CHAPTER XXXI. AN URGENT CALL.

Lawrence was burning the midnight oil, and therefore impatient of interruptions. But upon hearing Prout's name he finished the chapter he was writing, and slung up his reading lamp. He was hospitable over his cigarette and whisky.

"Come to tell me you have made a discovery, eh?" he asked. "No need to tell me that, I can see it in your face. Sit down man--one o'clock in the morning is comparatively early for a novelist. Go on."

"It's a great discovery, sir," said Prout. "I have found the brother of the murdered man."

"What, the Corner House victim? Is that really a fact?"

"Indeed it is, sir. A good deal better looking than the other poor fellow, but directly I set eyes upon him I couldn't fail to see the likeness. And when he took off his gloves, and showed the big orange spots, I felt certain."

"I suppose you can lay hands upon him at any time?"

"Rather!" Prout grinned. "He's my prisoner. Arrested him tonight in connection with some long firm frauds. I arrested him in his own lodgings so that I should have a chance to search the room, and what did I come across but a few letters written by the murdered man to this brother of his."

"Surely, a curious coincidence!" Lawrence cried.

"Not at all, sir. There's a marvellous freemasonry amongst criminals. I've started a hunt for a watch and chain, and found a bank robbery. Once in looking for a missing man I dropped upon a sensational bankruptcy. One never knows. But touching these letters. They are undoubtedly the same handwriting as the letter we found on the Corner House victim. I've put them together, and I am certain."

"Do they contain anything likely to help us, Prout?"

"Well, that I can't say for the present, sir," Prout replied. "I have only looked at one. Seeing that you are so interested, I came here at once. But one thing I have discovered--if I was a creditor of a certain Countess who shall be nameless, I should go and sit on the doorstep until I had got the money."

Lawrence winked never so slightly. He had his own ideas on that head. He read the one letter that Prout handed to him and smiled. Beyond doubt the letter had been written by the queer misshapen outcast who had been found dead in the Corner House. As Lawrence returned the letter he looked at his watch.

"It wants some time of two o'clock yet," he said. "My friend, Dr. Bruce, does not go to bed early, so I shall go round and look him up. We'll go into the other letters carefully when we have time, Prout, but for the present I should like to borrow this one if you have no objection. What do you say?"

Prout had no objection to make. He had made a great discovery, but he felt pretty sure that he would need Lawrence's ingenious mind and fine imagination before he had succeeded in solving the problem.

"Take it, and welcome, sir," he said. "I shall have my hands full for the next day or two, and anyway there is no hurry."

With the feeling that great events were in the air, Lawrence hurried round to Bruce's rooms. There was a light in the front window that disclosed the fact that Bruce had not gone to bed. He came to the door himself, looking fagged and worn out.

"I have had a trying day," he said. "My dear fellow, I am losing my connection almost as fast as I made it. I shall have to give it up."

"Rot!" Lawrence cried. "I've got some news for you. Prout has been with me and has left a letter in my possession. What do you think of that?"

Bruce read the letter slowly and carefully. Beyond establishing the fact that the murdered man had a brother he could see very little in it.

"Unless there are other letters," he concluded.

"There are five more which I have not read yet. I understand there are allusions to a certain Countess who, as Prout politely put it, shall be nameless. My boy, I feel quite certain that this will lead to--what's up?"

The shrill clatter of the telephone bell tinkled in the next room. The ring was repeated in a few seconds imperiously.

"The telephone for me," said Bruce. "I hope I shan't have to go out tonight. I'll get you to excuse me for a moment. . . . Are you there?"

A whispered voice came back; it was Hetty's voice:

"For heaven's sake come here at once. Don't wait, but----"

The voice ceased; nothing more could be heard but the humming of the wire. Bruce swished into the dining-room and huddled on his coat.