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_"Laden with Golden Grain"_
* * * * *
THE
ARGOSY.
EDITED BY
CHARLES W. WOOD.
* * * * *
VOLUME LI.
_January to June, 1891._
* * * * *
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON,
8, NEW BURLINGTON STREET, LONDON, W.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
_All rights reserved._
LONDON:
PRINTED BY OGDEN, SMALE AND CO. LIMITED,
GREAT SAFFRON HILL, E.C.
_CONTENTS._
THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND. Illustrated by M.L. GOW.
Chap. I. My Arrival at Deepley Walls Jan
II. The Mistress of Deepley Walls Jan
III. A Voyage of Discovery Jan
IV. Scarsdale Weir Jan
V. At Rose Cottage Feb
VI. The Growth of a Mystery Feb
VII. Exit Janet Hope Feb
VIII. By the Scotch Express Feb
IX. At "The Golden Griffin" Mar
X. The Stolen Manuscript Mar
XI. Bon Repos Mar
XII. The Amsterdam Edition of 1698 Mar
XIII. M. Platzoff's Secret--Captain Ducie's Translation of
M. Paul Platzoff's MS Mar
XIV. Drashkil-Smoking Apr
XV. The Diamond Apr
XVI. Janet's Return Apr
XVII. Deepley Walls after Seven Years Apr
XVIII. Janet in a New Character May
XIX. The Dawn of Love May
XX. The Narrative of Sergeant Nicholas May
XXI. Counsel taken with Mr. Madgin May
XXII. Mr. Madgin at the Helm Jun
XXIII. Mr. Madgin's Secret Journey Jun
XXIV. Enter Madgin Junior Jun
XXV. Madgin Junior's First Report Jun
* * * * *
THE SILENT CHIMES. By JOHNNY LUDLOW (Mrs. HENRY WOOD).
Putting Them Up Jan
Playing Again Feb
Ringing at Midday Mar
Not Heard Apr
Silent for Ever May
* * * * *
THE BRETONS AT HOME. By CHARLES W. WOOD, F.R.G.S. With
35 Illustrations Jan, Feb, Mar, Apr, May, Jun
* * * * *
About the Weather Jun
Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr
After Twenty Years. By ADA M. TROTTER Feb
A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb
A Modern Witch Jan
An April Folly. By GILBERT H. PAGE Apr
A Philanthropist. By ANGUS GREY Jun
Aunt Phoebe's Heirlooms: An Experience in Hypnotism Feb
A Social Debut Mar
A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan
Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb
In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb
Legend of an Ancient Minster. By JOHN GRÆME Mar
Longevity. By W.F. AINSWORTH, F.S.A. Apr
Mademoiselle Elise. By EDWARD FRANCIS Jun
Mediums and Mysteries. By NARISSA ROSAVO Feb
Miss Kate Marsden Jan
My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May
Old China Jun
On Letter-Writing. By A.H. JAPP, LL.D. May
Paul. By the Author of "Adonais, Q.C." May
"Proctorised" Apr
Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar
Saint or Satan? By A. BERESFORD Feb
Sappho. By MARY GREY Mar
Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun
Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun
So Very Unattractive! Jun
Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr
Sweet Nancy. By JEANIE GWYNNE BETTANY May
The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May
The Only Son of his Mother. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Mar
To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun
Unexplained. By LETITIA MCCLINTOCK Apr
Who Was the Third Maid? Jan
Winter in Absence Feb
* * * * *
_POETRY._
Sonnets. By JULIA KAVANAGH Jan, Feb, Apr, Jun
A Song. By G.B. STUART Jan
Enlightenment. By E. NESBIT Feb
Winter in Absence Feb
A Memory. By GEORGE COTTERELL Feb
In a Bernese Valley. By ALEXANDER LAMONT Feb
Rondeau. By E. NESBIT Mar
Spes. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. Apr
Across the River. By HELEN M. BURNSIDE Apr
My May Queen. By JOHN JERVIS BERESFORD, M.A. May
The Church Garden. By CHRISTIAN BURKE May
Serenade. By E. NESBIT Jun
To my Soul. From the French of Victor Hugo Jun
Old China Jun
* * * * *
_ILLUSTRATIONS._
By M.L. Gow.
