The black bag left on a door step by Catherine and Louisa Pirkis. It's
a big thing, said Loveday Brook, addressing Ebenezer Dyer, chief of the
well known detective agency in Lynchcourt Fleet Street. Lady Cathrow has lost thirty thousand
pounds worth of jewelry. If the newspaper accounts are to be trusted, they
are fairly accurate. This time the robbery differs in a few respects from the
usual run of country home robberies. The time chosen, of course, was
the dinner hour, when the family and guests were at table, and the
servants not on duty were amusing themselves in their own quarters. The fact of
its being Christmas Eve would also, of necessity add to the business and consequent
distraction of the household. The entry to the house, however, in this
case, was not effected in the usual manner by a ladder to the dressing
room window, but through the window of a room on the ground floor,
a small room with one window and two doors, one of which opens into
the hall and the other into a passage that leads by the back stairs to
the bedroom floor. It is used, i believe as a sort of hat
and coat room by the gentleman of the house. It was, I suppose,
the weak point of the house, quite so, a very weak point.
Indeed, Craig and Court, the residence of Sir George and Lady Cathro,
is an oddly built old place, jutting out in all directions, and
as this window looked out upon a blank wall, it was filled in with
stained glass, kept fastened by a strong brass catch, and never opened day
or night, ventilation being obtained by means of a glass ventilator fitted in the
upper panes. It seems absurd to think that this window, being only about
four feet from the ground, should have had neither iron bars nor shutters added
to it. Such, however, was the case on the night of the
robbery. Someone within the house must have deliberately and of intention unfastened its only
protection, the brass catch, and thus given the thieves easy entrance to the
house. Your suspicions, I suppose, center upon the servants, undoubtedly,
and it is in the servants hall that your services will be required. The
thieves, whoever they were, were perfectly cognizant of the ways of the house.
Lady Cathroe's jewelry was kept in a safe in her dressing room, and
as the dressing room was over the dining room, Sir George was in the
habit of saying that it was the safest room in the house. Note the
pun please, Sir George is rather proud of it. By his orders,
the window of the dining room immediately under the dressing room window was always left
unshuttered and without blind during dinner, and as a full stream of light thus
fell through it onto the outside terrace, it would have been impossible for anyone
to have placed the ladder there unseen. I see from the newspapers that it
was Sir George's invariable custom to fillis house and give a large dinner on Christmas
Eve. Yes, Sir George and Lady Cathrow are elderly people with no family
and few relatives, and have consequently a large amount of time to spend on
their friends. I suppose the key of the safe was frequently left in the
possession of Lady Cathro's maid. Yes, she is a young French girl,
Stephanie Delcroix by name. It was her duty to clear the dressing room directly
after her mistress left it, put away any jewelry that might be lying about,
locked the safe and keep the key till her mistress came up to bed.
On the night of the robbery, however, she admits that instead of
so doing directly her mistress left the dress, she ran down to the housekeeper's
room to see if any letters had come for her, and remain chatting with
the other servants for some time. She could not say for how long It
was by the half past seven posts that her letters generally arrived from Saint Omer,
where her home is. Oh, then she was in the habit of
thus running down to inquire for her letters, no doubt, and the thieves,
who appear to be so thoroughly cognizant of the house would also know this.
Perhaps, though at the present moment I must say, things look very
black against the girl. Her manner, too, when questioned, is not
calculated to remove suspicion. She goes from one fit of hysterics into another,
contradicts herself nearly every time she opens her mouth, then lays it to the
charge of her ignorance of our language, breaks into voluble French, becomes theatrical
in action, and then goes off into hysterics once more. All that is
quite francais, you know, said Loveday to the authorities at Scotland Yard.
Lay much stress on the safe being left unlocked that night. They do,
and they are instituting a keen inquiry as to the possible lovers the girl may
have. For this purpose, they have sent Bates down to stay in the
village and collect all the information he can outside the house. But they want
someone within the walls to hobnob with the maids generally and to find out if
she has taken any of them into her confidence respecting her lovers. So they
sent to me to know if I would send down for this purpose one of
the shrewdest and most clear headed of my female detectives. I, in my
turn, Miss Brooke, has sent for you, and you may take it
as a compliment if you like. So please now get out your notebook and
I'll give you sailing orders. Loveday Brook, at this period of her career,
was a little over thirty years of age and could be best described in
a series of negations. She was not tall, she was not short.
She was not dark. She was not fair. She was neither handsome nor
ugly. Her features were altogether nondescript. Her one noticeable trait was a habit
she had, when absorbed in thought, of dropping her eyelids over her eyes,
till only a line of eyeball showed, and she appeared to be looking
out of the world through a slit instead of through a window. Her dress
was invariably black, and was almost quakerlike in its neat primness. Some five
or six years previously, by a jerk of fortune's wheel, Loveday had been
thrown upon the world, penniless and all but friendless. Marketable accomplishments. She
had found she had none, So she had forthwith defied convention and had chosen
for herself a career that had cut her off sharply from her former associates and
her position in society. For five or six years she drudged away patiently in
the lower walks of her profession. Than chance, or to speak more precisely,
an intricate criminal case threw her in the way of the experienced head of
the flourishing detective agency in Lynch Court. He quickly enough found out the stuff
she was made of and threw her in the way of better class work.
