had spoken.
After Laura had partaken of a substantial breakfast, which, to say the
truth, she did ample justice to, she began to consider how she could
get to the station.
It was so remarkably early――not six o’clock――that the chances were
that she might be able to make a clean run of it and get clear off
before the myrmidons of the law were abroard hunting for their prey.
“I wish I could meet with a conveyance, madam,” said Laura, addressing
herself to her elder companion. “It is essential that I should be in
town as early as possible, but I cannot at present see how it is to be
compassed.”
“Not unless you’ll consent to ride in a milk cart,” returned the
other.
“In a milk cart! Goodness me, I shall be but too delighted. What
matters it what sort of vehicle?”
“Well then, I tell ee what ee can do, if ye’re amind, and don’t care
about it. In less than a quarter of an hour Nat will start w’ the milk
to the station, and he can take you with un.”
“Oh, my dear lady, I am so much obliged by this offer! In a quarter of
an hour, say you?”
“Aye, surely. It be better nor nine miles. And if so be as ye are in a
hurry――”
“I am in a great hurry.”
“Well, then, it ’ud take a goodish while to walk――at least it would
me. My health ain’t so good as what it yused to be, nor my legs
either, for the matter of that, but ye be strong and lithe of limb,
but still it be too far for ee to walk, so ee’d better go wi’ Nat.
As she spoke these last words a raw-boned lad of about eighteen thrust
his shock head in at the doorway.
“Oh, here be Nat,” cried, the old lady; “so that be all right. Now,
lad, you’re going to ha’ coompany to the station.”
“Coompany!” repeated the lad. “Who be it, missus?”
“This lady. I know you’re fond of the ladies.”
The lad blushed up to the roots of his hair, and went his way without
further ado.
“Don’t care about taking me, I fancy,” said Laura.
“Not care! he’s but too delighted. Don’t ee mind him lass, that’s his
way――he’s rather sheepish and queer wi’ strangers. Oh he’ll tek ee
right enough. Here, Nat――Nat, I say, aint ee got yer ears this
morning, or ha’ ee left em behind ee? Coom here, lad.”
The lad came into the room.
“Now, look here, you’ve got to tek this leddy to the station――so mind
ee drive careful and don’t get the wheels into the ruts any more than
you can help. Do ee understand?”
“Yes, missus,” said the yokel, scratching his head; “I’ll be very
careful.”
“Good lad. The leddy wants to get to the station as soon as possible.
Is the horse put to?”
“Yes, and the milk is in the cart, but yer see, missus, it beant much
of a trap――I mean there aint much room to spare. I wish I’d a better
turn out, ’taint good enough for the loikes of un.” This was said in a
whisper, but Miss Stanbridge heard every word.
“I am quite content,” said she, addressing herself to the lad. “Nobody
knows me hereabouts. If we had to travel through the streets of
London, it would be a different matter, you know.”
In a minute or so after this the milk cart was at the door of the
farmhouse, and Laura, who had gone upstairs to arrange her hair, and
to make something like a rude toilette, quickly descended, and after
thanking her hostess and wishing her farewell, stepped into the cart
and sat herself beside the lad.
“Be careful, be very careful, and mind the ruts,” was the last
injunction his mistress gave him as he drove off.
“Now for it,” murmured Miss Stanbridge. “If we should chance to run
across any of the warders I am lost. But the probability is that they
won’t any of them be about thus early. They never are in places where
they are wanted. Not that I want to see any of their ugly visages.
Anyway there’s no help for it now. I must take my chance as many have
done before me under similar circumstances.”
The road to the station was evidently not much frequented; for some
considerable time after the horse and cart had left the farmhouse not
a solitary passenger or vehicle met the eyes of either Nat or Miss
Stanbridge.
So far all went on well.
“Not many vehicles about it would seem,” observed the latter.
“No, not many. Seldom is at this time. Ye see it’s a cross road, and
people doesn’t care about driving over it, except them as is obliged,
and there beant many of those. It be very lonely by night though.”
“So I should imagine, but it’s a bright beautiful morning, and the
birds are singing so gaily, I wish I could live in the country instead
of London.”
“Ah, I dessay ye do, marm, but may be ye’d get tired of it after a
bit.”
“I think not. Don’t you like it?”
“Ah, ah,” said the lad, with a loud guffaw, “I loike Lunnon. There
beant any place loike Lunnon to my thinking.”
“Ah, well, it is of course all a matter of taste, and I suppose we
most of us like any place better than the one we are in.”
Miss Stanbridge did not force the conversation beyond reasonable
bounds, but she thought it quite as well to be on familiar and
friendly terms with the farmer’s boy, who was as good-natured as he
was unsophisticated; so they continued to chat familiarly until the
station was reached.
Then alighting from the vehicle, she put half-a-crown in the lad’s
hand, which seemed to have a marvellous effect on him.
At first he obstinately refused to accept the gratuity, but Laura was
equally obstinate in forcing it upon him.
He was profuse in his thanks, and when he returned to the farmhouse he
declared his fellow-passenger to be a perfect “leddy.”
Miss Stanbridge took a first-class ticket for London, and then went
into the ladies’ waiting-room, where she remained till the train was
upon the point of starting.
She succeeded in reaching the metropolis in safety.
After paying a short visit to her house in the neighbourhood of
Regent-street, and assuring her maid that she was a good deal better
for her trip into the country, she set off for the Evalina-road.
She found Charles Peace at home; the time had not arrived for him to
sally forth upon his depredating excursions, and he was busily
occupied with his mechanical inventions.
“What, Lorrie!” he ejaculated, upon catching sight of his visitor.
“Well, I am staggered! What’s up? No true bill found, or what?”
“I didn’t wait for the grand jury, old man,” returned Laura, indulging
in a loud laugh.
“Didn’t wait――eh?” returned Peace, looking at the speaker from over
his spectacles.
“No, Charlie. Gave ’em the slip, my boy. Ah, it’s been a lesson to me.
I’ll take good care never to be caught on the same hook. It’s been a
hard fight, but I’ve won, and now――――”
“Well, and now, old girl――what now?”
“It won’t do for me to remain in London.”
“Oh, that’s it――eh?”
“Well, you know, they’ll be on the look-out, and to remain at my old
quarters would be too risky.”
“I don’t know so much about that. Lord bless ye, Lorrie, those
fellows’ heads are as thick as a skittleball. If you’ve got clean
off――which it’s pretty certain you have, seeing that you are here safe
and sound and looking better than ever for your――ahem――country
trip――you’ve no cause to fear. Aint the blokes after me, and haven’t I
dodged them to rights?”
“Ah, but I’m not a Charles Peace.”
“Hush, silence!” cried our hero in a tone of alarm, placing his hand
before the mouth of the speaker. Then in a tone more serious he added,
“Drop that name for ever more. Drop it――as you love me do this. I am
Mr. Thompson. Didn’t Bill tell you this?”
“I beg ten thousand pardons! Of course he did. What a donkey I am, to
be sure! I am not as a rule so incautious, Thompson,” said she,
emphasising the last word.
“Enough. Say no more about it, then. But don’t forget.”
“I will not.”
Laura Stanbridge now put him in possession of all the circumstances
which took place respecting her escape, and wound up by thanking him
most heartily for his kindness.
“Oh, bother that,” said our hero; “Bill’s behaved like a trump card,
which to say the truth he is. Why, Laura, I’d trust him with my life;
and if you have gratitude towards anyone it should be shown to him.”
“I shall never forget his kindness――never!” ejaculated Laura. “He’s
worth his weight in gold. Indeed, I could never have believed it
possible he had so much goodness in him if I had not had such
unmistakeable proof of it. But I shan’t remain in London, though; so
before I go I will return you the money you were kind enough to send
me.”
“Any time will do for that; I am not in want of it.”
“No time like the present; so here you are, Thompson.”
She drew from her purse notes for the amount, and handed them to her
companion.
“Oh, if you are so beastly particular, so be it, then,” observed
Peace, taking them from her and pocketing them.
“There’s an end of that, then,” said he. “Well, I’m as pleased as
Punch to see you once more free. Why it’s the first time you’ve been
in gaol――aint it?”
“Yes, the very first, and I hope, Thompson, it will be the last.”
“I hope so, I’m sure,” returned Peace, in a sanctimonious tone and
manner, which would have done credit to a Dissenting minister.
Miss Stanbridge stopped for some little time. After this she was
introduced to the two ladies of the establishment, but, of course, not
a word was said either by herself or our hero upon past circumstances
or the nature of her connection with Peace. The women had to be kept
in the dark as much as possible, and certainly their lord and master
contrived somehow or other to throw dust in their eyes, which, all
things considered, must be deemed almost marvellous to all reasonable
persons. But Peace was a wonder in many ways, this being by no means
the least remarkable trait in his diversified character.
Laura Stanbridge, as we have already seen, knew very well how to make
herself agreeable, and her two female companions declared, after she
had left the house in the Evalina-road, that she was a most delightful
woman――a declaration which we don’t expect any of our readers will
endorse.
CHAPTER CXXII.
THE TRIAL OF THE DETECTIVES――PEACE’S VISIT TO BOW-STREET.
Although Charles Peace was what is termed playing a game of
hide-and-seek, and to play this game effectually it is usually deemed
advisable to court publicity as little as possible, Mr. Thompson――as
he called himself――did not choose to pursue this course of action. He
went abroad, and paid frequent visits to places of public resort, and
was as self-possessed and confident as if he had no oppressive weight
on his conscience, no heinous crimes to answer for. In point of fact,
he assumed all the airs and graces of a man who had done nothing but
meritorious acts throughout his life.
It was at this time that the town was startled by the extraordinary
detective case in which the convicts Kurr and Benson played so
conspicuous a part. The confidence of the public was suddenly shaken
in the whole system of the detective department of this country, and
it was only after an overwhelming weight of evidence had been brought
forward, that they could give credence to the startling revelations of
bribery and corruption practised by Kurr and his accomplices upon paid
officers of the Crown. Far be it from us to stigmatise the whole force
as corrupt and unreliable. There are doubtless many good men, many
intelligent, active, and praiseworthy officers to be found, but the
machinery appears to be too cumbersome to be put in motion with
sufficient rapidity to be of much service in cases of murder or
manslaughter. We have alluded to this in a previous chapter, and since
that was written, events have occurred which strengthen us in our
opinion.
The Scotland-yard detective department is, and has been for years
past, miserably inefficient in tracing out the perpetrators of the
heinous crime of murder, and we are convinced that, sooner or later,
it will be requisite, for justice sake, as well as for the safety of
the public at large, that some better organised body of men will have
to be formed to meet this crying evil.
Murders are rife in the land, and it is perfectly appalling the number
of murderers who escape the strong arm of the law, which of late seems
to be almost paralysed in dealing with crimes of this nature.
Charles Peace had read in the papers the report of the first inquiry
into the charge made against the four detectives. He was greatly
interested in the case, for, said he, with a sort of chuckle――
“I think I ought to know something about chaps of that kidney. I’ve
dodged ’em a good many times, and when it answered my purpose I’ve
bribed them; but this I only did when my dodgery failed. I’ll go and
have a squint at these beauties when they come up for their next
examination.”
“I’m sure I’d do nothing of the sort, if I were you,” observed his
wife. “What good can it do you? Talk about women’s curiosity, why it’s
nothing in comparison to yours.”
“Mind your own business, you fool,” answered Peace sharply. “Leave me
to be the best judge of my own actions.”
“Oh, well, I’ve done. You know best, I suppose. I only made the remark
for your own good. I shouldn’t have thought you had any desire to be
seen in Bow-street Police-court.”
“I have a desire, and that’s sufficient. I’m as safe there as I am
here. More so, perhaps.”
It may, and doubtless it does, appear singular that Peace should have
had any desire to disport himself in the court referred to, but it is,
nevertheless, a fact, he was present at one of the examinations of the
detectives, and this has since been proved beyond all question.
The court was crowded almost to suffocation when the detective case
came on, and Peace had the greatest difficulty in elbowing his way in.
The Bow-street court, as most of our readers know, is miserably small,
and inconvenient. As far as the public is concerned it could not very
well be worse in the way of accommodation. It has for years been
acknowledged to be ill adapted for the purpose for which it was
constructed.
Peace found this out. He was a little man, and behind him was a man of
elephantine dimensions, who kept bearing the greater portion of his
weight on his shoulders.
“I wish you’d not press on me in this manner,” said our hero to his
tormentor.
“I can’t help it, the people are shoving behind. Don’t blame me.”
“Order! Silence in the court!” cried the usher.
“But I’m half stifled,” observed Peace. “Can’t you make room for me
somewhere?”
“No, every place is occupied.”
“If you don’t like it go out,” said the big man.
