CORNELIUS JESSEL DREAMS OF A FORTUNE
The morning was heavy with an almost unnatural calm. By nine o'clock
the sun's rays glowed with the intensity of noon. The flowers drooped
their heads and the leaves hung listlessly. Cornelius Jessel, passing
out of the back way from the Hall, on his way to the postoffice, had
not covered a dozen yards before he paused to mop his brow with his
handkerchief. He bore with him the letter in which Guy announced to
Hora his intention of returning to town. It was the briefest of notes,
disclosing nothing of the intention of the writer. But it was not the
only letter which Jessel carried. In the other envelope was the report
which the shadow man had penned to the Master. The envelope was stamped
and sealed, but Cornelius took it from his pocket and looked at it
and frowned. He replaced it in his pocket and proceeded on his way.
He did not know whether to post it or not. For the first time since
he had undertaken the part of spy upon Guy's actions he had wilfully
suppressed an item of information which had come into his possession
concerning Guy. It was such an important item of information, too.
So important that he had gasped for breath when he realised what the
discovery he had made really meant.
On the previous afternoon and evening he had taken advantage of Guy's
absence to make a careful examination of his master's property. He had
frequently done so before, but without discovering anything of any
interest. But on this occasion he was more fortunate. He had long been
curious concerning the contents of a little silver-bound box which
reposed in a corner of Guy's dressing case. He had oftentimes made
discreet attempts to pick the lock but without success, and he dared
not venture on forcing it lest by damaging the box he should excite
suspicion. He guessed that sooner or later he would get the opportunity
he desired for examining the contents of the little casket, and the
occasion had arrived at last. Guy had left his keys on the dressing
table and one of the bunch fitted the lock.
When the lid was opened, Cornelius, at first sight of its contents,
gave a sniff indicative of disgust. He saw a little lace handkerchief,
a glove, an opera programme, a few withered rose leaves, and an
infinite contempt for the young man he served swept over him. There
was no trace of sentiment hidden away in the heart of Cornelius.
But when he tossed the trumpery aside he drew a long breath of
surprise. Beneath the valueless trifles was concealed an article
of price--a little golden frame enclosing an exquisite miniature
on ivory of a girl with a wealth of fair hair, the painting
surrounded with a circlet of brilliants. At first he did not grasp
the significance of the discovery. The likeness of the miniature
to Meriel Challys seemed to him a full explanation as to why it
should be in his employer's possession. But as he turned the frame
over in his hand, counting the stones in the setting, weighing the
trinket delicately on two fingers to estimate the weight of the
gold, he remembered that somewhere he had seen a description of
some such article. Where? He had not to rack his brain very
long before he was able to recall where he had seen the miniature
described. Like many another person who longs for the prize without
incurring the attendant risks, Cornelius had assimilated every detail
which had been made public concerning the Flurscheim robbery. His mouth
had watered at the published descriptions of the stolen articles and
now here--if he was not greatly mistaken--was one of them in his own
hand.
At the heels of this thought came another which almost made his
heart cease beating. Five thousand pounds reward! Five thousand
pounds had been offered for such information as would lead to the
conviction of the thief and to the recovery of the stolen property.
Five--thousand--pounds! Five thousand pounds was lying waiting for
him, Cornelius Jessel. Yet, dazzled as he was by the prospect of
the acquisition of such wealth, he hesitated a long while before
he could persuade himself to make use of the information which had
come into his possession. It was the thought of the Master which
gave him pause. In view of the discovery which he had made he
began to be timorous. He could no longer believe that the Master's
interest in Guy Hora was the interest of the hawk in the pigeon.
Dimly he began to comprehend that unknowingly he was being used as
pawn in a game which he did not comprehend. Supposing then that any
effort of his own to secure that five thousand pounds should run
counter to any plan of the Master's? He shivered at the thought,
for he had a very real fear of the Master's capacity for mischief.
He had locked the miniature and the glove and the rose leaves away
again and set his wits to work to discover a plan by which he might
obtain the five thousand pounds without the fact that he was
the informer being disclosed to anybody. The more he pondered upon
the subject the more convinced he became that fortune was within his
grasp. He could not have made the discovery at a more opportune moment.
He was in the country surrounded by a lot of simple country folk,
and within reach was the victim of the burglary, who had offered the
reward. What better plan could be conceived than that of taking his
information straight to the fountain head? He would then be able to
make his own terms. But he saw that it would be necessary to have some
proof of the correctness of his statements. He paid another visit to
Guy's dressing case after providing himself with a pencil and oiled
paper. With these he made a series of tracings of the miniature,
and, clumsy as they were, yet he trusted that they might be clear
enough for identification. Thus provided, he determined to take the
first opportunity afforded him of communicating with Mr. Hildebrand
Flurscheim.
The determination carried with it as a necessary corollary
the decision to keep his discovery concealed from everybody,
particularly from the Master. He would have felt quite easy in
his mind if he could have assured himself that the Master was not
already acquainted with the fact that Guy possessed the miniature.
