Volume Three—Chapter Fourteen.A Hard Test.“Harry, dear Harry!” said Louise, as they stood together in a shabbily-furnished room in one of the streets off Tottenham Court Road, “I feel at times as if it would drive me mad. Pray, pray let me write!”“Not yet, I tell you; not yet,” he said angrily. “Wait till we are across the Channel, and then you shall.”“But—”“Louie!” he half shouted at her, “have some patience.”“Patience, dear? Think of our father’s agony of mind. He loves us.”“Then the joy of finding we are both alive and well must compensate for what he suffers now.”“But you do not realise what must be thought of me.”“Oh, yes, I do,” he said bitterly; “but you do not realise what would be thought of me, if it were known that I was alive. I shiver every time I meet a policeman. Can’t you see how I am placed?”“Yes—yes,” said Louise wearily; “but at times I can only think of our father—of Madelaine—of Uncle Luke.”“Hush!” he cried with an irritable stamp of the foot. “Have patience. Once we are on the Continent I shall feel as if I could breathe; but this wretched dilatory way of getting money worries me to death.”“Then why not sell the jewels, and let us go?”“That’s talking like a woman again. It’s very easy to talk about selling the jewels, and it is easy to sell them if you go to some blackguard who will take advantage of your needs and give you next to nothing for them. But, as Pradelle says—”“Pradelle!” ejaculated Louise, with a look of dislike crossing her face.“Yes, Pradelle. That’s right, speak ill of the only friend we have. Why, we owe everything to him. What could we have done? Where could we have gone if it had not been for him, and my finding out where he was through asking at the old meeting-place?”“I do not like Mr Pradelle,” said Louise firmly.“Then you ought to,” said Harry, as he walked up and down the room like some caged animal. “As he says, if you go to sell the things at a respectable place they’ll ask all manner of questions that it is not convenient to answer, and we must not risk detection by doing that.”“Risk detection?” said Louise, clasping her hands about one knee as she gazed straight before her.“The people here are as suspicious of us as can be, and the landlady seems ready to ask questions every time we meet on the stairs.”“Yes,” said Louise in a sad, weary way; “she is always asking questions.”“But you do not answer them?”“I—I hardly know what I have said, Harry. She is so pertinacious.”“We must leave here,” said the young man excitedly. “Why don’t Pradelle come?”“Do you expect him to-night?”“Expect him? Yes. I have only half-a-crown left, and he has your gold chain to pledge. He is to bring the money to-night. I expected him before.”“Harry, dear.”“Well?”“Do you think Mr Pradelle is trustworthy?”“As trustworthy as most people,” said the young man carelessly. “Yes, of course. He is obliged to be.”“But could you not pledge the things yourself instead of trusting him?”“No,” he cried, with an impatient stamp. “You know how I tried and how the assistant began to question and stare at me, till I snatched the thing out of his hands and hurried out of the shop. I’d sooner beg than try to do it again.”Louise was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing thoughtfully before her.“Let me write Harry, telling everything, and asking my father to send us money.”“Send for the police at once. There, open the windows, and call the first one up that you see pass. It will be the shortest way.”“But I am sure, dear—”“Once more, so am I. At the present moment I am free. Let me have my liberty to begin life over again honestly, repentantly, and with the earnest desire to redeem the past. Will you let me have that?”“Of course—of course, dear.”“Then say no more to me about communicating with home.”Louise was silent again, beaten once more by her brother’s arguments in her desire to see him redeem the past.“Harry,” she said at last, after her brother had been standing with his cheek pressed against the window-pane, looking down the street in search of the expected visitor.“Well?”“Has it ever occurred to you that Mr Pradelle is trying to keep us here?”“Absurd!”“No: I feel sure it is so, and that he does not want us to go away. Let me take my bracelets and necklet to one of those places where they buy jewellery or lend money.”“You?”“Yes. Why not?”“Are you mad?”“No. Why should I not sell what is my own?”“Can you not understand?” cried Harry, whose voice sounded harsh from the mental irritation which had given him the look of one in constant dread of arrest.“No, dear, I cannot. I want to help you. I want to get away from here—to remove you from the influence of this man, so that we may, if it must be so, get abroad and then set them at rest.”“Now you are bringing that up again,” he cried angrily.“I must, Harry, I must. I have been too weak as it is; but in the excitement of all that trouble I seemed to be influenced by you in all I did.”“There, there, little sis,” he said more gently. “I ought not to speak so crossly, but I am always on thorns, held back as I am for want of a few paltry pounds.”“Then let me go and dispose of these things.”“It is impossible.”“No, dear, you think of the degradation. I should not be ashamed. We have made a false step, Harry, but if we must go on, let me do what I can to help you. Let me go.”“But the beggarly disgrace. You don’t know what you are going to undertake.”She looked at him with her frank, clear eyes.“I am going to help you. There can be no disgrace in disposing of these trinkets for you to escape.”“Ah! at last!” cried Harry, leaving the window to hurry to the door, regardless of the look of dislike which came into his sister’s face.“Is that Mr Pradelle?” she said shrinkingly.“Yes, at last. No, Louie, I’m bad enough, but I’m not going to send you to the pawnbroker’s while I stop hiding here, and it’s all right now.”“Ah, Harry! Day, Miss Louie,” said Pradelle, entering, very fashionably dressed, and with a rose in his buttonhole. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”“Look here, Vic,” cried Harry, catching him by the arm. “How much did you get?”“Get?”“Yes; for the chain?”“Oh, for the chain,” said Pradelle, who kept his eyes fixed on Louise. “Nothing, old fellow.”“Nothing?”“Haven’t taken it to the right place yet.”“And you promised to. Look here, what do you mean?”“What do I mean? Well, I like that. Hear him, Miss Louie? What a fellow he is! Here have I got him into decent apartments, where he is safe as the bank, when if he had depended upon himself he would have taken you to some slum where you would have been stopped and the police have found you out.”“You promised to pledge those things for me.”“Of course I did, and so I will. Why, if you had been left to yourself, who would have taken you in without a reference?”“Never mind that,” said Harry, so angrily that Louise rose, went to his side, and laid her hand upon his arm. “If you don’t want to help me, say so.”“If I don’t want to help you! Why, look here, Miss Louie, I appeal to you. Haven’t I helped him again and again? Haven’t I lent him money, and acted as a friend should?”“Why haven’t you pledged that chain?” said Harry.“Because people are so suspicious, and I was afraid. There, you have the truth.”“I don’t believe it,” cried Harry, excitedly.“Well then, don’t. Your sister will. If you want me to bring the police on your track, say so.”In a furtive way, he noted Harry’s start of dread, and went on.“Take the chain or a watch yourself, and if the pawnbroker is suspicious, he’ll either detain it till you can give a good account of how you came by it, or send for a policeman to follow you to your lodgings.”“But I am quite penniless!” cried Harry.“Then why didn’t you say so, old fellow? Long as I’ve got a pound you’re welcome to it, and always were. I’m not a fine-weather friend, you know that. There you are, two halves. That’ll keep you going for a week.”“But I don’t want to keep borrowing of you,” said Harry. “We have enough to do what I want. A sovereign will do little more than pay for these lodgings.”“Enough for a day or two, old fellow, and do for goodness’ sake have a little more faith in a man you have proved.”“I have faith in you, Vic, and I’m very grateful; but this existence maddens me. I want enough to get us across the Channel. I must and will go.”“Right into the arms of those who are searching for you. What a baby you are, Harry! Do you want to be told again that every boat which starts for the Continent will be watched?”Harry made a despairing gesture, and his haggard countenance told plainly of the agony he suffered.“My dear Miss Louie,” continued Pradelle, “do pray help me to bring him to reason. You must see that you are both safe here, and that it is the wisest thing to wait patiently till the worst of the pursuit is over.”“We do not know that there is any pursuit, Mr Pradelle,” said Louise coldly.“Come, I like that!” cried Pradelle, in an ill-used tone. “I thought I told you that they were searching for you both. If you like to believe that you can leave your home as you did without your people making any search, why you have a right to.”Harry began pacing the room, while Pradelle went on in a low, pleading way—“Ever since Harry came to me, I thought I had done all that a friend could, but if I can do more, Miss Louie, you’ve only get to tell me what, and it shall be done.”“You’ve done your best, Prad,” said Harry.“Yes, but you don’t think it. I could go and do all kinds of rash things; but I’ve been working to throw them off the scent, and I don’t think, so far, I’ve done amiss. You’re not taken yet.”Harry drew a long breath and glanced at door and window, as if for a way of escape.“Come, that’s better,” cried Pradelle. “Take a more cheerful view of things. You want change, Harry. You’ve been shut up too much. Have a cigar,” he continued, drawing out his case. “No? I beg your pardon, Miss Louie. Oughtn’t to ask him to smoke here.”Harry shook his head impatiently.“Yes; have one, old fellow. They’re good. Take two or three; and, look here: go and have a walk up and down for an hour. It’s getting dusk now.”Louise gave her brother an excited look, which did not escape Pradelle. “Let’s all go,” he said. “We might go along the back streets as far as the park. Do you both good.”“No, no,” said Harry sharply. “I shall not go out.”“Go together, then,” said Pradelle, half mockingly. “I don’t want to intrude; but for goodness’ sake, man, try and have a little change; it would make life move different, and you’d be more ready to take a friend’s advice.”“What advice?”“To settle down here. London’s the best place in the world for hiding yourself.”“Don’t talk to me any more, old fellow,” said Harry. “I’m out of temper. I can’t help it.”“All right, lad. I’ll go now; and you get him out, Miss Louie, do. It’s the best thing for him.”Harry made an impatient gesture, and threw himself in a chair.“You shall do as you like, and I’ll raise all the money for you that I can,” said Pradelle, rising to go; “but take things more coolly. Good-bye, old boy.”“Good-bye,” said Harry, shaking hands limply.“Good-bye,” said Pradelle, as Harry turned away to rest his aching head upon his hand. “Miss Louie!”He gave his head a jerk towards the door, and Louise rose and followed him.“Come outside,” he whispered. “I want to speak to you.”“Mr Pradelle can say what he has to say here.”“But it’s about him.”“Well, Mr Pradelle?”“Well, Miss Louie, I only wanted to say that some day you’ll find out who is your true friend. I want to help you both. I do, on my honour.”“Your honour!” thought Louise.“Have a little more confidence in a man if you can. I do want to help you. Good-bye.”He held out his hand, and she felt constrained to give him hers, which he held, and, after glancing hastily at Harry, raised to his lips; but the kiss he imprinted was on the yielding air, for the hand was snatched indignantly away.“You’ll know me better by and by,” said Pradelle; and giving her a peculiar look, he left the room.Louise stood for a few minutes gazing after him, her brow knit and her eyes thoughtful. Then, going back to where her brother sat with his head resting upon his hand, she laid hers upon his shoulder.“Harry, dear,” she said firmly, “that man is fighting against us.”“Rubbish,” he cried impatiently. “You never liked Pradelle.”“Better for you if you had hated him. Harry, he is striving to keep us here.”“Nonsense! Don’t talk to me now.”“I must, Harry. You must act, and decisively.”“What do you mean?”“Either you must raise money at once, and go right away from here—”He looked up sharply.“No, I do not mean that,” she said sadly. “I will not leave you till you are fit to leave; but you must either act as I advise at once, or I shall do what I think best.”“What do you mean?”“Write to our father to come and help us, for you are too weak and broken down to protect me.”“Louie!” he cried excitedly; “I am not so weak as you think. I will act; I will take your advice.”“And get rid of this Mr Pradelle?”“Anything you like, Louie, only don’t let them know at home—yet, and don’t leave me. If you did I should break down at once.”“Then will you be guided by me?”“Yes.”“And take these jewels yourself and raise money?”“Yes; but it is too late now.”Louise glanced at the window, and in her ignorance of such matters half felt the truth of his words.“Then to-morrow you will do as I wish?”“Yes, to-morrow,” he said wearily.“Put not off until to-morrow—” said Louise softly to herself; and she stood watching her brother as he sat with bended head, weak, broken, and despairing, in the gathering gloom.
