country!" he exclaimed. "Ah!--if those letters had only come before I
went off to Praed Street!"
"Just so!" agreed the detective, glancing the letters and their
accompaniments over. "Well, I'm glad you're able to show me these, Mr.
Lauriston, anyway. But now, about those rings--between you and me, I
wish they hadn't been so much like those that were lying in that tray
on the old man's table. It's an unfortunate coincidence!--because some
folks might think, you know, that you'd just grabbed a couple of those
as you left the place. Eh?"
"My rings have been in that trunk for two or three years," asserted
Lauriston. "They were my mother's, and I believe she'd had them for
many a year before she died. They may resemble those that we saw in
that tray, but--"
"Well, I suppose you can bring somebody--if necessary, that is--to
prove that they were your mother's, can't you?" asked Ayscough.
"That'll make matters all right--on that point. And as for the
rest--it's very lucky you know Melky Rubinstein, and that the girl knew
you as a customer. But, my faith!--I wish you'd caught a glimpse of
somebody leaving that shop! For there's no doubt the old man met his
death by violence."
"I know nothing of it," said Lauriston, "I saw no one."
Just then Melky came in. He glanced at the cheque and the bank-notes
lying on the table, and nodded to Lauriston as if he understood their
presence. Then he turned to Ayscough, almost anxiously.
"I say, Mr. Ayscough!" he said, deprecatingly. "You ain't going to be
so unkind as to mix up this here young fellow in what's happened. S'elp
me, Mr. Ayscough, I couldn't believe anything o' that sort about him,
nohow--nor would my cousin, Zillah, what you know well enough, neither;
he's as quiet as a lamb, Mr. Ayscough, is Mr. Lauriston--ain't I known
him, lodging here as he does, this many a month? I'll give my word for
him, anyway, Mr. Ayscough! And you police gentlemen know me. Don't you
now, Mr. Ayscough?"
"Very well indeed, my boy!" agreed the detective, heartily. "And I'll
tell you what--I shall have to trouble Mr. Lauriston to go round with
me to the station, just to give a formal account of what happened, and
a bit of explanation, you know--I'm satisfied myself about him, and so,
no doubt, will our people be, but you come with us, Melky, and say a
word or two--say you've known him for some time, d'ye see--it'll help."
"Anything to oblige a friend, Mr. Ayscough," said Melky. He motioned to
Lauriston to put his money in his pocket. "Glad to see your letters
turned up," he whispered as they went downstairs. "I say!--a word in
your ear--don't you tell these here police chaps any more than you
need--I'll stand up for you."
The detective's report, a little questioning of Lauriston, and Melky's
fervent protestations on Lauriston's behalf, served to satisfy the
authorities at the police-station, and Lauriston was allowed to
go--admonished by the inspector that he'd be wanted at the inquest, as
the most important witness. He went out into the street with Melky.
"Come and have a bit o' supper at Mrs. Goldmark's," suggested Melky. "I
shall have my hands full tonight at the poor old man's, but I ain't had
nothing since dinner."
Lauriston, however, excused himself. He wanted to go home and write
letters--at once. But he promised to look round at the pawnshop later
in the evening, to see if he could be of any use, and to give Melky a
full account of his finding of the old pawnbroker.
"Ah!" remarked Melky, as they pushed at the door of the eating-house.
"And ain't it going to be a nice job to find the man that scragged
him?--I don't think! But I'm going to take a hand at that game,
mister!--let alone the police."
Mrs. Goldmark was out. She had heard the news, said the waitress who
was left in charge, and had gone round to do what she could for Miss
Zillah. So Melky, deprived of the immediate opportunity of talk with
Mrs. Goldmark, ordered his supper, and while he ate and drank,
cogitated and reflected. And his thoughts ran chiefly on the platinum
solitaire stud which he had carefully bestowed in his vest pocket.
