At Lawyer St. Henry's.
Lawyer St. Henry sat at his well-spread breakfast table. He was a
little man with a bald head and good-natured face, who enjoyed his
breakfast as well as all his other meals. Since his nieces had
considered it necessary to their spiritual welfare to attend matins at
St. Jerome's, the lawyer had been condemned to breakfast alone. The
sun shone on the street, and Mr. St. Henry sat in a room that faced
it. Through the wire blinds he could see all the passings and
re-passings of his neighbours; which he very well liked to do; as well
as the doings of Paradise Row opposite.
"Hallo!" he cried, catching sight of a face at Mrs. Jinks's parlour
window, "Cattacomb's not gone out this morning! Puff must have come
over early to officiate. Thinks he'll take it easy, I suppose, now
he's got an underling: no blame to him, either. The girls will be
dished for once. Nobody goes down with 'em like Cattacomb."
Laughing a little at the thought, he helped himself to a portion of a
tempting-looking cutlet surrounded with mushrooms. This being nearly
despatched, he had leisure to look abroad again and make his mental
comments.
"There goes the doctor: he's out early this morning. Going to see old
Etheredge, perhaps: wonder how the old fellow is. And there's Mother
Jinks taking in a sweetbread. Must be for the parson's breakfast.
Sweetbreads are uncommonly good, too: I'll have one myself to-morrow
morning if it can be got. Why, here comes Sir Karl Andinnian! _He_ is
out early, too. That young man looks to me as though he had some care
upon him. It's a nice countenance; very: and if--I declare he is
coming here! What on earth can he want?"
Sir. Karl Andinnian was ringing the door-bell. It has been already
said that the lawyer's offices were in Basham, for which place he
generally started as soon as breakfast was over. Therefore, if any
client wished to see him at Foxwood, it had to be early in the morning
or late in the evening. This was known and understood.
Sir Karl was shown in, Mr. St. Henry glancing at his breakfast-table
and the three or four dirty plates upon it. He had finished now, and
they sat down together at the window. Sir Karl, not to detain him
unnecessarily, entered at once upon the question he had come to
ask--Had he, or had he not, power to do anything with St. Jerome's?
And the lawyer laughed a little; for St. Jerome's afforded him fun,
rather than otherwise.
"Of course, Sir Karl, if Truefit choose to warn them off the land, he
could do it," was the lawyer's reply. "Not without notice, though, I
think: I don't know what the agreement was. As to yourself--well I am
not clear whether you could do anything: I should like to see
Truefit's lease before giving an opinion. But, if they were shut out
of St. Jerome's to-day, they'd contrive to start another place
to-morrow."
"That is quite likely," said Karl.
"My advice to you is this, Sir Karl: don't bother yourself about it,"
said the easy-going lawyer. "People expect you to interfere? Never
mind that: let them expect. The thing will die away of itself when
winter comes. Once the frost and snow set in, the girls, silly
monkeys, won't be trapesing to St. Jerome's; neither will they come
jinketing over by omnibusfuls from Basham. Wait and shut it up then.
If you attempt to do it now, you will meet with wide opposition: by
waiting, you may do it almost without any."
"You really think so?"
"I am nearly sure so," said the hearty lawyer. "There's nothing like
bad weather for stopping expeditions of chivalry. But for having had
the continuous sunshine the summer has given us, St. Jerome's would
not have been the success it is."
"They have dressed Torn Pepp in a conical cap, and put a red cross all
down his back outside," said Sir Karl.
The lawyer burst into a laugh. "I know," he said. "I hear of the
vagaries from my nieces. It's fun for me. They go in for them
wholesale, and come home with their heads full."
"But it is not religion, Mr. St. Henry."
"Bless me, no. Religion? The girls may give it that name; and perhaps
one or two among them may be earnest enough in thinking it so; the
rest are only after Cattacomb."
"There's another one now, I hear. One Puff."
"And a fine puff of wind _he_ is. Got no more brains than a gander.
I'll see Truefit and inquire what agreement it was he made with them,
if you like, Sir Karl; but I should certainly recommend you to leave
the matter alone a little longer."
Sir Karl thought he would accept the advice; and got up to leave. He
often saw Truefit about the land, and could take an opportunity of
questioning him himself. As he stood for a moment at the window, there
passed down the middle of the street a stranger, walking slowly; that
is, a stranger to Karl. It was Mr. Strange.
Now it happened that Karl had never yet seen this man--at least, he
had never noticed him. For the detective, being warned by Grimley that
Sir Karl had, or seemed to have, some reason for screening Salter--had
kept out of Sir Karl's way. He thought it would not conduce at all to
his success to let Sir Karl know he was down there on the scent.
