MR. MORGAN'S EXPERIENCES OF THE UNEXPECTED
It was a shock to Mr. Morgan when he learnt that Miss Harding had
quitted Cloverlea without a word to him. At first he could not believe
that she had gone; that she could have gone without his knowledge.
When belief was forced on him his language was unbecoming. While he
was engaged in little matters of a sort which demanded privacy, and
which had to do with the safe storage of certain articles which he had
brought himself to believe were his own property, a wagonette arrived
at the front door, which, the driver explained to the footman who
appeared, had come to fetch Miss Harding. The footman, with the aid of
a colleague, had borne the young lady's belongings down the stairs;
for which she liberally recompensed them with a sovereign apiece; and
she and her possessions were safely away before Mr. Morgan had a
notion she was going. Mr. Morgan abused the footmen for not having
said a word to him; which abuse they, having no longer the fear of him
before their eyes, returned in kind. The butler had to console himself
as best he could.
"Given me the slip, have you, Miss Harding?" That was what he said to
himself. "Very well, my dear, we'll see; I'm not so easily got rid of
as you may perhaps suppose. You're a pretty darling, upon my Sam you
are!"
As soon as circumstances permitted--at Cloverlea there were a great
many things which he thought it desirable that he should do that
day--he went out on a little voyage of discovery. He learnt at the
local station that Miss Harding had not taken a ticket for her home in
the west country; she had not taken a ticket for herself at all, Mr.
Nash had taken one for her, and another for himself; they had gone up
to London in the same compartment, and both had luggage. This news
added to Mr. Morgan's pleasure.
"Dear me, has she? And I meant her to be Mrs. Morgan, and so she would
have been if I'd put on the screw when I'd the chance. As my wife she
might have come to something; but as his wife--I'll show her, and I'll
show him. If she thinks she's going to hand over to him, by way of a
dowry, that nice little lot of money, and leave me out; if that really
is her expectation she'll be treated to another illustration of the
vanity of human wishes. That sweet young wife will have an interrupted
honeymoon."
Mr. Morgan called at an inn which it was his habit to honour with his
custom in quest of something to soothe his ruffled feelings. There he
met a friend, George Wickham, the Holtye head groom. Mr. Wickham had a
grievance, in which respect, if he had only known it, he resembled Mr.
Morgan. It seemed that he was the bearer of letters which had been
addressed to the Hon. Robert Spencer at Holtye, which he was carrying
to that gentleman's actual present address, the Unicorn Hotel,
Baltash. It was supposed to be Mr. Wickham's "night out"; he wanted to
spend his hours of freedom in one direction while Baltash lay in
another.
"Might as well have sent 'em by post, or by one of the other chaps;
but no, nothing would please the old woman"--by "old woman" it is to
be feared that he meant the Countess of Mountdennis--"but that I
should go. I had half a mind to tell her I'd an appointment."
Mr. Morgan was sympathetic; he explained that he was going to Baltash,
and even carried his sympathy so far as to offer to take the letters
for him. The groom hesitated; then decided to take advantage of his
friend's good-nature.
"There's thirteen letters," he pointed out, "five post-cards, four
newspapers, eighteen circulars, and these parcels, about enough to
fill a carrier's cart."
Mr. Morgan laughed.
"I shall make nothing of that little lot," he said. "And I'll charge
nothing for carriage."
On the way to Baltash he leaned against a gate to light a cigar; it
was one of his peculiarities to smoke nothing but cigars; he held that
a pipe was low. When the cigar was lighted he remained a moment to
glance at the letters he was carrying. He noticed that one of them was
from the London offices of a steamship company; the name of the
company was printed on the envelope. While Miss Lindsay had been
talking to Mr. Spencer in the copse on the preceding Sunday morning
Mr. Morgan had been quite close at hand; the lady had supposed that
the noise he made among the undergrowth was caused by a hare or a
rabbit; had Mr. Spencer proceeded to investigate the cause of the
noise the butler would have been discovered in a somewhat ignominious
position. As it was Mr. Morgan, remaining undetected, heard a good
deal that was said; among the things he heard Mr. Spencer's story of
the letter which Donald Lindsay had sent to him at Cairo, which was
only to be opened after the writer's death, which Mr. Spencer had put
in his suit-case, and which suit-case Mr. Spencer had lost, containing
not only Mr. Lindsay's letters, but also some more intimate epistles
from that gentleman's daughter.
