MADGIN JUNIOR'S FIRST REPORT.
Mr. Madgin, senior, lost no time after his arrival at home before
hastening up to Dupley Walls to see Lady Pollexfen. He had a brief
conference with Mirpah while discussing his modest chop and glass of
bitter ale; and he found time to read a letter which had arrived for
him some days previously from the London diamond merchant whom he had
employed to make inquiries as to whether any such gem as the Great
Mogul had been offered for sale at any of the great European marts
during the past twenty years. The letter was an assurance that no such
stone had been in the market, nor was any such known to be in the
hands of any private individual.
Mr. Madgin took the letter with him to Dupley Walls. In her grim way
Lady Pollexfen seemed greatly pleased to see him. She was all
impatience to hear what news he had to tell her. But Mr. Madgin had
his reservations; he did not deem it advisable to detail to her
ladyship, step by step, all that he had done. Her sense of honour
might revolt at certain things he had found it necessary to do in
furtherance of the great object he had in view. He told her of his
inquiries among the London diamond merchants, and read to her the
letter he had received from one of them. Then he went on to describe
Bon Repos and its owner from the glimpses he had had of both. For all
such details her ladyship betrayed a curiosity that seemed as if it
would never be satisfied. He next went on to inform her that he had
succeeded in placing his son as footman at Bon Repos, and that
everything now depended on the discoveries James might succeed in
making. But nothing was said as to the false pretences and the changed
name under which Madgin junior had entered M. Platzoff's household.
Those were details which Mr. Madgin kept judiciously to himself. Her
ladyship was perfectly satisfied with his report; she was more than
satisfied--she was pleased. She was very sanguine as to the existence
of the diamond, and also as to its retention by M. Platzoff; far more
so, in fact, than Mr. Madgin himself was. But the latter was too
shrewd a man of business to parade his doubts of success before a
client who paid so liberally, so long as her hobby was ridden after
her own fashion. Mr. Madgin's chief aim in life was to ride other
people's hobbies, and be well paid for his jockeyship.
"I am highly gratified, Mr. Madgin," said her ladyship, "by the style,
_pleine de finesse_, in which you have so far conducted this delicate
investigation. I will not ask you what your next step is to be. You
know far better than I can tell you what ought to be done. I leave the
matter with confidence in your hands."
"Your ladyship is very kind," observed Mr. Madgin, deferentially. "I
will do my best to deserve a continuance of your good opinion."
"As week after week goes by, Mr. Madgin," resumed Lady Pollexfen, "the
conviction seems to take deeper root within me that that man--that
villain--M. Platzoff, has my son's diamond still in his possession. I
have a sort of spiritual consciousness that such is the ease. My
waking intuitions, my dreams by night, all point to the same end. You,
with your cold worldly sense, may laugh at such things; we women, with
our finer organization, know how often the truth comes to us on mystic
wings. The diamond will yet be mine!"
"What nonsense women sometimes talk," said Mr. Madgin contemptuously
to himself, as he walked back through the park. "Who would believe
that my lady, so sensible on most things, could talk such utter
rubbish. But women have a way of leaping to results, and ignoring
processes, that is simply astounding to men of common sense. The
diamond hers, indeed! Although I have been so successful so far, there
is as much difference between what I have done and what has yet to be
done as there is between the simple alphabet and a mathematical
theorem. To-morrow's post ought to bring me a letter from Bon Repos."
The morrow's post did bring Mr. Madgin a letter from Bon Repos. The
writer of it was not his son, but Cleon. It was addressed, as a matter
of course, to Dupley Walls, of which place the mulatto had been led to
believe Mr. Madgin was the proprietor. The note, which was couched in
tolerable English, was simply a request to be furnished with a
testimonial as to the character and abilities of James Jasmin, late
footman at Dupley Walls. Mr. Madgin replied by return of post as
under:--
"Dupley Walls,
"July 27th.
"Sir,--In reply to your favour of the 25th inst., inquiring as to the
character and respectability of James Jasmin, late a footman in my
employ, I beg to say that I can strongly recommend him, and have much
pleasure in so doing, for any similar employment under you. Jasmin was
with me for several years; during the whole time I found him to be
trustworthy, sober, and intelligent in an eminent degree. Had I not
been reducing my establishment previous to a lengthened residence in
the south of Europe, I should certainly have retained Jasmin in the
position which he has occupied for so long a time with credit to
himself and with satisfaction to me.
"I have the honour, Sir, to remain,
"Your obedient servant,
"Solomon Madgin.