Therefore, whenever he had observed Sir Karl coming along--and he had
kept his eyes sharply open--he had popped into a shop, or drawn behind
a hedge, or got over a style into another field. And Karl, in his
mind's abstraction--for it nearly always was abstracted, lost in its
own fear and pain--had not thought of looking out gratuitously for
strangers. But, standing up at the lawyer's window, the street close
before him, he could not fail to observe those who passed up and down:
and his attention was at once drawn to this man.
"Who is that?" he asked.
"That! oh, that's a Mr. Strange," said the lawyer, laughing again--and
in his laugh this time there was something significant. "At least,
that's his name _here_."
"And not elsewhere?"
"I fancy not."
"Is he staying at Foxwood? What is he doing here?"
"He is certainly staying at Foxwood. As to his business, I conclude it
is something in the private detective line, Sir Karl."
Mr. Strange, whose attention in passing had been directed to some
matter on the other side of the way and not to the lawyer's window,
consequently he did not know that he was being watched, had halted a
little lower down to speak to the landlord of the Red Lion. All in a
moment, as Karl looked at him, the notion flashed into his mind that
this man bore a strong resemblance to the description given by Ann
Hopley of the man who had invaded the Maze. The notion came to him
in the self-same moment that the words of the lawyer fell on his
ears--"His business, I conclude, is something in the private detective
line." What with the notion, and what with the words, Karl Andinnian
fell into a confused inward tumult, that caused his heart's blood to
stop, and then course wildly on. Business at Foxwood, connected with
detectives, must have reference to his brother, and to him alone.
"A slight-made gentleman with a fair face and light curly hair,
looking about thirty," had been Ann Hopley's description; it answered
in every particular to the man Karl was gazing at; gazing until he
watched him out of sight. Lawyer St. Henry, naturally observant,
thought his guest stared after the man as though he held some peculiar
interest in him.
"Do you know who that man really is, Mr. St. Henry?"
"Well, I'll tell you, Sir Karl. No reason why I should not, for I have
not been told to keep it a secret. Some little time back, my nieces
grew full of the new lodger at Mrs. Jinks's; they were talking of him
incessantly: A gentleman reading divinity----"
"Why, that's Mr. Cattacomb," interrupted Sir Karl. "He lodges at Mrs.
Jinks's."
"Not that ladies' idiot," cried the lawyer, rather roughly. "I beg
your pardon, Sir Karl, but the Reverend Guy sometimes puts me out of
patience. This man has the upper rooms, Cattacomb the lower----"
"But I--I thought that was a boy: a lad at his studies," reiterated
Karl, in some perplexity. "I assumed him to be a pupil of
Cattacomb's."
"It is the man you have just watched down the street, Sir Karl. Well,
to go on. My nieces were always talking of this new gentleman, a Mr.
Strange, who had come to Foxwood to get up his health, and to read up
for some divinity examination. That was their account. They said so
much about him that I got curious myself: it was a new face, you see,
Sir Karl, and girls go wild over that. One morning when I was starting
for the office, the gig at the door, Jane ran out to me. 'Uncle,' she
said, 'that's Mr. Strange coming down Mrs. Jinks's steps now: you can
see him if you look.' I did look, Sir Karl, and saw the gentleman you
have just seen pass. His face struck me at once as one that I was
familiar with, though at the moment I could not tell where I had seen
him. Remembrance came to me while I looked--and I knew him for an
officer connected with the detective force at Scotland Yard."
Karl drew a long breath. He was listening greedily.
"About a year ago," resumed the lawyer, "my agent in London, Mr.
Blair, had occasion to employ a detective upon some matter he was
engaged in. I was in London for a few days at that time, and saw the
man twice at Blair's--and knew him again now. It was this same Mr.
Strange."
"And you say Strange is not his right name?"
"No, it's not."
"What is the right one?"
"Well, I can't tell you the right one, Sir Karl, for I cannot remember
it. I am sure of one thing--that it was not Strange. It was a longer
name, and I think rather a peculiar name; but I can't hit upon it. He
must be down here on some private business, and has no doubt his own
reasons for keeping incog. I recollect Blair told me he was one of the
astutest officers in the detective force."
"Has he recognised you?"
"He could not recognise me," said Mr. St. Henry, "I don't suppose he
ever saw me to notice me. Each time that he called on Blair, it
happened that I was in the front office with the clerks when he passed
through it. He was not likely to have observed me."
"You have not spoken to him, then?"
"Not I."
"And--you don't know what his business here may be."
