Читать книгу A Pit-brow Lassie - John Monk Foster - Страница 8

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It was midsummer time, and the day had been one long fierce blaze of sunny splendour—a day of cloudless blue skies, dusty thoroughfares, heated pedestrians, jaded horses, and thirsty dogs. Pleasant weather when one is able to enjoy it beside the sea, or in cool green depths of woodland; but rather uncomfortable when one is pent up inside a stuffy office—one of many thousands, overshadowing each other with scarcely a space of breathing room between them.

So thought Mr. Henry Willesden, solicitor, as coming out of his chambers in Market-street, he hurried to catch the tram beside the Infirmary that would carry him homeward, for to walk thither under such a broiling sun was simply to invite sunstroke.

Mr. Willesden, a gentleman of fifty-five or thereabouts, was tall, slimly built, clean shaven, and thin-featured. He had keen grey eyes hooded by thick bushy brows of white, and his long hair was snowy-hued also. A pleasant old fellow, and likewise a generous, so that his patriarchal appearance in no manner belied him.

He resided in the southern suburbs of Manchester, in one of the neat villas facing Alexandra Park, and thither in due time he was set down by the tram. Feeling just in the humor for afternoon tea, which he knew was awaiting him, he hurried inside. He was a childless man, having married late in life; but lack of family had spoiled neither his wife's temper nor his own.

As Willesden took his accustomed seat at the tea table, with his eyes on the inviting watercress, his better half remarked:—

"There's a letter for you, Henry, from Australia."

"From Australia?" he echoed as he stirred his tea.

"Yes; here it is."

"When did it come?"

"Just after you left home this morning."

"Humph! It's from Sydney, I see."

"Yes, dear; whom can it be from?"

"I cannot imagine, Annie," he answered, thoughtfully. "I know no one there that I am aware of. I suppose it will be on business of some kind. Anyhow, we will soon see all about it."

With these words he slit open the foreign-looking letter, drew forth a somewhat bulky communication a trifle eagerly, for he felt curious regarding it, and proceeded to read it in silence.

"Well, Henry?" murmured Mrs. Willesden in a mildly interrogative way.

"It's from Dick Hampton," he ejaculated.

"Dick Hampton," she iterated. "Who is he?"

"I forgot you did not know him, Annie. He's a very old friend of mine—we were lads together—and he went to Australia some thirty years ago, and this is the first time I have heard from him since he went away."

"Has he done well in Australia?"

"Wonderfully; wonderfully, dear, according to his letter. But that is not the most interesting portion of his news. Hampton has a sister—or had one—and he wants me to—but I'll read his letter to you."

He laid the open sheet down for a moment, wiped his glasses, took a sip at his tea, and then read the letter, which ran thus:—

"Cambridge House, Sydney,

"June 20, 1878.

"My Dear Harry,

"You will be very much surprised I know to hear from me after a silence and separation extending over so many years, but I hope my letter will be none the less welcome to you on that account. I might have written to you years since had I known where to find you. I only discovered your address a few days ago by the merest accident. Last Wednesday I happened to drop across a gentleman in the Imperial Hotel who had just come over from Manchester, and during the conversation that ensued your name came to be mentioned, and to my infinite delight the Henry Willesden the man knew was no one else but my old chum.

"I got your address from the gentleman—his name is Frederic Anthon—and all particulars concerning yourself. And wasn't I glad to hear that you had made your 'pile,' as they say here, and that you are still enjoying the best of health, being still in practice I suppose? I am glad of that, for I have a bit of work I wish you to undertake, but more of this anon.

"Now I daresay you would like to hear something of my doings here. That's just what I am about to tell you—in short, remember, at the time the gold fever was raging, and having myself caught the contagion, I made straight for the diggings. I knocked about the goldfields for nearly a dozen years, and during that time made more than one small fortune—and lost it again—how I leave you to guess.

"You know the old adage about Fortune knocking once at every man's door. Well, the fickle dame knocked at mine once, twice, thrice even, and the last time she came I was on the threshold ready to open instantly at her summons. I scraped the gold together pretty smartly that time I can tell you, and—which was something new for me to do—kept it. Then I cleared right out of the place, being just about sick of the wild life a digger must lead, and with the few thousands I had managed to get hold of I bought first a sheep farm, and then some building lots in the suburbs of this city.

"To make a long tale short——"

Mr. Willesden paused, midway in the sentence, for a sharp knock at the chamber door attracted his attention, and the next moment it opened, giving admittance to a tallish, dark, good-looking young fellow, smartly dressed, who swung into the room with the air of one who felt very much at home.

"Hullo, Arthur, is it you?" the solicitor said pleasantly to the new comer. "Didn't know you were in town."

"Only came this afternoon, and as I was passing thought I'd drop in for a cup of tea." Then, seeing the opened letter in the elder man's hands, he asked, "Am I intruding upon your private affairs?"

"Not at all, Arthur. I am glad to see you. It's only a letter from an old friend of mine."

The young gentleman seated himself at the table, a servant brought another cup and saucer for the new comer, and Mr. Willesden resumed his reading of the letter.

