Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by Google Books
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2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THIRD IMPRESSION NOW READY
In Crown 8vo, Handsome Pictorial Cloth. Price 6s. With
Frontispiece by Harold Piffard.
RICHARD MARSH'S New Book
AN ARISTOCRATIC DETECTIVE
BY
RICHARD MARSH
Author of
'FRIVOLITIES,' 'THE SEEN AND THE UNSEEN,' 'AMUSEMENT
ONLY,' 'THE BEETLE,' 'THE CHASE OF THE RUBY,' ETC.
Court Circular.--'Mr. Richard Marsh tells in a very agreeable manner a
number of detective stories of the Sherlock Holmes order.... The plots
are very ingenious, and are cleverly worked out, and the book
altogether will enhance the reputation of the author.'
Scotsman.--'Mr. Marsh is a skilled writer ... these tales make a book
that should not fail to please anyone who can be entertained by
cleverly made-up mysteries.'
Dundee Advertiser.--'"An Aristocratic Detective" is from the pen of
Richard Marsh, and displays that writer's customary inventiveness and
realistic manner. It relates the experiences of the Hon. Augustus
Champnell, who emulates Sherlock Holmes in the following up of puzzling
cases. These are very cutely devised and smartly worked out. All
through Mr. Marsh is thoroughly interesting.'
Eastern Morning News.--'The whole of the sketches are vigorous and
racy, being told in a lively, up-to-date manner, and some of the
characters are exceptionally well drawn ... anyone in search of a
stirring volume will read this one with great interest.'
County Gentleman.--'Mr. Marsh is known to be a skilled craftsman in
this kind of work, and his Champnell stories are all worth reading.'
* * * * *
London: DIGBY, LONG & CO., 18 Bouverie St., E.C.
BETWEEN THE DARK AND
THE DAYLIGHT
POPULAR SIX SHILLING NOVELS.
* * *
By MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS
A Bid for Empire
By J. B. FLETCHER
Bonds of Steel
BY MARY E. MANN
The Fields of Dulditch
By HELEN MATHERS
Venus Victrix
By Mrs. LEITH-ADAMS (Mrs. De Courcy Laffan)
What Hector had to Say
By THE COUNTESS DE SULMALLA
Under the Sword
By FERGUS HUME
The Crime of the Crystal
The Pagan's Cup
By Mrs. BAGOT-HARTE
In Deep Waters
A Daring Spirit
By FLORENCE WARDEN
Lady Joan's Companion
By L. T. MEADE
Through Peril for a Wife
By SARAH TYTLER
Atonement by Proxy
Rival Claimants
By DORA RUSSELL
A Strange Message
A Fatal Past
By FREDERICK W. ROBINSON
Anne Judge, Spinster
A Bridge of Glass
* * *
DIGBY, LONG & CO. Publishers
[Illustration: "IT IS A BIG ORDER," SHE SAID.
Page 180.]
Between the Dark and
the Daylight ...
BY
RICHARD MARSH
AUTHOR OF
"THE BEETLE," "FRIVOLITIES," "AMUSEMENT ONLY," "AN
ARISTOCRATIC DETECTIVE," ETC.
London
DIGBY, LONG & CO
18 Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.C.
1902
CONTENTS
MY AUNT'S EXCURSION.
THE IRREGULARITY OF THE JURYMAN.
Chapter I.--The Juryman is Startled.
" II.--Mrs. Tranmer is Startled.
" III.--The Plaintiff is Startled.
" IV.--Two Cabmen are Startled.
" V.--The Court is Startled.
MITWATERSTRAAND:--The Story of a Shock.
Chapter I.--The Disease.
" II.--The Cure.
EXCHANGE IS ROBBERY.
THE HAUNTED CHAIR.
NELLY.
LA HAUTE FINANCE:--A Tale of the Biggest Coup on
Record.
MRS. RIDDLE'S DAUGHTER.
MISS DONNE'S GREAT GAMBLE.
"SKITTLES".
"EM".
Chapter I.--The Major's Instructions.
" II.--His Niece's Wooing.
" III.--The Lady's Lover.
" IV.--The Major's Sorrow.
A RELIC OF THE BORGIAS.
BETWEEN THE DARK AND THE DAYLIGHT.
My Aunt's Excursion
"Thomas," observed my aunt, as she entered the room, "I have taken you
by surprise."
She had. Hamlet could scarcely have been more surprised at the
appearance of the ghost of his father. I had supposed that she was in
the wilds of Cornwall. She glanced at the table at which I had been
seated.
"What are you doing?--having your breakfast?"
I perceived, from the way in which she used her glasses, and the marked
manner in which she paused, that she considered the hour an uncanonical
one for such a meal. I retained some fragments of my presence of mind.
"The fact is, my dear aunt, that I was at work a little late last
night, and this morning I find myself with a trifling headache."
"Then a holiday will do you good."
I agreed with her. I never knew an occasion on which I felt that it
would not.
"I shall be only too happy to avail myself of the opportunity afforded
by your unexpected presence to relax for a time, the strain of my
curriculum of studies. May I hope, my dear aunt, that you propose to
stay with me at least a month?"
"I return to-night."
"To-night! When did you come?"
"This morning."
"From Cornwall?"
"From Lostwithiel. An excursion left Lostwithiel shortly after
midnight, and returns again at midnight to-day, thus giving fourteen
hours in London for ten shillings. I resolved to take advantage of the
occasion, and to give some of my poorer neighbours, who had never even
been as far as Plymouth in their lives, a glimpse of some of the sights
of the Great City. Here they are--I filled a compartment with them.
