Collected works of j s f.., p.18
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 18
She was ready at last, and having sewn the greater part of her gold, together with her bankbook, into the bosom of her dress, she put the purse in her pocket, and went out of the cottage. She locked the door and hung the key on a nail in the porch. Any one might go in who liked. The master, she said, was never coming home again.
And now she was setting out to go after Simon. She had no clear idea of where he was going to, but he had said that it was out of England, and she knew that he would have to go away by train. So she made for the railway-station, running along the half-deserted streets, eager to reach Simon before he left.
It was half-past nine when she reached the station and paused, breathless, frightened, puzzled beyond measure. She stood in the entrance wondering what to do. And just then a cab drove up, and Andrewlina saw Simon Murgatroyd emerge and then hand a tall young lady out.
A strange pang shot through the poor girl’s breast as she looked from behind a sheltering pillar at Rose. Who was that young lady? Had her master got married? Was he going to get married? If so, his wife would cook for him, and she, Andrewlina, would be of no use. The lump came in her throat again, and tears filled her eyes.
She saw Simon go up to the ticket-office and buy tickets and then disappear in the station.
She hobbled swiftly to the ticket-window and took out her purse. “Wheer did yon gentleman tak’ his ticket for?” she asked.
“What do you want to know for?” asked the clerk suspiciously.
“‘Cos Ah’m ’is servant, maister, an’ Ah want one fort’ saâme plaâce, if yo please.”
“Oh,” said the clerk.’ “All right London. Fifteen and ninepence.”
She took the ticket, and went off towards the train. From a distance she saw Simon handing Rose into a carriage. She asked a porter if that were the London train, and then, creeping up as near her master’s carriage as she dared, she got in. Much as she thought of him, she did not dare just then to let Simon know that she was following him.
The train went on its rapid course to town. Rose, in her first-class carriage, was happy in the thought that she was going to the man she loved, and feeling much indebted to Mr. Murgatroyd for all his thoughtful kindness. Simon, always diplomatic, was working out his chances and schemes in the next compartment. A few carriages away the poor hunchback got tired of the hard seats, but still remained contented, because she was near her master.
King’s Cross in the early winter morning. Andrewlina, waking up from strange dreams, found herself in the railway carriage under the vast roof of glass. Men shouted, whistles blew, porters pushed their way here and there. She stood on the platform affrighted and nervous, looking all over for Simon. And of him she could not catch a glimpse. She began to walk hurriedly down the long platform. Yes, there he was, handing the young lady into a cab. Andrewlina tried to cry out and hurried forward. Too late — the driver jumped on his box and drove away, away. The deformed girl was alone in the great city!
CHAPTER XII.
“ARREST SIMON MURGATROYD”
MR. CADD, JOURNEYING with all possible speed towards the southern Millford, found himself at his journey’s end at the unearthly hour of one in the morning. Some people would have hesitated before knocking a doctor up and disturbing the peace of his household at such a time, but Mr. Cadd was not troubled with any delicacy of that description.
“Look hyar,” said he, seizing the sleepy porter who took his ticket; “there is a doctor in this place called Bishop?”
“Yes, there is,” assented the porter.
“Show me the nearest way to his house,” said Mr. Cadd, “and I’ll give you half a crown.”
The porter put Mr. Cadd’s ticket — he was the only passenger who had alighted — in his pocket, extinguished the lights, and conducted the American into the country road outside. In a few minutes he stopped at the gates of a detached house and intimated that they were at the desired haven.
Obadiah gave the man his douceur, and walked rapidly up the gravelled drive. With the aid of the moon he found a bell, and proceeded to ring it in vigorous fashion. As it died away a muffled voice at his elbow said, “Yes.”
“What the — !” said Obadiah. “Hev I got the shakes?”
Whereupon the voice again said, “Yes” rather more loudly, and Cadd became aware that it proceeded from a tube above the bell. He put his mouth to this and called —
“Hello! Air you Dr. Bishop?”
“Yes,” came down the tube.
“Come down and let me in.”
“Who are you?”
“Name of Cadd — want to see you about your advertisement in Millford Observer.”
