I ought here to declare that, having regard to all the curious and
mysterious circumstances of the past, the situation was, to me, far from
satisfactory. As we strolled together along Market Street that cold
night discussing the affair, rather than remain in the public room of
the hotel, Reggie suggested that the secret might be written somewhere
and sealed up among the dead man's effects. But in that case, unless it
were addressed to us, it would be opened by the persons the dying man
had designated as "those scoundrelly lawyer chaps," and in all
probability be turned by them to profitable account.
His solicitors were, we knew, Messrs. Leighton, Brown and Leighton, an
eminently respectable firm in Bedford Row; therefore we sent a telegram
from the Central Office informing them of their client's sudden death,
and requesting that one of the firm should at once come to Manchester to
attend the inquest which Doctor Glenn had declared would be necessary.
As the deceased man had expressed a wish that Mabel should, for the
present, remain in ignorance, we did not inform her of the tragic
occurrence.
Curiosity prompted us to ascend again to the dead man's chamber and
examine the contents of his kit-bag and suit-case, but, beyond his
clothes, a cheque-book and about ten pounds in gold, we found nothing.
I think that we both half expected to discover the key to that
remarkable secret which he had somehow obtained, yet it was hardly to be
imagined that he would carry such a valuable asset about with him in his
luggage.
In the pocket of a small writing-book which formed part of the fittings
of the suit-case I discovered several letters, all of which I examined
and found them to be of no importance--save one, a dirty, ill-written
note in uneducated Italian, which contained some passages which struck
me as curious.
Indeed, so strange was the tenor of the whole communication that, with
Reggie's connivance, I resolved to take possession of it and make
further inquiry.
There were many things about Burton Blair that had puzzled us for years,
therefore we were both determined, if possible, to elucidate the curious
mystery that had surrounded him, even if he had carried to his grave the
secret of his enormous fortune.
We alone in all the world knew the existence of the secret, only we were
in ignorance of the necessary key by which the source of riches could be
opened. The manner in which he had gained his great wealth was a
mystery to every one, even to his daughter Mabel. In the City and in
Society he was vaguely believed by some to possess large interests in
mines, and to be a successful speculator in stocks, while others
declared that he was the ground-landlord of at least two large cities in
America, and yet others were positive that certain concessions from the
Ottoman Government had brought him his gold.
All were, however, mistaken in their surmises. Burton Blair possessed
not an acre of land; he had not a shilling in any public company; he was
not interested in either Government concessions or industrial
enterprises. No. The source of the great wealth by which he had, in
five years, been able to purchase, decorate and furnish in princely
manner one of the finest houses in Grosvenor Square, keep three of the
most expensive Panhards, motoring being his hobby, and rent that fine
old Jacobean mansion Mayvill Court, in Herefordshire, came from a source
which nobody knew or even suspected. His were mysterious millions.
"I wonder if anything will come out at the inquest?" queried Reggie,
later that evening. "His lawyers undoubtedly know nothing."
"He may have left some paper which reveals the truth," I answered. "Men
who are silent in life often commit their secrets to paper."
"I don't think Burton ever did."
"He may have done so for Mabel's benefit, remember."
"Ah! by Jove!" gasped my friend, "I never thought of that. If he wished
to provide for her, he would leave his secret with some one whom he
could implicitly trust. Yet he trusted us--up to a certain point. We
are the only ones who have any real knowledge of the state of affairs,"
and my tall, long-legged, fair-haired friend, who stood six feet in his
stockings, the picture of the easygoing muscular Englishman, although
engaged in the commerce of feminine frippery, stopped with a low grunt
of dissatisfaction, and carefully lit a fresh cigar.
We passed a dismal evening strolling about the main streets of
Manchester, feeling that in Burton Blair we had lost a friend, but when
on the following morning we met Herbert Leighton, the solicitor, in the
hall of the _Queen's_, and had a long consultation with him, the mystery
surrounding the dead man became considerably heightened.
"You both knew my late client very well, indeed," the solicitor
remarked, after some preliminaries. "Now, are you aware of the
existence of any one who would profit by his sudden decease?"
"That's a curious question," I remarked. "Why?"
"Well, the fact is this," explained the dark, sharp-featured man, with
some hesitation. "I have every reason to believe that he has been the
victim of foul play."
"Foul play!" I gasped. "You surely don't think that he was murdered?
Why, my dear fellow, that couldn't be. He was taken ill in the train,
and died in bed in our presence."
The solicitor, whose face had now become graver, merely shrugged his
narrow shoulders, and said--"We must, of course, await the result of the
inquest, but from information in my possession I feel confident that
Burton Blair did not die a natural death."
That same evening the Coroner held his inquiry in a private room in the
hotel, and, according to the two doctors who had made the postmortem
earlier in the day, death was due entirely to natural causes. It was
discovered that Blair had naturally a weak heart, and that the fatal
termination had been accelerated by the oscillation of the train.
There was absolutely nothing whatever to induce any suspicion of foul
play, therefore the jury returned a verdict in accordance with the
medical evidence that death was due to natural causes, and an order was
given for the removal of the body to London for burial.