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  THE MYSTERY OF LINCOLN'S INN

  BY ROBERT MACHRAY

  AUTHOR OF "GRACE O'MALLEY," "THE VISION SPLENDID," "A BLOW OVER THE HEART," ETC.

  TORONTO THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. 1910

  PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

  THE MYSTERY OF LINCOLN'S INN

  CHAPTER I

  It was at half-past ten in the forenoon of a Saturday in July that Mr.Cooper Silwood, precise in attire, composed in appearance, and punctualas usual to the minute, walked into his room on the first floor of 176New Square, Lincoln's Inn, where were the offices of Eversleigh, Silwoodand Eversleigh, the well-known and long-established firm of solicitorsof which he was a partner.

  He was met, as was customary, on his entrance by the head-clerk, JohnWilliamson, who had already opened and sorted out methodically theletters received over-night. An admirable specimen of his class,Williamson generally wore an air of great imperturbability, but thismorning his face had a troubled expression.

  "Anything special, Mr. Williamson?" asked Silwood quietly, putting awayhis hat and gloves.

  "There are two or three important matters to attend to, sir," repliedthe man quickly. "The most important is a letter from Mr. MorrisThornton," he continued, but in a markedly different tone; at the sametime, he looked at his principal with an anxiety he tried hard but justfailed to dissemble.

  "From Mr. Thornton," observed Silwood, calmly; he noticed, but was in nowise disconcerted by, the head-clerk's manner.

  "Yes, sir; he writes from Vancouver."

  "And what does he say?" inquired Silwood.

  "He states that he is coming home immediately," answered Williamson, andnow there was unmistakable anxiety in his voice as well as in his face.

  "Indeed!" exclaimed Silwood, who had given a slight yet perceptiblestart on hearing the news. "It's surely very sudden," he went on after apause of a few seconds. "In his last letter--let me see; we got it abouta fortnight ago--he said nothing about returning soon to England."

  "He did not mention it at all, sir, I am certain. But you will see fromthis last letter of his that he has a very strong reason for leavingBritish Columbia; he is seriously ill--so ill that he has been warned byhis doctor to set his affairs in order. One knows what that means--he isin a critical condition."

  And again Williamson scanned his master's face apprehensively.

  "Ah, very sad," said Silwood, but he spoke in a strange, hollow tone,glancing the while at Williamson with a curious glittering light in hiseyes that was sinister and menacing. It suddenly faded away, however,and he asked quite evenly, "Does he say when he is coming?"

  "Oddly enough, sir, he gives no precise date. But here is his letter,"said Williamson, picking it out from the pile on Silwood's table.

  Silwood, knowing Williamson was watching him narrowly, and consciousthat it was necessary to preserve an aspect of calmness, read Thornton'sletter with the utmost deliberation and with no more concern than wasnatural in the pitiful circumstances of the case.

  "Very sad, very sad," he said, when he had perused the letter, which heput down in front of him with elaborate carelessness; "verydistressing!" he added, shaking his head.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Silwood remarked to Williamsonthat he might go, but as the head-clerk was withdrawing he called himback.

  "Has Mr. Eversleigh come in yet?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir; a few minutes ago."

  "Have you told him about this letter from Mr. Thornton?"

  "No, sir."

  "That's right, Mr. Williamson. I'll tell him about it myself."

  Silwood nodded Williamson's dismissal, and the clerk, who hadundoubtedly been studying his principal intently and wonderingly duringtheir conversation, bowed and went out.

  "It's plain that Williamson has his suspicions," said Silwood tohimself, after the door had closed upon the head-clerk. "He is inclinedto think there's something wrong--I could see it in his manner--itsuggested he was afraid there was some trouble impending. But he knowsnothing--he can know nothing."

  He assured himself, however, that what Williamson knew or suspected didnot matter much.

  But what did matter, what did matter enormously, was this letter ofThornton's.

  Taking it up again, he read it over very carefully twice or thrice;then, still holding it in his hand, he walked up and down the floor manytimes, absorbed in thought. His small, hard, keen eyes gleamed angrily,the lines of his cold, pale, clean-shaven face seemed to become deeper,and his hands opened and shut convulsively as he paced his room. Now andagain he looked at a large japanned box which stood in one corner. Witha quick, nervous movement peculiar to him in moments of doubt, hestopped and pushed up the heavy brown wig which he always wore by day,and sat down at his table. Once more he re-read Thornton's letter.

  "Thornton's coming back in this unexpected way," he said to himself,"upsets my plan--that is quite clear; my hand is forced. What is to bedone now? The worst of it is that Thornton does not say when he iscoming--which is more than a little strange. He is well on his way, nodoubt, by this time; he may drop in upon us any day. I must prepare forit. I never looked for his return--at least, not for a long time. Hiscoming precipitates the crisis. Well, it was bound to come sooner orlater. I must consider my position coolly."

