"Marton?" repeated the vicar. "Who is Marton?"
Raston laughed. "Such is fame," said he, lightly. "Marton is one of the best detectives in England. He was leaving college when I went up, and we met for a few weeks. When I was curate in the Battersea slums I met him again, as he has a wide acquaintance with the criminal classes. We renewed our collegefriendship, and I still write to him. Now, with your permission, Mr Tempest, I will put this case into Marton's hands. It is just the kind of mystery he would love to solve."
"The man is a gentleman, I suppose, Raston?"
"Certainly. He is my friend. I know the pawnshop of Old Penny. He is a Scotsman, if you can grasp the idea of a Scotsman keeping a pawnshop. I'll tell Marton the whole case, and we can then go to this shop. If possible, we may get back the cup."
"Who is to pay four hundred pounds for it?" asked Tempest.
"We'll see," replied Raston, quietly. "I shall do nothing without Marton's advice. Have I your permission?"
Tempest nodded. "I think it is the best thing you can do. Go to London and keep me advised of everything. I should like to know Mr Marton's opinion of the matter."
"It is probable he'll come down here later on," said the curate; "but in the meantime, Mr Tempest, do nothing to Haverleigh."
"I promise you that," replied the vicar, and the matter being settled in this way, the two men shook hands. Afterwards Raston went to prepare for his departure.
While this was taking place, Leo was talking in the chapel with Hale. Haverleigh had gone up to see if Sybil was about, as he wished to tell her of this new development of the conspiracy against him. Leo felt sure by this time that there was a conspiracy, and thatHale was concerned in it. He was therefore rather pleased when he saw the cripple walking up the hill before him. Leo made up his mind to force the truth out of him, and hurried on so as to catch him. Hale heard his steps, and turned with a queer smile on his face. He was not at all abashed by the presence of the man to whom he had told a lie, but, on the contrary, welcomed him in the most friendly manner. Haverleigh was irritated by this false behaviour. "Either you think me innocent, and wish to be my friend," he said, "or you believe that I am guilty and have some reason to be feigning good fellowship. I must have some understanding with you, Hale. Come into the chapel. We will not be disturbed there as it is mid-day and everyone is at dinner," and Leo, without waiting for a reply, entered the door.
The chapel was empty; even Sybil was not in sight. Hearing the halting steps of the cripple behind him, Leo led the way into the crusaders' chapel, where he sat down beside one of the tombs. Hale paused before him and looked down in a whimsical manner. "You have chosen a strange place," he said, looking round.
"It is a sacred place," replied Leo, coolly; "and you may be the less inclined to tell lies. I presume you have some religion."
"How dare you say I tell lies?" cried the baronet, scowling.
"Because I have had some experience of your capability in that direction. And now I should like toknow what you mean by denying that you lent me the three hundred pounds?"
Hale shrugged his unshapely shoulders and sat down with a painful effort, placing his crutch beside him. "You were fool enough to speak to me in the presence of my sister," he said. "I could only say what I did say. Now that we are alone I am willing to answer any questions you may put to me."
"You will answer truthfully, I hope?"
"Assuredly. It is time we understood one another. Go on."
"You lent me three hundred pounds?" said Leo, in the form of a query.
"In gold," assented Sir Frank, coolly.
"Why did you lend it to me in gold?"
"A whim of mine."
"I don't think so," said Leo, slowly. "You had some scheme in your head. I believe you wanted to deny the loan if you found it convenient."
"You are very clever, Haverleigh. That is just what I did want. Had I given you a cheque you could have proved the loan. Even notes might have shown the truth. But I wanted to be free to act as I pleased, so I went to the trouble of getting gold from the bank."
"Then it seems to me that you had this cup stolen by some confederate, and intended to lay the blame on me so as to get me into a trap!"
"Indeed, no," protested Hale, so loudly that Leo believed he was speaking the truth. "The stealing of the cup, and the subsequent blame being thrown onyou, was unexpected. But I took advantage of the opportunity. You can prove your innocence only by my help, Haverleigh, and I give my evidence only on conditions."
"I was prepared for such a speech," said Leo, calmly; "but it won't do, my friend. You must go to Tempest and tell him that you gave me three hundred pounds to pay my debts. Perhaps then he may disbelieve this ridiculous story of my being a thief."
Hale sat up alertly. "Then you didn't steal the cup?"
"Certainly not. How dare you suggest such a thing? I suspect you know more about the loss of the cup than I do."
The baronet looked down on his crooked leg and smiled ironically. "Do you mean to infer that I thrust this misshapen body through that window?"
"No! But you have plenty of money to pay for any rascality."
"I am not so fond of parting with money," said Hale, dryly. "I know nothing about the cup. But I really thought you stole it. Mrs Jeal's tale—"
"Ha!" Leo started up. "She told you that? Why?"
"Because she is a woman who is fond of money," said Hale, quietly. "Knowing that my sister is in love with you, Haverleigh, she came to threaten me. She declared that she would proclaim you a thief if I did not pay her. It was her belief that such a course would break my sister's heart."
"And what did you do?"
"I told her I would inform the police if she dared to speak to me in that manner again. I believe she then went to the vicar. But if I come forward, Haverleigh, and state that I lent you the money, it will go a long way towards clearing you. Of course, I do not understand this pawning business. The woman says she saw you."
"She saw my double, or someone dressed up to resemble me," said Leo, vehemently; "but she did not see me. I was never near the shop."
"So you say," said Hale, smiling cruelly. "However, you must see that I can help you. I will do so on one condition—no, on two."
"I can guess the two," said Leo, looking at his mean face. "You want me to surrender Sybil so that you may marry her, and to make your sister my wife? Is that not so?"
Hale smiled again. "You save me the trouble of an explanation," he said.
"Then I absolutely refuse to do what you want, Hale. I respect your sister, who is a kind and good-hearted girl; but I do not love her, and not for all the gold in the world would I marry her. On the other hand, nothing will induce me to give up Sybil. She shall never become your wife. I wonder you have the impertinence to propose such a thing to me!"
"If you don't do what I ask," said Hale, very pale and venomous, "I shall refuse to help you. I shall deny that I lent you the money."
"Deny what you please!" Leo walked to the doorof the chapel. "Everything is in your favour, and you can have me arrested if you choose. But I decline to sell my love to buy my safety. Good-day, Hale," and he marched away.
