The events which I am about to relate took place between nine and ten
years ago. Sebastopol had fallen in the early spring, the peace of
Paris had been concluded since March, our commercial relations with
the Russian Empire were but recently renewed; and I, returning home
after my first northward journey since the war, was well pleased with
the prospect of spending the month of December under the hospitable
and thoroughly English roof of my excellent friend, Jonathan Jelf,
Esq., of Dumbleton Manor, Clayborough, East Anglia. Traveling in the
interests of the well-known firm in which it is my lot to be a junior
partner, I had been called upon to visit not only the capitals of
Russia and Poland, but had found it also necessary to pass some weeks
among the trading ports of the Baltic; whence it came that the year
was already far spent before I again set foot on English soil, and
that, instead of shooting pheasants with him, as I had hoped, in
October, I came to be my friend's guest during the more genial
Christmas-tide.
My voyage over, and a few days given up to business in Liverpool and
London, I hastened down to Clayborough with all the delight of a
schoolboy whose holidays are at hand. My way lay by the Great East
Anglian line as far as Clayborough station, where I was to be met by
one of the Dumbleton carriages and conveyed across the remaining nine
miles of country. It was a foggy afternoon, singularly warm for the
4th of December, and I had arranged to leave London by the 4:15
express. The early darkness of winter had already closed in; the
lamps were lighted in the carriages; a clinging damp dimmed the
windows, adhered to the door-handles, and pervaded all the
atmosphere; while the gas-jets at the neighboring book-stand diffused
a luminous haze that only served to make the gloom of the terminus
more visible. Having arrived some seven minutes before the starting
of the train, and, by the connivance of the guard, taken sole
possession of an empty compartment, I lighted my traveling-lamp, made
myself particularly snug, and settled down to the undisturbed
enjoyment of a book and a cigar. Great, therefore, was my
disappointment when, at the last moment, a gentleman came hurrying
along the platform, glanced into my carriage, opened the locked door
with a private key, and stepped in.
It struck me at the first glance that I had seen him before--a tall,
spare man, thin-lipped, light-eyed, with an ungraceful stoop in the
shoulders, and scant gray hair worn somewhat long upon the collar.
He carried a light waterproof coat, an umbrella, and a large brown
japanned deed-box, which last he placed under the seat. This done,
he felt carefully in his breast-pocket, as if to make certain of the
safety of his purse or pocketbook, laid his umbrella in the netting
overhead, spread the waterproof across his knees, and exchanged his
hat for a traveling-cap of some Scotch material. By this time the
train was moving out of the station and into the faint gray of the
wintry twilight beyond.
I now recognized my companion. I recognized him from the moment when
he removed his hat and uncovered the lofty, furrowed, and somewhat
narrow brow beneath. I had met him, as I distinctly remembered, some
three years before, at the very house for which, in all probability,
he was now bound, like myself. His name was Dwerrihouse; he was a
lawyer by profession, and, if I was not greatly mistaken, was first
cousin to the wife of my host. I knew also that he was a man
eminently "well-to-do," both as regarded his professional and private
means. The Jelfs entertained him with that sort of observant
courtesy which falls to the lot of the rich relation, the children
made much of him, and the old butler, albeit somewhat surly "to the
general," treated him with deference. I thought, observing him by
the vague mixture of lamplight and twilight, that Mrs. Jelf's cousin
looked all the worse for the three years' wear and tear which had
gone over his head since our last meeting. He was very pale, and had
a restless light in his eye that I did not remember to have observed
before. The anxious lines, too, about his mouth were deepened, and
there was a cavernous, hollow look about his cheeks and temples which
seemed to speak of sickness or sorrow. He had glanced at me as he
came in, but without any gleam of recognition in his face. Now he
glanced again, as I fancied, somewhat doubtfully. When he did so for
the third or fourth time I ventured to address him.
"Mr. John Dwerrihouse, I think?"
"That is my name," he replied.
"I had the pleasure of meeting you at Dumbleton about three years
ago."
Mr. Dwerrihouse bowed.
"I thought I knew your face," he said; "but your name, I regret to
say--"
"Langford--William Langford. I have known Jonathan Jelf since we
were boys together at Merchant Taylor's, and I generally spend a few
weeks at Dumbleton in the shooting season. I suppose we are bound
for the same destination?"
"Not if you are on your way to the manor," he replied. "I am
traveling upon business--rather troublesome business too--while you,
doubtless, have only pleasure in view."
"Just so. I am in the habit of looking forward to this visit as to
the brightest three weeks in all the year."
"It is a pleasant house," said Mr. Dwerrihouse.
"The pleasantest I know."
"And Jelf is thoroughly hospitable."
