Various - Stories of Mystery
V >>
Various >> Stories of Mystery
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14
"Mr. John Dwerrihouse, I think?"
"That is my name," he replied.
"I had the pleasure of meeting you at Dumbleton about three years ago."
Mr. Dwerrihouse bowed.
"I thought I knew your face," he said. "But your name, I regret to say--"
"Langford,--William Langford. I have known Jonathan Jelf since we were
boys together at Merchant Taylor's, and I generally spend a few weeks
at Dumbleton in the shooting-season. I suppose we are bound for the
same destination?"
"Not if you are on your way to the Manor," he replied. "I am travelling
upon business,--rather troublesome business, too,--whilst you,
doubtless, have only pleasure in view."
"Just so. I am in the habit of looking forward to this visit as to the
brightest three weeks in all the year."
"It is a pleasant house," said Mr. Dwerrihouse.
"The pleasantest I know."
"And Jelf is thoroughly hospitable."
"The best and kindest fellow in the world!"
"They have invited me to spend Christmas week with them," pursued Mr.
Dwerrihouse, after a moment's pause.
"And you are coming?"
"I cannot tell. It must depend on the issue of this business which I
have in hand. You have heard, perhaps, that we are about to construct
a branch line from Blackwater to Stockbridge."
I explained that I had been for some months away from England, and had
therefore heard nothing of the contemplated improvement.
Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled complacently.
"It _will_ be an improvement," he said; "a great improvement.
Stockbridge is a flourishing town, and needs but a more direct railway
communication with the metropolis to become an important centre of
commerce. This branch was my own idea. I brought the project before
the board, and have myself superintended the execution of it up to the
present time."
"You are an East Anglian director, I presume?"
"My interest in the company," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, "is threefold.
I am a director; I am a considerable shareholder; and, as head of the
firm of Dwerrihouse, Dwerrihouse, and Craik, I am the company's
principal solicitor."
Loquacious, self-important, full of his pet project, and apparently
unable to talk on any other subject, Mr. Dwerrihouse then went on to
tell of the opposition he had encountered and the obstacles he had
overcome in the cause of the Stockbridge branch. I was entertained with
a multitude of local details and local grievances. The rapacity of one
squire; the impracticability of another; the indignation of the rector
whose glebe was threatened; the culpable indifference of the
Stockbridge townspeople, who could _not_ be brought to see that their
most vital interests hinged upon a junction with the Great East Anglian
line; the spite of the local newspaper; and the unheard-of difficulties
attending the Common question,--were each and all laid before me with
a circumstantiality that possessed the deepest interest for my
excellent fellow-traveller, but none whatever for myself. From these,
to my despair, he went on to more intricate matters: to the approximate
expenses of construction per mile; to the estimates sent in by
different contractors; to the probable traffic returns of the new line;
to the provisional clauses of the new Act as enumerated in Schedule D
of the company's last half-yearly report; and so on, and on, and on,
till my head ached, and my attention flagged, and my eyes kept closing
in spite of every effort that I made to keep them open. At length I
was roused by these words:--
"Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down."
"Seventy-five thousand pounds, cash down," I repeated, in the
liveliest tone I could assume. "That is a heavy sum."
"A heavy sum to carry here," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse, pointing
significantly to his breast-pocket; "but a mere fraction of what we
shall ultimately have to pay."
"You do not mean to say that you have seventy-five thousand pounds at
this moment upon your person?" I exclaimed.
"My good sir, have I not been telling you so for the last half-hour?"
said Mr. Dwerrihouse, testily. "That money has to be paid over at half
past eight o'clock this evening, at the office of Sir Thomas's
solicitors, on completion of the deed of sale."
"But how will you get across by night from Blackwater to Stockbridge
with seventy-five thousand pounds in your pocket?"
"To Stockbridge!" echoed the lawyer. "I find I have made myself very
imperfectly understood. I thought I had explained how this sum only
carries us as far as Mallingford,--the first stage, as it were, of our
journey,--and how our route from Blackwater to Mallingford lies
entirely through Sir Thomas Liddell's property."
"I beg your pardon," I stammered. "I fear my thoughts were wandering.
So you only go as far as Mallingford to-night?"
"Precisely. I shall get a conveyance from the 'Blackwater Arms.' And
you?"
"O, Jelf sends a trap to meet me at Clayborough! Can I be the bearer
of any message from you?"