Sybil had seen Leo go into the room where her father was waiting with Mrs Jeal, and wondered what the woman had to do with her lover. She was called out to see a sick woman on behalf of her father, and on her way home bethought herself how she could see Leo. The girl was in a perfect fever of nervous fear for the young man. Then it struck her that the best thing to do would be to call at Mr Pratt's. No sooner had she made up her mind to brave her father's anger in this respect than she went at once to The Nun's House. She feared if she delayed that her courage might evaporate.
The door was opened by Adam, who explained that Mr Pratt was from home. "He went into Portfront to-day, miss," said Adam. "I only hope he will be able to get back this night, as there is a sea-fog coming up the Channel."
"There is no danger of his losing the road, Adam," said Sybil, cheerfully; "but I don't want to see Mr Pratt. It is Mr Haverleigh who—"
"He is in the library, miss," replied Adam, andadmitted her into the house. When Sybil found herself alone with Leo she had a qualm. What would her father say should he ever come to know that she had paid such a visit?
Leo was seated at the desk, his face hidden in his arms, looking most dejected. He lifted his head as she entered, and, at the sight of his face, Sybil forgot all about her father and the impropriety of the visit. At once she ran to her lover, and drew his head down on to her breast with a look of almost divine pity. "My darling Leo," she said, "I knew that you were miserable, and I have come to comfort you."
"How good of you, dear!" replied Haverleigh, stroking her hair; "but your father? I did not think he would let you come to me."
"My father does not know that I am here," said Sybil, blushing, as he placed a chair for her; "but I knew you had been to see him, and I could not rest until I heard all about the interview. Was he very angry?"
"No; I think he is inclined to believe in my innocence in spite of Mrs Jeal's story. And Heaven knows she has painted me black enough!"
"I wondered what Mrs Jeal was doing at the Vicarage, Leo; I don't like that woman. She looks sly and wicked. But what story can she have to tell about you, dear?"
"Sybil, she says that she saw me pawning the cup in London," and while Sybil, filled with surprise, sat looking at his agitated face, Leo told all that Mrs Jeal had said. "So you see, dear," he continued, "that thereis some sort of conspiracy against me. I believe Hale is in it too."
"It is a strange story," she said musingly. "I wonder who it was could have impersonated you? Did the man give your name?"
"By Jove!" cried Leo, starting up, "I never thought of asking. Yet the rascal must have given it for the pawn-ticket. Sybil, I can't help thinking that Hale knows something about this. He saw me in the chapel an hour ago and said that he would make a statement to the effect that he had paid me the money if I would give you up and marry his sister."
Sybil's eyes flashed. "How dare he?" she cried. "He wants to drive you into a corner, Leo. What did you say?"
"I refused to have anything to do with him, dear. He can join with your father in having me arrested for all I care. I would rather that than give up my Sybil! But you see the position. What is to be done?"
"Can't you go to London and see this man Penny?"
"No. I dare not leave the place. Your father and the others would think that I was seeking safety in flight. I might be arrested before I got as far as Portfront. I don't say that your father would go so far but there is always the chance. I am sure Mrs Gabriel would not counsel mercy. For some unaccountable reason she hates me thoroughly."
"My poor Leo!" Sybil stroked his cheek. "Fate is very cruel to you. But never mind. In spite ofeverything I will be true to you. And what is more, Leo, I'll help you to prove your innocence."
"How can you do that, my love?"
She pursed up her pretty mouth, and, crossing her slender feet, looked on the ground with an air of portentous gravity. "I don't believe this story of Mrs Jeal's," she said; "there is something behind it. As you cannot go to London—and I see it would be foolish of you to go away from Colester at present—we must do the best we can through the newspapers."
Leo looked at her in surprise, and knelt beside her. "What can we do with the newspapers, darling?"
"Put an advertisement in every London daily paper saying that the cup has been lost, giving a description, and offering a reward if any information is given tome."
"Toyou, Sybil! What would your father say?"
"He won't know. Besides, Leo, darling, you are more to me even than my father, and I am angry at the unjust way in which you are being treated. I will write out a number of these advertisements, and send them up with post-office orders. The replies to be sent to 'S. T. Colester Post-office.'"
"But what good will that do?"
"Oh, you stupid darling! I have to think for two, I see. Why, this pawnbroker—what is his name?—Penny. Well, if Penny sees the advertisement, he will recognise the cup from the description, and know that it has been stolen. He will be afraid of getting into trouble with the police, and he no doubt will write saying that the cup was pawned with him andthat he will be willing to sell it back for the price paid. Then we'll get it back, Leo. When I am certain, I'll tell my father, and he will arrange about buying it again."
"Yes. But how does all this benefit me?"
"This Penny creature will explain who pawned it, and he will give the name of the person Mrs Jeal said resembled you. He might do that if the matter were made public by advertisement. If we approach him privately he will very likely deny everything. We can't be too careful, Leo."
"But the reward," said Haverleigh, puzzled. "I have no money; you have no money. What will you do?"
"When the cup is back, or if information is given likely to recover it, I am sure my father can arrange about the money with Mrs Gabriel. Now do not say a word, Leo. She has nothing to do with you now. And, after all," added Sybil, naïvely, "I don't see why any money need pass. This is a trap I am laying for that pawnbroker. That is if Mrs Jeal's story is true, which I am inclined to doubt. I'll put the advertisement in on chance, Leo, and see what comes of it."
"But it is such a mad idea," remonstrated the young man, who could not follow all these feminine arguments. "Let me tell Pratt about your suggestion. He will be able to advise us."
Sybil rose to her feet and shook her head obstinately. "If you say a word to Mr Pratt I'll never forgive you. Let me try this experiment all alone,Leo, dear. It can do no harm, and it might do a lot of good. We must not tell anyone about it."
"Sybil, I kept the fact of my borrowing that money from Hale a secret, and I have regretted it ever since. Let us ask Pratt's advice."
"No, Leo." Sybil was still obstinate. "I want to try this myself. If it fails it can do no harm, and if it succeeds I shall have the joy of knowing that it was I who got you out of this trouble. Now promise not to tell!"
