THE LONDON DETECTIVE
Sybil had seen Leo go into the room where her father was waiting with
Mrs Jeal, and wondered what the woman had to do with her lover. She was
called out to see a sick woman on behalf of her father, and on her way
home bethought herself how she could see Leo. The girl was in a perfect
fever of nervous fear for the young man. Then it struck her that the
best thing to do would be to call at Mr Pratt's. No sooner had she made
up her mind to brave her father's anger in this respect than she went at
once to The Nun's House. She feared if she delayed that her courage
might evaporate.
The door was opened by Adam, who explained that Mr Pratt was from home.
"He went into Portfront to-day, miss," said Adam. "I only hope he will
be able to get back this night, as there is a sea-fog coming up the
Channel."
"There is no danger of his losing the road, Adam," said Sybil,
cheerfully; "but I don't want to see Mr Pratt. It is Mr Haverleigh
who--"
"He is in the library, miss," replied Adam, and admitted her into the
house. When Sybil found herself alone with Leo she had a qualm. What
would her father say should he ever come to know that she had paid such
a visit?
Leo was seated at the desk, his face hidden in his arms, looking most
dejected. He lifted his head as she entered, and, at the sight of his
face, Sybil forgot all about her father and the impropriety of the
visit. At once she ran to her lover, and drew his head down on to her
breast with a look of almost divine pity. "My darling Leo," she said, "I
knew that you were miserable, and I have come to comfort you."
"How good of you, dear!" replied Haverleigh, stroking her hair; "but
your father? I did not think he would let you come to me."
"My father does not know that I am here," said Sybil, blushing, as he
placed a chair for her; "but I knew you had been to see him, and I could
not rest until I heard all about the interview. Was he very angry?"
"No; I think he is inclined to believe in my innocence in spite of Mrs
Jeal's story. And Heaven knows she has painted me black enough!"
"I wondered what Mrs Jeal was doing at the Vicarage, Leo; I don't like
that woman. She looks sly and wicked. But what story can she have to
tell about you, dear?"
"Sybil, she says that she saw me pawning the cup in London," and while
Sybil, filled with surprise, sat looking at his agitated face, Leo told
all that Mrs Jeal had said. "So you see, dear," he continued, "that
there is some sort of conspiracy against me. I believe Hale is in it
too."
"It is a strange story," she said musingly. "I wonder who it was could
have impersonated you? Did the man give your name?"
"By Jove!" cried Leo, starting up, "I never thought of asking. Yet the
rascal must have given it for the pawn-ticket. Sybil, I can't help
thinking that Hale knows something about this. He saw me in the chapel
an hour ago and said that he would make a statement to the effect that
he had paid me the money if I would give you up and marry his sister."
Sybil's eyes flashed. "How dare he?" she cried. "He wants to drive you
into a corner, Leo. What did you say?"
"I refused to have anything to do with him, dear. He can join with your
father in having me arrested for all I care. I would rather that than
give up my Sybil! But you see the position. What is to be done?"
"Can't you go to London and see this man Penny?"
"No. I dare not leave the place. Your father and the others would think
that I was seeking safety in flight. I might be arrested before I got as
far as Portfront. I don't say that your father would go so far but there
is always the chance. I am sure Mrs Gabriel would not counsel mercy. For
some unaccountable reason she hates me thoroughly."
"My poor Leo!" Sybil stroked his cheek. "Fate is very cruel to you. But
never mind. In spite of everything I will be true to you. And what is
more, Leo, I'll help you to prove your innocence."
"How can you do that, my love?"
She pursed up her pretty mouth, and, crossing her slender feet, looked
on the ground with an air of portentous gravity. "I don't believe this
story of Mrs Jeal's," she said; "there is something behind it. As you
cannot go to London--and I see it would be foolish of you to go away
from Colester at present--we must do the best we can through the
newspapers."
Leo looked at her in surprise, and knelt beside her. "What can we do
with the newspapers, darling?"
"Put an advertisement in every London daily paper saying that the cup
has been lost, giving a description, and offering a reward if any
information is given to _me_."
"To _you_, Sybil! What would your father say?"
