The Mystery of Crocksands by Fred M. White

Ellen had every reason to be satisfied so far with her enterprise, but, much as she had discovered, she was beginning to realise that there were other factors in the case with which she would have to reckon. In the excitement of revisiting Crocksands, and in pursuit of her own particular aims she had forgotten that Wrath had troubles of his own, and now she was beginning to remember certain things she had heard. Her work in St. Martin's Inn had told her that Wrath was in desperate need of money, and she knew, of course, that he had tried to mortgage Crocksands Abbey. And there were other letters, besides those she wrote at Stone's dictation, that brought a scowl to Wrath's face and an angry gleam into his eyes. Letters from all parts of the country were there, but mostly with a London postmark, and all of them asking for money. For the next week or so Wrath was away a good deal, generally in the car, and on each occasion he returned more morose and ill-tempered than ever. He even forgot to pay Ellen any compliments, for which she was sufficiently grateful.

And then there came one morning towards the end of the first week in June, when Wrath opened a letter at the breakfast table and threw it across to Stone with an oath that he was at no pains to conceal. He rose from the table and strode into the library, signifying to Stone that he needed his company.