There the matter had rested at first. Meanwhile, as no new discovery was made, and not the slightest ray of light seemed to be forthcoming, the public interest was worked up to fever heat. Rathbone had few relations, though many friends. His only surviving relative appeared to be his uncle, a brother of his mother, who was the Dean of Bexeter. The clergyman was interviewed, and stated that he generally received a letter from his nephew every three weeks or so, but nothing in the most recent letter had been unusual, and that he was as much in the dark as any ordinary member of the public.
This much was known to the man in the street. But in society, while the comment and amazement was no less in intensity, much more was known than the outside world suspected.
For some time past every one had remarked the apparent and growing intimacy between the lost man and Miss Marjorie Poole, who was engaged to the famous scientist, Sir William Gouldesbrough, F.R.S. How far matters had gone between the young couple was only conjectured, but at the moment of Rathbone's disappearance it was generally believed that Miss Poole was about to throw over Sir William for his young rival—this was the elegant way in which men talked in the clubs and women in their drawing-rooms.
Nothing is hidden now-a-days, and the fierce light of publicity beats upon the doings of the countess and the coster-monger alike. The countess may, perhaps, preserve a secret a little longer than the coster-monger, and that is the only difference between them in this regard.
Accordingly, on the fifteenth or sixteenth day of the mystery, a sensational morning paper published a special article detailing what professed to be an entirely new light upon the situation. If statements affecting the private and intimate life of anybody can be called in good taste, the article was certainly written with a due regard to proprieties, and with an obvious attempt to avoid hurting the feelings of any one. But, as it was pointed out in a prefatory note, the whole affair had passed from the regions of private life into the sphere of national interest, and therefore it was the duty of a journal to give to the world all and every fact which had any bearing upon the affair, without fear or favour.
This last article, which created a tremendous sensation, was in substance as follows:—
It hinted that a young lady of great charm, and moving in the highest circles, a young lady who had been engaged for some little time to one of the most distinguished Englishmen of the day, had lately been much seen with the vanished man. The gossip of society had hinted that this could mean nothing more or less than the young lady had been mistaken in the first disposal of her affections, and was about to make a change.
How did this bear upon the situation?
During the next day or two, though no names were actually printed, it became generally known who the principal characters in the supposed little drama of love really were. Everybody spoke freely of old Sir Frederick Poole's distinguished daughter, of Lady Poole of Curzon Street, and of Sir William Gouldesbrough.
When the article first appeared everybody began to say, "Ah, now we shall have the whole thing cleared up." But as the days went on people began to realize that the new facts threw little new light upon the mystery, and only provided a possible motive for Mr. Guy Rathbone's suicide. And then once more people were compelled to ask themselves if Mr. Rathbone really was in love with Miss Poole, and had found that either she would have nothing to say to him, or that she was inevitably bound to Sir William Gouldesbrough in honour. Then when, how and where did he make away with himself?