There are nine."
There were nine--and they were about the most miscellaneous-looking
nine I ever saw. I had wondered what they meant by coming with my aunt
into my sitting-room. Now, if anything, I wondered rather more. She
proceeded to introduce them individually--not by any means by name
only.
"This is John Eva. He is eighty-two and slightly deaf. Good gracious,
man! don't stand there shuffling, with your back against the wall: sit
down somewhere, do. This is Mrs. Penna, sixty-seven, and a little lame.
I believe you're eating peppermints again. I told you, Mrs. Penna, that
I can't stand the odour, and I can't. This is her grandson, Stephen
Treen, aged nine. He cried in the train."
My aunt shook her finger at Stephen Treen, in an admonitory fashion,
which bade fair, from the look of him, to cause an immediate renewal of
his sorrows.
"This is Matthew Holman, a converted drunkard who has been the worst
character in the parish. But we are hoping better things of him now."
Matthew Holman grinned, as if he were not certain that the hope was
mutual, "This is Jane, and this is Ellen, two maids of mine. They are
good girls, in their way, but stupid. You will have to keep your eye on
them, or they will lose themselves the first chance they get." I was
not amazed, as I glanced in their direction, to perceive that Jane and
Ellen blushed.
"This," went on my aunt, and into her voice there came a sort of awful
dignity, "is Daniel Dyer, I believe that he kissed Ellen in a tunnel."
"Please ma'am," cried Ellen, and her manner bore the hall-mark of
truth, "it wasn't me, that I'm sure."
"Then it was Jane--which does not alter the case in the least." In
saying this, it seemed to me that, from Ellen's point of view, my aunt
was illogical. "I am not certain that I ought to have brought him with
us; but, since I have, we must make the best of it. I only hope that he
will not kiss young women when he is in the streets with me."
I also hoped, in the privacy of my own breast, that he would not kiss
young women while he was in the streets with me--at least, when it
remained broad day.
"This," continued my aunt, leaving Daniel Dyer buried in the depths of
confusion, and Jane on the verge of tears, "is Sammy Trevenna, the
parish idiot. I brought him, trusting that the visit would tend to
sharpen his wits, and at the same time, teach him the difference
between right and wrong. You will have, also, to keep an eye upon
Sammy. I regret to say that he is addicted to picking and stealing.
Sammy, where is the address card which I gave you?"
Sammy--who looked his character, every inch of it!--was a lanky,
shambling youth, apparently eighteen or nineteen years old. He fumbled
in his pockets.
"I've lost it," he sniggered.
"I thought so. That is the third you have lost since we started. Here
is another. I will pin it to your coat; then when you are lost, someone
will be able to understand who you are. Last, but not least, Thomas,
this is Mr. Poltifen. Although this is his first visit to London, he
has read a great deal about the Great Metropolis. He has brought a few
books with him, from which he proposes to read selections, at various
points in our peregrinations, bearing upon the sights we are seeing, in
order that instruction may be blended with our entertainment."
Mr. Poltifen was a short, thick-set individual, with that in his
appearance which was suggestive of pugnacity, an iron-grey, scrubby
beard, and a pair of spectacles--probably something superior in the
cobbling line. He had about a dozen books fastened together in a
leather strap, among them being--as, before the day was finished, I had
good reason to be aware--a "History of London," in seven volumes.
"Mr. Poltifen," observed my aunt, waving her hand towards the gentleman
referred to, "represents, in our party, the quality of intelligent
interest."
Mr. Poltifen settled his glasses on his nose and glared at me as if he
dared me to deny it. Nothing could have been further from my mind.
"Sammy," exclaimed my aunt, "sit still. How many times have I to
request you not to shuffle?"
Sammy was rubbing his knees together in a fashion the like of which I
had never seen before. When he was addressed, he drew the back of his
hand across his mouth, and he sniggered. I felt that he was the sort of
youth anyone would have been glad to show round town.
My aunt took a sheet of paper from her hand-bag.
"This is the outline programme we have drawn up. We have, of course,
the whole day in front of us, and I have jotted down the names of some
of the more prominent places of interest which we wish to see." She
began to read: "The Tower Bridge, the Tower of London, Woolwich
Arsenal, the National Gallery, British Museum, South Kensington Museum,
the Natural History Museum, the Zoological Gardens, Kew Gardens,
Greenwich Hospital, Westminster Abbey, the Albert Memorial, the Houses
of Parliament, the Monument, the Marble Arch, the Bank of England, the
Thames Embankment, Billingsgate Fish Market, Covent Garden Market, the
Meat Market, some of the birthplaces of famous persons, some of the
scenes mentioned in Charles Dickens's novels--during the winter we had
a lecture in the schoolroom on Charles Dickens's London; it aroused
great interest--and the Courts of Justice. And we should like to finish
up at the Crystal Palace. We should like to hear any suggestions you
would care to make which would tend to alteration or improvement--only,
I may observe, that we are desirous of reaching the Crystal Palace as
early in the day as possible, as it is there we propose to have our
midday meal." I had always been aware that my aunt's practical
knowledge of London was but slight, but I had never realised how slight
until that moment. "Our provisions we have brought with us. Each person
has a meat pasty, a potato pasty, a jam pasty, and an apple pasty, so
that all we shall require will be water."
This explained the small brown-paper parcel which each member of the
party was dangling by a string.
"And you propose to consume this--little provision at the Crystal
Palace, after visiting these other places?" My aunt inclined her head.
