MR. DUNN.
The solemn but beautiful days of a fine English October, surely dreary
nowhere except in London, but there preëminently so, were half through
their number, when Mrs. Watts, the owner of a highly respectable
lodging-house in Queen-street, Mayfair, received with surprise and
gratitude the naturally unexpected application for apartments to let.
It was just the time of year when there was least going on, when
people were quite decidedly 'out of town' whoever went out of town at
all, and people who hurriedly came back had not yet made up their
minds to do so.
Mrs. Watts had quite a superfluity of rooms to let, though her
drawing-rooms were taken for what she had hoped as a permanency. The
disappointment of this expectation, however, did not enable her to
hold out the hope to the new applicants that she should be able to
afford them the accommodation of what Mrs. Watts quite sincerely
believed to be an unparalleled drawing-room floor; she was only going
to lose her lodger, she hadn't yet lost him; and the new applicants,
who made their appearance under exceptionably respectable
circumstances, with a large quantity of luggage, and in a handsome
hired carriage, were obliged to content themselves with the
dining-room, a large and commodious bedroom at the back of it, and a
pleasant bedroom upstairs, at a considerable height, for the
gentleman.
The applicants were a gentleman and a lady, brother and sister, as
they hastened to explain; and Mrs. Watts was afterwards heard to
remark, 'That never was she more took by the looks of any one than by
those of the gentleman. She had nothing to say against the lady
either, who was very good-looking and quiet mannered, only she didn't
seem quite so much of a lady as the gentleman seemed of a gentleman;
and if there is anybody,' Mrs. Watts would add in conclusion, 'as can
see far through a deal board, a lone woman as lets lodgings in
Queen-street, Mayfair, is that person.'
The arrangements were quickly concluded, and it was understood that
the new lodgers would come in that night; in fact, after a short
parley, it was proposed that the lady should remain with Mrs. Watts
then and there; while the gentleman went out to luncheon at a
restaurant, and undertook not to return until everything was in order.
This bargain concluded, the gentleman went his way; and the lady
applied herself, with the hearty coöperation of Mrs. Watts and a prim
housemaid, to the disposition and arrangement of the voluminous
luggage which had accompanied them, and which, considering the very
quiet appearance of the lady, who was attired in deep mourning weeds,
and had anything but a dressy appearance, might perhaps have been
brought rather as a certificate of character, in the event of it being
inconvenient to apply for recommendations, than as representing actual
necessity.
Mrs. Watts was a very good-humoured woman, with a turn for
sociability, and a decided taste for gossip, which just at this season
of the year she found it particularly hard to indulge; for not only
were her own rooms standing empty, but those of her neighbours; and
her neighbours themselves were for the most part gone off on their
annual jaunts; an indulgence which Mrs. Watts did not allow herself.
She found the autumn particularly dull, and to the unexpected
gratification of letting rooms and taking money for them at an
unlikely period, when her neighbours were not letting their rooms, and
were spending the money they had accumulated during the summer, was
added the prospect of some pleasant talk with her strange lodger, in
whom she at once recognised a thoroughly approachable person.
Accordingly, when the luggage was disposed of, a friendly cup of tea,
to be partaken of jointly in the dining-room, was gratefully accepted
by Mrs. Watts; who shortly found herself in the high tide of talk
respecting London, its goings-on, the advantages of the situation in
any street in Mayfair, and the difficulties of lone women who let
lodgings, with a person who frankly acknowledged herself totally
unacquainted with the great metropolis.
'Your first visit, ma'am? Dear me,' said Mrs. Watts, 'how odd that
seems, to be sure! But your brother's been here before, and knows the
ways of town well?'
'Yes,' said the stranger, 'I believe my brother, Mr. Clarke, knows
London very well indeed; but I feel rather timid about it, and it has
been a great anxiety with me as to where we should settle down for the
six weeks of important business that he has to carry through. I don't
want any gadding about or sight-seeing; I only want to feel sure of
being in a respectable house, where I can go my own ways and carry on
my own occupations just as if I was at home in my country village,
though, of course, I shall not object to a peep at the gay streets
sometimes.'
'You won't see much gaiety in the streets or anywhere else in October
in London,' said Mrs. Watts; 'but if you like to be quiet and carry on
just as if you were in your own home, you could not be better off.
