AN AMAZING DISCOVERY
Mrs. Mellop returned from the Richmond journey in a very bad temper,
as she had wholly failed to get her own way with the wary millionaire.
Indeed, she was so persistent in her attentions that Branwin put an
end to them by hinting very plainly that he was engaged to be married.
He also gave the widow to understand that it was time she brought her
visit to a close, as he wished to send Audrey abroad for a time. Mrs.
Mellop offered to accompany the girl, but learnt that arrangements had
been made for the young lady to stay in Paris with a French family. No
wonder the widow returned almost in tears, as she saw very well that
the vintage was ended, and she had gathered but few grapes. Pleading a
headache, she did not appear at dinner, and it was not until the next
morning that Audrey learnt about her father's new plans. They did not
please her.
"I shan't go abroad," she said bluntly, when Mrs. Mellop had explained
matters. "Papa wishes to separate me from Ralph."
"And wishes you to marry Lord Anvers," finished Mrs. Mellop,
maliciously.
Audrey laughed contemptuously. "I have refused Lord Anvers."
"He won't take a refusal, neither will your father."
"What does that matter to me?" cried the girl, passionately. "Do you
think that I am going to place my happiness in Lord Anvers' hands? A
man I detest with all my heart. I shall marry Ralph, and no one else."
"Then you will lose your money," said Mrs. Mellop, with a gesture of
despair.
"I don't mind losing it, so long as I have love."
"Love!" The widow made a face. "Oh! love is all very well, but it
isn't money, and money is a necessity."
"To you perhaps, Mrs. Mellop, not to me. Ralph would marry me
to-morrow if I chose. But I don't choose, as such a marriage would
hinder his career. We must wait for better times."
"Well, I'm sure I hope you'll get your own way. But you can have no
idea how hard your father is," wailed Mrs. Mellop. "He throws me over
as coolly as though I were an old shoe, and I shall have to go
to-morrow. Oh! the man's mad," she added, in a petty rage, "to think
of marrying that horrid woman."
"Well, you have had your chance," Audrey said, with a shrug; "and, as
I told you, my father has taken his own way. I would rather you had
married him."
"Then you love me, darling?" cried the effusive widow, caressingly.
"No, I don't," rejoined the girl, removing a pair of fond arms which
had been thrown round her neck; "but of two evils I choose the least.
"You would make a better Lady Branwin than Miss Pearl."
"I'm sure I should," assented Mrs. Mellop, with vigour, although she
was rather daunted by the refusal of Audrey to accept her advances.
"Oh! with all that money I would enjoy myself. And if I married your
father, Audrey, I should get him to let you marry Mr. Shawe."
"You have no influence with papa, Mrs. Mellop. However, you are no
worse off than you were when you came here."
"Oh! but I am," cried Mrs. Mellop, quite forgetting the jewellery and
clothes that she had bought on the credit of her host's name. "Think
of what people will say. My name has been coupled with Sir Joseph's,
and it is a shame that he should behave so cruelly. But I shan't
submit quietly to seeing him carried off by that woman," raged the
widow, walking up and down biting her handkerchief. "I shall tell what
I know."
"What do you know?"
"I know that Sir Joseph goes out night after night prowling about the
streets. Ugh! the horrid old man."
"How dare you!" cried Audrey, flaming up. "Papa goes to help the
poor."
Mrs. Mellop laughed contemptuously. "Sir Joseph never helped a single
poor person in his life," she said sneeringly. "He goes out for no
good purpose, you may be sure. Why, he was out on the night his wife
was murdered," hinted Mrs. Mellop, malignantly. "I believe he had
something to do with the matter."
Audrey had no reason to be fond of her father, who had always treated
her selfishly. But this unfounded accusation was too much for her. She
sprang at the little widow and shook her. "How dare you talk in that
way?" she said in a cold, hard voice. "You can't connect my father
with--"
"Oh, can't I?" interrupted Mrs. Mellop, extricating herself from the
girl's grasp with a shriek. "Why, when I was waiting in Walpole Lane
on that night I saw your father on the other side of the road."
"You are a fool!" said Miss Branwin, trying to conceal her agitation.
"Even if you saw papa, that proves nothing. And you had better hold
your tongue, or you will get into trouble."
