Dead Men's Money

  CHAPTER IX

  THE MARINE-STORE DEALER

  Mr. Lindsey was standing just within his own room when Maisie and thestrange woman came into the office, and hearing what was said, he calledus all three to go into him. And, like myself, he looked at the womanwith a good deal of curiosity, wanting--as I did--to see some likeness tothe dead man. But there was no likeness to be seen, for whereasGilverthwaite was a big and stalwart fellow, this was a small and sparewoman, whose rusty black clothes made her look thinner and more meagrethan she really was. All the same, when she spoke I knew there was alikeness between them, for her speech was like his, different altogetherfrom ours of the Border.

  "So you believe you're the sister of this man James Gilverthwaite,ma'am?" began Mr. Lindsey, motioning the visitor to sit down, andbeckoning Maisie to stop with us. "What might your name be, now?"

  "I believe this man that's talked about in the newspapers is my brother,sir," answered the woman. "Else I shouldn't have taken the trouble tocome all this way. My name's Hanson--Mrs. Hanson. I come from Garston,near Liverpool."

  "Aye--just so--a Lancashire woman," said Mr. Lindsey, nodding. "Yourname would be Gilverthwaite, then, before you were married?"

  "To be sure, sir--same as James's," she replied. "Him and me was theonly two there was. I've brought papers with me that'll prove what Isay. I went to a lawyer before ever I came, and he told me to come atonce, and to bring my marriage lines, and a copy of James's birthcertificate, and one or two other things of that sort. There's no doubtthat this man we've read about in the newspapers was my brother, and ofcourse I would like to put in my claim to what he's left--if he's leftit to nobody else."

  "Just so," agreed Mr. Lindsey. "Aye--and how long is it since you lastsaw your brother, now?"

  The woman shook her head as if this question presented difficulties.

  "I couldn't rightly say to a year or two, no, not even to a few years,"she answered. "And to the best of my belief, sir, it'll be a good thirtyyears, at the least. It was just after I was married to Hanson, and thatwas when I was about three-and-twenty, and I was fifty-six lastbirthday. James came--once--to see me and Hanson soon after we wassettled down, and I've never set eyes on him from that day to this.But--I should know him now."

  "He was buried yesterday," remarked Mr. Lindsey. "It's a pity you didn'ttelegraph to some of us."

  "The lawyer I went to, sir, said, 'Go yourself!'" replied Mrs. Hanson."So I set off--first thing this morning."

  "Let me have a look at those papers," said Mr. Lindsey.

  He motioned me to his side, and together we looked through two or threedocuments which the woman produced.

  The most important was a certified copy of James Gilverthwaite's birthcertificate, which went to prove that this man had been born in Liverpoolabout sixty-two years previously; that, as Mr. Lindsey was quick to pointout, fitted in with what Gilverthwaite had told my mother and myselfabout his age.

  "Well," he said, turning to Mrs. Hanson, "you can answer some questions,no doubt, about your brother, and about matters in relation to him. Firstof all, do you know if any of your folks hailed from this part?"

  "Not that I ever heard of, sir," she replied. "No, I'm sure theywouldn't. They were all Lancashire folks, on both sides. I know all aboutthem as far back as my great-grandfather's and great-grandmother's."

  "Do you know if your brother ever came to Berwick as a lad?" asked Mr.Lindsey, with a glance at me.

  "He might ha' done that, sir," said Mrs. Hanson. "He was a great,masterful, strong lad, and he'd run off to sea by the time he was tenyears old--there'd been no doing aught with him for a couple of yearsbefore that. I knew that when he was about twelve or thirteen he was on acoasting steamer that used to go in and out of Sunderland and Newcastle,and he might have put in here."

  "To be sure," said Mr. Lindsey. "But what's more important is to get onto his later history. You say you've never seen him for thirty years, ormore? But have you never heard of him?"

  She nodded her head with decision at that question.

  "Yes," she replied, "I have heard of him--just once. There was a man, aneighbour of ours, came home from Central America, maybe five years ago,and he told us he'd seen our James out there, and that he was working asa sub-contractor, or something of that sort, on that Panama Canal therewas so much talk about in them days."

  Mr. Lindsey and I looked at each other. Panama!--that was the passwordwhich James Gilverthwaite had given me. So--here, at any rate, wassomething, however little, that had the makings of a clue in it.

  "Aye!" he said, "Panama, now? He was there? And that's the last youever heard?"

  "That's the very last we ever heard, sir," she answered. "Till, ofcourse, we saw these pieces in the papers this last day or two."

  Mr. Lindsey twisted round on her with a sharp look.

