The beating of my heart became normal; I suppose it was the sudden appearance of a gentleman with whose face I was familiar, after many hours of suspense, that had caused its pulsations to become so rapid and violent. There was nothing surprising, after all, in the presence of Mr. Dowsett in Devlin's shop. His address was in Westminster, Devlin was an exceptionally fine workman, the accommodation was luxurious, the charges low. Even I, in my position in life, would be tempted to deal occasionally with so expert and perfect a barber as Devlin, at the prices he charged. Then, why not Mr. Kenneth Dowsett? Besides, he might be of a frugal turn.
Devlin was not long engaged over him. Mr. Dowsett was shaved; Mr. Dowsett had his hair brushed by machinery; Mr. Dowsett, moreover, was very particular as to the arrangement of his hair; and Devlin, I saw, did his best to please him. But so deft and facile was Devlin that he did not dally with Mr. Dowsett for longer than five or six minutes. Mr. Dowsett rose, paid Devlin, exchanged a few smiling words with him, and taking a final look at himself in the mirrors, turning himself this way and that, walked out of the shop. Evidently Mr. Dowsett was a very vain man.
No sooner was he gone than Devlin locked the shop-door from within, whipped off his linen jacket, and opened the door of the room in which I was sitting. I came forward in no amiable mood.
"You are wearied with your long enforced rest," said Devlin.
"I am wearied and disgusted," I retorted. "I expected a clue."
"Have you not received it?" asked Devlin, smiling.
"Received it!" I echoed. "How? Where?"
"You have seen my customers, and all that has passed between me and them."
"Well?"
"Well?" he said, mocking me. "Is there not one among them upon whom your suspicions are fixed? Is there not one among them who could, if he chose, supply us with a starting-point? I say 'us,' because we are comrades."
"Fool, fool, that I was!" I exclaimed, involuntarily raising my hand to my forehead. "Why did I allow him to escape?"
"Why did you let whom escape you?" asked Devlin, in a bantering tone.
"The man whose beard and moustache you shaved off. He must have a reason, a vital reason, for effecting this disguise in himself. And I have let him slip through my fingers!"
"He has a vital reason for so disguising himself," said Devlin, "but it has no connection with the murder of Lizzie Melladew."
"Then what do you mean?" I cried, "by asking me whether I have not received a clue?"
"Was your attention attracted to no other of my customers than this man?"
"There was only one who was known to me--Mr. Kenneth Dowsett."
"Ah!" said Devlin. "Mr. Kenneth Dowsett."
A light seemed to dawn suddenly upon me, but the suggestion conveyed in Devlin's significant tone so amazed me that I could not receive it unquestioningly.
"Do you mean to tell me," I cried, "that you suspect Mr. Dowsett of complicity in this frightful murder?"
"I mean to tell you nothing of my suspicions," replied Devlin. "It is for you, not for me, to suspect. It is for you, not for me, to draw conclusions. What I know positively of Mr. Dowsett--with whose name I was unacquainted until last evening, when you mentioned it in Lemon's house--I will tell you, if you wish."
"Tell me, then."
"It is short but pregnant. Through Mr. Kenneth Dowsett's mind, as I shaved him and dressed his hair on Friday last, passed the picture of a beautiful girl, with golden hair, wearing a bunch of white daisies in her belt. Through his mind passed a picture of a lake of still water in Victoria Park. Through his mind passed a vision of blood."
"Are you a devil," I exclaimed, "that you did not step in to prevent the deed?"
"My dear sir," he said, seizing my arm, which I had involuntarily raised, and holding it as in a vice, "you are unreasonable. I have never in my life been in Victoria Park, which, I believe, covers a large space of ground. Why should I elect to pass an intensely uncomfortable night, wandering about paths in an unknown place, to interfere in I know not what? Even were I an interested party, it would be an act of folly, for such a proceeding would lay me open to suspicion. A nice task you would allot to me when you tacitly declare that it should be my mission to prevent the commission of human crime! Then how was I to gauge the precise value of Mr. Dowsett's thoughts? He might be a dramatist, inventing a sensational plot for a popular theatre; he might be an author of exciting fiction. Give over your absurdities, and school yourself into calmer methods. Unless you do so, you will have small chance of unravelling this mystery. And consider, my dear sir," he added, making me a mocking bow, "if I am a devil, how honoured you should be that I accept you as my comrade!"
The tone in which he spoke was calm and measured; indeed, it had not escaped my observation that, whether he was inclined to be malignant or agreeable, insinuating or threatening, he never raised his voice above a certain pitch. I inwardly acknowledged the wisdom of his counsel that I should keep my passion in control, and I resolved from that moment to follow it.
