# The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 22

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THE WIRE FROM NETHERWELL
Wedgwood was one of those well-regulated Englishmen who believe that if you really must read a newspaper, there is only one newspaper that can be depended upon through thick and thin—to wit, the Times: he would as soon have thought of beginning the day without his breakfast as of omitting to glance over the Times while he munched his bacon and sipped his coffee. And like all readers of newspapers he had his favourite page. Some men turn first to the political news; some to the sporting, some to the financial; Wedgwood invariably turned first to the legal. And it was as he glanced over the Law Notices for that day that he saw the name Mortover. There it was—he sat for a moment staring at it.
There was a telephone in the house in which Wedgwood lodged, and within two minutes of ​his reading that notice he was at it, ringing up Nottidge, whose number he had been careful to secure on first going to Nottidge House. Within two minutes more he was through to him.
"That you, Nottidge! This is Wedgwood! Have you seen the Times this morning?"
"Not yet," replied Nottidge. "What is there?"
"Look on the law page—law notices of the Courts—you'll see! Listen—no time to waste. Meet me as soon as you can outside the Law Courts—main entrance. Hurry up—it's nearly half-past nine now! Understand?"
"I'll be there—set off in five minutes," answered Nottidge.
Wedgwood rang off and hastily finishing his breakfast hurried along to the Law Courts.
It was a little after ten when he reached the main entrance, a moment later Nottidge sprang out of a taxi-cab and joined him.
"Seen it?" demanded the detective.
Nottidge waved a copy of the Times at him.
"I've seen it!" he answered. "What on earth is the meaning of it?"
Wedgwood drew him aside from the stream of barristers, solicitors, clerks, witnesses steadily pouring in through the archway.
"I'll tell you what the meaning is!" he said, ​with a knowing look. "You can crystallize the meaning into one word—Levigne!"
But Nottidge shook his head.
"Don't understand even now!" he said. "Levigne? What's he got to do with this?"
"Everything!" said Wedgwood. "I'm beginning to see through things. Levigne was the main factor in starting that Mortover colliery scheme. He's a big stake in it. Well, at a critical stage of its affairs, when the limited liability company is being formed and shares put on the market, he finds out that there's a claimant to the land which the company has secured from the supposed legal owner, Philip Mortover. That claimant is the girl Avice Mortover! How, we don't know—but I can guess! Levigne finds out that Avice Mortover's claim is a thoroughly substantial one, not to be set aside. He decides to take up her cause, and gets her into his power—she, of course, was the young lady we heard of last night, who was brought to Cleveland Square by Levigne and his secretary, spent the night there, and was taken away, somewhere, by the secretary next morning. Why? Probably to keep her in safe hiding until these legal proceedings could be taken. Probably, too, Levigne has got her to sign papers by virtue of which, in the event of her substantiating her ​claim, he'll put himself safe and right, financially. Deep and clever work, young man—but I shall have a word or two to say to Mr. Levigne as soon as I set eyes on him!"
Nottidge listened to all this with knitted brows.
"What I don't understand," he said moodily, "is how they got Miss Mortover away so willingly! Strangers to her—and yet that girl we saw last night said she seemed quite at home with them!"
"Oh, I understand that!" answered Wedgwood. "The woman probably introduced herself as a relation, and Levigne as another. They got round her with soft words, representing that they were her friends and going to see that she got her rights."
"That doesn't explain why she's never communicated with me, though!" said Nottidge. "She might at least have dropped me a line!"
Wedgwood smiled and gave his companion a shrewd glance.
"I think you'll find that she probably did drop you a line!" he said. "It's not her fault that you didn't get it!"
"What d'you mean?" asked Nottidge.
