Читать книгу A Midnight Mystery - Fergus Hume - Страница 5

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Sir Algernon Granville could hardly be called an estimable personage. He was profoundly egotistical and deemed his fellow creatures were created for the purpose of ministering to his pleasures. Married at an early age when he had some thought for others, his wife had died after three years of married life leaving him a comfortable fortune and one daughter. She desired to settle the fortune on her child but Sir Algernon persuaded her from adopting this sensible course, and promised faithfully to hold the money in trust for Catherine.

As a matter of fact, he had no intention of exercising such self-denial. The child at that time was only two years of age and therefore had no necessity for money. Thus argued her father, and placing Catherine under the care of his only sister, Mrs. Devereaux, proceeded to enjoy himself. He did this so excellently well and showed such skill in spending money, that by the time Catherine was of age he had scarce a sixpence to bless himself with.

To make matters worse, Mrs. Devereaux died at this very critical time and Catherine was sent back to her father. Sir Algernon had hoped that his sister would leave the girl a second fortune of which he might have the spending, but such proved not to be the case. All Mrs. Devereaux possessed was an annuity and as this passed away when she died, Catherine was returned to her indignant parent as poor as when she left him.

The baronet was seriously angry and frequently asked himself how he was to support this young lady who required money, dresses and amusements. He quite forgot that he had spent the money which was rightfully hers and felt himself very much aggrieved at the prospect of taking charge of his child. Matters, however, could not be altered, so he made a virtue of necessity and took charge of Catherine with many protestations that he intended to be a model father.

His idea of the rôle was getting the girl married to a wealthy husband, and he set to work at once. Unfortunately, in his own set, a rather fast one, there was no very eligible suitor, so he looked round to see who was worthy, in point of income, to be his son-in-law. Ultimately he fixed upon Rudolph Carrant, who had a large fortune and no morals. This latter state of things mattered little to Sir Algernon so long as the money was safe, and having presented Carrant to his daughter as a suitor he commanded her to inveigle him into marriage by all the feminine arts at her command.

To his wrath and astonishment, Catherine, a handsome, high-spirited girl, absolutely refused to adopt this ignoble course. She did not like Carrant, who was a gambler and a profligate, and declined to sell herself for a comfortable home. Her own was miserable enough, what with straitened means and a cantankerous father, but she preferred even such misery to the degradation of becoming the wife of a man whom she knew to be an unconscionable blackguard. Moreover, this was the strongest reason of all, she was in love with Hugh Oliphant.

He was the scion of an old Scotch family with a long pedigree and a lean purse. Three hundred a year represented his entire income, and when he hinted to Sir Algernon that he loved Catherine and would gladly make her his wife, the baronet was filled with wrath at the idea of a pauper daring to aspire to the hand of his child. With furious words he turned Oliphant out of the house, and despite Catherine’s indignant tears, ordered her to marry Carrant at once. Furthermore, to make things safe and put an end to Oliphant’s foolish hopes, he took his daughter down to Seagate, at which place he hoped to marry her to Rudolph Carrant.

To do the latter justice, he was very much in love with Catherine, and swore if he married her, to give up his wild ways and bad companions. He came down to Seagate at the request of Sir Algernon, and there took up his abode at the nearest hotel. At this time he behaved himself excellently well and was most devoted in his attentions to the girl he adored. She did not want his attentions, she did not care about his promises of reformation; all she desired was to marry Hugh Oliphant, and this desire she was unable to gratify.

Her father watched her like a lynx. Carrant had promised to allow him a good income after the marriage, so Sir Algernon was quite prepared to sell his daughter in order to secure the same. He was determined to lose no opportunity of obtaining this settlement, and never let his daughter out of his sight. At all hours he was by her side, much to the admiration of the neighbourhood, who greatly admired such a devoted parent. The neighbourhood was quite unaware that the aforesaid devoted parent was on the eve of selling his child to a drunkard for the furthering of his own selfish ends.

Hugh Oliphant was left behind in town to forget Catherine as he best could, but not being a mild young man, declined to acquiesce in this infamous arrangement which, if carried through, would rob him of his promised wife, and devote her to life-long misery. He came down to Seagate, and despite the keen eyes of Sir Algernon, managed to have some conversation with Catherine.

In this interview he represented that she owed nothing to so selfish a parent and would assuredly be forced to marry Carrant if she stayed, therefore, he proposed that she should fly with him. It required but little persuasion to gain Catherine’s consent to this course, for she was herself heartily sick of her heartless father and debauched lover. To the joy of Oliphant she agreed to elope with him, and he made all preparations for flight, but, on the very eve of fulfilment, their house of cards was knocked down by the hand of Fate.

