VERSCHOYLE V. VERSCHOYLE AND MACGREGOR.
Business being concluded, as a natural thing, pleasure followed, and
having had luncheon with Foster at "The Excelsior," a club much
frequented by rising young men, Ronald took leave of the barrister,
and went off to his hotel,--there to attire himself for an afternoon
call.
It might have been the fashion in the past for lovers to become
exceedingly negligent in their dress, and pass their time in writing
amatory odes to Chloe and Lydia, not daring to name openly the object
of their affections, but now-a-days this is all changed. Strephon puts
on his smartest suit, wears his brightest smile, and shows Chloe
plainly that he adores her. Instead of wasting his time in writing
poetry, he gets Chloe tickets for the theatre, takes her presents of
flowers and music, and, on the whole, conducts himself in a
matter-of-fact-fashion. So Master Ronald, adopting the modern manner
of love-making, dressed himself carefully, placed a flower in his
coat, and went off in a hansom cab, to call on Miss Cotoner. He also
got a box at one of the theatres and not knowing his divinity's taste
in theatricals, judged it by his own, and decided she would like to go
to the Frivolity Theatre, at which the sacred lamp of burlesque was
burning.
Of course, he found Mr. Ryan there--that young gentleman having come
to call on Mrs. Pellypop, and naturally met Miss Lester also--such a
delightfully unexpected meeting--the young humbug. It is wonderful how
people, who have travelled together, gravitate towards one another on
shore, and when Ronald was shown upstairs, he found Mrs. Pellypop,
Miss Lester, Carmela and the Marchese, all together having afternoon
tea.
Sir Mark and Miss Trevor were also present, and appeared to be
enjoying themselves very much. Ronald's entrance was hailed with great
delight by all except Vassalla, who scowled at the Australian in a way
that showed his animosity had not in any way abated. Carmela came
forward with a pretty flush on her cheek, and gave him a cup of tea,
after which they all began to talk.
"And what were you doing last night, Mr. Monteith?" asked Mrs.
Pellypop, who presided over the tea-service.
"Oh!" said Ronald, innocently, not understanding the violent gestures
Pat was making to him. "Pat and I went to the Alhambra."
Mrs. Pellypop put down her cup with a look of horror.
"That dreadful place?" she said, looking severely at Pat; "why, Mr.
Ryan, you said you were at Exeter Hall."
Everyone laughed at this, and Pat muttered something about a mistake.
"Oh! the Alhambra isn't a bad place," said Sir Mark, good naturedly;
"the ballets are very good."
"It's more than the young women are," retorted Mrs. Pellypop,
viciously; "I would not like the Bishop to go there."
"No," said Carmela, with a laugh; "it's hardly the place for a
bishop."
"I'm sorry you don't like theatres," began Ronald, to the matron,
"but----"
"I do like some theatres," answered Mrs. Pellypop; "and any play of
Shakespeare's."
"Ah! you see, they aren't playing Shakespeare just now," said Ronald,
dryly; "but I've got a box at the Frivolity to-night, and thought the
ladies might like to come," looking straight at Carmela.
Everyone looked grave at this. The Frivolity was such a fast theatre.
"You don't know London very well," said Vassalla, in a sarcastic tone
of voice, "or you would find out that the Frivolity is as bad, if not
worse, than many a music-hall."
"Oh, I've erred through ignorance, then," retorted Ronald, with a
flush, "but I don't think music halls are so very bad; and besides, as
far as I can judge, your acquaintance with London is not so extensive
as to enable you to correct me, Marchese."
Vassalla would have made an angry reply had not Carmela interposed.
"What are they playing there?" she asked.
"A burlesque," cried Kate Lester, "'Artful Artemis and the Shy
Shepherd.'"
"Kate," cried Mrs. Pellypop, in a severe tone, "how can you talk so?
In my young days girls knew nothing of such things."
"I wish she wouldn't go back into the dark ages," whispered Pat to
Carmela, "she must be a hundred, and young at that," whereon Carmela
laughed.
"Well," said Ronald, dismally, "if none of the ladies will come,
perhaps the gentlemen will."
"I'm engaged," said Vassalla, promptly.
"Thank heaven," thought Ronald, muttering the regrets which politeness
demanded.
"I will come, Mr. Monteith," said Sir Mark, "and I've no doubt Mr.
Ryan----"
"Oh, I'll be all there," said Pat, gaily; "I adore burlesque; the
stage educates the people, begad, and a mighty nice schoolmaster it
is."
"That will be three all together," said Ronald, "so I'll ask my
friend, Mr. Foster, to make a fourth; but what are the ladies' plans
for to-night?"