On the other hand, Cornelius argued that it was quite possible
that the man who was paying him to keep a watch upon Guy might be
actuated by dread of a confederate playing him false. That was
a strong reason why he should not postpone communicating with
Flurscheim. The reward would go to the first in the field with the
information. Then if the Master were implicated, and if he should be
captured, Cornelius saw safety for himself. Therefore when
he wrote his daily report to the Master of Guy's movements he entirely
omitted to mention the momentous discovery he had made, and yet so
terrified was he that he should bring his employer's vengeance upon
himself by his failure to report it, that a dozen times on the way to
the postoffice he drew the letter from his pocket and looked at it
and considered whether he should not reopen the envelope and add the
information which he had suppressed.
Even when he had dropped the letter into the box he nearly entered the
postoffice to ask for it back again, and only prevented himself from
doing so by declaring to himself that it would be easy to give the
information thereafter if circumstances pointed to the desirability
of his doing so. But once the letter was posted Cornelius became
bolder. The posting of the letter was in the nature of a definite
act committing him to a definite policy. It was no use looking back,
especially with the prospect of five thousand pounds to be earned by
merely speaking a few words. He forgot the heat. He walked briskly away
from the postoffice towards the little embankment which Whitsea village
proudly designated "The Front."
It seemed hotter than ever there. The tide was low and the air
shimmered in the heat reflected from the silvery banks of mud. He
placed his hand on the stone parapet of the low wall and drew it back
hastily. The stone was nearly hot enough to have blistered his hand.
He looked out on the river. Almost opposite him was Mr. Hildebrand
Flurscheim's yacht, and if Cornelius's eyes were to be trusted Mr.
Hildebrand Flurscheim himself was reclining beneath an awning on the
deck. The opportunity was too good to be missed. Cornelius looked
around for a boatman to put him aboard. There was none visible, and he
could not muster up courage to hail the yacht. The Whitsea hotel showed
an inviting open door just handy. Cornelius felt suddenly thirsty. He
accepted the invitation of the open door, and while he quenched his
thirst with a bottle of iced ginger beer with something in it, he made
known his desire to be put aboard Mr. Flurscheim's yacht to the barmaid.
Before the words were well out of his mouth a man who had followed
Cornelius into the hotel remarked, "I'll put you aboard the boat with
pleasure, Mr. Jessel."
Jessel's first impulse was to fly. To be suddenly accosted by name when
so far as he knew there was no one in Whitsea except the servants at
the Hall who could be aware of his identity, was disconcerting to say
the least. He stifled the impulse as best he could, and, turning on his
heel, faced the speaker. He saw a pleasant, open-faced man of fifty or
thereabouts holding out his hand.
"Didn't expect to see me here, eh, any more than I expected to have the
pleasure of meeting you? But the world's a little place, and this sort
of weather, if one is likely to knock up against old acquaintances,
there's no spot more likely than where you find a pretty girl mixing
long drinks with a lot of ice in 'em. That's right, isn't it, miss?"
The barmaid giggled.
"A slice of lemon, a bottle of Schweppe, a lump of ice, and a suspicion
of white satin, if you please," he said before turning again to Jessel
and continuing volubly. "You don't recognise me, eh? Well, I'm not
surprised, for now I come to think of it we haven't exchanged more
than a dozen words in our lives. My name's Kenly."
"Oh!" Cornelius remembered and immediately felt easy in his mind. He
had no reason for dreading his late landlord. He took the proffered
hand.
"This is a surprise," he said. "Who would ever have expected to meet
you here?"
"The same to you," said Kenly. He pointed to Jessel's glass. "Drink
up and have another and tell how you are getting on," he said. "The
missis will be pleased to hear, for she's always telling me that she's
never likely to have such a nice gent in the house to do for, and she's
always cracking on about your being obliged to leave, and how certain
she is never to get another like you."
Cornelius smiled and emptied his glass. "Well, as you insist----" he
said.
"Another of the same," said Kenly affably.
"And what brings you down here?" asked Cornelius.
"Taking my holiday," remarked Kenly expansively. "This is just the sort
of a place that suits me. No sand, no niggers. Plenty of fresh air and
sunshine, a boat to potter about in, and some of the real sort to drink
when you're thirsty, that's the place that suits me down to the ground,
so I'm here. I suppose you're down for a change, too?"
"Not exactly," replied Cornelius. "I have to combine business and
pleasure, too." He took a long draught of the fresh brew which the
barmaid handed to him, and, assuming his most important air, he changed
the topic.
"I suppose Mrs. Kenly is with you?"
"Not much," answered the detective with a broad wink.
"I know a bit too much to bring the missis on a holiday, and, if you
are married, you'd understand."
Cornelius laughed and glanced at the barmaid. "You can't tell me
anything," he said.
"No," answered Kenly. "Half the bachelors to-day know more than the
married people, and that's a fact, ain't it, miss?"
