But Portlethwaite shook his head. "Why not say design, Mr. Carless?" he said meaningly. "Why not say design? If this man, or the people who are behind him, knew that the real Lord Marketstoke had a finger missing, what easier--in view of the stake they're playing for--than to remove one of this man's fingers? Design, sir, design. All part of the scheme!" The elderly clerk's listeners looked at each other. "I'll tell you what it is!" exclaimed Mr. Pawle with sudden emphasis. "The more we see and hear of this affair, the more I'm convinced that it is, as Portlethwaite says, a conspiracy. You know, that fellow who has just been here was distinctly taken aback when you, Carless, informed him that it was going to be a case of all or nothing. He--or the folk behind him--evidently expected that they'd be able to effect a money settlement. Now, I should say that the real reason of his somewhat hasty retirement was that he wanted to consult his principal or principals. Did you notice that he was not really affronted by your remark? Not he! His personal dignity wasn't ruffled a bit. He was taken aback! He's gone off to consult. Carless, you ought to have that man carefully shadowed, to see where and to whom he goes." "Good idea!" muttered Mr. Driver. "We might see to that." "I can put a splendid man on to him, at once, Mr. Carless," remarked Portlethwaite. "If you could furnish me with his address--" "Methley and Woodlesford know it," said Mr. Carless. "Um--yes, that might be very useful. Ring Methley's up, Portlethwaite, and ask if they would oblige us with the name of Mr. Cave's hotel--some residential hotel in Lancaster Gate, I believe." Mr. Pawle and Viner went away, ruminating over the recent events, and walked to the old lawyer's offices in Bedford Row. Mr. Pawle's own particular clerk met them as they entered. "There's Mr. Roland Perkwite, of the Middle Temple, in your room, sir," he said, addressing his master. "You may remember him, sir--we've briefed him once or twice in some small cases. Mr. Perkwite wants to see you about this Ashton affair--he says he's something to tell you." Mr. Pawle looked at Viner and beckoned him to follow. "Here a little, and there a little!" he whispered. "What are we going to hear this time?" CHAPTER XXI THE MARSEILLES MEETING The man who was waiting in Mr. Pawle's room, and who rose from his chair with alacrity as the old lawyer entered with Viner at his heels, was an alert, sharp-eyed person of something under middle-age, whose clean-shaven countenance and general air immediately suggested the Law Courts. And he went straight to business before he had released the hand which Mr. Pawle extended to him. "Your clerk has no doubt already told you what I came about, Mr. Pawle?" he said. "This Ashton affair." "Just so," answered Mr. Pawle. "You know something about it? This gentleman is Mr. Richard Viner, who is interested in it--considerably."