Oh, London's summer I like it not,In June the season becomes a bore,The last sensation is quite forgot,The last new lion has ceased to roarPleasure is over and bills come in;The girl I worshipped has married a peer,I'll leave this town with its life of sin,And not come near it—until next year.Oh country's summer I much prefer,For perfume blows from a thousand flowers,Delightful breezes the still leaves stir,Nightingales sing in the twilight hours.Phillis has captured my worn-out heart,But only a moment 'tis hers I fear,I'll love her and love her until we part,And not come near her—until next year.
Oh, London's summer I like it not,
In June the season becomes a bore,
The last sensation is quite forgot,
The last new lion has ceased to roar
Pleasure is over and bills come in;
The girl I worshipped has married a peer,
I'll leave this town with its life of sin,
And not come near it—until next year.
Oh country's summer I much prefer,
For perfume blows from a thousand flowers,
Delightful breezes the still leaves stir,
Nightingales sing in the twilight hours.
Phillis has captured my worn-out heart,
But only a moment 'tis hers I fear,
I'll love her and love her until we part,
And not come near her—until next year.
"What a fickle person you are, Mr. Rudall," remarked a pretty blonde when the song came to an end.
"I always am—in poetry, Mrs. Manson," replied Rudall, idly touching the strings of his banjo, with an amused smile on his boyish face.
"And what about real life?"
"Depends very much on the lady."
Everyone laughed at this rejoinder except Olive Maunders, who sat staring at the river with a frown on her handsome face.
"It's a case of 'Gather ye Rosebuds while ye may' with Rudall," said Sir John in a jovial manner.
"Herrick," observed Mr. Rudall meditatively, "was a philosopher, and if by rosebuds he meant ladies, I'm not at all averse to following his example."
Olive Maunders evidently found the conversation too frivolous, for she suddenly arose, and without saying a word went up to the house, and retired into the drawing-room. Sir John looked after her with a rather pained expression on his face, and, seizing the opportunity afforded by Teddy Rudall beginning another song, he slipped away to look for her.
She was seated in a lounging chair, leaning forward with bent head and clasped hands, the frown still on her face. A striking looking girl, tall and slender, with a handsome resolute countenance of a pronounced brunette type, and her small head, with its coils of smooth black hair, was well set on her sloping shoulders.
"Why did you run away so suddenly, Olive?" asked her father, sitting beside her, and taking one of her slim hands in his own.
"I grew tired of the conversation," said Olive in a clear sharp voice; "it is so frivolous, and there is such a lot to be thought of."
"My dear, you must not brood too much over Trevanna's accident."
"I'm not thinking about Mr. Trevanna, but I am about Adrian. Where can he be? It is now a fortnight since he disappeared, and nothing has been heard of him."
"Oh! he'll come back again as soon as he hears Trevanna is getting better. I expect he thought he had killed Trevanna, and is keeping quiet."
"But now that Mr. Trevanna is getting well, he has exonerated Adrian entirely. They were both foolish, no doubt, but nothing was so bad as to make Adrian hide himself like this."
"Perhaps the advertisement you put in the paper will bring him," suggested Sir John, thoughtfully.
"I hope so," replied Olive quickly. "If he's anywhere in England he must have seen it by this time, but he seems to have vanished altogether. Why cannot your occult science discover him, father?"
"I'm not well enough up in theosophy to try any experiments of that nature," said Sir John, ruefully, "but I'll tell you who might find out where Adrian is."
"Some detective, I suppose," retorted Olive. "Nonsense, they never make any discoveries worth talking about, out of the pages of shilling shockers."
"No, not a detective," answered her father, quietly, "but a dealer in mysteries—Doctor Roversmire."
"Charlatan!"
"I don't think he's a charlatan; he knows more about the unseen world than you think."
Olive Maunders looked at her father in a puzzled manner, then, rising from her seat, walked to and fro hurriedly, with her arms folded behind her back.
"I can't make you out, father," she said lightly. "You are so sensible in some things, and in others—well! I really don't know how you can believe in this theosophical rubbish."
"'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,Than are dreamt of in your philosophy!'"
quoted Sir John, with a smile.
"Oh! I know that quotation," answered his daughter, shaking her head; "it is always quoted by people who believe in the supernatural as an unanswerable argument, and so it is in one sense, but, of course, I did not see enough of Doctor Roversmire to know what his pretensions are, so I can't say a word against him."
"You did not like him, Olive?"
"No, I certainly did not."
"Yet he admired you?"
"So much so that he did me the honour to ask me to be his wife," replied Olive, gravely, "but, of course, I am engaged to Adrian. Ah, poor Adrian! I wonder where he can be?"
"Wait and hope."
"I'm tired of waiting and hoping," said the girl, petulantly. "There was enough about this affair in the papers already, and I want Adrian to come forward and defend himself from the malicious tongues of busybodies. Philip Trevanna will stand by him."
"Well, I'm sure I don't know what to advise," said poor Sir John, helplessly, "unless you ask Doctor Roversmire."
