THE TWO ENVELOPES
CAPTAIN FORTESCUE followed his father to the grave, the chief and
only mourner. No one else was present, except Mr. Fortescue's doctor
and lawyer, who came in their official capacity. The extensive town
cemetery looked the very picture of desolation and gloom. It lay in
a narrow valley, the rising ground on either side and the stretch of
lower ground between being densely covered with the resting-places of
the dead.
In the quiet village churchyard, with its green mounds and neat
flower-covered graves; its pure white marble crosses and the
moss-covered headstones of earlier date; its neat well-kept paths, by
the side of which are growing snowdrops and primroses planted by loving
hands which are now, it may be, themselves lying in one of those newer
mounds; the grave is robbed of some of its outward ghastliness and
nakedness, and is clothed tenderly by the loving hand of mother earth.
But in this large town cemetery everything is unsightly and depressing,
and the hosts of barren graves, which may be counted by their
thousands, are marked only by blackened stones, upon which layer after
layer of furnace smoke has settled, and is still settling as the years
go by. No flowers will grow there, no trees will thrive; even the
scanty grass is more black than green, whilst down in the hollow there
lies, at the further end of the valley, a dismal pond, in which the
body of a poor suicide was found not so long ago, and the memory of
whom leaves an additional shadow upon that melancholy and dismal place.
"Earth to earth; dust to dust; ashes to ashes;" and so the poor earthly
remains were left behind, and another leaf was added to the great heap
of fallen leaves in the forest of mortal humanity.
When Captain Fortescue arrived home, and walked into the empty house
which he would never again call home, he felt as if he were crossing
the threshold of the life of hardship which lay in front of him. He
determined, however, to face it bravely, and in higher strength than
his own, and not to flinch from any duty, however unpleasant, which lay
along its course.
In the strength of this resolution, he rang the bell, as soon as his
solitary dinner was over, and requested all the servants to assemble in
the library, as he had something which he wished to say to them.
He went in, carrying his father's will in his hand, and then he told
them that he felt that it was only right they should know that their
old master had remembered their faithful service, and had intended
rewarding it by a handsome legacy, the amount of which was regulated
by the length of time each had lived with him; but that it was his sad
and painful duty to inform them that the whole of his father's invested
money had been lost, and that therefore, he feared that these legacies
existed merely in name.
"Do you mean to tell us, sir, that we shall get nothing?" inquired
Watson.
"I fear not, Watson; time alone will show. My father's lawyer, Mr.
Northcourt, who was here to-day, is winding up his affairs, of which
I know practically nothing, and should there turn out to be money
available, of course the legacies will be paid."
"It's very hard, sir, to be turned adrift after all these years!"
"It is hard, Watson; but you must remember I am a sufferer as well as
you; it is very hard for me."
Watson gave a sniff of contempt. "You have your commission, sir, and
your grand friends."
"Say had, Watson, not have; all that will be a thing of the past. I
must leave the army."
"Dear, dear!" said the old butler. "Dear, dear! I do feel for you, sir."
"But surely," said Watson, "there will be something. Look at all this
furniture, and the house and park; they haven't gone!"
"Yes, there may be something, Watson. I can't tell yet until I know
what my father's obligations were. I fear that he was more than an
ordinary shareholder in this mine, and that those who have lost by
means of it may come upon his estate for such compensation as it may be
able to yield. You may rest assured, however, that your legacies will
be paid before I myself touch a single penny of my father's money."
"It's very good of you to say so," said the old butler; "but I'm sure
none of us would like to rob you, sir."
"It would be no robbery, Elkington, only justice," said the Captain.
"Well, it's very hard!" said Watson. "Very hard; and what's to become
of me, I'm sure I don't know. I can't take another situation at my time
of life, and the old gentleman always promised he'd see I was provided
for."
"Again I say, Watson, I am very sorry; I can't say more."