"I am going to take my cousin and Miss Trevor to the Italian
Exhibition," said Vassalla, quickly.
"Not to-night," replied Carmela, coldly, "I am going to write
letters."
"And I am going to wait in to see the Bishop," said Mrs. Pellypop.
"In fact," said Bell Trevor, sarcastically, "we are going to have a
quiet, domestic evening."
"I hope you'll enjoy yourself," whispered Pat to Miss Lester, as he
rose to go.
"Oh, bother," retorted that young lady, crossly; "I might as well be
in a convent. The way Mrs. Pellypop looks after me! However, my father
is coming to London this week, and then I'll go everywhere."
"May I come too?" plaintively asked Pat.
"If you're good, yes."
As Ronald said good-bye to Carmela, he asked her what she would be
doing in the afternoon of the next day.
"Oh! Sir Mark, Miss Trevor, and I are going to the Italian
Exhibition."
"And the Marchese?"
"He'll very likely be there also." she replied, coldly.
Whereupon he took his leave, and determined, privately in his own
mind, that he also would be at the Exhibition, and would speak to
Carmela on the subject nearest his heart.
"I'm madly in love with her," he told Pat, as they went down the
street, "you don't know how much."
"Oh, begad I do," retorted Pat, "haven't I got a heart and a girl of
my own? I wonder what Lester père is like."
"If he's as nice as Lester fille, it will be all right," laughed
Ronald, and they went along to the Temple, as Monteith wanted to
introduce Pat to Foster.
This being accomplished, they all went home to dress for dinner, and
Sir Mark also turning up, they had a pleasant meal about seven
o'clock, and, as all the party suited one another, they became quite
jolly. The baronet soon showed himself to be a capital companion; a
little cold, perhaps, but with lots of appreciation of fun, and as for
Foster, he kept them all amused by his stories and jokes. Pat was in
his best form, and the champagne only made him more exuberant in
spirits, while Ronald, forgetting all his love and detective work for
the moment, was gay as any of them. After dinner they all went to the
Frivolity, and arrived just as the curtain was rising on the new
burlesque.
The theatre was crowded, as the Frivolity invariably was, and Ronald
saw, with some amusement, that the celebrated masher brigade, of whom
he had heard so much, was in full force in the stalls. They looked
like rows of waxworks with their immovable faces and phlegmatic
manners.
"They look as if they ought to be wound up like clockwork," remarked
Pat, gaily.
"Oh, they only keep going on tick, if that's what you mean," said
Foster, laughing.
"Oh, what a pun!" observed Ronald in disgust; "as if those in the
burlesque weren't bad enough."
"Well, they couldn't be much worse," said Sir Mark, putting up his
opera glass.
The burlesque of "Artemis" was in the usual style; the author had
taken the beautiful Greek myth of Diana and Endymion, and vulgarised
it hopelessly. In it, Artemis, the virgin huntress, was represented as
an old maid in love with Endymion, who, of course, was in love with
some one else, being, in his case, another man's wife, and the other
man, being an apothecary, gives Endymion a powder, which sends him to
sleep. In fact, the whole burlesque was written to show that women
hunt after men, and that the most amusing thing in life is to get as
near divorce as possible, without the actual law business taking
place. Artemis was acted by a celebrated lion comique, who sang local
songs about the Government and the Royal Family, and Endymion was
given by a little girl with yellow hair and saucy, blue eyes, who sang
and danced like a fairy. Indeed, when she sang her great song,
"Slightly on the Mash," Pat fell head over ears in love with her, and
felt inclined to join in the chorus with these beautiful words:--
Slightly on the mash, boys,
Don't I do it flash, boys?
Altho' my income's very small,--
In fact, I guess its none at all--
I'll never go to smash, boys,
While I can cut a dash, boys;
For I'm a chap, without a rap
That's--slightly on the mash.
Heavens! how they applauded her as she ogled and flirted, and winked,
and smiled; to hear her was a liberal education--in slang.
"Gad, ain't she a jolly little thing," cried Pat, enthusiastically.
"Don't lose your heart, old chap," whispered Ronald, "remember Miss
Lester."
"Begad, my heart's big enough for two," said Pat, with a humorous
twinkle in his eye; "but ye needn't be afraid, Ronald, I have no
diamonds to give away."
"No wonder the theatre elevates the masses," said Gerald to Sir Mark,
who was listening to the song with rather a contemptuous smile; "what
with burlesques, sensation dramas, aid shilling shockers, we'll soon
attain a wonderful degree of civilization."
