"Mr. Linton," continued Kiss, "followed the woman who was so anxious to enter into relations—evidently not new ones—with that abominable scoundrel Jeremiah Pamflett, and who had exhibited such vexation at his sudden disappearance; he learnt her address, but could not discover her name. Inquiring of people who lived in the same house, he was informed by some that they knew nothing whatever of her, and was told by others to mind his own business. But, as I said, chance befriended us; not two hours ago we saw the woman and Jeremiah together. We had failed in tracking him down; she had succeeded. And of all the corners in this Babylon where should Jeremiah have taken up his new lodgings but in South Lambeth, three doors from the house in which Linton lives! That is not the only piece of luck which chance has thrown in our way. The landlady of the house in which he rents rooms is a friend of Mrs. Linton. This good lady, who is as deeply concerned in the terrible course of events as we are, is now in that house—on the watch. Jeremiah Pamflett and his mother will not escape us again so easily. So much for the side issue—what I may call the under-plot. Now for the important discovery. When we saw Jeremiah and the woman together—he looking very much disturbed and she very determined and vicious—I desired Linton to keep in the background. Without flattery, I may say I am a better actor than he is, and, besides, I was more completely disguised. My object was to discover what these two were talking about. So I followed them close enough to hear scraps of their conversation, but not close enough to draw suspicious observation upon myself. The first thing I heard that caused me surprise was a name—Captain Ablewhite. It was the woman who gave utterance to it, and accompanying her mention of the name were some words by no means complimentary to its owner. 'He's a damned scoundrel,' said the woman to Jeremiah, as I casually passed them, 'and you're another!' Now a high-minded, honest man would have fired up at this. Jeremiah Pamflett did not; he was as meek as a turnip. They passed on out of hearing; but I did not lose sight of them. 'Captain Ablewhite!' thought I, 'Captain Ablewhite! How is it that the name seems so familiar to me?' Does it sound familiar to you, sir?"
"In a vague way, yes," replied Garden; "but I cannot immediately place it. I am not personally acquainted with any one of that name."
"Nor I, sir; but that did not prevent it bothering me. I took another favourable opportunity of getting close to the woman and Jeremiah. She was talking away at a rapid rate, he saying hardly a word; but I happened to catch a wicked look in his eyes once as he looked down on her. It was more than wicked, it was devilish; and I could not help thinking that it was a good job they were not walking in a dark place with no people about. If ever murder was expressed in a man's face, it was expressed in the face of Jeremiah Pamflett as he cast that look at his companion. 'Half the money you and Ablewhite got for the diamond bracelet'—don't miss a word of this, sir; I am repeating what the woman said to Jeremiah—'was to come to my share, and a few sovereigns is all I have managed to screw out of him. The false villain has thrown me over for another woman, and has given me the slip; but I'll take care you don't serve me the same. I have found out your new quarters—you live at No. 12, Surrey Street.' That, sir, is three doors from Linton's lodgings—he lives at No. 15. You will understand that it would have been the height of imprudence for me to have remained near this precious pair for more than a few moments at a time, but what I had already heard opened my eyes. It came upon me like a flash of lightning. Captain Ablewhite and a diamond bracelet! Why, that story was in all the papers a little while ago, and created a regular stir. Linton is making use of it now in a new drama he is writing. Real life, sir; facts with which the public is familiar—that's the sort of thing for the stage. You remember the story, of course?"
"I remember it well," said Garden, cool and collected as ever. "Go on, Mr. Kiss; something may come of this."
"Somethingwillcome of it, sir," said Kiss, his voice growing more excited. "You haven't got the essence of what I heard; I shall astonish you presently. You remember what a laugh there was when Mr. Quinlan's statement was published in the papers. Mr. Quinlan was the husband of the lady from whom the diamond bracelet had been stolen, and the information he gave to the police and the reporters was that the bracelet that had been stolen was one he had had made in imitation of the genuine article, and that the stones the thieves had got hold of were false. 'The Biters Bit'—that was the heading in the newspapers."
"I remember it all perfectly."
"Listen now to what I learnt from the stray bits of conversation I picked up as I followed Jeremiah and the woman. She was Mrs. Quinlan's maid; the man waiting outside the Langham Hotel was Jeremiah Pamflett. She gave him the bracelet. Afterward he met Captain Ablewhite, but what passed between them, of course, cannot be known. The woman knows, however, that the bracelet was taken to Miser Farebrother, and that it was he who advanced money on it, Jeremiah being the go-between. I did not hear all this as I am relating it, but I put it together out of what I managed to pick up, and I will stake my life that it is near enough to the truth for us or any one to work upon. That, however, does not bring down the curtain; you have yet to hear the climax. Linton could not have worked it up more dramatically. The last words that reached my ears were these: 'You fool!' said the woman to Jeremiah. 'The bracelet you received from me was the genuine one. The stones were real, and are worth forty thousand pounds, and I mean to have my share of the plunder.' The moment she said this, Jeremiah, in a kind of frenzy, clapped his hand on her mouth and dragged her away. A cab was passing, and he hailed it, and hustled the woman in, giving some directions to the driver. The next moment they were gone. If there had been another cab in view I would have followed them, but unfortunately there wasn't one in the street. The first thing I did after that was to run with Linton to his lodgings, and the first thing Mrs. Linton said to us was that Mrs. Pamflett and her son had taken the two rooms that had been to let at No. 12. 'Are you acquainted with the landlady?' I asked, and Mrs. Linton answered that she and the landlady of No. 12 were friends. 'Go and bring her here at once,' I said; and no sooner said than done. It took but a few minutes to get the landlady on our side; it was Mrs. Linton who did that. It would not have been safe for me or Linton to go to No. 12 to watch; Jeremiah Pamflett knows us, and at close quarters might see through any disguise we might assume; but neither he nor Mrs. Pamflett has ever seen Mrs. Linton, so we appointed her sentinel. The next best thing we thought we could do was to come straight here and make Mr. Cornwall acquainted with our discovery. The question is, what is to be done? We might go to the police—"
Garden held up his hand, and Kiss did not finish the sentence.
"That would be the worst thing we could do," he said. "What you have discovered must at present be mentioned to no other person but ourselves. The task upon which we are engaged is that of saving an innocent young lady's life; all else is of small importance. How was the woman dressed?"
"Very quietly, in black."
"Does she resemble Miss Farebrother in build?"
"Not at all. She is shorter and stouter."
"Did you hear anything definite as to the length of time she has been in London?"
"Nothing; but judging in a general way, I should say she has only recently returned from foreign parts with the idea of obtaining from Jeremiah Pamflett a share of the proceeds of the robbery."