The barmaid giggled again. "You're a caution," she said. The
conversation progressed swimmingly, and ten minutes later Cornelius
embarked on a dingey, having graciously allowed Kenly to put him aboard
Mr. Flurscheim's yacht. He lounged in the stern, assuming his most
important air, while Kenly pulled away at the oars. He was fully alive
to the fact that he would create a much better impression going aboard
thus than if he had been compelled to borrow a boat and pull himself
out to the yacht.
Kenly ran him up alongside, steadied the boat by the side of the
ladder, and then let his dingey drop astern to a sufficient distance to
allow him to observe Cornelius introduce himself to Flurscheim. He saw
that the two men were strangers, and he gathered that the connoisseur
was annoyed at Jessel's invasion of his privacy. He saw the connoisseur
jump up suddenly at something which was said and begin to pace the deck
in manifest agitation. He saw Jessel standing unmoved, and then after a
brief conference both men went down the companion into the saloon.
The detective immediately realised that there was a chance of his
learning what errand had taken Jessel to the yacht. Half a dozen
strokes took him alongside again, and, making his painter fast to the
yacht's anchor chain, he stood up in the dingey as it drifted level
with an open port. As he had suspected the porthole gave upon the
saloon, and as the dingey came opposite he could hear two voices in
excited colloquy. One was easily recognised as Jessel's, and the other
Kenly had just as little difficulty in recognising as Flurscheim's.
"Is that anything like the face on one of your miniatures?" said Jessel.
"I could swear to it," said Flurscheim.
"And the portrait--is it like anyone you know?" asked the valet.
"You've seen it," cried the Jew eagerly. "You must have done, for the
miniature is so like Miss Challys that she might have sat for the
portrait."
"I have seen it and I can tell you where it is at the present moment,"
answered the valet.
"Where? Where?" cried the Jew eagerly.
"You don't expect me to tell you straight away, do you?" asked Jessel
in an injured tone.
The Jew took no notice. "And the other boxes and the pictures--can you
tell me where my Greuze is?"
"No, I can't, at least not at present," said the valet coolly, "but I
reckon that if once I put you on the track of one of the things that
has been stolen it won't be my fault if you don't find out where the
rest of 'em are."
"Well, well," said Flurscheim, impatiently, "tell me where the
miniature is?"
There was silence and the detective listened impatiently.
"Have you lost your tongue?" demanded Flurscheim angrily.
"What about the reward you offered?" said Jessel. "Five
thousand pounds, wasn't it, for such information as shall lead to the
conviction of the thieves or the recovery of the stolen property?"
"You shall have the reward, all right," said Flurscheim impatiently.
"I'm not misdoubting your word," said Jessel, "but in cases like this
it's better to 'ave everything in black and white. 'Ave it in black and
white, that's my motto."
Kenly heard the connoisseur give a grunt of disgust, and he smiled. He
could even hear the scratching of a pen on paper. Then Flurscheim's
voice remarked sharply:
"Mind, I'll give nothing to any confederate in the robbery. If you have
had anything to do with it and will make a clean breast of the matter,
I'll do my best for you, but I'm not going to be blackmailed by any
d----d thief."
The detective smiled again at the injured tone of Jessel's reply. "I'm
a respectable man, Mr. Flurscheim, though I am a poor one, an' the
hinformation 'as come to me quite unexpected like. If I was rich I'd be
'appy to tell you all I know for the cause of justice, but being only
poor, I've my old age to think of."
"Well, I only warned you, that's all," grumbled Flurscheim.
"Which there was no need," answered Cornelius with dignity. "And
there's another matter," he added, and now the detective could detect a
note of anxiety in his voice. "There's them as is connected with this
job that won't stick at nothing to get even with them as gives 'em
away, if they has so much as a hint as to who done it. You'll have to
give me your word of honour as a gentleman as you'll not so much as
mention my name, or my life'll not be worth two pennorth of gin."
This time Flurscheim was silent a while before he replied.
"If I don't know your name it is not possible for me to mention it."
"You can easy find out," answered Jessel, "when I tell you what I have
to tell you."
"I promise," replied Flurscheim shortly.
Jessel dropped his voice, but, low as it was, the detective's keen ears
overheard every word of the information which was imparted. He was
thunderstruck at the intelligence that a part of the stolen property
was in the possession of Guy Hora. He could not conceive the motive
which had prompted Jessel to disclose the fact, even if it were true.
He wanted time to arrange his ideas on the subject. But he listened
eagerly to every word that passed. He missed not a word of the long
conversation that ensued when Jessel had imparted the information he
possessed. He drank in all Flurscheim's questions and all the valet's
answers, and was so anxious to lose nothing of what passed that he had
barely time to cast the boat loose and drift astern when he heard them
rise to leave the saloon. Still he presented a picture of perspiring
innocence when he pulled up alongside to take his late lodger back to
the quay.
Cornelius was obviously elated. "Sorry to 'ave kept you so long,
Kenly," he remarked. "But I 'ad to wait for an answer to something. We
must have another drink."
They had it and the detective learned that Cornelius was
expecting to return to town the following day.