The Lost Clue - Abridged Edition

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

  "Is Mr. Lofthouse here?" he inquired of one of them.

  "He is in his private room, sir. I'll call him. You are only just in time to catch him."

  "Do you think I could speak to him for a few minutes on a private matter?"

  "I'll ask him, sir."

  In a few moments Kenneth found himself seated beside the old chemist, near the fast-dying embers of the fire in the room behind the shop. He brought the sheet of paper from his pocket and explained his errand. He told Mr. Lofthouse that the paper contained, at least so he believed, information of grave importance to him, and that while it was impossible for him to read it at present, he suspected and hoped that the action of some chemical might be sufficient to bring the writing on it to light.

  When he took Mr. Lofthouse into his confidence by telling him that a relative of his, who had lately died, had informed him on his deathbed that this paper contained information which it was important for him to receive, the chemist dismissed his assistants, locked the shop door, took his visitor into the laboratory, and proceeded to try the effect of various chemicals on the paper which he had brought.

  For more than an hour the man worked away on the mysterious page, but at the end of that time the old chemist declared his firm conviction that the captain was in some way mistaken, for that nothing whatever had been written on the sheet of foolscap. He could find no evidence of the paper having been chemically treated, and he felt sure that in some way or other the paper had been put into the envelope in the place of the paper which Captain Fortescue had expected to find there.

  It was late at night when Kenneth returned home. He slept soundly for the first time since his arrival in Sheffield.

  Then followed the long quiet Sunday. After morning service he sat in the darkened library and thought of the changes that this week had brought into his life, and of the uncertain and difficult future which lay ahead of him.

  The funeral was fixed for Tuesday. There were no relations to summon, for he knew of none. He never in his life remembered seeing anyone except his father who could claim any relationship to him, however distant. And now that only relation of his was gone, and he was left entirely alone in the world so far as any natural tie was concerned.

  Not only so, but he realized that with his father's total financial ruin he had lost all his former friends. The schoolfellows at Eton, the men he had known at Sandhurst, the friends he had made since he had entered the army, would now be parted from him by a social gulf which neither he nor they would be able to cross. He would have to leave the army and sever his connection with them all. He must begin life anew, and it must be, in future, the life of a man dependent upon his own work for his daily bread. He felt utterly and entirely alone.

  But, at that moment, there suddenly flashed across him four lines from a hymn which he had learned to love in brighter and happier days, but which now came back to him with fresh meaning, as they seemed to express the inmost feeling of his heart:

  * * *

  I do not ask my cross to understand,

  My way to see;

  Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand,

  And follow Thee.

  Chapter 6

  The Two Envelopes

  KENNETH FORTESCUE followed his father to the graveside, the chief and only mourner. No one else was present, except Mr. Fortescue's doctor and lawyer who came in their official capacity. The extensive town cemetery in a narrow valley looked the picture of desolation and gloom. The rising ground on either side, and the stretch of lower ground that lay between, was densely covered with the resting places of the dead.

  "Earth to earth; dust to dust; ashes to ashes."

  And so the poor earthly remains were left behind. When Kenneth arrived home and walked into the empty house which he would never again call home, he determined, however, to face the future bravely, and in a higher strength than his own, and not to flinch from any duty, however unpleasant, which lay along its course.

  In the strength of this resolution he rang the bell as soon as his solitary dinner was over, and requested all the servants to assemble in the library as he had something which he wished to say to them.

  He went in, carrying his father's will in his hand, and told them that he felt that it was only right they should know that their old master had remembered their faithful service, and had intended rewarding it by a handsome legacy, the amount of which was regulated by the length of time each had lived with him. But, he continued, it was his sad and painful duty to inform them that the whole of his father's invested money had been lost, and that therefore he feared that these legacies existed merely in name.

  "Do you mean to tell us, sir, that we shall get nothing?" inquired Watson.

  "I fear not, Watson. Time alone will show. My father's lawyer, Mr. Northcourt, who was here today, is winding up his affairs of which I know practically nothing. Should there turn out to be money available, of course the legacies will be paid."

  "It's very hard, sir, to be turned adrift after all these years."

  "It is hard, Watson, but you must remember I am a sufferer as well as you. It is very hard for me too."

  Watson gave a sniff of contempt. "You have your commission, sir, and your grand friends."

  "Say had, Watson, not have. All that will be a thing of the past. I must leave the army."

  "Dear, dear," said the old butler. "Dear, dear. I do feel for you, sir."

  "But surely," said Watson, "there will be something. Look at all this furniture, and the house and park. They haven't gone."

  "Yes, there may be something, Watson. I can't tell yet until I know what my father's obligations were. I fear that he was more than an ordinary shareholder in this mine, and that those who have lost by means of it will come upon his estate for such compensation as it may be able to yield. You may rest assured, however, that your legacies will be paid before I myself touch a single penny of my father's money."

  "It's good of you to say so," said the old butler, "but I'm sure none of us would like to rob you, sir."

  "It would be no robbery, Elkington, only justice," said the captain.