"You locked the shop-door," I said, "when Mr. Dowsett left you just now."
"I did," was his response, "thinking it would be your wish that I should do no more business to-day."
"Why should you think that?"
"Because of what was passing through Mr. Dowsett's mind."
"I ask you to pardon me for my display of passion. What was Mr. Dowsett thinking of?"
"Of two very simple matters," said Devlin; "the time of day and an address. The time was fifteen minutes past three, the address, 28 Athelstan Road."
"Nothing more?" I inquired, much puzzled.
"Nothing more."
I pondered a moment; I could draw no immediate conclusion from material so bare. I asked Devlin what he could make of it; he replied, politely, that it was for me, not for him, to make what I could of it. A suggestion presented itself.
"At fifteen minutes past three," I said, "Mr. Dowsett has an appointment with some person at 28 Athelstan Road."
"Possibly," said Devlin.
"Have you a 'London Directory'?"
"I have not; nor, I imagine, will you easily find one in this neighbourhood."
"A simpler plan," I said, "perhaps will be to go to Mr. Dowsett's house, to which he has most likely returned, and set watch there for him, keeping ourselves well out of sight. It is now twenty minutes past one; we can reach his house in ten minutes. He will hardly leave it for his appointment till two, or a little past. We will follow him secretly, and ascertain whom he is going to see, and his purpose. I am determined now to adopt bold measures. Behind this frightful mystery there is another, which shall be brought to light. You will accompany me?"
"I am at your orders," said Devlin.
We left the house together, and in the time I specified were within a few yards of Mr. Dowsett's residence. Aware of the importance of not attracting attention, I looked about for a means of escaping observation. Nearly opposite Mr. Dowsett's dwelling was a public-house, in the first-floor window of which I saw a placard, "Billiards. Pool." I concluded that it was the window of a billiard-room, and without hesitation I entered the public-house, followed by Devlin, and mounted the stairs. The room, as I supposed, contained a billiard-table; the marker, a very pale and very thin youth, was practising the spot stroke.
"Billiards, sir?" he asked, as we entered.
"Yes," I said, "we wish to play a private game. How much an hour?"
"Eighteenpence."
"Here are five shillings," I said, "for a couple of hours. We shall not want you to mark. Don't let us be disturbed."
The pale thin youth took the money, laid down his cue, and left us to ourselves. When he was gone I placed a chair at an angle against the handle of the door, there being no key in the lock, and thus prevented the entrance of any person without notice. It was the leisure time of the day, and there was little fear of our being disturbed. The extra gratuity I had given to the marker would insure privacy. As I took my station at the window, from which Mr. Dowsett's house was in full view, Devlin nodded approval of my proceedings.
"You are a man of resource," he said. "I perceive that you intend henceforth to act sensibly."
Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign of any person leaving or entering Mr. Dowsett's house. Every now and then I consulted my watch. Two o'clock--a quarter-past two--half-past. I began to grow impatient, but, to please Devlin, did not exhibit it. Perfect silence reigned between us; we exchanged not a word.
Time waned, and now I more frequently looked at my watch, the hands of which were drawing on to three. They reached the hour and passed it. A quarter-past three.
Perplexed and disappointed, I debated on my next move. I soon decided what it should be. I had promised Richard Carton that I would call upon him. I would do so now. If Mr. Dowsett was at home, all the better.
I made Devlin acquainted with my resolve, and he said,
"Very good; I will go with you."
Removing the chair I had placed against the handle of the door, we went from the public-house and crossed the road. I knocked at Mr. Dowsett's door, and a maidservant answered the summons.
"Does Mr. Kenneth Dowsett live here?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is he at home?"
"No, sir."
"Is Mr. Richard Carton in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Give him my card, and say I wish to see him."
"Will you please walk this way, sir?" said the maidservant.
She ushered us into the dining-room, where she left us alone while she went to apprise Richard Carton of my visit. The room was exceedingly well furnished. Good pictures were on the walls, and there was a tasteful arrangement of bric-a-brac and bronzes. I had no time for further observation, the entrance of Richard Carton claiming my attention.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, "you have come. I was beginning to be afraid you would disappoint me."
"You delivered my letter to my wife?" I asked.
"Yes, and the desk. My guardian wanted to persuade me to leave it till this morning, but I would not."
"You were quite right."
He looked towards Devlin.
"A friend," I said, waving my hand as a kind of introduction, "who may be of assistance to us."