"I advanced slowly up the room, stopped, and curtsied."
"I saw and recognised the mysterious midnight visitor."
"He came back in a few minutes, but so transformed in outward
appearance that Ducie scarcely knew him."
"Behold!"
"Sister Agnes knelt for a few moments and bent her head in silent
prayer."
"He put his hand to his side, and motioned Mirpah to open the letter."
* * * * *
Illustrations to "The Bretons at Home."
[Illustration: HE PUT HIS HAND TO HIS SIDE, AND MOTIONED MIRPAH TO
OPEN THE LETTER.]
THE ARGOSY.
_JUNE, 1891._
THE FATE OF THE HARA DIAMOND.
CHAPTER XXII.
MR. MADGIN AT THE HELM.
Mr. Madgin's house stood somewhat back from the main street of Eastbury.
It was an old-fashioned house, of modest exterior, and had an air of
being elbowed into the background by the smarter and more modern
domiciles on each side of it. Its steep, overhanging roof and porched
doorway gave it a sleepy, reposeful look, as though it were watching the
on-goings of the little town through half-closed lids, and taking small
cognizance thereof.
Entering from the street through a little wooden gateway of a bright
green colour, a narrow pathway, paved with round pebbles that were very
trying to people with tender feet, conducted you to the front door, on
which shone a brass plate of surpassing brightness, whereon was
inscribed:--
___________________________________
| |
| MR. SOLOMON MADGIN. |
| _General Agent_, |
| _Valuer, &c._ |
|_________________________________|
The house was a double-fronted one. On one side of the passage as you
went in was the office; on the other side was the family sitting-room.
Not that Mr. Madgin's family was a large one. It consisted merely of
himself, his daughter Mirpah, and one strong servant-girl with an
unlimited capacity for hard work. Mirpah Madgin deserves some notice at
our hands.
She was a tall, superb-looking young woman of two-and-twenty, and bore
not the slightest resemblance in person, whatever she might do in mind
or disposition, to that sly old fox her father. Mirpah's mother had been
of Jewish extraction, and in Mirpah's face you read the unmistakable
signs of that grand style of beauty which is everywhere associated with
the downtrodden race. She moved about the little house in her
inexpensive prints and muslins like a discrowned queen. That she had
reached the age of two-and-twenty without having been in love was no
source of surprise to those who knew her; for Mirpah Madgin hardly
looked like a girl who would marry a poor clerk or a petty tradesman, or
who could ever sink into the commonplace drudge of a hand-to-mouth
household. She looked like a girl who would some day be claimed by a
veritable hero of romance--by some Ivanhoe of modern life, well endowed
with this world's goods--who would wed her, and ride away with her to
the fairy realms of Tyburnia and Rotten Row.
And yet, truth to tell, the thread of romance inwoven with the
composition of Mirpah Madgin was a very slender one. In so far she
belied her own beauty. For a young woman she was strangely practical,
and that in a curiously unfeminine way. She was her father's managing
clerk and _alter ego_. The housewifely acts of sewing and cooking she
held in utter distaste. For domestic management in any of its forms she
had no faculty, unless it were for that portion of it which necessitated
a watchful eye upon the purse-strings. Such an eye she had been trained
to use since she was quite a girl, and Mirpah the superb could on
occasion haggle over a penny as keenly as the most ancient fishwife in
Eastbury market.
At five minutes past nine precisely, six mornings out of every seven,
Mirpah Madgin sat down in her father's office and proceeded to open the
letters. Mr. Madgin's business was a multifarious one. Not only was he
Lady Chillington's general agent and man of business, although that was
his most onerous and lucrative appointment, and the one that engaged
most of his time and thoughts, but he was also agent for several lesser
concerns, always contriving to have a number of small irons in the fire
at one time. Much of Mr. Madgin's time was spent in the collection of
rents and in out-door work generally, so that nearly the whole of the
office duties devolved upon Mirpah, and by no clerk could they have been
more efficiently performed. She made up and balanced the numerous
accounts with which Mr. Madgin had to deal in one shape or another.