I took the sheet of paper from which she had been reading. "May I ask
how you propose to get from place to place?"
"Well, Thomas, that is the point. I have made myself responsible for
the entire charge, so I would wish to keep down expenses. We should
like to walk as much as possible."
"If you walk from Woolwich Arsenal to the Zoological Gardens, and from
the Zoological Gardens to Kew Gardens, you will walk as far as
possible--and rather more."
Something in my tone seemed to cause a shadow to come over my aunt's
face.
"How far is it?"
"About fourteen or fifteen miles. I have never walked it myself, you
understand, so the estimate is a rough one."
I felt that this was not an occasion on which it was necessary to be
over-particular as to a yard or so.
"So much as that? I had no idea it was so far. Of course, walking is
out of the question. How would a van do?"
"A what?"
"A van. One of those vans in which, I understand, children go for
treats. How much would they charge, now, for one which would hold the
whole of us?"
"I haven't the faintest notion, aunt. Would you propose to go in a van
to all these places?" I motioned towards the sheet of paper. She
nodded. "I have never, you understand, done this sort of thing in a
van, but I imagine that the kind of vehicle you suggest, with one pair
of horses, to do the entire round would take about three weeks."
"Three weeks? Thomas!"
"I don't pretend to literal accuracy, but I don't believe that I'm far
wrong. No means of locomotion with which I am acquainted will enable
you to do it in a day, of that I'm certain. I've been in London since
my childhood, but I've never yet had time to see one-half the things
you've got down upon this sheet of paper."
"Is it possible?"
"It's not only possible, it's fact. You country folk have no notion of
London's vastness."
"Stupendous!"
"It is stupendous. Now, when would you like to reach the Crystal
Palace?"
"Well, not later than four. By then we shall be hungry."
I surveyed the nine.
"It strikes me that some of you look hungry now. Aren't you hungry?"
I spoke to Sammy. His face was eloquent.
"I be famished."
I do not attempt to reproduce the dialect: I am no dialectician. I
merely reproduce the sense; that is enough for me. The lady whom my
aunt had spoken of as "Mrs. Penna, sixty-seven, and a little lame,"
agreed with Sammy.
"So be I. I be fit to drop, I be."
On this subject there was a general consensus of opinion--they all
seemed fit to drop. I was not surprised. My aunt was surprised instead.
"You each of you had a treacle pasty in the train!"
"What be a treacle pasty?"
I was disposed to echo Mrs. Penna's query, "What be a treacle pasty?"
My aunt struck me as really cutting the thing a little too fine.
"You finish your pasties now--when we get to the Palace I'll see that
you have something to take their place. That shall be my part of the
treat."
My aunt's manner was distinctly severe, especially considering that it
was a party of pleasure.
"Before we started it was arranged exactly what provisions would have
to be sufficient. I do not wish to encroach upon your generosity,
Thomas--nothing of the kind."
"Never mind, aunt, that'll be all right. You tuck into your pasties."
They tucked into their pasties with a will. Aunt had some breakfast
with me--poor soul! she stood in need of it--and we discussed the
arrangements for the day.
"Of course, my dear aunt, this programme of yours is out of the
question, altogether. We'll just do a round on a 'bus, and then it'll
be time to start for the Palace."
"But, Thomas, they will be so disappointed--and, considering how much
it will cost me, we shall seem to be getting so little for the money."
"My dear aunt, you will have had enough by the time you get back, I
promise you."
My promise was more than fulfilled--they had had good measure, pressed
down and running over.
The first part of our programme took the form, as I had suggested,
of a ride on a 'bus. Our advent in the Strand--my rooms are in the
Adelphi--created a sensation. I fancy the general impression was that
we were a party of lunatics, whom I was personally conducting. That my
aunt was one of them I do not think that anyone doubted. The way in
which she worried and scurried and fussed and flurried was sufficient
to convey that idea.
It is not every 'bus which has room for eleven passengers. We could not
line up on the curbstone, it would have been to impede the traffic. And
as my aunt would not hear of a division of forces, as we sauntered
along the pavement we enjoyed ourselves immensely. The "parish idiot"
would insist on hanging on to the front of every shop-window,
necessitating his being dragged away by the collar of his jacket. Jane
and Ellen glued themselves together arm in arm, sniggering at anything
and everything--especially when Daniel Dyer digged them in the ribs
from behind. Mrs. Penna, proving herself to be a good deal more than a
little lame, had to be hauled along by my aunt on one side, and by Mr.
Holman, the "converted drunkard," on the other. That Mr. Holman did not
enjoy his position I felt convinced from the way in which, every now
and then, he jerked the poor old soul completely off her feet. With her
other hand my aunt gripped Master Treen by the hand, he keeping his
mouth as wide open as he possibly could; his little trick of
continually looking behind him resulting in collisions with most of the
persons, and lamp-posts, he chanced to encounter. The deaf Mr. Eva
brought up the rear with Mr. Poltifen and his strapful of books that
gentleman favouring him with totally erroneous scraps of information,
which he was, fortunately, quite unable to hear.
We had reached Newcastle Street before we found a 'bus which contained
the requisite amount of accommodation. Then, when I hailed one which
was nearly empty, the party boarded it. Somewhat to my surprise,
scarcely anyone wished to go outside. Mrs. Penna, of course, had to be
lifted into the interior, where Jane and Ellen joined her--I fancy that
they fought shy of the ladder-like staircase--followed by Daniel Dyer,
in spite of my aunt's protestations. She herself went next, dragging
with her Master Treen, who wanted to go outside, but was not allowed,
and, in consequence, was moved to tears. Messrs. Eva, Poltifen, Holman
and I were the only persons who made the ascent; and the conductor
having indulged in some sarcastic comments on things in general and my
aunt's _proteges_ in particular, which nearly drove me to commit
assault and battery, the 'bus was started.
