WHEN THE SEA GIVES UP ITS DEAD.

CONTENTS

WHEN THE SEA GIVES UP
ITS DEAD.

A THRILLING DETECTIVE STORY.

BY

MRS. GEORGE CORBETT,

Author of
“Adventures of a Lady Detective,”
“New Amazonia,” “Pharisees Unveiled,”
“The Adventures of an Ugly Girl,” “Mrs. Grundy’s Victims,”
“Secrets of a Private Enquiry Office,”
etc., etc.

LONDON:
Tower Publishing Company, Limited, 95, Minories, E.C.

1894.

WHEN THE SEA GIVES UP
ITS DEAD.

CHAPTER I.
“THE DIAMOND ROBBERY.”

“Confound that upset! I shall be two minutes behind time—I wish I had walked all the way, instead of trusting to the supposed extra speed of a ’bus, when the streets are so slippery that horses cannot keep their feet.”

Thus soliloquised Harley Riddell, ruefully, as he hurriedly picked his way through the somewhat aggressive conglomeration of wagons, hansoms, ’buses and fourwheelers, which threatened to still further belate his arrival at the establishment of his employers, Messrs. Stavanger, Stavanger and Co., diamond merchants, of Hatton Garden.

By dint of an extra spurt from the corner of Holborn Viaduct, he managed to be less unpunctual than he had expected; but, somewhat to his surprise, he fancied that the assistants whom he encountered betrayed signs of suppressed excitement, which were not at all in keeping with the usual decorous quietude of Messrs. Stavanger’s aristocratic establishment. Still more astonished was he to notice that, whatever the reason for the unusual excitement may have been, it became intensified by his arrival. But there was just a tinge of alarm mingled with his astonishment when he perceived that both the Brothers Stavanger and Mr. Edward Lyon, who was the “Co.” in the business, were here before him. As not one of these gentlemen had ever been known to come to business before eleven o’clock in the forenoon, Harley may be excused for thinking it odd that they should all be here on this particular morning before the city clocks had boomed ten, and that, furthermore, they should all stand gazing at him with expressions which suggested suspicion and anathema.

“Nothing wrong, I hope, sirs?” was Harley’s impulsive question.

“You are no doubt the best judge of that,” said Mr. David Stavanger, who, being a vicar’s churchwarden, systematically cultivated a dignified bearing and an impressive mode of speech. “Probably the atrocious injury to which we have been subjected has been exposed to the light of detection sooner than you bargained for. You perceive, Mr. Detective,” he continued, turning to a short, but very well-built man of middle age, who was also contemplating our hero with unusual interest, “you perceive the instantaneous working of an evil conscience! No sooner does this ingrate see us here a few moments before our usual time than he jumps to the very natural conclusion that he is at the end of his criminal tether.”

“I beg your pardon,” interrupted the detective, whose name was John Gay. “Your deductions, Mr. Stavanger, are possibly more decided than correct. We have yet to hear what this gentleman has to say for himself, and you will perhaps let me remind you that it is dangerous to make statements that we perhaps may be unable to prove.”

“Gentleman, indeed!” exclaimed Mr. David.

“Yes sir, with your permission, gentleman—until we have proved him otherwise.”

“That will be an easy matter,” put in Hugh Stavanger, the son of the senior partner. “Everything points to him, and him alone, as the thief.”

Harley had not noticed Hugh Stavanger’s presence until he thus unpleasantly made it apparent. He had, in fact, been stupefied by the extraordinary words and behaviour of those around him. But at the word “thief” every fibre of his body thrilled with passion, and he strode hastily forward to the side of Hugh Stavanger, exclaiming “Retract that word! or, by Heaven——”

“Ah! he would add violence to his other crimes,” said Mr. David, hastily sheltering himself behind Mr. Samuel Stavanger’s more portly person. “Take care, Hugh, my boy! There is never any knowing how far these desperadoes will go when they are aroused. Mr. Gay, I insist upon your duty being done at once.”

By this time Harley was calm again outwardly, but his calm was as that of the ocean which a deluge of rain is beating into a surface smoothness which the still heaving waters below would fain convert into mountainous breakers.

Thief! Desperado! Was it possible that he was alluded to? He looked at the faces of those around him, and read condemnation in them all. Nay, there was at least one countenance which was impassive, one breast in which a trace of fairplay seemed to linger. He would appeal to the detective for an explanation of this horrible mystery.