Three-fourths of the letters that emanated from Mr. Madgin's office were
written by her. From long practice she had learned to write so like her
father that only an expert could have detected the difference between
the two hands; and she invariably signed herself, "Yours truly, Solomon
Madgin." Indeed, so accustomed was she to writing her father's name that
in her correspondence with her brother, who was an actor in London, she
more frequently than not signed it in place of her own; so that Madgin
junior had to look whether the letter was addressed to him as a son or
as a brother before he could tell by whom it had been written.
As her father's assistant Mirpah was happy after a quiet, staid sort of
fashion. The energies of her nature found their vent in the busy life in
which she took so much delight. She was not at all sentimental: she was
not the least bit romantic. She was thoroughly practical, and was as
keen in money-making as her father himself. Yet with all this, Mirpah
Madgin could be charitable on occasion, and was by no means deficient of
high and generous impulses--only she never allowed her impulses to
interfere with "business."
Mr. Madgin never took any important step without first consulting his
daughter. Herein he acted wisely, for Mirpah's clear, good sense, and
feminine quickness at penetrating motives where he himself was sometimes
at fault, had often proved invaluable to him in difficult transactions.
In a matter of so much moment as that of the Great Hara Diamond it was
not likely that he would be long contented without taking her into his
confidence. He had scarcely finished his first pipe when he heard her
opening the door with her latch-key, and his face brightened at the
sound. She had been on one of those holy pilgrimages in which all who
are thus privileged take so much delight: she had been to the bank to
increase the little store which lay there already in her father's name.
She came into the room tired but smiling. A white straw bonnet, a black
silk mantle, and a muslin dress, small in pattern, formed the chief
items of her quiet attire. She was carefully gloved and booted; but to
whatever she wore Mirpah imparted an air of distinction that put it at
once beyond a suggestion of improvement.
"Smoking at this time of day, papa!" exclaimed Mirpah. "And the whisky
out, too! Are we about to retire on our fortunes, or what does it all
mean?"
"It means, child, that I have got one of the hardest nuts to crack that
were ever put before me. If I crack it, I get five thousand pounds for
the kernel. If I don't crack it--but that's a possibility I can't bear
to think about."
"Five thousand pounds! That would indeed be a kernel worth having. My
teeth are younger than yours, and perhaps I may be able to help you."
Mr. Madgin smoked in silence for a little while, while Mirpah toyed
patiently with her bonnet strings. "The nut is simply this," said the
old man at last. "In India, twenty years ago, a diamond was stolen from
a dying man. I am now told to find the thief, to obtain from him the
diamond either by fair means or foul--supposing always that he is still
alive and has the diamond still in his possession--and on the day I give
the stone to its rightful owner the aforementioned five thousand pounds
become mine."
"A grand prize, and one worth striving for!"
"Even so; but how can I strive, when I have nothing to strive against? I
am like a man put into a dark room to fight a duel. I cannot find my
antagonist. I grope about, not knowing whether he is on the right hand
of me or the left, before me or behind me. In fact, I am utterly at
sea; and the more I think about the matter the more hopelessly
bewildered I seem to become."
"Two heads are better than one, papa. Let me try to help you. Tell me
the case from beginning to end, with all the details as they are known
to you."
Mr. Madgin willingly complied, and related _in extenso_ all that he had
heard that morning at Deepley Walls. The little man had a high opinion
of his daughter's sagacity. That such an opinion was in nowise lessened
by the result of the present case will be best seen by the following
excerpts from Mr. Madgin's diary, which, as having a particular bearing
on the case of the Great Hara Diamond, we proceed at once to lay before
the reader:--
EXCERPTS FROM THE DIARY OF MR. SOLOMON MADGIN.
"July 9th, Evening.--After the wonderful revelation made to me by
Lady Chillington this morning, I came home, and got behind a
churchwarden, and set my wits to work to think the matter out. I
shut my eyes and puffed away for an hour and a half, but at the end
of that time I was as much in a fog as when I first sat down.
Nowhere could I discern a single ray of light. Then in came Mirpah,
and when she begged of me to tell her the story, I was glad to do
so, remembering how often she had helped me through a puzzle in
days gone by--but none of them of such magnitude as this one. So I
told her everything as far as it was known to myself. After that we
discussed the whole case carefully step by step. The immediate
result of this discussion was, that as soon as tea was over, I went
as far as the White Hart tavern in search of Sergeant Nicholas. I
found him on the bowling-green, watching the players. I called for
a quart of old ale and some tobacco, and before long we were as
cosy as two old cronies who have known each other for twenty years.