"Oh! you look at everything from a utilitarian point of view," replied
Trevor, as the curtain fell on the first act, amid thunders of
applause.
"I try to," began Foster, when Pat, who had caught the last word
imperfectly, started up.
"Yes, I'm dry too," he said, gaily; "let us go and worship at the
shrine of Bacchus."
"You go with Sir Mark," said Foster; "I want to speak with Monteith on
business."
"Right you are!" replied Pat, "come Sir Mark, I'm as thirsty as a
limekiln;" and Mr. Ryan went out of the box humming "Slightly on the
mash," followed by Sir Mark Trevor, who was greatly amused with the
young Irishman.
"Now then," said Ronald, eagerly drawing his chair close to that of
Foster's, "what is it, good news?"
"I think so," replied the Barrister, leaning back in his chair, "I
fancy I've found out Ventin's real name."
"The deuce you have! and what is it?"
"Leopold Verschoyle."
"Oh! the same initials."
"Exactly, so that accounts for all his linen being marked L. V."
"How did you find out?" asked Ronald.
"After you left me to-day, I went to see a detective called Julian
Roper, who is omniscient and knows everyone and everything. I told him
the whole affair, and he remembered something about the divorce; I
told Mm the time it took place, about six years ago, and we looked up
a file of the 'Times' and found out the case, which was not reported
at full length, and the information we gained was very scanty. We
found out, however, the name of Mrs. Verschoyle's solicitors, and went
there--the managing clerk is a great friend of mine, and he let me
have the briefs, and they correspond in every particular to the story
Ventin, or rather Verschoyle, told you."
"Then, you think the identity of Ventin with Verschoyle is fully
established?"
"To ourselves, yes--to others no; we have only the bare story told by
the deceased to connect him with the case, and the argument against
that, is that he might have read about the case in the papers."
"But what motive could he have for telling me such a story?"
"None that I can see--I am only putting a supposititious case; but if
we are going in for this, we must get our evidence clear and strong."
"And what is to be done?"
"Come to my chambers to-morrow and see Julian Roper, then we can have
a talk over things; we are working completely in the dark at present,
but I've no doubt that by to-morrow we shall be in a position to make
a start. You have no photograph of the deceased, have you?"
"No; and none were found among his papers, but if I saw one I could
tell in a minute if it were Ventin; he was not an ordinary looking man
by any means.
"Hum," said Foster, thoughtfully; "that might be managed; if I put
Roper to work he'll soon find out a photograph, or," with a sudden
idea, "better still, you might look yourself?"
"But where?"
"In some of the big photographers' studios. From what you say,
Verschoyle, as we must now call him, must have been a fashionable man,
and no one in his position would live thirteen years in London without
having had his photograph taken."
"It's a slender chance."
"Very, but you must remember the whole case is a very delicate one."
At this moment Trevor and Pat came in, and immediately afterwards the
curtain arose again on a beautiful scene representing Diana's home in
the moon, so Foster and Ronald had no more opportunity of talking.
Ronald paid no attention to the burlesque, but sat at the back of the
box thinking over the whole affair, and the mystery of the case began
to pique his curiosity. The other three, however, looked at the stage,
admired the pretty girls, encored all the songs, and generally enjoyed
themselves. When the curtain fell, Sir Mark invited the whole party to
Rule's to supper, and thither they went.
The room upstairs was pretty nearly full, but they succeeded in
getting a table to themselves, and ordered supper. The place looked
very pretty, with the lights all shaded with green and red shades, and
the soft glimmer of the candles shining on the diamonds and bare
shoulders of the ladies. Plenty of laughter was going on, varied every
now and then by the popping of champagne corks and the clatter of
dishes.
"Ain't it a jolly place?" said Pat, looking around with delight, "nice
way of winding up the night hullo; Ronald," he went on, "there's our
Maltese friend."
And so it was, the Marchese, attired in irreproachable evening
costume, was having supper with a young lady beautifully dressed, with
a loud voice, and suspicious golden hair. He did not see the others,
as he was too busy talking to his friend.
"This is his Italian exhibition, eh?" grinned Pat, who wouldn't have
minded changing places with Vassalla.
"Well, perhaps he has been there," said Ronald, carelessly lifting his
glass.
"He's brought something good away with him, at all events," replied
Ryan; "she's a deuced pretty girl, far too good for Vassalla."
"What name?" asked Foster, with a start.
"Vassalla," interposed Ronald, looking quickly at him.
"Hum, that's odd!"
"What is?"
"I'll tell you all about it to-morrow," was the ambiguous reply.