"And now there is something else I want to say to you," added the
Captain, as he folded up the will; "and I would ask you to give very
serious attention to what I am about to tell you. My father informed
me, the day before he died, that he had addressed a letter to me, and
had put it in the safe in his bedroom with his will. That letter I
have never received. The envelope was there, addressed in my father's
handwriting, but when I opened it, it contained nothing but a blank
sheet of paper. Now I am convinced that that envelope has been tampered
with by some one. I am certain that it has been opened, that the paper
my father expected me to find there has been removed, and that the
blank sheet has been inserted in its place, and I want you to help me
to discover how and when this was done, and by whose hands. Elkington,
do you know where my father kept the keys of his safe?"
"The old master always had them about him, sir, day and night, as you
might say. He carried them in his pocket by day, and at night they were
either under his pillow or on the table by his bed. Did you ever know
him leave them about, or forget them?"
"Never, sir, never once. He were as careful of these keys, and kept
them as well within his reach as a cat does a mouse she has caught; he
seemed always to have an eye on them."
"Well, then, we come to the day of his sudden seizure when the telegram
was brought in. Where were his keys then?"
"In his pocket, sir. I know he had them, for the post-bag was brought
up from the lodge a few minutes before, and I took it to him, and he
brought the keys out of his pocket to open it."
"And put them back again?"
"Oh yes, sir, he never forgot to do that."
"Well, then the doctor came, and what happened next?"
"He was carried upstairs, sir. Dr. Cholmondeley helped us, and then we
got him into bed."
"Who did?"
"The doctor, and me, and Watson."
"Where were the keys then?"
"Left in the pocket of his coat, sir; but, as soon as ever he came
round a bit and opened his eyes, he asked for them; it was almost the
first thing he said."
"And where did you put them?"
"On the table where you saw them, sir, close to his bed. They were
there, as far as I know, till you took them away."
"Just after the old master breathed his last," ejaculated Watson.
"Now," said Captain Fortescue, "it seems to me we are getting the
question into a very small compass. My father was taken ill early in
the morning; for a short time those keys were left in his pocket. How
long, Elkington?"
"About an hour, sir, I should say."
"Well, either at that time, or some time during the following night,
some one must have gone to the safe and taken out my letter."
"How dare you speak like that?" shrieked Watson, "suspecting and
accusing your poor father's faithful servants. I suppose you mean I'm
the thief, or Elkington?"
"I accuse nobody, Watson. I only ask for an explanation of what is so
mysterious to me."
But Watson bounced out of the room, saying she was not going to stay
there to be called a common thief; she should pack her box that very
night, and get away from a house where she was so insulted.
The servants filed out of the room, but the old butler lingered behind.
"Sir," he said, "do you think that that woman has done it?"
"Elkington, I have no proof, and therefore I do not like to say that
any one has done it. It may have been a mistake on my father's part."
"Not likely, sir, not likely; he was so slow and careful-like about
things of that sort."
"Well, Elkington, I don't know what to think."
"I do know what to think," said the old butler to himself, as he went
out of the room.
But the next day a solution of the mystery came to light. It was late
in the evening, and when Elkington was waiting at dinner, that there
was a loud ring at the front door. He went to open it, for, now Watson
was gone, he was doing most of her work as well as his own. He came
back with a card in his hand, which he said had been given to him by a
gentleman who had just called, and who was now in the library.
"I told him you were at dinner, sir, but he said he would wait, as he
particularly wished to see you to-night."
Captain Fortescue looked at the card. It was not a visiting card, but
one evidently used as a tradesman's advertisement. It bore these words,
printed in various styles of type—
"JOSIAH MAKEPEACE,
Bookseller and Stationer,
149, York Street,
Sheffield."
"Do you know this man, Elkington?"
"What's his name, sir?"
"Makepeace; he is a bookseller in the town."
"I've heard of him, sir; his shop is in York Street, isn't it?"
"Yes; 149, York Street."
"I believe my master dealt there sometimes. I think I remember seeing
his name on parcels that came. Paper and such-like, I think they were."
"He has probably brought his bill, then, and wants to make sure he is
paid before others come in for the spoil. Tell him I will see him in a
few minutes, Elkington."
When Fortescue entered the library the man was standing with his back
to him, gazing at the portrait of Mrs. Fortescue, which hung over the
chimney-piece. He was a tall thin man, with black hair, and, as he
turned round on his entrance, the Captain could see that his face was
sallow, that he had a short beard and small rat-like eyes, and that he
was wearing spectacles.