Work indeed that brought increase of pay and of reputation alike to him and to
Loveday. Ebenezer Dyer was not, as a rule given to enthusiasm, but
he would at times wax eloquent over Miss Brooks's qualifications for the profession. She
had chosen too much of a lady, do you say, he would say
to anyone who chanced to call and question those qualifications. I don't care Tuppen's
hapenny whether she is or is not a lady. I only know she is
the most sensible and practical woman I ever met. In the first place,
she has the faculty so rare among women, of carrying out orders to the
very letter. In the second place, she has a clear, shrewd brain,
unhampered by any hard and fast theories. Thirdly, and most important of
all, she has so much common sense that it amounts to genius. Positively
to genius, sir. But although Loveday and her chief as a rule worked
together upon an easy and friendly footing, there were occasions on which they were
wont so to speak to snarl at each other. Such an occasion was at
hand. Now Loveday showed no disposition to take out her note book and receive
her sailing orders. I want to know, she said, if what I
saw in one newspaper is true that one of the thieves before leaving took the
trouble to close the safe door and to write across it in chalk to be
let unfurnished, perfectly true. But I do not see that stress needs to
be laid on the fact. The scoundrels often do have that sort of thing
out of insolence or bravado. In that robbery at Ryegate the other day,
they went to a lady's Davenport, took a sheet of her note paper and
wrote their thanks on it for her kindness in not having had the lock of
her safe repaired. Now, if you will get out your note book,
don't be in such a hurry, said Loveday, calmly. I want to
know if you have seen this. She leaned across the writing table at which
they sat, one on either side, and handed to him a newspaper cutting,
which she took from her letter case. Mister Dyer was a tall,
powerfully built man with a large head, benevolent bald forehead, and a genial
smile. That smile, however, often proved the trap to the unwary for
he owned a temper so irritable that a child with a chance word might ruffle
it. The genial smile vanished as he took the newspaper cutting from Loveday's hand.
I would have you to remember, miss Brooke, he said severely,
that although I am in the habit of using despatch in my business, I
am never known to be in a hurry hurry, and affairs I take to
be the especial mark of the slovenly and unpunctual. Then, as if still
further to give contradiction to her words, he very deliberately unfolded her slip of
newspaper and slowly accentuating each word and syllable, read as follows. Singular discovery.
A black leather bag or portmanteau was found early yesterday morning by one of
Smith's newspaper boys on the doorstep of a house in the road running between easter
Brook and Wreford and inhabited by an elderly spinster lady. The contents of the
bag include a clerical collar and necktie, a church service, a book of
sermons, a copy of the works of Virgil, a facsimile of Magna Carta
with translations a pair of black kid gloves, a brush and comb, some
newspapers, and several small articles suggesting clerical ownership. On the top of the
bag, the following extraordinary letter, written in pencil on a long slip of
paper was found. The fatal day has arrived. I can exist no longer
I go hence and shall be no more seen. But I would have coroner
and jury know that I am a sane man, and a verdict of temporary
insanity in my case would be an air most gross. After this intimation,
I care not if it is fellow to say, as I shall have passed
all suffering, searched diligently for my poor lifeless body in the immediate neighborhood,
on the cold heath, the rail or the river by yonder Bridge, A
few moments will decide how I shall depart. If I had walked aright,
I might have been a power in the church of which I am now an
unworthy member and priest of the damnable sin of gambling got hold on me.
And betting has been my ruin, as it has been the ruin of thousands
who have preceded me. Young Man Shun, the bookmaker and the race course
as you would shun the devil in hell. Farewell, chums of Magdalen,
farewell and take warning. Though I can claim relationship with a duke, a
marquise and a bishop, and though I am the son of a noble woman,
yet I am a tramp and an outcast. Verily and indeed, sweet
death, I greet THEE. I dare not sign my name to one and
all. Farewell, oh my poor marchioness mother, A dying kiss to thee.
R I P. The police and some of the railway officials have made
a diligent search in the neighborhood of the railway station, but no poor lifeless
body has been found. The police authorities are inclined to the belief that the
letter is a hoax, though they are still investigating the manner. In the
same deliberate fashion as he had opened and read the cutting, mister Dyer folded
and returned it to Loveday. May I ask, he said, sarcastically,
what you see in that silly hoax to waste your and my valuable time over
I wanted to know, said Loveday, in the same level tones as before,
if you saw anything in it that might in some way connect this discovery
with the robbery at Craigan Court. Mister Dyer stared at her in utter blank
astonishment. When I was a boy, he said sarcastically, as before,
I used to play at a game called what is my thought? Like?
Someone would think of something absurd, say the top of the monument, and
some one else would hazard a guess that his thought might be, say the
toe of his left boot, and that unfortunate individual would have to show the
connection between the toe of his left boot and the top of the monument.
Miss Brooke, I have no wish to repeat the silly game this evening for
your benefit and mine, Oh very well, said Loveday calmly. I fancied
you might like to talk it over. That was all. Give me my
sailing orders, as you call them, and I'll endeavor to concentrate my attention
on the little French Maid and her various lovers. Mister Dyer grew amiable again.
