WE FOLLOW IN PURSUIT.
Carton, noticing my discomposure, inquired if there was anything
wrong. I answered, yes; I was afraid there was something very wrong.
"In connection with the fate of my poor girl?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, "in connection with her fate."
"Great heavens!" he cried. "You surely do not suspect that my guardian
is mixed up with it?"
"I am of the opinion," I answered guardedly, "that he may be able to
throw some light on it. Mr. Carton, ask me no further questions, or
you may seriously hamper me. Have you a time-table in the house? No?
Then we must obtain one immediately. It is my purpose to follow your
guardian to Margate by the quickest and earliest train. I give you
five minutes to get ready."
Greatly excited, he darted from the room, and in half the time I had
named returned, with a small bag, into which he had thrust a few
articles of clothing. During his absence I said to Devlin,
"You will accompany us?"
"My dear sir," he replied, "I will go with you to the ends of the
earth. I shall greatly enjoy this pursuit; the vigour and spirit you
are putting into it are worthy of the highest admiration."
We three went out together, and at the first book-shop I purchased an
"A B C," and ascertained that the next best train to Margate was the
5.15 from Victoria, which was timed to arrive at 7.31. Calculating
that it would be a few minutes late, we could, no doubt, reach
Athelstan Road at half-past eight. I had time to run home to my wife,
and embrace her and my children; it was necessary, also, that I should
furnish myself with funds, there being very little money in my purse,
and I determined to use the one hundred pounds which Mr. Portland had
left with me. Employed as I was, the use of this money was
justifiable. Hailing a hansom, we jumped into it. Carton sitting on
Devlin's knee, and we soon reached my house. In as few words as
possible I explained to my wife all that was necessary, kissed her and
the children, took possession of the hundred pounds and of a light bag
in which my wife had put a change of clothing, left a private message
for Mr. Portland, and rejoined Devlin and Carton, who were waiting for
me in the hansom. I asked my wife but two questions--the first, how
Mr. and Mrs. Melladew were, the second, whether anything had been
heard of the missing daughter Mary. She told me that the unhappy
parents were completely prostrated by the blow, and that no news
whatever had been heard of Mary.
We arrived at Victoria Station in good time, and, by the aid of a
judicious tip, I secured a first-class compartment, into which the
guard assured me no one should be admitted. I had a distinct reason
for desiring this privacy. There were subjects upon which I wished to
talk with Richard Carton, and I could not carry on the conversation in
the presence of strangers. I said nothing to him of this in the cab,
the noise of the wheels making conversation difficult. We should be
two hours and a half getting to Margate, and on the journey I could
obtain all the information I desired. We started promptly to the
minute, and then I requested Carton to give me his best attention. He
and I sat next to each other, Devlin sitting in the opposite corner.
He threw himself back, and closed his eyes, but I knew that he heard
every word that passed between me and Carton.
"I am going to ask you a series of questions," I said to the young
man, "not one of which shall be asked from idle curiosity. Answer me
as directly to the point as you can. Explain how it is that Mr.
Kenneth Dowsett is your guardian."
"I lost both my parents," replied Carton, "when I was very young. Of
my mother I have no remembrance whatever; of my father, but little. He
and Mr. Dowsett were upon the most intimate terms of friendship; my
father had such confidence in him that when he drew his will he named
Mr. Dowsett as his executor and my guardian. I was to live with him
and his wife, and he was to see to my education. He has faithfully
fulfilled the trust my father reposed in him."
"Did your father leave a large fortune?"
"Roughly speaking, I am worth two thousand pounds a year."
"Mr. Dowsett, having to receive you in his house as a son and to look
after your education, doubtless was in receipt of a fair consideration
for his services?"
"O, yes. Until I was twenty-one years of age he was to draw six
hundred pounds a year out of the funds invested for me. The balance
accumulated for my benefit until I came of age."
"He drew this money regularly?"
"Yes, as he was entitled to do."
"How old are you now?"
"Twenty-four."
"You are living still with Mr. Dowsett, and you still regard him as
your guardian?"
"I have a great affection for him; he has treated me most kindly."
"What do you pay him for your board and lodging?"
"He continues to receive the six hundred a year. It is all he has to
depend on."