"Good evening, sir. I hope you will excuse my intruding at this hour,
but I come on a matter of importance."
Captain Fortescue motioned him to a chair, and said he supposed it was
a business matter which had brought him there.
"Not exactly, sir. Your father did do business with me at times, and it
is in connection with one of these times that I want to see you. The
fact is that a letter, which Mr. Fortescue wrote to you last week, has,
by some mistake, come into my hands."
Kenneth looked eagerly at the envelope which Makepeace drew out of the
breast pocket of his coat. What revelation did it contain? And how
unfortunate that that revelation should have fallen into the hands of a
stranger!
The envelope was a foolscap one, he could see that; precisely similar
to the one he had found in the safe.
He stretched out his hand for it eagerly.
"Wait a minute, sir," said the man. "Allow me, if you please, to
explain to you how this letter came into my possession. Last week—it
would be Wednesday, I think—your father came into my shop; it was the
last time, I believe, that the old gentleman was out.
"'Makepeace,' he said, 'I want some foolscap paper.'
"My assistant brought some out and showed it to him. We have some blue
and some white. He selected the white, sir, but when he looked at it,
he declared that it was poorer in quality than what he had bought of me
before. I told him that could not be the case, inasmuch as I had bought
it all from the same firm and at the same time. Well, he seemed very
much put out, and he shouted and stormed at me; it was a way he had,
you know, sir, and he wanted to make out I was trying to impose on him
by giving him different paper.
"I didn't want to offend the old gentleman, for he was a good customer,
so I told him if he would send me a sheet of the foolscap which I had
sold him before, I felt sure that I could match it exactly. I meant to
give him what I had in stock, for I knew it was exactly the same, but
I thought this would satisfy and pacify him. Well, he came round after
that, and said he knew I always did the best I could for him, and he
told me he would slip it into an envelope as soon as he got home and
send it to me by post. On Thursday the letter arrived, but I was from
home, and my wife was away too. I've only got a young assistant, and he
did not like to open my letters, so there it remained on my desk until
I got home to-day."
"And then you opened it?"
"Yes, and found inside, not the sheet of foolscap as I expected, but a
letter evidently intended for you, sir. It begins, 'My dear Ken,' and
it ends 'Your loving Father.' I haven't read it, sir, I assure you. I
wouldn't do such a thing, and I've brought it at once to you. Do you
think he can have put it in the wrong envelope? Have you found any
other envelope containing a blank sheet of foolscap paper?"
"Yes, I have," said Captain Fortescue, "and have been extremely puzzled
by it, for my father expressly told me that he had written a letter
which he particularly wished me to receive."
"Then I am only too glad to restore it to you, sir," said Makepeace,
as he handed the envelope to him. "And now, sir, I will bid you good
evening."
Captain Fortescue thanked him for taking the trouble to come up at once
to see him, and assured him that the information which he had given him
was an intense relief to his mind.
As soon as he was alone, he unfolded the letter which had at last come
into his possession. His hand trembled as he did so, and as he wondered
what disclosure it would make to him.
Yes, there was his father's uneven writing. Some of the capitals were
printed, others written in the ordinary way. He began at once to read
it. It was dated Wednesday, December 18, and ran as follows:
"MY DEAR KEN,
"I was glad to get your letter, and hope as this will find you well
as it leaves me very middling, and Cholmondeley has given me a tonic,
so hope soon to be better. There is something as I think you ought to
be told, as it will come more easy to you if things goes wrong, as it
seems likely they will. I have had a letter from Berkinshaw, a friend
of mine in London, and he has found out that a certain concern, what
I put my money in, is getting shaky and not likely to pay. So I'm
going to sell out to-morrow, unless I hear better news from him by the
morning post, and if I do sell out, I shan't be so flush of money by a
long chalk, and that will mean I can't send you such a big allowance as
you have been having. I thought it was better as I should tell you, in
case you might be disappointed when I send your next cheque. Go easy
then, and don't outrun the constable till you hear again from—
"Your loving father,
"JOSEPH FORTESCUE."
