MR. MADGIN'S SECRET JOURNEY.
Mr. Madgin left home by an early train on the morning of the day
following that on which Lady Pollexfen had received a reply from Sir
John Pennythorne. His first intention had been to make the best of his
way to Windermere, and there ascertain the exact locality of Bon
Repos. But a fresh view of the case presented itself to his mind as he
lay thinking in bed. Instead of taking the train for the north, he
took one for the south, and found himself at Euston as the London
clocks were striking twelve. After an early dinner, and a careful
consultation of the Post Office Directory, Mr. Madgin ordered a
hansom, and was driven to Hatton-garden, in and about which unfragrant
locality the diamond merchants most do congregate. After due inquiries
made and answered, Mr. Madgin was driven eastward for another mile or
more. Here a similar set of inquiries elicited a similar set of
answers. Mr. Madgin went back to his hotel well pleased with his day's
work.
His inquiries had satisfied him that no green diamond of the size and
value attributed to the Great Mogul had either been seen or heard of
in the London market during the last twenty years. It still remained
to test the foreign markets in the same way. Mr. Madgin's idea was
that this work could be done better by some trustworthy agent well
acquainted with the trade than by himself. He accordingly left
instructions with an eminent diamond merchant to have all needful
inquiries made at Paris, Amsterdam, and St. Petersburgh, as to whether
such a stone as the Great Mogul had come under the cognizance of the
trade any time during the last twenty years. The result of the inquiry
was to be communicated to Mr. Madgin by letter.
Nest day Mr. Madgin journeyed down to Windermere. Arrived at Bowness,
he found no difficulty in ascertaining the exact locality of Bon
Repos, the house and its owner being known by sight or repute to
almost every inhabitant of the little town. Mr. Madgin stopped all
night at Bowness. Next morning he hired a small boat, and was pulled
across the lake to a point about half a mile below Bon Repos, and
there he landed.
Mr. Madgin was travelling _incog_. The name upon his portmanteau was
"Jared Deedes, Esq." He was dressed in a suit of glossy black, with a
white neckcloth, and gold-rimmed spectacles. He had quite an episcopal
air. He did not call himself a clergyman, but people were at liberty
to accept him as one if they chose.
Assisted by the most unimpeachable of malaccas, Mr. Madgin took the
high-road that wound round the grounds of Bon Repos. But so completely
was the house hidden in its nest of greenery that the chimney-pots
were all of it that was visible from the road. But under a spur of the
hill by which the house was shut in at the back Mr. Madgin found a
tiny hamlet of a dozen houses, by far the most imposing of which was
the village inn--hotel, it called itself, and showed to the world the
sign of The Jolly Fishers. Into this humble hostelry Mr. Madgin
marched without hesitation, and called for some refreshment. So
impressed was the landlord with the clerical appearance of his guest,
that he whipped off his apron, ushered him into the state parlour, and
made haste to wait upon him himself. He, the guest, had actually
called for a bottle of the best dry sherry, and when the landlord took
it in he invited him to fetch another glass, and come and join him
over it. Mr. Jared Deedes was a tourist--well-to-do, without doubt;
the landlord could see as much as that--and having never visited
Lakeland before, he was naturally delighted with the freshness and
novelty of everything that he saw. The change from London life was so
thorough, so complete in every respect, that he could hardly believe
he had left the great Babel no longer ago than yesterday. It seemed
years since he had been there. He had thought Bowness a charming spot,
but this little nook surpassed Bowness, inasmuch as it was still
farther removed and shut out from the frivolities and follies of the
great world. Here one was almost alone with Nature and her wondrous
works. Then Mr. Deedes filled up his own glass and that of the
landlord.
"Perhaps, sir, you would like to stay here for a night or two,"
suggested the host timidly; "we have a couple of spare beds."
"Nothing would please me better," answered Mr. Deedes, with solemn
alacrity. "I feel that the healthful air of these hills is doing me an
immensity of good. Kindly send to the Crown at Bowness for my
portmanteau, and ascertain what you have in the house for dinner."
After a while came dinner, and a little later on, Mr. Deedes having
expressed a desire to see something of the lake, the landlord sent to
borrow a boat, and then took his guest for an hour's row on
Windermere. From the water they had a capital view of the low white
front of Bon Repos. There were two gentlemen smoking on the terrace.
The lesser of the two, said the landlord, was M. Platzoff. The taller
man was Captain Ducie, at present a guest at Bon Repos. Then the
landlord wandered off into a long rambling account of Bon Repos and
its owner. Mr. Deedes was much interested in hearing about the
eccentric habits and strange mode of life of M. Platzoff, with the
details of which the landlord was as thoroughly acquainted as though
he had formed one of the household. Their row on the lake was
prolonged for a couple of hours, and Mr. Deedes went back to the hotel
much edified.