"The best and kindest fellow in the world!"
"They have invited me to spend Christmas week with them," pursued Mr.
Dwerrihouse, after a moment's pause.
"And you are coming?"
"I can not tell. It must depend on the issue of this business which
I have in hand. You have heard perhaps that we are about to
construct a branch line from Blackwater to Stockbridge."
I explained that I had been for some months away from England, and
had therefore heard nothing of the contemplated improvement.
Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled complacently.
"It will be an improvement," he said, "a great improvement.
Stockbridge is a flourishing town, and needs but a more direct
railway communication with the metropolis to become an important
centre of commerce. This branch was my own idea. I brought the
project before the board, and have myself superintended the execution
of it up to the present time."
"You are an East Anglian director, I presume?"
"My interest in the company," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, "is threefold.
I am a director, I am a considerable shareholder, and, as head of the
firm of Dwerrihouse, Dwerrihouse & Craik, I am the company's
principal solicitor."
Loquacious, self-important, full of his pet project, and apparently
unable to talk on any other subject, Mr. Dwerrihouse then went on to
tell of the opposition he had encountered and the obstacles he had
overcome in the cause of the Stockbridge branch. I was entertained
with a multitude of local details and local grievances. The rapacity
of one squire, the impracticability of another, the indignation of
the rector whose glebe was threatened, the culpable indifference of
the Stockbridge townspeople, who could not be brought to see that
their most vital interests hinged upon a junction with the Great East
Anglian line; the spite of the local newspaper, and the unheard-of
difficulties attending the Common question, were each and all laid
before me with a circumstantiality that possessed the deepest
interest for my excellent fellow-traveler, but none whatever for
myself. From these, to my despair, he went on to more intricate
matters: to the approximate expenses of construction per mile; to the
estimates sent in by different contractors; to the probable traffic
returns of the new line; to the provisional clauses of the new act as
enumerated in Schedule D of the company's last half-yearly report;
and so on and on and on, till my head ached and my attention flagged
and my eyes kept closing in spite of every effort that I made to keep
them open. At length I was roused by these words:
"Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down."
"Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down," I repeated, in the
liveliest tone I could assume. "That is a heavy sum."
"A heavy sum to carry here," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, pointing
significantly to his breast-pocket, "but a mere fraction of what we
shall ultimately have to pay."
"You do not mean to say that you have seventy-five thousand pounds at
this moment upon your person?" I exclaimed.
"My good sir, have I not been telling you so for the last half-hour?"
said Mr. Dwerrihouse, testily. "That money has to be paid over at
half-past eight o'clock this evening, at the office of Sir Thomas's
solicitors, on completion of the deed of sale."
"But how will you get across by night from Blackwater to Stockbridge
with seventy-five thousand pounds in your pock it?"
"To Stockbridge!" echoed the lawyer. "I find I have made myself very
imperfectly understood. I thought I had explained how this sum only
carries us as far as Mallingford--the first stage, as it were, of our
journey--and how our route from Blackwater to Mallingford lies
entirely through Sir Thomas Liddell's property."
"I beg your pardon," I stammered. "I fear my thoughts were
wandering. So you only go as far as Mallingford to-night?"
"Precisely. I shall get a conveyance from the 'Blackwater Arms.'
And you?"
"Oh, Jelf sends a trap to meet me at Clayborough! Can I be the
bearer of any message from you?"
"You may say, if you please, Mr. Langford, that I wished I could have
been your companion all the way, and that I will come over, if
possible, before Christmas."
"Nothing more?"
Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled grimly. "Well," he said, "you may tell my
cousin that she need not burn the hall down in my honor this time,
and that I shall be obliged if she will order the blue-room chimney
to be swept before I arrive."
"That sounds tragic. Had you a conflagration on the occasion of your
last visit to Dumbleton?"
"Something like it. There had been no fire lighted in my bedroom
since the spring, the flue was foul, and the rooks had built in it;
so when I went up to dress for dinner I found the room full of smoke
and the chimney on fire. Are we already at Blackwater?"
The train had gradually come to a pause while Mr. Dwerrihouse was
speaking, and, on putting my head out of the window, I could see the
station some few hundred yards ahead. There was another train before
us blocking the way, and the guard was making use of the delay to
collect the Blackwater tickets. I had scarcely ascertained our
position when the ruddy-faced official appeared at our carriage door.
"Tickets, sir!" said he.
"I am for Clayborough," I replied, holding out the tiny pink card.
He took it, glanced at it by the light of his little lantern, gave it
back, looked, as I fancied, somewhat sharply at my fellow-traveler,
and disappeared.
"He did not ask for yours," I said, with some surprise.