“Harry, dear Harry!” said Louise, as they stood together in a shabbily-furnished room in one of the streets off Tottenham Court Road, “I feel at times as if it would drive me mad. Pray, pray let me write!”
“Not yet, I tell you; not yet,” he said angrily. “Wait till we are across the Channel, and then you shall.”
“But—”
“Louie!” he half shouted at her, “have some patience.”
“Patience, dear? Think of our father’s agony of mind. He loves us.”
“Then the joy of finding we are both alive and well must compensate for what he suffers now.”
“But you do not realise what must be thought of me.”
“Oh, yes, I do,” he said bitterly; “but you do not realise what would be thought of me, if it were known that I was alive. I shiver every time I meet a policeman. Can’t you see how I am placed?”
“Yes—yes,” said Louise wearily; “but at times I can only think of our father—of Madelaine—of Uncle Luke.”
“Hush!” he cried with an irritable stamp of the foot. “Have patience. Once we are on the Continent I shall feel as if I could breathe; but this wretched dilatory way of getting money worries me to death.”
“Then why not sell the jewels, and let us go?”
“That’s talking like a woman again. It’s very easy to talk about selling the jewels, and it is easy to sell them if you go to some blackguard who will take advantage of your needs and give you next to nothing for them. But, as Pradelle says—”
“Pradelle!” ejaculated Louise, with a look of dislike crossing her face.
“Yes, Pradelle. That’s right, speak ill of the only friend we have. Why, we owe everything to him. What could we have done? Where could we have gone if it had not been for him, and my finding out where he was through asking at the old meeting-place?”
“I do not like Mr Pradelle,” said Louise firmly.
“Then you ought to,” said Harry, as he walked up and down the room like some caged animal. “As he says, if you go to sell the things at a respectable place they’ll ask all manner of questions that it is not convenient to answer, and we must not risk detection by doing that.”
“Risk detection?” said Louise, clasping her hands about one knee as she gazed straight before her.
“The people here are as suspicious of us as can be, and the landlady seems ready to ask questions every time we meet on the stairs.”
“Yes,” said Louise in a sad, weary way; “she is always asking questions.”
“But you do not answer them?”
“I—I hardly know what I have said, Harry. She is so pertinacious.”
“We must leave here,” said the young man excitedly. “Why don’t Pradelle come?”
“Do you expect him to-night?”
“Expect him? Yes. I have only half-a-crown left, and he has your gold chain to pledge. He is to bring the money to-night. I expected him before.”
“Harry, dear.”
“Well?”
“Do you think Mr Pradelle is trustworthy?”
“As trustworthy as most people,” said the young man carelessly. “Yes, of course. He is obliged to be.”
“But could you not pledge the things yourself instead of trusting him?”
“No,” he cried, with an impatient stamp. “You know how I tried and how the assistant began to question and stare at me, till I snatched the thing out of his hands and hurried out of the shop. I’d sooner beg than try to do it again.”
Louise was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing thoughtfully before her.
“Let me write Harry, telling everything, and asking my father to send us money.”
“Send for the police at once. There, open the windows, and call the first one up that you see pass. It will be the shortest way.”
“But I am sure, dear—”
“Once more, so am I. At the present moment I am free. Let me have my liberty to begin life over again honestly, repentantly, and with the earnest desire to redeem the past. Will you let me have that?”
“Of course—of course, dear.”
“Then say no more to me about communicating with home.”
Louise was silent again, beaten once more by her brother’s arguments in her desire to see him redeem the past.
“Harry,” she said at last, after her brother had been standing with his cheek pressed against the window-pane, looking down the street in search of the expected visitor.
“Well?”
“Has it ever occurred to you that Mr Pradelle is trying to keep us here?”
“Absurd!”
“No: I feel sure it is so, and that he does not want us to go away. Let me take my bracelets and necklet to one of those places where they buy jewellery or lend money.”
“You?”
“Yes. Why not?”
“Are you mad?”
“No. Why should I not sell what is my own?”
“Can you not understand?” cried Harry, whose voice sounded harsh from the mental irritation which had given him the look of one in constant dread of arrest.
“No, dear, I cannot. I want to help you. I want to get away from here—to remove you from the influence of this man, so that we may, if it must be so, get abroad and then set them at rest.”
“Now you are bringing that up again,” he cried angrily.
“I must, Harry, I must. I have been too weak as it is; but in the excitement of all that trouble I seemed to be influenced by you in all I did.”
“There, there, little sis,” he said more gently. “I ought not to speak so crossly, but I am always on thorns, held back as I am for want of a few paltry pounds.”
“Then let me go and dispose of these things.”
“It is impossible.”
“No, dear, you think of the degradation. I should not be ashamed. We have made a false step, Harry, but if we must go on, let me do what I can to help you. Let me go.”
“But the beggarly disgrace. You don’t know what you are going to undertake.”
She looked at him with her frank, clear eyes.
“I am going to help you. There can be no disgrace in disposing of these trinkets for you to escape.”
“Ah! at last!” cried Harry, leaving the window to hurry to the door, regardless of the look of dislike which came into his sister’s face.
“Is that Mr Pradelle?” she said shrinkingly.
“Yes, at last. No, Louie, I’m bad enough, but I’m not going to send you to the pawnbroker’s while I stop hiding here, and it’s all right now.”
“Ah, Harry! Day, Miss Louie,” said Pradelle, entering, very fashionably dressed, and with a rose in his buttonhole. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”
“Look here, Vic,” cried Harry, catching him by the arm. “How much did you get?”
“Get?”
“Yes; for the chain?”
“Oh, for the chain,” said Pradelle, who kept his eyes fixed on Louise. “Nothing, old fellow.”
“Nothing?”
“Haven’t taken it to the right place yet.”
“And you promised to. Look here, what do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Well, I like that. Hear him, Miss Louie? What a fellow he is! Here have I got him into decent apartments, where he is safe as the bank, when if he had depended upon himself he would have taken you to some slum where you would have been stopped and the police have found you out.”
“You promised to pledge those things for me.”
“Of course I did, and so I will. Why, if you had been left to yourself, who would have taken you in without a reference?”
“Never mind that,” said Harry, so angrily that Louise rose, went to his side, and laid her hand upon his arm. “If you don’t want to help me, say so.”
“If I don’t want to help you! Why, look here, Miss Louie, I appeal to you. Haven’t I helped him again and again? Haven’t I lent him money, and acted as a friend should?”
“Why haven’t you pledged that chain?” said Harry.
“Because people are so suspicious, and I was afraid. There, you have the truth.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Harry, excitedly.
“Well then, don’t. Your sister will. If you want me to bring the police on your track, say so.”
In a furtive way, he noted Harry’s start of dread, and went on.
“Take the chain or a watch yourself, and if the pawnbroker is suspicious, he’ll either detain it till you can give a good account of how you came by it, or send for a policeman to follow you to your lodgings.”
“But I am quite penniless!” cried Harry.
“Then why didn’t you say so, old fellow? Long as I’ve got a pound you’re welcome to it, and always were. I’m not a fine-weather friend, you know that. There you are, two halves. That’ll keep you going for a week.”
“But I don’t want to keep borrowing of you,” said Harry. “We have enough to do what I want. A sovereign will do little more than pay for these lodgings.”
“Enough for a day or two, old fellow, and do for goodness’ sake have a little more faith in a man you have proved.”
“I have faith in you, Vic, and I’m very grateful; but this existence maddens me. I want enough to get us across the Channel. I must and will go.”
“Right into the arms of those who are searching for you. What a baby you are, Harry! Do you want to be told again that every boat which starts for the Continent will be watched?”
Harry made a despairing gesture, and his haggard countenance told plainly of the agony he suffered.
“My dear Miss Louie,” continued Pradelle, “do pray help me to bring him to reason. You must see that you are both safe here, and that it is the wisest thing to wait patiently till the worst of the pursuit is over.”
“We do not know that there is any pursuit, Mr Pradelle,” said Louise coldly.
“Come, I like that!” cried Pradelle, in an ill-used tone. “I thought I told you that they were searching for you both. If you like to believe that you can leave your home as you did without your people making any search, why you have a right to.”
Harry began pacing the room, while Pradelle went on in a low, pleading way—
“Ever since Harry came to me, I thought I had done all that a friend could, but if I can do more, Miss Louie, you’ve only get to tell me what, and it shall be done.”
“You’ve done your best, Prad,” said Harry.
“Yes, but you don’t think it. I could go and do all kinds of rash things; but I’ve been working to throw them off the scent, and I don’t think, so far, I’ve done amiss. You’re not taken yet.”
Harry drew a long breath and glanced at door and window, as if for a way of escape.
“Come, that’s better,” cried Pradelle. “Take a more cheerful view of things. You want change, Harry. You’ve been shut up too much. Have a cigar,” he continued, drawing out his case. “No? I beg your pardon, Miss Louie. Oughtn’t to ask him to smoke here.”
Harry shook his head impatiently.
“Yes; have one, old fellow. They’re good. Take two or three; and, look here: go and have a walk up and down for an hour. It’s getting dusk now.”
Louise gave her brother an excited look, which did not escape Pradelle. “Let’s all go,” he said. “We might go along the back streets as far as the park. Do you both good.”
“No, no,” said Harry sharply. “I shall not go out.”
“Go together, then,” said Pradelle, half mockingly. “I don’t want to intrude; but for goodness’ sake, man, try and have a little change; it would make life move different, and you’d be more ready to take a friend’s advice.”
“What advice?”
“To settle down here. London’s the best place in the world for hiding yourself.”
“Don’t talk to me any more, old fellow,” said Harry. “I’m out of temper. I can’t help it.”
“All right, lad. I’ll go now; and you get him out, Miss Louie, do. It’s the best thing for him.”
Harry made an impatient gesture, and threw himself in a chair.
“You shall do as you like, and I’ll raise all the money for you that I can,” said Pradelle, rising to go; “but take things more coolly. Good-bye, old boy.”
“Good-bye,” said Harry, shaking hands limply.
“Good-bye,” said Pradelle, as Harry turned away to rest his aching head upon his hand. “Miss Louie!”
He gave his head a jerk towards the door, and Louise rose and followed him.
“Come outside,” he whispered. “I want to speak to you.”
“Mr Pradelle can say what he has to say here.”
“But it’s about him.”
“Well, Mr Pradelle?”
“Well, Miss Louie, I only wanted to say that some day you’ll find out who is your true friend. I want to help you both. I do, on my honour.”
“Your honour!” thought Louise.
“Have a little more confidence in a man if you can. I do want to help you. Good-bye.”
He held out his hand, and she felt constrained to give him hers, which he held, and, after glancing hastily at Harry, raised to his lips; but the kiss he imprinted was on the yielding air, for the hand was snatched indignantly away.
“You’ll know me better by and by,” said Pradelle; and giving her a peculiar look, he left the room.
Louise stood for a few minutes gazing after him, her brow knit and her eyes thoughtful. Then, going back to where her brother sat with his head resting upon his hand, she laid hers upon his shoulder.
“Harry, dear,” she said firmly, “that man is fighting against us.”
“Rubbish,” he cried impatiently. “You never liked Pradelle.”
“Better for you if you had hated him. Harry, he is striving to keep us here.”
