The Mystery of Lincoln's Inn Part 16

He had very good reasons for imagining there would be no will, for had not Silwood told him that he had no money?

"Mr. Silwood must have left a will, father," said Gilbert, confidently; "a man of his business habits would be certain to make a will. If it's not in the office here, then I should think it will be in his chambers in Stone Buildings."

"Perhaps so."

"Well, that's what I should say. In any case, father, you will have to go across to his chambers, see what there is in them, and have everything taken care of. I wonder who is his heir, or if he has one? He never seemed to have any relations or friends--but then I did not know him very well."

"Relations, so far as I know, he had none," replied Francis Eversleigh; "and I scarcely think he had many friends. He always lived a very lonely life."

"He was so engrossed in his business!"

"Yes, yes--quite so. As regards his chambers, I know he left them locked up."

"Still, don't you think you ought to examine them, considering present circ.u.mstances? If you like, I will go over there with you now."

Eversleigh shrank from the thing. However, he looked at his strong handsome son, and thought that if he must go to Stone Buildings--and he knew that he had better go as soon as possible--it was with Gilbert that he would choose to go.

"I think, first," he said, "it will be as well to tell Ernest and Mr.

Williamson what has occurred; afterwards you and I will proceed to Mr.

Silwood's chambers and examine them."

Ernest Eversleigh and Williamson, therefore, were sent for. Eversleigh announced to them that Silwood was dead, and asked Gilbert to read to them the translation of the Syndic's letter. Both were profoundly surprised; Ernest, who appeared genuinely concerned, expressed his regret at the news, while Williamson, who was astonished beyond measure, looked utterly aghast, and as if he thought the end of the world was about to come.

"We--Gilbert and I--are going over to Mr. Silwood's rooms in Stone Buildings," said Francis Eversleigh. "I must consider what is necessary to do in the circ.u.mstances, but I can say nothing at present."

"Perhaps Mr. Williamson can tell us," said Gilbert, as his father stopped, "if there is a will?"

"No, Mr. Gilbert, I do not know of one," replied the head-clerk. "Mr.

Silwood never mentioned the subject to me."

"I think that is all," said Francis Eversleigh, after a moment's pause, and Ernest and Williamson withdrew.

"Well, Gilbert, I suppose we had better go at once and get it over,"

observed Eversleigh to his elder son. "We will call one of the porters, and get him to go with us to open the door."

On their way they met a porter of the Inn, and told him of Silwood's death, and that they wished to gain admittance to the chambers in Stone Buildings.

"Sorry to hear about Mr. Silwood," said the man; "must ha' been very sudden, surely. Dear me, dear me! But about opening the door o' his rooms, I'm none so certain that I can do it. Mr. Silwood had a lock and key of his own--a special Yale, which he'd had fitted on himself.

However, I'll try."

But the lock of the door, on which still was pinned the piece of paper with "Out of Town" written upon it, resisted all his efforts. He tried on it every key in his bunch, but without effect.

"This is a job for a locksmith, that's what it is," said he at last.

"Shall I go and fetch one? I can bring a man here in a few seconds who has the proper tools, and he'll soon do the business."

"Yes, please get a locksmith at once," said Francis Eversleigh.

In about five minutes the porter returned with a locksmith, who set to work and forced the lock, but not without a considerable expenditure of time and labour.

As the door was opened, a foetid, noisome odour rushed out and filled the landing. The locksmith involuntarily stepped back.

"Whiff, whiff, what's that?" cried he, while the others exclaimed about the horrible smell.

It was the locksmith who entered the room first, a few feet in advance of the others. Instantly he uttered a loud shout of terrified surprise.

The others now pressed in after him, Francis Eversleigh the last.

There lay the body of a man, face downwards, on the floor.

Eversleigh, with a countenance as white as chalk, looked from the body to his son, and back to the body again. Gilbert was as white as his father. The other men looked mutely at the figure lying on the floor; it seemed to fascinate them. No one spoke a word. A great question shaped itself in the stillness of that room, but none of them was eager, for the moment, to find the answer.

Who was the man--the man who lay dead?

Other questions came into their minds, but this was first.

"We must see the man's face," said Gilbert, and his voice broke the spell which seemed to hold them powerless.

The porter and the locksmith turned the body over.

Though the features had partially become decomposed, the face was still recognisable on close inspection.

"It's a stranger, I think, leastways in the Inn," said the porter.

Eversleigh gazed at the dead face, peering into it. Suddenly he trembled as with ague, while he vainly struggled to speak.

Gilbert, too, had been closely scrutinizing the dead face, and he thought that he recognized it. Looking at his father and seeing his evident emotion, he felt certain.

"It is Morris Thornton!" said he, in a hoa.r.s.e unnatural voice.

"Morris Thornton!" echoed Francis Eversleigh, and fell in a heap across the body of his old friend.

CHAPTER XIII

"Morris Thornton!"

Both the porter and the locksmith had heard the name distinctly before Eversleigh swooned away, and both understood who the dead man was. They were so astounded that they stood looking at each other with startled faces and mouths agape, while Gilbert bent over the unconscious form of his father.

"Morris Thornton at last!" cried the porter; "it's the gentleman as was missing."

"Morris Thornton--yes," said the locksmith; "the missing millionaire--the man wot was advertised for in all the papers."

And then both men were silent, thinking of the reward of a thousand pounds offered for information about this very man.

"I was the first as found him," remarked the locksmith, coming to his wits, to the porter.

"We all found him together, didn't we?" asked the porter, in an aggrieved tone.