The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn

  CHAPTER XI

  Whether to keep a matter to themselves, or to take the public into theirconfidence, is a question to which the police never seem able to give adecided answer. There are occasions, of course, in which secrecy isplainly indicated, but with respect to the majority of cases they aretoo much inclined to the same course of procedure.

  Touching the disappearance of Morris Thornton they had hithertodeliberately kept any statement about it from the newspapers, and thefacts were known only to a few. And Detective-inspector Gale was ofopinion that it was better to go on with his inquiries as quietly aspossible. But Gilbert Eversleigh could not agree with him.

  "I am for giving his disappearance the widest publicity," said Gilbert,in conversation with the officer, on the day subsequent to that on whichhe first saw him. "It is probable that we will hear something in thisway. You must confess that up to the present you have accomplishednothing, Mr. Gale. Is it not so?"

  "Yes, that is quite true; but I have not given up the hope of doingsomething soon."

  "That's all very well, but you must pardon me if I tell you I am notsatisfied. I have consulted Miss Thornton, and she is with me inthinking that the occurrence should be made public."

  "That is Miss Thornton's wish?"

  "Yes; and she also desires my father's firm to offer a large reward toany one who can furnish the information we want. Still, they will hardlylike to act in that way if you have any substantial objection to offer."

  Gale reflected for a few moments.

  "You are sure that Miss Thornton will not mind?" he asked, the questionshowing the direction of his thoughts. "It will not be exactly pleasantfor her to see her father's name in the papers."

  "She is suffering intensely as it is," replied Gilbert, "but the affairis too serious for her to give way to personal feelings of that sort;indeed, if the papers give great prominence to it, she will be pleasedrather than the reverse, for she thinks, and so do I, that something maycome of it."

  "What reward does she think of offering?"

  "A thousand pounds."

  "A large sum! It might tempt some one."

  "Tempt some one?" repeated Gilbert. "What do you mean?"

  "Well," returned the officer, speaking slowly and thoughtfully, "let usconsider the case. You know that I think Mr. Thornton either disappearedintentionally----"

  "I thought you had rather given that idea up," interposed Gilbert.

  "Still, it's a possibility, though there is a good argument on thesurface--on the surface, mind, I say--against it in the state of hishealth. A man in his precarious condition was not likely to embark onsuch an adventure as an intentional disappearance implies. Still, as Isaid, it is a possibility. Now, if his disappearance was intentional, hemust be living somewhere, and must be in contact with other humanbeings. That is so, is it not?"

  "Yes."

  "While offering the large reward you mentioned, you would at the sametime give a full description of him. That description might be seen byone or more of those with whom he associates. In this manner informationmight be obtained. There is another point, too, and it is that if aftera time no such information was forthcoming, then the other hypothesiswill be vastly strengthened."

  "By the other hypothesis you intend the idea that he was murdered, Isuppose?" asked Gilbert.

  "Yes. As I have already told you, I fear that will turn out to be thetrue reading of the mystery. The more I think of it, the more certain Ifeel about it. There is, however, a third hypothesis, but it seems sohighly improbable that it is hardly worth mentioning. It is that Mr.Thornton committed suicide."

  "Suicide! Impossible!"

  "It is very highly improbable," said Gale, "but, pardon me, notimpossible. I wonder how many things are really impossible?" hecontinued, on what was a favourite theme of his. "If you knew but atithe of the things ordinarily called impossible that I have found notto be impossible at all! But I digress. Well, with regard to his havingcommitted suicide, it was no great distance from his hotel to theriver."

  "Oh, Mr. Gale, this is absurd. Why should he commit suicide?"

  "The only reason that can give the slightest colour to such asupposition is that he suffered terribly from his heart--the pain inthese attacks is usually frightful--and he might have felt that ratherthan stand another he would prefer to die; or again, it might be that hewas slightly out of his mind because of the pain. But I don't really putthis hypothesis forward as one that is probable. No. I am afraid he wasmurdered. Still, even in that case, the large sum you offer might temptsome one--some one who perhaps saw the deed done, or had his suspicionsabout something he saw--to come forward with useful information."

  "It might even tempt an accomplice--that is, if there were anaccomplice, might it not?" asked Gilbert eagerly.

  "It might, though it's not at all likely."

  "But you withdraw your opposition to making public the disappearance ofMr. Thornton?"

