John Trevithick would, in an ordinary way, have finished the little
business in connection with Mrs Sarson's savings in a very short time,
but he quite fluttered the widow by the importance he attached to the
deed, and the way in which he was going to invest the money.
"You will not have any savings left, Mrs Sarson, when he sends in his
bill," Chris said to her grimly; and, on Trevithick's next visit, the
poor woman, in an agitated way, touched upon the topic of the bill of
costs.
"Nonsense!" said Trevithick, smiling. "My dear Mrs Sarson, I always
charge what the legal men call _pro rata_."
"Oh, do you, sir?" she said. "Then that way is not very expensive?"
"Certainly not. You don't understand. If you were very rich, the bill
would be high; but in your case, if you trust to me, your costs shall be
very small indeed."
"Thank you kindly, sir; and will you take the money to-day?"
"No; you have kept it safely so far, and a few days will not hurt. I'll
take it next time."
When "next time" came, John Trevithick said the same, and at his next
visit he once more put her off.
"What a shame!" he said to himself on his next visit to Danmouth. "It
is imposing on the poor woman. I must find some other excuse for coming
over. By George!"
He slapped his great knee, and laughed with delight at his happy
thought.
"I'll open an office here in Danmouth; take Mrs Sarson's second
parlour, and come over twice a week. Do her good and do me good, and,
who knows, it may bring clients."
Full of this idea, he called upon Mrs Sarson one morning about a
fortnight before the incidents of the last chapter, and on being
closeted with her, opened out his business at once in a quick, legal
way.
"Now, then, my dear madam, if you will hand me that money, I'll take
charge of it, complete the little mortgage, and you can have the deeds
of the premises upon which your money is to be lent at five per cent, or
I will keep them for you--which you please."
"Oh, I should like, if you don't think it would be wrong, Mr
Trevithick, to keep the deeds myself, as I shall not have the money."
"Very good."
Mrs Sarson, who had recovered from the rheumatic attack which had
frightened her into making arrangements about her savings, rose from her
chair, and, in a very feminine way, sought for the key, which was kept
hidden in an under pocket--one of the make of a saddle bag--whose
security depended on the strength of two tape strings.
The lawyer smiled to himself, and thought of his own iron safe, built in
the wall of the office, as the widow brought out her key, and opened a
large tea-caddy standing upon a side table.
"Not a very safe place, Mrs Sarson, eh?"
"Ah, you don't know, sir," said the woman, with a smile, as she threw up
the lid, took up a large cut glass sugar basin full of white lumps from
the centre compartment, and then first one and then the other of the two
oblong receptacles, each well filled with fragrant black and green, for
she opened them, and laughingly displayed their contents.
This done, she thrust her hand down into the round velvet-lined hole
from which the sugar basin had been lifted, gave it a knock sideways,
and then lifted out the whole of the internal fittings of the caddy, set
it on the table, and held it on one side, showing that the bottom was
the exact size of a Bank of England note, one for ten pounds being
visible.
"There!" she said, with a sigh; "that was my dear husband's idea. He
was a cabinetmaker, sir, and he was quite right. They have always been
safe."
"Yes, Mrs Sarson," said the lawyer; "but you have lost your interest."
"Lost what, sir?"
"Your interest! How many years have they been lying here?"
"Oh, a many, sir. Some were put there by my poor husband, and I've gone
on putting in more as often as I could save up another ten pounds, for I
kept the sovereigns in my pocket till I had ten, and then I used to
change them for notes."
"Humph, yes!" said Trevithick, wetting a finger, bank-clerkly, and
counting the notes. "Twenty-seven. All tens. Two hundred and seventy
pounds. I only want two hundred and fifty, Mrs Sarson. You shall put
two back for nest eggs."
He took the two top notes off, before turning the parcel over and
looking at the bottom note, one that looked old and yellow, and he read
the date.
"Forty years old that one, Mrs Sarson."
"Yes, sir; but that don't matter, does it?"
"Oh, no; the Bank of England never refuses its paper. And this top one
is dated--let me see. Ah! two years old, and pretty new--Good God!"
The number had struck his eye, and he had turned it over, and read a
name written upon the back.
"Oh, Mr Trevithick! Don't, pray don't say it's a bad one!"
"Eh? Bad?" cried the lawyer absently. "Where did you get this note?"
"From the hotel, sir," cried the poor woman, in a broken voice. "They
always change my gold for me there. But they shall give me a good one,
for I can swear that I got it there."
"Wait a moment," cried Trevithick excitedly. "No; those are quite
right."
"Oh, thank goodness for that!" cried Mrs Sarson, who was trembling so
that the notes she took back rustled in her hand. "But do, do look
again at the others and see if they are good."
"Yes, yes, all good, Mrs Sarson," said Trevithick, looking over them
hurriedly.