There was a brief silence and then the doctor’s voice came again, “I will admit you in a few minutes.”
Cadd stood whistling under the porch until the doctor opened the door and bade him come in. The doctor, who appeared fully dressed, looked at him in silence, and led the way to a consulting room, where a lamp was burning.
“Now, sir,” he said, “what can I do for you?”
“First,” said Cadd, “hev you a young man here named Leonard Aylmer — tall, good-looking, lightish hair, peculiar plaid overcoat, heavy moustache, blue eyes—”
“I have,” answered the doctor, interrupting Cadd’s list.
“Good. Hev you at any time during the last twenty-four hours had an individual here named Murgatroyd — Simon Murgatroyd?”
The doctor paused. But Cadd looked so much in earnest that he decided to answer his questions, “Yes,” he said, “I have. Mr. Murgatroyd is Mr. Aylmer’s cousin.”
“Cousin be damned!” said Mr. Cadd, “Sir, I do hereby inform you thet thet thar Simon Murgatroyd is a liar and a thief! and I don't doubt that before long I shall find him to be a murderer too.”
Dr. Bishop, much astonished, pointed his visitor to a chair. “Sit down, sir,” he said, “May I ask whom I have the honour of addressing?”
“You may, sir,” said Cadd. “I am Obadiah F. Cadd, a millionaire in a pretty consid’ble way, and pardner with my friend Leonard Aylmer, whom I suppose to be in your house, in one of the biggest things in this yar world.’’
Dr. Bishop bowed, and wondered if Mr. Cadd was quite right in his head. “Well, Mr. Cadd, perhaps you will tell me more. There seems to be some mystery in this. Mr. Murgatroyd, to whom you give such a dreadful character, was here yesterday morning, and he seemed a very respectable man, anxious about his cousin’s health.”
“Thet’s him,” said Cadd; “thet’s his blamed smooth tongue. Wall, sir, I will tell you all about it.”
He sat down, and gave Dr. Bishop the principal points in the evidence he had accumulated so far, doing it clearly and perspicuously, and bringing out the suspicious bits with considerable effect. When he had finished the doctor shook his head.
“There is no doubt, Mr. Cadd” said he, “that Murgatroyd is at the bottom of this, but I have really been so puzzled and bothered by the whole business that I, er — well, would you mind giving me some: proof that you are what you claim to be?”
Cadd rose from his seat, and calmly proceeded to take off his coat. He then came across the room, and turned his back to Dr. Bishop.
“Ef you ain’t no par-tic-u-lar objection,” he said to the surprised doctor, “you kin put your hand up the small of my back. Thar — thet’s it. Do you feel suthin under the shirt? Yes? Wall, sir, thet thar’s a packet full o’ paper-money, to the value of thirty or forty thousand pounds! Currus place to carry it, ain’t it? Now, then, punch your fist into the pit o’ my stomach — thar! Thet, sir, is another packet o’ the paper-money of this country — a few thousand pounds just to throw around like. Nice liver-pad, ain’t it, but rather curus, like the one behind. Well, I guess thet’s all right as regards money. Now, as regards roe, hyar’s my pocket-book, with letters and papers in it; hyar’s circular-tickets — name of O. F. Cadd; hyar’s letters to Queenstown; hyar’s letters to Liverpool; and hyar’s the best proof of all — hyar’s the portrait of pard.”
He held up a small photograph of Leonard Aylmer, and looked admiringly at the face. Dr. Bishop, who during his visitor’s remarkable performance, had gaped with astonishment, recognized the portrait instantly.
“My dear sir, he said, “I am perfectly satisfied — perfectly; and am very glad you have come. To tell you the truth, I had one little moment of suspicion in talking to Mr. Murgatroyd. I chanced to say that it was possible his cousin—”
“Nary a cousin!” said Mr. Cadd.
“My patient upstairs, might die. And I fancied — just fancied, you know — that he seemed relieved.”
“I guess,” said Mr. Cadd, “thet it would be a most oncommon relief.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “I think I can supplement your evidence, Mr. Cadd. Since Mr. Murgatroyd was here yesterday there has been a change.”