"A share of the money he received from Miser Farebrother for the bracelet that was stolen? Yes, that is a natural conclusion." The young lawyer rose from his seat and went to a corner of the room where a great pile of newspapers lay. "Mr. Cornwall keeps a file of theTimesfor reference; it will help us." He searched through the papers, and soon found the one he wanted. He smiled quietly as he looked down the columns. "It is as I suspected. The account of the robbery of the diamond bracelet was first published on the day preceding that upon which Miser Farebrother was murdered." They all started at this. And the young lawyer proceeded: "Let us build up a theory. Jeremiah Pamflett takes a diamond bracelet of great value to his master, and upon the strength of his representations Miser Farebrother advances a sum of money upon it—believing the stones to be genuine. On the day before his death a newspaper falls into his hands, and he learns from it that he has been tricked—that the bracelet has been stolen, and that the diamonds are false. We know that the one passion of his life is money—it is his idol, his god. We have it in evidence that on that day, in the afternoon, doubtless, after he made this discovery, he sent a telegram to Jeremiah Pamflett in London, requesting his manager's attendance at Parksides. Miser Farebrother was not in the habit of wasting money upon telegrams; hence his sending of this message was prompted by some particular motive—say the demand from Jeremiah Pamflett for the restitution of the money of which he has been defrauded. Before this scoundrel leaves London for Parksides he also has learnt that a trick has been played upon him by Captain Ablewhite and the woman who has tracked him down. At Parksides a stormy scene takes place between the miser and his scoundrel manager. The miser threatens criminal proceedings, but perhaps gives the scoundrel time to refund the money he has advanced. They part with feelings of bitter rage towards each other. What course is now open to Jeremiah Pamflett? Has he the money to refund? Unlikely. Can he borrow it? Quite as unlikely. I bear in mind what I gathered from you, Fred, respecting the bill for three hundred pounds which Mr. Lethbridge accepted. You arranged for the payment of that bill with a betting man, who had received it from Jeremiah Pamflett. Natural inference: that the scoundrel Jeremiah had been backing horses, and losing. If necessary, we will look that betting man up. Not seeing his way to refund the money which has been advanced on the bracelet, nothing but exposure and disgrace lies before Jeremiah Pamflett. How to avoid impending ruin? How to avoid a felon's fate? Miser Farebrother lives practically alone in the house at Parksides, waited upon by the house-keeper, Jeremiah's mother. These two are bound to each other by mutual interests. Who so likely to profit by Miser Farebrother's death as Jeremiah Pamflett? Unhappily, on that night Miss Farebrother goes down to Parksides on her heavenly mission of love. But, before she makes her appearance there, the murder of her father is resolved upon. There is no independent evidence that Jeremiah returned to London and reached his office by eleven o'clock. We have only his word for it. Had Miss Farebrother not visited Parksides on that night, suspicion would have fallen upon the Pamfletts, and the hour of the scoundrel's return to London would have been a vital point. I put aside the account given by Mrs. Pamflett of the visit of a strange man to Miser Farebrother. It may or may not be true. Equally it may or may not be a concocted story, invented beforehand for safety. Here comes in Tom Barley's evidence as to his seeing in the grounds a female in a blue dress. The honest fellow spoke the truth; he saw what he was compelled to swear to. Miss Farebrother wore such a dress. But why should she avoid him? He was her tried and faithful friend. Convinced as we are of her innocence, there is no reason for her avoidance. Here lies the mystery; if we can solve it Miss Farebrother is safe. And solve it we will——My God!"
They had listened to him in profound admiration. Entranced by his masterly analysis, it seemed to Fred as if they had only to go to the prison in which Phœbe was immured and demand her release. But when he uttered the words "My God!" and started to his feet and paced the room in a state of excitement, which, for a few moments was uncontrollable, their feelings of admiration changed to astonishment, and they gazed at him in amazement.
"What is it, Dick?" cried Fred. "What is it?"
He seized Garden's hands, and would have held him still; but Garden threw him off, and continued to pace the room.
"Don't speak to me for a moment!" he cried. "What I have suddenly thought of is so wild that I cannot reveal it. But if it is a true inspiration, it means salvation! Ask me nothing, for I shall not answer you. It is for you to answer me. It has occurred to me that Mrs. Pamflett and Mrs. Lethbridge are about the same height and figure."
"Good God!" cried Fred. "What do you mean?"
"Answer my question, Fred," said Garden, "as you value Miss Farebrother's life. The women—one a devil, the other an angel—are about the same height and figure?"
"Yes, they are."
"And from a short distance—say thirty or forty yards—might possibly be mistaken for each other?"
"Yes, it is possible."
"Thank you." He had succeeded in mastering his agitation, and now to all appearance was calm. "Meanwhile," he said, sitting at the table and beginning to write, "what has become of the diamond bracelet?"
The question was uttered in a musing tone, as though he were asking it of himself. He continued to write for four or five minutes, and having completed his task, he read what he had written, folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to Kiss and Mr. Linton.
"You have nothing more to say?"
"Nothing."
"You delight in dramatic surprises?" he said, addressing Linton, with a radiant look.
"If they are new to the stage," replied the bewildered dramatic author, "they are invaluable."
"I may supply you with one. It is just on the cards." He now addressed Kiss as well as Mr. Linton. "Our interview is at an end. What I wish you to do is to so arrange matters that we can at any moment lay hands upon Mrs. Pamflett, her son, and the woman who is implicated in the theft of the diamond bracelet. Do you think you can manage it?"
"I will answer for that."
"When you came here to-night," he said, earnestly, "you reproached yourself for being the cause of an innocent girl being sentenced to death for a murder she did not commit. You went back, as it were, to first causes. It is likely—almost certain, indeed, so much depends upon chance—that if you had not come, the inspiration which may mean salvation would not have descended upon me. To you, therefore, if all ends as I fervently pray it may, will belong the credit of directing justice aright. Humanly administered, it is sometimes fallible."
"Mr. Garden," said Kiss, in a voice no less earnest than that of the young lawyer, "I have not the slightest idea of your meaning, but you have won my esteem, and I honour you with all my heart and soul."
"I thank you," said the young lawyer, with dignity and courtesy; "what you kindly accord to me is worth the winning. Good-night."
When Kiss and Mr. Linton were gone, Garden said to Fred: "I am deeply, truly in earnest. For a little while leave the direction of this affair entirely in my hands. Give me your promise."
"I give it, Dick, old fellow, cheerfully."
