"
"And what is your theory about the absence of all-important documents?"
I inquired.
"I think he must have raised money on them," answered Mr. Craven.
"Are you aware whether anyone else ever produced them?" I asked.
"I am not; I never heard of their being produced: but, then, I should
not have been likely to hear." Which was very true, but very
unsatisfactory. Could we succeed in tracing even one of those papers, a
clue might be found to the mystery of Mr. Elmsdale's suicide.
That afternoon I repaired to the house of one of our clients, who had, I
knew, a file of the _Times_ newspapers, and asked him to allow me to
look at it.
I could, of course, have seen a file at many places in the city, but I
preferred pursuing my investigations where no one was likely to watch
the proceeding.
"_Times!_ bless my soul, yes; only too happy to be able to oblige Mr.
Craven. Walk into the study, there is a good fire, make yourself quite
at home, I beg, and let me send you a glass of wine."
All of which I did, greatly to the satisfaction of the dear old
gentleman.
Turning over the file for the especial year in which Mr. Elmsdale had
elected to put a pistol to his head, I found at last the account of the
inquest, which I copied out in shorthand, to be able to digest it more
fully at leisure; and as it was growing dusk, wended my way back to
Buckingham Street.
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