“Precisely, my dear sir!” said the other, coolly, Mr Sequence, of course, taking no part in the conversation. “Precisely, but you see you will have to prove, in the first place, that the girl was of unsound mind; and in the second, to prove conspiracy you will have to implicate two or more persons. You see, I too, know the law, Mr Trump: allow me to inform you that I alone was concerned in the affair, how will you prove your conspiracy?”
The lawyer looked fairly baffled. “The girl’s found at all events, and that’s one trouble saved,” he said to himself.
Markworth resumed after a moment’s pause, “You see, my dear sir, the girl was of age, she was unhappy at home, she ran away with me and married me: the whole thing lies in a nutshell. I wasn’t to blame; and, of course, as she has property, I shall take very good care to assert my rights as her husband. But that’s an after consideration. You are quite satisfied that the girl is found, I suppose?” said Markworth, after detailing how Susan had met him on the day of her disappearance, taken train with him at Bigglethorpe Station (corroborated as the lawyer remembered, by his and the detective’s enquiries on the day they went down to Hartwood), from whence they had come up to London, and then gone to Havre. The marriage certificate and photograph were also convincing proofs of his statement.
“Yes,” said Mr Trump, “I suppose you have the girl; but it’s a very queer case.”
“My address is Numéro Sept, Rue Montmartre, Havre, where you can see Mrs Markworth yourself: now I’ll thank you to hand over that fifty pounds you offered as a reward for any information about her.”
“By George!” said the lawyer, “you’re a cool hand, and no mistake!” He could not gainsay Markworth’s statement, however; so, unlocking his cash box, and taking out five ten pound notes, he handed them to him reluctantly. “There they are, and much good may they do you!” said Mr Trump, ruefully—He felt just as if he had been the victim of a practical joke.
Markworth, after counting them over carefully, pocketed the notes with the utmost sang froid. “I suppose you will inform Mrs Hartshorne of her daughter’s marriage?”
“Of course, sir, of course! I shall make it my business to go down there myself at once.”
“Aye, do, my dear sir! and get all those unpleasant details over. I’m myself going down to-morrow, and should not like to be bothered in having to make any explanation.”
“You’ll get as much as you want,” said Mr Trump, significantly, “when you come across the old lady.” And Mr Trump bethought him, with ill-concealed satisfaction, of the reception with which Markworth would probably meet; it would be a sort of tit-for-tat, or quid pro quo, for the “sell” he had just been made a victim of, in having to hand over that fifty pounds to the very man who had caused all the worry of Susan’s disappearance. “You won’t get any money out of her,” he thought.