MRS. MERRETT IS OVER-PERSUADED
I sat down with the rolling-pin in my hand. He made me feel uneasy.
Though what he said was beyond me altogether. And as he stood in front
of the grate he kept saying things which made me uneasier still.
'Mrs. Merrett, I'm not a romantic character. I'm without feeling; dead
to emotion. It's the consequence of the professional life I've led;
the profession first, the rest nowhere. You may beat against this
heart for years, and yet not find entrance.' He banged his hand
against his side. I should have thought it hurt him. 'I'm a man who
only believes what he sees--and only about a quarter of that.
Therefore, when I tell you that I am possessed by an overwhelming, a
predominating conviction that something has happened to your husband,
you will know that my conviction is not a thing to be laughed at.'
'But what can have happened to him?'
'As I was going home yesterday afternoon, I slipped on a piece of
orange peel; that means danger. In our street I saw three black
cats; that means mourning for a friend. I found myself putting my
walking-stick upside down into the stand; that means trouble. When I
got upstairs, death stared me in the face out of my sitting-room fire.
As I was smoking a pipe, your husband's portrait fell from its place
on the wall, and chipped a piece off one of the corners; you know what
that means as well as I do. I'll say nothing about the horrid dreams
which haunted me all through the night because I'm not a superstitious
man, and they may have had something to do with the dressed crab I had
for supper. But I will say this, that I woke up this morning
profoundly persuaded that there is something wrong. And that
persuasion is with me now.'
'But what can be wrong?'
He came and leaned against the edge of the table.
'Mind the flour,' I said.
He waved his hand.
'What does it matter about minding the flour when we've got such facts
as those to face? Mrs. Merrett, we have to put two and two together. I
unhesitatingly say that the result of our doing that is to point the
finger of suspicion towards the man who masqueraded as John Smith.' He
rapped his knuckles so hard against the board that a piece of suet
which I had left there stuck to them. 'If you don't go to Mr. John
Smith, alias the Hon. Douglas Howarth, and ask him, as I asked him,
what he's done with Mr. Babbacombe, you'll be neglecting your duty as
a wife.'
'Mr. FitzHoward!'
'You will, Mrs. Merrett, you will! If you love your husband----'
'"If!"'
'I say, if you love your husband you will insist on getting from him
the answer which he refused to give me. There's a mystery, Mrs.
Merrett--a mystery; and that double-named gentleman is at the back of
it. My varied experience in all branches of the profession has given
me the eyes of a hawk, and yesterday I saw right through him.'
'But, Mr. FitzHoward----'
'But me no buts. If you won't go I will; and I'll try to conceal the
fact that I've come because you wouldn't. There are wives like that,
but I didn't think that you were one.'
I stood up, and I hit the table with the rolling-pin. I was not going
to stand talk like that from him, or from anyone.'
'Mr. FitzHoward, I know my James, and he won't thank you for
interfering with his private affairs, nor me either. If you come to
mysteries, why, his whole life's a mystery: but he'll be the first to
tell you not to trouble yourself about him, but to look after
mysteries of your own.'
'What if he's dead?'
'Mr. FitzHoward! how can you say such things? What makes you think
it?'
'I don't want to agitate you; I don't want to cause alarm. But I have
my intuitions--here.' He tapped his shirt front. 'What surprises me is
that you haven't got intuitions, too.'
'What makes you--have them?'
'My trained intelligence. If all's well there'll be no harm done by
your running round to Brook Street, and putting that question to the
Hon. Douglas Howarth. If he's able to clear himself--which, mind, I
hope!--he'll have my congratulations, and you too. No one can blame
the anxiety of a loving woman's heart. And I can only say that if I
were in your position, knowing what you know, and what I know, I
shouldn't be able to lay my head upon my pillow this night, if I was
weighed down by the consciousness that I hadn't moved a finger to find
out whether my husband was alive or dead. I shouldn't dare to go to
sleep.'
Oh, dear, how that man did work upon my feelings! How he did upset me!
He almost drove me to hysterics. Goodness knows that often and often
I've laid awake all night, wondering if James was dead, and, if so,
where he was buried, sopping my pillow with my tears, and making
myself quite ill. But I never had been talked to like that man talked
to me that afternoon. I was half beside myself through not knowing
what I ought to do. I knew very well that I should get into trouble
with James if it turned out that he was only carrying on as usual;
while if what Mr. FitzHoward kept talking about was true, or anything
like it, I should never forgive myself for leaving the least thing
undone that I could do.
The end of it was that I was over-persuaded. He got me into such a
state that I didn't dare to hold out any longer; and though I was
trembling in my shoes to think I had the courage, I decided to go with
him to see that Mr. Howarth. I gave the children their dinner--the
roly-poly had to be put off to supper-time--I never had a chance to
cook it. Mr. FitzHoward went away to have his dinner. I washed and
tidied the children--they are pictures when they're tidy!--and took
them round to Mrs. Ordish, to stop with her till I came back. She
hasn't any of her own, and very glad she was to have them--as who
wouldn't be? Then, when Mr. FitzHoward came back I was ready to start.
