Dead Men's Money

  CHAPTER XXVII

  THE BANK BALANCE

  It was now Mr. Portlethorpe and I who looked at each other--with a mutualquestioning. What was Mr. Lindsey hinting, suggesting? And Mr.Portlethorpe suddenly turned on him with a direct inquiry.

  "What is it you are after, Lindsey?" he asked. "There's something inyour mind."

  "A lot," answered Mr. Lindsey. "And before I let it out, I think we'dbetter fully inform Mrs. Ralston of everything that's happened, and ofhow things stand, up to and including this moment. This is the position,Mrs. Ralston, and the facts"--and he went on to give his caller a briefbut complete summary of all that he and Mr. Portlethorpe had just talkedover. "You now see how matters are," he concluded, at the end of hisepitome, during his delivery of which the lady had gradually grown moreand more portentous of countenance. "Now,--what do you say?"

  Mrs. Ralston spoke sharply and decisively.

  "Precisely what I have felt inclined to say more than once of late!" sheanswered. "I'm beginning to suspect that the man who calls himself SirGilbert Carstairs is not Sir Gilbert Carstairs at all! He's animpostor!"

  In spite of my subordinate position as a privileged but inferior memberof the conference, I could not help letting out a hasty exclamation ofastonishment at that. I was thoroughly and genuinely astounded--such anotion as that had never once occurred to me. An impostor!--not the realman? The idea was amazing--and Mr. Portlethorpe found it amazing, too,and he seconded my exclamation with another, and emphasized it with anincredulous laugh.

  "My dear madam!" he said deprecatingly. "Really! That's impossible!"

  But Mr. Lindsey, calmer than ever, nodded his head confidently.

  "I'm absolutely of Mrs. Ralston's opinion," he declared. "What shesuggests I believe to be true. An impostor!"

  Mr. Portlethorpe flushed and began to look very uneasy.

  "Really!" he repeated. "Really, Lindsey!--you forget that I examined intothe whole thing! I saw all the papers--letters, documents--Oh, thesuggestion is--you'll pardon me, Mrs. Ralston--ridiculous! No man couldhave been in possession of those documents unless he'd been the realman--the absolute Simon Pure! Why, my dear lady, he produced letterswritten by yourself, when you were a little girl--and--and all sorts oflittle private matters. It's impossible that there has been anyimposture--a--a reflection on me!"

  "Cleverer men than you have been taken in, Portlethorpe," remarked Mr.Lindsey. "And the matters you speak of might have been stolen. But letMrs. Ralston give us her reasons for suspecting this man--she has somestrong ones, I'll be bound."

  Mr. Portlethorpe showed signs of irritation, but Mrs. Ralston promptlytook up Mr. Lindsey's challenge.

  "Sufficiently strong to have made me very uneasy of late, at any rate,"she answered. She turned to Mr. Portlethorpe. "You remember," she wenton, "that my first meeting with this man, when he came to claim the titleand estates, was at your office in Newcastle, a few days after he firstpresented himself to you. He said then that he had not yet been down toHathercleugh; but I have since found out that he had--or, rather, that hehad been in the neighbourhood, incognito. That's a suspiciouscircumstance, Mr. Portlethorpe."

  "Excuse me, ma'am--I don't see it," retorted Mr. Portlethorpe. "I don'tsee it at all."

  "I do, then!" said Mrs. Ralston. "Suspicious, because I, his sister, andonly living relation, was close by. Why didn't he come straight to me? Hewas here--he took a quiet look around before he let any one know who hewas. That's one thing I have against him--whatever you say, it was verysuspicious conduct; and he lied about it, in saying he had not been here,when he certainly had been here! But that's far from all. The realGilbert Carstairs, Mr. Lindsey, as Mr. Portlethorpe knows, lived atHathercleugh House until he was twenty-two years old. He was always atHathercleugh, except when he was at Edinburgh University studyingmedicine. He knew the whole of the district thoroughly. But, as I havefound out for myself, this man does not know the district! I havediscovered, on visiting him--though I have not gone there much, as Idon't like either him or his wife--that this is a strange country to him.He knows next to nothing--though he has done his best to learn--of itsfeatures, its history, its people. Is it likely that a man who had livedon the Border until he was two-and-twenty could forget all about it,simply because he was away from it for thirty years? Although I was onlyseven or eight when my brother Gilbert left home, I was then a very sharpchild, and I remember that he knew every mile of the country roundHathercleugh. But--this man doesn't."

  Mr. Portlethorpe muttered something about it being very possible for aman to forget a tremendous lot in thirty years, but Mrs. Ralston and Mr.Lindsey shook their heads at his dissent from their opinion. As for me,I was thinking of the undoubted fact that the supposed Sir GilbertCarstairs had been obliged in my presence to use a map in order to findhis exact whereabouts when he was, literally, within two miles of hisown house.

