A SOLDIER OF FORTUNE
Having garnered all obtainable evidence, for the time being at Wray
House; the detective and his coadjutor returned to town. Before their
departure, however, Blake noted the address of his old schoolfellow,
and promised to pay him a visit at an early date. Darrel, knowing that
Roderick wished to assist in finding out the mystery, resolved to ask
Torry if he would permit him to do so. This request he made when they
were in the train on their way back to Waterloo.
"What do you think of my friend Blake?" he asked, abruptly.
"A nice fellow, but flippant," replied Torry. "Not much earnestness of
purpose there."
"I am sorry you think so, as Blake is anxious to assist us in this
matter. It seems that he was a great friend of Mr. Grent's, and is
naturally angered by his cowardly assassination; also, he has nothing
to do, and wishes to employ his time. What do you say?"
"Humph! Mr. Blake is the lover of Miss Hargone?"
"Yes he is engaged to marry her. Is that any bar to your utilising his
services?"
"It may be, sir. You see, this Lydia Hargone is the woman who called
at Grent's chambers on that Saturday."
"Are you sure?" said Frank, somewhat startled.
"As sure as one can be, in this world of mistakes," replied Torry
drily. "At all events, she wears on the third finger of her right hand
a silver ring set with three turquoise stones, Meek noticed that ring
as worn by the veiled lady who visited Grent. At first, owing to the
confused manner of Donna Maria, I fancied she might be the individual.
However I was wrong. The evidence of the ring assures me that Lydia
Hargone paid that visit. Why?"
"There is nothing peculiar in her paying a visit to her employer."
"Grent was not her employer then. She had left his service some time.
Now, Donna Maria is----"
"I won't hear a word against that lady," interrupted Darrel hotly.
"Because she is beautiful; your romance again. Well as you please; but
you must admit that it was strange she should faint at the sight of
the Blue Mummy."
"Vass fainted in the same way."
"I know he did, and Miss Sandoval gives the same explanation for her
fainting as he did. Both of them saw the Blue Mummy on Grent's desk,
and its connection with his murder came so forcibly to their memories
that they fainted. Now, I said before, and I say again that the
explanation is feeble and untrue."
"But surely you don't think Donna Maria guilty of the crime?"
"No; don't jump to conclusions. I think both she and Vass are innocent
enough, but I fancy they know something likely to clear up the mystery
of the death, if they would but speak."
"Torry," cried Darrel earnestly, "I am sure Donna Maria wishes to
discover the assassin of her uncle. You heard her say so?"
"Oh, yes I heard her say so. Words! words! words Why does she not own
up?"
"Own up what?" inquired Frank obstinately.
"The truth."
"She doesn't know it."
"She may not know all of it, but she knows half, and Vass knows the
other half. If those two would only put their halves together we might
arrest this mysterious assassin."
"But why should they not speak out?" argued Darrel.
"Because they are shielding someone."
"Whom?"
Torry looked straight at the young man. "Let us say Donna Inez."
"You are mad!"
"Bah! I am only theoretical," retorted Torry coolly. "Listen. So far
as I can see by the imperfect and scattered evidence we have
collected, there is a choice of two motives to account for this crime
One is that Grent was murdered for the sake of that ten thousand
pounds."
"But you can't prove that he had the money. Vass says----"
"I know what Vass says--that the money was in the safe after Grent
went. Well, that seems to dispose of the robbery motive. All the same,
I would have you remember that when you met Grent he had on him some
valuable which he fancied you might take from him. I suggested at our
first conversation that it might be a jewel."
"Now, I know that if he carried anything to the rendezvous with Julia
Brawn it was that stolen money."
"Rubbish! I say again that you can't prove how it came into Grent's
possession."
"Vass might have taken it out of the safe and given it to his master
next day."
"Torry," said Darrel gravely, "when Vass left the bank on Friday night
the money was in the safe."
"Are you certain of that?"
"I am. Leighbourne told me that he saw it there before he left the
office. Vass left the bank along with Leighbourne. The next day he was
ill."
"Who was--Vass or Leighbourne?"
"The former. Don't you remember Leighbourne told us so?"
"Ah, yes," cried Torry, with a recollection of the conversation with
the banker. "And I thought it was an unnecessary piece of information.
Leighbourne said that Vass had been absent from the bank from Saturday
till the day we called--that was Tuesday."
"Then," said Frank gravely, "you see how unjust your suspicions are.
Vass could not have given Grent the money, since he--Grent--was
murdered on Sunday morning."
"H'm! that disposes of the robbery theory. Still," cried Torry,
striking his knee with open hand, "I am content to believe that Grent
had the money on that night. However, let that pass, and let us come
to the second motive--jealousy."
"Jealousy!" repeated Frank contemptuously; "surely you don't believe
that Donna Inez was jealous of Julia Brawn?"
"No; but she might have been jealous of Lydia Hargone."
