THE THIRD VOLUME
THE THIRD VOLUME
BY
FERGUS HUME
_Author of "The Lone Inn," "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,"
"The Chinese Jar," Etc._
NEW YORK
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.
31 EAST 17TH STREET (UNION SQUARE)
COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY
FERGUS HUME.
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO.
_All rights reserved._
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
Oh, mothers, wisely sang ye,
When oft we went astray,
"Ye weave the ropes to hang ye,
Ye forge the swords to slay."
The ropes we wove so gladly,
Have robbed us of our breath,
The swords we forged so madly,
Have smitten us to death.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN OLD FRIEND, 1
II. A MYSTERIOUS COMMUNICATION, 10
III. THE REVELATION OF FRANCIS HILLISTON, 19
IV. WHAT OCCURRED AT HORRISTON, 27
V. A STRANGE COINCIDENCE, 37
VI. TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION, 45
VII. "LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE," 52
VIII. BOTH SIDES OF THE QUESTION, 61
IX. MRS. BEZEL, 67
X. A FEW FACTS CONNECTED WITH THE CASE, 78
XI. A STARTLING DISCOVERY, 86
XII. REVELATIONS, 94
XIII. ON THE TRACK, 102
XIV. THE UPPER BOHEMIA, 109
XV. A POPULAR AUTHOR, 117
XVI. A FALSE MOVE, 124
XVII. THE HUSBAND AT KENSINGTON GORE, 131
XVIII. A DUEL OF WORDS, 138
XIX. TAIT BRINGS NEWS, 147
XX. A PRÉCIS OF THE CASE, 154
XXI. THORSTON, 160
XXII. IN THE CHURCH, 168
XXIII. FACT AND FICTION, 175
XXIV. A NEW SUSPICION, 182
XXV. THE RECLUSE, 192
XXVI. AN OLD SERVANT, 200
XXVII. A GLIMPSE OF THE PAST, 210
XXVIII. PREPARING THE GROUND, 220
XXIX. KERRY, 228
XXX. MRS. BEZEL AGAIN, 235
XXXI. AN EVENING AT THE VICARAGE, 241
XXXII. THE DISCOVERIES OF SPENSER TAIT, 249
XXXIII. THE STORY OF THE MAD GARDENER, 258
XXXIV. A LETTER FROM HORRISTON, 268
XXXV. THE ORIGINAL OF THE PORTRAIT, 275
XXXVI. A STRANGE THING HAPPENS, 282
XXXVII. A VOICE FROM THE DEAD, 290
XXXVIII. A NEW ASPECT OF THINGS, 299
XXXIX. THE GARNET SCARFPIN, 306
XL. FACE TO FACE, 314
XLI. AN EXPLANATION, 321
XLII. THE TRAGEDY OF A WOMAN'S VANITY, 329
XLIII. THE LAST APPEARANCE OF FRANCIS HILLISTON, 336
XLIV. THE TRUTH, 343
XLV. A FEW WORDS BY SPENSER TAIT, 351
THE THIRD VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
AN OLD FRIEND.
WHEN Spenser Tait took his seat at the breakfast table, he cast a look
around, according to custom, to see that all was as orderly as he could
wish. The neatest and most methodical of men, he was positively old
maidish in his love of regularity and tidiness. His valet, Dormer,--with
him for over fifteen years,--had been trained by such long service into
the particular ways of his master, and was almost as exacting as Tait
himself in the matter of domestic details. No woman was permitted to
penetrate into those chambers in Earls Street, St. James'; but had one
been able to do so, she could have found no fault with them, either on
the score of taste or of cleanliness. The shell of this hermit crab was
eloquent of the idiosyncrasies of its tenant.
The main characteristic of the breakfast room was one of severe
simplicity. The carpet of green drappled brown, the curtains to match,
and the furniture of oak, polished and dark. On the white cloth of the
table an appetizing breakfast was set out in silver and china, and a
vase of flowers showed that the little gentleman was not unmindful of
the requirements of an artistic temperament. Even the _Times_, carefully
cut and warmed, was neatly folded by the silver ringed napkin, and
Dormer, standing stiff and lean by his master's chair, was calmly
satisfied that no fault could be found with his work. For the past
fifteen years, save on occasions of foreign travel, the same etiquette
had been observed, the same actions performed, for, like the laws of the
Medes and Persians, the habits of Tait were fixed and determined.