"Do you remember what the waiter, Marco, told us as regards a certain happening at Cipriani's restaurant?" asked Wedgwood. "He ​said that after the gentleman and the two ladies had dined, telegram forms were asked for, and the young lady—the young lady, mind you—wrote out two telegrams. What did she do with 'em? She gave 'em to the gentleman! Now, in my opinion, you'll find out, when you meet Miss Mortover, that one of those telegrams was to you, and the other to her landlady. Of course, Levigne never handed them in—never meant to! And the probability is that while you've been wondering why you never heard from her, she's been surprised that she never heard from you!"
"Meet her again, you say!" exclaimed Nottigde. "And when's that likely to be?"
Wedgwood drew out his watch.
"I should say in a few minutes," he replied coolly. "This application's fixed for ten-thirty and it's a quarter-past ten now.
"You expect her here?" asked Nottidge.
"I expect 'em all here!" said Wedgwood. "Levigne, his secretary, Miss Mortover, and their solicitor and counsel. And now Nottidge as time's short, a word to you! You can leave Levigne to me—I'll tackle him, to some purpose. You see that very ordinary-looking individual, quietly glancing about him, over there? That's an assistant of mine—another detective—I brought him along on purpose."
​"Going to arrest Levigne!" exclaimed Nottidge. "For what?"
"I said nothing about arresting him," replied Wedgwood. "But he's going with me—somewhere—to undergo some pretty stiff questioning! Never mind him—as I say, I'll see to him. But as regards Miss Mortover, a word to you! Don't let her out of your sight again, whatever happens!"
"I'll see to that!" responded Nottidge, heartily. "Only let me see her———"
Wedgwood motioned him to turn.
"You can see her now!" he said. "Here they all are—as I said, except Levigne!"
Nottidge turned sharply—to see Avice Mortover, a tall, spare woman in a long fur coat, a man who looked like a solicitor and had a clerk in attendance with a bag, and another man in a barrister's wig and gown. They were coming through the main entrance, all talking together. Wedgwood pulled Nottidge's sleeve.
"You see the little man—not the barrister," he whispered. "That's Curtoise, of Curtoise and Fullpage, Portugal Street—one of the cutest lawyers in London! I know him, and I'm going to speak to him. You make up to the girl!"
He went after the solicitor, unheeding the sudden exclamation which fell from Avice ​Mortover's lips as she recognized Nottidge. Curtoise, a sharp-featured, keen-eyed man, turned quickly at Wedgwood's touch on his arm, and gave him a questioning look as he saw who it was that accosted him.
"A word—in private!" said Wedgwood. He drew the solicitor aside. "You're expecting Mr. Levigne to turn up here, I suppose, Mr. Curtoise," he went on. "Well, between you and me, I want him!"
Curtoise showed no astonishment: he was of the sort that shows no astonishment or surprise even when they are felt.
"What is it, Wedgwood?" he asked quietly.
"That Handel Street murder case," replied Wedgwood. Then he added, with a significant glance: "It's mixed up with this Mortover case more than you'd think, Mr. Curtoise! But what is this case this morning?"
"Application for an injunction to restrain the Directors of the Company from dealing further with the land and minerals," answered the solicitor. He pointed to Avice, who was now talking rapidly to Nottidge. "That girl claims the Mortover estate."
"I know!" nodded Wedgwood. "Well, I suppose Levigne's sure to come here?"
"We can't do anything if he doesn't," replied Curtoise. "Although he's employed us on Miss ​Mortover's behalf, and we've instructed counsel, Levigne has all the necessary papers! He won't let them out of his keeping. We can't go on unless he's here, so he's sure to come. But—is it anything serious you're wanting him for? Some enquiry, I suppose?"
"You'll hear, in time," said Wedgwood. "Your counsel's wanting you—time to go in I should think. There's ten-thirty."
He exchanged a word or two with his assistant and then followed Curtoise and his group into court. Nottidge came to him.
