CHAPTER XIV.

UNFORTUNATE POSTAGE-STAMP.

_A street acquaintance--The fascinating widow--Fatal

marriage--Marrying another man's wife--A question of damages--Lucky

hit at Ascot._

"Do you know that you have married my wife?"

This somewhat extraordinary piece of intelligence was communicated to

my friend Alfred Drummond in his own home about three months after

he was married. The person who claimed a prior right to the lady had

scamp plainly written on his bloated features, and he looked all over a

man who lived by his wits. I thought it an ill-advised union from the

first, but when I ventured on a word of warning, I was immediately put

down as an old croaker, so I determined to let the wilful man have his

own way. The lady was certainly beautiful in that voluptuous sense so

much admired by painters of the Dutch school, but I was not taken with

her. There was a shiftiness about her glance not pleasant to see either

in horse or human being. Although I drank to their happiness in Irroy

on that fatal wedding day, I was never sanguine of the result, but by

the utmost stretch of my imagination I could not have foreseen the

deplorable consequences. The marriage totally wrecked my friend's life,

and all but ruined me.

If men will pick up their wives in such an irregular manner, they

must not be astonished at the surprises the future has in store for

them. It will be learned from this narrative that acquaintances made

in the street are never any good. My friend met the girl he married

in a post-office; she was sending a telegram, and his business was

confined to the purchase of a penny stamp. As it turned out, the buying

of that stamp was the most unfortunate thing Drummond ever done. I

have often thought that if he had by any chance only seen the contents

of the lady's message, his eyes would have been opened and he would

have been saved much money. They spoke--I never knew exactly how that

came about, but it is easy to guess. A look would be sufficient, for

Alfred Drummond, who was one of the most susceptible of men, but I

rather think that the ill-fated intimacy began with the restoration of

a dropped handkerchief. At all events, the meeting in the post-office

ended by the lady's address being obtained, and permission to visit her

being granted. A quiet, well-appointed brougham was waiting the fair

siren outside the post-office, and my friend came rushing to me full of

the adventure, and, so to speak, treading on air.

When you find a man is in love don't trouble to reason with him.

Labour lost. And for your own sake don't attempt to say one word

against his mistress if you want to avoid a duel to the death. Any

aspersions cast upon the whiteness of the charmer's teeth, the colour

of her hair, the smallness of her foot, or the levity of her conduct,

will never be forgiven. Mr. Alfred Drummond had had to my knowledge

many previous attacks of this love fever, but none of them so sudden,

severe, and lasting a nature as the present one. He was perfectly

infatuated, and his ravings about the lady's perfections disgusted his

more sober-minded companions. There is no doubt Mrs. Selby--he told us

that was the name--gave him great encouragement from the commencement.

It seems that on presenting himself at the lady's villa, which was

situated at West Brompton, the door was opened by a man servant, and he

was shown into an exquisitely decorated drawing-room. He was received

most graciously, and his visits became of almost daily occurrence, and

letters were continually passing between them. On the occasion of a

carpet dance, I was introduced to my friend's enslaver, but her shifty

look created doubts about her integrity in my mind, and I did not

like the people I met at her house. If they did not belong to Bohemia

proper, they lived within hailing distance of that mystic land. No one

enjoys a "lark" more than the writer of this "ower true tale," but

when it becomes a question of marriage, too much caution cannot be

used. There would be fewer cases in the Divorce Court if men would be

ruled by their judgments instead of their passions. All my efforts to

control my friend in this matter were fruitless. I could see things

were approaching a climax, so I was not surprised at the announcement

Drummond made to me one morning, about two months after their first

interview.

"Congratulate me, old fellow," he said, bouncing into my office, with

an open note in his hand; "I have won the prize."

"I am very glad; how much is it." I knew well enough what he meant, and

was sorry to hear the news.

"It is not a prize in the French lottery; something immeasurably

superior to money."

"A castle on the Rhine, with the title of Baron attached to it?"

"No, stupid; you are extra dull this morning; the incomparable prize is

Mrs. Selby."

"Oh, the widow," I remarked; "so all mysteries have been explained."

"I don't know what you mean; the mysteries, as you call them originated

in your own suspicious mind."

"Then tell me who is she after all. As you are going to marry her, of

course you know everything?"

"Who should she be but herself, Mrs. Selby, the widow of a City

merchant who was killed by the natives three years ago when on a

business visit to the Cape?"

"Then you have been introduced to her relations?"

"What are you driving at? I know her friends."

"I said _relations_."

"She has not got any; so much the better for me."

"Perhaps; but if I stood in your shoes I should like to be posted up a

little more about my wife's antecedents."

"I am satisfied, and that is everything."

"Certainly; no offence, you know. You will be a rich man now, I

suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"I presume the expensive establishment at Brompton is not kept up on

nothing--your widow must have lots of money."

"I don't know and I don't care. I love the darling for herself. You

have always had an unpleasant word to say about Caroline; I shall be

sorry if my marriage is going to break up our friendship."

"What I said was intended for your good, Alfred, but if the die is cast

I have finished. Shake hands, wed Mrs. Selby as soon as you like, and I

wish you much happiness."

When you have a serious regard for a man, as I had for Drummond, it

grieves you to the heart to see him commit an irreparable act of folly.

I was quite confident that the widow was not all she represented

herself to be, and that her present mode of life was to some extent

enveloped in mystery. When there is so much secrecy, there is always

something objectionable to hide. But you might as well try to turn the

tide as endeavour to convince a lover that there are any imperfections

in his sweetheart. The day for the marriage was at hand, and I was

anything but reconciled to it. What business was it of mine? You see

we were like brothers. Our friendship began at college, and became

cemented when we both secured Government appointments in the same

office. Although our natures were entirely different, Drummond's

wayward, mine consistent, no two individuals could repose greater

confidence in each other. It was not because his marriage would to some

extent separate us that I objected to it. I may have many faults, but

selfishness is not one of them. I made certain that my friend would

be one of those rash individuals who "marry in haste to repent at

leisure," and my surmises turned out to be only too correct.

He had reason to have dark forebodings himself. A letter she hid

on his appearance and refused to show him caused him considerable

uneasiness, and once he came suddenly upon her close to her house in

deep conversation with a man, to whom she did not proffer to introduce

him. He was so much under her influence at the time, she no doubt

managed to explain these trifling matters to his entire satisfaction.

The letter was probably a bill from her dressmaker, and the stranger

her solicitor's clerk. When she was reported to be ill and confined

to her room, I saw her in a box at the Haymarket Theatre, but this

fact I kept to myself. They were married, and went to the Continent

for the honeymoon, and on their return they took up their residence at

the villa. His stay in this fool's paradise was but of short duration.

They had only been settled down about three months, when he made the

unpleasant discovery that he had married a living man's wife.

In his terrible trouble he came to me for advice. The man who

represented himself as the real husband had threatened all manner of

actions at law, but agreed to do nothing until twelve o'clock the

following day. His story, plausible enough, was that, on going into

the interior of the country at the Cape to trade, he had been captured

by the natives, and been kept a prisoner for over two years. A friend

who was with him--who succeeded in escaping--left him on the field

for dead, and reported the decease of her husband to Mrs. Selby. On

one condition I agreed to assist Drummond out of his difficulty, and

that was, that he must separate at once from the lady. As he loved the

woman to distraction, this was a hard blow; but he at once saw the

propriety of complying with the stipulation, and the next day I kept

the appointment with Mr. Selby instead of my friend.

The meeting was to take place at the villa. On arriving there a few

minutes before the time arranged, I was met by Mrs. Selby, with her

attire in disorder and dishevelled hair.

"Where is he? He has not been here since yesterday," she exclaimed,

clutching hold of me and bursting into a flood of tears.

I tried to calm her, but it was of no use; she became quite hysterical

and threw herself face downwards on the sofa. If that is not real, I

thought, what a magnificent actress she would have made. On ringing the

bell for her maid her real husband made his appearance. On seeing the

condition of his wife he went up to the sofa and spoke kindly to her.

"Don't take it so much to heart, Caroline," he said, feelingly, "you

had reasons to think me dead. I do not blame you." Turning to me

he remarked, "I hope I have not kept you waiting. You are from Mr.

Drummond, I presume; if you will step into another room we will talk

over matters."

Before sitting down I had a good look at Mr. Selby, and I neither liked

his manner nor appearance. I saw that I had an unscrupulous, perhaps

clever rogue to deal with, and I became doubly cautious.

I began by saying what a strange affair it was, and asking him where he

and Mrs. Selby were married. He was prepared for the question; he not

only produced the marriage certificate, but also furnished me with the

names and present abodes of the witnesses. When I made enquiry about

the business in the City he at once gave me a card of the address;

he was an exporter of fancy goods, whatever that may mean. Alluding

incidentally to his altered appearance, he asked whether two years in

the bush was not enough to pull any one down. Then we got to closer

quarters.

"Well, Mr. Selby, it is a great misfortune to all parties. What do you

propose to do?" I asked.

"I doated on my wife, and should like to take her back," he replied;

"to prevent exposure, which I suppose would not suit your friend, I am

willing to come to terms."

"As you are the lawful husband, I will undertake that Mr. Drummond

relinquishes all his claims."

"But that will not be sufficient; he has done me a great injury and

must compensate me for it."

"Your captivity has not bettered your fortunes, Mr. Selby."

"On the contrary, ruined me."

I saw that the whole affair resolved itself into a question of money,

and it was imperative for my friend's sake that the matter should be

hushed up. I wondered how it was that his wife was enabled to live

in such good style in his absence, but said nothing. It was no good

studying delicacy with a man like that. I said--

"How much do you want? You must remember that my friend is a

comparatively poor man."

"A thousand pounds," was the startling answer.

"Quite preposterous", I replied; "my friend is not in a position to

pay anything like this sum, and if he took my advice he would keep his

money in his pocket. _He_, at all events, acted in good faith."

"I have not said a word against Mr. Drummond, but he has mortally

injured me. He can think over my proposition, but to-morrow at the same

hour I must have a decided answer," Mr. Selby remarked. "There is the

address of my hotel. You can tell him that to clear myself I may have

to prosecute my wife for bigamy, and that I can take the case into the

Divorce Court."

When I got back I told Drummond what had taken place. I thought he

would have gone mad when he heard that there was no doubt about Mr.