“Nonsense! Don’t talk to me now.”
“I must, Harry. You must act, and decisively.”
“What do you mean?”
“Either you must raise money at once, and go right away from here—”
He looked up sharply.
“No, I do not mean that,” she said sadly. “I will not leave you till you are fit to leave; but you must either act as I advise at once, or I shall do what I think best.”
“What do you mean?”
“Write to our father to come and help us, for you are too weak and broken down to protect me.”
“Louie!” he cried excitedly; “I am not so weak as you think. I will act; I will take your advice.”
“And get rid of this Mr Pradelle?”
“Anything you like, Louie, only don’t let them know at home—yet, and don’t leave me. If you did I should break down at once.”
“Then will you be guided by me?”
“Yes.”
“And take these jewels yourself and raise money?”
“Yes; but it is too late now.”
Louise glanced at the window, and in her ignorance of such matters half felt the truth of his words.
“Then to-morrow you will do as I wish?”
“Yes, to-morrow,” he said wearily.
“Put not off until to-morrow—” said Louise softly to herself; and she stood watching her brother as he sat with bended head, weak, broken, and despairing, in the gathering gloom.
Volume Three—Chapter Fifteen.An Old Friend—or Enemy?“Where shall we stay? I’ll show you,” said Uncle Luke, after giving instructions to the cabman. “My old hotel in Surrey Street. Comfortable, motherly woman. No nonsense.”“And what do you propose doing?”“Let’s hear first what you propose,” shouted the old man, so as to make his voice heard above the rattle of the cab-windows—four-wheelers Jehu’s enemies, which lose him many a fare.“I have nothing to propose,” said Leslie sadly; “only to find her.”“And I’ve given you twenty-four hours to think it out, including last night at Plymouth.”“My head is in a whirl, sir; I am in no condition to think. Pray suggest something.”“Hah! The old folks are useful, then, after all. Well, then, you would like to hear my plans?”Leslie nodded.“First, then, there is a good tea, with some meat; and while we are having that I shall send off a messenger.”“To find them?”“No. Wait.”Leslie had found out that the best way to deal with Uncle Luke was to treat him like a conger-eel, such as they caught among the rocks about Hakemouth. Once hooked, if the fisher dragged at the line, the snaky monster pulled and fought till the line cut into the holder’s hands, and sometimes was broken or the hook torn out; whereas, if instead of pulling, the creature had its head given, it began to swim up rapidly, and placed itself within reach of the gaff. So, in spite of his fretful irritation of mind, he allowed the old man to have his own way.The result was, that before they sat down to their meal at the quiet hotel, Uncle Luke wrote a letter, which was dispatched by special messenger, after which he ate heartily; while Leslie played with a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast.“Not the way to do work,” said Uncle Luke grimly. “Eat, man; eat. Coal and coke to make the human engine get up steam.”Leslie made an effort to obey, but everything seemed distasteful, and he took refuge behind a paper till the waiter entered with a card.“Hah! yes: show him in,” said Uncle Luke. “Here he is, Leslie,” he continued.“Here who is?”“Parkins.”“Parkins?”“Sergeant Parkins. You remember?”Leslie had forgotten the name, but directly after the whole scene of the search for Harry came back as the quiet, decisive-looking detective officer entered the room, nodded shortly to both, and after taking the seat indicated, looked inquiringly at Uncle Luke.“At your service, sir,” he said. “You’ve brought me some news about that affair down yonder?”“No,” said Uncle Luke. “I have come to see if you can help us in another way;” and he told him the object of his visit.“Hah!” ejaculated their visitor. “Yes, that’s different, sir;” and taking out a notebook, he began to ask question after question on points which seemed to him likely to be useful, till he had gained all the information he thought necessary, when he closed the book with a snap, and buttoned it up in his breast.“Rather curious fact, sir,” he said, looking at both in turn; “but I’ve been thinking about Hakemouth a good deal this last day or two.”“Why?” asked Uncle Luke shortly.“I’ve been away all over the Continent for some time—forgery case, and that Hakemouth business has gone no farther. As soon as I got back, and was free, I wanted something to do, so I said to myself that I’d take it on again, and I have.”“Oh, never mind that now,” said Leslie angrily. “Can you help us here?”“I don’t know, sir. I shall try; but I might mention to you that we think we have obtained a clue to the gentleman who escaped.”“Yes, yes,” said Leslie impatiently; “but can you help us here?”“Give me time, sir, and I’ll do my best,” said the sergeant. “Not an easy task, sir, you know. A needle is hard to find in a bottle of hay, and all the clue you give me is that a lady left your neighbourhood with a French gentleman. Fortunately I did see the lady, and should know her again. Good morning.”“But what are we to do?” said Leslie eagerly.“You, sir?” said the sergeant quietly, and with a suspicion of contempt in his tone. “Oh, you’d better wait.”“Wait!” cried Leslie, in a voice full of suppressed rage.“And practise patience,” muttered the man. “One moment, sir,” he said aloud. “You saw this French gentleman?”“I saw him, but not his face. Mr Vine here told you; the light was overturned.”“But you saw his figure, the man’s shape?”“Yes, of course.”“And you heard his voice?”“Yes.”“Broken French?”“Yes.”“Now, sir, just think a moment. I have a slight idea. French name—spoke—”“We mentioned no name.”“One minute, sir. Spoke French—brother’s fellow-clerk and intimate—gentleman who went off—been staying at the house—long time in the lady’s society. What do you say now to its being this Mr Pradelle?”Uncle Luke gave the table a thump which made the tea-things rattle, and Leslie started from his seat, gazing wildly at the officer, who smiled rather triumphantly.“Great heavens!” faltered Leslie, as if a new light had flashed into his darkened mind.“Of course, sir, this is only a suggestion,” said the sergeant. “It is all new to me, but seems likely.”“No,” said Uncle Luke emphatically, “no. She would never have gone off with him.”“Very good, gentlemen. I’ll see what I can do at once.”“One moment,” said Leslie, as he slipped some notes into the man’s hand. “You will spare neither time nor money.”“I will not, sir.”“Tell me one thing. What shall you do first?”“Just the opposite to what you’ve done, gentlemen,” said the officer.“What do you mean?”“Go down to Hakemouth by to-night’s mail, and work back to town.”“I feel certain,” said Leslie, “that he brought her to London to take tickets for France.”“I don’t, sir, yet. But even if I did, it’s a long bridge from here to Cornwall, and I might find them resting in one of the recesses. You leave it to me, sir. Good-day. Humph!” he added as he went out; “plain as a pikestaff. Women are womanly, and I have known instances of a woman sticking to a man for no reason whatever, except that he was a scamp, and sometimes the greater the scamp the tighter the tie. Pradelle’s my man, and I think I can put my thumb upon him before long.”“No, Leslie, no. Louie wouldn’t look at him. That’s not the clue,” said Uncle Luke.
“Where shall we stay? I’ll show you,” said Uncle Luke, after giving instructions to the cabman. “My old hotel in Surrey Street. Comfortable, motherly woman. No nonsense.”
“And what do you propose doing?”
“Let’s hear first what you propose,” shouted the old man, so as to make his voice heard above the rattle of the cab-windows—four-wheelers Jehu’s enemies, which lose him many a fare.
“I have nothing to propose,” said Leslie sadly; “only to find her.”
“And I’ve given you twenty-four hours to think it out, including last night at Plymouth.”
“My head is in a whirl, sir; I am in no condition to think. Pray suggest something.”
“Hah! The old folks are useful, then, after all. Well, then, you would like to hear my plans?”
Leslie nodded.
“First, then, there is a good tea, with some meat; and while we are having that I shall send off a messenger.”
“To find them?”
“No. Wait.”
Leslie had found out that the best way to deal with Uncle Luke was to treat him like a conger-eel, such as they caught among the rocks about Hakemouth. Once hooked, if the fisher dragged at the line, the snaky monster pulled and fought till the line cut into the holder’s hands, and sometimes was broken or the hook torn out; whereas, if instead of pulling, the creature had its head given, it began to swim up rapidly, and placed itself within reach of the gaff. So, in spite of his fretful irritation of mind, he allowed the old man to have his own way.
The result was, that before they sat down to their meal at the quiet hotel, Uncle Luke wrote a letter, which was dispatched by special messenger, after which he ate heartily; while Leslie played with a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast.
“Not the way to do work,” said Uncle Luke grimly. “Eat, man; eat. Coal and coke to make the human engine get up steam.”
Leslie made an effort to obey, but everything seemed distasteful, and he took refuge behind a paper till the waiter entered with a card.
“Hah! yes: show him in,” said Uncle Luke. “Here he is, Leslie,” he continued.
“Here who is?”
“Parkins.”
“Parkins?”
“Sergeant Parkins. You remember?”
Leslie had forgotten the name, but directly after the whole scene of the search for Harry came back as the quiet, decisive-looking detective officer entered the room, nodded shortly to both, and after taking the seat indicated, looked inquiringly at Uncle Luke.
“At your service, sir,” he said. “You’ve brought me some news about that affair down yonder?”
“No,” said Uncle Luke. “I have come to see if you can help us in another way;” and he told him the object of his visit.
“Hah!” ejaculated their visitor. “Yes, that’s different, sir;” and taking out a notebook, he began to ask question after question on points which seemed to him likely to be useful, till he had gained all the information he thought necessary, when he closed the book with a snap, and buttoned it up in his breast.
“Rather curious fact, sir,” he said, looking at both in turn; “but I’ve been thinking about Hakemouth a good deal this last day or two.”
“Why?” asked Uncle Luke shortly.
“I’ve been away all over the Continent for some time—forgery case, and that Hakemouth business has gone no farther. As soon as I got back, and was free, I wanted something to do, so I said to myself that I’d take it on again, and I have.”
“Oh, never mind that now,” said Leslie angrily. “Can you help us here?”
“I don’t know, sir. I shall try; but I might mention to you that we think we have obtained a clue to the gentleman who escaped.”
“Yes, yes,” said Leslie impatiently; “but can you help us here?”
“Give me time, sir, and I’ll do my best,” said the sergeant. “Not an easy task, sir, you know. A needle is hard to find in a bottle of hay, and all the clue you give me is that a lady left your neighbourhood with a French gentleman. Fortunately I did see the lady, and should know her again. Good morning.”
“But what are we to do?” said Leslie eagerly.
“You, sir?” said the sergeant quietly, and with a suspicion of contempt in his tone. “Oh, you’d better wait.”
“Wait!” cried Leslie, in a voice full of suppressed rage.
“And practise patience,” muttered the man. “One moment, sir,” he said aloud. “You saw this French gentleman?”
“I saw him, but not his face. Mr Vine here told you; the light was overturned.”
“But you saw his figure, the man’s shape?”
“Yes, of course.”
“And you heard his voice?”
“Yes.”
“Broken French?”
“Yes.”
“Now, sir, just think a moment. I have a slight idea. French name—spoke—”
“We mentioned no name.”
“One minute, sir. Spoke French—brother’s fellow-clerk and intimate—gentleman who went off—been staying at the house—long time in the lady’s society. What do you say now to its being this Mr Pradelle?”
Uncle Luke gave the table a thump which made the tea-things rattle, and Leslie started from his seat, gazing wildly at the officer, who smiled rather triumphantly.
“Great heavens!” faltered Leslie, as if a new light had flashed into his darkened mind.
“Of course, sir, this is only a suggestion,” said the sergeant. “It is all new to me, but seems likely.”
“No,” said Uncle Luke emphatically, “no. She would never have gone off with him.”
“Very good, gentlemen. I’ll see what I can do at once.”
“One moment,” said Leslie, as he slipped some notes into the man’s hand. “You will spare neither time nor money.”
