"Well," remarked Starmidge at last, "we're certain on one point now, anyway. Godwin Markham, money-lender, of Conduit Street, is the same person as Gabriel Chestermarke, banker, of Scarnham. That's flat! And now that we've got to know that much, how much nearer am I to finding out the real thing that I'm after?"
"Which is—exactly what?" asked Easleby.
"I was called in," answered Starmidge, "to find out the secret of John Horbury's disappearance. It isn't my business to interfere with Gabriel Chestermarke or Godwin Markham in his money-lending affairs—nor to trace Lord Ellersdeane's missing jewels. My job is—to find John Horbury, or to get to know what happened to him."
"And all this helps," answered Easleby. "Haven't you got anything?"
"Don't know that I have," admitted Starmidge. "Just now, anyway. I've had a dozen ideas—but they're a bit mixed at present. Have you—after what we've found out?"
"What sort of banking business is it the Chestermarkes carry on down there at Scarnham?" asked Easleby. "I suppose you'd get a general idea."
"Usual thing in a small country town," replied Starmidge. "Highly respectable, county family business, I should say, from what I saw and heard."
"All the squires, and the parsons, and the farmers, and better sort of tradesmen go to 'em, I suppose?" suggested Easleby. "And all the nice old ladies and that sort—an extra-respectable connection, eh?"
"Just as I say—regular country-town business," said Starmidge, half impatiently.
"Um!" remarked Easleby. "Now, if you were a highly respectable country-town banker, with a connection of that sort amongst very proper people, and if it so happened that you were living a double life, and running a money-lending business in London, do you think you'd want your banking customers to know what you were after when you weren't banking!"