At the corner of the street I dismissed the cab, and hurried after a familiar figure. It was Sophy, who seemed to be literally flying along the pavement, now on one leg, now on the other, and had she not suddenly wheeled round in my direction I should have had to run at the top of my speed to catch her. Seeing me she pulled up, and, with her face scarlet with excitement, greeted me boisterously.
"Why, what on earth are you doing, Sophy?" I asked, laughing and wondering at her.
She lifted her feet, one after another, for my inspection; she was skating on wheels.
"I'm the champion skater," she said, triumphantly; "I shall git a turn at the music halls before long. Look 'ere; I can beat the lot of 'em."
Away she flew with marvellous swiftness for a space of fifty yards or so, then wheeled round and round and reached my side by executing a series of circles in the cleverest manner possible. I have no doubt that there are technical terms to describe her feats, but I am not acquainted with them.
"There!" she cried. "What do you think of that?"
"You'll break your neck if you don't mind," I said.
"Break my neck!" she exclaimed. "Not me! That's nothink to what I can show yer. Iamglad to see yer back, I am? Aunty sed you'd give us up. 'Not 'im,' sed I; 'he ain't one of the giving-up sort.' You look tired out; ain't yer been well?"
"Quite well, Sophy, but, like you, very busy. Is your aunt at home?"
"Yes," said Sophy, bursting into a fit of laughter; "she's down in the kitching, with a pore man's plaster on 'er side. I got 'er to put on the roller-skates--leastways I put 'em on for 'er--and the minute she stood up in 'em she toppled over and fell agin the dresser. She ain't 'urt much, but she likes to make a lot of a little. I'm all over bruises, I am, but I don't fuss over 'em."
"You shouldn't play tricks on her," I said gravely; "she has been a good friend to you."
"Oh, I don't know about that," said Sophy, with a rebellious toss of her head. "She makes me pay for it, nagging at me morning, noon, and night. But there, I ain't going to say nothink agin 'er. She's got a temper, and so 'ave I."
"She has been greatly worried, Sophy; you must be gentle with her."
"I'll do anythinkyoutell me; you don't bully a gal, you don't. If you told me to go and jump off the top of the Monument I'd do it--yes, I would, though you mightn't believe me."
"I shall not ask you to do anything so stupid, but you can render me a service, if you have the will and the pluck."
"Can I?" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I ain't much to look at, but I've got the pluck of a big 'un. Only you tell me what it is."
"It will first depend upon whether your aunt can spare you. We will go in and see her."
"She'll 'ave to spare me, and if she don't like it she may lump it. Now I know yer want me, I ain't going to let yer off."
"You appear anxious to serve me, Sophy."
"I'm going to serve yer," she said, with emphatic nods. "There's nothink mean aboutyou. When a gent makes a promise he sticks to it."
"A promise, Sophy!"
"Didn't yer promise yer'd give me somethink to do for yer--and didn't yer say jest now it depends upon whether I've got the pluck to do it? That settles it. I've got the pluck, and the thing's as good as done. Nobody in all the world 'as been as good to me as you've been, and it ain't likely I shall ever forgit it. You'll see. One day when I'm Somebody," and here the grateful girl gyrated round me gently, and really with grace--"yer'll be proud of 'elping me on, and then I'll show yer I can remember."
"Your aunt can't be left alone," I said, after a moment's consideration. "Do you know of any girl or woman who would take your place here while you are away for a week or two?"
"I know twenty that'll be glad of the job. I'm to go away, am I?" Her eyes glittered at the prospect of an adventure. "I'm ready this minute Where to?"
"I'll tell you all about it after I've spoken with your aunt. It isn't an easy task I shall set you, Sophy."
"The 'arder it is the better I shall like it."
"Do you think you could play a part?" I asked.
"On the stage?" she cried, eagerly.
"No; off the stage."
"On or off," she said, with a shade of disappointment, "it don't matter. I'm game for anythink. Let's git aunty settled fust."
Sophy, being now provided with a latch-key, opened the street door, and taking off her roller skates in the passage, preceded me down-stairs. Mrs. Middlemore was darning stockings, and seemed cheerful enough, but when she looked up and saw us her face assumed a colorless expression, and she pressed her hand to her side. Sophy winked at me, and said, in a whisper, "She's putting of it on; she ain't 'urt a bit, no more than you are."
"Oh, good evening, sir," said Mrs. Middlemore, mournfully. "What are yer whispering about, Sophy?"
"Only telling the gent," replied the unblushing girl, "not to speak too loud, 'cause of yer nerves, aunty."
"It's all Sophy's doings, sir," moaned Mrs. Middlemore. "She made me put on a pair of rollers that's going to break 'er legs afore she's done with 'em. She's a double 'andful, sir; I can't manage 'er."
