I had placed Tulmin in his hands. “This man,” I said, “has been blackmailing the late Sir Philip Clevedon and I want to know why.”
And there I left it. Stillman, I knew, would sooner or later bring me the information I required.
“I went down to Ilbay,” Stillman said, “but I could not get on board the yacht. But chance helped me there. Mr. Thoyne came off the ship bringing Tulmin with him. The latter went to London and so did I. Whether Thoyne had given Tulmin an address, or whether Tulmin went there on his own, I didn’t know, but I followed him and obtained a room in the same house. Later I learnt that the house was one in which Tulmin had lodged when he first came over from America and before he went to Cartordale.”
“America?” I interposed. “Did Thoyne know him in America?”
“That is the story,” Stillman replied, with a quiet grin. “Thoyne—Clevedon—Tulmin—all from America. Tulmin had some money of his own, but Thoyne was making him a fairly generous allowance, is still, for that matter. But to begin at the beginning. When Sir Philip Clevedon—er—died, Mr. Thoyne offered Tulmin a job as steward on his yacht.”
“Did Tulmin say why the offer was made?”
“No—no special reason, anyway. He was out of a job and Thoyne wanted a steward. But it is a little curious that Mr. Thoyne offered him about twice the usual pay if he would go then and there at once.”
I smiled appreciatively. It was, indeed, a little curious,
“Though, if he hadn’t done that,” Stillman went on, “Tulmin probably wouldn’t have gone, because he wasn’t short of money. At all events he went. But hardly had he got to know his way about the yacht when a telegram came. ‘I want you to go to London and wait for me there,’ Mr. Thoyne said to him. And that seems to be the whole story.”
“Did Tulmin see the telegram?”