J. S. Fletcher

“ Stick to Letwige and Melsome."
He hurried away then and found a taxicab and followed Matsey to the Grosvenor Hotel, where he burst in on an astonished group, in the midst of which lay the dispatch-case. Without a word, he drew a key from his pocket, and laying it before Mrs. Byfield, pushed the dispatch-case towards her.
"What's all this, young man?" demanded Semmerby.
Brixey got his breath, which he had lost in his hurry along the corridors.
"Mrs. Byfield," he said, "one question. Have you ever given that man Letwige a power of attorney to deal with your affairs and property? Think!" ”

“ Letwige put the document back in his pocket with a scornful laugh, but Brixey noticed that his hand was trembling.
"My own belief," he continued, looking at the detectives, "is that it is a forgery. And probably that chap there," he went on turning, and indicating Mesham, "is the forger! He calls himself Christopher Mesham—his real name is Charles Melsome. ”

“ Brixey himself!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Brixey——"
"What the devil have we to do with any Mr. Brixeys?" demanded Mesham. "We’ve told you what you wanted to know, and there’s an end of it! You go about your business, and leave us to ours!"
Brixey threw away his match and turned on the group.
"Businesses are apt to get a bit intermixed," he remarked. "What stage has this got to?"
The elder detective pointed at Letwige.
"He admits he’s John Letwige, Mr. Semmerby’s clerk from Selchester," he said. "He admits, too, that he’s in possession of Mrs. Byfield’s securities—certain of them, at any rate." ”