"She has told me of the accident," I said, "and is very sorry for it. Sophy means well, Mrs. Middlemore."
"I won't dispute with you, sir, but she'll be the death of me if she goes on as she's a-doing of now. You've been away a long time, sir."
"Not so very long; I had important business in the country to attend to. Nothing has happened, except your accident, during my absence, I suppose?"
"Nothink as I can think of, sir."
"No more visitors in disguise; no more false summonses to the police court?"
"No, sir--only I've got my fancies."
"What kind of fancies?"
Mrs. Middlemore looked timorously around, and Sophy answered for her. "There's a sperrit in the 'ouse, she ses. She 'ears it moving about, and she's ready to swear in the middle of the night that it's a-standing at the foot of the bed."
"Do you also hear and see it, Sophy?" I asked.
"Not me," replied Sophy, contemptuously. "It's a wide-awake sperrit, and makes itself scarce when I'm about."
"Ah, well," I said, "there's no accounting for fancies. Let us get to business, Mrs. Middlemore. I intend to rob you of Sophy for a little while."
"Rob me of Sophy, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. "What on earth am I to do without 'er?"
"Oh, you will get along very well without her----"
"But you don't know what a 'elp she is to me, and 'ow good she's been. I've got that fond of 'er that I don't like 'er to be out of my sight. You're joking, sir, ain't yer?"
"Not at all," said I, smiling at this sudden display of affection. "I have something for Sophy to do, and if she undertakes it she will get well paid for the job."
"Never mind about my being paid for it," interposed Sophy; "I'm going to do it, whatever it is."
"And leave me 'ere all alone!" whimpered Mrs. Middlemore.
"You will not be alone. The first thing in the morning a girl shall be engaged to keep in the house with you, and I will pay her wages; and you shall have an allowance while Sophy's away. Remember what I have done for you, and don't make any further objections."
"I'm sure you've been very good, sir," said Mrs. Middlemore, her trouble lessened by the prospect of gain; the virtues of golden ointment are not to be excelled. "Might I take the liberty of arksing whether it's got anythink to do with Mr. Felix?"
"I cannot answer you," I said. "What Sophy will do will be a secret between her and me for the present. By and by, perhaps, she will tell you all about it."
"You've got a way with you, sir, that nobody can't resist. You'll come back to me, Sophy?"
"Course I will, aunty," said the girl, "when the job's done."
"And now, Sophy," I said "if you will come upstairs with me we will have a little chat. Then you can decide."
"I've decided already," said Sophy, and she followed me to the sitting-room which had been occupied by M. Felix.
Everything apparently was the same as on the night of the disappearance of M. Felix's body. I was aware of only one article which was missing after Dr. Peterssen's visit to the house, and that was the revolver which M. Felix kept under his pillow. I had no doubt in my mind that Dr. Peterssen had taken advantage of his being alone in the house, on the occasion of Mrs. Middlemore's unnecessary visit to the Bow Street Police Station, to appropriate other articles, but only the revolver and the desk--which he had taken away on the night of his interview with M. Felix--were within my knowledge. It is true that even this knowledge was gained by means of circumstantial evidence which would scarcely have been admitted in a court of law, but I was quite satisfied on the point, and I had the strongest moral conviction that time would prove the correctness of my conclusions.
"Sit down, Sophy," I said, "and think of nothing else but what I am about to say to you."
"I'm a-doing of it," said Sophy, with a look of absolute concentration that strengthened my confidence in her, and spoke volumes in favor of her being, as she hoped, somebody one day.
"You remember the day on which your aunt was sent to Bow Street Police Court by a man whom she left in the house alone?"
"Yes, I do."
"You said you saw the man. Would you know him again?"
"I'd swear to 'im."
"On the night that Mr. Felix's body disappeared you were the only person in the house who knew anything at all of the matter. You behaved like a little heroine on that occasion, Sophy."
"That's something good, ain't it?"
"Something very good. There is no possibility, I suppose, of your being able to give me a description of the man who, by some strange means, got into the house on that night?"
"I can't tell you nothink more about 'im. It was in the dark, yer know, and when he spoke it was under 'is breath."
"The question was an idle one, but I was bound to ask it. It may or may not have been the same man who deceived your aunt. Sophy, the man you saw and can swear to is an infernal scoundrel, and I look upon him as my enemy."
"That's enough for me; he's mine, too, and I'm 'is."
"You can keep a secret, Sophy."
"You tell me one, and wild 'orses sha'n't tear it from me."
"You are a faithful little soul, and I put great trust in you. Everything I am saying to you is a secret."
"That's enough," said Sophy, touching her lips with her fingers. "Red 'ot pinches shouldn't git it out of me."