"You may say, if you please, Mr. Langford, that I wished I could have
been your companion all the way, and that I will come over, if possible,
before Christmas."
"Nothing more?"
Mr. Dwerrihouse smiled grimly. "Well," he said, "you may tell my cousin
that she need not burn the hall down in my honor _this_ time, and that
I shall be obliged if she will order the blue-room chimney to be swept
before I arrive."
"That sounds tragic. Had you a conflagration on the occasion of your
last visit to Dumbleton?"
"Something like it. There had been no fire lighted in my bedroom since
the spring, the flue was foul, and the rooks had built in it; so when
I went up to dress for dinner, I found the room full of smoke, and the
chimney on fire. Are we already at Blackwater?"
The train had gradually come to a pause while Mr. Dwerrihouse was
speaking, and, on putting my head out of the window, I could see the
station some few hundred yards ahead. There was another train before
us blocking the way, and the guard was making use of the delay to collect
the Blackwater tickets. I had scarcely ascertained our position, when
the ruddy-faced official appeared at our carriage-door.
"Tickets, sir!" said he.
"I am for Clayborough," I replied, holding out the tiny pink card.
He took it; glanced at it by the light of his little lantern; gave it
back; looked, as I fancied, somewhat sharply at my fellow-traveller,
and disappeared.
"He did not ask for yours," I said with some surprise.
"They never do," replied Mr. Dwerrihouse. "They all know me; and, of
course, I travel free."
"Blackwater! Blackwater!" cried the porter, running along the platform
beside us, as we glided into the station.
Mr. Dwerrihouse pulled out his deed-box, put his travelling-cap in his
pocket, resumed his hat, took down his umbrella, and prepared to be
gone.
"Many thanks, Mr. Langford, for your society," he said, with
old-fashioned courtesy. "I wish you a good evening."
"Good evening," I replied, putting out my hand.
But he either did not see it, or did not choose to see it, and, slightly
lifting his hat, stepped out upon the platform. Having done this, he
moved slowly away, and mingled with the departing crowd.
Leaning forward to watch him out of sight, I trod upon something which
proved to be a cigar-case. It had fallen, no doubt, from the pocket
of his water-proof coat, and was made of dark morocco leather, with
a silver monogram upon the side. I sprang out of the carriage just as
the guard came up to lock me in.
"Is there one minute to spare?" I asked eagerly. "The gentleman who
travelled down with me from town has dropped his cigar-case; he is not
yet out of the station!"
"Just a minute and a half, sir," replied the guard. "You must be quick."
I dashed along the platform as fast as my feet could carry me. It was
a large station, and Mr. Dwerrihouse had by this time got more than
half-way to the farther end.
I, however, saw him distinctly, moving slowly with the stream. Then,
as I drew nearer, I saw that he had met some friend,--that they were
talking as they walked,--that they presently fell back somewhat from
the crowd, and stood aside in earnest conversation. I made straight
for the spot where they were waiting. There was a vivid gas-jet just
above their heads, and the light fell full upon their faces. I saw both
distinctly,--the face of Mr. Dwerrihouse and the face of his companion.
Running, breathless, eager as I was, getting in the way of porters and
passengers, and fearful every instant lest I should see the train going
on without me, I yet observed that the new-comer was considerably
younger and shorter than the director, that he was sandy-haired,
mustachioed, small-featured, and dressed in a close-cut suit of Scotch
tweed. I was now within a few yards of them. I ran against a stout
gentleman,--I was nearly knocked down by a luggage-truck,--I stumbled
over a carpet-bag,--I gained the spot just as the driver's whistle
warned me to return.
To my utter stupefaction they were no longer there. I had seen them
but two seconds before,--and they were gone! I stood still. I looked
to right and left. I saw no sign of them in any direction. It was as
if the platform had gaped and swallowed them.
"There were two gentlemen standing here a moment ago," I said to a
porter at my elbow; "which way can they have gone?"
"I saw no gentlemen sir." replied the man.
The whistle shrilled out again. The guard, far up the platform, held
up his arm, and shouted to me to "Come on!"
"If you're going on by this train, sir," said the porter, "you must
run for it."
I did run for it, just gained the carriage as the train began to move,
was shoved in by the guard, and left breathless and bewildered, with
Mr. Dwerrihouse's cigar-case still in my hand.
It was the strangest disappearance in the world. It was like a
transformation trick in a pantomime. They were there one
moment,--palpably there, talking, with the gaslight full upon their
faces; and the next moment they were gone. There was no door near,--no
window,--no staircase. It was a mere slip of barren platform,
tapestried with big advertisements. Could anything be more mysterious?
