AUNT ROB PLAYS THE PART OF FAIRY GODMOTHER.
"There's villainy at the bottom of it," cried Aunt Rob. "Dick, you're
our guardian angel, and that poor little girl, that I'd like to hug,
is another. I knew that wretch on the jury was against us from the
first. There was a sly, wicked look in his eyes every time he turned
towards us, and when he began to speak I felt as if some one was
cutting a cork; he set all my teeth on edge. Ought such a monster to
be allowed to sit on a jury?"
"Who's to prevent it?" said Uncle Rob, thoughtfully. "He's there, and
has to be reckoned with, though I doubt whether we can do any good.
Likes and dislikes, when there's nothing tangible to back them up,
count for nothing; and feelings count for nothing. When people shiver
and grate their teeth at the squeaking of a cork other people who
don't mind it only laugh at them."
"There's nothing to laugh at here, father," said Aunt Rob,
impatiently.
"I know that as well as you do, mother; I don't think any of us are in
a laughing humour. I'm trying to reason the matter out, and to do that
fairly you must take care not to let prejudice cloud your judgment.
When little Gracie Death overhears Dr. Vinsen say, 'You act up to your
instructions, and I'll keep my promise,' what proof have we that it
has anything to do with the juryman's duties on the inquest?"
"No proof at all," said Dick, "but doesn't it look like it?"
"Such an inference may be drawn, but an inference won't help us. It's
no good mincing matters. Dr. Vinsen is on the right side of the hedge,
and we are on the wrong, and that makes all the difference; he has the
advantage of us. Reginald has put it clearly, and we must be prepared.
Every hour a fresh complication crops up, and there's no telling what
the next will bring forth. You see a man with an open newspaper in his
hand; peep over his shoulder to find out what he's reading. It's the
Catchpole Square Mystery, and he's running his eyes eagerly down the
columns to see if anybody's caught, if anybody's charged. It scares me
to think of it."
"What do you mean, father?" asked Aunt Rob.
"Have you ever seen a bull-baiting without the bull?" said Uncle Rob,
gravely. "The public's waiting for the bull, and they won't rest
satisfied till he's in the ring. That's where the danger is. They
don't care a straw whether it's the right bull or the wrong bull; they
want something to bait."
Reginald compressed his lips; he understood the drift of Uncle Rob's
remarks.
"Do you mean to say that they don't want to see fair play?" said Aunt
Rob.
"I don't mean that. What I'm driving at is that Dick's prejudice
against Dr. Vinsen, whatever it may be worth, won't help us."
"It will," said Dick, in a positive tone, "and I'm going to follow it
up. Just answer me this. Do you consider that the inquest is being
properly carried on? Do you consider it fair that private family
affairs should be dragged before the public in the way they have
been?"
"I don't consider it fair."
"Well, then, who is chiefly responsible for it? Who but the juryman
that little Gracie catches conspiring with Dr. Vinsen?"
"Conspiring!"
"That's the word, conspiring, and I don't care who hears me. The jury
on the inquest are sworn, like any other jury, and if it can be proved
that, before the inquiry is opened, before any evidence is taken,
there is on the part of one of them an arrangement with an outside
party to return a certain verdict, that I should imagine is a
conspiracy, and the law can be made to touch them." Uncle Rob shook
his head doubtfully. "Well, anyway, there's a free press, and the
making of such a conspiracy public would influence public opinion, and
there would be no baiting of the wrong bull, even though he was in the
ring. 'Hold hard a bit,' the public would cry, 'let us see fair
play!'"
"Not badly put, Dick," said Uncle Rob, and Florence pressed the young
man's hand.
"As things stand," he went on with enthusiasm, "it looks very much
like a match between me and Dr. Vinsen--or, at all events, that's the
way I view it, and if he were standing before me this present moment
I'd fling my glove in his face, and be glad if it hurt him. How does
that juryman fellow become so familiar with our private affairs? It's
through him you're compelled to tell all about Florence's marriage.