"The man you saw was in this house, to my certain knowledge, once before--while M. Felix was alive. Your aunt did not know it; M. Felix opened the street door for him. It was the night M. Felix was found dead, and when the man went away he took a desk with him that belonged to M. Felix."
Sophy nodded. "Aunty's spoke to me about that desk. She never could make out, she ses, what 'd become of it."
"I will describe it to you, Sophy." I did so, and she listened attentively, nodding from time to time with surprising intelligence. "If you happen to see this desk in the possession of the man whom I look upon as my enemy, do you think you could identify it?"
"Know it again? Yes, I should. But 'ow am I to git to the man?"
"I have thought of a plan, or rather a friend of mine has, which requires courage to carry it out successfully. It requires something more than courage; without great good sense and coolness the plan would fail. The question is whether you possess those qualities."
"It ain't no question at all; I've got what you want, and can do what you want."
"There is something in the desk, Sophy, that is of the utmost importance to me."
"And I'm to git it for yer. All right. Smuggle me into the 'ouse, and consider it done."
"But you don't know what kind of a place it is, my girl. It's a private madhouse." Sophy did not blench; she simply nodded, and fixed her large brown eyes on my face. "The man's name," I continued, "is Peterssen, Dr. Peterssen. If he wanted a young girl as a servant you should apply for the situation, but I don't think there is a vacancy in his establishment. He is ready to take more patients, though, and he likes young patients better than old ones."
"You're going to put me in there as a mad gal," cried Sophy, in a tone of irrepressible excitement, which lasted, however, only for a moment. She cooled down instantly, and said in her usual tone, "Crikey! That's a good move. I'm game! It's a good part to play, and no mistake."
"You'll do it, then?"
"Do it? Won't I do it? Why, I never thought I'd 'ave sech a chance."
"You will have to be respectably dressed, Sophy, hands and face nice and clean, and hair very tidy. How long in the morning will it take you to do that?"
"You git me the clothes and I won't keep yer waiting. I'll give myself a good scrub to-night."
"I've only one fear for you," I said, "which you won't mind my mentioning. Going as a girl in a respectable position, your language might draw suspicion upon you. I can't see a way out of that difficulty."
"I can," said Sophy, with a merry twinkle. "Why should I speak at all? Let me go as a dumb gal. It'll be more than ever they can manage to git a word out of me if I was there for a year."
I looked at her admiringly. Her sharp wits had solved a problem which had greatly perplexed me.
"You are sure you will not be afraid, Sophy?"
"Not a bit afraid; I shall enjoy it. It'll be a reg'lar game."
"Very well, then. You can sleep upon it to-night, and if you alter your mind you can let me know. I shall sleep here myself, and shall be up early in the morning. There will be a great deal to do, and no time must be lost. Goodnight. Say nothing to your aunt."
She nodded smilingly, bade me good-night, and left me to my reflections.
Before I went to bed a little incident occurred which it may be as well to mention. It will be in the remembrance of the reader that when I discovered the dagger which M. Felix had thrown at Emilia on the occasion of her visit to him, I placed it behind the massive sideboard in the sitting-room, my purpose being to conceal it from prying eyes. Curious to see whether the weapon had been disturbed I took a candle and looked. It was still there, and I was about to move away when my attention was attracted to another object which lay edgewise by its side. This object was a photograph, which had evidently dropped behind the sideboard, and had lain there neglected for some time. Thinking it might be the photograph of M. Felix I managed to nick it forward, and presently was able to reach it with my hand. It was covered with dust, which I blew away, disclosing the picture of a young man with a handsome, prepossessing face. "If this is a likeness of M. Felix," I mused, "it proves how little the features of a man are an index to his character." There was something peculiarly winning in the expression of the face; and there was a smile in the eyes and on the lips. The picture had faded with time, but was still distinct and clear in its outlines. I determined to ask Mrs. Middlemore in the morning whether it was a likeness of M. Felix, and I put it on the table and retired to bed. I had had a long and tiring day, and I slept soundly. At eight o'clock I jumped up, ready and eager to resume the task upon which I was engaged. I had almost finished dressing when my eyes fell upon the picture I had found upon the previous night, and I took it again in my hand and examined it by the morning's light. Looking at the back of the card I saw some writing there, the name of a man and a date which fixed the time at nineteen years ago. The name was "Gerald Paget."