“Will you,” he began, in a voice whose steadiness and quietness surprised even himself, “will you tell me what is the matter? and why I am glared at as if I were a wild beast?”

“Yes, pray go through the mockery of an explanation,” cried Mr. David.

“Sir,” replied Mr. Gay, “it is by no means certain that an explanation would be a mockery in this case.”

“Why, you yourself said everything pointed to this man’s guilt,” contended Mr. David.

“Very likely,” was the dry reply. “I said that everything seemed to point to your manager’s guilt. But I did not say that it proved it. That is another thing, and slightly out of my province.”

“And meanwhile,” said Harley, “I am still in the dark.”

“There has been a robbery of a serious and extensive nature, and you are suspected of being the thief,” said the detective, carefully watching the face of the stricken Harley. “It is my duty to arrest you in the name of the law, and I warn you against saying anything that may be construed against you at the trial.”

“Since when has this tremendous robbery taken place?” asked Harley. “Everything was secure when I left the premises last night at seven o’clock.”

“Who was here when you left?” asked Mr. Lyon, taking part in the conversation for the first time.

“No one, sir. The members of the firm had all left early. Mr. Hugh, to whom I usually hand the keys, being also gone, I locked all the cases up, lighted the gas, padlocked the door, delivered the door-key to the night-watchman, and took the keys of the safes to Mr. David Stavanger’s house. I put them into his own hands.”

“That is quite true, so far as the delivery of the keys goes,” said Mr. David. “What I want to know is this—What have you done with the stones you abstracted before you locked the safes?”

“Excuse me once more,” interrupted the detective, “you will have all necessary questions fully answered at the preliminary inquiry. Meanwhile Mr. Harley Riddell must consider himself a prisoner.”

“You will permit me to send a message to my brother?”

“Certainly.”

One of the shopmen, to whom Harley had always been kind, hurriedly produced a piece of paper and a pencil, and Harley, in whom surprise at his own calmness was still the dominant sensation, quickly wrote as follows:—“Dear Lad, I believe I am under arrest for wholesale robbery. It would be too absurd to protest my innocence to my twin soul. Ascertain where I am taken to, and break the news gently to the dear mother, before it reaches her in some other way. Tell her that the mystery is bound to be cleared up soon. As for Annie—God help her and me, for how can she ally herself to a man who has been under arrest?—Harley.”

CHAPTER II.
FIRM FAITH IS NOT IDLE.

Harley Riddell was duly charged before a magistrate with having feloniously abstracted gems to the value of four thousand pounds from the premises of Messrs. Stavanger, Stavanger, and Co., diamond merchants. After hearing all the evidence obtainable, the legal luminary thought it his duty to commit the prisoner to the Assizes, and during that time Harley was condemned to undergo the miseries of confinement and mental torture, without being able to do anything to help himself out of the abyss of disgrace into which he had been plunged.

But though he was powerless himself, others were working bravely for him. At first they also worked hopefully, until it became evident that whoever had concocted the plot of which he was the victim, had neglected no precaution against the failure of their plans. Mr. David Stavanger, the senior partner of the firm, deposed that, influenced by the invariable steadiness, industry, and ability of the prisoner, he had been induced to place more trust in him than he had ever placed in any of the subordinates of the firm. He had been eight years in the employment of Messrs. Stavanger, Stavanger, and Co., and had never given the firm any cause to complain of his conduct until now. “In fact,” continued Mr. David, “he has so wormed himself into our confidence that it has been a very easy matter for him to steal those jewels, and there is no knowing——”

Considerably to Mr. David’s chagrin, however, he was not permitted to continue his remarks, and his evident determination to take accused’s guilt for granted was sharply reprimanded. Fellow employees gave similar evidence to that of Mr. David, but were all so evidently convinced of Harley’s innocence, that counsel for the prosecution no longer felt quite sure of winning the case, until Mr. Gay produced the most damning evidence that could be forthcoming against a man accused of theft. He had, duly armed with a warrant, searched the belongings of Harley Riddell at his own home, and, inside the lining of the light topcoat that he had worn the day before the occurrence of the robbery, the detective had found three of the missing jewels set as rings, which were identified by Mr. Hugh Stavanger, who had seen them in their cases on the 17th of May.