"But introduce us plainly," expostulated Devlin.
"Mr. Devlin," I said, "Mr. Richard Carton."
They shook hands, and then Carton inquired whether I had anything to tell him.
"Nothing tangible," I replied, "but we are on the road."
"Yes," repeated Devlin, "we are on the road."
"Excuse me for asking," said Carton to Devlin, "but are you a detective?"
"In a spiritual way," said Devlin.
Carton's mind was too deeply occupied with the one supreme subject of the murder to ask for an explanation of this enigmatical reply. He turned towards me.
"Is your guardian in?" I inquired.
"No," said Carton.
What should I say next? It would have been folly to make Richard Carton a participant in the strange revelations which were directing my proceedings.
"Can you tell me," I asked, "where Athelstan Road is?"
"It is in Margate," he replied, in a tone of surprise, "and the number is 28."
It was my turn now to exhibit surprise. "No. 28!" I exclaimed. "Who lives there?"
"I don't know. Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia went to Margate by an early train on Saturday morning, before I was awake, and my guardian has gone there to see them. I should have proposed to go with him had it not been for my determination not to leave London till this dreadful mystery was cleared up; and then there was the promise you made me give you last night, that I should remain here all the day till you came to see me."
"When did your guardian go to Margate?" I asked.
"He has gone from Victoria," replied Carton, glancing at a marble clock on the mantelshelf, "by the Granville train. It starts at fifteen minutes past three."
I also glanced at the clock. It was just half-past three, a quarter of an hour past the time!
Carton, noticing my discomposure, inquired if there was anything wrong. I answered, yes; I was afraid there was something very wrong.
"In connection with the fate of my poor girl?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied, "in connection with her fate."
"Great heavens!" he cried. "You surely do not suspect that my guardian is mixed up with it?"
"I am of the opinion," I answered guardedly, "that he may be able to throw some light on it. Mr. Carton, ask me no further questions, or you may seriously hamper me. Have you a time-table in the house? No? Then we must obtain one immediately. It is my purpose to follow your guardian to Margate by the quickest and earliest train. I give you five minutes to get ready."
Greatly excited, he darted from the room, and in half the time I had named returned, with a small bag, into which he had thrust a few articles of clothing. During his absence I said to Devlin,
"You will accompany us?"
"My dear sir," he replied, "I will go with you to the ends of the earth. I shall greatly enjoy this pursuit; the vigour and spirit you are putting into it are worthy of the highest admiration."
We three went out together, and at the first book-shop I purchased an "A B C," and ascertained that the next best train to Margate was the 5.15 from Victoria, which was timed to arrive at 7.31. Calculating that it would be a few minutes late, we could, no doubt, reach Athelstan Road at half-past eight. I had time to run home to my wife, and embrace her and my children; it was necessary, also, that I should furnish myself with funds, there being very little money in my purse, and I determined to use the one hundred pounds which Mr. Portland had left with me. Employed as I was, the use of this money was justifiable. Hailing a hansom, we jumped into it. Carton sitting on Devlin's knee, and we soon reached my house. In as few words as possible I explained to my wife all that was necessary, kissed her and the children, took possession of the hundred pounds and of a light bag in which my wife had put a change of clothing, left a private message for Mr. Portland, and rejoined Devlin and Carton, who were waiting for me in the hansom. I asked my wife but two questions--the first, how Mr. and Mrs. Melladew were, the second, whether anything had been heard of the missing daughter Mary. She told me that the unhappy parents were completely prostrated by the blow, and that no news whatever had been heard of Mary.
We arrived at Victoria Station in good time, and, by the aid of a judicious tip, I secured a first-class compartment, into which the guard assured me no one should be admitted. I had a distinct reason for desiring this privacy. There were subjects upon which I wished to talk with Richard Carton, and I could not carry on the conversation in the presence of strangers. I said nothing to him of this in the cab, the noise of the wheels making conversation difficult. We should be two hours and a half getting to Margate, and on the journey I could obtain all the information I desired. We started promptly to the minute, and then I requested Carton to give me his best attention. He and I sat next to each other, Devlin sitting in the opposite corner. He threw himself back, and closed his eyes, but I knew that he heard every word that passed between me and Carton.
"I am going to ask you a series of questions," I said to the young man, "not one of which shall be asked from idle curiosity. Answer me as directly to the point as you can. Explain how it is that Mr. Kenneth Dowsett is your guardian."