And that was all! There was not a word more! It all seemed such past
history now. And moreover his father had told him a great deal more
than this letter contained. Why, then, was he so anxious for him to
receive it? What did he mean by saying that he hoped it would put him
right, and that he was to follow it up? Could his father simply have
meant that this letter would prove that, whatever roguery there might
be in connection with the Brazil Mining Company, his son knew nothing
at all about the concern, and could not therefore be held in any way
responsible? Yet who would ever imagine, for a moment, that he was
implicated in his father's business transactions, which were done when
he was absent from home, and of which he could easily prove that he was
in total ignorance?
Then again, it seemed strange that the letter had never been posted.
Why had he not received it on the Thursday morning? He could quite
understand that it was possible for his father, having addressed the
two envelopes at the same time, to have put the wrong enclosure in
each; thus sending the letter to his son to Makepeace, and at the same
time forwarding to himself the blank sheet of foolscap intended for the
bookseller. But supposing this to have been the case, why, then, were
not both letters posted? Why was one sent and the other kept back? And
why, being kept back, was the letter placed in the safe?
The Captain meditated for a long time over this difficult question, and
then attempted to explain it to himself in this way. He supposed that,
after the two letters were closed and ready for the post, they lay
together on the library table, that after a time some one, probably his
father himself, took up the one addressed to Makepeace and put it into
the letter-bag; but that the other letter, addressed to himself, was
inadvertently left behind and forgotten, being covered up at the time,
perhaps, by something on the table.
That subsequently, late at night and after the post-bag had gone to the
lodge, his father discovered that he had omitted to post it; and that
then, inasmuch as the letter contained matter of a private nature, he
did not care to leave it lying on the table, but had carried it up with
him to bed, and in accordance with his usual caution and suspicion had
placed it in the safe until the morning. That then, on the Thursday,
before he had opportunity to post it, the telegram arrived and his
sudden illness occurred; and that consequently the letter written the
day before was left in the safe; that then he had appeared on the
scene, and of course his father, having no longer any occasion to post
the letter, had merely called his attention to it and told him where it
had been placed.
The Captain went up to bed that night feeling considerably relieved
that the communication in the letter was, after all, of so harmless
a nature. He had evidently been making much ado about nothing; the
so-called mystery had turned out to be most easy of solution and had
nothing very mysterious about it.
But as he lay awake thinking of it all, and only half satisfied
with the explanation that he had worked out with so much care, two
unanswerable problems suggested themselves to him, and made him feel
that, after all, he had by no means got to the bottom of the strange
occurrence, and that there still remained much that was mysterious and
suspicious.
For, in the first place, was it likely that his father, having written
a letter to him on ordinary note-paper, would place it, when written,
in a foolscap envelope? The very size of the sheet would prevent his
making the mistake which he had thought it possible that he might have
made.
And, moreover—and this latter problem he felt was by far the greater
one—why was the letter to himself addressed in the way it was? Did it
not say on the envelope, "For my son—to be opened after my death?" His
father would never have addressed it in that way, had he intended to
post it.
What did it all mean? His former theory was entirely upset by the
remembrance of this fact. He felt that he had not worked out the
solution correctly after all.
Kenneth Fortescue's brain felt in a whirl; the longer he puzzled
over it, the more hopelessly bewildered he became. All night long he
was struggling to find some possible explanation which might prove
satisfactory in all points, but he utterly failed to discover one.
Tired in mind and body, he rose in the morning determined to lay the
whole matter before his father's lawyer. He went to Mr. Northcourt's
office, and took him entirely into his confidence; but neither he nor
the lawyer were able to come to any conclusion as to what had happened
with regard to the two letters.
The Captain suggested calling in a detective, but Mr. Northcourt
dissuaded him from pursuing this course of action, at any rate, for the
present, inasmuch as he failed to see proof that there had been foul
play in the matter. For, if Makepeace had had any hand, directly or
indirectly, in removing the letter from the safe, why was he so anxious
and ready to restore it to its rightful owner? However, he promised the
Captain that he would lose no opportunity of trying to discover a clue
to the mystery, and told him that, if anything came to his knowledge at
all bearing upon what had happened, he would not fail to communicate
with him immediately.