"They never do," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse; "they all know me, and of
course I travel free."
"Blackwater! Blackwater!" cried the porter, running along the
platform beside us as we glided into the station.
Mr. Dwerrihouse pulled out his deed-box, put his traveling-cap in his
pocket, resumed his hat, took down his umbrella, and prepared to be
gone.
"Many thanks, Mr. Langford, for your society," he said, with
old-fashioned courtesy. "I wish you a good-evening."
"Good-evening," I replied, putting out my hand.
But he either did not see it or did not choose to see it, and,
slightly lifting his hat, stepped out upon the platform. Having done
this, he moved slowly away and mingled with the departing crowd.
Leaning forward to watch him out of sight, I trod upon something
which proved to be a cigar-case. It had fallen, no doubt, from the
pocket of his waterproof coat, and was made of dark morocco leather,
with a silver monogram upon the side. I sprang out of the carriage
just as the guard came up to lock me in.
"Is there one minute to spare?" I asked, eagerly. "The gentleman who
traveled down with me from town has dropped his cigar-case; he is not
yet out of the station."
"Just a minute and a half, sir," replied the guard. "You must be
quick."
I dashed along the platform as fast as my feet could carry me. It
was a large station, and Mr. Dwerrihouse had by this time got more
than half-way to the farther end.
I, however, saw him distinctly, moving slowly with the stream. Then,
as I drew nearer, I saw that he had met some friend, that they were
talking as they walked, that they presently fell back somewhat from
the crowd and stood aside in earnest conversation. I made straight
for the spot where they were waiting. There was a vivid gas-jet just
above their heads, and the light fell full upon their faces. I saw
both distinctly--the face of Mr. Dwerrihouse and the face of his
companion. Running, breathless, eager as I was, getting in the way
of porters and passengers, and fearful every instant lest I should
see the train going on without me, I yet observed that the new-comer
was considerably younger and shorter than the director, that he was
sandy-haired, mustachioed, small-featured, and dressed in a close-cut
suit of Scotch tweed. I was now within a few yards of them. I ran
against a stout gentleman, I was nearly knocked down by a
luggage-truck, I stumbled over a carpet-bag; I gained the spot just
as the driver's whistle warned me to return.
To my utter stupefaction, they were no longer there. I had seen them
but two seconds before--and they were gone! I stood still; I looked
to right and left; I saw no sign of them in any direction. It was as
if the platform had gaped and swallowed them.
"There were two gentlemen standing here a moment ago," I said to a
porter at my elbow; "which way can they have gone?"
"I saw no gentlemen, sir," replied the man.
The whistle shrilled out again. The guard, far up the platform, held
up his arm, and shouted to me to "come on!"
"If you're going on by this train, sir," said the porter, "you must
run for it."
I did run for it, just gained the carriage as the train began to
move, was shoved in by the guard, and left, breathless and
bewildered, with Mr. Dwerrihouse's cigar-case still in my hand.
It was the strangest disappearance in the world; it was like a
transformation trick in a pantomime. They were there one
moment--palpably there, talking, with the gaslight full upon their
faces--and the next moment they were gone. There was no door near,
no window, no staircase; it was a mere slip of barren platform,
tapestried with big advertisements. Could anything be more
mysterious?
It was not worth thinking about, and yet, for my life, I could not
help pondering upon it--pondering, wondering, conjecturing, turning
it over and over in my mind, and beating my brains for a solution of
the enigma. I thought of it all the way from Blackwater to
Clayborough. I thought of it all the way from Clayborough to
Dumbleton, as I rattled along the smooth highway in a trim dog-cart,
drawn by a splendid black mare and driven by the silentest and
dapperest of East Anglian grooms.
We did the nine miles in something less than an hour, and pulled up
before the lodge gates just as the church clock was striking
half-past seven. A couple of minutes more, and the warm glow of the
lighted hall was flooding out upon the gravel, a hearty grasp was on
my hand, and a clear jovial voice was bidding me "welcome to
Dumbleton."
"And now, my dear fellow," said my host, when the first greeting was
over, "you have no time to spare. We dine at eight, and there are
people coming to meet you, so you must just get the dressing business
over as quickly as may be. By the way, you will meet some
acquaintances; the Biddulphs are coming, and Prendergast (Prendergast
of the Skirmishers) is staying in the house. Adieu! Mrs. Jelf will
be expecting you in the drawing-room."
