Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 3

  CHAPTER XXXVI.

  BECKY AND FANNY ON THE WATCH.

  A cup of hot tea and some bread and butter soon made little Fanny livelyagain, and when she was quite recovered I questioned her upon manylittle points, so as to make sure that she was not mistaken. Sheconvinced me. Richard Manx and Mr. Pelham are one and the same man, andRichard Manx's motive for taking lodgings in this house was that hemight obtain, in a secret and unsuspected manner, access to the roomin which your father was murdered. For what purpose? To destroy everyevidence of the crime before the house comes into the possession of anew tenant, who might by chance discover what, up to the present moment,has escaped the eyes of the police? No--scarcely that, in a direct way.He is not seeking to destroy or discover anything which he _knows_ to bein existence; he is searching for a document which he _suspects_ yourfather concealed before he met his death. This is but a reasonableexplanation of Richard Manx's presence here. Arguing in the dark, as weare, and without positive knowledge, we must have a tangible foundationon which to build our theories. I am speaking and arguing like a man, amI not, my dear? I wonder at myself as I read over some of the things Ihave written; but they are a proof that I have thrown aside all that isweak in my nature, and that I have courage and decision to meet anyemergency.

  The document which Richard Manx suspects your father to have hidden, andfor which he is searching, must, if it really exist, be of the utmostimportance. Shall I tell you what Richard Manx believes this document tobe? A second Will, which would make a beggar of the woman who betrayedhim, and consequently of Mr. Pelham, who, with your father's widow, isenjoying your father's money--_your_ money, my dear! I am not mercenary,but next to the clearing of your name and the punishment of yourfather's murderer, I want you to enjoy what is your own. Selfish mortalthat I am, I want you to be happy and rich, and I want to share yourhappiness and riches.

  If Richard Manx obtains possession of this document, it will be aserious blow to us. Something must be done, and done promptly--and atthe same time we must not put Richard Manx on his guard.

  Now, pay particular attention to the following little piece ofreasoning. Look at the date of the _Evening Moon_ in which the publicwere first made acquainted with the name of the murdered man. And by theside of that date place the significant fact that Mr. Pelham, disguisedas Richard Manx, took lodgings here three weeks before that discoverywas made. What follows? That Mr. Pelham knew, three weeks before thepolice became acquainted with the fact, that it was your father who hadbeen murdered. Why, then, should he not have known it on the very nightof the murder itself, and why did he keep the knowledge to himself? Whatwas his reason for concealment? A world of dreadful conjecture opensitself to me, and I am almost afraid to put my thoughts on paper. Theyare not centred alone on Mr. Pelham; Mrs. Holdfast intrudes herself in away that makes me shudder. My God! Is it possible that there can be suchwickedness in the world?

  In the account Mrs. Holdfast gave the Reporter of the _Evening Moon_ (Ihave the paper now before me) from which he wrote his "Romance in RealLife," she says that in her distress at the mysterious absence of herhusband, she went to a friend for advice. This friend had interestedhimself in her case, and had written to America in her behalf, toascertain particulars of her husband's movements. Her friend it was who,according to her statement, first suggested that her husband might havebeen robbed and murdered. He sent her to a lawyer, who, during theinterview, made a private memorandum which she read. The lawyer said,"We will find your husband for you, dead or alive;" and then he madethe memorandum, as a guide for himself: "Look up the murders. How aboutthe murder in Great Porter Square?" From that she proceeds to describehow she went to a number of shops, and bought a number of newspaperscontaining accounts of the discovery of the murder and of the accusationbrought against Antony Cowlrick. Her suspicions were aroused. She gavethe lawyer a portrait of her husband, and in a very little time itwas ascertained and made public that it was Mr. Holdfast who had beenmurdered. Read by itself, the Reporter's description is enthralling;those who read for amusement would not stop to inquire as to whetherthis was likely or that reasonable; they would accept the statementwithout question, and give their sincere pity to a lady who had beenso foully wronged. But, read by the light of what has come to ourknowledge, the traces of collusion, deception, clever acting--of guiltperhaps--are as clear as sunlight. Observe that Mrs. Holdfast does notgive the name of her friend--who must have been a very close friendindeed to take such an interest in her. I will give you his name--it isPelham. Nor does she give the name of the lawyer to whom Mr. Pelham senther. If you sought him and became acquainted with his antecedents, youwould find that he was in Mr. Pelham's pay, and that, up to a certainpoint, he acted in accordance with instructions. I think I haveestablished the fact that Mr. Pelham knew your father was dead longbefore it was made public. Mrs. Holdfast must also have known. Why didthey wait so long before they took steps towards the discovery? To avertany chance of suspicion being directed towards themselves? It is likelyenough, and that is also the reason, when you, as Antony Cowlrick, werebrought up at the police-court on suspicion of being implicated inthe murder, why Mr. Pelham kept carefully out of sight, and thereforehad no opportunity of recognising you. In this excess of caution heover-reached himself.