"I am going now to the office of a newspaper, the editor of which I am acquainted with. I shall take a cab there and back. Unless some urgent necessity arises, do not leave the rooms till I return."
The next morning, in the columns of one daily London newspaper, the following interesting item found a place:
"Our readers will remember the incident of the abstraction of a wonderful diamond bracelet from the jewel-case of a lady of fabulous wealth. This bracelet was valued at sixty thousand pounds. A singular and somewhat humorous turn was given to this robbery by the wealthy husband of the owner, who, when public attention was directed to the matter, stated that the ornament stolen was one he had had made in exact imitation of the original, and that the stones of which the thieves had obtained possession were false. Information has reached us that this was not the case, and that the missing bracelet is the genuine one. If this be true, the daring robbers made a rare haul, of which, as nothing whatever has been heard of them, they have by this time reaped the advantage. The task of disposing of these diamonds singly in the markets of the world could not have been very difficult, their identification being almost impossible. In the interests of justice it is to be regretted that the truth was not made public in the first instance; supposing the thieves to have been moderately prudent, it is now too late to repair the error."
This paragraph was copied in subsequent editions of hundreds of London and provincial newspapers.
Punctually at nine o'clock in the morning Tom Barley made his appearance in Fred Cornwall's rooms. Garden, having assumed the command of what nearly every one but himself would have considered a forlorn hope, of course was present; he was fresh and bright, but Fred's face was haggard and anxious. In this respect Tom Barley was no better off; the poor fellow was suffering a martyrdom. The reproaches hurled against him by 'Melia Jane had caused him to look upon himself as a monster of wickedness, and to believe that it was his evidence alone that had brought his beloved young mistress into deadly peril. When Fred Cornwall offered him his hand he shrank back a little, and stood before the young lawyers in an attitude of sad humility, with his arms drooping by his side.
"Why will you not give me your hand, Tom?" asked Fred.
"It's more than I dare do, sir," replied Tom. "I ought to have mine cut off, and my tongue cut out as well, for saying what I did in court, and for bringing Miss Phœbe to her death. If I'd had a notion of the consequences of my evidence, not a word would they have got out of me, whatever the consequence. 'Melia Jane is right; I don't deserve to live. It come over me last night that I might have saved Miss Phœbe if, instead of saying what I did say, I had said something else."
"What?" inquired Garden, in a kind tone.
"Confessed to killing Miser Farebrother myself. I was there, and might have done it, and would if I'd seen him, as sure as there's a God above us, if I'd had a notion of what things were coming to! Yes; if I'd said as much they'd have been bound to believe me, and Miss Phœbe would have been set free. You see, sir, there was every reason for my killing him; he treated me like a dog for years, and I hated him worse than poison. Are you a lawyer, sir?"
"Yes," replied Garden; "and I am assisting Mr. Cornwall in this matter that we all have so much at heart. I do not at all despair of proving Miss Farebrother's innocence even yet."
"There's only one way of doing that, sir, if it can be done legally. I'd like to ask you a question, if you wouldn't mind answering it."
"Go on, Tom."
"Would it be too late for me to go to the police-station now, and give myself up for the murder? If they'd only believe me I should be a happy man again. Then Miss Phœbe would be saved, and everything'd be right."
"It is too late for that, Tom. Besides, it would be depriving us of the chance of bringing the crime home to the guilty parties and making them suffer for it."
"Ah! if we could do that, sir, it would be the happiest day's work that ever was done in this cruel world! I'd be content to die the day after."
"Well, I am not at all sure that we shall not manage it," said Garden, "and perhaps, Tom, it all depends upon you."
"Upon me, sir!" cried Tom; and Fred also turned to Garden in surprise.
"Perhaps upon you. We shall soon know if the tack I am on will bring us safe into port."
"Your inspiration, Dick?" asked Fred, anxiously.
"My inspiration, Fred," said Garden, gravely. "If the tack is a wrong one, we'll try another. Now, Tom, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. You could do no less than speak the truth."
"I could, sir; I could have held my tongue."
"There is no possibility of your being mistaken in any part of the evidence you gave?"
"Unluckily no, sir. I say so to you because you're Miss Phœbe's friend; but if I had the opportunity now I'd swear the other way."
"Don't speak like that, Tom. What we want is to save Miss Farebrother honestly and honourably: that is our first great object. The next is to bring the murderers to justice. You were not in court during the whole of the trial."
"No, sir. I was told when to go to give my evidence, and then I had to go back to my duty."
"You were not aware, before you answered the questions as to the woman you saw in the grounds at Parksides and the dress she wore, that other witnesses were examined with respect to the colour of the dress Miss Farebrother had on when she left her aunt's house?"
"No, sir, I knew nothing of it; and I wondered what they were driving at."
"You swore to the colour—blue?"
"Yes, sir," replied poor Tom, hanging his head.
"You would swear to it again?"
Tom looked round helplessly.
"You would swear to it again?" repeated Garden.
"No, I wouldn't," said Tom savagely.
"You would, Tom, because it is the truth; and if I am on the right tack, only the truth will serve us. Now, although you were not in court during the whole of the trial, you read the report of it in the papers?"
"I did, sir."
"Clear your mind, Tom, and bend it on what I am about to ask you. In reading the report of the trial, did anything particular strike you?"
"It was full of lies, sir."
"I am sure of that. But anything very special"—and here Garden's voice trembled slightly, as though he were approaching a crucial test—"say as to the colour of dresses? Think, Tom."
"No occasion to think, sir. What they said about Mrs. Pamflett's dresses was a pack of lies from beginning to end."
"How is that, Tom?" asked Garden, rising and moving a step nearer to Tom Barley.
"Why, sir, wasn't it said that Mrs. Pamflett hated blue dresses, and never wore one."
"They did, Tom."
"Damned lies, sir! Why didn't they askmeabout that? I ought to know, living at Parksides the years I did. I've seen her hundreds and hundreds of times in a blue dress."
Garden caught Fred's hand. "You are ready to swear that?"
"Ready, sir? Yes; and it's the truth—by God!"
A look of triumph flashed into Garden's eyes, and his face was radiant. "I'm on the right tack, Fred," he cried; "Miss Farebrother is saved!"
On the evening of that day Richard Garden and Fred Cornwall met Kiss by appointment. The kind-hearted actor had news of vital importance to give them. Mrs. Pamflett and Jeremiah were still at No. 12 Surrey Street and had not stirred out the whole of the day.
"Adjoining the room they eat and drink in," said Kiss, "is a little box-room, too small to let to any lodger, but large enough for lumber, and that's the use it's put to by the landlady. Formerly it was part of the room the two fiends have taken, but some time ago it was partitioned off for boxes and that kind of thing. Consequently the wall that separates it from the larger room is made of wood instead of brick. It is a cupboard, nothing more, and anybody concealed there can hear what is going on in the adjoining apartment. Sir, Mrs. Linton, provided with sandwiches and cold tea, has been concealed in that cupboard nearly the whole of the day unknown to the Pamfletts. The woman who stole the diamond bracelet has been with them, and she heard all that passed. That strange paragraph which is in all the evening papers about the bracelet that was stolen being the genuine one, is true. Mrs. Linton heard the woman swear to it. She wanted to know whether Jeremiah Pamflett had possession of the bracelet. At first he denied that he had, but the woman said he was telling a lie, and she did not intend to be done. They almost got to high words, but the Pamfletts spoke in a low voice and calmed the woman down; and upon her swearing that if they did not tell her the truth she would go straight to the police-station and confess the robbery and have them arrested, they confessed that theyhadgot the bracelet, but had deposited it elsewhere for safety. 'That being so,' said the woman, 'you must have stolen it from Miser Farebrother, and the girl who has been found guilty of his murder is innocent. It wasyouwho murdered him! You are in my power now, and if you don't pay me well to hold my tongue I'll have the pair of you hanged!' For a little while after that Mrs. Linton heard nothing more—only a murmur of voices; but before she went away she heard the woman say, 'To-morrow night, then, at ten o'clock; and mind you come with the bracelet and the money ready. If you don't, your life is not worth an hour's purchase.' That was all; when the woman was gone, Mrs. Pamflett and her son talked in whispers, and not a word could Mrs. Linton catch. But I think she heard enough."
"Quite enough," said Garden, "and you have rendered us an inestimable service. What you have told us would almost justify our taking immediate action against the monsters; but there is something else of great importance to do within the next few hours. We will take them red-handed to-morrow night, the two murderers and the thief who in the first instance stole the bracelet. Then the case will be complete, and there will be no escape for them. Now go back and keep watch upon their movements. They must not be allowed to go anywhere without being followed. If you have the slightest reason to fear that they will give you the slip, lay hands upon them, collect a crowd, and give them in charge."
"Upon what charge?" asked Kiss.
"Upon the charge of stealing the bracelet. If that will not do, say that new evidence has come to light respecting the murder of Miser Farebrother, which proves them to be implicated in it. Give the police my card, and say I will attend at the police station at ten o'clock to-morrow morning to prove my case. Meanwhile, you will, of course, let me know that you have taken action. But the necessity will not arise: the Pamfletts will not attempt to escape from the woman for the next twenty-four hours; they are quite aware that sudden flittings from place to place would be likely to draw attention upon them, and their chief desire is to avoid observation and be left to themselves, in order that in a little while they may disappear quietly from the country, taking with them the bracelet and the money they must have stolen from Miser Farebrother. If I were not thoroughly convinced of this I should set aside a most important affair in connection with the evidence upon the murder, and have the Pamfletts arrested immediately. My object is to make the case against them so complete that they shall have no loop-hole of escape. It will hasten the hour of Miss Farebrother's release, instead of retarding it."
"You are a good general, Mr. Garden," said Kiss; "you put heart into your soldiers. Your instructions shall be followed to the letter."
Half an hour afterward they were in Aunt Leth's house, and were shown into the room in which that good woman and Fanny were sitting. Aunt Leth started up at their entrance, but before she could speak, Garden said,
"You received my letter?"
"Yes, and Fred's also, telling me to do everything you desired."
"Then you have everything prepared?"
"Yes, everything."
"Try to be calm, I beg of you, for your dear niece's sake."
"I will, I will. But it is all so strange—and I cannot understand—"
"Make no attempt to do so yet; very soon you will know all. You will be ready to start with Fred at one o'clock?"
"Yes, I shall be ready."
"Wrap yourself up warm; the nights are chilly now. You may have some time to wait, but you will not mind that. I want to be sure that you will be there before us. Fred will show you exactly what you have to do, and the time to do it. Sit down now and compose yourself. It would be all the better if you could sleep for an hour or two before you start. If you cannot sleep, you can rest; and remember that everything we are doing is to save an innocent angel, to restore her to light and love."
"One word only," said the agitated woman: "you have hope?"
"Something more than hope," replied Garden, with a bright look; "almost a certainty!"
"Oh, thank God!—thank God!" murmured Aunt Leth; and, sinking into a chair, she covered her face with her hands, and, with tears gushing from her eyes, prayed silently and fervently.
"Mr. Garden," said Fanny, stepping forward and taking his hand, "you will save my dear cousin?"
"If it is in man's power to save her," said Garden, gazing earnestly at her sweet, imploring face, "I will save her."
"Itisin your power, is it not? You believe it is in your power?"
"Yes, Miss Lethbridge; I firmly believe it."
All this time she had held his hand, and now she lowered her face to it; and a thrill ran through Garden's frame as he felt the soft pressure of her lips. Then Fanny turned and went to her mother's side, and folded her in her arms.
At an hour past midnight Fred Cornwall called for Aunt Leth in a closed carriage, drawn by a pair of smart horses. Aunt Leth, warmly enveloped in a cloak which entirely covered her dress, was waiting for him. Parting from her family with tears and kisses and blessings, she accompanied Fred to the carriage, and they drove slowly off in the direction of Parksides.
About a mile behind them, on the same road, trotted a horse attached to a dog-cart. Garden was driving, and Tom Barley sat by his side. On the back seat sat a groom.
"What I want you to do, Tom," said Garden, "is to go over the ground exactly as you did on the night of the murder. Where you stopped then, I want you to stop now; and it will be all the better if you can remember the exact turns you took on that occasion."
"There's no fear, sir, of my not being able to remember. Day and night I think of nothing else."
"And now tell me again what occurred on the night Miss Farebrother was turned from her father's house, and you rode with her to London on that scoundrel Pamflett's horse."
Engaged in conversation, they drove along until they heard the sound of carriage-wheels in front of them; and presently, through the darkness, they discerned the carriage.
"Hold the horse, Tom," said Garden. "That carriage seems to be going the same road as we are, and I want to be certain that we are going right."
"We are going quite right, sir. I could take you blindfold, I believe."
"I dare say, Tom," said Garden, jumping down from the dog-cart; "but I am a self-willed fellow, and I would not make a mistake to-night for all the gold in the world. We have plenty of time, have we not?"
"Plenty, sir."
"Stop here, then. I will rejoin you presently."
He ran and called after the carriage; and the coachman, obeying instructions from some one inside, pulled up. In a breathless state, Garden presented himself at the carriage door.