The morning had shown me that the Sergeant was a man of some
intelligence, and of much worldly experience; and when I had
lowered myself imperceptibly to the level of his intellect, so as
to put him more completely at his ease, I had no difficulty in
inducing him to talk freely and fully on that one subject which,
for the last few hours, has had for me an interest paramount to
that of any other. My primary object was to induce him to retail to
me every scrap of information that he could call to mind respecting
the Russian, Platzoff, who is said to have stolen the diamond. It
was Mirpah's opinion and mine, that he must be in possession of
many bits of special knowledge, such as might seem of no
consequence to him, but which might be invaluable to us in our
search, and such as he would naturally leave out of the narrative
he told Lady Chillington. The result proved that our opinion was
well founded. I did not leave the Sergeant till I had pumped him
thoroughly dry. (Mem.: An excellent tap of old ale at the White
Hart. Must try some of it at home.)
"I found Mirpah watering her geraniums in the back garden. She was
all impatience to learn the result of my interview. I am thankful
that increasing years have not impaired my memory. I repeated to
Mirpah every word bearing on the case in point that the Sergeant
had confided to me. Then I waited in silence for her opinion. I was
anxious to know whether it coincided in any way with my own. I am
happy to think that it did coincide. Father and daughter were
agreed.
"'I think that you have done a very good afternoon's work, papa,'
said Mirpah, after a few moments given to silent thought. 'After a
lapse of twenty years, it is not likely that Sergeant Nicholas
should have a very clear recollection of any conversation that he
may have overheard between Captain Chillington and M. Platzoff.
Indeed, had he pretended to repeat any such conversation, I should
have felt strongly inclined to doubt the truth of his entire
narrative. Happily he disclaims any such abnormal powers of memory.
He can remember nothing but a chance phrase or two which some
secondary circumstance fixed indelibly on his mind. But he can
remember a great number of little facts bearing on the relations
between his master and the Russian. These facts, considered singly,
may seem of little or no importance, but taken in the aggregate,
and regarded as so many bits of mosaic work forming part of a
complicated whole, they assume an aspect of far greater importance.
In any case, they put us on a trail, which may turn out to be the
right one or the wrong one, but at present certainly seems to be
worth following up. Finally, they all tend to deepen our first
suspicion that M. Platzoff was neither more nor less than a
political refugee. The next point is to ascertain whether he is
still alive.'
"Here again the clear logical intellect of Mirpah (so like my own)
came to my assistance. Before parting for the night we were agreed
as to what our mode of procedure ought to be on the morrow. This
most extraordinary case engages all my thoughts. I am afraid that I
shall not be able to sleep much to-night.
"July 10th.--I owe it to Mirpah to say that it was entirely in
consequence of a hint from her that I went at an early hour this
morning to the office of the _Eastbury Courier_, there to consult a
file of that newspaper. Six months ago the daughter of Sir John
Pennythorne was married to a rich London gentleman. Mirpah had read
the account of the festivities consequent on that event, and seemed
to remember that among other friends of the bridegroom invited down
to Finch Hall was some foreign gentleman, who was stated in the
newspaper to belong to the Russian Legation in London. Acting on
Mirpah's hint, I went back through the files of the _Courier_ till
I lighted on the account of the wedding. True enough, among other
guests on that occasion, I found catalogued the name of a certain
Monsieur H---- of the Russian Embassy. I had got all I wanted from
the _Eastbury Courier_.
"My next proceeding was to hasten up to Deepley Walls, to obtain an
interview with Lady Chillington, and to induce her ladyship to
write to Sir John Pennythorne, asking him to write to the aforesaid
M. H----, and inquire whether, among the archives (I think that is
the correct word) of the Embassy, they had any record of a
political refugee by name Paul Platzoff, who, twenty years ago, was
in India, etc. I had considerable difficulty in persuading her
ladyship to write, but at last the letter was sent. I await the
result anxiously. The chances seem to me something like a thousand
to one against our inquiry being productive of any tangible result.
