Читать книгу Charles Peace, or The Adventures of a Notorious Burglar - Anonymous - Страница 60
ОглавлениеMR. DETECTIVE WRENCH AND CHARLES PEACE.
Mr. Wrench was a man who pursued his inquiries with the greatest pertinacity; he was not accustomed to let the “grass grow under his feet.”
It was a maxim of his, and one indeed the truth of which had been made manifest, that “you sometimes obtain the most valuable information from a source which appeared at first glance the most unlikely to be fruitful.”
It occurred to him that it would be quite as well to interrogate our hero before he (the detective) proceeded to the other towns visited by the missing pair. Possibly the itinerant frame-maker might have some knowledge of the person or persons of whom he was in search; anyway there would be no harm in putting the question to him.
“Who knows—” murmured Mr. Wrench, as he took his way along the lane—“who knows but this fellow—who, it would appear, is a sort of Admirable Crichton, in his way, if one is to believe the landlord of the ‘Lion’—may not have come across someone in his various wanderings who may have been acquainted with the Italian professor, who was a musician? It is certain that, to a certain extent, the picture chap is a musician—so here goes for it.”
He was by this time at the door of Peace’s workshop, at which he gave a modest knock.
It was opened by our hero.
“Good morning again,” said the detective. “I want to have a little conversation with you; but you are busy, perhaps. Some other time will do as well.”
“Oh, come in—you won’t hinder me,” returned Peace. “I can go on with my work, and you can have your say. Be seated.”
He handed his visitor a ricketty Windsor chair, which, to all appearance, had been put together in the last century.
Mr. Wrench sat down, and Peace, with his book of leaf gold in one hand and the pad in the other, went on with his work.
The detective cleared his throat, and then said, carelessly—
“I understand that you have visited a number of towns—of course you naturally would do so—in the exercise of your vocation. Am I right?”
“Yes; I’ve been about a goodish bit.”
“Oh, yes, so I hear. Well, now, I must be candid with you. I am in search of an Italian professor and his wife. The former was a teacher of music; but it is more than twenty years since anything has been heard of either.”
“Twenty years!” exclaimed Peace. “It is, then, not at all likely that I should know anything about them. I was but a child at that time.”
“True, but they may be alive now, you know.”
“Ah, that’s another matter. What might be the gentleman’s name?”
“Montini.”
Peace shook his head.
“Never heard of such a person,” he ejaculated. “Don’t know any one of that name.”
“Ah, I was afraid it would be before your time,” observed Mr. Wrench.
“Therein consists our greatest difficulty—the lapse of time.”
“That’s a remarkably beautiful frame you are gilding—just my sort.”
“Not bad,” returned our hero, “but I have had a deal better under my hands; but I’m sorry I can’t help you to find the persons you are seeking. What town did they reside in?”
“Ah, several. I will read you over the names.”
Mr. Wrench drew out his pocket-book, and ran over the list of places which he had copied from the postmarks on the letters at Broxbridge Hall.
“You know,” he said, when he had finished the list, “I don’t want any information from you without paying handsomely for it. It is most imperative that I should find these people, if they be still alive.”
“Oh, is it?” cried Peace. “Well, look here, I can’t tell you anything about them, and if I could——”
“You wouldn’t, is that what you mean?” said his visitor, sharply.
“Don’t be quite so fast. I know nothing about you, and don’t even know your name.”
Mr. Wrench drew a case from his pocket, and gave our hero his card. On it was—
Mr. Detective Wrench,
Scotland-yard.
“Ah!” ejaculated our hero. “That’s it—eh?”
“What?”
“A criminal affair. Some poor crow is wanted.”
“Nothing of the sort. I pledge my word as a gentleman, and——”
“A detective,” added Peace. “Go on, governor.”
“I tell you it is nothing of the sort. The facts are simply these. The lady eloped with her music master. Her relatives cast her off—now they are anxious to find her. Let me disabuse your mind of a false impression.”
“I never knew or even heard of such a person as Montini, and am therefore unable to assist you; but have you no clue to them—no letters?”
“Oh, yes, we have letters. That is how we know the different towns they visited. The last one is from the lady. She announces the birth of a daughter, who is named after herself.”
“What name might that be?” inquired Peace, carelessly, removing the superfluous gold from the frame.
“Aveline,” returned the detective.
“Aveline!” exclaimed Peace, in a tone of surprise, which he found it impossible to suppress.
“Yes. Have you ever met with one bearing that name?” eagerly inquired Mr. Wrench, who was at no loss to comprehend that one chance shot had told.
“Yes, I think so. The name seems familiar to me.”
