Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: HE SAW THAT THE LITTLE FINGER OF THE EARL'S RIGHT HAND
HAD LOST ITS LAST JOINT.]
THE LOST CLUE
BY
MRS. O. F. WALTON
AUTHOR OF
"DOCTOR FORESTER," "A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ADOLF THIEDE
LONDON
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY
4 BOUVERIE ST. AND 65 ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, E. C.
1910
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. IN THE ARCADE
II. A DIFFICULT POSITION
III. CAPTAIN FORTESCUE'S PROMISE
IV. A TROUBLED NIGHT
V. THE SAFE OPENED
VI. THE TWO ENVELOPES
VII. A WALK THROUGH BORROWDALE
VIII. HONISTER CRAG
IX. A FINISHED CHAPTER
X. GOOD-BYE
XI. DAISY BANK
XII. BLACK COUNTRY ROSES
XIII. MOTHER HOTCHKISS
XIV. THE OLD OAK CUPBOARD
XV. 156, LIME STREET
XVI. THE BLOTTED WORD
XVII. A STRANGE LETTER
XVIII. WORDS TO BE REMEMBERED
XIX. GRANTLEY CASTLE
XX. THE PHOTO OF A FRIEND
XXI. LORD KENMORE
XXII. MR. NORTHCOURT'S OPINION
XXIII. A MOST CHARMING GIRL
XXIV. THE PICTURE GALLERY
XXV. WAITING FOR THE ANSWER
XXVI. A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY
XXVII. ANOTHER CHAPTER CLOSED
XXVIII. WATENDLATH FORGET-ME-NOT
XXIX. THE MISSING WORD FOUND
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
He saw that the little finger of the Earl's right hand
had lost its last joint. Frontispiece
He turned round and saw Watson standing behind him.
Then he told them all; he laid before them the story
of his life.
She gazed a long time at this picture.
THE LOST CLUE
CHAPTER I
IN THE ARCADE
NEW Street Station, Birmingham, is an exceedingly busy place at all
times of the day; but at certain hours, when many trains are due, the
bustle, hurry, and rush, in every part of it, are beyond description.
Two great lines, the London and North-Western and the Midland, run
through it; and although, to the initiated, there is nothing more easy
than to locate the part of the station in which the various trains will
arrive or from which they will depart, yet to a stranger in Birmingham,
especially to one who has come from the quiet of some remote country
place, the six different platforms, the numerous booking offices, and
the busy stream of human life crossing and re-crossing the great bridge
which spans the station from side to side, are both bewildering and
perplexing.
It was at the busiest time of the ever-busy New Street day, that the
London express came thundering into the station. It had rushed on like
some great monster of the deep, flying through air instead of water,
puffing, snorting, panting, but never once stopping after leaving
Euston, until it came running triumphantly into Birmingham, having
accomplished its journey of over a hundred and twelve miles in the
short space of two hours.
As it steamed in, a long line of expectant porters awaited its arrival,
and, as it began to slacken its speed, they kept their eyes fixed on
the line of first-class carriages, for that way lay "tips." There was
a dining-saloon on the train, and the first-class part of it was well
filled. Most of the passengers were, however, going on further; but one
gentleman, with a long kit-bag in his hand, came to the carriage door
and prepared to alight from the train.
The porters made a rush in his direction, all eager to relieve him from
his burden, and thereby to secure the bakhshish which English porters,
as well as Arab ones, are seldom backward in scenting from afar.
The gentleman selected one of the group and handed him the bag, whilst
the others retired discomforted.
"Where for, sir?"
"The Midland train north. Which platform will it be?"
"Number 5, sir. Any luggage in the van?"
"No, none. Let me see; it starts at 5.30. An hour to wait, I believe."
"Not quite, sir; you're late a bit. It isn't often the express loses a
minute, but she's five minutes late to-day."
The traveller took out his watch to compare it with the great
station-clock, and then followed the porter up the steps to the bridge.
Arrived at No. 5, he dismissed the man, who departed with a beaming
countenance, as he pocketed double the sum which he had expected to
receive.
For some minutes the young man, for he was not more than twenty-five,
paced the platform restlessly. He was impatient of the delay, and the
noise and racket of the station jarred upon his nerves. The shriek of
an approaching train, the rattle of a departing one, the rumble of the
porters' trucks, the shouting of the newspaper boys, the ceaseless rush
of people in all directions, tired him that day, he hardly knew why. He
had not come from the country, and he was accustomed to London streets
and London stations; he did not mind noise at other times, but to-day
he felt as if he could not stand the discordant sounds for another
hour. He resolved to leave the station, and to take a walk in the city
until it was time for his train.
He left his bag at the Midland Luggage Office, climbed the long flight
of steps in the midst of a continuous stream of people, passed with
them a similar stream pouring downwards into the station, and then made
his way to the street beyond.