He was a pleasant creature of thirty-four years, small in stature,
clean-shaven and brown-locked. His plump little body was clothed in a
well-brushed smoking suit of maroon-colored cloth, his neat feet encased
in slippers of red morocco, and he scanned the room through a
gold-mounted pince nez. Neat and firm as he was, women did not care for
him in the least, and he returned the compliment by heartily disliking
the female sex. Yet with men he was a great favorite, and the members of
his club liked to hear the sententious speeches of this little man,
delivered with point and deliberation in the smoking room from eleven
till midnight. When the clock struck twelve he invariably went to bed,
and no persuasion or temptation could induce him to break this excellent
rule.
Dormer, a tall, thin man of Kent, who adored his precise master, was
equally as misogynistic as Tait, and silent on all occasions save when
spoken to. Then he replied in dry monosyllables, and stood bolt upright
during such replies, in a military fashion, which he had picked up many
years before in the army. Tait humored his oddities on account of his
fidelity, knowing that this ugly, rough-hewn specimen of humanity was as
true as steel, and entirely devoted to his interests. Nowadays it is
unusual to meet with such equal appreciation between master and servant.
"I think, Dormer," said Tait, while the man ministered to his wants,
"that you might call at Mudie's this morning and get me a copy of the
new novel, 'A Whim of Fate,' by John Parver. I heard last night that it
contained a description of Thorston."
"Very good, sir," replied Dormer, noting the name in his pocketbook.
"And take a seat for me at the Curtain Theater, in the fifth row of the
stalls, not too near the side."
"Anything else, sir?"
"I think not," said his master, taking a morsel of toast. "I am going
down to Richmond by the twelve o'clock train to luncheon with Mr. Freak.
Lay out the serge suit."
Dormer saluted in a military fashion, and disappeared, leaving Tait to
skim the paper and finish his breakfast. Methodical as ever, the little
man first read the leading articles, thence passed to the city news,
perused the general information, and wound up with a glance at the
advertisements. In such order he ever proceeded, and never by any chance
thought of beginning with the advertisements and working back to the
leading article. Habit was everything with Spenser Tait.
As usual, his day's programme was carefully sketched out, and he knew
what he was about to do with every moment of his time from noon till
midnight. But his plans on this special day were upset at the outset,
for scarcely had he lighted his morning pipe than the door was thrown
open and a visitor was announced.
"Mr. Larcher," said Dormer stiffly, and ushered in a tall young man with
a bright face and a breezy manner.
"Hullo, little Tait!" cried the newcomer, hastily striding across the
room; "here I am again. Come from wandering up and down the earth, sir,
like a certain person whom I need not mention."
"Dear me," said Tait, welcoming his guest with prim kindliness, "it is
Claude Larcher. I am very glad to see you, my dear fellow, and rather
surprised; for I assure you I thought you were at the Antipodes."
"I have just returned from that quarter of the globe. Yes! Landed at the
docks yesterday from one of the Shaw-Saville line. Had a capital passage
from New Zealand. Sea like a mill-pond from Wellington Heads to the
Lizard."
"Have you had breakfast, Larcher?" asked Tait, touching the bell.
"A trifle! A trifle! I could eat another. What have you? Bacon and eggs,
watercress, coffee, and the best of bread and butter. Egad, Spenser, you
had the same victuals two years ago when I last called here!"
"I am a creature of habit, Claude," replied Tait sententiously; and when
Dormer made his appearance gave grave directions for fresh coffee and
another dish of eggs and bacon.
Larcher drew in his chair, and with his elbows on the table eyed the
little man with friendly eyes. They were old schoolfellows and fast
friends, though a greater contrast than that which existed between them
can scarcely be imagined. Tait, a prim, chilly misogynist; Larcher, a
hot-blooded, impetuous lover of women. The one a stay-at-home, and a
slave to habit; the other a roaming engineer, careless and impulsive.
Yet by some vein of sympathy the pair, so unlike in looks and
temperament, were exceedingly friendly, and always glad to meet when
circumstance threw them together. Such friendship, based on no logical
grounds, was a standing contradiction to the rule that like draws to
like.
It was scarcely to be expected that a well-favored mortal like Larcher
should share his friend's distaste for the female sex. Far from
disliking them, he sought them on all possible occasions, oftentimes to
his own disadvantage; and was generally involved in some scrape
connected with a petticoat. Tait, who was the older of the two by five
years, vainly exhorted and warned his friend against such follies, but
as yet his arguments had come to naught. At the age of thirty, Larcher
was still as inflammable, and answered all Tait's expostulations with a
laugh of scorn.
