Ratab Agha, and before leaving were conducted to his harem. He had two
wives: the principal wife was very beautiful, with auburn hair, soft
brown eyes, and lovely complexion; her rival was plain; and both were
magnificently dressed in black robes embroidered with silver, full pink
Turkish trousers, and silver bracelets and anklets. They wore their
hair cut straight across the brow and plaited behind into an infinitude
of small tails studded with coins.
A parting visit to the Pyramids followed; and with an inspection of
these colossal monuments, which remain an imperishable testimony to the
vigour of the world's dawn, they bade adieu to what was once the mighty
temple-crowned empire of Rameses the Great.
A QUEER CLUE.
IN TWO CHAPTERS.--CHAPTER I.
As an ex-detective, I am often asked to relate my adventures, and
at one time I was ready enough to do so; but I soon found that my
tales were looked upon as dull prosy things, and not at all like what
detectives ought to have to say for themselves. Everybody seemed to
think that detectives ought to find things out by a sort of magical
divination; but I was reckoned a pretty good one, and I have known some
of our greatest celebrities; and the only way any of us ever found
anything out was by inquiring of everybody who was likely to know a
little, keeping our eyes on any probable party, holding our tongues,
and putting all the scraps together. Now and then we are befriended by
a lucky chance; and when this happens, we get a hundred times more
praise than when we puzzle out the darkest and toughest case. The last
affair I was ever engaged in was of this kind. I was first concerned in
it two years before I left the police, after, by-the-bye, I had quite
given up the detective branch; and I resumed it three years afterwards,
that is three years after I had left the police; and this is how it
occurred. I must first say, however, that I don't at all regard this
as one of the dull prosy cases I referred to; in fact, it was the most
exciting business I was ever engaged in.
I had left the detective work, as I said, and indeed had left London,
for when I grew a little tired of the business, I was recommended to
the authorities at Combestead, a thriving market-town in one of the
home counties; and I had a very comfortable situation there, having
little to do, very good pay, and being head of the borough police. Of
course there is a great deal of difference between life in the country
and life in town, and from a policeman's view it perhaps appears
greater than it does to anybody else; and whereas I had often wondered
how anybody could be detected in London, I was equally surprised to
think how anybody could hope to escape in the country; for, excepting
when strangers came down on some carefully planned burglary, we could
nearly always tell where to look for our men if anything went wrong; in
short, I knew everybody. As a matter of course, everybody knew me.
There was a middle-aged party lived in a quiet row of houses in Orchard
Street--which ran parallel with our High Street--a Miss Parkway, who
was reputed to be pretty well off, although not extremely rich, and
reputed also to be rather eccentric. She lived by herself, in the
sense of having none of her relatives with her; but there were other
persons, although not many, in the large house where she lodged. I had
my attention drawn to her by seeing her walking repeatedly in company
with a young man of no very good character, who was fully twenty years
her junior; and at last I heard she was going to be married to him. All
the town professed to be surprised and shocked at this, but I wasn't.
Whether detectives get hard of heart in such things or not, I can't
say, but nothing in the way of a woman of five-and-forty marrying a man
of five-and-twenty would ever surprise me; nor should I be surprised
at the man marrying the woman if she had money, as in this case. After
all, although I have said John Lytherly--that was his name--was of no
very good character, yet there was nothing serious against him. He
was a good-tempered, good-looking, easy sort of fellow, with a lot of
cleverness about him too, that always shewed itself when it wasn't
wanted; and never shewed itself when it might be of service. He now
called himself a photographer; but had been a solicitor's clerk, an
actor, a traveller for a wine-merchant, a barman, and had once, before
his mother died, been bought out of the Lancers. However, it was now
pretty well known that John was going to marry Miss Parkway, and half
the young chaps in Combestead ridiculed and envied him by turns.
