Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 59

In a few days after this a gentleman presented himself at the outer gate of Broxbridge Hall, and told the porter that he desired to see the earl upon important business.

“Show Mr. Wrench in at once,” said Lord Ethalwood to Jakyl; “of course I want to see him.”

The detective entered, and introduced himself to the nobleman, who desired him to be seated.

“Well, Mr. Wrench, my solicitor informs me that there is a dead lock in this business; can nothing more be done?”

“Oh, we can do a great deal more, my lord,” observed Wrench; “but you must acknowledge that I am furnished with such slender material, and then there’s the lapse of time, and many other things against us.”

“Admitted—​still you do not give up all hope.”

“Well, no, I’m not accustomed to do that. I am glad we have met, my lord, for many reasons—​you will, I am sure, pardon me if I am plain-spoken.”

“Certainly, speak as openly and frankiy as possible. I desire you to do so. Up to the present time I am free to confess we have been baffled.”

“I have done all that man could do, but my efforts have not as yet been crowned with success; I expect you to give me all the information you can.”

“Certainly, that is but a just and reasonable request.”

“You will not be offended, therefore, if I inquire about one or two little matters? Just tell me if you have any of your daughter’s letters, which she might probably have sent here after her departure?”

“I have never seen any of them,” said Lord Ethalwood.

“That’s most important—​did anybody else?”

“I gave orders to my butler to destroy them.”

“Do you think he would remember any of the postmarks?”

“I never thought of that,” exclaimed the earl, with a start.

“Probably not, but it is the very first thing that occurred to me. Did any letters arrive?”

“That I cannot tell you.”

“Where is your butler? Is he in your service now?”

“Dear me, yes—​he has never left it.”

“Will you be kind enough to summon him?”

Lord Ethalwood touched the bell. A servant entered.

“Tell Mr. Jakyl I desire to speak with him,” said his master.

In a minute or so the butler entered the library.

“Will you leave it to me to put the necessary questions?” inquired the detective, addressing his lordship, who felt a mere child in comparison to the sagacious officer.

“Certainly,” he answered, without hesitation.

Mr. Wrench cleared his throat, and focussed his eyes upon the smooth and placid face of the butler.

“I have one or two questions to put to you,” said the detective. “In the first place, did any letters arrive here from the Hon. Miss Ethalwood after her departure from Broxbridge?”

Mr. Jakyl stood aghast—​he could hardly believe that he had heard aright.

“Did any letters arrive?” he paused, and glanced nervously at his master.

“Go on. Answer, Jakyl, you have my permission.”

“Yes, sir; several arrived after the departure of my young mistress, but——”

“You were told to destroy them,” observed the detective. “Did you do so?”

“I would rather not answer the question,” said the butler, in evident trepidation; then, turning to Lord Ethalwood, he murmured in an under tone—​“If I have done wrong, my lord, I hope you will pardon me. I did not destroy my young mistress’s letters.”

“A very discreet and sensible man,” ejaculated Mr. Wrench. “And pray why did you disobey his lordship?”

“Because I hoped that at some time they might be useful.”

“You have displayed great wisdom in your course of action—​you cannot be too strongly commended, Mr. ——. I don’t know your name.”

“Jakyl.”

“Well, Mr. Jakyl, you have acted in a very proper manner. I hope his lordship is of my opinion.”

“I am,” returned the earl, with undisguised pleasure. “I think Jakyl has been most prudent. To say the truth, I have always had the greatest confidence in him.”

The butler bowed, and hardly knew how to comport himself under the praise which was so lavished on him.

“I must tell you frankly, Mr. Jakyl,” said the detective, “that I am engaged in instituting a rigorous search for your master’s daughter; so if it be in your power to give me any information which may aid me in my inquiries, it will be a boon to us all.”

“I wish I could, sir.”

“Well, not now. I don’t mean at present, but if anything occurs to you, out with it at once.”

“I will.”

“Now, my friend, let me have the letters without further delay.”

The butler looked again at his master.

“Fetch them at once, Jakyl. You have heard what Mr. Wrench has said. The matter is in his hands.”

The servant left the library, and in a minute or so returned with a packet of papers tied with silk cord. He handed them to the earl, who pushed them towards the detective, saying, as he did so—

“I have not the courage to open them just now. You can do so.”

“I will not open them,” answered Mr. Wrench; “but, with your permission, will take a note of the postmarks and dates.”

He sorted them, placed them on the table in chronological order, pulled out his note-book, and made entries therein. Then he closed the book, and said—

“This looks a little more promising. I have some material now to work upon. At your leisure, my lord, you can peruse the contents of the epistles, and possibly there may be something which may be of service to us in the pursuit of this inquiry.”

“I will go carefully over them when I am a little more composed,” observed the earl.