I was ushered to my room--not the blue room, of which Mr. Dwerrihouse
had made disagreeable experience, but a pretty little bachelor's
chamber, hung with a delicate chintz and made cheerful by a blazing
fire. I unlocked my portmanteau. I tried to be expeditious, but the
memory of my railway adventure haunted me. I could not get free of
it; I could not shake it off. It impeded me, it worried me, it
tripped me up, it caused me to mislay my studs, to mistie my cravat,
to wrench the buttons off my gloves. Worst of all, it made me so
late that the party had all assembled before I reached the
drawing-room. I had scarcely paid my respects to Mrs. Jelf when
dinner was announced, and we paired off, some eight or ten couples
strong, into the dining-room.
I am not going to describe either the guests or the dinner. All
provincial parties bear the strictest family resemblance, and I am
not aware that an East Anglian banquet offers any exception to the
rule. There was the usual country baronet and his wife; there were
the usual country parsons and their wives; there was the sempiternal
turkey and haunch of venison. _Vanitas vanitatum_. There is nothing
new under the sun.
I was placed about midway down the table. I had taken one rector's
wife down to dinner, and I had another at my left hand. They talked
across me, and their talk was about babies; it was dreadfully dull.
At length there came a pause. The entrées had just been removed, and
the turkey had come upon the scene. The conversation had all along
been of the languidest, but at this moment it happened to have
stagnated altogether. Jelf was carving the turkey; Mrs. Jelf looked
as if she was trying to think of something to say; everybody else was
silent. Moved by an unlucky impulse, I thought I would relate my
adventure.
"By the way, Jelf," I began, "I came down part of the way to-day with
a friend of yours."
"Indeed!" said the master of the feast, slicing scientifically into
the breast of the turkey. "With whom, pray?"
"With one who bade me tell you that he should, if possible, pay you a
visit before Christmas."
"I can not think who that could be," said my friend, smiling.
"It must be Major Thorp," suggested Mrs. Jelf. I shook my head.
"It was not Major Thorp," I replied; "it was a near relation of your
own, Mrs. Jelf."
"Then I am more puzzled than ever," replied my hostess. "Pray tell
me who it was."
"It was no less a person than your cousin, Mr. John Dwerrihouse."
Jonathan Jelf laid down his knife and fork. Mrs. Jelf looked at me
in a strange, startled way, and said never a word.
"And he desired me to tell you, my dear madam, that you need not take
the trouble to burn the hall down in his honor this time, but only to
have the chimney of the blue room swept before his arrival."
Before I had reached the end of my sentence I became aware of
something ominous in the faces of the guests. I felt I had said
something which I had better have left unsaid, and that for some
unexplained reason my words had evoked a general consternation. I
sat confounded, not daring to utter another syllable, and for at
least two whole minutes there was dead silence round the table. Then
Captain Prendergast came to the rescue.
"You have been abroad for some months, have you not, Mr. Langford?"
he said, with the desperation of one who flings himself into the
breach. "I heard you had been to Russia. Surely you have something
to tell us of the state and temper of the country after the war?"
I was heartily grateful to the gallant Skirmisher for this diversion
in my favor. I answered him, I fear, somewhat lamely; but he kept
the conversation up, and presently one or two others joined in, and
so the difficulty, whatever it might have been, was bridged
over--bridged over, but not repaired. A something, an awkwardness, a
visible constraint remained. The guests hitherto had been simply
dull, but now they were evidently uncomfortable and embarrassed.
The dessert had scarcely been placed upon the table when the ladies
left the room. I seized the opportunity to select a vacant chair
next Captain Prendergast.
"In Heaven's name," I whispered, "what was the matter just now? What
had I said?"
"You mentioned the name of John Dwerrihouse."
"What of that? I had seen him not two hours before."
"It is a most astounding circumstance that you should have seen him,"
said Captain Prendergast. "Are you sure it was he?"
"As sure as of my own identity. We were talking all the way between
London and Blackwater. But why does that surprise you?"
"Because," replied Captain Prendergast, dropping his voice to the
lowest whisper--"_because John Dwerrihouse absconded three months ago
with seventy-five thousand pounds of the company's money, and has
never been heard of since._"
John Dwerrihouse had absconded three months ago--and I had seen him
only a few hours back! John Dwerrihouse had embezzled seventy-five
thousand pounds of the company's money, yet told me that he carried
that sum upon his person! Were ever facts so strangely incongruous,
so difficult to reconcile? How should he have ventured again into
the light of day? How dared he show himself along the line? Above
all, what had he been doing throughout those mysterious three months
of disappearance?
Perplexing questions these--questions which at once suggested
themselves to the minds of all concerned, but which admitted of no
easy solution. I could find no reply to them. Captain Prendergast
had not even a suggestion to offer. Jonathan Jelf, who seized the
first opportunity of drawing me aside and learning all that I had to
tell, was more amazed and bewildered than either of us. He came to
my room that night, when all the guests were gone, and we talked the
thing over from every point of view; without, it must be confessed,
arriving at any kind of conclusion.