"Not at all. Can't guess at it. It concerns neither you nor me, Sir
Karl, and therefore I have not scrupled to tell _you_ so much. Of
course you will not repeat it again. If he chooses to remain unknown
here, and pass himself off for a student of divinity--doubtless for
sufficient reasons--I should not be justified in proclaiming that he
is a London detective, and so possibly ruin his game."
Sir Karl made a motion of acquiescence. His brain was whirling in no
measured degree. He connected the presence of this detective at
Foxwood with the paragraph that had appeared in the newspaper touching
the escaped convict from Portland Island.
"Would there--would there be any possibility of getting to know his
business?" he dreamily asked.
"Not the slightest, I should say, unless he chooses directly to
disclose it. Why? You cannot have any interest in it, I presume, Sir
Karl, whatever it may be."
"No, no; certainly not," replied Sir Karl, awaking to the fact that he
was on dangerous ground. "One is apt to get curious on hearing of
business connected with detectives," he added, laughing; "as
interested as one does in a good novel."
"Ay, true," said the lawyer, unsuspiciously.
"At Mrs. Jinks's he is lodging, is he?" absently remarked Karl,
turning to depart; and inwardly marvelling how he could have caught up
the notion that the person there was only a lad, a pupil of
Cattacomb's.
"At Mrs. Jinks's, Sir Karl; got her drawing-room. Wonder how the Rev.
Guy would feel if he knew the man over his head was a cute detective
officer?"
"I suppose the officer cannot be looking after _him_," jested Sir
Karl. "St. Jerome's is the least sound thing we know at Foxwood."
The lawyer laughed a hearty laugh as he attended Sir Karl to the door;
at which Mr. St. Henry's gig was now waiting to take him into Basham.
It was not a hot morning, but Karl Andinnian took off his hat
repeatedly on the way home to wipe his brow. The dreadful catastrophe
he had been fearing for his unfortunate brother seemed to be drawing
ominously near.
"But for that confounded Smith, Adam might have been away before," he
groaned. "I know he might. Smith----"
And there Karl stopped; stopped as though his speech had been suddenly
cut off. For a new idea had darted into his mind, and he stayed to
ponder it.
Was this detective officer down here to look after Philip Salter?--and
not after Adam at all?
A conviction, that it must be so, took possession of him; and in the
first flush of it the relief was inexpressibly great. But he
remembered again the midnight watcher of the Maze and the morning
visit following it; and his hopes fell back to zero. That this was the
same man who had watched there could remain no doubt whatever.
Passing into his own room, Karl sat down and strove to think the
matter out. He could arrive at no certain conclusion. One minute he
felt sure the object was his brother; the next, that it was only
Salter.
But, in any case, allowing that it was Salter, there must be danger to
Adam. If this cunning London detective were to get into the Maze
premises again and _see_ the prisoner there, all would be over. The
probability was, that he was personally acquainted with the noted
criminal Adam Andinnian: and it might be, that he had gained a
suspicion that Adam Andinnian was alive.
One thing Karl could not conceal from himself--and it brought to him a
rush of remorse. If the detective had come down after Salter, he--he,
Karl--must have been the means of bringing him there.
But for that unpleasant consciousness he would have gone straight off
to Smith the agent, and told him of the trouble that was threatening
Adam, and said, "What shall we do in it; how screen him?" But he did
not dare. He did not dare to make a move or stir a step that might
bring Smith and the detective in contact. He could not quite
understand why, if Smith were really Salter, the detective had not
already pounced upon him: but he thought it quite likely that Smith
might be keeping himself out of sight. In short, the thoughts and
surmises that crossed and recrossed Karl's brain, some probable
enough, others quite improbable, were legion. Not for the world, if he
could help it, would he aid--further than he had perhaps unhappily
aided--in denouncing Salter; and knowing what he had done, he could
not face the man. He had never intended to harm him.
So there Karl was, overwhelmed with this new perplexity, and not able
to stir in it. He saw not what he could do. To address the detective
himself, and say whom are you after, would be worse than folly; of all
people he, Karl Andinnian, must keep aloof from him. It might be that
there was only a _suspicion_ about Adam's being alive, that they were
trying to find out whether it was so or not. For him, Karl, to
interfere or show interest, would help it on.
But this suspense was well nigh intolerable. Karl could not live under
it. Something he must do. If only he could set the question at rest,
as to which of the two criminals the detective was after, it would be
a good deal gained. And he could only do that by applying to Mr.
Burtenshaw. It was not sure that he would, but there was a chance that
he might.
