BARBARA GIVES US SOME VALUABLE
INFORMATION.
"We thought you were lost," said Bob, and Barbara looked up with a
smile, a sign that she regarded me as a friend.
They had waited dinner for me, and I was surprised to see on the table
quite an imposing array of crockery.
"Where does all this come from?" I asked.
"We have made discoveries," replied Bob, giving me a significant look.
"Barbara here had no idea what was in the house, which proves that she
is not one of the prying kind. All sorts of things have been bundled
out of sight in odd nooks and corners, crockery, cutlery, table linen,
and goodness only knows what. We have made another room ready for
Barbara to sleep in to-night; it is on the same floor as this, and she
says she is not afraid."
"Not a bit," said Barbara, "now I aint in the 'ouse alone."
"And she's going to bed early," added Bob.
"As soon as ever you tell me," said Barbara.
The dinner they had prepared was not at all a bad one, and I was
hungry enough to enjoy a much worse fare. To Barbara it was a
veritable feast, and she did as much justice to it as she had done to
the breakfast. The moment we finished she jumped up, and took the
plates and dishes to her own room where she washed them up.
"You have something to tell me, Bob," I said, taking advantage of her
absence.
"I have. You have something in your budget, too."
"Yes."
"We will wait till Barbara has gone to bed; we can talk more freely
then."
"I have a question to ask her first," I said.
"I also want a little information from her, the meaning of which you
will understand when we are alone for the night." The little girl
entering at this moment, Bob turned his attention to her. "Barbara,
was your sister fond of dress?"
"Lor', sir," answered Barbara. "Aint all gals fond of it? She used to
say if she was a lady she'd allus dress in silk."
"Do you recollect what frock she wore when you saw her last?"
"It was a cotton frock, sir--pink, with little flowers on it. Miss
Beatrice give it to 'er."
"You would know it again, I suppose, if you saw it?"
"In course I should know it, sir, 'cause Molly'd be in it."
"But it would be worn out by this time, Barbara."
"Yes, sir, it would. I didn't think of that."
"Do you recollect the dress that Miss Beatrice wore when you saw her
last?"
"I should think I do, sir; it _was_ a beauty. A gray silk, it wos,
with steel trimmin's. She looked lovely in it, she did."
Bob conveyed in a glance at me that he had no further questions to
ask, and I took up the cue.
"You have a good memory, Barbara, and I dare say you can give me a
description of Mr. Nisbet. You told us he was not a nice looking
gentleman."
"Not at all, sir, though he did 'ave a 'igh fore'ead. 'E 'ad a look
like ice in his eyes."
"What color were they?"
"A kind of cold blue; and 'e 'ad a red beard and mustache."
"A tall gentleman, Barbara?"
"Yes, sir. 'E didn't have no 'at on when 'e came into the kitching,
and I sor that 'is 'ead wos bald in the middle, and was flattish at
the top. As 'e looked round the kitching 'e put a pair of gold
spectacles on, and when they wosn't on 'is eye 'e was allus a-dangling
'em with 'is fingers, twiddling 'em about like."
"You don't seem to have liked his looks?"
"I didn't, sir; there was something about 'im that made my 'eart's
blood run cold. I pitied Miss Beatrice, I did."
"For any particular reason, Barbara?"
"Not as I knows on, sir, but I thought to myself, 'I shouldn't like to
'ave a father like that; I'd rather 'ave none at all.'"
"What did your sister Molly think of him?"
"She didn't care for 'im no more than I did, but she didn't say much
about 'im. It's my belief she wos frightened of 'im. She told me a
funny thing once."
"Yes?"
"She sed that sometimes when he looked at 'er she felt as if she
couldn't move or speak of her own accord. 'Barbara,' she sed to me,
'it's my opinion that if 'e ordered me to go up to the roof and stand
on the top of one of the chimbley pots I should go and do it without a
single word.' But he allus spoke soft to 'er, she sed."
"Thank you, Barbara; and now it will be best for you to get to bed.
Last night was a broken night, and you must be tired."
Wishing us good-night the girl went to her room, and when I opened her
door a few minutes afterward she was fast asleep.
Then, before asking Bob to speak of what was on his mind, I related my
own adventures. He was greatly excited at my description of Dr. Cooper
and the supposititious case he had put to me, and also at the news of
Mr. Oliver Nisbet being in London.
