THE MAN WITH THE MARK.
The Rowtons now entered on a very gay time. They accepted every
invitation which came to them. No night passed which did not find them
either dining out or attending large evening receptions. The ball at
Pitstow turned out an immense success, and Nance was the acknowledged
belle of the occasion. She wore one of her most beautiful Paris dresses,
which gave her all that diaphanous and somewhat cloudy appearance which
best set off the delicate style of her beauty. Nance wore diamonds on
this occasion, and there were no jewels to match with hers amongst the
giddy throng. By-and-by, the time drew on when Rowton and his wife were
to give that house-warming which the master of Rowton Heights had spoken
of on the day when he first took Nance over the house. The preparations
for the ball were at their height, and the ball itself was to take place
within a week’s time, when, to Mrs. Ferguson’s unbounded astonishment and
annoyance, Jacob, the valuable new footman, begged for a holiday. He came
to the housekeeper just when she was at her busiest, and made his request
in that cool, quiet voice which always characterised him.
“I want to go up to London for a day and a night,” he said.
“Well, I suppose you can when the ball is over,” she returned. “You have
not been here two months yet; but you are a good servant, and I daresay
Vickers can manage to spare you; but, of course, such a thing cannot be
thought of until the ball is over.”
“I am very sorry,” replied Jacob, “but I have had bad news from home,
and must go and attend to matters myself. If you let me off to-day, Mrs.
Ferguson, I’ll be back, at the very latest, the day after to-morrow.”
“You cannot go at all. Your request is most unreasonable,” said Mrs.
Ferguson. “There are some new servants coming down immediately, and the
house will be full from end to end; then half of the guests at least will
arrive on Saturday. No, no, my good fellow, I cannot listen to you. Don’t
keep me any longer. I can give no servants holidays until the ball is
behind us instead of in front of us.”
Jacob retired without a word.
But he was not to be out-done. After thinking matters over for a moment
or two, he resolved to attack his mistress, and, if necessary, to take
her partly into his confidence. After a little searching he found Nance
in the large conservatory which opened out of the yellow drawing-room.
Her husband was with her. He was busily engaged re-potting some flowers.
Rowton was devoted to horticulture, and no employment gave him greater
pleasure. Nance was helping him—garden gloves on her hands, and a large
apron over her pretty morning dress—when she was startled by hearing
Jacob’s quiet voice in her ears. She turned round quickly.
“Can I speak to you for a moment, madam?” he said. “I am very sorry to
trouble you.”
“Certainly, Jacob,” replied the girl in a kind voice. “What is the
matter? You look quite in trouble. Can I do anything for you?”
The man glanced over his shoulder at Rowton. Rowton, absorbed in his
work, did not even know that Short had come into the conservatory. He was
bending over a very valuable cactus.
“Nance,” he called out, “come here. This is certainly a night-flowering
cactus, and I do believe there is a bud coming. We must watch for the
time when it bursts into flower; the scent is something never to be
forgotten—the flower only lasts during one night. Can you sketch? You
ought to make a drawing of it. Well, if you can’t, I can. You never saw a
night-flowering cactus, did you?”
“No, no,” she answered. “I’ll be with you in one moment, Adrian. Now,
Jacob, what is it you want?”
“Can I speak to you alone, ma’am? I won’t keep you,” said the man.
Nance walked to the door of the conservatory. Jacob followed her.
“I am very sorry to be troublesome,” he said, “and I really thought
to get to London without worrying you in the matter, ma’am, but Mrs.
Ferguson won’t let me go.”
“Do you really wish to leave us?” said Nance. She forgot at that moment
all about Crossley; and Jacob was nothing more to her than an ordinary
valuable and good servant. “You seem to suit the place very well,” she
continued. “I am sorry you have to go.”
“I don’t want to go at all, ma’am. I am coming back again; but I must go
to town to-day.”
“Well, why not? I daresay you can be spared.”
“Mrs. Ferguson says not, ma’am. Now the fact is,”—here Jacob lowered
his voice, and his eyes sought the ground—“it is Crossley; I have had a
letter from him.”
“Crossley the detective?” cried Nance, with a start.
“Yes, ma’am; perhaps you won’t speak so loud. I have had a cipher from
Crossley this morning—in answer to one of mine, of course. You know, Mrs.
Rowton, why I am here?”
“Nance, what is keeping you?” called her husband.
“I cannot stay with you now, Jacob,” said Nance, colouring and looking
confused. “Coming, Adrian. Of course, if you want to go to town,” she
continued, glancing almost nervously at the footman, “you must do so. Do
not stay away longer than you can help. Tell Mrs. Ferguson I have given
you leave.”
“Thank you, ma’am, I am extremely obliged,” answered Jacob.
He left the conservatory, walking in his deliberate fashion through the
drawing-room. In the lobby outside he came face to face with Hester
Winsome.
“Well?” she said, looking at him interrogatively.
“Well?” he replied, drawing himself full up.
“I saw you talking to my mistress,” said Hester. “Were you asking a
favour?”
“Yes and no,” replied Jacob. “One of my relations is ill, and I am
anxious to go to town to see her. Mrs. Ferguson would not let me off
because of all this fuss in connection with the big ball, so I went to
Mrs. Rowton.”
