When the girl had left, Lane indulged in a long fit of meditation. Yes, Morrice had better know this at once. He could probably invent more than one plan by which Rosabelle could be kept out of it, even if he approached him directly. But Lane had gauged the financier sufficiently to know that in some respects he was a very peculiar man. He might resent the detective’s interference in what he considered a purely private matter, and order him out of the house.
He would adopt a method which he had used more than once before when he did not wish to appear personally. He went to a small typewriter which he only used on special occasions; his usual one had a personality of its own which might be easily identified, for certain typewriting is sometimes as distinctive as handwriting.
He indited a brief epistle and addressed it to “Rupert Morrice, Esquire,” taking care to mark it “Private.” He would take it down to the City and post it there, thus avoiding the tell-tale West End postmark.
It was an anonymous letter, signed by “A Well-wisher.” “If that doesn’t stir him to some sort of action, we must think of something else,” so ran the reflections of this astute man. “It may precipitate an explosion, and amongst other things reveal to him that Mr. Archie Brookes is no more his wife’s nephew than I am.”
He walked away from the pillar-box in the City well pleased with himself. It could not be said that he felt any compunction with regard to Mrs. Morrice née Miss Lettice Larchester. She had, no doubt, married the man for his money, and was treating him very badly. But even if he had, his hand would not have been stayed in consequence. His first duty was to his clients.
CHAPTER XVI
AT SCOTLAND YARD
Dismissing from his mind for the moment the incident which Rosabelle Sheldon had made a special visit to communicate to him—the anonymous letter would put in train the machinery for elucidating the real facts of that—there were two pressing problems that Lane was anxious to solve without any undue delay. The one was the actual position of Sir George Clayton-Brookes. Was he a comparatively poor man, as his paying-in book went to prove; or a rich one, as his lavish expenditure in certain directions tended to show? The second problem was the real identity of the young man calling himself his nephew, and also passing as the nephew of Mrs. Morrice by the marriage of her sister to the brother of the mysterious baronet.
The latter of the two puzzles was in the capable hands of Sellars. Much would depend upon the result of that interview with the friend of Mrs. Morrice’s youth, Alma Buckley. And the result depended upon the woman herself. First of all, had she any knowledge of Lettice Larchester after they had parted company at the little village of Brinkstone sufficiently intimate to include the details of her life between that date and her marriage to the wealthy financier? If she knew them, was she too staunch a friend to the companion of her youth to satisfy the curiosity of a stranger, or could she be tempted to open her mouth by a bribe of sufficient magnitude. If she were a venal person she would, no doubt, require a considerable sum for any information she gave.
No large sums could be extracted from the meagre resources of Richard Croxton. Anxious as he appeared to clear himself, he could not be expected to reduce himself to penury for an investigation which might not lead to any clear evidence of his innocence. Even if Alma Buckley knew the real identity of Archie Brookes and sold the knowledge for an agreed sum of money, the fact of proving him an impostor would not necessarily acquit Croxton of the suspicions resting upon him.
In that case the only person to whom application could be made would be Morrice himself. And that would entail immediate avowal of what Sellars had found out; and it might be that such an immediate avowal might be a little too precipitate for Lane’s plans. Anyway, in that direction he could do nothing till he knew the result of his lieutenant’s negotiations with this middle-aged actress.