While Bertie—happy, lucky Bertie—was standing at the altar with his darling Ethel's hand in his, Howard Murpoint, Esq., and Mr. Wilhelm Smythe were driving through up the avenue to Coombe Lodge.
Howard Murpoint's luck had never deserted him since he had entered the drawing-room of the Park on that night of the dinner party. Everything had been smooth sailing.
He had conquered, so to speak, the whole world. He was rich, influential; he held the happiness, the fate of many in his hands; his brain was full of plots and schemes for his own advancement and others' ruin and discomfiture. Never, since the world began to wag, had the Evil One found a cleverer and more sympathetic servant, for Howard Murpoint, the gentleman, the member of parliament, the influential capitalist, was merciless, avaricious, cunning, and—superstitious. Yes, clever as he was, strong as he was, this was his weakness. He believed in luck; he was superstitious, and he felt a presentimentthat the first stroke of bad luck would be the beginning of something more dreadful.
But to-day, as he dropped from his horse, which a groom had sprung forward to hold, he felt no presentiment, and the calm, cool smile which he threw to the nervous Mr. Wilhelm Smythe was one of supreme confidence.
"Be calm, my dear fellow," he whispered, as they were ushered into the drawing-room by the obsequious servant. "You will be the husband of Lady Ethel, and I shall win that twenty thousand pounds before a month has passed."
As he spoke Lady Lackland entered.
Shaking hands with the two, she said, with a troubled look upon her face:
"Did you meet Fitz and Ethel? They have gone for a ride, and should have gone your way."
"No," said the captain, with a smile. "We lost that pleasure."
Mr. Smythe sighed.
"No," he said. "I wish we had, but—but I'm almost glad, for it gives me an opportunity, Lady Lackland, for putting my request. I have come down with my friend—he has indeed been a friend to me—to ask you to persuade Lady Ethel to name an early day for our—our wedding——"
At that moment the door opened and the earl entered.
His face was dark as night, and his lips working with some emotion; he held a letter in his hand, and when he saw the two men he, by a great effort, set his lips with a rigid smile and tried to conceal the letter with a hasty movement.
"Something has happened!" exclaimed the countess.
"Not to Lady Ethel!" almost shrieked Mr. Smythe.
The earl smiled with despair.
"Read that!" he cried, thrusting the letter into the countess' hands.
She read it aloud, with a puzzled air at first which rapidly gave place to a shriek of despair and rage.
"My Dear Father: By the time this reaches you Ethel and I shall be at Wivlehurst. Bertie Fairfax goes with us with a special license in his pocket, and he and Ethel will be married, all well, to-day."Forgive me my share in the affair, and remember that it is the first time since their birth that your children have dared to show that they have wills and hearts of their own! Your affectionate son,"Fitz."
"My Dear Father: By the time this reaches you Ethel and I shall be at Wivlehurst. Bertie Fairfax goes with us with a special license in his pocket, and he and Ethel will be married, all well, to-day.
"Forgive me my share in the affair, and remember that it is the first time since their birth that your children have dared to show that they have wills and hearts of their own! Your affectionate son,
"Fitz."
There was a moment's silence, which was broken by a hoarse cry of disappointment and misery.
It came from Smythe.
With an oath he sprang at the captain and seized him by the throat.
"You villain! You've tricked me! You planned all this, you scoundrel! You did! You did! You have sold me, but I'll sell you! I'll have the money, or your infernal life!"
The captain struggled and fought to free himself from his dupe's grasp, but he could not, and Mr. Wilhelm Smythe, nerved and goaded to madness, pushed the earl and his servants aside and dragged Mr. Murpoint into the hall.
"Now," he hissed in his ear, "get out your check-book and write me a check for twenty thousand pounds, or I'll kill you! I'll do worse; I'll publish the story and the bet in every club in London! d'ye hear? you thought to get the better of me, to play the idiot and hold me up to ridicule, but you shan't! you shan't! I'll have the money, the money, or I'll crush you!"
"Silence!" hissed the captain, glancing round at the astonished group of guests and servants. "Come outside," and he in turn half dragged and half led the unfortunate man into the courtyard.
"I'll give you the check to-morrow."
"Now, now! this moment, or I'll split all!" cried Smythe, and with an oath he darted his hand in the captain's face.
Howard Murpoint's eyes grew dark, but he was as pale as death. Fear ran in his heart, for he saw that his first ill-luck had set in.
"Confound you!" he cried, "you shall have it! I'll give you a hundred thousand pounds to be rid of such a madman," and with a shaking hand he took a check from his book and filled it in.
Mr. Smythe snatched it from his hand, glanced at it with bloodshot eyes, and leaped upon his horse, which he had shouted for as he came into the yard.
The captain looked round, and murmuring something like:
"He's mad, not safe! I must follow him!" called for his own horse and rode off likewise.
His face was a study for a picture of the fiend, disappointed and checkmated.
"Married!" he muttered, hoarsely. "Married! I have been tricked—tricked! And I have given him bills in full for twenty thousand pounds. I'll stop the check!" And with an oath he drove his spurs into the horse's sides and urged it on.
The animal reared and tore forward. He spurred it again and again, and reached the station in time to see the train, which was bearing Mr. Smythe to town, steam away from the platform. It was his first failure, and his bold, bad heart misgave him.
The next train did not start for three hours, and after a few moments' reflection the schemer turned his horse's head toward Penruddie.
"I'll give the rogues a look up!" he muttered, with an angry scowl. "They showed some disposition to rebel. I'll cow them!"
He reached Penruddie, and the first thing he noticed was a group of men lounging at the door of the "Blue Lion".
They glanced up at him as he pulled up and scowled, but not one raised his hand to his cap, or gave him good-morning.
The captain's face grew dark, and his voice was harsh and stern as he said:
"Can any of you men tell me where the carrier, Job, is to be found?"
One man jerked his finger over his head toward the house, and at that moment Job, hearing his name spoken, came out.
His dark eyes twinkled savagely as he saw the captain, but he touched his hat and came toward the horse.
"I hope I see you well, sir," he said, "and that the young and old lady be well."
"All well," said the captain. "Send some one to take the horse to the stable; I want a word with you, Job, aside."
Job nodded, beckoned to a man to take the horse, then followed the captain into the parlor.
"Now," said the captain, "I have come down to put my threat into execution. I am going to punish you, my friend, and all the rascals with you. Where is the money? Where is the share I was to have regularly of the profits out of your precious trade? Where are they, I ask?"
"There ain't any, captain," said Job, sullenly. "The men won't work; they say if you want all the profit, you may do the work, and take the risk yourself. 'Sides, they're cantankerous, captain, about another matter."
"What else?"
"They wants to know what's done with Maester Leicester."
