1,000 Pound Reward.
The above-named Sum will be paid to any person giving information which
will lead to the discovery of the whereabouts of a young Englishman
named Richard Grenville, who was last seen at Durban on 15th December,
1877.
Apply to Masterton and Driffield, Advocates, Port Natal.
Facing this striking announcement, and with his back to the Standard
Bank of South Africa, in Durban, stood, one morning in July, 1880, a
wiry-looking, clean-shaved man of about five- or six-and-thirty, dressed
in a rough grey homespun suit.
Man after man paused, read, marked, learned, and, no doubt, inwardly
digested, the contents of the advertisement, then passed on his way
without giving the matter a second thought--beyond, perhaps, half
wishing, in a lazy sort of way, that he knew something about this man
who seemingly was so much wanted by his own people. But our grey-coated
friend still stood there, and appeared to be literally devouring the
announcement.
At length he turned sharply away with a muttered "Hum! It's a big pile.
Five thousand dollars--now, I wonder if--" But here his keen eye noted
the stoppage of another person--a fashionably-dressed man--before the
advertisement, which seemed of considerable personal interest to him,
judging from the way he stared at it, and from the fact that his cigar
dropped from his lips, which mechanically opened with an involuntary
exclamation the moment the wording caught his eye. Quickly recovering
himself, the man glanced keenly at grey-coat, who was, however,
diligently charging his pipe, and then he, too, like his predecessors,
passed on his way.
"Snakes!" muttered our friend. "Now, I wonder who that swell is, and
why this lay startled him so infernally. Reckon I'll have to get you
weighed up before I clear, old chap;" and, lighting his pipe, he moved
briskly away in the direction of Masterton and Driffield's office.
Arrived there, he in due course expressed to a young clerk his desire to
interview one of the principals on the subject of a considerable
interest which he proposed to acquire in certain land at Durban, and
very shortly found himself closeted with Mr Driffield.
"I have called, sir," he said, "to see you regarding this advertisement
of yours for one Richard Grenville, and to learn what further details
you can afford me beyond the information given in the announcement."
Our friend, be it observed, was something of a curiosity. A
thorough-bred Yankee, he seldom or never indulged in "Americanisms" of
any kind except when soliloquising, which he had a singular habit of
doing whilst deducing his own peculiar theories.
"Oh!" said the lawyer, in a somewhat aggrieved tone. "My clerk stated
that you wished to consult me with regard to the purchase of some land.
That advertisement was only printed off last night, and if we have had
one call concerning it, we have already had at least two hundred."
"I didn't choose to let your clerk know my business, or anything about
me, Mr Driffield," replied grey-coat curtly; "but here's my card, sir,
and now let me hear all you've got to say, without further loss of
time."
Mr Driffield took the pasteboard, read it, and stared blankly at the
other, who laughed quietly, and then reached out his hand, which the
lawyer grasped in most unmistakably hearty fashion.
"Why, God bless me, Kenyon," said he, "I should never have known you in
this get-up; but look here, come and dine with me to-night, and we'll go
right into this business. You are the one man I would have chosen for
it out of all the world, and I shall be very much mistaken if I haven't
a good twelve months' work for you. To-night, at seven, at the
Athenaeum, then. And now `good morning,' for I'm up to the eyes in
work. Oh! by the way, Kenyon, if you haven't read this book, do so at
once, there's a good fellow, for it contains a full account of
Grenville's South African adventures, and your perusal of it will
prepare my way, and save me going over most of the old ground again
to-night." So saying, the lawyer dismissed his visitor, who was none
other than Stanforth Kenyon, the keenest and wiliest detective New York
could boast of--a man born to his profession, and consequently an
ornament to it.
At five-and-twenty Kenyon was an unknown, but--having regard to his
literary merit--an overpaid scribbler on one of the big New York
dailies; but now, only ten years later, he was universally admitted to
be the most unerring sleuth-hound of the whole shrewd band of secret
police owning allegiance to Uncle Sam, and whose business in South
Africa at the present time, needless to say, was known only to himself.
At once retaking his way to the hotel he had left that morning, the
detective settled down to read the book in question, ["Into the
Unknown"] and in a few hours' time had mastered its contents, and lay
quietly back in his chair, smoking, and thinking deeply.
