THE NOBLEMAN AND THE DETECTIVE――A CONSULTATION.
In a few days after this a gentleman presented himself at the outer
gate of Broxbridge Hall, and told the porter that he desired to see
the earl upon important business.
“Show Mr. Wrench in at once,” said Lord Ethalwood to Jakyl; “of course
I want to see him.”
The detective entered, and introduced himself to the nobleman, who
desired him to be seated.
“Well, Mr. Wrench, my solicitor informs me that there is a dead lock
in this business; can nothing more be done?”
“Oh, we can do a great deal more, my lord,” observed Wrench; “but you
must acknowledge that I am furnished with such slender material, and
then there’s the lapse of time, and many other things against us.”
“Admitted――still you do not give up all hope.”
“Well, no, I’m not accustomed to do that. I am glad we have met, my
lord, for many reasons――you will, I am sure, pardon me if I am
plain-spoken.”
“Certainly, speak as openly and frankiy as possible. I desire you to
do so. Up to the present time I am free to confess we have been
baffled.”
“I have done all that man could do, but my efforts have not as yet
been crowned with success; I expect you to give me all the information
you can.”
“Certainly, that is but a just and reasonable request.”
“You will not be offended, therefore, if I inquire about one or two
little matters? Just tell me if you have any of your daughter’s
letters, which she might probably have sent here after her departure?”
“I have never seen any of them,” said Lord Ethalwood.
“That’s most important――did anybody else?”
“I gave orders to my butler to destroy them.”
“Do you think he would remember any of the postmarks?”
“I never thought of that,” exclaimed the earl, with a start.
“Probably not, but it is the very first thing that occurred to me. Did
any letters arrive?”
“That I cannot tell you.”
“Where is your butler? Is he in your service now?”
“Dear me, yes――he has never left it.”
“Will you be kind enough to summon him?”
Lord Ethalwood touched the bell. A servant entered.
“Tell Mr. Jakyl I desire to speak with him,” said his master.
In a minute or so the butler entered the library.
“Will you leave it to me to put the necessary questions?” inquired the
detective, addressing his lordship, who felt a mere child in
comparison to the sagacious officer.
“Certainly,” he answered, without hesitation.
Mr. Wrench cleared his throat, and focussed his eyes upon the smooth
and placid face of the butler.
“I have one or two questions to put to you,” said the detective. “In
the first place, did any letters arrive here from the Hon. Miss
Ethalwood after her departure from Broxbridge?”
Mr. Jakyl stood aghast――he could hardly believe that he had heard
aright.
“Did any letters arrive?” he paused, and glanced nervously at his
master.
“Go on. Answer, Jakyl, you have my permission.”
“Yes, sir; several arrived after the departure of my young mistress,
but――――”
“You were told to destroy them,” observed the detective. “Did you do
so?”
“I would rather not answer the question,” said the butler, in evident
trepidation; then, turning to Lord Ethalwood, he murmured in an under
tone――“If I have done wrong, my lord, I hope you will pardon me. I did
not destroy my young mistress’s letters.”
“A very discreet and sensible man,” ejaculated Mr. Wrench. “And pray
why did you disobey his lordship?”
“Because I hoped that at some time they might be useful.”
“You have displayed great wisdom in your course of action――you cannot
be too strongly commended, Mr. ――――. I don’t know your name.”
“Jakyl.”
“Well, Mr. Jakyl, you have acted in a very proper manner. I hope his
lordship is of my opinion.”
“I am,” returned the earl, with undisguised pleasure. “I think Jakyl
has been most prudent. To say the truth, I have always had the
greatest confidence in him.”
The butler bowed, and hardly knew how to comport himself under the
praise which was so lavished on him.
“I must tell you frankly, Mr. Jakyl,” said the detective, “that I am
engaged in instituting a rigorous search for your master’s daughter;
so if it be in your power to give me any information which may aid me
in my inquiries, it will be a boon to us all.”
“I wish I could, sir.”
“Well, not now. I don’t mean at present, but if anything occurs to
you, out with it at once.”
“I will.”
“Now, my friend, let me have the letters without further delay.”
The butler looked again at his master.
“Fetch them at once, Jakyl. You have heard what Mr. Wrench has said.
The matter is in his hands.”
The servant left the library, and in a minute or so returned with a
packet of papers tied with silk cord. He handed them to the earl, who
pushed them towards the detective, saying, as he did so――
“I have not the courage to open them just now. You can do so.”
“I will not open them,” answered Mr. Wrench; “but, with your
permission, will take a note of the postmarks and dates.”
He sorted them, placed them on the table in chronological order,
pulled out his note-book, and made entries therein. Then he closed the
book, and said――
“This looks a little more promising. I have some material now to work
upon. At your leisure, my lord, you can peruse the contents of the
epistles, and possibly there may be something which may be of service
to us in the pursuit of this inquiry.”
