MR. MADGIN AT THE HELM.
Mr. Madgin's house stood somewhat back from the main street of
Tydsbury. It was an old-fashioned house, of modest exterior, and had
an air of being elbowed into the background by the smarter and more
modern domiciles on each side of it. Its steep overhanging roof, and
porched doorway, gave it a sleepy, reposeful look, as though it were
watching the on-goings of the little town through half-closed lids,
and taking small cognizance thereof.
Entering from the street through a little wooden gateway of a bright
green colour, a narrow pathway, paved with round pebbles that were
very trying to people with tender feet, conducted you to the front
door, on which shone a brass plate of surpassing brightness, whereon
was inscribed:--
Mr. Solomon Madgin,
_General Agent_,
_Valuer, &c_.
The house was a double-fronted one. On one side of the passage as you
went in was the office, on the other side was the family sitting-room.
Not that Mr. Madgin's family was a large one. It consisted merely of
himself, his daughter Mirpah, and one strong servant girl with an
unlimited capacity for hard work. Mirpah Madgin deserves some notice
at our hands.
She was a tall, superb-looking young woman of two-and-twenty, and bore
not the slightest resemblance in person, whatever she might do in mind
or disposition, to that sly old fox her father. Mirpah's mother had
been of Jewish extraction, and in Mirpah's face you read the
unmistakable signs of that grand style of beauty which is everywhere
associated with the downtrodden race. She moved about the little house
in her inexpensive prints and muslins like a dis-crowned queen. That
she had reached the age of two-and-twenty without having been in love
was no source of surprise to those who knew her, for Mirpah Madgin
hardly looked like a girl who would marry a poor clerk or a petty
tradesman, or who could ever sink into the common-place drudge of a
hand-to-mouth household. She looked like a girl who would some day be
claimed by a veritable hero of romance--by some Ivanhoe of modern
life, well endowed with this world's goods--who would wed her, and
ride away with her to the fairy realms of Tyburnia and Rotten Row.
And yet, truth to tell, the thread of romance inwoven with the
composition of Mirpah Madgin was a very slender one. In so far she
belied her own beauty. For a young woman she was strangely practical,
and that in a curiously unfeminine way. She was her father's managing
clerk and _alter ego_. The housewifely acts of sewing and cooking she
held in utter distaste. For domestic management in any of its forms
she had no faculty, unless it were for that portion of it which
necessitated a watchful eye upon the purse-strings. Such an eye she
had been trained to use since she was quite a girl, and Mirpah the
superb could on occasion haggle over a penny as keenly as the most
ancient fishwife in Tydsbury market.
At five minutes past nine precisely, six mornings out of every seven,
Mirpah Madgin sat down in her father's office and proceeded to open
the letters. Mr. Madgin's business was a multifarious one. Not only
was he Lady Pollexfen's general agent and man of business, although
that was his most onerous and lucrative appointment, and the one that
engaged most of his time and thoughts, but he was also agent for
several lesser concerns, always contriving to have a number of small
irons in the fire at one time. Much of Mr. Madgin's time was spent in
the collection of rents and in out-door work generally, so that nearly
the whole of the office duties devolved upon Mirpah, and by no clerk
could they have been more efficiently performed. She made up and
balanced the numerous accounts with which Mr. Madgin had to deal in
one shape or another. Three-fourths of the letters that emanated from
Mr. Madgin's office were written by her. From long practice she had
learned to write so like her father that only an expert could have
detected the difference between the two hands; and she invariably
signed herself "Yours truly, Solomon Madgin." Indeed, so accustomed
was she to writing her father's name that in her correspondence with
her brother, who was an actor in London, she more frequently than not
signed it in place of her own; so that Madgin junior had to look
whether the letter was addressed to him as a son or as a brother
before he could tell by whom it had been written.
As her father's assistant Mirpah was happy after a quiet, staid sort
of fashion. The energies of her nature found their vent in the busy
life in which she took so much delight. She was not at all
sentimental: she was not the least bit romantic. She was thoroughly
practical, and was as keen in money-making as her father himself. Yet
with all this Mirpah Madgin could be charitable on occasion, and was
by no means deficient of high and generous impulses--only she never
allowed her impulses to interfere with "business."