Asked how, if Harley Riddell was the manager, and consequently of considerable importance in the business, it came to pass that the full extent of the robbery was discovered before the arrival of the latter on the scene, Mr. Hugh Stavanger stated that it was usual for Riddell to see to the safety of everything at the shop and to deliver the keys to the senior partner. At nine in the morning these were fetched by the leading shopman, whose duty it was to see that all was in readiness to receive customers at ten o’clock. As Mr. David Stavanger wished to present his eldest daughter with a birthday gift, Mr. Hugh had volunteered to fetch several articles of jewellery for her to choose from, and had, therefore, contrary to his usual custom, gone to the shop at nine o’clock. He had himself unlocked the safes, and on comparing the contents with the inventory which was with them, had at once seen that a great number of valuable stones were missing, and had telegraphed to the members of the firm to come at once. The detective, who was immediately sent for, could find no evidence that any part of the premises had been feloniously entered, or that the safes had been tampered with.

There was much other evidence, some of it of not too relevant a nature, but all of it conducive to the annihilation of any hope of acquittal for the prisoner. His defence was considered feeble, his guilt indisputable, and he was sentenced to five years’ penal servitude.

Five years’ penal servitude! Is any pen powerful enough to picture all that it means to a man like Harley Riddell? One day on the summit of bliss, and the next in the abyss of degradation and despair! One day revelling in love and happiness; the next loaded with misery, desperation, and isolation from all his beloved ones! It is terrible for those who are guilty of crime. But for those who are innocent—God help them!

There was a farewell scene between Harley and his mother, who was passionately indignant at the monstrous injustice of which one of her twin sons was the victim. The poor soul, mindful in her misery of Harley’s solicitude on her behalf, bravely hid her agonising grief under a show of mingled anger and hopefulness, while for the first time in all her long years of widowhood she felt resigned to the fact that the father of her boys no longer lived to witness the disgrace that had fallen upon his name. What though the disgrace was unmerited! It was none the less bitter, and Harley, who knew his mother’s indomitable nature, felt cheered and hopeful in his turn when he heard her vow to use every means, whether they were evidently possible or apparently impossible, to vindicate his character, and bring the guilt of the robbery home to the real perpetrators. Hilton Riddell, his twin brother, cheered him much, too, by his faith in the chances of a speedy unravelment of the plot of which he was evidently the victim.

There was also another with whom a parting interview was permitted, although Harley would almost have preferred to be spared the anguish of mind which it cost him. For the presence of winsome Annie Cory, who was to have been his bride ere long, only brought the more vividly to his mind the picture of all that cruel fate had bereft him of.

She, like the true girl she was, vowed to wait for his release, and to wed none but him. He, being sensitive and refined, vowed just as positively that nothing but the most incontrovertible proofs of his innocence would ever permit him to take advantage of her love.

Mr. Cory was very magnanimous, and he had cordially approved of the engagement of his only child to a man whose combined resources only amounted to £400 a year. For was not he himself wealthy enough to provide very handsomely for his daughter, and were not the various qualities of Harley Riddell far beyond riches alone?

Still, although he liked the young fellow, and would, under happier conditions, have gladly welcomed him as a son-in-law, he fully endorsed Harley’s protestations to the effect that only as a man who could stand before the world unshamed would he ever permit a woman to share his life. For he would not like his daughter to marry an ex-convict, whom folks would look askance at, even though the ex-convict’s friends were all convinced of his innocence and of the injustice of his punishment.

But he deemed it wise to offer no violent opposition to Annie’s determination to be true to the man she loved. He trusted to time to weaken her love, and show her the folly of allying herself to poverty and disgrace. Meanwhile, as he really liked Harley, and fully believed in his innocence, he meant to do all in his power to promote a certain plan which Hilton had confided to him, whereby it was hoped to divert the weight of punishment on to the shoulders that deserved it.

The interview had proved trying to Annie as well as to Harley, and Mr. Cory was very thankful when he arrived at his own house with his daughter, who certainly looked as if she had borne as much as she could.

“Margaret,” he said to his sister, who had been his housekeeper ever since his wife died, eight years before the opening of our story, “I believe the child is dead beat, and I don’t feel too clever myself. Have you anything in the way of a pick-me-up ready?”

“You shall have some hot milk, with a touch of brandy in it, in a few minutes. That will do you both good, and serve to put you off until dinner is ready, which will be another half hour yet. How did the child bear it?”

“Very bravely. Vowed eternal fidelity, and all that sort of thing. But Riddell is too much of a man to take her at her word, and swears to be nobody’s husband until he is proved innocent. And quite right, too. In fact, I hope Annie will get over her infatuation in any case, for I have no fancy for being pointed at as the father-in-law of a man who has been in gaol. You see, although we never for a moment believe that the poor lad had anything to do with the robbery, and are sure that he is the victim of a vile plot, it will be difficult to get the world to think as we do, and, to tell the truth, it’s a deucedly nasty business all round.”

While Mr. Cory had been speaking, Annie had gone up to her own room, and Miss Cory had rung her bell in order to give some directions to a servant before she followed her niece upstairs.

“Williamson,” she said, “bring two glasses of hot milk here as quickly as possible.”

She delivered herself of this order very quietly. But no sooner was the servant’s back turned than she emptied the vials of her wrath on to her brother’s devoted head.

“John Cory,” she said, drawing her really majestic figure up to its full height, and speaking with a solemn deliberation which she only affected on serious occasions. “I’m ashamed of you! I never expected to see the day when my father’s son would deliberately contemplate the desertion and permanent abandonment of a man whose sole sin is his betrayal by some villain who has cunningly contrived to divert suspicion from himself to an innocent man. John Cory, if I could believe that you would do this vile thing, I would leave your roof for ever.”

“But, my dear girl——”

“Don’t ‘my dear girl’ me! You never do it except when you want to talk me over, and at fifty-six I’m too old to swallow gross flattery. Just tell me this—Do you mean to turn your back on young Riddell now that he is powerless to help himself, or do you mean to act like a man?”

“Of course, I mean to do all I can for him.”

“I knew you did. All the same, the bare thought that you could dream of revoking what you promised just before the poor lad’s calamity overtook him, made me feel as if I could shake you. Oh, here’s your milk. Just put your brandy in yourself and drink it, while I go upstairs to Annie. Williamson, see that we have dinner punctually.”

Williamson, having acknowledged her mistress’s order with due deference, hurried away to expedite matters in the lower regions, and Miss Margaret Cory lost no more time in visiting her niece, whom she found sobbing as though her heart was breaking. At this sight, even Miss Margaret, stolid though she usually was, found herself considerably upset. She made a faint attempt to dissuade Annie from crying, but was convinced that her efforts were woefully inadequate, and eventually administered the truest consolation by breaking down herself and mingling her tears with those of the girl whom she loved more than any other being on earth.

“There, auntie, I won’t be so foolish again,” said Annie at last. “But I could not help myself when I thought of all the horrors poor Harley is doomed to endure.”

“And no wonder, my dear. But, please God, we’ll put an end to his misery by freeing him before long.”

“But how can that be? Have you forgotten that he is sentenced to five years’ imprisonment?”

“No, I have not forgotten. Neither have I forgotten a speech that his brother Hilton uttered last night. He said:—‘Heaven helping me, I will leave no stone unturned to run the author of all this misery to earth. He may be very cunning, but I defy him to elude my watchfulness, when once I have set eyes upon him. The mystery is not so great as it perhaps seems to some. The onus of criminality rests between very few people, and I have good reasons for believing that my suspicions are centring themselves round the right man. It is but a question of time, for, if there is a God in Heaven, the guilty coward who really stole those diamonds shall be brought to justice!’ Annie, when I heard the fervour with which those words were uttered, and marked the deliberate determination of Hilton Riddell’s mien, I shared his confidence in the future, and resolved to afford him every facility for achieving his purpose. He will need money, for without money very little can be done. For your sake, my darling, I will give all I can to prove your lover’s innocence.”

“How good you are, auntie!” cried the girl, kissing her relative affectionately. “You always make me feel better. This time, besides comforting me, you have made me a little bit ashamed of myself. Henceforth I will work, instead of giving way to useless repining. If there is any part I can take in the unravelment of this mystery, I will show myself a ready and capable helper.”

“That’s right, dear girl. The police started with the conviction that Harley Riddell was guilty, and hunted up no end of facts to prove themselves in the right. We will start with equally positive convictions in the other direction, and it will be odds if our labour of love does not bear the fruit we desire.”

“Oh, auntie! I am all anxiety to begin! Do let me run down and tell the dad all about it.”

