Viner, as sure as fate, that girl's
father was the missing Lord Marketstoke, and Ashton knew the secret! I'm
convinced of it--I'm positive of it. And now see the extraordinary
position in which we're all placed. Ashton's dead, and there isn't one
scrap of paper to show what it was that he really knew. Nothing--not one
written line!"
"Because, as I said before, he was murdered for his papers," affirmed
Viner. "I'm sure of that as you are of the rest."
"I dare say you're right," agreed Mr. Pawle. "But, as _I've_ said
before, that presupposes that Ashton told somebody the secret.
Now--who? Was it the man he was with in Paris? And if so, who is that
man? But it's useless speculating. I've made up my mind to a certain
course, Viner. Tomorrow, after the funeral, I'm going to call on the
present Lord Ellingham--his town house is in Hertford Street, and I
know he's in town--and ask him if he has heard anything of a mysterious
nature relating to his long-missing uncle. We may hear something--you
come with me."
Next day, toward the middle of the afternoon, Mr. Pawle and Viner got out
of a taxicab in Park Lane and walked down Hertford Street, the old lawyer
explaining the course he was about to take.
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