At first Leo refused. He did not want Sybil to mix herself up in this disagreeable case even for his sake. But she used such endearments, and kept to her point with such pertinacity, that he gave in. It was useless to contend against Sybil when she set her heart on getting anything. She never would give in, however discouraged. Therefore, before she left the library, she had drawn out an advertisement with the assistance of Leo, in which the appearance of the cup and its Latin inscription were carefully set down. A reward of fifty pounds was offered, and the answers were to be sent to S. T., at the Colester Post-office.
"There!" said Sybil, when this document was completed, "I have set my trap. Now we shall see who will fall into it. I'll make a dozen copies at once, and have them sent off by to-morrow. Not a word, Leo, about this."
"I will be silent, as I have promised. All the same, I do not feel comfortable about your experiment. To tell you the truth, Sybil, I can't see the sense of it.Now, don't look angry, dear. I know it is all done out of love for me."
"I am not sure that you deserve my love," pouted Sybil as he escorted her to the door. "You place all kinds of obstacles in my way!"
She was rather angry, for her heart was fully taken up with the magnificence of her scheme. However, Leo managed to calm her, and gain her forgiveness. He was quite unaware of what he had done wrong. But Sybil said that he had behaved disgracefully, so he apologised. Then she said that she was a wicked girl, and after kissing him ran away. All this was very foolish, but very sweet. Leo often recalled that interview to her in after days, and they both agreed that they behaved like two most sensible people. But at present Leo was too sad to enjoy the stolen meeting as a true and loyal lover should have done.
That same night the sea-fog rolled up thick and white. Mr Pratt did not return home, at which non-arrival Adam was not surprised. Mr Pratt was too fond of his creature comforts to drive twenty miles through a damp and clinging mist. Leo had the whole house to himself, and Adam, who thought a good deal of him, did his best to make him comfortable. He consulted with the cook and gave Leo a capital little dinner, together with a bottle of superfine Burgundy. Then he supplied him with cigars of the best and coffee of the finest, and left him comfortably seated before the drawing-room fire. Under these circumstances Leo felt happier than he had expected, seeing at what a low ebb his fortunes were.
The position of the unfortunate young man was undeniably hard. Here he was, deserted by his aunt, Mrs Gabriel. She had taken him up, brought him up to expect a large fortune, and then, for no cause at all, had suddenly cast him out on the world to earn his own living as best he could. And in addition to this, although it was hardship enough, poor Leo's character was gone. He was accused of a sordid crime, and might have to answer for it to the law. He did not see what defence he could make. Certainly, if he acceded to Hale's terms, he could vindicate his position in some measure by accounting for the sum of money he had used to pay his debts. But in this case Sybil would be lost to him. And what would life be without Sybil? Altogether, Leo was in low spirits, in spite of the fire and the Burgundy, and the memory of that charming interview. But it was no use lamenting, as he very truly observed to himself, so he tried to shake off the feeling of depression and went to bed. He was young, the world was large, and he hoped in some way or another to sail out of these troubled waters into a peaceful haven. Hope was the silver lining to his cloud of black despair.
Meanwhile, Raston had written to his friend Marton a full account of the loss of the cup, of the accusation by Mrs Jeal of Leo, and of the suspicions entertained by the villagers concerning the probity of the young man. For some days he heard nothing. Then one evening Marton himself arrived unexpectedly at Colester. He went at once to the curate's lodgings and was received with great surprise.
"My dear Marton, this is an unexpected pleasure," said Raston, assisting his distinguished visitor to pull off his coat. "I thought you would have written to me about your visit to Penny."
"I didn't go there," replied Marton, with a laugh. "The fact is, Harold, I cannot quite understand this case. You have not explained matters clearly enough in your letter. I have set a detective to watch Penny and Penny's shop, and I have come down to hear all details from your own worshipful lips. But what a foggy sort of place you have here! I have been driving in your mail-coach through a kind of cotton-wool. The guard thought we would never reach Colester. I felt like a character of Dickens in that coach. You are a primitive people here. Do you know I rather like it!"
Marton was a tall, slim, black-haired man, neatly dressed in a tweed suit. He constantly smoked cigarettes, and maintained a perfectly calm demeanour. No one ever saw Marton excited. His face was clean-shaven, and his grey eyes were sharp and piercing. He looked what he was, a thorough gentleman, and a remarkably shrewd, clever man. His fame as a detective is so well known that it need hardly be mentioned.
"I must get you something to eat," said Raston.
"No. I dined at Portfront before I left. Give me a glass of port, and I can smoke a cigarette. This fire is comfortable after the fog."
"I have some excellent port, Marton. My dear mother is under the impression that I am delicate, andkeeps me well supplied from my father's cellar. I don't know what he says to it."
"Being a clergyman, you had better not know," said Marton, dryly. "Your father had a vocabulary of—There, there, I'll say nothing more. I want my port, my cigarette, and a full account of this case. It seems to be an interesting one. I shouldn't have come down otherwise, even for your sake, my dear Harold. I have just twice as much business on hand as I can do with. The detective life is not a happy one."
Raston poured out a glass of port and placed it at Marton's elbow. He watched his friend light a cigarette, and himself filled his well-worn briar. Then, when they were comfortably established, he related all that he knew about the case. Marton listened with his eyes on the fire, but made no observation until the recital was finished. Indeed, even then he did not seem inclined to talk.
"Well?" said Raston, rather impatiently. "What do you think?"
"Wait a bit, my friend. It is a difficult case. I am not prepared to give you an opinion straight away. I must ask something about the people concerned in it first. This Leo Haverleigh? What about him?"
"He is a good man, and perfectly honest. I should as soon have suspected myself of stealing the cup as Leo. And I have known him for some time."
"Well, if anyone ought to know the truth about a man's character I should think a clergyman was the person," said Marton. "Is it not Balzac who says the clergy are all in black because they see the worstside of human nature? Humph! Have you had to put on mourning for this Haverleigh?"
"No. He has been a trifle wild, and has got into debt; but otherwise there is nothing wrong about him. Besides," added the curate, "Miss Tempest is in love with him, and they are engaged. She is a noble girl, and would not love a scoundrel."
"Ah!" said Marton, cynically, "I have seen a remark of that sort in novels, my good man. In real life—But that is neither here nor there. I should like to meet this young man."
"I can take you with me to-night. He is staying with Mr Pratt at The Nun's House. It is no very great distance away."