As he did so, more than one person turned to look at him. He was a man
who, even in a crowd, attracted attention. Tall and well built, he was
every inch a soldier; his profession was patent to all who saw him;
but it was not that which caused the passers-by to notice him, and to
look after him as he walked on. It was not so much his upright manly
figure, as his extremely handsome face, with its refined features,
which made him a marked man. His dark hair, hazel eyes, long eyelashes,
aquiline nose, and short upper lip, gave him a decidedly aristocratic
appearance, which could not fail to strike the most casual observer.
"One of the upper ten, I should say!" remarked one man to another, as
he crossed the station yard and turned into Corporation Street.
The shop windows were all lighted up, for it was December, and quite
dark at half-past four. The street was crowded, for it was close upon
Christmas, and multitudes of people, men, women, and children, were
doing their Christmas shopping, or gazing idly into the brilliantly
illuminated windows. But in spite of the crowds, he was glad he had
come, for there were none of the discordant sounds of the station, and
the keen air was refreshing to him after its close atmosphere.
A row of flower-sellers stood in the road at the edge of the pavement,
and he stopped to buy a bunch of violets from a girl who looked tired
and cold. He did not want the violets, but he was touched by her face,
and he gave her three times the price that she asked for them.
Then he turned into the Arcade, which was a blaze of electric light.
All the shops were displaying choice and attractive articles suitable
for Christmas presents. In a niche in the wall, near one of the
toy-shops, there stood on a pedestal an old man. He was dressed in red
cloth, trimmed with swansdown, with long white hair and beard, and
with a cocked hat on his head. He was supposed to represent Father
Christmas, and he, too, looked cold and tired as he stood, motionless
as a waxwork figure, taking no notice of the busy scene around him. A
group of children had gathered at the foot of the pedestal, and were
looking up in his face with admiring glances, hoping to beguile him to
fill their stockings on Christmas Eve with all the pretty things their
hearts desired.
On the right hand side of the Arcade were several jewellers' shops,
a glittering mass of beauty. Tiny electric lamps illuminated the
countless sparkling and costly articles exposed for sale, and made them
even more bewitching and tempting than they had appeared by daylight.
The door of one of these shops opened just as he passed it, and a young
lady, stylishly dressed, and wearing beautiful ermine furs, came out of
it. She caught sight of him immediately, and put out her hand as she
exclaimed, in a surprised voice—
"Captain Fortescue! You here?"
"Yes, Lady Violet, and I never dreamt of seeing you. What are you doing
in Birmingham?"
"We're staying with the De Courcys, only six miles out, and we've come
in to do a little Christmas shopping, as we shan't have much time after
we get home. Isn't it strange we should meet? Why, we haven't seen
you since that jolly time in the Riviera! Come and speak to mother;
she is in this shop buying Maude a bracelet. She promised her one for
Christmas, and she thought Maude had better choose it herself; but she
can't make up her mind, and I was coming outside to look at one we saw
in the window. Come in, and give us your advice."
Captain Fortescue followed her into the jeweller's and saw the two
ladies standing at the counter and bending over it. It was covered
with bracelets of every variety, all of them sparkling with jewels and
exceedingly beautiful and costly.
"Mother, whom do you think I found in the Arcade? Look here!"
The elder lady turned round. "Captain Fortescue! Is it possible? I'm
delighted to see you again; we haven't seen you for months. Where are
you stationed now?"
"I'm at Aldershot at present, but we're likely to be moved soon. I
wrote to Evelyn, but he hasn't answered my letter."
"Naughty boy! He's a shockingly bad letter writer; he always was. But
what are you doing in Birmingham?"
"I'm only passing through," said the Captain, looking at his watch.
"I'm going on by the five-thirty, Lady Earlswood."
"How lucky we just met you! Now you must come and see us soon. We're
having a large house-party for Christmas. Can't you join us? Evelyn
will be at home."
"Yes, do come," said Lady Violet. "It will be like having those dear
old days in the Riviera back again, and I want you to see the photos I
took then. They have come out splendidly."
"I should like to come very much, but I'm afraid it is impossible."
"Is it really quite impossible?" said Lady Earlswood. "Do try to
arrange it."
"I'm afraid I shall not be able to do so. You see, my poor old father
has not been very well lately—in fact, I am going there now. What is
the matter I don't quite know yet. I had a letter from him yesterday
morning, written apparently in good spirits, and then to-day I had a
wire begging me to go at once. If he is ill and needs me, of course
whatever leave I get, I must spend with him."
"Yes, of course; but it may not be that. He may want to see you for
some other reason. If so, do let me know. Just send me a line or a wire
with the one word 'Coming.' That will be quite enough."
"Thank you, Lady Earlswood, I shall certainly not forget. Now I must
leave Lady Maude to choose her bracelet and hurry back to New Street."
"Must you really? Can't you have tea with us at Fletcher's? We are
going there in a minute or two."
"I'm afraid not. I shall miss my train if I do."
He said good-bye to them, and walked quickly down the Arcade, but
Lady Violet came to the door again to look at another bracelet in the
window—at least, so she said; but her eyes, when she got outside, were
certainly not turned in the direction of the brightly-lighted shop
window.
"How little they know," he said to himself, as he went down the crowded
steps to Platform No. 5. "I sometimes think I ought to tell them that I
am not one of themselves."