It was not worth thinking about; and yet, for my life, I could not help
pondering upon it,--pondering, wondering, conjecturing, turning it
over and over in my mind, and beating my brains for a solution of the
enigma. I thought of it all the way from Blackwater to Clayborough.
I thought of it all the way from Clayborough to Dumbleton, as I rattled
along the smooth highway in a trim dog-cart drawn by a splendid black
mare, and driven by the silentest and dapperest of East Anglian grooms.
We did the nine miles in something less than an hour, and pulled up
before the lodge-gates just as the church-clock was striking half past
seven. A couple of minutes more, and the warm glow of the lighted hall
was flooding out upon the gravel, a hearty grasp was on my hand, and
a clear jovial voice was bidding me "Welcome to Dumbleton."
"And now, my dear fellow," said my host, when the first greeting was
over, "you have no time to spare. We dine at eight, and there are people
coming to meet you; so you must just get the dressing business over
as quickly as may be. By the way, you will meet some acquaintances.
The Biddulphs are coming, and Prendergast (Prendergast, of the
Skirmishers) is staying in the house. Adieu! Mrs. Jelf will be
expecting you in the drawing-room."
I was ushered to my room,--not the blue room, of which Mr. Dwerrihouse
had made disagreeable experience, but a pretty little bachelor's
chamber, hung with a delicate chintz, and made cheerful by a blazing
fire. I unlocked my portmanteau. I tried to be expeditious; but the
memory of my railway adventure haunted me. I could not get free of it.
I could not shake it off. It impeded me,--it worried me,--it tripped
me up,--it caused me to mislay my studs,--to mistie my cravat,--to
wrench the buttons off my gloves. Worst of all, it made me so late that
the party had all assembled before I reached the drawing-room. I had
scarcely paid my respects to Mrs. Jelf when dinner was announced, and
we paired off, some eight or ten couples strong, into the dining-room.
I am not going to describe either the guests or the dinner. All
provincial parties bear the strictest family resemblance, and I am not
aware that an East Anglian banquet offers any exception to the rule.
There was the usual country baronet and his wife; there were the usual
country parsons and their wives; there was the sempiternal turkey and
haunch of venison. _Vanitas vanitatum._ There is nothing new under the
sun.
I was placed about midway down the table. I had taken one rector's wife
down to dinner, and I had another at my left hand. They talked across
me, and their talk was about babies. It was dreadfully dull. At length
there came a pause. The entrees had just been removed, and the turkey
had come upon the scene. The conversation had all along been of the
languidest, but at this moment it happened to have stagnated altogether.
Jelf was carving the turkey. Mrs. Jelf looked as if she was trying to
think of something to say. Everybody else was silent. Moved by an
unlucky impulse, I thought I would relate my adventure.
"By the way, Jelf," I began, "I came down part of the way to-day with
a friend of yours."
"Indeed!" said the master of the feast, slicing scientifically into
the breast of the turkey. "With whom, pray?"
"With one who bade me tell you that he should, if possible, pay you
a visit before Christmas."
"I cannot think who that could be," said my friend, smiling.
"It must be Major Thorp," suggested Mrs. Jelf.
I shook my head.
"It was not Major Thorp," I replied. "It was a near relation of your
own, Mrs. Jelf."
"Then I am more puzzled than ever," replied my hostess. "Pray tell me
who it was."
"It was no less a person than your cousin, Mr. John Dwerrihouse."
Jonathan Jelf laid down his knife and fork. Mrs. Jelf looked at me in
a strange, startled way, and said never a word.
"And he desired me to tell you, my dear madam, that you need not take
the trouble to burn the hall down in his honor this time; but only to
have the chimney of the blue room swept before his arrival."
Before I had reached the end of my sentence, I became aware of something
ominous in the faces of the guests. I felt I had said something which
I had better have left unsaid, and that for some unexplained reason
my words had evoked a general consternation. I sat confounded, not
daring to utter another syllable, and for at least two whole minutes
there was dead silence round the table. Then Captain Prendergast came
to the rescue.
"You have been abroad for some months, have you not, Mr. Langford?"
he said with the desperation of one who flings himself into the breach.
"I heard you had been to Russia. Surely you have something to tell us
of the state and temper of the country after the war?"