Then, as I say, for six weeks to come we've not a soul in the house
but Mr. Dunn, even if he was to stay, which I fear there is no chance
of; for he did tell me on Wednesday as he was going to America in
earnest.'
'That's the gentleman in the drawing-room, isn't it,' said the
stranger, 'you are speaking of?'
Mrs. Watts assented. 'And a very nice gentleman he is. We like him
very much, only we sometimes think he is rather odd; and I never saw a
man in my life as could not bear to be asked the slightest question
except Mr. Dunn. I do assure you he was quite angry with me for
wanting to know, which I thought was reasonable, when the
drawing-rooms was likely to be vacant; which I had to remind him that
it was fair on my part, for if he didn't give me notice he would have
to give me money. Well, do you know, he is that peculiar, that I think
he would rather have had to pay up when the time came, than tell me
out downright plain that he was going back to America in a fortnight.'
'Really,' said the stranger, 'he must be an odd sort of man. Has he
been with you long?'
'A goodish while now. He came back to us once after he had left us,
and I am sure then he went with the intention of going to America,
though he didn't say so; and something, I suppose, changed his mind at
the last minute, for back he came with all his luggage and reëngaged
his rooms, and here he's been quite quiet and contented ever since;
never gives a bit of trouble nor has anybody in to give more. However,
he's one of them lodgers, as I always say, as is too good to last, and
vexed that he was when I had asked the question, he did tell me that
he was really going this time.'
'Really going! I should think everybody "really" went when such a
journey as America was in question.'
'Not him, though, mum. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if we saw him
back again after he starts next time.'
'What aged man is he?' asked the stranger carelessly. 'I ask, you
know, because it seems so odd that an old man should be so restless
and not know his own mind.'
'O, he isn't old, bless you,', said Mrs. Watts; 'he isn't much above
thirty, if he's that; a small, slight, wiry little man; leastways I
call him little--I daresay you wouldn't--because all my brothers were
so uncommon big; looks as if he could bear any amount of journeys to
America or anywhere else, and think nothing at all about them, if he
had the spirits.'
'Hasn't he spirits, then?'
'No, he's very dull at times. He used to be a good deal jollier when
he first came, and he used to go to the theatre a good deal, and out
to dinner--leastways he didn't dine at home; but he's dropped all that
now, I suppose he hasn't any place to go to, and there are no theatres
at this time of the year, at least not theatres for gentlefolk, you
understand; there's places where they plays Shakespeare and that,
which people like him would never think of looking at; and so he stays
at home and mopes a good deal, I should think. At what hour did you
say you would dine every day, mum?'
The stranger named the hour, and then went on to say, 'Then there
really is no one in the house but Mr. Dunn at present?'
'Not a soul!' was the decisive answer.
'I ask, you see, Mrs. Watts, because I have a great fancy for seeing
after my brother's room myself. When it has been made up in the
morning, I like to put his things tidy, lay out his dressing things
and collect his letters, and all that sort of thing; and as he will be
sleeping at the top of the house, and I at the bottom, I should have
to go up and down stairs to get at his things, and I would rather know
that I should not run the risk of meeting people about the house. If
there was any such risk, I should get you to tell me when was the best
time to make sure of their all being out.'
Again Mrs. Watts assured the stranger that she could run no possible
risk of meeting anybody who could alarm the shyest individual. She had
already made her acquaintance of the housemaid; and unless she put
herself personally in his way she was extremely unlikely to encounter
Mr. Dunn, who hardly ever came down the lower flight of stairs except
to leave his letters on the hall-table, just before post hour, after
which he usually went out for a stroll, to return with exemplary
punctuality at dinner-time.
The stranger thanked her for these assurances and for her general
civility, and Mrs. Watts retired to the lower regions, to issue orders
for the preparation of dinner for her new lodger in a satisfactory and
confidence-inspiring style.
The arrival down-stairs and the stir in the house had apparently not
disturbed the secluded tenant of the drawing-room floor. He had indeed
thrown aside the window-blind and looked out for a moment, as the
heavily-laden carriage rumbled up to the door, but it was only because
the habitual emptiness of the street had hardly been interrupted
before that day. He saw a woman in deep widow's weeds step out of the
carriage, attended by a slight, active-looking young man, and enter
the house; then he let the blind fall, and returned to his occupation,
and thought no more of the incident.