  "Yes, though I do not advise it. I hope it will not annoy Miss Thorntonvery much, but I fear she may be troubled with newspaper reporters."

  "Cannot you refer them to me or to my father?"

  "I shall do so, but if they can ferret her out they will, you may besure."

  "Oh, I dare say I shall be able to baffle them," declared Gilbert. "Now,will you assist me in drawing up a statement for publication?"

  Before Gilbert left Scotland Yard a brief but succinct account of thedisappearance of Morris Thornton was put into writing. Then followed adescription of Thornton, taken from the detective-inspector'snote-book, who, in his turn, had got the particulars from certainmembers of the staff of the Law Courts Hotel. Further, Mr. Gale draftedwhat he thought should go into the advertisement, offering the reward ofa thousand pounds, and this Gilbert took to his father. On his way toLincoln's Inn he stopped at a typewriting establishment, and gaveinstructions to have copies made of the account of the disappearance,and to send one to each of the London papers.

  "This will be enough," thought he, "to set the ball rolling."

  Next he saw Francis Eversleigh, who, he found to his surprise, wasagainst inserting the advertisement. The older man, who had his ownbitter, gnawing, consuming anxieties of which the younger guessednothing, had a glimmering notion that to advertise the reward wassomehow likely to precipitate a crisis in his affairs and bring aboutexposure. But, backboneless as usual, he was easily over-ruled by hisson. The advertisement was made out, typewritten, manifolded, and alsosent to all the London journals.

  The day following, Gilbert had ample proof that he had set the ballrolling with a vengeance. Pressmen, it seemed to him, descended upon himfrom every quarter of the town, eager, clamorous, importunate,determined not to be sent empty away. But, after all, Gilbert had notmuch to tell them. They managed, notwithstanding, to write sensationaland, for the most part, highly over-coloured articles round the missingman. One or two of the evening papers wrote leaders on the subject, andin many ways the public interest in Thornton's disappearance was excitedto the highest pitch. For one thing, his wealth was exaggerated to suchan extent that he was represented as a sort of colonial Croesus, andin London, and throughout the country, people talked of and speculatedabout the man now everywhere described as "The Missing Millionaire."Indeed, the reward of a thousand pounds was hardly needed to stimulatepublic curiosity and sympathy and activity.

  High and low, rich and poor, the man of Mayfair and the man ofWhitechapel, conversed about it with the same relish, the same wonder.The man in the street, shopmen, clerks, labourers, even beggars andoutcasts, all heard of the mysterious disappearance of Thornton, andwere all anxious to know the explanation of so extraordinary a thing. Inbrief, it was the one topic of the moment.

  And the offer of the large reward was not without a certain effect.

  It had become a matter of general knowledge that Morris Thornton, onleaving the Law Courts Hotel, told the porter there that he was goingfor a stroll along Holborn and probably up and down Chancery Lane. Fromthis it fell out that many peo
ple of the amateur detective varietyinvestigated this quarter, especially at night, but without being muchor any the wiser. Yet, indirectly, one of them did better than he knew,for from him a certain human wreck, to whom a doorway in Chancery Lanewas a frequent refuge, learned of the disappearance of Morris Thornton.Inquiring with great earnestness what was the date of Thornton'sdisappearance, he was informed that it was Friday, July 30th. It was nowFriday, August 13th.

  "That is exactly a fortnight ago," said the wreck, with an unmistakablenote of exultation in his voice. "The very night--the very night," hemuttered, but so indistinctly that the other could not catch the words.

  "What is it you say?" he asked, but the wreck declined to satisfy hiscuriosity.

  "Oh, nothing--nothing at all," he replied.

  "Did you happen to be here in this street that night?" inquired theother, suspiciously.

  "Yes, I was."

  "And did you see any thing or any one?"

  "I saw nothing--I saw nobody," said the wreck, promptly.

  But next morning he had a different story to tell.

  He had very good reasons for not going to Scotland Yard, so he betookhimself to the office of Eversleigh, Silwood, and Eversleigh, whose nameappeared at the foot of the advertisement offering the thousand poundsreward. He told his tale to Francis Eversleigh, with whom at that timewas Gilbert. The latter had been hurriedly sent for by his father on amatter of the most urgent importance. They were anxiously discussing it,when Williamson had come in and announced that there was a man below whohad called in answer to the advertisement respecting Thornton'sdisappearance.

