CLOSING IN.
From the moment Mr. Dockett, the detective, discovered our hero things
took a clearer and more promising aspect.
While Leicester and Stumpy were left at Penruddie Mr. Dockett repaired
to London and set about his task with a zeal and cunning highly
commendable.
In the first place he appeared one morning in the city, dressed after
the fashion of a simple and wealthy country squire.
He made his way to the offices of one of the companies over which
Howard Murpoint was director, and inquired for that gentleman.
The clerk told him that Mr. Murpoint was not in the city at that early
hour, and would probably not arrive until one o'clock.
Mr. Dockett waited patiently, and at last the great man arrived.
Mr. Dockett was shown into the great man's parlor and announced his
business.
"I am," he said, "in search of a good investment. My name is
Squirrel, and I've had a large sum of money left me, which I don't
quite know what to do with. My lawyers tell me I must put it in the
three-per-cents, but I thought that you, being a great city man, would
be able to show me a better investment than that. So I made bold to
come and ask you."
The captain had often been applied to for advice as to investments,
and, after the first slight surprise, saw nothing suspicious in the
country squire, and in his pleasant way informed him that he certainly
could assist him.
Then he told Mr. Dockett that he could not do better than put his money
in this and that company, and concluded by mentioning all the financial
schemes in which he was interested.
Mr. Dockett listened attentively and jotted down the names of the
companies in which the captain was concerned, and then, thanking him
gratefully, took his leave.
From the offices he repaired to a small room in Scotland Yard and rang
a little hand-bell.
It was answered by another detective, very much like Mr. Dockett, but
with more of the city air about him.
Mr. Dockett and he shook hands, then Mr. Dockett said:
"Giles, I've got a city job on. Look here, do you know anything of
that gentleman?" and he passed a slip of paper upon which Mr. Howard
Murpoint's name was written.
Mr. Giles smiled.
"Everybody knows him, Mr. Dockett," he said.
"Ah, but do you know anything of him in the way I mean?"
"Well," hesitated Mr. Giles, "perhaps I may have my suspicions."
"Exactly; and perhaps I have mine. He's got too much business; too many
wires a-pulling; when I see one chap with so many concerns all running
on I begin to think that it's shaky."
"Exactly," said Mr. Giles. "I don't know anything against Mr. H. M.;
he's a great and powerful man, but I dare say I can find out if you set
me to it."
"That's just what I want," said Mr. Dockett. "You get at it at once;
I'll take him at the West End, you watch him at the city, and directly
you find anything that even looks wrong let me know. You needn't spare
the money; this is a job that will afford a thou or two."
"I understand," said Mr. Giles, and almost without another word he took
his departure.
From that hour there was a bloodhound upon Howard Murpoint's track, a
ferret ever worming and prying and nosing into his business. There was
always a thin, quiet-looking man mixing with his clerks, getting hold
of his private letters, holding open his carriage door, catching his
visitors as they entered his office, and dogging him through every hour
he spent at office or at chambers.
Mr. Giles was at work, and no bloodhound could be thirstier and more
eager, no ferret more restless, and no lynx more watchful.
At home at the West End another bloodhound was watching him there.
When the great man came home to his palatial residence that bloodhound
would watch him enter, and then in the guise of a porter or a
policeman, drop into his kitchen and chatter with his servants. If Mr.
Howard Murpoint walked the room all night the bloodhound learned it
from the chambermaid.
Every scrap of paper which fell into his waste-paper basket found its
way into the hands of Mr. Dockett, and Mr. Howard Murpoint never gave a
party or attended one without Mr. Dockett's knowing it, and sometimes
being present.
Gentle, noble-hearted Violet came in for a portion of this
lynx-bloodhound's consideration.
Often when he was leaning against the rail of the Row, exquisitely
dressed, and the Mildmay carriage passed him with its claret liveries
and high-stepping horses, with Mrs. Mildmay, Violet and Howard Murpoint
inside, Mr. Dockett would slightly scratch his head and mutter:
"I can't make that young lady out! What on earth made her promise to
marry him? I'm sure she was in love with that unlucky young gentleman
with the false beard. Perhaps she's got a wrong idea of duty; and
there's no doubt that Mr. H. M. is a wonderful, smooth-tongued
gentleman!"
