Rudolph was not a literary man. He had neither books nor papers, whose telltale testimony might convict him. In fact, the best of his personal possessions was very small. A few clothes were lying about the room. Tony decided to examine the pockets of these, in the hope of discovering something in his interest. Finally he found in the pocket of a shooting coat a small memorandum book, in which a few entries, chiefly of bets, had been made. In these Tony felt no interest, and he was about to throw down the book when his eye caught this entry:
“Dead broke. Must write to Mrs. Middleton for more money.”
Tony’s heart beat rapidly.
This must be the person from whom Rudolph received his income, and, by consequence, the person who was in fraudulent possession of the estate that was rightfully his.
Mrs. Middleton! “I wish I knew where she lives,” thought our hero. “No doubt there are hundreds of the name in England.”
This might be, but, probably, there was but one Mrs. Middleton in possession of an estate worth two thousand pounds rental.
I am on the track,” thought Tony. “Now let me get away, and consult George Spencer.”
It was easier said than done. The door was locked, and it was too strong to break down.
“There must be somebody in the room below,” thought Tony. “I’ll pound till they hear me.”
He jumped up and down with such force that it did attract attention in the room below. Presently he heard a querulous voice at the keyhole: