having offices at ---- Chambers, Regent Street, and a private residence
near Fulham. He was a man of somewhat peculiar habits, although very
shrewd, able in his profession, and generous towards his friends--who
were not a few. His domestic life had been far from comfortable. He had
been separated from his wife, through incompatibility of temper; and
that lady, with one of her children, lived in a distant part of the
metropolis, upon a liberal allowance from his purse.
This description will cover the life and pursuits of Mr. Franklin during
a series of about fifteen years. All this while, and probably much
earlier than the beginning of this epoch, he saved a considerable
portion of his earnings, and invested it with that success a prudent
lawyer was able to command. He was not, it is true, what is called a
speculative or "enterprising" man. He was rather a plodding or
hard-working man. He had a notion that lawyers ought not to engage in
risks, lest they should be tempted, in the frenzy of greed, or to cover
some unusual loss, to use the money which clients might by necessity or
choice leave in their hands. He never made "lumps of money," but grew
rich by slow degrees, as the accumulated instalments of his frugality
were piled on each other, and as the usufruct thereof, year by year,
swelled the total of his husbanded gains.
At the head of his staff or firm was a managing clerk; and at the top of
his rather small establishment in the country was a housekeeper. In both
these persons Mr. Franklin had the utmost confidence. That comfortable
feeling, I suppose, grew out of long experience; but it was not one I
found it possible to share on my first introduction to these worthy
persons. The clerk exhibited all the salient features of his calling. He
was cunning, reticent, and conceited. I dare say he was faithful to his
master. Fidelity is a peculiar merit of the attorney's clerk. I have
known many in my time, but never knew one treacherous to his master; and
never heard, on reliable authority, of one who betrayed a client's
secret. I have often had occasion to know that bribes have been offered
to the wretched copyist, whose earnings have probably not averaged a
pound per week; and to office-lads, whose wages were but a few
shillings--bribes equal to at least a quarter's honest income--but not a
secret could be extracted in this mode. I have often mused on this
phenomenon, but never could fully understand the exact relation between
the cause and the effect. The reader is perhaps a better psychologist
than I am, and can explain it. I leave the fact in his hands, or
head--merely vouching for it as a fact. As I have said, there was this
faithful clerk at the head of the staff in Mr. Franklin's office.
The housekeeper who presided over the domestic economy of the lawyer's
dwelling was a very ordinary sort of person. She was somewhere about
forty-eight or fifty years of age. She was rather tall, and somewhat
bulky in form. Her features were a little harsh, her voice was not one
that could be described as musical, and her manners were not of that
order denominated ladylike. She also was a faithful servant--or at least
she very often told me so, and I have no evidence to the contrary. She
declared to me, soon after my introduction to her, that she had never
robbed the good man (that is, her then late master) of a penny. She had
always laid out his money to the best advantage, never got a commission
from the tradesmen who supplied butter, cheese, eggs, or other
comestibles; and, in fact, never plundered him after the manner of her
sisterhood. She was in fact--I take it for granted, and ask the reader
to assume--a model housekeeper.
This is a censorious and scandalmongering age. I cannot, I fear, rely
upon it that my pages may not fall into the hands of some one or two
persons always ready to suspect and say ill of their neighbours. Let me,
therefore, at once clearly and emphatically state, that no relationship
whatever subsisted between Mr. Franklin and this lady but the ostensible
one of master and servant. On this head there ought to be no doubt.
Mr. Franklin one day, after a short illness, died.
The fact of his death was almost immediately communicated to his
relatives and friends, who mingled a few natural and conventional tears
over his dead body, which, in due course, was interred, without
needless pomp or ceremony, in a churchyard not far off.
After and before the funeral much surprise was expressed at the
non-discovery of a will.