It's through him that it's been drummed into the public ear that
Reginald is the only man who benefits by his father's death.
Bull-baiting is nothing to the way some of us have been treated in
court; and the prime mover of it all is Dr. Vinsen, who stands behind
and pulls the strings."
"But what has Dr. Vinsen to gain by it?" asked Uncle Rob, bewildered,
and yet half convinced by Dick's intense earnestness.
"That's to be found out, and I'm going to, as little Gracie says. If
he has given me something to ponder over I've given him something
that'll set his wits at work, unless I'm very much mistaken; and I
haven't half done with him, nor a quarter. Don't ask me what my
plans are; it would be the spoiling of them if I let you into the
secret--and I mustn't forget that an inspector of police is in the
room, who would do his duty though it should break the hearts of those
who are dearest to him." These words were spoken with exceeding
tenderness, and caused more than one heart in the room to throb. "If
cunning is to be met with cunning, watching with watching, spying with
spying, trickery with trickery, Dr. Vinsen will find that I am ready
for him. Look here. What makes him start up all at once and go to Mrs.
Death, and on the very first night he sees her give her a couple of
sovereigns? Benevolence? Charity? That for his benevolence and
charity!" Dick snapped his fingers contemptuously. "What makes him
tell Mrs. Death a parcel of lies to poison her ears against me? What
makes him tell me at your father's funeral, Reginald, that his heart
is large, that it bleeds for all, and that it would be better for some
of us if we were in our graves? What do I care for his bleeding heart,
the infernal hypocrite? I'd make it bleed if I had my will of him,
with his fringe of hair round his shining bald head! As for Dr. Pye,
that mysterious gentleman keeps himself in the background till he
sends a letter to the Coroner, saying he has evidence of great
importance to give. We heard what that evidence was, and we've a lot
to thank him for, haven't we? Did you notice him as he looked round
the court till he stopped at Reginald? Accident? No! Premeditation!"
They started. "I repeat--premeditation. I don't know for what reason,
but I _will_ know. I don't know what tie there is between Dr. Pye and
Dr. Vinsen, but I _will_ know. There's black treachery somewhere, and
I'll ferret it out. Uncle, Aunt, Florence, Reginald, don't think I'm
mad. I give you my word I am in my sober senses when I say that behind
the mystery of this dreadful murder that has brought so much sorrow
into this happy home there is another mystery which I'm going to solve
if I die for it! I'll leave no stone unturned--for your dear sakes!"
His earnestness, his sincerity, the fervour of his voice, the loving
glances he cast upon them, sank into their hearts--but it was upon
Florence's face that his gaze lingered, and he trembled when,
murmuring, "Dear Dick, you fill us with hope!" she gave him a sisterly
kiss.
"Dick," said Aunt Rob, tearfully, "there was a time when I thought you
had no stability, and when I said as much to Uncle Rob. I take it
back, my lad, I take it back!"
"Don't be too hasty, aunt," he said, with a light attempt at gaiety.
"Wait and see if anything comes of it. Reginald, I've something more
to say. There's no mistake, is there, about your having got to your
lodgings last Friday night week before twelve o'clock?"
"I am certain it must have been before that hour," replied Reginald.
"As I told them at the inquest yesterday, I cannot entirely depend
upon my memory. It frequently happens that when there's an important
subject in one's mind--as there was that night in mine--a small
incident which has no relation to it impresses itself upon the memory.
That was the case with me. I can distinctly recall taking out my watch
when I was in my bedroom, winding it up, looking at the time, and
putting it back into my waistcoat pocket."
"Did any person see you enter the house? Think hard, Reginald."
"No person, in my remembrance."
"When you put the latchkey in the door the policeman might have been
passing?"
"He might have been. I did not see him."
"No one saw you go upstairs?"
"Not that I know of. The house is always very quiet at that hour."