Selby's identity. My poor infatuated friend had good prospects, and

for certain reasons, very serviceable now, his marriage was only known

to a few people. The difficulty we had to encounter was how to get

rid of the demands of the injured husband. There was not much time to

deliberate, Selby took care of that, and when once the peculiar case

got wind it would fly to all parts of the town. A certain amount of

money must be paid I could see, and at length we agreed to offer five

hundred pounds. But how to get the sum; Drummond had not five hundred

pence. His journey to Paris, the expenses at Brompton, to say nothing

of the innumerable rich presents he had given Mrs. Selby, had swallowed

up all his ready money. I had relations to look after, and was at no

time flush of cash. But by the aid of an all-potent bill stamp we

solved the problem, and I wended my way next morning to the appointment

with five one hundred pound notes in my pocket.

"Look here, Mr. Selby," I said when I got to his hotel, "let us

understand each other. I have come on behalf of my friend to make you a

first and last offer; if you accept, the money is ready; if you refuse,

you may institute what proceedings you please."

"What is the proposal?"

"That on your signing that paper, agreeing to take back your wife and

cease all action against Mr. Drummond, I will pay you five hundred

pounds."

A slight noise in the rokenbedroom adjoining the room we were sitting

in attracted my attention at this moment. There was some one listening

to our conversation, and now that the full particulars of the

conspiracy are known, I have no doubt it was Mrs. Selby. The movement

of the fire-irons was most likely a pre-concerted signal. He strongly

objected to the smallness of the sum, and dwelt on the great wrong than

had been done him, which was bound to embitter his whole life.

"Well, Mr. Selby," I said, rising and taking up my hat, "I can make no

addition to my offer."

"It is so little; think of my awkward position. Mr. Drummond, a perfect

stranger, parts me from my friends, banishes me from places where I am

known, and compels me to change my name. And, worst of all, after what

has passed, my wife can never be the same to me that she once was. Put

yourself in my place and you would think yourself utterly ruined."

"It is certainly a dreadfully unfortunate occurrence, but my friend can

do nothing more; the fact is that he had the greatest difficulty to

procure this sum."

"No compensation will ever heal the wound, but for my wife's sake I

will take the money."

* * * * *

To satisfy my curiosity, and oblige Drummond, I made a few enquiries

at West Brompton later in the week, and learned that on the same day I

paid the money the furniture of the villa was sold privately, and it

was reported in the neighbourhood that, on account of ill-health, Mrs.

Selby had gone abroad.

Poor Drummond kept his word--what acute suffering it cost him was known

only to himself--and did not attempt to see his wife of three months

again, but his separation from her was killing him.

To the great grief of all his friends he became careless in his habits,

and took to drink. He was expostulated with time after time, but in

vain. Nothing I could say would rouse him, and to all intents and

purposes he seemed a lost man--a ship at sea without a rudder.

The bill on which I figured as the drawer had nearly run its course,

and how it was to be met I had not the vaguest notion. There was no

chance of a renewal. A proposition to that effect which I made the

holder was rejected at once. Rumours as to my unfortunate friend's

dissipated habits had got about, and people had no longer any

confidence in him. It was well known that I had no private sources of

income. With ruin staring me in the face you may rest assured I was not

inclined to bless Mrs. Selby.

Brought up in a district where innumerable racehorses are reared and

trained, it was natural that I should take an interest in the turf, but

when I wanted them most to be fortunate my speculations all at once

ceased to be remunerative. The Derby had upset all my calculations--a

second-class animal found the course to his liking, and beat all the

favourites--and I looked forward to Ascot to get back my money with

interest. Still as my investments were necessarily of a trifling amount

I had no idea of winning sufficient to take up the obnoxious bill which

was due immediately after Ascot. It so happened that my annual holidays

fell at Ascot time, and I made up my mind to a week's racing if the

funds held out. If at all lucky I might get a hundred, and I thought

that this sum would tempt the Jew to renew the bill. In another three

months there was no telling what would happen. I saw that it was no

good relying on Drummond to find the five hundred, or any portion of

it, and he had made unsuccessful applications to all his relations. I

was very sorry for him, but his friendship was likely to prove rather

costly. The poor follow was a pitiful sight to see. Every hope of his

life and his pride had been blasted by that woman, and inattention to

his duties at last compelled him to resign his post.

I see him regularly once a year, but there is no improvement in his

condition. On the contrary, the wreck is beginning to break up, and I

fear that soon his place on earth will be vacant. An uncle allows him

two pounds a week so long as he remains at Boulogne.

To "Royal Ascot," as it was called by the sporting prophets, I went,

determined to do my best to defeat the layers of odds. A careful study

of the programme made me fancy I could name a few winners.

Entering the course on Hunt Cup day, I was addressed by a miserable

looking object, who informed me that he was the brother of a famous

jockey. He knew, he said, a certainty for the principal race. Not

believing for a moment that he had any reliable information, I threw

the half-starved wretch a shilling, and was walking away when he ran

after me and gave me a scrap of paper.

In a popular play, derived of course from French sources, it is seen

of what great importance a few words of writing may become. The strip

of paper handed to me by the Newmarket tout, and which I carelessly

put into my waistcoat pocket without reading it, was destined to save

me from a grave difficulty; and dirty as it is, it will always have a

prominent place in my album.

Over the previous events I had varying luck, and when the numbers went

up for the prettiest race of the year, I had won altogether twenty-five

pounds, so I resolved to give myself a chance.

There was a large field, and long prices were offered against many of

the competitors. A man had only to know the winner to realize a fortune

for a ridiculously small outlay.

The favourites I discarded, as I had seen too many "certainties"

settled coming up the stiff ascent. I had taken stock of most of the

horses before they cantered, and was trying to get a hint from the

betting, when I recollected the neglected "tip" in my pocket.

On the soiled paper was scrawled with a pencil, "The winner of the Hunt

Cup is Jasper! Back him, and send a trifle out of your winnings to R.

F., Black Bull Inn, Newmarket."

I had seen and liked the form and condition of Baron Rothschild's

horse. He looked admirably adapted to ascend the hill, as his hind

legs were well placed under him; and considering his performances,

he was not over-burdened with weight. There were many more unlikely

candidates, and finding that all the sporting Solons, excepting one who

wrote under the odd name of "Disgue," had not a favourable word to say

about Jasper, and in the absence of other authentic intelligence, I

pinned my faith to the selection of the Newmarket tout.

"How much Jasper?" I asked a prominent member of the ring.

"Hundred to three," was the answer.

"Put it down seven times," I said, and I handed the bookmaker

twenty-one pounds.

If the horse lost I would still be the winner of four pounds on the

day, and there were other races to speculate on. I was not kept long in

suspense. A bell announced that the starter had got rid of his eager

and troublesome customers. Anxious eyes watched the struggle.

"The favourite's beat," was soon proclaimed, and several gentlemen

shouted, "Steel, Nicholls, what against Jasper?"

As they neared the Grand Stand a terrific shout told me--for I was so

hemmed in I could not see the race--that Jasper was winning in a canter.

Lucky shilling!

My seven hundred pounds was paid immediately after the jockey weighed

in, and I increased my winnings to a thousand before the last race

was run on Friday. With this piece of good luck my difficulties were

happily at an end. When the bill was presented it was duly honoured,

but to his credit it must be stated that Drummond never rested until

he got a relation to refund me the money. It need scarcely be put on

record here that the brother of the famous jockey had occasion to

rejoice at the success of Jasper.

* * * * *

A trial at the Old Bailey in the following November showed the public

that Mr. and Mrs. Selby were nothing but a couple of swindlers who went

about preying on unsuspecting men like my unfortunate friend, Drummond.

The Silver Gauntlet.

A STORY OF THE TURF.

_In Four Chapters._

CHAPTER I.

_An Introduction to Billy Platt._

It was the eve of the Wincastle races which were first started in that

period so fruitful of duchesses--the reign of old Rowley. Historians

differ as to whether the Merry Monarch did or did not, on a certain

occasion, actually patronise this meeting in person, accompanied by a

notorious play actress; but that does not matter.

Historians, as well as doctors, agree to differ. The quaint country

town of Wincastle was full to the over-flowing, and the oldest

inhabitant pledged his word at the bar of the Black Bull that he had

never set eyes on such a big crowd.

It was a motley assemblage, at any rate, peculiar about the shape of

its coat, and the cut of its trousers; not too particular as to the

delicacy of its language, but much exercised in its mind where it was

going to sleep.

The old-fashioned inns and lodging-houses had, early in the day, let

their last bed, and were now asking and getting exorbitant prices for

the sofas, tables, and chairs. Later on there will be eager bidders for

the right to spend the night on the bare floor. Thoroughbred horses,

worth small fortunes, accustomed to all the refinement and luxury of a

Newmarket stable, had to be contented with the miserable shelter of a

cow-byre or a cart-shed.

It was no doubt Mr. Strathill, the energetic clerk of the course, who

had been instrumental in drawing the additional bipeds and quadrupeds

to Wincastle this autumn. According to his specious advertisements his

annual gathering was the very paradise of all race-goers, and he dwelt

impressively on a new contest, of singular interest, to be decided on

the first day, called the Silver Gauntlet.

This extra attraction was first mooted by the Duchess of Wincastle--a

fascinating widow of twenty-five--and the trophy was subscribed to by

her Grace and all the unmarried belles of the neighbourhood.

The Gauntlet was an imitation of a lady's glove in silver, and was a

masterpiece of Hunt and Roskell. The fingers were so arranged that this

beautiful and expensive work of art (it cost £200) when filled with

flowers could appropriately be used to decorate a table.

The new race was to be run over three miles of a fair hunting country,

gentlemen riders.

At this palpable challenge of beauty every eligible man in the country,

who had a decent horse, was eager to try his fortune.

The large field of fifteen or sixteen competitors was expected, and

already there had been some heavy wagering at the clubs.

Nothing worthy of note occurred in connection with any of the other

races at Wincastle; but the unfortunate and peculiar circumstances

surrounding the battle for the Silver Gauntlet soon became the

all-absorbing topic of conversation.

The race was a success in a monetary sense, but the clerk of the course

would sooner cut off his right hand than include it in his programme a

second time.

It was the first and last Silver Gauntlet ever contested for on the

Wincastle Downs.

Amongst the surging crowd at the entrance to the Black Bull might have

been seen two men in deep conversation; they were a strange contrast

to each other. One was a tall, handsome, devil-may-care-looking fellow

about thirty, who owned an estate in the neighbourhood, and who, from a

disappointment in love or something else, was said to be going headlong

to ruin. Yet his comrades would tell you that a more open-handed and

steadfast friend than Ivan Moordown did not exist.

The other man, who was making Moordown wince at his coarse and cutting

remarks, was a noted member of the betting ring--Billy Platt. Billy's

appearance was not in his favour; it was of the costermonger order of

beauty, and his vocabulary would have furnished an important addition

to a new slang dictionary.