"There's never smoke without a fire," he said. "Dr. Cooper was not
drawing upon his imagination when he spoke about poisons and sleeping
draughts, and of a poor doctor being called in to testify to a death
of which he knew less than nothing. It happened, Ned! it happened; it
fits in with what occurred in this house. He supplied the proof in the
last words he spoke to you--'there's such a thing as cremation.' It is
as clear as the noonday sun. Mr. Nisbet wanted a doctor's certificate
of death; he calls in Dr. Cooper and obtains what he requires, in the
exact shape he desires, for the payment of a few guineas and the
promise of a further reward which has never been fulfilled. What is
the consequence? This wretched pettifogger bears an animosity against
his employer, which may perhaps be turned to good account--though
whether he babbles when sober as he does when he is in his cups
remains to be seen. He must not be lost sight of."
"He shall not be. I am thinking whether it will be advisable to put
the inquiry agent on his track."
"We can decide nothing as yet, but the thing is moving, that's one
comfort. Every day, almost every hour, some new feature seems to come
to light. What are you doing?"
"Writing the description of Mr. Nisbet's personal appearance with
which Barbara supplied us. I promised to let Mr. Dickson have it as
soon as possible, and I shall post it to him to-night. Now for your
news, Bob."
"Almost as important as yours. When you left us I commenced to make a
thorough examination of the house, as I said I would. Barbara assisted
me. I examined every room, every cupboard, and found a lot of things
which had apparently been thrown away in haste. These discoveries gave
point to an observation I have already made to you--that it is strange
the last tenant did not call in a broker and dispose of articles for
which he had no use, as he evidently had no intention of occupying the
house. Barbara was much surprised at our discoveries, and I shouldn't
wonder, honest as I believe the child to be, if the idea occurred to
her that she might have made use of the property from time to time to
relieve her poverty. However, that is neither here nor there, and I
may be doing Barbara an injustice. We had occupied some time in our
search, when it became necessary to devote attention to the
preparation of dinner, so I sent the girl away, and continued to poke
about alone. It was well I did so, for I made what I conceive to be a
startling discovery. On the floor above this there are two attics,
presumably intended for servants' bedrooms. There is a rather large
landing, and in the wall of this landing I observed two low doors.
Opening them, I found that they were cupboards for the receptacle of
lumber; they extend far into the outer wall of the house. It was in
one of these cupboards, at the extreme end, that I made my startling
discovery. What kind of dress did Barbara say that Miss Beatrice wore
when she last saw her?"
"A gray silk, with steel trimmings."
Bob went to a corner of the room and brought forward a large bundle.
"Here it is."
There it was, sure enough--a very beautiful dress, perfectly made, of
expensive material.
"Observe," said Bob, "this is not a dress which has served its day,
and which it is at all probable the wearer voluntarily discarded. It
is almost new, and could have been worn but a few times. I put this
aside, and I produce every other article of a lady's attire--silk
stockings, shoes, petticoats, mantle, hat. I produce also a lady's
nightdress, and every other requisite--the outfit is complete. All
these articles are in good condition; the stockings show no signs of
wear, the shoes are nearly new, the mantle must have cost a fair sum
of money. To whom did these clothes belong?"
"To Miss Beatrice."
"Yes, to Miss Beatrice. What did Barbara say was her sister's favorite
dress?"
"A pink cotton, with little flowers on it."
"Here it is." He produced it. "And also every other article worn by a
young woman in Molly's station in life. Nightdress as well. The two
outfits, complete in every particular. Now, a singular feature in this
discovery is that these things were not thrust hurriedly and hastily
into the cupboard. Each article that could be folded was carefully
folded, and each costume was carefully packed and wrapped in thick
brown paper. Time and attention has been devoted to the task, and
there must have been an underlying motive in the care that was
exercised in its accomplishment. What was this motive, and how are we
to act? My firm opinion is that Mr. Nisbet's hands are responsible for
the packing of these clothes. Ordinarily a man could be careless of
such things, and would not waste his time upon them. The conjectures
that present themselves are so extraordinary that I cannot reduce them
to order or reason, but I have an odd conviction--for which I can give
you no explanation--that we are on the threshold of further
disclosures. What is the next step, Ned?"
"There are several," I replied, "and we will speak of them. First, let
me tell you that it is my intention to keep watch on this house."
"To reside here?"
"For a time. To eat, and drink, and sleep here, and to be absent from
the house as little as possible."