“For the worse?”
“No, for the better, Mr. Aylmer — his name is Aylmer, isn’t it? — has got into a delirium, which is far more satisfactory than the stage of total stupor; and in his delirium he has talked.”
“Hev you noted the words?”
“Yes; he has talked about a treasure cave, and has mentioned your name, and the name of Rose; and he has cried out once, as if in terror, something about a hoist.”
“Thet’s so,” said Cadd. “Wall, sir, you may depend upon it that pard was flung down that hoist by this Murgatroyd. As to old Mr. Aylmer’s death, we want more evidence. And, now, can I see pard?”
“My assistant is with him,” said Dr. Bishop, leading the way upstairs, “We dare not leave him alone.”
“Spare no expense, sir,” said Mr. Cadd. “His life is worth all the gold-mines in the world.”
The doctor opened the door of a room in a wing of the house. It was evidently a very tight-fitting one, for immediately it opened a noise of some one talking loud and fast came to them.
“Ah!” said Dr. Bishop, “he’s at it again. Now, what do you think of him?”
Mr. Cadd advanced to the foot of the bed, and looked at his young partner with sad eyes. He had parted with him, not two weeks before, a picture of health and strength; he saw him now sitting up in bed talking quickly, and pointing at imaginary things or people. The hair had been shorn away from his head; his eyes, bright and burning, had no intelligence in them; his face was white and fever-pinched. The American shook his head.
“He looks awful bad,” said he, “awful bad, does pard.”
“Listen!” said Dr. Bishop; “he’s beginning again.”
“He’s been talking all manner of stuff,” said the doctor’s assistant, who stood by the bed preparing iced cloths. “He has fairly made my flesh creep sometimes.”
Leonard was babbling away to himself in a low voice all this time. As the others became silent his voice grew louder.
“Gold — any amount!” he said, running one word into another as if his disordered brain were running like a mill-race— “regular virgin gold — a millionaire — Cadd — home — marry Rose — big thing — palace — slow business — fly!”
“He’s thinking about his Atlantic trip,” said Cadd. “He was always on about its being slow.”
“Hush!” said Dr. Bishop. “Listen!”
“The revolver!” cried the sick man, struggling to sit up in his bed, and pointing vigorously in front of him. “The revolver! And the eyes! Murder! Uncle Martin’s body! The eyes — Simon Murgatroyd’s eyes!”
His voice died away into a sob, and Mr. Cadd turned away and buttoned up his coat, Leonard seemed exhausted and was lying silent. “Do you think he’ll come round?” asked Cadd, as he went out of the room with the doctor.
“Yes, he’ll come round now; but it’s a stiff fight, Mr. Cadd. I think he will have something to reveal, too, when he does get round.”
“He’s revealed enough for me, sir,” said Obadiah. “And I’m going to act on it at once.”
“You’re going to inform the police of your suspicions?”
“You bet,” said Mr. Cadd, “thet Murgatroyd’s day is over!”
He made some arrangements with the doctor about Leonard, promised to return in twenty-four hours and bring Rose with him, and then went away to find the telegraph office. He had not a doubt now that Simon Murgatroyd was the murderer of Martin Aylmer.
He knocked up a sleepy telegraph clerk, and indited a message to Millford which made the youth regard him with awe and wonder. It was as follows: “Arrest Simon Murgatroyd on a charge of stealing twenty thousand pounds from Leonard Aylmer. Look for same in left hand corner floor of his sitting-room at the Waste, under loose bricks. Am leaving here immediately for Millford, Yorkshire, with necessary information. O. F, Cadd.”
He addressed this to the man, whom he had previously furnished with a list of the notes, telling the clerk to despatch it at once, and having paid for its repetition in case it should be demanded, he set out for the railway station again, intent on getting back to Millford as quickly as possible.
It was just three o’clock when he reached the station. After considerable difficulty he aroused a porter, who lived close by.
“What time is there a train for the North of England, young man?”
“North of England? Let’s see. You’ll have to go to Bristol and catch the West of England express. Train at six-twenty.”