That's the point on which I wish you to fix your thoughts, he
said. You had better start for Craign Court by the first train tomorrow.
It's about sixty miles down the Great Eastern Line. Huxwell's the station you must
land at there, one of the grooms from the court will meet you and
drive you to the house. I have arranged with the housekeeper there, Missus
Williams, a very worthy and discreet person, that you shall pass in the
house for a niece of hers on a visit to recruit after a severe study
in order to pass board school teacher's exams. Naturally, you have injured your
eyes as well as your health with overwork, so you can wear your blue
spectacles. Your name, by the way, will be Jane Smith. Better
write it down. All your work will lie among the servants of the establishment,
and there will be no necessity for you to see either Sir George or
Lady Cathrow. In fact, neither of them have been apprized of your intended
visit. The fewer we take into our confidence, the better. I have
no doubt, however, that Bates will hear from Scotland Yard when you are
in the house and will make a point of seeing you. Has Bates unearthed
anything of importance? Not as yet he has discovered one of the girl's lovers,
a young farmer of the name of Holt. But as he seems to
be an honest, respectable young fellow and entirely above suspicion. The discovery does
not count for much. I think there's nothing else to ask, said Loveday,
rising to take her departure. Of course, I'll telegraph should need a
rise in our usual cipher. The first train that left Bishop's Gate for Huxwell
on the following morning included among its passengers love day Brook, dressed in the
neat black supposed to be appropriate to servants of the upper class. The only
literature which she had provided herself in order to beguile the tedium of her journey
was a small volume, bound in paperboards and entitled The Reciter's Treasury. It
was published at the low price of one shilling and seemed specially designed to meet
the requirements of third rate amateurs citers at penny readings. Miss Brooke appeared to
be all absorbed in the contents of this book during the first half of her
journey. During the second, she laid back in the carriage with closed eyes
and emotionless, as if asleep or lost in deep thought. The stopping of
the train at Huxwell aroused her and set her collecting together her wraps. It
was easy to single out the trim groom from Creighton Court from among the country
loafers on the platform. Some one else beside the trim groom at the same
moment caught her eye. Bates from Scotland Yard got up in the style of
a commercial traveler and carrying the orthodox commercial bag in his hand. He was
a small, wiry man with red hair and whiskers and an eager, hungry
expression of countenance. I am half frozen with cold, said Loveday, addressing
Sir George's groom, if you'll kindly take charge of my portmanteau, I prefer
walking to driving to the court. The man gave her a few directions as
to the road she was to follow, and then drove off with her box,
leaving her free to indulge mister Bates's evident wish for a walk and confidential
talk along the country road. Bates seemed to be in a happy frame of
mind that morning. Quite a simple affair of this, Miss Brooks, he
said, A walk over the course, I take it with you working inside
the castle walls, and I on our thing without no complications of yet have
arisen. And if that girl does not find herself in jail before another week,
is over her head. My name is not Jeremiah Bates. You mean
the french Maid. Why, yes, of course I take it. There's
little doubt. But what she performed the double duty of unlocking the safe and
the window too, You see, I look at it this way, Miss
Brooke. All girls have lovers, I say to myself, But a pretty
girl like that French maid is bound to have double the number of lovers than
the plain ones. Now, of course, the greater number of lovers,
the greater the chance there is of a criminal being found among them. That's
plain as a pike staff, isn't it just as plain? Bates felt encouraged
to proceed well, then, arguing on the same lines, I say to
myself, this girl is only a pretty silly thing, not an accomplish criminal,
or she wouldn't have admitted leaving open the safe door. Give her rope
enough, and she'll hang herself in a day or two. If we let
her alone, she'll be bolting off to join the fellow whose nest she has
helped the feather, and will catch the pair of them TwixT here and over
straits, and also possibly get a clue that will bring us on the traces
of their accomplices, Ay, miss Brooke, that'll be a thing worth doing.
Undoubtedly, Who is this coming along in the buggy at such a pace?
The question was added, as the sound of wheels behind them made her
look round. Bates turned also, Oh, this is young Holt. His
father farms land about a couple miles from here. He is one of Stephanie's
lovers, and I should imagine about the best of the lot. But he
does not appear to be favorite. From what I hear. Someone else must
have made the running on the sly ever since the robbery. I'm told the
young woman has given him the cold shoulder. As the young man came nearer
in his buggy, he slacken pace, and Loveday could not but admire his
frank, honest expression of countenance. Room for one, Can I give you
a lift? He said, as he came alongside of them, and to
the ineffable disgust of Bates, who had counted upon at least an hour's confidential
talk with her, Miss Brooke accepted the young farmer's offer and mounted beside him
in his buggy. As they went swiftly along the country road, Loveday explained
to the young man that her destination was Craigan Court, and that as she
was a stranger to the place, she must trust to him to put her
down at the nearest point to it that he would pass at the mention of
Craigan Court, his face clouded. They're in trouble there, and their trouble
has brought trouble on others, he said, a little bitterly. I know,
said Loveday simm pathetically. It is often so in such circumstances as these,
Suspicion frequently fastens on an entirely innocent person. That's it, That's it,
he cried, excitedly. If you go into that house, you'll hear
all sorts of wicked things said of her, and see everything setting in dead
against her. But she's innocent. I swear to you. She is as
innocent as you or I are. His voice rang out above the clatter of
his horse's hoofs. He seemed to forget that he had mentioned no name,
and that Loveday, as a stranger, might be at a loss to know
to whom he referred. Who is guilty? Heaven only knows, he went
on, after a moment's pause. It isn't for me to give an ill
name to anyone in that house. But I only say she is innocent,
and that I'll stake my life on it. She is a lucky girl to
have found one to believe in her and the trust her as you do,
said Loveday, even more sympathetically than before. Is she I wish she'd take
advantage of her luck? Then, he answered bitterly. Most girls in her
position would be glad to have a man to stand by them through thick and
thin. But not she. Ever since the night of that accursed robbery,
she has refused to see me, won't answer my letters, won't even send
me a message. And great Heavens, I'd marry her tomorrow if I had
the chance, and dare the world to say a word against her. He
whipped up his pony. The hedges seemed to fly on either side of them,
and before Loveday realized that half her drive was over, he had drawn
rein and was helping her to alight at the servant's entrance to Craigan Court.
