STELFOX IS RETICENT NO LONGER.
Mr. Bradfield awoke, on the morning after his abrupt departure from
Wyngham, with a start of surprise at finding himself in a strange place.
He had been troubled by no pangs of a guilty conscience, not even by
fears of an imaginary pursuer. Accusations might be made against him
certainly, some of which could be supported by evidence which might
weigh heavily with a judge and jury. But the real foundation of his
misdeeds was one so astounding, requiring so much digging and delving
before a good case could be made out, that he might have remained
securely at Wyngham for months to come, might almost indeed have defied
Dick and the law to do their worst, if it had not been for Stelfox.
What Stelfox knew his late master was not quite sure; but the man’s
respectful reticence during long years, during which his suspicions of
foul play had grown into certainties, had so strongly impressed the
master, that Mr. Bradfield had never felt safe since Stelfox had left
his service.
So that Mr. Bradfield, for whom Wyngham House and its treasures
had lost the charm of novelty, had thought it safest, as well as
pleasantest, to decamp, leaving only the bare bones of his stolen
property to be wrangled over in litigation.
What had woke him he did not know. He seemed to have jumped from the
deepest, sweetest slumber into broad wakefulness. He looked out at the
sky, which he could just see between the white dimity curtains of the
window, and he saw a bright little line of light which showed him that
the summer sun was already high in the heavens. He looked at the foot
of the bed, and saw, instead of the brass and beaten iron-work of his
own magnificent bedstead, the polished mahogany of the old-fashioned
four-poster. Then he remembered where he was, heaved a sigh of
satisfaction at having left the anxieties of Wyngham behind him, and
turned over in bed for another doze.
Then he saw what it was that had woke him. Standing beside his bedside,
as respectfully as ever, was Stelfox. Then Mr. Bradfield felt that the
way of the transgressor is indeed hard. He sat up in bed, and tried to
look merely surprised.
“Hallo, Stelfox, is that you?” he said, boisterously.
“Yes, sir, it is I,” answered Stelfox, who was always correct.
“Well, and what are you doing here? Nothing happened, I hope?”
He was not yet quite warmed to the world and its doings, so, although
he was undoubtedly annoyed and alarmed by the appearance of his late
servant, he did not quite appreciate the full significance of this
singular intrusion.
“Well, sir, I can’t exactly say that nothing has happened,” said
Stelfox, still looking down. “I came down from London to Wyngham
yesterday afternoon, sir, to see you. But I saw Mr. Marrable instead,
sir.”
All this was said quite simply. But when his speech was finished,
Stelfox came to a sudden stop--a nasty, significant stop.
“Mr. Marrable! Oh, yes,” said Mr. Bradfield, assuming more cheerfulness
of speech as his thoughts lost it.
“He told me, sir, about the will made by Mr. Gilbert Wryde.”
“Well, what has that to do with me?”
“Well, sir, it has a good deal to do with you now that Mr. Richard is
of age and proved to be sane, I think. For, of course, he ought to come
into his property.”
There was a pause. For the thousand and first time Mr. Bradfield was
asking himself whether this was a man to be bribed. He decided that at
this stage of affairs the experiment must be tried.
“Look here, Stelfox,” said he, “you’re an honest man, and you want to
see justice done to everybody, I’m sure.”
“I do, sir,” said Stelfox, modestly.
“And, in consideration of the fact that I’ve not been a bad master to
you, or an ungenerous one for ten years, you would like, I am sure, to
see justice done to me, too?”
“I should, sir,” answered Stelfox readily, but in a manner which left
Mr. Bradfield to doubt whether the inflection of his voice was not
“nasty.”
“Well, then,” pursued Mr. Bradfield, “see. Mr. Wryde, Master Richard’s
father, left me a large sum--you see I don’t deny it was a large
sum--in trust for his idiot son.”
But here Stelfox at last looked up.
“_Idiot_ son, sir!” he interrupted, promptly. “But Mr. Marrable assures
me that, so far from being an idiot, Master Richard was considered a
very bright child, even after the scarlet fever had made him deaf.”
“Mr. Marrable assures you! But what’s Mr. Marrable? An idiot himself!”
interrupted Mr. Bradfield, impatiently.
