Dead Men's Money

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FAMILY HISTORY

  I was watching Mr. Lindsey pretty closely, being desirous of seeing howhe took to Mr. Gavin Smeaton, and what he made of him, and I saw himprick his ears at this announcement; clearly, it seemed to suggestsomething of interest to him.

  "Aye?" he exclaimed. "Your father hailed from Berwick, or thereabouts?You don't know exactly from where, Mr. Smeaton?"

  "No, I don't," replied Smeaton, promptly. "The truth is, strange as itmay seem, Mr. Lindsey, I know precious little about my father, and what Ido know is mostly from hearsay. I've no recollection of having ever seenhim. And--more wondrous still, you'll say--I don't know whether he'salive or dead!"

  Here, indeed, was something that bordered on the mysterious; and Mr.Lindsey and myself, who had been dealing in that commodity to someconsiderable degree of late, exchanged glances. And Smeaton saw us lookat each other, and he smiled and went on.

  "I was thinking all this out last night," he said, "and it came to me--Iwonder if that man, John Phillips, who had, as I hear, my name andaddress in his pocket, could have been some man who was coming to seeme on my father's behalf, or--it's an odd thing to fancy, and,considering what's happened him, not a pleasant one!--could have been myfather himself?"

  There was silence amongst us for a moment. This was a new vista downwhich we were looking, and it was full of thick shadow. As for me, Ibegan to recollect things. According to the evidence which Chisholm hadgot from the British Linen Bank at Peebles, John Phillips had certainlycome from Panama. Just as certainly he had made for Tweedside. And--withequal certainty--nobody at all had come forward to claim him, to assertkinship with him, though there had been the widest publicity given to thecircumstances of his murder. In Gilverthwaite's instance, his sister hadquickly turned up--to see what there was for her. Phillips had been justas freely mentioned in the newspapers as Gilverthwaite; but no one hadmade inquiries after him, though there was a tidy sum of money of his inthe Peebles bank for his next-of-kin to claim. Who was he, then?

  Mr. Lindsey was evidently deep in thought, or, I should perhaps say, insurmise. And he seemed to arrive where I did--at a question; which was,of course, just that which Smeaton had suggested.

  "I might answer that better if I knew what you could tell me about yourfather, Mr. Smeaton," he said. "And--about yourself."

  "I'll tell you all I can, with pleasure," answered Smeaton. "To tell youthe truth, I never attached much importance to this matter, in spite ofmy name and address being found on Phillips, until Mr. Moneylaws therecame in last night--and then, after what he told me, I did begin to thinkpretty deeply over it, and I'm coming to the opinion that there's a lotmore in all this than appears on the surface."

  "You can affirm that with confidence!" remarked Mr. Lindsey, drily."There is!"

  "Well--about my father," continued Smeaton. "All I know is this--and Igot it from hearsay: His name--the name given to me, anyway--was MartinSmeaton. He hailed from somewhere about Berwick. Whether it was on theEnglish side or the Scottish side of the Tweed I don't know. But hewent to America as a young man, with a young wife, and they were in NewOrleans when I was born. And when I was born, my mother died. So Inever saw her."

  "Do you know her maiden name?" asked Mr. Lindsey.

  "No more than that her Christian name was Mary," replied Smeaton."You'll find out as I go on that it's very little I do know ofanything--definitely. Well, when my mother died, my father evidently leftNew Orleans and went off travelling. I've made out that he must have beena regular rolling stone at all times--a man that couldn't rest long inone place. But he didn't take me with him. There was a Scotsman and hiswife in New Orleans that my father had forgathered with--some people ofthe name of Watson,--and he left me with them, and in their care in NewOrleans I remained till I was ten years old. From my recollection heevidently paid them well for looking after me--there was never, at anytime, any need of money on my account. And of course, never having knownany other, I came to look on the Watsons as father and mother. When I wasten years old they returned to Scotland--here to Dundee, and I came withthem. I have a letter or two that my father wrote at that time givinginstructions as to what was to be done with me. I was to have the besteducation--as much as I liked and was capable of--and, though I didn'tthen, and don't now, know all the details, it's evident he furnishedWatson with plenty of funds on my behalf. We came here to Dundee, and Iwas put to the High School, and there I stopped till I was eighteen, andthen I had two years at University College. Now, the odd thing was thatall that time, though I knew that regular and handsome remittances cameto the Watsons on my behalf from my father, he never expressed anywishes, or made any suggestions, as to what I should do with myself. ButI was all for commercial life; and when I left college, I went into anoffice here in the town and began to study the ins and outs of foreigntrade. Then, when I was just twenty-one, my father sent me a considerablesum--two thousand pounds, as a matter of fact--saying it was for me tostart business with. And, do you know, Mr. Lindsey, from that day--nowten years ago--to this, I've never heard a word of him."