Had he made a will, or had he died intestate? On that head there was
much speculation, and many decided opinions formed. Some folks argued
that it was very foolish for a lawyer, above all men in the world, to
leave his intentions undisclosed, and bequeath a negative legacy of
trouble, distrust, suspicion, heart-burning, and social war among his
acquaintances and kindred. They didn't think he could do it. Others
contended that there was nothing remarkable in a solicitor's not making
a will. These persons may be divided into two classes. One lot cynically
remarked that shoemakers' children were usually worse shod than other
brats; that the offspring of tailors were to be usually known by the
seediness of their costume; that publicans never drank the liquors they
vended; that parsons rarely illustrated, by their practice the virtues
they taught in their pulpits; and that a lawyer should betray a crowning
want of prudence was not, therefore, wonderful. This was the reasoning
by which some were led up to the belief that Mr. Franklin had certainly
not made a will. Another lot sneered at this circumlocutory and
unsatisfactory process of argument. They said that the thing was plain
enough. The deceased was a lawyer. He well knew, and was satisfied with,
the arrangements made by the wisdom of the legislature for the
distribution of the personal estate of intestates. Against all this
speculation there was, however, the unswerving and oft-repeated
declarations of the managing clerk, who said that his late master did,
about two years before his death, make a will. The draft thereof was in
the handwriting of Mr. Franklin. He had also engrossed or copied it for
the executors with his own right hand. The attestation had, however,
been made by that faithful clerk and by "that rascal Edwards," a junior
clerk, whose skill in the imitation of autographs had secured him
gratuitous and comfortable board and lodging at Portland.
If the deceased made a will, where could it be? That was a knotty and
interesting question. In its solution nobody took a deeper interest than
the housekeeper. If it could be found, it would. She was as sure as of
the fact of her existence (and of this, as she had never heard the
Berkleyian theory propounded, she had not the slightest shadow of a
doubt), that it would secure her the reward of long and meritorious
servitude. The relatives and friends, who desired to find a will, and
thought she might aid in its discovery, promised to reward her if her
faith were not justified by the document when it turned up. The clerk
was also zealous in searching for it every where that his sagacity
pointed out as its probable lurking-place. Neither will nor draft of a
will could, however, be found. The office and the house were ransacked.
The safe, all the tin cases, drawers, and bundles of papers, were
critically examined without success. Suspicion, it is needless to say,
was rife. It must have been destroyed, was the conclusion almost
uniformly arrived at; and the delinquent was marked out by the
imagination of several.
The lawyer's only son, who had been a riotous youth, and a sore trouble
to his father, was the suspected criminal. It was notorious that this
young man had drawn heavily upon his parent from time to time. He did
not like the honourable profession of the law, and, in order to
accommodate his taste, Mr. Franklin had paid considerable premiums to
men of repute in other professions; but the student, or apprentice,
forfeited the money thus paid at different times for his benefit. He had
twice robbed his father of large amounts. The lawyer's patience and
affection had apparently been exhausted some time before his death. The
son, deprived of all allowance by which to sustain an idle life, was
ultimately compelled to gain his living in a comparatively humble
position, and when the father died he was earning a pound a week in a
merchant's counting-house. Mr. Franklin, junior, who lodged with his
mother, heard of his loss as soon as that lady did. He at once threw up
his engagement, under the vague belief that a fortune had been dropped
into his lap. He practically took possession of the offices and the
house of the deceased, and had abundant opportunities of getting rid of
any document obnoxious to his interests. Uncharitable rumour, therefore,
set down as fact that this young man, had ascertained that an indignant
parent had cut him off with or without the proverbial shilling; that the
missing will was the instrument by which his just punishment had been
effected; that he had discovered the will, and in it his fate; and
that, in order to get the benefit of the statutable distribution of the
estate, he had destroyed both the document and the draft thereof.
About a fortnight after Mr. Franklin's death I was instructed to probe
the mystery of this lost will. It was chiefly desired that I should find
the will itself; but that was thought a hopeless task. The next thing
desired was, that I should get clear evidence of its former existence,
its provisions, and bequests. It was also desired that I should get
evidence enough to sustain a prosecution against the young man.
My task, which appeared almost hopeless, and not likely to be
profitable, turned out short, easy, and satisfactory.