I was heartily grateful to the gallant Skirmisher for this diversion
in my favor. I answered him, I fear, somewhat lamely; but he kept the
conversation up, and presently one or two others joined in, and so the
difficulty, whatever it might have been, was bridged over. Bridged over,
but not repaired. A something, an awkwardness, a visible constraint,
remained. The guests hitherto had been simply dull; but now they were
evidently uncomfortable and embarrassed.
The dessert had scarcely been placed upon the table when the ladies
left the room. I seized the opportunity to select a vacant chair next
Captain Prendergast.
"In Heaven's name," I whispered, "what was the matter just now? What
had I said?"
"You mentioned the name of John Dwerrihouse."
"What of that? I had seen him not two hours before."
"It is a most astounding circumstance that you should have seen him,"
said Captain Prendergast. "Are you sure it was he?"
"As sure as of my own identity. We were talking all the way between
London and Blackwater. But why does that surprise you?"
"_Because,_" replied Captain Prendergast, dropping his voice to the
lowest whisper,--"_because John Dwerrihouse absconded three months
ago, with seventy-five thousand pounds of the company's money, and has
never been heard of since._"
II.
John Dwerrihouse had absconded three months ago,--and I had seen him
only a few hours back. John Dwerrihouse had embezzled seventy-five
thousand pounds of the company's money, yet told me that he carried
that sum upon his person. Were ever facts so strangely incongruous,
so difficult to reconcile? How should he have ventured again into the
light of day? How dared he show himself along the line? Above all, what
had he been doing throughout those mysterious three months of
disappearance?
Perplexing questions these. Questions which at once suggested
themselves to the minds of all concerned, but which admitted of no easy
solution. I could find no reply to them. Captain Prendergast had not
even a suggestion to offer. Jonathan Jelf, who seized the first
opportunity of drawing me aside and learning all that I had to tell,
was more amazed and bewildered than either of us. He came to my room
that night, when all the guests were gone, and we talked the thing over
from every point of view; without, it must be confessed, arriving at
any kind of conclusion.
"I do not ask you," he said, "whether you can have mistaken your man.
That is impossible."
"As impossible as that I should mistake some stranger for yourself."
"It is not a question of looks or voice, but of facts. That he should
have alluded to the fire in the blue room is proof enough of John
Dwerrihouse's identity. How did he look?"
"Older, I thought. Considerably older, paler, and more anxious."
"He has had enough to make him look anxious, anyhow," said my friend,
gloomily; "be he innocent or guilty."
"I am inclined to believe that he is innocent," I replied. "He showed
no embarrassment when I addressed him, and no uneasiness when the guard
came round. His conversation was open to a fault. I might almost say
that he talked too freely of the business which he had in hand."
"That again is strange; for I know no one more reticent on such subjects.
He actually told you that he had the seventy-five thousand pounds in
his pocket?"
"He did."
"Humph! My wife has an idea about it, and she may be right--"
"What idea?"
"Well, she fancies,--women are so clever, you know, at putting
themselves inside people's motives,--she fancies that he was tempted;
that he did actually take the money; and that he has been concealing
himself these three months in some wild part of the country,--struggling
possibly with his conscience all the time, and daring neither to abscond
with his booty nor to come back and restore it."
"But now that he has come back?"
"That is the point. She conceives that he has probably thrown himself
upon the company's mercy; made restitution of the money; and, being
forgiven, is permitted to carry the business through as if nothing
whatever had happened."
"The last," I replied, "is an impossible case. Mrs. Jelf thinks like
a generous and delicate-minded woman, but not in the least like a board
of railway directors. They would never carry forgiveness so far."
"I fear not; and yet it is the only conjecture that bears a semblance
of likelihood. However, we can run over to Clayborough to-morrow, and
see if anything is to be learned. By the way, Prendergast tells me you
picked up his cigar-case."
"I did so, and here it is."
Jelf took the cigar-case, examined it by the light of the lamp, and
said at once that it was beyond doubt Mr. Dwerrihouse's property, and
that he remembered to have seen him use it.
"Here, too, is his monogram on the side," he added. "A big J transfixing
a capital D. He used to carry the same on his note-paper."
"It offers, at all events, a proof that I was not dreaming."
"Ay; but it is time you were asleep and dreaming now. I am ashamed to
have kept you up so long. Good night."
"Good night, and remember that I am more than ready to go with you to
Clayborough, or Blackwater, or London, or anywhere, if I can be of the
least service."