I was inexpressibly relieved. The picture, then, was not that of M. Felix, but of Emilia's husband. I was glad to possess it, and glad also of the mute evidence it presented, denoting that the original must have been of a frank and honest nature. I put it in my pocket without scruple; intrinsically the portrait was of no value, and I considered myself entitled to appropriate it. To make sure, however, that the likeness was not that of M. Felix, I showed it to Mrs. Middlemore, without informing her how I had become possessed of it. She had never seen it, she said, and it was not a portrait of M. Felix, who was a different kind of man. Satisfied on this point I went out with Sophy to hire a servant to take her place in her absence. We had no difficulty in obtaining one; as Sophy had said, we could have obtained a score, and we picked out the nicest and most amenable, the choice being Sophy's, upon whose judgment in this selection it was safest to depend. The new domestic being officially installed in Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen, I gave that worthy woman "something on account," and bade her good-morning, and told her that Sophy and I would probably be absent for two or three weeks.
"You'll take care of 'er, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Middlemore.
"You need have no anxiety," I replied. "She will be quite safe with me."
Before these words were exchanged I had asked Sophy whether she was still of the same mind as she had been on the previous evening.
"'Course I am," said Sophy. "I wouldn't give it up for nothink you could orfer me."
She had given herself "a good scrub," and had tidied her hair, and I was surprised at the difference this made in her appearance.
"Now, Sophy," I said, after I had bidden Mrs. Middlemore good-by, "here are four sovereigns. Go to some wardrobe shop where you are not known, and buy a complete outfit of second-hand decent clothes, stockings, petticoats, boots, and everything you wear, and come to my rooms in them at half-past one. Be careful that you choose neat clothing, nothing showy or conspicuous; the way you are dressed the next time I see you will prove whether you understand what it is I wish you to do."
"You sha'n't find fault with me," said Sophy, with tears in her eyes. "I never thought I should 'ave sech a slice of luck as this."
At noon I was in my chambers, having arranged with the editor of theEvening Moonfor another absence from duty. Bob Tucker was to come at one, and I employed the intervening minutes in setting things right in my rooms. I should have liked to go to Emilia for the purpose of showing her the picture I had found, and of receiving confirmation that it was a portrait of her husband, but I had not the time. The chimes of Westminster had just proclaimed the half-hour when I heard a knock at the outer door of my chambers. "Bob is early," I thought, and I went and opened the door. A stranger confronted me, a middle-aged man, with sandy hair and light fluffy whiskers, and of a rather ponderous build.
"I have come to see Mr. Agnold," said the stranger.
"He is busy," I replied, testily, "and cannot be seen." I did not know the man, and the business I had to transact was too important for interruption.
"I will wait," said the stranger, coolly.
"It will be useless waiting," I said. "Mr. Agnold cannot be seen to-day."
"I will wait till to-morrow," said the stranger, pulling his fluffy whiskers, and gazing at me with more than warrantable attention.
"Yes," I said, "call to-morrow, and unless your errand is urgent and personal do not call at all. Mr. Agnold's time is valuable."
I closed the door unceremoniously in his face and re-entered my sitting-room. My behavior is open to an unfavorable construction, I admit, but bachelors living in chambers in the houses roundabout are much annoyed by persons who intrude at all unseasonable hours, and who for the most part turn out to be commercial travellers desirous to show you samples of goods you do not want. But there was another reason in this particular instance for my unceremonious treatment of the uninvited visitor. All the time he was speaking to me I was conscious that he was observing me in a manner which I resented. There was an intentional rudeness in his pertinacious scrutiny which aroused in me a certain anger, which, reasonably or unreasonably, was a guide in my conduct toward him.
I resumed my employment, but my mind was disturbed by the incident, and I could not drive it away. The man could not be a commercial traveller, I reflected, for those individuals are models of pleasantry and politeness, and do everything in their power to win your good graces. What, therefore, could be his object in paying me a visit? Had I done wrong in sending him away without inquiring its nature?
"Confound the fellow!" I said. "He has got into my head and is likely to remain there, a fixture. I suppose he has gone."
I went to the door and threw it open. On a little bench in the lobby outside sat the man, quietly and patiently.
"Not gone!" I cried.
"Not gone," he replied.
"You heard what I said, did you not?"
"Perfectly. You said Mr. Agnold cannot be seen today. Upon which I replied that I would wait till to-morrow."
"To wait here?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, to wait here till to-morrow, or the next day, or the next. In point of fact, to wait till I have had a few minutes' chat with Mr. Agnold."
"I am Mr. Agnold," I said, angrily.
"I knew that all along," he said, with irritating politeness.
"What is it you want with me? Will you detain me long?"
"Not very long; it will depend upon yourself. I come on behalf of Dr. Peterssen."
My anger instantly subsided; I became as cool as my visitor.
"Enter," I said, "and let us get it over. Who is Dr. Peterssen, and what has he got to do with me, or I with him?"
These last words were spoken when my visitor and I were standing face to face in my sitting-room.
"Oh, I am not here to answer questions," said my visitor. "I have a commission to execute, and a question or two myself to ask on behalf of Dr. Peterssen."
