CHAPTER XIII
SEARCHING THE CHAMBERS
Wrayson took his guest to a popular restaurant, where there was music anda five-course luncheon for three and six. Their conversation during theearlier part of the meal was limited, for Mr. Sydney Barnes showedhimself possessed of an appetite which his host contemplated withrespectful admiration. His sallow cheeks became flushed and hisnervousness had subsided, long before the arrival of the coffee.
"I say, this is all right, this place is," he said, leaning back in hischair with a large cigar between his teeth. "Jolly expensive, I suppose,isn't it?"
Wrayson smiled.
"It depends," he answered. "I don't suppose your brother would have foundit so. A bachelor can do himself pretty well on two thousand a year."
"I only hope I get hold of it," Mr. Sydney Barnes declared fervently."This is the way I should like to live, this is."
"I hope you will," Wrayson answered. "An income of that sort couldscarcely disappear into thin air, could it? By the bye, Mr. Barnes, thatreminds me of a very important circumstance which, up to now, we have notmentioned. I mean the way your brother met with his death."
The young man nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah!" he remarked, "he was murdered, wasn't he? Some one must have owedhim a nasty grudge. Morris always was a one to make enemies."
"I don't know whether the same thing has occurred to you," Wraysoncontinued, "but I can't help wondering whether there may not have beensome connection between his death and that mysterious income of his."
"I've thought of that myself," the young man declared. "All the same,I can't see what he could have carried about with him worth twothousand a year."
"Exactly," Wrayson answered, "but you see the matter stands like this. Hewas in receipt of about L500 every three months, as his bank-book proves.This sum would represent five per cent interest on forty thousand pounds.Now, considering your brother's position when he left you at Cape Town,and the fact that you cannot discover at his bankers or elsewhere anydocuments alluding to property or shares of any sort, one can scarcelyhelp dismissing the hypothesis that this payment was the result ofdividends or interest. At any rate, let us put that out of the questionfor the moment. Your brother received five hundred pounds every threemonths from some one. People don't give money away for nothing nowadays,you know. From whom and for what services did he receive that money?"
Mr. Sydney Barnes looked puzzled.
"Ask me another," he remarked facetiously.
"You do not know of any secrets, I suppose, which your brother may havestumbled into possession of?"
"Not I! He went about with his eyes open and his mouth closed, but Inever heard of his having that sort of luck."
"He could not have had any adventures on the steamer, for he came backsteerage," Wrayson continued thoughtfully, "and he was in funds almostfrom the moment he landed in England. I am afraid, Mr. Barnes, that hemust have been deceiving you in Cape Town."
"If I could only have a dozen words with him!" the young manmuttered savagely.
"It would be useful," Wrayson admitted, "but, unfortunately, it is out ofthe question. Either he was deceiving you, or he was in possession ofsomething which turned out far more valuable than he had imagined."
"If so, where is it?" Mr. Sydney Barnes demanded. "If it was worth thatto him, it may be to me."
"Exactly," Wrayson remarked, "but the question of your brother'smurder comes in there. People don't commit a crime like that fornothing, you know. If it was information which your brother had, itdied with him. If it was documents, they were probably stolen by theperson who killed him."
"Come, that's cheerful," the young man declared ruefully. "If you'reguessing right, where do I come in?"
"I'm afraid you don't come in," Wrayson answered; "but remember I am onlyfollowing out a surmise. Have you looked through your brother's paperscarefully?"
"I've gone through 'em all," Mr. Sydney Barnes answered, "but, of course,I was looking for scrip or a memorandum of investments, or something ofthat sort. Perhaps if a clever chap like you were to go through them, youmight come across a clue."
"It seems hard to believe that he shouldn't have left something of thesort behind him," Wrayson answered. "It might be only an address, or aname, or anything."
"Will you come round with me and see?" Mr. Barnes demanded eagerly. "Itwouldn't take you long. You're welcome to see everything there is there."
Wrayson called for the bill.
"Very well," he said, "we will take a hansom round there at once."
They left the place a few minutes later, and drove to Battersea.
"There's a quarter to run, the landlord says, so I'm staying here,"Barnes explained, as he unlocked the front door. "I can't afford aservant or anything of that sort of course, but I shall just sleep here."
The rooms had a ghostly and unkempt appearance. The atmosphere of thesitting-room was stuffy and redolent of stale tobacco smoke. Wrayson'sfirst action was to throw open the window.
"There isn't a sign of a paper anywhere, except in that desk," the youngman remarked. "You'll find things in a mess, but whatever was there isthere now. I've destroyed nothing."
Wrayson seated himself before the desk, and began a careful search. Therewere restaurant bills without number, and a variety of ladies' cards,more or less soiled. There were Empire and Alhambra programmes, a bundleof racing wires, and an account from a bookmaker showing a small debitbalance. There were other miscellaneous bills, a plaintive epistle from alady signing herself Flora, and begging for the loan of a fiver for aweek, and an invitation to tea from a spinster who called herself Poppy.Amongst all this mass of miscellaneous documents there were only threewhich Wrayson laid on one side for further consideration. One of thesewas a note, dated from the Adelphi a few days before the tragedy, andwritten in a stiff, legal hand. It contained only a few lines:
"DEAR SIR,--
"My client will be happy to meet you at any time on Thursday you may bepleased to appoint, either here or at your own address. Please reply,making an appointment, by return of post.
"Yours faithfully,
"W. BENTHAM."
The second document was also in the shape of a letter from a firm ofprivate detective agents and was dated only a day earlier than thelawyer's letter. It ran as follows:
"MY DEAR SIR,--
"In reply to your inquiry, our charges for watching a single person inLondon only are three guineas a day, including all expenses. For thatsum we can guarantee that the person with whose movements you desire tokeep in touch will be closely shadowed from roof to roof, so long asthe person remains within seven miles of Charing Cross. A daily reportwill be made to you, and should legal proceedings ensue from anyinformation procured by us, you may rely upon any witness whom we mightplace in the box.
"Trusting to hear from you,
"We are, yours sincerely,
"McKENNA & FOULDS."
The third document which Wrayson had preserved was the Cunard sailinglist for the current month, the plan of a steamer which sailed within aweek of the murder, and a few lines from the steamship office respectingaccommodation.
"These, at any rate, will give you something to do," Wrayson remarked."You can go to the lawyer and find out who his client was who desired tosee your brother. There is a chance there! You can go to McKenna & Fouldsand find out who it was whom he wanted shadowed, and you can go to theCunard office and see whether he really intended sailing for America."
Mr. Sydney Barnes looked a little doubtful.
"I suppose," he suggested timidly, "you couldn't spare the time to goround to these places with me? You see, I'm not much class over here,even in Morris's togs. They'd take more notice of you, being a gentleman.Good God! what's that?"
Both men had started, for the sound was unexpected. Some one was fittinga latch-key into the door!