"Are you all right and comfortable?" he gasped.
"Yes, Dick," replied Fred. "And you?"
"Everything is going on splendidly," said Garden. "A bright night, Mrs. Lethbridge, isn't it?"
She pressed his hand in acquiescence, her voice failing her when she tried to answer him. It was a singular opinion to have of a night so dark that they could scarcely see a dozen yards before them.
"You must take care and not catch cold," said Garden. "Was Miss Lethbridge well when you left her?"
Fred replied for Aunt Leth. "Yes, Dick; and she sent you the kindest of messages."
"It was very good of her to think of me. But you don't mean to say you saw her, Fred? She ought to have been asleep hours before."
"She is not going to bed to-night. Bob will remain up with her. Uncle Leth will take a little rest on the sofa."
"Well, perhaps it is natural. I must get back to the dog-cart now, or Tom Barley may be impatient. Drive on, coachman."
As Garden retraced his steps to the dog-cart he saw with his mind's eye Fanny's pretty face looking up through her tears, and the smile upon his lips was a proof that the vision was an agreeable one.
It was a little past four o'clock when the dog-cart drew up at the gates of Parksides.
"Now, Tom," said Garden, as he and Tom Barley alighted, "take me over the ground, and don't make the slightest mistake."
The strange task upon which they were engaged occupied them till sunrise.
"Was the light when you saw the woman in the blue dress about the same as it is now?" asked Garden.
"Yes, sir; only it was a little earlier in the morning. And I was standing as near as possible on this very spot when I first saw her."
"I want to know the exact direction, Tom. We are facing those trees yonder. Was it there?"
"Yes, sir; among those very trees."
"Be sure, Tom," said Garden, stepping two or three paces behind, and taking a white handkerchief from his pocket. "Don't turn, Tom! You are sure?"
"I am sure, sir," said Tom, looking straight before him.
Garden waved the white handkerchief high in the air, and the next moment Tom uttered a loud cry, and darted forward. Garden ran swiftly after him, and caught his arm.
"Why, what is the matter with you, Tom?"
"There! there!" cried Tom, struggling to release himself; but Garden held him fast. Tom's voice trembled from excitement, and his face was white. "I saw her this very minute."
"Saw whom?"
"The woman in the blue dress," cried Tom. "Let me go, sir! let me go!"
"You must be dreaming, Tom," said Garden, his heart beating high with exultation. "Keep still, keep still! Remember you have promised to obey me implicitly."
"I saw her, I tell you!" cried Tom, shaking all over, but ceasing to struggle. "And now she has disappeared!"
"As she did on the night of the murder?"
"Yes, as she did then."
"But you saw her again?"
"Yes, I saw her again."
"But not in the same spot?"
"No," said Tom, turning in another direction. "This way."
He walked on fifty or sixty yards, and Garden, holding his arm more lightly, accompanied him.
"Why do you stop, Tom?"
"Because I saw her in that clump the second time."
Garden took his hand from Tom's arm and stepped behind him. Again he took his white handkerchief from his pocket.
"Are you quite sure you are not mistaken, Tom?"
"It isn't possible for me to be mistaken," said Tom. Garden once more waved his handkerchief in the air. "There! there! There she is again!"
"All right!" shouted Garden, as though he were addressing some person in the distance. Racing after Tom, he threw his arms around him.
"If you don't let me go," screamed Tom, "I shall do you a mischief! There she is coming towards us!"
Slowly approaching them was a woman in a pink dress, holding her head down.
"Now, Tom," whispered Garden. "It will be over in a moment or two. For God's sake keep still, or you will ruin everything! Do you say that dress is blue?"
"What trick are you playing me?" exclaimed Tom, in a hoarse, broken voice. "Do you want to drive me mad? Itisblue, I tell you! I'll take my dying oath on it!"
The woman was now very near to them. She raised her head, and Tom started back in affright as he recognised the face of Aunt Leth.
"Tom," she said, holding out her hand.
But Tom, holding his hands out-stretched before him, shrank from her as she advanced.
"Tom," said Garden, "you know Mrs. Lethbridge?"
"Yes," replied Tom, in the voice of a man who was utterly dazed, "I know her."
"Would she knowingly deceive you? Would she, whose one great hope is that of saving Miss Farebrother's life, knowingly tell you a lie?"
"No; she could not, she could not!"
"Mrs. Lethbridge," said Garden, "what is the colour of the dress you are wearing?"
"Pink," said Aunt Leth, with wistful trembling.
"Pink!" muttered Tom. "Am I going mad?"
"And here is Mr. Cornwall," said Garden, as Fred joined them. "Fred, what is the colour of the dress Mrs. Lethbridge has on?"
"Pink," said Fred.
"Mrs. Pamflett's favourite colour," said Garden. "The colour of the dress she wore when you saw her here on the night of the murder."
"If you've got any pity in you, sir," implored Tom, "tell me what all this means!"
"It means, Tom," answered Garden, "that Miss Farebrother is saved, and her innocence proved. It means, Tom, that you are colour-blind. By the mercy of God this has been discovered in time. See to Mrs. Lethbridge, Fred; she is fainting!"
That was the busiest of days. There was so much for Richard Garden to do that the wonder was how the young fellow got through it. There were reports from Kiss and Linton to receive from time to time; interviews to be held with the Home Secretary; interviews also with the judge and with the lawyers for the prosecution; test examinations of Tom Barley by experts in colour-blindness; excursions to Scotland Yard; and a thousand matters to be attended to. Other persons were busy as well. There was sunshine once more in Aunt Leth's house; the family were looking forward with eager impatience to the joy of their dear girl's release; the room which Phœbe shared with Fanny was made bright with flowers and ribbons; every bit of furniture in the house was polished, every saucepan lid scoured. Uncle Leth came home early from the bank, loaded with delicacies for Phœbe. Yes; everything was for Phœbe. Clean linen on every bed, a fire in every room, her own chair here in this corner, on the table the books she loved, the piano open, with her favourite songs ready, her desk looking like new, with fresh ink and pens and paper—everywhere spiritual signs of love. "Oh mamma, mamma!" sighed Fanny again and again, and, clasped in each other's arms, the mother and daughter wept happy tears, and kissed and laughed, and then broke into tears again. "But we must be patient, darling," said Aunt Leth. "See what Fred says in this telegram—'It cannot be to-day. There are formalities to be gone through. I have seen Phœbe. She knows something, but not all. I feared that the shock would be too great. They say in the prison that she is an angel. She sends you her dearest love. I cannot come to you. Dick and I are very busy. God bless you all!' So you see, Fanny, wemustbe patient." Telegrams were flying to and fro all the day. 'Melia Jane was wild with joy. "Tom may come now when he likes," she said, "and I shall have a beautiful fortune to tell him." But Tom did not come to the house, nor did he send a message, of even a single word.
