"I think you'll have to let me know what these bare facts are," remarked Mr. Lindsey. "And Moneylaws, too. Moneylaws has a definite charge to bring against this man—and he'll bring it, if I've anything to do with it! He shall press it!—if he can find Carstairs. And I think you'd better tell us what you know, Portlethorpe. Things have got to come out."
"I've no objection to telling you and Mr. Moneylaws what we know," answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "After all, it is, in a way, common knowledge—to some people, at any rate. And to begin with, you are probably aware that the recent history of this Carstairs family is a queer one. You know that old Sir Alexander had two sons and one daughter—the daughter being very much younger than her brothers. When the two sons, Michael and Gilbert, were about from twenty-one to twenty-three, both quarrelled with their father, and cleared out of this neighbourhood altogether; it's always believed that Sir Alexander gave Michael a fair lot of money to go and do for himself, each hating the other's society, and that Michael went off to America. As to Gilbert, he got money at that time, too, and went south, and was understood to be first a medical student and then a doctor, in London and abroad. There is no doubt at all that both sons did get money—considerable amounts,—because from the time they went away, no allowance was ever paid to them, nor did Sir Alexander ever have any relations with them. What the cause of the quarrel was, nobody knows; but the quarrel itself, and the ensuing separation, were final—father and sons never resumed relations. And when the daughter, now Mrs. Ralston of Craig, near here, grew up and married, old Sir Alexander pursued a similar money policy towards her—he presented her with thirty thousand pounds the day she was married, and told her she'd never have another penny from him. I tell you, he was a queer man."
"Queer lot altogether!" muttered Mr. Lindsey. "And interesting!"
"Oh, it's interesting enough!" agreed Mr. Portlethorpe, with a chuckle. "Deeply so. Well, that's how things were until about a year before old Sir Alexander died—which, as you know, is fourteen months since. As I say, about six years before his death, formal notice came of the death of Michael Carstairs, who, of course, was next in succession to the title. It came from a solicitor in Havana, where Michael had died—there were all the formal proofs. He had died unmarried and intestate, and his estate amounted to about a thousand pounds. Sir Alexander put the affair in our hands; and of course, as he was next-of-kin to his eldest son, what there was came to him. And we then pointed out to him that now that Mr. Michael Carstairs was dead, Mr. Gilbert came next—he would get the title, in any case—and we earnestly pressed Sir Alexander to make a will. And he was always going to, and he never did—and he died intestate, as you know. And at that, of course, Sir Gilbert Carstairs came forward, and—"
"A moment," interrupted Mr. Lindsey. "Did anybody know where he was at the time of his father's death?"
"Nobody hereabouts, at any rate," replied Mr. Portlethorpe. "Neither his father, nor his sister, nor ourselves had heard of him for many a long year. But he called on us within twenty-four hours of his father's death."
"With proof, of course, that he was the man he represented himself to be?" asked Mr. Lindsey.
"Oh, of course—full proof!" answered Mr. Portlethorpe. "Papers, letters, all that sort of thing—all in order. He had been living in London for a year or two at that time; but, according to his own account, he had gone pretty well all over the world during the thirty years' absence. He'd been a ship's surgeon—he'd been attached to the medical staff of more than one foreign army, and had seen service—he'd been on one or two voyages of discovery—he'd lived in every continent—in fact, he'd had a very adventurous life, and lately he'd married a rich American heiress."
"Oh, Lady Carstairs is an American, is she?" remarked Mr. Lindsey.
"Just so—haven't you met her?" asked Mr. Portlethorpe.