It was easy to dower this hero with all the perfections, physical or
mental, which lie within the scope of imagination, but the truth must be
told at whatever cost. Claude was no Greek god, no prodigy of learning,
neither an Apollo for looks, nor an Admirable Crichton for knowledge; he
was simply a well-looking young man, clean-limbed, clear-skinned,
healthy, athletic, and dauntless, such as can be found by the dozen in
England. Thews and sinews he had, but was no Samson or Hercules, yet his
strong frame and easy grace won the heart of many a woman, while with
his own sex he passed for a true comrade, and a friend worth having.
He was an engineer, and built bridges and railways in divers quarters of
the globe, pioneering civilization, as it were, in the most barbarous
regions.
For the past ten years he had roamed all over the world, and his
adventures, begotten by a daring and reckless spirit, were already
sufficient to fill a volume. Master of at least half a dozen tongues, he
could find his way from the tropics to the pole, and was equally at home
on the prairie as in Piccadilly. Indeed, he preferred the former, for
civilization was little to his taste, and he was infinitely more at ease
in Pekin than London. North and South America, Africa, China, India, he
knew them all, and on this occasion had returned from a prolonged
sojourn in the Antipodes, where he had been building bridges across
rapid New Zealand rivers.
"Well, my friend," said he, addressing himself to a second meal with a
hearty appetite, "I need not ask how you are. The same prim, finnicking
little mortal as ever, I see. Five years have made no difference in you,
Spenser. You've not married, I suppose?"
"Not I," returned Tait, with stormy disgust. "You know my views on the
subject of matrimony. You might go away for one hundred years and would
return to find me still a bachelor. But you, Claude----"
"Oh, I'm still in the market. I wasn't rich enough for the New Zealand
belles."
"Eh! You have five hundred a year, independent of your earnings as an
engineer."
"What is the use of setting up house on a thousand a year all told,"
retorted Claude coolly; "but the fact is, despite my inflammability,
which you are pleased to reproach, I have not yet seen the woman I care
to make Mrs. Larcher."
"Perhaps it is just as well for the woman," answered Tait dryly. "I
don't think you are cut out for a domestic life."
"I have had no experience of it, so I can't say," said Larcher, a shade
passing over his face. "You must not forget that I was left an orphan at
five years of age, Tait. If it had not been for old Hilliston, the
lawyer, who looked after me and my small fortune, I don't know what
would have become of me. All things considering, I think I have turned
out fairly decent. I have worked hard at my profession, I have not spent
my substance in riotous living, and have seen much more of life than
most young men. All of which is self-praise, and that we know being no
recommendation, give me another cup of coffee."
Tait laughed and obeyed. "What are you going to do now?" he demanded,
after a pause; "stay in town, or make another dash for the wilds?"
"I'll be here for a few months, till something turns up," said Larcher
carelessly. "I did very well out of that Maori land business, and bought
some land there with the proceeds. I suppose I'll go and look up Mr.
Hilliston, see all the theaters, worry you, and hunt for a wife."
"I shan't assist you in the last," retorted Tait, testily. "However, as
you are here you must stay with me for the day. What are your immediate
plans?"
"Oh, I wish to call at the club and see if there are any letters! Then I
am at your disposal, unless you have a prior engagement."
"I have a luncheon at Richmond, but I'll put that off. It is not very
important, and a wire will arrange matters. Finish your breakfast while
I dress."
"Go, you effete dandy of an exhausted civilization. I saw you looking at
my rig-out, and I dare say it is very bad. It has been packed away for
the last five years. However, you can take me to your tailor and I'll
get a fresh outfit. You won't walk down Bond Street with me unless I
assume a tall hat, patent leathers, and a frock coat."
"Oh, by the way, would you like to go to the Curtain Theater to-night?"
asked Tait, vouchsafing no reply to this speech. "They are playing a
good piece, and I sent for a seat for myself."
"You selfish little man; just send for two while you're about it."
"With pleasure," replied Tait, who permitted Larcher more freedom of
speech than he did any other of his friends. "I won't be more than ten
minutes dressing."
"Very good! I'll smoke a pipe during your absence, and see with what
further fribbles you have adorned your rooms. Then we'll go to the club,
and afterward to the tailor's. I don't suppose my letters will detain me
long."
In this Larcher was wrong, for his letters detained him longer than he
expected. This opened the way to a new course of life, of which at that
moment he knew nothing. Laughing and jesting in his friend's rooms,
heart-whole and untrammeled, he little knew what Fortune had in store
for him on that fateful morning. It is just as well that the future is
hidden from men, else they would hardly go forward with so light a step
to face juries. Hitherto Larcher's life had been all sunshine, but now
darknesses were rising above the horizon, and these letters, to which he
so lightly alluded, were the first warnings of the coming storm.