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Updated: June 5, 2025
That evening, Starmidge, who had driven quietly across the country from Scarnham to Ecclesborough, joined a London express at the Midland Station in the big town. The carriages were unusually full, and he had some difficulty in finding the corner seat that he particularly desired.
The policeman nodded his comprehension of these instructions and went out, and Polke turned back to the dining-room and closed the door. He looked at Starmidge. "Now I'm in your hands," he said quietly. "You take charge of this. What do you wish to do?" "One thing particularly at first," answered Starmidge. "And we can all work at it.
It's as I say the telephone conversation may have begun with Horbury, but it may have ended with somebody else. And what I say is who was the precise person whom Hollis went to meet?" "Are you going to tell all that to Starmidge?" asked Betty admiringly. "Because I'm sure it's never entered his head so far." "Depends," replied Neale. "Let's see if the tinker has anything to tell.
Starmidge would have given a good deal for a really good excuse to call on Joseph Chestermarke at that house, so that he might see the inside of it: indeed, if he had only met with a better reception at the bank, he would have invented such an excuse.
"To make accusations against my uncle, and then to refuse to say what they are! But can't you make them say?" "We'll try, in good time," answered Starmidge. "Slow and steady's the game here. For, whatever it is, it's a deep game." "Nothing has been heard since I saw you last night?" asked Betty anxiously. "No one has brought you any news?" "No news of any sort, miss," replied Polke.
For a man who was still young, Starmidge had seen a good deal of the queer side of life, and had known a good many strange people, but so far he had never come across two such apparently curious characters as the uncle and nephew who ran the old-fashioned bank. Their evident indifference to public opinion puzzled him. He could not understand their ice-cold defiance of what he himself called law.
Now that you know what you do, for instance, I suppose I could be made to give evidence, eh!" "I'm afraid you're quite right, ma'am," admitted Starmidge. "The mystery of Mr. Hollis's death will certainly have to be cleared up. Now that this cheque affair is out, you could be called as a witness at the inquest. Better tell us, ma'am and leave things to us." Mrs.
Except one thing which Starmidge was quick to see. Over the mantelpiece, with an almanac on one side of it, and an interest-table on the other, hung a somewhat faded photograph of Gabriel Chestermarke. The younger detective tapped his companion's arm and silently indicated this grim counterfeit of the man in whose doings they were so keenly interested just then. "That's the man!" he whispered.
"So," said Starmidge, "he didn't fill in either the name of the payee or his own name until he was sure! See, Mr. Neale!" "Why did he fill in the amount?" remarked Neale, sceptically. Starmidge winked at Polke. "Very likely to dangle before somebody's eyes," he answered slyly. "Can't you reconstruct the scene, Mr. Neale? 'Here you are! says Hollis, showing this cheque.
Leonard Hollis, of Birmingham, has come. He's identified the body." "And what does he think, or suggest?" asked Joseph, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Starmidge. "Has he any suggestions or ideas?" "He thinks his brother came here to meet Mr. Horbury," answered Starmidge. "That's so evident that it's no news," remarked Joseph. "Perhaps he can suggest where Horbury's to be found."
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