Mrs. Watts had some reason to be proud of her drawing-room floor. It
consisted of two very well-proportioned apartments, and a smaller
room, intended for the dignified purposes of a boudoir, but which,
under the lodging-house régime, served as dressing and bath room. The
sitting-room and bedroom were handsomely furnished, and presented an
aspect of very decided comfort, though it was a London house in
October; a cheerful wood fire, just enough to brighten the room
without overheating it, burned in the bright steel grate; a handsome
easy-chair stood near it, the castors buried in the thick white
sheep-skin rug; while a writing-table, laden with papers and the
paraphernalia of a business man, was wheeled into a convenient
position with regard to both fire and light.
Let us have a look at Mr. Dunn, Mrs. Watts's model lodger, as he paces
the sitting-room from end to end, absorbed in meditations, which, to
judge by the abstraction of his countenance, have nothing whatever to
do with the actual scene. Mrs. Watts's brothers must have indeed
confused her notions of the stature of human beings out of Yorkshire,
to which county she belonged, if she considered Mr. Dunn a little man.
Other people would have pronounced him decidedly tall; his figure was
slim but wiry built, about twenty-eight years of age, with long, thin,
close-shaved face, small deeply-set eyes, and thin bloodless lips. He
walked up and down with a slow measured pace, his arms folded tightly
on his chest, and the fingers of each hand gripping the coat-sleeves
with a curious fixity of grasp, corresponding with his set teeth and
intent frowning eyes. Occasionally in his walk he stopped at his
writing-table, uncrossed his arms, took up a sheet of paper from the
number which lay scattered on the blotting-book, read it, laid it down
again, refolded his arms, and commenced his uneasy, ill-regulated
perambulation.
If the reader, Asmodeus-like, had been permitted to glance over his
shoulder while he read these pages, he would have perceived how far
Mrs. Watts's estimate of the good-nature and affability of her
gentleman-like and most desirable lodger was to be relied upon. When
he had taken up the third, he glanced over it viciously, as though
uncertain whether he had made the terms of it bitter and imperative
enough.
With the matter of these documents we have, however, no immediate
concern. He read and re-read them; and then, having lighted the gas in
his rooms, he sat down at the writing-table, collected the sheets,
which, as they were written on very thin paper, he was enabled to fold
into a small compass, and made a kind of précis of their contents in
cipher in a memorandum-book, which he locked away in one of the
drawers of the writing-table before he proceeded to place the address
on the envelope into which he had carefully packed the written sheets.
The envelope was of the buff colour and medium texture which we are
accustomed to associate with letters of business from America; but
contrary to usual custom, no part of the address was printed, nor was
there any printing upon the impressed wafer.
His task completed, Mr. Dunn drew his chair closer to the fire and
took up a book, but he seemed unable to occupy his attention with its
contents, and after turning over a few pages in a desultory way, he
flung it down and went into his bedroom, from which he emerged in a
quarter of an hour, dressed for walking. Once more he crossed the
sitting-room, approached the fire, and leaning against the
mantelpiece, hat in hand, muttered, 'I cannot account for it, I cannot
account for the delay of those letters; it is either foul play or an
accident. If it is foul play, he is the most ungrateful scoundrel
unhanged; if it is an accident--ah, "if!" where am I?'
With these words, uttered half aloud, and which seemed to have in them
some mysterious and weighty meaning, Mr. Dunn took up the letter which
he had just addressed, and went slowly down-stairs, carrying it in his
hand.
The business of putting out of sight the luggage appertaining to the
new arrivals was not yet quite completed, and Mr. Dunn's eyes lighted
upon a very shiny black-leather valise, which was resting on one end
against the clock-case until such time as it should be convenient to
have it carried up to the new gentleman's room at the top of the
house; for his appellation, Mr. Clarke, had not yet come pat to the
tongues of Mrs. Watts and her domestics.
There was nothing remarkable about the valise, except its newness and
its shininess, and painted in white upon the lid were the initials
'T.C.;' and as Mr. Dunn looked at it he thought idly, 'That hasn't
seen much travel, anyhow.'
