Harry Clayton was fortunate, for he was shown into the great Mr
Whittrick's presence directly; and, as soon as seated, he had the
pleasure of feeling that the private inquirer was mentally photographing
him, though, all the same, his words were quiet and urbane. But it
seemed as if Mr Whittrick made use of all his faculties at once; he
talked to his visitor; he listened to him; he gazed at him tremendously
at times; he seemed to be smelling him; and, from the motion of his
fingers, he evidently had a strong inclination to feel his visitor, for
purposes of future recognition.
"No, sir--at present, none; but we are doing all that is possible."
"But have you nothing definite to communicate?" said Harry,
despondently.
"No, sir--at present, nothing," said Mr Whittrick. "But--if I might be
so bold--there was an advertisement in the _Times_ this morning, placed
there of course by Sir Francis Redgrave. I was not consulted over the
matter. I think, you know, sir, that Sir Francis is wrong. I see that
he has the Scotland Yard people at work. Not a good plan, I think, sir.
They are very able men there--Falkner's good; but too many cooks, you
know, spoil the broth. Humble aphorism, but true, sir. However, Sir
Francis may depend upon my doing my best."
Harry Clayton rose with a sigh and left the office, feeling very little
hope of success in this direction. Jealousy was evidently at work, and
he could not but own to himself that Sir Francis had taken a wrong step.
What should he do next? he asked himself. He had not been to Brownjohn
Street the last day or two; why should he not go there again? He might
obtain some news.
It was hardly worth while going, he thought, only it was possible he
might see the bird-dealer himself, and perhaps obtain some little
information likely to prove of use.
But D. Wragg was not in, when he reached Brownjohn Street; and in place
of seeing either him or poor Janet, Clayton encountered the round
pleasant playbill-rayed face of Mrs Winks, rising like a fleshy sun from
behind the paint-cloudy counter, to the loud song of the larks; for Mrs
Winks had just been stooping to hide the weakness which she kept for her
own private use in a ginger-beer bottle. Mrs Winks' head was only to be
seen without curl-papers when she attended the theatres by night, in the
full-dress of curls and blue merino, ready to supply the mental and
bodily wants of the frequenters of Drury Lane Theatre gallery. Upon
this occasion, the playbill used had been one of the newest, the result
being, that a good deal of ink had been transferred from the larger
letters to Mrs Winks' forehead, giving it a somewhat smudgy look.
The good lady, though, was quite in ignorance of her personal aspect,
and after laying aside her weakness, carefully corked, she was bringing
out of a capacious pocket a saveloy, wrapped in another of the
never-failing play-bills--the delicacy being intended for her lunch--
when the appearance of Harry Clayton arrested her, and, escaping from
the paper, the saveloy slipped back to the depths of her pocket, to be
kept warm till required.
Mrs Winks rose to meet the visitor with a smile, which gave place to a
puzzled look upon his inquiring for D. Wragg, and then for Janet.
"I'll go and tell her, sir," said the old lady, and she puffed up-stairs
to Janet's room, whence she returned in a few minutes, saying--
"She've got a bad 'eadache, sir, and ain't well; but if you'd leave any
message?"
"No!" said Clayton, thoughtfully. "You might, though, tell the French
gentleman that I called."
"Which he really is a thorough gentleman," said. Mrs Winks,
enthusiastically; "as you'd say if you knowed more of him, and heard him
paint and play on the fiddle. I mean--I beg your pardon, sir--seen him
play on the fiddle and paint. He's a gentleman, every inch of him, if
he do lodge in Decadia, which ain't nothing after all, is it, sir? But
I'll tell him when he comes back; and your name too?"
Clayton gave her a card, and then walked thoughtfully back, but not
without stopping in front of a blank wall, where a knot of rough-looking
fellows were reading a placard, commencing--"Two hundred pounds reward!"
and then he shuddered, as one of the party said--"I 'spose they'd hand
over all the same, if he happened to be a dead 'un?"
There was no news when he reached Regent Street, and though Sir Francis
had but just concluded an interview with a police sergeant, the mystery
seemed as far as ever from solution.
"I think I will go out now, Clayton," said the baronet, in an excited
and feverish manner. "It is so hard to stay in, walking up and down, as
if caged, and waiting eagerly for every knock and ring. You'll take my
place--you won't leave--you won't leave, in case of a call while you are
away."
"You may trust me, Sir Francis."
"Yes, yes, I know--I know," said the old gentleman, wringing his hands,
"I feel it! But, Clayton," he said, anxiously, "if any people should
come with information in answer to the advertisements, keep them till I
come back."
"I will, decidedly!" said Clayton; "but may I ask where you are going
now?"
"Only to see if the bills are well posted; and, you know, I might see
some one who had news,--it is possible."
"I did see one bill posted up," said Harry, but he did not mention the
remark he had heard made.
"That's well, Clayton--that's well! and I hope and trust that this state
of anxiety may soon be at an end."
The young man walked with Sir Francis to the door, and felt shocked to
see the way in which he had altered during the past few days; then,
returning to his seat, he began to think over the strange disappearance,
recalling, too, that evening when he had determined to part from
Lionel--their visit to the dog-fancier's, and the strange feelings that
had been aroused; and now, troubled at heart and reluctant, he was
pondering upon whether it was not his duty to place in the hands of the
police the knowledge he possessed of Lionel's many visits to Decadia.