"I can wait till to-morrow, Harold. I have no very great desire to go out into this dense fog. By the way, who is this Mr Pratt?"
"A newcomer to Colester. He has been here off and on for the last few months, and has decided to settle here. He is well off, and has travelled a great deal. His house is beautifully furnished."
"Quite an acquisition to the neighbourhood!" said Marton, drowsily. "I must make the acquaintance of your people here to-morrow. Just now I feel inclined to go to bed."
"But tell me your opinion of this case?"
"Well," said Marton, thoughtfully, "from all the evidence you give me it seems that Haverleigh is guilty."
"No, Marton," replied the curate, "I'll never believethat. And you forget that he claims to have obtained the money from Sir Frank Hale."
"Well, then, his possession of three hundred pounds is easily proved. I shall see Sir Frank Hale and question him. With regard to this Mrs Jeal, her story seems credible enough. I don't suppose she has any enmity against Haverleigh?"
"No. But she is a woman I neither like nor trust. A demure, cat-like creature, with a pair of wicked eyes."
"You make me long to see her," said Marton, waking up. "That is just the sort of person I like to meet. Do you think she may have stolen this cup herself, and have invented this wild story to account for the loss? I have heard of stranger and even more daring things."
"No. That is out of the question, Marton. On the night the cup was stolen Mrs Jeal was watching beside this sick girl—the mad creature I have told you about. She is innocent."
"Then I can only say that young Haverleigh seems to be the most likely person. Only, the evidence against him is so plain that I believe him to be guiltless. I always mistrust too plain evidence, Raston. It shows signs of having been prepared. Well, I'll see this young man to-morrow, and have a chat. I go by the face a great deal. Have you a photograph of him?"
"No," said the curate on the spur of the moment. "Oh, yes, by the way! I took a group of our peopleat a picnic. It is not a bad picture, although small. You can see the whole lot at a glance."
Raston got out the photograph, and Marton went to the lamp to see it the more plainly. He glanced at first carelessly at it, then his eyes grew large, his attention became fixed. At that moment there was a ring at the door. Marton looked at the clock. "You have a late visitor," he said.
"A call to see some sick woman probably. Why do you look so closely at that picture, Marton?"
"There is a face here I know. Who is that?"
Raston looked. "That is the man with whom Haverleigh is staying. Pratt!"
"Pratt?" repeated Marton in a thoughtful tone. "Has he a tattooed star on his cheek just under the cheek bone?"
"Yes. And he is tattooed on the arm also—the right arm. I expect he had it done while he was a sailor."
"Oh!" said Marton, dryly, "he says he was a sailor."
"Not to my knowledge; but he has mentioned something of being an amateur one. Do you know him, Marton?"
"If he is the man I think he is, I know him better than you do, Raston!"
"Then who is—" Raston had just got thus far, when the landlady opened the door to announce Mr Pratt. "Here is the man himself, Marton."
"Marton!" echoed Pratt, who was standing in the doorway.
"Yes, Mr—Angel," said Marton, looking straight at him.
Pratt stood for just half a moment as though turned into stone. Then he turned on his heel, and went out of the door and down the stairs as swiftly as he was able. Without a word Marton darted after him. By the time he reached the street door Pratt had disappeared in the fog.
Raston was astonished when Pratt disappeared so suddenly, and Marton rushed out after him. He went to the door, but his friend was not to be seen. It was little use following, for he did not know which direction the man had taken, and the fog was so thick that he could hardly see the length of his hand before him. The whole of the spur upon which Colester was built was wrapped in a thick white mist, and those who were abroad in the streets ran every chance of being lost. The village was small, but the alleys and streets were tortuous, so there would be no great difficulty in mistaking the way.
For over an hour the curate waited, yet Marton did not return. He could only suppose that the detective had followed Pratt, for what purpose he could not divine. Evidently Marton knew something not altogether to Pratt's advantage, and Pratt was aware of this, else he would hardly have disappeared so expeditiously. Moreover, Marton had addressed Pratt as "Angel," which hinted that the American was masquerading under a false name. Still wondering at what was likely to be the outcome of this adventure, Raston placed himself at the door and waited for the return of his friend. But, as time passed, he madesure that the detective, a stranger in the village, had lost his way.
"I can't leave him out of doors all night," soliloquised Raston, peering into the fog; "yet I do not know where to look for him. However, his own good sense must have told him not to go too far."
It was now after ten o'clock, and most of the villagers were in bed. Mr Raston then ventured upon a course of which he would have thought twice had the situation been less desperate. He placed his hands to his mouth and sent an Australian "cooe" through the night. This accomplishment had been taught to him by an Australian cousin. As this especial cry carried further than most shouts, Raston congratulated himself that he knew how to give it. It was the only way of getting into communication with Marton.
After shouting once or twice, Raston heard a faint cry in response. It came from the right. So the curate, feeling his way along the houses, started in that direction, shouting at intervals. Shortly the answering cry sounded close at hand, and after some difficulty and inarticulate conversation the two men met. With an ejaculation Marton grasped the hand of his friend. "Thank Heaven you have found me," said the detective. "I have been going round in a circle."
"Did you catch up with Pratt?" asked Raston.
"No; the rascal disappeared into the fog, and I lost myself in pursuit of him in about three minutes."
"Why do you call him a rascal?"
"Because he is one; I know all about him. But I never thought I should have stumbled on 'Mr Angel' in this locality. I feel like Saul, who went out to look for his asses and stumbled on a kingdom."
"Is his name Angel?"
"That isoneof his names; he has at least a dozen. Why he should have chosen one that fitted him so badly I cannot say."
By this time Raston, holding on to Marton's coat sleeve, had guided the detective back to his lodgings. The man was shivering with cold, for he had gone out without coat or hat. He hastily swallowed a glass of port, and began getting his things to go out. "You're not going into that fog again!" protested Raston. "You'll only get lost."
"Not under your capable guidance," laughed the detective. "You must guide me to the house of this Mr Pratt. I intend to arrest him."
"Arrest him!" echoed the curate, staring. "Dear me, what has he done?"
"Ask me what he hasn't done," said Marton, with a curl of his lip, "and I'll be better able to tell you. It's a long story, Raston, and time is passing; I want to go to the man's house. Is it far from here?"