"What!" sneered the captain. "Actually sentimental, are they? They want to know what's become of that idiot? I can tell you, and I'd have told you six months ago if I'd thought it would have interested you! He's gone where all such as he should go—out of the world! He's dead, rotting at the bottom of the sea!"
"Fetch Sanderson," said the captain, after a moment's pause, and with the air of a slave owner to a slave.
Job stepped out and returned with Willie, who had been among those standing outside.
Job had evidently told him that Leicester was dead, for Willie's face was cool, as well as sullen.
"Sanderson," said the captain, "you are a good fellow and no fool, or I am much mistaken. What does this mean with the men? Do they refuse to run the cargoes?"
"We do," said Willie, sullenly.
The captain took up his hat.
"Then I'll waste no more time. I'll give them a week to think about it, and then—well, if you don't be in jail every mother's son of you, it will be no fault of mine."
He went out as he spoke, glared savagely at the men at the door, and mounting his horse, rode off.
That night he returned to town, and, although clerksand secretaries, detectives and spies, his servants and tools, were waiting to see him, he would see none, but went straight to his own room, which was double-locked and guarded.
After a slight rest, during which he slept the peaceful sleep of an innocent child, he dressed himself with scrupulous care, and went down to the Mildmays' house.
"Was Miss Mildmay up yet?" he asked.
The servant took him to Violet's drawing-room, where Violet sat, a letter in her hand, and a thoughtful and pained, yet glad, expression on her face.
She rose as he entered.
"I am so glad you have come," she said, wearily, but with a smile. "I have just had a letter," and she held up the open envelope.
"And I have some news," he said, "or I would not have intruded so early.
"Perhaps you know it," he added, with grave face. "Lady Ethel Boisdale and Mr. Fairfax have eloped."
"Yes," said Violet, with a sigh. "It is all so sudden and—and what is strange, Lord Boisdale has accompanied them."
"It is strange and most dishonorable," said Howard Murpoint. "For Mr. Fairfax to forget or ignore honesty is one thing; but for Lord Fitz Boisdale to lend himself to an underhanded and dishonorable course is quite another. Lackland is in the deepest grief; Lord Lackland is stricken down with affliction, and, of course, my dear Violet, you will show your disapproval of the scandalous affair by withdrawing your friendship from both parties."
Violet, who had listened with shamed and pained attention, flushed deeply.
"Do you know," she said, slowly, "that Lord Fitz asked me to be his wife?"
The captain did know it, but he professed complete ignorance, and grew deadly pale and haggard. Violet rose with alarm, but he stopped her from calling out for assistance by grasping her arm.
"Do not call—give me time. Oh, Violet! Violet!" he groaned, hiding his face in his hands.
Violet gazed at him with her deep, mournful eyesopened to their utmost. At present she did not understand his elaborate acting.
"How have I pained you?" she murmured. "Do you not like Lord Boisdale?"
"Do you love him?" he retorted, suddenly, gazing searchingly and with quivering lips into her face. "Answer me, I implore you, dear, dear Violet! Do you love him? If you say yes; if you tell me that you have given your heart to him, I will say no more; I will leave you—leave England, and I will pray that you may be happy! Answer me, oh, answer me!"
Violet trembled and looked troubled.
"I do not understand," she murmured, hurriedly. "Why should you leave England? Why should you leave me?"
"Answer me first," he replied, brokenly, and with fearful earnestness, partly real, partly feigned.
"I will answer, and truthfully," said Violet, with low intensity. "I do not love him; you know that my love is buried forever, and that I have no heart to give. My hand would have been his, all unworthy of its acceptance as it is, but—but—for this."
"I forbid it! I forbid it!" cried the captain, grasping her arm. "You shall not marry him, Violet, if you do not love him. I would rather see you in your grave than the wife of Fitz Boisdale! Oh, Violet, forgive me this wildness, but you do not, you cannot, know the state of my heart. Violet, I love you!" he added, rapidly, in answer to the look of deep and profound amazement upon Violet's beautiful face. "I love you, and have loved you since I first saw you—do not turn from me! I am not worthy of you, but at least I love you for yourself alone. Can he—can that foolish boy say that? I am rich, he is poor. His family is ruined, and he seeks in a marriage with you but the means wherewith to rebuild his crushed fortunes. Do not speak!" he continued, eagerly, leading her to a sofa, and leaning over her where she sat, silent, motionless, as if under a spell. "I know it to be true, for I have heard him own it. I have heard the earl speculate on it; the very money-lenders are waiting for it, that they may seize upon the wealth which you will bring him!"
"It is false!" said Violet, starting to her feet. "It cannot be true!"
"It is; see here," he replied, rapidly, and with lessened yet telling earnestness he reasoned and convinced her.
Then she sank upon the couch and covered her face with her hands, sobbing violently.
"Are all men base and vile?" she cried. "Oh, where can I turn to find the true and the real? Where, where?"
"Here!" exclaimed Howard Murpoint, touching his breast, and speaking in a soft, soothing, almost paternal tenderness. "Here is succor and safety, dear Violet. I do not ask you to love me; that I cannot expect, until I have proved, ere long, my undying devotion to you! I do not ask you anything else but the right to protect you from the worthless adventurer and mercenary rogue. Oh, Violet, if you could but know that it was his—your dear father's—last wish that we should be united. He would, had he lived, pleaded for me more eagerly than I can dare plead for myself. Will you not listen to his voice, which, though dead, speaks through me, and be mine? Come to me, Violet, my own, my darling! Let me be protector, worshiper, husband!"
Violet struggled to rise, but he had knelt, in his eagerness, on her dress. She felt faint, swooning, charmed, and thoroughly overcome. She dropped, and fell back.
"Say 'yes'—say you will be mine—say you will let me guide and protect you!" he whispered, tenderly.
Violet, driven to bay, confused, bewildered, overcome, placed her cold, trembling hand in his, and the captain knew that at last he had won the great stake for which he had been so long playing.
Do not blame her, gentle reader. What could she do?—helpless, deceived, overwhelmed as she was. To her, since Leicester's death, all men were the same. This man had been kind, and had been, in a sense, her guardian and protector. It was natural, considering the fearful, deadly power of his will, that she should fall a helpless prey to his wicked wiles.
We last saw Leicester passing from the alcove where he had overheard Fitz's proposal to Violet.
With a tempest of jealousy and injured love he returned to his humble lodgings, to brood over all he had heard.
The moment he entered the little sitting-room Stumpy came to meet him, a smile of welcome on his rough face, which soon lengthened to an expression of sympathy.
"Here you are, sir," he said; "and you've been at it again, I see."
"What do you mean?" said Leicester.
