JEREMIAH IN TRIBULATION.
Jeremiah Pamflett, owing the book-maker with whom he made his bets at
Doncaster over three thousand pounds, very soon made the disagreeable
discovery that Captain Ablewhite had played him false. He had made no
arrangement with the book-maker to give Jeremiah time to settle, and
Jeremiah himself personally was compelled to arrange with the man to
whom he owed so large an amount of money. He found it no easy task. The
book-maker bullied and blustered and threatened exposure, and the result
was that Jeremiah had to part not only with acceptances of his own by
which he was bound to pay sums at stated periods, but also with all the
securities he held on his own account from persons with whom he had had
private business. Among these acceptances was Mr. Lethbridge's for three
hundred pounds, which Jeremiah had discounted for Kiss and the dramatic
author, and which in a very short time would be due.
The terror of this acceptance weighed most heavily upon Uncle Leth. As
the day approached upon which it was necessary it should be paid, his
fears increased to an almost unbearable pitch. He had written to
Jeremiah Pamflett asking for renewal, and the answer he received was to
the effect that the acceptance was in the hands of another person, and
that it would have to be paid on the day of maturity. The reason of
Uncle Leth writing this letter to Jeremiah was that in interviews with
Kiss and Mr. Linton they mournfully declared their inability to raise
the smallest sum to help Uncle Leth in his difficulty. They were
overwhelmed with self-reproaches, but this did not help Uncle Leth in
his difficulty, nor stave off impending ruin. Uncle Leth had succeeded
in discovering the name of the man who held the bill; he had appealed to
him in vain for renewal. "The acceptance will have to be met," said the
book-maker. "If it is not, I shall sell you up. I have ascertained that
you hold a responsible position in a bank. Ask the manager to advance
you the money if you happen to be short yourself."
To ask the bank manager to assist him in paying an acceptance held by a
racing man would be to ask for his dismissal. It would be tantamount to
a confession that he had been indulging in that worst of vices--betting
on horses.
Uncle Leth had confided to his wife, and she, although she strove to
comfort him, was terrified at the prospect. She had thought of Fred
Cornwall, but she knew, from the young man's own indirect admissions,
that he was not in a position to assist them. He knew nothing of the
acceptance, and therefore could make no reference to it in his
confidences with Aunt Leth. "It is an uphill fight," he had said
cheerfully to her; "but I shall come out a victor in the end. At
present, dear Aunt Leth, it is a tight fit." After this how could she
make an appeal to him to help them out of their trouble? Meanwhile the
day was approaching nearer and nearer.
It was Tuesday. On Wednesday, the following day, the acceptance was due,
and Uncle Leth would have to meet it or go to the wall. The dear old
home would be sold up, and they would be turned into the streets. The
tears that ran down Aunt Leth's face were like tears of blood from her
heart.
On this Tuesday it was that consternation seized upon Jeremiah Pamflett,
and furious anger raged in Miser Farebrother's heart. The cause of these
emotions was a newspaper article, which is here transcribed. It was
headed:
"A STRANGE AFFAIR--THE BITERS BIT."
"A singular discovery has just come to light, and is in the hands of the
police. Everybody is acquainted with the name of the wealthy miner from
California, Mr. Quinlan, whose income is said to be not less than half a
million a year. His name and his doings have been for a long time past
in everybody's mouth. He is of humble origin, and his eccentricities may
be accounted for by the fact of his having come into a marvellous
fortune, the spending of the income of which would be a tax upon the
ablest man in creation. It may be remembered that his wife died a
couple of years since, and that last year he contracted a second
marriage with an indifferent actress, whose extravagances in her new
position have drawn attention to her in every city she and her husband
have visited. The finest horses, the finest equipages, the finest
dresses, the finest diamonds, the finest everything, in short, that cost
vast sums of money. There came to the ears of Mrs. Quinlan and her
too-generous husband that a diamond bracelet of rare--nay, of
fabulous--value was in the market. The stones were of a monstrous size
and of the purest colour. The price asked for this bracelet was no less
than sixty thousand pounds. The stones alone, if sold singly, were
valued by experts at considerably more than thirty thousand. To obtain
possession of an ornament so rare and costly was a natural desire on the
part of Mrs. Quinlan, and to her husband was a bagatelle. What are sixty
thousand pounds to a man upon whom money continues to roll in a manner
so bewildering? The upshot of the negotiations was that the bracelet was
purchased and paid for, and Mrs. Quinlan the happy possessor.
"About four weeks ago Mr. and Mrs. Quinlan, with their retinue and
treasures, arrived at the Langham Hotel, with the intention of stopping
there for two or three days. But fate willed it otherwise. Mrs. Quinlan
was taken ill, and was confined to her bed. So serious was her illness
that she was a prisoner in her bedroom for more than three weeks. Mr.
Quinlan did not remain in attendance upon her the whole of this time. He
had business which took him frequently to Paris and other places;
consequently, for a greater part of the time during which his wife was
suffering, he was an absentee.