Bob interrupted me by asking if the apparition of the cat was in the
room.
"It is on the hearthrug," I replied, "seemingly waiting, as we are
waiting, for developments." Then I continued speaking of the realities
of the position. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you to keep me
company here this week, after your office work is over?"
"It is not too much to expect; I should have proposed it myself if you
had not suggested it. Every evening, directly my work is done, I will
come and join you."
"You are a good fellow. I intend to be very careful in my movements,
and, so far as possible, not to let it be known that the house is
occupied. I do not wish Barbara to remain. We must find a home for her
somewhere, and we must pledge her to secrecy. I would take her to my
own house, but at present I do not consider it prudent to do so. My
wife is an inquisitive woman, and something might leak out; besides,
in order that my time may be perfectly free, I intend to send her into
the country for a fortnight; she shall go to-morrow. I can easily find
an excuse for not accompanying her. You lodge in a quiet part of
London, and you have spoken in praise of your landlady. Would she, for
a consideration, give Barbara board and lodging for a little while?"
"No doubt she would. In fact, I think she is looking for a girl to
assist her in the house."
"Very well. At what hour in the morning are you due at your office?"
"Half-past nine."
"Then you will be able, if you leave here at about seven or half-past,
to take Barbara to Canonbury, and get to the office in time."
"Yes, I can do that, and in the evening I will join you."
"Thanks. The next thing is about your nephew, Ronald. It appears to me
to be almost an act of treachery to conceal from him what has
occurred."
"What good purpose would be served," asked Bob, "by disclosing it to
him? He is blind, and could not assist us. By and by, perhaps, he may
be of use, though I do not see in what way; at present it would only
distress him to let him into the secret."
"We will wait, then; but I shall call upon him to-morrow and have a
little chat with him about Mr. Nisbet. It will be a busy day for all
of us, and I shall be absent from the house till evening, but you will
find me here when you come. Another thing that is in my mind is
whether there is any special motive for Mr. Nisbet's return to
London--any special motive, I mean, in relation to this mystery."
"Impossible to say, Ned."
"That is so. Well, we must wait. Now I think we have threshed matters
out, and we will get to bed. I will just run out and post my letter to
Mr. Dickson, and this exciting day's work will be over."
We were all up next morning before seven o'clock, and after a hasty
breakfast I told Barbara of our plans with respect to her. She was
quite willing, and expressed her gratitude; her only trouble was about
her sister Molly, who, she said, might come to the house in search for
her when she was absent. It was not difficult to set her mind at ease
upon this point, and she departed with Bob in perfect contentment.
The first call I made--at ten o'clock--was upon Mr. Dickson. He had
received my letter, and he informed me that the description I had
given of Mr. Oliver Nisbet tallied exactly with that gentleman's
appearance. He had not ascertained from what part of the Continent Mr.
Nisbet had come, but he had learned that he had been abroad for some
time past. Our relations with each other being now on a more
confidential footing, I spoke to him about Dr. Cooper, and instructed
him to keep his eye on the pettifogger. From his office I proceeded to
the residence of Ronald Elsdale, and opened up a conversation with
him, leading artfully to the subject upon which I desired information.
"From certain events that have transpired lately," I said, "I am
curious to learn something more of his character. Were you aware at
the time of your intimacy with him that his stepdaughter was heiress
to a large fortune?"
No, he answered, he was not aware of it. From the manner in which they
traveled he judged Mr. Nisbet to be a man of means, but he knew
nothing further.
"Respecting his acquirements," I said. "Was he of a scientific turn of
mind?"
"He was fond of chemistry, I believe," said Ronald, "and of
experimentalizing. Your question brings to my mind a conversation
which took place at _table d'hôte_ when we were in Chamounix. It was
on the subject of anæsthetics, and the effect of certain poisonous
chemicals upon different temperaments. I fancy that Mr. Nisbet was at
first disinclined to take part in the discussion, but a remark escaped
him which was disputed by a person at the table, and he grew warm, and
spoke with authority upon the subject, with which he was evidently
familiar. It was the only occasion upon which I heard him speak
freely, and I think he was not pleased at having been drawn into the
conversation, for he stopped suddenly in the middle of a sentence, and
left the room. Beatrice told me afterward that he was very clever in
those matters, and that on occasions when she had passed a sleepless
night from toothache or some other ailment, he had given her a draught
which produced a good night's rest. I recollect now that she related
an incident which strangely interested me. She had been restless and
in pain for two or three days, and her stepfather prescribed for her.