He would have a hansom cab. Simply, I believe, that he could keep on
talking to me, and working of me up. Then, as we were getting near the
house, he said:
'You understand? You're to go in, and I'm to wait outside. Then when I
think you've had time to put your question, and receive a satisfactory
explanation, if you don't appear I'll come in too. If between us we
don't make him sit up I'll be surprised. I'll be even with him for
setting that copper on me yesterday.'
I really do believe that that was at the bottom of it all; his wanting
to be even, as he called it, with the gentleman for calling to the
policeman. And at the last moment, if I'd dared, I'd have gone
straight back then and there, and never have gone into the house at
all. But that was more than I had courage for, having come all that
way, with Mr. FitzHoward, and him saying all those things.
So I left him at the corner, and went to the number he'd told me of.
It wasn't a large house, quite the other way; I shouldn't have thought
that an Earl's son would have lived in such a small one. The door was
opened by a gentleman whom I at first took to be Mr. Howarth himself;
but then supposed to be a servant--though he wasn't dressed like one,
being just in evening clothes. He looked at me so that I wished right
straight away that I'd never come.
'Mr. Howarth?' I just managed to get out.
'Mr. Howarth? Not at home. What name?'
I was stammering that it didn't matter, and was going to take myself
away, and glad to get the chance of doing it, when a young lady came
out of the side room into the passage. She was quite the lady, though
dressed as plain as plain could be, with not a scrap of jewellery
about her. When she saw me standing on the step, she said to the
gentleman who had opened the door:
'Bartlett, who is this?'
'Wants to see Mr. Howarth, my lady.'
She came to the door and looked at me again.
'On what subject do you wish to see Mr. Howarth? I am his sister.'
The servant's calling her 'my lady' had sent me all of a twitter. So
that when she spoke to me I felt that silly I could have bitten
myself.
'If you please, miss, I want to speak to him.'
I could have scratched myself for calling her miss, she being my lady.
But she didn't seem to mind. She had another look at me, and then she
said:
'Come in. Perhaps you can tell me on what subject you wish to speak to
my brother.' I followed her into the room she had just come out of.
There was another lady in it; but, except that somehow I knew that she
was older than the other, I didn't take any notice of what she was
like. 'Now, is there any message which you can give me and which I can
deliver to my brother?'
She looked at me so straight, and with such an odd something in her
eyes, that I grew more confused than ever.
'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, I only wanted to ask him what
he's done with my husband.'
'You only wanted to ask him what?'
'What he's done with my husband.'
I had to put my handkerchief up to my eyes. But it was as much rage as
anything; through my feeling such a fool, and, no doubt, looking one.
The young lady glanced at the other. I knew what she was thinking, and
small blame to her; I could have boxed Mr. FitzHoward's ears for
getting me into such a mess.
'I don't understand you. Who are you? And what has my brother to do
with your husband?'
'If you please, miss, I mean my lady, my name's Merrett; but my
husband's known as Mr. Montagu Babbacombe. He's the famous Mr. Montagu
Babbacombe.'
I've a sort of suspicion that the young lady smiled.
'The famous Mr. Montagu Babbacombe? I am afraid that his fame has not
reached me. And what has my brother to do with Mr. Babbacombe?'
'That's what I want to know.'
'Where is your husband?'
'I want to know that too.'
'Do you mean that he's left home?'
'I haven't seen or heard of him since he went out last Sunday week to
see your brother.'
'To see my brother? How do you know that he went to see my brother?'
'He had an interview at the York Hotel with your brother, who called
himself Mr. John Smith.'
'My brother called himself Mr. John Smith?'
'Yes, my lady; and yesterday when Mr. FitzHoward saw him in
Piccadilly----'
'Who's Mr. FitzHoward?'
'My husband's business manager. He went up to him and asked him what
he'd been doing with my husband. And he was so struck all of a heap,
and went on in such a way, that Mr. FitzHoward felt sure that he'd
been doing something he didn't ought to. Then he found out that his
name wasn't Smith at all, but Howarth; so he brought me here to ask
what he's been doing to my James.'
The young lady, turning to the older one, made a queer movement with
her hands.
'I don't understand her in the very faintest atom; do you? Do you
think she's--quite right in her mind?'
'Hush!' said the other.
She came to me. And I saw that she wasn't so very old after all. While
for loveliness I had never seen anything like her. Compared to her I
was like a doll. She was beautifully dressed, and she had a way about
her I can't describe. And such a voice it did you good to hear her
speak.
'Sit down, my dear,' she said. I sat down, and she sat down beside me.
'Now tell me all about it from the beginning. Where do you live?'
'At 32 Little Olive Street, Vauxhall Bridge Road.'
'And you say that your name is Merrett, and your husband is known as
Mr. Montagu Babbacombe. What is he?'