His disgraceful language and revengeful disposition made the ex-vendor

of cauliflowers generally feared and detested. Emanating from the

lowest rung of the ladder, and encountering unpleasant difficulties

in his way, such as being half-murdered at Ascot, and nearly drowned

at Hampton, it was believed that he now laid himself open to get the

"swells" into his toils.

It was well known that the Marquis of H----, Lord W----, and Mr. B----,

were all obliged to discontinue attending race meetings because Billy

declined to give them a few weeks' grace to square their accounts.

When spoken to on the subject, he would abruptly answer, "Dong it, mon,

moind yer own bissness; think ye the swells wud hav' waited for my

brass?"

The conversation between Mr. Moordown and Billy had continued but a

short time, when the latter said (we omit the oaths, and put his hybrid

language into English)--

"I cannot hear myself speak with this infernal clatter. Come upstairs

to my sitting-room."

"Later on would suit me better. I have an appointment," replied

Moordown, edging away.

"The wench, or whoever it is, must wait. It is high time we had an

understanding. I have come to Wincastle on purpose to see you."

"It is now seven; I will come back at nine if it is important."

"This present moment, or not at all," was the polite answer of Platt.

"If it was even the Duchess herself who was going to meet you, business

must be attended to first."

"Lead the way then," said Moordown, evidently anything but pleased at

his capture.

CHAPTER II.

_Billy Platt shows his hand, and receives an unexpected but

well-deserved blow._

"Have you any idea how much you owe me?" asked Platt, as soon as the

sitting-room door was shut.

"I have not my book with me--it has become rather a large sum, as

I have not had a single winning week since Goodwood," replied Mr.

Moordown.

"Some people would think it a large amount, but it is a mere flea-bite

to you rich landowners."

"What is the total?"

"£1725, and I want the money."

"It is more than I thought, but never mind, Billy, you shall have it,

every penny."

"When?"

"I have no money to spare at present, but my turn of luck will come if

you are only patient with me."

"But I have no patience left; you have had lots of time, and I must

insist on a settlement--here--to-night. I am short of ready money

myself."

"That is unreasonable. You don't suppose I walk about with such a sum

of money in my possession?"

"Have it I must. Why not get some of your friends to advance it? I have

heard that great people always oblige one another."

"Out of the question. You can wait at all events till after Wincastle

races. I may be able to knock off a good portion of the debt this week.

I have a horse entered for the Silver Gauntlet, and he is not unlikely

to win."

"What's its name?"

"Highdrift."

"Highdrift! the devil. Why that's favourite, and the horse I am so bad

against. Laid eights, and now they take 2 to 1, and the worst of it is

they only back another horse with any freedom--Springtrap. I have a

ruinous book; it is all Highdrift."

"I am sorry you are bad against my horse, because he is very well, and

knowing, as I do, every one of his opponents, I think he stands an

excellent chance. You must not lose by Highdrift, Billy."

"Highdrift be poleaxed! (That word will do.) Get back my money at 2 to

1! You must think me a hedgehog." (He did not say hedgehog.) "I know a

move worth a dozen of that. Me back Highdrift? Why, I am only too happy

to lay against him. Do you know anyone who wants the odds to a hundred?"

"I don't understand you, Platt. Highdrift is all right, and it is not

more than 2 to 1 against him. He will very nearly, if not quite, win."

"But that's where we agree to differ. You do not see my drift--lowdrift,

you can call it if you like. I have been taking liberties with your

horse all along, and I'll be cremated if he is going to win."

"What the devil do you mean, man?" asked Moordown, getting rapidly into

a passion, and rising hastily from his chair.

"Just what I say. It is a mutual benefit affair. You owe me £1,725, and

cannot pay it; I agree to give you time. I have overlaid your horse;

you oblige me by scratching him on account of an accident, or give me

your word that if he runs he will not win."

"Scoundrel! take that," was Moordown's answer to these equitable

proposals, as he drove his right between Billy's eyes.

When Billy recovered from his well-deserved punishment, and was able to

regain his feet, he found Sir Hew Mainfly, the owner of Springtrap, the

second favourite for the Silver Gauntlet, in his room.

"Well, Billy, anything wrong? You look dreadfully uncomfortable. Been

taking a nap? You might have chosen a softer place than the floor.

Hilloa! that's a nasty lump on your forehead. Who has been giving you a

lesson in the noble art of self-defence?"

"Somebody who will very soon rue it. Who should it be but the owner of

Highdrift, the great Mr. Moordown?"

"You don't mean to say he has been foolish enough to quarrel with you?"

"It is just what he has done. He might have paid his debt first, don't

you think?"

"Certainly. I never was so surprised. Did you explain things properly?

Would he not listen to reason?"

"I at last told him plainly enough, and the moment he understood it he

knocked me down."

"We did not reckon on this difficulty. Moordown's obstinacy will upset

all our plans. It is provoking, for with Highdrift out of the way the

race would have been a good thing for my horse. I did think, as he owed

you such a lot of money, you would be sure to bring him to terms."

"I did my best, Sir Hew; but nothing is lost as yet."

"Everything is very uncertain. What will you do now?"

"I will send him a letter demanding payment of my money before twelve

o'clock to-morrow, and in the meantime I will lay all I can against

Highdrift."

"And to-morrow. How will you proceed?"

"Never mind, I have arranged it. Highdrift won't trouble you."

"Suppose he finds the money. Is it much?"

"£1,725."

"Impossible for him to get that sum."

"I thought so. With Moordown out of the hunt you will, I suppose, about

pull through. I have made a book for your horse."

"I only fear Highdrift. Keep him harmless and you will win your money."

"Don't bother about the blackguard or his horse; I have a blow to

pay, and am in a hurry to get rid of the obligation. I hear you are

both after the duchess. Make hay while the sun shines. Win the Silver

Gauntlet, and carry off the duchess into the bargain."

"Keep to your compact, Billy, and I will have a good try for the double

event."

CHAPTER III.

_A Woman comes to the Rescue._

While Sir Hew Mainfly and Billy Platt were plotting the ruin of Ivan

Moordown, the fair Duchess of Wincastle was busy arranging her house

for a grand ball to be given that evening. All the county magnates

had accepted, and amongst the "contents" were her Grace's two reputed

suitors, Sir Hew Mainfly and Mr. Moordown, so it will be perceived that

there were other interests linked with the winning of the new prize

instituted by the duchess, which did not at first meet the eye.

Rumour alleged that of her two lovers the duchess preferred Moordown,

but that the reckless life he led prevented her giving him any

encouragement. As has been already seen, the two men are very

dissimilar in character--the one resembling a lion, and Sir Hew more of

a tiger.

The duchess herself had been a Blanche Wintour, the daughter of a

wealthy commoner. She had been and was still a great beauty, and the

earl duke married her not because he cared for her, but to spite his

brother and please his other relations, and secure an heir to the title

and estates. A baby came, but, unfortunately, it was a girl, and the

earl, thinking himself shamefully ill-used, went off in a hot temper

to the North Pole, where he caught a severe cold, which, settling on

his lungs, ultimately led to his death. Her first marriage had been

entirely one of convenience, but in selecting a second husband the

duchess was at liberty to be guided by her heart.

All the guests at the ball were more or less interested in the Silver

Gauntlet, and the chances of the various candidates were freely

discussed. Other ladies besides the duchess had lovers going to take

part in the race.

From the commencement of the betting till that night Mr. Moordown's

horse had been the favourite, followed a point or two off by Sir Hew

Mainfly's Springtrap, and Lord Piershore's Eye of Night, but no sooner

had the dancing begun, when it was whispered about that there was

something wrong with Highdrift.

One man had seen Billy Platt lay six ponies, and offer to go on; a

second was told that the horse was actually scratched on account of

an accident to his fetlock joint, and a third had heard that the

retrograde movement in the betting was only got up for the easier

working of a large commission.

On approaching a knot of these gossips, the question was put point

blank to Moordown whether there was anything the matter with his horse,

and his answer was reassuring enough.

"When I left him a few minutes ago," he said, "he was as well as any

horse in England."

Still there were men who shook their heads, believing that where the

smoke is the fire is not far distant, and they noticed that Moordown

looked terribly dejected and ill at ease.

Later in the night it became generally known that Platt had finished

Highdrift's business for him by offering 10 to 1 as often as anyone

would take it, and everyone concluded the horse would not run.

Disquieting rumours about the favourite had reached the duchess from

time to time, but she could not ask Moordown for an explanation, as

he kept out of her circle. When, however, she overheard this remark,

"They say Moordown is hard up, and has given a laying commission to

Billy Platt," she went in search of him. She found him leaning against

a pillar at the entrance to the conservatory.

"Truant," she exclaimed, with an enchanting smile, and striking him a

smart blow on the shoulder with her fan. "Why have you deserted me?"

"I was not vain enough to think I would be missed."

"You were in error. I have come in quest of you."

"I wish I could believe that, flatterer."

"You may; it is the truth. I was really anxious about you. Now tell me

everything. What is the matter with Highdrift?"

"Nothing whatever; the horse was never better."

"Then what means these scandalous reports?"

"All I can say is that I don't originate them."

"But why is it, Moordown, certain low bookmakers are offering such long

prices against Highdrift, and openly boasting that he is as good as

dead for the race to-morrow?"

There was no reply.

"You must answer me," putting her hand on his arm. "This concerns your

honour."

"I cannot tell you."

"But you must," stamping her little foot, "Is it money?"

"If you must know, it is. I have had a run of bad luck, and am in

difficulties, and the scoundrels plot to drag my name in the gutter. I

cannot remain to be disgraced. If I never see you again, Blanche, think

as kindly of me as you can."

"Nonsense; that is not like you. You will stop and face the

difficulties when I tell you. I cannot remain any longer from my

guests, but promise to see me in the morning at ten punctually; and,

remember, if Highdrift does not win to-morrow you are to expect no

more flowers from me," and she gave him a rose out of her magnificent

bouquet.

Moordown did not feel so depressed after this interview.

Next morning the word went round that Highdrift had passed a bad night.

Anyone seeing the clear eye and glossy coat of that horse as he stood

in his loose box would, perhaps, have formed a different opinion.

Outside the Black Bull Billy Platt and his chums were early at work

to earn a few more sovereigns out of the "dead 'un." Nobody could

understand the determined hostility displayed against the quondam

favourite, as he was known to be all right, and people began to look

suspiciously at and talk in a way the reverse of complimentary about

Moordown. As the town clock struck ten the betting on the Silver

Gauntlet stood thus:--

6 to 4 agst Sir Hew Mainfly's Springtrap (taken).

5--2--Lord Piershore's Eye of Night (taken).

5--1--Col. Heapland's Idol (taken and offered.)

8--1--Capt. Moretown's Conqueror (t. freely).

12--1--Mr. Moordown's Highdrift (offered).