  "Well, it's hard," said Watson. "Very hard. And what's to become of me I'm sure I don't know. I can't take another situation at my time of life, and the old gentleman always promised he'd see I was provided for."

  "Again I say, Watson, I am sorry. I can't say more. And now there is something else I want to say to you." He folded up the will. "I would ask you to give serious attention to what I am about to tell you. My father informed me, the day before he died, that he had addressed a letter to me and had put it in the safe in his bedroom with his will. That letter I have never received. The envelope was there, addressed in my father's handwriting, but when I opened it, it contained nothing but a blank sheet of paper. Now I am convinced that someone has tampered with that envelope. I am certain that it has been opened, that the paper my father expected me to find there has been removed, and that the blank sheet has been inserted in its place. I want you to help me to discover how and when this was done, and by whose hands. Elkington, do you know where my father kept the keys of his safe?"

  "The old master always had them about him, sir, day and night, as you might say. He carried them in his pocket by day, and at night they were either under his pillow or on the table by his bed."

  "Did you ever know him leave them about, or forget them?"

  The old butler shook his head. "Never, sir, never once. He were as careful of these keys, and kept them as well within his reach, as a cat does a mouse she has caught. He seemed always to have an eye on them."

  "Well then, we come to the day of his sudden seizure when the telegram was brought in. Where were his keys then?"

  Elkington looked up. "In his pocket, sir. I know he had them, for the postbag was brought up from the lodge a few minutes before, and I took it to him, and he brought the keys out of his pocket to open it."

  "And put them back again?"

  "Oh yes, sir, he never forgot to do t
hat."

  "Well, then the doctor came, and what happened next?"

  "He was carried upstairs, sir. Dr. Cholmondeley helped us, and then we got him into bed,"

  "Who did?"

  "The doctor and me. And Watson."

  "Where were the keys then?"

  "In the pocket of his coat, sir. But as soon as ever he came round a bit and opened his eyes, he asked for them. It was almost the first thing he said."

  "And where did you put them?"

  "On the table where you saw them, sir, close to his bed. They were there, as far as I know, till you took them away."

  "Just after the old master breathed his last," added Watson.

  "Now," said Captain Fortescue, "it seems to me we are getting the question into a small compass. My father was taken ill early in the morning, and for a short time those keys were left in his pocket. How long, Elkington?"

  "About an hour, sir, I should say."

  "Well, either at that time, or some time during the following night, someone must have gone to the safe and taken out my letter."

  "How dare you speak like that?" shrieked Watson. "Suspecting and accusing your poor father's faithful servants. I suppose you mean I'm the thief, or Elkington?"

  "I accuse nobody, Watson. I only ask for an explanation of what is so mysterious to me."

  But Watson marched out of the room, saying she was not going to stay there to be called a common thief; she would pack her box that night, and get away from a house where she was so insulted.

  The servants filed out of the room, but the old butler lingered behind. "Sir," Elkington said, "do you think that woman has done it?"

  "Elkington, I have no proof, and therefore I do not like to say that anyone has done it. It may have been a mistake on my father's part."

  "Not likely, sir, not likely. He was so careful-like about things of that sort."

  "Well, Elkington, I don't know what to think."

  "I do know what to think," said the old butler to himself, as he went out of the room.

  The next day a solution of the mystery came to light. It was late in the evening, and Elkington was waiting at dinner when there was a loud ring at the front door. He went to open it, for now that Watson was gone he was doing most of her work as well as his own. The elderly butler came back with a card in his hand, which he said had been given to him by a gentleman who had just called, and who was now in the library.

  "I told him you were at dinner, sir, but he said he would wait, as he particularly wished to see you tonight."

  Captain Fortescue looked at the card. It was not a visiting card, but one evidently used as a tradesman's advertisement. The words were printed in various styles of type.

  "Do you know this man, Elkington?"

  "What is his name, sir?"

  "Makepeace. He is a bookseller and printer in the town."

  "I've heard of him, sir. His shop is in York Street, isn't it?"

  "Yes; 149, York Street."

  "I believe my master dealt there sometimes. I think I remember seeing his name on parcels that came. Paper and suchlike, I think they were."

  "He has probably brought his bill, then, and wants to make sure he is paid before others come in for the spoil. Tell him I will see him in a few minutes, Elkington."

  When Fortescue entered the library, the man was standing with his back to him, gazing intently at the portrait of Mrs. Fortescue which hung over the chimneypiece. He was a tall thin man, with black hair, and as he turned round the captain could see that his face was sallow, that he had a short beard and small, cunning eyes, and that he was wearing spectacles.

  "Good evening, sir. I hope you will excuse my intruding at this hour, but I come on a matter of importance."

  Captain Fortescue motioned him to a chair, and said he supposed it was a business matter which had brought him there.

  "Not exactly, sir. Your father did do business with me at times, and it is in connection with one of these times that I want to see you. The fact is that a letter, which Mr. Fortescue wrote to you last week, has, by some mistake, come into my hands."

  Kenneth looked eagerly at the envelope which Makepeace drew out of the breast pocket of his coat. What revelation did it contain? And how unfortunate that that revelation should have fallen into the hands of a stranger.