"Then give me that one, sir, and I'll take it back to them at once."
"No, no, Mrs Sarson, the note is quite good," said the lawyer, putting
on his business mask, and looking quite calm, though his heart was
thumping heavily.
"Oh, dear! and you gave me such a fright, sir. You are sure it is a
good one?"
"So good, Mrs Sarson, that I'd give you ten golden sovereigns for it.
Five hundred if it were necessary," he said to himself; and after being
witness to the replacing of two notes in the caddy, and giving a receipt
for those confided to his charge, he made his way back to Toxeter in a
state of excitement that was new to him, and did not rest till he was
locked up in his own private room.
"It seems impossible," he thought, as he compared the note with the
closely written figures he had in his pocket-book, and then examined the
signature at the back.
"Yes; there's the clue I have sought for so long--dropped into my hands
like this. Oh!"
He sat back with the perspiration gathering on his forehead, and the
look of excitement on his face changing slowly into horror as bit by bit
the meaning of the name on the back of that note gradually unfolded
itself till he was gazing upon a picture of horror that appalled him.
"No, no, no! It's too shocking," he cried at last, as he wiped his
brow. The man could not be such a wretch.
"But he is a wretch! A cold-blooded, swearing, drinking brute; and with
all his flash and show, and yacht, I know that he was always hard up for
money, and being hunted by that usurious scoundrel Gellow."
Trevithick wiped his brow again.
"Why, he must have had it all. Robbed the poor old man who had taken
him to his hearth. Yes, I daresay to pay off that scoundrel and get
time. Yes, there's his name to the note. He must have changed it at
the hotel. I knew that money was missing. Robbed him--the man who
welcomed him as a son, and encouraged him to win his daughter. The
black-hearted traitor. I always hated him. A cowardly, despicable
thief, stealing the money that some day would have been his."
Trevithick leaped from his seat, and in his excitement struck a
penholder, and knocked over the ink.
"Good Heaven!" he exclaimed, "he murdered him!"
Trevithick stood with his hands pressed upon his brow, trying to think
calmly, but his head became hotter as the idea grew strong.
"Yes," he said, "died of an overdose of chloral, they said. He could
never have taken that money without. He must have got to know, and--
yes, he must have drugged him to death, so as to get the heavy sum.
Christopher Lisle! Bah! This was the man!
"No, no; I'm growing wild--I must be calm."
He caught a glass, and poured out some water from a table-filter, drank
it hastily, and began to walk up and down the room for a time, till,
feeling more himself, he took a seat to try and think the matter out,
raising up every point strongly in Glyddyr's favour.
"No man could be such a wretch as to murder another, and then marry his
child," he said at last firmly; but the accusation came more strongly,
and with supporting evidence, as something began to whisper to him, "But
what was the meaning of all that drinking--of that conduct on the
wedding-day--of the abject dread of Gartram's picture, and of the
delirious wanderings about being haunted?
"He is the man!" cried Trevithick at last, as he brought his fist down
heavily into his left palm. "Gartram was murdered--accidentally,
perhaps--but murdered, and--Great Heavens! what shall I--what ought I to
do?"
He sat long, turning the matter over and over, viewing it from every
point, and at last coldly and clearly it all seemed to stand out before
him.
"No," he said, "I cannot keep silence. He is a curse to that poor girl.
Poor blind old Gartram favoured him, and the fiend played upon the poor
girls filial duty. Yes, I know that well enough. Poor Claude would
almost give her life to be free from the wretch who is dissipating her
property to clear off debts to Gellow. And is he an accomplice?
"Accomplice in forcing on the marriage; but that wretch must have done
the deed, and, Heaven helping me, I'll bring it home to him, and set the
poor girl free.
"Stop. I'm going on too fast. It may be remorse and horror for the
robbery. He could not have murdered Gartram. Poor fellow, he did
indulge in chloral, and the doctor said it was an overdose. No, Gartram
was too clever and experienced in his treatment of himself for that. I
can't help it; something seems to impel me. I must go.
"And Claude!
"I can't help it. I feel so sure. Better the shock and be free, than
be slowly tortured to death by a man who is little better than a devil.
"Yes," he cried finally, "I am sure, but I'll take other advice before I
proceed very much further."
The consequence was that poor Mrs Sarson was horrified at not receiving
her mortgage deed to hide away, and shivered as she credited the lawyer
with going off to London to spend her savings of a life, for she could
only obtain from his office the news that he was out on business.
As shown, Mrs Sarson was not the only one who had misjudged Trevithick,
for, in his abstraction and earnest following of the quest upon which he
was now engaged, there were no more meetings with Mary; and his
avoidance of her when they met was for very special reasons of his own.
"I can save her from the scene," he had said, "though I cannot save poor
Claude."