"You've been making yourself unhappy with the grand folks again," said Stumpy, shaking his head. "I knows it by the look o' ye. Now, I've been among old folks, and it ain't made me unhappy, not a bit o' it; but there, that's different. Come, cheer up, sir," and he drew a chair to the table for Leicester, who sank into it wearily. "I've been among the old folks, sir, and I've got my advice—and good enough it is, and no mistake. It's a wonderful thing, it is, how we drop upon lucky meetings. How this afternoon I met an old friend who used to be in our line—smuggling, you know, sir—and be blest if he didn't just give me a regular hint as is worth a bad half-crown."
"What was it?" said Leicester, rousing himself.
"Just this here," said Stumpy, setting some food before Leicester as he spoke. "But I shan't tell you if you don't eat, sir. Come, just to please me.
"And myself, too," said Leicester, "for I am sick and hungry."
"What this old friend of mine advises is to take the whole gang down at Penruddie by storm. Go down yourself, only dead and alive again—a regular ghost, you know—and work upon 'em."
"I see," said Leicester, sadly. "A good idea, but there still remains another and a worse point to defeat. Howdo you propose to overcome the villain who has worked all this mischief? I have seen him to-night again, Stumpy, and victorious, and wealthy, and triumphant—ruling the destinies of those I love, and holding them in his talons. Now I am fragile and helpless—no, not helpless, for I have you, my friend—to do battle with him."
"I should like to see this great gentleman," mused Stumpy. "I've a sort o' curiosity to see a man who works the oracle so nicely as he does. When can I see him, guv'nor?"
"You can see him in another hour," looking at the clock. "If you care to mix in a crowd and watch and hang about for him. There will be plenty to tell you his name and point him out. His name is Howard Murpoint.
"Hem!" said Stumpy, "I don't mind a crowd, master. I've been in a good many. I've faced one as I don't want to see again, and that was at the Old Bailey."
He glanced at Leicester as he spoke, and muttered:
"I'll keep him alive and jaw to him, just to keep his thoughts away. They're black enough to-night."
"Yes, that was awkward, master, that was, to see the judge and all the other fellows in wigs a-staring you out of countenance, and a-trying to make you out wus than you was. And to think when they gives me transportation for life! for life! that I didn't deserve it, and should never have had it but for another man."
"Another man?" repeated Leicester, half unconsciously.
"Ah!" said Stumpy, delighted to see that he had drawn Leicester from his thoughts, and throwing himself down upon the hearthrug with his knees up to his nose, so that he might continue his tale more comfortably and with his face turned from Leicester. "Yes, all through another person. I was honest enough till I met him. I was a costermonger, a steady chap, as costers go, and I got my living, and was tolerably comfortable; but you see I was a bit proud, and they says as pride is allus one too many for you. I was very strong in the arm. Look here, guv'nor," he broke off, jumping up and seizing the poker; "I can bend that poker in two—so," and he did it, dropping on to the floor again, as if there had been no interruption.
"I was very strong, and I could do a'most anything with my arms, like a monkey; and I was, of course, very much given to dropping into pubs. Sometimes they'd ask me in a friendly way to show 'em a few tricks, and I used to—such as knockin' a man from one end o' the room to the other with a little tap on the nose, or lifting six chairs slung together with my elbow, and pleasin' things o' that sort. One night I was showing off in this manner at a small pub in Whitechapel, and when they was closing and I was going home, very much the worse for liquor, a chap comes to me all soft and smooth, and asks me if I'd join a little party as was goin' on at his house. I said I would, and I went with him, and he was the pleasantest-spoken chap you ever see, with a soft voice like a musical snuff-box, and a pair o' eyes as looked through you and made you do what they liked. Well, I went with him and joined his party. They was all different to him, though he warn't dressed any better than the likes o' us, but I know'd some on 'em for bein' no better than they should be, but I'd never seen him before. And his friends, when they had all got friendly like; they calls him 'General,' and whispers and nods their heads at me. O' course I see something was up, and I warn't much took about when this general, in a pretty little whisper, asks me to join his friends in a little joke on a gentleman's house in the country. I was half drunk—I swear I was, sir—and I yielded. They wanted me, being so strong in the arm, to do some climbing, and when I'd said I'd join 'em they never let me out o' their sight. Day and night that general was always in the way, purring like a cat, and 'ticing the others on. Oh! he was a false-hearted 'un, he was. Well, to cut a long story short, we does the trick, or very nearly. I spoiled it. You see, they'd made me nearly drunk before we started, and when it came to holding on to a window-grating for ten minutes, half drunk, I failed it. I come down with a run, made a clatter, and give the alarm. We was caught, every man o' us—me with a broken leg. Then there was the trial, and then the general showed his teeth. He wasn't soft-spoken then, be sure. He turned on us all in his defence, and ruined us. He was so savage it should all a' been spoiled, and him there in the dock,through me, that in the most natural, mournful sort o' way possible he pitched a tale about me being the ringleader and drawin' the rest on, that the jury gives me as much as it does him—transportation for life! That was my only affair, master, excepting the smuggling, and I was drove to that."
Leicester nodded.
"And you escaped?" he said.
"Yes," nodded Stumpy, with a laugh, "and there I was luckier than the general. He made a shy at it, killed a man in the attempt, but him and another chap as tried it with him was drowned off the coast. Drowned in the pitch dark! It warn't a pleasant ending, but it was better than he deserved, for of all the false, smooth-faced villains he was the worst."
Leicester seemed lost in thought. He roused suddenly and looked up at the timepiece.
"If you want to see the most successful man and the greatest rogue in London to-night, or rather this morning, you must be quick, my friend. Light your pipe and run away. While you are gone I will turn over your friend's advice, for I think I see a chance of adopting it."
"I'm off," said Stumpy, and after Leicester had directed him to the mansion he started.
It was the night of the great ball.
Fitz had made his proposal and gone home, before Stumpy had reached the house and taken up his position in the shadow of the huge portico.
The guests were coming out, and for a while Stumpy almost forgot the object of his watch in his admiration for and astonishment at the dresses and jewels. But suddenly a footman's voice called "Mrs. Mildmay's and Mr. Murpoint's carriage," and Stumpy was suddenly aroused to a sense of his purpose.
Crouching unseen against the iron railings he could see the face of every individual as it came out into the bright light pouring from the gas lamps at the door.
In twos and threes the brilliantly dressed people came out talking, laughing, and gathering their cloaks and wraps round them.
Presently there was a little excitement in the crowd of footmen, and two or three in handsome liveries called out,"Make way, make way," and Stumpy staring with all his might saw an old lady descending the staircase leaning on the arm of a tall gentleman.
"That's the earl and Mrs. Mildmay," said a footman, who had been telling the names of the various guests to a friend near him. "And here comes Mr. Murpoint, the M. P.—great man, you know—with Miss Mildmay, the heiress, on his arm. Get out of the way; he don't like a crowd round the door——Here he comes."