Mr. Morgan remembered the story very well; he had a knack of
remembering nearly everything he heard, and he managed to hear a good
deal. He was struck by the fact that the letter which he held in his
hand was from the steamship company by one of whose boats Mr. Spencer
had travelled on his homeward journey; it might contain news of the
missing suit-case. On the other hand, emphatically, it might not.
Still! It is notorious how carelessly some envelopes are fastened.
Here was a case in point; the gummed flap only adhered in one place,
and there so slightly that Mr. Morgan had only to slip the blade of a
penknife underneath and--it came open. It was as he had guessed. The
steamship company wrote to say that the missing suit-case had turned
up. It had strayed among the voluminous luggage of an American family,
where it remained unnoticed until the luggage had been divided up
among the members of the family; the explanation seemed rather lame,
but it appeared it was the only one that steamship company had to
offer. Now the suit-case was at Mr. Spencer's disposition, and the
company would be glad to hear what he wished them to do with it.
As Mr. Morgan enjoyed his cigar, and leaned against the gate, and
looked up at the glories of the evening sky, he indulged in some
philosophical reflections.
"It's an extraordinary world; extraordinary. To think that George
Wickham's burning desire to see that red-headed girl of his at
Addlecombe should have thrown a thing like this right into my hands.
It's quite possible that that suit-case may turn out to be worth more
to me than that nice little sum of money with which Miss Elaine
Harding erroneously supposes she's going to set her husband up in
life. Beyond a shadow of doubt things are managed in a mysterious
way."
Mr. Morgan faithfully delivered those letters at the Unicorn Hotel at
Baltash, with the exception of one letter; and on the morrow he
treated himself to a trip up to town. He took a bedroom at a quiet
hotel in the neighbourhood of the Strand, and he sent a messenger boy
to the steamship company's office with an envelope. In the envelope
was the Hon. Robert Spencer's visiting card; on the back of which was
written--
"Your letter duly received; please give suit-case to bearer."
Some one at the office gave it to the bearer; who took it to the
hotel, where it was sent up to Mr. Spencer's room; it happened that
Mr. Morgan had registered as Robert Spencer. Mr. Morgan opened it with
difficulty; none of his keys fitted the lock, which was of a curious
make; but he did open it; he was an ingenious man. And when he had
opened the suit-case he found that the letter, for whose sake he had
taken so much trouble, was not in it. It was a painful shock; he was
loth to believe that a man of the Hon. Robert Spencer's character
could have played him such a trick; to say nothing of the deceit
which, in that case, he must have practised on Miss Lindsay. He turned
the contents of the case over and over, subjecting each article to a
close examination. No, there was nothing there which in any way
resembled the letter which he had heard Mr. Spencer describe. What was
almost worse, as showing the lover's utter unreliability, there were
none of Miss Lindsay's letters either. Mr. Morgan had distinctly heard
Mr. Spencer tell Miss Lindsay that in his missing suitcase were not
only her father's unopened letter, but also some letters of hers. What
confidence could be placed in the man who, at such a sacred moment,
made such a gross mis-statement to the woman whom he professed to
love? It was dreadful; Mr. Morgan was pained beyond measure. In the
future he would never be able to believe anything he overheard; even
though his ear was glued to the keyhole. He was a dispirited man.
He did not return at once to Cloverlea. As a matter of fact he had
brought with him to town a number of packages of various shapes and
sizes. He had some trouble in removing them from Cloverlea; but he had
removed them, having dared Mr. Guldenheim and his friends and minions
to do anything to try to stop him. He devoted a few days to the
bestowal of these trophies in a safe place. When he did return to
Cloverlea he put up at the village inn, whence he kept an eye on the
doings of the neighbourhood. Having succeeded in screwing out of Mr.
Guldenheim more than was due to him for wages, and in lieu of notice,
he attended the sale with melancholy feelings, going so far as to
purchase some lots for which he felt a sentimental interest, and which
he had reasons for knowing were going for much less than they were
worth.
It was only after the sale that he ascertained what he thought was
likely to be Miss Harding's present address. He had made regular, and
persistent, inquiries at Mr. Nash's office; but nothing had been heard
of that promising solicitor by his staff, which consisted of a weedy
youth of seventeen summers, with whom Mr. Morgan was on terms of the
closest intimacy; until there came one morning a curtly worded request
to forward any letters which might be awaiting him to Mr. Nash at an
address which he gave. Mr. Morgan saw that address; a couple of days
after he called there.