You'll tell her what I've said to you, if you get the opportunity,
and beg her to see me, if only for five minutes, he petitioned,
before He remounted his buggy, and Loveday, as she thanked the young
man for his kind attention, promised to make an opportunity to give his message
to the girl. Missus Williams, the housekeeper, welcomed Loveday in the servants
hall and then took her to her own room to pull off her wraps.
Missus Williams was the widow of a London tradesman, and a little beyond the
average housekeeper in speech and manner. She was a genial, pleasant woman who
readily entered into conversation with Loveday. Tea was brought in, and each seemed
to feel at home with the other. Loveday, in the course of this
easy, pleasant talk, elicited from her the whole history of the events of
the day of the robbery, the number and names of the guests who sat
down to dinner that night, together with some other apparently trivial details. The
housekeeper made no attempt to disguise the painful position in which she and every one
of the servants of the house felt themselves to be in at the present moment.
We are none of us at our ease with each other now, she
said, as she poured out hot tea for Loveday and piled up a blazing
fire. Everyone fancies that everyone else is suspecting him or her and trying to
rake up past words or deeds to bring in as evidence. The whole house
seems under a cloud, and at this time of year two, just when
everything, as a rule is at its merriest. And here she gave a
doleful glance to the big bunch of holly and mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.
I suppose you are generally very merry downstairs a Christmas time, said Loveday.
Servants balls, theatricals and all that sort of thing I should think we were.
When I think of this time last year and the fun we all had,
I can scarcely believe it is the same house. Our ball always follows
my lady's ball, and we have permission to ask our friends to it and
pep it up as late as ever we please. We begin our evening with
a concert and recitations and character. Then we have a supper, and then
we dance right on till morning. But this year she broke off, giving
a long, melancholy shake of her head that spoke volumes. I suppose,
said Loveday, some of your friends are very clever as musicians or reciters,
very clever. Indeed, Sir George and my lady are always present during the
early part of the evening. And I should like you to have seen Sir
George last year, laughing fit to kill himself at Harry Emmett, dressed in
prison dress, with a bit of oakum in his hand, reciting the Noble
Convict. Sir George said, if the young man had gone on the stage,
he would have been bound to make his fortune. Half a cup,
please, said Loveday, presenting her cup. Who was this Harry Emmitt?
Then a sweetheart of one of the maids. Oh, he would flirt with
them all, but he was sweetheart to none. He was footman to Colonel
James, who was a great friend of Sir George's. And Harry was constantly
backwards and forwards bringing messages from his master. His father, I think drove
a cab in London, and Harry for a time did so also. Then
he took it into his head to be a gentleman's servant, and great satisfaction
he gave as such. He was always such a bright, handsome young fellow,
and so full of fun that everyone liked him. But I shall tire
you with all this, and you, of course want to talk about something
so different. And the housekeeper sighed again as the thought of the dreadful robbery
entered her brain once more. Not at all, I am greatly interested in
you and your festivities. Is Emmett still in the neighborhood. I should amazingly
like to hear him recite myself. I am sorry to say he left Colonel
James about six months ago. We all missed him very much. At first.
He was a good, kind hearted young man, and I remember he
told me he was going away to look after his dear old grandmother who had
a sweet stuff shop somewhere or other, but where I can't remember. Loveday
was leaning back in her chair now, with eyelids droops so low that she
literally looked out through slits instead of eyes. Suddenly, and abruptly, she
changed the conversation. When will it be convenient for me to see Lady Cathro's
dressing room, she asked. The housekeeper looked at her watch. Now at
once she answered, it's a quarter to five now, and my lady sometimes
goes up to her room to rest for half an hour before she dresses for
dinner. Is Stephanie still in attendance on Lady Cathro, Miss Brooke asked,
as she followed the housekeeper up the back stairs to the bedroom floor. Yes,
Sir George and my lady have been goodness itself to us through this trying
time, and they say we are all innocent till we are proved guilty,
and we'll have it that none of our duties are to be in any way
altered. Stephanie is scarcely fit to perform hers. I should imagine scarcely.