In the dusk of evening he encountered Cleon, M. Platzoff's valet, as
he was lounging slowly down the village street on his way to the Jolly
Fishers. Mr. Deedes scrutinized the dark-skinned servant narrowly in
passing. "The face of a cunning unscrupulous rascal, if ever I saw
one," he muttered to himself. "Nevertheless, I must make his
acquaintance."
And he did make his acquaintance. As Cleon and the landlord sat
hob-nobbing together in the little snuggery behind the bar, Mr. Deedes
put in his head to ask a question of the latter. Thereupon the
landlord begged permission to introduce his friend Mr. Cleon to the
notice of his guest, Mr. Deedes. The two men bowed, Mr. Cleon rather
sulkily; but Mr. Deedes was all affability and smiling _bonhommie_. He
had several questions to ask, and he sat down on the only vacant chair
in the little room. He wanted to know the distance to Keswick; how
much higher Helvellyn was than Fairfield; whether it was possible to
get any potted char for breakfast; and so on; on all which questions
both Cleon and the landlord had something to say. But talking being
dry work, as Mr. Deedes smilingly observed, brought naturally to mind.
the fact that the landlord had some excellent dry sherry, and that one
could not do better this warm evening than have another bottle fetched
up out of the cool depths of the cellar. Mr. Cleon, being pressed, was
nothing loth to join Mr. Deedes over this bottle. Mr. Deedes, without
condescending into familiarity, made himself very agreeable, but did
not sit long. After imbibing a couple of glasses, he bade the landlord
and the valet an affable good-night, and went off decorously to bed.
Mr. Deedes was up betimes next morning, and took a three miles' trudge
over the hills before breakfast. He spent a quiet day mooning about
the neighbourhood, and really enjoying himself after his own fashion,
although his mind was busily engaged all the time in trying to solve
the mystery of the Great Diamond. In the evening he took care to have
a few pleasant words with Cleon, and then early to bed. Two more days
passed away after a similar quiet fashion, and then Mr. Deedes began
to chafe inwardly at the small progress he was making.
Although he had been so successful in tracing out M. Platzoff, and in
working the case up to its present point in a remarkably short space
of time, he acknowledged to himself that he was completely baffled
when he came to consider what his next step ought to be. He could not,
indeed, see his way to a single step beyond his present stand-point.
Much as he seemed to have gained at a single leap, was he in reality
one hair's-breadth nearer the secret object of his quest than on that
day when the name of the Great Mogul Diamond first made music in his
ears? He doubted it greatly.
When he first decided on coming down to Bon Repos he trusted that the
chapter of accidents and the good fortune which had so far attended
him would somehow put it in his power to scrape an acquaintance with
M. Platzoff himself, and such an acquaintance once made, it would be
his own fault if, in one way or another, he did not make it
subservient to the ambitious end he had in view. But in M. Platzoff he
found a recluse: a man who made no fresh acquaintanceships; who held
the whole tourist tribe in horror, and who even kept himself aloof
from such of the neighbouring families as might be considered his
equals in social position. It was quite evident to Mr. Deedes that he
might reside close to Bon Repos for twenty years, and at the end of
that time not have succeeded in addressing half a dozen words to its
owner.
Then again he had succeeded little better with regard to Cleon than
with regard to Cleon's master. All his advances, made with a mixture
of affability and _bonhommie_ which Mr. Deedes flattered himself was
irresistible with most people, were productive of little or no effect
upon the mulatto. He received them, not with suspicion, for he had
nothing of which to suspect harmless Mr. Deedes, but with a sort of
sulky indifference, as though he considered them rather a nuisance
than otherwise, and would have preferred their being offered to anyone
else. Did Mr. Deedes, in conversation with him and the landlord,
venture to bring the talk round to Bon Repos and M. Platzoff; did he
hazard the remark that since his arrival in Lakeland several people
had spoken to him of the strange character and eccentric mode of life
of Mr. Cleon's employer--he was met with a stony silence, which told
him as plainly as any words could have done that M. Platzoff and his
affairs were matters that in no wise concerned him. It was quite
evident that neither the Russian nor his dark-skinned valet was of any
avail for the furtherance of that scheme which had brought Mr. Deedes
all the way to the wilds of Westmoreland.
He began to despair, and was on the point of writing to Mirpah,
thinking that her shrewd woman's wit might be able to suggest some
stratagem or mode of attack other than that made use of by him, when
suddenly a prospect opened before him such as in his wildest dreams of
success he dared not have bodied forth. He was not slow to avail
himself of it.