Peace, who was dressed in a suit of black, with his silver spectacles
on his nose, and looked a mild meek old gentleman of the Pickwickian
order, again remonstrated in a soft gentle voice.
“What’s the matter?” inquired a stout-built good-natured looking man,
as he elbowed his way through the throng.
“Old gentleman’s hardly pressed, and can scarcely breathe,” answered
one of the persons in the rear, and who evidently commiserated our
hero’s situation.
The stout person, who seemed to be dressed in a little brief
authority, touched Peace on the shoulder, and said in a whisper――
“Follow me――this way.”
Peace, nothing loth, did as he was bid.
He was taken by his conductor from the body of the court and passed in
to that portion of it where the lawyers, barristers, and other persons
of a nondescript order thread their way. Here he was comparatively
comfortable――that is, as comfortable as it is possible to be in this
precious sample of a court of justice, which is, perhaps, not saying
much.
His conductor stood by his side on the same platform.
“I don’t know how to thank you sufficiently for this act of kindness,”
observed our hero.
“Don’t mention it, sir, I beg,” returned the gentleman, who, if the
truth must be told, had mistaken Peace for another and more exalted
person.
Presently the four detectives――Meiklejohn, Druscovich, Palmer, and
Clarke――were brought in. They took up their stations, and were joined
by Mr. Froggatt the solicitor. Mr. Poland proceeded to state the case.
After he had concluded, Mr. Superintendent Williamson was called.
It will be needless for us to give a detailed account of the
proceedings, as the result has long since been patent to everybody. It
will suffice for our purpose to note that Peace became on friendly and
familiar terms with the gentleman who had been of such service to him.
They conversed freely during the day’s examination, and when the court
rose Peace asked his companion to have a glass of wine.
“Well,” observed the latter, “I don’t mind if I do; but I’ve not as
yet dined.”
“Nor have I,” said Peace; “are you going to have your dinner in the
neighbourhood?”
“Yes,” was the ready response.
“Well, so am I. Suppose we dine together somewhere.”
“Yes, I’ll do so with the greatest pleasure.”
They adjourned to a neighbouring tavern, where they met a friend of
Peace’s companion, whom the latter introduced as a Mr. Shearman, who,
it is perhaps needless to mention, was the American detective who had
the charge against Doctor Bourne in hand.
Shearman had come over again to this country to “pot,” as he expressed
it, a runaway Yankee, who was charged with frauds on an extensive
scale.
“Mr. Shearman,” said the gentleman, addressing himself to Peace;
“pardon me, but I don’t know your name. I took you for Mr. Belmore,
whom I have the honour of knowing.”
“My name is Thompson,” said Peace; “and I am most proud to have made
your acquaintance. I will, with your permission, show you a rough
draft of an invention of mine.”
He drew from his pocket a drawing of his apparatus for raising sunken
ships.
His two companions inspected it, and said it appeared to them to be a
most admirable contrivance. This declaration was succeeded by a long
discussion upon its merits, and soon after this dinner was served,
upon which the three gentlemen sat down.
Peace had not the faintest notion at this time that he was hob-nobbing
with two detectives, and it was fortunate for him that Mr. Wrench did
not put in an appearance at this juncture.
“Wal,” said Shearman, “how goes the case? Ugly against the prisoners?”
“Most remarkably strong against them,” returned Mr. Cartridge, Peace’s
friend.
“I guessed as much. Wal, it’s a scandal to your country――a great
scandal,” observed Shearman.
“Oh, everybody must admit that, sir,” returned Peace. “For my own
part, I can’t see any excuse for these men. They were well paid,
would, on retiring, be entitled to pensions, and yet they must aid and
abet dishonest persons like Kurr and Benson.”
“That is if they have done so,” said Mr. Cartridge.
“Do you doubt it after what we have heard to-day?” inquired Peace.
“I should be sorry to prejudge the case; still, as I before observed,
it looks ugly――that I readily admit. It is possible, however, that
they may be able to produce some rebutting evidence on the trial,
which will materially alter the complexion of the case. One never
knows what may take place, for it has been often said that truth lies
at the bottom of a well.”
When the dinner had been dispatched Peace called for the bill, which
he insisted on paying, alleging, as an excuse, that he had invited the
other two to dine with him.
They both protested against this, but Peace, who was in a liberal
mood, would have his own way, and a compromise was therefore effected
by the other two being allowed to pay for wine and cigars.
In the course of conversation Peace discovered that he was passing a
pleasant hour or so with detectives.
He was a little disconcerted when he ascertained this, but there was
now no help for it――so he put a bold face upon the matter, but was at
the same time more guarded in his conversation.
Mr. Shearman, as heretofore, told one of his stories about his own
exploits in America, and Mr. Cartridge, not to be outdone, narrated
the following case of mistaken identity, which for the reader’s
behoof, seeing that it is possessed of considerable interest, we print
_in extenso_.
CHAPTER CXXIII.
MISTAKEN IDENTITY.
“I felt convinced,” said Mr. Cartridge, “that I had got the right man,
for all the facts that had come to my knowledge were dead against him,
but I am free to confess that there were others who were of a
different opinion. I will just give you a circumstantial account view
of the case.
“‘Send for his friends?’ I repeated, in reply to a question put to me
by the inspector of a police-station at which I happened to be; ‘oh,
yes. I see no reason to refuse his request, but I think you are fully
justified in not admitting him to bail.’
“The prisoner in question was a tall, fair man, of gentlemanly
appearance, who seemed to feel his position acutely. He had lately
been brought in on a singular charge of skittle-sharping.
“The prosecutor, a simple-looking countryman, deposed that he had met
the prisoner three days before in Westminster, with two other men, and
was by them solicited to have something to drink.
“After his compliance, a game of skittles was proposed. Bets were
made, and he was ingeniously robbed of eighty pounds in gold and
notes.
“The whole of the gang on that occasion made their escape; but the
prosecutor met the prisoner while walking in the Strand, and
recognising him at once, gave him into the custody of the first police
officer he saw.
“The prisoner vehemently protested his innocence, and in no measured
terms declared that he was the victim of a mistake.
“He gave the name of Joseph Halliday, and gave a respectable address,
which we afterwards found was a correct one; described himself as a
civil engineer, and said that he was the scapegoat of the prosecutor’s
stupidity.
“It was the early part of the afternoon, but the business of the court
that day not being very heavy, the magistrate had finished his work
and gone home; so that Mr. Halliday would have to remain a prisoner
until the next day, even if he were able to prove his innocence in an
incontestable manner.
“We were accustomed to see respectable men――that is, externally
respectable――brought into the station on charges of skittle-sharping;
and so Mr. Halliday’s decent exterior did not impress me in his favour
in the least.
“He appeared greatly distressed, and said repeatedly, as the charge
was being taken, that he was innocent. His manner had the appearance
of being genuine; but I never allowed appearances to have any weight
with me.
“Some of the rascals who infest the streets and plunder the simple are
such clever actors that if they were not incorrigibly idle, they would
make a decent living upon the stage.
“I suggested to the inspector that it might be a case of mistaken
identity; and, in order to set the question at rest, it would be
better to send for the landlord and barman of the ‘Duke’s Head,’ which
was the name of the public-house in which the swindle had been
perpetrated.
“The prisoner evinced the utmost signs of joy and exultation when he
heard this proposal; and the prosecutor made no objection, saying that
he was sure their testimony would bear out the charges he had just
made against Joseph Halliday.
“Accordingly messengers were dispatched to the ‘Duke’s Head,’
requesting the immediate attendance of the landlord and his barman. In
the meantime the prisoner was conveyed into the yard of the
station-house and placed in a row with nine other men.
“It was intended that the witnesses we had sent for should identify
the prisoner from amongst a number of others.
“When they arrived, the landlord of the ‘Duke’s Head’ requested to be
told why he had been summoned.
“‘A case of skittle-sharping,’ replied the inspector, ‘took place in
your house three days ago. Would you remember the three men who hired
your skittle-ground for the best part of the afternoon?’
“‘Perfectly,’ replied the landlord; ‘there were four altogether, and
this gentleman’ (turning to the prosecutor) ‘was one of them.’
“‘You are quite right; but he is the victim of the three rogues. We
imagine that we have one of them in custody. He is amongst some others
in the back yard. If your memory serves you, you will have no
difficulty in selecting him from his companions.’
“‘I don’t think I shall have the least trouble. I have a distinct
recollection of the whole party,’ replied the landlord, following
myself and the inspector to the yard.
“The barman we left behind; his turn was to come next.
“It must have been a moment of intense anxiety to Mr. Halliday.
“I was a little curious as to the result, and looked on with
expectation.
“The court-yard was a narrow piece of ground, in which men were
drilled occasionally. It was covered with gravel and surrounded by a
high wall, which, however, in no way obstructed the light, which fell
in a bright stream upon the men, who were marshalled in single file,
to await the scrutiny of the landlord, who took a critical survey of
them, and, without a moment’s hesitation, went up to Mr. Joseph
Halliday, and touching him on the shoulder, exclaimed, ‘this is the
man.’
“A shudder of repulsion ran through the prisoner’s frame, and he
turned ghastly pale. I thought he would have fallen. The inspector
smiled, and said, ‘An old hand, evidently.’”
“Oh, they generally come to that conclusion in most cases――do they
not?” observed Peace.
“Well, I don’t know that they do, sir,” returned Mr. Cartridge; “but
you know we have such a number of shocking characters under our hands,
that it is, after all, but a natural conclusion. But I will proceed
with my narrative:”
“‘Oh! I knew him again in an instant,’ exclaimed the landlord, who
went back again with the inspector to allow the barman to commence his
investigation.
“A tin cup stood under a tap, and seeing the prisoner looked faint and
ill, I filled it with water, and presented it to him.
“He drank off the contents at a draught, and regarded me gratefully.
“‘You are very kind,’ he murmured, in a low tone.
“There was something in his voice that interested me――something quiet
and gentle; but the evidence against him was so strong and damning,
that I could not bring myself to regard him favourably, or look upon
him as the victim of a mistake.
“Presently the barman made his appearance; he seemed an intelligent
fellow, possessed of powers of discrimination.
“He walked along the yard and looked steadily at the men who were
grouped together for his inspection, and stopped abruptly when he came
to Mr. Halliday.
“‘This is the one,’ he said, triumphantly. ‘I could tell him amongst a
thousand.’
[Sidenote: No. 64.]
[Illustration: PEACE DESCRIBING TO THE TWO DETECTIVES HIS PLAN FOR
RAISING SUNKEN VESSELS.]
“The slender hope which had hitherto animated the prisoner now
deserted him, and he fell on the ground in a heap, insensible. It was
a terrible ordeal for him to have gone through, if innocent. Stepping
up to the inspector, I said, ‘This is a remarkable case; but although
the evidence seems against him, it is odd――isn’t it?――that he should
take on so.’
“‘I don’t know. These fellows are up to as many dodges as there are
days in the year. He must take his chance. He’ll have a fair trial
to-morrow. Perhaps he can prove an alibi. If you take an interest in
him you can talk to him. I won’t lock him up again till you’ve done
your little bit of palaver.’
“Thanking the inspector, I returned to Mr. Halliday, and was glad to
see that he showed signs of returning animation. Some good Samaritan
had sprinkled his face with water, and he had opened his eyes.
“By my orders, he was accommodated with a chair, and when he was
sufficiently recovered I began a conversation with him.
“‘Do you still persist in saying that you are the victim of a mistake,
Mr. Halliday?’ I exclaimed.
“‘Most certainly I do,’ he replied, earnestly. ‘Some one must have a
strong and fatal resemblance to me.’
“‘Will you tell me how you spent your time on the day of the alleged
robbery?’
“‘With pleasure,’ he answered; ‘but, I presume――excuse my asking the
question――that I am talking to some one connected with the police.’
“‘I am a detective, and in my professional capacity may be of service
to you.’
“‘You are very good, and I esteem myself fortunate in having met with
you. In the first place, I must tell you that I am a civil engineer by
profession, and tolerably well known to people who move in scientific
circles. On the day in question, when the man who gave me in charge
was robbed and plundered, I was attending a meeting at Muswell-hill
and giving evidence as to the advisability of extended sewerage in the
vicinity before the Muswell-hill Board of Works. The solicitors to the
Board will prove it. The members of the Board will prove it.’
“‘Very good, so far,’ I replied. ‘Leave your case in my hands and make
yourself easy as to the result. I shall, with your permission,
instruct Mr. Sea, one of the cleverest practising barristers we have
in cases of this kind, to defend you when brought before the court
to-morrow morning, and to ask for a remand. You must put up with the
worry and annoyance of imprisonment for a few days. Bring all your
philosophy to your aid, and I will see if I cannot unravel this
tangled skein. By the way, I should like to ask you one thing.’
