"About a fortnight ago," replied Mrs. Lester—"I sent for him—I told him all about it—I asked his advice. At his suggestion I gave him a cheque for ten thousand pounds. He said he would make an endeavour to settle the whole thing for that amount, and have everything cleared up. He took the cheque away with him."
"Between then—that day when he was here and you gave him the cheque," asked Starmidge, "and last Saturday, when we know Mr. Hollis went to Scarnham, did you hear of or from Mr. Hollis at all?"
"Only in this way," replied Mrs. Lester. "When he left me, he said that before approaching Markham, as intermediary, he should like to see Guy, and hear what his account of the transactions was, and that he would ask my son to come up to town from Maychester and meet him. I heard from Guy at the end of last week—last Saturday morning, as a matter of fact—that he had been to town, that he had lunched with Mr. Hollis at Mr. Hollis's club, and that after discussing the whole affair, Mr. Hollis said that he would make a determined effort to settle the matter at once. And after that," concluded Mrs. Lester, "I heard no more or anything until I read of this Scarnham affair in the newspapers."
"And now that you have read it, ma'am, and have heard what I have to tell," said Starmidge, "do you connect it in any way with Mr. Guy Lester's affair?"
Mrs. Lester looked puzzled. She considered the detective's proposition in silence for a time.
"No!" she answered at last. "Really, I don't!"
Starmidge got up, and Easleby followed his lead.
"Well, ma'am," said Starmidge, "there is a connection, without doubt, and I think that within a very short time we shall have discovered what it is. What you have told us has been of great assistance—the very greatest assistance. And you can make your mind easy for the present—I don't see any reason for any unpleasant publicity just now—in fact, I think you'll find there won't be any. The unpleasant publicity, ma'am," concluded Starmidge, with an almost imperceptible wink at Easleby, "will be for—some other people."
The two detectives bowed themselves out, re-entered their car, and were driven on to Chesham. Neither had touched food since breakfast-time and each was hungry. They discovered an old-fashioned hotel in the main street of the little town, and were presently confronting a round of cold beef, a cold ham, and two foaming tankards, in the snug parlour which they had to themselves.
"One result of our profession, young Starmidge," observed the middle-aged Easleby, bending towards his companion over a well-filled plate, "is that it makes a man indulge in a tremendous lot of what you might call intellectual speculation!"