"I paid your landlady a visit last night," said Dick, "and she does
not know what time you came home; neither does the servant, who
doesn't seem blessed with a memory at all. It is most unfortunate that
we cannot get a witness who could testify to the hour of your return
to your lodgings. It would effectually dispose of Dr. Pye's evidence,
so far as you are concerned, for he says he threw his flashlight at
three in the morning. By Jove!" Dick exclaimed, looking at the clock
on the mantelpiece, "it's ten o'clock, and the Coroner's Court opens
at eleven. I sha'n't be there till late, unless there's a warrant out
against me"--Dick laughed lightly, as though a warrant were the least
thing they had to fear. "There's the printing to see to; I don't
intend to leave the printing office till the reward bills are out. Now
let's settle how they're to be drawn up; we've got just half-an-hour.
Aunt Rob, I wish you'd do a kind action for once in your life."
"What is it, Dick?"
"Little Gracie is just round the corner, waiting for me; you won't see
the tip of her nose unless you turn the street, for I told her to keep
out of sight. She's my shadow, you know, and I haven't the heart to
order her not to follow me about. What the child sees in me to haunt
me as she does is more than I can understand."
"What we all see in you," said Aunt Rob, tenderly.
"Oh, of course. Well, it's my opinion little Gracie came away from
home this morning without any breakfast----"
Aunt Rob broke in upon him. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself for
letting a hungry child stand alone in the cold streets all this time."
Out she ran to pounce upon Gracie.
"Do you mean to tell me," said Dick, gazing after her, "that the Lord
will allow any harm to come to a woman like that, or trouble that
can't be cleared away to come to anyone she loves? No, no; the world
wouldn't be worth living in if that were so. Where she is, sunshine
is, and love, and charity, and hope--and justice. God bless Aunt Rob!"
And "God bless Aunt Rob!" they all said, with something shining in
their eyes.
Back she came, holding Gracie by the arm. They all looked kindly at
the child.
"Any trouble to get her here, aunt?" asked Dick, cheerily.
"Not a bit."
"It's all right, you know, Gracie," he said.
"Yes, Dick, I know," she answered, solemnly.
There was something so patient and uncomplaining, so piteous and
brave, in the child that hearts less susceptible than theirs could not
have failed to be touched. Florence stooped and kissed her, and there
was a little trembling of her bloodless lips; it was the only sign of
emotion she displayed, and it was gone in a moment. The dry, hoarse
cough had not left her, and she was not successful in keeping it back.
Every time it sounded through the room Aunt Rob shivered.
"You men had best go into the next room and settle your business," she
said; "you haven't too much time to spare, and we don't want you
meddling with women's affairs." Away they went, meekly. "Gracie, you
sit here, and don't be shy with us, my dear, we're only homely people,
the same as yourself. Florence, put another spoonful of tea in the
pot, and there's the kettle boiling, just in the nick of time. Now, my
dear, you make a good breakfast--I want you to drink your tea as hot
as you can, it will ease your cough--it's Dick's cup you're drinking
out of, you won't mind that, _I_ know--he's told us such a lot about
you, and everything that's good--cut some more bread and butter,
Florence--are you fond of jam, Gracie?--but what a question!--when I
was a little girl I could eat a pot, only they wouldn't give me so
much at a time--this is Dick's favourite jam, raspberry----" And all
the time the good woman chattered she was putting food before Gracie,
and coaxing her to eat, shaking her head at the child's attempts not
to cough violently, and shaking her head more when she put her hand on
the bosom of the poor little frock, and discovered how thinly she was
clad. And all the time Gracie sat quiet at the table and ate, not
greedily but gratefully, her eyes fixed now on Aunt Rob, and now on
Florence, with the sweet thought in her mind, "Dick's told 'em a lot
about me, and everything that's good!"