Matters progressed so far that it was known the lady had given orders
to Bunnyman and Company, our chief bankers, to call in a thousand
pounds of her money which was out on mortgage; and it was said she
intended to buy one of the houses in the High Street and fit it up as
a photographer's. It was also reported that old Mr Bunnyman said: 'I
hope, Miss Parkway, that whatever you do with your money, you will do
nothing that you have not well considered.' And it was also said that
Miss Parkway replied: 'If I wanted to be preached to, Mr Bunnyman, I
should go to your brother the Ranter;'--perhaps because Mr Bunnyman
had a brother who preached, though he wasn't a Ranter at all. However,
as these two were by themselves, I don't see how any one could have
known what passed; and these confidential conversations in books and
histories are certainly things I don't believe in.
It was known for certain, however, that she had not only given notice,
but had actually withdrawn the money; and among other things it was
said that she had admitted to her landlady Mrs Ambliss, that the match
with Lytherly would break off all intimacy with her friends. She only
had one relative who came to see her, and that was a gentleman living
some forty miles away, but he had not been to Combestead lately.
Whether he was offended or not, neither the landlady nor lodger
could say; but the latter feared he was, as she had written and told
him exactly how affairs stood and what steps she had taken, but had
received no reply to her letter. Lytherly seemed, very naturally, to be
brightening up, and took our jocular congratulations--for I had my say
as well as the others--in a good-tempered although rather a conceited
style. One annoyance he felt, which was, that everybody to whom he
owed money--which was every one who would trust him--was anxious to be
the first paid; and thinking that a little gentle pressure might help
them, two or three of the tradesmen took out county court summonses
against him; and this, as he said, was very hard on him and very
selfish. However, there seemed a little chance that they would defeat
themselves, for, harassed and worried by these doings, he was forced
to ask Miss Parkway for an advance of money, being the first time he
had ever done so. He had received money from her; but she had always
offered it, and pressed it upon him when he made a show, if he was not
actually in earnest, of wishing to refuse it. Whether she was in a
bad temper at the time, or whether she was hurt at his making such a
request, Lytherly could not say, but she refused to make the advance,
and they parted worse friends than they had been for some time.
All this the young fellow let out at the _Bell_ on the Saturday, as
the refusal happened on the Friday. A great part of it in my hearing,
for I generally took my pipe and glass at the _Bell_, and I saw that
he was well on for tipsy. He had indeed been drinking there some
hours, and would perhaps have stopped longer, but that the landlord
persuaded him to go home. He was hardly able to walk, and as I did
not wish him to get into any trouble, which might mean also trouble
to me, I followed him to the door, determined I would see him to his
lodgings if necessary; but just then his landlady's son happened to
come by. The poor chap, as I well remember, had been to the dentist's
to have a tooth drawn; but his face was so swollen that Mr Clawes
would not attempt to draw it till daylight, and the poor fellow was
half distracted with pain. He offered to see Lytherly home; and as he
lived in the same house and slept in the same room, of course he was
the fittest party to do so; and so off they went together, and in due
course of time I went home too.
Next day was Sunday, and a quiet day enough it always was in
Combestead. Younger men might have thought it dull, but it suited me. I
had lived fifty years in London, and did not object to the steady-going
ways of the little town; in fact I took to going to church, and all
sorts of things. Well, the day passed by without anything particular;
and I was really thinking of going to bed, although it was only
half-past nine, for I felt sleepy and tired, when I heard somebody
run hurriedly up our front garden, and then followed a very loud
double-knock at the door. I lived, I should mention, at a nice house in
Church Street, which was a turning that led from the High Street into
Orchard Street, where, as I have said, Miss Parkway lived. I was just
about to drink a glass of egghot, which is a thing I am very partial
to when I have a cold, and this was winter-time; but I put the tumbler
down to listen, for when such a hurried step and knock came, it was
nearly always for me; and sure enough, in another half-minute the door
was opened, and I heard a voice ask if the superintendent was in; then
without any tapping or waiting, my door was thrown open, and I saw a
young woman, whom I knew as servant to Mrs Ambliss. The moment I saw
her, I knew something serious was the matter; long experience enabled
me to decide when anything really serious was coming.