He could not quite reconcile himself to the task, for he knew that it
must result in much unpleasantness to Janet; but it struck him suddenly
that the behaviour of the deformed girl was strange, though it had not
appeared so at the time. Could she know anything? Had the foolish
young man been inveigled to some den, robbed, and murdered? and did the
horrified aspect Janet had worn mean that she was in possession of the
secret? He shuddered as such thoughts arose, and again and again asked
himself what he should do, ending by coming to the determination that he
would wait, at least until the following day, and then go to the house
and warn them of what was about to be done. And yet, if anything were
wrong, it would be putting them upon their guard. But their treatment
of him seemed to demand that courtesy, and whatever was wrong, he felt
that it would be hard for the innocent to be amongst the sufferers. He
could not put them to unnecessary pain.
Then came again a cloud of doubt and suspicion, which hung over him till
a couple of hours later, when Sir Francis Redgrave returned--pale,
anxious, and tired--to look inquiringly at Harry, and receive for answer
a shake of the head, the young man feeling the while that he was not
acting openly with his elder, in keeping from him all he knew--
information which he was unable to decide whether or not he should
impart.
In the evening, as they were seated together--Harry thoughtful and
silent, and Sir Francis with his face turned from the light--the baronet
spoke--
"I cannot suffer this inaction much longer," he said. "It is always the
same answer from the police--`Leave it in our hands, sir; we are hard at
work; though, so far, we have nothing to show.' They say that every--
every deadhouse has been searched; the men at the water-side have been
told to be on the look-out; hospitals have been visited; everything
possible done; but who can be satisfied? We must begin on fresh ground
to-morrow, Clayton. What's that? Did some one knock?"
Mr Stiff entered to announce that there was a man below waiting to see
some one respecting the reward.
Sir Francis started instantly to his feet.
"Show him up at once, Stiff!" he exclaimed; and then, not content to
wait, in his anxiety he followed the landlord to the stairs, re-entering
the room in a few minutes with the heavy-faced young fellow before
introduced as Mr John Screwby.
"Now, my man, sit down; don't stand there!" exclaimed Sir Francis,
thrusting a chair forward; "now, tell us quickly."
"Don't keer to sit down, thanky," said the fellow, surlily, taking a
sidelong glance round the room, ending by fixing his eyes for a moment
on the door, as if to make sure that there was a retreat open in case of
need.
"Well, well!" exclaimed Sir Francis; "now tell us what you know, and why
you have come. Did you see the advertisement, or one of those
placards?"
"Bla'guards?" said the fellow, inquiringly.
"Yes, yes! the bills."
"Yes; I saw a bill--two 'underd pound reward--and I've come for that
there two 'underd pound reward."
"But your information--what do you know?" broke in Harry.
The man turned and stared at him heavily.
"Ah! I didn't know you at first, without no hat on; but I knows you
now. You was with him once when he came down our way. I seed you then,
and I ain't forgot you. But, first of all, who's going to pay this here
money? Is it you, or is it him?"
"I'll pay you--I'll pay you, my man!" exclaimed Sir Francis; "and what
is your information?--what do you know?"
"What I know's worth two 'underd pound now," said the fellow, winking at
Harry; "but if I tells it, then, praps, it won't be worth nothin' to
me."
"You are dealing with a gentleman, my good fellow," said Harry, "and you
need be under no apprehension."
"But how do I know as I shan't be done?" was the offensive reply.
"Nobody don't trust me nothin'; and I don't see why I should trust
nobody. I'm a plain-spoke sort of a chap, I am; and I allers says
what's in my mind. So now, lookye here--you says as you'll give two
'underd pound to them as'll tell you where a tall young man's gone--
that's it, ain't it?"
Harry nodded.
"Werry good, then. I comes here, and I says, `'And over the stiff!'
`What for?' says you. `'Cos I knows wheer he is,' says I. `So, now
then,' I says, `hand over the tin.'"
Without another word, Sir Francis went to a small writing-case, opened
it, and took from a book a ready-signed cheque for the amount.
"Stop!" exclaimed Harry. "Excuse me, Sir Francis; but your anxiety
overleaps your caution. How do we know that this man's information is
worth having?"
"He says he knows where--where--you know what he says," said Sir
Francis, piteously.
"Yes," said Harry; "but let him prove his words."
"What! are yer agoin' to run back from it, or are yer agoin' to hand
over the stiff?" said the man, uneasily.
"When you have earned it," said Harry, almost fiercely. "Now, look
here, my man, show us the value of your information, and restore this
gentleman to his friends; and without any reference to such complicity
as you may have had in the transaction, the two hundred pounds are
yours."
"But lookye here," said the man, leaning towards him; "suppose as he's--
you know what?" and he whispered the last words.
"The money is yours all the same," said Harry, in the same tone.
But the man was apparently still far from satisfied, muttering, biting
pieces out of his cap-lining, and spitting them upon the carpet, till a
bright thought seemed to strike him, to which he gave birth.
"Lookye here, gents. Let's have the money posted fair for both sides.
I knows a genleman down our way as keeps a beer-shop as'd see fair, and
make all square. Now, what do you say?"
What would have been said was arrested by a sudden start, or rather
jump, on the part of Mr John Screwby, who, following the direction of
Sir Francis' eyes, found that another person had entered the room, and
taken a place at his elbow, where he had stood for some few moments
listening to the conversation.
Volume 2, Chapter XXIV.