J. S. Fletcher

“ You gentlemen had better join us."
"You seem mightily unconcerned young man!" remarked Semmerby.
"I don't know of anything to be concerned about, now," retorted Fanshawe. "I was a good deal bothered about my mother up to Sunday night, but since Georgina took hold, I'm not. I reckon my mother's gone to do some private business, and, as I say, she'll turn up."
"Oh," said Semmerby. "Very well. And talking of business, you know that clerk of mine, Letwige?"
"Do I know my own face?" laughed Fanshawe. "Who doesn't know him—in our town, anyway?" ”

“ Then, of course, he’ll make Mrs. Byfield pay for silence, and the Byfield fortune will go where it was never meant to go."
"Not if I know anything!" growled Semmerby. He glanced round and saw the man who had taken his card beckoning him to the lift. "Come along!" he continued. "We'd better be careful what we say to this lad, Linthwaite," he added, as they were carried upward. "My own impression, from what your nephew told me, is that Fanshawe Byfield is in the dark as yet."
"I shall leave the saying to you," replied Linthwaite, "I'm a stranger. He doesn't know me." ”

“ Hollinshaw believed the letter to be genuine, and gave Letwige the box.
"Letwige has disappeared, and he not only has those securities from the bank—most of them easily negotiable—he also has some which he has stolen from my office. But answer me a question, to settle one point. You say you went out and left Letwige at your typewriter? Had he any chance of seeing your mother after you left him?"
"My mother was out," declared Fanshawe. "She was at Mrs. Merrifield's all Saturday afternoon. She never signed any such letter, that I'll swear! What's being done?" he asked anxiously. "Police know?" ”