It was Melky's firm belief--already--that the stud had been dropped in
Daniel Multenius's back parlour by some person who had no business
there--in other words by the old man's assailant. And ever since he had
found the stud, Melky had been wondering and speculating on his chances
of finding its owner. Of one thing he was already certain: that the
owner, whoever he was, was no ordinary person. Ordinary, everyday
persons do not wear studs or tie-pins on chains made of platinum--the
most valuable of all the metals. How came a solitaire stud, made of a
metal far more valuable than gold, and designed and ornamented in a
peculiar fashion, to be lying on the hearthrug of old Daniel
Multenius's room? It was not to be believed that the old man had
dropped it there--no, affirmed Melky to himself, with conviction, that
bit of personal property had been dropped there, out of a loose
shirt-cuff by some man who had called on Daniel not long before Andie
Lauriston had gone in, and who for some mysterious reason had scragged
the old fellow. And now the question was--who was that man?
"Got to find that out, somehow!" mused Melky. "Else that poor chap'll
be in a nice fix--s'elp me, he will! And that 'ud never do!"
Melky, in spite of his keenness as a business man, and the fact that
from boyhood he had had to fight the world by himself, had a peculiarly
soft heart--he tended altogether to verge on the sentimental. He had
watched Lauriston narrowly, and had developed a decided feeling for
him--moreover, he now knew that his cousin Zillah, hitherto adamant to
many admirers, had fallen in love with Lauriston: clearly, Lauriston
must be saved. Melky knew police ways and methods, and he felt sure
that whatever Ayscough, a good-natured man, might think, the superior
authorities would view Lauriston's presence in the pawnshop with strong
suspicion. Therefore--the real culprit must be found. And he, Melky
Rubinstein--he must have a go at that game.
He finished his supper, thinking hard all the time he ate and drank;
finally he approached the desk to pay his bill. The young woman whom
Mrs. Goldmark had left in charge lifted the lid of the desk to get some
change--and Melky's astonished eyes immediately fell on an object which
lay on top of a little pile of papers. That object was the duplicate of
the platinum solitaire which Melky had in his pocket. Without
ceremony--being well known there--he at once picked it up.
"What's this bit of jewellery?" he demanded.
"That?" said the waitress, indifferently. "Oh, one of the girls picked
it up the other day off a table where a stranger had been sitting--we
think he'd dropped it. Mrs. Goldmark says it's valuable, so she put it
away, in case he comes again. But we haven't seen him since."
Melky took a good look at the second stud. Then he put it back in the
desk, picked up his change, and went away--in significant silence.
CHAPTER SIX
THE SPANISH MANUSCRIPT
Lauriston, walking back to his room after leaving Melky at the door of
the eating-house, faced the situation in which an unfortunate
combination of circumstances had placed him. Ayscough had been placable
enough; the authorities at the police-station had heard his own version
of things with attention--but he was still conscious that he was under
a certain amount of suspicion. More than that, he felt convinced that
the police would keep an eye on him that night. Ayscough, indeed, had
more than hinted that that would probably be done. For anything he
knew, some plain-clothes man might be shadowing him even then--anyway,
there had been no mistaking the almost peremptory request of the
inspector that he should report himself at the police station in the
morning. It was no use denying the fact--he was suspected, in some
degree.
He knew where the grounds of suspicion lay--in his possession of two
rings, which were undoubtedly very similar to the rings which lay in
the tray that he and the detective had found on the table in the
back-parlour of the pawnshop. It needed no effort on the part of one
who had already had considerable experience in the construction of
plots for stories, to see how the police would build up a theory of
their own. Here, they would say, is a young fellow, who on his own
confession, is so hard up, so penniless, indeed, that he has had to
pawn his watch. He has got to know something of this particular
pawnshop, and of its keepers--he watches the girl leave; he ascertains
that the old man is alone; he enters, probably he sees that tray of
rings lying about; he grabs a couple of the rings; the old man
interrupts him in the act; he seizes the old man, to silence his
outcries; the old man, feeble enough at any time, dies under the shock.
A clear, an unmistakable case!
What was he, Lauriston, to urge against the acceptance of such a
theory? He thought over everything that could be said on his behalf.
The friendliness of Zillah and her cousin Melky towards him could be
dismissed--that, when it came to it, would weigh little against the
cold marshalling of facts which a keen legal mind would put into the
opposite scale. His own contention that it was scarcely probable that
he should have gone to the pawnshop except to pledge something, and
that that something was the rings, would also be swept aside, easily
enough: his real object, the other side would say, had been robbery
when the old man was alone: what evidence had he that the two rings
which he had in his hand when Ayscough found him hurrying out of the
shop were really his?
