The Jew and the Necklace.—Gray’s Troubles and Surmises.—An Adventure.
Sir Francis Hartleton found but very little difficulty in getting
possession of Ada’s necklace from the Jew, who had made so capital a
bargain with her. The wily Israelite made a practice of never
purchasing an article unless he got it at a price which always implied
that it was dishonestly come by, as was the case with Ada, of some
party totally ignorant or the value of the commodity.
Another rule of his business was to keep his greatest bargains some
years, if he thought it necessary so to do, before he brought them into
the market, so that if the jewel or the gold were stolen, all the
excitement concerning it had subsided, and the very person from whom
the property had been filched had long since given it up as quite
hopeless.
In this manner, he had acted with regard to Ada’s necklace, which was
really worth a much larger sum than either Jacob Gray or the Jew
imagined, for the former knew only from indirect sources the value of
the article, and the latter rarely came across anything so pure and
costly.
Moreover, Jacob Gray had a strong motive for preserving the necklace,
because, as we know, he always looked forward to a day when it might be
necessary or agreeable to him to declare Ada’s name, birth, and
lineage; and thus how important might any corroborative evidence become
upon the subject.
As for the Jew, he had been in a ceaseless wonder ever since he had
purchased the valuable trinket of the young girl, and in vain he
puzzled himself to account for her possession of it, and form some idea
of who she could possibly be that was wandering about alone with such
valuable property; and it is more than possible that his great bargain
was as great a source of disquiet to him as it was of congratulation,
for he reasoned with himself,—
“If sho be hash she had such a necklace, and didn’t know fot it wash
worth, sho help me, she might have had something else petter still.”
This was a sore reflection to the Jew, and on the whole afforded a fine
commentary upon such motives as his who rate their losses by their
gains, in the same manner as the man who found half-a-guinea, and upon
being told that two had been lost on the same spot sunk the fact of his
good fortune in finding the one, and bemoaned to everybody his loss of
the other.
It was a sore blow to the Jew, when Sir Francis Hartleton walked into
his shop, and at once announcing himself as the much dreaded, because
active and irreproachable, magistrate, demanded the necklace, giving a
description of it, and of Ada, which rendered any kind of shuffling out
of the matter of no possible use.
The necklace was therefore produced, and Sir Francis left the Jew fully
impressed with a belief that he would immediately be prosecuted,
although such a step was still far from the magistrate’s intentions,
who, as we are aware, was taking every means he could to keep matters
quiet, and awakening no public curiosity concerning Ada.
It was after another conversation with his beautiful young guest that
he issued an order to find poor mad Maud, intending to make some
permanent provision for her benefit, not at all expecting that she
really possessed sufficient pieces of Jacob Gray’s confession to enable
him to form a much nearer estimate of the merits and demerits of the
whole affair, than he had hitherto been able to do.
From Ada’s description of Gray, he was now enabled to set a watch upon
Learmont, who, from all the circumstances, he felt certain Gray visited
to get money.
Sir Francis’ object now was to give Jacob Gray time to provide himself
not only with means, but to fully again write out those papers he
believed would unravel every mystery connected with the affair.
That Andrew Britton was assailable in the same way he never suspected,
and he merely waited now until Gray should commit both Learmont and the
savage smith in writing to take some active step in the business.
Jacob Gray little imagined that he was quite free in London to go
whither his fancy might lead him, and that the man he most dreaded,
namely, Sir Francis Hartleton, had taken a great deal of trouble to
prevent his arrest.
Had he guessed he was being so angled with, his terror would have
killed him; but as he sat on the step of the door near to Learmont’s,
he concocted in his mind a line of proceeding, which, but for various
circumstances he could not know of, might have been successfully
carried out.
He would see Learmont in the morning, and affecting to be wearied of
his present line of life, to offer for two thousand pounds to surrender
to him the living object of his fears, as well as his, Jacob Gray’s,
own confession, and leave England for ever. Learmont might see him on
board a vessel even if he pleased. He might see him leave the shore,
when he would give him any address purporting to be where he would find
Ada; and then, at the first port he stopped at, he would send a letter
to Sir Francis Hartleton, containing sufficient to destroy Britton and
Learmont; but not sufficient to be of any service to the persecuted Ada.
