NO. 119 GREAT PORTER SQUARE IS LET TO A NEW TENANT.
To the closed shutters of No. 119 Great Porter Square was attached
a board, on which were painted the words, "This House to Let on
reasonable terms, or the Lease to be sold. Apply to Mr. Stapleton,
House Agent, Great Andrew Street, Bloomsbury." The board had grown
disconsolate-looking and disreputable, as though it was a partner in
the disgrace which had fallen upon the tenement.
At the time the notice "To Let" was attached to the shutters, the agent
had no hope whatever of letting the house. "There isn't a chance of
anybody taking it," he said, "for at least three months." The three
months passed, and no probable tenant had made his appearance. "There's
nothing for it but patience," he then said. "Would _you_ live in the
house?" asked his wife, when he was dilating upon the folly of people
allowing such a chance to escape them. "Not for untold gold!" he
replied. "Well then!" she exclaimed; winding up the argument thus, as
is the way with women.
He was much astonished, therefore, upon returning to his office from his
mid-day chop, to find a gentleman waiting to see him, who, closing the
door of the little private room in which he transacted special business,
asked him if No. 119 Great Porter Square was still to let.
"Yes," said Mr. Stapleton; "the board's up; you can see it as you pass
the house."
"I have not passed through Great Porter Square for a long time," said
the gentleman, "and I was not aware that a board was up. I was directed
to come to you by a friend, who told me you were the agent."
"Do you wish to take the house?" asked Mr. Stapleton, looking with some
suspicion upon his prospective client.
"I should have no objection," said the gentleman, "If I can have it on
my own terms----"
"On any terms," interrupted Mr. Stapleton, a little too eagerly, and
adding, in correction of his over-haste, "that is, for a certain
time--after which, of course, we expect a fair rent. The prejudice
against the place _must_ wear away one time or another."
"But the murder remains," observed the gentleman, sadly; "time will not
wear that away."
"True," said Mr. Stapleton, coughing; "nothing can wear that away. But I
refer to the sentiment, the feeling, the prejudice."
"You interrupted me just now," said the gentleman, coming back to the
practical. "I was about to say that I should have no objection to take
the house if I can have it on my own terms and conditions. By 'terms' I
don't mean money. I have no doubt we shall agree upon the question of
rent."
"We will put the house in repair for you," said Mr. Stapleton; "you can
choose your own paper, and we will give it three good coatings of paint
outside. In fact, anything you can suggest we shall be most happy to
consider."
"I have nothing to suggest," said the gentleman, "and I do not propose
to put you to the expense of a shilling for repairs. I will take the
house just as it is, if my conditions are complied with."
Mr. Stapleton looked gravely at his visitor, and said, as he rubbed his
chin:
"I don't think we could let the house for the purposes of exhibition."
"Good God!" cried the gentleman, "I should hope not. It would be making
a trade of murder!"
"My sentiments exactly," acquiesced Mr. Stapleton, "only you express
them so much more forcibly." At the same time, he began to regard the
gentleman as a very queer customer indeed, and to wonder why he was so
long in coming to the point. Had he been aware of the gentleman's inward
agitation and anxiety, and of what depended upon the result of this
application, his wonder would have been lessened, and he might have
raised the rent instead of lowering it.
"May I ask what are your conditions?"
"The first and most important," replied the gentleman, "is secresy. I
wish no one to know that I have taken the house; I wish no one to know
that it is let. The board will remain up; the house will remain as it
is. All that I shall require of you is the key of the street-door. These
conditions complied with, I will pay you six months' rent in advance,
and I will make myself responsible for another six months. It is more
than probable--nay, it is almost certain--that before three months are
over I shall hand you back the key, with the rent for the additional six
months. As a matter of bargain, it is not a bad one for you."
"I admit it," said Mr. Stapleton; "what I have to consider, on the other
hand, is whether it is a good thing for the house."
"Do you think you can do better?"
"I do not think I could; yours is the first application I have had
since the murder was committed. You shudder, sir! It is enough to make
one. If I had not been an agent for the estate, nothing would have
induced me to undertake the letting of such a house. What am I to say in
case another person, seeing the board still up, applies to me for the
particulars?"