"Which I shall answer or not, as I please."
"Of course it is entirely within your discretion; I cannot force you; I am merely an instrument."
"I must know with whom I am conversing," I said, "before we proceed further."
He handed me a card, on which was printed, "Mr. Nettlefold, The Elms, Ealing."
"I never heard of you," I said, putting the card on the table.
"I can't help that," he responded. "Perhaps it will expedite matters if I inform you that I do not come from Dr. Peterssen direct. Before presenting myself to you I paid a visit to Mr. Bob Tucker."
I was confounded. Was the cunning scheme suggested by Bob, and to carry out which I had enlisted Sophy's services, to be nipped in the bud?
"Mr. Tucker," continued Mr. Nettlefold, "refused all explanations, and referred me to you, who, it seems, are the prime mover in this affair."
"In what affair?"
"As you are aware, Dr. Peterssen resides at Tylney House, Sheldon. He desires this fact to be widely known, having no motives for secrecy. Mr. Bob Tucker has been prowling about this neighborhood lately, making inquiries concerning Dr. Peterssen, and prying into his private affairs in a manner to which Dr. Peterssen does not propose to submit."
"A nice mess Bob has made of it," I thought. "What a fool I was to trust to him!"
"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Nettlefold, "did you speak?"
"I did not."
"I thought I saw your lips move. To continue. Mr. Bob Tucker could not have been aware that while he was thus clumsily playing Paul Pry, he was himself being watched, and that all the information given to him of Dr. Peterssen's affairs was false. When Mr. Tucker left Sheldon he was followed and his address in London discovered. He paid you a visit last night, and your address was discovered. I am commissioned by Dr. Peterssen to inquire your motive for your proceedings?"
"I shall answer no questions. Finish your commission, and go."
"Very well. I am instructed to say that should Mr. Bob Tucker, or you, or any person in your employ, come again to Sheldon for the purpose of making injurious inquiries, he, you, or the other person will receive a sound horsewhipping, and after that a ducking in a convenient pond. That is all. Have you anything to say?"
"Just one observation. You can tell Dr. Peterssen in the plainest possible terms that I know him to be an infernal scoundrel, and that it is my intention to expose him. I shall visit Sheldon very soon, and he will have an opportunity of putting his threats into execution; it will then be seen who has the most to fear, he or I. There is the door, Mr. Nettlefold. Remove yourself quickly, if you do not wish to be removed."
To my astonishment, my visitor, instead of hurrying to the door, threw himself into my most comfortable arm-chair, and burst into a loud fit of laughter. I had not recovered from my astonishment before he spoke.
"Capital. Capital. Settled my disguise last night. Carried it out this morning. Took me about an hour. Altered my voice. Altered the way I speak as Bob Tucker. Changed my clothes. And my hair. And my manner. Rather good isn't it? Compliment me."
And there in my chair sat, not Mr. Nettlefold, but my old friend Bob Tucker, laughing and wagging his head at the trick he had played me.
"Upon my word, Bob," I said with a feeling of great relief, "you gave me a turn. I should never have known you."
"Thought you wouldn't. When I looked in the glass didn't know myself. Thought I was another fellow. Thought I'd try it on you first, to make sure, you know."
"Bob," I said, shaking hands heartily with him, "you're splendid. Scotland Yard's a fool to you. I would trust you with my life."
"You might. It would be quite safe with me. So long as you kept your breath. Think I'm a match for Peterssen?"
"For a dozen Peterssens. You're a gem of the first water. I've hardly got over it."
"Don't think any more of it. Plenty of time by and by. Always knew I was cut out for this sort of thing. Let's to business. You see what I've done. What have you done?"
"I have got the girl."
"Good. Sharp! Clever! Cool!"
"You shall see her; she will be here soon."
Then I related to him everything I knew of Sophy, and dwelt especially upon her behavior on the night of the disappearance of the body of M. Felix, which I could see made a powerful impression upon him.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Got pluck, that girl. Seems just the article we want."
His admiration increased when I told him of the expedient suggested by Sophy to keep her lack of education from the knowledge of Dr. Peterssen's people.
"She's a nugget," he said. "Take quite an interest in her already. Possibilities in that girl. She will come through this affair with flying colors."
"That is my opinion, Bob. She will be a relation of yours, I suppose."
"Step-daughter," he said, with a wink. "By my first wife. The girl in the way then. Much more in the way now. Why? Her mother's dead, and I'm married again. Conundrum. What relation is she to my second wife? Work it out. Name, Maria. A perfect encumbrance. Dumb from her birth. And silly. Horrible nuisance. No vice in her. Not dangerous in the least. Therefore, friendly patient. No restraint or punishment. To be allowed to go about the house and grounds. Do as she likes. Must sleep in room by herself. Will give no trouble. Quarter paid in advance. Make her happy, and she shall remain for years. Must be kindly treated. Will programme do?"
