“We’ve had a letter from young Beresford,” said Mr. Carter, coming tothe point at once. “You’ve seen him, I suppose?”
“You suppose wrong,” said the lawyer.
“Oh!” Mr. Carter was a little nonplussed.
Sir James smiled, and stroked his chin.
“He rang me up,” he volunteered.
“Would you have any objection to telling us exactly what passed betweenyou?”
“Not at all. He thanked me for a certain letter which I had written tohim--as a matter of fact, I had offered him a job. Then he remindedme of something I had said to him at Manchester respecting that bogustelegram which lured Miss Cowley away. I asked him if anything untowardhad occurred. He said it had--that in a drawer in Mr. Hersheimmer’s roomhe had discovered a photograph.” The lawyer paused, then continued: “Iasked him if the photograph bore the name and address of a Californianphotographer. He replied: ‘You’re on to it, sir. It had.’ Then he wenton to tell me something I _didn’t_ know. The original of that photographwas the French girl, Annette, who saved his life.”
“What?”
“Exactly. I asked the young man with some curiosity what he had donewith the photograph. He replied that he had put it back where he foundit.” The lawyer paused again. “That was good, you know--distinctlygood. He can use his brains, that young fellow. I congratulated him. Thediscovery was a providential one. Of course, from the moment that thegirl in Manchester was proved to be a plant everything was altered.Young Beresford saw that for himself without my having to tell ithim. But he felt he couldn’t trust his judgment on the subject ofMiss Cowley. Did I think she was alive? I told him, duly weighing theevidence, that there was a very decided chance in favour of it. Thatbrought us back to the telegram.”
“Yes?”
“I advised him to apply to you for a copy of the original wire. Ithad occurred to me as probable that, after Miss Cowley flung it on thefloor, certain words might have been erased and altered with the expressintention of setting searchers on a false trail.”
Carter nodded. He took a sheet from his pocket, and read aloud:
“Come at once, Astley Priors, Gatehouse, Kent. Greatdevelopments--TOMMY.”
“Very simple,” said Sir James, “and very ingenious. Just a few wordsto alter, and the thing was done. And the one important clue theyoverlooked.”
“What was that?”
“The page-boy’s statement that Miss Cowley drove to Charing Cross. Theywere so sure of themselves that they took it for granted he had made amistake.”
“Then young Beresford is now?”
“At Gatehouse, Kent, unless I am much mistaken.”
Mr. Carter looked at him curiously.
“I rather wonder you’re not there too, Peel Edgerton?”
“Ah, I’m busy on a case.”
“I thought you were on your holiday?”
“Oh, I’ve not been briefed. Perhaps it would be more correct to say I’mpreparing a case. Any more facts about that American chap for me?”
“I’m afraid not. Is it important to find out who he was?”
“Oh, I know who he was,” said Sir James easily. “I can’t prove ityet--but I know.”
The other two asked no questions. They had an instinct that it would bemere waste of breath.
“But what I don’t understand,” said the Prime-Minister suddenly, “is howthat photograph came to be in Mr. Hersheimmer’s drawer?”
“Perhaps it never left it,” suggested the lawyer gently.
“But the bogus inspector? Inspector Brown?”
“Ah!” said Sir James thoughtfully. He rose to his feet. “I mustn’t keepyou. Go on with the affairs of the nation. I must get back to--my case.”
Two days later Julius Hersheimmer returned from Manchester. A note fromTommy lay on his table:
“DEAR HERSHEIMMER,
“Sorry I lost my temper. In case I don’t see you again, good-bye. I’vebeen offered a job in the Argentine, and might as well take it.
“Yours,
“TOMMY BERESFORD.”
A peculiar smile lingered for a moment on Julius’s face. He threw theletter into the waste-paper basket.
“The darned fool!” he murmured.