He laid his letter on the table in the hall, from which it would be
duly conveyed to the post at five o'clock; and also observing
carelessly that the door of the dining-room was ajar and that the gas
was alight within, an appearance from which he arrived at the
conclusion that the lady and gentleman whom he had seen getting out of
the carriage had made it all right with Mrs. Watts, and were actually
then in occupation, he opened the hall-door for himself, felt
mechanically in his pocket to make sure that he had his latch-key, in
case of a late return, and went out into the soft chill October
evening.
The dining-room in the house which Mr. Dunn had just quitted was
looking as cheerful as a dining-room not used for any other purpose
than that of eating in ever can look. Mr. Clarke's sister, who had
informed Mrs. Watts that her own unassuming name was Jones, and who
had not needed to inform her that she was a widow, the fact being made
abundantly evident by her dress, had set to work with a quiet
notability to arrange it comfortably, and was now seated by the fire
with a piece of needlework in her hands, and looked as much at home as
if she had lived there all her life.
There was only one sign of innovation, only one instance of discomfort
to be observed about the room: the door was open, and suffered to
remain so. Presently, Patty, the housemaid, came to speak to Mrs.
Jones, and announced that they were about to take the gentleman's
valise up-stairs. She also asked should she shut the door, having
found it open.
'No, thank you,' was Mrs. Jones's reply; 'the room is rather warm.'
'Very odd,' said Patty to herself, 'people are about doors. She likes
it open; but the fuss as some of 'em make if one doesn't shut it every
minute after the lock slips in one's hand, as would make one think one
would die at a breath from a key-hole! She doesn't look a fanciful
sort, nor a delicate sort neither, for that matter.'
Presently Mrs. Jones heard Patty's by no means fairy footfall
redescending the lower flight of stairs, and she appeared at the
dining-room door, and asked the girl with a kindly civility, which had
already gone far to win her in several small matters since the arrival
of the new lodger--an event not quite two hours old--whether she was
going to the post shortly.
Patty replied by a glance at the hall table. 'O dear, yes, ma'am,'
said she, 'I have got to go. There is that Mr. Dunn passes the pillar
two minutes after he goes out of the house, and would never have the
thought to post his letters himself, and I am as busy as I can be.'
'Never mind, Patty,' replied Mrs. Jones gently, 'I have a letter or
two to write; they will be done in a few minutes, and if you will tell
me on which side I shall find the pillar-post, I will take them
myself. I shall be glad of a breath of fresh air, and I want to buy a
few trifles at that famous brush-shop round the corner. Mr. Clarke
showed it to me this morning when we were coming up here.'
'O, thank you,' said Patty, 'there won't be any more except yours; for
Mr. Dunn has gone out, as I said just now, and he won't be in till
goodness knows when, so I know he's got no more to write.'
'Then I will just put it in my bag now,' said Mrs. Jones, opening a
small leather reticule and placing the letter with ostentatious care
in it, and she immediately reëntered the dining-room and took out her
own writing materials.
Mrs. Jones did not, however, seem to be in any hurry to get on with
her letters; she merely laid a half-written page of note-paper open on
the blotting-book, dipped her pen in the ink, and sat down before the
table, but made no attempt to write. In about five minutes she rang
the bell, which was answered by Patty.
'I have been so stupid,' said Mrs. Jones, 'as to forget to buy some
sealing-wax, and I particularly want to seal the letter I am writing;
do you think your mistress can lend me a bit?'
'Certainly, madam,' said Patty, and ran away with alacrity to fetch
the desired article, which she brought back.
'Stay a moment,' said Mrs. Jones, 'I shall have done with it
presently, and I would rather return it to Mrs. Watts, if you please;
I shall get some when I am out.' She then proceeded to seal two
directed envelopes, which she stamped and placed in a bag beside Mr.
Dunn's letter.
Having thus elaborately established the fact that she had been writing
letters and was about to post them, Mrs. Jones put on her bonnet and
cloak and went out, having received accurate instructions from Patty
as to where she could find the pillar-post, and how she was to turn in
order to reach the brush-shop.
In about half an hour Mrs. Jones returned. In her hand was a small
paper parcel, and on her arm hung the leather reticule, with the
spring gaping open, so that as Patty opened the door to admit her she
could see that the bag was empty. During the time that had elapsed
between her coming in and the return of her brother, Mr. Clarke, Mrs.
