AN ACCOMMODATING POSTMAN.
“Annie, my child, don’t you think you had better give up this vain
chase? You are looking ill and worried. The case makes no real progress,
in spite of all our exertions, and you are wearing your life away for
nothing.”
“For nothing, auntie? Is Harley’s rescue nothing? I’m ashamed to hear
you speak like that. It’s a good thing Mrs. Riddell has not come
downstairs yet. She would be astonished to find you turning traitor.”
“I have heard some people say, my dear, that you have a real nasty
temper when you like, and I am bound to admit that they are not far
wrong, for your last sentence was thoroughly ill-natured. As you know,
however, I am quite ready to make allowances, and I repeat that you are
not reaping an equivalent success for all your exertions.”
“And what would you have me do? Leave Harley to his fate, without
another effort to save him?”
“By no means. I am as anxious as ever that he should be helped. But I
think you will work more efficiently if you take things quietly for a
while, and resume operations after your inactivity has lulled all
suspicion.”
“You mean well, auntie; but I should die if I didn’t work in some way or
other for Harley’s benefit. So far all my efforts have failed, but I
don’t mean to give up hope, for Fate cannot always set her signals dead
against us.”
The above conversation between Miss Cory and her niece will serve to
show that poor Harley Riddell, while possessing friends who were as
firmly convinced of his innocence as ever, was in danger of having his
prospects jeopardised by the paralysing influence of baffled efforts.
Annie was the only one whom disappointment did not seem to daunt, and,
with her, failure was but a stimulus to renewed effort. The
long-drawn-out agony of her lover’s unjustified incarceration was ever
before her eyes, and she would have deemed herself guilty of a crime had
she resigned herself to the passive inactivity which to others seemed
the only course left her.
“Are you going out this morning?” questioned Miss Margaret, as she
carefully examined a hole in the damask tablecloth she was about to
darn.
“Yes. I have a little business to transact. Tell father I won’t be long,
for, if I am, I shall have been unexpectedly detained.”
Presently our heroine, who to the ordinary passer-by looked a rather
handsome young fellow, with short, dark hair, bright dark blue eyes, and
a dark moustache, of a shape which suited his light form and clearly-cut
features to perfection, was walking down the street in a westerly
direction at a rapid pace.
Half an hour later this same young gentleman was to be seen talking to
an elderly postman, in a neighbourhood which, for the sake of the
aforementioned postman I had better not indicate too closely. Suffice it
to say that his round embraced the residence of Mr. David Stavanger,
who, with his family, was now back in London.
“Have you anything yet for me?” was the first inquiry addressed to the
postman, an inquiry, moreover, which pointed to a little previous
collusion between the two innocent-looking individuals.
“I believe I have, at last, sir,” was the answer, “I had an extra lot of
letters this morning, and very near forgot all about you. In fact, I was
just putting three letters in the letter-box of Number Thirty-nine when
I caught sight of a foreign stamp, and stuck to the letter it was on,
just in time. Is this anything in your line, sir?”
Saying this, the postman handed a letter to “Mr. Bootle,” which the
latter seized with avidity, and examined eagerly. The scrutiny appeared
to more than satisfy him. He was positively jubilant, for the missive
bore a Spanish postmark, and was in the handwriting which had become
quite familiar to the pseudo governess of Fanny Stavanger.
“I believe this is the very thing I want. Wait a moment until I open it,
so that I may know whether I need your services any more for the present
or not. There! you see there is no cheque or valuable paper of any
description in this envelope. It is, as I told you, a letter only that I
wished to intercept, and there will be no inquiry about it, I assure
you, as the writer is a fugitive from justice, who is only too anxious
to keep dark. Yes, this tells me all I want to know. This very night I
set off to catch my man, and here is the ten-pound note I promised you.”
“If you have gold about you it would suit me better, sir. Ten pounds is
a lot for a poor chap like me to have, and folks might get suspicious if
I showed a note for that amount.”
“Perhaps you don’t feel sure that the note is genuine. I have no gold
with me. But if you object to the bank note, I will give you a cheque on
the National and Provincial Bank.”
“Oh, it’s all right, sir. I’ll take your word for it. All the same, if
you don’t mind, I’ll follow you till we get to the bank. Then you can go
inside with me, and change it.”
It was evident that the postman distrusted him. But Mr. Bootle was too
delighted with the prize he had obtained to be very thin-skinned about
this stranger’s opinion. In due time the postman received £10 in gold as
payment for his breach of confidence, and went on his way rejoicing,
wishing for a speedy opportunity of doing another such profitable day’s
work.
As for Mr. Ernest Bootle, he went on his way rejoicing, too, and feeling
not the slightest qualm of conscience at what he had done, since it was
all in the cause of right and justice. The precious letter was hugged
very closely during the journey home, and then, in the privacy of Mr.
Bootle’s own room, it was re-read.
For the benefit of the reader we will transcribe its contents here:--
“Lina, Spain.