At eight o'clock in the evening Fred was alone in his rooms, waiting for Kiss, who had arranged to come for him. In company with Linton and a policeman in private clothes they were to follow Jeremiah and his mother when those two left their lodgings to meet the woman who had stolen the bracelet. They were not acquainted with the place of meeting, but it had been settled that the Pamfletts should be stealthily followed, and that steps should be taken to overhear what took place between them and the woman, and that afterward the three should be arrested. Garden could not form one of the party: he had too much to attend to.
It was destined, however, that this carefully-laid plan was not to be carried out. Everything else had succeeded, but this part of the programme of action was doomed to failure.
Kiss did not appear until half past eight, and when he entered the room Fred divined from the distress depicted in his face that something had gone wrong. His first words were:
"They have escaped us, Mr. Cornwall."
"Escaped you!" cried Fred, in great excitement.
"Yes. It is an unfortunate fact. I could beat my head against the wall. Whether their suspicions were aroused, or whether they had previously decided upon some course of action of which we were in ignorance, I cannot say; but they have disappeared, and so mysteriously that we don't know what to make of it."
"You, or one of you, saw them go, surely?"
"No, sir, we did not; and that is the strangest part of it. We all thought they were in their rooms; nothing had been heard of them for three or four hours, and we supposed they were asleep. At last Mrs. Linton came down from her cupboard, and said she did not know what to think of it, but it really seemed to her as if their rooms must be empty. Upon this the landlady said she would go up and ask them whether they required anything, and she did so; a minute afterward she called to us to come up, and we went. Their roomswereempty; the fiends had disappeared; and that they were gone for good was proved by their having taken certain things with them which, if they had only gone on an errand, they need not have touched."
"Perhaps they will come back," said Fred.
"Not they, sir," said Kiss, shaking his head. "They are a cunning pair, and they know what they are about. They have thrown us off the scent, Mr. Cornwall; there's no doubt in my mind about that."
Fred considered a moment. "You have the address of the woman they were to meet?"
"Yes, Mr. Cornwall."
"Give it to me. I will rattle there in a cab, and if I cannot learn anything about her, I will join you at No. 12."
"You will find it difficult to obtain any information of her, sir."
"Money will accomplish anything. I shall find out what I want to know."
Promising the cabman double fare if he drove at his fastest pace, Fred, in less than half an hour, arrived at the woman's lodgings. The landlady, as Kiss had foreseen, was disinclined to speak of her lodger, but a tip of half a sovereign and the promise of another loosened her tongue.
"I don't see, after all," said the landlady, "why I shouldn't oblige you. She has left the rooms, and is not coming back."
Then she related how the woman had gone away in an open manner, saying that she was about to leave England, and did not intend to return. She was not going abroad alone; some friends were going with her. That was all.
"Can you tell me her name?" asked Fred.
The landlady replied that she did not know it.
That was the extent of the information Fred could obtain; and there was nothing for it but to go back to Surrey Street and ascertain whether anything had been heard of the Pamfletts. Nothing had been heard, and none of the neighbours could enlighten them. It was evident that they must have taken the greatest pains to get out of the neighbourhood unobserved.
When Garden was informed of what had taken place he was inexpressibly annoyed. It happened that Tom Barley was with him when Fred was giving an account of the occurrence.
"Ah, well," said Garden, presently, "we must make the best of it. We must put the police on their guard immediately. The night trains to the Continent must be watched, and to-morrow we will offer a reward for their apprehension. I may manage to get an advertisement in some of the papers to-night. I have seen Mr. Quinlan, the wealthy owner of the stolen bracelet, and he has admitted that it was the genuine one which was stolen. He said he told the story to the police and the reporters in order that he should not be annoyed. 'I am rich enough to be able to afford such a loss,' he said. Wish we were—eh, Fred? I doubt whether I should have succeeded in prevailing upon him to let me pursue the case had I not informed him that in connection with it was a diabolical murder, for which an innocent girl had been condemned to death. 'The man who has the bracelet,' I said, 'is the man who committed the murder, and he and another laid an infernal plot to bring a beautiful girl to a shameful end.' This excited him, and he has given mecarte blancheas to the expenses. So to-morrow we will offer a reward of five hundred pounds for the apprehension of Jeremiah Pamflett and his mother. It is good to know that their disappearance will not retard Miss Farebrother's release; everything is in training for that happy event. Ill as I can afford it, I would give something out of my own pocket to know what takes place to-night between the murderers and thieves."
To some extent, the late editions of the newspapers on the following day supplied him and the country with the intelligence he desired to obtain:
"The Murder of Miser Farebrother.—The Mystery of the Diamond Bracelet.—Strange Revelations.
"The Murder of Miser Farebrother.—The Mystery of the Diamond Bracelet.—Strange Revelations.
"The painful interest excited in the public mind by the trial of Miss Farebrother for the murder of her father, Miser Farebrother—a crime of which, in the teeth of the verdict, the young lady is now incontestably proved to be innocent—will be revived by the account we now publish of an outrage which took place last night, in an untenanted timber-yard near Nine Elms.
"These premises have been unoccupied for some considerable time. They are of large extent, and out of the way of regular traffic. Early this morning, just before sunrise, the policeman on the beat, passing the timber-yard, heard a sound as of a person moaning within. Entrance to the yard is obtained through a pair of wooden gates, which are in a very dilapidated condition, being practically off their hinges. Indeed, by persons of the neighbourhood they are regarded as unsafe, and as likely soon to fall to pieces. The policeman, passing through these gates and going some distance into the yard—his course being guided by the faint moaning which had first arrested his attention—saw before him a woman in a frightful state. She was bleeding from a deep wound at the back of her neck, which must have been inflicted some hours previously, and was not sufficiently sensible to understand or reply to the questions addressed to her. Without delay the policeman procured assistance, and the woman was conveyed to St. Thomas's Hospital, where she was examined by the surgeon, who pronounced the wound she had received fatal, giving it as his opinion that she could not live twenty-four hours. Her pockets, which bore the appearance of having been rifled, contained nothing which afforded a clue to her name or address, nor were her clothes marked in a way which would lead to her identification. At ten o'clock this morning the woman recovered consciousness, and being made sensible that death was approaching, requested the presence of a magistrate, to whom she made her dying deposition, which we give here word for word:
"'My name is Maria Baily. I was in the employ of a wealthy lady, Mrs. Quinlan. I was acquainted with a man who called himself Captain Ablewhite, but that is not his right name, and I don't know what is. He promised to marry me, and he prevailed upon me to steal a diamond bracelet of great value. It was worth forty or fifty thousand pounds. What I did with the bracelet after I took it from the jewel-safe of my mistress has been described in all the papers. We were stopping at the Langham Hotel. A man was waiting outside on the night I stole it, and I went and gave it to him, and then I ran away from my service to a room Captain Ablewhite had taken for me in Leman Street, Whitechapel. Captain Ablewhite told me that the man to whom I gave the bracelet was named Jeremiah Pamflett, and that his master, a rich money-lender, Miser Farebrother, was going to lend money on it. Three days after I stole the bracelet Captain Ablewhite took me away to Germany, and I remained with him some time.
