“I don’t know the gentleman; but go to him, and ask him whether, at any time shortly before his death, Sir John consulted him? I expect you will find Allingham told him his heart was affected. If he did, then you have the reason why Sir John precipitated the matter. And mind you, if you do find that to be true, it’s pretty good confirmation that all the rest of the supposition I put to you will hold water.”
Soon afterwards the party broke off, and Tempest heard no more of the matter until ten days later, when Baxter called to show him a copy of the birth-certificate of an unnamed female child, born in Dublin on the 18th of August, 1881, and registered as the daughter of John Rellingham, solicitor, and Sarah Jane, formerly Manuel. Tempest laughed as he read the certificate through. “Isn’t it funny,” he said, “that when we were hunting high and low for the birth of that child, it never entered our heads to look for a daughter of Sir John? She’s registered in the right name, too.”
“I’ve seen Allingham. You were quite right in your guess. He thoroughly examined Sir John about a month before the date of the murder. It wasn’t heart disease. It was cancer of the throat. He told Sir John he could count on at least three months. He strongly advised an operation, and Sir John was very much inclined to agree; in fact it was almost arranged, but it would have been a very risky operation.”
“Then, that’s why he was making his arrangements? Didn’t he say anything to any of you three?”
“Not a word; but then he was always very reserved about himself.”
The barrister hummed a tune, and then, lighting a cigarette, fell to pacing his room, as he always did when working out his problems.
“Well, Baxter, Sir John provoked that interview, which we presume was about the secret trust, in order to make the different parts of the key to the cryptogram ready to work, in case he died before Evangeline came of age. Do you remember that letter you found copied in his private letter-book? That was an invitation to the interview. Now, knowing it was going to take place, knowing he had to provide for Evangeline’s future, he goes to see you the night before and asks you to marry the girl. Then he could have settled everything by leaving the money to you. That would have excited no comment, and probably he would have abandoned his secret trust, and no doubt he would have taken a different line at the interview. But you wouldn’t promise unconditionally to marry the girl?”
“He wanted me to marry her in a day or two’s time by special licence. I couldn’t do it. I’d never seen the girl.”
“And Sir John knew he couldn’t wait.”
“I almost wish I’d consented. I wonder if it would have altered matters?”