“Not so fast, my dear. If Mrs. Riddell, who has been terribly prostrated by this blow, is able to bear being left an hour or two this evening, her son will call here, by appointment with me, to consult as to what will be the best plans for us to adopt.”

“You dear old thing! You have been actually working already!”

“Certainly. The sooner we begin operating, the better chance we have of being successful, and the sooner we may hope to see Harley justified and at liberty. In fact, you need not be surprised if Hilton Riddell has already made considerable progress. And now, dear, you must make yourself a little presentable, and I expect you to partake of a substantial meal, even as I mean to do, for we must make ourselves strong if we mean to do anything useful.”

The result of Miss Margaret’s tact and management was that Annie was not nearly so downcast that evening as her father had feared she would be, and when Hilton Riddell made his appearance at eight o’clock, he found every member of the Cory family ready and willing to second all his endeavours on Harley’s behalf.

“And how did you leave your mother?” asked Miss Margaret.

“Stronger and better than I could have believed possible,” was the reply. “She is brave and hopeful, and firmly believes that I shall succeed in tracing the real delinquent. One thing troubles me a good deal about my mother. It may be necessary for me to travel, or some other contingency may arise which will render it impossible to be with her much, and I fear that, if left to herself, she may succumb to her troubles.”

“She shall not be left to herself,” cried Miss Margaret, emphasising her remarks by a vigorous shake of the handsome lace lappets which adorned her cap. “She must come and live here while you are away. That is just what you would have proposed yourself, isn’t it, John?”

“Certainly, just the very thing,” echoed John, warmly. “Sorry you got the suggestion out before I did, though. And now, Mr. Riddell, about your means and employment. Don’t think me impertinent or intrusive, but——”

“Pray don’t apologise,” said Hilton, hastily. “I will, as you so kindly take such an interest in us, explain exactly how we stand. My mother, who is an officer’s widow, has a life pension, which the vicissitudes in the career of Harley or myself cannot touch. My employers, Messrs. Treadonem and Co., have magnanimously given me my liberty, and have not been afraid to mention their true reason for discarding the services of the brother of a convict. My time, therefore, is my own, to use as I please. Needless to say, it will be used in my brother’s service. Fortunately, I have a couple of hundred pounds saved, and Harley, during the last six years, has saved a few hundreds also. He has some inkling of my intended course of procedure, and has arranged for me to draw his money, if I require it. But I hope to run my quarry to earth without encroaching upon Harley’s savings, for it will go hard with him at first, especially if he has no money to fall back upon.”

“His money shall not be touched,” put in Mr. Cory in a very decided tone. “I have a nice sum available for unexpected contingencies like the present.”

“And so have I,” answered Miss Margaret.

“You are very kind; I hardly know how to thank you,” said Hilton, very much moved.

“And how can I help?” inquired Annie, piteously. “I have no money of my own, but I am anxious to do some real work, and I am sure you would find me clever and capable.”

“I should only be too glad of your help,” said Hilton, with animation in his mien and entreaty in his voice, “but the only way in which you can help seems too preposterous to suggest to you.”

“Out with it, man,” cried Mr. Cory; “if it is something that cannot be undertaken, no harm will be done.”

“Then here you are, sir. It is necessary that I should gain a little insight into the doings of the family of Mr. David Stavanger, for I am convinced that either he or his son knows where the still missing diamonds could be found. There is an advertisement in to-day’s paper for a holiday governess to the youngest Miss Stavanger, a girl of twelve. To-morrow morning I intended going to the office of Messrs. Bell and White, private inquiry agents, to ask them to send their principal lady detective, Miss Dora Bell, to try for the appointment, as a governess has many means of gaining information concerning what is going on in a household. Now, if you——”

“Not another word, I will turn detective, and beard these lions in their own den,” was Annie’s exclamation.

“But how about references? Besides, they would know your name, perhaps,” objected Mr. Cory.

“You dear innocent,” remarked Miss Margaret, with the calmness born of superior wisdom; “when one takes up detective work, one has not to be too squeamish about ways and means, and you may trust us to devise some scheme to circumvent these villains. If Annie can’t get the post, I’ll try to make myself look more youthful, and make a bid for the appointment.”

