MYSTERIOUS ROBBERY.
The sun shone on Darrell Court; the warmth and brightness of the day
were more than pleasant. The sunbeams fell on the stately trees, the
brilliant flowers. There was deep silence in the mansion. Captain
Langton had been gone some hours. Sir Oswald was in his study. Pauline
sat with Miss Hastings under the shade of the cedar on the lawn. She had
a book in her hands, but she had not turned a page. Miss Hastings would
fain have said something to her about inattention, but there was a look
in the girl's face that frightened her--a proud, hard, cold look that
she had never seen there before.
Pauline Darrell was not herself that morning. Miss Hastings had told her
so several times. She had asked her again and again if she was ill--if
she was tired--and she had answered drearily, "No." Partly to cheer her,
the governess had suggested that they should take their books under the
shade of the cedar tree. She had assented wearily, without one gleam of
animation.
Out there in the sunlight Miss Hastings noticed how cold and white
Pauline's face was, with its hard, set look--there was a shadow in the
dark eyes, and, unlike herself, she started at every sound. Miss
Hastings watched her keenly. She evinced no displeasure at being so
watched; but when the elder lady went up to her and said, gently:
"Pauline, you are surely either ill or unhappy?"
"I am neither--I am only thinking," she returned, impatiently.
"Then your thoughts must be very unpleasant ones--tell them to me.
Nothing sends away unpleasant ideas so soon as communicating them to
others."
But Miss Darrell had evidently not heard the words; she had relapsed
into deep meditation, and Miss Hastings thought it better to leave her
alone. Suddenly Pauline looked up.
"Miss Hastings," she said, "I suppose a solemn promise, solemnly given,
can never be broken?"
"It never should be broken," replied the governess. "Instances have been
known where people have preferred death to breaking such a promise."
"Yes, such deaths have been known. I should imagine," commented Pauline,
with a gleam of light on her face, "that no Darrell ever broke his or
her word when it had been solemnly given."
"I should imagine not," said Miss Hastings.
But she had no clew to her pupil's musings or to the reason of her
question.
So the noon-day shadows crept on. Purple-winged butterflies coquetted
with the flowers, resting on the golden breasts of the white lilies, and
on the crimson leaves of the rose; busy bees murmured over the rich
clove carnations; the birds sang sweet, jubilant songs, and a gentle
breeze stirred faintly the leaves on the trees. For once Pauline Darrell
seemed blind to the warm, sweet summer beauty; it lay unheeded before
her.
Miss Hastings saw Sir Oswald coming toward them; a murmur of surprise
came from her lips.
"Pauline," she said, "look at Sir Oswald--how ill he seems. I am afraid
something is wrong."
He drew near to them, evidently deeply agitated.
"I am glad to find you here, Miss Hastings," he said; "I am in trouble.
Nay, Pauline, do not go; my troubles should be yours."
For the girl had risen with an air of proud weariness, intending to
leave them together. At his words--the kindest he had spoken to her for
some time--she took her seat again; but the haughty, listless manner did
not change.
"I am nearly sixty years of age," said Sir Oswald, "and this is the
first time such a trouble has come to me. Miss Hastings, do you remember
that conversation of ours last night, over that roll of notes in the
ebony box?"
"I remember it perfectly, Sir Oswald."
"I went this morning to take them from the box, to take their numbers
and send them to the bank, and I could not find them--they were gone."
"Gone!" repeated Miss Hastings. "It is impossible! You must be mistaken;
you must have overlooked them. What did they amount to?"
"Exactly one thousand pounds," he replied. "I cannot understand it. You
saw me replace the notes in the box?"
"I did; I watched you. You placed them in one corner. I could put my
finger on the place," said Miss Hastings.
"I locked the box and carried it with my own hands to my study. I placed
it in the drawer of my writing-table, and locked that. I never parted
with my keys to any one; as is my invariable rule, I placed them under
my pillow. I slept soundly all night, and when I woke I found them
there. As I tell you I have been to the box, and the notes are gone. I
cannot understand it, for I do not see any indication of a theft, and
yet I have been robbed."
Miss Hastings looked very thoughtful.
"You have certainly been robbed," she said. "Are you sure the keys have
never left your possession?"
"Never for one single moment," he replied.
"Has any one in the house duplicate keys?" she asked.
"No. I bought the box years ago in Venice; it has a peculiar lock--there
is not one in England like it."
"It is very strange," said Miss Hastings. "A thousand pounds is no
trifle to lose."
Pauline Darrell, her face turned to the flowers, uttered no word.
"You might show some little interest, Pauline," said her uncle, sharply;
"you might have the grace to affect it, even if you do not feel it."
"I am very sorry indeed," she returned, coldly. "I am grieved that you
have had such a loss."
Sir Oswald looked pacified.
"It is not so much the actual loss of the money that has grieved me," he
said; "I shall not feel it. But I am distressed to think that there
should be a thief among the people I have loved and trusted."
"What a solemn council!" interrupted the cheery voice of Aubrey Langton.
"What gloomy conspirators!"
Sir Oswald looked up with an air of great relief.
"I am so glad you are come, Aubrey; you can advise me what to do."
And the baronet told the story of his loss.
Captain Langton was shocked, amazed; he asked a hundred questions, and
then suggested that they should drive over to Audleigh Royal and place
the affair in the hands of the chief inspector of police.
"You said you had not taken the numbers of the notes; I fear it will be
difficult to trace them," he said, regretfully. "What a strange,
mysterious robbery. Is there any one you suspect, Sir Oswald?"
No; in all the wide world there was not one that the loyal old man
suspected of robbing him.
"My servants have always been to me like faithful old friends," he said,
sadly; "there is not one among them who would hold out his hand to steal
from me."
Captain Langton suggested that, before going to Audleigh Royal, they
should search the library.
"You may have made some mistake, sir," he said. "You were tired last
night, and it is just possible that you may have put the money somewhere
else, and do not remember it."
"We will go at once," decided Sir Oswald.
Miss Hastings wished them success; but the proud face directed toward
the flowers was never turned to them. The pale lips were never unclosed
to utter one word.
After the gentlemen had left them, when Miss Hastings began to speak
eagerly of the loss, Pauline raised her hand with a proud gesture.
"I have heard enough," she said. "I do not wish to hear one word more."
The robbery created a great sensation; inspectors came from Audleigh
Royal, and a detective from Scotland Yard, but no one could throw the
least light upon the subject. The notes could not be traced; they had
been paid in from different sources, and no one had kept a list of the
numbers.
Even the detective seemed puzzled. Sir Oswald had locked up the notes in
the box at night, he had kept the keys in his own possession, and he had
found in the morning that the box was still locked and the notes were
gone. It was a nine days' wonder. Captain Langton gave all the help he
could, but as all search seemed useless and hopeless, it was abandoned
after a time, and at the end of the week Captain Langton was summoned to
London, and all hope of solving the mystery was relinquished.