"'He told me that Jeremiah Pamflett had cheated him; that he had promised to get four thousand pounds from Miser Farebrother for the bracelet, and that Jeremiah Pamflett had given him only two hundred. When the account was put into the newspapers that the bracelet I had stolen was of no value, and that the stones in it were false, Captain Ablewhite said it was not true, and that the bracelet I had given to Jeremiah Pamflett was the real one. Then Captain Ablewhite quarrelled with me, and deserted me. Not knowing what to do, I returned to London and found out Jeremiah Pamflett. I thought it would have been difficult to find him, but it was very easy, because his master had been murdered, and there was a great trial just over, in which Miser Farebrother's daughter had been found guilty of the murder of her father. Jeremiah Pamflett tried to escape from me; but I would not let him, and the end of it was that he confessed he had the bracelet in his possession; and he proposed that he, his mother, and I should all go away together to America, where he would be able to sell the diamonds, and where, changing our names, we could live in safety. We were to meet last night at Nine Elms, and he and his mother were there when I arrived. So that we could talk together undisturbed, he took me to the place in which I was discovered, and there we had a quarrel. He wanted to give me ten pounds only, and said that he would send me more after he got safely away. I was in a great passion, and I asked him if Miser Farebrother had given him four thousand pounds for the bracelet—which money he said he had given to Captain Ablewhite—how it was that it was now in his possession. He said that was his business; and then we got to higher words, and I accused him of murdering Miser Farebrother so that he might rob him. Then Jeremiah Pamflett said: "Do you want to know the truth? I did kill him; and that is how I got the bracelet back again. But you shall not live to tell anybody else. I will kill you as I killed the miser!" As he said that, he plunged a knife into me, and I fell to the ground. The last words I heard were what his mother said: "She is dead; you have killed her. Let us get away as quick as possible." I do not remember anything more. I know I am dying. And I swear to God that I have told nothing but the truth!'
"Maria Baily signed this deposition, and then almost immediately became unconscious. The latest reports are to the effect that she cannot live through the night.
"Thus, in a strange and providential manner, a frightful injustice has been averted. It is singular that on the very day on which Jeremiah Pamflett committed this second murder, other evidence was obtained of the innocence of the young lady who, by an error of justice, was pronounced guilty of the murder of her father. The strongest evidence against the unfortunate and cruelly-wronged lady was supplied by a friend who had a deep affection for her. We refer to the evidence of Tom Barley, a policeman, who swore that he saw in the grounds of Parksides, at the time of the murder of the miser, a woman in a blue dress. Such a dress did Miss Farebrother wear when she went from her aunt's house in London, with the intention of asking her father for some assistance by which her aunt's family could be extricated from a temporary difficulty. It is now proved that Tom Barley is colour-blind, and that the woman he really saw had on a pink dress, such as Mrs. Pamflett, Jeremiah Pamflett's mother, wore on that occasion. This strange discovery opens up a fruitful field of speculation. Other evidence is also forthcoming which indubitably establishes Miss Farebrother's innocence.
"There is now no reason to doubt that the story related by Mrs. Pamflett of the events of the night on which Miser Farebrother met his death was from first to last a cunningly invented fabrication. Part of this evidence is supplied by a gentleman who has been absent from England on business, and who testifies that Jeremiah Pamflett did not return to Miser Farebrother's London office until seven o'clock of the morning of the murder. It will be remembered that Jeremiah Pamflett swore that he returned at eleven o'clock on the previous night. He and his mother are at large: they could scarcely have had time and opportunity to effect their escape, as a watch was kept upon all the outgoing trains to the Continent last night. The police are on the alert, and it is to be hoped, in the interests of justice, that the criminals will soon be arrested and put upon their trial for their diabolical crimes."
Of all Phœbe's friends and well-wishers there was only one who did not openly share in the joy occasioned by her release. Congratulations poured in from all sides, even from strangers at a distance, whose letters of sympathy were delivered by smiling postmen at Aunt Leth's house at least half a dozen times a day. Phœbe's escape from her dread peril was, indeed, universally hailed with thankfulness and gratitude. Everybody was glad; the newspapers found in it a fruitful theme for grave disquisition; and Phœbe became a heroine in the best and sweetest sense of the term. As for Uncle Leth's day-dreams, as he walked to his bank in the morning and home from his day's labours in the evening, imagination could not excel them in delightfulness. Sunshine reigned in his home and in the hearts of all he loved.
The one friend who held aloof was Tom Barley. No person was more profoundly grateful than he at the proclamation of Phœbe's innocence; but he contracted a horror of himself as being the principal cause of his dear young mistress's sufferings. All appeals to him to soften this hard judgment were vain; he would scarcely listen to them, and when, against his will, he was compelled to do so, they had no effect upon him.
"It ain't a bit of good speaking to me," he said, moodily; "I don't deserve to live. And I shouldn't care to but for one thing."
That one thing was a fierce burning desire to bring Jeremiah Pamflett and his wicked mother to justice. For, strange to say, all the vigilance of the police had proved fruitless; the wretches were still at liberty, and not the slightest clue to their hiding-place had been discovered. A month had passed since Phœbe's release, and they had successfully evaded pursuit. It was believed by some that they had escaped from the country; but Tom Barley held a different opinion. He was still in the force—a capable, faithful public servant, zealous and judicious in the performance of his duties, and regarded with esteem by his superiors; but a blight had fallen upon his life—a blight which he felt would not be removed until, through him, and through him alone, justice was satisfied. This idea grew into a kind of disease in him. It seemed as if he could exist without sleep. When not on duty he was indefatigable in hunting up clues, in making secret inquiries, in keeping watch in out-of-the-way places for the monsters of iniquity at whose door a double murder lay. He took no person into his confidence; he would accept no assistance; and he devoted every spare minute to the design upon which he had set his heart. His friends did not relinquish their efforts to woo him to a more peaceful and better frame of mind. Accompanied by Fred Cornwall, Phœbe went to him, and begged him not to torment himself with self-reproach. He listened to her in silence, with head bent down.