Jones made no attempt to occupy herself in any way whatever. She sat
by the fire with an intent and brooding face, while the cloth was laid
for dinner and Patty was coming in and out of the room. She held a
newspaper between her face and the light, and the girl concluded that
Mrs. Jones was very tired, for she did not seem so friendly or
inclined to talk as she had done in the beginning.
At six o'clock Mr. Clarke returned, and greeted his sister cheerfully,
with an inquiry as to how she found the rooms, and whether she was
getting things straight and comfortable. Mrs. Jones assured him that
everything was all right, and told Patty that dinner might be sent up
as soon as it was ready.
At length the two were alone, and then Mrs. Jenkins told Thornton
Carey, with eager though subdued excitement, that she had secured
possession of a priceless document, which had, she believed, placed
their prey securely within their reach.
No time had been lost by Thornton Carey in carrying out the resolution
of noble and disinterested friendship at which he had arrived. The
details of what he was to do on reaching England had been fixed
between him and Bryan Duval and their professional advisers; in fact,
it was most important so to fix them, it was indispensable that he
should be guided to a certain extent by circumstances, and that he
should act with such caution and circumspection as to avoid the danger
of awakening any suspicion on the part of Warren at his presence in
England.
When a full statement of the conclusion at which our friends had
arrived had been laid before Helen Griswold, she was entirely
overwhelmed by the conviction that they were right. That she had no
power to contend with the active and operative part of their decision,
that some one must undertake the unmasking of her deadly enemy, was
clear to her; but that Thornton Carey should be the person to do it
appeared a curious complication of the difficulties and distress of
her fate. To one man who had loved her, her love had brought death in
its most horrible and appalling form--that of base, cruel, cowardly
murder; to another man whom she had loved purely and nobly indeed, but
with a sentiment which was a growing force according as every day,
hour, made her more and more dependent upon him for support and
counsel and encouragement, her love was about to bring trouble and
danger.
That there could be danger in his pursuit of Warren, Thornton Carey
utterly denied, but uselessly; nothing could remove from Helen's mind
the conviction of the power as well as the villany of this man. The
frightful skill, the deadly calculation, and the hideous success with
which he had carried out his machinations against her husband, had
impressed Helen with an almost preternatural dread of him.
It was not that she believed he would escape, it was not that she for
a moment supposed Thornton Carey's designs would utterly fail or be
frustrated; but that she had a rooted conviction that terrible and
deadly danger would befall him in the carrying of them out. In the
extreme weakness and nervous excitement and spirit-broken timidity of
her grief she felt herself a doomed and a cursed person.
'I bring evil,' she said, lamenting freely and with all her full heart
to her humble but true friend, between whom and herself there now
existed the bond of a common grief, 'and now he will be involved in my
doom!' But she made no remonstrance, she felt sure that so it must be.
Thornton Carey had left New York without any formal leave-taking with
Helen, and it was only two days prior to his departure that Mrs.
Jenkins announced her intention of accompanying him. The idea had
occurred to her when Mrs. Griswold had first told her that Thornton
Carey was about to proceed to England on this mission of vengeance, in
which she and Mrs. Jenkins were equally concerned, for had not the
murderer of Alston Griswold been also the cause of Ephraim Jenkins's
death?
The argument was not very sustainable, but it was very readily
accepted by the two women who were suffering together. If Warren's
conduct had not in reality caused his brother's death, his influence
had at least caused him to die under circumstances to which his wife
could never look back without horrible regret, and in her mind there
was a little longing that the punishment of this man's crimes should
come down upon him, and that she should have a share in the agency
which should bring it about.
'Let me go with him,' she had said to Helen Griswold; 'I will travel
with him as his sister, and if I cannot be of any use to him, I will
at least be no drawback.'
Helen had from the first encouraged the notion, simply from the sense
that to avoid utter loneliness for Carey in his dismal task would be a
comfort to her; but a few moments' reflection showed her the full
value of the suggestion, which was received with applause and
enthusiasm by Bryan Duval, to whom she at once confided it.