"He won't know. Besides, Leo, darling, you are more to me even than my
father, and I am angry at the unjust way in which you are being treated.
I will write out a number of these advertisements, and send them up with
post-office orders. The replies to be sent to 'S. T. Colester
Post-office.'"
"But what good will that do?"
"Oh, you stupid darling! I have to think for two, I see. Why, this
pawnbroker--what is his name?--Penny. Well, if Penny sees the
advertisement, he will recognise the cup from the description, and know
that it has been stolen. He will be afraid of getting into trouble with
the police, and he no doubt will write saying that the cup was pawned
with him and that he will be willing to sell it back for the price
paid. Then we'll get it back, Leo. When I am certain, I'll tell my
father, and he will arrange about buying it again."
"Yes. But how does all this benefit me?"
"This Penny creature will explain who pawned it, and he will give the
name of the person Mrs Jeal said resembled you. He might do that if the
matter were made public by advertisement. If we approach him privately
he will very likely deny everything. We can't be too careful, Leo."
"But the reward," said Haverleigh, puzzled. "I have no money; you have
no money. What will you do?"
"When the cup is back, or if information is given likely to recover it,
I am sure my father can arrange about the money with Mrs Gabriel. Now do
not say a word, Leo. She has nothing to do with you now. And, after
all," added Sybil, naïvely, "I don't see why any money need pass. This
is a trap I am laying for that pawnbroker. That is if Mrs Jeal's story
is true, which I am inclined to doubt. I'll put the advertisement in on
chance, Leo, and see what comes of it."
"But it is such a mad idea," remonstrated the young man, who could not
follow all these feminine arguments. "Let me tell Pratt about your
suggestion. He will be able to advise us."
Sybil rose to her feet and shook her head obstinately. "If you say a
word to Mr Pratt I'll never forgive you. Let me try this experiment all
alone, Leo, dear. It can do no harm, and it might do a lot of good. We
must not tell anyone about it."
"Sybil, I kept the fact of my borrowing that money from Hale a secret,
and I have regretted it ever since. Let us ask Pratt's advice."
"No, Leo." Sybil was still obstinate. "I want to try this myself. If it
fails it can do no harm, and if it succeeds I shall have the joy of
knowing that it was I who got you out of this trouble. Now promise not
to tell!"
At first Leo refused. He did not want Sybil to mix herself up in this
disagreeable case even for his sake. But she used such endearments, and
kept to her point with such pertinacity, that he gave in. It was useless
to contend against Sybil when she set her heart on getting anything. She
never would give in, however discouraged. Therefore, before she left the
library, she had drawn out an advertisement with the assistance of Leo,
in which the appearance of the cup and its Latin inscription were
carefully set down. A reward of fifty pounds was offered, and the
answers were to be sent to S. T., at the Colester Post-office.
"There!" said Sybil, when this document was completed, "I have set my
trap. Now we shall see who will fall into it. I'll make a dozen copies
at once, and have them sent off by to-morrow. Not a word, Leo, about
this."
"I will be silent, as I have promised. All the same, I do not feel
comfortable about your experiment. To tell you the truth, Sybil, I can't
see the sense of it. Now, don't look angry, dear. I know it is all done
out of love for me."
"I am not sure that you deserve my love," pouted Sybil as he escorted
her to the door. "You place all kinds of obstacles in my way!"
She was rather angry, for her heart was fully taken up with the
magnificence of her scheme. However, Leo managed to calm her, and gain
her forgiveness. He was quite unaware of what he had done wrong. But
Sybil said that he had behaved disgracefully, so he apologised. Then she
said that she was a wicked girl, and after kissing him ran away. All
this was very foolish, but very sweet. Leo often recalled that interview
to her in after days, and they both agreed that they behaved like two
most sensible people. But at present Leo was too sad to enjoy the stolen
meeting as a true and loyal lover should have done.