"I do not ask you," he said, "whether you can have mistaken your man.
That is impossible."
"As impossible as that I should mistake some stranger for yourself."
"It is not a question of looks or voice, but of facts. That he
should have alluded to the fire in the blue room is proof enough of
John Dwerrihouse's identity. How did he look?"
"Older, I thought; considerably older, paler, and more anxious."
"He has had enough to make him look anxious, anyhow," said my friend,
gloomily, "be he innocent or guilty."
"I am inclined to believe that he is innocent," I replied. "He
showed no embarrassment when I addressed him, and no uneasiness when
the guard came round. His conversation was open to a fault. I might
almost say that he talked too freely of the business which he had in
hand."
"That again is strange, for I know no one more reticent on such
subjects. He actually told you that he had the seventy-five thousand
pounds in his pocket?"
"He did."
"Humph! My wife has an idea about it, and she may be right--"
"What idea?"
"Well, she fancies--women are so clever, you know, at putting
themselves inside people's motives--she fancies that he was tempted,
that he did actually take the money, and that he has been concealing
himself these three months in some wild part of the country,
struggling possibly with his conscience all the time, and daring
neither to abscond with his booty nor to come back and restore it."
"But now that he has come back?"
"That is the point. She conceives that he has probably thrown
himself upon the company's mercy, made restitution of the money, and,
being forgiven, is permitted to carry the business through as if
nothing whatever had happened."
"The last," I replied, "is an impossible case. Mrs. Jelf thinks like
a generous and delicate-minded woman, but not in the least like a
board of railway directors. They would never carry forgiveness so
far."
"I fear not; and yet it is the only conjecture that bears a semblance
of likelihood. However, we can run over to Clayborough to-morrow and
see if anything is to be learned. By the way, Prendergast tells me
you picked up his cigar-case."
"I did so, and here it is."
Jelf took the cigar-case, examined it by the light of the lamp, and
said at once that it was beyond doubt Mr. Dwerrihouse's property, and
that he remembered to have seen him use it.
"Here, too, is his monogram on the side," he added--"a big J
transfixing a capital D. He used to carry the same on his
note-paper."
"It offers, at all events, a proof that I was not dreaming."
"Ay, but it is time you were asleep and dreaming now. I am ashamed
to have kept you up so long. Good-night."
"Good-night, and remember that I am more than ready to go with you to
Clayborough, or Blackwater, or London, or anywhere, if I can be of
the least service."
"Thanks! I know you mean it, old friend, and it may be that I shall
put you to the test. Once more, good-night."
So we parted for that night, and met again in the breakfast-room at
half-past eight next morning. It was a hurried, silent,
uncomfortable meal; none of us had slept well, and all were thinking
of the same subject. Mrs. Jelf had evidently been crying, Jelf was
impatient to be off, and both Captain Prendergast and myself felt
ourselves to be in the painful position of outsiders who are
involuntarily brought into a domestic trouble. Within twenty minutes
after we had left the breakfast-table the dog-cart was brought round,
and my friend and I were on the road to Clayborough.
"Tell you what it is, Langford," he said, as we sped along between
the wintry hedges, "I do not much fancy to bring up Dwerrihouse's
name at Clayborough. All the officials know that he is my wife's
relation, and the subject just now is hardly a pleasant one. If you
don't much mind, we will take the 11:10 to Blackwater. It's an
important station, and we shall stand a far better chance of picking
up information there than at Clayborough."
So we took the 11:10, which happened to be an express, and, arriving
at Blackwater about a quarter before twelve, proceeded at once to
prosecute our inquiry.
We began by asking for the station-master, a big, blunt,
business-like person, who at once averred that he knew Mr. John
Dwerrihouse perfectly well, and that there was no director on the
line whom he had seen and spoken to so frequently.
"He used to be down here two or three times a week about three months
ago," said he, "when the new line was first set afoot; but since
then, you know, gentlemen--"
He paused significantly.
Jelf flushed scarlet.
"Yes, yes," he said, hurriedly; "we know all about that. The point
now to be ascertained is whether anything has been seen or heard of
him lately."
"Not to my knowledge," replied the station-master.
"He is not known to have been down the line any time yesterday, for
instance?"
The station-master shook his head.
"The East Anglian, sir," said he, "is about the last place where he
would dare to show himself. Why, there isn't a station-master, there
isn't a guard, there isn't a porter, who doesn't know Mr. Dwerrihouse
by sight as well as he knows his own face in the looking-glass, or
who wouldn't telegraph for the police as soon as he had set eyes on
him at any point along the line. Bless you, sir! there's been a
standing order out against him ever since the 25th of September last."
