his own."

"Quite true," assented Hollis. "I believe he had a comfortable income,
apart from his practice--perhaps five or six hundred a year. He
mentioned to me that he only did business for old clients."

"Do you think he'd be likely to have a sum of ten thousand pounds lying
at his bankers?" inquired Starmidge.

Hollis looked sharply at the detective and then shook his head.

"Not unless it was for some special purpose," he answered. "He might
have such a sum if he'd been selling out securities for re-investment.
But my impression is--in fact, it's more than an impression--I'm sure
that he bought himself an annuity of about the amount I mentioned just
now, some years ago. You see, he'd no children, and he knew that I was a
well-to-do man, so--he used his capital in that a way."

"Would you be surprised to see a cheque of his drawn for ten thousand
pounds?" asked Starmidge suddenly.

"Frankly, I should!" replied Hollis, with a smile. "That is, if it was
on his private account."

"Do you happen to know who kept his private account?" inquired
Starmidge.

"Yes," answered Hollis. "He banked with an old private firm called
Vanderkiste, Mullineau & Company, of Lombard Street."

Starmidge, after a whispered word with Polke, took up the envelope in
which he had placed the dead man's letter-case, and produced the cheque.

"Look at that, sir," he said, laying it before the visitor. "Is that
your brother's handwriting?"

"His handwriting--oh, yes!" exclaimed Hollis. "Most certainly!
But--there's no signature!"

"No--and there's no name of any payee," said Starmidge. "That's where
the mystery comes in. But--this--and this letter-case and its
contents--was found on him, and there's no doubt he came down to
Scarnham intending to pay that cheque to somebody. You can't throw any
light on that, sir?"

The visitor, who continued to regard the cheque with evident amazement,
at last turned away from it and glanced at his three companions.

"Well," he said, "I don't know that I can. But one principal reason why
I hurried here, after getting Simmons' telegram last night, is this: In
the newspapers there is a good deal of mention of a Mr. John Horbury,
manager of a bank in this town. He, too, you tell me, has disappeared.
Now, I happen to possess a remarkably good memory, and it was at once
stirred by seeing that name. My brother Frederick and I were at school
together at Selburgh--Selburgh Grammar School, you know--quite