“Good. I shall not return to London just at present, for special reasons. I deem it expedient to remain in this neighbourhood.”

“Will you take up your quarters here?”

“No, I thank you, my lord. It would be best, I think, to put up at an inn. There will be more chance of my picking up information in a place of public resort. We have our own way of doing business,” observed Wrench, with a smile.

Lord Ethalwood bowed and smiled also.

The very last thing he thought of doing was to dictate to the sagacious officer, who, in affairs of this sort, was so much his superior.

“From the postmarks on the letters I see your daughter and her husband have paid a visit to several other towns besides those in which I have made inquiries.”

“Other towns—​eh?” exclaimed the earl.

“Yes, one is Sheffield and another Bradford. I shall make it my business to visit both places. Ah! the case is not so hopeless as Mr. Chicknell seems to imagine.”

“I am glad to hear you say so. Pray Heaven we may be successful; it will remove a weight off my heart.”

The detective looked at the speaker and observed, quietly—

“You ought not to have let the matter go so long without ascertaining something respecting the young people’s whereabouts.”

“Of that you must allow me to be the best judge,” said Lord Ethalwood, with all his old pride and hauteur.

Mr. Wrench saw at once the mistake he had made in hazarding an observation which sounded very much like a reproof.

“But you have a duty to perform, sir,” observed the earl, “and I doubt not that you will not shrink from carrying it out to the best of your ability.”

The detective bowed and answered in the affirmative.

He then rose and took his departure, promising his patron to wait upon him again in a day or two.

Mr. Wrench inquired of the butler the most convenient house in the neighbourhood for him to put up at.

Mr. Jakyl, as a matter of course, recommended him to go to the “Carved Lion,” and he at once bent his steps in the direction of that well-known hostelry.

Lord Ethalwood had not sufficient fortitude to open his daughter’s letters in the presence of any one, more especially that one being a detective.

It was a task he had reserved for another occasion.

Soon after the departure of Mr. Wrench his lordship mustered up courage to break the seals of the epistles.

As he did so a tremour seemed to pass through his frame.

A deep sigh escaped from him as he opened the first letter. In this the letter referred to her elopement as a playful piece of diplomacy, never for a moment assuming that it would be deemed an unpardonable offence by her parent.

She asked him to forgive her, and not be angry with his pet, as she had done that which had made her happy for life.

Lord Ethalwood tossed the epistle on one side with something like contempt or disgust.

The second letter was a little more serious in tone. In it she was lavish in her praise of Montini, who she said was the kindest and must considerate of husbands, he was so good, so clever—​in short, there was no one like him.

She besought her father to write, if only a few lines. She would not and could not believe that he intended to cast her off.

“The infatuated senseless girl!” ejaculated the earl. “I never would have believed she could have so forgotten her position in life. For the life of me I cannot understand it.”

These two communications were followed by imploring letters, in which she told him how hard the world was using them, and what miserable struggles they had passed through.

But in this as in all others she spoke in the highest terms of her husband, who she said did his best to maintain a respectable position in the world; this was done for her sake more than his own, “and if,” she said in conclusion, “you only knew him half as well as I do, you would admire and esteem him; nay, more, I believe you would be proud of him.”

“She must have taken leave of her senses,” ejaculated the earl. “The wretched Italian must have bewitched her, the silly, senseless girl. Oh, but all this is hard to bear!”

He remained for some time after this lost in thought.

Presently he opened another epistle.

This announced the birth of a daughter; it was, of course, a fine child, and was, so the writer avowed, “the very image of its mother, and was an Ethalwood,—​this everyone would acknowledge upon the first glance, and she will be named after me,” wrote the ill-fated wife. “Some day I hope you will see the little dear, and when you do I hope you will forgive me for your grand-daughter’s sake. She, at any rate, has not done anything to offend you.”

“It all seems to be like a dream,” murmured the earl, as he broke the seal of another. This came from Harrogate, and its tone was both melancholy and despairing. Montini was dangerously ill—​he was not able to follow his avocation, and his unhappy wife implored her father to hold out a helping hand and send them money without delay, as they were reduced to the greatest possible extremity, and positively wanted the common necessaries of life.

Lord Ethalwood dashed the letter down on the table, smote his forehead with one hand, and uttered an expression indicative of the most poignant agony.

“I never thought it would come to this,” he muttered, rising from his seat and pacing the apartment restlessly. “Poor girl, she must indeed have changed to beg for assistance! Oh, what would I give now to have her here by my side, in—​in the winter of my life—​in my old age!”

He fell into his chair and burst out into a passionate flood of tears.

Retributive justice had overtaken the proud, uncompromising, relentless nobleman, who cried like a child.