  At length, however, the time arrived when it was imperative the name ofthe murdered man should be made known, and Mr. Pelham and Mrs. Holdfastacted in concert. Your father's Will, of course, could not be proved inyour father's lifetime, so it was necessary that the fact of his deathshould be established. It was done, and clear sailing was before them,with the exception of one threatening gale which promises to wreckthem--the document for which Richard Manx is searching. He has not foundit yet, or he would not have struck the wall so viciously as he did thismorning when Fanny was watching him. Fate is against him, and is on ourside.

  Another little point, of which a lawyer would make a mountain. Did itnot occur to you as very strange that Mrs. Holdfast so easily obtainedfrom small newspaper shops a quantity of newspapers relating to amurder at least three months old? The shops do not keep a stock of oldnewspapers on hand: I know that this is so, from personal inquiry.

  Just now there comes to my mind the report in the papers that, duringthe nine days your father lived in the fatal house next door, he had butone visitor--a lady, who came so closely veiled that no person in thehouse caught a glimpse of her face? Do you think it possible that thislady was Mrs. Holdfast?

  Good night, my dearest. By the morning some plan may occur to me whichmay help us to the end. Fanny went to bed an hour ago. Mrs. Preedy isasleep, and all is quiet in the house. What would I give if I could seeinto the mind of our young man lodger, Richard Manx!

  * * * * *

  I re-open my letter; I have something to add to it.

  No sooner did I lay my head on my pillow than I fell asleep. I think Imust have slept over an hour when I was awoke by the sound of some oneopening my bedroom door. I raised myself in bed, and cried in a loudtone, "Who's there?"

  "Hush! Don't make a noise. I've come to tell you something."

  It was Fanny who spoke, and she was standing at my bedside.

  "Are you frightened, Fanny?" I asked. "Shall I light a candle?"

  "No," replied Fanny, "it might wake Mrs. Preedy. I'm not frightened.I've been on the look-out."

  I passed my hand over Fanny, and discovered that she was fully dressed;but so that she should not be heard she had taken off her boots.

  "On the look-out, Fanny!" I exclaimed. "Why you haven't been in bed!What is the meaning of it?"

  "I've been in bed," said Fanny, "but I didn't undress, and I didn't goto sleep. I've been listening. _He's_ in the next house."

  "Who?" I cried. "Richard Manx!"

  And I jumped up, and began to dress myself. Heaven only knows why, forI had no intention of going out of my bedroom.

  "Yes, Richard Manx," replied Fanny.

  "Have you heard anything?"

&nbs
p; "Yes, like some one taking up the floor."

  "A loud noise then, Fanny."

  "No--everything's being done soft--like a cat moving; but there's acrack sometimes, and a wrench, just the noise that would be made ifboards were being taken up."

  These words set me all in a fever. Richard Manx was getting desperate,and did not mean to give up his search without examining everything inthe room. What if he _should_ discover the document he is looking for?It would be he, then, who would hold the winning cards. The thought wastorture. It seemed to me as if I were within reach of your happiness,your safety, of the vindication of your honour, and as if they wereslipping from me.

  "Are you sure it is Richard Manx who is in the next house?" I asked.

  "As sure as guns," said Fanny.

  "How can you tell? You can't see through the walls."