He was wrong, for he found her hurrying back with Sarah Woodham, and
when he hurriedly tried to stay her, she turned upon him angrily, and
refused to hear.
And so it was that Claude was seated alone in the library that day, sick
at heart, as she thought of her future, and asking herself what she
could do to win her husband's love and bring herself to love him, when
one of the maids announced that a gentleman wanted to see master.
"Yes, Mr Glyddyr," said a quiet, firm voice, and the man, who had
followed the servant, stepped in, signed to the girl to go, closed the
door after her, and then turned to face Claude, who had risen and was
standing trembling, as if from a suspicion of some terrible trouble to
come.
The visitor took in her agitation directly.
"Sort of body who will try to screen him," he said to himself.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" said Claude, trying to be calm.
"Business, ma'am. Sorry to trouble you. Where's Mr Glyddyr?"
"Mr Glyddyr is out."
The man smiled pityingly.
"You will excuse me, ma'am--Mrs Glyddyr?"
"Yes; I'm Mrs Glyddyr."
"Servant did not say he was out. Too ill to go out. Where is he,
please? You see I know."
"I told you Mr Glyddyr was out. What do you want?"
"Business, ma'am--important business. Must see him at once."
"You must call when he is at home."
"Sorry to be rude to a lady, but your face, ma'am, says he is at home,
and will not show up."
"What do you want?"
The man looked sharply round, and his eyes rested on the ajar door of
the safe, with its casing of books, its old purpose being now at an end.
"Way into another room," he said to himself; "he's there.--I want Mr
Glyddyr," he continued firmly. "Now, look here, ma'am; I can feel for
you, though I am a police officer, but I have my duty to do."
"Your duty?"
"Yes, ma'am, my duty; and Mr Glyddyr is in there; he may as well come
out like a gentleman, and let it all be quietly done. He must know that
the game is up, and that any attempt at getting away from me is worse
than folly. Will you let me pass?"
"Stop!" cried Claude excitedly, as, like lightning, thought after
thought flashed through her mind; for at that moment she heard a cough
and a step that she recognised only too well. And this man--police--it
must be to arrest.
"Tell me," she cried quickly, "what is it? Why have you come?"
"I'll tell Mr Glyddyr himself, ma'am, please. Stand aside. I don't
want to be rude, but I've got my duty to do, and do it I will."
He passed Claude sharply, brushing against her arm, and seized the thick
door to draw it open, while the thought flashed through her brain--
"I am his wife. I prayed for a way to win his love--to give him mine.
This man will arrest him, and I must save him if I can."
Without pausing to consider as to the folly of her impulse, she turned
on the man as he threw open the door and bent forward, and, thrusting
with all her might, she sent him staggering in.
The door closed upon him with a loud clang.
"He is my husband," panted Claude, mad with dread and excitement. "O
Heaven help me! what has he done?"
At that moment, wild with jealous rage and doubt, Glyddyr came into the
room, and ended, as she clung to him, speechless with emotion, by
striking her savagely with such force as he possessed.
Claude uttered a low moan, and fell insensible across the entrance to
the safe; while, after wrenching out the key, Glyddyr hurried panting
from the library, closed and locked the door, and stood thinking.
"Yes," he said, with a malignant look; "I'll do that. Witnesses--
witnesses! They shall all know."
He crossed the hall to the drawing-room, and dragged at the bell so
violently that, as he returned, the servants came hurrying through the
swing-door.
"Here, quick, I want you," he said hoarsely. "Ah, just in time," he
cried, as at that moment the entrance door was darkened, and Mary Dillon
entered, with Trevithick trying to detain her, and closely followed by
Sarah Woodham. "Better and better," he said, with a grin. "This way--
this way, witnesses, please."
He unlocked and threw open the library door, and drew back for the
others to go past.
"John Trevithick, quick! there is something wrong," cried Mary, as she
ran in--to shriek wildly and loudly, "Help! he has murdered her!"
"You villain!" roared Trevithick, seizing Glyddyr, but he wrested
himself free.
"Bah! great idiot!" he cried. "There, look, she is only fainting--with
joy, can't you see?" he continued, as Claude uttered a sigh, and moved
one hand. "Now then, witnesses," he cried, with a savage laugh, "I have
been out; I have just returned. This is my dear wife, who wishes for a
divorce; and this," he almost yelled, as he threw open the great
book-covered door of the safe, "is our dear friend Mr--"
He ceased speaking, with the malignant grin frozen upon his face, as the
quick, stern-looking man staggered panting, half-suffocated from the
safe, stared wildly for a few moments, and then, before Glyddyr could
realise his position, recovered himself sufficiently to clap his hand
upon the scoundrel's shoulder.
"Mr Parry Glyddyr," he cried, "you are my prisoner. I arrest you for
murder!"
Volume Three, Chapter XIX.