  "Another thing," continued Mrs. Ralston: "in my few visits toHathercleugh since he came, I have found out that while he is very wellposted up in certain details of our family history, he is unaccountablyignorant of others with which he ought to have been perfectlyfamiliar. I found out, too, that he is exceedingly clever in avoidingsubjects in which his ignorance might be detected. But, clever as heis, he has more than once given me grounds for suspicion. And I tellyou plainly, Mr. Portlethorpe, that since he has been selling propertyto the extent you report, you ought, at this juncture, and as thingsare, to find out how money matters stand. He must have realized vastamounts in cash! Where is it!"

  "At his bankers'--in Newcastle, my dear madam!" replied Mr. Portlethorpe."Where else should it be? He has not yet made the purchase hecontemplated, so of course the necessary funds are waiting until he does.I cannot but think that you and Mr. Lindsey are mistaken, and that therewill be some proper and adequate explanation of all this, and--"

  "Portlethorpe!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, "that's no good. Things have gonetoo far. Whether this man's Sir Gilbert Carstairs or an impostor, he didhis best to murder my clerk, and we suspect him of the murder of Crone,and he's going to be brought to justice--that's flat! And your duty atpresent is to fall in with us to this extent--you must adopt Mrs.Ralston's suggestion, and ascertain how money matters stand. As Mrs.Ralston rightly says, by the sale of these properties a vast amount ofready money must have been accumulated, and at this man's disposal,Portlethorpe!--we must know if it's true!"

  "How can I tell you that?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe, who was growingmore and more nervous and peevish. "I've nothing to do with Sir GilbertCarstairs' private banking account. I can't go and ask, point blank, ofhis bankers how much money he has in their hands!"

  "Then I will!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "I know where he banks inNewcastle, and I know the manager. I shall go this very night to themanager's private house, and tell him exactly everything that'stranspired--I shall tell him Mrs. Ralston's and my own suspicions, and Ishall ask him where the money is. Do you understand that?"

  "The proper course to adopt!" said Mrs. Ralston. "The one thing to do. Itmust be done!"

  "Oh, very well--then in that case I suppose I'd better go with you," saidMr. Portlethorpe. "Of course, it's no use going to the bank--they'll beclosed; but we can, as you say, go privately to the manager. And we shallbe placed in a very unenviable position if Sir Gilbert Carstairs turns upwith a perfectly good explanation of all this mystery."

  Mr. Lindsey pointed a finger at me.

  "He can't explain that!" he exclaimed. "He left that lad to drown! Isthat attempted murder, or isn't it? I tell you, I'll have that man in thedock--never mind who he is! Hugh, pass me the railway guide."

  It was presently settled that Mr. Portlethorpe and Mr. Lindsey should gooff to Newcastle by the next train to see the bank manager. Mr. Lindseyinsisted that I should go with them--he would have no hole-and-cornerwork, he said, and I should tell my own story to the man we were goingto see, so that he would know some of the ground of our suspicion. Mrs.Ralston supported that; and when Mr. Portlethorpe remarked that we
weregoing too fast, and were working up all the elements of a fine scandal,she tartly remarked that if more care had been taken at the beginning,all this would not have happened.

  We found the bank manager at his private house, outside Newcastle, thatevening. He knew both my companions personally, and he listened withgreat attention to all that Mr. Lindsey, as spokesman, had to tell; healso heard my story of the yacht affair. He was an astute, elderly man,evidently quick at sizing things up, and I knew by the way he turned toMr. Portlethorpe and by the glance he gave him, after hearing everything,that his conclusions were those of Mr. Lindsey and Mrs. Ralston.

  "I'm afraid there's something wrong, Portlethorpe," he remarked quietly."The truth is, I've had suspicions myself lately."

  "Good God! you don't mean it!" exclaimed Mr. Portlethorpe. "How, then?"

  "Since Sir Gilbert began selling property," continued the bank manager,"very large sums have been paid in to his credit at our bank, where,previous to that, he already had a very considerable balance. But atthe present moment we hold very little--that is, comparativelylittle--money of his."

  "What?" said Mr. Portlethorpe. "What? You don't mean that?"

  "During the past three or four months," said the bank manager, "SirGilbert has regularly drawn very large cheques in favour of a Mr. JohnPaley. They have been presented to us through the Scottish-American Bankat Edinburgh. And," he added, with a significant look at Mr. Lindsey, "Ithink you'd better go to Edinburgh--and find out who Mr. John Paley is."

  Mr. Portlethorpe got up, looking very white and frightened.

  "How much of all that money is there left in your hands?" heasked, hoarsely.

  "Not more than a couple of thousand," answered the bank manager withpromptitude.

  "Then he's paid out--in the way you state--what?" demanded Mr.Portlethorpe.

  "Quite two hundred thousand pounds! And," concluded our informant, withanother knowing look, "now that I'm in possession of the facts you'vejust put before me, I should advise you to go and find out if Sir GilbertCarstairs and John Paley are not one and the same person!"