"Among Mrs. Quinlan's serving-women was one of great attractions, and
who was a special favourite with her mistress. This young woman's name
is Alice Frost. She had the entire confidence of her mistress, and, as
events have proved, was unworthy of it. To her was intrusted, during
Mrs. Quinlan's sickness, the charge of the lady's jewels, which were
kept in a very substantial safe in Mrs. Quinlan's bedroom. It was often
impressed upon Mrs. Quinlan that she was imprudent to carry so much
valuable property about with her; but she disregarded these hints, and
took her pleasures in her own way. One of these pleasures, in the
course of her illness, was to have all her jewels and ornaments spread
out before her on her bed, and to handle and gaze upon them. We hold
that she was sensible in this, for what is the use of buried treasure?
The servant who took these priceless gems from the safe for the
inspection of her mistress was Alice Frost.
"Suddenly Alice Frost disappears. She is not discharged, she is not
sick, she is not in disgrace; she simply disappears. Mrs. Quinlan, much
distressed at the loss of so great a favourite, calls in a private
detective. He listens to all that Mrs. Quinlan can impart to him, and
when she has finished, remarks, 'She has run away.'
"'Impossible,' says Mrs. Quinlan. 'Why should she run away? Somebody has
carried her off. She is very good-looking.'
"Says the detective, 'She had charge of your jewellery?'
"'To some extent,' says Mrs. Quinlan. 'But it is all kept in the safe
there.'
"'Would you have any objection to our looking through it,' says the
detective, 'and seeing that nothing is missing?'
"'No objection whatever,' says Mrs. Quinlan.
"Whereupon the safe is unlocked, and the treasures laid forth. With one
exception it is all correct. Nothing is missing but the wonderful
diamond bracelet. That is gone.
"'It accounts,' remarked the detective, 'for the disappearance of Alice
Frost.'
"Mrs. Quinlan fell back speechless, and, when she recovered, bade the
detective track Alice Frost and the sixty-thousand-pound bracelet.
"What has been discovered is this: Alice Frost disappeared one Friday
night. Presumably the diamond bracelet also disappeared at the same
time.
"What occurred in or about the Langham Hotel on that night which may
afford a clue to the discovery of the robber or robbers?
"On that night the policeman on duty observed a man walking on the
opposite side of the road for a space of a couple of hours. This man did
nothing but walk slowly up and down, keeping as much as possible in the
dark, and looking for some person he was waiting for. The policeman on
duty passed him on three occasions, and although the man endeavoured to
avoid him, he obtained a good view of his features. He will be able to
recognize the man.
"At half past eleven a woman came out of the Langham, and went over to
the man. The policeman on duty saw this movement, but is not sure that
he will be able to identify the woman. Of the man he _is_ sure.
"The woman spoke to the man behind his back. The man did not turn his
face. She slipped a parcel into his hands, and walked rapidly away.
Almost immediately the man was joined by another in an Inverness cape,
and the two walked away together. The policeman on duty saw nothing more
of them. From the manner in which they walked away together there is no
doubt that they were intimately acquainted with each other, and that
they were confederates. So far, the policeman; now for the next
evidence.
"As near as the cabman can remember, driver of a four-wheeler, it was
within a few minutes of midnight that a man hailed him and bade him come
along. They went a couple of hundred yards and took up a man in an
Inverness cape. The man who hailed the driver gave him half a sovereign
'on account,' and directed him to drive along the Finchley Road. He did
so, and observed while he was driving that the men inside the cab were
lighting matches, which proves that they were examining
something--probably the diamond bracelet. After driving about an hour he
was called upon to stop, and before he had pulled up his horse the man
in the Inverness cape jumped out of the cab and disappeared. Then he was
directed to drive back to London, and he did so, stopping, by orders, in
Portland Place. The man who hailed him first (now the only one remaining
in the cab) alighted, and the cabman noticed that he had a parcel in his
hand. Again the diamond bracelet. The cabman asked for a few shillings
more, reminding his fare that the half-sovereign given to him was 'on
account.' The man said that he was well paid, and refused to part with
anything further. The cabman began to argue with him, but the man did
not stop; he ran off. The cabman's description of his fare tallies with
that of the policeman on duty at the Langham Hotel. The cabman will be
able to identify him.
"In some way which we are not at liberty to divulge, but in which we may
say the good-looking Alice Frost is concerned, the disappearance of a
blackleg going by the name of Captain Ablewhite bears upon the robbery.
It is known that this Captain Ablewhite took the night train on the
following Tuesday to Dover. Nothing further is at present discovered of
him.
"Now comes the piquant feature in the robbery.
"To Mr. Quinlan, who arrived at the Langham Hotel after the discovery of
the robbery, the detective narrated all the particulars of the affair.
Mr. Quinlan laughed. His wife asked him what he was laughing at.
"'My dear,' he said to her, 'the loss is not so great as you suppose.
Your diamond bracelet is safe.'
"'Safe!' she cried.