"It is excellently arranged."
"I go down as Mr. Nettlefold, The Elms, Ealing. Cousin of mine lives there. Should letters addressed Nettlefold arrive, will forward them on to me wherever I am. As I say, go down as Mr. Nettlefold. Leave Sheldon as such. Return to Sheldon as another man. To watch over Sophy, otherwise Maria. Got danger signals ready." He produced a number of small pellets, some blue, some white, weighted, and attached to thin cords. "Sophy," he continued, "otherwise Maria, ties these to underclothing. Stays. String of petticoat. Anything. Detaches one when required. I'll instruct her. Every day one thrown over wall. None thrown, go in and see her. Quite safe. Will she remain long?"
I answered that I thought she would be able to get hold of the desk in less than a week, and that under no circumstances should she remain longer than a fortnight. If she could not accomplish her task in that time it would be useless to keep her there. We continued talking about the arrangements till half-past one, when my faithful and punctual Sophy made her appearance. She looked the picture of neatness, and her eyes beamed when I expressed approval of her attire. Bob gazed upon her with satisfaction.
"She'll do," he said. "You keep quiet. I'll take her in hand."
I left it to him to explain matters and to teach her her lesson. He could have had no apter pupil; in less than half an hour she was proficient.
"We start, the three of us," said Bob, "at three o'clock. Not for Sheldon. Four miles from there is a large village, Nutford. We put up there. Arrive six-twenty. Have dinner. Dark night. Walk to Sheldon. Reconnoitre. Show you the wall, where you can get over. If you want to. Show you where to throw pellets. Four o'clock every afternoon. Convenient time. Dr. Peterssen probably away. Feel all right?"
"As right as a trivet," said Sophy.
"You're a girl--after my own heart. Have something to eat before we start. Tuck away."
At three o'clock we were in the train which was to convey us to our destination.
Having engaged comfortable quarters at the Bell and Horns, Nutford, we had a tea-dinner, and started to walk to Sheldon. It was a fine night, and Sophy distinguished herself as a pedestrian; the four-mile walk was accomplished in an hour and twenty minutes by the watch. The one narrow street of which the village could boast was still and quiet; not a soul was to be seen in it.
"After seven o'clock at night," said Bob, "place like a churchyard. Sleepy Hollow a paradise compared to it."
There was something inexpressibly depressing in the aspect of the street; the two or three poor shops were closed, and neither in them nor in the cottages was there a sign of life. The suggestion of a grave came to my mind.
"Remember Eden?" asked Bob, who was in the best of spirits. "Mark Tapley would have grown fat here."
At the end of the street we crossed a common, and then traversed an avenue of mournful trees, bounded by a stone wall.
"The outskirts of Tylney House," said Bob, with the air of a professional guide. "House can't be seen from this point. Nor from any point in particular. Lies in a valley. Observe the jagged glass at top of wall. Just here there's a bare spot. Think you could climb over it, Sophy, otherwise Maria?"
"Git over it like a bird," said Sophy. The conversation was carried on in low tones, Sophy's voice being sepulchral, in view of the part of the dumb patient she was presently to enact.
"Good girl. Prove yourself. There's a tree. Show us a climb."
It was a branchless tree, with scarce a knob on its straight trunk, and with nothing to hold on by, but Sophy tackled it unhesitatingly, and was a dozen feet above our heads in a twinkling. There she perched, peering over the wall into the grounds of Tylney House. Presently she scrambled down, and nudging Bob, said,
"Will that do?"
"You've got the heart of a lion," said Bob, admiringly. "I've no fears for you. Can you read?"
"No."
"Write?"
"No."
"Tell the time?"
"Oh, I can do that."
"That's a blessing. Here's a silver watch. A stem-winder. When we get back to Nutford I'll show you how to wind it up. What's the time now?"
"'Arf past eight."
"Correct. That tree is thirty feet high. Or thereabouts."
"What of that?"
"I should say it could be seen by anybody inside that stone wall. By you, when you're inside them. Now, Sophy, otherwise Maria, you have peculiarities. One, that you're dumb."
"Inside them walls," said Sophy, "I am. Dumb as a fish."
"Another, that you've an unconquerable habit of shying stones."
"I'm a dab at that," said Sophy.
"As a friendly patient," continued Bob, "you must be indulged. When you get it into your head to shy stones you're to be let alone. That's one of the conditions of your becoming a friendly patient."
"I twig. I'm to shy stones at that tree."
"You are. At certain times of the day. At twelve o'clock by the silver watch. At four o'clock by the same."