We had not gone far before I had reason to doubt the genuineness of Mr.
Holman's conversion. Drawing the back of his hand across his lips, he
remarked to Mr. Eva--
"It do seem as if this were going to be a thirsty job. 'Tain't my
notion of a holiday----"
I repeat that I make no attempt to imitate the dialect. Perceiving
himself addressed, Mr. Eva put his hand up to his ear.
"Beg pardon--what were that you said?"
"I say that I be perishing for something to drink. I be faint for want
of it. What's a day's pleasure if you don't never have a chance to
moisten your lips?"
Although this was said in a tone of voice which caused the
foot-passengers to stand and stare, the driver to start round in his
seat, as if he had been struck, and the conductor to come up to inquire
if anything were wrong, it failed to penetrate Mr. Eva's tympanum.
"What be that?" the old gentleman observed.
"It do seem as if I were more deaf than usual."
I touched Mr. Holman on the shoulder.
"All right--leave him alone. I'll see that you have what you want when
we get down; only don't try to make him understand while we're on this
'bus."
"Thank you kindly, sir. There's no denying that a taste of rum would do
me good. John Eva, he be terrible hard of hearing--terrible; and the
old girl she ain't a notion of what's fit for a man."
How much the insides saw of London I cannot say. I doubt if any one on
the roof saw much. In my anxiety to alight on one with room I had not
troubled about the destination of the 'bus. As, however, it proved to
be bound for London Bridge, I had an opportunity to point out St.
Paul's Cathedral, the Bank of England, and similar places. I cannot say
that my hearers seemed much struck by the privileges they were
enjoying. When the vehicle drew up in the station-yard, Mr. Holman
pointed with his thumb--
"There be a public over there."
I admitted that there was.
"Here's a shilling for you--mind you're quickly back. Perhaps Mr.
Poltifen would like to come with you."
Mr. Poltifen declined.
"I am a teetotaller. I have never touched alcohol in any form."
I felt that Mr. Poltifen regarded both myself and my proceedings with
austere displeasure. When all had alighted, my aunt, proceeding to
number the party, discovered that one was missing; also, who it was.
"Where is Matthew Holman?"
"He's--he's gone across the road to--to see the time."
"To see the time! There's a clock up over the station there. What do
you mean?"
"The fact is, my dear aunt, that feeling thirsty he has gone to get
something to drink."
"To drink! But he signed the pledge on Monday!"
"Then, in that case, he's broken it on Wednesday. Come, let's get
inside the station; we can't stop here; people will wonder who we are."
"Thomas, we will wait here for Matthew Holman. I am responsible for
that man."
"Certainly, my dear aunt; but if we remain on the precise spot on which
we are at present planted, we shall be prosecuted for obstruction. If
you will go into the station, I will bring him to you there."
"Where are you going to take us now?"
"To the Crystal Palace."
"But--we have seen nothing of London."
"You'll see more of it when we get to the Palace. It's a wonderful
place, full of the most stupendous sights; their due examination will
more than occupy all the time you have to spare."
Having hustled them into the station, I went in search of Mr. Holman.
"The converted drunkard" was really enjoying himself for the first
time. He had already disposed of four threepennyworths of rum, and was
draining the last as I came in.
"Now, sir, if you was so good as to loan me another shilling, I
shouldn't wonder if I was to have a nice day, after all."
"I dare say. We'll talk about that later on. If you don't want to be
lost in London, you'll come with me at once."
I scrambled them all into a train; I do not know how. It was a case of
cram. Selecting an open carriage, I divided the party among the
different compartments. My aunt objected; but it had to be. By the time
that they were all in, my brow was damp with perspiration. I looked
around. Some of our fellow-passengers wore ribbons, about eighteen
inches wide, and other mysterious things; already, at that hour of the
day, they were lively. The crowd was not what I expected.
"Is there anything on at the Palace?" I inquired of my neighbour. He
laughed, in a manner which was suggestive.
"Anything on? What ho! Where are you come from? Why, it's the
Foresters' Day. It's plain that you're not one of us. More shame to
you, sonny! Here's a chance for you to join."
Foresters' Day! I gasped. I saw trouble ahead. I began to think that I
had made a mistake in tearing off to the Crystal Palace in search of
solitude. I had expected a desert, in which my aunt's friends would
have plenty of room to knock their heads against anything they pleased.
But Foresters' Day! Was it eighty or a hundred thousand people who were
wont to assemble on that occasion? I remembered to have seen the
figures somewhere. The ladies and gentlemen about us wore an air of
such conviviality that one wondered to what heights they would attain
as the day wore on.
We had a delightful journey. It occupied between two and three
hours--or so it seemed to me. When we were not hanging on to platforms we
were being shunted, or giving the engine a rest, or something of the kind.
I know we were stopping most of the time. But the Foresters, male and
female, kept things moving, if the train stood still. They sang songs,
comic and sentimental; played on various musical instruments,
principally concertinas; whistled; paid each other compliments; and so
on. Jane and Ellen were in the next compartment to mine--as usual,
glued together; how those two girls managed to keep stuck to each
other was a marvel. Next to them was the persevering Daniel Dyer. In
front was a red-faced gentleman, with a bright blue tie and an
eighteen-inch-wide green ribbon. He addressed himself to Mr. Dyer.