“I will go carefully over them when I am a little more composed,”
observed the earl.
“Good. I shall not return to London just at present, for special
reasons. I deem it expedient to remain in this neighbourhood.”
“Will you take up your quarters here?”
“No, I thank you, my lord. It would be best, I think, to put up at an
inn. There will be more chance of my picking up information in a place
of public resort. We have our own way of doing business,” observed
Wrench, with a smile.
Lord Ethalwood bowed and smiled also.
The very last thing he thought of doing was to dictate to the
sagacious officer, who, in affairs of this sort, was so much his
superior.
“From the postmarks on the letters I see your daughter and her husband
have paid a visit to several other towns besides those in which I have
made inquiries.”
“Other towns――eh?” exclaimed the earl.
“Yes, one is Sheffield and another Bradford. I shall make it my
business to visit both places. Ah! the case is not so hopeless as Mr.
Chicknell seems to imagine.”
“I am glad to hear you say so. Pray Heaven we may be successful; it
will remove a weight off my heart.”
The detective looked at the speaker and observed, quietly――
“You ought not to have let the matter go so long without ascertaining
something respecting the young people’s whereabouts.”
“Of that you must allow me to be the best judge,” said Lord Ethalwood,
with all his old pride and hauteur.
Mr. Wrench saw at once the mistake he had made in hazarding an
observation which sounded very much like a reproof.
“But you have a duty to perform, sir,” observed the earl, “and I doubt
not that you will not shrink from carrying it out to the best of your
ability.”
The detective bowed and answered in the affirmative.
He then rose and took his departure, promising his patron to wait upon
him again in a day or two.
Mr. Wrench inquired of the butler the most convenient house in the
neighbourhood for him to put up at.
Mr. Jakyl, as a matter of course, recommended him to go to the “Carved
Lion,” and he at once bent his steps in the direction of that
well-known hostelry.
Lord Ethalwood had not sufficient fortitude to open his daughter’s
letters in the presence of any one, more especially that one being a
detective.
It was a task he had reserved for another occasion.
Soon after the departure of Mr. Wrench his lordship mustered up
courage to break the seals of the epistles.
As he did so a tremour seemed to pass through his frame.
A deep sigh escaped from him as he opened the first letter. In this
the letter referred to her elopement as a playful piece of diplomacy,
never for a moment assuming that it would be deemed an unpardonable
offence by her parent.
She asked him to forgive her, and not be angry with his pet, as she
had done that which had made her happy for life.
Lord Ethalwood tossed the epistle on one side with something like
contempt or disgust.
The second letter was a little more serious in tone. In it she was
lavish in her praise of Montini, who she said was the kindest and must
considerate of husbands, he was so good, so clever――in short, there
was no one like him.
She besought her father to write, if only a few lines. She would not
and could not believe that he intended to cast her off.
“The infatuated senseless girl!” ejaculated the earl. “I never would
have believed she could have so forgotten her position in life. For
the life of me I cannot understand it.”
These two communications were followed by imploring letters, in which
she told him how hard the world was using them, and what miserable
struggles they had passed through.
But in this as in all others she spoke in the highest terms of her
husband, who she said did his best to maintain a respectable position
in the world; this was done for her sake more than his own, “and if,”
she said in conclusion, “you only knew him half as well as I do, you
would admire and esteem him; nay, more, I believe you would be proud
of him.”
“She must have taken leave of her senses,” ejaculated the earl. “The
wretched Italian must have bewitched her, the silly, senseless girl.
Oh, but all this is hard to bear!”
He remained for some time after this lost in thought.
Presently he opened another epistle.
This announced the birth of a daughter; it was, of course, a fine
child, and was, so the writer avowed, “the very image of its mother,
and was an Ethalwood,――this everyone would acknowledge upon the first
glance, and she will be named after me,” wrote the ill-fated wife.
“Some day I hope you will see the little dear, and when you do I hope
you will forgive me for your grand-daughter’s sake. She, at any rate,
has not done anything to offend you.”
“It all seems to be like a dream,” murmured the earl, as he broke the
seal of another. This came from Harrogate, and its tone was both
melancholy and despairing. Montini was dangerously ill――he was not
able to follow his avocation, and his unhappy wife implored her father
to hold out a helping hand and send them money without delay, as they
were reduced to the greatest possible extremity, and positively wanted
the common necessaries of life.
Lord Ethalwood dashed the letter down on the table, smote his forehead
with one hand, and uttered an expression indicative of the most
poignant agony.
“I never thought it would come to this,” he muttered, rising from his
seat and pacing the apartment restlessly. “Poor girl, she must indeed
have changed to beg for assistance! Oh, what would I give now to have
her here by my side, in――in the winter of my life――in my old age!”
He fell into his chair and burst out into a passionate flood of tears.
Retributive justice had overtaken the proud, uncompromising,
relentless nobleman, who cried like a child.