"Some little distance," replied the curate, wondering at this haste. "I can find my way to it by guiding myself along the walls. But you can't arrest him, Marton, whatever he has done, unless you have a warrant."
"I accept all responsibility on that score," replied Marton, grimly. "The police have wanted Mr Angel,aliasPratt, for many a long day. Now the rascalknows that I am here, he will clear out of Colester in double quick time. I want to act promptly and take him by surprise. Now don't ask questions, my dear fellow, but take me to the house. I'll tell you all about this man later on. By the way, he is the individual who gave your church this celebrated cup?"
"Yes. I really hope there is nothing wrong."
"Everythingis wrong. I expect the cup was stolen—"
"Itisstolen—"
"Pshaw! I don't mean this time. Pratt stole it himself. I wonder he dare present his spoils to the Church. The fellow must have very little religion to think such an ill-gotten gift could be acceptable."
"Stolen!" murmured Raston, putting on his coat. "But why—who is Pratt?"
"Simply the cleverest thief in the three kingdoms. Come along!"
Raston gasped, but he had no time to ask further questions. The detective had him by the arm and was hurrying him to the door. When outside he made the curate lead, and followed close on his heels. Raston, rather dazed by this experience, turned in the direction of The Nun's House, and, guiding himself along the walls and houses, managed to get into the street in which it stood—that is, he and Marton found themselves on the highroad which led down to King's-meadows. It was fully an hour before they got as far as this, for the fog grew denser every moment. Finally, Raston stumbled on the gate, drew his friend inside with an ejaculation of satisfaction, and walkedswiftly up the path that led to the house. On the ground floor all was dark, but in the centre window of the second storey a light was burning. Marton did not wait for the curate, but ran up the steps and knocked at the door; he also rang, and he did both violently. For a time there was no response, then the light disappeared from the window above.
In a few minutes the noise of the bolts being withdrawn was heard, and the rattle of the chain. The door opened to show Leo in his dressing-gown standing on the threshold with a lighted candle in his hand. He looked bewildered and angry, as though he had just been aroused from his first sleep, which indeed was the case. "What the devil is the matter?" he asked crossly, peering out into the night. "You make enough noise to wake the dead! Who is it?"
"It is I, and a friend, Haverleigh," said the curate, pushed forward by the detective. "Is Mr Pratt within?"
"I suppose so," replied Leo, much astonished at this nocturnal visitation; "he is no doubt in bed. I can't understand why he did not hear the noise you made. Has he left anything at your place, Raston?"
"Ah! You knew he was going to see Mr Raston?" put in Marton, sharply.
"He left here over two hours ago, and I went to bed. Then I heard him come back just as I was falling asleep, but he did not come up to my room. If you will tell me what is the matter, I'll rouse him.
"Let us enter, Haverleigh," said the curate, who was shivering. "We have much to tell you."
Still much puzzled, Leo led the way to the library after shutting the door, and the two men followed him. He lighted the gas—Colester was not sufficiently civilised for electric light—and then turned to ask once more what was the matter. Raston thought the best way to bring about an explanation was to introduce his friend, who was already looking keenly round the well-furnished room. "This is Mr Marton," he said. "He is a London detective."
With a bitter laugh Leo set down the candle on the table. "What," he said, "are you the man with the bow-string, Raston? Scarcely worthy of your cloth! If you wanted to arrest me, you might have waited until morning!"
"Who is this young gentleman?" asked Marton, suddenly.
"I am Leo Haverleigh, Mr Detective," replied the young man, sharply; "and I suppose you have come here at the instance of Mr Tempest to arrest me!"
Marton snatched up the candle, and held it close to Leo's face. He was apparently quite satisfied, for he spoke in a more friendly tone.
"You need not be afraid, Mr Haverleigh," he said soothingly. "I have not come to arrest you—but to investigate the case. I don't think there is any chance of your being arrested. Your face is enough for me. But this is all very well," he added impatiently; "I want Pratt!"
"I will go and wake him," said Leo, who could make neither top nor tail of all this, but who was relieved to find that he was not in danger of arrest. Heretired from the room, while Marton darted about here there, and everywhere. He was like a bloodhound nosing a trail. Suddenly he stopped before a cabinet, a drawer of which was open.
"Too late!" said Marton in a tone of disgust. "He's bolted."
"How could he bolt in this fog?" asked Raston, dubiously.
"Oh, he'll find his way somehow. Tony Angel is the cleverest of men for getting out of a difficulty. He has evaded the police for years. See, my dear chap, this drawer is open. That means he has taken money or valuables from it, and is now on his way to Heaven knows what hiding-place.
"Can you be sure of that? The open drawer may be an accident. Besides, he would not think you would act so promptly."
"Indeed, that is just why he has bolted so expeditiously," said Marton, with something of admiration in his tones. "Angel has experienced my promptitude before, and several times I have been on the point of capturing him. He has taken French leave within the last two hours. But for that infernal fog I should have stuck to him till I ran him down. Or, at all events, I might have disabled him with a shot."
The curate looked at his friend aghast. "A shot!" he stammered.
Marton produced a neat little revolver. "I should have used that had I been able," he said quietly. "It does not do to adopt half measures with our mutual friend. Besides, if hard pressed he would have returnedthe compliment. Your Haverleigh fellow is a long time!"
"He'll be back soon. You can trust Leo. Surely, Marton, you do not think he knew anything of Pratt's doings?"
"With such a face as that he knows precious little," retorted Marton; "he is a good fellow, but not sharp. He did not steal that cup, nor did he help Pratt to get away. No, Raston. Our criminal friend came back here while I was blundering in the fog, and after taking some money cleared out without loss of time. I sha'n't catch him now. I suppose the telegraph-office is closed?"
"Yes. It closes here at nine o'clock. And even if you sent a wire, it would not be delivered at Portfront to-night."
"No, I suppose not. You are all so slow in these country places! It is clever of you to mention Portfront, Raston. You think that Tony Angel will go there?"
"How else can he get away?"
"I don't know. You know the country better than I do. But I tell you what, our friend will not go to Portfront or anywhere near it."
"Why not?" asked the curate, bewildered.
"Because you expect him to go there. Angel always does the thing that is not expected. I wish I had caught him! I've been years trying to hunt him down. And the beast has made himself comfortable here!" said Marton, with a glance round. "I bet you, Raston,that the greater part of these things have been stolen."