"Two nice young ladies you've got there, sir."
Judging from what he looked like at the back, I should say that Mr.
Dyer grinned. Obviously Jane and Ellen tittered: they put their heads
together in charming confusion. The red-faced gentleman continued--
"One more than your share, haven't you, sir? You couldn't spare one of
them for another gentleman? meaning me."
"You might have Jane," replied the affable Mr. Dyer.
"And which might happen to be Jane?"
Mr. Dyer supplied the information. The red-faced gentleman raised his
hat. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, miss; hope we shall be better
friends before the day is over."
My aunt, in the compartment behind, rose in her wrath.
"Daniel Dyer! Jane! How dare you behave in such a manner!"
The red-faced gentleman twisted himself round in his seat.
"Beg pardon, miss--was you speaking to me? If you're alone, I dare say
there's another gentleman present who'll be willing to oblige. Every
young lady ought to have a gent to herself on a day like this. Do me
the favour of putting this to your lips; you'll find it's the right
stuff."
Taking out a flat bottle, wiping it upon the sleeve of his coat, he
offered it to my aunt. She succumbed.
When I found myself a struggling unit in the struggling mass on the
Crystal Palace platform, my aunt caught me by the arm.
"Thomas, where have you brought us to?"
"This is the Crystal Palace, aunt."
"The Crystal Palace! It's pandemonium! Where are the members of our
party?"
That was the question. My aunt collared such of them as she could lay
her hands on. Matthew Holman was missing. Personally, I was not sorry.
He had been "putting his lips" to more than one friendly bottle in the
compartment behind mine, and was on a fair way to having a "nice day"
on lines of his own. I was quite willing that he should have it by
himself. But my aunt was not. She was for going at once for the police
and commissioning them to hunt for and produce him then and there.
"I'm responsible for the man," she kept repeating. "I have his ticket."
"Very well, aunt--that's all right. You'll find him, or he'll find you;
don't you trouble."
But she did trouble. She kept on troubling. And her cause for troubling
grew more and more as the day went on. Before we were in the main
building--it's a journey from the low level station through endless
passages, and up countless stairs, placed at the most inconvenient
intervals--Mrs. Penna was _hors de combat_. As no seat was handy she
insisted on sitting down upon the floor. Passers-by made the most
disagreeable comments, but she either could not or would not move. My
aunt seemed half beside herself. She said to me most unfairly,
"You ought not to have brought us here on a day like this. It is
evident that there are some most dissipated creatures here. I have a
horror of a crowd--and with all the members of our party on my
hands--and such a crowd!"
"How was I to know? I had not the faintest notion that anything
particular was on till we were in the train."
"But you ought to have known. You live in London."
"It is true that I live in London. But I do not, on that account, keep
an eye on what is going on at the Palace. I have something else to
occupy my time. Besides, there is an easy remedy--let us leave the
place at once. We might find fewer people in the Tower of London--I was
never there, so I can't say--or on the top of the Monument."
"Without Matthew Holman?"
"Personally, I should say 'Yes.' He, at any rate, is in congenial
company."
"Thomas!"
I wish I could reproduce the tone in which my aunt uttered my name! it
would cause the edges of the sheet of paper on which I am writing to
curl.
Another source of annoyance was the manner in which the red-faced
gentleman persisted in sticking to us, like a limpet--as if he were a
member of the party. Jane and Ellen kept themselves glued together. On
Ellen's right was Daniel Dyer, and on Jane's left was the red-faced
gentleman. This was a condition of affairs of which my aunt strongly
disapproved. She remonstrated with the stranger, but without the least
effect. I tried my hand on him, and failed. He was the best-tempered
and thickest-skinned individual I ever remember to have met.
"It's this way," I explained--he needed a deal of explanation. "This
lady has brought these people for a little pleasure excursion to town,
for the day only; and, as these young ladies are in her sole charge,
she feels herself responsible for them. So would you just mind leaving
us?"
It seemed that he did mind; though he showed no signs of having his
feelings hurt by the suggestion, as some persons might have done.
"Don't you worry, governor; I'll help her look after 'em. I've looked
after a few people in my time, so the young lady can trust me--can't
you, miss?"
Jane giggled. My impression is that my aunt felt like shaking her. But
just then I made a discovery.
"Hallo! Where's the youngster?"
My aunt twirled herself round.
"Stephen! Goodness! where has that boy gone to?"
Jane looked through the glass which ran all along one side of the
corridor.
"Why, miss, there's Stephen Treen over in that crowd there."
"Go and fetch him back this instant."
I believe that my aunt spoke without thinking. It did seem to me that
Jane showed an almost criminal eagerness to obey her. Off she flew into
the grounds, through the great door which was wide open close at hand,
with Ellen still glued to her arm, and Daniel Dyer at her heels, and
the red-faced gentleman after him. Almost in a moment they became
melted, as it were, into the crowd and were lost to view. My aunt
peered after them through her glasses.
"I can't see Stephen Treen--can you?"
"No, aunt, I can't. I doubt if Jane could, either."
"Thomas! What do you mean? She said she did."
"Ah! there are people who'll say anything. I think you'll find that,
for a time, at any rate, you've got three more members of the party off
your hands."
"Thomas! How can you talk like that? After bringing us to this dreadful
place! Go after those benighted girls at once, and bring them back, and
that wretched Daniel Dyer, and that miserable child, and Matthew
Holman, too."