  The envelope was a foolscap one, precisely similar to the one he had found in the safe. He stretched out his hand for it eagerly.

  "Wait a minute, sir," said the man. "Allow me, if you please, to explain to you how this letter came into my possession. Last week -- it would be Wednesday, I think -- your father came into my shop. It was the last time, I believe, that the old gentleman was out. 'Makepeace,' he said, 'I want some foolscap paper.' My assistant brought some out and showed it to him. We have some blue and some white. He selected the white, sir, but when he looked at it he declared that it was poorer in quality than what he had bought off me before. I told him that could not be the case, inasmuch as I had bought it all from the same firm and at the same time.

  "Well, he seemed much put out, and he shouted and stormed at me. It was a way he had, you know, sir, and he wanted to make out I was trying to impose on him by giving him different paper. I didn't want to offend the old gentleman, for he was a good customer, so I told him if he would send me a sheet of the foolscap which I had sold him before, I felt sure that I could match it exactly. I meant to give him what I had in stock, for I knew it was exactly the same, but I thought this would satisfy and pacify him.

  "Well, he calmed down after that, and said he knew I always did the best I could for him, and he told me he would slip the paper into an envelope as soon as he got home and send it to me by post. On Thursday the letter arrived, but I was from home, and my wife was away too. I've only got a young assistant, and he did not like to open my letters, so there it remained on my desk until I got home today."

  "And then you opened it?"

  "Yes, and found inside, not the plain sheet of foolscap as I expected but a letter, evidently intended for you, sir. It begins, 'My dear Ken,' and it ends 'Your loving father.' I haven't read it, sir, I assure you. I wouldn't do such a thing, and I've brought it at once to you. Do you think he can have put the letter in the wrong envelope? Have you found any other envelope containing a blank sheet of foolscap paper?"

  "Yes, I have," said Captain Fortescue, "and have been extremely puzzled by it, for my father expressly told me that he had written a letter which he particularly wished me to receive."

  "Then I am only too glad to restore it to you, sir," said Josiah Makepeace, as he handed the envelope to him. "And now, sir, I will bid you good evening."

  Captain Fortescue thanked the bookseller for taking the trouble to come up at once to see him, and assured him that the information which he had given him was an intense relief to his mind.

  As soon as he was alone, he unfolded the letter which had at last come into his possession. His hand trembled as he did so, and as he wondered what disclosure it would make to him.

  Yes, there was his father's uneven writing. He began at once to read it. It was dated Wednesday, December 18, and ran as follows:

  My Dear Ken,

  I was glad to get your letter, and hope as this will find you well as it leaves me very middling, and Doctor Cholmondeley has given me a tonic, so hope soon to be better. There is something as I think you ought to be told, as it will come more easy to you if things goes wrong, as it seems likely they will. I have had a letter from Berkinshaw, a friend of mine in London, and he has found out that a certain concern, what I put my money in, is getting shaky and not likely to pay. So I'm going to sell out tomorrow, unless I hear better news from him by the morning post. And if I do sell out, I shan't be so flush of money by a long chalk, and that will mean I can't send you such a big allowance as you have been having. I thought it was better as I should tell you, in case you might be disappointed when I send your next check. Go easy then, till you hear again from me,

  Your loving fathe
r,

  Joseph Fortescue.

  And that was all. There was not a word more. It all seemed such past history now. And moreover his father had told him a great deal more than this letter contained. Why, then, was he so anxious for him to receive it? What did he mean by saying that he hoped it would put him right, and that he was to follow it up? Could his father simply have written this letter to prove that, whatever roguery there might be in connection with the Brazil mining company, his son knew nothing at all about the concern, and could not therefore be held in any way responsible?

  Then again, it seemed strange that the letter had never been posted. Why had he not received it on the Thursday morning? He could quite understand that it was possible for his father, having addressed the two envelopes at the same time, to have put the wrong enclosure in each; thus sending the letter intended for his son to Makepeace, and at the same time sending his son the blank sheet of foolscap intended for the bookseller and printer. But supposing this to have been the case, why then were not both letters posted? Why was one sent and the other kept back? And why, being kept back, was the letter placed in the safe?

  The captain meditated for a long time over this difficult question. He supposed that after the two letters were closed and ready for the post, they lay together on the library table. Then, after a time someone, probably his father himself, took up the one addressed to the printer and put it into the post-bag, but that the other letter, addressed to his son, was inadvertently left behind and forgotten, being covered up at the time perhaps by something on the table. Then subsequently, late at night and after the post-bag had gone to the lodge, his father discovered that he had omitted to post it; and then, because the letter contained matter of a private nature, he did not care to leave it lying on the table but had carried it up with him to bed. In accordance with his usual caution and suspicion had placed it in the safe until the morning. If so, on the Thursday, before he had opportunity to post it, the telegram arrived and his sudden illness occurred. Consequently the letter written the day before was left in the safe. Then he had appeared on the scene, and of course his father, having no longer any occasion to post the letter, had merely called his attention to it and told him where it had been placed.