J. S. Fletcher

“ The bank manager turned away in silence, and, unlocking a drawer in his desk, turned over some documents.
"There you are, Mr. Semmerby," he said, handing the old man a sheet of letter paper. "All correct, I believe, so far as we’re concerned."
Semmerby’s hands shook so much that he was obliged to lay the paper on the edge of the desk before he could read it. Linthwaite and Brixey, without ceremony, bent over it on either side of him.
"Nothing could be plainer," remarked the bank manager. "That’s Mrs. Byfield’s private note-paper, and Mrs. Byfield’s signature. I ought to know that, anyway!" ”

“ Hollinshaw to hand over to you the box of securities and deeds this afternoon, so as to have everything in readiness for me first thing to-morrow morning?
Yours truly,⁠
Harriet Byfield.
"That’s what your man brought, Mr. Semmerby," continued Hollinshaw. "Of course, as he brought it direct from you, I took it as sufficient authorisation, and handed over the box." ”

“ Semmerby, is to lay Letwige by the heels! But I imagine he’s off."
Brixey, who had refrained from telling Linthwaite of the address in the green purse and was by this time determined on keeping it to himself, stepped into the arena.
"I have very good reason for knowing that Letwige went away from Selchester in a motor-car, travelling west, in company with Nat Lee and his daughter, this evening," he said. "And I suggest that we now go and ask Mr. Crabbe to track him and his companions. They can possibly find out something about the car." ”