being very possible for a
man to forget a tremendous lot in thirty years, but Mrs. Ralston and Mr.
Lindsey shook their heads at his dissent from their opinion. As for me,
I was thinking of the undoubted fact that the supposed Sir Gilbert
Carstairs had been obliged in my presence to use a map in order to find
his exact whereabouts when he was, literally, within two miles of his
own house.

"Another thing," continued Mrs. Ralston: "in my few visits to
Hathercleugh since he came, I have found out that while he is very well
posted up in certain details of our family history, he is unaccountably
ignorant of others with which he ought to have been perfectly
familiar. I found out, too, that he is exceedingly clever in avoiding
subjects in which his ignorance might be detected. But, clever as he
is, he has more than once given me grounds for suspicion. And I tell
you plainly, Mr. Portlethorpe, that since he has been selling property
to the extent you report, you ought, at this juncture, and as things
are, to find out how money matters stand. He must have realized vast
amounts in cash! Where is it!"

"At his bankers'--in Newcastle, my dear madam!" replied Mr. Portlethorpe.
"Where else should it be? He has not yet made the purchase he
contemplated, so of course the necessary funds are waiting until he does.
I cannot but think that you and Mr. Lindsey are mistaken, and that there
will be some proper and adequate explanation of all this, and--"

"Portlethorpe!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey, "that's no good. Things have gone
too far. Whether this man's Sir Gilbert Carstairs or an impostor, he did
his best to murder my clerk, and we suspect him of the murder of Crone,
and he's going to be brought to justice--that's flat! And your duty at
present is to fall in with us to this extent--you must adopt Mrs.
Ralston's suggestion, and ascertain how money matters stand. As Mrs.
Ralston rightly says, by the sale of these properties a vast amount of
ready money must have been accumulated, and at this man's disposal,
Portlethorpe!--we must know if it's true!"

"How can I tell you that?" demanded Mr. Portlethorpe, who was growing
more and more nervous and peevish. "I've nothing to do with Sir Gilbert
Carstairs' private banking account. I can't go and ask, point blank, of
his bankers how much money he has in their hands!"

"Then I will!" exclaimed Mr. Lindsey. "I know where he banks in
Newcastle, and I know the manager. I shall go this very night