What he said to Coutts was: ‘Looks queer—but don’t know. Accustomed to sign things that come through regular channel without looking close into them. Will see what Hawkins and Jackson have to say about it and let you know.’
Then Coutts took from his pocket a note which had been written to his brother by Austin Shield and placed the two signatures side by side.
‘I do not think that any one looking at these would hesitate to say that they were not written by the same hand.’
‘Don’t know. My hand shakes at times. Don’t always sign in exactly the same way. Not always sure of my own signature—when it comes back to me. Will inquire and let you know.’
‘I am positive that the writing is not yours, Mr Shield; and I should never have touched the paper if there had been any signature of yours beside me at the time. Although the amount may not be of much consequence to you, it will be a heavy loss to me. But I could have no suspicion of there being anything wrong, when I saw Philip’s name to the bill.’
‘All right. Will inquire.—Good-day.’
When Coutts left the room, this big bearish man growled fiercely and the growl ended in this note—‘Skunk.’ He immediately telegraphed for his friend Mr Beecham; and that was why Beecham had so suddenly quitted Kingshope.
On the day on which Madge made her memorable visit to London, Mr Beecham’s conjuring friend, Bob Tuppit, called at Wrentham’s cottage and asked for Mrs Wrentham. She could not be seen for half an hour; but Tuppit was ready to wait an hour or more, if Mrs Wrentham’s convenience should require it. He was accordingly shown into the dining-room—the place where Wrentham spent the greater part of his evenings at home, smoking and concocting schemes for the realisation of that grand vision of his life—a comfortable income and a home somewhere in the sunny south.
Tuppit was a quick-eyed little man, or he could not have earned his living as a conjurer; and when he had turned himself round about twice, he had the character and position of every bit of furniture photographed on his mind’s eye. He looked longest at a heavy mahogany desk which was bound with unusually massive brass clasps.
‘What a duffer!’ he said under his breath. ‘He has got something in there that will do for him; and he puts on those big clasps like labels, every one saying as plain as plain can be: “Look here, if you want to find out my little game.” Well, having gone in for this sort of thing, he might have taken the trouble to learn the ABC of his business.’