It struck me, from her manner, that my aunt was hovering on the verge
of hysterics. When I was endeavouring to explain how it was that I did
not see my way to start off, then and there, in a sort of general hunt,
an official, sauntering up, took a bird's-eye view of Mrs. Penna.
"Hallo, old lady what's the matter with you? Aren't you well?"
"No, I be not well--I be dying. Take me home and let me die upon my
bed."
"So bad as that, is it? What's the trouble?"
"I've been up all night and all day, and little to eat and naught to
drink, and I be lame."
"Lame, are you?" The official turned to my aunt. "You know you didn't
ought to bring a lame old lady into a crowd like this."
"I didn't bring her. My nephew brought us all."
"Then the sooner, I should say, your nephew takes you all away again,
the better."
The official took himself off. Mr. Poltifen made a remark. His tone was
a trifle sour.
"I cannot say that I think we are spending a profitable and pleasurable
day in London. I understood that the object which we had in view was to
make researches into Dickens's London, or I should not have brought my
books."
The "parish idiot" began to moan.
"I be that hungry--I be! I be!"
"Here," I cried: "here's half-a-crown for you. Go to that
refreshment-stall and cram yourself with penny buns to bursting point."
Off started Sammy Trevenna; he had sense enough to catch my meaning. My
aunt called after him.
"Sammy! You mustn't leave us. Wait until we come."
But Sammy declined. When, hurrying after him, catching him by the
shoulder, she sought to detain him, he positively showed signs of
fight.
Oh! it was a delightful day! Enjoyable from start to finish. Somehow I
got Mrs. Penna, with my aunt and the remnant, into the main building
and planted them on chairs, and provided them with buns and similar
dainties, and instructed them not, on any pretext, to budge from where
they were until I returned with the truants, of whom, straightway, I
went in search. I do not mind admitting that I commenced by paying a
visit to a refreshment-bar upon my own account--I needed something to
support me. Nor, having comforted the inner man, did I press forward on
my quest with undue haste. Exactly as I expected, I found Jane and
Ellen in a sheltered alcove in the grounds, with Daniel Dyer on one
side, the red-faced gentleman on the other, and Master Stephen Treen
nowhere to be seen. The red-faced gentleman's friendship with Jane had
advanced so rapidly that when I suggested her prompt return to my aunt,
he considered himself entitled to object with such vehemence that he
actually took his coat off and invited me to fight. But I was not to be
browbeaten by him; and, having made it clear that if he attempted to
follow I should call the police, I marched off in triumph with my
prizes, only to discover that the young women had tongues of their own,
with examples of whose capacity they favoured me as we proceeded. I
believe that if I had been my aunt, I should, then and there, have
boxed their ears.
My aunt received us with a countenance of such gloom that I immediately
perceived that something frightful must have occurred.
"Thomas!" she exclaimed, "I have been robbed!"
"Robbed? My dear aunt! Of what--your umbrella?"
"Of everything!"
"Of everything? I hope it's not so bad as that."
"It is. I have been robbed of purse, money, tickets, everything, down
to my pocket-handkerchief and bunch of keys."
It was the fact--she had. Her pocket, containing all she possessed--out
of Cornwall--had been cut out of her dress and carried clean away. It
was a very neat piece of work, as the police agreed when we laid the
case before them. They observed that, of course, they would do their
best, but they did not think there was much likelihood of any of the
stolen property being regained; adding that, in a crowd like that,
people ought to look after their pockets, which was cold comfort for my
aunt, and rounded the day off nicely.
Ticketless, moneyless, returning to Cornwall that night was out of the
question. I put "the party" up. My aunt had my bed, Mrs. Penna was
accommodated in the same room, the others somewhere and somehow. I
camped out. In the morning, the telegraph being put in motion, funds
were forthcoming, and "the party" started on its homeward way. The
railway authorities would listen to nothing about lost excursion
tickets. My aunt had to pay full fare--twenty-one and twopence
halfpenny--for each. I can still see her face as she paid.
Two days afterwards Master Stephen Treen and Mr. Matthew Holman were
reported found by the police, Mr. Holman showing marked signs of a
distinct relapse from grace. My aunt had to pay for their being sent
home. The next day she received, through the post, in an unpaid
envelope, the lost excursion tickets. No comment accompanied them. Her
visiting-card was in the purse; evidently the thief, having no use for
old excursion tickets, had availed himself of it to send them back to
her. She has them to this day, and never looks at them without a qualm.
That was her first excursion; she tells me that never, under any
circumstances, will she try another.
The Irregularity of the Juryman
Chapter I
THE JURYMAN IS STARTLED
His first feeling was one of annoyance. All-round annoyance.
Comprehensive disgust. He did not want to be a juryman. He flattered
himself that he had something better to do with his time. Half-a-dozen
matters required his attention. Instead of which, here he was obtruding
himself into matters in which he did not take the faintest interest.
Actually dragged into interference with other people's most intimate
affairs. And in that stuffy court. And it had been a principle of his
life never to concern himself with what was no business of his. Talk
about the system of trial by jury being a bulwark of the Constitution!
At that moment he had no opinion of the Constitution; or its bulwarks
either.
Then there were his colleagues. He had never been associated with
eleven persons with whom he felt himself to be less in sympathy. The
fellow they had chosen to be foreman he felt convinced was a
cheesemonger. He looked it. The others looked, if anything, worse.
Not, he acknowledged, that there was anything inherently wrong in being
a cheesemonger. Still, one did not want to sit cheek by jowl with
persons of that sort for an indefinite length of time. And there were
cases--particularly in the Probate Court--which lasted days; even weeks.