"Was this last arrangement of his own proposing, or yours?"
"Of mine. I cannot sufficiently repay him for his care of me."
"In your father's will what was to become of your fortune in the event
of your death?"
"If I died before I came of age, my guardian was to have the six
hundred a year, and the rest was to be given to various charities."
"And after you came of age?"
"It was mine absolutely, to do as I pleased with."
"Have you made a will?"
"Yes."
"Who proposed that?"
"My guardian."
"What are the terms of this will?"
"I have left everything to him. I have no relatives, and no other
claims upon me."
"When I came to see you this afternoon you mentioned a name which was
new to me. You said that your guardian had gone to Margate with his
wife and 'Letitia.' I supposed he was married, and your speaking of
Mrs. Dowsett did not surprise me. But who is Letitia?"
"Their daughter."
"An only child?"
"Yes."
"What is her age?"
"Twenty-two."
"Has she a sweetheart? Is she engaged to be married?"
"No."
"That answer seems to me to be given with constraint."
"Well," said Carton, "it is hardly right, is it, to go so minutely
into my guardian's private family affairs?"
"It is entirely right. I am engaged upon a very solemn task, and I can
see, probably, what is hidden from you. Why were you partly
disinclined to answer my last question?"
"It is a little awkward," replied Carton, "because, perhaps, I am not
quite free from blame."
"Explain your meaning. Believe me, this may be more serious than you
imagine. Speak frankly. I am acting, indeed, as your true friend."
"Yet, after all," said Carton, with hesitation, "I never made love to
her, I give you my honour."
"Made love to whom? Miss Dowsett?"
"Yes. The fact is they looked upon it as a settled thing that I was to
marry Letitia. I did not know it at the time; no, though we were
living in the same house for so many years, I never suspected it. I
always looked upon Letitia as a sister, and I behaved affectionately
towards her. They must have put a wrong construction upon it. When
they discovered that I was in love with my poor Lizzie, Mr. Dowsett
said to me, 'It will break Letitia's heart.' Then I began to
understand, and I assure you I felt remorseful. Letitia did not say
anything to me, but I could see by her looks how deeply she was
wounded. Once my guardian made the remark, 'That if I had not met the
young lady'--meaning Lizzie--'his most joyful hope would have been
realised,' meaning by that that when I saw that Letitia loved me I
might have grown to love her, and we should have been married. I said,
I remember, that it might have been, for he seemed to expect something
like that from me, and I said it to console him. But it was not true;
I could never have loved Letitia except as a sister."
"Did your guardian know the name of the poor girl you have lost?"
"O, yes. He met us first when we were walking together, and I
introduced him. We had almost a quarrel, my guardian and I, some time
afterwards. He said that Miss Melladew was beneath me, and that it
would be better if I married in my own station in life. I was hurt and
angry, and I begged him to retract his words. Beneath me! She was as
far above me as the highest lady in the land could have been. She was
the best, the brightest, the purest girl in the world. And I have lost
her! I have lost her! What hope is there left to me now?"
He covered his face with his hands, and I waited till he was calm
before I spoke again.
"In my hearing," I then said, "you have twice made a remark which
struck me as strange. It was to the effect that you would not allow
your guardian to give you any more opiates."
"He gave me one last Friday night before I went to bed--on the night
my poor Lizzie was killed. I was excited, because I think I told you,
sir, that it was decided between Lizzie and me that I should go to her
father's house on Sunday, to ask permission to pay my addresses openly
to her. Till then I was not to see her again, and that made me
restless. My guardian was anxious about me, though he did not know the
cause of my restlessness and excitement. To please him I took the
opiate, and slept soundly till late in the morning; and when I woke,
sir--when I woke and went out to buy a present for Lizzie, which I
intended to take to Lizzie on Sunday, almost the first thing I
heard----"
He quite broke down here, and a considerable time elapsed before he
was sufficiently recovered to continue the conversation.
"Supposing," I said, "that this dreadful event had not occurred, and
that you and poor Lizzie had been happily married, would you have
continued to give your guardian the income he had enjoyed so long?"