Somehow, any lurking objections which Mr. Cory might have had were all overcome, and when Hilton went home that night, many arrangements for the future had been made. Subject to Mrs. Riddell’s own consent, it had been decided that it would be best for her to live with Miss Margaret for a while. Mr. Cory, very much to his own surprise, found himself enrolled as an amateur detective, liable to be called upon for active service at any time. Annie, instead of moping at home and giving way to melancholy, was bent upon yielding efficient help as a lady detective, and Hilton meant to be guided by the exigencies of the moment.

The avowed end and aim of all these good people was to bring the man who was responsible for Harley Riddell’s imprisonment to justice.

The progress of our story will show how they went about their new employment, and what were the results of their endeavours as amateur detectives.

CHAPTER III.
“MISS ANNIE CORY IS CONFIDENTIAL.”

A few days after the events narrated in the last chapter, Miss Margaret Cory was reading aloud from some manuscript which she had just received by post. Her audience was small, being composed of two individuals with whom we are already acquainted—to wit, her brother, Mr. Cory, and Hilton Riddell, who both listened to her with curious interest.

You and I too, dear readers, will take the liberty of hearing what Miss Cory had to say.

“My darling Auntie,” she read, “I am now fairly installed here, but, would you believe it? there are signs already that it will be unnecessary for me to remain here very long. I shall, however, do my utmost to retard my exit until I have learned all I want to know. Short as my time here has been, it has already revealed much to me. Perhaps I had better begin my story at the beginning, and then you can form your own opinion. I must also be as lucid and explicit as possible, since upon what I learn and describe Hilton Riddell’s actions in the near future are dependent.

“On presenting myself here yesterday morning, according to arrangement, I was admitted by a middle-aged servant, who regarded me with what I considered pure effrontery.

“‘I wish to see Mrs. Stavanger,’ I said.

“‘Very likely,’ was the woman’s answer. ‘But you may prepare yourself for a long wait first.’

“‘Why? Is she not in?’

“‘Oh yes, she’s in. But she thinks people wouldn’t believe her to be a swell if she didn’t keep folks waiting a good bit.’

“‘Perhaps you will be good enough to tell her that I am here.’

“‘I suppose you are the new governess?’

“‘I am.’

“‘Oh well, you won’t be here long, if you’ve no more patience than the others. But come inside; you can wait in the hall.’

“Saying this, the extraordinary specimen of a servant permitted me to cross the threshold. The cabman had become impatient, and began to bring my bit of luggage in at once. It was quite ten minutes before the woman, who, I learned afterwards, is called Wear, made her reappearance, and requested me to follow her to the drawing-room. By this time the cabman had been paid and had gone away.

“Still smarting under the peculiar treatment of the servant, it was with some trepidation that I approached the mistress. She was sitting in an easy chair, and did not rise to greet me, as I naturally expected she would do. From this trifling circumstance I instantly deduced the opinion that Mrs. Stavanger was totally devoid of those finer instincts which go to make up the being described by the term ‘lady.’ Subsequent observations have confirmed me in this opinion. Personal beauty of a strong, showy type, must at one time have been Mrs. Stavanger’s to a great degree. She would be handsome yet, but for the expression of mingled ill-temper and arrogance which perpetually disfigures her features. She is, I think, a woman who has, by means of her good looks, secured a husband whose position in life is much higher than hers had been, and she is one of those people of whom it is expressively said that ‘they cannot carry corn’—in other words she is a ‘beggar on horseback.’

“She treated me with scant courtesy, even as her waiting maid had led me to expect. She apparently imagines that a woman who is compelled to earn her living in any shape or form is no longer deserving of respect or civility. Hers is a belief which, unfortunately, has many followers, but which troubles me very little, and would trouble me just as little were I really the poor governess I seem to be, for I do not hold the opinion of unreasonable people to be important enough to worry about. By the time this interview was over, I had been given to understand that my duties would be slightly more onerous than I had anticipated when being engaged by Mr. Stavanger, who had spoken of his wife being too nervous to interview strangers, and of his twelve-year-old daughter as a child who required very little discipline.

“The latter is a very bright girl, but she is fearfully spoiled by alternate over-indulgence and fault-finding. She has led her former governess a pretty dance, by all accounts, and coolly told me that she always did as she liked, and that it was no use telling tales of her, as her mother never believed them, but invariably punished the governess instead of the refractory pupil.

“‘It’s no use your setting me any lessons,’ she remarked yesterday afternoon. ‘I shall only work when I like, just as I have always done.’

