THE ELLINGHAM MOTTO
Viner looked over Mr. Pawle's shoulder at the letters--there were numbers
of them, all neatly folded and arranged; a faint scent of dried flowers
rose from them as the old lawyer spread them out on the desk.
"Which Countess of Ellingham, and which Lord Marketstoke?" asked Viner.
"There have been--must have been--several during the last century."
"The Lord Marketstoke I mean is the one who disappeared," answered Mr.
Pawle. "We've no concern with any other. Look at these dates! We know
that if he were living, he would now be a man of sixty-one or so;
therefore, he'd be at school about forty-five years ago. Now, look here,"
he went on, rapidly turning the letters over. "Compare these dates--they
run through two or three years; they were all of forty-three to forty-six
years since. You see how they're signed--you see how they're addressed?
There's no doubt about it, Viner--this is a collection of letters written
by the seventh Countess of Ellingham to her elder son, Lord Marketstoke,
when he was at Eton."
"How came they into Ashton's possession, I wonder!" asked Viner.
"It's all of a piece!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle. "All of a piece with
Ashton's visit to Marketstoke--all of a piece with the facts that Avice
was a favourite name with the Cave-Gray family, and that one of the
holders of the title married a Wickham. Viner, there's no doubt
whatever--in my mind--that either Ashton was Lord Marketstoke or that he
knew the man who was!"
"You remember what Armitstead told us," remarked Viner. "That Ashton told
him, in Paris, that he, Ashton, hailed from Lancashire?"
"Then--he knew the missing man, and got these papers from him!" declared
the old lawyer. "But why? Ah!--now I have an idea! It may be that
Marketstoke, dying out there in Australia, handed these things to Ashton
and asked him to give them to some members of the Cave-Gray
family--perhaps an aunt, or a cousin, or so on--and that Ashton went down
to Marketstoke to find out what relations were still in existence. That
may be it--that would solve the problem!"
"No!" said Viner with sudden emphasis. He made sure that the door of the
little room was closed, and then went up to the old lawyer's elbow. "Is
that really all you can think of?" he asked, with a keen glance. "As for
me--why, I'm thinking of something that seems absolutely--obvious!"
"What, then?" demanded Mr. Pawle. "Tell me!"
Viner pointed towards the door.
"Haven't we heard already, that a man named Wickham handed over his
daughter Avice to Ashton's care and guardianship?" he asked. "Doesn't
that seem to be an established fact?"
"No doubt of it!" assented Mr. Pawle. "Well?"
"In my opinion," said Viner, quietly, "Wickham was the missing Lord of
Marketstoke!"
Mr. Pawle, who was still turning over the letters, examining their dates,
let them slip out of his hands and gasped.
"By George!" he exclaimed in a wondering voice. "It may be--possibly is!
Then, in that case, that girl outside there--"
"Well?" asked Viner, after a pause.
Mr. Pawle made a puzzled gesture and shook his head, as if in amazement.
"In that case, if Wickham was the missing Lord Marketstoke, and this girl
is his daughter, she's--" He broke off, and became still more puzzled.
"Upon my honour," he exclaimed, "I don't know who she is!"
"What do you mean?" asked Viner. "She's his daughter, of
course--Wickham's. Only, in that case--I mean, if he was really Lord
Marketstoke--her proper name, I suppose, is Cave-Gray."
Mr. Pawle looked his young assistant over with an amused expression.
"You haven't the old practitioner's _flair_, Viner, my boy!" he said.
"When one's got to my age, and seen a number of queer things and
happenings, one's quick to see possible cases. Look here!--if Wickham
was really Lord Marketstoke, and that girl across the hall is his
daughter, she's probably--I say probably, for I don't know if the
succession in this case goes with the female line--Countess of
Ellingham, in her own right!"
Viner looked his surprise.
"Is that really so--would it be so?" he asked.
"It may be--I'm not sure," replied Mr. Pawle. "As I say, I don't know
how the succession runs in this particular instance. There are, as you
are aware, several peeresses in their own rights--twenty-four or five, at
least. Some are very ancient peerages. I know that three--Furnivale and
Fauconberg and Conyers--go right back to the thirteenth century; three
others--Beaumont, Darcy da Knayth, and Zorch of Haryngworth--date from
the fourteenth. I'm not sure of this Ellingham peerage--but I'll find out
when I get back to my office. However, granting the premises, and if the
peerage does continue in the female line, it will be as I say--this
girl's the rightful holder of the title!"