"A drowning man will clutch at a straw," observed Olive, after a pause. "I do not believe much in Doctor Roversmire and his relations with the supernatural world, still, if I could see him, I would ask him to use his knowledge for the benefit of Adrian. Do you know where he lives, father?"
"At Hampstead, I believe."
"Then I will write to him, to-night. Mind you, I don't believe any good will come of it; still, I'm so anxious to find Adrian that I'd consult even a fortune-teller."
She spoke in a scoffing tone which appeared to wound her father, and he was about to remonstrate with her upon her levity when a servant entered and gave her a card. Olive glanced carelessly at it and then started in surprise as she handed it to her father, for the name inscribed thereon was that of Dr. Roversmire.
"Your prophet of theosophy must certainly have had an intuitive instinct he was wanted," she observed idly.
"At all events he could not come at a better time," replied Sir John, with a smile. "Ask Dr. Roversmire to come in."
The servant departed, and Olive and her father looked at one another in silence, while from the garden sounded the gay voice of Teddy Rudall singing the last four lines of a ballad.
Lift not thou the future's curtain,Though the present be not gay;Only present hours are certain,Laugh and love and live to-day.
Lift not thou the future's curtain,
Though the present be not gay;
Only present hours are certain,
Laugh and love and live to-day.
"There's a good deal of philosophy in that," said Sir John sagely.
Dr. Roversmire entered the room in a hesitating manner, as if not quite sure of his reception, but his mind was soon set at rest by the cordial manner in which he was met by Sir John Maunders, who advanced towards him with outstretched hand.
"My dear doctor," he said in a hearty voice, "this is indeed an unexpected pleasure and, moreover, a curious coincidence, as we were just speaking of you."
"I hope the conversation was favourable to me," said the doctor, advancing towards Olive and clasping one of her cool slim hands, "how do you do, Miss Maunders?"
"I am quite well, thank you," she answered, quickly withdrawing her hand from his warm grasp. "Have you been away from London?"
"Yes, I've been to Monte Carlo," began Adrian mechanically, then suddenly recollecting that his personality was lost in the body of Dr. Roversmire, he went on hurriedly, "that is—no—I have not been out of town further than Hampstead."
"And why have you not been to see us for such a long time," said Sir John. "We have not had a visit for months."
"I've been living very quietly," replied Adrian, with an effort, "making experiments."
The fact was he did not know exactly what to say as he was quite ignorant of the relations existing between Dr. Roversmire and Sir John Maunders, and, moreover, was woefully ignorant in all matters of theosophy in which Sir John was quite an adept. Besides, the sight of Olive Maunders' calm, sweet face had woke the deepest passions of his soul as he reflected how near and yet how far away she was to him. He saw her face, he heard her voice, he touched her hand and yet for all the satisfaction he obtained he might have been miles away, separated as he was from her by this mask of ancient seeming, in which his ardent young soul had become incarnate.
Olive Maunders, on her part, was struck by the change in the manner of her former admirer. The look of calm, conscious superiority which she had been accustomed to admire, much as she disliked the man, was gone, and in its place was an expression of anguish and a look of haunting dread in the dark eyes. His voice also, formerly so rich, smooth and flowing, was broken and rough, as if the owner had lost all power of controlling his speech.
"I'm very glad to see you, Dr. Roversmire," said Olive, looking at him keenly, "as I wish you to help me."
"I will be delighted. What is it you wish me to do."
"Find Adrian Lancaster."
Adrian recoiled as if he had received a blow. She asked him to find himself, quite ignorant of the strange transformation which had taken place, and he—what could he do in the matter? He was unable to produce his own body, void as it was of any vital principle, and yet, if he told the truth, he would be looked upon as a madman.
As these thoughts flashed rapidly through his brain, he saw at a glance the precipice upon which he stood and resolved to gain time by dexterously temporising so as to form some plan of action. Sir John had strolled outside on to the lawn so he was quite alone with Olive, and could speak freely.
"Adrian Lancaster," he said smoothly. "I don't think I have had the pleasure of meeting him."
"No! At the time you were visiting us in town, he was away on the continent, but although you do not know him personally, I dare say you have seen his name in the papers of late."
Adrian pretended to think for a moment.
"Yes, I fancy I have," he replied, anxious to learn from Olive's lips the true condition of Philip Trevanna, "did he not attempt to commit a murder?"
Olive arose to her feet rapidly, with a look of anger on her expressive face.
"No he did not," she answered in a clear, vibrating voice. "Mr. Trevanna is now getting better, and has made a statement which completely exonerates Mr. Lancaster from any such intention."
"Thank God," thought Adrian thankfully, "at all events my character will be cleared even although I am unable to defend myself."
Mistaking his silence for disbelief, Olive went on to explain the circumstances of the case.
"Mr. Lancaster and Mr. Trevanna were playing cards and Mr. Trevanna insulted his friend by flinging the cards in his face. Hardly knowing what he was doing, Mr. Lancaster threw a decanter at Mr. Trevanna. It struck him on the head and stunned him. Thinking he was dead, Mr. Lancaster left, very likely to get assistance. Mr. Trevanna is now recovering and blames himself severely for provoking Mr. Lancaster's anger as he said Mr. Lancaster kept his temper admirably for some time under the grossest provocation."