"And yet," pursued my friend, "a gentleman who traveled down
yesterday from London to Clayborough by the afternoon express
testifies that he saw Mr. Dwerrihouse in the train, and that Mr.
Dwerrihouse alighted at Blackwater station."
"Quite impossible, sir," replied the station-master, promptly.
"Why impossible?"
"Because there is no station along the line where he is so well known
or where he would run so great a risk. It would be just running his
head into the lion's mouth; he would have been mad to come nigh
Blackwater station; and if he had come he would have been arrested
before he left the platform."
"Can you tell me who took the Blackwater tickets of that train?"
"I can, sir. It was the guard, Benjamin Somers."
"And where can I find him?"
"You can find him, sir, by staying here, if you please, till one
o'clock. He will be coming through with the up express from
Crampton, which stays at Blackwater for ten minutes."
We waited for the up express, beguiling the time as best we could by
strolling along the Blackwater road till we came almost to the
outskirts of the town, from which the station was distant nearly a
couple of miles. By one o'clock we were back again upon the platform
and waiting for the train. It came punctually, and I at once
recognized the ruddy-faced guard who had gone down with my train the
evening before.
"The gentlemen want to ask you something about Mr. Dwerrihouse,
Somers," said the station-master, by way of introduction.
The guard flashed a keen glance from my face to Jelf's and back again
to mine.
"Mr. John Dwerrihouse, the late director?" said he, interrogatively.
"The same," replied my friend. "Should you know him if you saw him?"
"Anywhere, sir."
"Do you know if he was in the 4:15 express yesterday afternoon?"
"He was not, sir."
"How can you answer so positively?"
"Because I looked into every carriage and saw every face in that
train, and I could take my oath that Mr. Dwerrihouse was not in it.
This gentleman was," he added, turning sharply upon me. "I don't
know that I ever saw him before in my life, but I remember his face
perfectly. You nearly missed taking your seat in time at this
station, sir, and you got out at Clayborough."
"Quite true, guard," I replied; "but do you not also remember the
face of the gentleman who traveled down in the same carriage with me
as far as here?"
"It was my impression, sir, that you traveled down alone," said
Somers, with a look of some surprise.
"By no means. I had a fellow-traveler as far as Blackwater, and it
was in trying to restore him the cigar-case which he had dropped in
the carriage that I so nearly let you go on without me."
"I remember your saying something about a cigar-case, certainly,"
replied the guard; "but--"
"You asked for my ticket just before we entered the station."
"I did, sir."
"Then you must have seen him. He sat in the corner next the very
door to which you came."
"No, indeed; I saw no one."
I looked at Jelf. I began to think the guard was in the
ex-director's confidence, and paid for his silence.
"If I had seen another traveler I should have asked for his ticket,"
added Somers. "Did you see me ask for his ticket, sir?"
"I observed that you did not ask for it, but he explained that by
saying--" I hesitated. I feared I might be telling too much, and so
broke off abruptly.
The guard and the station-master exchanged glances. The former
looked impatiently at his watch.
"I am obliged to go on in four minutes more, sir," he said.
"One last question, then." interposed Jelf, with a sort of
desperation. "If this gentleman's fellow-traveler had been Mr. John
Dwerrihouse, and he had been sitting in the corner next the door by
which you took the tickets, could you have failed to see and
recognize him?"
"No, sir; it would have been quite impossible."
"And you are certain you did not see him?"
"As I said before, sir, I could take my oath I did not see him. And
if it wasn't that I don't like to contradict a gentleman, I would say
I could also take my oath that this gentleman was quite alone in the
carriage the whole way from London to Clayborough. Why, sir," he
added, dropping his voice so as to be inaudible to the
station-master, who had been called away to speak to some person
close by, "you expressly asked me to give you a compartment to
yourself, and I did so. I locked you in, and you were so good as to
give me something for myself."
"Yes; but Mr. Dwerrihouse had a key of his own."
"I never saw him, sir; I saw no one in that compartment but yourself.
Beg pardon, sir; my time's up."
And with this the ruddy guard touched his cap and was gone. In
another minute the heavy panting of the engine began afresh, and the
train glided slowly out of the station.
We looked at each other for some moments in silence. I was the first
to speak.
"Mr. Benjamin Somers knows more than he chooses to tell," I said.
"Humph! do you think so?"
"It must be. He could not have come to the door without seeing him;
it's impossible."
"There is one thing not impossible, my dear fellow."
"What is that?"
"That you may have fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing."