"Why, so far as I can see, Grent had nothing to do with the
governess."
"So far as you can see," said Torry significantly. "Nevertheless, on
the evidence of the ring, Miss Hargone paid a visit to Grent's
chambers on the day, so to speak, of his murder."
"That doesn't prove that there was love between them."
"It proves that there was communication and understanding," retorted
Torry tartly.
"Well," said Frank, wearied of the discussion, "we are only spinning
ropes of sand in talking theory. What about Blake? Can I tell him the
case, and say you'll let him assist?"
"Yes," replied Torry promptly. "He may help us by revealing the secret
doings of Lydia Hargone."
"He'll never do that," rejoined Darrel coldly. "Blake is a gentleman,
and is engaged to Miss Hargone."
"I dare say. I don't say that he'll assist us purposely in that way;
but, my dear sir, your friend is a chatterbox and can't keep a secret.
He'll say things he shouldn't say, and will regret revealing them
afterwards. Tell him all, enlist his services, and," added Torry
significantly, "let him talk."
"It seems rather a shabby thing to do," said Darrel reluctantly.
"All is fair in love and war and detective work, sir. Your conscience
is too fine-spun."
"I am afraid it is," replied Darrel gloomily. "However, I promised to
help you and I shall keep my promise."
That evening, as Torry was off on a man-hunt of his own, and did not
require Darrel's assistance, the young man sat down, as usual, to his
work. But, in spite of his resolution to write, he was unable to do
so, for the beautiful face of Maria was constantly before his eyes,
and her deep rich voice sounded always in his ears. Her image was
indelibly impressed on his mind, and, notwithstanding all endeavours,
he could not rid himself of that charming phantom. In place of
scribbling realistic prose, he felt more inclined to compose amorous
poetry, for he had entered into the kingdom of love, lured thither by
a woman's loveliness, and was enduring, in no very patient spirit, the
torments which are there inflicted on new-comers. A woman's face, a
woman's voice, a woman's absence: of such parts were his torments
composed.
Darrel recognised that it was impossible to write while in this vein,
so he threw down his pen in despair, and wandered forth on his nightly
quest for adventures. But the spirit to seek them did not move him,
and in place of observing the life around him, he turned his eyes
inward to contemplate the loved image of Maria Sandoval. Disappointed,
worried, and racked with a thousand doubts, this lover of a day turned
homeward, where he retired to bed and did his best to sleep. For the
most part of the night he courted slumber in vain, but towards morning
exhausted nature claimed her rights, and Darrel slept heavily until
ten o'clock. While he was idling over his breakfast, with a tired face
and no appetite, Roderick Blake was announced, and entered fresh as a
rose to greet his friend.
"How are you my boy?" said the Irishman, who was in exuberant spirits.
"You see, I haven't lost much time in looking you up. Breakfast, is
it? Ham, eggs, and fish; a mighty good notion of a meal it is. Faith,
I don't mind assisting you to clear the table."
"Sit down and welcome. I haven't got any appetite myself," said
Darrel.
Blake required no second invitation, but, taking off his gloves, drew
a chair up to the table and did wonders as a trencherman. The food
melted like snow before his healthy appetite, and all the time he was
chatting and laughing and making himself generally agreeable. His
sunny clean-shaven face twinkled all over with humour, and his
incessant flow of conversation, more or less trivial, did much to
raise Darrel's spirits. He even acknowledged the service Blake had
done him in banishing care.
"And I'm glad to see," he added, "that you have not lost the appetite
for which you were renowned at school."
"Faith, no! but it's little chance I've had of satisfying that
appetite," replied Blake airily.
"What! have you been hard up?"
"No; but I'm hard up now."
"Yet you talk of marrying," said Frank reprovingly.
"Not at present. Lydia will wait till I am rich," replied the other.
"We are both young and can wait."
"How do you intend to become rich?"
"Not by working, my dear boy," rejoined Blake lighting his pipe, "but
by inheritance."
"Another Irish uncle!"
"Faith, no; a grand aunt, who is mighty ill at present. I'll come in
for her money when she takes the last vacancy for an angel."
Darrel could not help laughing at the oddity of the remark, the more
especially as it was accompanied by a sly wink. Then he became grave.
"I'm afraid you are an awful scamp, Blake."
"Just so," said Roderick complacently. "I'm a rolling stone; and,
faith, I've been rolling all over the world these ten years."
"Oh!" remarked Frank, with a recollection of the case; "have you been
in South America?"
"You bet, sir; in every part of it."
"In Peru?"
"Yes."
"In Lima?"
"Rather; for two years."
"You know a good deal about the place, I suppose?"
Blake shrugged his shoulders. "I knew more than was good for me," he
said with a gloomy look.
"Have you ever come across this sort of thing?" asked Darrel, and
produced the Blue Mummy.
"Heaven and earth!" cried Blake, his florid face growing white. "Where
did you get that accursed image?"