"And Mr. Lancaster has disappeared?" said Adrian.
"Yes, he has vanished completely and in spite of all enquiries cannot be found."
"Are you sure he went to seek assistance, or—fled?" asked Adrian in a measured tone.
"You wrong him by such a thought," said Olive loyally. "Adrian Lancaster is not the man to fly from the consequence of his own misdeeds—no! I believe he went to seek assistance, and—and—"
"Never came back," said the pseudo Roversmire cynically.
Olive lifted her arms with a gesture of despair.
"It ill becomes you to speak in this way," she said severely. "What do you know about the impulses of youth? you are an old man, cautious, cold-blooded and calculating; he was warm, impulsive and hot-tempered. If, in a moment of anger, he thought he had committed a crime, was it therefore a very wonderful thing that he should go away secretly for a period so as to gain time to explain the matter, instead of waiting to be arrested? I blame him for his folly as much as you do, but I pity and love him all the same."
Adrian's heart smote him as he saw how nobly she defended his pusillanimous conduct, though to be sure it is easier to be brave even at the cannon's mouth than to await in cold blood for a certain arrest and a possible ignominious death.
"But I thought you said he went to seek assistance," he observed deliberately.
"And I say so again," she retorted angrily, "why do you measure and clip my words in this pedantic fashion?—he might have changed his mind—if he has erred in acting upon the impulse of the moment, no doubt he is now being severely punished for it."
Poor soul, she little knew how severe the punishment was.
"He is hiding in some distant place, I suppose, that in itself is punishment for a noble-hearted gentleman like my Adrian to have to conceal his face from his fellow men—punishment indeed—I tell you, Dr. Roversmire, he has, I am certain, already undergone worse punishment than any the law can devise."
In her castings round for apologies for Adrian's conduct, she had accidentally hit upon the truth, and the soul of the man she loved hidden in the body of the man she hated, writhed under the lash of her words. He had, however, to act the part of a cold philosopher, such as was in keeping with Dr. Roversmire's general conduct, and crushed down his rising emotions with a powerful effort.
"I understand and appreciate all you have said," he observed calmly, "but what do you want me to do?"
"Tell me where he is."
"How can I do that?"
"By the aid of your science—chicanery—readings in the stars—or whatever else you practise under the title of theosophy. What is the good of you pretending to supernatural powers if you cannot exercise them in an emergency like this?"
Here was a dilemma—Adrian had not the slightest idea of the sciences which Dr. Roversmire was supposed to know, and he was quite unable to answer this girl, who stood looking at him with piercing gaze.
"Perhaps you already know where he is?" she said with sudden suspicion.
"I!" he echoed in apparent surprise, "how should I know?"
"It may be that, although you have never seen him, you do not like him," she went on feverishly, not paying any attention to his answer. "You did me the honour to ask me to be your wife—I declined as I loved Adrian Lancaster—perhaps you hate him on that account—I don't believe in your spells and juggling tricks, still—still—tell me," she demanded, with a sudden outburst of anger, "do you know anything about the disappearance of Adrian Lancaster?"
He made a gesture of dissent, for although he was burning to reveal himself, yet the dread of future consequences kept him silent.
"Is it true that you can disintegrate your bodies? I have heard that you profess to do so, if so have you disintegrated Adrian?—oh, what am I talking about? it is madness, insanity, this playing with the supernatural—I do not believe in the powers you say you possess—Adrian is in hiding, afraid of the consequences of his folly—when he sees my advertisement, he will return—I'm sure he will."
"I'm afraid not," said Adrian sadly, knowing how impossible it was such a thing could happen.
"What do you know about it?" she cried fiercely, wheeling round on him with a look of suspicion in her eyes, "he could not have come to you for concealment—he did not know you—such things cannot occur in real life."
Adrian took a sudden resolution, and rising to his feet, advanced towards her and seized her by the wrist.
"Listen to me, Miss Maunders," he said gravely, "there is more in this occult science than you dream of, the age of miracles is not past, they are happening every day—your lover thought he had committed a crime and disappeared—he vanished into the night and the darkness hides him—you want to know where he is—I cannot tell you—he has no doubt been punished as you suggest—how, it is impossible to explain—but I will go to work and perchance may restore Adrian Lancaster to your arms."
"And your reward for this?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Your love," he said softly, forgetting for the moment who he was.
Olive Maunders tore herself from his arms with a cry.
"No! no! anything but that," she said with an expression of anger. "What would be the good of your returning Adrian to me if I lose him again, by becoming your wife?—be generous, Dr. Roversmire, you are a learned man far above me in knowledge and wisdom, if you can do what you say, I will ever look upon you as my friend."
"I ask for bread and you give me a stone," said Adrian sadly; "well, so be it, I will try and find your lover and in return I ask your—friendship."
He held out his hand and she clasped it in both of hers.
"I must go back to town," he said after a short silence. "Say good-bye to your father for me."