Then he'd leave the Row and return to his watch on the Murpoint mansion
and in quite another costume gather all he could from the servants and
tradespeople. But what he learned was not much in itself.
Howard Murpoint was no foolhardy villain.
All he did was done with circumspection and care, and he baffled Mr.
Dockett. That gentleman ran down with his usual suddenness to Penruddie.
He went to Sanderson's cottage, and found Jamie, the lame boy, seated
at the door with a book in his hand, with his large, melancholy eyes
fixed upon the sea.
"Well, my lad," said Mr. Dockett, stealing upon him quietly. "How are
you?"
Jamie started, flushed and answered, in his nervous way:
"I'm very well, sir. Do you want Willie?"
"No; I want the Spanish gentleman who lodges here!"
"He's on the cliffs," said Jamie.
Mr. Dockett stayed a few minutes, then repaired to the cliffs.
He found Leicester walking up and down moodily with his hands locked
behind him and his head bent upon his breast.
"Ah!" said Leicester, with a sullen and feverish eagerness. "You have
just come in time. I was about to take the train for London. I am tired
out beyond endurance of stopping here inactive and idle. I cannot
endure the suspense, and I am determined to push everything to an issue
now--at once!"
"Hem!" said Mr. Dockett. "In a hurry to get to Newgate, sir, I suppose."
"I care not," said Leicester. "I have considered the pain of such a
position, and I do not think it would be more terrible than that which
suspense and uncertainty now produce. Newgate, if it must be so. I
cannot stay here longer."
Mr. Dockett nodded.
"You don't trust me then?"
"I do. But I cannot wait longer. It is impossible. I shall go mad! What
have you been doing? What have you discovered?"
"Very little as yet," said the detective, cautiously. "But you excite
yourself unnecessarily. Why don't you stay indoors quietly and rest?
That lad tells me you are always here, pacing up and down and fretting."
"I am," said Leicester. "I cannot tear myself away from this spot. It
was here that the murder was done--just here, where I stand. From here
I can see my old home and the spot where I first saw her. You cannot
understand what a fascination this place has for me."
"Perhaps I can't; perhaps I can," said the detective. "And so you won't
stay here?"
"No," said Leicester. "There is danger in it if there was no other
reason. That lad has sharp eyes, and some day he will recognize me."
"Hem!" said Mr. Dockett. "That's the lad who behaves so strangely. I
suppose----"
Then he paused as if an idea had struck him.
"Will you come back with me?" he said. "I don't mind confessing that I
have as good as failed in London myself. Whether a mate of mine finds
anything or not I can't say. He's at work, and he's a sharp fellow. I'm
inclined, however, seeing the state of mind you are in, to push matters
on, and I've hit on an idea."
"I'll come," said Leicester, and together they returned to the cottage.
On the way Mr. Dockett said:
"Where is your friend, Stewart--rather, Mr. Stumpy?"
"Down on the beach," said Leicester. "The faithful fellow thought it
best to keep a watch on Job, and I don't think he lets him out of his
sight night or day."
"Quite right," said Mr. Dockett. "He'd make a good detective. Ah,
here's the lad. Now I want you to sit beside me inside the cottage,
and when I give the signal take off that beard and wig."
Leicester nodded wearily.
"What plan have you?"
"Never mind," said Mr. Dockett.
They entered the cottage, and sat down in the little parlor.
Then Mr. Dockett called to Jamie, and asked him if he could bring a
glass of water.
The lad rose and hobbled in with it.
"Sit down," said Mr. Dockett. "Sit down, my lad. What are you reading?"
and he took a book out of Jamie's hand. "Ah! the 'Lives of Celebrated
Assassins.' That's a strange book for a young lad!"
Jamie turned pale.
"Is it, sir?" he said. "I--I--like it."
"Don't much look like a murderer yourself," said Mr. Dockett. "Never
saw one done, eh?"
"Heaven forbid!" said Jamie.
