# The Lost Mr. Linthwaite/Chapter 34
### CHAPTER XXXIV
#### THE STROKE DIRECT

Before Mesham and his companion had gone many yards along the street, Brixey and Gaffkin were peering round the corner of their retreat, and at the same moment the two detectives came sauntering back.
But Matsey, who had crossed the road in another direction and turned into a tobacconist's shop for a bare minute, went along on the opposite side, evidently bent on keeping an eye on the pair in front.
"He's after 'em!" whispered. Gaffkin, "Now, who's the blue-spectacled man?"
"Letwige!" exclaimed Brixey. "Semmerby's clerk—from Selchester. But I'd forgotten that you don't know what happened last night. Listen," and he gave his companion a hasty but clear account of the discoveries at Semmerby's office and at the bank, to which the detectives, who had now come up, listened for the second time.
"That's Letwige, without a doubt," concluded Brixey. "He's changed into dark clothes, and put on a pair of blue glasses to hide his infernal squint, but that's he! And now then, you fellows, you've got to fall in with my plans! This is what I want you to do. You must——"
"Half a minute! " said Gaffkin. "Here's Matsey coming back."
Matsey came hurrying along the street and turned into the passage in which, the others stood.
"They've gone into the office of the United Steamships Company, just along there," he said. "Both of ’em!"
"Ah!" remarked one of the detectives. "Going to inquire about passages to—where?"
"Listen to me!" continued Brixey. He button-holed the senior detective. "You know enough now," he said, "to arrest these fellows. Take 'em in charge, and bundle 'em off to the nearest police station. That's close by, isn't it? All right, I know it.
"Very well Go and get 'em. Never mind what they say, or protest. In any case, you can make them accompany you to give an account of themselves. Gaffkin, you and Matsey go with them."
"And what about you, Mr. Brixey?" asked the elder detective. "What are you going to do?"
"Follow up a little idea of my own," answered Brixey. "And, on second thoughts. I'll keep Matsey. You can manage without him?"
"We'll take these fellows to the station round there and make them account for their doings," replied the detective. "You’ll come there and identify Letwige and tell what you know?"
"I'll come there before very long and identify Letwige and Mesham, and tell all I know!" assented Brixey. "You go and make sure of them."
He beckoned Matsey to follow him and walked back in the direction of Trinity Square. At the corner he paused.
"Matsey!" he said. "You're a smart chap, I'm sure. I've got a bit of a notion that may turn out a master-stroke. It's got to be carried out in yonder hotel where you stopped last night, and at once. Now, will you do just what I ask?"
"Anything you like, sir," answered Gaffkin's assistant. "I reckon you know what you’re up to, Mr. Brixey."
"I know what I'm up to," said Brixey confidently. "Now, look here. Just you leave me and stroll in front till you see a policeman. Get him to come with you to the front of Wolmark’s Hotel, and get him also to hang about there with you. Whereabouts is the coffee-room?"
"First room on the right when you get in," replied Matsey. "Ground floor."
"Windows looking out on the street?" asked Brixey.
"All of them," said Matsey.
"Keep him strolling in front of those windows—you with him," commanded Brixey. "Tell him there’ll be half a sovereign for him when I come out. Don't tell him too much, but tell him enough to interest him. Now be spry!"
Matsey mowed away up the square, and Brixey followed at twenty yards' distance. But when they came to the hotel Matsey walked onwards, while Brixey turned in at the open door.
He was all alive now for what he thought might turn out a successful venture. He had his own ideas as to why Letwige had gone at that early hour to the shipping office; he also had ideas as to what Letwige had probably left behind him at the hotel. And what he wanted to do he conceived that he could best do unaided. The first thing was to see the register. There it lay, on a sloping desk, by the half window of a little office, just then empty. Brixey stepped straight to it, and had run his eye over the last half-dozen entries before anyone noticed his presence.
The first few entries conveyed nothing to him—the last two did:
Mr. C. Marrows ......... Brighton.
Mr. and Mrs. Leeson ......... Portsmouth.
Odd, thought Brixey, how people who adopt assumed names on these occasions will stick to the initials of their rightful ones! But without comment he turned to a sleepy-looking damsel who had appeared at the office window and was gazing speculatively at him.
"Friends of mine here, I think," said Brixey unconcernedly, "Mr. and Mrs. Leeson. Do you know if they’re down yet?"
"Mr. Leeson’s just gone out for a few minutes," replied the girl. "He ordered breakfast to be ready for them in half an hour when he went out. Mrs. Leeson’s in the coffee-room now—waiting for him."