She was in hysterics nearly from morning till night for the first two or three
days after the detectives came down. But now she has grown sullen, eats
nothing, and never speaks a word to any of us except when she is
obliged. This is my lady's dressing room. Walk in, Please Loveday entered
a large, luxuriously furnished room and naturally made her way straight to the chief
point of attraction in it, the iron safe fitted into the wall that separated
the dressing room from the bedroom. It was a safe of the ordinary description,
fitted with a strong iron door and chub lock, and across this door
was written with chalk and characters that seemed defiant in their size and boldness,
the words to be let unfurnished. Loveday spent about five minutes in front of
the safe, all her attention concentrated upon the big bull writing. She took
from her pocketbook a narrow strip of tracing paper and compared the writing on it,
letter by letter with that on the safe door. This done, she
turned to missus Williams and professed herself ready to follow her to the room below.
Missus Williams looked surprised. Her opinion of miss Brookes's professional capabilities suffered considerable
diminuation. The gentleman detective, she said, spent over an hour in this
room. They paced the floor, they measured the candles. They Missus Williams
interrupted, Loveday, I am quite ready to look at the room below.
Her manner had changed from gossiping friendliness to that of the businesswoman hard at work
at her profession. Without another word, Missus Williams life led her way to
the little room, which had proved itself to be the weak point of the
house. They entered it by the door which opened into a passage leading to
the back stairs of the house. Loveday found the room exactly what it had
been described to her by mister Dyer. It needed no second glance at the
window to see the ease with which any one could open it from the outside
and swing themselves into the room when once the brass catch had been unfastened.
Loveday wasted no time here. In fact, much to missus William's surprise and
disappointment, she merely walked across the room in at one door and out of
the opposite one, which opened into the large inner hall of the house.
Here, however, she paused to ask a question. Is that chair always
placed exactly in that position? She said, pointing to an oak chair that
stood immediately outside the room they had just quitted. The housekeeper answered in the
affirmative, it was a warm corner. My lady was particular that every one
who came to the house on messages should have it a comfortable place to wait
in. I shall be glad if you will show me up to my room,
now, said Loveday a little abruptly, and will you kindly send up
to me a country trade directory, if that is you have such a thing
in the house. Missus Williams, with an air of offended dignity, led
the way to the bedroom quarters. Once more, the worthy housekeeper felt as
if her own dignity had in some sort been injured by the want of interest.
Miss Brooke had evinced in the rooms, which at the present moment she
considered the show rooms of the house. Shall I send some one to help
you unpack? She asked a little stiffly at the door of Loveday's room.
No, thank you, there will not be much unpacking to do. I
must leave here by the first up train tomorrow morning. Tomorrow warning why,
I have told everyone you will be here at least a fortnight. Ah,
Then you must explain that I have been suddenly summoned home by telegram. I
am sure I can trust you to make excuses for me. Do not,
however, make them before supper time. I shall like to sit down to
that meal with you. I suppose I shall see Stephanie. Then, the
housekeeper answered in the affirmative, and went her way, wondering over the strange
manners of the lady, whom, at first she had been disposed to consider
such a nice, pleasant, conversible person. At supper time, However,
when the upper servants assembled at what was to them the pleasantest meal of the
day, a great surprise was to greet them. Stephanie did not take her
usual place at table, and a fellow servant sent to her room to summon
her returned saying that the room was empty and Stephanie was nowhere to be found.
Loveday and Missus Williams together went to the girl's bedroom. It bore its
usual appearance, no packing had been done in it, and beyond her hat
and jacket, the girl appeared to have taken nothing away with her. On
inquiry, it transpired that Stephanie had, as usual, assisted Lady Cathrope to
dress for dinner, but after that not a soul in the house appeared to
have seen her. Missus Williams thought the matter of sufficient importance to be at
once reported to her master and Mistress, and Sir George, in his turn,
promptly dispatched a messenger to mister Bates at the King's Head to summon him
to an immediate consultation. Loveday dispatched a messenger in another direction to young mister
Holt at his farm, giving him particulars of the girl's disappearance. Mister Bates
had a brief interview with Sir George in his study, from which he emerged
radiant. He made a point of seeing Loveday before he left the court,
sending a special request to her that she would speak to him for a minute
in the outside drive. Loveday put her hat on and went out to him.
She found him almost dancing for glee. Told you so, told you
so, now, didn't I, miss Brooke? He exclaimed. We'll come
upon her traces before morning. Never fear, I'm quite prepared. I knew
what was in her mind all along. I said to myself. When that
girl bolts, it'll be after she has dressed my lady for dinner, when
she has two good clear hours all to herself, and her absence from the
house won't be noticed. And when without much difficulty she can catch a train
leaving Huxwell for Wareford. Well, she'll get to Wreford safe enough, but
from Wareford she'll be followed every step of the way she goes. Only yesterday
I set a man on there, a keen fellow at this sort of thing,
and gave him full directions, and he'll hunder down to her hole properly
taken nothing with her, You say, what does that matter? She thinks
she'll find all she wants where she's going the feather nest I spoke to you
about this morning. Haha. Well, instead of stepping into it as she
fancies she will, she'll walk straight into a detective arms and land her pale
there into the bargain. There'll be two of them netted before another forty eight
hours are over our heads or mine name's not Jeremiah Bates. What are you
going to do now, asked Loveday as the man finished his long speech.
