SIR JULIUS HOCKLEY'S LETTER.
Jos. Larkin mentioned in his conversation with the vicar, just related,
that he had received a power of attorney from Mark Wylder. Connected with
this document there came to light a circumstance so very odd, that the
reader must at once be apprised of it.
This legal instrument was attested by two witnesses, and bore date about
a week before the interview, just related, between the vicar and Mr.
Larkin. Here, then, was a fact established. Mark Wylder had returned from
Boulogne, for the power of attorney had been executed at Brighton. Who
were the witnesses? One was Thomas Tupton, of the Travellers' Hotel,
Brighton.
This Thomas Tupton was something of a sporting celebrity, and a likely
man enough to be of Mark's acquaintance.
The other witness was Sir Julius Hockley, of Hockley, an unexceptionable
evidence, though a good deal on the turf.
Now our friend Jos. Larkin had something of the Red Indian's faculty for
tracking his game, by hardly perceptible signs and tokens, through the
wilderness; and this mystery of Mark Wylder's flight and seclusion was
the present object of his keen and patient pursuit.
On receipt of the 'instrument,' therefore, he wrote by return of post,
'presenting his respectful compliments to Sir Julius Hockley, and deeply
regretting that, as solicitor of the Wylder family, and the _gentleman_
(_sic_) empowered to act under the letter of attorney, it was imperative
upon him to trouble him (Sir Julius H.) with a few interrogatories, which
he trusted he would have no difficulty in answering.'
The first was, whether he had been acquainted with Mr. Mark Wylder's
personal appearance before seeing him sign, so as to be able to identify
him. The second was, whether he (Mr. M.W.) was accompanied, at the time
of executing the instrument, by any friend; and if so, what were the name
and address of such friend. And the third was, whether he could
communicate any information whatsoever respecting Mr. M.W.'s present
place of abode?
The same queries were put in a somewhat haughty and peremptory way to the
sporting hotel-keeper, who answered that Mr. Mark Wylder had been staying
for a week at his house, about five months ago; and that he had seen him
twice--once 'backing' Jonathan, when he beat the great American
billiard-player; and another time, when he lent him his copy of 'Bell's
Life,' in the coffee-room; and thus he was enabled to identify him. For
the rest he could say nothing.
Sir Julius's reply was of the hoity-toity and rollicking sort, bordering
in parts very nearly on nonsense, and generally impertinent. It reached
Mr. Larkin as he sat at breakfast with his friend, Stanley Lake.
'Pray read your letters, and don't mind me, I entreat. Perhaps you will
allow me to look at the "Times;" and I'll trouble you for the sardines.'
The postmark 'Hockley,' stared the lawyer in the face; and, longing to
break the seal, he availed himself of the captain's permission. So Lake
opened the 'Times;' and, as he studied its columns, I think he stole a
glance or two over its margin at the attorney, now deep in the letter of
Sir Julius Hockley.
He (Sir J.H.) 'presented his respects to Mr. Lark_ens_, or Lark_ins_, or
Lark_me_, or Lark_us_--Sir J.H. is not able to read _which_ or _what_;
but he is happy to observe, at all events, that, end how he may, the
gentleman begins with a "lark!" which Sir J.H. always does, when he can.
Not being able to discover his terminal syllable, he will take the
liberty of styling him by his sprightly beginning, and calling him
shortly "Lark." As Sir J. never objected to a lark, the gentleman so
designated introduces himself with a strong prejudice, in Sir J.'s mind,
in his favour--so much so, that by way of a lark, Sir J. will answer
Lark's questions, which are not, he thinks, very impertinent. The wildest
of all Lark's questions refers to Wylder's place of abode, which Sir J.
was never wild enough to think of asking after, and does not know; and so
little was he acquainted with the gentleman, that he forgot he was an
evangelist doing good under the style and title of Mark. Lark may,
therefore, tell Mark, if he sees him, or his friends--Matthew, Luke, and
John--that Sir Julius saw Mark only on two successive days, at the
cricket-match, played between Paul's Eleven--the coincidence is
remarkable--and the Ishmaelites (these, I am bound to observe, were
literally the designations of the opposing sides); and that he had the
honour of being presented to Mark--saint or sinner, as he may be--on the
ground, by his, Sir J.H.'s, friend, Captain Stanley Lake, of the Guards.'
Here was an astounding fact. Stanley Lake had been in Mark Wylder's
company only ten days ago, when that great match was played at Brighton!
What a deep gentleman was that Stanley Lake, who sat at the other end of
the table with the 'Times' before him. What a varnished rascal--what a
matchless liar!
He had returned to Gylingden, direct, in all likelihood, from his
conferences with Mark Wylder, to tell all concerned that it was vain
endeavouring to trace him, and still offering his disinterested services
in the pursuit.
No matter! We must take things coolly and cautiously. All this chicanery
will yet break down, and the conspiracy, be it what it may, will be
thoroughly exposed. Mystery is the shadow of guilt; and, most assuredly,
thought Mr. Larkin, there is some _infernal_ secret, _well worth
knowing_, at the bottom of all this. You little think I have you here!
and he slid Sir Julius Hockley's piece of rubbishy banter into his
waistcoat pocket, and then opened and glanced at half-a-dozen other
letters, in a cool, quick official way, endorsing a little note on the
back of each with his gold, patent pencil. All Mr. Jos. Larkin's
'properties' were handsome and imposing, and he never played with
children without producing his gold repeater, and making it strike, and
exhibiting its wonders for their amusement, and the edification of the
adults, whose presence, of course, he forgot.
