The offices of Mr. Godwin Markham, at which the two detectives presented themselves soon after half-past ten next morning, were by no means extensive in size or palatial in appearance. They were situated in the second floor of a building in Conduit Street, and apparently consisted of no more than two rooms, which, if not exactly shabby, were somewhat well-worn as to furniture and fittings. It was evident, too, that Mr. Godwin Markham's clerical staff was not extensive. There was a young man clerk, and a young woman clerk in the outer office: the first was turning over a pile of circulars at the counter; the second, seated at a typewriter, was taking down a letter which was being dictated to her by a man who, still hatted and overcoated, had evidently just arrived, and was leaning against the mantelpiece with his hands in his pockets. He was a very ordinary, plain-countenanced, sandy-haired, quite commercial-looking man, this, who might have been anything from a Stock Exchange clerk to a suburban house-agent. But there was a sudden alertness in his eye as he turned it on the visitors, which showed them that he was well equipped in mental acuteness, and probably as alert as his features were commonplace.

The circular-sorting young man looked up with indifference as Easleby approached the counter, and when the detective asked if Mr. Godwin Markham could be seen, turned silently and interrogatively to the man who leaned against the mantelpiece. He, interrupting his dictation, came forward again, narrowly but continually eyeing the two men.

"Mr. Markham is not in town, gentlemen," he said, in a quick, business-like fashion, which convinced Starmidge that the speaker was not uttering any mere excuse. "He was here yesterday for an hour or two, but he will be away for some days now. Can I do anything for you?—his manager."

Easleby handed over the two professional cards which he had in readiness, and leaned across the counter.

"A word or two in private," he whispered confidentially. "Business matter."

Starmidge, watching Mr. James Stipp's face closely as he looked at the cards, saw that he was not the sort of man to be taken unawares. There was not the faintest flicker of an eyelid, not a motion of the lips, not the tiniest start of surprise, no show of unusual interest on the manager's part: he nodded, opened a door in the counter, and waved the two detectives towards the inner room.

"Be seated, gentlemen," he said, following them inside. "You'll excuse me a minute—important letter to get off—I won't keep you long."

He closed the door upon them and Starmidge and Easleby glanced round before taking the chairs to which Mr. Stipp had pointed. There was little to see. A big, roomy desk, middle-Victorian in style, some heavy middle-Victorian chairs, a well-worn carpet and rug, a book-case filled with peerages, baronetages, county directories, Army lists, Navy lists, and other similar volumes of reference to high life, a map or two on the walls, a heavy safe in a corner—these things were all there was to look at. Except one thing—which Starmidge was quick to see. Over the mantelpiece, with an almanac on one side of it, and an interest-table on the other, hung a somewhat faded photograph of Gabriel Chestermarke.

The younger detective tapped his companion's arm and silently indicated this grim counterfeit of the man in whose doings they were so keenly interested just then.

"That's—the man!" he whispered. "Chestermarke! Gabriel!"

Easleby opened mouth and eyes and stared with eager interest.

"Egad!" he muttered. "That's lucky! Makes it all the easier. I'll lay you anything you like, my lad, this manager doesn't know anything—not a thing!—about the double identity business. We shall soon find out—leave it to me—at first, anyway. A few plain questions——"

Mr. Stipp came bustling in, closing the door behind him. He took off overcoat and hat, ran his fingers through his light hair, and, seating himself, glanced smilingly at his visitors.

"Well, gentlemen!" he demanded. "What can I do for you now? Want to make some inquiries?"

"Just a few small inquiries, sir," replied Easleby. "I haven't the pleasure of knowing your name—Mr.——?"

"Stipp's my name, sir," answered the manager promptly. "Stipp—James Stipp."

"Thank you, sir," said Easleby, with great politeness. "Well, Mr. Stipp, you see from our cards who we are. We've called on you—as representing Mr. Godwin Markham—on behalf—informally, Mr. Stipp—of Mrs. Lester, of Lowdale Court, Chesham."

Mr. Stipp's face showed a little surprise at this announcement, and he glanced from one man to the other as if he were puzzled.

"Oh!" he said. "Dear me! Why—what has Mrs. Lester called you in for?"

Easleby, who had brought another marked newspaper with him, laid it on the manager's desk.

"You've no doubt read of this Scarnham affair, Mr. Stipp?" he asked, pointing to his own blue pencillings. "Most people have, I think. Or perhaps it's escaped your notice."

"Hardly could!" answered Mr. Stipp, with a friendly smile. "Yes—I've read it. Most extraordinary! One of the most puzzling cases I ever did read. Are you in at it? But this call hasn't anything to do with that, surely? If it has—what?"

"This much," answered Easleby. "Mrs. Lester has told us, of course, that her son, the young officer, is in debt to your governor. Well, last week, Mrs. Lester handed a certain sum of money to the Mr. Frederick Hollis who's been found dead at Scarnham, to be applied to the settlement of her son's liability in that respect."

Mr. Stipp showed undoubted surprise at this announcement.

"She did!" he exclaimed. "Gave Mr. Hollis money—for that? Why!—Mr. Hollis never told me of it!"