'Now, Jane,' I said, 'what is it?'
'Oh, Mr Robinson!' she exclaimed (I forget whether I have mentioned
before that my name is Robinson, but such is the fact), 'come round at
once to missus's, for we have found poor Miss Parkway stone-dead and
murdered in her room.'
And with that, as is a matter of course with such people, off she went
into strong hysterics. I couldn't stop with her; so I opened my door,
and equally, as a matter of course, there I found the landlady and
her servant listening. 'Go in and take care of that girl,' I said;
'and one of you bring her round to Orchard Street as soon as she can
walk.' I didn't stop to blow them up, and they were too glad to escape,
to say a word; so off I went, and found a little cluster of people
already gathered round the gate of the house I wanted. 'Here is the
superintendent!' I heard them say as they made way for me. I hurried
through, but had no occasion to knock at the door, for they were on the
watch for me. Mr and Mrs Ambliss were in the passage, and a neighbour
from next door; all looked as pale and flurried as people do under the
circumstances.
'This is a most terrible affair, sir,' says poor old Ambliss, who was
a feeble superannuated bank clerk. 'We have sent for you, sir, and the
doctor, as being the best we could do. But perhaps you would like to go
into her room at once?'
I said I should, as a matter of course; and they led me to her room.
There was a light there, and they brought more up, so that everything
was plainly visible. The people had not liked, or had been afraid to
disturb anything, so the room was in the same state as when they had
entered it. It appeared they had not been surprised at Miss Parkway
not coming down in the morning, for this was not uncommon with her;
but when the afternoon and evening passed away and she did not appear,
and no answer was returned to their rapping at her door, they grew
alarmed, and at last forced an entrance, when they found the furniture
in confusion, as though a struggle had taken place, and poor Miss
Parkway in her night-dress lying on her face quite dead. They had
lifted her on to the bed, and from the marks on her throat had judged
she died by strangulation. As I could do no good to her, I noticed as
closely as I was able the appearance of the room, and especially looked
for any fragments of cloth torn from an assailant's clothes, which
often remain after a struggle; or a dropped weapon, or any unusual
marks. But I could see nothing. There was no difficulty in deciding
how the assassin had entered the apartment, and how he had left it,
for the room was on the ground-floor, and the lower sash of one of the
windows was thrown up, although the blind was drawn fully down. The
furniture was knocked over and upset; the washstand, which was a large
and somewhat peculiar one, of a clumsy and old-fashioned description,
had been overthrown, and had fallen into the fireplace, where it lay
resting on the bars in a very curious manner; while the jug had fallen
into the grate, deluging the fireplace with water, but, extraordinary
to relate, without being broken; not broken to pieces at anyrate,
although badly cracked. A great deal of noise had probably been made,
and cries for help probably uttered; but Ambliss and his wife were both
deaf, and they and the servant all slept at the top of the big house in
the front; while poor Miss Parkway slept at the bottom at the back, and
in a room which was built out from the house itself.
I had time to hear and notice all this before the doctor came; and
his attendance was of course a mere matter of form. No one could help
or harm the poor woman now; so, with the information I had gained, I
went to the house of the nearest magistrate, a very active gentleman
and a solicitor. I ought to have mentioned that the drawers in which
Miss Parkway kept her money and jewellery were forced open and every
valuable abstracted; the only trace of them being a few links of a
slight chain of a very unusual pattern, which, with a curious stone,
the lady generally wore round her neck. This chain had evidently been
broken by the violence used, and parts of it scattered about; the stone
was gone.