"Crikey!" exclaimed Sophy. "Yer don't mean to say I'm to have the ticker?"
"I do. Bought it for the special purpose. And it's not to be taken from you. When you shy stones at hours already stated I shall be outside. You don't shy many. Three, or four, or five. One of the stones is made of lead. I supply you with them. Here they are." He produced the pellets. "I give you some paper that you'll keep in your pocket. Lead stone wrapped in white paper means that you're quite comfortable. Lead stone wrapped in blue paper means you want to be taken away. Things not as they ought to be. That provides for your safety. We'll see you're not hurt, Sophy, otherwise Maria. I shall understand signals. An idea. Can you whistle?"
"Rather."
"Another of your peculiarities. As a friendly patient you're to be allowed to whistle. At twelve o'clock and at four I shall be in this neighborhood. I hear you whistle. I see the stones you shy,andthe bit of lead wrapped in white paper. She's safe, I say to myself. Sophy, otherwise Maria, is quite comfortable with her weather eye open. Do you take all this in? Or shall I go over it again?"
"I know it by 'eart," replied Sophy. "It's a reg'lar game, that's what it is."
Here I thought it necessary to say a word.
"Suppose no stones at all are thrown, Bob?"
"In that case," said Bob, "without one minute's delay I ring the bell. I insist upon seeing my stepdaughter, Sophy, otherwise Maria. Leave it to me. I'll undertake that she comes to no harm. Time to get back to Nutford."
We left Sheldon without having been observed, I a little doubtful now that the adventure was to be seriously commenced, Bob very confident, and Sophy very bright. Before we went to bed we had a great deal of conversation, and Sophy convinced us that she perfectly understood Bob's instructions; then the silver watch was delivered to her as a prospective gift in the event of her success, and we retired to rest. Bob and I had each brought a Gladstone bag down with us, and Bob gave me another instance of his thoughtfulness by producing from his a small handbag, furnished with certain necessaries for a girl of Sophy's age, which he had purchased in London.
"You have really no fears for her, Bob?" I said as we undressed. He and I occupied a double-bedded room.
"Not the least," replied Bob. "She's a gem. Of the first water. Wash and comb her regularly--dress her decently--teach her to read and write--give her two or three years to grow up in--and there's no telling what she may become. Much obliged for the introduction. Much obliged also for the business in hand." He said this with perfect sincerity. Bob Tucker was in his element.
On the following morning he and Sophy set off for Tylney House. By Bob's advice I remained behind in Nutford. It would be best, he said, that Dr. Peterssen should not see me.
I waited in great anxiety for his return, and at three o'clock in the afternoon he was with me again.
"All arranged," he said. "Sophy is now a friendly patient in Tylney House. Did not tell you, did I, that I telegraphed to Peterssen from London yesterday afternoon?"
"No," I replied, "I was not aware of it. You lay your plans well, Bob."
"No use undertaking a job unless you do. I sent him telegram--'Coming to your establishment to-morrow with young patient. SILAS NETTLEFOLD.' We arrive in a fly--ring the bell--man appears. I ask, 'Dr. Peterssen at home?' 'Name?' inquires the man. 'Silas Nettlefold,' I answer. 'Dr. Peterssen is at home,' says man. 'Walk in.' I do. Sophy slouches by my side--good actress, that girl. Man eyes her. She doesn't notice him apparently. All the same she sees him--and reckons him up. In the grounds she picks up stone--looks at it--turns it over in her hand--shies it over the wall. 'A way she's got,' I say to man. Slip two half-crowns into his hand. He grins, and leads the way. Peterssen--damned scoundrel--receives us. I introduce myself--and my stepdaughter Maria. He shakes hands with me--no suspicion in his manner. I was looking out for that. Puts his thumb under my step-daughter's chin--raises her face. She gives a silly laugh, and turns away. I explain matters, saying first, 'Can I speak plainly to you?' 'I am a man of the world,' he says. 'So am I,' I respond. I give him a sly look; he gives me one. I motion Sophy, otherwise Maria, out of the room. He rings for man to take her into the grounds. 'Not my daughter,' I say; 'my first wife's. Widow when I married her. Now, dead. Six weeks ago I married again. Second wife wants her out of the house. So do I. More comfortable for all parties. Dumb from her birth; quite silly, but has, or will have when she's of age, property. Meanwhile I am her guardian. Willing to pay well to have her well taken care of. Must not be ill-treated. Am a Christian--so are you.' Peterssen smiles; I smile. I continue: 'It is to my interest that she shall be happy. I wish her to live a long life--in such an establishment as yours--at so much a year, paid in advance. I should like her to get fat. The longer she lives, the better for me. If she died her property would pass out of my control.' And so on, and so on. Peterssen comprehends--grasps the situation. Promises everything I ask. Shall be treated as friendly patient, but of course the charge will be proportionate. 