A brief investigation of overlooked circumstances informed me that Mr.
Franklin had "protected" a young woman, who, in consequence thereof,
bore him two children. This attachment he had managed to conceal from
all his friends and acquaintances; and some of them were greatly
scandalised at the discovery of such an offence against social morals. I
called on this lady, and in my first interview went right through the
mystery of the will's concealment. The poor creature was awfully
embarrassed by my inquiries, and immediately I thought it wise to let
her know the real object of my visit, she fancied herself a delinquent.
"Upon my word, sir," she said, "I didn't take it. He gave it me. He told
me to keep it until he died, that it would be my only protection after
his death, and that I was only to give it up to Mr. Thistlethwayte." I
saw the whole design of the late Mr. Franklin. I asked her to let me
see it. She replied by an entreaty that I would not take it from her,
for she asked, "What will become of me and my dear children if I lose
it?" It was plain that the unsophisticated woman knew nothing of legal
formalities, and hugged the paper as though its mere possession would
obtain the money it set apart for her. I promised her that I would not
deprive her of it; that I would certainly aid, rather than frustrate,
the intentions of the father of her children. Of its contents she could
know nothing beyond the general statement of the deceased--that all her
future protection was bound up in its provisions. The will had been
handed to her in a closed envelope. The wax was unbroken when she laid
the packet before me.
How to act did not require a moment's consideration on my part. It was
not my duty, and it was repugnant to my feelings, to place this young
woman at a disadvantage. In finding the will I had done more than was
hoped for, and all that could be expected from me. I advised her at once
to consult a respectable solicitor; and she went with me to the office
of a gentleman in the neighbourhood--a total stranger to me, except by
reputation.
The erring son of the deceased was cleared from suspicion; the will was
proved at Doctor's Commons, and the intentions of the testator were
faithfully carried out.
One of the persons largely interested in the residuary estate of the
deceased, which formed its bulk, was much grieved because of the
depositary chosen by Mr. Franklin for the safe custody of his will. "It
is not," said this person, "as if he had left the creature a large sum
of money. I don't complain of the provision he has made for the
unfortunate children, but he might have spared us the humiliation of
asking her for the will. Why could he not have left that in the custody
of some one of the respectable people to whom he has given the principal
part of his fortune?"
The explanation was, "Why, don't you see, my dear madam, that although
the creature had but a small interest in the estate, that interest
depended entirely upon the preservation of the document. As the bulk of
the property was distributed by the testator nearly the same as the law
would of itself have distributed it, he had small occasion to make a
will at all, except to provide for the creature and her offspring. He
chose the safest of all places in which he could deposit it, as of
course he did not wish it destroyed by any of those respectable people,
who would not have been much concerned if the mother and her little ones
had been left absolute paupers."
"Do you mean to suggest that either of us would have destroyed the
document?"
"Certainly not; but I apprehend that the deceased thought it quite as
well to preserve you all from temptation."
THE DUKE'S MYSTERY
Little more than five years ago, a series of robberies on a grand scale
was perpetrated at the West End of London. There was hardly a tradesman
of note who did not suffer from these depredations, which for a long
while baffled all the skill and vigilance of the police.
After a lapse of perhaps six months from the formation of the belief
that these robberies were the result of a concerted action by the
rascaldom of the metropolis, the victims and their friends formed
themselves into a committee, and I was retained to investigate the
affair.
As the matter had by this time assumed great importance, I employed five
or six assistants, and systematically went to work. The police were also
on the alert, and special instructions were given from Scotland Yard
that they should coöperate with me, or practically, I may say, act under
my instructions.
It would be tedious to relate all the disguises and stratagems which I
assumed and devised. It must suffice to say, that half a dozen men went
through more variations in their appearance than the chameleon, and were
nearly or quite ubiquitous during the investigation.
