This is what it came to. Thalberg had been partner to a lawyer who was Longhurst’s solicitor. In the early part of 1882, when Longhurst had spent a month in England, he had consulted Thalberg’s partner about some matters that troubled him in regard to his partnership with Vane-Cartwright. Thalberg could not remember (so at least he said) the precise complaint which Longhurst had laid before his partner, except that it related to Vane-Cartwright’s having got concessions and acquired property for himself which Longhurst considered (without foundation, as Thalberg supposed) should have belonged to the partnership. Nor did Thalberg know the advice which had been given Longhurst. He had heard no more of him beyond the mere report that he had been drowned, till, after his death, Vane-Cartwright, whom Thalberg had not previously known, came to London and employed the firm to find out various members of Longhurst’s family who were still living, and to whom he now behaved with great generosity. Since then Thalberg had been, as we knew, solicitor of a company which Vane-Cartwright had founded, and had occasionally done for him private law work of a quite unexciting nature. But in the middle of January of last year, 1896, Thalberg had been instructed by Vane-Cartwright to make for him with the utmost privacy certain enquiries. One was of a person in Bagdad, as to the identity and previous history of a certain Mr. Bryanston; one concerned a certain Dr. Kuyper, a physician and scientist in Batavia, who, it was ascertained, was now dead. Another was, as Callaghan knew, addressed to a correspondent in Madrid, but Thalberg declared that this enquiry went no further than to ascertain the name and address of the person who then filled the office of Public Prosecutor or, I think, Minister of Justice in the Philippines. I ventured to ask the name; it was a name that I had seen before in those notes of Peters’. Lastly, there was an enquiry in regard to Dr. Verschoyle. Thalberg had been instructed if possible to obtain an interview with this gentleman before a certain date. The purpose of the interview, he declared, was to obtain from him some notes and journals which would be of use in the foundation of a new mission in the Philippines, under the auspices of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, a project in which Vane-Cartwright appeared, he said, to be keenly interested (and indeed it was the fact that he had previously patronised missionary societies). The object of Thalberg’s visit to Long Wilton was this. He had been told to repair there without fail by the date on which he actually came, and to inform Vane-Cartwright by word of mouth of the result, if any, of his enquiries. That result had been, shortly: that Bryanston was the man who had at one time been at Nagasaki; that Kuyper was dead; that the Minister of Justice (or whatever the precise office was) at Manilla was the person already alluded to; and that Verschoyle was abroad and had lately been at Siena, but had departed abruptly some weeks before—for Germany, it was thought, but he had left no address behind him. All this Thalberg had duly reported to Vane-Cartwright in Peters’ house the afternoon before the murder occurred. And what all this taught Vane-Cartwright, though in part obscure, is in part obvious. It taught him that no letter from Verschoyle to Peters need at present be expected. It taught him that a letter from Bryanston, which must be expected, might be dangerous and must be intercepted. It taught him that Peters would remain inactive only till that letter reached his hands. It taught him also that if Peters were put to silence, Kuyper, the other European who had seen that body in Sulu, could tell no tales.
After Peters’ death, Thalberg, still acting under instructions, had had an interview with Dr. Verschoyle at Homburg, to which he had traced him, and had taken with him a letter written on the paper of the S.P.G., and signed, as he believed, by the secretary of that society. (It has since appeared that the secretary had no knowledge of such a letter.) Dr. Verschoyle delivered to him some journals which he, Thalberg, never read, for transmission to Vane-Cartwright, to whom he duly delivered them. That, he said, was all that he knew of the subjects on which Callaghan sought information. He denied all knowledge of further communications made on behalf of Vane-Cartwright with that important official in the Philippines; but he appeared to me somewhat nervous in answering Callaghan’s questions on this matter, and anxious to appease him with the prospect that he might be able, through friends of his, to ascertain what communications of this nature had actually taken place.
It was curious to how many questions suggested to us by what he had said he could give no answer. Indeed he informed us, with an air of moral self-complacency, that he thought it a very sound maxim for a professional man to know as little as possible of things which it was not his business to know. I guessed that perhaps his strict observance of this precept was the thing which had commended him to the service of Vane-Cartwright, but I really do believe that Mr. Thalberg knew nothing behind the facts which he now thought it convenient to himself to reveal.
However that may be, he made no secret of anything which he could disclose without injury to himself. We had got from him, or I ought to say Callaghan had got from him, evidence which might serve to show plainly enough that Vane-Cartwright was aware of Peters’ suspicions and concerned himself greatly about them, and, content with this, we were preparing to go when Mr. Thalberg stopped us saying that there was one important matter of which we had not asked him yet, and perhaps should be surprised to know that he could tell us anything. I have omitted to say that in the course of the conversation he had heard something from us about the things which had led to Vane-Cartwright’s being suspected. We had told him in substance the story about the tracks, and were much surprised to find that he appeared wholly ignorant of the charge that had been brought against Trethewy. He now told us a fact which had a great bearing upon the history of those tracks. He asked us whether or not Peters’ grounds could be seen from the upper rooms of the hotel. I said that no doubt they could, for the hotel was only too visible from those grounds. He then stated that having confined himself to his bedroom until it was time for him to start for his train, he had at a certain hour noticed a man walking across Peters’ field (for from his description it was plain to me that it was Peters’ field, and plain further that the man was walking pretty much where those tracks were made). This man, even at that distance, he recognised as Vane-Cartwright; he recognised him by his fur coat and a cap which Ellen Trethewy had seen him in, and by some peculiarity about his gait which he knew well. The man was also swinging his stick in Vane-Cartwright’s own particular manner. The distance was considerable, but I knew that it would be possible for a clear-sighted man to recognise at that distance any one whom he knew very well. The hour which Thalberg named corresponded with what Ellen Trethewy had told me.
Chapter XXI
As we left Thalberg’s office and walked down the narrow court which led to the street, I daresay our looks and voices, if not our words, betrayed the exultation of men who see a long-sought object at last within reach. As we turned into the street we were stopped by Vane-Cartwright.
Only the day before I had been expecting to find him lurking for me round every corner; but now and here it startled me to meet him. When I learnt why he met us, it startled me still more, and looking back upon it, I still find it unaccountable.
“Mr. Driver, Mr. Callaghan,” he said, addressing us in turn in tones as quiet as ever, but with a pale face and highly-strung manner, “I am your prisoner.” I suppose we stared for a moment, for he repeated, “I am your prisoner. I will go with you where you like; or you can give me in charge to the nearest constable. There is one. You see you have beaten me. You probably do not yet know it yourselves, but you have.”
“Well,” he continued, “if you do not quite know what you are going to do, I will ask one thing of you. Before you give me up to justice, take me somewhere where I can talk with you two alone. I want to tell you my story. It will not make you alter your purpose, I know that; but it will make you respect me a little more than you do. It is odd that I should want that, but I do.”
“Well, gentlemen?” he said questioningly, as we still hesitated, and his old self-possession returning for a moment, a smile of positive amusement came over his face.