The Pauper of Park Lane

“Adams makes certain serious allegations which he can substantiate. There is a certain witness whom Mr Statham believes to be dead, but who is still alive, and is now in England.”

“A witness – of what?” asked Rolfe quickly.

“Of the crime which Adams alleges.”

“Crime – what crime?” ejaculated the young man in surprise, staring at his pretty companion.

“Some serious offence, but of what nature I am not permitted to explain to you.”

“Why not, Miss Lorena? You must! Remember that Mr Statham is in ignorance of this – I mean that Adams intends to charge him with a crime. Surely the position is most serious! I imagined that Adams’s charges were criticism of Mr Statham’s methods of finance.”

“Finance does not enter into it at all,” said the girl. “The delegation is a secret crime by which the millionaire laid the foundation of his fortune; a crime committed abroad, and of which there are two witnesses still living, men who were, until a few weeks ago, believed to be dead.

“But you tell me that Adams’s associate will, if Mr Statham commits suicide, profit to an enormous amount. Will you not explain? If this is so, why have they not attempted to levy blackmail? If the charge has foundation – which I do not for one moment believe – then surely Mr Statham would be prepared to make payment and hush up the affair? He would not be human if he refused.”

“The pair are fully alive to the danger of any attempt to procure money by promise of secrecy,” she replied. “They have already fully considered the matter, and arrived at the conclusion that to compel Mr Statham to take his own life is the wiser and easier course.”

“You seem to be in their confidence, Miss Lorena?” he said, gazing at the pretty girl at his side.

“Yes, I am. That is why I am unable to reveal to you the name of Adams’s companion,” she replied. “All I can tell you is that the intention is to make against him a terrible charge of which they possess evidence which is, apparently, overwhelming.”

“Then you know the charge it is intended to bring against him – eh?”

“Yes,” was her prompt answer. “To me it seems outrageous, incomprehensible – and yet – ”

“Well?”

“And yet, if it is really true, it would account to a very great degree for Mr Statham’s eccentricity of which I’ve so often read in the papers. No one enters his house in Park Lane. Is not that so?”

“He is shy, and does not care for strangers,” was Rolfe’s response.

“But it said in the paper only a week ago that nobody has ever been upstairs in that house except himself. There is a door on the stairs, they say, which is always kept locked and bolted.”

“And if that is so?”

“Well – have you ever been upstairs, Mr Rolfe. Tell me; I’m very anxious to know.”

“I make no secret of it,” was his reply, smiling the while. “I have never been upstairs. Entrance there is forbidden.”

“Even to you – his confidential secretary?”

“Yes, even to me.”

“And yet there are signs of the upstairs’ rooms being occupied,” she remarked. “I have seen lights there myself, as I’ve passed the house. I was along Park Lane late one evening last week.”

“So you have been recently in London?”

“London is my home. I am only here on a visit,” was her reply. “And ascertaining you were coming here, I resolved to see you.”

“And has this serious allegation which Adams intends to bring any connection with the mystery concerning the mansion?”

“Yes. It has.”

“In what way?”

She paused, as though uncertain whether or not to tell the truth.

“Because,” she said at last, “because I firmly believe, from facts known to me, that confirmation of the truth of Adams’s charge will be discovered beyond that locked door!”

Chapter Thirty Seven.

Max Barclay is Inquisitive

“Miss Rolfe has left the firm’s employ, sir.”

“Left – left Cunnington’s?” gasped Max Barclay, staring open-mouthed at Mr Warner, the buyer.

“Yes, sir. She left suddenly yesterday morning,” repeated the dapper little man with the pen behind his ear.

“But this is most extraordinary – to leave at a moment’s notice! I thought she was so very comfortable here. She always spoke so kindly of you, and for the consideration with which you always treated her.”

“It was very kind of her, I’m sure,” replied the buyer; “but it is the rule here – a moment’s notice on either side.”

“But why? Why has she left?”

Warner hesitated. He, of course, knew the truth, but he was not anxious to speak it.

“Some little misunderstanding, I think.”

“With you?”

“Oh, dear no. She was called down to the counting-house yesterday morning, and she did not return.”

“Then she’s been discharged – eh?” asked Max in a hard voice.

“I believe so, sir. At least, it would appear so.”

“And are they in the habit of discharging assistants in this manner – throwing them out of a home and out of employment at a moment’s notice? Is Mr Cunnington himself aware of it?”

“It would be Mr Cunnington himself who discharged her,” was the buyer’s answer. “No other person has authority either to engage or discharge.”

“But there must be a reason for her dismissal!” exclaimed Max.

“Certainly. But only Mr Cunnington knows that.”

“Can I see him?”

“Well, at this hour he’s generally very busy indeed; but if you go down to the counting-house in the next building, and ask for him, he may give you a moment.”