As some of the largest bookmakers from London and the provinces were

present the betting was extensive, and any particular horse could

easily be backed to win a few thousands.

Platt had been fortunate enough to find another creditor of Moordown's,

and the two "pals" were working together. Up to eleven o'clock there

was no change of any moment in the betting, but at that hour Billy

and his chum were startled out of their false security by a Captain

Wardlock readily accepting all the long prices proffered against

Highdrift. The captain booked all the money he could get at 12, 10, and

8 to 1, and, to Billy Platt's utter amazement, he closed with his offer

of six hundreds. He was also prepared was the captain to take slight

odds that Highdrift beat Springtrap wherever they finished.

This unlooked-for movement was a crushing blow to Platt, and quite

knocked him out of time; and he retired with his friend to the hotel,

to see how he stood and discuss the altered position of affairs. They

had scarcely sat down before Sir Hew Mainfly joined them, consternation

visibly written on his face.

"Has he paid you?" he asked Platt before he had well got into the room.

"Not a sixpence, and here is another creditor who is acting with me.

The documents are ready for the stewards."

"Then what the devil means this reaction in the betting?"

"I have not the least idea, Sir Hew. Who is Captain Wardlock?"

"An intimate friends of Moordown's, and a dangerous man. He is not

working in the dark."

At this instant there was a loud knock at the door, and, to the no

small surprise of the three conspirators, Moordown entered the room.

"In good company, Sir Hew," said Moordown sarcastically.

"Like you, I have some business with Platt."

"Mine won't take a minute." (Turning to Platt and throwing down a

bundle of notes on the table.) "You and your confederates are baffled

this time. There is your money."

"If I had not been so short, Mr. Moordown, I would not have troubled

you. No inconvenience I hope."

"If you ever presume to speak to me again, you know from last night

what to expect."

"As you are settling with everybody, Mr. Moordown, you may as well pay

me my small claim," said Platt's friend.

"Certainly. How much is it?"

"Only £145."

"There. Now, Sir Hew, you will be able to resume the business which I

am sorry to have interrupted," said Moordown, as he left the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Moordown, we will meet on the course," replied Sir

Hew, who little knew that ere the sun set he would be lying where he

was now sitting--a dead man.

CHAPTER IV.

_Broken bones and successful love._

They had now lost all hold over Moordown; and the three men were so

stunned it was a short time before either spoke. Sir Hew was the first

to open his mouth.

"Where on earth did he get the money?"

"Who could have found such a large amount in a night? It must have been

the duchess. They do say she is sweet on him," muttered Platt.

"Nonsense! I don't believe a word of it; but where the cash came from

is a mystery," said Sir Hew.

"Will this talk help me to get back the money I have overlaid against

Highdrift?" asked Platt's friend. "A pretty book I have got to square."

"The race is not yet decided," replied Sir Hew, looking much perplexed,

"and if I cannot win somebody else will have a difficulty. One moment,

Platt--your friend won't mind"--taking Platt to the window, and

whispering: "You know Airton; he is a certain starter, but has not the

ghost of a chance. He is not particular what he does, and there is an

old feud about a girl between him and Moordown. You must manage to give

him a hundred to get in the way of Highdrift. That is the best I can

suggest. Two of us ought to be able to stop the brute."

Most great races are run at three o'clock, and the Silver Gauntlet

at Wincastle was no exception. At that hour the excellent field of

thirteen placed themselves in the hands of the starter, who despatched

them on their eventful journey at the second attempt.

As they streamed past the Grand Stand, crowded with all the beauty

and aristocracy of the county, it was seen that Sir Hew Mainfly was

leading, but that he could scarcely control the fractions Springtrap,

and that Highdrift, with Moordown for his pilot, held a good position

in the centre of the second lot close to Mr. Airton on his weedy

thoroughbred Jasmine.

We who are behind the scenes know that Airton's proximity to Moordown

bodes no good to the latter.

The only important alteration in the betting at the fall of the flag

was the return of Highdrift to his old position of first favourite.

As he swung himself into the saddle, Moordown told Wardlock that he

would make a waiting race of it, and let Highdrift do his best in the

last two fields. He seemed to be quietly confident of the result, and

he took all the chaff his friends gave him about the withered rose

pinned to his jacket in good part.

There had been a heavy fall of rain during the night, and before half

the three miles was covered the holding ground began to find out the

weak points of many of the half-trained horses.

Springtrap was going in more sober fashion, but he was not by any means

done with; on the contrary, he looked as formidable as anything, and

now that he submitted to Sir Hew's guidance he possessed an undeniable

chance. Sir Hew had wisely pulled him back to the second division,

among which Highdrift and Jasmine were still running side by side.

So far, and it is nearly two miles, there have been no casualties,

but they are fast approaching the big jump. A natural brook has been

artificially guarded, and, judging from the number of people at the

spot, some scrambling is expected. These waiters on accidents were

not disappointed. Two or three of the first flight were too exhausted

to clear the obstacle, and landed in the water, where they kicked and

splashed, to the intense delight of the spectators.

As he neared the brook, Sir Hew Mainfly put on a spurt and left the

company, and pulling his horse together landed him safely on the other

side.

Watchers on the top of the Grand Stand offered to bet even money that

they named the winner. They meant Springtrap, and it did look like odds

on that horse, when Highdrift met with a check at the brook.

On nearing the water, Jasmine swerved right in front of Highdrift, and

the result was a serious scrimmage, in which horses and men were on the

ground together. Airton may have been earning his hundred or not, but

he had bitter occasion to remember the accident; a kick he received

when on the ground injured his spine, and he was doomed to be a cripple

for life.

Moordown, who had stuck to his reins, was on his feet and into the

saddle in a minute, and it required no persuasion to get Highdrift

across to the right side. Valuable moments had, however, been lost, and

there was now a considerable gap between him and Springtrap. He set

his horse going in earnest, and soon passed the stragglers, and when

he got into the second field from home he had everything beaten except

Springtrap, on whom he did not appear to gain a yard.

The success of Sir Hew seemed almost certain. There was only a trifling

post and rails obstruction between him and the straight run in, and

he was a comfortable distance ahead of his most dangerous enemy. The

owner of Highdrift began to lose hope, and bewail his confounded luck.

If Airton had not got in his way, he thought, things might have been

different.

After all that had occurred in connection with the race, it galled him

to the quick to think he was likely to be beaten, and, of all men, by

Sir Hew, and in sight of the duchess.

But there are many slips between the cup and the lip, and ships have

been known to founder in summer seas. Whether it was carelessness,

or the horse got frightened at the yelling of the mob, or was tired,

cannot be said now, but, in taking the most insignificant obstacle of

the whole course, Springtrap for the first time made a mistake, and

came down heavily, pitching Sir Hew on his head.

The baronet never spoke more. When picked up it was discovered that his

neck was broken.

Moordown had now the race in hand, and he passed the Grand Stand six

lengths in front of Conqueror, next to whom came Idol and Eye of Night.

Moordown was a general favourite, and the many congratulations he

received were hearty and sincere, but he would have bartered them all,

and Highdrift also, for the little smile of recognition bestowed on

him by the duchess. The accidents--there was a third, which was not,

however, of a serious nature--damped the gaiety of the meeting, and

Billy Platt invented a special curse for the new race, which he repeats

to this day.

* * * * *

On the following forenoon an interview took place at the Castle between

the duchess and Mr. Moordown.

"I have brought you the Gauntlet, duchess," he said, kneeling; "it is

really more yours than mine. Inside you will find your money, which

brought such good lack. Now tell me how I can repay your great and

unmerited kindness?"

"You want to be put to the test, do you?"

"Nothing could please me better. I only hope it will be something

difficult."

"Tremendous!" she answered, laughing and blushing; and raising him from

his kneeling position; "nothing short of a life-test."

CHAPTER XV.

MY REVENGE AT BILLIARDS.

_Enticed to Liverpool with a Burlesque Troupe--The comic Murderers--a

nice Amateur--the unknown Friend--the Champion of England._

"Look here, Jack, you know Pattie Hastings?" said Horace Brown, as he

entered my apartments hurriedly one morning.

"I have certainly set eyes on that young lady," I replied. "She is not

here?"

"Who said she was? Why, you old hypocrite, you were mad about her last

winter, and even now the recollection of these beautiful sonnets you

used to send her, to say nothing of the bouquets and bracelets, makes

her sigh--after a third glass of champagne!"

"Champagne has more than that to answer for. Suppose I did at one time

admire the little woman's antics on and off the stage, what then? Has

she sent you to me for a certificate of character? Eyesight all right?

No Colorado gold nor Arizona diamonds for her; and she is sound in

wind. I will back her to talk scandal against any three damsels you

know. The Duke of C---- is not going to be divorced to marry her? No

dissension, I hope, in a certain household?"

"You talk coolly enough now, old fellow!" said Brown. "Other times,

other opinions. She was the queen of burlesque a short year ago, and

her dancing some one not a mile off thought more graceful than Kate

Vaughan's!"

"This is evidently the dull season, and you are hard up for subjects to

speak about," said I. "Does Hughes run his horse at Sandown?"

"I don't know. But I say, Jack, you are not bad friends with Pattie?"

"Bother Pattie! Has the world taken a fit to revolve round her? Or is

it a case of Miss Hastings on the brain? Pulse too rapid, head hot,

skin too dry, feverish very; hold out your tongue, and let me prescribe

for you."

"I see," said Brown, "you are in one of your 'waiting-to-be-fed' moods;

it is no good asking a favour."

"You have confined your observations to Miss Hastings since you entered

the room, permit me to observe. When I hear what the request is I may

be able to answer. The money market, however, is tight."

"It is not money," said Brown. "I want you to come to Liverpool with

me."

"To Liverpool!" said I. "Why not San Francisco? In queer street, eh?

Pressing business abroad, I suppose?"

"Bosh!" said Brown. "Pattie Hastings is taking her troupe to America,

and I am going to Liverpool to see her off. I wish you would come--she

will be delighted."

"I see!" said I. "After the steamer goes dull hotel! No one to speak

to or play billiards with! Long railway journey without a partner at

_écarté_. Well, all right; I will take pity on you. When does this

burlesque eclipse take place?"

"We start by the nine o'clock train to-morrow morning," said Brown.

Having agreed to go, we arrived at the station at the appointed time,

and went to Liverpool. There were the gushing Pattie and her invaluable

troupe, and a more forward set of young women I never saw. We put

them safely on board a Cunard steamer, and returned to the Washington

Hotel. The question then arose how we were to dispose of our time, as

we did not mean to leave for town till next day. The theatres were no

good--all old pieces, which we had seen many times in London. Brown

suggested a visit to a waxworks in the neighbourhood, where all the

notorious murderers--Rush, Palmer, and Co.--wore evening-costume, and

only wanted a flower in their coats to look like stewards of a county

ball. I declined to interview the horrors. We eventually made up our

minds to try our luck at that ever-fascinating game--billiards.

