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Chestermarke Instinct, The

<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> <h2>THE AGGRIEVED VICTIM</h2> If Mr. Leopold Castlemayne's last word was expressive, his next actions were suggestive and significant. Returning to the door of the inner room, he turned the key in it; crossing to the door by which the detectives had been shown in, he locked that also; proceeding to a cupboard in an adjacent recess, he performed an unlocking process—after which he produced a decanter, a syphon, three glasses, and a box of cigars. He silently placed these luxuries on a desk before his visitors, and hospitably invited their attention. "Yes!" he said presently, proceeding to help the two men to refreshment, and pressing the cigars upon them, "I've good reason to say that, gentlemen! Godwin Markham, indeed! I ought to know him! If I don't look out, that devil of a bloodsucker is going to ruin me—he is, so!" Easleby gave Starmidge an almost imperceptible wink as he lighted a cigar. It was evident that Mr. Leopold Castlemayne was not only willing to talk, but was uncommonly glad to have somebody to talk to. Indeed, his moody countenance began to clear as his tongue became unloosed; he was obviously at that stage when a man is thankful to give confidences to any fellow-creature. "I've done business with gentlemen of your profession before," he went on, nodding to his visitors over the rim of his tumbler, "and I know you're to be trusted—naturally, you hear a good many queer things and queer secrets in your line of life. And as you come to me in confidence, I'll tell you a thing or two in confidence. It may help you—if you're certain that the man you're wanting is the man who came here last night. Do you want him?" "We—may do," replied Easleby. "We don't know yet. Mr. Starmidge here is much disposed to think that we shall. But let's be clear, sir. We're all three agreed that we're talking about the same man? Starmidge has accurately described a certain man who without doubt entered your stage-door about eleven-thirty last night——" "And left, with me, by the box-office door, in the front street, a few minutes later," murmured the lessee. "That's how it was." "Just so," agreed Easleby. "Now, Starmidge up to now has only known that man as Mr. Gabriel Chestermarke, senior partner in Chestermarke's Bank, at Scarnham, while you, up to now——" "Have only known him as Godwin Markham, money-lender, financial agent, and so on, of Conduit Street," interrupted Castlemayne. "And known him a lot too much for my peace, I can tell you! Of course, we're talking of the same man! I can quite believe he runs a double show. I know that he's a great deal away from town. It's very rarely that he's to be found at Conduit Street—very, very rarely indeed—he's a clever manager there, who sees everybody and does everything. And I know that he's quite two-thirds of his time away from his own house—so, of course, he's got to put it in somewhere else." "His own house!" said Starmidge, catching at an idea which presented itself. "You know where he lives in London, then, Mr. Castlemayne?" "Do I know where my own mother lives!" exclaimed the lessee. "I should think I do! He's a neighbour of mine—lives close by me, up Primrose Hill way. Nice little bachelor establishment he has—Oakfield Villa. Spent many an evening there with him—Sunday evenings, of course. Oh, yes—I know all about him—as Godwin Markham. Bless me!—so he's a country banker, is he? And mixed up in this affair, eh? Gosh!—I hope you'll find out that he murdered his manager, and that you'll be able to hang him—I'd treat the town to a free show if you could hang him in public on my stage, I would, indeed!" "You were going to tell us something, sir?" suggested Easleby. "Something that you thought might help us." "I hope it will help you—and me, too!" responded Castlemayne, who was obviously incensed and truculent. "'Pon my honour, when I got your cards, I wondered if I'd been sleep-walking last night, and had gone and done for this man—I really did! It was all I could do to keep from punching his nose last night in the open street, and I left him feeling very bad indeed! It's this way—I dare say you know that men like me, in this business, want a bit of financing when we start. All right!