"What are you going to do?" she asked quickly.
He turned towards her in some surprise.
"I am going to try and find Adrian Lancaster," he replied quietly, and with a bow left the room at once, while she stood staring idly at the brilliant group on the lawn, and wondered how they could laugh and jest so carelessly while her life's happiness was at stake.
So Adrian, after his one glimpse of the woman he loved, left Paradise and returned with a heavy heart to his solitary existence at Hampstead. He had, it was true, promised to restore the lost sheep to the arms of the gentle shepherdess, but how this was to be done he did not know. There were two ways in which he could regain his identity, either that he should be killed in his present body by accident or that he should commit suicide. The former of these methods seemed unlikely to occur, as the number of people who meet with accidents is really very small, and as to the latter, although he was no coward yet he shrank with a vague dread from putting an end to his present existence.
It was true that Roversmire had informed him, that his soul would return to its own tenement, but suppose he was wrong and the soul, powerless to enter its former habitation, should remain suspended like the coffin of Mahomet between heaven and earth? The last case would be worse than the first, and Adrian, in spite of what was at stake, could hardly be blamed for preferring his present condition, unsatisfactory as it was, to a possible chance of leaving the world altogether.
One thing, however, he had learned by his visit to Marlow which gave him a feeling of satisfaction, and that was the certainty of Trevanna's recovery. He was at least guiltless of blood, and moreover the explanation of Trevanna exonerated him from any malicious intent, so that when his soul returned to its former body he would at least be in a position to hold up his head as he had been accustomed to do.
The devotion displayed by Olive in defending his character had touched him deeply, and he was now anxious to recover his lost position and reward that devotion as it deserved. But, in spite of all his desires and the dreariness of his present position, he felt quite powerless to make a move in any direction. He wandered about the house, read a great deal, smoked occasionally, and sometimes went down to the secret chamber, where he found his body was still preserving a life-like appearance with no signs of decay or change.
"Dentham," he said one day, anxious to find out what suspicions were harboured by his crafty servant, "are you quite sure you did not see that walking-stick I spoke about?"
"Quite sure, sir," replied the valet promptly, "perhaps the gentleman took it away."
"What gentleman?" asked Adrian sharply.
"The gentleman that owned it, sir."
"It belonged to me," said Adrian, looking keenly at him, "I told you that before."
"Would you mind describing the stick to me again, sir," asked Dentham innocently.
"An oaken staff with a golden band and initials."
"Your own initials, sir, M.R.?"
"No—A.L.—the stick was given to me by a friend and I did not get them altered."
"Indeed, sir, I'm afraid I didn't see it."
"Very well, you can go," said Adrian shortly, and as the door closed behind the man he muttered quickly:
"That man suspects I came to the house on the night, and he thinks as Dr. Roversmire I've hidden Adrian Lancaster. Good heavens!" he cried, suddenly springing to his feet, "if he thinks this and finds out the body, I, as Dr. Roversmire, may be accused of making away with myself as Adrian Lancaster, and then there will be trouble—but it's impossible—even if Dentham does suspect, he'll never find the connection between that stick and the disappearance of Adrian Lancaster. I am a fool to torture myself like this—a fool—a fool."
He walked rapidly up and down the room, wildly excited by the possibilities he was conjuring up, and then going to the desk, took out Roversmire's diary to find out if possible some mode of escape from his unpleasant position.
Meanwhile Dentham, in the security of his own chamber, was busily engaged in reading a letter he had just received, and which appeared to give him great satisfaction, judging from the smile on his unpleasant-looking face. The letter read as follows:
"If the person who wrote to Miss Olive Maunders offering to give information as to the whereabouts of Mr. Adrian Lancaster will be at No. 40, Beryle Square at three o'clock on Thursday, he will see Miss Maunders, and obtain a reward if his information leads to the finding of Mr. Lancaster."
"He! he!" chuckled Mr. Dentham, folding up this note and putting it safely in his pocket, "it was a good move, writing to that young lady—she's sweet on Mr. Lancaster, I'll bet—and though I don't know where he is exactly, I daresay this stick will put her on his track—Lord! I wonder what old Roversmire's done with him—he was always up to some tricks. I don't believe in these jugglers myself—perhaps he's killed him to read a fortune in his inside, like them coves in history."
Dentham was so excited with this idea that he walked up and down his chamber chuckling.
"I thought he was a forger or a robber—but he ain't. No!—he's a murderer, and that's worse nor either of the other two. I'll go to this young lady to-morrow, and I'll show her the walking-stick—that'll show Mr. Adrian Lancaster's been here, at all events, and if they search the house perhaps they'll find him, though I don't say," said Mr. Dentham sagaciously, "that he'll be alive. If I get any money out of this I'll chuck the old cove—this house gives me the horrors; I know he's got a Blue Beard's chamber somewhere—well, I'll go to-morrow—my information's worth a fiver at all events. I'll dare to ask the old 'un's leave to get away—he wouldn't give it to me if he know'd what I was up to."
The bell rang at this moment, and he was summoned to Adrian's presence.