“‘As many as you like,’ he replied readily.
“‘Does any of your family resemble you in any way? Have you ever been
taken for any one else on a previous occasion?’
“‘Some years ago,’ he replied, thoughtfully, ‘my twin-brother was
alive, and you would not have known us from one another――we were
veritable Dromios.’
“‘Is he dead now?’
“‘I am sorry to say he is. We were much attached to each other, but he
was of a roving disposition and would never stick to anything. I
started him in several professions, but he always repaid my kindness
by ingratitude, which is hard to bear from a relation. At length, on
my refusing to assist him any longer, he ran away to sea, and the ship
in which he sailed was subsequently wrecked on a voyage to Malaga.’
“‘Oh!’ I said, with a prolonged exclamation; I began to see my way a
little clearer.
“Wishing Mr. Halliday good-bye, I left the station-house to commence
operations. If what the prisoner said about his being in attendance
upon the Muswell-hill Board of Works at the very time at which he was
accused of being at an obscure pot-house in Westminster, in company
with two other men not in custody, to defraud a simple-minded
countryman of his money, the case was at an end. I at once left a
retainer for Mr. Sea and engaged his services for Mr. Joseph Halliday
on the morrow.
“I had a shrewd suspicion that I was about to embark in the
investigation of one of the strangest cases of mistaken identity that
had ever been heard of; nor was I mistaken, as after events tended to
prove.
“I was acquainted with a man of the name of Pegon――a Frenchman――who
had, it was popularly believed, been a thief in his own country,
although he might have left France through political motives.
“On arriving in England he had taken service in the police force, and
evinced such wonderful dexterity in tracking criminals that he
speedily became one of our most valued detectives.
“The old saying――set a thief to catch a thief――was, admitting the
reports about Pegon to be true, never better exemplified than in the
person of the dapper little Gaul. He was not a proficient in the
English language; he talked it in a half-broken sort of way, rather
amusing than otherwise. It was to Pegon that I betook myself after
leaving Mr. Sea’s office.
“I found him at his favourite public-house――the ‘Three Spies.’ He was
seldom at home, and when not on business he could always be discovered
at the before-mentioned tavern or else at the Welsh ambassador’s――the
‘Goat in Boots.’
“Pegon had probably a greater acquaintance with the skittle-sharping
fraternity than any other man in London.
“He knew them all, and when they occasionally took a trip into the
country Pegon would miss the familiar face, find out where he was
gone, and telegraph to the police of Birmingham, Manchester, or
Liverpool, and they would exercise such a strict look-out that their
vigilance would soon drive the sharper back to his old haunts and
associates.
“When Pegon met him on his return, he would smile sardonically and
say――
“‘Back again――eh? Change of air is goot for your ’elth;’ and his mouth
would distend itself into a broad grin.
“It was rumoured that Pegon was occasionally heavily bribed by the
thieves to allow them to remain unmolested; but his superiors took no
notice of this scandal, as they always found him an active and
intelligent officer; and if a man was wanted particularly, and Pegon
was applied to for his apprehension, he was almost always forthcoming
at a specified time. Pegon was sitting in the parlour of the ‘Three
Spies,’ smoking contentedly, and drinking out of a pewter pot, which
contained nothing stronger than the best old and mild ale. He rose
when he saw me, and exclaimed, in a genial tone――
“‘Ah, sir, it ees you! How you carry yourself? Sit down――’ere is a
chair.’
“Taking out his handkerchief, with true politeness, he dusted the
bottom of it, and handed it to me.
“‘Good morning, Pegon,’ I said; ‘I have come to consult you on a
matter of some importance.’
“‘Yaes――yaes.’
“‘Three days ago a countryman was robbed by a skittle sharper at the
‘Duke’s Head,’ in Westminster.’
“‘Yaes,’ said Pegon, concentrating his attention on what I was saying.
“‘To-day a gentleman was arrested on suspicion of being concerned in
the robbery. The barman and the landlord swore that he was one of the
men.’
“‘Ah,’ said Pegon, ‘that is strange――ver strange.’
“‘Have you heard of the robbery?’
“‘No, but I have my suspicions; my good friend Toko, and my dear
friend Donnymore have been ver flush of their money, and I
suspect――――’
“‘Who is Donnymore?’ I ventured to ask.
“‘Donnymore! oh, he ver goot fellow, Donnymore, but he go leetle too
far.’
“‘In what way?’
“‘I shall tell you,’ replied Pegon.
“‘Donnymore he come to my ’ouse, and he drinking my wine, but that is
noting――oh, no, noting. You must know I need to pay Donnymore when I
first com to England to show me thing or two I not know much, and
Donnymore he shows me the places where thieves go, and give me hint
now and then; but Donnymore he ver goot fellow, only he go little too
far――just little bit too far. One day he com to my ’ouse and he
drinking my wine and smoking my tabac, but that is noting――oh,
noting――but he go to drawer, and he steal my stocking――oh, Donnymore,
he ver goot fellow, but he go leetle, leetle too far.’
“‘Your stocking,’ I said; ‘that was not very valuable, I should
think.’
“‘Oh, be Gar! it was. I keep all my money in my stocking. Thirty,
forty, fifty, hundred pound! Oh, Donnymore, he ver goot fellow; but by
Gar, he got leetle too far.’
“‘So you think Donnymore had a hand in this robbery?’ I said, laughing
at the Frenchman’s story.
“‘I be dam well sure,’ replied Pegon, slapping his fist on the table.
‘I say to myself, aha, Donnymore, my boy, you have been at your old
games again. More stocking, eh? Donny more, take care, sare, you do
not go leetle too far.’
“‘Who is Toko?’ I asked.
“‘Toko! he Donnymore’s pal. They stand in always.’
“‘And the third, do you know him? I believe these fellows always work
in gangs.’
“‘Oh, certainement! It most be! Let me see. It most be Fon Beest, the
German. I know him. Oh! he is crafty, like one English fox――yaes, I
say so!’
“Von Beest I had heard of as a clever German thief, who had once been
imprisoned for two years for a daring burglary in Oxford-street.
“‘What do you know about Toko?’
“‘Toko! he is what you say new mans almost; he has not been here ’bove
year and half. He is sailor or something; he look like gentleman, and
knows how to talk, and Donnymore he make him decoy. Oh, leave
Donnymore alone. I have met him before to-day. Yaes, I know Donnymore;
he ver goot fellow, but he go leetle too far, just leetle bit too
far.’
“And as the little Frenchman recalled his grievances, he pulled away
somewhat vigorously at his pipe, and looked at the sanded floor as if
the reminiscence of the gold-laden stocking was painful to talk about.
“After a pause of a minute, he said, ‘Oh, yaes! I know Donnymore!’ and
then he chuckled as if he contemplated revenge.
“‘Where could you find Donnymore and his associates?’ I asked.
“‘I say,’ asked the astute little Frenchman, ‘is there reward
offered?’
“‘No,’ I replied; ‘but Mr. Halliday, the gentleman I was speaking of,
who is in custody, is well off, and will, I have no doubt, make a
couple of days’ work worth our while.’
“‘_Bien!_ that is goot. I like to be on ze square, you know. You vash
humbug, I vash humbug, we all vash humbug. _Tiens!_ you shall hear.
Donnymore, Toko, Fon Beest all stay now at the “Crown,” King-street,
Seven Dials. I have my eye on all of them _toujours_. I am
father――they are my children.’
“‘Let us go, then, and reconnoitre; I want to see if this man Toko
resembles Mr. Halliday in any way; if so, the mystery is cleared up at
once.’
“‘Of coarse it is. Well, we will go. I can spot them. I shall not
touch Donnymore, I think, for Donnymore he ver goot fellow; but he go
leetle too far――just leetle bit too far. Donnymore and me were pals
once, _confrères_. You shall have Toko and Fon Beest, but Donnymore he
shall shake loose leg a little longer. Vat you say to that, sare?’
“‘I have no objection,’ I replied. ‘I only want Toko.’
“‘_Bon!_ You shall have Toko, and I will be liberal――I will throw Fon
Beest into the bargain.’
“We shook hands in order to cement the bargain; and leaving the ‘Three
Spies,’ we wended our way to the Seven Dials, and entered the ‘Crown.’
It was filled with thieves and loose women, their companions. Pegon
perceived no trace of the trio we were in search of. Coming near, he
said: ‘_Attendez!_ they are _en haut_.’
“On ascending the stairs, we found ourselves in a spacious room, in
which singing was going on. It was long and narrow, with a stage at
one end, and a succession of tables on each side, with a passage up
the middle for ingress and egress, very much after the manner of the
cafes chantants in the Palais Royal. The room was tolerably well
filled.
“A man who threw himself into the most awful contortions and
impossible attitudes, attired in a suit of clothes of a check
pattern――something like Mr. Leech’s caricature of Mr. Briggs when his
mind is on hunting intent――was lilting a ditty respecting ‘Sairy’s
young man,’ which seemed to take the audience by storm. The success of
this song was only equalled by another, beginning――
A cove he would a macing go,
Whether the blueskins would or no.
An evident allusion to accomplished thieves and baffled policemen. We
took up a position from which we commanded an excellent view of the
room. I began to look about me, and perceived a couple of bottles of
champagne standing on a particular table in one corner.
“At this table three men were seated. I started. Pegon asked me what
was the matter. I smiled at my stupidity; I thought I saw Mr.
Halliday. My explanation of the singular coincidence was, that the
brother whom Mr. Halliday had thought dead had escaped the shipwreck
which had induced the belief of his decease, and that on returning to
England his innate vagabondism had broken out afresh and he had allied
himself with Donnymore and Von Beest.
“‘Who is that?’ I asked Pegon, pointing out the man who bore such a
marvellous resemblance to Mr. Halliday.
“‘That is Toko, and that is my dear friend Donnymore, while the other
is that sacre German Fon Beest. Oh, I will make it hot for Toko and
Fon Beest.’
“‘Cannot you go up to them and get into conversation?’ I asked.
“Pegon looked at me steadily for a moment, and replied――
“‘You of course my friend. Donnymore, he will jump to see me; but I
shall give him the office, and say, it is no business; he is not
wanted; and we shall be ver merry. When he is in luck he will spend
money like a king; so vill Toko; but Fon Beest he is a screw――no good,
no, not to anyone. Come along, _mon cher_. _Baisez moi?_ Non. It is
droll, is it not? Come ’long; let us go to these ruffyans.’
“The Frenchman offered his hand to Donnymore and exclaimed――
“‘Ah, how is Donnymore, my ole friend Donnymore? I always say he ver
goot fellow, but he once go leetle to far――just leetle bit too far.
But we will not talk ’bout that now. I have come out for what you say
spree, one lark, and I am rejoice to see you here; and my friend Fon
Beest too, and that dear Toko: Toko, how you do? You not shake hands
with your own Pegon? That is right; Fon Beest, your hand: That is
right also: Now, Donnymore, you make room for us.’
“Donnymore, slightly reassured, made room for us, and we sat down:
“‘Ah,’ continued the indefatigable Pegon, ‘you have been in luck
lately. Champagne, _vin de ciel_. Give me some, Donnymore; I feel very
dry.”
“Donnymore called for some more glasses, and poured out some wine for
both of us.
“The more I looked at Toko the more surprised was I at the wonderful
likeness between him and Mr. Halliday. No wonder, I thought, that the
innkeeper and his barman as well as the prosecutor were deceived.
“The resemblance was something marvellous. I remarked the same
mild-looking blue eyes, the same rather broad mouth and thick lips,
the same straight nose a little dilated at the nostrils; but there was
one thing about Toko which was not observable in Mr. Halliday.
“His face wore a restless expresssion, as if he had been haunted by
the apprehension of arrest. You would have put him down at first sight
as a man who had something upon his mind which was eternally weighing
upon his spirits and depressing them. He drank heavily.
“His somewhat bloodshot eyes, together with their swollen lids, and
the dry, parched, burnt-up, cracking skin upon his lips sufficiently
proclaimed the fact of his having addicted himself to spirituous
compounds in a wholesale manner.
“Pegon was in his element. He carried on the part he had undertaken
with admirable cleverness.
“‘Ha――ha!’ laughed the sharpers.
“‘Pegon’s a good judge,’ said Toko.
“‘Yes, leave him alone,’ replied Donnymore.
“‘More wine, Donnymore,’ exclaimed Pegon. ‘Once you drinking my wine;
to-day I drinking yours.”
“Donnymore complaisantly filled his friend’s glass, paying mine the
same compliment. After Pegon had, to his satisfaction, quaffed the
foaming vintage, he exclaimed――
“‘Donnymore, you telling me one thing.’
“‘Fire away, old fellow.’
“‘You will tell me true this one thing?’
“‘Yes, half-a-dozen, if you like.’