Notwithstanding that I play a more than an average game, I happened to

meet my match that night.

As regards playing cards with strangers, an amusing anecdote is related

of the elder Matthews and his partner Mr. Yates. They were on a

professional tour and found themselves at a country hotel on a stormy

day without any means of killing the time during the bad weather. They

would have liked a game of whist immensely, but where were they to find

partners, double dummy being dull work? The landlord was consulted,

and asked if he knew of any gentleman who would have a game of whist?

He replied in the affirmative, a gentleman being then in the hotel

whom he thought understood the game pretty well. A polite message was

immediately conveyed to the stranger, inviting him to join them in a

game. The unknown gentleman soon made his appearance, and they all sat

down to play, the new arrival taking dummy.

Luck was dead against the comedians. They could not win a single

game. After they had played some time, and no inconsiderable amount

of money had passed to the holder of "dummy," the stranger looked at

his watch and said he was sorry to have to leave, having to meet an

important engagement. The comedians were apparently surprised at this

sudden termination of the game, and Matthews asked whether he would

be disengaged soon again? The stranger replied that he would be most

happy to meet them at any hour next day, when perhaps they would be in

better luck, at the same time regretting it was most urgent business

that called him away. "Pray," said Matthews, who was rather excited,

and when so stammered, "what may your--your business be if--if--it

isn't--im--pertinent--to inquire?" "Why," replied the stranger, with a

knowing nod, "I am, like yourselves, a professional--a magician--and

give a performance to-night at the Town Hall. You will, therefore,

excuse my departure. Good evening, gentlemen!" and the stranger bowed

and retired. The two comedians considered it prudent next morning not

to renew the game with so lucky an opponent, and thought they had had

enough of it, although very much dissatisfied with the stranger and his

"luck."

Well, I considered I was "done" at billiards at Liverpool, but

determined, unlike the comedians, to have satisfaction and revenge

before I left. Dinner over at the Washington, we strolled a little

through the city, and came across some excellent billiard-rooms in the

neighbourhood of the Exchange. Having nothing else on hand at the time

I suggested a game to Brown, and just as we had finished our third

hundred a well-dressed, young-looking man came into the room. As he

appeared rather anxious to play, I obliged him, and it was not long

before I found, to my surprise, that he was a much better player than I

had anticipated. Thinking I could win easily, I began very carelessly,

but my young-looking opponent soon made me stare with astonishment at

his good play; and as he kept edging up to the "spot-stroke" without

leaving the balls about, I began to anticipate defeat. I, however,

pulled myself together, and, after a well-contested and exciting game,

I came off the winner. The second game was also exciting, as I was

ninety-eight when he ran out the victor. The third game commenced very

steadily, but eventually I came off triumphant. The betting, at first

in half-sovereigns, increased as we continued to play, and I found

myself at the end of the game richer by £4. Brown was also a gainer by

the result.

"You are very evenly matched, you two gentlemen," said a man, who,

judging from his flash appearance, probably dabbled in horse-racing.

"If you will play again, I don't mind backing the loser of the last

game for £5 or £10!"

Brown jumped at the offer, and the money was accordingly deposited with

the marker. "Now," said Brown, "you have not come across a 'duffer;' do

your best!" Play commenced, and notwithstanding my having endeavoured

by every possible means to win, I was defeated by three! This annoyed

me very much, and Brown was exasperated that I should be beaten in

this manner at my favourite game by a provincial. We now saw that my

opponent stood in with the bookmaker in his bets; but this was to us

quite immaterial so long as the marking was correct, which Brown took

good care it should be.

The rumour spread by this time through the neighbourhood that billiards

was being played for large sums of money, and the room became in

consequence inconveniently crowded. Another game was proposed, and as I

was anxious to win back Brown's money as well as my own, I consented,

on condition that my opponent would give me points. This I scarcely

expected would be granted.

"I think we are fairly matched," said my modest friend. "How many would

you have the conscience to ask?"

"Can you give me ten in a hundred?"

"Impossible," replied my opponent. "I might as well give you the game."

The bookmaker here interposed, and persuaded him to let me have the ten

points, offering at the same time to back his friend for £25, or any

part of it!

Brown and I consulted, and as it seemed a certainty for me, the match

was made. It is needless to describe the play here, but it was the most

exciting of the series, and the betting equal. Suffice to say that, to

my utter amazement, the game, with nine spot strokes, resulted in a

victory for my opponent, my score being only ninety-five!

There was no help for it--luck was dead against us, and, like the

comedians, Brown and I considered we had had enough of it--at least,

for the present--and thought it prudent to retire. Before leaving,

however, we learned the victor's name. His profession was that of a

clerk in an insurance office. On striking a profit and loss account at

the hotel we ascertained, to our dismay, that our evening's amusement

had cost us £42! So much for Pattie Hastings and our trip to Liverpool.

The next morning we strolled down to see the extensive docks, and to

witness the landing of the passengers from America, a Cunarder having

just then arrived. I was pleased to find among the passengers an old

friend of mine, who had been on a professional tour in the United

States. Having informed him of the hotel we were stopping at, he agreed

to accompany us, and on arriving and partaking of some refreshment he

retired to have a few hours' rest. Brown and I again consulted as to

our mode of procedure, and having struck on a good idea and discussed

it, we resolved on remaining another night, and endeavouring if

possible to turn the tables on our conquerors.

On my friend coming down to dinner, I had an opportunity to narrate to

him our unlucky proceedings the previous evening, and the amount of

money we lost. As he was acquainted with my play, he felt surprised,

and was anxious to see this provincial wonder. Having succeeded in

arousing his curiosity, he agreed to look in at the billiard-rooms, but

his name was on no account to be mentioned. We accordingly appointed

an hour, and when we entered the rooms it was easily to be seen that

we were expected. The bookmaker, with his cable chain, was there, and

there were a numerous gathering of his friends. There, too, was my

opponent, playing a game with the marker. Before I was very long in

the room I was asked if I should like to stand up, and I replied, with

some hesitation, I would play one game for £5 on getting ten. This was

assented to, and the play commenced in the midst of some enthusiasm,

and resulted in my carrying off the honours, my opponent, for his own

reasons, not wishing to show off his best form so early in the evening.

When I declined to play any more, Brown was asked to have a game, and

he declined. They then pressed our friend to try his luck, and he

rather unwillingly consented, not being in so good a condition as he

should wish, owing to his voyage across the Atlantic. Wishing to do

us a favour if possible, he stood up and prepared for the play. When

asked, however, how many points he would take, he caused some surprise

in the room when he replied that, although he was somewhat cramped by a

sea voyage, he would try to play level!

The game commenced, and the bookmaker's friends were jubilant; they

looked upon this match as the best thing ever known for their champion!

They hoped we would only stop some time in Liverpool, and they would

make their fortunes. What an immense advantage it was to have such a

splendid player to set against strangers like us!

But this time they were mistaken. They had caught the wrong bird.

Our friend won the game, and, to their utter consternation, kept on

winning game after game, until, after two hours' play, he whispered,

"Got your money back?" and I answered, "Yes, with interest--don't play

any more."

We immediately left the place and returned to the hotel, where we had

an excellent supper and a few bottles of "phiz," leaving the bookmaker

and his friends to wonder who the "unknown" was.

A couple of years afterwards I met the insurance clerk at St. James's

Hall, and he showed us that he was one of the best players in the

country. But the man who beat him at Liverpool was the Champion of

England.

SECRETS OF A MATRIMONIAL AGENCY.

"You have saved my life."

"Nonsense," I answered; "the scoundrels were cowards and bolted the

moment I came in sight."

"I tell you, sir, they would have murdered me, and flung my body into

the river, where I should have become another 'Thames Mystery,' There

were three of them--the wretches!"

"Valuables safe?" I asked.

The man felt his pockets.

"Lost my watch and chain," he said. "Easily replaced; but, if they had

taken my life, who would have carried out my mission?"

"Your mission? May I inquire the nature of it?"

"You may; it is to make men and women happy."

"I understand; you preach."

"Quite wrong; I practise."

"You mystify me."

"Very likely," the strange-looking individual replied. "My conduct is

at variance with the world's. I never seek to harm any one, and all my

time is devoted to forwarding the interests of others."

Men with a grievance are plentiful enough, but a person whose sole

object in life is to diffuse happiness is rather uncommon. In this age

of iron such good-natured persons are looked upon with a suspicion of

lunacy.

"Very commendable," I said; "but I am still in the dark as to how you

attain such desirable ends."

"Of course you are, my worthy friend; but I hope to enlighten you.

Answer me one question; are you single--a bachelor?"

"I am, and in no hurry to call any woman my wife."

"A misogamist," he muttered to himself; and then aloud, "I am glad you

are single, because you will have occasion to rejoice that you met

me--that you came to my assistance. You have rendered me one great

favour; will you do me another?"

"If it's in my power," I replied.

"There is my card; dine with me to-morrow at 7."

I consented, but it was with some hesitation. I let him go, and I asked

myself whether it was not the correct thing to place a philanthropist

of this kind under some restraint. There is a society in work to

suppress promiscuous charity, and for aught I know there may be an

institution founded for the express purpose of shutting up universal

benefactors.

His card bore the address, "Mr. Albert Dove, 1090, Finsbury Square,

E.C."

The foregoing conversation took place on the Thames Embankment, near

Waterloo Bridge, one stormy night in March of the present year.

Descending Savoy Street on my way to Scotland Yard, I heard a scuffle

and a cry for help, and, knowing the bad reputation of the Embankment

at that particular spot, I hastened to the rescue--with the result

already told.

This chance encounter made me acquainted with a new phase of life

abounding in striking scenes touching most notes of the gamut of

existence.

My newly-acquired friend was not only peculiar in his speech, his

appearance was out of the common. The first thing I noticed was his

height, which was over six feet, and he looked taller on account of

his high "chimney-pot" hat. His dark top-coat was closely-buttoned up

to his chin, and reached down to his heels. It was impossible to judge

of the man by his face, as it was covered by a tangled mass of black

hair. His moustache and beard showed that not much time was spent in

trimming them, and, taking advantage of their freedom, they rivalled

each other in roughness and length. In his right hand Mr. Dove carried

a heavy stick of black oak, typical of the robust build of the owner,

and his recent assailants had cause to congratulate themselves that the

suddenness of their attack prevented its being used.

