"We cannot, of course, say positively who our client is or who he is not," he said. "All we can say is that he came to us with an introduction from an old client of ours whom we knew very well, and that his story seems to us to be quite credible. No doubt he can bring further proof.

That he did not come here in the first instance--"

"I'll tell you why I, personally, am very much surprised that he didn't,"

interrupted Mr. Carless. "You told Lord Ellingham yesterday that your client saw no end of advertis.e.m.e.nts for him at the time of his father's death. Now, we, Carless and Driver, sent out those advertis.e.m.e.nts--our name was appended to every one of them, wherever they appeared. Why, then, when this man--if he is the real man--returned home, did he not come to us? For there are three persons in this office who--but wait!"

He touched a bell; the clerk who had announced Methley and Woodlesford put his head in at the door.

"Ask Mr. Portlethwaite to come here," commanded Mr. Carless. "And just find out if Mr. Driver is in his room. Portlethwaite can tell me when he comes."

An elderly, grey-haired man presently appeared and closed the door behind him as if aware of the sacred nature of the proceedings.

"Mr. Driver is out, Mr. Carless," he said. "You wanted me, I think?"

"Our senior clerk," observed Mr. Carless, by way of introduction.

"Portlethwaite, you remember the Lord Marketstoke who disappeared some thirty-five years ago?"

Mr. Portlethwaite smiled.

"Quite well, Mr. Carless!" he answered. "As if it were yesterday. He used to come here a good deal, you know."

"Do you think you'd know him again, Portlethwaite, after all these years?" asked Mr. Carless. "Thirty-five years, mind!"

The elderly clerk smiled--more a.s.suredly than before. Then he looked significantly at a corner of the room, and Mr. Carless took the hint, and rising from his chair, went aside with him. Portlethwaite whispered something in his employer's ear, and Carless suddenly laughed and nodded.

"To be sure--to be sure--I remember now!" he said aloud. "Thank you, Portlethwaite: that's all. Well, gentlemen," he continued, returning to his desk when the clerk had gone. "I think the best thing you can do is to bring your client here--if he is the real and genuine article, he will, I am sure, be very glad indeed to meet three persons who knew him quite intimately in the old days--Mr. Driver, Mr. Portlethwaite and myself. And I really don't know that there's any more to do or say."

The two visitors rose, and Methley looked at Mr. Carless in a questioning fashion.

"Am I to go away with the impression that you believe our client to be an impostor?" he said quietly.

"Frankly I do!" answered Mr. Carless.

"So do I!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "Emphatically so!"

"In that case," said Methley, "I see no advantage in bringing him here."

"Not even anything to your own advantage?" suggested Mr. Carless, with a keen glance which pa.s.sed from one partner to the other. "You, as reputable pract.i.tioners of our profession, don't want to be mixed up with an impostor?"

"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 antic.i.p.ating 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 a.s.sure 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," a.s.sented 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 Pa.s.sage!"

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.

"G.o.d 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 rea.s.suring 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!"

CHAPTER XIX

UNDER EXAMINATION