“I will not, sir.”
“Tell me one thing. What shall you do first?”
“Just the opposite to what you’ve done, gentlemen,” said the officer.
“What do you mean?”
“Go down to Hakemouth by to-night’s mail, and work back to town.”
“I feel certain,” said Leslie, “that he brought her to London to take tickets for France.”
“I don’t, sir, yet. But even if I did, it’s a long bridge from here to Cornwall, and I might find them resting in one of the recesses. You leave it to me, sir. Good-day. Humph!” he added as he went out; “plain as a pikestaff. Women are womanly, and I have known instances of a woman sticking to a man for no reason whatever, except that he was a scamp, and sometimes the greater the scamp the tighter the tie. Pradelle’s my man, and I think I can put my thumb upon him before long.”
“No, Leslie, no. Louie wouldn’t look at him. That’s not the clue,” said Uncle Luke.
Volume Three—Chapter Sixteen.The Needle in a Bottle of Hay.A week of anxiety, with the breaks in it of interviews with Sergeant Parkins, who had very little to communicate; but still that little was cogent.He had been down to Hakemouth, and by careful inquiry had tracked the missing pair to Plymouth, where he had missed them. But, after the fashion of a huntsman, he made long casts round and picked up the clue at Exeter, where a porter remembered them from what sounded like an altercation in a second-class compartment, where a dark young lady was in tears, and the “gent” who was with her said something to her sharply in a foreign tongue. Pressed as to what it was like, he said it sounded as if the gent said “Taisey.”There the sergeant had lost the clue; but he had learned enough to satisfy himself that the fugitives had been making for London, unless they had branched off at Bristol, which was hardly likely.“Come up to London,” said Leslie. “Well, that is what we surmised before we applied to you.”“Exactly, sir; but I have nearly made your surmise a certainty.”“Yes, nearly,” said Leslie bitterly.“We must have time, sir. A hunter does not secure his game by rushing at it. He stalks it.”“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in assent, “and of course you must be certain. This is not a criminal matter.”“No, sir, of course not,” said the sergeant dryly, and with a meaning in his tone which the others did not detect.“If you are successful in finding their whereabouts, mind that your task ends there. You will give us due notice, and we will see to the rest.”“Certainly, sir; and I have men on the look out. The bottle of hay is being pretty well tossed over, and some day I hope to see the shine of the needle among the puzzling dry strands. Good morning.”“Is that man a humbug, sir, or in earnest?”“Earnest,” replied Uncle Luke. “He proved that before.”If the occupants of the hotel room, which seemed to Leslie like a prison, could have read Sergeant Parkins’ mind as he went away, they would have thought him in deadly earnest.“Not a criminal case, gentlemen, eh?” he said to himself. “If it is as I think, it is very criminal indeed, and Mr Pradelle will find it so before he is much older. I haven’t forgotten the night on Hakemouth Pier, and that poor boy’s death, and I shan’t feel very happy till I’ve squared accounts with him, for if he was not the starter of all that trouble I am no judge of men.”
A week of anxiety, with the breaks in it of interviews with Sergeant Parkins, who had very little to communicate; but still that little was cogent.
He had been down to Hakemouth, and by careful inquiry had tracked the missing pair to Plymouth, where he had missed them. But, after the fashion of a huntsman, he made long casts round and picked up the clue at Exeter, where a porter remembered them from what sounded like an altercation in a second-class compartment, where a dark young lady was in tears, and the “gent” who was with her said something to her sharply in a foreign tongue. Pressed as to what it was like, he said it sounded as if the gent said “Taisey.”
There the sergeant had lost the clue; but he had learned enough to satisfy himself that the fugitives had been making for London, unless they had branched off at Bristol, which was hardly likely.
“Come up to London,” said Leslie. “Well, that is what we surmised before we applied to you.”
“Exactly, sir; but I have nearly made your surmise a certainty.”
“Yes, nearly,” said Leslie bitterly.
“We must have time, sir. A hunter does not secure his game by rushing at it. He stalks it.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in assent, “and of course you must be certain. This is not a criminal matter.”
“No, sir, of course not,” said the sergeant dryly, and with a meaning in his tone which the others did not detect.
“If you are successful in finding their whereabouts, mind that your task ends there. You will give us due notice, and we will see to the rest.”
“Certainly, sir; and I have men on the look out. The bottle of hay is being pretty well tossed over, and some day I hope to see the shine of the needle among the puzzling dry strands. Good morning.”
“Is that man a humbug, sir, or in earnest?”
“Earnest,” replied Uncle Luke. “He proved that before.”
If the occupants of the hotel room, which seemed to Leslie like a prison, could have read Sergeant Parkins’ mind as he went away, they would have thought him in deadly earnest.
“Not a criminal case, gentlemen, eh?” he said to himself. “If it is as I think, it is very criminal indeed, and Mr Pradelle will find it so before he is much older. I haven’t forgotten the night on Hakemouth Pier, and that poor boy’s death, and I shan’t feel very happy till I’ve squared accounts with him, for if he was not the starter of all that trouble I am no judge of men.”
Volume Three—Chapter Seventeen.Pradelle is Pricked.Seeing more and more that if an alteration was to be made in their present position, the change must come from her urging, Louise attacked her brother soon after breakfast the next morning. She was fully convinced that Pradelle was determined to keep them in London for reasons of his own—reasons the bare thought of which brought an indignant flush into her cheek; and it was evident that he was gaining greater influence over his old companion, who was just now in the stage when it would be easy for one of strong mind to gain the mastery. This being so, Louise determined that hers should be the strong will, not Pradelle’s. To this end she took three or four of the most likely of her jewels, making a point of carefully wrapping them up and dwelling upon the task till she caught her brother’s attention.“What are you doing there?” he said.“Getting ready some things upon which to raise money.”He uttered an impatient ejaculation.“Leave them till Pradelle comes.”“No, Harry; either you or I must part with these. Who is it to be?”“Let Pradelle take them.”“No,” she said firmly. “It is time that we acted for ourselves. Will you go, or shall I?”“But you heard what he said yesterday?”“Yes, and I do not believe it. Come, Harry, for your own sake, for mine.”“Yes, yes; but wait.”“You forced me into this compromising position to help you escape from England.”“I could not help it.”“I am not blaming you; I only say act, or let me.”He started from his chair, and stood there swayed by the various passions which pervaded his spirit.“Harry.”“I cannot do it.”“Then let me go.”“No, no, no!” he cried. “I am not so lost to all manly feeling as that. Here, give them to me, and let us get away.”“Yes,” she said eagerly, “at once. You will go, Harry, and let us cross to-night.”He nodded his head, and without another word swept the jewels into his pocket, and made towards the door. As he laid his hand upon the lock he turned sharply and came back.“I’m like a curse to you, Louie,” he said, kissing her; “but I’m going to try, and you shall guide me now.”She clung to him for a few moments, and then loosened her grasp.“I shall be ready when you come back,” she said. “We can pay these people, and it will be like breathing afresh to get away.”“Yes,” he said. “But Pradelle?”“Is our enemy, Harry. Your evil genius.”“No, no; he has been very kind.”“For his own ends. There, go.”He went off without a word; and after making the few trifling preparations necessary, Louise put on her hat and cloak, and waited impatiently for her brother’s return. An hour passed, which seemed like two, and then the blood mounted to her pale cheek, and she crossed towards the door ready to admit her brother, for there was a step upon the stair. She glanced round to see if she had forgotten anything, but there was nothing to do, save to pay the landlady, and then they would be free. She threw open the door as the step paused on the landing, and then she ran back with her lips apart, and a look of repugnance and dread in her eyes.“Mr Pradelle!”“Yes, Miss Louie, me it is, and you don’t look best pleased to see me.”As she fell back he entered and closed the door.“My brother is out, Mr Pradelle.”He nodded, and stood smiling at her.“You can leave any message you wish for him.”“And go? Exactly. Hah! I should like to make you think differently of me, Miss Louie. You know I always loved—”“Mr Pradelle, I am alone here, and this visit is an intrusion.”“Intrusion? Ah, how hard you do keep on me; but I’m patient as a man can be. What a welcome to one who has come to serve you! I am only your brother’s messenger, Miss Louie. He has been and done that business.”“You know?”“Of course I know. Harry is not so hard upon me as you are. I have seen him, and he sent me on here with a cab. He wants you to join him.”“To join him?”“Yes, at the station. He says it is not safe to come back here, and you are to join him at the waiting-room.”“He sent that message by you?”“Yes. It’s all nonsense, of course, for I think he has not so much cause to be alarmed. There is a risk, but he magnifies it. You are ready, so let’s go on at once.”“Why did not my brother return? There is the landlady to pay.”“He has commissioned me to do that. I am going to see you both off, and if you’ll only say a kind word to me, Miss Louie, I don’t know but what I’ll come with you.”“Did my brother send that message to me, Mr Pradelle?” said Louise, looking at him fixedly.“Yes, and the cab’s waiting at the door.”“It is not true,” said Louise firmly.“What?”“I say, sir, it is not true. After what has passed between us this morning, my brother would not send such a message by you.”“Well, if ever man had cause to be hurt I have,” cried Pradelle. “Why, you’ll tell me next that he didn’t go out to pawn some of your jewels.”Louise hesitated.“There, you see, I am right. He has taken quite a scare, and daren’t come back. Perhaps you won’t believe that. There, come along; we’re wasting time.”“It is not true.”“How can you be so foolish! I tell you I was to bring you along, and you must come now. Hush! don’t talk, but come.”He caught her hand and drew it through his arm so suddenly that, hesitating between faith and doubt, she made no resistance; and, ready to blame herself now for her want of trust, she was accompanying him towards the door when it was opened quickly, and their way was blocked by Leslie and Uncle Luke.Pradelle uttered an angry ejaculation, and Louise shrank back speechless, her eyes dilated, her lips apart, and a bewildering sense of confusion robbing her of the power of speech, as she realised to the full her position in the sight of those who had sought her out.“Then he was right, Leslie,” said Uncle Luke slowly, as he looked from his niece to Pradelle, and back.“Uncle!” she cried in agony, “what are you thinking?”“That you are my niece—a woman,” said the old man coldly; “and that this is Mr Pradelle.”“Uncle, dear uncle, let me explain,” cried Louise wildly, as she shivered at the look of contempt cast upon her by Leslie.“The situation needs no explanation,” said Uncle Luke coldly.“Not a bit,” said Pradelle with a half laugh. “Well, gentlemen, what do you want? This lady is under my protection. Please to let us pass.”“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in the same coldly sarcastic tone of voice, “you can pass, but, in spite of everything, the lady stays with me.”“No, sir, she goes with me,” said Pradelle in a blustering tone. “Come on,” he whispered, “for Harry’s sake.”“No,” said Uncle Luke. “I think we will spare her the pain of seeing you arrested. Mr Pradelle, the police are on the stairs.”
Seeing more and more that if an alteration was to be made in their present position, the change must come from her urging, Louise attacked her brother soon after breakfast the next morning. She was fully convinced that Pradelle was determined to keep them in London for reasons of his own—reasons the bare thought of which brought an indignant flush into her cheek; and it was evident that he was gaining greater influence over his old companion, who was just now in the stage when it would be easy for one of strong mind to gain the mastery. This being so, Louise determined that hers should be the strong will, not Pradelle’s. To this end she took three or four of the most likely of her jewels, making a point of carefully wrapping them up and dwelling upon the task till she caught her brother’s attention.
“What are you doing there?” he said.
“Getting ready some things upon which to raise money.”
He uttered an impatient ejaculation.
“Leave them till Pradelle comes.”