"I lost both my parents," replied Carton, "when I was very young. Of my mother I have no remembrance whatever; of my father, but little. He and Mr. Dowsett were upon the most intimate terms of friendship; my father had such confidence in him that when he drew his will he named Mr. Dowsett as his executor and my guardian. I was to live with him and his wife, and he was to see to my education. He has faithfully fulfilled the trust my father reposed in him."
"Did your father leave a large fortune?"
"Roughly speaking, I am worth two thousand pounds a year."
"Mr. Dowsett, having to receive you in his house as a son and to look after your education, doubtless was in receipt of a fair consideration for his services?"
"O, yes. Until I was twenty-one years of age he was to draw six hundred pounds a year out of the funds invested for me. The balance accumulated for my benefit until I came of age."
"He drew this money regularly?"
"Yes, as he was entitled to do."
"How old are you now?"
"Twenty-four."
"You are living still with Mr. Dowsett, and you still regard him as your guardian?"
"I have a great affection for him; he has treated me most kindly."
"What do you pay him for your board and lodging?"
"He continues to receive the six hundred a year. It is all he has to depend on."
"Was this last arrangement of his own proposing, or yours?"
"Of mine. I cannot sufficiently repay him for his care of me."
"In your father's will what was to become of your fortune in the event of your death?"
"If I died before I came of age, my guardian was to have the six hundred a year, and the rest was to be given to various charities."
"And after you came of age?"
"It was mine absolutely, to do as I pleased with."
"Have you made a will?"
"Yes."
"Who proposed that?"
"My guardian."
"What are the terms of this will?"
"I have left everything to him. I have no relatives, and no other claims upon me."
"When I came to see you this afternoon you mentioned a name which was new to me. You said that your guardian had gone to Margate with his wife and 'Letitia.' I supposed he was married, and your speaking of Mrs. Dowsett did not surprise me. But who is Letitia?"
"Their daughter."
"An only child?"
"Yes."
"What is her age?"
"Twenty-two."
"Has she a sweetheart? Is she engaged to be married?"
"No."
"That answer seems to me to be given with constraint."
"Well," said Carton, "it is hardly right, is it, to go so minutely into my guardian's private family affairs?"
"It is entirely right. I am engaged upon a very solemn task, and I can see, probably, what is hidden from you. Why were you partly disinclined to answer my last question?"
"It is a little awkward," replied Carton, "because, perhaps, I am not quite free from blame."
"Explain your meaning. Believe me, this may be more serious than you imagine. Speak frankly. I am acting, indeed, as your true friend."
"Yet, after all," said Carton, with hesitation, "I never made love to her, I give you my honour."
"Made love to whom? Miss Dowsett?"
"Yes. The fact is they looked upon it as a settled thing that I was to marry Letitia. I did not know it at the time; no, though we were living in the same house for so many years, I never suspected it. I always looked upon Letitia as a sister, and I behaved affectionately towards her. They must have put a wrong construction upon it. When they discovered that I was in love with my poor Lizzie, Mr. Dowsett said to me, 'It will break Letitia's heart.' Then I began to understand, and I assure you I felt remorseful. Letitia did not say anything to me, but I could see by her looks how deeply she was wounded. Once my guardian made the remark, 'That if I had not met the young lady'--meaning Lizzie--'his most joyful hope would have been realised,' meaning by that that when I saw that Letitia loved me I might have grown to love her, and we should have been married. I said, I remember, that it might have been, for he seemed to expect something like that from me, and I said it to console him. But it was not true; I could never have loved Letitia except as a sister."
"Did your guardian know the name of the poor girl you have lost?"
"O, yes. He met us first when we were walking together, and I introduced him. We had almost a quarrel, my guardian and I, some time afterwards. He said that Miss Melladew was beneath me, and that it would be better if I married in my own station in life. I was hurt and angry, and I begged him to retract his words. Beneath me! She was as far above me as the highest lady in the land could have been. She was the best, the brightest, the purest girl in the world. And I have lost her! I have lost her! What hope is there left to me now?"
He covered his face with his hands, and I waited till he was calm before I spoke again.
"In my hearing," I then said, "you have twice made a remark which struck me as strange. It was to the effect that you would not allow your guardian to give you any more opiates."
"He gave me one last Friday night before I went to bed--on the night my poor Lizzie was killed. I was excited, because I think I told you, sir, that it was decided between Lizzie and me that I should go to her father's house on Sunday, to ask permission to pay my addresses openly to her. Till then I was not to see her again, and that made me restless. My guardian was anxious about me, though he did not know the cause of my restlessness and excitement. To please him I took the opiate, and slept soundly till late in the morning; and when I woke, sir--when I woke and went out to buy a present for Lizzie, which I intended to take to Lizzie on Sunday, almost the first thing I heard----"
He quite broke down here, and a considerable time elapsed before he was sufficiently recovered to continue the conversation.