Here, Lauriston knew he was in a difficulty. He had kept these two
rings safely hidden in his old-fashioned trunk ever since coming to
London, and had never shown them to a single person--he had, indeed,
never seen them himself for a long time until he took them out that
afternoon. But where was his proof of that! He had no relations to whom
he could appeal. His mother had possessed an annuity; just sufficient
to maintain her and her son, and to give Lauriston a good education: it
had died with her, and all that she had left him, to start life on, was
about two hundred pounds and some small personal belongings, of which
the rings and his father's watch and chain were a part. And he
remembered now that his mother had kept those rings as securely put
away as he had kept them since her death--until they came into his
hands at her death he had only once seen them; she had shown them to
him when he was a boy and had said they were very valuable. Was it
possible that there was any one, far away in Scotland, who had known
his mother and who would come forward--if need arose--and prove that
those rings had been her property? But when he had put this question to
himself, he had to answer it with a direct negative--he knew of no one.
There was one gleam of hope in this critical situation. John Purdie was
coming to London. Lauriston had always felt that he could rely on John
Purdie, and he had just received proof of the value of his faith in his
old schoolmate. John Purdie would tell him what to do: he might even
suggest the names of some of Mrs. Lauriston's old friends. And perhaps
the need might not arise--there must surely be some clue to the old
pawnbroker's assailant; surely the police would go deeper into the
matter. He cheered up at these thoughts, and having written replies to
the two welcome letters and asked John Purdie to see him immediately on
his arrival in town, he went out again to the post-office and to fulfil
his promise to Melky to call at the pawnshop.
Lauriston was naturally of quick observation. He noticed now, as he
stepped out into the ill-lighted, gloomy street that a man was pacing
up and down in front of the house. This man took no notice of him as he
passed, but before he had reached Praed Street, he glanced around, and
saw that he was following him. He followed him to Spring Street
post-office; he was in his rear when Lauriston reached the pawnshop.
Idly and perfunctorily as the man seemed to be strolling about,
Lauriston was sure that he was shadowing him--and he told Melky of the
fact when Melky admitted him to the shop by the private door.
"Likely enough, mister," remarked Melky. "But I shouldn't bother myself
about it if I were you. There'll be more known about this affair before
long. Now, look here," he continued, leading the way into the little
back-parlour where Lauriston had found Daniel Multenius lying dead,
"here's you and me alone--Zillah, she's upstairs, and Mrs. Goldmark is
with her. Just you tell me what you saw when you came in here, d'you
see, Mr. Lauriston--never mind the police--just give me the facts. I
ain't no fool, you know, and I'm going to work this thing out."
Lauriston gave Melky a complete account of his connection with the
matter: Melky checked off all the points on his long fingers. At the
end he turned to the table and indicated the finely-bound book which
Lauriston had noticed when he and the detective had first looked round.
"The police," said Melky, "made Zillah lock up that tray o' rings that
was there in a drawer what she had to clear out for 'em, and they've
put a seal on it till tomorrow. They've got those rings of yours, too,
mister, haven't they?"
"They said it would be best for me to leave them with them," answered
Lauriston. "Ayscough advised it. They gave me a receipt for them, you
know."
"All right," remarked Melky. "But there's something they ain't had the
sense to see the importance of--that fine book there. Mister!--that
there book wasn't in this parlour, nor in this shop, nor in this house,
at a quarter to five o'clock this afternoon, when my cousin Zillah went
out, leaving the poor old man alone. She'll swear to that. Now then,
who brought it here--who left it here? Between the time Zillah went
out, mister, and the time you come in, and found what you did find,
somebody--somebody!--had been in here and left that book behind him!
And--mark you!--it wasn't pawned, neither. That's a fact! And--it's no
common book, that. Look at it, Mr. Lauriston--you'd ought to know
something about books. Look at it!--s'elp me if I don't feel there's a
clue in that there volume, whoever it belongs to!"
Lauriston took the book in his hands. He had only glanced at it
casually before; now he examined it carefully, while Melky stood at his
elbow, watching. The mysterious volume was certainly worthy of close
inspection--a small quarto, wonderfully bound in old dark crimson
morocco leather, and ornamented on sides and back with curious gold
arabesque work: a heavy clasp, also intricately wrought, held the
boards together. Lauriston, something of a book lover, whose natural
inclination was to spend his last shilling on a book rather than on
beef and bread, looked admiringly at this fine specimen of the binder's
art as he turned it over.
