Starmidge sent off his telegram when the train stopped at Nottingham, and thereafter went to sleep, secure in the knowledge that it would be promptly acted upon by its recipients. And when, soon after eleven o'clock, the express ran into St. Pancras, he paid no particular attention to Gabriel Chestermarke. He had no desire, indeed, that the banker should see him, and he hung back when the crowded carriages cleared, and the platform became a scene of bustle and animation. But he had no difficulty in distinguishing Gabriel's stiffly erect figure as it made its way towards the hall of the station, and his sharp eyes were quick to notice a quietly dressed, unobtrusive sort of man who sauntered along, caught sight of the banker, and swung round to follow him. Starmidge watched both pass along towards the waiting lines of vehicles—then he turned on his heel and went to the refreshment room and straight to a man who evidently expected him.

"You got the wire in good time, then?" said Starmidge.

"Plenty!" answered the other man laconically. "I've put a good man on to him. See anything of them?"

"Yes—but I didn't know our man," remarked Starmidge. "Who is he? Will he do what I want?"

"He's all right—fellow who's just been promoted, and, of course, he's naturally keen," replied Starmidge's companion. "Name of Gandam. That was a pretty good and full description of the man you want followed, Starmidge," he went on, with a smile. "You don't leave much out!"

"I didn't want him to be overlooked, and I didn't want to show up myself," said Starmidge. "I noticed that our man spotted him quick. Now, look here—I'll be at headquarters first thing tomorrow morning—I want this chap Gandam's report. Nine-thirty sharp! Now we'll have a drink, and I'll get home."

"Good case, this?" asked the other man, as they pledged each other. "Getting on with it?"

"Tell you more tomorrow," answered Starmidge. "When—and if—I know more. Nine-thirty, mind!"

But when Starmidge met his companion of the night before at nine-thirty next morning, it was to find him in conversation with the other man, and to see dissatisfaction on the countenances of both. And Starmidge, a naturally keen observer, knew what had happened. He frowned as he looked at Gandam.

"You don't mean to say he slipped you!" he exclaimed.

"I don't know about slipped," muttered Gandam. "I lost him, anyway, Mr. Starmidge, and I don't see how I can be blamed, either. Perhaps you might have done differently, but——"

"Tell about it!" interrupted Starmidge. "What happened?"

"I spotted him, of course, from your description, as soon as he got out of the train," replied Gandam. "No mistaking him, naturally—he's an extra good one to watch. He'd no luggage—not even a handbag. I followed him to the taxi-cabs. I was close by when he stepped into one, and I heard what he said. 'Stage door—Adalbert Theatre.' Off he went—I followed in another taxi. I stopped mine and got out, just in time to see him walk up the entry to the stage-door. He went in. It was then half-past eleven; they were beginning to close. I waited and waited until at last they closed the stage-door. I'll take my oath he'd never come out!—never!"

Starmidge made a face of intense disgust.

"No, of course he hadn't!" he exclaimed. "He'd gone out at the front. I suppose that never struck you? I know that stage-door of the Adalbert—it's up a passage. If you'd stood at the end of that passage, man, you could have kept an eye on the front and stage-door at the same time. But, of course, it never struck you that a man could go in at the back of a place and come out at the front, did it? Well—that's off for the present. And so am I."

Vexed and disappointed that Gabriel Chestermarke had not been tracked to wherever he was staying in London, Starmidge went out, hailed a taxi-cab, and was driven down to the city. He did not particularly concern himself about Gabriel's visit to the stage-door of the Adalbert Theatre; it was something, after all, to know he had gone there: if need arose, he might be traced from that theatre, in which, very possibly, he had some financial interest. What Starmidge had desired to ascertain was the banker's London address: he had already learned in Scarnham that Gabriel Chestermarke was constantly in London for days at a time—he must have some permanent address at which he could be found. And Starmidge foresaw that he might wish to find him—perhaps in a hurry.

But just then his chief concern was with another banking firm—Vanderkiste's. He walked slowly along Lombard Street until he came to the house—a quiet, sober, eminently respectable-looking old business place, quite unlike the palatial affairs in which the great banking corporations of modern origin carry on their transactions. There was no display of marble and plaster and plate glass and mahogany and heavy plethoric fittings—a modest brass plate affixed to the door was the only sign and announcement that banking business was carried on within. Equally old-fashioned and modest was the interior—and Starmidge was quick to notice that the clerks were all elderly or middle-aged men, solemn and grave as undertakers.

The presentation of the detective's official card procured him speedy entrance to a parlour in which sat two old gentlemen, who were evidently greatly surprised to see him. They were so much surprised indeed, as to be almost childishly interested, and Starmidge had never had such attentive listeners in his life as these two elderly city men, to whom crime and detention were as unfamiliar as higher finance was to their visitor. They followed Starmidge's story point by point, nodding every now and then as he drew their attention to particular passages, and the detective saw that they comprehended all he said. He made an end at last—and Mr. Vanderkiste, a white-bearded, benevolent-looking gentleman, looked at Mr. Mullineau, a little, rosy-faced man, and shook his head.

"It would be an unusual thing, certainly," he observed, "for Mr. Frederick Hollis to have ten thousand pounds lying here to his credit. Mr. Hollis was an old customer—we knew him very well—but he didn't keep a lot of money here. We—er—know his circumstances. He bought himself a very nice annuity some years ago—it was paid into his account here twice a year. But—ten thousand pounds!"