“No, Harry; either you or I must part with these. Who is it to be?”
“Let Pradelle take them.”
“No,” she said firmly. “It is time that we acted for ourselves. Will you go, or shall I?”
“But you heard what he said yesterday?”
“Yes, and I do not believe it. Come, Harry, for your own sake, for mine.”
“Yes, yes; but wait.”
“You forced me into this compromising position to help you escape from England.”
“I could not help it.”
“I am not blaming you; I only say act, or let me.”
He started from his chair, and stood there swayed by the various passions which pervaded his spirit.
“Harry.”
“I cannot do it.”
“Then let me go.”
“No, no, no!” he cried. “I am not so lost to all manly feeling as that. Here, give them to me, and let us get away.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly, “at once. You will go, Harry, and let us cross to-night.”
He nodded his head, and without another word swept the jewels into his pocket, and made towards the door. As he laid his hand upon the lock he turned sharply and came back.
“I’m like a curse to you, Louie,” he said, kissing her; “but I’m going to try, and you shall guide me now.”
She clung to him for a few moments, and then loosened her grasp.
“I shall be ready when you come back,” she said. “We can pay these people, and it will be like breathing afresh to get away.”
“Yes,” he said. “But Pradelle?”
“Is our enemy, Harry. Your evil genius.”
“No, no; he has been very kind.”
“For his own ends. There, go.”
He went off without a word; and after making the few trifling preparations necessary, Louise put on her hat and cloak, and waited impatiently for her brother’s return. An hour passed, which seemed like two, and then the blood mounted to her pale cheek, and she crossed towards the door ready to admit her brother, for there was a step upon the stair. She glanced round to see if she had forgotten anything, but there was nothing to do, save to pay the landlady, and then they would be free. She threw open the door as the step paused on the landing, and then she ran back with her lips apart, and a look of repugnance and dread in her eyes.
“Mr Pradelle!”
“Yes, Miss Louie, me it is, and you don’t look best pleased to see me.”
As she fell back he entered and closed the door.
“My brother is out, Mr Pradelle.”
He nodded, and stood smiling at her.
“You can leave any message you wish for him.”
“And go? Exactly. Hah! I should like to make you think differently of me, Miss Louie. You know I always loved—”
“Mr Pradelle, I am alone here, and this visit is an intrusion.”
“Intrusion? Ah, how hard you do keep on me; but I’m patient as a man can be. What a welcome to one who has come to serve you! I am only your brother’s messenger, Miss Louie. He has been and done that business.”
“You know?”
“Of course I know. Harry is not so hard upon me as you are. I have seen him, and he sent me on here with a cab. He wants you to join him.”
“To join him?”
“Yes, at the station. He says it is not safe to come back here, and you are to join him at the waiting-room.”
“He sent that message by you?”
“Yes. It’s all nonsense, of course, for I think he has not so much cause to be alarmed. There is a risk, but he magnifies it. You are ready, so let’s go on at once.”
“Why did not my brother return? There is the landlady to pay.”
“He has commissioned me to do that. I am going to see you both off, and if you’ll only say a kind word to me, Miss Louie, I don’t know but what I’ll come with you.”
“Did my brother send that message to me, Mr Pradelle?” said Louise, looking at him fixedly.
“Yes, and the cab’s waiting at the door.”
“It is not true,” said Louise firmly.
“What?”
“I say, sir, it is not true. After what has passed between us this morning, my brother would not send such a message by you.”
“Well, if ever man had cause to be hurt I have,” cried Pradelle. “Why, you’ll tell me next that he didn’t go out to pawn some of your jewels.”
Louise hesitated.
“There, you see, I am right. He has taken quite a scare, and daren’t come back. Perhaps you won’t believe that. There, come along; we’re wasting time.”
“It is not true.”
“How can you be so foolish! I tell you I was to bring you along, and you must come now. Hush! don’t talk, but come.”
He caught her hand and drew it through his arm so suddenly that, hesitating between faith and doubt, she made no resistance; and, ready to blame herself now for her want of trust, she was accompanying him towards the door when it was opened quickly, and their way was blocked by Leslie and Uncle Luke.
Pradelle uttered an angry ejaculation, and Louise shrank back speechless, her eyes dilated, her lips apart, and a bewildering sense of confusion robbing her of the power of speech, as she realised to the full her position in the sight of those who had sought her out.
“Then he was right, Leslie,” said Uncle Luke slowly, as he looked from his niece to Pradelle, and back.
“Uncle!” she cried in agony, “what are you thinking?”
“That you are my niece—a woman,” said the old man coldly; “and that this is Mr Pradelle.”
“Uncle, dear uncle, let me explain,” cried Louise wildly, as she shivered at the look of contempt cast upon her by Leslie.
“The situation needs no explanation,” said Uncle Luke coldly.
“Not a bit,” said Pradelle with a half laugh. “Well, gentlemen, what do you want? This lady is under my protection. Please to let us pass.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in the same coldly sarcastic tone of voice, “you can pass, but, in spite of everything, the lady stays with me.”
“No, sir, she goes with me,” said Pradelle in a blustering tone. “Come on,” he whispered, “for Harry’s sake.”
“No,” said Uncle Luke. “I think we will spare her the pain of seeing you arrested. Mr Pradelle, the police are on the stairs.”
Volume Three—Chapter Eighteen.The Dog Bites.Pradelle started back as if he had been stung.“Police?” he said. “What do you mean?”“What a man does mean, you scoundrel, when he talks about them—to give you into custody.”“It is not a criminal offence to elope with a lady,” said Pradelle, with a malicious look at Leslie, who stood before the door with his hands clenched.“Uncle!” cried Louise, whose pale face now flamed up as she glanced at Leslie, and saw that he avoided her eyes.“You wait,” he said. “I’ll finish with this fellow first, and end by taking you home.”“But, uncle, let me explain.”“You’ll hold your tongue!” cried Pradelle sharply. “Think what you are going to do.”“Yes, she can hold her tongue,” cried Uncle Luke, “while I settle our little business, sir. Let me see. Ah! I was always sure of that.”Pradelle had thrust himself forward offensively, and in a threatening manner so near that the old man had only to dart out one hand to seize him by the throat; and quick as lightning had drawn an old gold ring from the scarf the young man wore.“What are you doing?” roared Pradelle, clenching his fist.“Taking possession of my own. Look here, Leslie, my old signet-ring that scoundrel took from a nail over my chimney-piece.”“It’s a lie, it’s—”“My crest, and enough by itself to justify the police being called up.”“A trick, a trumped-up charge,” cried Pradelle.“You must prove that at the same time you clear yourself of robbing Van Heldre.”“I—I rob Van Heldre! I swear I never had a shilling of his money.”“You were not coming away when I knocked you down with old Crampton’s ruler, eh?”Pradelle shrank from the upraised stick, and with an involuntary movement clapped his hand to his head.“See that, Leslie!” cried the old man with a sneering laugh. “Yes, that was the place. I hit as hard as I could.”“A trick, a trap! Bah! I’m not scared by your threats. You stand aside, and let us pass!” cried Pradelle in a loud, bullying way, as he tried to draw Louise toward the door; but she freed herself from his grasp.“No, no!” she cried wildly, as with ears and eyes on the strain she glanced at window and door, and caught her uncle’s arm.“Hah! glad you have so much good sense left. Nice scoundrel this to choose, my girl!”“Uncle!” she whispered, “you shall let me explain.”“I don’t want to hear any explanation,” cried the old man angrily. “I know quite enough. Will you come home with me?”“Yes!” she cried eagerly, and Leslie drew a breath full of relief. “No!”The negative came like a cry of agony.“I cannot, uncle, I cannot.”“I’ll see about that,” cried the old man. “Now, Leslie, ask Sergeant Parkins to step up here.”“Let him if he dares!” cried Pradelle fiercely.“Oh, he dares,” said Uncle Luke, smiling. “Call him up, for it is a criminal case, after all.”“Stop!” cried Pradelle, as Leslie laid his hand upon the door.“Yes, stop—pray, pray stop!” cried Louise in agony; and with a wild look of horror, which stung Leslie with jealous rage. “Uncle, you must not do this.”“I’d do it if it was ten times as hard!” cried the old man.“What shall I say—what shall I do?” moaned Louise. “Uncle, uncle, pray don’t do this. You must not send for the police. Give me time to explain—to set you right.”“Shame upon you!” cried the old man fiercely. “Defending such a scoundrel as that!”“No, no, uncle, I do not defend this man. Listen to me; you do not know what you are doing.”“Not know what I am doing? Ah!”He turned from her in disgust, and with a look of agony that thrilled him, she caught Leslie’s arm.“You will listen to me, Mr Leslie. You must not, you shall not, call in the police.”He did not speak for the moment, but stood hesitating as if yielding to her prayer; but the frown deepened upon his brow as he loosened her grasp upon his arm.“It is for your good,” he said coldly, “to save you from a man like that.”“I must speak, I must speak!” cried Louise, and then she uttered a wail of horror and shrank to her uncle’s side.For as she clung to Leslie, Pradelle, with a bullying look, planted himself before the door to arrest Leslie’s progress, and then shrank back as he saw the grim smile of satisfaction upon the young Scot’s face.It was the work of moments, and the action seemed like to that of one of his own country deerhounds, as Leslie clashed at him; there was the dull sound of a heavy blow, and Pradelle went down with a crash in one corner of the room.“Mr Leslie! Mr Leslie! for pity’s sake stay!” cried Louise as she made for the door; but Uncle Luke caught her hand, and retained it as the door swung to.“Uncle, uncle!” she moaned, “what have you done?”“Done?” he cried. “You mad, infatuated girl! My duty to my brother and to you.”“All right,” said Pradelle, rising slowly. “Let’s have in the police then. I can clear myself, I dare say.”“Mr Pradelle, if you have a spark of manliness in you, pray say no more,” cried Louise, as, snatching herself free, she ran to him now.“Oh, I’m not going to be made a scapegoat!” he cried savagely; but as his eyes met hers full of piteous appeal, his whole manner changed, and he caught her hands in his.“Yes, I will,” he whispered. “I’ll bear it all. It can’t be for long, and I may get off. Promise me—”He said the rest of the words with his lips close to her ear.“Your wife?” she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle. “No, no, no!”There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant Parkins stepped in.“Mr Pradelle, eh?” he said with a grim smile. “Glad to make your acquaintance, sir, at last. You’ll come quietly?”“Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Pradelle. “I’ve got an answer to the charge.”“Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your pleasant little game. Shall I?”“There’s no need,” said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation toward his wrists. “I know how to behave like a gentleman.”“That’s right,” said the sergeant, who, with a display of delicacy hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on her face.“It ain’t too late yet, Miss Louie,” said Pradelle, crossing towards her.“Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins,” cried Uncle Luke.“Right, sir. Now, Mr Pradelle.”“Stop a moment, can’t you?” shouted the prisoner. “Miss Louie—to save him you’ll promise, and I’ll be dumb. I swear I will.”Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast.“No,” she said firmly, “I cannot promise that. Uncle dear, I have tried to save him to the last. I can do no more.”“No,” said the old man, “you can do no more.”“Mr Pradelle,” she cried, “you will not be so base?”“Will you promise?” he cried.“No.”“Then—here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a word?”“No,” roared Uncle Luke. “Take him away.”“Then the sergeant here will,” cried Pradelle savagely. “Look here, sit down and wait for a few minutes, and you can take Harry Vine as well.”“What do you mean?” cried the sergeant roughly.“Only that he has gone out to raise the money for a bolt to France, and he’ll be back directly. Two birds with one stone.”“Only a trick, sir,” said the sergeant grimly. “Now, Mr Pradelle, hansom or four-wheeler? I give you your choice.”“Four-wheeler,” said Pradelle, with a sneering laugh.“My poor brother!” moaned Louise, as she made a clutch at the air, and then sank fainting in her uncle’s arms.“You scoundrel! to speak like that,” cried Uncle Luke fiercely.“Here, what do you mean?” said the sergeant.“What I said. He wasn’t drowned. Harry was too clever for that.”Click—click!A pair of handcuffs were fastened to his wrists with marvellous celerity, and he was swung into a chair.“I don’t know whether this is a bit of gammon, Mr Pradelle,” said the sergeant sharply, “but I never lose a chance.”He paid not the slightest heed to the other occupants of the room, but ran to the window, threw it open, and called to some one below, but only his last words were heard by those inside.“Quick! first one you see, and I’ll give you a shilling.”The sergeant closed the window, and crossed to Pradelle.“If it’s a trick it will do you no good. You see, to begin with, it has brought you those.”“I don’t care,” said Pradelle, glowering at Uncle Luke. “It will take some of the pride out of him, and I shan’t go alone.”“It is a trick, sergeant. Take the scoundrel away.”“Must make sure, sir. Sorry for the lady, but she may have been deceived that horrible night, and there’s more in this than I can understand. Your friend be long, sir?”“Mr Leslie? I expected him back with you.”“Mr Leslie went on out into the street, sir. Here, I have it. He has been in hiding down your way, and came up with the lady there.”“That’s it, sergeant, you’re a ’cute one,” said Pradelle with a laugh.“Who has been in hiding?”“Your nephew, sir. I see it all now. What a fool I’ve been.”“My nephew!—Not dead?”“Harry—brother!” moaned Louise. “I could do no more. Ah!”Uncle Luke fell a-trembling as he caught the half-insensible girl’s hand, gazing wildly at the sergeant the while.“Look here, Pradelle, no more nonsense. Will he come back?”“If you keep quiet of course. Not if he sees you.”“All!” ejaculated the sergeant, crossing to the door as he heard a step; and hurrying out he returned directly with a constable in uniform.“Stop!” he said shortly, and he nodded to the prisoner. “Very sorry, Mr Vine, sir,” he then said; “but you must stay here for a bit. I am going down to wait outside.”“But, Parkins!” cried Uncle Luke, agitatedly, “I cannot. If this is true—that poor boy—no, no, he must not be taken now.”“Too late, sir, to talk like that,” cried the sergeant. “You stop there.”“Yes,” said Pradelle, as the door closed on the sergeant’s retiring figure; “pleasant for you. I always hated you for a sneering old crab. It’s your time to feel now.”“Silence, you scoundrel!” cried Uncle Luke, fiercely. “She’s coming to.”Uncle Luke was wrong, for Louise only moaned slightly, and then relapsed into insensibility, from which a doctor who was fetched did not seem to recall her, and hour after hour of patient watching followed, but Harry did not return.“The bird has been scared, sir,” said Parkins, entering the room at last. “I can’t ask you to stay longer. There’s a cab at the door to take the lady to your hotel.”“But are you sure—that—my poor boy lives?”“Certain, sir, now. I’ve had his description from the people down below. I shall have him before to-night.”“L’homme propose, mais—”Five minutes later Louise, quite insensible, was being borne to the hotel; Mr Pradelle, to an establishment offering similar advantages as to bed and board, but with the freedom of ingress and egress left out.