"That's solid gold, isn't it?" he asked as he unfastened the clasp.
"You know."
"Solid gold it is, mister--and no error," assented Melky. "Now, what's
inside? It ain't no blooming account-book, I'll bet!"
Lauriston opened the volume, to reveal leaves of old vellum, covered
with beautiful fine writing. He had sufficient knowledge of foreign
languages to know what he was looking at.
"That's Spanish!" he said. "An old Spanish manuscript--and I should say
it's worth a rare lot of money. How could it have come here?"
Melky took the old volume out of Lauriston's hands, and put it away in
a corner cupboard.
"Ah, just so, mister!" he said. "But we'll keep that question to
ourselves--for awhile. Don't you say nothing to the police about that
there old book--I'll give Zillah the tip. More hangs round that than we
know of yet. Now look here!--there'll be the opening of the inquest
tomorrow. You be careful! Take my tip and don't let 'em get more out of
you than's necessary. I'll go along with you. I'm going to stop here
tonight--watch-dog, you know. Mrs. Goldmark and another friend's going
to be here as well, so Zillah'll have company. And I say, Zillah wants
a word with you--stop here, and I'll send her down."
Lauriston presently found himself alone with Zillah in the little
parlour. She looked at him silently, with eyes full of anxiety: he
suddenly realized that the anxiety was for himself.
"Don't!" he said, moving close to her and laying his hand on her arm.
"I'm not afraid!"
Zillah lifted her large dark eyes to his.
"Those rings?" she said. "You'll be able to account for them? The
police, oh, I'm so anxious about you!"
"The rings are mine!" he exclaimed. "It doesn't matter what the police
say or think, or do, either--at least, it shan't matter. And--you're
not to be anxious I've got a good friend coming from Scotland--Melky
told you I'd had two lots of good news tonight, didn't he?"
A moment later Lauriston was in the street--conscious that, without a
word spoken between them, he and Zillah had kissed each other. He went
away with a feeling of exaltation--and he only laughed when he saw a
man detach himself from a group on the opposite side of the street and
saunter slowly after him. Let the police shadow him--watch his lodgings
all night, if they pleased--he had something else to think of. And
presently, not even troubling to look out of his window to see if there
was a watcher there, he went to bed, to dream of Zillah's dark eyes.
But when morning came, and Lauriston realized that a fateful day was
before him, his thoughts were not quite so rosy. He drew up his
blind--there, certainly was a man pacing the opposite sidewalk.
Evidently, he was not to escape surveillance; the official eye was on
him! Supposing, before the day was out, the official hand was on him,
too?
He turned from the window as he heard his newspaper thrust under his
door. He had only one luxury--a copy of the _Times_ every morning. It
was a three-penny _Times_ in those days, but he had always managed to
find his weekly eighteen pence for it. He picked it up now, and
carelessly glanced at its front page as he was about to lay it aside.
The next moment he was eagerly reading a prominent advertisement:
"Lost in a Holborn to Chapel Street Omnibus, about 4 o'clock yesterday
afternoon, a Spanish manuscript, bound in old crimson morocco. Whoever
has found the same will be most handsomely rewarded on bringing it to
Spencer Levendale, Esq., M.P., 591, Sussex Square, W."
Lauriston read this twice over--and putting the paper in his pocket,
finished his dressing and went straight to the police-station.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT
Melky Rubinstein came out of the side-passage by Multenius's shop as
Lauriston neared it; he, too, had a newspaper bulging from his coat
pocket, and at sight of Lauriston he pulled it out and waved it
excitedly.
"What'd I tell you, mister?" exclaimed Melky, as Lauriston joined him,
the shadowing plain-clothes man in his rear. "D'ye see this?" He
pointed to an advertisement in his own paper, which he had marked with
blue pencil. "There y'are, Mr. Lauriston!--that identical old book
what's inside the parlour--advertised for--handsome reward, too, in the
_Daily Telegraph_! Didn't I say we'd hear more of it?"