"Oh, thank you; then I’ll go in to her!" said Brixey.
The girl pointed the stub of a pencil towards the coffee-room door, and Brixey walked in.
And as he entered, his quick eyes saw two things at the same time—Matsey and a big policeman, obviously much interested, marching slowly past the windows, and, at a table in a corner, turning over the pages of an illustrated paper, Debbie Lee.
She was the only occupant of the room—a smallish, dingy apartment, smelling strongly of the ghosts of chops and steaks—and she did not look up until Brixey had advanced to the table at which she sat. And before she looked up at all, he had noticed another thing.
At her right hand, set where her cup and saucer should have been, was a small, stout leather despatch-case with the initials "J.L." stamped in black. His heart gave a jump at that. What he wanted was, he felt sure, lying in that case, which Debbie was guarding whilst its owner took the air outside with Mesham and did a little necessary business.
Brixey had his hand on a chair, and was actually drawing it up to her table before Debbie knew he was there. At the grating sound she looked up and recognised him, and his heart jumped again as she instinctively clapped a hand—whereon he noticed a brand-new wedding ring—on the despatch case.
"That's right, Mrs.—Letwige!" whispered Brixey. "Take care of it for a few minutes longer!"
He knew from his slight acquaintance with her that this was a young woman of character and determination, who would probably show fight. But his sudden appearance had been too much for her, and she sank back in her chair, pale enough, and already trembling. Brixey drew his chair close in, and leaned across the table.
"Take it quietly!" he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Look out there—through the window at your left hand. You see two men waiting outside. One, as you see, is a policeman; the other is a detective. And I don't want to have to call them in."
The woman found her tongue. Brixey knew her to possess a naturally pleasant and ingratiating voice, and it surprised him now to find how hoarse and strained it had become.
"How—how did you find us here?" she gasped.
Brixey allowed himself to wink, and to smile.
"Ah!" he answered. "In all these affairs, Mrs. Letwige, there's generally some little detail that one goes wrong in. When you went off last night, you left your green purse on your dressing-table!
"I found it there. I was in your place within a few minutes of your leaving. I saw your purse, opened it, and read the address of this hotel on the bit of paper. I saw Letwige come back and fetch the purse. And so—there you are!"
The frightened eyes were restless by that time, now glancing at the door, now at the window, outside which stood Matsey and the policeman. They came back to Brixey.
"What are you going to do?" asked their owner.
"Ask you a few questions," replied Brixey promptly. "You'll be wise if you answer them. You’re in a nice hole, you know. Everything’s known—all about my uncle, your late prisoner, all about Letwige's theft of the securities from Mr. Semmerby and from the bank—all; and the police and detectives are hot on the job, I assure you! Now, tell me, where is your father?"
"You want to give us away?" she muttered sullenly.
"On the contrary, I want to be a bit of use to you," retorted Brixey. "I can get you out of this if you tell me the truth."
"He’s off to the west of England, where he belongs," she whispered.
"With plenty of money from Letwige in his pocket, no doubt," said Brixey. "Now, then, you are Mrs. Letwige, aren't you?"
"We were married when I was at the milliner's place in the West End," she answered. "Only we kept it secret. Nobody but father knows."
"Well, I'm sorry for you," said Brixey, "but you've got to face stern facts, Mrs. Letwige! Your husband's just been arrested; so has Mesham."
"Oh," she broke out. "It was that damned Mesham put him up to it! It’s all been Mesham! He planned it all about Mr. Linthwaite."
"Keep cool," whispered Brixey, "it’s the only thing. I'm the only person that can help you. And I will, if you’ll be sensible. Now, then, you’ve got all those stolen papers, and so on, in that case, haven’t you? I thought so! And you don’t want me to call on those two outside? Very well—hand the case over to me, and the key!"
Five minutes later, Brixey, having hastily gone through the contents of the despatch-case, put it securely under his arm and got up.
"Now, do as I tell you," he said. "Keep quiet here. I'll come back and see you before noon. We’ll fix it that you yourself didn’t know what these two were after. And we'll try to get the principal blame shoved on to Mesham. Now, I’m going to the police station where they’ve taken your husband."
He went away without another word, silently drew the policeman aside and handed him a sovereign and bestowed a solemn wink upon him, and then beckoned Matsey to follow him down the square.
"Hit it in one, my lad!" he whispered, tapping the despatch-case. "Here’s the swag—complete!"