Mr Carver sat in his private office a few days later, with Margaret’s
legacy before him. A hundred times he had turned the paper over. He
had held it to the light; he had looked at it upside down, and he
had looked at it sideways and longways; in fact, every way that his
ingenuity could devise. He had even held it to the fire, in faint hopes
of sympathetic ink; but his labour had met with no reward. The secret
was not discovered.
The astute legal gentleman consulted his diary, where he had carefully
noted down all the facts of the extraordinary case; and the more he
studied the matter, the more convinced he became that there was a
mystery concealed somewhere; and, moreover, that the key was in his
hands, only, unfortunately, the key was a complicated one. Indeed, to
such absurd lengths had he gone in the matter, that Edgar Allan Poe’s
romances of _The Gold Bug_ and _The Purloined Letter_ lay before him,
and his study of those ingenious narratives had permeated his brain
to such an extent lately, that he had begun to discover mystery in
everything. The tales of the American genius convinced him that the
solution was a simple one—provokingly simple, only, like all simple
things, the hardest of attainment. He was quite aware of the methodical
habits of his late client, Mr Morton, and felt that such a man could
not have written such a letter, even on his dying bed, unless he had a
powerful motive in so doing. Despite the uneasy consciousness that the
affair was a ludicrous one to engage the attention of a sober business
man like himself, he could not shake off the fascination which held him.
‘Pretty sort of thing this for a man at my time of life to get mixed
up in,’ he muttered to himself. ‘What would the profession say if
they knew Richard Carver had taken to read detective romances in
business hours? I shall find myself writing poetry some day, if I
don’t take care, and coming to the office in a billy-cock hat and
turn-down collar. I feel like the heavy father in the transpontine
drama; but when I look in that girl’s eyes, I feel fit for any lunacy.
Pshaw!—Bates!’
Mr Bates entered the apartment at his superior’s bidding. ‘Well, sir?’
he said. The estimable Bates was a man of few words.
‘I can _not_ make this thing out,’ exclaimed Mr Carver, rubbing his
head in irritating perplexity. ‘The more I look at it the worse it
seems. Yet I am convinced’——
‘That there is some mystery about it!’
‘Precisely what I was going to remark. Now, Bates, we must—we really
must—unravel this complication. I feel convinced that there is
something hidden here. You must lend me your aid in the matter. There
is a lot at stake. For instance, if’——
‘We get it out properly, I get my partnership; if not, I shall have
to—whistle for it, sir!’
‘You are a very wonderful fellow, Bates—very. That is precisely what I
was going to say,’ Mr Carver exclaimed admiringly. ‘Now, I have been
reading a book—a standard work, I may say.’
‘Williams’s Executors, sir, or——?’
‘No,’ said Mr Carver shortly, and not without some confusion; ‘it is
not that admirable volume—it is, in fact, a—a romance.’
Mr Bates coughed dryly, but respectfully, behind his hand. ‘I beg
your pardon, sir; I don’t quite understand. Do you mean you have been
reading a—novel?’
‘Well, not exactly,’ replied Mr Carver blushing faintly. ‘It is, as I
have said, a romance—a romance,’ he continued with an emphasis upon the
substantive, to mark the difference between that and an ordinary work
of fiction. ‘It is a book treating upon hidden things, and explaining,
in a light and pleasant way, the method of logically working out a
problem by common-sense. Now, for instance, in the passage I have
marked, an allusion is made, by way of example.—Did you ever—ha, ha!
play at marbles, Bates?’
‘Well, sir, many years ago, I might have indulged in that little
amusement,’ Mr Bates admitted with professional caution; ‘but really,
sir, it is such a long time ago, that I hardly remember.’
‘Very good, Bates. Now, in the course of your experience upon the
subject of marbles, do you ever remember playing a game called “Odd and
Even?”’
Bates looked at his principal in utter amazement, and Mr Carver,
catching the expression of his face, burst into a hearty laugh, faintly
echoed by the bewildered clerk. The notion of two gray-headed men
solemnly discussing a game of marbles in business hours, suddenly
struck him as being particularly ludicrous.
‘Well, sir,’ Bates said with a look of relief, ‘I don’t remember the
fascinating amusement you speak of, and I was wondering what it could
possibly have to do with the case in point.’
‘Well, I won’t go into it now; but if you should like to read it for
yourself, there it is,’ said Mr Carver, pushing over the yellow-bound
volume to his subordinate.