"Say that, although the board remains, you have decided not to let the
house for two or three months. No one can compel you to let it."
"Certainly not--certainly not," said Mr. Stapleton. "You will excuse my
remarking that there is something very mysterious in all this, and that
you appear singularly anxious to take the house."
"Your remark is a natural one. There _is_ something mysterious in it,
and I _am_ most anxious to become your tenant."
"You are candid enough in that respect, I must say. Will you favour me
with your name and references?--you have references, of course; they are
indispensable."
"I have references, with which you will be satisfied. But I cannot give
them to you, nor can I disclose my name, until you say the house is
mine, on my conditions--to which I must add another: that my name is not
entered on your books for your clerks to comment upon and prattle about.
If you agree, and my references are satisfactory, the matter can be
concluded at once. If they are not satisfactory, I cannot expect you
to accept me as a tenant. It will be a grief to me, but I shall be
compelled to submit, and must seek another mode of carrying out my
designs."
So much was Mr. Stapleton's curiosity excited that he consented to the
proposed arrangement.
"Now for the references," he said.
"I will take you to them," responded the gentleman. "I am most earnestly
desirous that the affair be concluded immediately. Charge me what you
please for your loss of time in accompanying me, and believe that if it
be in my power to show my gratitude to you by-and-bye, I shall not miss
the opportunity."
Unusual as was this mode of conducting his business, Mr. Stapleton
consented, and accompanied the gentleman to a house in the most
fashionable part of London, where he obtained a recommendation in
every way satisfactory, and then to a common locality, where a private
detective, known to him by name, vouched for the respectability of his
proposed tenant.
"Is this a police affair, then?" he asked of the detective.
"Perhaps it is and perhaps it isn't," replied the detective. "What
you've got to do with it is to take your rent, and keep your mouth
shut."
"A wink's as good as a nod," said Mr. Stapleton, and departed with
his tenant to his office, where the preliminaries were completed, and
the rent paid to him. He whistled softly when he heard the name of
the tenant, which was given to him in confidence, but he took the
detective's advice, and kept his mouth shut--except to his wife, upon
his return home; but even to her he would impart nothing more than
that he had that day transacted the strangest piece of business in his
experience.
Long before this strange piece of business was concluded, Becky had
received the following reply to her letter:
"MY DARLING,--Your news is most important, and little Fanny has earned
my undying gratitude. As for yourself, I am at a loss what to say. The
evidences of indomitable spirit you have displayed have filled me with
wonder. It is given to me to know, as no other man has ever known, of
what a noble woman's love is capable. You would inspire a dying man with
hope and courage; but remember, you are a woman, and can only do, under
certain circumstances, what it is in a woman's power to do. You have
the heart of the bravest man, but you have not his strength. I know the
villain Pelham, otherwise Richard Manx, to be a coward, but it is hard
to say to what extremes a desperate man, brought to bay, may be driven.
False courage may come to him in such a crisis--to last most likely but
for a few minutes, or seconds even, but long enough to do a deed which
may bring life-long sorrow to a loving heart--to my loving heart, which
beats for you, as yours beats for me. Such a risk must not be run. You
could cope, I believe, better than I could with such a creature as my
murdered father's widow, upon whose soul lies the guilt of the death of
two noble gentlemen, but you are not the equal of villains like Pelham,
who would strike a woman, and tremble in the presence of a man. I feel
faint to think of the peril you were in when you and your brave little
friend entered Richard Manx's room in the dead of night. You do not
realise it; I do, and I must take some step to avert danger from the
girl I love, and to bring the murderer of my father to justice. The
time for watching is over; the time for action has arrived. It is now
for me to take up the thread of evidence which you have woven, and to
strengthen it into a chain from which the guilty cannot escape. Time is
too precious to waste; not another day, not another hour, must be lost.