“‘What you going to do now?’
“‘Do?’ repeated Donnymore, with the light of consternation in his
eyes, for Pegon’s words seemed to have a strange significance for him.
“‘Yaes, what you going to do?’
“‘Oh, I don’t know.’
“The man looked nervously around him, and eyed the door suspiciously,
as if he fully expected to see a body of police standing in its
immediate vicinity.
“‘Why not try change of air?’
“‘I’m well enough.’
This was said rather surlily.
“‘Birmingham is nice place.’
“‘D―――― Brummagem,’ muttered Donnymore.
“‘Ah; you not like to leave your friends!’
“‘No, I don’t.’
“‘That is good, shows you have good heart. It is but natural, you are
so well known, and have so many _friends_.’
“He laid a stress upon the last word, and Donnymore looking steadily
at Pegon, said angrily――
“‘Look here, Pegon――what the deuce are you driving at?’
“‘Me! noting, my friend――it is only anxiety for the state of your
health.’
“‘My health be blowed! What’s your little game?’
“‘How you talk! as if I ever had little games; but he is so funny,
that Donnymore.’
“There was an awkward pause, during which the sharpers looked at one
another uneasily.
“‘There is that dear Fon Beest,’ resumed Pegon. ‘His friends could not
part with him; he is too precious to them.’
“‘Drink your wine and hold your row!’ growled the German.
“‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Pegon.
“‘That dear Fon Beest is like one bear with a sore head. He is
complimentary too. But I shall have the pleasure of returning his
compliment some day. I never forget my debts.’
“‘Devil doubt you,’ said Donnymore.
“‘I wish I was like you, Donnymore,’ exclaimed Pegon.
“‘What for?’
“‘Shall I tell you?’
“‘Go ahead.’
“‘I would take a Schwostle.’
“‘Where’s the pull in that?’
“‘Oh, you’d soon learn the squeak.’
“It was clear now that Donnymore began to see some hidden meaning in
Pegon’s apparently objectless remarks. He became more and more uneasy,
and it was evident that he came to the conclusion that Pegon was
giving him the office in a friendly way. He did not care much for Toko
or Von Beest.
“Self-preservation was the first law with him, and he apprehended they
were both wanted, whilst he was, through the Frenchman’s kindness,
allowed to escape. Rising from his chair, in a careless way, he put on
his hat.
“‘You are not going yet?’ asked Pegon, pretending to be surprised.
“‘Going! no, not till midnight. I’m game for a spree.’
“‘Where you off to, then?’
“‘Back in a minute.’
“When his associates heard this they disposed themselves quietly to
await his return.
“Pegon muttered to himself, ‘Oh, he’s fly bird, ver fly bird.’
“After the lapse of five minutes the sharpers began to grow fidgety,
and Toko rose to take his leave. Pegon got up at the same time and
exclaimed――
“‘Have you a minute to spare?’
“‘What for?’
“‘Just one word――private conversation. You stop here.’
“This was to me.
“Toko and Pegon walked up the room together. Suddenly there was a cry
of rage and alarm. I looked up. Two men in the body of the hall were
fiercely straggling together. The fight was of short duration. In less
than a minute Toko was lying on his back on the floor handcuffed.
When Von Beest perceived this he turned deadly pale.
“I heard him utter an imprecation upon Donnymore and his treachery,
and then he made a rush towards the door, but Pegon had by this time
drawn his policeman’s staff, which he carried concealed under his
cloak, and as the German attempted to pass him, he struck him on the
forehead, and he rolled heavily over upon the floor.
“Toko and Von Beest were both manacled and helpless.
“A smile of triumph flitted over Pegon’s face; he beckoned to me. I
came up and stood by the side of Toko, who was sitting disconsolately
upon a bench.
“The musical performance was arrested, and the people who were in the
hall manifested the most lively interest in the proceedings of Pegon
and myself.
“I was especially an object of remark and scrutiny.
“‘Mr. Halliday,’ I said, in a low voice to Toko.
“He started; my words roused him from his listless apathetic mood, and
he asked in a hurried voice if I spoke to him.
“‘Certainly,’ I replied, ‘that is your name.’
“‘How do you know?’
“‘That does not matter; you cannot deny it.’
“‘I can――I do,’ he vociferated.
“‘Your violent asseverations――’ I began, when he interrupted me,
saying――
“‘Whoever says so is guilty of an infamous falsehood.’
“‘Possibly,’ I replied. ‘By the way, have you seen your brother
lately?’
“‘My――my brother?’ he stammered.
“‘Yes, the engineer.’
“‘Who are you,’ he cried, ‘and why do you ask me these questions?’
“‘I am a detective, and I ask you these questions in order that
Justice may vindicate her character and reputation for impartiality.’
“‘A detective,’ he repeated slowly.
“‘I think I said so.’
“‘Why, I should as soon have thought of seeing a flying fish or a
sea-serpent with a ring through its nose.’
“‘You have not answered my question respecting your brother yet?’
“‘I have not seen him, nor do I wish to.’
“‘What harm has he done you?’
“‘Only driven me to――――; but never mind.’
“‘He thinks you’re drowned at sea.’
“‘A good job too――let him think so.’
“‘Do you know where he is now?’
“‘No,’ he replied laconically.
“‘He is where you will soon be.’
“‘In gaol?’
“‘Yes, in a prison.’
“‘What!’ he cried with a bitter laugh; ‘does it run in the family?’
“‘Not that either.’
“‘Explain yourself?’
“‘You are the cause of his arrest.’
“‘I!’ he ejaculated in astonishment.
“‘Yes; he is accused.’
“‘Of what?’
“‘Of committing an offence, the responsibility of which rests entirely
with you. He has been taken up as a skittle sharper.’
“‘No; you are joking?’
“‘I assure you I am speaking the truth.’
“There seemed something so exquisitely ludicrous in the idea of his
sober, steady-going respectable brother being brought before a
magistrate for a disgraceful misdemeanour, that the dissipated scamp
laughed immoderately.
“The painful position in which he was did not affect his hilarity or
his flow of animal spirits.
“‘That is capital,’ he said at last. ‘I am only sorry he was not
committed for trial.’
“‘There is no chance of that now.’
“‘I suppose not, as I have fallen into your clutches through the
infernal treachery of that fellow Donnymore. But I’ll be even with him
some day.’
“‘He had nothing to do with it; you must lay your misfortune to the
astuteness of Mr. Pegon.’
“‘I wish you and Pegon and the whole kit of you were at the bottom of
the sea!’ he growled.
“Presently Von Beest returned to consciousness and glanced fiercely
around him.
“‘Ah,’ said Pegon, with cruel levity, ‘that dear Fon Beest is himself
once more. Do I not pay my debts well? Have I not returned your
compliment, my amiable Fon Beest? Come along; you shall go to the
‘Government Hotel’ to-night, and if the beds should turn out hard come
and complain to me and I will get you a new chambermaid. Come here, my
dear Fon Beest. Come along, my good Toko.’
* * * * * * *
“When the magistrate saw Toko he was no less astonished than the
prosecutor, who at once admitted that he had fallen into an error
which, he trusted, was excusable, owing to the wonderful likeness
existing between the brothers.
“Mr. Halliday, the engineer, and Mr. Halliday, the skittle-sharper,
must have been cast in the same mould. The prisoner was at once
discharged, and his brother placed in the dock.
“Mr. Halliday’s joy at seeing his brother once more was considerably
damped by the reflection that he had provoked the doom of a felon; and
taking me on one side he asked me to add to the favour I had already
done him, and try to make terms with the prosecutor.
“I found this worthy rather obdurate at first, but when I told him
that Mr. Halliday would refund all the money he had lost, and make him
a handsome present besides, his anger gave way, and he consented to
withdraw from the prosecution.
“Toko was so much affected by this proof of his brother’s good nature
that he gave up his evil ways of living, and addicted himself to
honest pursuits. He thought it unadvisable to stay in England, so he
went to Australia (not at the expense of the Government as he was once
ambitious of doing――but by his brother’s assistance), and set up in
New South Wales as a sheepfarmer; and the last time his friends heard
from him he was doing remarkably well, and turning out better than the
most sanguine of his acquaintances had ever anticipated; and so ended
this marvellous case of mistaken identity.”
“Ah,” observed Peace, in a quiet, contemplative manner, “we cannot any
one of us be too careful in the matter of identity. I myself have on
more than one occasion been sadly at fault in this respect, and I
should hesitate before I swore to a person, unless there were
corroborating circumstances.”
“We have most of us been at fault in this respect,” returned Mr.
Cartridge. “No stronger proof can be given of this than an event which
occurred on this very day. When I saw you in the body of the
Bow-street Police-court I mistook you for another person. I was under
the full impression that you were the individual in question, and
hence it was that I was induced to take you to a more convenient part
of the court. So you see you have not so much reason, after all, to
thank me for my courtesy,” he added, with a smile.
“You were of essential service to me, anyway,” said Peace; “and, as a
matter of course, I am duly thankful.”
At this all three gentlemen laughed once more.
“Wal, Cartridge,” said Shearman, “I have always said that sooner or
later some very great alterations will have to be made in the
detective department of this country. We manage matters a great deal
better in the United States. Look at the number of murderers who
escape in and about London! Why, it’s perfectly scandalous. With such
a large and expensive establishment such things ought not to be.”
“I quite agree with you――it is scandalous,” returned Shearman; “but
how is it to be remedied?”
“Ah――that’s another question, and one I shall perhaps not find it easy
to answer; but that some remedy must be applied is, in my opinion,
beyond all question. Why, within the last few years you have suffered
a host of assassins of the very worst type to slip through your
fingers. What am I saying?――that’s not precisely my meaning, for you
have never laid hold of them at all. Now, there was that case at
Brompton-Edith-grove or Maude-grove――I forget which. The two Wallaces,
after the death of the ill-fated woman, betook themselves to a cab,
were driven off, and not the faintest clue has been found to either of
them. Is that not so?”
Mr. Cartridge shrugged his shoulders, and said, “I am afraid it is.”
“I’m sure of it. Wal, such things ought not to be. What is the
inference? I say again, what is the inference?”
“Can’t tell.”
“I can――bribery and corruption. You won’t make me believe that they
would have been all this time at large unless, like Kurr and Benson,
they had closed the eyes of the police with gold-dust. What say you,
sir?”
This last observation was addressed to Peace, who by this time had
begun to be in a little bit of a quandary, for he felt that it was an
act of great imprudence to continue in the company of his two
associates much longer, but he did not very well know how to bring the
interview to an end without exciting suspicion.
“I quite agree with you, sir,” he returned.
Then, thinking to change the subject, which was to him by no means an
agreeable one, he drew from his pocket again the drawing of his
invention for raising sunken ships.
“It would be indeed a favour if either of you gentlemen could put me
in the way of laying this draft of my invention before the proper
authorities.”
With a couple of drawing-pins he fastened the drawing against the wall
of the room, and proceeded to point out its merits once more to the
two detectives. They knew but little about it, but strove to
comprehend its mode of operation, rising from their seats and
carefully inspecting the chart in question.
“Ah,” murmured Peace to himself, “I wish I was fairly out of this. The
Yankee bloke seems ever and anon to look one through. He’s awfully
cute――I do wish he’d go.”
After some further discussion the chart was rolled up again, and Peace
placed it in his pocket, whereupon the three gentlemen sat down again.
“Wal, stranger,” said Shearman, addressing himself again to Peace, “as
we are all here to ourselves, I’ll just give you an account of a bit
of business I was engaged on in New York. It’s a true story, and there
ain’t no tall talk in it.”
“I’m really very sorry,” observed Peace, “but I am afraid I shan’t
have time.”
“Oh, bosh, I’ll trot it off as sharp and brisk as a donkey’s gallop.
Here’s to our better acquaintance. I am glad to have met you, sir,”
added the American, raising the glass to his lips.
“And I am equally glad to have met you, sir,” returned our hero, who
wished the Yankee to the Antipodes. “But you must excuse me.”
“Sit down for another quarter of an hour,” said Shearman. “We shall be
all three of us going at the expiration of that time. Come, light
up――have another cigar.”
“Devil take these fellows!” murmured Peace to himself. “There is no
getting out of their clutches.”
He, however, lighted up, and reluctantly consented to remain a little
longer.
“My friend, Shearman, can tell you tales of detective life for a week
at a stretch,” observed Cartridge, with a smile; “and mind you a good
many of his stories are both interesting and instructing. One thing I
will say for him, he is never backward in obliging.”
“Wal, I hope we learn something from each other,” observed the
American. “It is by the interchange of thought, and knowing something
of other men’s experiences, is addition to our own, that we may
eventually become smart officers. That’s my opinion, I make it a rule
to listen to all people have to say, whether they be wise or
otherwise.”