Thornton Carey had never seen Trenton Warren; he was therefore not in
a position to identify him absolutely, how complete the chain of
evidence might otherwise be. Trenton Warren was also totally
unacquainted with the personal appearance of Thornton Carey, would not
recognise him if he saw him, and therefore would associate no
suspicion with him. Neither had Mrs. Jenkins seen her husband's
brother, who was, it must be remembered, in total ignorance of her
existence; but she had had so much evidence, so many proofs of the
strong resemblance which existed between Ephraim Jenkins and Trenton
Warren, proofs which had culminated in Miss Montressor's exclamation
upon seeing him, that Mrs. Jenkins felt convinced she would be able to
identify him for the information and satisfaction of Thornton Carey,
who might otherwise be entirely thrown off the scent by a change of
name. Supposing on his arrival in London he were to find out that Mr.
Dolby had ceased to be Mr. Dolby, he would be perfectly helpless in
the matter; but it was of no consequence to her by what name the
murderer should be passing among the unconscious crowd; the man whose
face and figure might be mistaken for those now mouldering in the
grave, the face and figure of him who had been so dear to her with all
his faults and shortcomings, could not escape her lynx-eyed
recognition and her determined pursuit.
Thornton Carey and Mrs. Jenkins were not long in getting through the
ceremonial of dinner, after which, when their undisturbed solitude was
assured, they opened the letter which Mr. Dunn had with unsuspecting
reliance placed that day upon the table in the hall.
The object of Thornton Carey's absence during the afternoon had been
to obtain an interview with some of the police authorities in London,
to whom he had made certain statements, which had resulted in a close
watch being set upon the movements of the occupant of Mrs. Watts's
incomparable drawing-room floor.
It was not with any remarkable reluctance, or any sense that she was
doing what, under other circumstances, would have been a felony, that
Mrs. Jenkins had abstracted the letter upon which so much depended. In
her eyes, everything that could be done for the furtherance of the
project upon which she and her companion were bent would have been
strictly allowable, if not praiseworthy. Thornton Carey's notions were
a good deal more formal; but he had secured himself against risk in
this matter. The trap in which Mr. Dunn was to be caught when all
their preparations were so complete that it was impossible he should
set himself free from it by any exercise of teeth or claws, or their
equivalent in human cunning--when he would walk into it was not even
left to his discretion--we shall shortly see.
For a moment, when Mrs. Jenkins put the letter into his hand and drew
her chair up to the table alongside of his, that they might peruse its
contents together, Thornton Carey experienced a passing pang of pity
for the villain who had wrought such wrongs and misery to others in
order that he might involve himself in the deepest and most
ignominious ruin. As he broke open the envelope, he said drearily:
'What a clever fool this man is; what invention and ingenuity he has
displayed in putting the rope round his neck!' Then he took up the
sheets one by one as their writer had put them in, smoothed them out
upon the blotting-pad as their writer had smoothed them out, and
proceeded to read their contents aloud for his companion, who was soon
sobbing bitterly, but in a guarded manner, over the terms of abuse and
tyranny lavished upon him whom they were never to wound.
Mrs. Jenkins and Thornton Carey had met on that morning for the first
time, after a short absence on Thornton's part, whose purport will
shortly be explained; but they had known all about Mr. Dunn's
residence at Mrs. Watts's before he had left her for Liverpool.
Hitherto, not a hitch had come in their plan; they had carried out
their programme from step to step with exact punctuality and with
undeviating success; the finishing touch had been put to their
projects in a respect which they had been obliged to leave to the
mercy of chance. They had concluded to a nicety that Mr. Dunn would be
writing to Trenton Warren at Chicago, on this day preceding the
departure of the American mail; but what they had not calculated upon
was, that Mr. Dunn would entrust the posting of his letter to any
other hands. An unexpected piece of conviction had therefore come into
theirs, and Mrs. Jenkins, with unfeigned thankfulness, blessed
Providence for the fortunate accident.
Thornton Carey hardly felt that he dared be so demonstrative; the
subject presented itself in a more complex aspect to his mind than to
that of his companion and coadjutor.
The sheets of paper were still lying upon the table, and Thornton
Carey and Mrs. Jenkins were still discussing their contents and
exulting in the acceleration of their projects rendered possible by
this most fortunate turn of fate, when Mr. Dunn, returning to his
lodging at an unusually early hour, let himself in with his latch-key,
and went softly up-stairs, remarking to himself as he did so, that
'They seem to be quiet people who have taken the dining-room floor.'