Now, I'm back to the King's Head to wait for a telegram from my
colleague at Wreford. Once he's got her in front of him, he'll give
me instructions at what point to meet him. You see, Huxwell, being
such an out of the way place and only one train leaving between seven ten
fifteen makes us really positive that Wreford must be the girl's destination, and release
my mind from all anxiety on the matter, does it? Answered Loveday gravely.
I can see another possible destination for the girl, the stream that runs
through the wood we drove past this morning. Good Night, mister Bates,
it's cold out here. Of course, as soon as you have any news,
you'll send it up to Sir George. The household sat up late that
night, but no news was received of Stephanie from any quarter. Mister Bates
had impressed upon Sir George the ill advisability of setting up a hue and cry
after the girl that might possibly reach her ears and scare her from joining a
person whom he was pleased to designate as her pal. We want to follow
her silently, Sir George, silently as the shadow follows the man, he
had said, grandiloquently. And and then we shall come upon the two,
and I trust upon the booty. Also, Sir George, in his turn,
had impressed mister Bates's wishes upon his household. And if it had not
been for Loveday's message, dispatched early in the evening to young Holt, not
a soul outside the house would have known of Stephanie's disappearance. Loveday was stirring
early the next morning, and the eight o'clock train for Wareford numbered her among
its passengers. Before starting, she dispatched the telegram to her chief in Lynch
Court. It read rather oddly, as follows, cracker fired am just starting
for Wareford. We'll wire you from there. L b Oddly, though it
might read, mister Dyer did not need to refer to his cipher book to
interpret it. Cracker fired was the easily remembered equivalent for klue found in the
detective phraseology of the office. Well, she has been quick enough enough about
it this time, he soliloquized, as he speculated in his own mind over
what the purport of her next telegram might be. Half an hour later there
came to him a constable from Scotland Yard to tell him of Stephanie's disappearance and
the conjectures that were rife on the matter. And he then not unnaturally read
Loveday's telegram by the light of this information, and concluded that the clue in
her hands related to the discovery of Stephanie's whereabouts as well as to that of
her guilt. A telegram received a little later on, however, was to
turn this theory upside down. It was like the former one worded in the
enigmatic language current in the lynch Court establishment, but as it was a lengthier
and more intricate message, it sent mister Dyer at once to his cipher book.
Wonderful she has cut them all out this time, was mister Dyer's exclamation
as he read and interpreted the final word. In another ten minutes, he
had given over his office to the charge of his head clerk for the day,
and was rattling along the streets and a hansom in the direction of Bishop's
Gate station. There he was lucky enough to catch a train just starting for
Wareford. The event of the day, he muttered, as he settled himself
comfortably in a corner seat, will be the return journey when she tells me,
bit by bit how she has worked it all out. It was not
until close upon three o'clock in the afternoon that he arrived at the old fashioned
market town of Wareford. It chanced to be cattle market day, and the
station was crowded with drovers and farmers. Outside the station, Loveday was waiting
for him, as she had told him in her telegram that she would in
a four wheeler. It's all right, she said to him, as he
got in. He can't get away even if he had an idea that we
were after him. Two of the local police were waiting outside the house door
with a warrant for his arrest signed by a magistrate. I did not,
however, see why the Lynch Court Office should not have the credit of the
thing, and so telegraphed to you to conduct the arrest. They drove through
the high Street to the outskirts of the town, where the shops became intermixed
with private houses led out in offices. The cab pulled up outside one of
these, and two policemen in playing clothes came forward and touched their hats to
mister Dyer. He's in there now, sir, doing his office work,
said one of the men, pointing to a door just within the entrance,
on which was painted in black letters the United Kingdom Cab Driver's Beneficent Association.
I hear, however, that this is the last time he will be found
there, as a week ago he gave notice to leave. As the man
finished speaking, a man evidently of the cab driving fraternity, came up the
steps. He stared curiously at the little group just within the entrance, and
then, chinking his money in his hand, passed on to the office as
if to pay his subscription. Will you be good enough to tell mister Emmett
in there, said mister Dyer, addressing the man that a gentleman outside wishes
to speak with him. The man nodded and passed into the office. As
the door opened, it disclosed a view an old gentleman seated at a desk,
apparently writing receipts for money a little in his rear. At his right
hand sat a young and decidedly good looking man at a table on which were
placed various little piles of silver and pence. The get up of this young
man was gentlemanlike, and his manner was affable and pleasant, as he responded
with a nod and a smile to the cab driver's message. I shan't be
a minute, he said to his colleague at the other desk, as he
rose and crossed the room towards the door. But once outside that door,
it was closed firmly behind him, and he found himself in the sense of
three stalwart individuals, one of whom informed him that he held in his hand
a warrant for the arrest of Harry Emmett on the charge of complicity in the
Kragan Court robbery, and that he had better come along quietly, for resistance
would be useless. Emmett seemed convinced of the latter fact. He grew deadly
white for a moment, then recovered himself. Will someone have the kindness to
fetch my hat and coat? He said, in a lofty manner. I
don't see why I should be made to catch my death of cold because some
other people have seen fit to make asses of themselves. His hat and coat
were fetched, and he was handed into the cab between the two officers.