"Stolen, Marton! How terrible. And the cup?"
"He stole that also," replied Marton, promptly, lighting one of his cigarettes. "Oh, he is a clever man, is Angel. Ah! here is our young and enterprising friend. Well, Mr Haverleigh, so Pratt has gone?"
"Yes," said Leo, looking puzzled. "I went to his room and found that his bed had not been slept in. The back door is open, although closed—that is, it has not been locked. How do you know Pratt has gone?"
"I'll tell you later. Throw a few logs on that fire, Raston. It will soon burn up. Here is a bottle of whisky, too, and some soda."
"I left that for Pratt," said Leo, somewhat surprised at the cool way in which this man was behaving.
"And Pratt was too clever to muddle his head when he needed all his wits about him. By the way, has his jackall gone also?"
"Adam is not in, if that is what you—"
"Yes, Mr Haverleigh, that is exactly what I do mean. Ha! Clever man Pratt! He came back here straight, and, warning his pal, walked off, leaving the empty house to me and to you, Mr Haverleigh. Did you hear him leave?"
"I heard nothing until you knocked at the door. Then I wondered why Adam did not hear you. The other servants are asleep at the back of the house, and I suppose they also expected Adam to answer the bell."
"That is extremely probable. Well, let us hope theremaining servants will sleep well. To-morrow they must leave this house!"
"Why, in Heaven's name?" asked Leo, starting up.
"For the very simple reason that the police will be put into possession here by me to-morrow."
"What? Did Pratt steal the—I don't understand. Raston, what does this man mean? Who is he? What are—"
"Wait a bit, Mr Haverleigh," interrupted Marton, motioning the curate to hold his tongue, "all in good time. I am Horace Marton, a detective. I was asked by Mr Raston to investigate this robbery, and he was telling me about it at his lodgings. Your friend Mr Pratt arrived, and when he saw me he bolted out into the fog. I followed and lost him. Then I got back to Raston here, and we have been over two hours looking for this confounded place. During that time Pratt and Adam have made themselves scarce."
"But why should they do that?" asked Leo, still puzzled.
"Because this man who calls himself Pratt, and poses as a giver of gifts to the Church, is a well-known London thief, and his man Adam is what he would call a pal. 'Tony Angel,' that is the real name of Mr Pratt, but he had half-a-dozen others beside. I congratulate you on your friend, Mr Haverleigh!"
"I never knew anything of this," cried Leo, utterly taken aback.
"I am quite sure of that, Haverleigh," said the curate, heartily.
Marton chuckled. "Wait a bit, Harold," he said; "do not be in such a hurry. How do we know that Mr Haverleigh has not been working together with Tony Angel? He may know all about him and may have been employed by him to steal the very cup which was given by Pratt as an evidence of his respectability."
Leo jumped up and would have flung himself on Marton; but Raston held him back. "How dare you make such an accusation against me?" cried the young man, furiously. "Let me go, Raston; don't you hear what he says?"
"Wait a bit, Haverleigh," urged the curate. "Marton does nothing without a motive. He can explain if you will remain quiet."
Thus advised, Leo sat down again, but in rather a sulky humour. "I am a trifle tired of being called a blackguard," he said, frowning at Marton, who regarded him with a friendly smile. "I know absolutely nothing about Mr Pratt, save that he was a friend of Mrs Gabriel's, and that he has been very good to me. I always thought he was what he represented himself to be."
"Small wonder you did," said Marton, coolly. "Angel would deceive a much cleverer man than you appear to be, Mr Haverleigh! And look here, I may as well tell you at once that I am certain you knew nothing about him. Also I am equally certain that you have had nothing to do with this robbery. I cannot say yet whether Pratt—as I may continue to call him for clearness' sake—stole the cup. But you areinnocent, Mr Haverleigh; and I intend to do my best to get you out of your trouble. Shake hands."
At first Leo hesitated, for he was still sore about the accusation. But the detective regarded him in a friendly manner, and his smile was so irresistible, that in the end he shook hands heartily. He felt that the man who spoke thus would be a good friend. "You know all about the case?"
"All that Mr Raston could tell me," said the detective, "even to the fact that you borrowed the money for which you are accused of stealing the cup from Sir Frank Hale."
"Then I wish you would make him acknowledge the loan," said Leo, petulantly.
Marton started and looked at the young man. "Does he not do so?"
"No. He is in love with Miss Tempest, who is engaged to me, and he says he will deny the loan if I do not give her up."
"And marry his sister, I suppose!" interposed the curate, whereat Leo nodded.
"Humph!" said Marton, thoughtfully, caressing his chin. "It seems to me, Mr Haverleigh, that you have been made a tool of by unscrupulous people. But I'll give my attention to this to-morrow. I'll get the truth out of this Hale! He don't dare to palter with me. Leave yourself and your reputation in my hands, Haverleigh."
"Very gladly," said Leo, heartily; "but what about Pratt?"
Marton reflected, and took a sip of whisky and water. "He's gone. I do not think he will appear again in Colester."
"But he has left his house and all these beautiful things behind him," put in Raston, with a glance around.
"I see he has made himself comfortable," said Marton, with a shrug; "it was always his way! This is not the first time he has furnished a house, settled down. He has been driven out of every burrow, however. This time I discovered his hiding-place by accident. Colester was about the best place in the whole of England he could have chosen. No one would have thought of looking for him here. I daresay he expected to settle down and die in the odour of sanctity, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains. But he has not gone empty-handed, Haverleigh. He is too clever for that, and is always prepared for an emergency."
"Butwhois Pratt?"
"Well; you are asking me a hard question. I understand he is a workhouse brat of sorts. He himself claims to be the illegitimate son of a nobleman. Certainly, he has a very gentlemanly appearance. He has been working for at least thirty years, and has always contrived to evade the English police. I believe he was laid by the heels in America."
"He has travelled a great deal."
"I believe you! He knows the whole world and all the scoundrels in it. A king of crime! That is what Pratt is. The generality of thieves adore him, for he has his good points, and he is generous. Well, wehave talked enough for to-night. I'll sleep here, Haverleigh. Raston?"
"I'll return to my own place," said the curate, rising to go.
And this he did, but Marton, having found the burrow of Pratt,aliasAngel, did not intend to leave it. He was quite as clever as the man he was hunting.