Viner made no immediate answer and Mr. Pawle began to put up the letters
in their original wrappings.
"Regular romance, isn't it--if it is so?" he exclaimed. "Extraordinary!"
"Shall you tell her?" asked Viner.
Mr. Pawle considered the direct question while he completed his task.
"No," he said at last, "not at present. She evidently knows nothing, and
she'd better be left in complete ignorance for a while. You see, Viner,
as I've pointed out to you several times, there isn't a paper or a
document of any description extant which refers to her. Nothing in my
hands, nothing in the banker's hands, nothing here! And yet, supposing
her father, Wickham, to have been Lord Marketstoke, and to have entrusted
his secret to Ashton at the same time that he gave him the guardianship
of his daughter, he must have given Ashton papers to prove his and her
identity--must! Where are they?"
"Do you know what I think?" said Viner. "I think--if I'm to put it in
plain language--that Ashton carried those papers on him, and that he was
murdered for the possession of them!"
Mr. Pawle nodded, and put the packet of letters in his pocket.
"I shouldn't be surprised," he answered. "It's a very probable theory,
my boy. But it presupposes one thing, and makes one horribly suspicious
of another."
"Yes?" inquired Viner.
"It presupposes that Ashton let somebody into the secret," replied Mr.
Pawle, "and it makes one suspect that the person to whom he did reveal it
had such personal interest in suppressing it that he went to the length
of murdering Ashton before Ashton could tell it to any one else. How does
that strike you, Viner?"
"It's this--and not the diamond!" declared Viner doggedly. "I've a sort
of absolute intuition that I'm right."
"I think so too," assented the old lawyer, dryly. "The
fifty-thousand-pound diamond is a side-mine. Very well, now we know a
lot, you and I. And, we're going to solve matters. And we're not going to
say a word to this young lady, at present--that's settled. But I want to
ask her some questions--come along."
He led the way across the hall to the dining-room where a reminder of
Ashton's death met his and Viner's view as soon as they had crossed the
threshold. The funeral was to take place next day, and Mrs. Killenhall
and Miss Wickham were contemplating a massive wreath of flowers which had
evidently just arrived from the florist's and been deposited on the
centre-table.
"All we can do for him, you know!" murmured Mrs. Killenhall, with a
glance at the two men. "He--he had so few friends here, poor man!"
"That remark, ma'am," observed Mr. Pawle, "is apropos of a subject that I
want to ask Miss Wickham two or three questions about. Friends, now? Miss
Wickham, you always understood that Mr. Ashton and your father were very
close friends, I believe?"
"I always understood so--yes, Mr. Pawle," replied Miss Wickham.
"Did he ever tell you much about your father?"
"No, very little indeed. He never told me more than that they knew each
other very well, in Australia, that my father died out there,
comparatively young, and that he left me in his, Mr. Ashton's care."
"Did he ever tell you whether your father left you any money?" demanded
the old lawyer.
Miss Wickham looked surprised.
"Oh, yes!" she answered. "I thought you'd know that. My father left me a
good deal of money. Didn't Mr. Ashton tell you?"
"Never a word!" said Mr. Pawle. "Now--where is it, then?"
"In my bank," replied Miss Wickham promptly. "The London and Universal.
When Mr. Ashton fetched me away from school and brought me here, he told
me that he had twelve thousand pounds of mine which my father had left
me, and he handed it over to me then and there, and took me to the London
and Universal Bank, where I opened an account with it."
"Spent any of it?" asked Mr. Pawle dryly.
"Only a few pounds," answered Miss Wickham.
The old solicitor glanced at Viner, who, while these private matters were
being inquired into, was affecting to examine the pictures on the walls.
"Most extraordinary!" he muttered. "All this convinces me that Ashton
must have had papers and documents! These must have been--however, we
don't know where they are. But there would surely be, for instance, your
father's will, Miss Wickham. I suppose you've never seen such a
document? No, to be sure! You left all to Ashton. Well, now, do you
remember your father?"
"Only just--and very faintly, Mr. Pawle," replied Miss Wickham. "You must
remember I was little more than five years old."
"Can you remember what he was like?"