I saw that a gang had to be crushed. I knew that success or failure was
but an issue of time and money. Of the former I could give and get as
much as the associated tradesmen would pay for. Of the latter there
would, I believed, be no stint. The parties affected, and liable to be
affected, by the operations of the gang, were prepared to lay out all
the cash needful to secure the punishment of the criminals.
The job was not a light one. We made a few mistakes, to the injury,
however, of no one who had a character worth keeping. We got at times on
wrong tracks. We were often on the heels of the thieves, and yet failed
to grasp them. We were none of us faint-hearted, or lacking in patience.
Each trip only made us walk the more carefully. Each blunder only made
us wary. Each divergence only made us examine the supposed clues with
greater nicety.
One morning a police constable and one of my men came to me with news.
"We have a clue, sir," said police constable U 99.
"That's well. What is it?" I observed.
"At least we think we have," said my assistant.
"I told him of it. I found it out," added the constable.
"No, don't say that. I had most to do with it."
"How do you make that out?"
"Well, how much did you know about it before I told you of it?"
"And how much did you know when you told me of it?"
I saw that there was a pretty quarrel brewing between this pair of
worthies, and I tried to stop it; but that was not so easy a task as
the reader may at first be inclined to suppose. If I put a restraint on
my assistant for the sake of peace, I might be incidentally puffing up
the constable's vanity, and wantonly injuring the laudable pride of my
own staff. If I attempted to curb the policeman, I might drive him off
to Scotland Yard, where the clue would be followed up, and my own
professional credit with the tradesmen injured. I must put up with a
little of this altercation, and endeavour to soothe the irritation of
both.
The fact is, that somebody--an omnibus driver, I believe--had told the
police officer that something he was accustomed to see was "a jolly rum
affair." The policeman, being on the beat along which my man had to
travel, and knowing him, repeated his information, and echoed the
'busman's opinion in his own vernacular. My assistant joined in the
opinion already expressed, and went beyond it.
"It is a rum affair, as you say," observed my man. "I think," he added,
"that it's a clue to what we very particularly want to find out. You
come up to the governor with me to-morrow, when you're off duty, and
I'll introduce you. If we turn it to account, mind, he'll not be
unhandsome. He'll make it worth your while, that _I_ warrant."
They then chatted over the business, and I dare say my assistant let the
officer into the secret of our instructions far enough to aid his
comprehension of the gravity of the effects to which this clue might
lead.
"What, then, was this clue?" I dare say asks the always impatient
reader.
It was a small matter. It did not seem to point directly at the
information I wanted, but many a real clue has not been more definite or
reliable than that now to be followed to its end. It was a little nut,
which required cracking. There might be in it the kernel I wanted, or
there might not.
With nothing like regularity of time or periodicity, but with great
frequency, a shabby hack brougham might be seen about or after dusk
proceeding along a road leading through a western reach of the
metropolis into the most picturesque western suburb. My clue began with
the vehicle at the north-eastern corner of the Green Park, and ended
just on the eastern entrance to the village of ----. It was a suspicious
fact that this hack brougham was not driven by the same man throughout
the entire distance. One driver was met about half way on the road, when
he alighted from the box, and handed the whip to the person (always the
same) who met him.
The brougham was one of those registered at Somerset House as a cab. It
was a private vehicle, which appeared like the property of some indigent
postmaster or jobber.
Where could this vehicle go to and come from?
Among the difficulties in our case was that of tracing the goods. It
was, I confess, not a little remarkable that no part of the goods could
be traced. We had searched all the most notorious "fences." I do not
think there was one known place in which goods of the kind in question
would be brought that we had not examined. Could this brougham be the
means of conveying the plunder in small quantities to and from its place
of concealment to the place or places of conversion into money? Those
were questions we determined to solve.
A diligent watch was set at stages from the Green Park to ----.
Next evening the carriage did not present itself, nor the next; but on
the third evening it was seen to emerge from a lane in Piccadilly, near
to a street in which there is an inferior livery-stable. It was now
followed and kept in sight during its entire journey. I saw the driver
changed.
I critically scanned the hirsute visage of the rider.
