The two detectives had long since realized that Mr. Leopold Castlemayne's interest in the banker-money-lender was a purely personal one, based on his own unlucky dealings with him. But they wished for something outside that interest, and Starmidge, after a word or two of condolence, and another of advice to go to a shrewd and smart solicitor, asked a plain question.
"You say you've been on terms of—shall we call it neighbourly intimacy?—with this man," he remarked. "Have you ever met his nephew?"
The lessee made a face expressive of deep scorn.
"Nephew!" he exclaimed. "Yah!—d'ye think a fellow like that 'ud have a nephew? I don't believe he's any relations that's flesh and blood! I don't believe he ever had a mother! I believe he's one of these ghouls you read about in the story-books—what's he look like? A bloodsucker!—that's what he is!"
Starmidge gave his host an accurate description of Joseph Chestermarke.
"Did you ever see a man like that at this Markham's house?" he asked.
"Never!" answered the lessee.
"Or at his office?" persisted Starmidge.
"No—don't know such a man! I've only been to the offices in Conduit Street a few times," said Castlemayne. "The chap you see there is a fellow called Stipp—Mr. James Stipp. A nice, smooth-tongued, mealy-mouthed chap—you know. I say—d'ye think you'll be able to fasten anything on to Markham, or Chestermarke, or whatever his name is?"
Easleby responded jocularly that they certainly wouldn't if they sat there, and after solemnly assuring Mr. Leopold Castlemayne that his confidence would be severely respected, he and Starmidge went away. Once outside they walked for awhile in silence, each reflecting on what he had just heard.