"--Cleon, Esq.,
Bon Repos,
Windermere."
After writing and despatching the above epistle, over the composition
of which he chuckled to himself several times, Mr. Madgin was obliged
to wait, with what contentment was possible to him, the receipt of a
communication from his son. But one day passed after another without
bringing any news from Bon Repos, till Mr. Madgin grew fearful that
some disaster had befallen both James and his scheme. At length he
made up his mind to wait two days longer, and should no letter come
within that time, to start at once for Windermere. Fortunately his
anxiety was relieved and the journey rendered unnecessary by the
receipt, next day, of a long letter from his son. It was Mirpah who
took it from the postman's hand, and Mirpah took it to her father in
high glee. She knew the writing and deciphered the post-mark. For once
in his life Mr. Madgin was too agitated to read. He put his hand to
his side, and motioned Mirpah to open the letter.
"Read it," he said in a husky voice, as she was about to hand it to
him. So Mirpah sat down near her father and read what follows:--
"Bon Repos,
July, some date, but I'll be
hanged if I know what.
"My dear Dad,--In some rustic nook reclining, Silken tresses softly
twining, Far-off bells so faintly ringing, While we list the blackbird
singing, Merrily his roundelay. There! I composed those lines this
morning during the process of shaving. I don't think they are very
bad. I put them at the beginning of my letter so as to make sure that
you will read them, a process of which I might reasonably be doubtful
had I left them for the fag end of my communication. Learn, sir, that
you have a son who is a born poet!!!
"But now to business.
"Don't hurry over my letter, dear dad; don't run away with the idea
that I have any grand discovery to lay before you. My epistle will be
merely a record of trifles and commonplaces, and that simply from the
fact that I have nothing better to write about. To me, at least, they
seem nothing but trifles. For you they may possess an occult
significance of which I know nothing.
"In the first place. On the day following that of your departure from
Windermere, I was duly inducted by Cleon into my new duties. They are
few in number, and by no means difficult. So far I have contrived to
get through them without any desperate blunder. Another thing I have
done of which you will be pleased to hear: I have contrived to
ingratiate myself with the mulatto, and am in high favour with him.
You were right in your remarks; he is worth cultivation, in so far
that he is all-powerful in our little establishment. M. Platzoff never
interferes in the management of Bon Repos. Everything is left to
Cleon; and whatever the mulatto may be in other respects, so far as I
can judge he is quite worthy of the trust reposed in him. I believe
him to be thoroughly attached to his master.
"Of M. Platzoff I have very little to tell you. Even in his own house
and among his own people he is a recluse. He has his own special
rooms, and three-fourths of his time is spent in them. Above all
things he dislikes to see strange faces about him, and I have been
instructed by Cleon to keep out of his way as much as possible. Even
the old servants, people who have been under his roof for years, let
themselves be seen by him as seldom as need be. In person he is a
little withered-up yellow-skinned man, as dry as a last year's pippin,
but very keen, bright, and vivacious. He speaks such excellent English
that he must have lived in this country for many years. One thing I
have discovered about him, that he is a great smoker. He has a room
set specially apart for the practice of the sacred rite to which he
retires every day as soon as dinner is over, and from which he seldom
emerges again till it is time to retire for the night. Cleon alone is
privileged to enter this room. I have never yet been inside it.
Equally forbidden ground is M. Platzoff's bedroom, and a small study
beyond, all _en suite_.
"Those who keep servants keep spies under their roof. It has been part
of my purpose to make myself agreeable to the older domestics at Bon
Repos, and from them I have picked up several little facts which all
Mr. Cleon's shrewdness has not been able entirely to conceal. In this
way I have learned that M. Platzoff is a confirmed opium-smoker. That
once, or sometimes twice, a week he shuts himself up in his room and
smokes himself into a sort of trance, in which he remains unconscious
for hours. That at such times Cleon has to look after him as though he
were a child; and that it depends entirely on the mulatto as to
whether he ever emerges from his state of coma, or stops in it till he
dies. The accuracy of this latter statement, however, I must beg leave
to doubt.
"Further gossip has informed me, whether truly or falsely I am not in
a position to judge, that M. Platzoff is a refugee from his own
country. That were he to set foot on the soil of Russia, a life-long
banishment to Siberia would be the mildest fate that he could expect;
and that neither in France nor in Austria would he be safe from
arrest. The people who come as guests to Bon Repos are, so I am
informed, in nearly every instance foreigners, and, as a natural
consequence, they are all set down by the servants' gossip as red-hot
republicans, thirsting for the blood of kings and aristocrats, and
willing to put a firebrand under every throne in Europe. In fact,
there cannot be a popular outbreak against bad government in any part
of Europe without M. Platzoff and his friends being credited with
having at least a finger in the pie.