When she awoke in the morning her pain had passed away, and she was
quite well physically, but a singular thing happened to her. She had
lost her memory. She could not recall what happened yesterday or the
day before, and she said with a smile that it was with difficulty she
remembered her name. Gradually her power of memory came back to her,
and she recollected everything perfectly."
"Did this occur to her again, Mr. Elsdale?"
"So far as I know it occurred only once. I suppose you will not tell
me why you are asking these questions, Mr. Emery?"
"Not yet; and I am going to ask you two more. Do you believe that you
will ever see the young lady again?"
"See her? No. How can I? You forget that I am blind. But I have the
firmest belief that I shall come into association with her again."
"In life?"
"In life," he replied gravely.
"My other question is this. On former occasions, when we were in each
other's company, your uncle being present, you have had an impression
that there was a dog, or some other living creature, in the room. Have
you such an impression now?"
"No." (I may mention that the apparition of the cat was not visible to
me.) "I know, Mr. Emery, that you must think I am laboring under some
hallucination, but I cannot help that. You must take me as you find
me, and make the best, and not the worst, of me. I have an engagement
with a pupil, and you will excuse me now."
I had studied the time-tables, and, it being twelve o'clock, it was
safe for me to present myself to my poor deluded wife. On my way home
I met with another adventure. There was a block of vehicles in the
road, and cabs, omnibuses, and carts were waiting for the policeman's
instruction to proceed. In one of these cabs, a hansom, a gentleman
was sitting whom I immediately recognized as Mr. Oliver Nisbet. He had
a red beard and mustache, he had a high forehead, his eyes were of a
cold blue, and he was impatiently dangling a pair of gold-rimmed
eyeglasses between his fingers. The faithfulness of Barbara's
description rather startled me, and I should scarcely have been
surprised if he had accosted me. But I was a stranger to him, and he
took no notice of me; this gave me the opportunity of observing him
closely, and I was confident that I was not mistaken. What
particularly struck me was the steely blue of his eyes; there seemed
to be a compelling power in them which strangely affected me, and I
could not help thinking that I should not relish coming under their
influence. The policeman stood aside, and the vehicles passed on. In a
moment or two he was out of sight.
My wife opened the door for me, and kissed me affectionately.
"Have you enjoyed yourself?" she asked.
"Immensely," I replied, with a guilty feeling.
"I am glad to hear it," was her response, "though I must say, Edward,
you don't look much the better for the trip."
"That is only your fancy, Maria. It has done me so much good that I
want you to spend a couple of weeks in Brighton."
"I shall be very glad of the change. When shall we start?"
"I cannot go with you," I said, "as I have business to attend to in
London. You can easily get a lady friend to accompany you, and I will
be responsible for all the expenses. Maria, I insist upon it. You are
pale, you are out of sorts, and the change will set you up. I intend
to exercise my authority, and to insist upon it."
"You are very kind; but----"
"I will have no 'buts.' It has to be done, and done it shall be."
And I was so determined that done it was. I did not leave home till I
had seen Maria and a lady friend off; then, and then only, did I look
upon myself as free. If the necessity arose I could easily keep her
away for a longer time than two weeks.
Once more I set my face toward Lamb's Terrace, riding in a cab, and
furnished with provisions, in the shape of a cooked ham, a supply of
chops, bread, butter, tea, and everything that was necessary to
victual the garrison. I took the things with me in a hamper, and at
the corner of the desolate thoroughfare I discharged the cab, and
carried the hamper to the house.
It is necessary here to mention what I did before I left the house in
the morning. I can give no reason for my proceedings, and therefore I
must content myself with relating what it was I did. The two dresses
found in the attic cupboard I repacked carefully in their wrapping of
brown paper, and replaced them in the cupboard. I locked the two rooms
which had been occupied by Bob and me and Barbara, and I removed all
traces of any persons having been in the house. Again, I say, I do not
know why I adopted these apparently unnecessary precautions; I must
have been mysteriously prompted, as I had been on other occasions in
the course of my strange adventures.
I did not expect Bob for an hour, and I busied myself with arranging
the supply of food I had brought with me. Then I went to the attic
cupboard, with the intention of bringing down the women's garments I
had discovered there. To my astonishment they were gone. Some person
had been in the house during my absence, and had taken them away.