The manager, who presently received us in his private rooms, looked at Mr. Lindsey and Mr. Portlethorpe with evident surprise—it may have been that there was mystery in their countenances. I know that I, on my part, felt as if a purblind man might have seen that I was clothed about with mystery from the crown of my head to the sole of my foot! And he appeared still more surprised when Mr. Lindsey, briefly, but fully, explained why we had called upon him.
"Of course, I've read the newspapers about your strange doings at Berwick," he observed, when Mr. Lindsey—aided by some remarks from Mr. Portlethorpe—had come to the end of his explanation. "And I gather that you now want to know what we, here, know of Sir Gilbert Carstairs and Mr. John Paley. I can reply to that in a sentence—nothing that is to their discredit! They are two thoroughly estimable and trustworthy gentlemen, so far as we are aware."
"Then there is a Mr. John Paley?" demanded Mr. Lindsey, who was obviously surprised.
The manager, evidently, was also surprised—by the signs of Mr. Lindsey's surprise.
"Mr. John Paley is a stockbroker in this city," he replied. "Quite well known! The fact is, we—that is, I—introduced Sir Gilbert Carstairs to him. Perhaps," he continued, glancing from one gentleman to the other, "I had better tell you all the facts. They're very simple, and quite of an ordinary nature. Sir Gilbert Carstairs came in here, introducing himself, some months ago. He told me that he was intending to sell off a good deal of the Carstairs property, and that he wanted to reinvest his proceeds in the very best American securities. I gathered that he had spent a lot of time in America, that he preferred America to England, and, in short, that he had a decided intention of going back to the States, keeping Hathercleugh as a place to come to occasionally. He asked me if I could recommend him a broker here in Edinburgh who was thoroughly well acquainted with the very best class of American investments, and I at once recommended Mr. John Paley. And—that's all I know, gentlemen."
"Except," remarked Mr. Lindsey, "that you know that considerable transactions have taken place between Mr. Paley and Sir Gilbert Carstairs. We know that, from what we heard last night in Newcastle."
"Precisely!—then you know as much as I can tell you," replied the manager. "But I have no objection to saying that large sums of money, coming from Sir Gilbert Carstairs, have certainly been passed through Mr. Paley's banking account here, and I suppose Mr. Paley has made the investments which Sir Gilbert desired—in fact, I know he has. And—I should suggest you call on Mr. Paley himself."
We went away upon that, and it seemed to me that Mr. Lindsey was somewhat taken aback. And we were no sooner clear of the bank than Mr. Portlethorpe, a little triumphantly, a little maliciously, turned on him.
"There! what did I say?" he exclaimed. "Everything is in order, you see, Lindsey! I confess I'm surprised to hear about those American investments; but, after all, Sir Gilbert has a right to do what he likes with his own. I told you we were running our heads against the wall—personally, I don't see what use there is in seeing this Mr. Paley. We're only interfering with other people's business. As I say, Sir Gilbert can make what disposal he pleases of his own property."
"And what I say, Portlethorpe," retorted Mr. Lindsey, "is that I'm going to be convinced that it is his own property! I'm going to see Paley whether you do or not—and you'll be a fool if you don't come."
Mr. Portlethorpe protested—but he accompanied us. And we were very soon in Mr. John Paley's office—a quiet, self-possessed sort of man who showed no surprise at our appearance; indeed, he at once remarked that the bank manager had just telephoned that we were on the way, and why.
"Then I'll ask you a question at once," said Mr. Lindsey. "And I'm sure you'll be good enough to answer it. When did you last see Sir Gilbert Carstairs?"
Mr. Paley immediately turned to a diary which lay on his desk, and gave one glance at it. "Three days ago," he answered promptly. "Wednesday—eleven o'clock."
Chapter XXX. The Carstairs Motto
Mr. Lindsey reflected a moment after getting that precise answer, and he glanced at me as if trying to recollect something.
"That would be the very morning after the affair of the yacht?" he asked of me.
But before I could speak, Mr. Paley took the words out of my mouth.
"Quite right." he said quietly. "I knew nothing of it at the time, of course, but I have read a good deal in the newspapers since. It was the morning after Sir Gilbert left Berwick in his yacht."
"Did he mention anything about the yacht to you?" inquired Mr. Lindsey.
"Not a word! I took it that he had come in to see me in the ordinary way," replied the stockbroker. "He wasn't here ten minutes. I had no idea whatever that anything had happened."
"Before we go any further," said Mr. Lindsey, "may I ask you to tell us what he came for? You know that Mr. Portlethorpe is his solicitor?—I am asking the question on his behalf as well as my own."
"I don't know why I shouldn't tell you," answered Mr. Paley. "He came on perfectly legitimate business. It was to call for some scrip which I held—scrip of his own, of course."
"Which he took away with him?" suggested Mr. Lindsey.
"Naturally!" replied the stockbroker. "That was what he came for."
"Did he give you any hint as to where he was going?" asked Mr. Lindsey. "Did he, for instance, happen to mention that he was leaving home for a time?"
"Not at all," answered Mr. Paley. "He spoke of nothing but the business that had brought him. As I said just now, he wasn't here ten minutes."
It was evident to me that Mr. Lindsey was still more taken aback. What we had learned during the last half-hour seemed to surprise him. And Mr. Portlethorpe, who was sharp enough of observation, saw this, and made haste to step into the arena.
"Mr. Lindsey," he said, "has been much upset by the apparently extraordinary circumstances of Sir Gilbert Carstairs' disappearance—and so, I may say, has Sir Gilbert's sister, Mrs. Ralston. I have pointed out that Sir Gilbert himself may have—probably has—a quite proper explanation of his movements. Wait a minute, Lindsey!" he went on, as Mr. Lindsey showed signs of restiveness. "It's my turn, I think." He looked at Mr. Paley again. "Your transactions with Sir Gilbert have been quite in order, all through, I suppose—and quite ordinary?"
"Quite in order, and quite ordinary," answered the stockbroker readily. "He was sent to me by the manager of the Scottish-American Bank, who knows that I do a considerable business in first-class American securities and investments. Sir Gilbert told me that he was disposing of a great deal of his property in England and wished to re-invest the proceeds in American stock. He gave me to understand that he wished to spend most of his time over there in future, as neither he nor his wife cared about Hathercleugh, though they meant to keep it up as the family estate and headquarters. He placed considerable sums of money in my hands from time to time, and I invested them in accordance with his instructions, handing him the securities as each transaction was concluded. And—that's really all I know."
Mr. Lindsey got in his word before Mr. Portlethorpe could speak again.
"There are just two questions I should like to ask—to which nobody can take exception, I think," he said. "One is—I gather that you've invested all the money which Sir Gilbert placed in your hands?"
"Yes—about all," replied Mr. Paley. "I have a balance—a small balance."
"And the other is this," continued Mr. Lindsey: "I suppose all these American securities which he now has are of such a nature that they could be turned into cash at any time, on any market?"
"That is so—certainly," assented Mr. Paley. "Yes, certainly so."
"Then that's enough for me!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, rising and beckoning me to follow.