—we do, like most other people. Now, when I thought of taking up the lease of this spot, a few years ago, I wanted money. I knew this man Markham as a neighbour, and I mentioned the matter to him, not knowing then he was the Markham of Conduit Street. He let me know who he was, then, and he offered to do things privately—no need to go to his office, do you see? And—he found me in necessary capital. And I dare say I signed papers without thoroughly understanding 'em. And, of course, when you get into the hands of a fellow like that, it's like putting your foot on a piece of butter in the street—you're down before you know what's happened! But I ain't down yet, my boys!" concluded Mr. Castlemayne, drinking off the contents of his glass, and replenishing it. "And damme if I'm going to be, without a bit of a fight for it, that I ain't!" "Putting some pressure on you, I suppose, sir?" suggested Easleby, who knew that their host would tell anything and everything if left to himself. "Wants his pound of flesh, no doubt?" This Shakespearean allusion appeared to be lost on the lessee, but he evidently understood what pressure meant. "Pressure!" he exclaimed. "Yah!—there's nothing would suit that fellow better than to have one of his victims under one of those steam-hammers that they have nowadays, and to bring it down on him till he'd crushed the last drop of blood out of his toes! Pressure!—I'll tell you! This place didn't do well at first—everybody in town, in our line, anyway, knows that—but even in these days I paid him his interest regular—down on the nail, mind, as prompt as the date came round. But now—things are different. I'm doing well—in a bit I could pay my gentleman off—though not just yet. But there's big money ahead—this house has caught on, got a reputation, become popular. And now what d'ye think my lord wants—what he's screwing me for? Turns out that in one of those confounded papers I signed there's a clause, that if I didn't repay him by a certain date I should surrender my lease to him! I no doubt signed it, not quite understanding—but damme if he didn't keep it dark till the date was expired! And now, when I've worked things up, not only as lessee, mind you, but as manager—to success and big prospects, hanged if he doesn't want to collar my lease with all its fine possibilities, and put me into work for him at a blooming salary!" "Dear me, sir!" exclaimed Easleby. "Now—what might that exactly mean? We're not up in these matters, you know." "Mean?" vociferated the lessee. "It 'ud mean this. I've paid that man as much in interest as the original loan was. He now wants my lease, all my interest, all my chances of reward—this lease is worth many a thousand a year now! If I surrender my lease peaceably—without fuss, you understand—he'll wipe off my original debt to him and give me a blooming salary of twenty-five quid a week—me! Gosh!—he ought to be burnt alive!" "And if you don't?" asked Starmidge, deeply interested by this sidelight on financial dealings. "What then?" "Then he relies on his damn paper and my signature to it, and turns me out!" replied the aggrieved one. "Thievery!—that's what I call it. That's his blooming ultimatum—came in last night to tell me. I hope you'll catch him and hang him!" The two detectives had long since realized that Mr. Leopold Castlemayne's interest in the banker-money-lender was a purely personal one, based on his own unlucky dealings with him. But they wished for something outside that interest, and Starmidge, after a word or two of condolence, and another of advice to go to a shrewd and smart solicitor, asked a plain question. "You say you've been on terms of—shall we call it neighbourly intimacy?—with this man," he remarked. "Have you ever met his nephew?" The lessee made a face expressive of deep scorn. "Nephew!" he exclaimed. "Yah!—d'ye think a fellow like that 'ud have a nephew? I don't believe he's any relations that's flesh and blood! I don't believe he ever had a mother! I believe he's one of these ghouls you read about in the story-books—what's he look like? A bloodsucker!—that's what he is!" Starmidge gave his host an accurate description of Joseph Chestermarke. "Did you ever see a man like that at this Markham's house?" he asked. "Never!" answered the lessee. "Or at his office?" persisted Starmidge. "No—don't know such a man! I've only been to the offices in Conduit Street a few times," said Castlemayne. "The chap you see there is a fellow called Stipp—Mr. James Stipp. A nice, smooth-tongued, mealy-mouthed chap—you know. I say—d'ye think you'll be able to fasten anything on to Markham, or Chestermarke, or whatever his name is?" Easleby responded jocularly that they certainly wouldn't if they sat there, and after solemnly assuring Mr. Leopold Castlemayne that his confidence would be severely respected, he and Starmidge went away. Once outside they walked for awhile in