“That’s right enough,” returned Cartridge.
So here goes,” exclaimed the Yankee.
CHAPTER CXXIV.
STOLEN LETTERS――AN AMERICAN DETECTIVE’S STORY.
“The Post-office,” said Mr. Shearman, “is one of those institutions
where scrupulous honesty is required, where very inadequate pay is
given――a man is expected to slave like a mule or a camel for something
under a pound a week, and to resist temptation.
“Some do it, others do not――they fall. Possibly these latter have
wives and children, and cannot help thinking of them as a letter
passes through their hands with a little coin inside. It is not a
large sum, but it is more than half a week’s wages to them, and would
enable them to do something for the ‘young ones.’
“The post-office, or more correctly the public, is robbed to a large
extent annually, and it is impossible to put a stop to these
depredations, for although the offenders are detected in some
instances, and brought to justice, others escape and become hardened
in crime.
“During the year of the last Great Exhibition these robberies became
so frequent that it was found necessary to adopt some extraordinary
means to check them. The utmost vigilance was exercised by the
officials, but they found their efforts unavailing.
“The thefts continued, and the authorities were deluged with letters,
stating that money, notes, cheques, and valuables of all descriptions
had never come to hand. In the dilemma in which they found themselves
placed they had recourse to the police, and Colonel Warner recommended
the case to my notice. I undertook it; for it was a task of some
difficulty which I found would occupy a week or so most agreeably.
“I was always happier in the harness than out of it. I do not mean to
say that I despise reasonable relaxation, but I depreciated any great
waste of time. I petitioned to be allowed to learn the business of a
letter-sorter, which request was granted at once.
“A few days initiated me into this branch of the business, and I was
then drafted into the room in which the latest operations were carried
on. Large bags of letters were continually being shunted down shafts.
“When they reached the floor they were eagerly pounced upon and sorted
for transmission to all parts of the kingdom. I carefully watched
every man, which would seem a useless proceeding on my part, because a
spy appointed for the express purpose is continually looking on. He is
concealed from view, and gazes through a pane of glass at those who
are at work in the room, and of course he detects frauds when they are
very frequent.
“This man maintained, for his own credit sake, that the robberies were
perpetrated at some other place and not in the General Post-office,
but I did not agree with him. It required something more searching
than the sleepy vision of a hired spy to detect the skilful thieves
who were making a large income out of his carelessness and inefficient
efforts.
“The quickness with which experienced men perform their duties is
inconceivable to those who have not witnessed their exertions. I found
it very difficult to keep my attention sufficiently fixed upon one in
particular to be able to remark the peculiarity of his manner. The
hands of all of them were here, there, and everywhere at once.
“I pretended to be absorbed in my occupation, although I was in
reality remarking everything――one man especially attracted me. There
was something so restless in his manner, that from the first time I
set my eyes upon him I singled him out as the most likely fellow in
the room to be a thief.
“I remarked that he every now and then raised his hand to his mouth.
But so rapid were his motions that they resembled sleight-of-hand, and
I could not discover what he was doing. This man looked as if he had
known trouble, and was thoroughly acquainted with that painful process
which is known as being in hot water.
“Perhaps he had been born with ideas above his station. There are
people who move in a very humble sphere of life think they ought to
have been born peers of the realm, and nothing but monarchical
greatness will content others, though the majority of aspirants draw
the line at nobility.
“Luxurious notions may have entered this man’s head. He may have had a
fancy for asparagus, or new potatoes, or lamb and duck and green peas,
and his own beggarly salary not ‘running to it,’ as the phrase goes,
he may have thought it no great sin to help himself when the occasion
presented itself in a favourable manner. He was not of full habit of
body.
“There was something hollow and unsubstantial about him, although he
was not much more than thirty years old, if you could judge from his
outward appearance, which was not prepossessing.
“I determined, when work was over, to follow this man to his lair and
see what he was like at home. The domestic hearth is something like
wine. It shows men in their true character. The public-house is not a
bad interpreter, but the hearth is the best of all. Work was over at
six. At that time the night men came on.
“I afterwards ascertained that the man’s name was John Brown. He
walked with a quick step along the street, looking behind him
occasionally without seeing anything to arouse his suspicion, and
entered a public-house, which was situated about half-way up a small
court, whose obscurity must have prevented it from being generally
known.
“Standing at the bar was a young man of gentlemanly but dissipated
appearance, well dressed, and wearing some jewellery which, if real,
must have been expensive. When he perceived Brown, he exclaimed――
“‘Johannes, my man, otherwise John, I am glad to see you.’
“Brown responded by a nod and a grunt.
“I followed, unnoticed by either party, and placed myself in a
convenient position for eavesdropping.
“Brown sat down by the side of his acquaintance, said――
“‘Rather later than usual to-day, Mr. Wareham. The bags were rather
heavy.’
“‘Never mind that. Have you worked the oracle properly?’ replied
Wareham.
“‘About the same as usual, I think; my pockets are pretty well lined.’
“‘Turn them out; there is no one here to notice us.’
“‘I shouldn’t mind something to drink first,’ growled John Brown.
“‘You shall have it, my pippin. What tap’s most to your liking?’
replied Mr. Wareham.
“Brown expressed an opinion strongly in favour of beer such as is
brewed by Bass on the banks of Trent, which was promptly brought him
by an obsequious waiter. After quenching his thirst, he said――
“‘Now, sir, I feel better.’
“Putting his hand in his coat pocket, he produced several pieces of
money, together with little scraps of paper. He had, I imagined, first
of all felt the letters that passed through his hands, and if he
detected the presence of gold, he raised the envelope to his mouth and
bit off the corner in which the coin had fallen, afterwards placing it
in his pocket. He appeared to have about twelve pounds to show as the
result of his day’s work.
“Mr. Wareham examined the spoil, counted it, and having divided it
equally, gave Brown one-half as his share of the plunder. Brown
uttered an exclamation of discontent.
“‘What are you growling at?’ exclaimed Wareham.
“‘I ought to have the whole of it. I run the risk.’
“‘So you do. But you are obliged to bring all you get to me, because I
know your secret. I need not give you anything if I did not like. You
ought to be grateful for the generosity with which I treat you; upon
my word, Brown, you are a fortunate fellow.’
“‘More of a fool than that,’ grumbled Brown, who seemed inclined to
retaliate, and kick over the traces.
“‘I can’t agree with you, then.’
“‘It don’t much matter whether you do or not. I am pretty well sick
and tired of this little game. I have a good mind to leave this land
and go to Texas or Mexico.’
“‘At the expense of the Government,’ sneered Wareham.
“‘If I went, you’d go with me,’ said John Brown, fiercely.
“‘Think so? Well, you have a right to form your own opinion.’
“‘I, however, don’t suppose that such a thing is even remotely
possible. I am very well satisfied with my native country; I have
found you, and you are a source of profit and of income to me. You are
what I may call a pearl of great price. I am unwilling to relinquish
you. If I did so, I should be like the man who killed the goose that
laid the golden eggs. My dear Johannes, you are necessary to my
existence.’
“‘You always think of yourself.’
“‘Of course; egotism is the primary duty if not the whole duty of
man.’
“‘I don’t know anything about that, but I’m tired of the way we’re
going on. I would rather be in a prison than lead this sort of life.’
“‘Have you ever been in a prison?’ exclaimed Wareham, with a searching
glance.
“‘No, but the time may come for all that. I’m going the right road to
be shut up in gaol,’ returned Brown, savagely.
“‘As we are friends,’ said Wareham, ‘I don’t mind telling you that I
have.’
“‘You!’ said Brown.
“‘For a year and a half I enjoyed that pleasure.’
“‘I wish you were there now.’
“‘Very possibly, my friend, but I really cannot join you in your
amiable desire. I am unable to say in the spirit of the hymn, “I have
been there and still would go,” for it is anything but a little heaven
below.’
“‘So you had your hand in before you met me?’ said Brown, with a
malicious grin.
“‘Certainly I had; a man must live, and I can declare that I was never
any burden to my respectable parents. From my earliest infancy I had a
talent for appropriating the property of other people, and I have
lived upon my wits ever since I first knew I had any.’
“‘What got you into trouble?’
“‘An inordinate passion for riding. I always envied people I saw on
horseback, and one day as I was loitering about the best part of the
town, a gentleman asked me to hold his horse for him, while he entered
the house of a friend. I looked upon the request as an insult, and
while I held the bridle I ruminated as to the best method of revenge
upon the aristocrat who had laid himself open to my resentment. It
occurred to me that the best way to punish him would be to rob him of
his horse. So seizing an advantageous opportunity, I sprang lightly
upon the animal’s back.
“‘I did not know how to ride. The horse found at once that he had a
light weight upon him, and he soon discovered, with equine instinct,
that I had never been on a horse before. Setting back his ears, the
beast bent his legs under him and set off at a quick pace. John Gilpin
going to Edmonton must have felt very much as I did.
“‘The horse galloped recklessly and furiously from street to street,
and at last landed me in the paternal arms of a blue-coated policeman,
who looked after me with the care of a father.
“I was committed for trial, and engaged Mr. Earwig, the celebrated
criminal counsel, who did his best for me, and moved the court to
tears as he recounted the sad position of this well-connected young
man (my father was at the time in Sing Sing gaol for debt, and my
mother in the penitentiary owing to a little matter of manslaughter),
whose parents were highly respectable.
“‘The misguided youth had given way to a sudden impulse of temptation
which led him into the commission of a sin, the enormity of which was
regretted by none so much as himself.
“‘At this juncture of the learned barrister’s speech the prosecutor
got up, and said he hoped the court would deal leniently with the
prisoner.
“‘He was willing to make all the reparation which lay in his power.
“‘The horse had subsequently run up against an omnibus, broken his
neck, and damaged sundry pedestrians in his dying struggles, so it may
be imagined that I was not able to make much reparation.
“‘The unhappy boy (sobs audible in various parts of the court)
narrowly escaped with his life. When he, in an unguarded moment,
leaped into the saddle he had no idea that the horse would go on.
“He had never been in a similar position before, and was so ignorant
of the first principles of horsemanship that a donkey might lead him
to destruction.
“No felonious design lurked in my client’s head. Steal the horse! Why,
gentlemen of the jury (this with a persuasive simper), you might just
as well, and with equal propriety, accuse me――me, Mr. Earwig――of
wishing to run away with the box in which you are at this moment
sitting. (A murmur of incredulity arose from the body of the court,
which was instantly suppressed by the energetic efforts of the usher.)
“‘No, no, gentlemen, the poor young man whose prospects in life are
already partially ruined, owing to his having been placed in the
ignominious position in which he is by the precipitancy of the sitting
magistrate who committed him for trial; whose character has been
aspersed, and whose prospects have been blighted through a strange
perversion of the truth, and a misconception of actual facts, never――I
say it emphatically, never――contemplated an offence against the common
law of the land.’ (Applause, and “hear, hear,” from a juryman.)
“‘Acquit him, gentlemen. You are not the slaves of prejudice. Do your
duty as is meet and proper for men of standing and position. Why
should you wreak an imaginary vengeance upon an innocent man, for
innocent he is, in spite of the allegations that have been made to the
contrary? Let him go his ways, gentlemen of the jury, and none of you
will sleep the worse for it.’
“Mr. Earwig sat down in a state of moisture, arising from perspiration
and exertion, but his arguments were not so availing with the jury as
I would have wished them to be; they found me guilty, and I made the
acquaintance with the interior of the State Prison. Profit by my
experience, my dear Johannes. If you are of an ascetic turn of mind,
and wish to mortify the flesh, by all means step within the pale of
the criminal law, and get brought up before the district judge. You
will not forget your interview with that terrible functionary in a
hurry. I have seen him once, and I do not want to renew my
acquaintance with him. Since that delightful period of my existence I
have played the part of the monkey who made use of a cat’s-paw to pull
the chesnuts out of the fire for him. You, my accommodating Johannes,
are my cat’s-paw. The coins which you bring me from the G.P.O are the
chesnuts. My heart overflows with gratitude to you. I regard you as my
benefactor, and I wish I could promote you in some way. The days in
which Jack Sheppards and Dick Turpins flourished have gone by, but you
might be a Redpath or a Dean Paul; I think you have talent enough for
a Redpath, and I don’t think you would make a bad Roupell.’
“‘When you have ended your nonsense I shall be glad if you will tell
me,’ exclaimed Brown, who had been fretting and fuming during this
lengthy speech.
“‘My good, my excellent Johannes,’ replied Mr. Wareham, suavely, ‘I
have scarcely commenced.’
“‘What I want to know is, how much longer this game is to last?’