“My Dear Father,--I am still inclined to stop in this place for a
while. Nobody has the slightest suspicion that I am not a _bonâ fide_
English agent and that my name is not Gregory Staines. You still urge me
to come home. I think your advice unwise, for I am sure that girl will
leave no stone unturned to find me, and arrest would be very distasteful
to me. I am very much better as I am. I live in comfort, have no
tiresome business restrictions, and, so far, have won so much in an
English gaming-house here that it has not been necessary to encroach on
the money I have realised. You need not imagine that I am careless, or
that I am courting recognition. Even if anyone who knew me was to come
here, I am too well disguised to be identified, and even if
identification were possible, it would be useless, as I am quite safe in
Spanish territory. And I am not staying at an hotel either, but have
taken lodgings in a quiet, respectable neighbourhood, with a
good-looking young English widow, who seems inclined to be sweet on me.
If I find that she has any money put by I may perhaps marry her, and
settle down here. I don’t care much for swell society, so, if I can be
made comfortable when at home, and I do not run out of spending money
abroad, I shan’t need to grumble. In any case, I mean to give England a
wide berth while that confounded woman is knocking around. I wish she
would break her neck.”
“No, I won’t break my neck,” said the individual to whom this pious
wish applied. “But I’m hoping, after all, to stop your gallop, Mr.
Stavanger, since you have so kindly put your new address in this letter;
and the good-looking widow must be cured of her folly, too. I daresay
you do feel yourself tolerably safe, and you are evidently free from
qualms of conscience also. The latter, no doubt, will make themselves
felt when you are brought to book for your crimes. Then you will, no
doubt, be a pattern of pious repentance, since the gist of repentance,
in convicted criminals, is to be measured by the poignancy of their
regret at being found out. The exceptions to this rule are the very,
very few who voluntarily own their culpability and surrender themselves
to justice. As you are not likely to prove a voluntary repentant, I must
force your hand. And now for my immediate plans.”
The result of the deliberations in which Mr. Bootle now indulged will be
apparent in a letter which the Rev. Alexander Bootle, otherwise Mr.
Cory, read up to his sister, and to Mrs. Riddell the same evening. Said
letter merely informed them that Annie was now gone to carry out the
plan at which she had hinted some days ago; that she was sanguine of
success; that she wished her departure from home kept as quiet as
possible; that she had, according to an understanding between them,
drawn as much money as she thought might be needed for the enterprise
she had in hand; and that they must not feel uneasy if they did not hear
from her for some time, as she did not wish to risk the failure of her
enterprise by allowing even her nearest and dearest to know of her
whereabouts.
“I hope Annie will not plunge into any foolish risks,” said Miss
Margaret, anxiously.
“She is too sensible to do that,” Mrs. Riddell remarked. “Still, she has
courage surpassing that of 99 out of every 100 women, and would think
little of what would scare others.”
“And her very pluck will carry her safely through dangers that another
woman would succumb to. I think Harley is lucky in having won so devoted
a girl. For she will never relax her efforts, and I begin to be imbued
with her faith in ultimate success.”
“So do I,” added Mr. Cory. “All the same, I wish she had taken us into
her confidence. The child is only twenty, and has never been entirely
thrown on her own resources before. Suppose she were to fall into the
hands of swindlers, and be robbed of the money she has with her? All
sorts of evils might happen before she could communicate with us.”
“John, I’m surprised at you. Annie is too much in earnest, and at the
same time too wary, to play into the hands of the enemy. You don’t like
the notion of her pursuing her investigations alone. After all, it is
the best thing she can do; for you must admit that neither you nor the
detective have been much use in the case.”
“That was due to adverse circumstances, not to our want of penetration.”
“I am willing to grant that; but I have no doubt that Annie is actuated
by an idea that she is less likely to put Stavanger on his guard if
alone than if accompanied by anyone else. For my part I have resolved
not to be uneasy about her. Have you heard anything of what the
Stavangers are doing just now?”
“Jogtrotting, as per usual, I suppose, except that the elder daughter is
to be married soon. I am not sure that it is not to-day.”
“I’m sorry for the man who marries into that family. But, of course, we
have no grounds for warning him. And now about Harley. It is wonderful
how he keeps his health. Oh, are you going to bed, Mrs. Riddell? Well,
good night. Perhaps all is going to be cleared up soon, and you must
keep your spirits up, for your son’s sake.”
“For the sake of my sons, yes,” said the old lady tremulously. “And for
the sake of the dear girl who has done so much for them and for me.”
“Strange how the dear old soul clings to that belief in Hilton’s
ultimate recovery,” said Miss Margaret, when she and her brother were
once alone. “Nothing seems to convince her that he is really dead.”
“We have plenty of proof that he is dead. There is the word of all the
people who voyaged with him in the ‘Merry Maid’ that he disappeared in
mid-ocean. And the length of time that has now elapsed precludes all
possibility of his being alive still.”
“Of course, he must be dead. And our poor friend will be bound to awaken
in time to the bitter truth that the sea will not give up its dead.”
“If you please,” announced a servant, whose knock had not been heard by
the brother and sister, “a gentleman, whose name is Captain Gerard,
wishes to speak to you.”
“Gerard! Show him in at once. Perhaps he has some important news for us,
Margaret.”
“We’ll hope so. And we shall soon know.”
“Good evening, Mr. Bootle,” said Captain Gerard, advancing into the
room. “You will, perhaps, be surprised to receive a visit from me so
late in the day. But the truth is I have a bit of news for you that may
interest you--I have seen Captain Cochrane.”