"Supposing," I said, "that this dreadful event had not occurred, and that you and poor Lizzie had been happily married, would you have continued to give your guardian the income he had enjoyed so long?"
"I do not know--I cannot say. Perhaps not; although I never considered the question. But on the day that I left his house for the home I dreamt and hoped would be mine, the home in which Lizzie and I would have lived happily together. I should have given him something handsome, and I am sure I should always have been his friend. I ought not, perhaps, now that we have gone so far, to conceal anything from you."
"Indeed you ought not. Tell me everything; it may help me."
"I am sure," said the young fellow, with deep feeling, "that he did not mean it, and that he said it only to comfort me. But it made me mad. He hinted that my poor Lizzie could not have been true to me, that she must have had another lover, whom she was in the habit of meeting late at night. If any other man had dared to say as much I would have killed him. But my guardian meant no harm, and when he saw how he had wounded me, he begged my pardon humbly. I am sure, I am sure he repented that he had breathed a suspicion against my poor girl!"
"Pardon me," I said, "for asking you a question which, in any other circumstances, would not cross my lips; but it will be as well for me to put it to you. You yourself had no appointment with her on that night?"
"No," cried Carton indignantly, "as Heaven is my judge! I never met her, I never proposed to meet her, at such an hour!"
"I am certain of it. And yet--receive this calmly, if you can--and yet she must have gone out late on that night for some purpose or other."
"There is the mystery," said Carton mournfully, "and I have thought and thought about it without being able to find a key to it. There must have been a trap set for her--a devilish trap to ensnare her."
"I think so myself. Otherwise it is not likely she would have left her home, as she must have done, secretly. Now, a word or two about Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia."
"When you woke up on Saturday morning you found that they had gone to Margate?"
"Yes."
"Did you know on the day before that they were going?"
"No, nothing was said about it. It was quite sudden."
"Was Mrs. Dowsett or her daughter ill? Did they go into the country for their health?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Were they in the habit of going away suddenly?"
"O, no; they had never done so before."
"What explanation did your guardian give?"
"He said that Letitia had been suffering in secret for some time, and that her mother thought a change would do her good."
"Did he tell you where they had gone to?"
"No, he did not mention the place. I learnt it from one of the servants."
"So that afterwards he was forced to be frank with you?"
"I don't understand you."
"Reflect. When you rose on Saturday morning you found that Mrs. Dowsett and her daughter had gone away suddenly. You knew nothing at that moment of poor Lizzie's death, and therefore had nothing to trouble you. Did it not strike you as strange that your guardian did not mention the part of the country they had gone to? Or if, your mind being greatly occupied with the arranged interview with Mr. and Mrs. Melladew on the following day, you did not then think it strange that your guardian said nothing of Margate--do you not think so now?"
"Yes," answered Carton thoughtfully, "I do think so now."
"How did you learn that Mrs. Dowsett was stopping at 28 Athelstan Road?"
"By accident. My guardian opened a letter this morning, and a piece of paper dropped from it. I picked it up, and as I gave it to him I saw 28 Athelstan Road written on it. 'Is that where Mrs. Dowsett and Letitia are stopping?' I asked; and he answered, 'Yes.'"
"So that it was not directly through him that you learnt the address?"
"No; but I don't see that it is of any importance."
It was not my cue to enter into an argument, therefore I did not reply to this remark. I had gained from Carton information which, lightly as he regarded it, I deemed of the highest importance. There was, however, still something more which I desired to speak of, but which I scarcely knew how to approach. After a little reflection I made a bold plunge.
"Is your fortune under your own control?"
"Yes."
"Do you keep a large balance at your bank?"
"Pretty fair; but just now it does not amount to much. Still, if you want any----"
"I do not want any. Am I right in conjecturing that there is a special reason for your balance being small just now?"
"Thereisa special reason. On Saturday morning, before I left home, I drew a large cheque----"
"Which you gave to your guardian."
"How do you know that?" asked Carton, in a tone of surprise.
"It was but a guess. What was the amount of the cheque?"
"Two thousand pounds."
"Payable to 'order' or 'bearer'?"
"To 'bearer.' It was for two investments which Mr. Dowsett recommended. That was the reason for the cheque being made payable to 'bearer,' to enable my guardian to pay it to two different firms. He said both the investments would turn out splendidly, but it matters very little to me now whether they do or not. All the money in the world will not bring happiness to me now that my poor Lizzie is dead."
