The Chestermarke Instinct

"Putting some pressure on you, I suppose, sir?" suggested Easleby, who knew that their host would tell anything and everything if left to himself. "Wants his pound of flesh, no doubt?"

This Shakespearean allusion appeared to be lost on the lessee, but he evidently understood what pressure meant.

"Pressure!" he exclaimed. "Yah!-there's nothing would suit that fellow better than to have one of his victims under one of those steam-hammers that they have nowadays, and to bring it down on him till he'd crushed the last drop of blood out of his toes! Pressure!-I'll tell you! This place didn't do well at first-everybody in town, in our line, anyway, knows that-but even in these days I paid him his interest regular-down on the nail, mind, as prompt as the date came round. But now-things are different. I'm doing well-in a bit I could pay my gentleman off-though not just yet. But there's big money ahead-this house has caught on, got a reputation, become popular. And now what d'ye think my lord wants-what he's screwing me for? Turns out that in one of those confounded papers I signed there's a clause, that if I didn't repay him by a certain date I should surrender my lease to him! I no doubt signed it, not quite understanding-but damme if he didn't keep it dark till the date was expired! And now, when I've worked things up, not only as lessee, mind you, but as manager-to success and big prospects, hanged if he doesn't want to collar my lease with all its fine possibilities, and put me into work for him at a blooming salary!"

"Dear me, sir!" exclaimed Easleby. "Now-what might that exactly mean? We're not up in these matters, you know."

"Mean?" vociferated the lessee. "It 'ud mean this. I've paid that man as much in interest as the original loan was. He now wants my lease, all my interest, all my chances of reward-this lease is worth many a thousand a year now! If I surrender my lease peaceably-without fuss, you understand-he'll wipe off my original debt to him and give me a blooming salary of twenty-five quid a week-me! Gosh!-he ought to be burnt alive!"

"And if you don't?" asked Starmidge, deeply interested by this sidelight on financial dealings. "What then?"

"Then he relies on his damn paper and my signature to it, and turns me out!" replied the aggrieved one. "Thievery!-that's what I call it. That's his blooming ultimatum-came in last night to tell me. I hope you'll catch him and hang him!"

The two detectives had long since realized that Mr. Leopold Castlemayne's interest in the banker-money-lender was a purely personal one, based on his own unlucky dealings with him. But they wished for something outside that interest, and Starmidge, after a word or two of condolence, and another of advice to go to a shrewd and smart solicitor, asked a plain question.

"You say you've been on terms of-shall we call it neighbourly intimacy?-with this man," he remarked. "Have you ever met his nephew?"

The lessee made a face expressive of deep scorn.

"Nephew!" he exclaimed. "Yah!-d'ye think a fellow like that 'ud have a nephew? I don't believe he's any relations that's flesh and blood! I don't believe he ever had a mother! I believe he's one of these ghouls you read about in the story-books-what's he look like? A bloodsucker!-that's what he is!"

Starmidge gave his host an accurate description of Joseph Chestermarke.

"Did you ever see a man like that at this Markham's house?" he asked.

"Never!" answered the lessee.

"Or at his office?" persisted Starmidge.

"No-don't know such a man! I've only been to the offices in Conduit Street a few times," said Castlemayne. "The chap you see there is a fellow called Stipp-Mr. James Stipp. A nice, smooth-tongued, mealy-mouthed chap-you know. I say-d'ye think you'll be able to fasten anything on to Markham, or Chestermarke, or whatever his name is?"

Easleby responded jocularly that they certainly wouldn't if they sat there, and after solemnly assuring Mr. Leopold Castlemayne that his confidence would be severely respected, he and Starmidge went away. Once outside they walked for awhile in silence, each reflecting on what he had just heard.

"Well," remarked Starmidge at last, "we're certain on one point now, anyway. Godwin Markham, money-lender, of Conduit Street, is the same person as Gabriel Chestermarke, banker, of Scarnham. That's flat! And now that we've got to know that much, how much nearer am I to finding out the real thing that I'm after?"

"Which is-exactly what?" asked Easleby.

"I was called in," answered Starmidge, "to find out the secret of John Horbury's disappearance. It isn't my business to interfere with Gabriel Chestermarke or Godwin Markham in his money-lending affairs-nor to trace Lord Ellersdeane's missing jewels. My job is-to find John Horbury, or to get to know what happened to him."

"And all this helps," answered Easleby. "Haven't you got anything?"

"Don't know that I have," admitted Starmidge. "Just now, anyway. I've had a dozen ideas-but they're a bit mixed at present. Have you-after what we've found out?"

"What sort of banking business is it the Chestermarkes carry on down there at Scarnham?" asked Easleby. "I suppose you'd get a general idea."

"Usual thing in a small country town," replied Starmidge. "Highly respectable, county family business, I should say, from what I saw and heard."

"All the squires, and the parsons, and the farmers, and better sort of tradesmen go to 'em, I suppose?" suggested Easleby. "And all the nice old ladies and that sort-an extra-respectable connection, eh?"

"Just as I say-regular country-town business," said Starmidge, half impatiently.

"Um!" remarked Easleby. "Now, if you were a highly respectable country-town banker, with a connection of that sort amongst very proper people, and if it so happened that you were living a double life, and running a money-lending business in London, do you think you'd want your banking customers to know what you were after when you weren't banking!"

"What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge.

"I'm not quite sure," replied Easleby, with candour. "But I think I shall get there, all the same. Now, didn't you say that from all the accounts supplied to you, this Mr. John Horbury was an eminently proper sort of person? Very well-supposing it suddenly came to his knowledge that his employer-or employers, for I expect both Chestermarkes are in at it-were notorious money-lenders in London, and that they carried on this secret business in the greedy and grasping fashion-what do you suppose he'd do?-especially if he was, as you say Horbury was, a man of considerable means?"

"What do you think he'd do?" asked Starmidge.

"I think it's quite on the cards that he'd chuck his job there and then," said Easleby, "and not only that, but that he'd probably threaten exposure. Men of a very severe type of commercial religion would, my lad!-I know 'em!"

"You're suggesting-what?" inquired the younger detective.

"I'm suggesting that on that night of Hollis's visit to Scarnham, Horbury, through Hollis, became acquainted with the Chestermarke secret," replied Easleby, "and that he let the Chestermarkes know it. And in that case-what would happen?"

Starmidge walked slowly on at his companion's side, thinking. He was trying to fit together a great many things; he felt as a child feels who is presented with a puzzle in many pieces and told to put them together.

"I know what you're after," he said suddenly. "You think the Chestermarkes murdered Horbury?"

"If you want it plain and straight," replied Easleby, "I do!"

"There's the other man-Hollis," suggested Starmidge.

"I should say they finished him as well," said Easleby. "Easy enough job, that, on the evidence. Supposing one of 'em took Hollis off, alone, across that moor you've told me about, and induced him to look into that old lead-mine? What easier than to push him into it? Meanwhile, the other could settle Horbury. Murder, my lad!-that's what all this comes to. I've known men murdered for less than that."