"Could I dream of a branch line that I had never heard of? Could I
dream of a hundred and one business details that had no kind of
interest for me? Could I dream of the seventy-five thousand pounds?"
"Perhaps you might have seen or heard some vague account of the
affair while you were abroad. It might have made no impression upon
you at the time, and might have come back to you in your dreams,
recalled perhaps by the mere names of the stations on the line."
"What about the fire in the chimney of the blue room--should I have
heard of that during my journey?"
"Well, no; I admit there is a difficulty about that point."
"And what about the cigar-case?"
"Ay, by Jove! there is the cigar-case. That is a stubborn fact.
Well, it's a mysterious affair, and it will need a better detective
than myself, I fancy, to clear it up. I suppose we may as well go
home."
A week had not gone by when I received a letter from the secretary of
the East Anglian Railway Company, requesting the favor of my
attendance at a special board meeting not then many days distant. No
reasons were alleged and no apologies offered for this demand upon my
time, but they had heard, it was clear, of my inquiries anent the
missing director, and had a mind to put me through some sort of
official examination upon the subject. Being still a guest at
Dumbleton Hall, I had to go up to London for the purpose, and
Jonathan Jelf accompanied me. I found the direction of the Great
East Anglian line represented by a party of some twelve or fourteen
gentlemen seated in solemn conclave round a huge green baize table,
in a gloomy boardroom adjoining the London terminus.
Being courteously received by the chairman (who at once began by
saying that certain statements of mine respecting Mr. John
Dwerrihouse had come to the knowledge of the direction, and that they
in consequence desired to confer with me on those points), we were
placed at the table, and the inquiry proceeded in due form.
I was first asked if I knew Mr. John Dwerrihouse, how long I had been
acquainted with him, and whether I could identify him at sight. I
was then asked when I had seen him last. To which I replied: "On the
4th of this present month, December, 1856." Then came the inquiry of
where I had seen him on that fourth day of December; to which I
replied that I met him in a first-class compartment of the 4:15 down
express, that he got in just as the train was leaving the London
terminus, and that he alighted at Blackwater station. The chairman
then inquired whether I had held any communication with my
fellow-traveler; whereupon I related, as nearly as I could remember
it, the whole bulk and substance of Mr. John Dwerrihouse's diffuse
information respecting the new branch line.
To all this the board listened with profound attention, while the
chairman presided and the secretary took notes. I then produced the
cigar-case. It was passed from hand to hand, and recognized by all.
There was not a man present who did not remember that plain
cigar-case with its silver monogram, or to whom it seemed anything
less than entirely corroborative of my evidence. When at length I
had told all that I had to tell, the chairman whispered something to
the secretary; the secretary touched a silver hand-bell, and the
guard, Benjamin Somers, was ushered into the room. He was then
examined as carefully as myself. He declared that he knew Mr. John
Dwerrihouse perfectly well, that he could not be mistaken in him,
that he remembered going down with the 4:15 express on the afternoon
in question, that he remembered me, and that, there being one or two
empty first-class compartments on that especial afternoon, he had, in
compliance with my request, placed me in a carriage by myself. He
was positive that I remained alone in that compartment all the way
from London to Clayborough. He was ready to take his oath that Mr.
Dwerrihouse was neither in that carriage with me, nor in any
compartment of that train. He remembered distinctly to have examined
my ticket at Blackwater; was certain that there was no one else at
that time in the carriage; could not have failed to observe a second
person, if there had been one; had that second person been Mr. John
Dwerrihouse should have quietly double-locked the door of the
carriage and have at once given information to the Blackwater
station-master. So clear, so decisive, so ready, was Somers with
this testimony, that the board looked fairly puzzled.
"You hear this person's statement, Mr. Langford," said the chairman.
"It contradicts yours in every particular. What have you to say in
reply?"
"I can only repeat what I said before. I am quite as positive of the
truth of my own assertions as Mr. Somers can be of the truth of his."
"You say that Mr. Dwerrihouse alighted at Blackwater, and that he was
in possession of a private key. Are you sure that he had not
alighted by means of that key before the guard came round for the
tickets?"
"I am quite positive that he did not leave the carriage till the
train had fairly entered the station, and the other Blackwater
passengers alighted. I even saw that he was met there by a friend."
"Indeed! Did you see that person distinctly?"
"Quite distinctly."
"Can you describe his appearance?"
"I think so. He was short and very slight, sandy-haired, with a
bushy mustache and beard, and he wore a closely fitting suit of gray
tweed, His age I should take to be about thirty-eight or forty."
"Did Mr. Dwerrihouse leave the station in this person's company?"
"I can not tell. I saw them walking together down the platform, and
then I saw them standing aside under a gas-jet, talking earnestly.