Mr. Madgin never took any important step without first consulting his
daughter. Herein he acted wisely, for Mirpah's clear good sense, and
feminine quickness at penetrating motives where he himself was
sometimes at fault, had often proved invaluable to him in difficult
transactions. In a matter of so much moment as that of the Great Mogul
Diamond it was not likely that he would be long contented without
taking her into his confidence. He had scarcely finished his first
pipe when he heard her opening the door with her latch-key, and his
face brightened at the sound. She had been on one of those holy
pilgrimages in which all who are thus privileged take so much delight:
she had been to the bank to increase the little store which lay there
already in her father's name. She came into the room tired but
smiling. A white straw bonnet, a black silk mantle, and a muslin dress
small in pattern, formed the chief items of her quiet attire. She was
carefully gloved and booted; but to whatever she wore Mirpah imparted
an air of distinction that put it at once beyond a suggestion of
improvement.
"Smoking at this time of day, papa!" exclaimed Mirpah. "And the
gin-bottle out, too! Are we about to retire on our fortunes, or what
does it all mean?"
"It means, girl, that I have got one of the hardest nuts to crack that
was ever put before me. If I crack it, I get five thousand pounds for
the kernel. If I don't crack it--but that's a possibility I can't bear
to think about."
"Five thousand pounds! That would indeed be a kernel worth having. My
teeth are younger than yours, and perhaps I may be able to help you."
Mr. Madgin smoked in silence for a little while, while Mirpah toyed
patiently with her bonnet strings. "The nut is simply this," said the
old man at last: "In India, twenty years ago, a diamond was stolen
from a dying man. I am now told to find the thief, to obtain from him
the diamond either by fair means or foul--supposing always that he is
still alive and has the diamond still in his possession--and on the
day I give the stone to its rightful owner the aforementioned five
thousand pounds become mine."
"A grand prize, and one worth striving for!"
"Even so; but how can I strive, when I have nothing to strive against?
I am like a man put into a dark room to fight a duel. I cannot find my
antagonist. I grope about, not knowing whether he is on the right hand
of me or the left, before me or behind me. In fact, I am utterly at
sea; and the more I think about the matter the more hopelessly
bewildered I seem to become."
"Two heads are better than one, papa. Let me try to help you. Tell me
the case from beginning to end, with all the details as they are known
to you."
Mr. Madgin willingly complied, and related _in extenso_ all that he
had heard that morning at Dupley Walls. The little man had a high
opinion of his daughter's sagacity. That such an opinion was in nowise
lessened by the result of the present case will be best seen by the
following excerpts from Mr. Madgin's diary, which, as having a
particular bearing on the case of the Great Mogul Diamond, we proceed
at once to lay before the reader:--
"EXCERPTS FROM THE DIARY OF MR. SOLOMON MADGIN."
"July 9th, Evening.--After the wonderful revelation made to me by Lady
Pollexfen this morning, I came home, and got behind a churchwarden,
and set my wits to work to think the matter out. I shut my eyes and
puffed away for an hour and a half, but at the end of that time I was
as much in a fog as when I first sat down. Nowhere could I discern a
single ray of light. Then in came Mirpah, and when she begged of me to
tell her the story, I was glad to do so, remembering how often she had
helped me through a puzzle in days gone by--but none of them of such
magnitude as this one. So I told her everything as far as it was known
to myself. After that we discussed the whole case carefully step by
step. The immediate result of this discussion was, that as soon as tea
was over, I went as far as the White Hart tavern in search of Sergeant
Nicholas. I found him on the bowling-green watching the players. I
called for a quart of old ale and some tobacco, and before long we
were as cosy as two old cronies who have known each other for twenty
years. The morning had shown me that the Sergeant was a man of some
intelligence and of much worldly experience; and when I had lowered
myself imperceptibly to the level of his intellect, so as to put him
more completely at his ease, I had no difficulty in inducing him to
talk freely and fully on that one subject which, for the last few
hours, has had for me an interest paramount to that of any other. My
primary object was to induce him to retail to me every scrap Of
information that he could call to mind respecting the Russian,
Platzoff, who is said to have stolen the diamond. It was Mirpah's
opinion and mine, that he must be in possession of many bits of
special knowledge, such as might seem of no consequence to him, but
which might be invaluable to us in our search, and such as he would
naturally leave out of the narrative he told Lady Pollexfen. The
result proved that our opinion was well founded. I did not leave the
sergeant till I had pumped him thoroughly dry. (Mem.: an excellent tap
of old ale at the White Hart. Must try some of it at home.)