If he were in for one of those! The perspiration nearly stood on his
brow at the horror of the thought.
What was the case about? What was that inarticulate person saying?
Philip Poland knew nothing about courts--and did not want to--but he
took it for granted that the gentleman in a wig and gown, with his
hands folded over his portly stomach, was counsel for one side or the
other--though he had not the slightest notion which. He had no idea how
they managed things in places of this sort. As he eyed him he felt that
he was against him anyhow. If he were paid to speak, why did not the
man speak up?
By degrees, for sheer want of something else, Mr. Roland found that he
was listening. After all, the man was audible. He seemed capable, also,
of making his meaning understood. So it was about a will, was it? He
might have taken that for granted. He always had had the impression
that the Probate Court was the place for wills. It seemed that somebody
had left a will; and this will was in favour of the portly gentleman's
client; and was as sound, as equitable, as admirable a legal instrument
as ever yet was executed; and how, therefore, anyone could have
anything to say against it surprised the portly gentleman to such a
degree that he had to stop to wipe his forehead with a red silk
pocket-handkerchief.
The day was warm. Mr. Roland was not fond of listening to speeches. And
this one was--well, weighty. And about something for which he did not
care two pins. His attention wandered. It strayed perilously near the
verge of a dose. In fact, it must have strayed right over the verge.
Because the next thing he understood was that one of his colleagues was
digging his elbow into his side, and proffering the information that
they were going lunch. He felt a little bewildered. He could not think
how it had happened. It was not his habit to go to sleep in the
morning. As he trooped after his fellows he was visited by a hazy
impression that that wretched jury system was at the bottom of it all.
They were shown into an ill-ventilated room. Someone asked him what he
would have to eat. He told them to bring him what they had. They
brought some hot boiled beef and carrots. The sight of it nearly made
him ill. His was a dainty appetite. Hot boiled beef on such a day, in
such a place, after such a morning, was almost the final straw. He
could not touch it.
His companion attacked his plate with every appearance of relish. He
made a hearty meal. Possibly he had kept awake. He commented on the
fashion in which Mr. Roland had done his duty to his Queen and country.
"Shouldn't think you were able to pronounce much of an opinion on the
case so far as it has gone, eh?"
"My good sir, the judge will instruct us as to our duty. If we follow
his instructions we shan't go wrong."
"You think, then, that we are only so many automata, and that the judge
has but to pull the strings."
Mr. Roland looked about him, contempt in his eye.
"It would be fortunate, perhaps, if we were automata."
"Then I can only say that we take diametrically opposite views of our
office. I maintain that it is our duty to listen to the evidence, to
weigh it carefully, and to record our honest convictions in the face of
all the judges whoever sat upon the Bench."
Mr. Roland was silent. He was not disposed to enter into an academical
discussion with an individual who evidently had a certain command of
language. Others, however, showed themselves to be not so averse. The
luncheon interval was enlivened by some observations on the jury system
which lawyers--had any been present--would have found instructive.
There were no actual quarrels. But some of the arguments were of the
nature of repartees. Possibly it was owing to the beef and carrots.
They re-entered the court. The case recommenced. Mr. Roland had a
headache. He was cross. His disposition was to return a verdict against
everything and everyone, as his neighbour had put it, "in the face of
all the judges who ever sat upon the Bench." But this time he did pay
some attention to what was going on.
It appeared, in spite of the necessity which the portly gentleman had
been under to use his red silk pocket-handkerchief, that there were
objections to the will he represented. It was not easy at that stage to
pick up the lost threads, but from what Mr. Roland could gather it
seemed it was asserted that a later will had been made, which was still
in existence. Evidence was given by persons who had been present at the
execution of that will; by the actual witnesses to the testator's
signature; by the lawyer who had drawn the will. And then--!
Then there stepped into the witness-box a person whose appearance
entirely changed Mr. Roland's attitude towards the proceedings; so
that, in the twinkling of an eye, he passed from bored indifference to
the keenest and liveliest interest. It was a young woman. She gave her
name as Delia Angel. Her address as Barkston Gardens, South Kensington.
At sight of her things began to hum inside Mr. Roland's brain. Where
had he seen her before? It all came back in a flash. How could he have
forgotten her, even for a moment, when from that day to this she had
been continually present to his mind's eye?
It was the girl of the train. She had travelled with him from Nice to
Dijon in the same carriage, which most of the way they had had to
themselves. What a journey it was! And what a girl! During those
fast-fleeting hours--on that occasion they had fled fast--they had
discussed all subjects from Alpha to Omega. He had approached closer
to terms of friendship with a woman than he had ever done in the whole
course of his life before--or since. He was so taken aback by the
encounter, so wrapped in recollections of those pleasant hours, that for
a time he neglected to listen to what she was saying. When he did begin
to listen he pricked up his ears still higher.
It was in her favour the latest will had been made--at least, partly.
She had just returned from laying the testator in the cemetery in Nice
when he met her in the train--actually! He recalled her deep mourning.
The impression she had given him was that she had lately lost a friend.
She was even carrying the will in question with her at the time. Then
she began to make a series of statements which brought Mr. Roland's
heart up into his mouth.
"Tell us," suggested counsel, "what happened in the train."
She paused as if to collect her thoughts. Then told a little story
which interested at least one of her hearers more than anything he had
ever listened to.
"I had originally intended to stop in Paris. On the way, however, I
decided not to do so but to go straight through."
