Cornhill station will swear that when Phillips got out of the train there, that evening of the murder, he was carrying a little handbag such as the bank cashier remembers—a small, new, brown leather bag. They're certain of it—the ticket-collector remembers him putting it under his arm while he searched his pocket for his ticket. And what's more, the landlord of the inn across the bridge there at Coldstream he remembers the bag, clearly enough, and that Phillips never had his hand off it while he was in his house. And of course, Mr. Lindsey, the probability is that in that bag was the money—just as he had drawn it out of the bank."
"You've more to tell," remarked Mr. Lindsey.
"Just so," replied Chisholm. "And there's two items. First of all—we've found that bag! Empty, you may be sure. In the woods near that old ruin on Till side. Thrown away under a lot of stuff—dead stuff, you'll understand, where it might have lain till Doomsday if I hadn't had a most particular search made. But—that's not all. The second item is here—the railway folk at Cornhill are unanimous in declaring that by that same train which brought Phillips there, two men, strangers, that looked like tourist gentlemen, came as well, whose tickets were from—where d'ye think, then, Mr. Lindsey?"
"Peebles, of course," answered Mr. Lindsey.
"And you've guessed right!" exclaimed Chisholm, triumphantly; "Peebles it was—and now, how do you think this affair looks? There's so many tourists on Tweedside this time of the year that nobody paid any great attention that night to these men, nor where they went. But what could be plainer, d'ye think?—of course, those two had tracked Phillips from the bank, and they followed him till they had him in yon place where he was found, and they murdered him—to rob him!"
Chapter XV. Five Hundred a Year
It was very evident that Chisholm was in a state of gleeful assurance about his theory, and I don't think he was very well pleased when Mr. Lindsey, instead of enthusiastically acclaiming it as a promising one, began to ask him questions.
"You found a pretty considerable sum on Phillips as it was when you searched his body, didn't you?" he asked.
"Aye—a good lot!" assented Chisholm. "But it was in a pocket-book in an inner pocket of his coat, and in his purse."
"If it was robbery, why didn't they take everything?" inquired Mr. Lindsey.
"Aye, I knew you'd ask that," replied Chisholm. "But the thing is that they were interrupted. The bag they could carry off—but it's probable that they heard Mr. Moneylaws here coming down the lane before they could search the man's pockets."
"Umph!" said Mr. Lindsey. "And how do you account for two men getting away from the neighbourhood without attracting attention?"
"Easy enough," declared Chisholm. "As I said just now, there's numbers of strangers comes about Tweedside at this time of the year, and who'd think anything of seeing them? What was easier than for these two to separate, to keep close during the rest of the night, and to get away by train from some wayside station or other next morning? They could manage it easily—and we're making inquiries at all the stations in the district on both sides the Tweed, with that idea."
"Well—you'll have a lot of people to follow up, then," remarked Mr. Lindsey drily. "If you're going to follow every tourist that got on a train next morning between Berwick and Wooler, and Berwick and Kelso, and Berwick and Burnmouth, and Berwick and Blyth, you'll have your work set, I'm thinking!"
"All the same," said Chisholm doggedly, "that's how it's been. And the bank at Peebles has the numbers of the notes that Phillips carried off in his little bag—and I'll trace those fellows yet, Mr. Lindsey."
"Good luck to you, sergeant!" answered Mr. Lindsey. He turned to me when Chisholm had gone. "That's the police all over, Hugh," he remarked. "And you might talk till you were black in the face to yon man, and he'd stick to his story."
"You don't believe it, then?" I asked him, somewhat surprised.
"He may be right," he replied. "I'm not saying. Let him attend to his business—and now we'll be seeing to ours."
It was a busy day with us in the office that, being the day before court day, and we had no time to talk of anything but our own affairs. But during the afternoon, at a time when I had left the office for an hour or two on business, Sir Gilbert Carstairs called, and he was closeted with Mr. Lindsey when I returned. And after they had been together some time Mr. Lindsey came out to me and beckoned me into a little waiting-room that we had and shut the door on us, and I saw at once from the expression on his face that he had no idea that Sir Gilbert and I had met the night before, or that I had any notion of what he was going to say to me.
"Hugh, my lad!" said he, clapping me on the shoulder; "you're evidently one of those that are born lucky. What's the old saying—'Some achieve greatness, some have greatness thrust upon them!'—eh? Here's greatness—in a degree—thrusting itself on you!"
"What's this you're talking about, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked. "There's not much greatness about me, I'm thinking!"
"Well, it's not what you're thinking in this case," he answered; "it's what other folks are thinking of you. Here's Sir Gilbert Carstairs in my room yonder. He's wanting a steward—somebody that can keep accounts, and letters, and look after the estate, and he's been looking round for a likely man, and he's heard that Lindsey's clerk, Hugh Moneylaws, is just the sort he wants—and, in short, the job's yours, if you like to take it. And, my lad, it's worth five hundred a year—and a permanency, too! A fine chance for a young fellow of your age!"
"Do you advise me to take it, Mr. Lindsey?" I asked, endeavouring to combine surprise with a proper respect for the value of his counsel. "It's a serious job that for, as you say, a young fellow."
"Not if he's got your headpiece on him," he replied, giving me another clap on the shoulder. "I do advise you to take it. I've given you the strongest recommendations to him. Go into my office now and talk it over with Sir Gilbert by yourself. But when it comes to settling details, call me in—I'll see you're done right to."
I thanked him warmly, and went into his room, where Sir Gilbert was sitting in an easy-chair. He motioned me to shut the door, and, once that was done, he gave a quick, inquiring look.
"You didn't let him know that you and I had talked last night?" he asked at once.
"No," said I.
"That's right—and I didn't either," he went on. "I don't want him to know I spoke to you before speaking to him—it would look as if I were trying to get his clerk away from him. Well, it's settled, then, Moneylaws? You'll take the post?"
"I shall be very glad to, Sir Gilbert," said I. "And I'll serve you to the best of my ability, if you'll have a bit of patience with me at the beginning. There'll be some difference between my present job and this you're giving me, but I'm a quick learner, and—"
"Oh, that's all right, man!" he interrupted carelessly. "You'll do all that I want. I hate accounts, and letter-writing, and all that sort of thing—take all that off my hands, and you'll do. Of course, whenever you're in a fix about anything, come to me—but I can explain all there is to do in an hour's talk with you at the beginning. All right!—ask Mr. Lindsey to step in to me, and we'll put the matter on a business footing."
Mr. Lindsey came in and took over the job of settling matters on my behalf. And the affair was quickly arranged.