Lady Andinnian was in her little sitting-room upstairs, when she heard
Sir Karl's footstep. He entered without knocking: which was very
unusual. For they had grown ceremonious one with another since the
estrangement and knocked at doors and asked permission to enter, as
strangers. Lucy was adding up her housekeeping bills.
"I am going to London, Lucy. Some business has arisen that I am very
anxious about, and I must go up at once."
"Business with Plunkett and Plunkett?" she asked, a slight sarcasm in
her tone, though Karl detected it not, as she remembered the plea he
had urged for the journey once before.
"No, not with Plunkett and Plunkett. The business, though, is the same
that has been troubling my peace all the summer. I think I shall be
home tonight, Lucy: but if I cannot see the person I am going up to
see, I may have to wait in town until to-morrow. Should the last train
not bring me down, you will know the reason."
"Of course your movements are your own, Sir Karl."
He sighed a little, and stood looking from the window. The first train
he could catch would not go by for nearly an hour, so he had ample
time to spare. Lucy spoke.
"I was going to ask you for some money. I have scarcely enough, I
think, for these bills."
"Can you wait until I return, Lucy? I have not much more in the house
than I shall want. Or shall I give you a cheque? Hewitt can go to the
bank at Basham and cash it."
"Oh I can wait quite well. There's no hurry for a day or two."
"You shall have it to-morrow in any case. If I stay away as long as
that I shall be sure to return during banking hours, and will get out
at Basham and draw some money."
"Thank you."
"Goodbye, Lucy."
She held out her hand in answer to his, and wished him goodbye in
return. He kept it for a minute in his, stooped and kissed her cheek.
It brought a rush of colour to her face, but she said nothing. Only
drew away her hand, bent over her figures again, and began adding them
up steadily. He passed round to his chamber, putting a few things in a
hand-bag in case he had to stay away the night.
Then he went down to his room and penned a few lines to Adam,
entreating him to be unusually cautious. The note was enclosed in an
outer envelope, addressed to Mrs. Grey. He rang the bell for Hewitt,
and proceeded to lock his desk.
"I want you to go over to the Maze, Hewitt," he said in a low
tone--and had got so far when, happening to raise his eyes, he saw it
was Giles and not Hewitt who had entered. Karl had his wits about him,
and Hewitt came in at the moment.
"Hewitt, I want you to step over to the Maze and inquire whether the
plumbers have been there yet. There's something wrong with a drain.
Ask the servants at the same time how their mistress is getting on.
And----"
Giles had stood gaping and listening. Karl broke off to bid him look
for his umbrella.
"No message, Hewitt, and no answer," breathed his master, as he handed
him the note. "Put it in your pocket."
"All right, sir," nodded Hewitt, and was away before Giles came back
with the umbrella. And Karl got off at last.
Perhaps Mr. Burtenshaw was astonished, perhaps not, to see Sir Karl
Andinnian enter that same afternoon. He, the detective, was poring
over his papers, as usual, but he turned from them to salute his
visitor.
"Will you take a seat, Sir Karl, for two minutes. After that, I am at
your service."
"You know me, then, Mr. Burtenshaw!" exclaimed Karl.
"The man who happened to come into the room with Grimley, the last
time you were here, sir, said you were Sir Karl Andinnian," replied
the officer without scruple. "Take a seat, sir, pray."
Mr. Burtenshaw placed four or five letters, already written, within
their envelopes, directed, and stamped them. Then he quitted the room,
probably to send them to the post, came in again, and drew a chair in
front of Karl. "He is looking worse than ever," was the mental summary
of the detective--"but what a nice face it is!"
Ay, it was. The pale, beautiful features, their refined expression,
the thoughtfulness in the sweet grey eyes, and the strange sadness
that pervaded every lineament, made a picture that was singularly
attractive. Karl had one glove off; and the diamond and opal ring he
always wore in remembrance of his father flashed in the sunlight. For
the buff blinds were not down to-day. He had wished to give the ring
back to his brother, when he found he had no right to it himself, but
Adam had insisted upon his keeping it and wearing it, lest "the world
might inquire where the ring was gone." Another little deceit, as it
always seemed to Karl.
"I have called here, Mr. Burtenshaw, to ask you to answer me a
question honestly. Have you--stay though," he broke off. "As you know
me, I presume you know where I live?"
"Quite well, Sir Karl. I was at the Court once in Sir Joseph
Andinnian's time."
"Ay, of course you would know it. Now for my question. Have you sent a
detective officer down to Foxwood after Philip Salter?"
"I have not," replied Mr. Burtenshaw, with, Karl thought, a stress
upon the "I."
"But you know that one is there?"