"Heard of one though," said the detective, "that murder on the cliffs,
I suppose? You knew Mr. Leicester, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir," faltered the lad.
"Liked him too?" asked the detective.
"He was a good friend to me, sir," said Jamie. "A very good, kind
friend."
"Ah!" said Mr. Dockett. "Do you think if he was to come to life now
that you would know him again?"
"Know him!" said the lad. "Ah, in a moment."
"Of course you would," said the detective. Then he rose and wishing
Leicester, "good day," left the room.
He paused outside, and looking in at the window made a signal to
Leicester. Leicester looked over at Jamie Sanderson and prepared him.
"Jamie," he said. "Don't be startled. Do you know me?"
The lad, at the sound of Leicester's natural voice, turned pale and
trembled, but said nothing.
"Don't be frightened, Jamie," said Leicester, and very slowly be
removed the wig and beard.
Jamie uttered a cry of joy, which rapidly changed to fear.
"Maester Leicester!" he cried, stretching out his thin hand in an agony
of terror, "put them on again, and fly! Fly, this moment! You are in
danger! All is known, all know it beside me! Oh, fly, for Heaven's
sake!"
"Jamie," said Leicester, "be calm! What is known, my lad?"
"That you did the--the--murder! Oh, I know you didn't mean it, but
they'll hang you, they'll hang you! And they'll make me witness against
you! Oh, oh!" And he wrung his hands. "Why didn't I throw it away? Why
didn't I bury it?"
"Bury it? What?" asked Leicester, puzzled.
The lad hobbled near him and laid a trembling hand upon his arm.
"Maester Leicester! I've got it. I found it on the cliff, among the
bushes, and--oh! go away, sir, fly, for Heaven's sake!"
"Hush, my poor lad!" said Leicester, who was getting excited himself.
"What did you find?"
The poor lad shuddered and put his lips to Leicester's ear.
"The knife! The knife you stabbed him with."
Leicester stared and the hot blood rushed up into his face.
There was a moment's pause, then, in a low, constrained voice, which
trembled a little, he said:
"You found the knife, did you, Jamie? and you kept it?"
The lad nodded.
"Yes, forgive me, Maester Leicester. I tried to throw it away, I tried
to bury it; but I couldn't. I thought the police would be sure to find
it and that--that--it would tell against you!"
"I see," said Leicester. "You are a good lad, Jamie, a faithful lad.
And where is the knife?"
"Upstairs," whispered the lad. "Upstairs, in a box in my little room."
"Ah!" said Leicester, as the words made the strange conduct of the lad
quite clear. "Go and fetch it."
Jamie walked out of the room, and as he did so Mr. Dockett crept in.
"Hist!" said Leicester, and his eyes were all on fire.
"Have you heard anything?" said Mr. Dockett. "He has gone for the
knife. I'll hide here," and he hid himself behind the curtain.
In a few minutes the lame boy's step could be heard upon the stairs,
and he entered the room and cautiously locked the door.
"It's up my sleeve," he whispered. "Shut your eyes, Maester Leicester.
You needn't look at the horrid thing, shut your eyes, and hide it away
in your sleeve, then throw it out to sea! Oh! it is a horrid, horrid
thing!"
"Give it to me," said Leicester, hoarsely; and to please the lad he
shut his eyes. Jamie slipped the knife in his hands and instantly the
detective slid from behind the curtain and grasped Leicester's hand.
Leicester offered no resistance, and hushed Jamie's cry of alarm.
"All right, Jamie, don't be frightened. This is a friend."
"Is it your knife?" said Mr. Dockett, quite coolly.
"Let me see," said Leicester, then as he looked at it he sprang to his
feet. "By Heaven!" he exclaimed, with a shout of frenzy, "his sin has
come home to him! Nemesis is on his track!"
"Whose knife is it, I ask you?" exclaimed the detective, almost excited.
"Howard Murpoint's," replied Leicester.
At that moment the door opened, and Stumpy entered.
He had heard every word, and as he paused on the threshold he muttered
to himself: "Jerusalem! things are working round bad for the general!"