'Anything and everything.'
'That's rather vague.'
'The last thing he did was a thirty days' sleep at the Royal
Aquarium.'
'A thirty days' sleep. Now I think I begin to understand. I remember
reading something about it in the papers. So that was your husband?'
'That was my James. And that was where Mr. Smith--or Mr. Howarth, as
it seems that he is--first saw him.'
'Indeed! And when did he first see him? On what day?'
'Let me see. It was the Thursday before he went away--that was a
fortnight last Thursday.'
'A fortnight last Thursday?'
The young lady burst out with something I didn't understand.
'How very odd! That was the day on which he first saw Twickenham.'
The other lady was silent for, I should think, quite a minute. And
when she did speak her voice seemed changed.
'Yes; it is odd. At that time your husband was giving an exhibition
as--what?'
'As a sleeping man.'
'As a sleeping man? What a strange thing to do! What kind of man is
your husband? Is he old?'
'He's older than I am.'
'Older than you are? About forty?'
'About that, I should think.'
'Have you known him all your life?'
'I've been married six years, and I only knew him a week before we
were married.'
'Only a week! What a courageous thing to do! Do you know his
relatives?'
'I don't think he has any. I never heard him speak of them. The only
thing I know about him is that he's a gentleman.'
'What do you understand by a gentleman?'
'I can't explain. But I know a gentleman when I see him, and I'm sure
my James is one.'
She seemed to hesitate before she put her next question.
'When he went out that Sunday morning was he well?'
'He was never better.'
'Did he suffer from a weak heart?'
'He's never had an hour's illness during all the time I've known him.'
Somehow I don't think that was just the answer she expected. She kind
of drew her breath, as if she was relieved. The young lady
interrupted.
'I don't know, Edith, what it is you're driving at, nor do I as yet at
all understand how, or why, Mrs. Merrett associates Douglas with her
husband.'
'Nor I. But here comes Douglas to answer for himself.'
As she said it the room door opened, and in came a gentleman. He was
very tall, and his brown hair, which was curly, was just turning grey;
as, likewise, was his big moustache, which turned up at the ends. His
good looks were not what I had expected: and his sweet smile reminded
me of the lady who had been asking me questions. Somehow he looked
worried--downright ill, indeed; and he had a queer way of starting at
nothing, and looking about him, as if he saw and heard something which
you didn't, which would soon have got upon my nerves.
'Douglas,' said the young lady, 'here is some one who wishes to ask
you a question.'
She spoke as if she was sure he'd find the question an amusing one.
But as soon as I set eyes upon him I knew better. Although he smiled
at the two ladies as he came in, all the while he was glancing at me
in a fidgety sort of way as if he resented my intruding.
'Indeed!' he said. 'And who may this lady be?'
'You had better ask her. She will be able to tell you better than I
can. I am so stupid that I'm quite unable to understand.'
When he came in, the lady, who had been asking me questions, had moved
a little to one side. I stood up and faced him. Although he was so big
and tall, and quite the great gentleman, somehow I was not half so
afraid as I had expected to be. I gave him look for look.
'You wish to see me?'
'Yes, sir.'
'In private?'
'That, sir, is for you to say.' The young lady put in a word.
'I don't think, Douglas, that any privacy is necessary. Mrs. Merrett
merely wishes to ask you a plain and simple question.'
He repeated my name.
'Merrett? Merrett? Are you Mrs. Merrett?'
'I am, sir. And I'm the wife of Mr. Montagu Babbacombe.'
Just what Mr. FitzHoward had spoken of happened again. He sort of
reeled; and a look came on to his face which was shocking. I never saw
a man so changed all of a sudden. I thought he was going to have a
fit. The two ladies were every bit as much surprised as I was. The
younger one went hurrying to him.
'Douglas, what ever is the matter?' He seemed to have a difficulty in
speaking, as though his breath was short.
'I--I've not felt very well to-day; that's all.'
'It's the first time you've spoken of it. Shall I send for the
doctor?'
'No. It's nothing. It's only a passing touch.' He tried to brace
himself up: but though he tried hard he still seemed limp. 'If you
will come to my room, Mrs.--what did you say your name was?'
'Merrett, sir.'
'If you will come into my room, Mrs. Merrett, I will speak to you
there.'
'Douglas,' said the elder of the ladies, just as he had his hand upon
the handle of the door, 'who is Mr. Montagu Babbacombe?'
'Babbacombe?' He tried to meet her eyes: but couldn't. 'Oh, he's a
wretched mountebank.'
It fired my blood to hear him speak of my James like that.
'Begging your pardon, sir, but he's nothing of the kind. And if that's
the way you're going to speak of my husband I'd rather say what I have
to say before the ladies.'
'I dare say you would; but you won't. You will come into my own room,
Mrs. Merrett.'
'Excuse me, sir, but I will not. You can tell me just as well here as
anywhere what it is you've done with my husband.'