Pradelle started back as if he had been stung.
“Police?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“What a man does mean, you scoundrel, when he talks about them—to give you into custody.”
“It is not a criminal offence to elope with a lady,” said Pradelle, with a malicious look at Leslie, who stood before the door with his hands clenched.
“Uncle!” cried Louise, whose pale face now flamed up as she glanced at Leslie, and saw that he avoided her eyes.
“You wait,” he said. “I’ll finish with this fellow first, and end by taking you home.”
“But, uncle, let me explain.”
“You’ll hold your tongue!” cried Pradelle sharply. “Think what you are going to do.”
“Yes, she can hold her tongue,” cried Uncle Luke, “while I settle our little business, sir. Let me see. Ah! I was always sure of that.”
Pradelle had thrust himself forward offensively, and in a threatening manner so near that the old man had only to dart out one hand to seize him by the throat; and quick as lightning had drawn an old gold ring from the scarf the young man wore.
“What are you doing?” roared Pradelle, clenching his fist.
“Taking possession of my own. Look here, Leslie, my old signet-ring that scoundrel took from a nail over my chimney-piece.”
“It’s a lie, it’s—”
“My crest, and enough by itself to justify the police being called up.”
“A trick, a trumped-up charge,” cried Pradelle.
“You must prove that at the same time you clear yourself of robbing Van Heldre.”
“I—I rob Van Heldre! I swear I never had a shilling of his money.”
“You were not coming away when I knocked you down with old Crampton’s ruler, eh?”
Pradelle shrank from the upraised stick, and with an involuntary movement clapped his hand to his head.
“See that, Leslie!” cried the old man with a sneering laugh. “Yes, that was the place. I hit as hard as I could.”
“A trick, a trap! Bah! I’m not scared by your threats. You stand aside, and let us pass!” cried Pradelle in a loud, bullying way, as he tried to draw Louise toward the door; but she freed herself from his grasp.
“No, no!” she cried wildly, as with ears and eyes on the strain she glanced at window and door, and caught her uncle’s arm.
“Hah! glad you have so much good sense left. Nice scoundrel this to choose, my girl!”
“Uncle!” she whispered, “you shall let me explain.”
“I don’t want to hear any explanation,” cried the old man angrily. “I know quite enough. Will you come home with me?”
“Yes!” she cried eagerly, and Leslie drew a breath full of relief. “No!”
The negative came like a cry of agony.
“I cannot, uncle, I cannot.”
“I’ll see about that,” cried the old man. “Now, Leslie, ask Sergeant Parkins to step up here.”
“Let him if he dares!” cried Pradelle fiercely.
“Oh, he dares,” said Uncle Luke, smiling. “Call him up, for it is a criminal case, after all.”
“Stop!” cried Pradelle, as Leslie laid his hand upon the door.
“Yes, stop—pray, pray stop!” cried Louise in agony; and with a wild look of horror, which stung Leslie with jealous rage. “Uncle, you must not do this.”
“I’d do it if it was ten times as hard!” cried the old man.
“What shall I say—what shall I do?” moaned Louise. “Uncle, uncle, pray don’t do this. You must not send for the police. Give me time to explain—to set you right.”
“Shame upon you!” cried the old man fiercely. “Defending such a scoundrel as that!”
“No, no, uncle, I do not defend this man. Listen to me; you do not know what you are doing.”
“Not know what I am doing? Ah!”
He turned from her in disgust, and with a look of agony that thrilled him, she caught Leslie’s arm.
“You will listen to me, Mr Leslie. You must not, you shall not, call in the police.”
He did not speak for the moment, but stood hesitating as if yielding to her prayer; but the frown deepened upon his brow as he loosened her grasp upon his arm.
“It is for your good,” he said coldly, “to save you from a man like that.”
“I must speak, I must speak!” cried Louise, and then she uttered a wail of horror and shrank to her uncle’s side.
For as she clung to Leslie, Pradelle, with a bullying look, planted himself before the door to arrest Leslie’s progress, and then shrank back as he saw the grim smile of satisfaction upon the young Scot’s face.
It was the work of moments, and the action seemed like to that of one of his own country deerhounds, as Leslie clashed at him; there was the dull sound of a heavy blow, and Pradelle went down with a crash in one corner of the room.
“Mr Leslie! Mr Leslie! for pity’s sake stay!” cried Louise as she made for the door; but Uncle Luke caught her hand, and retained it as the door swung to.
“Uncle, uncle!” she moaned, “what have you done?”
“Done?” he cried. “You mad, infatuated girl! My duty to my brother and to you.”
“All right,” said Pradelle, rising slowly. “Let’s have in the police then. I can clear myself, I dare say.”
“Mr Pradelle, if you have a spark of manliness in you, pray say no more,” cried Louise, as, snatching herself free, she ran to him now.
“Oh, I’m not going to be made a scapegoat!” he cried savagely; but as his eyes met hers full of piteous appeal, his whole manner changed, and he caught her hands in his.
“Yes, I will,” he whispered. “I’ll bear it all. It can’t be for long, and I may get off. Promise me—”
He said the rest of the words with his lips close to her ear.
“Your wife?” she faltered as she shrank away and crossed to her uncle. “No, no, no!”
There was a sharp rap on the panel, the door yielded, and Sergeant Parkins stepped in.
“Mr Pradelle, eh?” he said with a grim smile. “Glad to make your acquaintance, sir, at last. You’ll come quietly?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll come,” said Pradelle. “I’ve got an answer to the charge.”
“Of course you have, sir. Glad to hear it. Sorry to put a stop to your pleasant little game. Shall I?”
“There’s no need,” said Pradelle in answer to a meaning gesticulation toward his wrists. “I know how to behave like a gentleman.”
“That’s right,” said the sergeant, who, with a display of delicacy hardly to have been expected in his triumph at having, as he felt, had his prognostication fulfilled, carefully abstained from even glancing at the trembling girl, who stood there with agony and despair painted on her face.
“It ain’t too late yet, Miss Louie,” said Pradelle, crossing towards her.
“Keep that scoundrel back, Parkins,” cried Uncle Luke.
“Right, sir. Now, Mr Pradelle.”
“Stop a moment, can’t you?” shouted the prisoner. “Miss Louie—to save him you’ll promise, and I’ll be dumb. I swear I will.”
Louise drew herself up as a piteous sigh escaped her breast.
“No,” she said firmly, “I cannot promise that. Uncle dear, I have tried to save him to the last. I can do no more.”
“No,” said the old man, “you can do no more.”
“Mr Pradelle,” she cried, “you will not be so base?”
“Will you promise?” he cried.
“No.”
“Then—here, just a minute. You, Mr Luke Vine, will you give me a word?”
“No,” roared Uncle Luke. “Take him away.”
“Then the sergeant here will,” cried Pradelle savagely. “Look here, sit down and wait for a few minutes, and you can take Harry Vine as well.”
“What do you mean?” cried the sergeant roughly.
“Only that he has gone out to raise the money for a bolt to France, and he’ll be back directly. Two birds with one stone.”
“Only a trick, sir,” said the sergeant grimly. “Now, Mr Pradelle, hansom or four-wheeler? I give you your choice.”
“Four-wheeler,” said Pradelle, with a sneering laugh.
“My poor brother!” moaned Louise, as she made a clutch at the air, and then sank fainting in her uncle’s arms.
“You scoundrel! to speak like that,” cried Uncle Luke fiercely.
“Here, what do you mean?” said the sergeant.
“What I said. He wasn’t drowned. Harry was too clever for that.”
Click—click!
A pair of handcuffs were fastened to his wrists with marvellous celerity, and he was swung into a chair.
“I don’t know whether this is a bit of gammon, Mr Pradelle,” said the sergeant sharply, “but I never lose a chance.”
He paid not the slightest heed to the other occupants of the room, but ran to the window, threw it open, and called to some one below, but only his last words were heard by those inside.
“Quick! first one you see, and I’ll give you a shilling.”
The sergeant closed the window, and crossed to Pradelle.
“If it’s a trick it will do you no good. You see, to begin with, it has brought you those.”
“I don’t care,” said Pradelle, glowering at Uncle Luke. “It will take some of the pride out of him, and I shan’t go alone.”
“It is a trick, sergeant. Take the scoundrel away.”
“Must make sure, sir. Sorry for the lady, but she may have been deceived that horrible night, and there’s more in this than I can understand. Your friend be long, sir?”