  "Do you know aught of that man, John Phillips, whose name's in the paperstoo?" he asked.

  "No, sir, nothing!" she replied promptly. "Never heard tell of him!"

  "And you've never heard of your brother's having been seen in Liverpoolof late?" he went on. "Never heard that he called to see any old friendsat all? For we know, as you have seen in the papers, Mrs. Hanson, that hewas certainly in Liverpool, and bought clothes and linen there, withinthis last three months."

  "He never came near me, sir," she said. "And I never heard word of hisbeing there from anybody."

  There was a bit of a silence then, and at last the woman put the questionwhich, it was evident, she was anxious to have answered definitely.

  "Do you think there's a will, mister?" she asked. "For, if not, thelawyer I went to said what there was would come to me--and I coulddo with it."

  "We've seen nothing of any will," answered Mr. Lindsey. "And I should saythere is none, and on satisfactory proof of your being next-of-kin,you'll get all he left. I've no doubt you're his sister, and I'll takethe responsibility of going through his effects with you. You'll bestopping in the town a day or two? Maybe your mother, Hugh, can find Mrs.Hanson a lodging?"

  I answered that my mother would no doubt do what she could to look afterMrs. Hanson; and presently the woman went away with Maisie, leaving herpapers with Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me when we were alone.

  "Some folks would think that was a bit of help to me in solving themystery, Hugh," said he; "but hang me if I don't think it makes the wholething more mysterious than ever! And do you know, my lad, where, in myopinion, the very beginning of it may have to be sought for?"

  "I can't put a word to that, Mr. Lindsey," I answered. "Where, sir?"

  "Panama!" he exclaimed, with a jerk of his head. "Panama! just that! Itbegan a long way off--Panama, as far as I see it. And what did begin, andwhat was going on? The two men that knew, and could have told, are deadas door-nails--and both buried, for that matter."

  So, in spite of Mrs. Hanson's coming and her revelations as to some, atany rate, of James Gilverthwaite's history, we were just as wise as everat the end of the first week after the murder of John Phillips. And itwas just the eighth night after my finding of the body that I got intothe hands of Abel Crone.

  Abel Crone was a man that had come to Berwick about three years beforethis, from heaven only knows where, and had set himself up in business asa marine-store dealer, in a back street which ran down to the shore ofthe Tweed. He was a little red-haired, pale-eyed rat of a man, withferrety eyes and a goatee beard, quiet and peaceable in his ways andinoffensive enough, but a rare hand at gossiping about the beach and thewalls--you might find him at all odd hours either in these public placesor in the door of his shop, talking away with any idler like himself. Andhow I came to get into talk with him on that particular night was here:Tom Dunlop, Maisie's young brother, was for keeping tame rabbits justthen, and I was helping him to build hutches for the beasts in hisfather's back-yard, and we were wanting some bits of stuff, iron and wireand the like, and knowing I would pick it up for a few pence at Crone'sshop, I went round there alone. Before I knew how it came about, C
ronewas deep into the murder business.

  "They'll not have found much out by this time, yon police fellows, nodoubt, Mr. Moneylaws?" he said, eyeing me inquisitively in the light ofthe one naphtha lamp that was spurting and jumping in his untidy shop."They're a slow unoriginal lot, the police--there's no imagination intheir brains and no ingenuity in their minds. What's wanted in an affairlike this is one of those geniuses you read about in the storybooks--themen that can trace a murder from the way a man turns out his toes, or bythe fashion he's bitten into a bit of bread that he's left on his plate,or the like of that--something more than by ordinary, you'll understandme to mean, Mr. Moneylaws?"

  "Maybe you'll be for taking a hand in this game yourself, Mr. Crone?"said I, thinking to joke with him. "You seem to have the right instinctfor it, anyway."

  "Aye, well," he answered, "and I might be doing as well as anybody else,and no worse. You haven't thought of following anything up yourself, Mr.Moneylaws, I suppose?"

  "Me!" I exclaimed. "What should I be following up, man? I know no morethan the mere surface facts of the affair."

  He gave a sharp glance at his open door when I thus answered him, andthe next instant he was close to me in the gloom and looking sharplyin my face.

  "Are you so sure of that, now?" he whispered cunningly. "Come now, I'llput a question to yourself, Mr. Moneylaws. What for did you not let on inyour evidence that you saw Sir Gilbert Carstairs at yon cross-roads justbefore you found the dead man? Come!"

  You could have knocked me down with a feather, as the saying is, when hesaid that. And before I could recover from the surprise of it, he had ahand on my arm.

  "Come this way," he said. "I'll have a word with you in private."