"Why do you ask me this?" cried Mr. Burtenshaw, making no immediate
reply.
"Because I have reason to believe, in fact to know, that a detective
officer is at Foxwood, and I wish to ascertain what he is there for. I
presume it can only be to search after Philip Salter."
"And what if it were?" asked Mr. Burtenshaw.
"Nothing. Nothing that could in any way affect you. I want to
ascertain it, yes or no, for my own private and individual
satisfaction."
"Well, you are right, Sir Karl. One of our men has gone down there
with that object."
Karl paused. "I suppose _I_ have led to it," he said. "That is, that
it has been done in consequence of the inquiries I made of you."
"Of those you made of Grimley, sir, not of me. I had nothing to do
with sending Tatton down----"
Karl caught at the name. "Tatton, do you call him?" he interrupted.
And Mr. Burtenshaw nodded.
"He calls himself 'Strange' down there."
"Oh, does he? He knows what he is about, Sir Karl, rely upon it."
"Who did send him down?"
"Scotland Yard. It appears that Grimley, taking up the notion through
you that he had found a clue to the retreat of Salter, went to
Scotland Yard, announced that Salter was in hiding somewhere in the
neighbourhood of Foxwood, and asked that a search should be set on
foot for him."
Karl sat thinking. If the man Tatton went down after Philip Salter,
what brought him within the grounds of the Maze, watching the house at
night? Whence also that endeavour to get in by day, and his questions
to Ann Hopley? Was it Tatton who did this?--or were there two men,
Strange and Tatton?
"What sort of a man is Tatton?" he asked aloud. "Slight and fair?"
"Slight and fair; about thirty years of age, Sir Karl. Curly hair."
"They must be the same," mentally decided Karl. "I presume," he said,
lifting his head, "that Tatton must have started on this expedition
soon after I was here last?"
"The following day, I think."
"Then he has been at Foxwood over long. More than long enough to have
found Salter if Salter's there, Mr. Burtenshaw."
"That depends upon circumstances, Sir Karl," replied the detective,
with a wary smile. "I could tell you of a case where an escaped man
was being looked after for twelve months before he was unearthed--and
he had been close at hand all the while. They have as many ruses as a
fox, these fugitives."
"Nevertheless, as Tatton has not yet found Salter, I should consider
it a tolerably sure proof that Salter is not at Foxwood."
Mr. Burtenshaw threw a penetrating gaze at his visitor. "Will you
undertake to give me your word, Sir Karl, that you do not _know_
Philip Salter to be at Foxwood?"
"On my word and honour I do not know him to be there," said Karl,
decisively. "I should think he is not there."
He spoke but in accordance with his opinion. The conviction had been
gaining upon him the last few minutes that he must have been in error
in suspecting Smith to be the man. How else was it, if he was the man,
that Tatton had not found him?
"Salter _is_ there," said the detective--and Karl pricked up his ears
to hear the decisive assertion. "We have positive information from
Tatton that he is on his trail:--I am not sure but he has seen him.
For the first week or two of Tatton's sojourn there, he could discover
no trace whatever of the man or his hiding-place; but accident gave
him a clue, and he has found both: found his hiding-place and found
him."
"Then why does he not lay his hands upon him?" returned Karl, veering
round again to the impression that it must be Smith.
"It is only a question of time, Sir Karl. No doubt he has good reasons
for his delay. To _know_ where a man is hiding may be one thing; to
capture him quite another. Too much haste sometimes mars the game."
"Tatton is going to remain at Foxwood, then?"
"Until the capture is accomplished, certainly."
Karl's heart sunk within him at the answer. While Tatton was delaying
his capture of Smith, he might be getting a clue to another escaped
fugitive down there--Adam Andinnian. Nay, had he not already the clue?
Might not this very delay be caused by some crafty scheme to take both
criminals at once--to kill two birds with one stone? He asked one more
question.
"Mr. Burtenshaw, how was it that suspicion was directed at all to
Foxwood?"
"Grimley took up the notion after your second visit here, Sir Karl,
that you had a suspicion of Salter yourself. I thought you understood
this. Grimley fancied you were in the habit of seeing some one whom
you believed, but did not feel quite sure, might be Salter. And he
judged that the individual, whether it was Salter or not, must be in
hiding near your dwelling-place--Foxwood."
Ay; Karl saw how it was. _He_ had done this. He and no other, had
brought this additional danger upon his ill-fated brother, whom he
would willingly have given his own life to shield.
There was nothing more to be asked of Mr. Burtenshaw: he had learnt
all he came to hear. And Sir Karl with his load of care returned to
Foxwood by the evening train.