Mr. Roland remembered he had told her he was going, and wondered; but
he resolved to postpone his wonder till she had finished.
"When we were nearing Dijon I made up my mind to send a telegram to the
concierge asking her to address all letters to me in town. When we
reached the station I got out of the train to do so. In the compartment
in which I had travelled was a gentleman. I asked him to keep an eye on
my bag till I returned. He said he would. On the platform I met some
friends. I stopped to talk to them. The time must have gone quicker
than I supposed, because when I reached the telegraph office I found I
had only a minute or two to spare. I scribbled the telegram. As I
turned I slipped and fell--I take it because of the haste I was in. As
I fell my head struck upon something; because the next thing I realized
was that I was lying on a couch in a strange room, feeling very queer
indeed. I did ask, I believe what had become of the train. They told me
it was gone. I understand that during the remainder of the day, and
through the night, I continued more or less unconscious. When next day
I came back to myself it was too late. I found my luggage awaiting me
at Paris. But of the bag, or of the gentleman with whom I left it in
charge, I have heard nothing since. I have advertised, tried every
means my solicitor advised; but up to the present without result."
"And the will" observed counsel, "was in that bag?"
"It was."
Mr. Roland had listened to the lady's narrative with increasing
amazement. He remembered her getting out at Dijon; that she had left a
bag behind. That she had formally intrusted it to his charge he did not
remember. He recalled the anxiety with which he watched for her return;
his keen disappointment when he still saw nothing of her as the train
steamed out of the station. So great was his chagrin that it almost
amounted to dismay. He had had such a good time; had taken it for
granted that it would continue for at least a few more hours, and
perhaps--perhaps all sorts of things. Now, without notice, on the
instant, she had gone out of his life as she had come into it. He had
seen her talking to her friends. Possibly she had joined herself to
them. Well, if she was that sort of person, let her go!
As for the bag, it had escaped his recollection that there was such a
thing. And possibly would have continued to do so had it not persisted
in staring at him mutely from the opposite seat. So she had left it
behind? Serve her right. It was only a rubbishing hand-bag. Pretty old,
too. It seemed that feather-headed young women could not be even
depended upon to look after their own rubbish. She would come rushing
up to the carriage window at one of the stations. Or he would see her
at Paris. Then she could have the thing. But he did not see her. To be
frank, as they neared Paris, half obliviously he crammed it with his
travelling cap into his kit-bag, and to continue on the line of
candour--ignored its existence till he found it there in town.
And in it was the will! The document on which so much
hinged--especially for her! The bone of contention which all this pother
was about. Among all that she said this was the statement which took him
most aback. Because, without the slightest desire to impugn in any
detail the lady's veracity, he had the best of reasons for knowing that
she had--well--made a mistake.
If he had not good reason to know it, who had? He clearly called to
mind the sensation, almost of horror, with which he had recognised that
the thing was in his kit-bag. Half-a-dozen courses which he ought to
have pursued occurred to him--too late. He ought to have handed it over
to the guard of the train; to the station-master; to the lost property
office. In short, he ought to have done anything except bring it with
him in his bag to town. But since he had brought it, the best thing to
do seemed to be to ascertain if it contained anything which would be a
clue to its owner.
It was a small affair, perhaps eight inches long. Of stamped brown
leather. Well worn. Original cost possibly six or seven shillings.
Opened by pressing a spring lock. Contents: Four small keys on a piece
of ribbon; two pocket-handkerchiefs, each with an embroidered D in the
corner; the remains of a packet of chocolate; half a cedar lead-pencil;
a pair of shoe-laces. And that was all. He had turned that bag upside
down upon his bed, and was prepared to go into the witness-box and
swear that there was nothing else left inside. At least he was almost
prepared to swear. For since here was Miss Delia Angel--how well the
name fitted the owner!--positively affirming that among its contents
was the document on which for all he knew all her worldly wealth
depended, what was he to think?
The bag had continued in his possession until a week or two ago. Then
one afternoon his sister, Mrs. Tranmer, had come to his rooms, and
having purchased a packet of hairpins, or something of the kind, had
wanted something to put them in. Seeing the bag in the corner of one of
his shelves, in spite of his protestations she had snatched it up, and
insisted on annexing it to help her carry home her ridiculous purchase.
Its contents--as described above--he retained. But the bag! Surely
Agatha was not such an idiot, such a dishonest creature, as to allow
property which was not hers to pass for a moment out of her hands.
During the remainder of Miss Angel's evidence--so far as it went that
day--one juryman, both mentally and physically, was in a state of dire
distress. What was he to do? He was torn in a dozen different ways.
Would it be etiquette for a person in his position to spring to his
feet and volunteer to tell his story? He would probably astonish the
Court. But--what would the Court say to him? Who had ever heard of a
witness in the jury-box? He could not but suspect that, at the very
least, such a situation would be in the highest degree irregular. And,
in any case, what could he do? Give the lady the lie? It will have been
perceived that his notions of the responsibilities of a juryman were
his own, and it is quite within the range of possibility that he had
already made up his mind which way his verdict should go; whether the
will was in the bag or not--and "in the face of all the judges who ever
sat upon the Bench."
The bag! the bag! Where was it? If, for once in a way, Agatha had shown
herself to be possessed of a grain of the common sense with which he
had never credited her!
At the conclusion of Miss Angel's examination in chief the portly
gentleman asked to be allowed to postpone his cross-examination to the
morning. On which, by way of showing its entire acquiescence, the Court
at once adjourned.
And off pelted one of the jurymen in search of the bag.