Mrs. Mellop ran to the door of the room, so as to avoid another
shaking. "I shall get Sir Joseph into trouble," she said spitefully.
"He shan't play fast and loose with poor little me. I shall go back
home to-day."
"Had you not better see papa?" asked Audrey, ironically, "and say what
you intend to do?"
"I know what I intend to do," retorted the widow, tossing her head,
"and it won't be pleasant for Sir Joseph when he knows. You're a horrid
girl, Audrey, and worthy of your common father, who is only the son of
a labourer, when all is said and done. I decline to associate with
such riff-raff, so good-day to both of you." And Mrs. Mellop, bursting
with spite, swept out of the room in what she conceived was a grand
way.
Audrey shrugged her shoulders when the little woman disappeared, as
she regarded the hinted accusation as merely due to spite; and without
doubt it was, as Mrs. Mellop could not possibly prove Branwin's
complicity in the crime. Sir Joseph certainly might have been in
Walpole Lane, although Audrey did not think that this was probable.
Yet, even if he had been, his presence, as the girl had already
observed, proved absolutely nothing.
When Mrs. Mellop took her departure, bag and baggage--which she did in
the afternoon--Audrey wended her way to Kensington Gardens to keep the
three o'clock appointment with Ralph Shawe; but although she waited
for over an hour he did not make his appearance. This omission made
Audrey confident that there was something wrong, as it was not like
Ralph to evade a meeting. Lately she had noted his unwillingness to
answer questions connected with the search for Lady Branwin's
murderer; and now that he so pointedly avoided her company--for what
could be more pointed than a failure to keep his engagement?--she
decided to see Miss Toat and ask questions. The detective certainly
knew all that Ralph knew, and in what Ralph refused to speak about
might be found his reason for behaving so strangely. With this idea
the girl left the Gardens and took a cab to Buckingham Street.
For once Miss Perry was not in her office, but the grimy little
boy--technically termed a clerk--told her that the detective would
return in a few minutes. Meanwhile she was shown into the inner room
to wait, and found there no less a person than Colonel Ilse. He rose
politely when she entered, and looked at her so hard that Audrey
blushed.
"I also am waiting for Miss Toat, Miss Branwin," said the Colonel,
offering a chair. "Will you not be seated? I understand she will not
be long."
"Thank you. How did you know my name, Colonel Ilse?"
"I must answer like a Yankee by asking another question, Miss Branwin.
How did you know mine?"
"Miss Toat told me."
"And Miss Toat told _me_," repeated the Colonel, smiling. "The fact
is--I hope you will not mind my saying this, as I am old enough to be
your father, young lady--you remind me of someone who was very dear to
me. Curiosity made me ask your name."
"And curiosity made me ask what yours was also," said Audrey, quickly.
"Your face--your eyes, to be particular--remind me of someone."
Ilse looked at her rather oddly. "Of whom, may I ask?"
he said eagerly.
The girl shook her head. "I can't say; but I almost feel as if I had
known you before. I daresay it is fancy."
"Perhaps it is, and perhaps it isn't," said the Colonel, quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing, Miss Branwin; only we may have met by chance."
The excuse did not satisfy Audrey, but she could not very well go on
asking questions. She liked the looks of Colonel Ilse. He had a
handsome but rather sad face, and his blue eyes were strangely kind
and pathetic. "You are searching for your little girl?"
she said impulsively. "Miss Toat told me."
"Upon my word," said the Colonel, humorously, "Miss Toat seems to have
told you a great deal. Yes, Miss Branwin, I am looking for my daughter
who was stolen from me some twenty and more years ago. A hospital
nurse took her away, and I have never been able to find her."
"Why did the nurse take her away?"
Colonel Ilse actually blushed through his tan. "It was in a fit of
jealousy that she did so," he explained hurriedly. "That is,
she--well, it is too long a story to tell you. But I have placed the
matter in the hands of Miss Toat, and lately she has told me that she
thinks she will be successful in finding my daughter."
Audrey shook her pretty head gravely. "It is a long time after the
loss to think of finding her."
"I have been in India for many years," said the Colonel, who seemed to
be singularly frank in his conversation, "and a military man has
scanty time to attend to his own affairs. But lately I have retired,
and as I have come in for a fortune, owing to the death of my uncle, I
greatly wish to find my child, so that she may be my heiress."