"'Here it is.' He pulled it from his pocket. 'The fact is, you would not
be persuaded that it was imprudent to travel with so much valuable
property about you, and I therefore took the precaution of having a
bracelet made exactly like this. All _the stones in the bracelet that is
stolen are false_!'
"An agreeable contemplation for the robbers. The biters are bit.
"The affair is in the hands of the detectives in Scotland Yard, who are
confident that they will be able to track the robbers."
* * * * *
This newspaper article it was that struck consternation to the heart of
Jeremiah Pamflett. He turned hot and cold. First he was clammy; the next
moment he broke out into a hot perspiration. He had been swindled,
tricked, betrayed; he, the wretched, depraved thief, had fallen amongst
thieves. He, the sharper, had been sharped. Truly, the biter was bit!
What should he do? How was he to act in order to insure his safety? The
policeman who had been on duty at the Langham Hotel on that Friday night
said that he could identify him. The cabman he had engaged said the
same. If he had had a sufficient sum of money he would have flown the
country, but he had been compelled on that day to make a payment to the
book-maker who held his acceptances for his losses at Doncaster, and he
had not enough left to pay his fare to the Continent. And what would be
the use of his going there if he had? He could not live without money;
he did not understand a word of any other language than English; and he
would be sure to be tracked and brought back. His flight would make it
worse for him; it would be an admission of guilt. Should he stop and
brave it out? Upon reflection he gained a little courage. He argued with
himself, despite the policeman's and the cabman's declarations that they
could identify him, that it was scarcely possible they could do so
unless he betrayed himself. He had been at great trouble to conceal his
features from the policeman's scrutiny, and it only required him to put
a good face on the matter to brazen it out; to so confuse the man, even
if he came into contact with him, that he would pass unnoticed. But
there was no occasion for him to come into contact with the policeman.
He would keep out of the way, and the affair would blow over. Captain
Ablewhite would not, could not, come back. The mere thought of Captain
Ablewhite roused him to fury. He looked blindly round for something to
strangle. If the bland, smiling Captain were before him now! If he
could meet him in some dark place! All surrounding objects seemed to be
swimming in blood.
He ran into his bedroom, and filling the wash-hand basin with cold
water, plunged his head into it. The action recalled him to his calmer
self. Notwithstanding which, he said aloud, with a cunning smile, "I may
find you one day, my Captain, and then, and then!" He clenched his hand
and opened it, and twined his fingers, as though he had them on Captain
Ablewhite's throat.
But there was no telling whether he was in danger or not. What it was
imperatively necessary he should get possession of at once was money, in
order to be prepared. Where could he get it from? Ah, his mother!
He would go down to Parksides immediately. Perhaps he might find Miser
Farebrother's hidden treasure.
He emerged into the streets. As he descended the stairs he saw before
him a vision of blood. Two men struggled for life and death. The house
was very quiet. Only he and the _other man_ occupied space. He tore at
the Shadow's throat, he took a knife from his pocket, he plunged it
in--
Blood, blood everywhere! Above him, beneath him, around him. Again and
again the knife descended. What a delight to punish an enemy so! You
tricked me, you robbed me, you laid snares for me! Take that--and
that--and that!
He laughed aloud before he went into the street, and then he put on a
smug face.
There were a number of persons walking this way and that, but not one
took the slightest notice of him. He nodded to a passing acquaintance,
who nodded back at him, and smiled. He was safe. What cause was there
for fear?
In the sunlight the vision of blood vanished. He was face to face with
the world, and his native cunning asserted itself.
Then he thought he was going down to Parksides to see his mother. He
would have to see Miser Farebrother. He must have some excuse for the
visit. He retraced his steps and went back to the office, arming himself
with account-books, which he took up indiscriminately and made into a
parcel, tying it up with string----
The string was red! Miser Farebrother's offices were very gloomy; the
windows had been frosted, so that no person should see through; a
strange silence prevailed.
As he tied the books together with the string, a streak of blood
appeared, stretched itself along the table, and dropped, drip by drip,
on the floor. Jeremiah held himself in suspense to listen to the
spiritual sound which his mood had brought to his ears. Drip, drip,
drip!
Captain Ablewhite's blood. The policeman's blood. The cabman's blood.
The blood of any person who was his enemy.
Yes, he would crush the life out of them. Like this, like this, like
this! He ground his foot into the floor, and looked down, smiling. Then,
locking the doors and putting the keys into his pocket, he descended the
stairs.
He walked slowly to the street landing. There were not many stairs; but
all the way down he was engaged in the life and death struggle, and all
the space around was bathed in blood. A ruthless ferocity was awakened
within him. His safety, his liberty, his very life was at stake. What
mattered all else? "Every man for himself, and--"
He paused at the next word, "God," against which he mentally strove, and
conquering it, cast a defiant look at the pulsing, bloody shadows which
encompassed him, and threw the street door open.
Once more in the sunlight--and safe! That was the great point. And safe!
He called a cab, a four-wheeler, and looked the driver straight in the
face; then laughed, and directed the man to drive him to the railway
station.