After a further hour had been expended in this comforting and, no doubt,
edifying fashion, he took out a well-worn notebook, and wrote several
lines therein in shorthand; then, returning the book to his pocket, he
started out for a stroll, and seven o'clock saw him seated opposite to
the lawyer, and enjoying most thoroughly the excellent dinner provided
for him by that worthy gentleman.
"And now," said Mr Driffield, when the cloth was removed and both men
had lighted their cigars, "let me have your opinion of `Into the
Unknown,' or, rather, as to what extent the events narrated therein may
or may not bear upon the present disappearance of our friend Grenville."
"First," said the detective, calmly begging the question, and taking out
his notebook, "who are you working for, Mr Driffield? I mean," he
added, quickly, "is it some relation of Grenville's who is anxious about
the missing man, or have you yourself any personal interest in the
search?"
"None at all," was the reply. "Let me be quite frank with you, Kenyon.
I am employed by his cousin, Lord Drelincourt, who shared his adventures
amongst the Mormons, and my lord is in no end of a taking about him.
You see, the two men were like twin brothers all their lives, and now
that Lord Drelincourt has lost his wife and child, he feels alone in
life, poor fellow, and would give his whole fortune to have his cousin
by his side."
"How very sad," commented the detective. "So he took poor Dora Winfield
homo only to bury her. How did it all happen?"
"No one knows," said the little lawyer, dropping his voice. "Poor Lady
Drelincourt and her one-year-old boy were found dead in bed one morning,
without even the suspicion of a mark of violence upon them.
"My lord was away from home when it happened, and the shock almost
unseated his reason, and for weeks after the sad event he was down with
brain fever. Though quite a young man, his hair turned snowy-white when
he realised the awful extent of his cruel loss, and awoke from his long
illness only to find that his dead had long been buried out of his
sight. Doctors and detectives were called in at the time, but
everything was in vain. The detectives were hopelessly at fault, and
the only theory the doctors could advance was that mother and child had
been chloroformed to death.
"The servants were old family retainers, and were entirely beyond
suspicion, being all of them passionately devoted to their sweet young
mistress, and bound to their loved master as much by his personal worth
and goodness as by the unbroken ties of voluntary servitude during three
generations.
"And now, Kenyon, will you undertake the case? The reward is already
well worth working for, great though the risks may be; but I can
undertake to _double it_ if you bring our man in alive. You will get a
fine sporting holiday up country, with all expenses liberally provided
for, and in point of fact it is the opportunity of a lifetime--or
perhaps I ought to say that to anyone but yourself it would be such."
The detective sat thinking for awhile, and then said, "See here, Mr
Driffield; this is a large order--a very large order--and I must just
reason the matter out in my own way; but I'll let you have my answer by
or before this time to-morrow. Your man may be only shooting in the far
interior, or camping out in this infernal secret territory of the
Mormons, or he may be--well, elsewhere."
The two then separated for the night, the lawyer going straight to the
telegraph station, and in a few minutes more the submarine cable had the
following message flashing over it:--
"To Drelincourt, London.
"Splendid man probably available; terms, two thousand and expenses.
Shall I secure him?
"Driffield."
Arrived at his hotel, the detective sought his own room, lighted his
pipe, and puzzled over his notebook for upwards of an hour, idly
drumming on the table with his fingers, and listlessly turning over the
leaves pregnant with flotsam and jetsam of criminal interest, and
glancing from time to time in a half-attentive, half-indifferent fashion
at a number of pencilled faces which adorned its earlier pages.
Suddenly, however, his attention became riveted, the man's face seemed
as if turned to stone and his whole expression transformed whilst he
gazed fixedly at one portrait as if unable to believe his eyes.
"Gods!" he cried at last, springing excitedly to his feet; "I have it!
Aha! Master Zero, we shall meet at last, and then look out for
yourself, my friend, for if ever I entertained hatred and malice and all
uncharitableness, it is towards you, and with good cause; and, Heaven
helping me, before next year is out, I'll pay you back a little of the
debt, the fearful debt, I owe you."
Quickly he also proceeded to the cable offices, and a few minutes later
another message--this time in cypher--traversed the ocean depths, as
follows:--
"To Heliostat, New York.
"Kingdom rage offing."