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He almost hated himself for feeling any doubt on the subject, and yet Mark had certainly behaved very strangely; in any case he must try to find out who this Cyril Ernstone might be, and he went on to the City and called at Messrs. Chilton and Fladgate's offices with that intention. Mr. Fladgate himself came down to receive him in the little room in which Mark Ashburn had once waited.
'I see, said Mark, nettled; 'you are not particularly hopeful about it? 'Oh, said Mr. Fladgate, with a wave of his hand, 'I wouldn't say that. Chance has a good deal to do with these affairs a good deal to do. I confess I miss some of the qualities that charmed me in your "Illusion."
And now he observed something which he had not noticed in first reading the Review namely, that 'Illusion' was published by the very firm to which he had sent his own manuscript. Had not Mark given him to understand that Chilton and Fladgate had rejected it?
The shock stunned him almost as if it had found him totally unprepared. 'It was Mark, then, he said only half aloud, as he put the book down again very gently. 'Ah, so you know him? said Mr. Fladgate, who stood by smiling. 'He was one of my oldest friends, replied Vincent, still in a low voice. 'And you suspected him, eh? continued the publisher, who was not the most observant of men.
Long before, he had dreamed of just such an interview, in which he should be addressed in some such manner his dream was being fulfilled now with relentless mockery! 'But there is a risk, said Mr. Fladgate, 'a decided risk, which brings me to the subject of terms. Are you satisfied with the offer we made to you? You see that a first book
Except this," added Dick; "they've found out about those other affairs the Braden and the Collishaw affairs. Folliot was concerned in them; and who do you think the other was? You'd never guess! That man Fladgate, the verger. Only that isn't his proper name at all. He and Folliot finished Braden and Collishaw, anyway.
I felt I only wanted a fair start. Then Fladgate got it into his head that I was the author of that manuscript of yours. I did tell him how it really was, but he wouldn't believe me, and then upon my soul, Holroyd, I thought you were dead! 'And had no rights! concluded the other drily; 'I see go on. 'I was mad, I suppose, continued Mark; 'I let him think he was right.
Circumstantial evidence, all of it, no doubt, but irresistible! Now, what do you propose to do?" Mitchington considered matters for a moment. "Fladgate first, certainly," he said. "He lives close by here; we'll go round to his cottage. If he sees he's in a tight place he may let things out. Let's go there at once."
"You would never risk that dreadful sea passage!" exclaimed Mrs. Fladgate. "And how will you manage the language? You don't understand French." "Oh, I shall do very well," said the heroic woman. "They won't talk French to me!" That same night a female passenger crossed by the boat from Newhaven to Dieppe.
He went white to the lips and his hand fell trembling from the latch as Mitchington strode in and the rest crowded behind. "Now then, Fladgate!" said Mitchington, going straight to the point and watching his man narrowly, while the detective approached him closely on the other side. "I want you and a word with you at once. Your real name is Flood! What have you to say to that?
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