“How sly of you,” said Hester. “Of course, she, poor weakling, gave you
leave.”
“You ought not to speak of your mistress like that, Miss Winsome. Yes,
she gave me leave. She is a kind-hearted young lady. I’m off to town in
an hour. Shall I bring you a pretty trifle when I return?”
“That’s as you please,” answered Hester, with a smile. “I may be going
to town on my own account before long,” she added. “I am rather tired of
Rowton Heights. It don’t seem the right sort of place for a girl like me.
There’s nothing to excite one here—at least, nothing to excite one who
has been used to London ways.”
Jacob smiled.
“You’ll have plenty of excitement next week,” he said, “when all the
grand folks are down. The house will be chock full, like an egg full of
meat.”
“Yes, won’t it?” said Hester. “They’re putting up beds everywhere. Now,
don’t it seem stupid to crowd people like that when the Queen Anne wing
would hold three or four more of the guests? Why cannot beds be put in
the Queen Anne wing?”
“You are very unreasonable,” said Jacob. “How can a poor lady who is off
her head be disturbed with company?”
“Of course, I forgot,” answered the girl. “And the rats, too, might
frighten the guests. Oh! it’s best as it is, no doubt.” Her eyes flashed
in a knowing way.
“By the way, Mr. Jacob,” she called out as the man was disappearing down
one of the passages, “have you heard the latest news?”
“No,” he said, arresting his steps as he spoke.
“Why, it is this,” answered Hester, running up to him, “there’s been
no end of a big burglary took place last night at Castle Stewart. The
postman brought us the news this morning.”
“I have not heard anything of it,” replied Jacob. “A burglary, did you
say—not really?”
“Yes, really, and a very big one. The burglars got in through one of the
upper windows—they say they had rope ladders with them and all kinds
of modern contrivances—and they broke open the safe in Lady Arabella’s
dressing-room, and took off all her jewels and a lot of plate from the
butler’s pantry besides. The police are scouring the country to try and
catch some of the thieves.”
“It is a good thing we have one of Clever’s safes here,” remarked Jacob.
He stood quite silent for a moment, evidently thinking hard. Then he went
to find Mrs. Ferguson to let her know that his young mistress had given
him permission to take his holiday.
* * * * *
That evening Crossley the detective was enjoying his pipe over a snug
fire in his little house near Clapham Common. He had gone through a day
of hard work, and was just in the humour to appreciate some well-earned
rest, when his servant opened the door and announced a visitor. The next
moment Short stood before him.
“Here I am,” said that worthy. “I got your cipher by the first post this
morning and managed everything first rate. The house is full and will be
still fuller, so I must take the first train back. And now what do you
want of me?”
“Sit down, Jacob,” said Crossley; “if you are in a hurry I am more than
willing to go to business at once. You seem, to judge by your letter, to
be managing all right down in those parts.”
“Yes, I am making discoveries,” said Jacob; “and some which I fancy will
surprise you. These I keep to myself for the present. The discoveries
which relate to the special business which keeps me at Rowton Heights, I,
of course, disclose to you.”
“Why not all your discoveries?” said Crossley.
“Because some are not ripe for disclosure at the present moment,”
answered Jacob, in a terse voice. “The fact is this, a clue is a delicate
matter—a clue seems to me to be often a sort of intangible thing. If you
speak of it, it vanishes under your grip. But I repeat that things look
well, and that I am doing good work.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Crossley, “the part of your work which concerns
me is what I am naturally anxious to hear about. You know what you went
to Rowton Heights for?”
“Rather,” said Jacob—“to get hold of the man who murdered young Mr.
Follett.”
“Yes, we must nab him soon, I fancy.”
“He requires careful handling,” said Jacob. “Your clue to him at the
present moment is a piece of paper with a certain cipher and a certain
hieroglyphic upon it—the man himself being marked in a peculiar way.”
“Precisely,” said the detective, removing the pipe from his mouth, and
looking hard into Jacob’s eyes.
“You arrested a man lately who belonged to the Silver Mob,” continued
Jacob. “On examining his papers you found a letter, or part of a letter
written in the same cipher, and signed with the same hieroglyphics.”
“I did, I did. What is the good of going into that over again?”
“I want to get it firm in my mind,” continued Jacob. “You sent me to
Rowton Heights because your suspicions pointed to one man.”
“Good Heavens! yes,” said Crossley, jumping up as he spoke. “It is
ridiculous for a man like me to feel anything, but you don’t know, Short,
what I have suffered on account of these suspicions. The young lady wants
to go on with this matter and yet——”
“If your suspicions and mine are correct,” continued Jacob in a calm
voice, “the business will break her heart—still business is business. I
don’t mean to drop the thing now. It is true at the present moment I have
not found any cipher at Rowton Heights like that which you hold in your
hands, but I think I see the way to doing so before long. I also believe
that I shall discover the mark for which we are searching. It won’t be
long, therefore, before we put our hands upon the man.”
“And he is?” said Crossley, bending forward, his voice dropping to a
whisper; “speak low, Jacob, for Heaven’s sake!”