“‘I can tell you,” said Wareham. ‘If you can manage to nail a
certainty――by that I mean something worth having――we will divide the
swag, and you can go to Mexico when you like. I shall not endeavour to
stop you. Can’t you rob the California mail? Get yourself put on night
duty; do something. If you go on like this, you will get bowled out at
last, and we shall have to throw the sponge up.’
[Sidenote: No. 65.]
[Illustration: PEACE PARTING WITH THE DETECTIVES.]
“‘I’ll try,’ replied John Brown, moodily.
“‘Think it over, Johannes, and do your best.’
“‘I wish I had never given way to your temptation,’ muttered Brown, in
a low voice, but Wareham did not overhear the remark.
“‘I must tear myself away from your fascinating society, Johannes,’
continued Wareham; ‘I have an appointment with a fly flat (_i.e._ a
clever fool), and he has some superfluous cash which I covet. See if
you cannot do something worth talking about. I shall meet you
to-morrow at the usual time.’
“Wareham lighted a cigar, and nodding to his accomplice, strutted
leisurely out of the place.
“Brown allowed his face to sink upon his hands, and I heard him say,
‘Curse him! may God in Heaven curse him!’
“He remained sunk in a lethargic despair for more than an hour, then
he raised himself and left the tavern. I returned home to ponder. It
was necessary to put a stop to the nefarious practices that Brown
carried on with such skilfulness, and I considered how I should best
take action in the matter.”
“Which of course you did,” observed Mr. Cartridge.
“Wal, I guess so, I never was one to let the grass grow under my
feet.”
“Ah,” thought Peace, “when will he have done. I am on tenter-hooks.”
Then aloud he said, “I am greatly interested in your narrative――pray
proceed, sir.”
“All right,” returned the American, “I’ll jest git this darned weed to
draw and be hanged to it. The Britishers always roll their cigars up
too tight. It’s a way they’ve got, I suppose.”
“Take another,” said Peace.
“No, he’s all right now, thank you.” Mr. Shearman then proceeded.
“I had not the remotest conception how Mr. Wareham became acquainted
with John Brown’s secret, but one thing I was sure of, and that was
that the aforesaid gentleman was a consummate scoundrel.
“In order to understand his character better, and to see with whom I
was contesting, I applied to an intelligent officer who was acquainted
with almost all the thieves, vagabonds, and rogues in the city.
“The reply I received confirmed my suspicions. Wareham was well known
to the police under a dozen of aliases. He had been convicted, and I
resolved that he should be so again if there was any virtue in an
indictment for conspiracy to defraud.
“I watched the two men carefully for some days, and at last I gained
some information upon which I determined to act. They had planned an
elaborate robbery between them, and Mr. Wareham’s habitual prudence
was so far overruled that he consented to take an active part in it.
“Those letters which were registered on account of their containing
valuables were also placed in a bag by themselves. Of course there
were different bags for different places, but the Cincinnati bag was
always a bulky one; they determined to appropriate the contents of
that one.
“It was Brown’s duty to take certain bags to the lower regions of the
Post-office for transmission through the tubes of the Pneumatic
Company, which had just been laid down.
“Having overheard all their plans, and made my arrangements
accordingly, I concealed myself with one of the watchmen connected
with the establishment, in an angle of the wall, where I was free from
observation, but able to spring out on a moment’s notice.
“Wareham accompanied Brown from above, and assisted him to carry the
bags. No one asked him any questions――it was supposed that he had been
told off on the same duty. The room in which the opening to the tube
was situated was unoccupied by any one except the workmen connected
with the machinery requisite to put the valves in motion.
“Browne and Wareham, thinking themselves alone, commenced the
execution of their nefarious project. They hastily untied the neck of
the small sacks, and plunging their hands in drew out as many letters
as they could conceal about their persons.
“They had taken the precaution to have pockets ingeniously sewn on
inside their coats and waistcoats, so that the plunder might be more
easily distributed about their bodies.
“If they had crammed and stuffed the two ordinary pockets that every
coat possessed, they would have bulged out, and most likely have
betrayed them.
“I allowed them to satisfy their rapacity, and waited patiently to see
what they would do next.
“The mouth of the pneumatic tube was very like the opening of the
boiler of a furnace. The bottom part resembled a miniature railroad,
and the idea was strengthened by the car or small waggon, which was
driven along at an immense pace by atmospheric pressure.
“The waggon was in readiness for the bags, and when the two thieves
had robbed the appointed bag of as much of its precious contents as
they thought they could safely carry away with them, Brown raised it
up and placed it in the waggon.
“I considered this a good opportunity to make my presence known and
make a captive of Brown and his dangerous accomplice.
“Stepping from my place of concealment I appeared unexpectedly before
them. Brown uttered a terrified cry, and seemed petrified with fear
and apprehension.
“To be detected when success seemed most certain was very mortifying.
He had made his arrangements to leave the country that very night. I
could see by the aid of the gaslight that he was ghastly pale.
“Wareham did not exhibit the symptoms of terror and consternation that
characterised the bearing of his less hardened confederate, but he was
a little thrown off his guard, nevertheless.
“‘Well, governor, what do you want?’ he exclaimed in a voice he vainly
endeavoured to render calm.
“‘What are you going to do with all those letters?’ I asked.
“‘Letters――what letters?’ he replied, with well-affected astonishment.
“‘Those you have in your pockets.’
“‘I don’t know what you mean.’
“‘Don’t you, really? That’s a pity,’ I said, in a bantering tone.
‘Unfortunately I saw you put them away.’
“‘And suppose you did; what then?’ he cried, boldly; ‘I suppose you
want something to keep your mouth shut?’
“The watchman had remained in his hiding-place up to the present time,
but now turning half round I beckoned him to show himself.
“He did so.
“‘Take that man into custody,’ I cried, ‘for robbing the post-office.’
“Brown was too much alarmed to make any resistance, and in half a
minute the handcuffs were glittering on his wrists.
“Wareham looked on at this with blank amazement; then when it was
finished and his friend secure, he burst into a loud laugh and
exclaimed――‘Sold, by Heavens!’
“The watchman now came to my assistance, and we advanced to Wareham,
who retired until he came to the mouth of the pneumatic tube.
“I made sure of catching him, and was already congratulating myself
upon having apprehended the prisoners without any bloodshed, when I
was unpleasantly forced to remember that there was such a thing as a
slip between the cup and the lip.
“Just as our hands were upon him Wareham courageously gave a spring
and entered the tube, taking a recumbent position upon the waggon by
the side of the plundered mail-bag.
“Seizing the handle he pulled the door to after him. This, I
afterwards found, was the signal for the workmen to put the machinery
in motion. The bird escaped from my hand just as I was about to seize
it.
“I do not think that Wareham imagined the waggon would be at once
propelled through the tube; it is more probable that he wished to gain
a temporary asylum; but a loud rumbling soon informed us that
something was taking place inside.
“Leaving John Brown in charge of the watchman I ran hastily upstairs
and asked where the tube discharged its contents. I was told the
correct spot. I went hastily into the street and got into the first
cab I could see and drove to the place at the utmost speed of which
the cab horse was capable.
“On arriving there I proceeded to the post-office department, and
found to my inexpressible chagrin that the waggon had duly arrived
with its human freight ten minutes before.
“The workmen were surprised to see a man travelling in charge of the
bag; but Wareham, elated at his narrow escape, told them that he had
done it out of curiosity, and they asked no farther questions.
“As may be imagined, he took the earliest opportunity of leaving the
office, and I was too late to apprehend him. That, however, did not
annoy me very much; I had a satisfactory clue to Mr. Wareham, and by
twelve o’clock the next day he was in custody.
“Neither money nor letters were found upon him, so he must have been
associated with some gang to whom he had handed over, for the better
concealment thereof, the quantity of letters he had stolen.
“He was afterwards induced to relate his sensations when in the tube.
“‘The air,’ he said, ‘felt cold and refreshing, but the darkness was
appalling. The waggon was about four feet long by two wide. He
disposed his legs as well as he was able, so as to avoid contact with
the sides of the tube or any foreign body he might encounter.’
“‘He was surprised beyond measure when he found the waggon in motion,
but being somewhat of a philosopher, he resigned himself to his fate.
The speed at which he was driven along took his breath away, and he
was not at all sorry when he arrived at his journey’s end.’
“Brown and Wareham were arraigned at the State Sessions. I was the
principal witness against them. Brown, at the last moment, finding
that he had no chance of escape, having been taken _in flagrante
delicto_, turned State evidence, so that his punishment was
comparatively trivial to that of Wareham, who was for a term of years
removed from that busy sphere in which he had so greatly distinguished
himself, and of which he was so promising a member.
“He was much missed by the school to which he belonged, and many of
the thieving fraternity went into deep mourning for what was almost
equivalent to the death of their versatile friend.”
“I am sure, I hardly know how to express myself,” cried Peace, when
the American detective had brought his narrative to a conclusion. “I
don’t know when I have passed such an agreeable hour or two as I have
with you two gentlemen, who have given me an insight into matters
quite new to me.”
“‘Oh, Shearman can tell you a heap of good stories, and can keep
anyone amused for hours,” remarked Cartridge. “I’m not in the race
with him.”
“Oh, you are well matched,” returned Peace, forcing a smile, for by
this time he had had more than enough of his two companions. “But I
must now be off, as I have to meet the gentleman who goes partner with
me in some of my inventions. He is a practical man, and is, therefore,
able to carry out my ideas.”
“I’ll tell you what I’d do,” said Shearman.
“What?”
“Wal, I would lay the matter before the Admiralty. If you can raise
ships by the means you propoee――and I don’t see why you should
not――why, it will be worth thousands to them.”
“An excellent thought, sir. I’ll take your advice,” cried Peace,
rising from his seat and putting on his hat.
His two companions followed his example, and they all descended the
stairs and passed out of the front door of the house.
Peace hailed a cab; then, wishing the detectives a hearty farewell,
jumped into the vehicle, which was driven off, at Peace’s request, in
the direction of the Ludgate-circus.
“Got rid of ’em at last!” cried our hero, as the cab rattled along.
“Gad, but this has been a dose. No more police-courts for me. Why,
they’d jaw a horse’s hind leg off――and think themselves so jolly
clever, too. I’ve had enough of them――quite enough for the present, at
all events.”
When the cab reached Ludgate-circus Peace paid the fare, and walked
over Blackfriars-bridge.
He thought it just possible that his movements might be watched. Not
that he imagined that either Mr. Cartridge or the Yankee suspected
him――far from it; but he considered it to be just as well to be on the
safe side, and break the continuity of his journey.
He therefore just dropped into a coffee-shop in the London road and
had his tea. He remained there for some little time, and then
proceeded once more on his journey. He said nothing to the ladies of
his establishment about his rencontre with the detectives, but put
Bandy-legged Bill in the full possession of all the facts when that
worthy called on the following day. His predatory excursions were
continued for night after night, and up to the present time he had
escaped detection. But we must leave him for awhile to take a glance
at other characters in our story.
CHAPTER CXXV.
THE YOUNG EARL OF ETHALWOOD.
The reader will understand that a lapse of years has taken place since
we last took a glance at the inmates of Broxbridge Hall, and it will
be needless to signify that time is an active agent, and many changes
have taken place since our last visit to the hall. The Lady Aveline
plunged into the vortex of fashionable life, and as a natural
consequence had a number of admirers. It was her grandfather’s wish
that she should form an alliance with a member of the aristocracy. She
would then be still further removed from the low-born engineer. There
were many suitors for her hand, but Aveline herself did not display
any willingness to change her condition; and the probability is that
she would not have done so had it not been for the importunities of
the earl and the vivacious Lady Marylynn.
After a good deal of flirtation, hesitation, and irresolution, she
consented to become the wife of a baronet of some eight and thirty
summers, Sir Gerald Batashall by name.
On the day of her marriage the earl settled on her a princely dowry,
and all went on as merry as a marriage bell. The Batashalls were an
old family in the West of England; they were proud, like the earl, and
the match was considered by everyone to be a suitable and proper one.
The Lady Aveline bore her husband two children, a boy and a girl.
In the meantime, the young heir of Ethalwood was growing up to man’s
estate; he had been indulged by his mother and spoiled by his
grandfather, who made him his pet, and indeed it might be said, almost
his idol.
He was sent to college, and when at home had tutors in the house. No
expense was spared to make him worthy of the proud position he was to
occupy.
He was a generous-hearted impetuous youth, but could not brook
control, and the servants averred that he had much of the Ethalwood
spirit.
Before he reached his nineteenth year his grandfather breathed his
last in the presence of his grand-daughter and great-grandson.
The latter came into the title and estates at too early an age,
perhaps, but there was no help for it; the earl was full of years at
the time of his decease――between eighty and ninety, which is a
respectable old age.