Information was of course sent to Miss Parkway's relative who came
sometimes to visit her. And the result of all the inquiries made was
to make things look so very suspicious against young Lytherly, and
so much stress was laid upon his quarrel with Miss Parkway on her
refusal to lend him money--which seemed known to everybody--that I was
obliged to apprehend him. I didn't want to hurt his feelings; so I went
myself with a fly, although his lodgings were not half a mile from
the town-hall, so as to spare him from walking in custody through the
streets. I found him at home, looking very miserable, and when he saw
me he said: 'I have been expecting you all the morning, Mr Robinson; I
am very glad you have come.'
'Well, I'm sorry,' I answered. 'But you may as well remember that the
least said is soonest mended, Mr Lytherly.'
'Thanks for your caution, old friend,' he says with a very sickly
smile; 'but I shan't hurt myself, and I feel sure no one else can
do so. Why I said I was glad you had come, was because from Sunday
night, when the murder was found out, until now, middle day on Tuesday,
everybody has shunned me and avoided me as if I had the plague. I know
why, and now it will be over.'
I didn't put handcuffs on him or anything of that; and when we got into
the street he saw the fly, round which there had already gathered at
least a score of boys and girls, who had, I suppose, seen me go in. He
looked round, and said: 'This was very thoughtful of you, Mr Robinson;
I shall not forget it.' We drove off, and spoke no more until we
arrived at the town-hall. Here the magistrates were sitting; and here I
found a tall, dark, grave-looking gentleman talking very earnestly to
Mr Wingrave, our chief solicitor. I soon found this was Mr Parkway, the
cousin of the murdered lady. He was giving instructions to the lawyer
to spare no expense; to offer a reward if he thought it necessary; to
have detectives down from London, and goodness knows what. Mr Wingrave
introduced me, and was kind enough to say that there was no necessity
for detectives to be brought, as they had so eminent a functionary as
myself in the town.
It was supposed that this would be merely a preliminary
examination, but it turned out differently. A few of Lytherly's
companions--although, as it transpired afterwards, they fully believed
him guilty--were yet determined he should have a chance, and so
subscribed a guinea for old Jemmy Crotton, the most disreputable
old fellow in the town, but a very clever lawyer for all that; and
Jemmy soon came bustling in. He had a few minutes' conversation with
Lytherly, and then asked that the hearing might be put off for an
hour. This was of course granted; and by the end of that time he
had overwhelming evidence to prove an alibi; for the landlady's son
hadn't slept a wink for his toothache, and he was with Lytherly until
dinner-time on Sunday; and then the accused went for a walk with a
couple of friends, and did not return until after dark, having spent
two or three hours at a public-house some miles off, as the landlord,
who happened to be in the town, it being market-day, helped to prove;
the rest of the time he was in the _Bell_, as was usual, poor fellow.
There was no getting over this. There was not a shadow of pretence for
remanding him, and so--much to Mr Parkway's evident annoyance--Lytherly
was discharged. He became more popular than ever among his
associates--although the respectable people of the town looked down
upon him--and they had a supper in his honour that night, at which
old Jemmy Crotton presided. In default of Lytherly, no clue could be
found. Not a shilling of Miss Parkway's money was ever discovered in
her apartments; so her murderer had got clear away with his booty. Many
wiseacres said we should hear of Lytherly quietly disappearing after
things had settled down.
Some little excitement was created by Lytherly attempting to get into
the sole funeral carriage that attended the hearse; but Mr Parkway
would not permit such a thing, and was himself the only follower. It
was very clear that the stranger, in common with many others, was
not half satisfied with the explanation which had secured Lytherly's
escape; and as I was on the ground at the funeral, I saw, as did
everybody else who was there, the frown he turned on the young man,
who, in spite of his rebuff, had gone on foot to the churchyard.