After that I lost sight of them quite suddenly, and just then my
train went on, and I with it."
The chairman and secretary conferred together in an undertone. The
directors whispered to one another. One or two looked suspiciously
at the guard. I could see that my evidence remained unshaken, and
that, like myself, they suspected some complicity between the guard
and the defaulter.
"How far did you conduct that 4:15 express on the day in question,
Somers?" asked the chairman.
"All through, sir," replied the guard, "from London to Crampton."
"How was it that you were not relieved at Clayborough? I thought
there was always a change of guards at Clayborough."
"There used to be, sir, till the new regulations came in force last
midsummer, since when the guards in charge of express trains go the
whole way through."
The chairman turned to the secretary.
"I think it would be as well," he said, "if we had the day-book to
refer to upon this point."
Again the secretary touched the silver hand-bell, and desired the
porter in attendance to summon Mr. Raikes. From a word or two
dropped by another of the directors I gathered that Mr. Raikes was
one of the under-secretaries.
He came, a small, slight, sandy-haired, keen-eyed man, with an eager,
nervous manner, and a forest of light beard and mustache. He just
showed himself at the door of the board-room, and, being requested to
bring a certain day-book from a certain shelf in a certain room,
bowed and vanished.
He was there such a moment, and the surprise of seeing him was so
great and sudden, that it was not till the door had closed upon him
that I found voice to speak. He was no sooner gone, however, than I
sprang to my feet.
"That person," I said, "is the same who met Mr. Dwerrihouse upon the
platform at Blackwater!"
There was a general movement of surprise. The chairman looked grave
and somewhat agitated.
"Take care, Mr. Langford," he said; "take care what you say."
"I am as positive of his identity as of my own."
"Do you consider the consequences of your words? Do you consider
that you are bringing a charge of the gravest character against one
of the company's servants?"
"I am willing to be put upon my oath, if necessary. The man who came
to that door a minute since is the same whom I saw talking with Mr.
Dwerrihouse on the Blackwater platform. Were he twenty times the
company's servant, I could say neither more nor less."
The chairman turned again to the guard.
"Did you see Mr. Raikes in the train or on the platform?" he asked.
Somers shook his head.
"I am confident Mr. Raikes was not in the train," he said, "and I
certainly did not see him on the platform."
The chairman turned next to the secretary.
"Mr. Raikes is in your office, Mr. Hunter," he said. "Can you
remember if he was absent on the 4th instant?"
"I do not think he was," replied the secretary, "but I am not
prepared to speak positively. I have been away most afternoons
myself lately, and Mr. Raikes might easily have absented himself if
he had been disposed."
At this moment the under-secretary returned with the day-book under
his arm.
"Be pleased to refer, Mr. Raikes," said the chairman, "to the entries
of the 4th instant, and see what Benjamin Somers's duties were on
that day."
Mr. Raikes threw open the cumbrous volume, and ran a practised eye
and finger down some three or four successive columns of entries.
Stopping suddenly at the foot of a page, he then read aloud that
Benjamin Somers had on that day conducted the 4:15 express from
London to Crampton.
The chairman leaned forward in his seat, looked the under-secretary
full in the face, and said, quite sharply and suddenly:
"And where were you, Mr. Raikes, on the same afternoon?"
"_I_, sir?"
"You, Mr. Raikes. Where were you on the afternoon and evening of the
4th of the present month?"
"Here, sir, in Mr. Hunter's office. Where else should I be?"
There was a dash of trepidation in the under-secretary's voice as he
said this, but his look of surprise was natural enough.
"We have some reason for believing, Mr. Raikes, that you were absent
that afternoon without leave. Was this the case?"
"Certainly not, sir. I have not had a day's holiday since September.
Mr. Hunter will bear me out in this."
Mr. Hunter repeated what he had previously said on the subject, but
added that the clerks in the adjoining office would be certain to
know. Whereupon the senior clerk, a grave, middle-aged person in
green glasses, was summoned and interrogated.
His testimony cleared the under-secretary at once. He declared that
Mr. Raikes had in no instance, to his knowledge, been absent during
office hours since his return from his annual holiday in September.
I was confounded. The chairman turned to me with a smile, in which a
shade of covert annoyance was scarcely apparent.
"You hear, Mr. Langford?" he said.
"I hear, sir; but my conviction remains unshaken."
"I fear, Mr. Langford, that your convictions are very insufficiently
based," replied the chairman, with a doubtful cough. "I fear that
you 'dream dreams,' and mistake them for actual occurrences. It is a
dangerous habit of mind, and might lead to dangerous results. Mr.
Raikes here would have found himself in an unpleasant position had he
not proved so satisfactory an alibi."