'Paul's Eleven have challenged the Gipsies,' said Lake, languidly lifting
his eyes from the paper. 'By-the-bye, are you anything of a cricketer?
And they are to play at Hockley, Sir Julius Hockley's ground. You know
Sir Julius, don't you?'
'Very slightly. I may say I _have_ that honour, but we have never been
thrown together; a mere--a--the slightest thing in the world.'
'Not schoolfellows----you are not an Eton man, eh?' said Lake.
'Oh no! My dear father' (the organist) 'would not send a boy of his to
what he called an idle school. But my acquaintance with Sir Julius was a
trifling matter. Hockley is a very pretty place, is not it?'
'A sweet place. A great match was played between those fellows at
Brighton: Paul's Eleven beat fifteen of the Ishmaelites, about a
fortnight since; but they have no chance with the Gipsies. It will be
quite a hollow thing--a one-innings affair.'
'Have you ever seen Paul's Eleven play?' asked the lawyer, carelessly
taking up the newspaper which Lake had laid down.
'I saw them play that match at Brighton, I mentioned just now, a few days
ago.'
'Ah! did you?'
'Did not you _know_ I was there?' said Lake, in rather a changed tone.
Larkin looked up, and Lake laughed in his face quietly the most
impertinent laugh he had ever seen or heard, with his yellow eyes fixed
on the lawyer's pink little optics. 'I was there, and Hockley was there,
and Mark Wylder was there--was not he?' and Lake stared and laughed, and
the attorney stared; and Lake added, 'What a d--d cunning fellow you are;
ha, ha, ha!'
Larkin was not easily put out, but he _was_ disconcerted now; and his
cheeks and forehead grew suddenly pink, and he coughed a little, and
tried to throw a look of mild surprise into his face.
'Why, you have this moment had a letter from Hockley. Don't you think I
knew his hand and the post-mark, and your look said quite plainly,
"Here's news of my friend Stanley Lake and Mark Wylder." I had an uncle
in the Foreign Office, and they said he would have been quite a
distinguished diplomatist if he had lived; and I was said to have a good
deal of his talent; and I really think I have brought my little evidences
very prettily together, and jumped to a right conclusion--eh?'
A flicker of that sinister shadow I have sometimes mentioned crossed
Larkin's face, and contracted his eyes, as he said, a little sternly--
'I have nothing on earth to conceal, Sir; I never had. All _my_ conduct
has been as open as the light; there's not a letter, Sir, I ever write or
receive, that might not, so far as _I_ am concerned, with my good will,
lie open on that table for every visitor that comes in to read;--open as
the day, Sir:' and the attorney waved his hand grandly.
'Hear, hear, hear,' said Lake, languidly, and tapping a little applause
on the table, while he watched the solicitor's rhetoric with his sly,
disconcerting smile.
'It was but conscientious, Captain Lake, that I should make particular
enquiry respecting the genuineness of a legal instrument conferring such
very considerable powers. How, on earth, Sir, could I have the slightest
suspicion that _you_ had seen my client, Mr. Wylder, considering the
tenor of your letters and conversation? And I venture to say, Captain
Lake, that Lord Chelford will be just as much surprised as I, when he
hears it.'
Jos. Larkin, Esq., delivered this peroration from a moral elevation, all
the loftier that he had a peer of the realm on his side. But peers did
not in the least overawe Stanley Lake, who had been all his days familiar
with those idols; and the moral altitudes of the attorney amused him
vastly.
'But he'll _not_ hear it; _I_ won't tell him, and you sha'n't; because I
don't think it would be prudent of us--do you?--to quarrel with Mark
Wylder, and he does not wish our meeting known. It is nothing on earth to
me; on the contrary, it rather places me in an awkward position keeping
other people's secrets.'
The attorney made one of his slight, gentlemanlike bows, and threw back
his head with a lofty and reserved look.
'I don't know, Captain Lake, that I would be quite justified in
withholding the substance of Sir Julius Hockley's letter from Lord
Chelford, consulted, as I have had the honour to be, by that nobleman. I
shall, however, turn it over in my mind.'
'Don't the least mind me. In fact, I would rather tell it than not. And I
can explain to Chelford why _I_ could not mention the circumstance.
Wylder, in fact, tied me down by a promise, and he'll be devilish angry
with you; but, it seems, you don't very much mind that.'
He knew that Mr. Larkin _did_ very much mind it; and the quick glance of
the attorney could read nothing whatever in the captain's pallid face and
downcast eyes, smiling on the points of his varnished boots.
'Of course, you know, Captain Lake, in alluding to the possibility of my
making any communication to Lord Chelford, I limit myself strictly to the
letter of Sir Julius Hockley, and do not, by any means, my dear Captain
Lake, include the conversation which has just occurred, and the
communication which you have volunteered to make me.'
'Oh! quite so,' said the captain, looking up suddenly, as was his way,
with a momentary glare, like a man newly-waked from a narcotic doze.