For a man of his dimensions his eyes were exceedingly small, but

what they lost in size they made up in brilliancy. If his eyes were

diminutive, his arms were long--longer even than his great height

justified; and when he walked he threw them about in the most irregular

manner, just as if they were ready to go to war with each other, but

neither one nor the other cared to take the initiative.

His mode of locomotion would draw attention to him anywhere, be it at

church or fair. He was a most inelegant walker; each step seemed to be

a combination of the jerk and shuffle, and, coupling this peculiarity

with the slightly stooping body and lengthy arms, I thought that the

man must be a little deformed, perhaps hump-backed. From a rough-cast

individual like this you would naturally expect a harsh voice, but it

was quite the reverse; his voice was musical to a degree, and he spoke

as softly as any young woman addressing her lover.

It is not often we come across men of his disposition of mind or

formation of body. But if the shell was gnarled, the kernel within was

sound enough, and, strange as was Mr. Dove's business in life, you had

only to become acquainted with him to be convinced that his chief aim

was not the amassing of riches, but the well being of the men and women

who entrusted their future to him.

But I must not anticipate--the extraordinary circumstances will be

narrated as they befell me. Curious to know who Mr. Dove was, and what

occupation he followed, I consulted Kelly's Directory, but without

being made any the wiser. His name and address were correctly given,

but nothing more. The man was unknown at Scotland Yard, except to one

officer, who said he recollected the name of Dove cropping up some

years ago in connection with a divorce case.

Punctual to the hour appointed, my cab drew up at 1090, Finsbury

Square. In answer to my knock the door was opened by a negro servant,

in a handsome light blue livery, who took my hat and coat, and ushered

me, much to my surprise, into a drawing-room full of elegantly-dressed

ladies and gentlemen, all engaged in agreeable conversation,

intermingled with much laughter. I expected to dine quietly with Mr.

Dove, and here were at least twenty guests, all entire strangers

to me. The moment the servant pronounced my name, my host--who was

quite a giant in comparison with his guests--came forward from a knot

of ladies, with whom he was exchanging some pleasantry, and warmly

welcomed me. Taking me round the company, he said--

"You will have great pleasure in becoming acquainted with the gentleman

who saved my life."

"I was talking about you when you entered," addressing himself to me,

"and explaining to my dear friends how much they are indebted to you.

Without your valuable assistance last night, there would have been no

joyous dinner--no spirit-stirring dance here this evening; and, alas!

who would have administered to the wants of my flock?"

His language led me to suppose that my first idea was correct, that

he was really a clergyman--perhaps of some new denomination. His

appearance was very singular, and his manner eccentric, but not

unpleasing. He appeared to be about forty-five, but the wrinkles on his

forehead may have made him seem older than he really was.

I had hardly time to say that he made a great deal too much of the

slight service, when dinner was announced by a pompous-looking butler

dressed in black.

"You will take charge of Miss Bertram," my host said, with a wave of

his hand in the direction of a pretty but pert-looking young lady

eighteen or nineteen years of age, who at that instant entered the

room, and who advanced without the slightest shyness, and placed the

tips of her fingers on my arm.

The dining-room was on the other side of the entrance-hall, and during

the short promenade, and while the guests were seating themselves, and

during the progress of the dinner, the conversation never flagged for a

moment--it was like the incessant roll of musketry.

The guests, with the exception of myself, were evidently well known to

each other, and appeared very much at home. The host, by his genial

manner, contributed not a little to the general cheerfulness, and he

was exceedingly attentive to me.

The plate on the table, and the numerous paintings on the walls, to

say nothing of the well-drilled servants in attendance, all betokened

wealth. Mr. Dove must have money, and a good deal of it too; but

what was his position in life, and who were the ladies and gentlemen

assembled round his dinner-table?

The highly self-possessed young lady I took in to dinner, thinking, no

doubt, I was a stranger, kindly entered into conversation with me as

soon as we were seated at table.

"An odd collection," was her first remark.

Presuming that she referred to the numerous pictures hanging round the

room, I replied--

"They do look curious. Good and bad, I suppose. Are they all English?"

This commonplace answer made her laugh.

"There are a few doubtful specimens among the French, but the most

reputable are the English," she said.

"Perhaps Mr. Dove is not so easily deceived by the English; even

experts are liable to be taken in by the artful French and Italian

counterfeits."

Unknown to myself, I must have said something very funny, for Miss

Bertram could not control her laughter.

"Does not our host get imposed on sometimes by worthless rubbish?" I

asked.

When she could stop giggling she said--

"He makes mistakes of course, but he has been wonderfully successful.

His knowledge of human nature is immense, and his foresight amounts to

genius. These attributes account for his having so few failures."

Not perceiving what human nature and foresight had to do with buying

pictures, I endeavoured to bring back the conversation to a lower and

more comprehensible level.

"Does he make it the business of his life to pick up these splendid

specimens?" I asked.

"I believe so; but speak lower in case the colonel opposite hears you;

he might object, and he is a regular fire-eater. Coffee and pistols,

you know."

"I would not hurt his feelings for the world. Is he interested in the

speculation?"

"He is after the Queen of Sheba; the one with the bird of Paradise

feather."

"After the Queen of Sheba, is he? Then there is a sale occasionally?"

"There is, but we call it by a different name, though it comes to much

the same thing in the end."

"The specimens are, perhaps, disposed of privately to avoid the

publicity of the auction-room."

The girl burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which drew

attention to us.

"Glad you are enjoying yourself," called out Mr. Dove to me; "a glass

of wine with you."

The middle-aged lady in red velvet on my left hand uttered some

unpleasant observations about the forwardness of young ladies in

general, and of Miss Bertram in particular, and the colonel on the

other side of the table looked daggers at me; as if I could help it.

"Tell me the joke, and I will laugh, too," I whispered to my fair

friend.

"Is this your first visit?" she asked, as if an idea had just occurred

to her.

"The first."

"What are the symptoms? Are you an admirer of the classic, and is it

blonde or brunette?"

This was beyond me, and I looked at the young girl in astonishment,

which only redoubled her laughter. The horrible thought just then

entered my head that I was in a private lunatic asylum; everything

tended to confirm me in that opinion, and the marvel was that the truth

had not dawned on my obtuse mind before. I had often been told that

all mad doctors are, more or less, eccentric--that their attendance on

insane people has, through course of time, an injurious effect on their

own minds; and here was an example in the case of Mr. Dove!

The guests were no doubt his patients, and the stalwart men in waiting

the keepers, ready to control any obstreperous individual, with their

straight jackets, and bands of leather and iron in some convenient

cupboard close at hand.

It is I know the belief of some doctors that it would be all the better

for the afflicted ones if they were treated more like sane individuals,

and were indulged in dinner parties and balls as if they still belonged

to the outer world. I cautiously examined my fellow guests one by one,

but I could discern nothing approaching the extravagant in their

conduct, but everybody has heard of the wonderful cunning of lunatics;

this evening they were evidently on their best behaviour.

As I glanced round the circle my eyes at length met the mirthful

eyes of Miss Bertram, who was evidently watching me, and enjoying my

perplexity. Was she mad, too? At first I was inclined to think she was

rather an intelligent young woman--anything but stupid--but now the

incoherent portion of her remarks rose up to condemn her. I was in the

act of pitying her when she whispered behind her fan--

"Is it a very bad attack?"

It is necessary to humour mad people, so I replied--

"Not very; I feel quite myself at times."

She burst out laughing, and before she could recover herself the ladies

rose from the table, and being next the door I did my duty. As Miss

Bertram passed me with a sweeping bow, she said--

"Don't despair; have confidence in the doctor."

Before placing me in an assembly of lunatics, Mr. or Dr. Dove ought to

have made me aware of the insanity of his guests. There was no telling

what awkward things might have happened. When the ladies returned

I sought an opportunity of speaking to him on the subject, but the

gentlemen crowded up to his end of the table, and I had no chance. For

a set of madmen, I must say their talk was rational enough; and, when

the colonel, on whom the claret had a friendly effect, challenged me to

a game of billiards, I could not but consent, and get well beaten on

attempting to give points.

"Yes, go with the colonel," Mr. Dove said; "you have time for a game

before the dancing commences."

I should have liked to mention the Queen of Sheba to the colonel, but

he did not seem a man you could take a liberty with, and I thought

better of it. Another lunatic was polite enough to mark the game, and

called out the score with such accuracy that I at once set him down as

an old billiard-marker.

When we had got through two games the sound of music reached us, and we

returned to the drawing-room. The ball was in full progress, and it was

a strange sight to see the huge and ungainly figure of our host moving

amongst the dancers playing the fiddle. He was evidently an excellent

performer, and it was to his music his patients danced. Occasionally

he would waltz round the room playing his instrument all the time. His

resemblance to the mythical satyr would at once strike an ordinary

onlooker.

"A good dance makes people cheerful, and assists my cause," he

remarked, as he waltzed past me.

"Many a happy wife has occasion to bless the Blue Danube," he whispered

on another occasion.

"Come and see a recent success," he said in one of the short intervals;

and I was led up and introduced to a shy-looking little man of fifty,

and anything but a reserved young woman of twenty-five, his wife, who

both looked happy enough, and seemed perfectly cured. Show patients, I

presumed.

"For the encouragement of others," he whispered in my ear. "Won't

you dance? There is Miss Bertram disengaged. Most accomplished girl.

Daughter of an old friend. A sad history; but I will tell you all about

her in my study, for you must smoke a cigar with me before you go."

Until the circumstances were cleared up a bit I considered it advisable

not to dance with Miss Bertram or any other lady.

* * * * *

It was a new experience, and I could not be too cautious.

When we were closeted in the study by our two selves, with a good

cigar and a brandy and soda, I soon approached the subject which was

troubling my mind. I thought Mr. Dove would have died of laughing at

my extraordinary mistake in taking his house to be a private lunatic

asylum. He stamped and danced about the room in his uproarious glee,

and I could not get a word out of him for some time--until he was

thoroughly exhausted.

I must admit that when I heard the name of the establishment I was

greatly surprised, but it must be remembered that there is not a

similar house to 1090, Finsbury Square, in her Majesty's dominions.

"If love is lunacy," my host said, waving his hand toward the

ball-room, "you are right, but my patients reside in an abode of joy,

not of sorrow, and they are free to depart at any time--in couples."

In other words, the place was a +MATRIMONIAL AGENCY+.

CRUEL WORK OF AN INTIMATE FRIEND.

Public sympathy was entirely with the accused, yet the verdict

pronounced--that of Guilty--was generally expected. The evidence put

forward by the prosecutor was so conclusive. There was not much chance

for the prisoner when two witnesses swore that he (Edward Fraser) had

said in their hearing that he would do the deceased (Sydney Marshall)

some deadly harm, and when three more individuals were placed in the

box to prove that they beheld the struggle between the two men, and saw

the person in custody push his opponent over the cliffs into the water.

