“Thank God you didn’t,” said Jim fervently.
He carried his prize back by the first train that left for London and dashed into Salter’s office with his news.
“If your theory is correct.” said the old man when he had finished. “there ought not to be any difficulty in discovering the link between the child’s disappearance and her remarkable appearance in Cape Town as Eunice Weldon. We have had confirmation from South Africa that Eunice Weldon did die at this tender age, so, therefore, your Eunice cannot be the same girl. I should advise you to get busy because the day after tomorrow I hand over the Danton estate to Mrs. Groat’s new lawyers, and from what I can see of things,” said Mr. Salter grimly, “it is Digby Groat’s intention to sell immediately the whole of the Danton property.”
“Does that amount to much?”
“It represents more than three-quarters of the estate,” said the lawyer to Jim’s surprise. “The Lakeside properties are worth four hundred thousand pounds, they include about twenty-four homesteads and six fairly big farms. You remember he came here some time ago to question us as to whether he had the right of sale. I had a talk with Bennetts—they are his new solicitors—only this morning,” Mr. Salter went on stroking his big chin thoughtfully, “and it is pretty clear that Digby intends selling out. He showed Bennett the Power of Attorney which his mother gave him this morning.”
The lawyer was faithfully interpreting Digby Groat’s intentions. The will which Eunice had found had shocked him. He was determined that he should not be at the mercy of a capricious old woman who he knew disliked him as intensely as he hated her, and he had induced his mother to change her lawyers, not so much because he had any prejudice against Salter, but because he needed a new solicitor who would carry through the instructions which Salter would question.
Digby was determined to turn the lands and revenues of the Danton Estate into solid cash—cash which he could handle, and once it was in his bank he would breathe more freely.
That was the secret of his business in the city, the formation of a syndicate to take over the Danton properties on a cash basis, and he had so well succeeded in interesting several wealthy financiers in the scheme, that it wanted but the stroke of a pen to complete the deal.
“Aren’t there sufficient facts now,” asked Jim, “to prove that Eunice is Lady Mary’s daughter?”
Salter shook his head.
“No,” he said, “you must get a closer connection of evidence. But as I say, it should not be very difficult for you to do that. You know the date the child disappeared. It was on the 21st June, 1901. To refresh your memory I would remark that it was in that year the Boer War was being fought out.”
Jim’s first call was at the Union African Steamship Company, and he made that just when the office was closing.
Fortunately the assistant manager was there, took him into the office and made a search of his records.
“None of our ships left London River on the 20th or 21st June,” he said, “and, anyway, only our intermediate boats sail from there. The mail steamers sail from Southampton. The last ship to pass Southampton was the Central Castle. She was carrying troops to South Africa and she called at Plymouth on the 20th, so she must have passed Margate three days before.”
“What other lines of steamers run to South Africa?”
The manager gave him a list, and it was a longer one than Jim had expected.
He hurried home to break the news to Lady Mary, but she was out. Her maid, the mysterious Madge Benson, said she had left and did not expect to be back for two or three days, and Jim remembered that Lady Mary had talked of going to Paris.
“Do you know where she would stay in Paris?”
“I don’t even know she’s gone to Paris, sir,” said the woman with a smile. “Lady Mary never tells me her plans.”
Jim groaned.
There was nothing to do but wait until tomorrow and pursue his inquiries. In the meantime it was growing upon him that Eunice and he were bad friends. He smiled to himself. What would she say when she discovered that the woman who called him “Jim” was her mother! He must possess his soul in patience for another twenty-four hours.
Suddenly a thought came to him, a thought which struck the smile from his lips. Eunice Weldon might forgive him and might marry him and change the drab roadway of life to a path of flowers, but Dorothy Danton was a rich woman, wealthy beyond her dreams, and Jim Steele was a poor man. He sat back in his chair to consider that disquieting revelation. He could never marry the girl Eunice now, he thought; it would not be fair to her, or to him. Suppose she never knew! He smiled contemptuously at the thought.
“Get thee behind me, Satan.” he said to the little dog that crouched at his feet, watching him with eyes that never left his face. He bent down and patted the mongrel, who turned on his back with uplifted paws. “You and I have no particular reason to love Digby Groat, old fellow,” he said, for this was the dog he had rescued from Digby’s dissecting table, “and if he harms a hair of her head, he will be sorry he was ever born.”
He began his search in the morning, almost as soon as the shipping offices opened. One by one they blasted his hopes, and he scarcely dared make his last call which was at the office of the African Coastwise Line.
“And I don’t think it is much use going to them,” said the clerk at the last but one of his calls. “They don’t sail from London, they are a Liverpool firm, and all their packets sail direct from the Mersey. I don’t think we have ever had a Coastwise boat in the London docks. I happen to know,” he explained, “because I was in the Customs before I came to this firm.”
The Coastwise Line was an old-fashioned firm and occupied an old-fashioned office in a part of London which seemed to be untouched by the passing improvements of the age. It was one of those firms which have never succumbed to the blandishments of the Company Promoter, and the two senior partners of the firm, old gentlemen who had the appearance of being dignitaries of the Church, were seated on either side of a big partner’s table.
Jim was received with old-world courtesy and a chair was placed for him by a porter almost as ancient as the proprietors of the African Coastwise Line.
Both the gentlemen listened to his requirements in silence.
“I don’t think we have ever had a ship pass through the Straits of Dover,” said one, shaking his head. “We were originally a Liverpool firm, and though the offices have always been in London, Liverpool is our headquarters.”
“And Avonmouth,” murmured his partner.
“And Avonmouth, of course,” the elder of the two acknowledged the correction with a slight inclination of his head.
“Then there is no reason why I should trouble you, gentlemen,” said Jim with a heavy heart.
“It is no trouble, I assure you,” said the partner, “but to make absolutely sure we will get our sailings for—June, 1901, I think you said?”
He rang a bell, and to the middle-aged clerk, who looked so young, thought Jim, that he must be the office-boy, he made his request known. Presently the clerk came back with a big ledger which he laid on the partners’ desk. He watched the gentleman as his well-manicured finger ran carefully down the pages and suddenly stopped.
“Why, of course,” he said, looking up, “do you remember we took over a Union African trip when they were hard pressed with transport work?”
“To be sure,” said his partner. “It was the Battledore we sent out, she went from Tilbury. The only ship of ours that has ever sailed from Thames River.”
“What date did it sail?” asked Jim eagerly.