* * * * * * *
Mr. Wrench wended his way along till he reached the well-known house
of entertainment for man and beast, kept by the equally well-known
Brickett. The detective was not a man to make himself common by mixing
up with any knot of strangers――not unless he could make it answer his
purpose to do so――he therefore requested to be shown into a private
room, and, after partaking of some refreshment, he proceeded to glance
at the memoranda he jotted down in his notebook.
“Humph,” he murmured. “The young couple seem to have visited a good
many towns; I suppose things were running cross with them. It’s a
queer business, take it altogether, and the earl is a starchy sort of
customer, as unforgiving as the devil, and as proud as a peacock.
Well, I wouldn’t change places with him for all his wealth and title.
He’s what I call a stunner. No two ways about him. But ‘he’s down
among the dead men’ this time, it would appear――is what our
Transatlantic friends would call ‘cornered.’ I must find out all about
his daughter for him, that’s certain――that is, if it be possible. The
question is, how it is to be accomplished.”
Not being able to answer this question with anything like satisfaction
to himself, Mr. Wrench lighted a cigar, rang the bell, and ordered
some brandy cold.
He had not indulged in many puffs at the “fragrant weed” before
Brickett made his appearance.
“Oh, your pardon, sir,” said the landlord; “but be your name Wrench?”
“Yes, my friend, it be.”
“A servant from the hall wishes to speak with you.”
“Let him come up then.”
Henry Adolphus made his appearance.
“His lordship told me to call and see if you were comfortable ’ere, as
if not a bed will be provided for you at the hall.”
“I’m all right, my man. Shall do very well here. Give my respects to
his lordship, and say that I am quite comfortable. Anything else?”
“No; I b’leve that is hall.”
Henry Adolphus retired.
The sounds of music and merriment in the parlour reached the ears of
the detective.
“You appear to have a merry set of people below,” said he to Brickett.
“Yes, sir, they enjoy themselves in their own way.”
“Somebody’s playing the violin.”
“Yes; it’s a gentleman who’s stopping here for a short time, and he
generally gives my parlour customers a tune or two after working
hours――after the day’s work is over.”
“He does not handle the instrument badly. Is he a professional?”
“Well, partly so, I believe. He is in the frame and picture line of
business――a traveller.”
“Ah, indeed! A traveller, a picture dealer, and musician all in
one――he’s a good sort.”
“Yes, he’s a very good sort――there aint much doubt of that; has seen a
deal of the world, and has visited pretty well every town in the three
counties.”
“Oh! is that so?”
“Would you like to go downstairs into the public room?” inquired the
landlord.
“Not now, I thank you――some other evening perhaps. Did I understand
you to say that this violinist and picture-frame maker was stopping
here?”
“He is for the present, until his orders are completed. Why, Lord
bless us, he’s done wonders at the Hall, and has been highly
complimented by Lord Ethalwood himself.”
Brickett now put his customer in possession of all the facts relative
to the restoration of the decayed portrait of his lordship’s great
ancestor.
“Ah, he must be a smartish sort of chap. Thank you,” observed the
detective, who very shortly after the foregoing conversation was
conducted to his bedroom.
In the morning he was shown into the clubroom where breakfast was
served. Peace was partaking of his morning meal.
The detective bowed and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He
looked at our hero with evident curiosity, but did not remember to
have seen him before.
During breakfast the two conversed upon several topics, which were
however not of a personal nature.
Peace did not know who his companion was; neither did he take the
trouble to inquire. He concluded he was some commercial man who had
rested there for the night, and the probability was that he should not
see any more of him.
In this, however, he was mistaken.
Our hero went to his workshop, and Mr. Wrench remained behind.
He reflected for some little time, and then rose from his chair and
went downstairs.
Brickett as usual was behind the bar.
“Is that the violinist and picture dealer――the one I had breakfast
with?” he inquired.
“Aye, surely that be he.”
“He’s a sharp customer, a downy sort of card――isn’t he?” said Mr.
Wrench.
“He’s got his head screwed on the right way if that’s what you mean,”
returned the landlord, a little sharply.
“Yes, that’s precisely what I do mean. Where does he hail from?”
“Hail from? I dunno.”
“He’s been travelling about the country, you say?”
“That ’im has――been to every mortal place, so I’ve heerd.”
“Ah, just so. Where is he to be found now?”
“Found! He works in Dennett’s-lane.”
“And where is that?”
“Not a quarter of a mile from here. Why?”
“I will give him a call. What might be his name?”
“Peace――Charles Peace. Be you going to call on ’im now?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll show ’ee where his place is.”
The landlord went to the door of the house, and pointed out the lane
in question to his customer.
“There at the further end of that,” said he, “you will find a wooden
shed, and in that you will see ’im at work.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Wrench, who at once proceeded in the direction
pointed out by his host.