As he spoke the dark, handsome face of Howard Murpoint came into the light.
Violet was leaning on his arm, her pale face more sad and dreamy than usual.
They stepped on to the light, and Stumpy stared for a moment, then sprang forward so close to the railings that he struck his nose a severe blow.
He stared with open mouth and distended eyes, as if he were going into a fit, and as the great individual passed him—so closely as to touch him with his clothes—he gasped for breath, and dashing the perspiration from his face, muttered hoarsely and with an air of the most tremendous amazement.
"It's the general!"
Then he set off running as hard as he could and did not stop until he had burst into the sitting-room of Leicester's lodgings.
He found Leicester dead asleep on his chair, his head resting upon his arms on the table.
The sight of his exhausted master somewhat subdued Stumpy's excitement, and as he stared down at him thoughtfully he made a resolution not to communicate his discovery to his master too suddenly.
So when Leicester awoke he said:
"Been asleep, sir? Quite right. To my knowledge you haven't slept a wink for three nights."
"Well," said Leicester, "have you seen him?"
"Yes, I have," said Stumpy, evading Leicester's glance, "and a very handsome man he is. Lord! he looks as innocent as a lamb and as sweet as a sucking-pig! Quite the swell, sir; all the flunkeys made as much fuss as if it was the Emperor of Rooshia coming out to his carriage."
"Ay," said Leicester, "the wicked flourish nowadays, Stumpy; it is bad policy to be honest. Even your friends cannot forgive you that; see how all mine have forgotten me! If I had done anything bad enough they would have remembered me, but I was passing honest and so—but no matter. I have been thinking over your advice, and I am determined to adopt it. Look on that table; there is a letter addressed to a solicitor whom I used to know. He was an honest man, and we shall want an honest man to help us. To-morrow you shall take that to his office, and then we'll start off to Penruddie. If we win and succeed it will not be for the last time, but if we fail I shall set sail for the tropics and leave England forever more to the rogues who rule it."
The next morning the eminent and respectable Mr. Thaxton received a short—a very short—and very mysterious letter.
"Dear Sir: If you have any desire to learn more of the mystery of Penruddie you may satisfy your curiosity to some extent by meeting the writer of this letter at the ruined chapel in Mildmay Park. Should you decide to come, make your way there to-morrow night unseen and conceal yourself behind the middle pillar near the turret, where you may see and hear much that will astonish and enlighten you."
"Dear Sir: If you have any desire to learn more of the mystery of Penruddie you may satisfy your curiosity to some extent by meeting the writer of this letter at the ruined chapel in Mildmay Park. Should you decide to come, make your way there to-morrow night unseen and conceal yourself behind the middle pillar near the turret, where you may see and hear much that will astonish and enlighten you."
The letter was unsigned and the handwriting was a strange one to Mr. Thaxton.
He sat and turned the letter over several times, reread and reread it, and at last he muttered:
"I knew that mystery would turn up again. I felt certain of it, and here it is. I will go."
Thereupon he rang the office bell and issued an order for the packing of his traveling-case.
That next day the Penruddie train bore three passengers important to this history—Mr. Thaxton, Leicester and Stumpy.
Leicester saw Mr. Thaxton alight and knew that his letter had taken effect; he carefully avoided the keen eyes of the old lawyer, and he and Stumpy cut across a field near the station and left the village behind them.
Toward midday Stumpy cut out toward the village and found a boy loafing about. He gave him a letter for Job, the carrier, and told him to take it to him and give it him quietly.
The lad, delegated with a sixpence, tore off, and soon slipped into Job's hand this note:
"Be at the old chapel to-night at midnight. H. M."
Job read it and asked the boy who had given it to him.
The lad told him a gentleman, and described Stumpy.
Job at once concluded that the captain had disguised himself, and determined to obey the mysterious missive.
The night fell dark and cheerless.
Toward midnight Mr. Thaxton carefully picked his way to the old chapel, and, not without sundry shudders and quakings, took up his place behind the center pillar.
For some time the silence and awful solitude of the place was unbroken save by the whizz of the bat and the subdued screech of the owl.
Mr. Thaxton began to grow cold and shivery, and had almost decided to return to the inn when a slight noise attracted his attention and he saw a light approaching.
It was carried by a short man, whom he at once, by the aid of the light, distinguished as Job, the carrier.
Here, at least, was something tangible and corroborative of the letter.
He dared scarcely breathe, so eagerly curious was he, and he watched Job, who looked round cautiously, and at length seated himself upon the tomb and shaded his lantern.
Midnight struck in solemn, monotonous tones, and immediately there appeared a blue, misty light from among the pillars.
Job started to his feet with an oath.
"Come, no larks with me, lads!" he said, savagely. "This is a stale game——"
The words died out on his lips, for as the light approached nearer it disclosed the form of the long-lost Leicester Dodson.
There was his pale face and lank hair, all dripping with water, sea weed clung to his white shroud and hung at his elbows.
He looked as if he had just risen from his watery grave.
Job's knees shook and he fell to the ground; the spirit drew nearer and scowled down upon him with fierce eyes, which glowed like fire from the chalky-hued cheeks. Job's fear grew almost to madness. Here was a ghost indeed! One to make his heart quake and his soul shudder to its innermost core.
"Maester Leicester!" he grasped. "Maester Leicester! have mercy on my soul! Have mercy!"
The fearful words rolled through the chapel, and the ghost seemed to hear them, for in a sepulchral voice, it formed the word, "Confess!"
"I will, I will," gasped Job. "I'll confess all—before a magistrate, Maester Leicester, dear Maester Leicester—oh, Heaven, how terrible! Oh, Maester Leicester, I didn't think you'd be drowned! I'd never a done! I'll confess all! I'll confess what I've seen, I'll tell how the captain put the paper in the old bureau! I see him do it—I see him and Jem Starling; and I know who killed Jem! I know! I know! Oh, Maester Leicester, have mercy on a live man and I'll tell all!"
"Confess!" said the ghostly voice.
"I will," said Job. "I'm a smuggler, we are all smugglers, but the captain is the chief; he drives us to it and takes the money—oh, mercy, Maester Leicester!—and knows a secret way through the dead squire's room to the beach! The captain knows! and the captain sent you away Maester Leicester, and murdered you as he did Jem Starling. Spare me, Maester Leicester, and I'll tell all if they hang me for it. I've meant to do it many a time, but now your ghost has come I'll do it, or you'd never leave me! Oh, Lord! oh, Lord!"
"Confess," said the ghost, drawing near.
"I will! I will!" screamed Job, and then he fell face downward upon the earth in a swoon of horror.
At that moment two figures sprang out from the darkness.
One was Stumpy with a lantern, the other Mr. Thaxton.
Both rushed at the prostrate man, over whom the ghost was bending.