"Bring me some wine," said Adrian, looking up from his book.
"Yes, sir," replied Dentham, and retreated. "Drinking, eh," he thought as he went to the pantry; "I wouldn't if I were you—you might let out something about that gentleman whose stick you collared—oh, he give it to you—yes, I daresay—my gracious, what a wicked old chap he is, to be sure."
When he had placed the wine on the table and poured out a glass for his master, he waited a moment, and then spoke.
"I beg pardon, sir, but might I ask leave to-morrow for a couple of hours?"
"What for?" asked his master abruptly.
"I've got to go into Town, sir—to see a doctor; I ain't well—perhaps you could do something, sir?"
"No; I don't practise medicine. Go into Town, if you like, but mind you're back again in two hours."
"You can depend upon me, sir," said Dentham quietly, and then sneaked out of the room, chuckling to himself.
"He don't practise medicine, don't he—why, I don't believe he's a doctor at all—well, I've got what I wanted, and if I put the police on to the old cove he won't like it."
Here Mr. Dentham made a pause, struck with a brilliant idea.
"I'll get the money for putting the police on to him," he said in a satisfied tone, "then I'll come home and tell him of his danger if he pays me well—so I'll make money on both sides, and they can fight it out between them—that's what I call philosophy."
At all events, it was a very paying philosophy, and Mr. Dentham passed a happy night, dreaming of the golden harvest he would reap by betraying his master to Olive Maunders, and then by telling the doctor the lady's plans.
Number Forty, Beryle Square, was a handsome-looking Town residence, but, the owners now being away from London, it had rather a desolate appearance. The boxes of brilliant flowers, that had preserved a many-coloured fringe outside the windows, had all been removed, and, the shutters being up, the house had a lonely look, which was infinitely dreary. The old woman, who looked after it in the absence of its owner, was a grimy-looking party of unprepossessing appearance, addicted to the wearing of a crushed crape bonnet, a withered-looking black dress, and a large apron which had once been white. She made a daily tour of inspection through all the deserted rooms, and cherished dire suspicions of crafty burglars hiding behind doors and under couches. Mrs. Bickles was the name of this ancient damsel, but, as a matter of fact, she had never been married, but assumed the appellation which she thought was more in keeping with her dignity.
This bright July afternoon, was the day upon which Dentham was due at 40, Beryle Square, to give his information regarding Adrian Lancaster's whereabouts, and Mrs. Bickles was seated in the kitchen, moralizing over a glass of ale, and the remnants of the frugal meal, which she dignified with the name of luncheon. Like most old people, she was very garrulous, and in default of a better listener, talked to herself when alone, so she ran no chance of interruption, but had it all her own way.
"Victuals," moaned Mrs. Bickles, wiping her mouth after a drink of beer, "is that dear, as never was. I'm sure it costs a forting to buy as much as 'ud keep a cat alive, and as for summat to drink, what with their Billees in Parlymint, and their chargin's out of it, I might as well live in the Sara Desert."
She sopped up the gravy on her plate, with a piece of bread, and immediately attacked the baker, from whom she had bought it, as an excellent object to rail at.
"It's that heavy," said the lady viciously, referring to the bread, "as lead is feathers to it—on my stomick it lies like a pavin' stone, and the indigressings I suffers is nightmares in 'emselves. I'm getting as thin as a lamp-post—a shadder of the h'old days—ah well!" she concluded philosophically, finishing the beer, "it don't take much to fill a coffing as I'll soon be occipying."
At this moment the front door-bell rang, and with a grumble at being disturbed at her meal, Mrs. Bickles took a large key in her withered claw, and crawled upstairs in an aggressive temper.
"Why can't they holler down the airy," she whispered, pushing back the bolts from the door, "it's a policeman or a post, I know—what with 'urrying up and skipping down, my legs is ashaking like aspinalls."
She unlocked the door, and threw it open, when, much to her surprise, Olive Maunders stepped inside, followed by a young gentleman dressed in an irreproachable tweed suit, with a flower in his button-hole and a smile on his face. Mrs. Bickles with many curtseys began to apologise for her delay in opening the door, when Olive cut her short in a peremptory manner.
"What is the most presentable room in the house?" she asked, "I have come up on business, but leave again by the afternoon train."
"The dorin-room's muffled up," explained Mrs. Bickles, in a thoughtful manner, "and the dinin' ain't fit to receive compingy—I won't say as what the best bedroom needs dustin', but I think the libery is most decent."
"Very well, then, the library will do," replied Olive, walking towards it, followed by her escort, "and if anyone calls to see me in about an hour, show him in."
"Yes, miss," said the charwoman, with many genufluxions, "but there ain't anythin' to eat."
"I don't want anything, thank you," answered Olive, and disappeared with the gentleman into the library, leaving Mrs. Bickles looking after them in astonishment.
"Now what's up, I do wonder," she said apostrophising the door through which they had vanished "is it police, or pleasures?—it can't be divorces 'cause they're both single—if her par only knowed as she was making appointments with male parties in the 'ouse, it mightn't be to his likings—well it ain't no biziness of mine," pursued Mrs. Bickles cheerfully, taking her way down to the nether regions, "their moralses and their quarrelses is their own businesses."