What I dread more than all is that M. Platzoff is no longer among
the living.
"July 20th.--Nine days without a word from Sir John Pennythorne,
except to say that he had written his friend Monsieur H----, as
requested by Lady Chillington. I began to despair. Each morning I
inquired of her ladyship whether she had received any reply from
Sir John, and each morning her ladyship said: 'I have had no reply,
Mr. Madgin, beyond the one you have already seen.'
"Certain matters connected with a lease took me up to Deepley Walls
this afternoon for the second time to-day. The afternoon post came
in while I was there. Among other letters was one from Sir John
Pennythorne, which, when she had read it, her ladyship tossed over
to me. It enclosed one from M. H---- to Sir John. It was on the
latter that I pounced. It was written in French, but even at the
first hasty reading I could make it out sufficiently to know that
it was of far greater importance than even in my wildest dreams I
had dared to imagine.
"I never saw Lady Chillington so excited as she was during the few
moments which I took up in reading the letter. During the nine days
that had elapsed since the writing of her letter to Sir John she
had treated me somewhat slightingly; there was, or so I fancied, a
spice of contempt in her manner towards me. The step I had induced
her to take in writing to Sir John had met with no approbation at
her hands; it had seemed to her an utterly futile and ridiculous
thing to do; therefore was I now proportionately well pleased to
find that my wild idea had been productive of such excellent fruit.
"'I must certainly compliment you, Mr. Madgin, on the success of
your first step,' said her ladyship. 'It was like one of the fine
intuitions of genius to imagine that you saw a way to reach M.
Platzoff through the Russian Embassy. You have been fully justified
by the result. Madgin, the man yet lives!--the man whose
sacrilegious hands robbed my dead son of that which he had left as
a sacred gift to his mother. May the curse of a widowed mother
attend him through life! Let me hear the letter again, Madgin; or
stay, I will read it myself: your French is execrable. Ha, ha!
Monsieur Paul Platzoff, we shall have our revenge out of you yet.'
"She read the letter through for the second time with a sort of
deliberate eagerness which showed me how deeply interested her
heart was in the affair. She dropped her eye-glass and gave a great
sigh when she came to the end of it. 'And what do you propose to do
next, Mr. Madgin?' she asked. 'Your conduct so far satisfies me
that I cannot do better than leave the case entirely in your
hands.'
"'With all due deference to your ladyship,' I replied, 'I think
that my next step ought to be to reconnoitre the enemy's camp.'
"'Exactly my own thought,' said her ladyship. 'When can you start
for Windermere?'
"'To-morrow morning, at nine.'
"After a little more conversation I left her ladyship. She seemed
in better spirits than I had seen her for a long time.
"I need not attempt to describe dear Mirpah's delight when I read
over to her the contents of Monsieur H.'s note. She put her arms
round me and kissed me. 'The five thousand pounds shall yet be
yours, papa,' she said. Stranger things than that have come to pass
before now. But I am working only for her and James. Should I ever
be so fortunate as to touch the five thousand pounds, one-half of
it will go to form a dowry for my Mirpah. Below is a free
translation of the business part of M.H.'s letter, which was simply
an extract from some secret ledger kept at the Embassy:--
"'Platzoff, Paul. A Russian by birth and a conspirator by choice.
Born in Moscow in 1802, his father being a rich leather-merchant of
that city. Implicated at the age of nineteen in sundry
insurrectionary movements; tried, and sentenced to three years'
imprisonment in a military fortress. After his release, left Russia
without permission, having first secretly transferred his property
into foreign securities. Went to Paris. Issued a scurrilous
pamphlet directed against his Majesty the Emperor. Spent several
years in travel--now in Europe, now in the East, striving wherever
he went to promulgate his revolutionary ideas. More than suspected
of being a member of several secret political societies. Has
resided for the last few years at Bon Repos, on the banks of
Windermere, from which place he communicates constantly with other
characters as desperate as himself. Russia has no more bitter and
determined enemy than Paul Platzoff. He is at once clever and
unscrupulous. While he lives he will not cease to conspire.'
"After this followed a description of Platzoff's personal
appearance, which it is needless to transcribe here.
"I start for Windermere by the first train to-morrow."