“And,” went on Stelfox, steadily, not heeding the interruption, “he
says he knows it was old Mr. Wryde’s intention to take or send his
little son to England, as it was thought his hearing could be restored.
Indeed, sir,” pursued he, with uncanny smoothness, “Mr. Richard has
recovered his hearing in a wonderful manner since he has been in
London, and under the care of a specialist, sir.”
Here Mr. Bradfield broke out with sudden sharpness:
“Oh, oh! so he’s been with you in London, has he?”
His tone was by this time so frankly inimical, that Stelfox answered
boldly:
“Why, yes, sir; it was natural for him to stay with the only friend he
had.”
“Then you helped him to get away, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir, after I discovered the drugged wine. I’ve kept it, sir; kept
the decanters just as they were left that night. I thought they might
be wanted, perhaps, especially after the fire, sir.”
This was frankness indeed. Mr. Bradfield changed colour.
“Do you mean to insinuate that I wanted to make away with the fellow?”
he asked, abruptly.
“I only mean, sir, that I thought what I could prove about the
decanters that night, and what Miss Abercarne could prove about having
seen you come out of the east wing just before the fire, and what Mr.
Marrable could prove about old Mr. Wryde’s intentions, and what the
will itself could prove about the way you carried them out--I thought,
I say, sir, that all these things together might form a very good case,
and that with a clever lawyer at his back he might hope to recover his
property.”
As each fresh charge was mentioned, John Bradfield’s frown grew deeper,
and the lines about his mouth grew harder and more unyielding. At the
end he turned his head, and sought the man’s eye steadily. And the man
at last looked steadily at him.
“And what, if it is not too straightforward a question, what share were
you to have in the final distribution?”
“Well, sir,” answered the man straightforwardly, and in exactly the
same tone as before, “I may say that I expected not to be forgotten.”
“Ah, ah!” chuckled Mr. Bradfield, triumphantly. “I thought not. Now
we’re coming to it. Now I’m going abroad, as you see. I don’t admit the
truth of a single one of these accusations, not a single one, mind. But
I see you could make out a very plausible tale, for you’re a clever
fellow, Stelfox, and I see I could be worried to death and half ruined
besides, before the thing was settled. So look here: tell me what you
want to keep your d----d mouth shut?”
Stelfox went on quite placidly, as if the manner in which the command
was given had been rather flattering than otherwise:
“I want you, sir, to do the right thing by Master Richard. I am sure,
sir, begging your pardon for having to say such a thing, that he will
not be too particular in the matter of looking into past accounts.”
But Mr. Bradfield’s not too sweet temper had been rising, and at these
words he gave it vent.
“D----n your impudence!” roared he, glaring at the man with so much
ferocity that even the calm Stelfox moved a step nearer to the foot of
the bed. “Do you think I’m going to be mastered by you, or that escaped
whelp? No. D----n you both for a couple of accomplices who want to rob
me. You can go to the d----l both of you, and I’ll be d----d if either
of you shall get a penny out of me. Get out of my sight, or I’ll have
the landlord prosecuted for allowing you to come in!”
Rather to his surprise, Stelfox withdrew at once in exactly the
same manner as if he had only come in to bring the gentleman’s
shaving-water. Mr. Bradfield, breathing heavily from rage and
excitement, got up, turned the key in the lock, and began to dress.
He was in a passion still, so indignant with Stelfox for refusing to
be bribed that he quite felt that he was an injured person. He told
himself, however, with a chuckle, when he had got a little cooler, that
neither Stelfox nor anybody else could prevent his crossing to Flushing
by the next boat, and getting out of jurisdiction before matters had
got far enough for a warrant to be issued for him. At the same time
there was just a little undercurrent of anxiety in his mind, the result
of the extreme promptitude with which the cunning Stelfox had traced
him out, and the astuteness with which he had framed an excuse to
induce the attendants at the hotel to show him up to the room of the
gentleman he asked for.
“But how on earth did he get in?” Mr. Bradfield asked himself,
remembering that he had locked his door before going to bed. On
examination, however, the lock proved to have been defective, so that
Stelfox had found his entry easy.
By this time Mr. Bradfield was fully dressed, and he turned to the head
of the bed where, under the damask curtain, he had hidden his precious
bag of securities on the previous night.
The bag was no longer there.