Meanwhile Olive Maunders was seated on a holland-covered chair in the library, talking earnestly to Teddy Rudall, who sat in a similar chair, with a puzzled look on his genial young face.
"I want you to understand plainly why I have asked you to come up with me to-day," explained Olive deliberately, "I put an advertisement in the paper concerning Adrian Lancaster, and it is about that advertisement I am here to-day."
"Has it been answered?" asked Rudall, with a look of interest.
"Yes—and in extremely bad English too," replied the girl, handing him a scrap of blue paper, "read it please, and see what you make of it."
Thus adjured, Teddy took the paper, and smoothing it out, read as follows in his slow, languid voice:
"The writter of this knows somthing of Mr. Adrian Lancaster—if there is muny, he will come and tell all he knowes, without preggyduce—adres D. Manor Court, Yew Street, Hampstead."
"Extraordinary document," commented Teddy, handing it back to Olive, "particularly the last words. I don't know which to admire the most, the legal knowledge, or the spelling—well, did you answer this?"
"I did, and told D., whosoever he or she may be, to call here at three o'clock to-day."
"Oh! it's nearly three now," said Teddy, glancing at his watch, "and what do you want me to do?"
"Depends entirely on what I learn from 'D'" replied Olive, folding up the letter and putting it away. "I did not tell my father, as I don't want to do so until I find out something definite about Adrian."
"I'll be delighted to do anything I can," said Rudall heartily, "I feel awfully sorry for Adrian—it would have been much better if he had stayed and faced it out."
"Yes, I suppose so," answered Olive sadly, "but you see he acted on the impulse of the moment. Adrian was always so impulsive."
"Why speak of him in the past tense?" asked Teddy lightly.
Olive rose to her feet, and folding her arms behind her back, walked up and down the room slowly.
"I suppose I shouldn't," she replied, after a pause, "he is no doubt all right, and only hiding himself till he knows how things are with Mr. Trevanna. Can you blame him?"
"Not for pitching into Trevanna," said Rudall coolly. "I don't know anyone with a more aggravating manner than that sweet youth. He admits throwing the cards in Lancaster's face, so I don't wonder Adrian retaliated, but I think it was a pity he did not stay and face it out."
"You've said that before," cried Olive, angrily.
"No doubt, and I dare say I'll say it again," returned Teddy, smiling. "It's my opinion, although I dare say if I were in the same predicament, I should act the same way, but what puzzles me is that Adrian did not himself reply to your advertisement. He knew he'd be quite safe with you, and besides there was a paragraph in several papers stating that Trevanna was getting well and had exonerated him."
"That's what makes me fear Adrian is dead," said Olive, turning her pale face towards him.
"Dead!—nonsense," cried Teddy hastily. "Why should he be dead? He wouldn't commit suicide, it is unlikely he has met with an accident, and no one would harm him, for he hadn't an enemy in the world."
"No, that's true. Adrian has no enemy, but there is a man who does not like me, so out of revenge he might harm Adrian."
"A man who does not like you?" repeated Teddy in surprise.
"Yes; Dr. Roversmire," she answered, coming up close to him, and laying her gloved hand on his arm. "He wanted to marry me, and I refused him because I loved Adrian. Suppose he wanted to remove Adrian from his path."
"The supposition is too idle. But suppose he did, what then? Do you think he would murder him?"
"No," she said, in a low voice, "but Dr. Roversmire is a theosophist, a believer in occult science. He comes from India, where they say these people have strange, unholy powers. What if he had lured Adrian to his house at Hampstead, and disintegrated his body."
Teddy Rudall smiled at this, for he was a matter-of-fact young man, very sceptical of the powers asserted to be exercised by the theosophists.
"That's a lot of nonsense, you know," he said lightly. "That theosophy is all bosh. I've been to lots of their meetings, and it's the same kind of rubbish as table-turning and mesmerism. You surely don't believe in it?"
"I did not, but since Adrian has vanished so strangely I confess I feel a little afraid."
"Of Dr. Roversmire?"
"Yes; he called to see me last week, and from the way he spoke I feel sure he knows something of Adrian."
"At all events, you may be sure there is no disintegration business about it," said Teddy decisively, "for these gentry can scatter their own body to the winds, but they can't do it with any one else's."
"But he might have got rid of Adrian by some other means?"
"Adrian isn't the sort of fellow to allow himself to be got rid of easily," retorted Rudall soothingly. "Come, Miss Maunders, that wretched Indian juggler, whom I remember having seen here, has upset your nerves with his mad talk. I'm certain Adrian is all right and this 'D' who is coming here to-day will no doubt be able to tell us where he is."
"I hope so," began Olive, when suddenly there came a ring at the door, and they looked quickly at one another.
"Here is the answer to your advertisement," said Teddy gaily. "Now then, Miss Maunders, don't bother your head about any theosophy or supernatural interference. We'll soon find out where Adrian is and give him a good rating for making such a fuss over nothing."