Just outside the village of ----, on the high road, there stood, and yet
stands, a cottage residence, in not the finest state, with coachhouse
and stabling for more carriages and horses than the occupant seemed to
make use of. The house was, I may also explain, shut out from the view
of travellers by a close wooden paling, a high gate, and a tall, dense,
leafy hedge.
At this cottage the brougham stopped. The rider alighted, and the
servant placed the horse and vehicle in the outbuildings allotted to
them, which were entered by the rear.
All this looked to me very suspicious. I determined, however, to pursue
my inquiries. There was not yet enough evidence, in my own opinion, to
justify an application for a search-warrant, and less justification for
any one's arrest on a criminal charge.
Inquiries in the village and neighbourhood elicited not much; but the
few scraps of fact that we did get tended to fortify a suspicion that
here was a depôt of the plunder.
The tradespeople were pumped, but those wells of gossip or scandal were
nearly dry. The truth was, this cottage neither excited remark by
ostentation, nor the reverse. What it required, it ordered and paid for.
The trade done with its inmates by the shopkeepers who were honoured
with their patronage was not large enough to arouse the envy of their
rivals. It may astonish some people, who are tormented by scandal, to
know that rumour may be either avoided or "manipulated," if you know how
to go about the task.
While I was engaged in these inquiries, with two of my assistants, the
man who had the words with the policeman, as described, had another, and
what he called "a jolly row," with that officer. The matter was, I
believe, through this, mentioned at the headquarters of the metropolitan
police, and the authorities took it up.
An active sergeant of the detective police called upon me, and asked for
information, which I thought myself scarcely at liberty to refuse to
give, so gave it. He forthwith set to work, and got warrants to search
the premises and arrest the inmates.
The time he selected for pouncing on the suspects was twelve at night.
That evening the shabby brougham turned out of the livery-stables,
wended its way through slush and traffic along Piccadilly, and at about
the usual spot the driver was changed. Away the brougham went again, at
a slightly accelerated pace, as though the horse's head was lightened.
The party alighted at the cottage, and the stable was occupied as
before.
About half-past twelve o'clock a body of police effected an entrance
into the cottage by the rear. The whole of the small household was
aroused. Great was the consternation of Miss Goodwin, and her brother
was nearly killed by alarm. Of the rest not much different can be said.
Groom and coachman (one person), housekeeper and general servant (also
one person), who completed the human establishment, were awfully
frightened.
The highly intelligent sergeant insisted upon ransacking the house,
searching the stables, and exploring the garden. In the mean time the
lady, gentleman, and servants were told to consider themselves in
custody.
In vain the gentleman protested against this outrage, and sometimes
gently threatened to bring down all the vengeance of the law upon his
sister's tormentors. The sergeant treated the threat with disdain, and
ridiculed the claim of his prisoner to kinship with Miss Goodwin. All
entreaties, menaces, expostulations, and threats were answered by
references to his duty, or intimations that he knew what he was about.
The search and exploration revealed nothing. The officer was sorely
disappointed, but not yet discomfited. He saw that, at all events, he
was safe if he went on, and that if he turned back he might expose
himself to the charge of negligence. There was enough that was wrong,
more than sufficient that was mysterious, to cover any excess of
vigilance, or any stretch of duty. So on he resolved to go.
When Mr. Goodwin was told that he must accompany the officer as his
prisoner, and that the lady must also share that inconvenience, they
again put forth every form of remonstrance. All were useless. The
officer was inexorable and unbelieving. He rudely expressed his
disbelief of the assertion that the fair tenant of the cottage was a
pure and innocent young lady, of small independent estate, and that the
visitor was her brother and guardian. Those explanations, he said, might
do for the magistrate to-morrow, but they would not do for the police.
There was no getting out of the awful mess. Mr. and Miss Goodwin were
removed by the sergeant, under his warrants, to the chief metropolitan
police station, and there confined in vulgar cells.
At times during the wretched journey to London the prisoners were
defiant, and at others they sank into despair.