Mr. Mullineau leaned forward.

"We don't know if Frederick Hollis paid any large amount in lately, you know," he observed. "Hadn't you better summon Linthwaite?"

"Our manager," remarked Mr. Vanderkiste, as he touched a bell. "Ah, yes, of course—he'll know. Mr. Linthwaite," he continued, as another elderly man entered the room, "can you tell us what Mr. Frederick Hollis's balance in our hands is?"

"I have just been looking it up, sir," replied the manager, "in consequence of this sad news in the papers. Ten thousand, eight hundred, seventy-nine, five, four, Mr. Vanderkiste."

"Ten thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine pounds, five shillings and fourpence," repeated Mr. Vanderkiste. "Ah! An unusually large amount, I think, Mr. Linthwaite?"

"Just so, sir," agreed the manager. "The reason is that rather more than a week ago Mr. Hollis called here himself with a cheque for ten thousand pounds which he paid into his account, explaining to me that it had been handed to him for a special purpose, and that he should draw a cheque for his own against it, for the same amount, very shortly."

"Ah!" remarked Mr. Vanderkiste. "Has the cheque which he paid in been cleared?"

"We cleared it at once," replied the manager. "Oh, yes! But the cheque which Mr. Hollis spoke of drawing against it has not come in—and now, of course——"

"Just so," said Mr. Vanderkiste. "Now that he's dead, of course, his cheque is no good. Um! That will do, thank you, Mr. Linthwaite."

He turned and looked at Starmidge when the manager had withdrawn.

"That explains matters," he said. "The ten thousand pounds had been paid to Mr. Frederick Hollis for a special purpose."

"But—by whom?" asked Starmidge. "That's precisely what I want to know! The knowledge will help me—ah!—I don't know how much it mayn't help me! For there's no doubt about it, gentlemen, Hollis went down to Scarnham to pay ten thousand pounds to somebody on somebody else's account! He was, I am sure, as it were, ambassador for somebody. Who was—who is—that somebody? Almost certainly, the person who gave Hollis the cheque your manager has just mentioned—and whose ten thousand pounds is, as a matter of fact, still lying in your hands! Who is that person? What bank was the cheque drawn on? Let me have an answer to both these questions, and——"

The two old gentlemen exchanged looks, and Mr. Mullineau quietly rose and left the room. In his absence Mr. Vanderkiste shook his head at the detective.

"A very, very queer case, officer!" he remarked.

"An extraordinary case, sir," agreed Starmidge. "Before we get to the end of it there'll be some strange revelations, Mr. Vanderkiste."

"So I should imagine—so I should imagine!" assented the old gentleman. "Very remarkable proceedings altogether! We shall be deeply interested in hearing how matters progress. Of course, this affair of the ten thousand pounds is very curious. We——"

Mr. Mullineau came back—with a slip of paper, which he handed to the detective.

"That gives you the information you want," he said.

Starmidge read aloud what the manager had written down on his principal's instructions.

"Drawer—Helen Lester," he read. "Bank—London & Universal: Pall Mall Branch." He looked up at the two partners. "I suppose you gentlemen don't know who this Mrs. or Miss Helen Lester is?" he inquired.

"No—not at all," answered Mr. Mullineau. "Nor does Linthwaite. I thought Mr. Hollis might have told him something about that special purpose. But—he told him nothing."

"You'll have to go to the London & Universal people," observed Mr. Vanderkiste. "They, of course, will know all about this customer."

Mullineau looked inquiringly at his partner.

"Don't you think that—as there are almost certain to be some complications about this matter—Linthwaite had better go with Detective Starmidge?" he suggested. "The situation, as regards the ten thousand pounds, is a somewhat curious one. This Miss or Mrs. Lester will want to recover it. Now, according to what Mr. Starmidge tells us, no body, so far as he's aware, is in possession of any facts, papers, letters, anything, relating to it. I think there should be some consultation between ourselves and this other bank which is concerned."

"Excellent suggestion!" agreed Mr. Vanderkiste. "Let him go—by all means."

Half an hour later, Starmidge found himself closeted with another lot of bankers. But these were younger men, who were quicker to grasp situations and comprehend points, and they quickly understood what the detective was after: moreover, they were already well posted up in those details of the Scarnham mystery which had already appeared in the newspapers.

"What you want," said one of them, a young and energetic man, addressing Starmidge at the end of their preliminary conversation, "is to find out for what purpose Mrs. Lester gave Mr. Frederick Hollis ten thousand pounds?"

"Precisely," replied Starmidge. "It will go far towards clearing up a good many things."

"I have no doubt Mrs. Lester will tell you readily enough," said the banker. "In fact, as things are, I should say she'll only be too glad to give you any information you want. That ten thousand pounds being in Messrs. Vanderkiste's hands, in Hollis's name, and Hollis being dead, there will be bother—not serious, of course, but still formal bother—about recovering it. Very well—Mrs. Lester, who, I may tell you, is a wealthy customer of ours, lives in the country as a rule, and I happen to know she's there now. I'll write down her address. Tell her, by all means, that you have been to see us on the matter."

Starmidge left Mr. Linthwaite talking with the London & Universal people; he himself, now that he had got the desired information, had no more to say. Outside the bank he opened the slip of paper which had just been handed to him, and saw that another journey lay before him. Mrs. Lester lived at Lowdale Court, near Chesham.