“Mr Leslie? I expected him back with you.”
“Mr Leslie went on out into the street, sir. Here, I have it. He has been in hiding down your way, and came up with the lady there.”
“That’s it, sergeant, you’re a ’cute one,” said Pradelle with a laugh.
“Who has been in hiding?”
“Your nephew, sir. I see it all now. What a fool I’ve been.”
“My nephew!—Not dead?”
“Harry—brother!” moaned Louise. “I could do no more. Ah!”
Uncle Luke fell a-trembling as he caught the half-insensible girl’s hand, gazing wildly at the sergeant the while.
“Look here, Pradelle, no more nonsense. Will he come back?”
“If you keep quiet of course. Not if he sees you.”
“All!” ejaculated the sergeant, crossing to the door as he heard a step; and hurrying out he returned directly with a constable in uniform.
“Stop!” he said shortly, and he nodded to the prisoner. “Very sorry, Mr Vine, sir,” he then said; “but you must stay here for a bit. I am going down to wait outside.”
“But, Parkins!” cried Uncle Luke, agitatedly, “I cannot. If this is true—that poor boy—no, no, he must not be taken now.”
“Too late, sir, to talk like that,” cried the sergeant. “You stop there.”
“Yes,” said Pradelle, as the door closed on the sergeant’s retiring figure; “pleasant for you. I always hated you for a sneering old crab. It’s your time to feel now.”
“Silence, you scoundrel!” cried Uncle Luke, fiercely. “She’s coming to.”
Uncle Luke was wrong, for Louise only moaned slightly, and then relapsed into insensibility, from which a doctor who was fetched did not seem to recall her, and hour after hour of patient watching followed, but Harry did not return.
“The bird has been scared, sir,” said Parkins, entering the room at last. “I can’t ask you to stay longer. There’s a cab at the door to take the lady to your hotel.”
“But are you sure—that—my poor boy lives?”
“Certain, sir, now. I’ve had his description from the people down below. I shall have him before to-night.”
“L’homme propose, mais—”
Five minutes later Louise, quite insensible, was being borne to the hotel; Mr Pradelle, to an establishment offering similar advantages as to bed and board, but with the freedom of ingress and egress left out.
Volume Three—Chapter Nineteen.Diogenes Discovers.“Blame you, my dear? No, no, of course not. Then you knew nothing about it till that night when he came to the window?”“Oh no, uncle dear.”Louise started up excitedly from the couch at the hotel upon which she was lying, while the old man trotted up and down the room.“Now, now, now,” he cried piteously, but with exceeding tenderness, as he laid his hand upon her brow, and pressed her back till her head rested on the pillow. “Your head’s getting hot again, and the doctor said you were not to be excited in any way. There, let’s talk about fishing, or sea-anemones, or something else.”“No, no, uncle dear, I must talk about this, or I shall be worse.”“Then for goodness’ sake let’s talk about it,” he said eagerly, as he took a chair by her side and held her hand.“You don’t blame me then—very much.”“Well, say not very much; but it’s not very pleasant to have a nephew who makes one believe he’s dead, and a niece who pretends that she has bolted with a scampish Frenchman.”“Uncle, uncle,” she cried piteously. “You see it has been a terrible upset for me, while as to your poor father—”“But, uncle, dear, what could I do?”“Well, when you were writing, you might have said a little more.”“I wrote what poor Harry forced me to write. What else could I say?”“You see, it has upset us all so terribly. George—I mean your father—will never forgive you.”“But you do not put yourself in my place, uncle. Think of how Harry was situated; think of his horror of being taken. Indeed, he was half mad.”“No: quite, Louie; and you seem to have caught the complaint.”“I hardly knew what I did. It was like some terrible dream. Harry frightened me then.”“Enough to frighten any one, appearing like a ghost at the window when we believed he was dead.”“I did not mean that, uncle. I mean that he was in a terrible state of fever, and hardly seemed accountable for his actions. I think I should have felt obliged to go with him, even if he had not been so determined.”“Ah! well, you’ve talked about it quite enough.”“No, no; I must talk about it—about Harry. Oh! uncle! uncle! after all this suffering for him to be taken after all! The horror! the shame! the disgrace! You must—you shall save him!”“I’m going to try all I know, my darling; but when once you have started the police it’s hard work to keep them back.”“How could you do it?”“How could I do it?” cried the old man testily. “I didn’t do it to find him, of course, but to try and run you to earth. How could I know that Harry was alive?”“But you will not let him be imprisoned. Has he not suffered enough?”“Not more than he deserves to suffer, my child; but we must stop all that judge and jury business somehow. Get Van Heldre not to prosecute.”“I will go down on my knees to him, and stay at his feet till he promises to spare him—poor foolish boy! But, uncle, what are you going to do? You will not send word down?”“Not send word? Why, I sent to Madelaine a couple of hours ago, while you lay there insensible.”“You sent?”“Yes, a long telegram.”“Uncle, what have you done?”“What I ought to do, my child, and bade her tell her father and mother, and then go and break it gently to my brother.”“Uncle!”“There, there, my dear, you said I ought to put myself in your place; suppose you put yourself in mine.”“Yes, yes, uncle, dear; I see now; I see.”“Then try and be calm. You know how these difficulties sometimes settle themselves.”“Not such difficulties as these, uncle. Harry! my brother! my poor brother!”“Louie, my dear child!” said the old man, with a comical look of perplexity in his face, “have some pity on me.”“My dearest uncle,” she sobbed, as she drew his face down to hers.“Yes,” he said, kissing her; “that’s all very well, and affectionate, and nice; but do look here. You know how I live, and why I live as I do.”“Yes, uncle.”“To save myself from worry and anxiety. I am saving myself from trouble, am I not? Here, let go of my hand, and I’ll send off another message to hasten your father up, so as to set me free.”“No, uncle, dear, you will not leave me,” she said, with a pleading look in her eyes.“There you go!” he cried. “I wish you wouldn’t have so much faith in me, Louie. You ought to know better; but you always would believe in me.”“Yes, uncle, always,” said Louise, as she placed his hand upon her pillow, and her cheek in his palm.“Well, all I can say is that it’s a great nuisance for me. But I’m glad I’ve found you, my dear, all the same.”“After believing all manner of evil of me, uncle.”“No, no, not quite so bad as that. There: never mind what I thought. I found you out, and just in the nick of time. I say, where the dickens can Leslie be?”“Mr Leslie!”Louise raised her face, with an excited look in her eyes.“Well, why are you looking like that?”“Tell me, uncle—was he very much hurt, that night?”“Nearly killed,” said the old man grimly, and with a furtive look at his niece.“Uncle!”“Well, what of it? He’s nothing to you. Good enough sort of fellow, but there are thousands of better men in the world.”Louise’s brow grew puckered, and a red spot burned in each of her cheeks.“Been very good and helped me to find you; paid the detective to hunt you out.”“Uncle! surely you will not let Mr Leslie pay.”“Not let him! I did let him. He has plenty of money, and I have none—handy.”“But, uncle!”“Oh! it pleased him to pay. I don’t know why, though, unless, like all young men, he wanted to make ducks and drakes of his cash.”Louise’s brow seemed to grow more contracted.“Bit of a change for him to run up to town. I suppose that’s what made him come,” continued the old man; “and now I’ve found you, I suppose he feels free to go about where he likes. I never liked him.”If Uncle Luke expected his niece to make some reply he was mistaken, for Louise lay back with her eyes half-closed, apparently thinking deeply, till there was a tap at the door.“Hah! that’s Leslie,” cried the old man, rising.“You will come back and tell me if there is any news of Harry, uncle,” whispered Louise. Then, with an agonised look up at him as she clung to his hands, “He will not help them?”“What, to capture that poor boy? No, no. Leslie must feel bitter against the man who struck him down, but not so bad as that.”The knock was repeated before he could free, his hands and cross the room.“Yes, what is it?”“That gentleman who has been to see you before, sir,” said the waiter, in a low voice.“Not Mr Leslie? He has not returned?”“No, sir.”“I’ll come directly. Where is he?”“In the coffee-room, sir.”Uncle Luke closed the door and recrossed the room, to where Louise had half risen and was gazing at him wildly.“News of Harry, uncle?”“Don’t know, my dear.”“You are keeping it from me. That man has taken him, and all this agony of suffering has been in vain.”“I’d give something if Madelaine were here,” said Uncle Luke. “No, no; I am not keeping back anything. I don’t know anything; I only came back to beg of you to be calm. There, I promise you that you shall know all.”“Even the worst?”“Even the worst.”Louise sank back, and the old man descended to the coffee-room, to find Parkins impatiently walking up and down.“Well?”“No, sir; no luck yet,” said that officer.“What do you mean with your no luck?” cried Uncle Luke angrily. “You don’t suppose I want him found?”“Perhaps not, sir, but I do. I never like to undertake a job without carrying it through, and I feel over this that I have been regularly tricked.”“What’s that to me, sir?”“Nothing, sir; but to a man in my position, with his character as a keen officer at stake, a great deal. Mr Leslie, sir. Has he been back?”“There, once for all, it’s of no use for you to come and question me, Parkins. I engaged you to track out my niece; you have succeeded, and you may draw what I promised you, and five-and-twenty guineas besides for the sharp way in which you carried it out. You have done your task, and I discharge you. I belong to the enemy now.”“Yes, sir; but I have the other job to finish, in which you did not instruct me.”“Look here, Parkins,” said Uncle Luke, taking him by the lapel of his coat, “never mind about the other business.”“But I do, sir. Every man has some pride, and mine is to succeed in every job I take in hand.”“Ah! well, look here; you shall succeed. You did your best over it, and we’ll consider it was the last act of the drama when my foolish nephew jumped into the sea.”“Oh, no, sir. I—”“Wait a minute. What a hurry you men are in! Now look here, Parkins. I’m only a poor quiet country person, and I should be sorry for you to think I tried to bribe you; but you’ve done your duty. Now go no farther in this matter, and I’ll sell out stock to a hundred pounds, and you shall transfer it to your name in the bank.”Parkins shook his head and frowned.“For a nest egg, man.”“No, sir.”“Then look here, my man; this is a painful family scandal, and I don’t want it to go any farther, for the sake of those who are suffering. I’ll make it two hundred.”“No, sir; no.”“Then two hundred and fifty; all clean money, Parkins.”“Dirty money, sir, you mean,” said the sergeant quietly. “Look here, Mr Luke Vine, you are, as you say, a quiet country gentleman, so I won’t be angry with you. You’ll give me five hundred pounds to stop this business and let your nephew get right away?”Uncle Luke drew a long breath.“Five hundred!” he muttered. “Well, it will come out of what I meant to leave him, and I suppose he’ll be very glad to give it to escape.”“Do you understand me, sir? You’ll give me five hundred pounds to stop this search?”Uncle Luke drew another long breath.“You’re a dreadful scoundrel, Parkins, and too much for me; but yes: you shall have the money.”“No, sir, I’m not a dreadful scoundrel, or I should make you pay me a thousand pounds.”“I wouldn’t pay it—not a penny more than five hundred.”“Yes, you would, sir; you’d pay me a thousand for the sake of that sweet young lady up-stairs. You’d pay me every shilling you’ve got if I worked you, and in spite of your shabby looks I believe you’re pretty warm.”“Never you mind my looks, sir, or my warmth,” cried Uncle Luke indignantly. “That matter is settled, then? Five hundred pounds?”“Thousand would be a nice bit of money for a man like me to have put away against the day I get a crack on the head or am shot by some scoundrel. Nice thing for the wife and my girl. Just about the same age as your niece, sir.”“That will do; that will do,” said Uncle Luke stiffly. “The business is settled, then.”“No, sir; not yet. I won’t be gruff with you, sir, because your motive’s honest, and I’m sorry to have to be hard at a time like this.”“You dog!” snarled Uncle Luke; “you have me down. Go on, worry me. There, out with it. I haven’t long to live. Tell me what I am to give you, and you shall have it.”“Your—hand, sir,” cried the sergeant; and as it was unwillingly extended he gripped it with tremendous force. “Your hand, sir, for that of a fine, true-hearted English gentleman. No, sir: I’m not to be bought at any price. If I could do it I would, for the sake of that poor broken-hearted girl; but it isn’t to be done. I will not insult you, though, by coming here to get information. Good-day, sir; and you can write to me. Good-bye.”He gave Uncle Luke’s hand a final wring, and then, with a short nod, left the room.“Diogenes the second,” said Uncle Luke, with a dry, harsh laugh; “and I’ve beaten Diogenes the first, for he took a lantern to find his honest man, and didn’t find him. I have found one without a light.”