On the 16th of May they arranged to get married in London. On the 14th of May the obstacle to their union was removed by the death of Rudolph Carrant. Under these circumstances Catherine judged it best to wait, and if possible, persuade her father into a more reasonable frame of mind. Hugh consented to this course as there was no help for it, but he sorely grudged the postponement of the day which would turn Catherine Granville into Mrs. Hugh Oliphant. Sir Algernon was not to be trusted in any way.

After that untoward death of Carrant’s, the spirits of Sir Algernon fell to zero. He wanted money very badly, and it seemed hard to him to lose the big fish for which he so arduously angled. There was no one else to whom he could marry his daughter, yet he did not despair, and once more looked around for a wealthy and complaisant son-in-law. His daughter hinted at Oliphant, but Sir Algernon put his foot down on that with determination.

“Oliphant, indeed,” he said, angrily, “a beggarly younger son with a pauper’s income. I suppose he thinks because Carrant is dead that I’ll let you marry him. I’ll do no such thing. As you can’t marry poor Rudolph you must marry his cousin and heir-at-law, Cecil Halston.”

“What, that effeminate looking person,” cried Catherine, in dismay. “I shall do nothing of the sort, papa. I wish to marry a man like——”

“Like Oliphant, I suppose,” sneered her father. “You shall marry whom I choose, and that wretched Oliphant is not my choice. It is my duty as a father to look after your well-being, and I have decided that you shall marry Cecil Halston.”

“But I don’t love him.”

“That doesn’t matter. He can make good settlements.”

“But he doesn’t love me.”

“Well, perhaps he doesn’t love you yet,” said Sir Algernon, affably, “but he will do so soon. He told me that he admired you very much.”

With this prospect Catherine began to think she would ultimately be forced to revert to her old plan and fly with Hugh. But since Carrant’s funeral her father never let her out of his sight, and looked over all incoming and outgoing letters, so she was quite unable to either communicate with, or gain a sight of her lover.

Meanwhile Sir Algernon ingratiated himself with Halston, and gave his opinion regarding the death of Carrant. The heir was unwilling to take steps on so slender an assumption as robbery and was inclined to agree with the jury in the verdict ascribing the death to an accident. Nevertheless Sir Algernon was so certain that Carrant had met with foul play, that to quieten his scruples, Halston was forced to call in the aid of a detective. Hence his journey to London and his engagement of Dillock to find out the true cause of Rudolph Carrant’s death.

In his hints that Oliphant was mixed up in the crime, there was without doubt a suspicion of jealousy in the mind of Halston. He knew that Catherine loved Hugh and that Carrant stood in the way of their coming together, therefore he was by no means certain but that Oliphant might not have purposely killed his rival and so removed an obstacle from his path. These suspicions he imparted to Dillock, though he did so very unwillingly, as he had really no grounds for so base an accusation. What Dillock thought about the matter remains to be seen. He was not a man of many words, and valued his professional reputation too highly to commit himself to a rash opinion. On arriving at Seagate about three o’clock, Halston took the detective to his hotel, where they had something to eat, and then walked him along the parade to call on Sir Algernon Granville. The baronet’s house was at the extreme end of Seagate, so the detective and his companion had to walk the full length of the parade. Towards the termination of the asphalted walk, Halston touched Dillock on the arm.

“Do you see that fair man in the grey tweed suit?”

“Yes. Walking rapidly towards us. What about him?”

“That is Oliphant.”

“The man whom you suspect?”

“Don’t say that,” said Halston, angrily. “I don’t exactly suspect him. But this is the man who loves Miss Granville and who hated my unfortunate cousin.”

“Oh, indeed,” remarked Dillock, calmly, and kept his eye on the approaching figure.

Hugh was a handsome young fellow of thirty, with an open candid countenance. He was quietly dressed and wore no jewellery. With his shoulders well back he had the air of a soldier, and walked rapidly past Halston with a cold nod in answer to the stiff salutation of the latter. In that moment Dillock had rapidly taken in all the points of which he wished to be cognizant, and did not turn his head when Oliphant had passed them.

“Are you not going to look at him?” asked Halston in a vexed tone.

“I have looked,” responded Dillock, leisurely. “I saw him thoroughly.”

“Well?”

“He does not look like a man who would commit a base action.”

“It is to be hoped he is innocent,” said Halston, rather annoyed by this remark, “but things certainly look black against him.”