  "He says he has information, but he would not disclose it to me,"remarked Williamson, in an injured tone.

  The head-clerk felt hurt that morning. He knew that Francis Eversleighhad received a letter from Italy, and he suspected it had something todo with Mr. Cooper Silwood. He had even ventured to put an indirectquestion about it to Francis Eversleigh, but with no success. Instead,that gentleman had told him to go and fetch Gilbert at once from theTemple, or if he was not there to hunt him up and bring him.

  He now saw from Gilbert's face, as well as from Francis Eversleigh's,that something very grave was being discussed. On the table lay twopapers, one of which was partly printed, while the other was a long,closely-written letter. Before withdrawing, Williamson tried to see whatwas on the former, but could not.

  "I suppose we must have this man in," said Gilbert to his father.

  "Yes, yes," assented Francis. He said it with the air of one to whomnothing could ever much matter again.

  "I cannot bear it--I cannot bear it!" he exclaimed suddenly, afterWilliamson had left the room. "It is too much!"

  "Bear up, father--bear up!" cried Gilbert, little understanding all thatwas in his father's mind.

  But the wreck was at the door.

  Ragged, tattered, with patched boots and a greasy cap, with pinchedfeatures and a general appearance of having gone irremediably to thebad, the wreck yet bore himself well, and when he spoke his language andaccent were those of a gentleman. He looked at the two Eversleighs, andaddressing the older asked if he were Mr. Eversleigh.

  Francis Eversleigh bowed to the wreck, who had once been a gentleman.

  "I am Francis Eversleigh," he said; "this is my son Gilbert. You havesomething to tell us?" he suggested.

  "Yes; but first I wish to say that my information by itself may not beof much use. Still, I think it may put you on the track. If that is thecase, I wish you to promise me that I shall have some share of thereward."

  "That will be only fair."

  "Mr. Thornton," said the wreck, without further preface, "disappeared onthe night of Friday, July 30th. He went out for a stroll in Holborn, andwas to go into Chancery Lane. I was in Chancery Lane that night, and Isaw something that struck me as very curious."

  The wreck paused impressively.

  "What was it you saw?" asked Gilbert.

  "I saw a man," responded the wreck--"some sort of workman he appeared tobe from his dress--come out of the iron gate, the small iron gate at thenorth-east corner of this Inn--Lincoln's Inn."

  "But it's always kept locked at night," objected Francis Eversleigh.

  "It was unlocked that night, at any rate," observed the wreck. "I heardthe sound--it was a low sound, but the night was very still--of theunlocking. I saw the man lock the gate again, and he looked round himlike a man afraid of being spied upon. He did not see me, for I was inthe shadow of a doorway. He seemed to me to be rather flurried.Presently he walked rapidly away. I thought it very strange that aworkman should have the key of the gate and at such an hour. I wonderedwhat it could mean, but I might have forgotten all about it if the sameman had not returned. He had not been gone for more than half an hourwhen back he came, unlocked the gate, and passed on within. I spent thenight in the doorway, but he did not appear again. Very remarkable, wasit not?" asked the wreck.

  "Very remarkable indeed!" said Gilbert, drily.

  "Don't you believe me?" inquired the wreck.

  "I do not see the bearing of what you have told us on the disappearanceof Mr. Thornton. Of course, what you saw was very strange, and should becommunicated to the authorities of the Inn, but I can see no connectionbetween the man who came out of the gate and Mr. Thornton. Do you thinkthere was?"

  "I told you at the beginning that what I had to communicate might not beof much use. I thought, however, it might perhaps fit in with somethingyou knew, or that it might give you a hint," said the wreck, in a toneof dejection.

  "We shall not forget what you have told us," said Gilbert, as the wreckprepared to leave the room. "You should report what you saw to theauthorities of Lincoln's Inn, who will, no doubt, reward you for yourtrouble."

  Gilbert followed him to the door, and put some silver into his hand ashe went out. Then Gilbert closed the door, and sat down beside hisfather.

  "It looks," said he, "as if there were some uncommonly queer goings-onin this old Inn."

  But his father scarcely noticed what he said. Francis Eversleigh's gazewas fastened on the paper lying before him on his table--the paper whichwas partly printed, partly written on.

  It was an official certificate from the Syndic of Camajore in Italy,duly signed and sealed, of the death of Cooper Silwood.