Gabriel Chestermarke, in spite of his habitual control, started: Joseph, bending nearer to the desk, made a curious sound of surprise. A second later they both looked at Starmidge--each as calm as ever. "Well?" said Gabriel. "You don't know anything about that, gentlemen?" asked Starmidge, affecting great innocence. "Nothing!" answered Gabriel. "Of course not!" murmured Joseph, a little derisively. "I thought you might recognize that handwriting," suggested Starmidge, using one of his previously invented excuses. "No!" replied Gabriel. "Don't know it!" "From Adam's writing," added Joseph. "You know the name of the bankers, I suppose, gentlemen?" asked the detective. "Vanderkiste? Oh, yes!" assented Gabriel. "Well-known city firm. But I don't think we've ever done business with them," he added, turning to his nephew. "Never!" replied Joseph. "In my time, at any rate." Starmidge picked up the cheque and carefully replaced it in its envelope. "Much obliged to you, gentlemen," he said, retreating towards the door. "Oh!--you'll be interested in hearing, no doubt, that the dead man's brother, Mr. Leonard Hollis, of Birmingham, has come. He's identified the body." "And what does he think, or suggest?" asked Joseph, glancing out of the corners of his eyes at Starmidge. "Has he any suggestions--or ideas?" "He thinks his brother came here to meet Mr. Horbury," answered Starmidge. "That's so evident that it's no news," remarked Joseph. "Perhaps he can suggest where Horbury's to be found." Starmidge bowed and went out and straight back to Polke. He handed him the cheque and the letter-case. "Lock 'em up!" he said. "Now then, listen! You can do all that's necessary about that inquest. I'm off to town. Sit down, and I'll tell you why. And what I tell you, keep to yourself." That evening, Starmidge, who had driven quietly across the country from Scarnham to Ecclesborough, joined a London express at the Midland Station in the big town. The carriages were unusually full, and he had some difficulty in finding the corner seat that he particularly desired. But he got one, at last, at the very end of the train, and he had only just settled himself in it when he saw Gabriel Chestermarke hurry past. Starmidge put his head out of the window and watched--Gabriel entered a first-class compartment in the next coach. "First stop Nottingham!" mused the detective. And he pulled a sheaf of telegram forms out of his pocket, and leisurely began to write a message which before he signed his name to it had run into many words. CHAPTER XX THE OTHER CHEQUE