Marton did not wish the identity of Pratt to be concealed. On the contrary, he gave it as wide a publicity as possible, hoping that it might lead to the man's capture. Everyone from Portfront to Colester knew the would-be country gentleman, so it was not unlikely that he might be caught. Considering that only a night had elapsed, it was impossible that he could have got far away, especially in a fog. And if Pratt escaped there was always the off-chance that Adam might be laid by the heels.
An examination next morning showed Marton that the two bicycles were missing, so he judged that both men had gone off together. It was improbable in Marton's opinion that they had gone to Portfront, as they could not possibly leave before the steamer at seven o'clock, and the police could be communicated with by telegraph before they could get clear of the place. At half-past six Marton routed a telegraph operator out of his bed, and set him to work. He wired to the inspector at Portfront to arrest Pratt and his man forthwith, or, at all events, to detain them until the London police could be communicated with and a warrant for Pratt's manifold iniquities procured.
But, to Marton's surprise, no answer was returned from Inspector German. Yet the inspector knew Pratt well, and, if the man set foot in Portfront, could easily seize him. Later on, somewhere about nine o'clock, the reason that no answer had arrived became apparent. A messenger came from Portfront to say that the telegraph wire between that place and Portfront had been cut midway. There was only one line, so all communication had been broken off. The steamer had started, and, without doubt, the two men were on board. At once Marton started off to Portfront on the curate's bicycle. On his arrival he went to see German.
The inspector was much astonished when he heard the story. He had not received the wire, and therefore had done nothing. In Marton's company he hurried to the office of the steamer.
"You see the kind of man we have to deal with, German," said Marton, much vexed. "It was a clever dodge to cut the wire, and yet he gave himself away. I did not think he would go to Portfront, but the cutting of the wire proves he did. We'll wire to Worthing, and stop him there."
An inquiry at the steamer office resulted in nothing. It seemed that Mr Pratt had a season ticket, and therefore had not purchased one. Nor had Adam, so it might be that he was still in the town. The loafers on the pier said they had not seen Pratt go aboard.
"Humph!" said Marton, "he sneaked on in some disguise."
"Is he clever at disguising himself?" asked German.
"I should think so. His own mother would not know him. Still, he had no time to make-up before he left Colester, so he may not be so carefully disguised. I daresay we can catch him at Worthing."
A wire was sent to Worthing forthwith, and another to Scotland Yard, requesting that someone might be sent down to take charge of Pratt's house, and to identify the goods he had in it. There was a list of the houses Pratt had broken into, and a list of the stolen goods also, so it would be easy to have this brought down and compared with the contents of The Nun's House. Having thus done all that he could under the circumstances, Marton returned to Colester, where he found the curate and Leo waiting for him. The latter had now taken up his quarters at the inn. But he kept within doors, as now that the identity of Pratt was known, Leo was credited with having been his confederate.
There was tremendous excitement in Colester over the discovery that the village had entertained unawares a well-known London thief. Many of the villagers flattered themselves on the stern and non-committal attitude they had adopted towards the too fascinating stranger. Mr Pratt had never been very popular, but now he was spoken ill of on every hand. The whole village would have been delighted to have seen him in the power of the law.
But Pratt was too clever for them all. The wire to Worthing produced no result. Neither Pratt norAdam were on board. It then appeared that the steamer had put in at Bognor. Marton had omitted to advise the police there of the fugitives, so it was presumed that they had got off with the rest of the passengers. The captain did not know Adam by sight, and Pratt had evidently disguised himself well. At all events, in the crowd the two had passed unnoticed. Although the London stations were watched, no sight could be caught of them.
"A clever man Pratt!" said Marton, when informed of his ill success. "I am perfectly certain of the way in which he went about the matter. He and his servant got off at Bognor, and alighted at some station just outside the metropolis. They got to their own haunts by some back way."
"Do you know of their haunts?" asked Leo, who was keenly interested in the matter, and could not help feeling relieved that Pratt had escaped.
"Oh! they change them every now and then. Besides, Adam will keep out of sight, and Pratt will so disguise himself that there will be no recognising him. He's got clean away this time. And I believe, Mr Haverleigh," added Marton, with a laugh, "that you are rather pleased!"
"Well," said Leo, with some hesitation, "in spite of all you say, I can't bring myself to believe that Pratt is a bad sort of chap. He was very kind to me."
"He is kind to most people. He poses as a kind of modern Robin Hood, who robs the rich to give to the poor. I have known him to do many kind actions.But he is a scamp for all that, and if I could lay my hands on him I'd get him!"
Mrs Gabriel was much annoyed to find that Pratt was so notorious a character. She determined to clear herself of complicity in his sordid crimes, although no one ever suspected that she had any knowledge of the man's true character. She sent for Marton, and had a long talk with him about Pratt; incidentally a reference was made to Leo.
"I have asked you to see me, Mr Marton," she said, "because it was I who introduced Mr Pratt to Colester. I have known him ten years, and he always appeared to me to be a most respectable American."
"He is not an American at all," said Marton. "But he could assume any nationality that suited him for the moment. He is a brilliantly-clever man, Mrs Gabriel, and I do not wonder he took you in."
"He got no money out of me, at all events," said the lady, grimly.
"Ah! Then you escaped easily. The wonder is he did not try and marry you! A rich widow is exactly the kind of victim he would like."
"I am not the sort of woman to be anyone's victim, Mr Marton."
Marton, looking at her stern, strong face, quite agreed, but he was too polite to give vent to his feelings. He merely inquired how Mrs Gabriel had become acquainted with this Prince of Swindlers. She had no hesitation in giving him full details.
"I met him at a Swiss hotel many years ago," she said. "He was then called Pratt, and he posed as arich American. I met with an accident while out walking on the hill above Montreux, and lay out till nightfall. Mr Pratt rescued me from this very unpleasant position, and took me back to the hotel. A friendship sprang up between us, and when he returned to England he called on me. As he was always the same for ten years, and I saw much of him, I never suspected that he was other than he represented himself to be. Besides, Mr Marton, you must admit he is a most fascinating man."
"Much too fascinating, Mrs Gabriel, as many have found to their cost."
Mrs Gabriel reflected a moment. "Do you think he will be put in prison?"