Stumpy seized Job, Mr. Thaxton seized the ghost, and commenced tearing off its shroud.
"Stop!" said a voice. "Stay your hand, Mr. Thaxton. I am indeed Leicester Dodson."
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Thaxton, falling back with astonishment. "What! you alive!" and then he snatched at the linen-bandaged hand, and shook it like a madman.
"Yes, me," said Leicester, with a thrill of triumph and exultation in his voice. "I have not come back to the world a moment too soon," he added, significantly. "You have heard this man's confession."
"I have," said Mr. Thaxton.
"And believe it?" asked Leicester, slowly.
"As I believe that there is a sky above us," said Mr. Thaxton. "I always knew that Howard Murpoint was a villain, and I was waiting for a Nemesis to track him down. Little did I think that you would be that Nemesis! And who is this?" he asked, motioning toward Stumpy.
"My best and truest friend," said Leicester.
"Then give me your hand," said Mr. Thaxton, and, to Stumpy's astonishment, the respectable lawyer grasped the ex-convict's hand and shook it heartily.
"And now what is to be done with this fellow? He is too precious to be lost sight of."
"I have a cart near here," said Leicester, "and I thought that if you would stand my friend you would not mind taking charge of him till the morning."
"Certainly," said Mr. Thaxton, eagerly. "A capital plan! He shall not leave my sight, and to-morrow he shall be before the magistrate."
"Lend a hand, sir," said Stumpy, "for he's coming to."
The three carried the senseless Job to the cart, jumped in themselves, and Stumpy drove to Tenby, while Leicester removed his ghostly disguise and reassumed his Spanish one.
Quite unconscious of the Nemesis which was already on his track, the captain was rapidly bringing his scheme to a climax.
The world was, of course, very much astonished to hear that Mr. Howard Murpoint was the man Miss Mildmay was to marry, and many blamed her for her fickleness.
But Violet was perfectly indifferent to praise or blame; she pursued the even tenor of her way, calm, serene as usual, with the peaceful and almost sad smile on her face and her usual gentle manner to all.
Mrs. Mildmay had been very much surprised to hear that Violet had, so to speak, changed her mind. But Mrs. Mildmay thought it was a very good change, for she believed the captain to be the best and cleverest man in the world, and perhaps considered him the handsomest.
When Violet went to old Mrs. Dodson, the mother of the man she had loved and whose memory she cherished, she was fearful that the old lady would be grieved.
Perhaps Mrs. Dodson was, but all she said was:
"Violet, my dear, you will do what is right, I know, and—and if this seems to you right, do it. But do you love him?"
"I cannot do that," said Violet, kissing the old lady's hand with a loving tenderness. "You know where my heart is—it will never leave Leicester, never! But Mr. Murpoint does not ask me for love, but for respect and esteem."
"And you give him these?" asked Mrs. Dodson, with a slight shade on her brow.
Violet's face shadowed and reflected that shade of distrust, but almost instantly she replied:
"I cannot conceal anything from you who have been a mother to me, dear. One time I neither esteemed nor trusted Mr. Murpoint—indeed, I disliked him. But all that feeling has gone," she continued, hurriedly. "Hehas been a true, a kind friend to me—he was my father's friend, and how dare I distrust the man he loved and trusted. No, when the feeling I have spoken of has come over me I have cast it off as unworthy and unjust. Lately"—and she sighed—"it has not come. Mother, I seem to have no feeling, no emotion. Life is but a dream and a sleep to me sometimes, and I think that I shall wake perhaps, and—but there!" she broke off, springing to her feet and putting up her hand as if to ward off the feeling of unhappiness which was creeping upon her. "I will not give way to it. I will trust my father's best friend, and I will try with all my heart to be a good wife to him."
"Heaven bless you!" said Mrs. Dodson, sobbing. "Would that I could have been a mother indeed to you. But it was not to be. My boy was taken from your side, and it is not right that you should remain alone in the world, wedded to a shadow. Violet, you will not change to me? You will love me still?"
For answer the gentle girl threw her arms round the old lady's neck and burst into tears.
"You will always be my mother!" she said, "for are you not Leicester's?"
So the pure, just-minded girl strove to trust and love the man whom she had consented to take as a husband.
He, meanwhile, was all smiles and honeyed words, looking handsomer and more confident than ever.
The world declared that there was no end to his successes and that he was the most wonderful man of the times.
Soon it was rumored that the marriage between him and the wealthy Miss Mildmay was to take place almost immediately, and that when it did Howard Murpoint, M. P., would be made a baronet.
No wonder the great man looked happy as he rode his magnificent hunter in the park or appeared in thesalonsof theélitewith his beautiful betrothed on his arm.
But was he happy?
Who could see him when he was alone—at night when he sat crouched within his easy-chair in his own room, or pacing up and down with the sleek restlessness of a tiger caged and ferocious, well fed but distrustful?
None saw him but his bad angel and himself as he looked into the mirror which reflected his dark, working face.
The world knew nothing of the twenty thousand pounds which Mr. Wilhelm Smythe had extorted from him.
The world knew nothing of the scar on his leg which the convict gang-chain had left there; of the perjury which his brain had plotted, or the vile murder his hands had wrought.
These and other crimes the world knew nothing of, but he knew, and though he strove to forget he could not. In the dead of the night, or perhaps in the gray dawn when he had thrown himself upon the bed to woo sleep after a day of willful pleasure or a night of dancing and fashion, sleep would come, but bring bad dreams with it.
He dreamed he was in the prison cell; toiling in the hot sun under the Portland cliff, with the horrid chain galling at his leg. Then visions of the haunted chapel at Penruddie crowded his brain; and one night he started up, cold with horror, from a vision of Jem, mangled and ghastly, standing beside his bed pointing to a red, gaping wound. Then, too, in those dreadful waking hours, when sleep would not come, fear took its place, and he moved in an agony of dread, fancying that his secret was known, that the detectives were on his track and that the gallows was looming before him.
But in the morning these disquieting visions always fled and breakfast time found the great man serene, placid, watchful and smiling, ready to do battle with the world and conquer it.
Preparations for the wedding were proceeding, hastened by the great man's commands and purse.
It was to be a grand wedding, much against Violet's wish, and the fashionable world was on tiptoe of expectation. For it was known that Mr. Murpoint was to be made a baronet and that he would take one of the largest mansions in Belgravia and commence a series of entertainments immediately after the happy couple returned from the wedding tour.
Violet's dress was ordered, the bridesmaids chosen, and the tour arranged before Fitz had returned to town from the execution of his little plot with Bertie and Ethel. Hecalled for his letters at his club, and thrust them in his pocket unread; he noticed that men looked rather strangely and almost commiseratingly at him, and wondered what was the matter. Without much loss of time he called at Mrs. Mildmay's and asked for Violet.