“Six-twenty; thet’s three hours away,” said Mr. Cadd. “And them three hours is precious. Look hyar, young man, I want to get to Millford in Yorkshire pretty consid’ble quick. I’ll give you a dollar if you’ll just find out how I can best do it.”
The porter rubbed his eyes with the laudable intention of earning the reward.
“Here’s the time-tables,” said he. “We might find something the other way.”
After five minutes’ search he made out that Mr. Cadd, by hiring a trap and driving across country to Templecombe, could catch a train leaving for London at 4.30, and, going by way of London and Peterborough, would get to Millford, Yorkshire, an hour and a half earlier than by waiting at Bristol for the West of England express.
Cadd hurried back to the little town. He knocked up the ostler at the principal inn, and by dint of being liberal with his money secured a rattling team to take him into Bath under the hour. While the horses were being put to he went into the telegraph office again and sent another message to the police at Millford.
“Wire result of inquiry at Murgatroyd's cottage and if he is arrested to me at King’s Cross Station, London, quick as possible. Shall come on from London by train arriving in Millford 11 a.m. Cadd.”
He drove across London from Paddington to King’s Cross, and burst into the telegraph office with a request for his telegram. It was waiting for him. He tore it open and read it —
“Robson, Police Office, Millford, to Cadd, King’s Cross Station. Murgatroyd’s house deserted; nothing found in corner but small empty cash-box.”
Cadd tore the flimsy paper to pieces and groaned. He had not been sharp enough; Simon had escaped him.
He was tired and hungry now, and he set off towards the refreshment-room to get something to eat. Going down the platform he caught sight of a girl sitting on one of the seats. A porter was talking to her in what seemed to be an expostulatory manner.
“You can’t stop here,” he was saying as Cadd approached; “you’d better go back to Millford by the next train.”
Cadd pricked up his ears at the word Millford. “What’s the matter?” he asked, going up to the bench and looking at the girl. “Does this yer — Great Scott! ef it ain’t thet she-Caliban o’ Murgatroyd’s!”
CHAPTER XIII.
ON THE TRACK.
ANDREWLINA, WORN AND tired with her five hours’ vigil in a strange place, sprang to her feet with new hope when she heard Mr. Cadd’s voice. The station people at King’s Cross had been endeavouring to persuade her to return home, but she was bent on finding her master, and turned a deaf ear to their exhortations. She looked up into Mr. Cadd’s face with her odd eyes full of hope and gladness, “Eh,” she cried, “it’s t’ straânge gentleman! Aw, sir, hev yo seen owt o’ my maaister? Ah follered him to Lundun, but he wor aht o’ t’ train an’ into a cab and: off afore Ah could get to speyk wi’ him.”
Now it was all that Mr. Cadd could do to understand Andrewlina’s West Riding dialect, and he was so much surprised just then that he hardly knew what he was doing or what she said. He guessed that Simon Murgatroyd had made another move. And it suddenly flashed upon him as his mind cleared that chance or Providence had played right into his hands, “If you’re a friend of this ’ere young woman’s,” said the porter, “I wish you’d get her to go home. She came in here by the two o’clock train this morning, and she won’t leave the station. She can’t hang about here all day.”
“Course not,” said Mr. Cadd, “Here, girl, come along with me.”
She followed him, readily enough, to the refreshment-room. He installed her in a quiet corner and fetched her some food. The people behind the bar and in the room stared curiously at Mr. Cadd and Andrewlina, and evidently made up their minds that the former was a showman and the latter one of his curiosities.
“You’ve a pretty thing there, sir,” said an oily gentleman of decidedly theatrical appearance, nudging Cadd’s elbow and winking towards Andrewlina. “Good enough for Barnum’s big show, eh?”
Mr. Cadd gave his neighbour a long stare.
“You air a tarnation fool, sir,” said he, “and ef you was out in that particular portion of the globe called the Wild West you would pretty quick hev a bullet through you for insultin’ a young lady.”
“Serve you right,” said the barmaid, tossing her head at the discomfited one, “‘Tain’t her fault that the poor thing’s deformed, is it?”