Lauriston pulled out the _Times_ and indicated the Personal Column.
"It's there, too," he said. "This man, Mr. Levendale, is evidently very
anxious to recover his book. And he's lost no time in advertising for
it, either! But--however did it get to Multenius's?
"Mister!" said Melky, solemnly. "We'll have to speak to the
police--now. There's going to be a fine clue in that there book. I
didn't mean to say nothing to the police about it, just yet, but after
this here advertisement, t'ain't no use keeping the thing to ourselves.
Come on round to the police-station."
"That's just where I was going," replied Lauriston. "Let's get hold of
Ayscough."
Ayscough was standing just inside the police-station when they went up
the steps; he, too, had a newspaper in his hands, and at sight of them
he beckoned them to follow him into an office in which two or three
other police officials were talking. He led Lauriston and Melky aside.
"I say!" he said. "Here's a curious thing! That book we noticed on the
table in Multenius's back room last night--that finely bound book--it's
advertised for in the _Daily Mail_--handsome reward offered."
"Yes, and in the _Times_, too--and in the _Daily Telegraph_," said
Lauriston. "Here you are--just the same advertisement. It's very
evident the owner's pretty keen about getting it back."
Ayscough glanced at the two newspapers, and then beckoned to a
constable who was standing near the door.
"Jim!" he said, as the man came up. "Just slip across to the
newsagent's over there and get me the _News_, the _Chronicle_, the
_Standard_, the _Morning Post_. If the owner's as keen as all that," he
added, turning back to Lauriston, "he'll have put that advertisement in
all the morning papers, and I'd like to make sure. What's known about
that book at the shop?" he asked, glancing at Melky. "Does your cousin
know anything?"
Melky's face assumed its most solemn expression.
"Mister!" he said earnestly. "There ain't nothing known at the shop
about that there book, except this here. It wasn't there when my cousin
Zillah left the old man alone at a quarter to five yesterday afternoon.
It was there when this here gentleman found the old man. But it hadn't
been pledged, nor yet sold, Mr. Ayscough--There'd ha' been an entry in
the books if it had been taken in pawn, or bought across the
counter--and there's no entry. Now then--who'd left it there?"
Another official had come up to the group--one of the men who had
questioned Lauriston the night before. He turned to Lauriston as Melky
finished.
"You don't know anything about this book?" he asked.
"Nothing--except that Mr. Ayscough and I saw it lying on the table in
the back room, close by that tray of rings," replied Lauriston. "I was
attracted by the binding, of course."
"Where's the book, now?" asked the official.
"Put safe away, mister," replied Melky. "It's all right. But this here
gentleman what's advertising for it--"
Just then the constable returned with several newspapers and handed
them over to Ayscough, who immediately laid them on a desk and turned
to the advertisements, while the others crowded round him.
"In every one of 'em," exclaimed Ayscough, a moment later. "Word for
word, in every morning newspaper in London! He must have sent that
advertisement round to all the offices last night. And you'll notice,"
he added, turning to the other official, "that this Mr. Levendale only
lost this book about four o'clock yesterday afternoon: therefore, it
must have been taken to Multenius's shop between then and when we saw
it there."
"The old man may have found it in the 'bus," suggested a third police
officer who had come up. "Looks as if he had."
"No, mister," said Melky firmly. "Mr. Multenius wasn't out of the shop
at all yesterday afternoon--I've made sure o' that fact from my cousin.
He didn't find no book, gentlemen. It was brought there."
Ayscough picked up one of the papers and turned to Melky and Lauriston.
"Here!" he said. "We'll soon get some light on this. You two come with
me--we'll step round to Mr. Levendale."
Ten minutes later, the three found themselves at the door of one of the
biggest houses in Sussex Square; a moment more and they were being
ushered within by a footman who looked at them with stolid curiosity.
Lauriston gained a general impression of great wealth and luxury, soft
carpets, fine pictures, all the belongings of a very rich man's
house--then he and his companions were ushered into a large room, half
study, half library, wherein, at a massive, handsomely carved desk,
littered with books and papers, sat a middle-aged, keen-eyed man, who
looked quietly up from his writing-pad at his visitors.
"S'elp me!--one of ourselves!" whispered Melky Rubinstein at
Lauriston's elbow. "Twig him!"