“Then, if he’s been selling to that extent, Sir Gilbert must have large sums of money at command—­unless he’s bought that new estate you’re talking of,” said Mr. Lindsey.

“He has not bought anything—­that I know of,” answered Mr. Portlethorpe.  “And he must have a considerable—­a very large—­sum of money at his bankers’.  All of which,” he continued, looking keenly at Mr. Lindsey, “makes me absolutely amazed to hear what you’ve just told me.  It’s very serious, this charge you’re implying against him, Lindsey!  Why should he want to take men’s lives in this fashion!  A man of his position, his great wealth—­”

“Portlethorpe!” broke in Mr. Lindsey, “didn’t you tell me just now that this man, according to his own account, has lived a most adventurous life, in all parts of the world?  What more likely than that in the course of such a life he made acquaintance with queer characters, and—­possibly—­did some queer things himself?  Isn’t it a significant thing that, within a year of his coming into the title and estates, two highly mysterious individuals turn up here, and that all this foul play ensues?  It’s impossible, now, to doubt that Gilverthwaite and Phillips came into these parts because this man was already here!  If you’ve read all the stuff that’s been in the papers, and add to it just what we’ve told you about this last adventure with the yacht, you can’t doubt it, either.”

“It’s very, very strange—­all of it,” agreed Mr. Portlethorpe.  “Have you no theory, Lindsey?”

“I’ve a sort of one,” answered Mr. Lindsey.  “I think Gilverthwaite and Phillips probably were in possession of some secret about Sir Gilbert Carstairs, and that Crone may have somehow got an inkling of it.  Now, as we know, Gilverthwaite died, suddenly—­and it’s possible that Carstairs killed both Phillips and Crone, as he certainly meant to kill this lad.  And what does it all look like?”

Before Mr. Portlethorpe could reply to that last question, and while he was shaking his head over it, one of our junior clerks brought in Mrs. Ralston of Craig, at the mention of whose name Mr. Lindsey immediately bustled forward.  She was a shrewd, clever-looking woman, well under middle age, who had been a widow for the last four or five years, and was celebrated in our parts for being a very managing and interfering sort of body who chiefly occupied herself with works of charity and philanthropy and was prominent on committees and boards.  And she looked over the two solicitors as if they were candidates for examination, and she the examiner.

“I have been to the police, to find out what all this talk is about Sir Gilbert Carstairs,” she began at once.  “They tell me you know more than they do, Mr. Lindsey.  Well, what have you to say?  And what have you to say, Mr. Portlethorpe?  You ought to know more than anybody.  What does it all amount to!”

Mr. Portlethorpe, whose face had become very dismal at the sight of Mrs. Ralston, turned, as if seeking help, to Mr. Lindsey.  He was obviously taken aback by Mrs. Ralston’s questions, and a little afraid of her; but Mr. Lindsey was never afraid of anybody, and he at once turned on his visitor.