"Certainly, if we catch him," replied Marton, quietly; "he is a man dangerous to society. All his life he has been a rogue and a criminal. All his money comes to him in the wrong way. That house below—I believe you let it to him, Mrs Gabriel—is filled with the proceeds of his robberies. He bought the furniture, but the objects of art—even the pictures—have all been stolen. In a few days I shall have some people down from Scotland Yard to identify the things and restore them to their owners. But as to Mr Pratt, I fear he has escaped out of the clutches of the law—as usual."
"I cannot say I regret it," said Mrs Gabriel, boldly. "Bad as he is, there are worse people in the world, Mr Marton. But tell me, sir. You are investigating this robbery. My adopted son, Mr Haverleigh is suspected."
"He is perfectly innocent, Mrs Gabriel. The money he was said to have obtained from the sale of the cup was given to him by Sir Frank Hale."
"Sir Frank denies it."
"So Mr Haverleigh says. But I'll see Sir Frank myself, and see what I can make of him. I would rather believe Mr Haverleigh than anyone else. He has an absolutely open nature."
"He is a fool, if that is what you mean."
"Pardon me, I do not think so! A man can be straightforward and honourable, as Mr Haverleigh is, without being a fool. As yet I have not investigated this case, as my attention has been taken up with Pratt. But in a day or so I hope to go to work and then I am prepared to say that the crime will not be brought home to your nephew."
"Have you any suspicions?"
"Not yet. I have not searched out the evidence sufficiently."
"Mrs Jeal saw my nephew pawn the cup."
"Ah! That is a mystery which I must fathom, Mrs Gabriel. A person resembling Mr Haverleigh pawned the cup, but I am sure it was not your nephew. There is a conspiracy against him, on whose part I am not prepared to say yet. But I shall find it out, clear his character, and punish those who have been concerned in it. And now, Mrs Gabriel, I must bid you good-day, as my time is fully occupied. Let me, however, inform you that there is no need to excuse your association with Mr Pratt. I quite understand howhe wriggled himself into your acquaintance, and you are in no way to blame. Once more, good-day!"
Marton bowed himself out. But he had seen enough of Mrs Gabriel to note the strong hatred she bore towards Leo, and he wondered what could be the reason. Also, he saw that for a moment she had flinched at the mention of conspiracy, which set him on the alert as to whether her detestation of her nephew had carried her so far as to plot against his good name.
"If there is anything the matter, Hale is the man to know," murmured the detective; "he lent the money, and now declines to acknowledge the loan. I believe there is something bad at the back of all this. Poor Haverleigh seems to be the most harmless of men, yet he is being ruined in some underhand way. Well, I'll settle Pratt's matter, and then clear his name."
But before Marton could do this, Providence took the task out of his hand. For the next ten days he was busy consulting with those sent down from Scotland Yard about the numerous stolen articles found in The Nun's House. The cabinet of antique coins was restored to a famous collector, who had lost them five years before. Many pictures were replaced in the galleries of country houses, and, in one way and another, by the time The Nun's House was denuded of what belonged to other people, there remained very little but the furniture. And even some choice articles of furniture were found to be the property of other people. It was really wonderful the amount of stolengoods that Pratt had collected. He must have thieved for years to have got together such a collection.
"But he will start no more burrows," said Marton, when all was at an end. "He never expected that I should find him here, and therefore collected all his treasures. His life is not long enough to enable him to bring together such a collection of things again. Besides, he has not the same wide field for his knaveries. The police are one too many for him now."
Marton said this to the vicar, who was deeply shocked to hear of the wickedness of the man from whom he had accepted the cup. "Do you think that sacred vessel was stolen also, Mr Marton?" asked the good man.
"I am perfectly sure of it," replied the detective, promptly; "but we have not got the cup down on our list, and no one has come forward to claim it."
"It has not been advertised, Mr Marton."
"Pardon me, sir, it has been advertised, and by someone in this place. I saw this notice in theDaily Telegraph, also in theTimes. Can you tell me who 'S.T.' is, Mr Tempest?"
The vicar took the newspaper handed to him and looked at it in a bewildered manner. He read the notice carefully, but it never struck him that the initials were those of his own daughter. "I really do not know who can have inserted this, Mr Marton," he said. "It seems to be carefully worded, too, and a reward of fifty pounds has been offered. Dear me!"
"I have a rival who is investigating the case," saidMarton, with a smile. "Is the description accurate, vicar?"
"Perfectly; even the inscription. If you will permit me to take this away, Mr Marton, I will see if I can discover who has put it in. I am annoyed that the thing should have been taken out of your hands. But, Mr Marton, before I leave you, let me state to you my conviction that my young friend Leo Haverleigh did not steal the cup."
"Ah, indeed, Mr Tempest," said Marton, eyeing the old man keenly. "And what has led you to such a happy conclusion?"
"I have no grounds for it save my inward conviction."
"There is the story of Mrs Jeal, you know."
Mr Tempest looked troubled. "Most remarkable story," he said. "But we have heard of many cases of accidental resemblances, Mr Marton. I fear I have been unjust to Leo, and I wish to withdraw any charge I may have made against him. I heard his defence, and saw his face while he was making it. Unless the face is not the index of the mind, I cannot bring myself to believe that he lied. No, Mr Marton, I cannot give you my reasons, but I am convinced that I misjudged Leo."
"Were you prejudiced against him by Mrs Gabriel?" asked Marton, for Leo had told him his suspicions on this point.
Mr Tempest hesitated. "I admit that I was," he said at length. "She said something to me which I am not at liberty to repeat."
"Does it make Mr Haverleigh out a villain?"
"By no means," said the vicar, hastily. "What she told me is sad, but not wicked. More his misfortune than his fault. I can say no more. I can keep this paper, Mr Marton? Thank you, sir. Good-day, good-day!" and the vicar walked away, leaving Marton pondering.
It was three days after this, and when Marton was about to begin his investigation of the case, that he received a letter from London. He was more surprised than he chose to say when he found that it came from Mr Pratt. That gentleman gave no address—he had posted the letter at the General Post-office, so that even the district where he was hidden should not be traced. The letter—as Marton said afterwards—was one of consummate impudence, and it took him all his time to read it with patience. As a human document it possessed a certain value. The letter ran as follows, and Marton swore as he read:—