  "No, I wish I could--then I should find out something more. When thenoise first came I didn't move for a long while; I waited till Mr. Manxwas deep in his little game; then I got up so quietly that Mrs. Baileydidn't stir, and I went out of the room, and upstairs to the garret.The door was shut, and I pushed it softly, and it gave way. I sliddownstairs like lightning, for if Mr. Manx had been in the room he wouldhave come to the door at once; then, if he didn't see anyone, he mightthink it was the wind that had blown the door open. But he didn't comebecause he wasn't in the room, and the door remained just as I left it.I crept up again, and peeped into the room; it was empty, and there_was_ a wind blowing--right over my head. I looked up, and saw atrap-door in the ceiling, open, and just under it two chairs, one on topof the other. That is how Mr. Manx reaches the roof; and he gets downinto the next house through another trap-door."

  "How do you know that, Fanny?" I asked.

  "Why," said the courageous little creature, "You don't suppose I wasgoing not to find that out, do you? I should be a nice one if I hadn'tclimbed up on the chairs, and lifted myself up on to the roof. I can dothat a deal better than Mr. Manx, there's so little of me. I crept alongon all-fours, and reached the other trap-door leading to the next house.It was open. I didn't go down because it was dark, and I was frightenedof falling. It wasn't that I cared about hurting myself, but it wouldhave brought Mr. Manx up to me, and then all the fat would have been inthe fire. So I thought I would come back and tell you. Would you like tocome up, and see for yourself?"

  I made up my mind to go. Yes, I would convince myself of the fact thatit was Richard Manx who haunted the murder-stricken house for his ownvillainous purposes.

  I was soon completely dressed, and, giving Fanny some instructions, incase of danger, I accompanied her upstairs. I held my tiny revolver inmy hand, and showed it to Fanny, who expressed great admiration. Thechild can be conquered by only one kind of fear, that which comes fromhunger. She has suffered enough from that frightful torturer, but willnever again, I hope.

  I went first into Mrs. Bailey's room; the old lady was in a sound sleep.I listened with my ear to the wall. Richard Manx was busy; caution wasexpressed in his every movement. Once or twice it almost seemed as if Iheard his voice in impatient anger. I do not think it was fancy on mypart; my senses were exquisitely alert to the slightest sign of thisdisguised enemy. While I was in Mrs. Bailey's room, Fanny remained inthe passage. I found out afterwards that she had armed herself with asmall, sharp-pointed knife, which I am convinced she would have usedwithout hesitation in my defence. I with my pistol, and Fanny withher knife, were more than a match for Richard Manx if we came intocollision. There is no bravery in the villain; at the first show ofdanger he would have fled, and Fanny, fleeter of foot than he, wouldhave been after him. I hardly know whether it would be well for us ornot that he should fall into the hands of the police, disguised as heis, and made to give an account of his movements. I shall do nothingfor the next few hours to precipitate events. They appear to be shapingthemselves to our advantage, for up to this moment Richard Manx's searchhas proved fruitless.

  I went upstairs, with Fanny close to me, to the garret. Everythingthere was as Fanny had described. The room was vacant; two chairs werestrapped one on top of the other, affording a firm footing by which aperson could climb on to the roof; the trap-door was open. I did nothesitate to search the room. In my detective capacity, proceedings Ishould ordinarily have blushed to take I now deem fair, but I foundnothing in the place to help me or to endanger the liberty of RichardManx. In a corner of the garret was a common trunk, locked; I tried toopen it, but could not. I should have liked to find a portrait of Mrs.Holdfast--a womanly wish, which would never have occurred to you. I wasabout to mount the chairs to the roof when Fanny pulled my dress. Herquick ears, quicker even than mine, had caught a sound. We retreatednoiselessly, closed the garret door and sat at the foot of the stairs,listening for Richard Manx's return. I wished to ascertain by theevidence of my own senses that he had not met with success in hissearch. If he had found any document he would have stopped up to read itbefore he retired to rest. Rest! Can such a conscience as this man mustpossess allow him ever to rest?

  Presently we heard him pull the trap-door in the roof over him; we heardhim descend from the chairs, and place them in their proper positions;we saw the light of his candle through a chink in the garret door; hemoved about stealthily for a few moments; and then he extinguished hislight.

  This was sufficient for me; we were and are still on equal ground withrespect to any document your father may have concealed before his death.For some hours all is safe; in the day time Richard Manx dare not enterthe empty house. I have nothing more at present to say. Good-night, dearlove.