"Do you know whether your guardian cashed the cheque?"
"I do not; I haven't asked him anything about it. I could think only of one thing."
"I can well imagine it. Thank you for answering my questions so clearly. By and by you may know why I asked them."
These words had hardly passed my lips before Devlin, Carton, and I were thrown violently against each other. The shock was great, but fortunately we were not hurt. Screams of pain from adjoining carriages proclaimed that this was not the case with other passengers. The train was dragged with erratic force for a considerable distance, and then came to a sudden standstill.
"We had best get out," said Devlin, who was the first to recover.
We followed the sensible advice, and, upon emerging from the carriage, discovered that other carriages were overturned, and that the line was blocked. Happily, despite the screams of the frightened passengers, the injuries they had met with were slight, and when all were safely got out we stood along the line, gazing helplessly at each other. Devlin, however, was an exception; he was the only perfectly composed person amongst us.
"It is unfortunate," he said, with a certain maliciousness in his voice; "we are not half-way to Margate. The best laid schemes are liable to come to grief. If Mr. Kenneth Dowsett knew of this, he would rejoice."
It was with intense anxiety that I made inquiries of the guard whether the accident would delay us long. The guard answered that he could not say yet, but that to all appearance we should be delayed two or three hours. I received this information with dismay. It would upon that calculation be midnight before we reached our destination. I considered time so precious that I would have given every shilling in my pocket to have been at that moment in Margate.
"Take it philosophically," said Devlin, at my elbow, "and be thankful that your bones are not broken. It will but prolong the hunt, which, I promise you, shall in the end be successful."
I looked at him almost gratefully for this speculative crumb of comfort, and there was real humour in the smile with which he met my gaze.
"Behold me in another character," he said; "Devlin the Consoler. But you have laid me under an obligation, my dear sir, which I am endeavouring to repay. Your conversation with that unhappy young man"--pointing to Carton, who stood at a little distance from us--"was truly interesting. You have mistaken your vocation; you would have made a first-class detective."
To add to the discomfiture of the situation it began to rain heavily. I felt it would be foolish, and a waste of power, to fret and fume, and I therefore endeavoured to profit by Devlin's advice to take it philosophically. A number of men were now at work setting things straight. They worked with a will, but the guard's prognostication proved correct. It was nearly eleven o'clock before we started again, and past midnight when we arrived at Margate. It was pitch dark, and the furious wind drove the pelting rain into our faces.
"A wild night at sea," cried Devlin, with a kind of exultation in his voice (though this may have been my fancy); he had to speak very loud to make himself heard. "You can do nothing till the morning, and very little then if the storm lasts. Do you know Margate at all?"
"No," I shouted despondently.
"Do you?" asked Devlin, addressing Carton.
"I've never been here before," replied Carton.
"There's a decent hotel not far off," said Devlin: "the Nayland Rock. We'll knock them up, and get beds there. Cling tight to me if you don't want your bones broken. Steady now, steady!"
We had to cling tightly to him, for we could not see a yard before us. Devlin pulled us along, singing some strange wild song at the top of his voice. We were a long time making those in the hotel hear us, but the door was opened at last, and we were admitted. There was only one vacant room in the hotel, but fortunately it contained two beds. To this room we were conducted, and then came the question of settling three persons in the two beds. Devlin solved the difficulty by pulling the counterpanes off, and extending himself full length upon the floor.
"This will do for me," he said, wrapping himself up in the counterpanes. "I've had worse accommodation in my travels through the world. I've slept in the bush, with the sky for a roof; I've slept in the hollow of a tree, with wild beasts howling round me; I've slept on billiard-tables and under them, with a thousand rats running over me and a score of other wanderers. Good-night, comrades."
Anxiety did not keep me awake; I was tired out, and slept well. When we arose in the morning all signs of the storm had fled. The sun was shining brightly, and a soft warm air flowed through the open window.
The first thing to be done, after partaking of a hurried breakfast, was to arrange our programme. Carton suggested that we should all go together to Athelstan Road to see his guardian, and I had some difficulty in prevailing upon him to forego this plan. We spoke together quite openly in the presence of Devlin, who, for the most part, contented himself with listening to the discussion.
"Evidently," said Carton, "you have suspicions against my guardian, and it is only fair that he should be made acquainted with them."
"He shall be made acquainted with them," I replied, "but it must be in the way and at the time I deem best. I hold you to your promise to be guided by me."
Carton nodded discontentedly. "I am to stop here and do nothing, I suppose," he said.