"I think he was a big, tall man--but it's a mere impression."
"Listen!" said Mr. Pawle. "Did you ever, at any time, hear Mr. Ashton
make any reference--I'm talking now of the last few weeks--to the
Ellingham family, or to the Earl of Ellingham?"
"Never!" replied Miss Wickham. "Never heard of them. He never--"
Mrs. Killenhall was showing signs of a wish to speak, and Mr. Pawle
turned to her.
"Have you, ma'am?" he asked.
"Yes," said Mrs. Killenhall, "I have! It was one night when Miss Wickham
was out--you were at Mrs. Murray-Sinclair's, my dear--and Mr. Ashton and
I dined alone. He asked me if I remembered the famous Ellingham case,
some years ago--something about the succession to the title--he said he'd
read it in the Colonial papers. Of course, I remembered it very well."
"Well, ma'am," said Mr. Pawle, "and what then?"
"I think that was all," answered Mrs. Killenhall. "He merely remarked
that it was an odd case, and said no more."
"What made him mention it?" asked Mr. Pawle.
"Oh, we'd been talking about romances of the peerage," replied Mrs.
Killenhall. "I had told him of several."
"You're well up in the peerage, ma'am?" suggested the old lawyer.
"I know my Burke and my Debrett pretty thoroughly," said Mrs. Killenhall.
"Very interesting, of course."
Mr. Pawle, who was sitting close to Miss Wickham, suddenly pointed to a
gold locket which she wore.
"Where did you get that, my dear?" he asked. "Unusual device, isn't it?"
"Mr. Ashton gave it to me, a few weeks ago," answered Miss Wickham. "He
said it had belonged to my father."
The old lawyer bent nearer, looked more closely at the locket, and got
up.
"Elegant old thing!" he said. "Not made yesterday, that! Well, ladies,
you will see me, for this very sad occasion"--he waved a hand at the
wreath of flowers--"tomorrow. In the meantime, if there is anything you
want done, our young friend here is close at hand. Just now, however, I
want him."
"Viner," observed Pawle when they had left the house, "it's very odd how
unobservant some people are! Now, there's that woman we've just left,
Mrs. Killenhall, who says that she's well up in her Debrett, and her
Burke,--and there, seen by her many a time, is that locket which Miss
Wickham is wearing, and she's never noticed it! Never, I mean, noticed
what's on it. Why, I saw it--and its significance--instantly, just now,
which was the first time I'd seen it!"
"What is it that's on it?" asked Viner.
"After we came back from Marketstoke," replied Mr. Pawle, "I looked up
the Cave-Gray family and their peerage. That locket bears their device
and motto. The device is a closed fist, grasping a handful of blades of
wheat; the motto is _Have and Hold_. Viner, as sure as fate, that girl's
father was the missing Lord Marketstoke, and Ashton knew the secret! I'm
convinced of it--I'm positive of it. And now see the extraordinary
position in which we're all placed. Ashton's dead, and there isn't one
scrap of paper to show what it was that he really knew. Nothing--not one
written line!"
"Because, as I said before, he was murdered for his papers," affirmed
Viner. "I'm sure of that as you are of the rest."
"I dare say you're right," agreed Mr. Pawle. "But, as _I've_ said
before, that presupposes that Ashton told somebody the secret.
Now--who? Was it the man he was with in Paris? And if so, who is that
man? But it's useless speculating. I've made up my mind to a certain
course, Viner. Tomorrow, after the funeral, I'm going to call on the
present Lord Ellingham--his town house is in Hertford Street, and I
know he's in town--and ask him if he has heard anything of a mysterious
nature relating to his long-missing uncle. We may hear something--you
come with me."
Next day, toward the middle of the afternoon, Mr. Pawle and Viner got out
of a taxicab in Park Lane and walked down Hertford Street, the old lawyer
explaining the course he was about to take.
"This is a young man--not long come of age," he said. "He'll be quite
well acquainted, however, with the family history, and if anything's
happened lately, I dare say I can get him to talk. He--What is it?"
Viner had suddenly gripped his companion's arm and pulled him to a halt.
He was looking ahead--at the house at which they were about to call. And
there, just being shown out by a footman, was the man whom he had seen at
the old-fashioned tavern in Notting Hill, and with him a tall,
good-looking man whom he had never seen before.