Let me give you a word of warning, young man, said mister Dyer,
closing the cab door and looking in for a moment through the window at
Emmett. I don't suppose it's a punishable offense to leave a black bag on
an old lady's doorstep. But let me tell you, if it had not
been for them that black bag, you might have got clean off with your
spoil. Emmett the irrepressible had his answer ready. He lifted his hat ironically
to mister Dyer. You might have put it more neatly, guv'nor, he
said. If I had been in your place, I would have said,
young man, you are being justly punished for your misdeeds. You have been
taking off your fellow creatures all your life long, and now they are taking
off you. Mister Dyer's duty that day did not end with the depositing of
Harry Emmett in the local jail. The search through Emmett's lodgings and effects had
to be made, and at this he was naturally present. About a third
of the lost jewelry was found there, and from this it was consequently concluded
that his accomplices in this crime had considered that he had born a third of
the risk and of the danger of it. Letters and various memoranda discovered in
the rooms eventually led to the detection of those accomplices, and although Lady Catherrew
was doomed to lose the greater part of her valuable property, she had ultimately
the satisfaction of knowing that each one of the thieves received a sentence proportionate to
his crime. It was not until close upon midnight that mister Dyer found himself
seated in the train facing Miss Brooke, and had leisure to ask for the
links in the chain of reasoning that had led her, in so remarkable a
manner to connect the finding of a black bag with insignificant contents with an extensive
robbery of valuable jewelry. Loveday explained the whole thing easily and naturally, step
by step, in her usual methodical manner. I read, she said,
as I dare say, A great many other people did the account of the
two things in the same newspaper on the same day, and I detected,
as I dare say, a great many other people did not a sense of
fun in the principal actor in each incident. I noticed, while all people
are agreed as to the variety of motives that instigate crime, very few allow
sufficient margin for variety of character in the criminal. We are apt to imagine
that he stalks about the world with a bundle of deadly motives under his arm,
and cannot picture him at his work with a twinkle in his eye and
a keen sense of fun, such as honest folk have sometimes when at work
in their calling. Here mister Dyer gave a little grunt. It might have
been either of assent or dissent. Loveday went on. Of course, the
ludicrousness of the diction of the letter found in the bag would be apparent to
the most casual reader. To me, the high falutin sentences sounded in an
addition, strangely familiar, I had heard or read them somewhere, I felt
sure, although where I could not at first remember, they rang in my
ears. And it was not altogether out of idle curiosity that I went to
Scotland Yard to see the bag and its contents, and to copy, with
the slip of tracing paper, a line or two of the letter. When
I found that the handwriting of this letter was not identical with that of the
translations found on the bag, I was confirmed to my impression that the owner
of the bag was not the writer of the letter. That possibly the bag
and its contents had been appropriated from some railway station for some distinct purpose,
and that purpose accomplished, the appropriator no longer wished to be burdened with it,
and disposed of it in the readiest fashion that suggested itself. The letter,
it seemed to me, had been begun with the intention of throwing the
police off the scent. But the irrepressible spirit of fund that had induced the
writer to deposit his clerical adjuncts upon an old maid's doorstep had proved too strong
for him here and had carried him away. And the letter that was intended
to be pathetic, ended in being comic, very ingenious so far, murmured
mister Dyer. I've no doubt when the contents of the bag are widely made
known through advertisements, a claimant will come forward and your theory will be found
correct. When I returned from Scotland, Yard Loveday continued, I found your
note asking me to go round and see you respecting the big jewel robbery.
Before I did so, I thought it best to read once more the newspaper
account of the case, so that I might be well up in its details.
When I came to the words that the thief had written across the door
of the safe to be let unfurnished, they at once connected themselves in my
mind with the dying kiss to my Marchioness mother, and the solemn warning against
the race course and the bookmaker of the black bag letter writer. Then on
a flash, the whole thing became clear to me. Some two or three
years back, my professional duties necessitated my frequence attendance at certain low class penny
readings given in the South London slums. These penny readings young shop assistants and
others of their class glad of an opportunity for exhibiting their accomplishments. Declaim with
great vigor, and as a rule select pieces which their very mixed audience might
be supposed to appreciate. During my attendance at these meetings, it seemed to
me that one book of selected readings was a great favorite among the reciters,
and I took the trouble to buy it. Here it is here Loveday took
from her coat pocket the reciter's treasury and handed it to her companion. Now,
she said, if you will run your eye down the index column,
you'll find the titles of those pieces to which I wish to draw your attention.
The first is the Suicide's Farewell, the second the Noble Convict, and
the third to be let unfurnished by Jove. So it is ejaculated, mister
Dyer. In the first of these pieces, the Susie decides Farewell occur,
the expressions with which the black Bag letter it begins, the fatal day has
arrived, etc. The warnings against gambling, and the allusion to the poor
lifeless body. In the second, The Noble Convict occur, the allusions to
the aristocratic relations and the dying kiss to the marchioness mother. The third piece,
to be Let Unfurnished, is a foolish little poem enough, although I
dare say it has often raised a laugh in a not too discriminating audience.