'Quite so,' I say. Everything then is arranged. She will have perfect liberty inside the stone walls. Will be kindly treated. Will be allowed to walk freely about the grounds, and to indulge her harmless habit of occasional stone-throwing. So far, all plain sailing. Then comes question of terms. 'Two hundred a year,' says Peterssen, rather stiff. 'We'll not haggle,' I say. Peterssen much relieved. He's devilish hard up. Saw it with half an eye. His hand stretched out to clutch the money. Took advantage of his eagerness. Gave him twenty pounds on account of first quarter. Promise to pay the other thirty in a month. After that, regular quarterly payments in advance. Peterssen made lame attempts to hold out for larger sum down on the nail. I stood my ground. Peterssen gave way. If he'd been flush of money would have seen me further first. Interview terminated. We go out to Sophy, otherwise Maria. Girl very happy, playing with two stones. 'Let her have her way,' I say, 'won't give you a bit of trouble.' I wish her good-by. She takes not the slightest notice of me. Begins to whistle. Clever girl, Sophy. Gives me a silly look, that's all. I speak to man, otherwise keeper, aside. 'Don't bother her,' I say, 'and she won't bother you. Treat her kindly, and you get a crown a week. Here's first fortnight in advance.' Keeper promises to be good to her, and not to interfere with her. A crown a week buys him body and soul. Sophy all right. Shake hands with Peterssen, pat Sophy on the head, and make my way here. Not in a straight line. Hired fly some distance off in another direction. Leave Bob Tucker alone for putting people off the scent."
There was nothing to find fault with in Bobgs description; all that I had wished for had been cleverly carried out, and everything seemed now to depend upon whether the desk of Indian wood was in Dr. Peterssen's establishment and whether Sophy would be able to obtain possession of it. But it was not without an uneasy feeling that I thought of Sophy being at the mercy of such a man as the master of Tylney House. Bob did his best to dispel my uneasiness. He was positive that Sophy was quite safe. Dr. Peterssen was seldom in the house, his inclinations and pleasures lying elsewhere, and the management of the establishment was left almost entirely in the hands of the keeper who Bob said he had bought for five shillings a week.
"Doesn't get a tip once in a blue moon," said Bob. "That was evident from his manner of accepting mine. It was such a novelty that it almost knocked him over. Doesn't get too well paid, either. There's a tumbledown air about Tylney House which made me think of a man on his last legs. One thing is certain. Peterssen's heart is not in it. Mind occupied by matters more engrossing. Generally savage look upon his face. The fellow's ripe."
"For what, Bob?"
"For any kind of villainy, from pitch and toss to manslaughter. Wouldn't stop short of manslaughter. Oh, I know my customer."
"Did you see any of the other patients?" I asked.
"No," answered Bob. "Kept out of the way, most likely. Looked about for harmless patient green-grocer's boy spoke of. Didn't catch a glimpse of him."
We left Nettlefold that evening, and went to another village on the other side of Sheldon. This was done to enable Bob to assume a different disguise, in which he was to pay his daily visits to the tree outside the stone walls of Tylney House, which was to serve as a target for Sophy's stones twice a day; and he told me that he had given Sophy explicit instructions how to reach us at our new address. It seems that he had the removal in view when we were at Nettlefold, and had let Sophy into the secret; and I commended and admired his thoughtfulness.
The change of quarters safely made, I had nothing to do but to await the course of events. I considered it expedient to keep Bob company, so as to be on the spot in case Sophy should make an unexpected appearance. Bob's proceedings and methods afforded me some amusement. At a quarter to eleven every morning he started for Sheldon, returning at a quarter to two. An hour afterward he started again for the same place, returning at a quarter to six. He was punctuality itself, and his movements resembled those of a well-regulated clock. Every time he returned he said, "Sophy quite safe. Three stones, and a pellet wrapped in white paper. Whistling like a bird. Sophy getting fine markswoman. Two of the stones hit tree. Capital exercise for muscles this stone-throwing. Pity Sophy can't write. She would be able to tell us news." He kept an exact record of all his proceedings, and devoted a separate page, more than one, if necessary, to each entry. "In matters like this," he said, "avoid confusion. Be precise. My diary saves a world of trouble in deciding absolutely what was done at such an hour on such a day." The time, I must confess, hung heavily on my hands, and I would much rather have been an active worker in the task upon which we were engaged. However, I had no choice. I wrote regularly to my people at home and to Emilia, who thus became acquainted with my country address, and it was to Emilia's knowledge of my whereabouts which led to unforeseen diversions in the plans I had so carefully mapped out.