Breakfast over, they took Gracie upstairs, Aunt Rob saying, "Dick 'll
be here when we come down, my dear"; and in the bedroom above they
took off her frock and slipped a warm undervest over the bony chest,
and another over that, and found a pair of thick stockings that had
once been worn by a child, and a child's flannel petticoat, and other
things to match--and there stood Gracie, clothed more comfortably and
warmly than ever she had been from her birth. And where did Aunt Rob
find these garments so suitable and fitting for Gracie? They had been
laid aside in a drawer, with many others, and had once clothed her own
darling when she was no bigger than the poor little waif to whom they
had been so ungrudgingly presented. To listen to the mother's wistful
prattle, to witness the tender handling of this and that garment, to
see the fond way she put them to her cheeks and kissed them, to note
the loving looks she cast upon them as memory brought back the day and
hour when Florence first wore them--true motherhood was never more
beautifully expressed. And Gracie submitted without uttering a
word--no sign of emotion on her sallow face, no sighs of delight, no
tears. But when all was done and Aunt Rob sat down to rest, Gracie
knelt before her and laid her head in her lap. Florence sat down too,
and her hand rested lightly on the child's shoulder. Somehow or other
these sweet offices of sweetest humanity seemed to soften the trouble
that hung over their heads. Aunt Rob and Florence thought, "God will
protect dear Reginald. He will hold His shield before us. Upon His
mercy we will rely. He will see justice done, and we shall all be
happy once more." While in Gracie's mind was the thought, "I shall
find father, I shall find father, and mother won't be angry with me
much longer." For quite two or three minutes there was silence in the
room, and when Gracie raised her tearless eyes to Aunt Rob's face the
good woman stroked the thin cheek and said,
"There, that's done, and now we'll go down to Dick. He'll be wondering
what has become of us."
It was then that Gracie spoke.
"Don't you think mother ain't good to us," she said. "There never was
a better mother than she's been--and there's such a lot of us," she
added, wistfully. "I'd rather starve than have you think mother ain't
good to us!"
"Bless your loving heart, my dear," Aunt Rob returned, kissing her.
"I'm sure she must be the best mother in all the world to have a
loving daughter like you."
"Oh, me!" said Gracie. "_I_ ain't much good. But, mother!--she worries
over my cough so that sometimes I wish I was dead, so that she
couldn't hear it, and she sets up all night mending our clothes. I've
caught her at it over and over agin. She'd starve herself for us she
would. You'd believe me if you knew her."
"I believe you now, my dear. We are all very, very sorry for her!"
"You've been ever so good to me, and so's mother, but she can't do
what she can't, can she?"
"No one can, Gracie."
"She'll be glad when she sees me with these things on. There's nobody
like her, nobody. I wish I could pick up a pursefull of money to give
her; but it'll be all right, you know, when we find father."
"The sooner he's found the better it will be for a good many people,"
said Aunt Rob, with a pitying glance at the loyal child, and yet with
a kind of anger in her heart. Tenderly disposed as she was towards
Gracie, deep as was her compassion for her miserable state and her
admiration for the noble qualities she displayed, Aunt Rob believed
Abel Death to be the cause of all this trouble, believed that he had
murdered Samuel Boyd, and had basely deserted his family with the
proceeds of his crime.
Meanwhile the men of the family had been having a discussion below
which had led to the withdrawal of Uncle Rob from the council. The
first point discussed was the amount of the rewards to be offered.
Reginald wished it to be large, and, supported by Dick, suggested £500
for the discovery and conviction of the murderer, and £200 for the
discovery of Abel Death. Uncle Rob opposed this, and contended that
much smaller sums would be sufficient, bringing forward instances
where the offer of disproportionate rewards had been the cause of
innocent persons being accused. His views not being accepted, he had
reluctantly given way. Then they came to the manner in which the bills
were to be worded, and Dick had gone to his clothes trunk and had
fished therefrom a miscellaneous collection of literature, which he
placed before them.
"I once tried my hand at writing a sensation novel," he said, "and I
got together a lot of stuff to assist me. I made a muddle of the
story, and when I was in the middle of it I gave it up. Do you
remember this case, uncle?"
He held up a poster offering a reward of £100 for the discovery of a
murderer. At the top of the bill was the Royal Coat-of-Arms, beneath
it, in large type, the word MURDER, and beneath that "£100 Reward."