That same night the sea-fog rolled up thick and white. Mr Pratt did not
return home, at which non-arrival Adam was not surprised. Mr Pratt was
too fond of his creature comforts to drive twenty miles through a damp
and clinging mist. Leo had the whole house to himself, and Adam, who
thought a good deal of him, did his best to make him comfortable. He
consulted with the cook and gave Leo a capital little dinner, together
with a bottle of superfine Burgundy. Then he supplied him with cigars of
the best and coffee of the finest, and left him comfortably seated
before the drawing-room fire. Under these circumstances Leo felt happier
than he had expected, seeing at what a low ebb his fortunes were.
The position of the unfortunate young man was undeniably hard. Here he
was, deserted by his aunt, Mrs Gabriel. She had taken him up, brought
him up to expect a large fortune, and then, for no cause at all, had
suddenly cast him out on the world to earn his own living as best he
could. And in addition to this, although it was hardship enough, poor
Leo's character was gone. He was accused of a sordid crime, and might
have to answer for it to the law. He did not see what defence he could
make. Certainly, if he acceded to Hale's terms, he could vindicate his
position in some measure by accounting for the sum of money he had used
to pay his debts. But in this case Sybil would be lost to him. And what
would life be without Sybil? Altogether, Leo was in low spirits, in
spite of the fire and the Burgundy, and the memory of that charming
interview. But it was no use lamenting, as he very truly observed to
himself, so he tried to shake off the feeling of depression and went to
bed. He was young, the world was large, and he hoped in some way or
another to sail out of these troubled waters into a peaceful haven. Hope
was the silver lining to his cloud of black despair.
Meanwhile, Raston had written to his friend Marton a full account of the
loss of the cup, of the accusation by Mrs Jeal of Leo, and of the
suspicions entertained by the villagers concerning the probity of the
young man. For some days he heard nothing. Then one evening Marton
himself arrived unexpectedly at Colester. He went at once to the
curate's lodgings and was received with great surprise.
"My dear Marton, this is an unexpected pleasure," said Raston, assisting
his distinguished visitor to pull off his coat. "I thought you would
have written to me about your visit to Penny."
"I didn't go there," replied Marton, with a laugh. "The fact is, Harold,
I cannot quite understand this case. You have not explained matters
clearly enough in your letter. I have set a detective to watch Penny and
Penny's shop, and I have come down to hear all details from your own
worshipful lips. But what a foggy sort of place you have here! I have
been driving in your mail-coach through a kind of cotton-wool. The guard
thought we would never reach Colester. I felt like a character of
Dickens in that coach. You are a primitive people here. Do you know I
rather like it!"
Marton was a tall, slim, black-haired man, neatly dressed in a tweed
suit. He constantly smoked cigarettes, and maintained a perfectly calm
demeanour. No one ever saw Marton excited. His face was clean-shaven,
and his grey eyes were sharp and piercing. He looked what he was, a
thorough gentleman, and a remarkably shrewd, clever man. His fame as a
detective is so well known that it need hardly be mentioned.
"I must get you something to eat," said Raston.
"No. I dined at Portfront before I left. Give me a glass of port, and I
can smoke a cigarette. This fire is comfortable after the fog."
"I have some excellent port, Marton. My dear mother is under the
impression that I am delicate, and keeps me well supplied from my
father's cellar. I don't know what he says to it."
"Being a clergyman, you had better not know," said Marton, dryly. "Your
father had a vocabulary of--There, there, I'll say nothing more. I want
my port, my cigarette, and a full account of this case. It seems to be
an interesting one. I shouldn't have come down otherwise, even for your
sake, my dear Harold. I have just twice as much business on hand as I
can do with. The detective life is not a happy one."
Raston poured out a glass of port and placed it at Marton's elbow. He
watched his friend light a cigarette, and himself filled his well-worn
briar. Then, when they were comfortably established, he related all that
he knew about the case. Marton listened with his eyes on the fire, but
made no observation until the recital was finished. Indeed, even then he
did not seem inclined to talk.
"Well?" said Raston, rather impatiently. "What do you think?"
"Wait a bit, my friend. It is a difficult case. I am not prepared to
give you an opinion straight away. I must ask something about the people
concerned in it first. This Leo Haverleigh? What about him?"
"He is a good man, and perfectly honest. I should as soon have suspected
myself of stealing the cup as Leo. And I have known him for some time."