"All these statements and suppositions you will of course accept _cum
grano salis_. They may have their value as serving to give you a rude
and exaggerated idea as to what manner of man is the owner of Bon
Repos; and it is quite possible that some elements of truth may be
hidden in them. To me, M. Platzoff seems nothing more than a mild old
gentleman; a little eccentric, it may be, as differing from our
English notions in many things. Not a smiling fiend in patent boots
and white cravat, whose secret soul is bent on murder and rapine; but
a shy valetudinarian, whose only firebrand is a harmless fusee
wherewith to light a pipe of fragrant Cavendish.
"One permanent guest we have at Bon Repos--a guest who was here before
my arrival, and of whose departure no signs are yet visible. That is
why I call him permanent. His name is Ducie, and he is an ex-captain
in the English army. He is a tall, handsome man of four or
five-and-forty, and is a thorough gentleman both in manners and
appearance. I like him much, and he has taken quite a fancy to me. One
thing I can see quite plainly: that he and Cleon are quietly at
daggers drawn. Why they should be so I cannot tell, unless it is that
Cleon is jealous of Captain Ducie's influence over Platzoff, although
the difference in social position of the two men ought to preclude any
feeling of that kind. Captain Ducie might be M. Platzoff's very good
friend without infringing in the slightest degree on the privileges of
Cleon as his master's favourite servant. On one point I am certain:
that the mulatto suspects Ducie of some purpose or covert scheme in
making so long a stay at Bon Repos. He has asked me to act as a sort
of spy on the captain's movements; to watch his comings and goings,
his hours of getting up and going to bed, and to report to him, Cleon,
anything that I may see in the slightest degree out of the common way.
"It was not without a certain inward qualm that I accepted the
position thrust upon me by Cleon. In accepting it I flatter myself
that I took a common-sense view of the case. In the _petite_ drama of
real life in which I am now acting an uneventful part, I look upon
myself as a 'general utility' man, bound to enact any and every
character which my manager may think proper to entrust into my hands.
Now, you are my manager, and if it seem to me conducive to your
interests (you being absent) that, in addition to my present
character, I should be 'cast' for that of spy or amateur detective, I
see no good reason why I should refuse it. So far, however, all my
Fouché-like devices have resulted in nothing. The captain's comings
and goings--in fact, all his movements--are of a most commonplace and
uninteresting kind. But I have this advantage, that the character I
have undertaken enables me to assume, with Cleon's consent, certain
privileges such as, under other circumstances, would never have been
granted me. Further, should I succeed in discovering anything of
importance, it by no means follows that I should consider myself bound
to reveal the same to Cleon. It might be greatly more to my interest
to retain any such facts for my own use. Meanwhile, I wait and watch.
"Thus you will perceive, my dear dad, that an element of interest--a
dramatic element--is being slowly evolved out of the commonplace
duties of my present position. This nucleus of interest may grow and
develope into something startling; or it may die slowly out and expire
for lack of material to feed itself upon. In any case, dear dad, you
may expect a frequent feuilleton from
"Your affectionate son,
"J. M., otherwise
"James Jasmin."
"P.S.--I should not like to be a real flunkey all my life. Such a
position is not without its advantages to men of a lazy turn, but it
is terribly soul-subduing. Not a sign yet of the G. M. D."
"There is nothing much in all this to tell her ladyship," said Mr.
Madgin, as he took off his spectacles and refolded the letter. "Still,
I do not think it by any means a discouraging report. If James's
patience only equal his shrewdness and audacity, and if there be
really anything to worm out, he will be sure to make himself master of
it in the course of time. Ah! if he had only my patience, now--the
patience of an old man who has won half his battles by playing a
waiting game."
"Is it not possible that Lady Pollexfen may want you to read the
letter?"
"It is quite possible. But James's irreverent style is hardly suited
in parts for her ladyship's ears. You, dear child, must make an
improved copy of the letter. Your own good taste will tell you which
sentences require to be altered or expunged. Here and there you may
work in a neat compliment to your father; as coming direct from James
her ladyship will not deem it out of place--it will not sound fulsome
in her ears, and will serve to remind her of what she too often
forgets--that in Solomon Madgin she has a faithful steward, who ought
to be better rewarded than he is. Write out the copy at once, my
child, and I will take it up to Dupley Walls the first thing to-morrow
morning."