I agree with you that Pelham has reason to suspect that my dear father
left behind him, and concealed, a document which may re-establish me
in my place among men, and supply damning evidence against those who
brought him to his death. It is, I see well, the only direct evidence
upon which we can rely--for though Pelham, by coming to your house under
a disguise, and by his subsequent actions, has laid himself open to the
gravest suspicion and to certain disgrace, I doubt whether what could be
brought against him would be sufficiently strong to clear up the awful
mystery of my father's murder. And that is my first duty--to leave no
stone unturned, to work with all my strength and cunning, with all my
heart and soul and body, to satisfy the claims of justice. My father's
blood calls out to me to devote myself utterly, to risk every danger,
to die if need be, in the pursuit and accomplishment of this sacred
duty. To bring disgrace upon Pelham is not sufficient--has he not
already reached that end in his life and character? Something more than
suspicious motive is needed, and I will not rest till he is hunted down,
and his guilt brought home to him. Again and again I implore you to
leave him now entirely to me. Go up to his room no more, or you may mar
the steps I have already taken, and am about to take. I have told you
that, when I was living in my dear father's house, I had in my employ a
detective who tracked the shameless woman to an appointment with Pelham,
and through whose instrumentality I hoped to open my father's eyes to
the true character of the wife who was disgracing him. You know how
she worked upon my father's deep love for her, and frustrated my just
design. The use of the detective was, and is, revolting to me, but there
was (and to a certain extent is) no other way of obtaining evidence.
This detective, with men under him, is again in my employ. It was he
who brought my Statement to you when I lately returned from Liverpool.
Mr. Pelham, in his own proper person, and in the disguise he has
assumed, is now under strict surveillance; and the partner of his guilt,
my father's widow, is also being watched. Not a movement outside their
houses will escape notice; nor shall they escape, in their own persons,
if they make the attempt. I think something of the kind is meditated,
for Mrs. Holdfast--it maddens me to think that I must call her by the
name which I hope you will one day bear--is converting into money all my
father's property, and she is not doing this without a motive. Let her
beware! The sword is hanging over her head, and may fall at any moment.
I can imagine no greater misery for this woman than to be thrust upon
the world in a state of poverty. For even if she could be proved guilty
of nothing but love's treachery as regards my father, I shall have no
pity for her. She has tasted the pleasures of wealth, and it would
poison all her after-life to be deprived of it. I write bitterly, and I
do not attempt to disguise my feelings. The face of this woman--fair,
alas! but that is one of the mockeries of nature--as it rises before me,
seems almost to blight the sweet beauty which lies in innocence, truth
and purity. Forgive me for my bitterness; I have suffered much; had it
not been for you I should have lost all faith in goodness. How much I
owe you!
"It does not surprise me to learn, through Fanny's reading of the letter
which Mr. Pelham gave her to deliver to Mrs. Holdfast, that Pelham and
she are at variance upon monetary matters. Such natures as theirs are of
necessity grasping and avaricious, and although they are bound to each
other by the closest and most dangerous ties, there cannot possibly be
harmony between them; experience has made each suspicious of the other,
and has shown them, through the mirror of their own souls, how little of
truth and honesty they can expect from each other. Had my father died
a natural death, I should have been content to leave them to their own
punishment--bitterer than any enemy could have made it for them.
"By to-night's train a messenger leaves for Paris; to-morrow morning he
will receive at the Poste Restante the letter Mrs. Holdfast wrote to
Fanny's imaginary sister, Nelly. There may be nothing in it, but I have
caught the inspiration of your own bold spirit; not a chance must be
lost sight of. The messenger will open and read the letter in Paris,
and, if necessary, he will reply to it and post his reply there. This,
in any event, will avert suspicion from your brave little Fanny--God
bless her!--in case she and Mrs. Holdfast should meet again.
"You will readily understand that the expenses of all these proceedings
are more than I could meet, in my present position, unless I had at my
back a rich and generous friend. I have that friend in Adolph, who knows
everything; I have concealed nothing from him; his indignation against
our enemies, and his sympathy for ourselves, are unbounded. He has
supplied me with ample means, not caring, he says, whether the money is
ever repaid. After all, my dear, there is more light than shadow in the
world.
"With my dearest love, for ever yours,
"FREDERICK."
[Decoration]