"I do not know--I cannot say. Perhaps not; although I never considered
the question. But on the day that I left his house for the home I
dreamt and hoped would be mine, the home in which Lizzie and I would
have lived happily together. I should have given him something
handsome, and I am sure I should always have been his friend. I ought
not, perhaps, now that we have gone so far, to conceal anything from
you."
"Indeed you ought not. Tell me everything; it may help me."
"I am sure," said the young fellow, with deep feeling, "that he did
not mean it, and that he said it only to comfort me. But it made me
mad. He hinted that my poor Lizzie could not have been true to me,
that she must have had another lover, whom she was in the habit of
meeting late at night. If any other man had dared to say as much I
would have killed him. But my guardian meant no harm, and when he saw
how he had wounded me, he begged my pardon humbly. I am sure, I am
sure he repented that he had breathed a suspicion against my poor
girl!"
"Pardon me," I said, "for asking you a question which, in any other
circumstances, would not cross my lips; but it will be as well for me
to put it to you. You yourself had no appointment with her on that
night?"
"No," cried Carton indignantly, "as Heaven is my judge! I never met
her, I never proposed to meet her, at such an hour!"
"I am certain of it. And yet--receive this calmly, if you can--and yet
she must have gone out late on that night for some purpose or other."
"There is the mystery," said Carton mournfully, "and I have thought
and thought about it without being able to find a key to it. There
must have been a trap set for her--a devilish trap to ensnare her."
"I think so myself. Otherwise it is not likely she would have left her
home, as she must have done, secretly. Now, a word or two about Mrs.
Dowsett and Letitia."
"When you woke up on Saturday morning you found that they had gone to
Margate?"
"Yes."
"Did you know on the day before that they were going?"
"No, nothing was said about it. It was quite sudden."
"Was Mrs. Dowsett or her daughter ill? Did they go into the country
for their health?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Were they in the habit of going away suddenly?"
"O, no; they had never done so before."
"What explanation did your guardian give?"
"He said that Letitia had been suffering in secret for some time, and
that her mother thought a change would do her good."
"Did he tell you where they had gone to?"
"No, he did not mention the place. I learnt it from one of the
servants."
"So that afterwards he was forced to be frank with you?"
"I don't understand you."
"Reflect. When you rose on Saturday morning you found that Mrs.
Dowsett and her daughter had gone away suddenly. You knew nothing at
that moment of poor Lizzie's death, and therefore had nothing to
trouble you. Did it not strike you as strange that your guardian did
not mention the part of the country they had gone to? Or if, your mind
being greatly occupied with the arranged interview with Mr. and Mrs.
Melladew on the following day, you did not then think it strange that
your guardian said nothing of Margate--do you not think so now?"
"Yes," answered Carton thoughtfully, "I do think so now."
"How did you learn that Mrs. Dowsett was stopping at 28 Athelstan
Road?"
"By accident. My guardian opened a letter this morning, and a piece of
paper dropped from it. I picked it up, and as I gave it to him I saw
28 Athelstan Road written on it. 'Is that where Mrs. Dowsett and
Letitia are stopping?' I asked; and he answered, 'Yes.'"
"So that it was not directly through him that you learnt the address?"
"No; but I don't see that it is of any importance."
It was not my cue to enter into an argument, therefore I did not reply
to this remark. I had gained from Carton information which, lightly as
he regarded it, I deemed of the highest importance. There was,
however, still something more which I desired to speak of, but which I
scarcely knew how to approach. After a little reflection I made a bold
plunge.
"Is your fortune under your own control?"
"Yes."
"Do you keep a large balance at your bank?"
"Pretty fair; but just now it does not amount to much. Still, if you
want any----"
"I do not want any. Am I right in conjecturing that there is a special
reason for your balance being small just now?"
"There _is_ a special reason. On Saturday morning, before I left home,
I drew a large cheque----"
"Which you gave to your guardian."
"How do you know that?" asked Carton, in a tone of surprise.
"It was but a guess. What was the amount of the cheque?"
"Two thousand pounds."
"Payable to 'order' or 'bearer'?"
"To 'bearer.' It was for two investments which Mr. Dowsett
recommended. That was the reason for the cheque being made payable to
'bearer,' to enable my guardian to pay it to two different firms. He
said both the investments would turn out splendidly, but it matters
very little to me now whether they do or not. All the money in the
world will not bring happiness to me now that my poor Lizzie is dead."