"I found Mirpah watering her geraniums in the back garden. She was all
impatience to learn the result of my interview. I am thankful that
increasing years have not impaired my memory. I repeated to Mirpah
every word bearing on the case in point that the sergeant had confided
to me. Then I waited in silence for her opinion. I was anxious to know
whether it coincided in any way with my own. I am happy to think that
it did coincide. Father and daughter were agreed.
"'I think that you have done a very good afternoon's work, papa,' said
Mirpah, after a few moments given to silent thought. 'After a lapse of
twenty years, it is not likely that Sergeant Nicholas should have a
very clear recollection of any conversation that he may have overheard
between Captain Pollexfen and M. Platzoff. Indeed, had he pretended to
repeat any such conversation, I should have felt strongly inclined to
doubt the truth of his entire narrative. Happily he disclaims any such
abnormal powers of memory. He can remember nothing but a chance phrase
or two which some secondary circumstance fixed indelibly on his mind.
But he can remember a great number of little facts bearing on the
relations between his master and the Russian. These facts, considered
singly, may seem of little or no importance, but taken in the
aggregate, and regarded as so many bits of mosaic work forming part of
a complicated whole, they assume an aspect of far greater importance.
In any case, they put us on a trail, which may turn out to be the
right one or the wrong one, but which at present certainly seems to me
worth following up. Finally, they all tend to deepen our first
suspicion that M. Platzoff was neither more nor less than a political
refugee. The next point is to ascertain whether he is still alive.'
"Here again the clear logical intellect of Mirpah (so like my own)
came to my assistance. Before parting for the night we were agreed as
to what our mode of procedure ought to be on the morrow. This most
extraordinary case engages all my thoughts. I am afraid that I shall
not be able to sleep much to-night.
"July 10th.--I owe it to Mirpah to say that it was entirely in
consequence of a hint from her that I went at an early hour this
morning to the office of the _Tydsbury Courier_ there to consult a
file of that newspaper. Six months ago the daughter of Sir John
Pennythorne was married to a rich London gentleman. Mirpah had read
the account of the festivities consequent on that event, and seemed to
remember that among other friends of the bridegroom invited down to
Finch Hall was some foreign gentleman who was stated in the newspaper
to belong to the Russian Legation in London. Acting on Mirpah's hint,
I went back through the files of the _Courier_ till I lighted on the
account of the wedding. True enough, among other guests on that
occasion, I found catalogued the name of a certain Monsieur H---- of
the Russian Embassy. I had got all I wanted from the _Tydsbury
Courier_.
"My next proceeding was to hasten up to Dupley Walls, to obtain an
interview with Lady Pollexfen, and to induce her ladyship to write to
Sir John Pennythorne asking him to write to the aforesaid M. H----,
and inquire whether, among the archives (I think that is the correct
word) of the Embassy, they had any record of a political refugee by
name Paul Platzoff, who, twenty years ago, was in India, &c. I had
considerable difficulty in persuading her ladyship to write, but at
last the letter was sent. I await the result anxiously. The chances
seem to me something like a thousand to one against our inquiry being
productive of any tangible result. What I dread more than all is that
M. Platzoff is no longer among the living.
"July 20th.--Nine days without a word from Sir John Pennythorne,
except to say that he had written his friend Monsieur H---- as
requested by Lady Pollexfen. I began to despair. Each morning I
inquired of her ladyship whether she had received any reply from Sir
John, and each morning her ladyship said: 'I have had no reply, Mr.