Mr Parkway left that evening, having placed his business in the hands
of Mr Wingrave; for as there was no will, he was the heir-at-law. Now
this was a very curious affair about the will, because Miss Parkway had
told her landlady not many days before, that she _had_ made her will,
and in fact had shewn her the document as it lay, neatly tied up, in
her desk. However, it was gone now; and she had either destroyed it,
or the person who had killed her had taken that as well as the money;
and even if the latter was the case, it was hardly likely to turn up
again. So, as I have said, Mr Parkway went home. The solicitor realised
the poor lady's property; and all our efforts were in vain to discover
the slightest clue to the guilty party. As for Lytherly, he soon found
it was of no use to think of remaining in Combestead, for guilty or
not, no one of any respectability cared to associate with him; and,
as he owned to me, the worst part of it all was that old Crotton the
lawyer, whenever they met at any tavern, would laugh and wink and clap
him on the shoulder, and call upon every one present to remember how
poor old Jemmy Crotton got his young friend off so cleverly, how they
'flummoxed' the magistrates and jockeyed the peelers, when it was any
odds against his young friend.
So he went; and a good many declared he had gone off to enjoy his
ill-gotten gains; but I never thought so; and one of our men going to
Chatham to identify a prisoner, saw Lytherly in the uniform of the
Royal Engineers, and in fact had a glass of ale with him. The young
fellow said it was his only resource; dig he could not, and to beg
where he was known would be in vain. He sent his respects to me; and
that was the last we heard for a long time of the Combestead murder.
A CURIOUS PICTURE-BOOK.
We have before us one of the most singular picture-books that can
well be imagined; singular because unexpected in its character. It
is a book containing the trade-marks of several thousand merchants,
manufacturers, and shopkeepers; each device printed, in the proper
size, from a block or cast of the original; and the whole collection
likely to be very formidable in dimensions by-and-by. The system has
sprung out of the passing of a particular Act of Parliament two years
ago; and we shall best facilitate a comprehension of its nature and
purport by glancing at that which preceded it.
A trade-mark and an armorial bearing have much the same meaning,
however different in splendour and dignity. Each is a token to
distinguish certain persons from others. In the middle ages
distinguished families and famous old commercial companies had their
marks; so had monasteries, abbeys, and convents; so had municipal towns
and chartered guilds; so had merchants and shipowners. By degrees
the mark became embodied as a trade-mark in some instances, as an
heraldic shield or crest or coat-armour in others. Some noble families
at the present day can shew coats of arms including (in the device)
trade-marks once belonging to the founder of the family when a trader.
As a feature in legitimate commerce, it is fair and right for a man
to affix to his wares some mark or symbol to distinguish them from the
wares of other traders. The mark may have a significant or symbolical
meaning, or it may be wholly fanciful; no matter which, provided it
be his and his only. The range to choose from is so wide as to be
practically limitless; for the mark may be a name, initial, signature,
word, letter, device, emblem, figure, sign, seal, stamp, or diagram;
and it may be impressed upon or otherwise attached to a cask, bottle,
vessel, canister, case, cover, envelope, wrapper, bar, plate, ingot,
sheet, bale, packet, band, reel, cork, stopper, label, or ticket. He
must indeed be a difficult man to please who cannot select out of all
these. A quadruped, bird, or fish; a sun, moon, star, or comet; a
triangle, diamond, square, oval, or hexagon; a crescent, a castle, a
ship; a portrait, medallion, or profile; a view of a warehouse or of a
plantation--anything will do, if it suffices to imply 'This is mine:
you must not imitate or forge it.'
No one can glance through the daily papers, in the columns relating to
actions at law, without seeing evidence how jealously the privileges
of trade-marks are watched by the owners; nor is it difficult to
see why this jealousy is exhibited. If A possess something which
has a money-value to him, B would like to possess it also if
honestly obtainable, or something sufficiently like it to be equally
advantageous. Unfortunately men do not always wait to consider how
far honesty should actuate them. There is a vast amount of shabby
peculation on the part of men who avail themselves, directly or
indirectly, of other men's trade-marks, in order to obtain a share
of custom which does not fairly belong to them. A belief or hope is
entertained that if the public do not know exactly which is the real
Simon Pure, a sham Simon may perchance come in for some of the pickings.