“Blame you, my dear? No, no, of course not. Then you knew nothing about it till that night when he came to the window?”
“Oh no, uncle dear.”
Louise started up excitedly from the couch at the hotel upon which she was lying, while the old man trotted up and down the room.
“Now, now, now,” he cried piteously, but with exceeding tenderness, as he laid his hand upon her brow, and pressed her back till her head rested on the pillow. “Your head’s getting hot again, and the doctor said you were not to be excited in any way. There, let’s talk about fishing, or sea-anemones, or something else.”
“No, no, uncle dear, I must talk about this, or I shall be worse.”
“Then for goodness’ sake let’s talk about it,” he said eagerly, as he took a chair by her side and held her hand.
“You don’t blame me then—very much.”
“Well, say not very much; but it’s not very pleasant to have a nephew who makes one believe he’s dead, and a niece who pretends that she has bolted with a scampish Frenchman.”
“Uncle, uncle,” she cried piteously. “You see it has been a terrible upset for me, while as to your poor father—”
“But, uncle, dear, what could I do?”
“Well, when you were writing, you might have said a little more.”
“I wrote what poor Harry forced me to write. What else could I say?”
“You see, it has upset us all so terribly. George—I mean your father—will never forgive you.”
“But you do not put yourself in my place, uncle. Think of how Harry was situated; think of his horror of being taken. Indeed, he was half mad.”
“No: quite, Louie; and you seem to have caught the complaint.”
“I hardly knew what I did. It was like some terrible dream. Harry frightened me then.”
“Enough to frighten any one, appearing like a ghost at the window when we believed he was dead.”
“I did not mean that, uncle. I mean that he was in a terrible state of fever, and hardly seemed accountable for his actions. I think I should have felt obliged to go with him, even if he had not been so determined.”
“Ah! well, you’ve talked about it quite enough.”
“No, no; I must talk about it—about Harry. Oh! uncle! uncle! after all this suffering for him to be taken after all! The horror! the shame! the disgrace! You must—you shall save him!”
“I’m going to try all I know, my darling; but when once you have started the police it’s hard work to keep them back.”
“How could you do it?”
“How could I do it?” cried the old man testily. “I didn’t do it to find him, of course, but to try and run you to earth. How could I know that Harry was alive?”
“But you will not let him be imprisoned. Has he not suffered enough?”
“Not more than he deserves to suffer, my child; but we must stop all that judge and jury business somehow. Get Van Heldre not to prosecute.”
“I will go down on my knees to him, and stay at his feet till he promises to spare him—poor foolish boy! But, uncle, what are you going to do? You will not send word down?”
“Not send word? Why, I sent to Madelaine a couple of hours ago, while you lay there insensible.”
“You sent?”
“Yes, a long telegram.”
“Uncle, what have you done?”
“What I ought to do, my child, and bade her tell her father and mother, and then go and break it gently to my brother.”
“Uncle!”
“There, there, my dear, you said I ought to put myself in your place; suppose you put yourself in mine.”
“Yes, yes, uncle, dear; I see now; I see.”
“Then try and be calm. You know how these difficulties sometimes settle themselves.”
“Not such difficulties as these, uncle. Harry! my brother! my poor brother!”
“Louie, my dear child!” said the old man, with a comical look of perplexity in his face, “have some pity on me.”
“My dearest uncle,” she sobbed, as she drew his face down to hers.
“Yes,” he said, kissing her; “that’s all very well, and affectionate, and nice; but do look here. You know how I live, and why I live as I do.”
“Yes, uncle.”
“To save myself from worry and anxiety. I am saving myself from trouble, am I not? Here, let go of my hand, and I’ll send off another message to hasten your father up, so as to set me free.”
“No, uncle, dear, you will not leave me,” she said, with a pleading look in her eyes.
“There you go!” he cried. “I wish you wouldn’t have so much faith in me, Louie. You ought to know better; but you always would believe in me.”
“Yes, uncle, always,” said Louise, as she placed his hand upon her pillow, and her cheek in his palm.
“Well, all I can say is that it’s a great nuisance for me. But I’m glad I’ve found you, my dear, all the same.”
“After believing all manner of evil of me, uncle.”
“No, no, not quite so bad as that. There: never mind what I thought. I found you out, and just in the nick of time. I say, where the dickens can Leslie be?”
“Mr Leslie!”
Louise raised her face, with an excited look in her eyes.
“Well, why are you looking like that?”
“Tell me, uncle—was he very much hurt, that night?”
“Nearly killed,” said the old man grimly, and with a furtive look at his niece.
“Uncle!”
“Well, what of it? He’s nothing to you. Good enough sort of fellow, but there are thousands of better men in the world.”
Louise’s brow grew puckered, and a red spot burned in each of her cheeks.
“Been very good and helped me to find you; paid the detective to hunt you out.”
“Uncle! surely you will not let Mr Leslie pay.”
“Not let him! I did let him. He has plenty of money, and I have none—handy.”
“But, uncle!”
“Oh! it pleased him to pay. I don’t know why, though, unless, like all young men, he wanted to make ducks and drakes of his cash.”
Louise’s brow seemed to grow more contracted.
“Bit of a change for him to run up to town. I suppose that’s what made him come,” continued the old man; “and now I’ve found you, I suppose he feels free to go about where he likes. I never liked him.”
If Uncle Luke expected his niece to make some reply he was mistaken, for Louise lay back with her eyes half-closed, apparently thinking deeply, till there was a tap at the door.
“Hah! that’s Leslie,” cried the old man, rising.
“You will come back and tell me if there is any news of Harry, uncle,” whispered Louise. Then, with an agonised look up at him as she clung to his hands, “He will not help them?”
“What, to capture that poor boy? No, no. Leslie must feel bitter against the man who struck him down, but not so bad as that.”
The knock was repeated before he could free, his hands and cross the room.
“Yes, what is it?”
“That gentleman who has been to see you before, sir,” said the waiter, in a low voice.
“Not Mr Leslie? He has not returned?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll come directly. Where is he?”
“In the coffee-room, sir.”
Uncle Luke closed the door and recrossed the room, to where Louise had half risen and was gazing at him wildly.
“News of Harry, uncle?”
“Don’t know, my dear.”
“You are keeping it from me. That man has taken him, and all this agony of suffering has been in vain.”
“I’d give something if Madelaine were here,” said Uncle Luke. “No, no; I am not keeping back anything. I don’t know anything; I only came back to beg of you to be calm. There, I promise you that you shall know all.”
“Even the worst?”
“Even the worst.”
Louise sank back, and the old man descended to the coffee-room, to find Parkins impatiently walking up and down.
“Well?”
“No, sir; no luck yet,” said that officer.
“What do you mean with your no luck?” cried Uncle Luke angrily. “You don’t suppose I want him found?”
“Perhaps not, sir, but I do. I never like to undertake a job without carrying it through, and I feel over this that I have been regularly tricked.”
“What’s that to me, sir?”
“Nothing, sir; but to a man in my position, with his character as a keen officer at stake, a great deal. Mr Leslie, sir. Has he been back?”
“There, once for all, it’s of no use for you to come and question me, Parkins. I engaged you to track out my niece; you have succeeded, and you may draw what I promised you, and five-and-twenty guineas besides for the sharp way in which you carried it out. You have done your task, and I discharge you. I belong to the enemy now.”
“Yes, sir; but I have the other job to finish, in which you did not instruct me.”
“Look here, Parkins,” said Uncle Luke, taking him by the lapel of his coat, “never mind about the other business.”
“But I do, sir. Every man has some pride, and mine is to succeed in every job I take in hand.”
“Ah! well, look here; you shall succeed. You did your best over it, and we’ll consider it was the last act of the drama when my foolish nephew jumped into the sea.”
“Oh, no, sir. I—”
“Wait a minute. What a hurry you men are in! Now look here, Parkins. I’m only a poor quiet country person, and I should be sorry for you to think I tried to bribe you; but you’ve done your duty. Now go no farther in this matter, and I’ll sell out stock to a hundred pounds, and you shall transfer it to your name in the bank.”
Parkins shook his head and frowned.
“For a nest egg, man.”
“No, sir.”
“Then look here, my man; this is a painful family scandal, and I don’t want it to go any farther, for the sake of those who are suffering. I’ll make it two hundred.”
“No, sir; no.”
“Then two hundred and fifty; all clean money, Parkins.”
“Dirty money, sir, you mean,” said the sergeant quietly. “Look here, Mr Luke Vine, you are, as you say, a quiet country gentleman, so I won’t be angry with you. You’ll give me five hundred pounds to stop this business and let your nephew get right away?”
Uncle Luke drew a long breath.
“Five hundred!” he muttered. “Well, it will come out of what I meant to leave him, and I suppose he’ll be very glad to give it to escape.”
“Do you understand me, sir? You’ll give me five hundred pounds to stop this search?”
Uncle Luke drew another long breath.
“You’re a dreadful scoundrel, Parkins, and too much for me; but yes: you shall have the money.”
“No, sir, I’m not a dreadful scoundrel, or I should make you pay me a thousand pounds.”
“I wouldn’t pay it—not a penny more than five hundred.”
“Yes, you would, sir; you’d pay me a thousand for the sake of that sweet young lady up-stairs. You’d pay me every shilling you’ve got if I worked you, and in spite of your shabby looks I believe you’re pretty warm.”
“Never you mind my looks, sir, or my warmth,” cried Uncle Luke indignantly. “That matter is settled, then? Five hundred pounds?”
“Thousand would be a nice bit of money for a man like me to have put away against the day I get a crack on the head or am shot by some scoundrel. Nice thing for the wife and my girl. Just about the same age as your niece, sir.”
“That will do; that will do,” said Uncle Luke stiffly. “The business is settled, then.”
“No, sir; not yet. I won’t be gruff with you, sir, because your motive’s honest, and I’m sorry to have to be hard at a time like this.”
“You dog!” snarled Uncle Luke; “you have me down. Go on, worry me. There, out with it. I haven’t long to live. Tell me what I am to give you, and you shall have it.”
“Your—hand, sir,” cried the sergeant; and as it was unwillingly extended he gripped it with tremendous force. “Your hand, sir, for that of a fine, true-hearted English gentleman. No, sir: I’m not to be bought at any price. If I could do it I would, for the sake of that poor broken-hearted girl; but it isn’t to be done. I will not insult you, though, by coming here to get information. Good-day, sir; and you can write to me. Good-bye.”
He gave Uncle Luke’s hand a final wring, and then, with a short nod, left the room.
“Diogenes the second,” said Uncle Luke, with a dry, harsh laugh; “and I’ve beaten Diogenes the first, for he took a lantern to find his honest man, and didn’t find him. I have found one without a light.”