Being directed to the library by Mrs. Bickles, the gentleman who hid his identity under the letter "D." soon made his appearance, and closing the door softly, stood in front of Olive and Teddy with his hat in one hand and in the other a walking stick wrapped up in brown paper. Mr. Dentham looked despicably mean as he stood there with his pinched white face and his closely cropped head of red hair. Neither the lady nor gentleman were impressed with his appearance and exchanged glances during a silence which Olive was the first to break.
"I presume this is from you?" she said, handing him the note written on blue paper.
"Yes, mum," replied Dentham, casting a flickering look on it from under his white eyelashes. "I saw the advertisement about Mr. Adrian Lancaster and came to see about it."
"What do you know about Mr. Lancaster?" asked Teddy sharply.
Dentham shot a sudden glance of suspicion at the young man, and then assumed a cringing, fawning air which made Teddy long to kick him.
"Not much, sir," he replied in his silky voice, "but I do know a little."
"Tell us what you know," said Olive quickly.
Having laid down his hat and the brown paper parcel, Dentham's hands were free, and he made use of the opportunity of rubbing them slowly together, speaking meanwhile in a deprecating tone.
"I think, mum, there was some mention of a reward."
"The reward will be forthcoming if your information prove to be of any use."
"And the amount, mum?" began the valet, still washing his hands with invisible soap and water.
"Will depend entirely on the information," replied Olive disdainfully.
Dentham looked at her stealthily, and scratched his chin with one lean finger, evidently debating in his own mind if it would not be better to make terms before parting with his information. Teddy saw this was his feeling, and, although as a rule a good-tempered fellow, felt thoroughly enraged at the mean spirit displayed by this unpleasant-looking individual.
"Come, my man," he said sharply, "do you hear what the lady says? Tell us what you know about Mr. Lancaster and you will be paid accordingly."
"How much, sir?" demanded Dentham in a tone of covert insolence, whereat Rudall completely lost his temper, and was about to step forward with no very amicable intent, when Olive stopped him.
"If your information is worth anything, I will give you fifty pounds," she said quickly; "half before you leave this room, and half when Mr. Lancaster is found."
The eyes of the spy sparkled, as he had not anticipated being paid so well. He was not certain of the whereabouts of Adrian Lancaster, but he knew what he had to tell would certainly gain him twenty-five pounds, so he was quite content to sell his information for that sum.
"Very well, mum," he said with a pleased smile, "I'm sure I'm agreeable—I'll tell you all I know, but first, mum, will you look at this?"
He took the stick out of the brown paper and handed it to Olive, who flushed violently as she examined it.
"It's Adrian's!" she cried.
"Jove! so it is," remarked Teddy, taking it from her, "here are his initials on the band."
"I knew I was right, mum," said Dentham with a gratified grin. "When I saw him looking at your advertisement about Mr. Lancaster, I said to myself, this is his stick, 'cause the letters of the name are the same."
"Who was looking at the advertisement?"
"Doctor Roversmire, mum."
Olive gave a cry, and her face grew pale as she clasped Rudall's arm.
"I knew he had something to do with it," she said in a terrified whisper. "Go on, tell me everything from the first."
"Very well, mum," replied Dentham, and began his story without further delay.
"My name is Dentham, mum, and I am servant to Doctor Roversmire, who lives at Hampstead. I always thought him queer, as he lived such a quiet life and behaved in such a strange way. He said he had come home from India, and when he engaged me, said I was to attend to my business of looking after him and make no remarks, so as he paid me well, I didn't mind. He stayed in a great deal, sometimes going away for a few days, and the longest time he was away was six months ago, when he was away some weeks—I don't know where he was."
"I can tell you," interrupted Olive quickly, "he was here, in this house, as he was a friend of my father's."
"He never said where he was, mum, and as I had been told not to ask questions, I did not know what he was up to. When he came back he never went out for longer than a few hours, and used to send me to bed while he sat up waiting. I don't know what he waited for as no one ever came near the house, and I couldn't find out what his little game was. At last, about three weeks ago, I was on my way to bed when I heard the murmur of voices. I couldn't make it out at all, but as I couldn't go in and see and it was none of my business, I went to bed. The next morning I found my master had passed all the night in the sitting-room and was quite upset; he used to be quiet enough, but ever since that night he has been quite changed—so excited—like—I found that stick and took it to my own room."
"What right had you to do that?" asked Teddy sharply.
Dentham wriggled and looked down.
"Well, sir, to tell the truth, sir, I thought as my master was a forger, or a coiner, or a burglar, and that his visitor was a pal of his, so I thought if I kept the stick I might find out something about his goings on."
"Did Doctor Roversmire ask about the stick?" demanded Olive.
"Yes, mum, several times; said it had been given to him by a friend of his, but of course I knew it hadn't."
"And how did you connect the stick with the disappearance of Mr. Lancaster?" asked Teddy, who was more upset by the story than he cared to show.