* * * * *

Mr. Wrench wended his way along till he reached the well-known house of entertainment for man and beast, kept by the equally well-known Brickett. The detective was not a man to make himself common by mixing up with any knot of strangers—​not unless he could make it answer his purpose to do so—​he therefore requested to be shown into a private room, and, after partaking of some refreshment, he proceeded to glance at the memoranda he jotted down in his notebook.

“Humph,” he murmured. “The young couple seem to have visited a good many towns; I suppose things were running cross with them. It’s a queer business, take it altogether, and the earl is a starchy sort of customer, as unforgiving as the devil, and as proud as a peacock. Well, I wouldn’t change places with him for all his wealth and title. He’s what I call a stunner. No two ways about him. But ‘he’s down among the dead men’ this time, it would appear—​is what our Transatlantic friends would call ‘cornered.’ I must find out all about his daughter for him, that’s certain—​that is, if it be possible. The question is, how it is to be accomplished.”

Not being able to answer this question with anything like satisfaction to himself, Mr. Wrench lighted a cigar, rang the bell, and ordered some brandy cold.

He had not indulged in many puffs at the “fragrant weed” before Brickett made his appearance.

“Oh, your pardon, sir,” said the landlord; “but be your name Wrench?”

“Yes, my friend, it be.”

“A servant from the hall wishes to speak with you.”

“Let him come up then.”

Henry Adolphus made his appearance.

“His lordship told me to call and see if you were comfortable ’ere, as if not a bed will be provided for you at the hall.”

“I’m all right, my man. Shall do very well here. Give my respects to his lordship, and say that I am quite comfortable. Anything else?”

“No; I b’leve that is hall.”

Henry Adolphus retired.

The sounds of music and merriment in the parlour reached the ears of the detective.

“You appear to have a merry set of people below,” said he to Brickett.

“Yes, sir, they enjoy themselves in their own way.”

“Somebody’s playing the violin.”

“Yes; it’s a gentleman who’s stopping here for a short time, and he generally gives my parlour customers a tune or two after working hours—​after the day’s work is over.”

“He does not handle the instrument badly. Is he a professional?”

“Well, partly so, I believe. He is in the frame and picture line of business—​a traveller.”

“Ah, indeed! A traveller, a picture dealer, and musician all in one—​he’s a good sort.”

“Yes, he’s a very good sort—​there aint much doubt of that; has seen a deal of the world, and has visited pretty well every town in the three counties.”

“Oh! is that so?”

“Would you like to go downstairs into the public room?” inquired the landlord.

“Not now, I thank you—​some other evening perhaps. Did I understand you to say that this violinist and picture-frame maker was stopping here?”

“He is for the present, until his orders are completed. Why, Lord bless us, he’s done wonders at the Hall, and has been highly complimented by Lord Ethalwood himself.”

Brickett now put his customer in possession of all the facts relative to the restoration of the decayed portrait of his lordship’s great ancestor.

“Ah, he must be a smartish sort of chap. Thank you,” observed the detective, who very shortly after the foregoing conversation was conducted to his bedroom.

In the morning he was shown into the clubroom where breakfast was served. Peace was partaking of his morning meal.

The detective bowed and sat down on the opposite side of the table. He looked at our hero with evident curiosity, but did not remember to have seen him before.

During breakfast the two conversed upon several topics, which were however not of a personal nature.

Peace did not know who his companion was; neither did he take the trouble to inquire. He concluded he was some commercial man who had rested there for the night, and the probability was that he should not see any more of him.

In this, however, he was mistaken.

Our hero went to his workshop, and Mr. Wrench remained behind.

He reflected for some little time, and then rose from his chair and went downstairs.

Brickett as usual was behind the bar.

“Is that the violinist and picture dealer—​the one I had breakfast with?” he inquired.

“Aye, surely that be he.”

“He’s a sharp customer, a downy sort of card—​isn’t he?” said Mr. Wrench.

“He’s got his head screwed on the right way if that’s what you mean,” returned the landlord, a little sharply.

“Yes, that’s precisely what I do mean. Where does he hail from?”

“Hail from? I dunno.”

“He’s been travelling about the country, you say?”

“That ’im has—​been to every mortal place, so I’ve heerd.”

“Ah, just so. Where is he to be found now?”

“Found! He works in Dennett’s-lane.”

“And where is that?”

“Not a quarter of a mile from here. Why?”

“I will give him a call. What might be his name?”

“Peace—​Charles Peace. Be you going to call on ’im now?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll show ’ee where his place is.”

The landlord went to the door of the house, and pointed out the lane in question to his customer.

“There at the further end of that,” said he, “you will find a wooden shed, and in that you will see ’im at work.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Wrench, who at once proceeded in the direction pointed out by his host.