Much disappointment was, however, felt throughout the country when the

grand jury scheduled the crime as murder instead of manslaughter. But

this decision was quite of a piece with Fraser's other misfortunes.

Marshall's body had not been recovered, notwithstanding a very

diligent search, and the local fishermen thought that it had been

carried out to sea by the under-current. Still no one doubted that the

man had perished. Although he richly deserved his fate, that was no

justification of the deed in the eye of the law. Provocation beyond

human endurance does not, as poor Fraser found out, permit a man to be

a law unto himself. The husband may have his home broken up, his future

career destroyed, his wife dishonoured--as in the case of this man--but

he is prohibited from laying violent hands on the seducer.

The judge in sentencing the prisoner to be hanged, said that the

recommendation of the jury (to mercy) would be forwarded to the proper

quarter, but that he could not hold out much hope of a reprieve. It so

happened that a number of capital sentences had been commuted about

this time, and the Government deemed it necessary, as murders were on

the increase, to make an example. Whichever way it turned, fortune

was decidedly adverse to Fraser. He was not only unlucky in having a

treacherous friend and an unchaste wife, but he must needs seek his

revenge at an inopportune moment.

The jury's message of mercy was duly sent to the Home Office, and there

soon followed it a great many petitions to the same effect, signed by

thousands of all grades of society, from the bishop to the bricklayer.

The prisoner was no hardened criminal, and the fatal blow, or push, or

whatever it was, was given in defence of his household goods. Before

deciding on the question of life or death, the Home Secretary consulted

the judge, and communicated, as usual, with Scotland Yard. He required

full particulars of the antecedents of the two men, and wished to know

if it was within the range of possibility for Sydney Marshall to have

escaped with his life.

"The press has not left us much to discover," remarked the chief, as he

handed me the letter from the Home Office. "This is Tuesday; the answer

must go on Friday. See if you can throw any new light on the subject."

It may be as well to state here that every care is taken that these

revelations will not injure living individuals. When it is considered

desirable, names of persons and places are more or less changed, but

otherwise the eventful episodes are real, and the author only writes

about matters in which he was personally concerned in his official

capacity:

In search of information for the Home Secretary, I had an interview

with the prisoner at Lewes Gaol (the murder was committed near

Brighton), and saw all the relatives and acquaintances of the two men

in London, and the following is what I learned:--

Edward Fraser and Sydney Marshall had been intimate friends. They

first got to know each other through Miss Evans, who became the wife

of Fraser, and afterwards ran away with Marshall. This frail but

pretty young woman was the daughter of a draper at Kensington. "More

beauty than wit," was how an old lady described her. She was, however,

wise enough to give her hand to the more eligible of her two suitors.

Marshall was a clerk in a city bank, and had only his salary to depend

on, whereas Fraser was a junior partner with his father, a solicitor

in Gray's Inn. Considering that there had been a serious quarrel,

ending in blows, in the presence of the young lady, it was surprising

that Marshall cared to remain intimate with the newly-married couple,

but he may have had his revenge in view.

Except in their affection for the same young lady, no two individuals

could have been more dissimilar in their tastes and habits than Fraser

and Marshall. It was an instance of extremes meeting. Marshall read

much, and was a thinker, persuasive and subtle. He effectually hid his

wicked designs underneath a placid exterior. Not easily got out of

temper, and when there was a purpose in view he was never impatient.

In appearance he was rather handsome, of the medium height, slightly

built, and very dark; eyes closely set together (a bad sign), small and

bright.

On the other hand, Fraser was a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed Saxon--an

athlete not unknown at certain running-grounds, and at the Oval--a

young man not over fond of book learning, but full of life, and a

capital companion. His father had given him a year on the Continent

before taking him into partnership, and in his travels he had managed

to perfect his knowledge of the French and German languages. It was his

ability to speak French which suggested the idea of his going to the

Mauritius, and it was while on this voyage that his friend betrayed him.

His marriage with Miss Evans was not popular with his parents; they

saw what a silly, frivolous girl she was, but they could not make him

listen to reason. He was in love, I suppose, and consequently a little

insane. At the wedding Marshall acted as best man, and a sister of his

was one of the bridesmaids. The short honeymoon was spent in Paris, and

on their return the happy pair found the villa they had taken ready

for occupation. Enjoying excellent health, and with a good position,

no two young people could have commenced their married life with

finer prospects; but vessels sometimes founder in summer seas. Their

happiness was fated to be but short-lived; their intimate friend was

biding his opportunity to destroy it.

Marshall had not long to wait for the desired change. One of the

oldest clients of Mr. Fraser, sen., was a Mr. Hampton, who had a

sugar plantation in the island of Mauritius, managed by Frederick

Lefevre, a Frenchman. The Governor, Sir George Bowen, had through a

friend apprised Mr. Hampton that rumours to the discredit of Lefevre

were current at Port Louis, and that the affairs of the estate wanted

looking into. Mr. Hampton was old, and half an invalid, and, therefore,

not inclined to undertake the long journey, and he asked his legal

adviser whether he knew a suitable person. The remuneration was to be

something handsome.

The lawyer thought that this would be a splendid opportunity for his

son, but the young man would not hear of it unless he could take his

wife with him, which was out of the question. He had only been married

six months, and was, it was presumed, still surrounded by the glamour

of love. Great pressure was brought to bear upon him to accept the

mission. Even his wife's relatives agreed that it was too tempting a

proposal to be rejected.

When Sydney Marshall was consulted he said there should be no

hesitation whatever about it--that offers of that kind did not drop

from the clouds every day. Such opportunities never came in _his_

way. There was no occasion to trouble about Mrs. Fraser; he and his

sister would look after her. They would do what they could to prevent

the young wife being too miserable in her husband's absence. She was

miserable enough at the idea of her husband leaving her, but somehow

or other became reconciled to it. Finding everyone, not excepting his

wife, in favour of his going, Fraser sailed for the Mauritius.

Mrs. Fraser, jun., did not appear to take the temporary loss of her

husband very much to heart. She did not go to the theatre or visit her

friends seldomer than before, and her constant companions were Marshall

and his sister. Her mother-in-law hinted that she saw a little too much

of the Marshall's, but the young wife replied that the close intimacy

was the wish of her husband. At parting had not Edward put her hand in

Marshall's and said, "Sydney, here is your other sister; remember, you

are her guardian?"

Husbands who object to disagreeable surprises should always inform

their wives of the hour of their return, so that their fair partners

may be in waiting to receive them with open arms. At least that is the

opinion of your humble servant, an unmarried man. Edward Fraser was

foolish enough to neglect this precaution, and the result was quite

the reverse of what he anticipated. In his mind's eye he no doubt often

pictured the disconsolate wife gazing on his photograph and kissing it,

and seeking consolation from his love-letters. And as the ship neared

Southampton on the return journey he frequently heard, in imagination,

her joyful cry of welcome as he stepped across the threshold of his

home.

Leaving his luggage to be forwarded, he hurried up from Southampton,

and reached the vicinity of his villa one night about eleven o'clock.

He sent no telegram announcing his arrival in England, and the "Ajax,"

having had a good passage, reached port twenty-four hours before she

was due. Everything favoured the pleasant surprise in store for his

wife. He, like a lover who had a clandestine appointment, stopped the

cab a few doors from the house, and jumped out with only a small bag in

his hand, containing presents for the treasure of his heart (that is

the correct phrase, I think). Stealthily opening the garden gate, the

fond husband, dying to embrace his wife, hastened through the shrubbery

and trees which bordered the approach to the front door and make the

place pitch dark. All his precautions had been useless. Before he had

gone many steps a lady rushed into his arms and kissed him.

"My darling," she whispered, "you have come at last!"

It was his wife; she had been on the watch for him. So overjoyed was he

at this mark of affection, all he could say was--

"Beloved one!"

"There is no letter or telegram, dearest Sydney," she whispered in his

ear, putting her arms round his neck; "a few more hours of bliss."

"Woman!" he exclaimed, horrified, "what do I hear? I am your husband."

She uttered a startled cry, jumped apart from him, and fled.

At this moment the gate clicked, and a footstep approached.

"He has returned! run for your life!" called out the wife from the

shrubbery.

Sydney Marshall, for it was that trustworthy gentleman, did not require

a second warning. He was out of the gate and round the corner in a

second.

The dazed and maddened husband quickly followed, but Marshall was not

to be seen, and he did not return to his apartments that night.

Fraser would not trust himself to go near his wife again, and he went

to his father's. When father and son reached the villa next morning the

servants told them that Mrs. Fraser had packed up a couple of boxes and

left at six o'clock, as she said, to meet her husband.

The guilty pair had, no doubt, left London. It was ascertained that, on

the plea of urgent private affairs, Marshall had received a fortnight's

leave of absence from business.

"Let me know where they are, and your task is finished," he said to

the detectives employed to trace them; and at the end of two days--an

eternity to him--he got the address, a farmhouse, in the neighbourhood

of Brighton. "That is enough," remarked Fraser; "I will now make sure

that the scoundrel will not corrupt another man's wife." It was this

remark that told so much against him at his trial.

In the darkening light of an October afternoon the quondam friends

met face to face on the cliffs, and the deadly struggle began. It did

not last long. Fraser, being the stronger of the two, soon had the

advantage, and he hurled the destroyer of his happiness into the sea.

The deed accomplished, the betrayed husband did not attempt to fly. He

gave himself up to the first policeman he met; and all that he said to

the inspector was, that, as the law did not meet his case, he had been

obliged to be his own judge and executioner.

Not the slightest trace of Sydney Marshall, dead or alive, had been

discovered.

The official report to the Home Secretary was based on these details,

which I have curtailed as much as possible.

Whether they came at a wrong time or not, the petitions in favour of a

commutation of the sentence were unsuccessful.

The execution took place within the precincts of Lewes Gaol, and, as

the case interested me, and I had business at Brighton, I was present.

It was quite true, Fraser owned that he had sought the man's life, and

as he had broken the law he must pay the penalty. He proposed to meet

his ignominious end with quiet firmness. An incident occurred at the

last moment to destroy his fortitude, and which rivetted my attention.

It was immediately before Marwood pulled the cap over the condemned

man's face. Fraser was taking his last look on earth when his eyes met

those of one of the reporters. Suddenly, as a flash of lightning, his

face underwent the most extraordinary change; before it wore a resigned

expression--now it had all the malignity of a fiend.

The governor and everyone could see that the man was terribly agitated;

his body swayed violently, and he attempted to speak, but, as fortune

would have it, the clock was sounding the last beat of eight, and the

hangman made haste to finish his horrible work.

