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Updated: July 1, 2025
"Maybe you'll be for taking a hand in this game yourself, Mr. Crone?" said I, thinking to joke with him. "You seem to have the right instinct for it, anyway." "Aye, well," he answered, "and I might be doing as well as anybody else, and no worse. You haven't thought of following anything up yourself, Mr. Moneylaws, I suppose?" "Me!" I exclaimed. "What should I be following up, man?
If I'd known that Moneylaws was going with him, I'd have likely charged Sir Gilbert there and then! anyway, I wouldn't have let Moneylaws go." "Aye! you know something, then?" exclaimed Murray. "You're in possession of some evidence that we know nothing about?" "I know this and I'll make you a present of it, now," answered Mr. Lindsey.
I do suspect Sir Gilbert of the murder of Crone and that's why I produced that ice-ax in court the other day. And when he saw that ice-ax, he knew that I suspected him, and that's why he took Moneylaws out with him, intending to rid himself of a man that could give evidence against him.
I know no more than the mere surface facts of the affair." He gave a sharp glance at his open door when I thus answered him, and the next instant he was close to me in the gloom and looking sharply in my face. "Are you so sure of that, now?" he whispered cunningly. "Come now, I'll put a question to yourself, Mr. Moneylaws.
"Aye!" he said, "it's a police matter, this, without doubt, Moneylaws. We'd best get back to Berwick, and insist on Murray setting his men thoroughly to work." We went first to Mr. Lindsey's when we got back, his house being on our way. And at sight of us he hurried out and had us in his study. There was a gentleman with him there Mr.
Sir Gilbert Carstairs, who was the seventh baronet, had only recently come to the neighbourhood on succeeding to the title and estates. Mr. Moneylaws, who was senior clerk to Mr.
And there I stood, in the middle of the bustling railway station, enjoying the sensation of reading my own obituary notice. "Our Berwick-on-Tweed correspondent, telegraphing late last night, says: Considerable anxiety is being felt in the town respecting the fate of Sir Gilbert Carstairs, Bart., of Hathercleugh House, and Mr. Hugh Moneylaws, who are feared to have suffered a disaster at sea.
"If we're going to find anything that'll throw any light on the question of this man's identity, it'll be in this box," he said. "I'll take the responsibility of opening it, in Mrs. Moneylaws' interest, anyway. Lift it on to that table, and let's see if one of these keys'll fit the lock."
Whether that is so or not, I was as certain as if I actually saw him that my assailant was the butler, Hollins. And I should have been infinitely surprised if any other voice than his had spoken as he did speak when the last grumble of the thunder died out in a sulky, reluctant murmur. "In at that door, and straight up the stairs, Moneylaws!" he commanded.
"Now," he went on, turning to the butler. "What is it? You can speak freely we are all three Mr. Portlethorpe, Mr. Moneylaws, and myself pretty well acquainted with all that is going on, by this time. And I'm perhaps not far wrong when I suggest that you know something?" The butler, who had taken the chair which Mr.
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