Violet was upstairs in her own room, alone and musing, when the maid came to tell her that Lord Boisdale was in the drawing-room.
"Lord Boisdale!" repeated poor Violet, turning pale. "Did he ask for me?"
"Yes, miss," said the maid. "Particularly for you."
"Well," said Violet, sadly. "I will see him."
She was surprised that Fitz should ask to see her after the letter she had written to him, for it was a letter full of true womanly gratitude and kindness, explaining everything, and begging him, if he loved and respected her, not to see her before the wedding.
Now, Fitz had called, she thought, to harass her with reproaches, perhaps to accuse her of cruel insincerity. She determined to be brave and see him, so she went with rather faltering feet into the drawing-room.
Fitz rose at once and came toward her with suppressed eagerness.
"My dear Miss Mildmay—Violet!" he exclaimed, "I have come back, and left Ethel and Bertie the happiest couple in the world! You have heard the news, of course, and you think I have done right? Ah, if you could have seen them when the parson had made them one both turn to me and bless me! Bertie shaking my hand off, with tears in his eyes, and Eth, dear gentle Eth, clinging round my neck and declaring I had saved her! Well, well," and Fitz broke off to wipe with a hasty hand a suspicious moisture in his own eyes. "They are off to Italy, and I left them on the packet looking as happy as a couple of children, and I don't care what the world says and what the earl and countess say; I know I've done the proper thing and those two were made for one another!"
So he rattled on in his eager, simple way, utterly unconscious of the pallor of her face, with its look of astonishment and dread.
For Violet knew by his manner that he had not receivedher letter, and that she should have to tell him that she had refused him and accepted Howard Murpoint.
"Well," said Fitz, "they sent all sorts of messages to you, and Ethel implored me with tears in her eyes to assure you of her affection and love. Poor Eth, all her troubles are over now, and she's happy. Violet, dare I hope that you forgive me and think I have done right? And will you make me happy, too, Violet?" and, with an imploring look, he tried to take her hand.
Violet drew it from him and sank on to the sofa. Fitz looked perplexed, and stared.
"You don't speak! You haven't said a word!" he said. "What is the matter?"
"Have you not received my letter?" she breathed.
"No," said Fitz, thrusting his hands into his pocket. "Perhaps it is here; I haven't opened them yet. Oh, Violet, you have not refused me; you don't mean to make me miserable for life! Don't say it, don't say it!"
"I have written it," said Violet, paler and paler each moment. "I have written a full explanation. It cannot be; it is forever impossible. Lord Boisdale—Fitz, I am to marry Mr. Murpoint."
"What?" exclaimed Fitz, "am I dreaming—am I mad? Violet, you are to marry the captain!"
Violet rose.
"Let me leave you, my lord! I am so sorry that my letter"—then she turned and tried to leave the room.
But Fitz strode after her and seized her arm.
"Violet," he said, "one word more. I see I am not dreaming, that it's truth you are telling me. But if it is true there is villainy somewhere! You are right to reprove me. Heaven knows I am not worthy of you—but the captain!
"Violet, if Leicester could come to life again, I would have yielded to him quietly, without a word, for I know you were his. But not to the captain! You never did and you never can care for him, and if you marry him it will be against your will. Violet, listen to me, I implore you. I believe—I am sure within my own heart that the captain, Howard Murpoint, is a rogue and a villain."
"Silence!" said Violet, sadly, yet indignantly. "Youforget yourself, my lord! You have no right to say such cruel things, to attack an absent man. Mr. Murpoint will be my husband, and I will not—I dare not listen to such a groundless accusation. Enough! Not a word more. Leave me, I beg, my lord!"
"Yet one word more, I implore," said Fitz. "I will leave you and I will not see you again; but, mark me, I will not let the matter rest, and if you care for Howard Murpoint, as you would have me believe you do, warn him that there is one on his track who will search him to the heart, and who will, cost him what it may, find whether he is an honest man or the rogue he thinks him. Violet, Ethel has escaped his clutches, and you have fallen into them. Escape while there is time, I implore of you! See, I beg you on my knees to take time, to do nothing rashly, to break off this hateful, this horrible engagement!"
"If there had been one thing wanting to confirm me in the path I have taken, Lord Boisdale, your words have supplied it. I will do my duty by an innocent man maligned, and be true to him. I will be true to the man I have promised to marry, though all the world rose to slander him."
"Violet, you do not love him!" groaned Fitz.
"No," said Violet. "But, though I have lost the power to love, I can still act with honor."
And, with a sad smile, she left the room.
Fitz rose, stunned and dazed.
He took up his hat and, leaving the house, walked in a daze to Lackland House.
As he was about to enter a footman came up to him.
"My lord, the earl is desirous of seeing you."
"Eh?" said Fitz, who was scarcely conscious of what he was about.
"Upstairs, my lord, in the earl's study."
"All right," said Fitz, and he ascended the stairs with a heavy gait.
Knocking at the study door, he received a cold, stern "Come in," and, entering, found Lord Lackland seated in the same chair at the same table in the same room in which he had sat that morning when he informedFitz that the Lackland estates were mortgaged and that the Lackland purse was empty.
"Good-morning," said Fitz.
The earl bowed with cold politeness.
"You have arrived this morning?"
"This morning," said Fitz. "I haven't been in town three hours."
"I am glad of it," said the earl, "as I wished to see you immediately you arrived."
"I left Ethel——"
"Thank you," said the earl, interrupting him with stately politeness. "I do not wish to know anything of your disobedient and undutiful sister. If I should at any time, I will come to you, who, it seems, is a partner and chief abettor in her misconduct. Be good enough not to mention her name to me."
"But, my lord," said Fitz, who was nearly out of his mind, "surely you do not mean to say that you intend to be hard upon Ethel for marrying where she liked? She has not married a chimney-sweep, or run away with one of the coachmen. Bertie is the best, the most famous man in London——"
"Thank you for the information," said the earl. "I know nothing of Mr. Fairfax, and I do not wish to add to my knowledge. Be kind enough to leave the subject where it is; it is one that is extremely distasteful to me. I wished to see you on business. Here are a number of bills—they have all been contracted by you—I pass them to you for payment."
Fitz stared at them.
"My lord," he said, "I cannot pay these! You know that it is impossible!"
The earl shrugged his shoulders.
"I have nothing to do with that," he said, coldly. "You are over age, you were twenty-two last month; you are liable, I believe."
"I am liable, I know," said Fitz, in despair, "but, of course, sir, I have always looked to you."
"And, I believe some time back, in this very room, I warned you that you could no longer do so. I have my own bills to pay, and I cannot concern myself with anyothers. Be good enough to take them away; they litter my table."
"But," said Fitz, "I cannot pay them, and you know that I cannot. What is to be done?"