“My dear sir,” exclaimed the detective, rising from his Windsor chair, and approaching nearer to his companion, “if you can let me know about this person you shall be rewarded handsomely. It is a most uncommon name, and it may furnish us with a clue to the missing person.”
“It is not a very common name, I admit; but then there may be hundreds of persons who bear it.”
“You know one, it would seem. Can you tell me where she’s to be found?”
“You take me by surprise,” observed Peace; “and I cannot quite call to mind just at present where I met with such a person. I know it must be a long time ago. I will think the matter over, and see if I can assist you.”
Mr. Wrench saw plainly enough that Peace was not to be caught tripping—he was too wary a customer for that; he therefore deemed it advisable not to press the question further at that time. He therefore said, in an off-hand manner—
“Well, you will see what you can do for me, like a good fellow, as I am told you are, and so farewell for the present.”
“Aveline!” ejaculated our hero, when he found himself once more alone. “What can be the meaning of this inquiry? He cannot be in search of the Aveline Maitland I knew—and loved,” he added in a tone of dejection; “but no, that is not possible.”
Peace was fairly puzzled. He had no predilection for detectives. They were a class of men whose acquaintance he had no desire to cultivate.
When his day’s work was finished he returned to the “Carved Lion.”
“The vicar has been here inquiring for you,” said Brickett. “I told him where you worked, but he said he would call here again later on.”
“The vicar—and what might he want? Going to give me an order for some Oxford frames, I suppose—eh?”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s private business, I believe. You see, old man, people are beginning to take notice of you.”
In less that an hour after Peace’s return Canon Lenthal called again at the inn.
He was shown into a private room in which our hero was seated.
The vicar was introduced by Brickett.
“You will pardon this intrusion, sir, I hope,” said the minister, “but I wait upon you at the request of Lord Ethalwood, whom I believe you have some knowledge of.”
“I’ve worked for his lordship.”
“So he informed me. Well, Mr. Peace, I understand that you have some knowledge of a lady whose Christian name is Aveline. Possibly you would not care about furnishing Mr. Wrench with all the particulars concerning her. I can readily comprehend that, and hence it is that I pay this visit. It is to assure you, sir, that you will be conferring an inestimable favour upon Lord Ethalwood by giving him the address of the lady in question. His lordship had a daughter named Aveline, she has been lost to him for years, and——”
“The young lady I knew could not possibly be his daughter,” cried Peace. “She is too young for that.”
“Admitted, but the circumstance is a most remarkable one—I mean the coincidence as to the names. I am here to make an earnest appeal. Let me entreat and implore of you to give all the information you can.”
Peace considered for some little time; presently he said—
“Under the circumstances of the case, I feel that I should not be justified in refusing. I will furnish you with what information I have in my power to give.”
“I am overjoyed to hear you make such a declaration. Will you confer with Mr. Wrench, or give me the particulars?”
“I will confer with Mr. Wrench, if you desire it.”
“That will be the best course. Accept my most sincere thanks,” said the vicar, offering his hand to Peace. “I felt assured my appeal would not be made in vain.”
Well pleased with the result of his interview, Canon Lenthal hastened back to Broxbridge Hall.
On the following morning, Charles Peace put Mr. Wrench in possession of all the particulars he was able to furnish in respect to the young lady, whom he had known as Aveline Maitland, but who had become Mrs. Gatliffe three or four years since.
The detective listened to the details with the greatest degree of interest. He was under the full impression that they might ultimately turn out to be of great service to him in tracing Aveline Ethalwood.
“I will at once proceed to Sheffield, Mr. Peace,” he said, in a cheerful manner. “It is indeed a most fortunate meeting—I mean, of course, ours. Should I be successful you will be duly rewarded, for I am free to acknowledge that you rendered me all the assistance it is possible for anyone to do similarly circumstanced.”
“I wouldn’t be too sanguine,” observed Peace. “The young woman, whose name and address I have given, you will find, I fear, will be of little service, but it is not for me to dictate or anticipate. Make whatever use you think fit of the information you have obtained in so singular and unexpected a manner.”
“I will at once to Sheffield,” repeated Wrench. “It may turn out a fiasco, but that is no reason for my remaining inactive.”
The detective was driven to the station by Lord Ethalwood’s coachman, and in a few hours he was at the door of the cottage which had at one time been in the occupation of Mrs. Maitland.
He was informed by its present occupant that the former tenant had left; she went to live with her daughter and son-in-law at Rotheram, soon after their union.
Mr. Wrench hastened thither. He was informed that they had all left the town, and were residing somewhere in London.
The detective was not to be baffled. He waited on Tom Gatliffe’s former employer, and one of the partners informed him that their late foreman was managing a business in the Euston-road.
He put up at one of the leading hotels in Sheffield, having determined upon proceeding to the metropolis on the following day.