By this means he thought to gratify his revenge against them all; and,
at least, secure to himself safety, and the means of living in
comparative luxury in some cheap continental state.
If Learmont should refuse such a compromise, he could adopt some other
course of action to be resolved upon after his next interview with him;
but, upon the necessity of leaving England, and that quickly too, he
was quite clear and decided.
One would have thought that Jacob Gray had met with sufficient
disappointment in his various arrangements to dishearten him from
attempting further to create circumstances, and philosophise upon their
results; but it is a fixed principle in those natures which are fond to
excess of plotting, that no experience will deter them from concocting
the hairbreadth schemes and chances which would, combined, make up a
satisfactory result, but which all possess the one alarming feature,
that the whole fabric must topple down upon the displacement of a
single brick.
He rose from the step of the door, and walked onwards, he knew not
whither, for some time; but, at length, he found himself in
Parliament-street, from the immediate vicinity of which he shrunk
quickly, for he dreaded the glare of the lights, and feared that some
one might recognise him as the fugitive of the Strand.
There were in his mind some strange and singular contradictions with
regard to his present situation, which, as calm reflection came to his
aid, he found it very difficult indeed to reconcile.
That Ada had sought refuge with Sir Francis Hartleton, he could
scarcely permit himself to doubt for a moment; but then the
consequences which she had always dreaded from such a step on her part
had certainly not increased so rapidly if they were to occur at all, as
he would have sworn they would. He anticipated so active, so
persevering, so energetic a hunt from him throughout, not only the
metropolis, but the whole kingdom, when once Ada should be in a
condition to possess Sir Francis Hartleton of the events of the five
years of her life with him, Gray, that safety and freedom for four and
twenty hours was a thing not to be thought of; and yet here he was,
without much disguise, without the means of taking that care to avoid
suspicion which he would fain have done, free and unquestioned hitherto
in the public streets.
His name seemed in no one’s mouth. There was no hue and cry—no bills of
any particular moment concerning him, save the meagre one he had seen
at Hampstead, and which had evidently not emanated from Sir Francis
Hartleton. In fact, the affair did not at all present the alarming
aspect to him he had ever expected it would.
Jacob Gray was, therefore, under those circumstances thrown back upon
several suppositions—none of which, however, to his mind bore the stamp
of much probability.
One was that Ada had not taken refuge with Sir Francis Hartleton, but
by some means had fallen into other hands, who did not feel so
interested in her story or had not the power or the inclination to act
upon any of the surmises it must naturally call forth.
Another supposition, was, that from some lingering feeling of pity
towards him, or from some dark and haunting suspicion in her mind that
he might be related to her, she had, although with Sir Francis,
abstained from committing him Gray sufficiently to induce a hot pursuit
for him, on other grounds than the murder of Elias, and of Vaughan.
Nay, he even thought it possible that Ada might have interceded for him
to be left alone, or bargained in some way for his safety. But as often
as these reflections began to shed some comforting influence on Gray,
there came the reflection of how firmly and broadly she had denounced
him as a murderer in the public streets, and he became lost again in a
whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
He was slowly traversing a low, obscure street, leading from
George-street, as these painful thoughts were passing through his mind,
when he fancied he heard a footstep behind him, which seemed
accommodating itself to his in a manner that excited at once his
suspicion that he was watched. All Gray’s dreams of security
immediately vanished, and a cold perspiration broke out upon him, as he
fancied he was upon the point now of being arrested when his fate would
be certain; for what account could he give of himself that would not at
once strengthen and confirm suspicion. He still heard the footstep, but
he feared to look behind him, and after a few moments of confused
thought he resolved to try a simple experiment to ascertain if he were
really followed, and he paused suddenly to see if the stranger behind
him would pass on.
The whole mass of Jacob Gray’s blood appeared to him to curdle in his
reins, as he felt sure, whoever it was behind him, had stopped likewise.