“Perhaps he was not so strong as you suppose. I should thinkhe may have had some secret trouble. With your assent, I will putone or two of these papers in my pocket, in case they should bearupon our future inquiry.”
“One moment—one moment!” cried a querulous voice, and welooked up to find a queer little old man, jerking and twitching in thedoorway. He was dressed in rusty black, with a very broad-brimmedtop-hat and a loose white necktie—the whole effect being that ofvery rustic parson or of an undertaker’s mute. Yet, in spite of hisshabby and even absurd appearance, his voice had a sharp crackle,and his manner a quick intensity which commanded attention.
“Who are you, sir, and by what right do you touch thisgentleman’s papers?” he asked.
“I am a private detective, and I am endeavouring to explain hisdisappearance.”
“Oh, you are, are you? And who instructed you, eh?”
“This gentleman, Mr. Staunton’s friend, was referred to me byScotland Yard.”
“Who are you, sir?”
“I am Cyril Overton.”
“Then it is you who sent me a telegram. My name is LordMount-James. I came round as quickly as the Bayswater bus wouldbring me. So you have instructed a detective?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And are you prepared to meet the cost?”
“I have no doubt, sir, that my friend Godfrey, when we find him,will be prepared to do that.”
“But if he is never found, eh? Answer me that!”
“In that case, no doubt his family——”
“Nothing of the sort, sir!” screamed the little man. “Don’tlook to me for a penny—not a penny! You understand that, Mr.
Detective! I am all the family that this young man has got, and Itell you that I am not responsible. If he has any expectations itdue to the fact that I have never wasted money, and I do notpropose to begin to do so now. As to those papers with whichyou are making so free, I may tell you that in case there shouldbe anything of any value among them, you will be held strictly toaccount for what you do with them.”
“Very good, sir,” said Sherlock Holmes. “May I ask, in themeanwhile, whether you have yourself any theory to account forthis young man’s disappearance?”
“No, sir, I have not. He is big enough and old enough to lookafter himself, and if he is so foolish as to lose himself, I entirelyrefuse to accept the responsibility of hunting for him.”
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“I quite understand your position,” said Holmes, with amischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Perhaps you don’t quite understandmine. Godfrey Staunton appears to have been a poor man. If hehas been kidnapped, it could not have been for anything which hehimself possesses. The fame of your wealth has gone abroad, LordMount-James, and it is entirely possible that a gang of thieves havesecured your nephew in order to gain from him some informationas to your house, your habits, and your treasure.”
The face of our unpleasant little visitor turned as white as hisneckcloth.
“Heavens, sir, what an idea! I never thought of such villainy!
What inhuman rogues there are in the world! But Godfrey is afine lad—a staunch lad. Nothing would induce him to give his olduncle away. I’ll have the plate moved over to the bank this evening.
In the meantime spare no pains, Mr. Detective! I beg you to leaveno stone unturned to bring him safely back. As to money, well, sofar as a fiver or even a tenner goes you can always look to me.”
Even in his chastened frame of mind, the noble miser couldgive us no information which could help us, for he knew little ofthe private life of his nephew. Our only clue lay in the truncatedtelegram, and with a copy of this in his hand Holmes set forth tofind a second link for his chain. We had shaken off Lord Mount-James, and Overton had gone to consult with the other membersof his team over the misfortune which had befallen them.
There was a telegraph-office at a short distance from the hotel.
We halted outside it.
“It’s worth trying, Watson,” said Holmes. “Of course, with awarrant we could demand to see the counterfoils, but we have notreached that stage yet. I don’t suppose they remember faces in sobusy a place. Let us venture it.”
“I am sorry to trouble you,” said he, in his blandest manner, tothe young woman behind the grating; “there is some small mistakeabout a telegram I sent yesterday. I have had no answer, and I verymuch fear that I must have omitted to put my name at the end.
Could you tell me if this was so?”
The young woman turned over a sheaf of counterfoils.
“What o’clock was it?” she asked.
“A little after six.”
“Whom was it to?”
Holmes put his finger to his lips and glanced at me. “The lastwords in it were ‘For God’s sake,’ ” he whispered, confidentially; “Iam very anxious at getting no answer.”
The young woman separated one of the forms.
“This is it. There is no name,” said she, smoothing it out uponthe counter.
“Then that, of course, accounts for my getting no answer,” said1038 The Complete Sherlock Holmes
Holmes. “Dear me, how very stupid of me, to be sure! Goodmorning,miss, and many thanks for having relieved my mind.” Hechuckled and rubbed his hands when we found ourselves in thestreet once more.
“Well?” I asked.
“We progress, my dear Watson, we progress. I had sevendifferent schemes for getting a glimpse of that telegram, but Icould hardly hope to succeed the very first time.”
“And what have you gained?”
“A starting-point for our investigation.” He hailed a cab. “King’sCross Station,” said he.
“We have a journey, then?”
“Yes, I think we must run down to Cambridge together. All theindications seem to me to point in that direction.”
“Tell me,” I asked, as we rattled up Gray’s Inn Road, “have youany suspicion yet as to the cause of the disappearance? I don’t thinkthat among all our cases I have known one where the motives aremore obscure. Surely you don’t really imagine that he may bekidnapped in order to give information against his wealthy uncle?”
“I confess, my dear Watson, that that does not appeal to me as avery probable explanation. It struck me, however, as being the onewhich was most likely to interest that exceedingly unpleasant oldperson.”