"That is how you will best assist me," I said. "If you are seen at present by Mr. Dowsett, you will ruin everything. You shall not, however, be quite idle. Have you your cheque-book with you?"
"Yes," he said, producing it.
"Let me look at the block of the cheque for the two thousand pounds you drew on Saturday morning, payable to bearer, and gave to Mr. Dowsett."
"It is the last cheque I drew," said Carton, handing me the book.
I glanced at it, saw that the bank was the National Provincial Bank of England, and the number of the cheque 134,178. Then I obtained a telegraph form, and at my instruction Carton wrote the following telegram:
"To the Manager, National Provincial Bank of England, 112 Bishopsgate Street, London. Has my cheque for two thousand pounds (No. 134,178), drawn by me on Saturday, and made payable to bearer, been cashed, and how was it paid, in notes or gold? Reply paid. Urgent. Waiting here for answer. From Richard Carton, Nayland Rock Hotel, Margate."
"I will take this myself to the telegraph-office," I said, "and you will wait here for the answer. I will be back as quickly as possible, but it is likely I may be absent for an hour or more."
With that I left him, Devlin accompanying me at my request.
I could have sent the telegram from the railway station, but I chose to send it from the local post-office, for the reason that I expected to receive there a telegram from my wife, whom I had instructed to wire to me, before eight o'clock, whether there was anything fresh in the London newspapers concerning the murder of Lizzie Melladew. I mentioned this to Devlin, and he said,
"You omit nothing; it is a pleasure to work with you. Command me in any way you please. My turn, perhaps, will come by and by."
It was early morning, and our way lay along the Marine Parade, every house in which was either a public or a boarding house. From every basement in the row, as we walked on, ascended one uniform odour of the cooking of bacon and eggs, which caused Devlin to humorously remark that when bacon and eggs ceased to be the breakfast of the average Englishman, the decay of England's greatness would commence. All along the line this familiar odour accompanied us.
At the post-office I found my wife's telegram awaiting me. It was to the effect that there was nothing new in the papers concerning the murder. The criminal was still at large, and the police appeared to have failed in obtaining a clue. I despatched Carton's telegram to the London bank, and then we proceeded to Athelstan Road, and soon found the house we were in search of. I had decided upon my plan of operations: Devlin was not to appear; he was to stand at some distance from the house, and only to come forward if I called him. I was to knock and inquire for Mr. Dowsett, and explain to him that, not feeling well, I had run down to Margate for the day. Carton had given me his guardian's address, and had asked me to inquire whether Mr. Dowsett would be absent from London for any length of time, intending, if such was the case, to join Mr. Dowsett and his family in the country. Then I was to trust to chance and to anything I observed how next to proceed. The whole invention was as lame as well could be, but I could not think of a better. It was only when decided action was necessary that I felt how powerless I was. All that I had to depend upon was a slender and mysterious thread of conjecture.
I knocked at the door, and of the servant who opened it I inquired if Mr. Dowsett was up yet.
"O, yes, sir," replied the girl. "Up and gone, all of 'em."
"Up and gone, all of them!" I exclaimed.
"Yes, sir. Had breakfast at half-past six, and went away directly afterwards."
"Do you know where to?"
"No, sir. O, here's missus."
The landlady came forward. "Do you want rooms, sir?"
"Not at present. I came to see Mr. Dowsett."
"Gone away, sir; him and the three ladies."
"So your servant informed me; but I thought I should be certain to find him here. Stop. What did you say? Mr. Dowsett and the three ladies? You mean the two ladies?"
"I mean three," said the landlady, looking sharply at me. "They only came on Saturday; Mr. Dowsett came yesterday. You must excuse me, sir; there's the dining-room bell and the drawing-room bell ringing all together."
"A moment, I beg," I said, slipping half-a-crown into her hand. "Do you know where they have gone to?"
"No; they didn't tell me. They were in a hurry to catch a train; but I don't know what train, and don't know where to."
Her manner proclaimed that she not only did not know, but did not care.
"They had some boxes with them?" I said.
"Yes, two. I can't wait another minute. I never did see such a impatient gentleman as the dining-rooms."
"Only one more question," I said, forcibly detaining her. "Did they drive to the station?"
"Yes; they had a carriage. Please let me go, sir."
"Do you know the man who drove them? Do you know the number of the carriage?"
"Haven't the slightest idea," said the landlady; and, freeing herself from my grasp, she ran down to her kitchen.
I stepped into the street with a feeling of mortification. Mr. Kenneth Dowsett had given me the slip again. Rejoining Devlin, I related to him what had passed.