"Thanks! I know you mean it, old friend, and it may be that I shall
put you to the test. Once more, good night."
So we parted for that night, and met again in the breakfast-room at
half past eight next morning. It was a hurried, silent, uncomfortable
meal. None of us had slept well, and all were thinking of the same
subject. Mrs. Jelf had evidently been crying; Jelf was impatient to
be off; and both Captain Prendergast and myself felt ourselves to be
in the painful position of outsiders, who are involuntarily brought
into a domestic trouble. Within twenty minutes after we had left the
breakfast-table the dog-cart was brought round, and my friend and I
were on the road to Clayborough.
"Tell you what it is, Langford," he said, as we sped along between the
wintry hedges, "I do not much fancy to bring up Dwerrihouse's name at
Clayborough. All the officials know that he is my wife's relation, and
the subject just now is hardly a pleasant one. If you don't much mind,
we will take the 11.10 to Blackwater. It's an important station, and
we shall stand a far better chance of picking up information there than
at Clayborough."
So we took the 11.10, which happened to be an express, and, arriving
at Blackwater about a quarter before twelve, proceeded at once to
prosecute our inquiry.
We began by asking for the station-master,--a big, blunt,
business-like person, who at once averred that he knew Mr. John
Dwerrihouse perfectly well, and that there was no director on the line
whom he had seen and spoken to so frequently.
"He used to be down here two or three times a week, about three months
ago," said he, "when the new line was first set afoot; but since then,
you know, gentlemen--"
He paused, significantly.
Jelf flushed scarlet.
"Yes, yes," he said hurriedly, "we know all about that. The point now
to be ascertained is whether anything has been seen or heard of him
lately."
"Not to my knowledge," replied the station-master.
"He is not known to have been down the line any time yesterday, for
instance?"
The station-master shook his head.
"The East Anglian, sir," said he, "is about the last place where he
would dare to show himself. Why, there isn't a station-master, there
isn't a guard, there isn't a porter, who doesn't know Mr. Dwerrihouse
by sight as well as he knows his own face in the looking-glass; or who
wouldn't telegraph for the police as soon as he had set eyes on him
at any point along the line. Bless you, sir! there's been a standing
order out against him ever since the twenty-fifth of September last."
"And yet," pursued my friend, "a gentleman who travelled down
yesterday from London to Clayborough by the afternoon express
testifies that he saw Mr. Dwerrihouse in the train, and that Mr.
Dwerrihouse alighted at Blackwater station."
"Quite impossible, sir," replied the station-master, promptly.
"Why impossible?"
"Because there is no station along the line where he is so well known,
or where he would run so great a risk. It would be just running his
head into the lion's mouth. He would have been mad to come nigh
Blackwater station; and if he had come, he would have been arrested
before he left the platform."
"Can you tell me who took the Blackwater tickets of that train?"
"I can, sir. It was the guard,--Benjamin Somers."
"And where can I find him?"
"You can find him, sir, by staying here, if you please, till one o'clock.
He will be coming through with the up express from Crampton, which stays
at Blackwater for ten minutes."
We waited for the up express, beguiling the time as best we could by
strolling along the Blackwater road till we came almost to the
outskirts of the town, from which the station was distant nearly a
couple of miles. By one o'clock we were back again upon the platform,
and waiting for the train. It came punctually, and I at once recognized
the ruddy-faced guard who had gone down with my train the evening
before.
"The gentlemen want to ask you something about Mr. Dwerrihouse,
Somers," said the station-master, by way of introduction.
The guard flashed a keen glance from my face to Jelf's, and back again
to mine.
"Mr. John Dwerrihouse, the late director?" said he, interrogatively.
"The same," replied my friend. "Should you know him if you saw him?"
"Anywhere, sir."
"Do you know if he was in the 4.15 express yesterday afternoon?"
"He was not, sir."
"How can you answer so positively?"
"Because I looked into every carriage, and saw every face in that train,
and I could take my oath that Mr. Dwerrihouse was not in it. This
gentleman was," he added, turning sharply upon me. "I don't know that
I ever saw him before in my life, but I remember _his_ face perfectly.
You nearly missed taking your seat in time at this station, sir, and
you got out at Clayborough."
"Quite true, guard," I replied; "but do you not also remember the face
of the gentleman who travelled down in the same carriage with me as
far as here?"
"It was my impression, sir, that you travelled down alone," said Somers,
with a look of some surprise.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 | 5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12 |
13 |
14