After the few months of mourning for his noble ancestor Lord Reginald
Ethalwood soon began to have his own views of youth and freedom in the
new life which was so suddenly opened to him.
The temple of pleasure was before him, and he soon found his way into
its innermost penetralia. For a long time the intoxicating and
enervating draught of luxurious indulgence was never absent from his
lips until at last he had drunk down to the very lees of the cup, and,
as a natural consequence, tasted of satiety and disgust.
His mother could not give so much heed to him as she wished, as she
had her husband and her young children to occupy her thoughts, so that
the young earl was left to steer his course as best he could. He
became _blasé_, discontented, and yearned for a change.
Change of scene, change of pursuit, both were open to him as the
natural resources of his condition, and without hesitation he turned
to them for relief from the ennui and discontent that had overtaken
him.
Among the possessions that had come to him with the patrimonial
estates he had inherited from his great grandfather, was a small
chateau or hunting lodge on the borders of Switzerland. In the earlier
days of his life, the deceased earl had been accustomed to spend a
good deal of his time at this place. The Ethalwoods had always a great
predilection for sports, and shooting and hunting had special charms
for them when in the pride and full vigour of manhood, and hence it
was that the chateau in question had at one time been a favourite
resort with the father and his sons.
It was built on the side of one of the high spurs of the Jura, in the
midst of some of the wildest and most picturesque scenery of that
portion of the country which links France with Switzerland.
Except to a few visitors in the summer months the profound solitudes
of the mountains were almost unknown to strangers――the valleys and
mountain sides being inhabited by populations ignorant of everything
that passes in the world beyond the bounds of their native forests.
Erected some three hundred years before, the chateau was a sombre and
imposing building. Above it rose a pine forest, dark and stately;
below it lay a deep valley.
The whole aspect of the place was one of savage grandeur. Lord
Reginald Ethalwood, tired of London fashionable life, made up his mind
to seek change in this charming retreat.
He was a keen sportsman: could handle a rifle with the best of his
fellows, and, much to the surprise and discomfiture of his gay and
thoughtless companions, he left England for the far-famed retreat on
the borders of France. Once arrived there, he gave himself up, with a
constantly-increasing ardour, to the hunting of the fox and the wild
boar.
He had in a short time grown to like this sort of life; and it might
have lasted for many years but for an adventure which cast a shadow
over his path――a deep and sinister shadow, which brought with it
regret, sorrow, and remorse.
In the ardour of the chase he was led over the highest pinnacles of
the mountains; a toppling crag gave way, and he was precipitated into
the chasm below. The fall was a fearful one, and he lay stunned and
motionless, and to all appearance dead. Some peasants discovered him,
and placing him on a litter they conveyed him to the nearest
habitation, where every attention was paid him by the kindly disposed
mistress of the establishment. But for some days he hovered between
life and death. Luckily for him, he had fallen into good hands. Madame
Trieste, the owner of the chalet into which he had been conveyed,
tended on him with maternal solicitude, and by careful nursing, joined
to medical skill, he recovered from the terrible injuries he had
received.
Madame had two valuable assistants in nursing the wounded earl, these
being her daughter and a servant, so that the English nobleman had
every possible attention.
When he recovered he was loth to leave the hospitable establishment.
One reason for this was a lurking fondness for Mademoiselle Theresa
Trieste――his hostess’s charming daughter, in whose society he found
great solace and comfort.
Days and weeks had passed over, but the young nobleman still continued
an inmate of the house in the occupation of Madame Trieste――he did not
feel disposed to leave. He had by this time recovered from his
accident, but did not feel inclined to return to his own domicile.
Indeed, to say the truth, he had been persuaded to remain by
mademoiselle, who had no desire to part with him. Thus matters went on
for some time, until a change took place in the aspect of affairs.
On the day in question there was a sort of lull; the dinner passed
over in a humdrum way. Madame Trieste was the only one of the party
whose good spirits were not forced; Theresa scarcely spoke at all; she
appeared to be preoccupied――the reason for this was not made manifest.
Agatha, the servant girl, was even in a still worse condition; it was
evident that she had been weeping, for her eyes were red and swollen.
Lord Ethalwood himself felt dispirited, and it was in vain that he
strove to assume an air of cheerfulness, and it was impossible for the
vivacious Frenchwoman, his hostess, not to observe that there was
something the matter with her guest. The woman prudently forebore to
make any allusion to his altered demeanour.
“I am but a dull and cheerless companion, madame,” observed Lord
Ethalwood, when he rose from the table. “The fact is I am not so
strong as I supposed, and my long morning’s walk has been a little too
much for me.”
“It is not to be wondered at, my lord,” returned the lady. “It will be
some time, I expect, before you have recovered your strength.”
“No doubt some time, but to-morrow I hope and trust I shall be a
little better.”
“I hope so, I am sure.”
He excused himself upon the plea of weakness, and retired to his room.
Here he sat ruminating for some time, and upon retiring to bed that
night, he could not rest, a vision of two girls sleeping under the
same roof with him rose up and floated before him, so that repose was
impossible.
The next morning he rose earlier than usual, hoping to find health and
strength in the fresh mountain breeze.
He was away some considerable time, wandering about in a desultory
manner he knew not whither.
When he returned to Madame Trieste’s house, he was silent and
thoughtful, but was, nevertheless, extremely courteous in his manner.
This was habitual to him. He found the ladies waiting breakfast for
him.
Theresa looked pale, and appeared to be in a state of trepidation. Her
maid Agatha, however, seemed to be keenly alive to all that was
passing, for her eyes wandered about from one to another in an
inquiring manner.
Madame Trieste was lively and loquacious, and the meal passed over
pleasantly enough. When it was concluded, and the party were about to
leave the dining-room, a loud barking of dogs in the garden fell upon
their ears.
“Oh, a visitor,” remarked Madame Trieste.
“Do you expect anyone?” inquired Lord Ethalwood.
“Well, yes, I do, if the truth must be told,” returned his hostess.
Theresa started, and a troubled look sat on her beauteous and
expressive features.
There was a gentle rap at the door, after which a young man entered
the room. He appeared to be about four or five and twenty. He had a
well-knit frame, indicating great strength and activity. His features
were characteristic of determination and were possessed of a certain
amount of manly beauty――albeit, they lacked refinement. His hair was
black, and his complexion swarthy.
Madame Trieste held out her hand to him, which he raised to his lips
with a kind of rough gallantry. He then shook hands with Theresa, who
appeared to be greatly disconcerted.
Lord Ethalwood returned the young man’s salutation with the greatest
possible hauteur.
“My dear Gerome,” said Madame Trieste, in an affectionate tone, “this
gentleman is Lord Ethalwood, of whom you have heard us so often
speak.”
The young man nodded.
Then, turning towards his lordship, she added――“My dear Lord
Ethalwood, allow me to introduce you to one of my neighbours, Gerome
Chanet. You are both young, both sportsmen, both good-hearted and
intelligent, and I hope and trust you will become excellent friends.”
Lord Ethalwood bowed stiffly, and turned on his heel.
“My dear Ethelwood,” exclaimed the hostess, “do pray shake hands with
my young protégé. You English are so singularly cold and
unimpressionable.”
“Are we?” returned his lordship. “Well, it is constitutional with us,
I suppose,” he added, with a sickly smile.
Gerome Chanet held out his hand and Lord Ethalwood took it; but there
was an evident reluctance on both their parts. Each of the young men
divined that in the other he had a rival, or it might be an enemy.
“You intend to spend the whole day with us――do you not, Gerome?” said
Madame, assuming an air of cheerfulness.
“Ahem! I hardly know,” he returned. “You have a visitor.”
“What of that? You ought to be proud to make the acquaintance of so
distinguished a gentleman.”
“Ahem! Yes, of course.”
“Then, why do you hesitate?”
Gerome made no reply to this last observation.
The little party went out into the garden, and seated themselves in a
small bower overgrown with honeysuckle and eglantine. Madame Trieste
and her daughter took with them their needlework, and all more or less
entered into conversation.
It would have been impossible for Lord Ethalwood, without ridiculous
affectation and unpardonable bad taste, to refrain from addressing
Gerome Chanet.
The young man greatly displeased him, it is true; but he had done
nothing offensive, and it would have been in very bad taste on the
part of the English nobleman to ignore his presence.
The conversation, therefore, became general. Gerome recounted several
wild and exciting stories of mountaineering life, but sedulously
avoided making himself the hero of the adventures. He was as modest as
he was brave.
During these recitals Lord Ethalwood watched Theresa. She evidently
took but little interest in any of the narratives, and her undisguised
indifference filled his heart with joy. Now and then, Madame Trieste
slightly bent her eyebrows and looked vexed as her eyes rested upon
her daughter.
Afternoon arrived. Theresa and her mother returned to the house to see
to the preparations for the dinner. Lord Ethalwood and Gerome Chanet
were thus left together.
The masks they had been wearing instantly fell from their faces――it
was useless to keep them on any longer, and, from the moment of the
ladies’ departure, not another word was spoken. Lord Ethalwood
strolled in the garden, leaving his companion to enjoy his pipe alone
in the arbour.
Dinner passed over, and at length the day――which had seemed
interminable to Lord Ethalwood――was drawing to a close. Night was
slowly approaching, and Gerome Chanet took his leave of the ladies.
In obedience to the request of madame, the two men once more shook
hands in the same cold formal manner as before.
Gerome departed along a road leading to the mountains, and every step
which increased the distance from the house seemed to lift a portion
of a heavy burden that weighed upon the English nobleman’s heart.
He seemed to breathe more freely when he felt assured that Gerome was
far removed from the house in which he and his rival――for he felt
assured he was so――had first met.
As soon as the young mountaineer was out of sight, Madame Trieste
motioned Theresa to return to the house, and then taking Lord
Ethalwood’s arm led him back to the arbour in which a great part of
the day had been spent.
My dear friend,” said madame, as soon as they were seated, “here we
can converse freely, and I have something to tell you.”
“Oh, indeed, madame! I am all attention.”
“I look upon you as one of our nearest and dearest friends. I am right
in that supposition?”
“Of course you are――perfectly right.”
“And, as a proof, I am going to show you how much confidence I have in
you. I have introduced you to Monsieur Gerome Chanet――you have had
ample opportunities afforded you to converse together――now tell me,
without reserve, what you think of him?”
“My dear lady, what reason have you for putting such a question?”
“Never mind; answer it.”
“Frankly?”
“Yes. Do you like him?”
“Well, you put a plain question, which, to say the truth, I would
rather not answer, but if you insist――――”
“I do insist, you perverse creature.”
“Well, then, my answer is that I do not like him at all.”
“I thought as much.”
“Then you are not mistaken.”
“And your reasons?”
“He displeases me. It is wrong to be prejudiced against any person,
but, nevertheless, I frankly confess that the moment I set eyes upon
him I felt towards him the greatest possible aversion.”
“How very singular! He is brave and generous.”
“That may be; but he is evidently not my sort. I do not like him. I
should perhaps find it difficult to tell you the reason for that
dislike. All I know is, that it does exist, and I may add it is likely
to exist.”
“I am very sorry for it.”
“Why, my dear Madame? It cannot be a matter of any moment whether I
like or dislike Monsieur Chanet. I have met him to-day for the first
time, and possibly we may never meet again.”
“You are mistaken.”
“In what way?”
“This young man,” answered Madame Trieste, “will shortly be my son.”
“Your son, madame? Impossible!”
“It is a fact, monsieur.”
Lord Ethalwood appeared thunderstruck, and he changed colour.
Luckily, however, it was nearly dark, and his altered demeanour was
not observed by his companion to its fullest extent. She, however, saw
that he was moved and greatly disconcerted.
“I cannot believe it possible,” he repeated.
“He is betrothed to Theresa,” said Madame Trieste. “The marriage will
take place three months hence; all has been arranged and definitely
settled.”
“And, Mademoiselle Theresa,” stammered out his lordship, “does――does
she love him?”
Through the increasing darkness the young nobleman could see that the
French mother shook her head sadly.
“Does she love this man, madame?” cried Ethalwood, in a more
imperative tone.
“No, I do not believe she does,” was the answer to this query. “But
she esteems him, and feels for him a strong friendship,” added madame.
“Oh, indeed.”
“Yes, I hope and trust she does.”
“But why do you give her to him?”
“Because, though she does not love him now, love may come with
marriage. It is often the more solid for coming a little late.”
Lord Ethalwood shook his head.
“You do not think so?”
“No, indeed, I should be blind to facts if I did,” returned he.
“I do not think so.”
It could not possibly occur to the mind of Madame Trieste that in
speaking thus she was wounding the heart of her guest and friend. The
idea that her daughter, the fortuneless daughter of a poor lieutenant
of gendarmerie, might cast her eyes upon a proud wealthy English
nobleman never for a moment occurred to her.
