"His brother!" whispered Polke, as he handed a chair to the visitor. "So you've seen about this in the newspapers, sir?" he went on, turning to Mr. Leonard Hollis. "And you thought you'd better come over, I suppose?"
"I have not only read about it in the newspapers," answered the visitor, "but I last night—very late—received a telegram from my brother's clerk—Mr. Simmons—who evidently found my address at my brother's rooms. So I left Birmingham—where I now live—at once, to see you. Now, have you heard anything of my brother?"
Polke shook his head solemnly and warningly.
"I'm sorry to say we have, sir," he replied. "You'd better prepare for the worst news, Mr. Hollis. We found the body this morning—not two hours ago. And—we don't know, as yet, how he came by his death. The doctors say it may have been pure accident. Let's hope it was! But there are strange circumstances, sir—very strange!"
Hollis quietly rose from his chair.
"I suppose I can see him?" he asked.
Polke led him out of the room, and Starmidge turned to Neale.
"We're gradually getting at something, Mr. Neale," he said. "All this leads somewhere, you know. Now, since we found that incomplete cheque, there's a question I wanted to ask you. You've left Chestermarke's Bank now, and under the circumstances we're working in you needn't have any delicacy about answering questions about them. Do you know of any recent transaction of theirs which involved ten thousand pounds?"
"No!" replied Neale. "I certainly don't."
"Nor any sum approaching it?" suggested Starmidge. "Or exceeding it?"