It tells how a bachelor, calling at a house to inquire after rooms to
be let unfurnished, falls in love with a daughter of the house and offers
her his heart, which he says is to be let unfurnished. She declines
his offer and retorts that she thinks that his head must be to let unfurnish
too. With these three pieces before me, it was not difficult to see
a thread of connection between the writer of the black Bag letter and the thief
who wrot across the empty safe at Craign Court. Following this thread I unearthed
the story of Harry Emmett, Footman, Reciter, general, lover and scamp.
Subsequently, I compared the writing on my tracing paper with that on the
safe door, and, allowing for the difference between a bit of chalk and
a steel nib, came to the conclusion that there could be little doubt but
what both were written by the same hand. Before that, however, I
had obtained another and what I considered the most important link in my chain of
evidence. How Emmett brought his clerical dress to use and how did you find
out about that? Now, asked mister Dyer, leaning forward with his elbows
on his knees. In the course of conversation with Missus Williams, whom I
found to be a most communicative person, I elicited the names of the guests
who had sat down to dinner on Christmas Eve. They were all people of
undoubted respectability in the neighborhood. Just before before dinner was announced, she said,
a young clergyman had presented himself at the front door, asking to speak
with the rector of the parish. The rector, it seems, always dines
at Craigan Court on Christmas Eve. The young clergyman's story was that he had
been told by a certain clergyman whose name he mentioned, that a curate was
wanted in the parish, and he had traveled down from London to offer his
services. He had been, he said, to the rectory, and had
been told by the servants where the rector was dining, and, fearing to
lose his chance of the curacy, had followed him to the court Now,
the rector had been wanting a curate, and had filled the vacancy only the
previous week. He was a little inclined to be irate at this interruption to
the evening's festivities, and told the young man that he didn't want to curate.
When, however, he saw how disappointed the poor young fellow looked,
I believe he shed its tear or two. His heart softened. He told
him to sit down and rest in the hall before he attempted the walk back
to the station, and said he would ask Sir George to send him out
a glass of wine. The young man sat down in a chair immediately outside
the room by which the thieves entered. Now I need not tell you who
that young man was, nor suggest to your mind. I am sure the
idea that while the servant went to fetch him the wine, or indeed,
so soon as he saw the coast clear, he slipped into that little room
and pulled back the catch of the window that admitted his confederates, who,
no doubt, at that very moment, were in hiding in the grounds.
The housekeeper did not know whether this meek young curate had a black bag with
him. Personally, I have no doubt of the fact, nor that it
contained the cap, cuffs, collar and outer garments of Harry Emmett, which
were most likely redawned before he returned to his lodgings at Wareford, where I
should say he repacked the bag with its clerical contents and wrote his serio comic
letter. This bag, I suppose he must have deposited in the very early
morning before anyone was stirring. On the doorstep of the house in the Easterbrook
Road, mister Dyer drew a long breath in his heart was unmitigated admiration for
his colleague skill, which seemed to him to fall a little short of inspiration
by and by no doubt he would sing her praises to the first person who
came along with a hearty good will. He had not, However, the
slightest intention of so singing them in her own ears. Excessive praise was apt
to have a bad effect on the rising practitioner, so he contented himself with
saying, yes, very satisfactory. Now tell me how you hunted the fellow
down to his digs. Oh that was mere abc work, answered loveday.
Missus Williams told me he had left his place at Colonel James about six months
previously, and had told her he was going to look after his dear old
grandmother, who kept the sweet stuff shop, but where she could not remember.
Having heard that Emmittt's father was a cab driver, my thoughts at once
flew to the cabin's vernacular. You know something of it, no doubt,
in which their provident association is designated by the phrase the dear old grandmother,
and the office where they make and receive their payments is styled the sweet stuff
shop haha. And good missus Williams took it all literally, no doubt she
did, and thought what a dear, kind hearted fellow the young man was.
Naturally, I suppose there would be a branch of the association in the
nearest market town, and a local trades directory confirmed my supposition that there was
one at Wareford. Bearing in mind where the black bag was found, it
was not difficult to believe that young Emmett, possibly through his father's influence and
his own prepossessing manners and appearance, had attained to some position of trust in
the Wreford branch. I must confess I scarcely expected to find him as I
did on reaching the place installed as receiver of the weekly Moneys, of course,
I immediately put myself in communication with the police there and the rest.
I think, you know, mister Dyer's enthusiasm refused to be longer restrained.
It's capital from first to last. He cried, you've surpassed yourself this time.
The only thing that saddens me, said Loveday is the thought of the
possible fate of that poor little Stephanie. Loveday's anxieties on Stephanie's behalf were,
however, to be put to flight before another twenty four hours had passed.
The first post on the following morning brought a letter from Missus Williams telling how
the girl had been found before the night was over, half dead with cold
and fright on the verge of the stream running through Creighton Wood. Found too,
wrote the housekeeper, by the very person who ought to have found her,
young Holt, who was and is so desperately in love with her.
Thank goodness, at the last moment her courage failed her, and instead of
throwing herself into the stream, she sank down, half fainting beside it.
Hul took her straight home to his mother, and there at the farm.
She is now being taken care of and petted generally by every one and of
The black bag left on a doorstep by Catherine Louisa Pirkis