“I don’t see that, Mr. Halston. As yet we have no proof.”

“He has no doubt laid his plans excellently well,” said the other, with a sneer.

“Does he love Miss Granville very much?” asked Dillock, suddenly.

“Yes. Confound him!”

Dillock whistled. He saw now the reason why Halston was so bitter against the lover of Catherine. It was once more the inevitable woman.

“He’s jealous,” thought the detective, as they stopped before Sir Algernon’s house. “She must be a pretty girl, Miss Granville. Carrant, Oliphant, Halston, all in love with her. I hope she’ll be present during this interview.”

Unfortunately Dillock’s desire was not gratified. Only Sir Algernon was in the room when they entered. He was a fat little man with a perpetual simper, and a pair of shifty grey eyes that by no means ingratiated him with the detective. That individual was a keen reader of character and he disliked Sir Algernon the moment he set eyes on his face.

“It’s a bad face,” decided Dillock, as he acknowledged the baronet’s effusive greeting. “If the daughter is like the father, Carrant had a lucky escape even at the cost of his life.”

Sir Algernon made his visitors sit down, apologised for the non-appearance of his daughter, whom he said was lying down quite worn out with grief, and began at once to talk of the business which had brought Dillock to Seagate.

“Well, sir,” he said, rubbing his fat hands together, “and what do you think of this matter?”

“I can hardly form an opinion yet, Sir Algernon,” replied Dillock, coolly, “as I am not yet in possession of all the facts.”

“Didn’t Mr. Halston tell you?”

“I told him all I could,” interrupted Halston, “but of course my information is second hand. You tell your story, Sir Algernon.”

This was precisely what the baronet wanted. There was nothing he liked better than to hear himself talk. As an orator he was unsurpassable—in his own opinion.

“You are of course aware,” he said to Dillock, “that the late Mr. Carrant was engaged to my poor daughter, Miss Granville?”

“Yes. Mr. Halston informed me of that fact.”

“She feels the loss very deeply—very deeply indeed. Mr. Carrant was devotedly attached to her. He came down here at my request so as to be near her, and sometimes at night we played cards.”

“You were playing on the night of the fourteenth,” said Dillock, consulting his notes.

“We were. Not for high stakes. Oh dear no. But for just sufficient to add excitement to the game. I lost ten pounds and paid it to Mr. Carrant in a ten pound note.”

“Was anyone else playing?”

“No. My daughter had retired early with a bad headache and we were quite alone in the room. We merely played cards for a little distraction and I lost ten pounds. I gave Mr. Carrant a ten pound note as I have said, and he placed it in his pocket-book.”

“Have you the number of that note?”

“No. I regret to say that I have not. I am not a business man, my good sir,” said the baronet, lightly, “so did not trouble myself about such a small matter.”

“It won’t prove a small matter if I get the right number,” observed Dillock, grimly.

“How so?”

“Because you say Mr. Carrant placed that note in his pocket book.”

“Yes. In a shagreen pocket book with silver edges—also a silver crest and monogram. I admired the workmanship and examined the pocket book. Well?”

“Well,” repeated Dillock, calmly, “that book was in Mr. Carrant’s pocket when he left the house. It was not there when his body was found.”

“No. That’s true enough,” said Halston, approvingly.

“In the interval it must have been stolen. Now then,” said Dillock, raising his forefinger, “whomsoever stole that book probably murdered Mr. Carrant. He will try and get rid of the note—if I know the number I can nail him.”

“Dear! dear!” said Sir Algernon, much astonished at this view of the case, “what a pity I have not got the number.”

“Where did you get the note?”

“From my bank.”

“What is the name of your bank and what cheque did you draw?”

“The Liberty Bank; I drew a cheque for twenty pounds and sent it up to be cashed. They sent back two five pound and one ten pound note.”

“Good!” said Dillock, making a note. “I’ll get the numbers from your bank. Now one other question, Sir Algernon. Was Mr. Carrant sober when he left your house?”

“Well, not exactly,” hesitated Sir Algernon, glancing at Halston. “He was, I am afraid, a little elevated.”

“Not sufficient to make him fall over the cliff?”

“Oh, dear no! In fact, I wonder he went near the cliff at all. There was no necessity for him to do so. Along the road was his nearest way to the hotel.”

“You are well acquainted with the topography of this place, Sir Algernon,” said Dillock, rising, “so I think we will continue this conversation outside. I wish to see the place where Mr. Carrant is supposed to have fallen over.”

The baronet consented at once, and the three men went out to view the scene of the accident—or crime.