"I remember it well," said Uncle Rob. "That was the Great Porter
Square Mystery. It caused great excitement at the time, and the papers
were full of it. A long time elapsed before the truth came out."
"And then it wasn't due to Scotland Yard," said Dick; "they made
rather a mess of it there. There is one curious point of resemblance
between that case and ours."
"I wouldn't speak of that now," said Uncle Rob, with an uneasy glance
at Reginald.
"Why not? Reginald is prepared for anything that may happen."
"Quite prepared," said Reginald. "Go on, Dick."
"You were abroad when all England was ringing with it, and that, I
expect, is the reason that it didn't reach your ears. I saw in one
paper yesterday a comparison between the cases. The curious point of
resemblance is that the son of the murdered man was arrested by the
police as the murderer----"
"They did not know at the time that he was the son," interrupted Uncle
Rob, hurriedly.
"That didn't justify them. The beauty of it is that after going
through no end of trouble and persecution he was proved to be
innocent."
"I see," said Reginald, composedly.
"What do you want the bill for?" asked Uncle Rob.
"As a literary guide. We will word our bill exactly like it."
"But it is an official bill."
"Couldn't have a better pattern."
"Can't you word it some other way, Dick?"
"No, uncle," replied Dick, almost defiantly. "This is the model I
intend to use."
Uncle Rob rose. "God forbid that I should do anything to prevent the
truth being brought to light----"
"Why, uncle!----"
"But the position I hold," continued Uncle Rob, firmly, "will not
allow me to sanction by my co-operation the use and form of official
documents. Besides, if it got to be known it would do more harm than
good. My dear lads, I'll wait outside till you've done. I doubt my own
judgment in this matter; my heart and my head are at odds."
So saying, he left them. He was not the only one whose heart and head
were in conflict during this crisis; Dick alone could be depended upon
to pursue a certain course with calm, unshaken mind, and now, when he
and Reginald were together, he met with no opposition. The
preliminaries, therefore, were soon arranged, and they returned to the
breakfast room at the moment that Aunt Rob and Florence and Gracie
entered.
"Why, Gracie," exclaimed Dick, his face flushing with pleasure at the
improvement in her attire, "you look like a princess."
"She did it," said Gracie, pointing to Aunt Rob; "and oh, Dick, I do
feel so nice and warm underneath!"
"Never was a fairy godmother like Aunt Rob," said Dick, and was going
on when she stopped him abruptly.
"Where's father?"
"Walking up and down outside till you're ready. He didn't agree to
something I proposed, and between you and me he ought not to have a
hand in what I'm about to do."
"He's in a cruel position. Florence, its half-past ten; we must get
ready. You do what you've got to do, Dick, and don't talk so free
before Uncle Rob about your plans; it only upsets him."
"All right, aunt." He hesitated a moment, then went up to Florence,
who was putting on her hat. "Florence, dear, you must be brave."
"I'll try to be, Dick."
"Keep a stout heart, whatever the verdict may be. It was very dark
last night, and I kept my eyes on a star that was trying to break
through the clouds. I put a great stake on that star, Florence. I said
to myself, 'If it breaks through and I see it shining bright,
Florence, after a little while, will be the happiest woman in
England.' A great stake, Florence."
"Yes, dear Dick."
"It glimmered and glimmered. A cloud passed over it, another, another,
but its light was never quite obscured. Remember that."
"I will."
"And then at last, when there seemed to be no hope for it, the clouds
cleared away, and it shone as bright, as bright!--and the stake was
won. That is how it's going to be with the trouble that's upon us. You
see, Florence, it wasn't only your happiness that was at stake; it was
mine as well."
"Yours, Dick!" And now there was a look of pain in her eyes.
"Yes, mine, for if, working with all my heart and soul, I can realise
my dearest wish, you will have a long life of happiness with the man
you love." He looked brightly around. "Good luck, my dears. Come,
Gracie."