J. S. Fletcher

“ Fanshawe made no answer, and the callers let themselves out into the street, and had walked some little way before Brixey spoke.
"I say!" he said. "That's a bit of a floorer, Gaffkin! I'm a bit taken aback. What Mrs. Byfield says may be absolutely true, so far as she's personally concerned."
"Yes?" said Gaffkin.
"The truth is," continued Brixey, "until about eighteen or twenty years ago, my uncle's name was Herbert—John Herbert. He took the name of Linthwaite on succeeding to some property left him by a kinsman. So there you are!
"He's always been a regular traveller on the Continent. ”

“ What the devil do you fellows mean by forcing your way into my mother's house? Weren't you told that she wasn't at home? What do you mean by threatening her with the police? Do you think you can come bullying people like this? Get out! ”

“ Fridolin's," answered Brixey, "As to his truthfulness, your mother is, of course, better able to judge than I am."
The lad’s jaw dropped, and he moved nearer the open door.
"Felgrave!" he exclaimed. "You say he says——"
"Mr. Felgrave was on the walls overlooking the Priory grounds on Tuesday morning about eleven o’clock," said Brixey, "He saw my uncle, Mr. John Linthwaite, speak to your mother, who evidently recognised him. They entered into conversation, and walked, into the ruins together. There they were presently joined by a man who lives in this town—Mr. ”