The Chestermarke Instinct Part 12

"No news of any sort, miss," replied Polke.

"What's to be done, then, next?" she inquired, looking from one to the other. "Do let us do something!"

"Oh, we'll do a lot, Miss Fosd.y.k.e, before the day's out," said Starmidge rea.s.suringly. "I'm going to work just now. Now, the first thing is, publicity! We must have all this in the newspapers at once." He turned to the superintendent. "I suppose there's some journalist here in the town who sends news to the London press, isn't there?" he asked.

"Parkinson, editor of the 'Scarnham Advertiser,' he does," replied Polke, with prompt.i.tude. "He's a sort of reporter-editor, you understand, and jolly glad of a bit of extra stuff."

"That's the first thing," said Starmidge. "The next, we must have a reward bill printed immediately, and circulated broadcast. It must have a portrait on it--I'll take that photograph you showed me last night.

And--we'll have to offer a specific reward in each. How much is it to be, Miss Fosd.y.k.e? For you'll have to pay it, you know."

"Anything you like!" said Betty eagerly. "A thousand pounds?--would that do, to begin with."

"We'll say half of it," answered Starmidge. "Very good. Now, Mr. Polke, if you'll tell me where this Mr. Parkinson's to be found, and where the best printing office in the place is, I'll go to work."

"Scammonds are the best printers--and they're quick," said Polke. "But I'll come with you."

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Betty. "If I could only be doing something!"

Starmidge nodded his comprehension and mused a while.

"Just so!" he said. "You don't want to sit and wait. Well, there is something you might do, Miss Fosd.y.k.e, as you're Mr. Horbury's niece. Mr.

Polke's been telling me about Mr. Horbury's household arrangements. Now, as you are a relation, suppose you call on his housekeeper, who was the last person to see him, and get all the information you can out of her?

Draw her on to talk--you never know what interesting point you mayn't get in that way. And--are you Mr. Horbury's nearest relation?"

"Yes--the very nearest--next-of-kin," answered Betty.

"Then ask to see his papers--his desk--his private belongings," said Starmidge. "Demand to see them! You've the legal right. And let us know--you'll always find me somewhere about Mr. Polke's--how you get on. Now, superintendent, we'll get to work."

Outside the Scarnham Arms, Starmidge looked at his companion with a sly smile.

"Are you anything of a betting man?" he asked.

"Naught much--odd half-crown now and then," replied Polke. "Why?"

"Lay you a fiver to a shilling Miss Fosd.y.k.e won't see anything of Horbury's--nor get any information!" answered Starmidge, more slyly than ever. "She won't be allowed!"

Polke gave the detective a shrewd look.

"I dare say!" he said. "Whew!--it's a queer game, this, Starmidge. First moves of it, anyway."

"Let's get on to the next," counselled Starmidge. "Where's this journalist?"

Mr. Parkinson, a high-browed, shock-headed young man, who combined the duties of editor and reporter with those of advertis.e.m.e.nt canva.s.ser and business manager of the one four-page sheet which Scarnham boasted, received the two police officials in a small office in which there was just room for himself and his visitors to squeeze themselves.

"I was about coming round to you, Mr. Polke," he said. "Can you let me have the facts of this Horbury affair?"

"We've come to save you the trouble," answered Polke. "This gentleman--Detective-Sergeant Starmidge, of the C.I.D., Mr.

Parkinson--wants to have a bit of a transaction with you."

Parkinson eyed the famous detective with as much wonder as Neale had felt on the previous evening.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Pleased to meet you, sir--I've heard of you. What can I do for you, Mr. Starmidge?"

"Can you wire--at our expense--a full account of all that I shall tell you, to a London Press agency that'll distribute it amongst all the London papers at once?" asked Starmidge. "You know what I mean?"

"I can," answered Parkinson. "And princ.i.p.al provincials, too. It'll be in all the evening papers this very night, sir."

"Then come on," said Starmidge, dropping into a chair by the editorial desk. "I'll tell you all about it."

Polke listened admiringly while the detective carefully narrated the facts of what was henceforth to be known as the Scarnham Mystery.

Nothing appeared to have escaped Starmidge's observation and attention.

And he was surprised to find that the detective's presentation of the case was not that which he himself would have made. Starmidge did no more than refer to the fact that Lady Ellersdeane's jewels were missing: he said nothing whatever about the rumours that some of Chestermarke's securities were said to have disappeared. But on one point he laid great stress--the visit of the little gentleman with the large grey moustache to the Station Hotel at Scarnham on the evening whereon John Horbury disappeared, and to the fragments of conversation overheard by Mrs.

Pratt. He described the stranger as Mrs. Pratt had described him, and appealed to him, if he read this news, to come forward at once. Finally, he supplemented his account with a full description of John Horbury, carefully furnished by the united efforts of Polke and Parkinson, and wound up by announcing the five hundred pounds reward.

"All over England, tonight, and tomorrow morning, sir," said Parkinson, gathering up his copy. "Now I'm off to wire this at once. Great engine the Press, Mr. Starmidge!--I dare say you find it very useful in your walk of life."

Starmidge followed Polke into the Market-Place again.

"Now for that reward bill," he said. "I don't set so much store by it, but it's got to be done. It all helps. There's Miss Fosd.y.k.e--going to have a try at her bit."

He pointed down the broad pavement with an amused smile. Miss Betty Fosd.y.k.e, attired in her smartest, was just entering the portals of Chestermarke's Bank.

CHAPTER X

THE CHESTERMARKE WAY

Mrs. Carswell herself opened the door of the bank-house in response to Miss Fosd.y.k.e's ring. She started a little at sight of the visitor, and her eyes glanced involuntarily and, as it seemed to Betty, with something of uneasiness, at the side-door which led into the Chestermarkes' private parlour. And Betty immediately interpreted the meaning of that glance.

"No, Mrs. Carswell," she said, before the housekeeper could speak, "I haven't come to call on either Mr. Gabriel or Mr. Joseph Chestermarke--I came to see you. Mayn't I come in?"

Mrs. Carswell stepped back into the hall, and Betty followed. For a moment the two looked at each other. And in the elder woman's eyes there was still the same expression, and it was with obvious uncertainty, if not with positive suspicion, that she waited.

"You have not heard anything of Mr. Horbury?" asked Betty, who was not slow to notice the housekeeper's demeanour.

"Nothing!" replied Mrs. Carswell, with a shake of the head. "Nothing at all! No one has told me anything."

Betty turned to the door of the dining-room.

"Very well," she said. "I dare say you know, Mrs. Carswell, that I am my uncle's nearest relation. Now I want to go through his papers and things. I want to see his desk--his last letters--anything--and everything there is."

She laid a hand on the door--and Mrs. Carswell suddenly found her tongue.

"Oh, miss!" she said, in a low, frightened voice, "you can't! That room's locked up. So is the study--where all Mr. Horbury's papers are.

So is his bedroom. Mr. Joseph Chestermarke locked them all up last night--he has the keys. n.o.body's to go into them--nor into any other room--without his permission."