The address was at that charming south-coast seaside resort,
Littlehampton, 27, Ocean Villas. Ocean Villas proved to be some quite
picturesque cottages fronting both the common and the sea; 27 was,
perhaps, the most picturesque of them all. The front door was open in
the confiding way one finds at seaside resorts, and which saves the
trouble of having to open it; Mr. Morgan, entering, rapped on the
floor with his stick. A diminutive maid instantly appeared who,
without waiting for him to state his business, instantly broke into
breathless speech.
"If you've come after the rooms, sir, if you please Mrs. Lorrimer's
not in, but if you'll wait half-a-minute I'll fetch her."
Mr. Morgan explained that he had not come after the rooms; he asked if
Mrs. Nash was in.
"Mrs. Nash is out, sir, along with Mr. Nash; I did hear them say they
were going to Arundel."
"I'll wait till they return; which are their apartments?"
"This is their sitting-room, sir."
She opened the door of what, for a lodging-house, was quite a pleasant
room. Mr. Morgan entered; the maid went; the moment he was alone Mr.
Morgan did what he always did do when he found himself alone in a
strange apartment, he treated everything it contained to a rigorous
inspection, and was still engaged in doing so when the diminutive maid
reappeared.
"If you please, sir, I'm going out to do some errands, and if there's
anything you want would you mind letting me know before I go; though I
really shan't hardly be five minutes before I'm back again."
On the visitor assuring her that he was not likely to require her
services during the next five minutes she departed to do those
errands; scarcely was her back turned than Mr. Morgan started on what
might have been a tour of curiosity through the house. He got no
further, however, than the room behind the sitting-room, which proved
to be a bedroom; unmistakably the sleeping apartment of Mr. and Mrs.
Nash. Against the window stood a large trunk, a lady's; Mr. Morgan
tried it; it was locked. He surmised as he eyed it.
"What's the betting that in there isn't that nice little sum of money?
I wonder if she's told her loving husband that she's got it, and where
it is; if she has I wonder how much he's left her. It might be worth
my while to look and see; but I think I can manage to get all I want
without what would look to the ignorant eye like dabbling in felony.
What's that?" "That" was something which lay on the floor just
underneath the bed; something which resembled a letter-case. He picked
it up. "I rather fancy that this is the property of my friend Nash.
Looks as if it had fallen out of his pocket while he was putting on
his coat, and that he hadn't noticed it had fallen; extraordinary
how careless some people are about things of that kind. It is a
letter-case; let's hope there's nothing in it which he would not like
to meet the public eye. What have we here? Papers which, apparently,
are of value only to the owner. What's in this?" In one of the
compartments of the case was a single paper. Mr. Morgan took it out,
unfolded it, read it, not once only, but twice, and again a third
time. The contents of the paper seemed to puzzle him; he stared at it
hard, rubbing his forehead as he did so, as if he hoped by the mere
force of vision to get at its meaning. Then he smiled, as if suddenly
a light had dawned on him. "So that's it, is it? To think of his
leaving a thing like this lying about on the floor! What a foolish
man! I never had a high opinion of Herbert Nash; but that he should
leave a thing like this for any one to find, and borrow; dear, dear! I
never should have thought it. Let's replace these papers which are of
no value to any one but the owner. And the case we'll put upon the
mantelpiece; so that he'll see it directly he returns, when he'll
understand the risk he's run." The letter-case which he had picked up
from the floor he put on the mantelpiece, in plain sight; but the
paper which he had taken from it he slipped into a case of his own;
and that case he placed in his own pocket. When the diminutive maid
returned with a basket full of parcels, she found him lounging on the
doorstep. His manner to her was affable; as it nearly always was to
every one. "You've been rather more than five minutes, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid I have; but they kept me at the grocer's."
"Did they? Ah! I don't think I shall wait for my friends to return."
He grinned as he said "friends." "Tell them that Mr. Morgan called;
Mr. Stephen Morgan, of Cloverlea. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir; Mr. Stephen Morgan, of Cloverlea."
"Exactly. And you can also tell them that I shall call again; I can't
say quite when, but I certainly shall call again before they leave
Littlehampton. You understand that also?"
"Yes, sir; you'll call again; you can't say quite when, but certainly
before they leave Littlehampton."
"That's it; you have it just right. Mind you give them the messages as
I gave them you; and here's a shilling for your trouble."
He presented her with a shilling; and left the maid all smiles.