"I regret that I cannot inform you. I should advise you to pay them, or in all probability the creditors will endeavor to compel you."
"In other words they will put me in prison."
The earl shrugged his shoulders.
"I cannot say; I know nothing about it. May I remind you again of the conversation which I before mentioned as taking place between us in this room? I ventured to advise you; my advice was not taken; you cannot be surprised at my reluctance to repeat that advice."
"Is it my fault that Violet Mildmay very properly refuses to enrich a ruined house by marrying the poverty-stricken eldest son and heir, who, love her as he does, is utterly unworthy of her?"
"Your fault!" retorted the earl, with icy scorn. "I know nothing of your affairs, but unless I am grossly misinformed it is your fault that Ethel has married a boy and refused a millionaire; that is enough for me. Go on in the course you have before you, Lord Boisdale. Go in the path you are treading, and find yourself a penniless debtor, rotting in jail; it is perfectly indifferent to me. I have pointed out to you the secret of success—you have scorned it or failed to get it by rank foolery. I have done with you! Lackland Hall and money will last my lifetime; afterward it can go to the dogs, which I can see already at your heels. I am busy, and therefore compelled to wish you good-morning."
So saying, the earl pointed to the pile of bills, and then to the door.
Lord Fitz took up the bills and quietly left the room, dazed still, and more like a man walking in his sleep.
We left Leicester and Mr. Thaxton, assisted by Stumpy, carrying Job to the nearest magistrate.
When Leicester had, as well as he was able, removed his disguise, and Job saw that Leicester was alive and in the flesh, he had shown the greatest joy, and that notwithstanding the personal peril which Leicester's whim had placed him in.
After a time, when Job reflected upon all the consequences which would fall upon himself, he grew wonderfully quiet, and sat at the bottom of the cart sullen and moody.
"I suppose I'll be hanged," he said, "and I deserve it; but I'll tell the whole truth, Maester Leicester, every word of it."
"In that case," said Leicester, "I will do my best to shield you from punishment."
"I'll turn King's evidence," said Job, with a grin. "I won't turn on the boys; but I'll be even with the captain, curse him!"
Mr. Thaxton exchanged glances with Leicester, and drove on in silence.
As the morning broke they had left the ruined chapel a long way behind, and were nearing Tenby. At this point Mr. Thaxton pulled up, and desired Leicester to step out of the cart, as he wished to say a word to him.
Leicester alighted, nodding to Job, warningly.
"Do not attempt to escape," he said; "I warn you."
"You leave him to me, sir," said Stumpy, cheerfully and significantly, and Leicester followed Mr. Thaxton.
"It has just occurred to me, or rather I have been thinking of it all the way—that you are under a warrant still, Mr. Dodson! Any moment you are liable to arrest. There is a hundred pounds reward, remember, and so large an amount makes men keen. In Tenby there are many men who know you—or at least must have seen you often; you may be detected."
"Not through this disguise," said Leicester.
"Not through that disguise; but by your voice; you cannot disguise that sufficiently. I should have known you by it. Better stay out of the way quietly a while until Job's deposition is taken."
"Very well," said Leicester, "I follow your advice to the letter. All I want is to be near those I love and protect them until that villain is under lock and key. Then it does not matter what becomes of me," he added, sadly.
"Hem!" said Mr. Thaxton, "I think I know what is the matter. I have heard of Miss Mildmay's engagement, but that may be put right."
"Not by me," said Leicester, in a low voice. "I love her still, but I will not interfere with the quiet happiness which she enjoys. Fitz is a better man than I—and—but, there, let us talk no more of it," and he jumped into the cart.
At that moment, while Mr. Thaxton was starting the horse, they heard the noise of wheels behind them, and before they were scarce aware of it a small, high gig was close beside them.
"Hello!" called out a voice, which Leicester seemed to recognize. "What, is it vegetables? no, small party enjoying themselves. Oh! what's that? A man handcuffed!" And before any one could prevent him he had dropped from his own gig and jumped into their cart.
"I know your face, my man," he said to Job, "and yours too, sir, if I'm not mistaken. You are a lawyer, Mr. Thaxton—concerned in the little affair at Penruddie; may I ask where you are taking this man—Job is his name, I think?"
Mr. Thaxton glanced at Leicester, apprehensively.
"You are quite right," he said. "The man's name is Job, and I am a lawyer. I detected him robbing this gentleman—a Spaniard—and his servant, and I am assisting them to take him to the nearest station."
"Hem!" said the stranger.
"But you have the advantage of me," continued Mr. Thaxton. "For, although I seem to know your voice, I do not recognize you. May I ask upon what ground you thus exercise your curiosity?"
"Oh," said the stranger, with a laugh, putting off alarge beard which had nearly concealed his face, "I'm Detective Dockett! You know me now, I suppose."
"Oh, dear me, yes," said Mr. Thaxton, shooting another glance at Leicester more apprehensive than the last. "I am glad to see you. I suppose you are going on to Tenby; you will be there before I shall—I am surprised your horse doesn't run away——"
"He won't run away," said Mr. Dockett. "He'd follow me down a coal mine, or up in a balloon. Yes, I'm going on to Tenby, sir. I've had a little smuggling job on here. Perhaps I can do something for you in Tenby? Rum case that Penruddie murder, wasn't it? I suppose nothing has ever turned up, sir?"
"You are the person to know best about that. You were engaged in the case. No, nothing more ever transpired. No doubt Mr. Leicester Dodson committed the deed, and was killed himself in the struggle. But it is a painful case—and I don't like to talk about it."
"Just so," said Mr. Dockett. "Well, I think I'll get into my trap. Good-night, gentlemen. Good-night, señor."
Leicester, who had kept his face turned away as much as possible, bowed gravely, and muttered good-night in Spanish.
As he did so Mr. Dockett, who had risen, plumped down on the side of the cart again and looked at him out of the corner of his eyes.
"Been long in England, señor?" he asked.
"The gentleman doesn't speak English," said Mr. Thaxton.
"Just ask him, will you, sir?" said Mr. Dockett, with a pleasant smile.
Mr. Thaxton jabbered something meant to imitate Spanish, and Leicester, who, notwithstanding his perilous position, could scarcely restrain his laughter, answered him.
Again, at the sound of Leicester's voice, Mr. Dockett got a little closer and eyed him.
Then he rose.
"Ah," he said, "get a bad opinion of England if he gets robbed like this; this chap tried to pick his pocket?"
"No; steal his portmanteau," said Mr. Thaxton.
"Good-night," said Mr. Dockett, and he made a step forward, but the cart seemed to jolt at that moment, for he missed his footing, staggered, and fell against Leicester, managing as he fell to drag off Leicester's hat, spectacles and false beard.