"Well, if anyone ought to know the truth about a man's character I
should think a clergyman was the person," said Marton. "Is it not Balzac
who says the clergy are all in black because they see the worst side of
human nature? Humph! Have you had to put on mourning for this
Haverleigh?"
"No. He has been a trifle wild, and has got into debt; but otherwise
there is nothing wrong about him. Besides," added the curate, "Miss
Tempest is in love with him, and they are engaged. She is a noble girl,
and would not love a scoundrel."
"Ah!" said Marton, cynically, "I have seen a remark of that sort in
novels, my good man. In real life--But that is neither here nor there. I
should like to meet this young man."
"I can take you with me to-night. He is staying with Mr Pratt at The
Nun's House. It is no very great distance away."
"I can wait till to-morrow, Harold. I have no very great desire to go
out into this dense fog. By the way, who is this Mr Pratt?"
"A newcomer to Colester. He has been here off and on for the last few
months, and has decided to settle here. He is well off, and has
travelled a great deal. His house is beautifully furnished."
"Quite an acquisition to the neighbourhood!" said Marton, drowsily. "I
must make the acquaintance of your people here to-morrow. Just now I
feel inclined to go to bed."
"But tell me your opinion of this case?"
"Well," said Marton, thoughtfully, "from all the evidence you give me it
seems that Haverleigh is guilty."
"No, Marton," replied the curate, "I'll never believe that. And you
forget that he claims to have obtained the money from Sir Frank Hale."
"Well, then, his possession of three hundred pounds is easily proved. I
shall see Sir Frank Hale and question him. With regard to this Mrs Jeal,
her story seems credible enough. I don't suppose she has any enmity
against Haverleigh?"
"No. But she is a woman I neither like nor trust. A demure, cat-like
creature, with a pair of wicked eyes."
"You make me long to see her," said Marton, waking up. "That is just the
sort of person I like to meet. Do you think she may have stolen this cup
herself, and have invented this wild story to account for the loss? I
have heard of stranger and even more daring things."
"No. That is out of the question, Marton. On the night the cup was
stolen Mrs Jeal was watching beside this sick girl--the mad creature I
have told you about. She is innocent."
"Then I can only say that young Haverleigh seems to be the most likely
person. Only, the evidence against him is so plain that I believe him to
be guiltless. I always mistrust too plain evidence, Raston. It shows
signs of having been prepared. Well, I'll see this young man to-morrow,
and have a chat. I go by the face a great deal. Have you a photograph of
him?"
"No," said the curate on the spur of the moment. "Oh, yes, by the way! I
took a group of our people at a picnic. It is not a bad picture,
although small. You can see the whole lot at a glance."
Raston got out the photograph, and Marton went to the lamp to see it the
more plainly. He glanced at first carelessly at it, then his eyes grew
large, his attention became fixed. At that moment there was a ring at
the door. Marton looked at the clock. "You have a late visitor," he
said.
"A call to see some sick woman probably. Why do you look so closely at
that picture, Marton?"
"There is a face here I know. Who is that?"
Raston looked. "That is the man with whom Haverleigh is staying. Pratt!"
"Pratt?" repeated Marton in a thoughtful tone. "Has he a tattooed star
on his cheek just under the cheek bone?"
"Yes. And he is tattooed on the arm also--the right arm. I expect he had
it done while he was a sailor."
"Oh!" said Marton, dryly, "he says he was a sailor."
"Not to my knowledge; but he has mentioned something of being an amateur
one. Do you know him, Marton?"
"If he is the man I think he is, I know him better than you do, Raston!"
"Then who is--" Raston had just got thus far, when the landlady opened
the door to announce Mr Pratt. "Here is the man himself, Marton."
"Marton!" echoed Pratt, who was standing in the doorway.
"Yes, Mr--Angel," said Marton, looking straight at him.
Pratt stood for just half a moment as though turned into stone. Then he
turned on his heel, and went out of the door and down the stairs as
swiftly as he was able. Without a word Marton darted after him. By the
time he reached the street door Pratt had disappeared in the fog.