s the meaning of this?" he went on as he and Linthwaite turned away to wait. "What’s this woman mean by rushing up to town with these two, leaving them here, and going off again? Where’s she gone? And what’s it all about?"
"She’ll have reasons, of course," replied Linthwaite. "I only hope she hasn’t gone to meet those infernal Melsomes. There’s no doubt that Charles has been blackmailing her for the last two years, and if he and his precious brother get hold of her, why, I don’t know what they mayn’t do!
"You know what the poor woman’s, position is! Naturally, she doesn’t want all Selchester—a little, provincial-minded place—to know her secret, and those two are capable of anything. I wish I’d never had dealings with them. They'll probably say to her: 'Make it worth our while, or out comes the whole truth!'
"My opinion, Semmerby, is that your clerk’s been in league with Charles Melsome, whom you know better as Mesham, and that Charles is now in the happy possession of these securities. Then, of course, he’ll make Mrs. Byfield pay for silence, and the Byfield fortune will go where it was never meant to go."
"Not if I know anything!" growled Semmerby. He glanced round and saw the man who had taken his card beckoning him to the lift. "Come along!" he continued. "We'd better be careful what we say to this lad, Linthwaite," he added, as they were carried upward. "My own impression, from what your nephew told me, is that Fanshawe Byfield is in the dark as yet."
"I shall leave the saying to you," replied Linthwaite, "I'm a stranger. He doesn't know me."
Fanshawe, encountered in the act of brushing his hair, stared hard at the family solicitor's companion.
"Hallo, Mr. Semmerby!" he exclaimed. "What brings you here? Nothing wrong, I hope?"
"This gentleman is Mr. Linthwaite, who was lost," said Semmerby, brusquely. "He's come to light again."
Fanshawe laid down his brushes and grasped Linthwaite's hand.
"Very glad to hear that, sir!" he exclaimed heartily. "There's been a nice old row about you. But what does it all mean?"
"You'll hear plenty about it in time," growled Semmerby. He carefully closed the door and sat down on the edge of Fanshawe's bed. "Where's your mother?" he demanded, "They say downstairs that she was here yesterday and went off, again. Where's she gone?"
Fanshawe, who was sprinkling bay rum over his fair hair, set the bottle down with a bang.
"I don't know where my mother is!" he answered. "I've no more idea than you have, perhaps less. She and my cousin Georgina worked up some dodge or other on Sunday night. I wasn't to ask questions, and I haven't asked questions.
"We all came here yesterday morning. My mother was out, somewhere, for an hour. Then she came back and had lunch. Then she went off again, saying she wouldn't be back till to-day, and we were to—well, just, to stop here till she returned.
"You know what my mother's like about business matters, Mr. Semmerby—she'll tell nobody anything until she wants to. So I didn't press her for any explanations. Georgie and I went to the theatre last night. We'd a good time, anyhow! And I guess my mother will turn up when she's done what she came up for."
"You haven't any idea what she came up for?" asked Semmerby.
"Not the remotest!" replied Fanshawe, carefully arranging his cravat. "I tell you, I was told to ask no questions. Georgina told me."
"Where's your cousin, then?" demanded Semmerby.
"In her room, I should think," said Fanshawe, "I arranged to meet her at breakfast at eight-thirty. You gentlemen had better join us."
"You seem mightily unconcerned young man!" remarked Semmerby.