“You will understand that what I have told you is strictly
confidential,” said Madame Trieste, “and you will not, of course, ever
mention the subject to my dear Theresa under any circumstances.”
“Certainly not――I should not think of doing so. You may rely upon my
discretion in this matter.”
“Thanks, my lord, a thousand thanks. It is now getting late, and the
night air is cool. Will you come indoors?”
“I will rejoin you in a few minutes.”
“We shall be waiting for you in the house,” she said, as she turned
and left him.
It is hardly necessary to describe the nature of the reflections to
which he gave himself up on being left alone.
The natural repugnance he had for the young mountaineer was now
greatly intensified.
He hated the very name of the man, and half regretted not having
openly insulted him――indeed, had he been acquainted with all the
circumstances which had since come to his knowledge, the probability
would have been that a violent scene might have taken place.
He was at this time greatly concerned and deeply dejected, and his
reflections were by no means agreeable ones.
He was suddenly aroused by feeling a burning hand pressed upon one of
his own, while a breathless voice whispered in his ear――
“Leave your door open. I must speak with you to-night.”
The speaker was Agatha, and she had disappeared before the sound of
her voice had died in Lord Ethalwood’s ear.
He strove in vain to fathom the intention of the young girl in thus
addressing him.
What could she probably have to say of such moment as to impel her to
take such a questionable course as that of secretly visiting his room
in the dead hour of the night?
It was altogether strange and unaccountable, and he was at a loss to
account for the girl’s conduct.
Upon rejoining Madame Trieste and Theresa in the house, he seemed so
abstracted and preoccupied that his hostess regarded him with a look
of commiseration, being under the impression at the time that he was
indisposed.
She asked him if he felt unwell.
He answered in the affirmative, being but too glad to avail himself of
any excuse to be by himself. He therefore retired to his room.
It was by this time a little after ten o’clock, and he might have to
wait a long time for the arrival of the maid.
He opened the window of his apartment, and gazed out. A panorama of
beauty lay before him, which was lighted up by the silver rays of the
moon and myriads of stars.
Lord Ethalwood surveyed the scene with something like satisfaction,
for the temperature was soft and mild, and a light breeze, laden with
the perfume of flowers, fanned his cheeks.
But as yet Agatha had not made her appearance.
Possibly it might be, after all, a mere girlish whim――a caprice
forgotten almost as soon as expressed.
“What could she have to tell? No matter,” murmered the English
nobleman, “I will wait patiently. It may be something of moment, or it
may be a mere trifle――any way I will wait. I am far removed from
friends and home, and my mother in her last letter begs of me to
return to London with all convenient speed. Perhaps she suspects that
there are attractions in this district, and to say the truth she is
not far out――――”
His soliloquy was suddenly brought to a termination by a gentle rap at
the door, which was afterwards slowly swung back on its hinges, and
Agatha, the pretty French waiting maid, presented herself.
“So you have kept your word, my pretty little tormentor,” cried his
lordship. “It is almost more than I expected.”
“You have never known me to break my word,” returned the girl, “but we
will not dispute on that point. I am here, as you see.”
“As I see.”
“And I am here for a purpose.”
“I do not doubt it, Agatha.”
The girl seemed to be in a sort of a tremour; possibly she half
repented of her rash and imprudent act, for Lord Ethalwood, upon her
entering the room, had carefully and almost noiselessly closed the
door. This done, he led her to a seat.
“Ah,” sighed Agatha, “it is perhaps wrong of me to visit you thus, but
I do not see any other way, and, so, pardon me, monsieur.”
“I have nothing to pardon,” returned his lordship. “On the contrary, I
have reason to be grateful for your disinterested kindness, for I am
sure you are prompted by nothing but the best and most unselfish
motives in thus presenting yourself.”
The girl’s face became suffused with blushes as she listened to this
complimentary speech.
“Monsieur――my lord!” she ejaculated, “what I have to tell you is
serious――nay, it may be terrible.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes. You are in danger――imminent danger.”
“Pray don’t frighten me, Agatha,” he said, with a smile.
“Oh, my lord,” she returned, “you cannot deceive me. You love
Mademoiselle Theresa. Don’t shake your head. I say you are enamoured
of my young mistress.”
“Hush! Do not make such rash assertions. I swear to you,” he cried.
“Do not swear, monsieur,” she answered, interrupting him. “It is
useless your attempting to deny it. You might as well attempt to prove
to me that I am the Queen of France, as to that you do not love my
mistress.”
“Well, for argument’s sake――mind, only for the sake of argument――assume,
if you like, that I do love Mademoiselle Theresa. What then?”
“Well, then――a young man came here to-day.”
“Certainly. What of that?”
“You do not like him. That is in no way surprising; and he hates you!”
“There is not much love lost between us, I dare say. But how do you
know he hates me?”
“I have seen the evil looks he cast upon you. I tell you his hate is
of a most deadly and venomous character. Ah! monsieur――my lord, have a
care, be warned in time. This young man――this Gerome Chanet――loves my
mistress to distraction――he doats upon her. Full well I know this. He
would gladly and cheerfully lay down his life for her.”
“Upon my word, Agatha, he is a most chivalrous, self-sacrificing
knight errant――that is, assuming your theory to be a correct one.”
“I am not mistaken,” said the girl, with renewed emphasis and force.
“Monsieur Gerome Chanet idolises Mademoiselle Theresa, and madame has
promised that she shall become his wife.”
“This may be the case.”
“It is so.”
“Well it is, then, if you will have it so.”
“It is not I would have it, because I do not like him; neither does
Theresa.”
“Then she is a fool if she has a man she does not like.”
“But then he will be revenged, take a deadly vengeance on the man whom
he deems his rival.”
“And who may that be?”
“None other than yourself. Oh, my lord, how can you ask such a
question?”
“Upon my word, Agatha, you are a most extraordinary girl.”
“You do not know the man you are dealing with, but I do,” exclaimed
Agatha. “He is brave and impetuous, his passions are like a mountain
torrent; his father is rich, but his grandfather was a smuggler, who
thought as little of killing a fellow-creature as you think of
plucking a flower. Gerome takes after his grandfather. Oh, monsieur,
be warned in time. If he supposes you supplant him in the affections
of my mistress, which you do, he will strike you down in one of the
mountain passes without pity or remorse.”
“You are drawing a most terrible picture, my dear Agatha.”
“Not more terrible than true, my lord.”
“What would you advise me to do then?” he inquired.
“You must leave this house at once――you must quit this country, return
to your native land, and await the issue of events. I don’t believe
that Mademoiselle Theresa will give her hand to the young mountaineer
after all that has passed.”
“You don’t think she will. And why not, I pray?”
“Because she has another attachment.”
Lord Ethalwood gave a prolonged “oh,” but forbore from pressing the
question further.
“You can guess who the object of that attachment is,” murmured his
companion.
“I think you are a wise counsellor, Agatha, and I will think over all
you have said and act in accordance with the dictates of my judgment,
but to leave this country, to part with you, my charmer, would be,
indeed, a terrible punishment.”
He caught the French maiden round the waist, pressed her form, and
covered her face with kisses.
“Oh, moussu――Oh, pray don’t!” she cried, as a deep blush suffused her
face and neck. “Pray release me.”
“You are my protectress, my adviser, my sweet pet,” cried he.
She struggled to release herself from his grasp, and when she had
succeeded she opened the door and fled precipitately.
“Ah!” ejaculated Lord Ethalwood, “what a charming creature! So
piquant!――so unsophisticated――so loveable!”
CHAPTER CXXVI.
FURTHER ENTANGLEMENTS.
Lord Ethalwood, at this particular period of his career, stood a fair
chance of getting himself into a scrape. His conduct, albeit that of a
gentleman, could not, taking the most favourable view of it, be deemed
prudent. He was enamoured of his hostess’s charming daughter, but at
the same time carried on a flirtation with the maid, which, as
discreet persons would say, was in every way reprehensible.
It would have been well for him if he had taken the advice of Agatha,
whose acute perceptive faculties enabled her to see the coming storm,
which might probably overwhelm more than one of the inmates of Madame
Trieste’s establishment.
After the girl’s departure his reflections were by no means of an
agreeable character, for at this time the idea of marriage was the
very last thing that occurred to him.
He was embued with much of the aristocratic prejudice which formed so
strong an element in the character of his ancestor, the late earl, who
before his death had made his great grandson promise――nay, indeed,
swear――that he would never contract a marriage with any lady who was
not nobly born, and it was therefore impossible for him to give his
name to a girl of humble and obscure origin.
He had not duly considered this when he first suffered himself to be
allured and fascinated by the beautious and susceptible French maiden.
He was not singular in this respect, for hundreds, and indeed
thousands, have been equally reckless both before and since.
His mother all this time was in entire ignorance of the course which
was being pursued by her erratic son. She suspected something was
amiss, perhaps, but then she argued that all members of the
aristocracy must have their private amours――it was but in the natural
order of things that such should be the case.
Lord Ethalwood came to the conclusion that he had been both unwise and
indiscreet, and the only course open to him was flight; he therefore
on the following day intimated to Madame Trieste that he intended to
return to his own chateau, and much to his surprise the widow did not
make any objection to this, but upon the face of her daughter sat an
expression of sadness and almost despair. She, however, did not make
any observation.
No doubt she had discovered that a fatal attachment had been growing
from hour to hour in the young girl’s heart, and like a prudent mother
she was solicitous of seeing her daughter married, feeling perfectly
well that no good could come of her encouragement of the English
nobleman’s attentions, seeing that it was not at all probable a
gentleman in his position would form what everyone must consider a
_mesalliance_.
Towards the middle of the day Lord Ethalwood set out for his own
residence.
He was not in his usual spirits upon returning to his chateau, and
forbore from indulging in the pleasures of the chase.
In consequence of this he felt the time hang heavy on his hands and
had serious thoughts of returning to Broxbridge Hall, and plunging
again into the vortex of fashionable life. But there was a loadstone
which kept him from carrying out this good resolution.
He had passed about a month of dull purposeless existence since his
return, when one morning his valet delivered to him a letter in an
unknown handwriting.
The unexpected missive came from an old French gentleman who had been
at one time an intimate associate of the late earl, who was most
anxious to pay his respects to his successor.
Any society was better than none, so in reply to the Frenchman’s
letter Lord Ethalwood wrote an invitation to the writer, intimating
that he would be glad if he would spend a day or two with him at his
chateau.
The name of his father’s friend was the Chevalier Gustave de Monpres,
and punctual to the time appointed the chevalier arrived in a
post-chaise at the chateau.
He was a thin man, with a bald head and a heavy military moustache,
and although verging on three score years and ten, was as active as a
harlequin and as loquacious as a barber.
He very soon made himself known to the English nobleman, whom, he
said, was the image of his friend, the deceased earl.
He was most profuse in his protestations of friendship, and passed his
arm through that of his host as if he had known him for years, and led
him into the park, where he insisted on giving his companion an
account of the wonderful adventures he and the late earl had had
together, and speaking to the present one as if he were a man of his
own age.
He certainly was a most vivacious, amusing old gentleman.
Poor Reginald could not get a word in edgeway. It is true he did not
make any great effort to out-talk the Frenchman, being convinced from
the very first that he was in this respect “nowhere,” to make use of a
sporting phase.
The chevalier had sufficient penetration to see that his young friend
was rather dispirited, from what cause he could not divine. However,
he made up his mind to get at the pith and marrow of the subject
before he left the chateau, and he was just the sort of man who was
beyond all others the most likely to succeed in such a case.
He told the young earl a series of anecdotes and stories about all
sorts of people, and the general tenour of his conversation was what
some persons would term free――it partook more of the libertine than
the moralist. However, it served to beguile the tedium of the earl’s
monotonous life, and he was in a measure amused with his vivacious
guest.
When the walk in the grounds was over, the dinner was served, and the
two gentlemen sat down to what in truth might be termed a costly
banquet.
The chevalier, who was a connoisseur in gastronomic matters, tasted
all the dishes, did honour to all the wines, and complimented
infinitely the talents of Lord Ethalwood’s _chef_, whom he declared to
be a man of supreme ability and taste.
As the meal progressed the old roué’s spirits frothed and sparkled
like the champagne he swallowed, but his host remained dull and
thoughtful, despite the exhilarating effects of the wine.
His companion could not fail to observe this; he was too much a man of
the world, and too great a courtier to rally the earl on the subject.
He took a different course: he tacked about, changed the character of
his discourse, for he had the protean power of adapting himself to all
occasions. He therefore became affectionately insinuating, and even
almost parental. This was more consonant with the earl’s state of mind
at that time.
The chevalier did not seem to be the same man he was an hour or so
ago. He was so engaging, so soft and winning, and it might be said
earnest and almost pathetic.