"I hope you will be successful," said Audrey, sympathetically.
"I hope so too, and I think if we can trace this hospital nurse that
the truth will become known. The nurse has-- Oh!"--Colonel Ilse
stopped explaining as the door opened to reveal Perry Toat--"here is
the lady. Miss Branwin, I shall leave you to discharge your business
first. My interview can come later." And the Colonel bowed himself
into the outer room.
Perry Toat took off her gloves and sat at her desk. By this time the
effect of Madame Coralie's improvements had worn off more or less, and
the detective was rapidly becoming the drab, unlovely personage she
actually was. But Audrey liked her better without the mask of
fictitious loveliness, as she had an honest if ugly face. The girl
felt that she could absolutely trust her. And she wanted someone to
trust, now that Ralph had failed her.
"Do you like Colonel Ilse?" asked Miss Toat when the door closed.
"Very much," said Audrey, frankly. "He seems to be a very nice man,
but sad."
"Ah! it is my task to turn his sadness into joy," said the detective,
looking keenly at her client.
"By finding his daughter?"
"Yes, by finding his daughter," assented Perry Toat, who looked a
sharp little rat of a woman as she sat at the table. "And now, let us
come to your business, Miss Branwin. I can't give you much time, so
please state what you wish to see me about as speedily as possible."
"I speak in confidence, of course," hesitated Audrey, rather
embarrassed.
"Of course, in strictest confidence. What is it?"
"It is about Mr. Shawe. I can't understand him."
"But you are engaged to marry him."
"Yes." Audrey flushed. "And I love him very dearly. I don't mind
telling you this, as you are a woman and can understand. But lately
there is something queer about him. I wish him to learn who murdered
my mother, and he has been trying. But over a week ago he asked me to
give up the search."
"Oh"--Perry Toat sat up alertly--"he asked you to give up the search.
Why?"
Miss Branwin felt in her pocket and brought out the anonymous letter.
"For this reason," she said, passing it to Perry Toat. "This letter
warns me that if I persist in searching into the case I shall
experience the greatest grief of my life."
"Oh!" said Perry Toat again, and ran her sharp eyes over the
ill-written lines. "And Mr. Shawe agrees with this letter?"
"Yes. He is most anxious to get me to give up searching, and always
avoids answering my questions as much as he can. To-day I had an
appointment to see him in Kensington Gardens, but he did not appear.
This is the first time he has ever behaved in this way, so I came at
once to ask you if you can tell me the reason for his change of mind."
Perry Toat looked hard at the anonymous letter, and did not answer.
After a time she went to a tin box and brought out some papers, with
which she compared the missive addressed to Audrey. "Let me look at
the envelope, please," she said after a long pause. "Oh, here it is."
She picked it up from the table and examined the postmark.
"What do you make of it?" asked Audrey, impatiently.
"Of this letter? Oh, it is written by someone who wants the case
stopped."
"By the assassin?"
"Why do you think it might be the assassin?"
"Because only the assassin would like an end put to the case."
"Humph!" said Miss Toat, anxiously. "That is one view; but there is
another, Miss Branwin. A certain person may be anxious to prevent your
learning the truth in case it should cause you great pain."
"So the letter says," said Audrey, quickly. "But I don't understand,
unless--" Suddenly she stopped, with her mouth open. "Oh!" she gasped
faintly, for it had just occurred to her what Mrs. Mellop had hinted,
"you don't think that my father wrote it?"
"No." Perry Toat looked astonished. "Why should you think your
father--"
"It was merely an idea," interrupted Audrey, feverishly. "The fact is,
a certain spiteful woman hinted that my father was glad of my mother's
death, so that he could marry Miss Pearl."
"In fact, this person said plainly that Sir Joseph was guilty," said
the other, bluntly.
"Not exactly. But"--Audrey rose quickly and looked indignant--"it is
quite ridiculous to think of such things."
"And yet"--Perry Toat tapped the anonymous letter--"the person who
wrote this may have written it because he suspected your father."
"He? Then a man wrote it. What man? Can you guess?"
"I can do more than guess," said the detective, drily. "I know by
comparison of handwritings. This anonymous letter was written by Ralph
Shawe."
"Oh!" Audrey turned pale. "So that explains his conduct."