Mr Bates eyed the volume suspiciously, and touched it gingerly with
his forefinger. ‘As a matter of professional duty, sir, if you desire
it, I will read the matter you refer to; but if it is a question of
recreation, then, sir, with your permission, I would rather not.’
‘That is a hint for me, I suppose, Bates,’ said Mr Carver with much
good-humour, ‘not to occupy my time with frivolous literature.’
‘Well, sir, I do not consider these the sort of books for a place on a
solicitor’s table; but I suppose you know best.’
‘I don’t think such a thing has happened before, Bates,’ Mr Carver
answered with humility. ‘You see, this is an exceptional case, and I
take great interest in the parties.’
‘Well, there is something in that,’ said Mr Bates severely, ‘so I
suppose we must admit it on this occasion.—But don’t you think,
sir, there is some way of getting to the bottom of this affair,
without wasting valuable time on such stuff as that?’ and he pointed
contemptuously at the book before him.
‘Perhaps so, Bates—perhaps so. I think the best thing we can do is to
consult an expert. Not a man who is versed in writings, but one of
those clever gentlemen who make a study of ciphers. For all we know,
there may be a common form of cipher in this paper.’
‘That is my opinion, sir. Depend upon it, marbles have nothing to do
with this mystery.’
‘Mr Seaton wishes to see you, sir,’ said a clerk at this moment.
‘Indeed! Ask him to come in.—Good-morning, my dear sir,’ as Seaton
entered. ‘We have just been discussing your little affair, Bates and I;
but we can make nothing of it—positively nothing.’
‘No; I suppose not,’ Edgar replied lightly. ‘I, for my part, cannot
understand your making so much of a common scrap of paper. Depend upon
it, the precious document is only an ordinary valedictory letter after
all. Take my advice—throw it in the fire, and think no more about it.’
‘Certainly not, sir,’ Mr Carver replied indignantly. ‘I don’t for one
moment believe it to be anything but an important cipher.—What are you
smiling at?’
Edgar had caught sight of the yellow volume on the table, and could not
repress a smile. ‘Have you read those tales?’ he said.
‘Yes, I have; and they are particularly interesting.’
‘Then I won’t say any more,’ Edgar replied. ‘When a man is fresh from
these romances, he is incapable of regarding ordinary life for a time.
But the disease cures itself. In the course of a month or so, you will
begin to forget these complications, and probably burn that fatal
paper.’
‘I intend to do nothing of the sort; I am going to submit it to an
expert this afternoon, and get his opinion.’
‘Yes. And he will keep it for a fortnight, after reading it over once,
and then you will get an elaborate report, covering some sheets of
paper, stating that it is an ordinary letter. Who was the enemy who
lent you Poe’s works?’
‘I read those books before you were born, young man; and I may tell
you—apart from them—that I am fully convinced that there is a mystery
somewhere. ’Pon my word, you take the matter very coolly, considering
all things. But let us put aside the mystery for a time, and tell me
something of yourself.’
‘I am looking up now, thanks to you and Felix,’ Edgar replied
gratefully. ‘I have an appointment at last.’
‘I am sure I am heartily glad to hear it. What is it?’
‘It was the doing of Felix, of course. The editor of _Mayfair_ was
rather taken by my descriptive style in a paper which Felix showed him,
and made me an offer of doing the principal continental gambling-houses
in London.’
‘Um,’ said Mr Carver doubtfully. ‘And the pay?’
‘Is particularly good, besides which, I have the entrée of these
places—the golden key, you know.’
‘Have you told your wife about it?’
‘Well, not altogether; she might imagine it was dangerous for me. She
knows partly what I am doing; but I must not frighten her. I have had
two nights of it, and apart from the excitement and the heat, it is
certainly not dangerous.’
‘I am glad of that,’ said Mr Carver; ‘and am heartily pleased to hear
of your success—providing it lasts.’
‘Oh, it is sure to last, for I have hundreds of places to go to.
To-night I am going to a foreign place in Leicester Square. I go about
midnight, and think I may generally be able to get home about two. I
have to go alone always.’
‘Well, I hope now you have started, you will continue as well,’ Mr
Carver said heartily; ‘at anyrate, you can continue until I unravel the
mystery, and place you in possession of your fortune. Until then, it
will do very well.’
‘I am not going to count on that,’ Edgar replied; ‘and if it is a
failure, I shall not be so disappointed as you, I fancy.’