Madgin, beyond the one you have already seen.'
"Certain matters connected with a lease took me up to Dupley Walls
this afternoon for the second time to-day. The afternoon post came in
while I was there. Among other letters was one from Sir John
Pennythorne, which, when she had read it, her ladyship tossed over to
me. It enclosed one from M. H---- to Sir John. It was on the latter
that I pounced. It was written in French, but even at the first hasty
reading I could make it out sufficiently to know that it was of far
greater importance than even in my wildest dreams I had dared to
imagine.
"I never saw Lady Pollexfen so excited as she was during the few
moments which I took up in reading the letter. During the nine days
that had elapsed since the writing of her letter to Sir John she had
treated me somewhat slightingly; there was, or so I fancied, a spice
of contempt in her manner towards me. The step I had induced her to
take in writing to Sir John had met with no approbation at her hands;
it had seemed to her an utterly futile and ridiculous thing to do;
therefore was I now proportionately well pleased to find that my wild
idea had been productive of such excellent fruit.
"'I must certainly compliment you, Mr. Madgin, on the success of your
first step,' said her ladyship. 'It was like one of the fine intuitions
of genius to imagine that you saw a way to reach M. Platzoff through
the Russian Embassy. You have been fully justified by the result.
Madgin, the man yet lives!--the man whose sacrilegious hands robbed my
dead son of that which he had left as a sacred gift to his mother. May
the curse of a widowed mother attend him through life! Let me hear the
letter again, Madgin; or stay, I will read it myself: your French is
execrable. Ha, ha! Monsieur Paul Platzoff, we shall have our revenge
out of you yet.'
"She read the letter through for the second time with a sort of
deliberate eagerness which showed me how deeply interested her heart
was in the affair. She dropped her eye-glass and gave a great sigh
when she came to the end of it. 'And what do you propose to do next,
Mr. Madgin?' she asked. 'Your conduct so far satisfies me that I
cannot do better than leave the case entirely in your hands.'
"'With all due deference to your ladyship,' I replied, 'I think that
my next step ought to be to reconnoitre the enemy's camp.'
"'Exactly my own thought,' said her ladyship. 'When can you start for
Windermere?'
"'To-morrow morning, at nine.'
"After a little more conversation I left her ladyship. She seemed in
better spirits than I had seen her for a long time.
"I need not attempt to describe dear Mirpah's delight when I read over
to her the contents of Monsieur H.'s note. She put her arms round me
and kissed me. 'The five thousand pounds shall yet be yours, papa,'
she said. Stranger things than that have come to pass before now. But
I am working only for her and James. Should I ever be so fortunate as
to touch the five thousand pounds, one-half of it will go to form a
dowry for my Mirpah. Below is a free translation of the business part
of M. H.'s letter, which was simply an extract from some secret ledger
kept at the Embassy:--
"Platzoff, Paul. A Russian by birth and a conspirator by choice. Born
in Moscow in 1802, his father being a rich leather-merchant of that
city. Implicated at the age of nineteen in sundry insurrectionary
movements; tried, and sentenced to three years' imprisonment in a
military fortress. After his release, left Russia without permission,
having first secretly transferred his property into foreign
securities. Went to Paris. Issued a scurrilous pamphlet directed
against his Majesty the Emperor. Spent several years in travel,--now
in Europe, now in the East, striving wherever he went to promulgate
his revolutionary ideas. More than suspected of being a member of
several secret political societies. Has resided for the last few years
at Bon Repos, on the banks of Windermere, from which place he
communicates constantly with other characters as desperate as himself.
Russia has no more bitter and determined enemy than Paul Platzoff. He
is at once clever and unscrupulous. While he lives he will not cease
to conspire.'
"After this followed a description of Platzoff's personal appearance,
which it is needless to transcribe here.
"I start for Windermere by the first train tomorrow."