When all was over the reporter who had so greatly disturbed Fraser's

dying moments sneaked quickly out of the prison, but I did not mean

to lose sight of him. An explanation was necessary. Detectives see so

many phases of crime that they are not usually astonished at anything,

but I must own to being dumbfounded when I discovered, under all his

disguise, that reporter to be Sydney Marshall.

A good swimmer, and terrified for his life, he had, when pitched into

the water, struck out to sea in the hope that he might fall in with a

passing vessel, and he was evidently picked up by a French fishing-boat

and landed at Portail.

"Why were you there?" I demanded, pointing to the gaol.

"As I was never safe until he was dead, I wished to see the last of

him."

"But how did you obtain an entrance?" I asked.

"Easily enough. I induced a Brighton reporter to let me take his place."

"Do you think Fraser recognised you?"

"I am sure he did."

"Hanging would be too good for you!" I said.

The villain was tired of my examination. What could have been done with

him if I had detained him?

Several years have passed since then, but, directly or indirectly, I

have heard nothing more of Sydney Marshall.

It was some consolation for Fraser's heartbroken parents to know that

the prisoner was guiltless of murder.

The notoriety was too much for the Evans' family, and with their frail

daughter they emigrated to Buenos Ayres.

THE MISSING "RAJAH" DIAMOND.

About ten days or a fortnight after Fraser met his sad fate, I was

summoned to the private room of the chief.

"Have you anything particular in hand?" he asked.

"Nothing, chief," I replied.

"Then you are really disengaged? The matter I am going to entrust you

with must be inquired into with the utmost circumspection."

"I will be extra careful."

"Lady B---- has been here this morning in a great state of agitation.

A diamond, known as the 'Rajah,' and worth something like twenty-five

thousand pounds, has disappeared from her jewel-box, which is really a

safe built in the wall, with two keys--one held by Lady B----, and the

other by her husband."

"Yes, chief, it would be difficult to dispose of a stone of that value."

"Impossible; and no one at Amsterdam would risk cutting it without the

highest references. The stone is well known, and is said to have been

the eye of an idol in India. Occasionally it has been set to wear at

Court, but when it disappeared it was quite loose."

"And when was it missed? Yesterday?"

"No; a week ago."

"As long as that?"

"Yes. You see Lady B---- was of opinion that the stone would be

replaced in the safe."

"How could that possibly happen?"

"As you may have heard, Lord B---- is rather eccentric. He is a great

connoisseur of precious stones, and he may have taken out the 'Rajah'

diamond to admire it, and forgotten to return it."

"But why not ask him?"

"That is what we want to avoid. Her ladyship's object in coming here

is to get us to trace the stone without his knowing anything about it.

He is in such delicate health, the disappearance of his much-prized

diamond might be very hurtful."

"Her ladyship could give you no clue?"

"None whatever; but you will see her yourself. She is at the town

mansion to-day, but leaves for their place in Norfolk to-morrow. The

jewel-box is at the Norfolk house. You must arrange with Lady B---- to

be quartered in the house as sanitary inspector, or something of that

kind. As a sanitary inspector you can roam all over the house without

suspicion."

"I will do my best, chief."

There was a slight difference in the ages of Lady B---- and her

husband; she was twenty-three, and he would never see sixty-five again.

Lord B---- was not always the wealthy man he is now; an elder brother

conveniently died without family, and an unusually rich seam of coal

was discovered on his property. All at once his income rose from a few

hundreds to twenty thousand per annum--that was on the death of his

brother--and it is now said to exceed thirty thousand. A man who had

such a splendid income was bound to have a pretty wife, and in Miss M--

he met the belle of two seasons, admired by everyone, from the prince

to the peasant. Envious tongues did not hesitate to say that this union

of May and December would not be lasting, and that because a near

female relative had gone wrong, Lady B---- would soon give occasion for

scandal. These wiseacres were disappointed for once. Lady B---- proved

herself an exemplary wife, and there were two children, a boy and a

girl, born of the marriage.

Arrayed in frock coat and a tall hat, I presented myself at the town

house at four o'clock.

"Her ladyship in?" I asked.

"I will see," replied the man servant. "What name?"

I produced my card--

"+MR. ROBERT CHARRINGTON+,

Sanitary Inspector,"

and on it in writing, "By appointment."

"Her ladyship does not recollect your name, but will you walk upstairs?"

On being ushered into Lady B---- 's presence and when the footman had

retired, she came forward and said--

"I expected someone--from Scotland Yard."

"Quite right, my lady; here is a note from my chief."

"Of course you understand that this is quite a private matter at

present. I think the stone has been mislaid--not stolen."

"Does your ladyship suspect no one?"

"Only my husband. He has the jewellery out frequently to dust, and he

is a little forgetful."

"Does no one assist his lordship on these occasions?"

"He is either alone or I am with him."

"There are two keys, I believe; can the safe be opened without the

production of both?"

"One is sufficient, but you must have the 'word.'"

"The 'word,' madam?"

"Yes, it is a French idea, I think, and Milner had to pay money to use

it. There are three small discs, each surrounded with the letters of

the alphabet, on the door of the safe, and the diminutive hands on the

discs have to be set to a certain word before the keys are of any use.

When the diamond disappeared the word was 'war;' one hand had to be

pointing to 'w,' the second to 'a,' and the third to 'r.' When the safe

is locked the hands on the discs are, of course, turned to any of the

letters of the alphabet but the right ones. Although you held the key,

it would be perfectly useless to you without knowing the exact word,

and you might go through the whole dictionary without discovering it."

"Have you any system in changing the 'word?'"

"I generally alter it every month; this is effected through the

clock-work on the back of the lid--but although I always acquaint

my husband with the secret it soon escapes his memory, and he has

invariably to come to me for the information."

"Can the diamond have fallen into wrong hands?"

"That will be for you to discover; there is one thing certain, it is

not in the safe nor in Lord B---- 's possession. My maid and I have

made a thorough search."

"Then the loss of this stone is well known in your ladyship's

household?"

"On the contrary, it is quite a secret."

"Your maid knows?"

"Ann Gregory does not count; she can be trusted. She has been in the

family all her life, first with my father, and on my marriage she came

with me."

"I understand that the knowledge of the loss has been withheld from his

lordship; have you any reason to suppose that he is aware of the fact?"

"Any sudden shock might seriously affect Lord B----, and until all my

efforts to find the 'Rajah' had failed, I did not propose to mention

the matter to him; still I am not quite sure that he does not know the

diamond has disappeared. Since I first missed the stone, a week ago

yesterday, Lord B---- has been to the safe twice, and, although he said

nothing, after these visits he appeared much depressed."

"When did your ladyship last see the diamond?"

"Exactly ten days ago. I wore it at Court, and on my return to Norfolk

I put it in the safe myself. Lord B---- happened to be present, and

with a pair of pincers he took the stone out of its setting, after

which I placed it in the case marked 'Rajah.'"

"Such a valuable diamond must be found. If your ladyship will kindly

give me a line to your butler I will go down to Norfolk as a sanitary

inspector, and when I have any good news to communicate, I will ask to

see you."

"Certainly. I return to-morrow, and will remain in Norfolk three weeks.

I need not say to you that the recovery of a stone worth £25,000 will

meet with a suitable acknowledgment."

"Thanks from you, my lady, would be a sufficient reward."

I am no Communist, and am quite satisfied with my position in life;

but only imagine a stone which I could easily slip into my waistcoat

pocket being worth such a large sum of money. Will one of your

chartered accountants please compute how many individuals could be

made independent if not happy for life with the amount mentioned? One

hundred cottages could, I suppose, be built for something like £25,000.

On reaching the Norfolk house my letter to the butler received

every attention, and I was soon installed in a good room of the

bachelors' quarter, and I arranged to have my meals served in an

adjoining sitting-room. I had some ground plans with me, borrowed for

the occasion, which I took care to leave open on the table for the

inspection of inquisitive servants.

There was a large staff of servants, male and female, and I took steps

to satisfy myself that the "Rajah" had not been accidentally hidden

amongst their belongings. This was a work of care and time. How did I

manage it? That is my secret. No dresses were left rumpled nor coats

unfolded, and not one of the servants was a whit the wiser.

From the time the diamond was replaced in the safe to the day of its

disappearance there had been no visitors in the house, and Lord B----

had not been from home.

As the opportunity occurred, I made a minute search in the room

occupied by his lordship, but without any success.

"Rather dull here," I said to Lord B---- 's confidential servant one

day. "You could do with a little amusement."

"That we could, sir," he said. "Times are changed since his lordship

became an invalid."

"You were not accustomed in former times to let the grass grow under

your feet?"

"That we did not. We went the pace and no mistake."

"You have been a long time with Lord B----?"

"Going on now for twenty years; and although his lordship has been a

good master to me, I don't think if his life were published it would be

suitable for family reading."

"Gay, eh?"

"Downright fact, sir. The pranks we played in London and Paris would

shock a quiet gentleman like yourself. The farmers down here used to

send their daughters out of the way when they heard of our coming."

"Lord B---- must now find time hang heavily on his hands. How does he

amuse himself?"

"When he is able, he walks a great deal. If the day is at all fine, he

generally goes as far as Oakshot Farm."

"An old flame?"

"People said so," he replied, with a laugh.

Next morning found me at Oakshot Farm, and I was made welcome by a

bold-faced, handsome woman, about thirty. I was tired after my long

walk, at least I said so, and asked the favour of a glass of milk. The

woman hastened to get the milk, and we were soon in the full swing of a

big conversation.

"What makes you think Lord B---- is failing rapidly?" I asked.

"Why he says and does such uncommon things; for instance, being our

landlord, my husband and I thought we could not do wrong in calling our

last baby after him. We asked his permission, which he generously gave

us, and said he would give the youngster a handsome present."

"Well?"

"A year elapsed, and we saw nothing of the promised gift. One day

recently--he comes often here--he asked me which of the children was

named Gerald, and when I pointed out baby to him on the floor, he

pulled out a piece of glass--fancy a bit of glass--and put it into his

fingers, saying something about its being a talisman against all the

ills of life. What could he mean?"

"A little wrong," and I touched my forehead.

"Just what I thought."

"Is that the bit of glass?" I asked, taking up the glittering morsel,

which was being thrown from one child to the other.

"It is; a shilling would have been of more use."

"The children shall not be disappointed. I will give them a shilling

each for it."

"You are robbing yourself, sir," she said, "and I am sure you are

welcome to the milk."

In this extraordinary manner did I manage to recover the great "Rajah"

diamond, which now rests more securely at Lord B---- 's banker's than

it did at the house in Norfolk.

THE END

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