  Mr. Lindsey was always an attentive man in a business interview, but Ihad never seen him listen to anybody so closely as he listened to Mr.Smeaton. And after his usual fashion, he at once began to ask questions.

  "Those Watsons, now," he said. "They're living?"

  "No," replied Smeaton. "Both dead--a few years ago."

  "That's a pity," remarked Mr. Lindsey. "But you'll have recollections ofwhat they told you about your father from their own remembrance of him?"

  "They'd little to tell," said Smeaton. "I made out they knew very littleindeed of him, except that he was a tall, fine-looking fellow, evidentlyof a superior class and education. Of my mother they knew less."

  "You'll have letters of your father's?" suggested Mr. Lindsey.

  "Just a few mere scraps--he was never a man who did more than write downwhat he wanted doing, and as briefly as possible," replied Smeaton. "Infact," he added, with a laugh, "his letters to me were what you mightcall odd. When the money came that I mentioned just now, he wrote me theshortest note--I can repeat every word of it: 'I've sent Watson twothousand pounds for you,' he wrote. 'You can start yourself in businesswith it, as I hear you're inclined that way, and some day I'll come overand see how you're getting along.' That was all!"

  "And you've never heard of or from him since?" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey."That's a strange thing, now. But--where was he then? Where did he sendthe money from?"

  "New York," replied Smeaton. "The other letters I have from him are fromplaces in both North and South America. It always seemed to me and theWatsons that he was never in any place for long--always going about."

  "I should like to see those letters, Mr. Smeaton," said Mr. Lindsey."Especially the last one."

  "They're at my house," answered Smeaton. "I'll bring them down here thisafternoon, and show them to you if you'll call in. But now--do you thinkthis man Phillips may have been my father?"

  "Well," replied Mr. Lindsey, reflectively, "it's an odd thing thatPhillips, whoever he was, drew five hundred pounds in cash out of theBritish Linen Bank at Peebles, and carried it straight away toTweedside--where you believe your father came from. It looks as ifPhillips had meant to do something with that cash--to give it tosomebody, you know."

  "I read the description of Phillips in the newspapers," remarked Smeaton."But, of course, it conveyed nothing to me."

  "You've no photograph of your father?" asked Mr. Lindsey.

  "No--none--never had," answered Smeaton. "Nor any papers of his--exceptthose bits of letters."

  Mr. Lindsey sat in silence for a time, tapping the point of his stick onthe floor and staring at the carpet.

  "I wish we knew what that man Gilverthwaite was wanting at Berwick and inthe district!" he said at last.

  "But isn't that evident?" suggested Smeaton. "He was looking in theparish registers. I've a good mind to have a search made in thosequarters for particulars of my father."
br />   Mr. Lindsey gave him a sharp look.

  "Aye!" he said, in a rather sly fashion. "But--you don't know if yourfather's real name was Smeaton!"

  Both Smeaton and myself started at that--it was a new idea. And I sawthat it struck Smeaton with great force.

  "True!" he replied, after a pause. "I don't! It might have been. And inthat case--how could one find out what it was?"

  Mr. Lindsey got up, shaking his head.

  "A big job!" he answered. "A stiff job! You'd have to work back a longway. But--it could be done. What time can I look in this afternoon, Mr.Smeaton, to get a glance at those letters?"

  "Three o'clock," replied Smeaton. He walked to the door of his officewith us, and he gave me a smile. "You're none the worse for youradventure, I see," he remarked. "Well, what about this manCarstairs--what news of him?"

  "We'll maybe be able to tell you some later in the day," replied Mr.Lindsey. "There'll be lots of news about him, one way or another, beforewe're through with all this."

  We went out into the street then, and at his request I took Mr. Lindseyto the docks, to see the friendly skipper, who was greatly delighted totell the story of my rescue. We stopped on his ship talking with himfor a good part of the morning, and it was well past noon when we wentback to the hotel for lunch. And the first thing we saw there was atelegram for Mr. Lindsey. He tore the envelope open as we stood in thehall, and I made no apology for looking over his shoulder and readingthe message with him.

  "Just heard by wire from Largo police that small yacht answeringdescription of Carstairs' has been brought in there by fishermen whofound it early this morning in Largo Bay, empty."

  We looked at each other. And Mr. Lindsey suddenly laughed.

  "Empty!" he exclaimed. "Aye!--but that doesn't prove that theman's dead!"