silence, each reflecting on what he had just heard. "Well," remarked Starmidge at last, "we're certain on one point now, anyway. Godwin Markham, money-lender, of Conduit Street, is the same person as Gabriel Chestermarke, banker, of Scarnham. That's flat! And now that we've got to know that much, how much nearer am I to finding out the real thing that I'm after?" "Which is—exactly what?" asked Easleby. "I was called in," answered Starmidge, "to find out the secret of John Horbury's disappearance. It isn't my business to interfere with Gabriel Chestermarke or Godwin Markham in his money-lending affairs—nor to trace Lord Ellersdeane's missing jewels. My job is—to find John Horbury, or to get to know what happened to him." "And all this helps," answered Easleby. "Haven't you got anything?" "Don't know that I have," admitted Starmidge. "Just now, anyway. I've had a dozen ideas—but they're a bit mixed at present. Have you—after what we've found out?" "What sort of banking business is it the Chestermarkes carry on down there at Scarnham?" asked Easleby. "I suppose you'd get a general idea." "Usual thing in a small country town," replied Starmidge. "Highly respectable, county family business, I should say, from what I saw and heard." "All the squires, and the parsons, and the farmers, and better sort of tradesmen go to 'em, I suppose?" suggested Easleby. "And all the nice old ladies and that sort—an extra-respectable connection, eh?" "Just as I say—regular country-town business," said Starmidge, half impatiently. "Um!" remarked Easleby. "Now, if you were a highly respectable country-town banker, with a connection of that sort amongst very proper people, and if it so happened that you were living a double life, and running a money-lending business in London, do you think you'd want your banking customers to know what you were after when you weren't banking!" "What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge. "I'm not quite sure," replied Easleby, with candour. "But I think I shall get there, all the same. Now, didn't you say that from all the accounts supplied to you, this Mr. John Horbury was an eminently proper sort of person? Very well—supposing it suddenly came to his knowledge that his employer—or employers, for I expect both Chestermarkes are in at it—were notorious money-lenders in London, and that they carried on this secret business in the greedy and grasping fashion—what do you suppose he'd do?—especially if he was, as you say Horbury was, a man of considerable means?" "What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge. "I think it's quite on the cards that he'd chuck his job there and then," said Easleby, "and not only that, but that he'd probably threaten exposure. Men of a very severe type of commercial religion would, my lad!—I know 'em!" "You're suggesting—what?" inquired the younger detective. "I'm suggesting that on that night of Hollis's visit to Scarnham, Horbury, through Hollis, became acquainted with the Chestermarke secret," replied Easleby, "and that he let the Chestermarkes know it. And in that case—what would happen?" Starmidge walked slowly on at his companion's side, thinking. He was trying to fit together a great many things; he felt as a child feels who is presented with a puzzle in many pieces and told to put them together. "I know what you're after," he said suddenly. "You think the Chestermarkes murdered Horbury?" "If you want it plain and straight," replied Easleby, "I do!" "There's the other man—Hollis," suggested Starmidge. "I should say they finished him as well," said Easleby. "Easy enough job, that, on the evidence. Supposing one of 'em took Hollis off, alone, across that moor you've told me about, and induced him to look into that old lead-mine? What easier than to push him into it? Meanwhile, the other could settle Horbury. Murder, my lad!—that's what all this comes to. I've known men murdered for less than that." Again Starmidge reflected in silence. "There's only one thing puzzles me on that point," he said eventually. "It's not a puzzle, either—it's a doubt. Do you think the Chestermarkes—or, we'll say Gabriel, as we're certain about him—do you think Gabriel would be so keen about keeping his secret as to go to that length? Do you think he's cultivated it as a secret—that it's been a really important secret?" "We can soon solve that," answered Easleby. "At least—tomorrow morning." "How?" demanded Starmidge. "By calling," said Easleby, "on Mr. Godwin Markham, in Conduit Street." <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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