"I've had a word or two with her!" he whispered. "You were right about those telegrams! One was to me; the other to the landlady. She also says she wrote to me and gave Levigne the letter to post. She's amazed that I never got either telegram or letter; because, she says, Levigne and that secretary woman have treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration———"
"No doubt!" said Wedgwood. "For a consideration! Did you ask her if she's put her hand to any papers or documents while she's been with Levigne?"
"Yes! She says she's signed some papers that he put before her. She———"
"Here's the judge!" interrupted Wedgwood. "Wait a bit!"
​He was looking round for Levigne. So, too, were Curtoise and the barrister, both obviously annoyed and embarrassed. Presently, on the case being called, the barrister rose, his voice full of mournful apology and explained that he was in a difficulty; certain absolutely necessary papers which were to have been brought up from Derbyshire last night had not arrived, though it was possible indeed, fully expected—that the person who was bringing them might arrive at any moment. If his lordship would be so indulgent as to———
"Better take the next case and defer your application until this afternoon," interrupted the judge.
"If your lordship pleases!" murmured the barrister, and sinking into his seat, turned a reproachfully expectant eye on the door. Wedgwood's eye followed his, but he saw no sign of Levigne, and presently he made his way to Curtoise's side in the well of the court.
"Was it Levigne who was to bring up those papers from Derbyshire?" he asked, under cover of the beginning of the next case.
"Yes!" replied Curtoise. "He should have been at my office with them first thing this morning."
"Papers relating to the colliery?" persisted Wedgwood.
​"Papers relating to this application," said Curtoise. "Certain signatures. And pray how does all this relate to your affair?"
"I told you the two things were mixed up more than you'd think," replied Wedgwood. "You'll know all about it before long. Well, I wonder if Levigne's coming?"
"I wired to Mortover Grange this morning to know if he'd set off," said Curtoise. "A reply hadn't come when I left the office—I'm expecting it here any minute."
Wedgwood stole away—but only as far as to the side of Avice Mortover, who sat by Miss Monniment.
"A word with you, young lady!" he whispered with a smile. "Glad to see you're no worse for your adventures. Listen—you remember coming to see me about John Wraypoole? Of course! Well, now, did you ever, at any time, give John Wraypoole any papers relating to yourself or your father and mother? Be sure!"
Avice Mortover leaned nearer to him and whispered.
"Yes, I gave him some birth and marriage certificates that I kept in an envelope," she answered. "He was to look them over and give them back. But he didn't—I've never seen them since."
​"Have you told anyone of them?" asked Wedgwood.
"Mr. Levigne. He asked me questions about them, but I couldn't remember anything. They were papers that my mother kept, and, of course, when she died, I got them."
"You don't know where Mr. Levigne is this morning, I suppose?" enquired Wedgwood.
"No—I don't know anything about it. I've come here from Brighton—Miss Monniment and I have been there for some days. Mr. Levigne was down there a few days ago, and he told me he was going to Derbyshire again, but———"
At that moment Wedgwood saw a clerk glide up to Curtoise's side and hand him a telegram; a second or two later Curtoise motioned the detective to join him. He thrust the telegram into his hand.
"Look at that!" he whispered. "Queer!" Wedgwood read the message rapidly.
"Mr. Levigne was here yesterday. Left five o'clock in afternoon with Mrs. Clagne. They were expected back at seven, but never returned. If you are Mr. Levigne's solicitors, please come. There is something wrong here.
M. Patello."
"I know," answered Wedgwood. "A young woman staying at Mortover Grange. What shall you do?"
"Hard to say," replied the solicitor. "The strange thing is, there's no communication from Levigne himself!"
"Just so!" agreed Wedgwood. He rose quietly, preparing to slip noiselessly away. "I'm off!" he whispered with a nod.
"Where?" asked Curtoise. "Not———?"
"There!" answered Wedgwood. "Mortover Grange!"
He hastened into the street, hailed a taxi-cab, and bade its driver hurry to St. Pancras. And as his cab drew up, another cab came alongside, and from it descended Mr. and Mrs. Patello.