In the course of a long professional experience Easleby had learned to control his facial expression; Starmidge was gradually progressing towards perfection in that art. But each man was hard put to it to check an expression of astonishment. And Easleby showed some slight sign of perplexity when he replied.

"Mr. Hollis has—called on you, then?" he said.

"Hollis was here last Friday afternoon," answered Mr. Stipp. "Called on me at five o'clock—just before I was leaving for the day. He never offered me any money! Glad if he had—it's time young Lester paid up."

"What did Hollis come for, then, if that's a fair question?" asked Easleby.

"He came, I should say, to take a look at us, and find out who he'd got to deal with," replied the manager, smiling. "In plain language, to make an inquiry or two. He told me he'd been empowered by Mrs. Lester to deal with us, and he wanted the particulars of what we'd advanced to her son, and he got them—from me. But he never made me any offer. He just found out what he wanted to know—and went away."

"And, evidently, next day travelled to Scarnham," observed Easleby. "Now, Mr. Stipp, have you any idea whether his visit to Scarnham was in connection with the money affair of yours and young Lester's?"

Again the look of undoubted surprise; again the appearance of genuine perplexity.

"I?" exclaimed Mr. Stipp. "Not the least! Not the ghost of an idea! What could his visit to Scarnham have to do with us? Nothing!—that I know of, anyway."

"You don't think it rather remarkable that Mr. Hollis should go down there the very day after he called on you?" asked Starmidge, putting in a question for the first time.

"Why should I?" asked Mr. Stipp. "What do I know about him and his arrangements? He never mentioned Scarnham to me."

Easleby laid a finger on the marked newspaper.

"You see some names of Scarnham people there, Mr. Stipp?" he observed. "Those names—Horbury—Chestermarke. You don't happen to know 'em?"

"I don't know them," replied the manager, with obvious sincerity. "Banking people, all of them, aren't they? I might have heard their names, in a business way, some time—but I don't recall them at all."

"You said that Mr. Markham was here yesterday," suggested Starmidge. "Did you tell him—you'll excuse my asking, but it's important—did you tell him that Hollis had called last Friday on behalf of Mrs. Lester?"

"I just mentioned it," replied Mr. Stipp. "He took no particular notice—except to say that what we claim from young Lester will have to be—paid."

"You don't know if he knew Hollis?" inquired Starmidge.

The manager shook his head in a fashion which seemed to indicate that Hollis's case was no particular business of either his or his principal's.

"I don't think he did," he answered. "Never said so, anyhow. But, I say! you'll excuse me, now—what is it you're trying to get at? Do you think Hollis went to Scarnham on this business of young Lester's? And if you do, why?"

Easleby rose, and Starmidge followed his example.

"We don't know yet—exactly—why Hollis went to Scarnham," said the elder detective. "We hoped you could help us. But, as you can't—well, we're much obliged, Mr. Stipp. That your governor over the chimney-piece there?"

"Taken a few years ago," replied Mr. Stipp carelessly. "I say—you don't know what Hollis was empowered to offer us, do you?"

The two detectives looked at each other; a quiet nod from Starmidge indicated that he left it to Easleby to answer this question. And after a moment's reflection, Easleby spoke.

"Mr. Hollis was empowered to offer ten thousand pounds in full satisfaction, Mr. Stipp," he said. "And what's more—a cheque for that amount was found on his dead body when it was discovered. Now, sir, you'll understand why we want to know who it was that he went to see at Scarnham!"

Both men were watching the money-lender's manager with redoubled attention. But it needed no very keen eye to see that the surprise which Mr. Stipp had already shown at various stages of the interview was nothing to that which he now felt. And in the midst of his astonishment the two detectives bade him good-day and left him, disregarding an entreaty to stop and tell him more.

"My lad!" said Easleby, when he and Starmidge were out in the street again, "that chap has no more conception that his master is Gabriel Chestermarke than we had—twenty-four hours since—that Gabriel Chestermarke and Godwin Markham are one and the same man. He's a clever chap, this Gabriel—and now you can see how important it's been for him to keep his secret. What's next to be done? We ought to keep in touch with him from now."

"I'm expecting word from Gandam at noon at headquarters," answered Starmidge, who had already told Easleby of the visit of the previous night. "Let's ride down there and hear if any message has come in."

But as their taxi-cab turned out of Whitehall into New Scotland Yard they overtook Gandam, hurrying along. Starmidge stopped the cab and jumped out.

"Any news?" he asked sharply.

"He's off, Mr. Starmidge!" replied Gandam. "I've just come straight from watching him away. He left his house about nine-twenty, walked to the St. John's Wood Station, went down to Baker Street, and on to King's Cross Metropolitan. We followed him, of course. He walked across to St. Pancras, and left by the ten-thirty express."

"Did you manage to find out where he booked for!" demanded Starmidge.

"Ecclesborough," answered Gandam. "Heard him! I was close behind."

"He was alone, I suppose?" asked Starmidge.

"Alone all the time, Mr. Starmidge," assented Gandam. "Never saw a sign of the other party."

Starmidge rejoined Easleby. For the last twenty-four hours he had let his companion supervise matters, but now, having decided on a certain policy, he took affairs into his own hands.

"Now, then," he said, "he's off—back to Scarnham. A word or two at the office, Easleby, and I'm after him. And you'll come with me."