"Will you not speak to me, Tom?" she asked, imploringly.
"What can I say?" was his humble response. "How can I hope that you will ever forgive me?"
"But there is nothing to forgive, Tom," she said, sweetly, holding out her hand.
"It is like you to say so," he replied, "and it makes it all the worse for me."
"I never knew you to be unkind to me before, Tom," she said.
He turned away from her, and would not accept her hand. Fred Cornwall followed him, and said,
"You should not make her suffer, Tom; you are inflicting great pain upon the sweetest lady in the world."
"She is that, sir," said Tom, "and more. If I could die at her feet to save her a minute's pain I'd be glad to do it. Look here, sir; when I bring two devils to justice I'll ask her to forgive me; but not till then!"
'Melia Jane tried her arts upon him, and even waylaid him one night in a quiet corner, with a pack of cards in her hands, with which she begged to be allowed to tell his fortune; but he was adamant. Nevertheless, his friends would not desert him.
"He is too good a fellow to be lost sight of," said Fred Cornwall; "we'll win him back to us yet."
There was a bright future before Fred and his dear girl. Miser Farebrother had died without a will, and Phœbe came into possession of the property he left behind him. Investigation proved that it had been tampered with by Jeremiah Pamflett, but a competence was saved from the wreck. The greatest happiness Phœbe derived from this was that it enabled her to assist Aunt and Uncle Leth out of their difficulties. Happy were the evenings spent in the old home in Camden Town. Affairs were prospering with Fred Cornwall in the exercise of his profession. Events had brought his name into prominence, and briefs were flowing in. In a great measure he had Dick Garden to thank for this better turn in his fortunes. This astute young fellow would not take all the credit to himself of setting justice right; he made it public that it was due equally to his friend Fred, and both of them were on the high-road to fame. Fred seldom made his appearance in Aunt Leth's house without Dick, who seemed to find therein some great attraction. The strange and solemn experiences of the last few weeks had made Fanny Lethbridge quieter and less lively than of old; but occasionally flashes of her pleasant, saucy humour peeped out, to the delight of all, and especially to the delight of Dick Garden, who generally contrived to obtain a seat next to her. It was too soon for teasing to commence, else Bob, who was suspected of having a second or third love affair on hand, might have ventured retaliation upon his sister, and, judging from what was stirring in Fanny's heart, he would assuredly have had the best of it. For the present, however, she was spared; the spirit of tender, grateful love which reigned in the happy home was too profound even for innocent jest. Doubtless, however, the time would come when the merry equilibrium would be restored.
"Fred," said Dick Garden, as they were walking home one night from the Lethbridges', "when are you and Miss Farebrother going to get married?"
"Not settled yet," replied Fred; "nothing said about it. We must let some nine or ten months pass, I suppose."
"About this time next year, perhaps?"
"Yes; or a little earlier if I can bring it about. Thinking of anything particular, Dick?"
"Yes, old fellow."
"In connection with our wedding?"
"Well—partly."
"With weddings generally, then?"
"Not generally, Fred, specifically. Of course a fellow doesn't know anything yet."
"Of course not," said Fred, smiling. "Shall I guess a name?"
"Try."
"Fanny?"
"Yes, Fanny," said Dick Garden, and then there was a little pause. "Fred, you have known them a long time?"
"I have."
"Good people?"
"The best, the sweetest, the most faithful and devoted. Would to Heaven the world was filled with such!"
"I am with you there. But what I want to ask you is about Miss Lethbridge."
"Fanny? Yes."
"I don't wish you to betray family secrets, old fellow; but she is such a lovely girl—"
"She is."
"With so beautiful a nature that she could not fail to have attracted—you know what I mean, Fred; I am putting it rather lamely."
"An attachment?"
"Yes; butyouput it somewhat coarsely."
"Didn't mean to, Dick. Quite right that you should be sensitive. Attracted? Rather! A dozen at least have sighed for her, and sighed in vain."
"Why?"
"Not the right ones, Dick. If there is one quality above another which distinguishes Fanny it is genuineness. A more genuine girl doesn't breathe. Dick, to be admitted upon terms of intimacy with that family is a privilege."
"I esteem it such. Not the right ones, Fred? Of course that must be the reason."
"It is. Where she gives her hand she will give her heart. They go together—both or none."
"Do you think—that is, have you any sort of idea—that she has met the right one at last?"
"Seriously, Dick? In perfect faith and honour?"
"Seriously, Fred. In perfect faith and honour."
"Dick, old boy," said Fred, earnestly, "Ihavea sort of idea that she has."
"You are a shrewd fellow, Fred—you have a trick of observation. You know what I mean?"
"I do, Dick."
"Well, then, good luck to us!"
The month was November; a fog was gathering; a light mist was dissolving, and falling cold and chill; but Dick Garden was glowing from within. As he was buttoning his coat a man brushed past them, and Fred caught a glimpse of his face.
"A moment, Dick," he said, hurriedly, "that is Tom Barley. I must have a word with him."
He hastened after Tom, and accosted him.
"Itisyou, Tom. Have you any news?"
"None, sir—that is, none that I can speak of. Don't stop me, please; I haven't a minute to spare." These words came straggling from Tom's lips, and in his anxiety he seemed to be hardly aware of what he was saying.
"Am I mistaken in the idea that you have heard something?" asked Fred.
"No, sir, you are not mistaken. I am on their track."
"As you have been before, Tom?"
"That's true, sir," said Tom, with a sigh; "as I have been before."
"Can I assist you?"
"No, sir; nor any one. What I do I'll do single-handed." He wrenched himself free. "Good-night, sir."
"Only another word, Tom. Have you any message for Miss Phœbe? She told me, if I met you, to give you her love."
"Did she, sir? She's an angel of goodness. Any message, sir? Yes, this—if I don't live to accomplish what I've set my life upon, if I don't live to ask her forgiveness myself, to think of me kindly sometimes as a man who would gladly have died for her!"
He darted away, and was lost in the mist. Fred gazed thoughtfully after him, and then he rejoined Garden.
"There goes an honest, suffering man," he said; "thorough to the backbone. He has inflicted a martyrdom upon himself, and is following a will-o'-the-wisp."
But the events of the next few hours were destined to prove that Fred Cornwall was in error.