Then, before any one could utter a word, he leaped to his feet, laid his hand upon Leicester's shoulder, and, with a quiet grin, said:
"Mr. Leicester Dodson, I arrest you on a charge of willful murder! Here is the warrant—I've always carried it with me. No resistance, I hope?"
"None," said Leicester, with a dread calmness. "I surrender, Mr. Dockett."
"Now that's what I call right and proper and gentlemanly," said Mr. Dockett, admiringly. "But, bless my heart and soul! who'd ever have thought that I should have dropped upon you here and at this time, and like this?"
"Did you not know it was us?" said Mr. Thaxton, sadly. "Were you not following us?"
"No," said Mr. Dockett, with a quiet chuckle. "I was on quite a different job. Not that I thought you would never turn up. I wasn't taken in by that story of your falling over the cliff. It wasn't likely a gentleman with such muscle as you, would allow yourself to be pulled over by a half-drunken, wounded man. No, I knew you'd turn up again some day, and I was waiting my time. And here you are!"
"Yes," said Leicester, "and you have earned your hundred pounds. So you think I committed the murder?"
"I think you'll be hung for it," said Mr. Dockett, after a minute's silence.
"Thank you," said Leicester with a grim smile. "It is candid of you, Mr. Dockett."
"Well, sir, no offence. I'm certain that if you didn't do the trick you knew something about it."
"I did not do it, and I did not know anything about it. But there sits a man who does know something about it."
And he pointed to Job.
"Ah!" said Mr. Dockett.
"Yes," said Mr. Thaxton. And then, motioning toLeicester to be silent, he told Mr. Dockett all that had occurred and all that Job had confessed in the ruined chapel.
Mr. Dockett listened most attentively to the concise and exact statement made by the lawyer, scarcely taking his eyes from Job the while, and yet taking note of every movement made by the others.
Then he said, when Mr. Thaxton had finished:
"And I suppose all this little story about the robbery was a cover. You meant to take Job here on to Tenby?"
"To make his statement and obtain a warrant for the real criminal," said Mr. Thaxton.
Mr. Dockett indulged in a quiet chuckle.
"That's good," he said. "Why, you would have played into Captain M.'s hands. Nothing would have been nicer for him."
"How so?" asked Mr. Thaxton.
"Why, thus," said Mr. Dockett. "You go, we'll say, to Tenby; you take this precious old rascal before a magistrate. What he does is to issue a warrant for the arrest of Mr. Leicester, and one for the captain. The captain surrenders, of course, and comes up for examination. He braves it out, declares the whole thing is a plant to get Mr. Leicester out of the scrape, says Job has been bribed, and defies you to produce a tittle of evidence against him. You can't, you know, not at present; the magistrate says he must discharge the captain, who leaves the court without a stain upon his honor. Meanwhile Mr. Leicester comes up, all the evidence already against him is produced, the nasty impression of the attempt to incriminate the captain is brought to bear, and Mr. Leicester is committed for trial. All the while between the examination and the trial we rake up more evidence, and the whole thing is brought to a conclusion."
"As how?" said Mr. Thaxton, who was deeply impressed by the detective's argument.
"Mr. Leicester is hung for the murder of James Starling, and Captain Murpoint—or rather Sir Howard Murpoint, M. P.—marries the wealthy Miss Mildmay, and lives happy ever afterward."
Leicester rose to his full height stern and threatening.
"One word more of such impertinence, sir, and I flingyou out of the cart! How dare you make use of that lady's name, sir?"
"Whew!" exclaimed Mr. Dockett. "You haven't heard the news."
"News, what news?" asked Leicester, sternly.
"That the captain is to be made a baronet, and that he is to marry his ward, Miss Mildmay."
"It is false!" said Leicester, grasping Mr. Thaxton's arm, madly.
"Very likely," said Mr. Dockett. "They say nothing's true as is in the papers. This was in all of 'em yesterday morning, and, with no offence, I'll bet there's something in it, gentlemen."
"It must not be," said Leicester, groaning. "I would rather see her in her grave. She may marry Fitz, or any honest man, so that she is happy, but not that scoundrel, not that villain! Look you, sir," he said, turning suddenly to Mr. Dockett and laying a hand upon his arm to emphasize his words, "you will gain a hundred pounds by my arrest. Now, I say nothing about my own innocence or my guilt, I say no more on that score; but I say this, and this gentleman will bear me out, I will give you one thousand pounds if you will take the trouble to investigate the statement you heard from this man. One thousand pounds! It is a fair sum! You are not to prove my innocence—let that go, but to prove his guilt; any part will do, so that it prevents this marriage."
"Agreed on," said Mr. Dockett. "I'll take the contract, on condition that everything is left in my hands."
Mr. Thaxton conferred with Leicester for a few minutes, and then Leicester answered:
"We agree to trust you; and if the reflection will have any weight in keeping you faithful and honest, unswerving in your task, I would have you remember that in trusting you I do so wholly, being tied hand and foot in jail."
"Exactly," said Mr. Dockett, with a queer twinkle of the eye. "Then, as we are agreed, I'll get you to allow me to drive."
And he took the reins from Mr. Thaxton's hands, calling to Stumpy:
"Young man, just get into my gig, will you, and follow on after."
So saying he turned the cart round and drove back toward Penruddie.
When they got near the village he stopped the horse and unfastened Job's bonds.
"Now you get home, Mr. Job," he said, quietly, and fixing a significant glance upon Job's face. "You go on as usual, and keep your eyes open and your mouth shut. See, I trust you, because I know you know me. I'm Detective Dockett, of her majesty's police, Scotland Yard, and when I trust a man and find him false, I go for him, and put my hand on him if he's at the other end of the world—I've such a long arm—and when I've got him I don't let him go till he's had a taste of her majesty's jail and skilly. But there, I needn't tell you what I can do, for you know me."
Job nodded sullenly, and looked up at Leicester.
"I don't want no threats," he said. "I'll do my duty by Maester Leicester there if I swing for it."
And, with an affectionate glance, he hurried off.
"Now, gentlemen," said Mr. Dockett, pleasantly, "we must break up the party. I think you had better get back to town, sir; we shall want a lawyer directly."
"Very well," said Mr. Thaxton.
"As for you, sir, of course, you're under arrest; I've got your word for that."
Leicester nodded.
"Then I think, sir, you and your man will go to Sanderson's—where you were before, you know—and wait till the evening. I'll come to you. By the way, I haven't had the pleasure of your man's acquaintance."
Here Stumpy turned round and rather dolefully presented himself for inspection.
Mr. Dockett looked hard at him and turned aside.
"Ah!" he said. "I don't know him, I think, but I may some day, and very good friends we shall be."
Stumpy suppressed a groan, then suddenly tore off his wig and with a desperate recklessness exclaimed: