THE RIDDLE SOLVED.
When Brian started off on his aunt's errand, he little thought that
carrying a simple message to a washer-woman would lead him into an
altogether unexpected adventure.
[Illustration]
Hastily putting on his short overcoat and cap, he lighted his lamp,
mounted his bicycle, and went swiftly off down the road. Bridge Lane was
away at the opposite side of the town, a part which he had not visited
before; and he had to dismount several times to make inquiries before
he finally reached the door of Mrs. Budd's cottage. Having delivered his
message, he had nothing further to do than turn his machine round and
ride home. At this point the thought struck him that in coming through
the town he had gone a longer way than he need have done, and that a
road branching off to the right would be a shorter cut back to the
suburb in which his uncle's house was situated.
He rode on for ten minutes, and then slackened speed, for he began to
doubt whether he was, after all, on a more direct route. Though quiet
and deserted, the road was lit at intervals with gas lamps, and by their
uncertain light Brian saw a man some distance on ahead, walking in the
same direction as that in which he himself was going.
"I'll ask that fellow if I'm right," he muttered, and increased his pace
with a vigorous thrust on the pedals.
The man did not hear the noiseless approach of the bicycle until it was
close behind him; then he turned quickly as the rider slowed down and
spoke.
"Can you tell me--" Brian began, but he got no further. For a moment he
entirely lost control of the machine, with the result that he narrowly
missed being upset in the gutter. A gas-lamp was close at hand, and in
its light he had a full view of the stranger's face, and recognized him
in a moment--William Cole!
Brian was, perhaps, not quite so easily frightened as Elsie; it never
struck him that the figure before him was anything but flesh and blood;
still, the sudden appearance on a dark road of a man whom everybody
believed to have been drowned so astonished him that it was a few
moments before he recovered even the use of his tongue.
He put on the brake, and jumped off his machine; but the man had already
turned, and was making off hurriedly in the opposite direction.
"William! Stop a moment!"
The man paid no attention. There was a stile close at hand; he turned,
jumped over it, and disappeared in the darkness.
Here was indeed a mystery; and Brian, for some reason, felt that he must
discover what it meant. Leaving his bicycle propped against the
lamp-post, he dashed off in pursuit. Being a fast runner, and in good
training from football, he soon recovered the little advantage which the
man had gained at the start, and overtook him before he had reached the
opposite side of the field.
"William! What brings you here? We thought you had gone down on board
the _Arcadia_."
For a few seconds the man seemed too much out of breath to speak; then
he gasped out a confused jumble of words, which Brian could hardly
understand.
"Don't you tell the master you've seen me, Mr. Brian. I was going away
to-night. I know I've done wrong; but I've put it right again, and the
only one who's hurt is myself."
"I don't understand you," answered Brian. "Look here," he continued,
struck with a sudden thought; "you were in the tool-house at the Pines
the other evening. What were you doing?"
"I'm afraid I frightened Miss Elsie," returned the man, evading the
question. "I suppose she told Mr. Ormond."
"As a matter of fact, she didn't; but of course I shall tell him I've
seen you when I get back. Come, William, what's the matter? What does it
all mean? Are you in trouble? Because, if so, you know we'd any of us
help you if we could."
To Brian's astonishment Cole made no reply, but in the darkness drew
his coat sleeve across his eyes with an audible sob.
[Illustration]
"I am in trouble, sir," he answered at length. "And it's trouble of my
own making. I'm done for--ruined! That's what's the matter with me."
"Ruined!" repeated the boy. "What do you mean? Come back to where I've
left my bicycle. Now that you've told me so much, you may as well let me
have the whole story."
They retraced their steps in silence, Cole apparently making up his mind
whether or not he should disclose the story of his misfortunes.
"I might as well make a clean breast of the matter," he muttered. "It'll
all come out sooner or later. When you speak to the master, sir," he
continued, "you'll say what you can for me, I hope. I'm sorry for what's
past, and I've done my best to make amends."
Looking at his companion as they came once more under the light of the
gas-lamp, Brian was astonished to see what a change had taken place in
his appearance. He looked ill and careworn; his clothes were untidy,
and his chin had evidently not been shaved for days.
"You needn't be afraid to tell me everything," said the boy. "I'm sorry
if you're in a mess, and I'll do what I can to get you out of it,
William."
"Thank you, sir," was the reply.
They walked slowly along the deserted road, and as they did so Cole told
his story.
"It was my own fault," he began. "I got to spending my evenings with a
lot of young chaps at the 'Red Horse,' and soon I was short of money.
They was a betting lot, and one of 'em told me if I could lay my hand on
as much as fifty pound, he'd put me on to a way of making a fortune. I
needn't trouble you now, sir, with a long account of how it was to be
done; but it seemed simple and easy enough, and I thought about it night
and day. You know that old box, Mr. Brian--the one in the master's
library at the Pines? Well, of course, I'd heard the story about it, and
seen it a good many times when I was in doing odd jobs or helping with
the cleaning. I'd made up my mind that there must be money inside it,
and the thought came over me that if I could get out enough to carry out
the plan this other fellow had proposed, I might make my fortune and go
abroad. The amount of money I'd taken I'd send back to Mr. Ormond, with
no name, but just a note to say it had been taken out of his box."
"But why did you pretend you were going to Australia?" asked Brian.
"I'm coming to that, sir. To avert suspicion, in case anything went
wrong and it was found that the box had been tampered with, I made out
I was going to emigrate, and that I should have left England the very
night I was going to rob the box. Mr. Brian, I'm no better than a common
thief; but I tell you solemnly, I meant to return what I took."
"But how did you open the sealed box?"
"I remembered that, sir, and for some time it puzzled me to know what to
do. I'm handy with tools and that kind of thing. I knew I could pick the
padlocks; but if once I'd chipped the seals off, it would be seen that
the box had been opened. However, there seemed no help for it, so I
decided I must risk that much. Late Friday night, or early Saturday
morning, I forced back the catch of the library window, and got into the
house that way. I got out the box, and was going to begin by breaking
the seals, when I thought of something better. I went into the kitchen,
found a carving-knife, took it out into the tool-house, and ground the
blade very thin on the stone. I got some methylated spirit out of the
pantry, made a flame by burning it in a tin dish, and so heated the
knife. When the blade was hot enough, I was able to slip it under the
seals, so that they came away whole."
"That accounts for the cork," muttered Brian.
"I got the box open," continued the man, "but only to find that it
contained nothing more than a bundle of papers. I hadn't time to search
them through, but I thought there might be bank-notes, or something of
that kind among them, so I determined I'd take them away. I had one
fright, for while I was doing this I heard the door pushed open, and Bob
came into the room. Of course he knew me, and didn't bark. He must have
jumped in through the window while I was in the kitchen. I chained him
up again when I went away; but first I refastened the box, and warming
the backs of the seals, put them in their former places, exactly as they
had been before. I walked all the way to Chadstone that night, and put
up at a little pub there, making out I'd come to look for work. I
examined the papers, but found that they weren't of any value to me
or to any one but Mr. Ormond. For several days I wandered about,
hardly daring to show my face in the daytime, sleeping anywhere and
half-starved, for what money I had went very fast. One thing I was
determined on--that I'd return them papers; and you just about know all
the rest. I came that Thursday night, found the old box out in the
tool-house, picked the locks again, and put the bundle in its old place,
meaning to write Mr. Ormond an anonymous letter and say where the packet
was. Then Miss Elsie came to the door and run away screaming. I'd no
time to escape, so I hid under a heap of old matting. I heard you come
into the place, sir, but you didn't find me, and later on I crept out
and made off. I hid in an old barn most of yesterday and to-day, because
I was afraid Mr. Ormond would smell a rat, and set the police on my
track; and now I was going to try and get something to eat and then my
idea was to walk to London."
For some minutes after the narrative had concluded Brian stood hardly
knowing what to say. There was no doubt that Cole had been guilty of a
serious offence; yet, remembering what he had been in the past, and
seeing the change in him now, together with his evidently genuine regret
for what he had done, the boy could not help feeling sorry, and anxious
even to render the unfortunate fellow some assistance.
"Look here, William," he said suddenly, "the very best thing you can do
is to come back with me now, and make a clean breast of the matter to
Mr. Ormond."
"Oh, I can't do that, sir!"
"Yes, you can. Tell him exactly what you told me. He'll forgive you, I'm
sure, and he'll advise you what to do better than I can."
"He may have me sent to jail," said Cole. "Still, I would rather face
it, and take the consequences."
Brian's return to the Pines has already been described, and little more
remains to be told. Mr. Ormond's astonishment was as great as his
nephew's had been, when he entered the library, and saw William Cole
standing there, cap in hand.
As the man related his story, his former master listened with a grave
face.
"I'm sorry to hear this of you, William," he said at length. "I couldn't
have believed it possible. I suppose you are aware that you ran the risk
of being sent to penal servitude?"
"Oh yes, that I did, sir," was the answer. "But don't give me up. Let me
have another chance."
"As you returned the papers, I'm inclined to deal leniently with
you," said Mr. Ormond. "I hope this may be a lesson to you to keep
out of crooked ways for the future. You have a brother in the north of
England, I believe? Go to him, and see if he can help you to get work
away from your old surroundings. I'll lend you money for your railway
fare."
Cole tried to express his thanks, but Mr. Ormond cut him short with
another warning to keep to straight paths in future. This, to give the
man his due, he succeeded in doing, and a few months later was able to
return the sum advanced for his railway ticket.
There were no more mysteries in connection with Uncle Roger's box, while
Elsie so far recovered her nerves that she soon learned to gallop round
the field when the promised pony came next spring.
[Illustration]
THE END
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Two changes have been made to the text, both in Chapter 12.
The word of was changed to off in the sentence:
He put on the brake, and jumped OFF his machine (...)
The word is was changed to it in the passage:
(...) but IT seemed simple and easy enough,
End of Project Gutenberg's Under Padlock and Seal, by Charles Harold Avery