  He knew he would not be disturbed for an hour, as it was a fixed rule ofthe office that no one was to be shown in to him till half-past eleven.He thought best, pen in hand, seated at his table, and there he sat, astill, immovable figure, save when he jotted something on hisblotting-pad, for several minutes. But his was a nimble brain, and hismind was soon made up.

  "I must see Eversleigh," he told himself, "and acquaint himwith--everything." As he thought this, he half smiled, and his eyes foran instant had in them the same threatening gleam that had flashed uponWilliamson.

  Next he went to the large japanned box that stood in the corner, andtouching a spring cleverly concealed in the moulding round its base,gained access to a narrow, shelf-like cavity at the bottom, which wasstuffed with papers. From this secret place he extracted a folio sheetcovered with figures, against which were various initials, "M.T." beingconspicuous from their frequency amongst them.

  He went over this document very carefully, added up the figures oppositethe "M.T."s, and put down the total on his pad.

  "A quarter of a million," he whispered almost aloud. "It's an immensesum. What a thing to have to tell Eversleigh!"

  Then he folded up and replaced the sheet of figures in the receptaclehidden at the bottom of the big box, but when he tried to close up theaperture he experienced great difficulty in getting the spring to act;finally, however, he succeeded.

  "I ought to see to that at once," he said with decision, "but I darenot."

  He now proceeded to skim over the rest of his correspondence withextraordinary rapidity but with little real attention; at the back ofhis mind he was still occupied with the return of Morris Thornton.

  All at once a thought struck him.

  "I wonder if Kitty Thornton has heard from her father by the same post?If so, she may know the date on which to expect him," was what he saidto himself, adding, "if she knows, Eversleigh will know." For MissKitty Thornton lived practically as a member of the family of FrancisEversleigh, the senior partner of the firm.

  Silwood went to the door of his room, opened it quietly, and looked out.A young and handsome man w
as springing lightly up the stairs; the twomen exchanged somewhat cold nods.

  "Good morning, Gilbert," said Silwood, but without much cordiality.

  "Good morning," returned the other, with a distant air.

  "Going up to see your father, I suppose?" asked Silwood.

  "Yes. Mr. Williamson, whom I met in the square, told me he was in,"replied Gilbert Eversleigh, and with another nod went on upstairs.

  "I'll just give you five minutes," said Silwood, under his breath,addressing the back of the unconscious Gilbert, who knocked at a door onthe second floor and was admitted.

  "I thought I'd look in, sir, to ask how they all are at home," saidGilbert to his father, Francis Eversleigh. Gilbert had his own chambersin the Temple, of which he was a member, and for the past three yearshad not lived at his father's house in Surbiton.

  Francis Eversleigh gazed at his son before answering the impliedquestion, and a father's pride expressed itself clearly in his face. Theson was dear to the father's heart.

  "They're all very well at home--your mother and your sister and Kitty,"responded Francis Eversleigh, lingering somewhat on the last word.Glancing away from his son to the window, he remarked casually,"Really, I think Miss Kitty grows prettier and more charming every day."

  "She is lovely," cried Gilbert, with rising colour.

  "By the way," observed the father, pointedly, "Harry Bennet came in lastevening, and it was not hard to see the attraction."

  "Miss Kitty?"

  "Yes."

  "But Harry Bennet!" said Gilbert, in a voice of protest.

  "Yes. He stayed quite late."

  "But you know, sir," objected Gilbert, with a frown, "that Harry is saidto be going the pace--making the sparks fly furiously."

  Francis Eversleigh did not reply. He thought he had given his son aplain enough hint; besides, Bennet was a client of his own, and he didnot wish to pursue the subject further. Gilbert walked over to thewindow and stood there, while his father covertly watched him. Presentlyhe faced round; the frown had disappeared; his expression was confidentand eager.

  Father and son looked at each other. Seen thus together, the familylikeness between them was pronounced; seen apart, the differences becameprominent.

  Francis Eversleigh was a tall, stout, florid, handsome man; genial,easy-going, unsuspicious, self-indulgent--not a typical solicitor inappearance or character. Inheriting early in life a fine business, hehad gradually allowed himself to give way to a constitutional indolence,a fatality of temperament which Gilbert happily had escaped. Gilbert wastall and fair and good-looking, but he was more slimly made than hisfather, and was charged with far more vitality and force. He was alert,active, resolute. In brief, he was strong and keen where his father wasweak and slack.

  "It's a glorious day, sir," said Gilbert, "and as it's a Saturday and Ihave nothing on of importance, I think I'll run over to Surbiton andspend the afternoon and evening. I'll wire mother I'm coming."

  "What! No work to do!" the father made laughing demur. But heimmediately followed with the words, "Well, well, my boy, go and enjoyyourself. It's fine to be young!"

  What he really meant, of course, was, "Go and see Kitty, you lucky youngdog, and good fortune go with you." He knew that Gilbert loved the girl,and there was nothing in all the world he desired more than that Gilbertshould succeed in his court to her.

  As Gilbert turned to leave the room, Cooper Silwood entered it, carryingan open letter in his hand. After Gilbert had withdrawn, Silwood tookcare to see the door was shut.