"Where had I got to? Oh, here it is:—

"To make a long tale short, both my ventures were successful. The sheep farm made me a heap of money, and the land I bought is now covered with good paying property. Altogether I reckon I'm worth something approaching six figures, and that is not so bad I think for a chap who came here with just nine pounds thirteen and five-pence in his pockets.

"Having said so much regarding myself I now come to the bit of business at which I have already hinted. When I left Manchester in 1850 the only relative I left behind me was a sister of 19 or 20, who was then lodging at No. 49, George-street, Hulme. Five years after leaving England I wrote to her at the address here given, but never received any reply. I fancy that she must have removed in the meantime or got married, and thus would never get my letter. I wrote again some time after with a like result.

"Now the business I wish you to undertake is the finding of my sister Margaret. If she is alive you ought to be able to discover her. Anyhow, I hope so, and am prepared to spend something considerable in the search. Put the matter in the hands of some capable man as early as possible, and don't let the expense stand in the way of anything you think ought to be done. I enclose cheque on the London and Australian Bank for £50 to cover all initial expenditure, and will remit again on hearing from you.

"I forgot to congratulate you in the earlier part of my letter on your marriage. My good wishes come rather late in the day, but for all that I know they will be acceptable. As for me I am a bachelor still, and don't expect to change my condition now. At my age, and with but indifferent health, matrimony is not very alluring.

"Wishing you the best of all good things, and hoping to hear from you directly you receive this,

"I remain, yours faithfully,

"RICHARD HAMPTON."

"Henry Willesden, Esq."

"It's quite as interesting as a romance, uncle," said Arthur Willesden as his relative finished the letter.

"Much more so," the solicitor rejoined, fingering the cheque his old friend had forwarded, "for the real must ever be more interesting than the imaginary."

"Who is he, may I ask?"

"An old friend of whom I have not heard for ever so long. He was a clerk in the same office as myself before I began to practise."

"He appears to have done well over there," the young man observed, munching complacently; "for I suppose his six figures mean a hundred thousand."

"Yes, I suppose they do, and I am glad to hear of his luck. And there's the business of finding Hampton's sister. I suppose I shall have to engage a private enquiry officer for the job. If Margaret Hampton—or whatever her name may be now—is living, the man will soon discover her whereabouts."

"I fancy an advertisement inserted in one or two of the leading provincial papers would find her, if, as you say, she is living," the solicitor's nephew rejoined, as he helped himself freely to the delicacies upon the table.

"It might, Arthur," Mr. Willesden responded.

"Anyhow, I'll give the thing a trial, and, as Hampton is not afraid of a little expense, and wishes the matter to be gone into at once, and further urges me to employ all the means at my command, I shall employ a man to prosecute the search. If one falls the other may succeed."

"Certainly; that is just what I was thinking."

"If Hampton's sister is in England, Jem Bowman will ferret her out in a fortnight."

"Who is this Bowman? Is he a detective?"

"No; a private enquiry officer whom I have employed at various times. He's pretty smart at his business, and if Margaret Hampton is to be found he will find her."

"Another cup, Henry?" Mrs. Willesden asked. Her husband nodded an affirmative, and as he sweetened his tea the solicitor added—

"I will draw up the advertisement this evening and forward it to the Daily News and Standard, and half a dozen of the leading provincial papers. I can see Bowman to-morrow some time."

"Yes, dear," Mrs. Willesden assented.

"I'll tell you what, uncle," Arthur broke out impulsively. "Suppose you give me the job of hunting up this Australian fellow's sister."

"You, Arthur?" the solicitor interrogated, half smiling, half in earnest.

"Yes, me; why shouldn't you?"

"Do you mean it seriously?"

"Certainly I do. I've plenty of time and nothing to do with it, and of all things would like to try my hand at a bit of detective work. I am quite interested in the history of your old friend and his missing relative, and will spare no effort to find her if you will put the matter in my hands."

"It appears you have a taste for something in the way of work," Mr. Willesden cried banteringly. "But if you feel that your vocation lies in the detective line you should join the force. I have some little influence, and it shall be used to procure you an appointment if you desire it."

"Nonsense, uncle, nonsense!" Arthur exclaimed petulantly. "That would be work, and this fancy that I have will probably last long enough to enable me to find the woman, but no longer. I should like to try if you will let me."

"Then you shall, lad," the solicitor responded; "but I fear that your enthusiasm will soon wear out if the case proves to be a difficult one."

"When I tire of the case I will give it up instantly, and you can then place it in the hands of Bowman."

"Then you may consider yourself engaged for the business, and I shall expect you to go into the matter at once."

"To-morrow will do, I suppose?"

"Yes; but I shall want you to help me to draw up the advertisement and dispatch copies of it to such newspapers as I may select. Suppose we do it after tea? Have you any engagement?"

"No. I am quite at your service."

After tea was disposed of Mr. Willesden and his relative settled down to the work before them. In a short time they had drawn up an advertisement, which ran as follows:—

MARGARET HAMPTON.—Wanted, the address of the person of this name who in the year 1847 resided at No. 49, George-street, Hulme, Manchester.

The same evening copies of the foregoing were dispatched to a number of papers, metropolitan and provincial, and in due course they appeared therein for a week in succession.