"What are you going to do next?" he asked.
"I am puzzled," I replied, "and hardly know what to do."
"That is not like you," said Devlin. "Come, I will assist you. Mr. Kenneth Dowsett seems to be in a hurry. The more reason for spirit and increased vigilance on our part. Observe, I say our part. I am growing interested in this case, and am curious to see the end of it. If Mr. Dowsett has gone back to London, we must follow him there. If he has gone to some other place, we must follow him to some other place."
"But how to find that out?"
"He was driven to the station in a carriage. We must get hold of the driver. At present we are ignorant whether he has gone by the South-Eastern or the London, Chatham, and Dover. We will go and inquire at the cab-ranks."
But although we spent fully an hour and a half in asking questions of every driver of a carriage we saw, we could ascertain no news of the carriage which had driven Mr. Dowsett and his family from Athelstan Road. I was in despair, and was about to give up the search and return disconsolately to the Nayland Rock, when a bare-footed boy ran up to me, and asked whether I wasn't looking for "the cove wot drove a party from Athelstan Road."
"Yes," I said excitedly. "Do you know him?"
"O, I knows him," said the boy. "Bill Foster he is. I 'elped him up with the boxes. There was one little box the gent wouldn't let us touch. There was somethink 'eavy in it, and the gent give me a copper. Thank yer, sir."
He was about to scuttle off with the sixpence I gave him, when I seized him, not by the collar, because he had none on, but by the neck where the collar should have been.
"Not so fast. There's half-a-crown more for you if you take me to Bill Foster at once."
"Can't do that, sir; don't know where he is; but I'll find 'im for yer."
"Very good. How many persons went away in Bill Foster's carriage?"
"There was the gent and one-two-three women--two young 'uns and a old 'un."
"You're quite sure?"
"I'll take my oath on it."
"Now look here? Do you see these five shillings? They're yours if you bring Bill Foster to me at the Nayland Rock in less than half-an-hour."
"You ain't kidding, sir?"
"Not at all. The money's yours if you do what I tell you."
"All right, sir? I'll do it."
"And tell Bill Foster there's half-a-sovereign waiting for him at the Nayland Rock; but he mustn't lose a minute."
With an intelligent nod the boy scampered off, and we made our way quickly back to the hotel, where Richard Carton was impatiently waiting us.
"Did you see him?" he asked eagerly.
"No," I replied, "he went away early this morning."
"Where to?"
"I hope to learn that presently. Have you received an answer to your telegram?"
"No, not yet. There's the telegraph messenger."
The lad was mounting the steps of the hotel. We followed him, and obtained the buff-coloured envelope, addressed to "Richard Carton, Nayland Rock Hotel, Margate," which he delivered to a waiter. Carton tore open the envelope, read the message, and handed it to me. The information it contained was that cheque 134,178, for two thousand pounds, signed by Richard Carton, was cashed across the counter on Saturday morning; that the gentleman who presented it demanded that it should be paid in gold; that as this was a large amount to be so paid the cashier had asked the gentleman to sign his name at the back of the cheque, notwithstanding that it was payable to bearer, and that the signature was that of Kenneth Dowsett.
"Do you think there is anything strange in that?" I asked.
"It does seem strange," replied Carton thoughtfully.
I made a rapid mental calculation, and said, "Two thousand sovereigns in gold weigh forty pounds. A heavy weight for a man to carry away with him." Carton did not reply, but I saw that, for the first time, his suspicions were aroused. "You told me," I continued, "that Mrs. Dowsett and her daughter Letitia went away from their house on Saturday morning early."
"So my guardian informed me."
"Was any other lady stopping with them?"
"I did not understand so from my guardian."
"Did they have any particular lady friend whom, for some reason or other, they wished to take with them to the seaside?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"You can think of no one?"
"Indeed, I cannot."
"It is your belief that only two ladies left the house?'
"Yes, it is my belief."
"But," I said, "Mrs. Dowsett took not only her daughter Letitia with her, but another lady, a young lady, as well; and the three, in company with your guardian, left Margate suddenly this morning. I have ascertained this positively. Now, who is this young lady of whom you have no knowledge?" He passed his hand across his forehead, and gazed at me with a dawning terror in his eyes. "Shall I tell you what is in my mind?"
"Yes."
"If," I said, speaking slowly and impressively, "the theory I have formed is correct--and I believe it is--the young lady is Mary Melladew, poor Lizzie's sister."
"Good God!" cried Carton. "What makes you think that?"