t allowed to pursue his investigations further;
Betty Fosdyke and the solicitor went across to the hotel in deep
conference; the Earl accompanied Starmidge and Polke to the
police-station. And there the detective laid down a firm outline of the
next immediate procedure. It was of no use to half-do things, he
said--they must rouse wholesale attention. Once more the press must be
made use of--the sudden disappearance of Mrs. Carswell must be noised
abroad in the next morning's papers. A police notice describing her must
be got out and sent all over the kingdom. And--last, but certainly not
least--Lord Ellersdeane must offer a substantial reward for the recovery
of, or news of, his missing property. Let the Chestermarkes adopt their
own method--if they had any--of finding the alleged absconding manager;
he, Starmidge, preferred to solve these mysteries by ways of his own.

It was growing near to dusk when all their necessary arrangements had
been made, and Starmidge was free to seek his long-delayed dinner. He
had put himself up, of his own choice, at a quiet and old-fashioned inn
near the police-station, where he had engaged a couple of rooms and
found a landlady to his liking. He repaired to this retreat now, and ate
and drank in quiet, and smoked a peaceful pipe afterwards, and was glad
of a period of rest. But as he took his ease, he thought and pondered,
and by the time that evening had fairly settled over the little town, he
went out into the streets and sought the ancient corner of Scarnham
which was called Cornmarket.

Starmidge wanted to take a look at the house in which Joseph
Chestermarke spent his bachelor existence. Since his own arrival in the
town, he had been learning all he could about the two Chestermarkes, and
he was puzzled about them. For a man who was still young, Starmidge had
seen a good deal of the queer side of life, and had known a good many
strange people, but so far he had never come across two such apparently
curious characters as the uncle and nephew who ran the old-fashioned
bank. Their evident indifference to public opinion puzzled him. He could
not understand their ice-cold defiance of what he himself called law. He
never remembered being treated as they had treated him. For Starmidge,
when on duty, considered himself as much the representative of Justice
as any ermined and coifed judge could be, and he had been accustomed--so
far--to attentive and respectful consideration. But neither Gab