"Well, sir, master is always looking at the papers after the morning on which I found the stick. About a week ago, after reading the Telegraph, he asks for a Bradshaw and said he was going out of town; when he left the room, I looked at the Bradshaw and saw he had looked up the trains to Marlow; then I thought something in the paper might have put it into his head to go there. I found your advertisement, mum, and seeing you were at Marlow, knew I was on the right track; then the letters on the stick were those of Mr. Adrian Lancaster's name, who was being advertised for, so I wrote to you and that's all."
"You are a very ingenious gentleman indeed," said Teddy grimly, when this recital ended, "quite an amateur detective. Well, Miss Maunders, what do you think of this story?"
Olive had resumed her seat and was leaning her head on her hand, deep in thought. She started when Teddy addressed her and looked up quickly.
"It seems to me that Adrian went to that house," she said quickly, "as the stick is certainly his and could only have been left there by him—there is no doubt he was Doctor Roversmire's visitor—why, I do not know, as he was quite unacquainted with the doctor and with the fact that I knew him. At all events, it is plain he was there on the night in question, but here all trace seems lost—did he stay there, or did he go away again?"
"He stayed," said Dentham solemnly.
"How do you know?" asked Rudall. "Did you see him in the house afterwards, or hear any noises to lead you to suspect that Mr. Lancaster might be concealed there?"
Dentham shook his head.
"No, I neither saw nor heard anything," he replied quickly, "but it was a wet night when he came, and after I found the walking-stick I searched for his footmarks. I traced them more or less clearly from the garden-door up to the window of the room in which I heard the voices. He must have left the same way if he left at all; but all the footmarks pointed towards the house, and none away from it, so I'm certain he did not go away."
"You're quite a detective," said Teddy, with a smile, "and, certainly, your explanation is a very ingenious one, so let us assume, for the sake of argument, that Mr. Lancaster did not leave the house—so far so good. Now the next question is, did he leave the room?"
"No," asserted Dentham again.
"Why not?" asked Olive.
"Because I was lying awake listening to the voices, and although I could not make out what they were saying, yet if either my master or Mr. Lancaster had left the room, I should easily have heard them doing so."
Teddy Rudall looked puzzled.
"Well, if Lancaster did not leave the house nor the room, he must be concealed in it—or else have vanished into thin air, which is, of course, impossible."
"I'm not so certain about that," said Olive, looking up, "remember what we were talking about."
Teddy shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
"Occult science, theosophy, and disintegration," he said glibly. "Oh! nonsense—all that stuff is humbug."
"I believe my master's a devil," asserted Dentham, suddenly, with a scared look.
Both the others stared at him in silent astonishment, but there was a look of apprehension on Olive's face that showed that she shared to some extent in the ideas of the servant.
"How so?" demanded Teddy, with a disbelieving smile.
"Because I've left him in the room, sir, and locked all the windows before leaving; sometimes I've come back and found him gone, with the windows still locked, and the shutters up. He couldn't have got out of the windows, and he couldn't clear by the door, because I was generally in the passage, and would have seen him. Now, sir," finished Dentham, triumphantly, "where did he go to?"
"I think the true explanation is this," said Rudall, quietly. "He has some secret chamber or exit in the walls of this special room to which you refer. Have you examined the walls?"
"No, sir."
"Then, depend upon it, my theory is a correct one," said Teddy, in a complacent tone, "there's a sliding panel or a masked door, which either leads to the outside of the house, or to some secret room. I think the latter, because if he had let Mr. Lancaster out by the secret way we should have heard from him long ago. My opinion is that he is keeping Adrian concealed in the hidden room I refer to."
"But why?" asked Olive, quietly.
"You, yourself, gave me the explanation," said Rudall, quickly; "it is a case of revenge, I fancy. Now in order to find out anything we must search this room."
"But how, sir?" asked Dentham. "Master never goes away from the house, and we can't look if he's there."
"Oh! I can manage that," said Olive, decisively. "I'll get my father to write a letter asking him to come down to Marlow—during his absence we can search the room; if we find anything we can demand an explanation, and, at all events, I shall certainly make him tell me why Adrian called to see him on that night."
"Yes, I think that will be the best thing to be done," said Teddy, thoughtfully. "Well, Miss Maunders, we had better go down at once to Marlow, and get your father to write the necessary letter. As for you," he added, turning to Dentham, "go back to Hampstead, and keep a watch on your master. Don't arouse his suspicions, but if he tries to clear out wire us at once."
"And the money, mum?" said Dentham in a whining tone, as Olive arose to her feet.
She took out her purse, and handed him two ten-pound notes and one five-pound in silence.
"Your information is well worth it," she said quietly, as he took them with a servile smile, "and if we find Mr. Lancaster in the house of Doctor Roversmire, I will double the reward."
"Don't be too generous, Miss Maunders," said Teddy, suspiciously. "We know nothing definitely yet. Now we must go to Paddington at once, as there's no time to lose."
Olive consented with alacrity, and they left the house, secured a hansom, and were soon on their way to the railway station, leaving Mrs. Bickles to the solitude of the town house, and Dentham with twenty-five pounds in his pocket, very well satisfied with his day's work.