"Do you know whether your guardian cashed the cheque?"
"I do not; I haven't asked him anything about it. I could think only
of one thing."
"I can well imagine it. Thank you for answering my questions so
clearly. By and by you may know why I asked them."
These words had hardly passed my lips before Devlin, Carton, and I
were thrown violently against each other. The shock was great, but
fortunately we were not hurt. Screams of pain from adjoining carriages
proclaimed that this was not the case with other passengers. The train
was dragged with erratic force for a considerable distance, and then
came to a sudden standstill.
"We had best get out," said Devlin, who was the first to recover.
We followed the sensible advice, and, upon emerging from the carriage,
discovered that other carriages were overturned, and that the line was
blocked. Happily, despite the screams of the frightened passengers,
the injuries they had met with were slight, and when all were safely
got out we stood along the line, gazing helplessly at each other.
Devlin, however, was an exception; he was the only perfectly composed
person amongst us.
"It is unfortunate," he said, with a certain maliciousness in his
voice; "we are not half-way to Margate. The best laid schemes are
liable to come to grief. If Mr. Kenneth Dowsett knew of this, he would
rejoice."
It was with intense anxiety that I made inquiries of the guard whether
the accident would delay us long. The guard answered that he could not
say yet, but that to all appearance we should be delayed two or three
hours. I received this information with dismay. It would upon that
calculation be midnight before we reached our destination. I
considered time so precious that I would have given every shilling in
my pocket to have been at that moment in Margate.
"Take it philosophically," said Devlin, at my elbow, "and be thankful
that your bones are not broken. It will but prolong the hunt, which, I
promise you, shall in the end be successful."
I looked at him almost gratefully for this speculative crumb of
comfort, and there was real humour in the smile with which he met my
gaze.
"Behold me in another character," he said; "Devlin the Consoler. But
you have laid me under an obligation, my dear sir, which I am
endeavouring to repay. Your conversation with that unhappy young
man"--pointing to Carton, who stood at a little distance from us--"was
truly interesting. You have mistaken your vocation; you would have
made a first-class detective."
To add to the discomfiture of the situation it began to rain heavily.
I felt it would be foolish, and a waste of power, to fret and fume,
and I therefore endeavoured to profit by Devlin's advice to take it
philosophically. A number of men were now at work setting things
straight. They worked with a will, but the guard's prognostication
proved correct. It was nearly eleven o'clock before we started again,
and past midnight when we arrived at Margate. It was pitch dark, and
the furious wind drove the pelting rain into our faces.
"A wild night at sea," cried Devlin, with a kind of exultation in his
voice (though this may have been my fancy); he had to speak very loud
to make himself heard. "You can do nothing till the morning, and very
little then if the storm lasts. Do you know Margate at all?"
"No," I shouted despondently.
"Do you?" asked Devlin, addressing Carton.
"I've never been here before," replied Carton.
"There's a decent hotel not far off," said Devlin: "the Nayland Rock.
We'll knock them up, and get beds there. Cling tight to me if you
don't want your bones broken. Steady now, steady!"
We had to cling tightly to him, for we could not see a yard before us.
Devlin pulled us along, singing some strange wild song at the top of
his voice. We were a long time making those in the hotel hear us, but
the door was opened at last, and we were admitted. There was only one
vacant room in the hotel, but fortunately it contained two beds. To
this room we were conducted, and then came the question of settling
three persons in the two beds. Devlin solved the difficulty by pulling
the counterpanes off, and extending himself full length upon the
floor.
"This will do for me," he said, wrapping himself up in the
counterpanes. "I've had worse accommodation in my travels through the
world. I've slept in the bush, with the sky for a roof; I've slept in
the hollow of a tree, with wild beasts howling round me; I've slept on
billiard-tables and under them, with a thousand rats running over me
and a score of other wanderers. Good-night, comrades."
Anxiety did not keep me awake; I was tired out, and slept well. When
we arose in the morning all signs of the storm had fled. The sun was
shining brightly, and a soft warm air flowed through the open window.