“‘Very well,’ I replied coolly, ‘we’ll be idle together. It’s no use killing oneself to keep oneself, is it?’

“You would have been highly amused if you had seen Miss Fanny Stavanger’s stare of surprise. She is evidently not used to being humoured.

“‘I don’t know,’ was her dubious answer to my query. ‘If you take your wages you ought to try to earn them. That is what mamma always tells the other servants.’

“This wasn’t a palatable speech to hear. But the stake for which I am playing is too big to allow me to be daunted by trifles, so I merely told the girl it rested entirely with her whether I accepted my ‘wages’ from her parents or not, and that if she refused to learn her lessons there would be no alternative for me but to refuse.

“‘Perhaps,’ I added, ‘you have been harassed over your lessons and have not been permitted to learn in your own way. If you like we will alter all that. You shall study when you please, and give over the minute you are tired.’

“‘Well, I call you really jolly,’ was Miss Fanny’s rejoinder. ‘Maybe you think me a fool, but if you’ll help me nicely, you’ll see what a lot I can really do.’

“The little rebel was conquered. This morning she was quite eager to begin studying with me, and I foresee little trouble with her in future. Already she begins to be confidential with me, and has told me something that will prove valuable. I am, I suppose, not yet quite inured to my duties as detective, for I felt downright mean when listening to Fanny, until a picture of my poor, innocent Harley rose before my mental vision, and my heart hardened against the wicked people who have ruined him.

“There are several members of this household who would prove interesting to a student of human nature. Mr. Stavanger is purse-proud, ostentatiously religious, hard and uncharitable in his judgment of others; fond of show, and yet mean in trifles. It needs no very keen observer to discover that much.

“Of Mrs. Stavanger you will already have formed your opinion. The eldest daughter is a conglomeration of both parents, with some of their defects slightly accentuated. The son I need not describe to you, you saw him at the trial. But Fanny has told me that of late he has been very unsteady, and that he and his father have quarrelled a good deal. My pupil has also much to say about Wear, the parlour maid.

“‘I never saw anybody change so,’ observed the child. ‘Wear used to be so respectful, until those nasty thieves got into the shop, and nearly ruined papa and his partners. Since then she is impertinent all day long, and says such queer things. I can’t imagine why she isn’t packed off about her business. But when Ada told her the other day that she would put up with her impudence no longer, Wear just laughed in her face, and said that it would take a cleverer body than Ada to turn her out of this house now.’

“I made no comments to Fanny on this information. But I feel sure of one thing. Wear has become possessed of some power over the Stavangers, of which she is making a very injudicious use, since it would pay her in the end much better to keep a civil tongue in her head, and merely to insist upon more liberal wages, instead of showing others that there is ground for suspicion. When once the source of her sudden accession of power over the Stavangers is discovered that power will irrevocably leave her. Coupling Fanny’s remarks about ‘those nasty thieves’ with our own previously-formed opinion respecting the actual culprit in whose place Harley has been condemned and Wear’s peculiar behaviour, the inference that we are on the right track is obvious. With God’s help, we shall yet be able to rescue Harley from his horrible fate. I wonder if you will think me wicked when I confess that I long for the time when his betrayers will be suffering the agony that has been meted out to him. Tell Hilton to hold himself in readiness for action at any moment, for I am sure that I am on the eve of further discoveries.”

Three days later another budget from Annie was being discussed in Mr. Cory’s drawing-room. This time Miss Cory had an additional listener. Mrs. Riddell had been persuaded to take up her abode here for an indefinite period. Her house had been let furnished until such time as she was likely to require it again. Hilton was also visiting here at present, and was ready to do anything or go anywhere to help to prove his brother’s innocence. The fact that his mother was in such good hands, instead of being left to mope and grieve in childless loneliness, heartened him considerably for the work which he was convinced lay before him.

“Since writing to you last,” read Miss Cory, “I have made a wonderful discovery. I am quite sure that Hugh Stavanger, whose evidence was the principal means of ensuring Harley’s condemnation, is the thief we are in search of. Last night at twelve o’clock, when all the household was supposed to be asleep, Mr. Stavanger was fuming in the dining-room at the belated return home of his hopeful son, who, I have gathered, has got into the habit of staying out late at night. At eleven o’clock I had heard the hall door open, and someone ran upstairs to Hugh Stavanger’s room, shutting the bedroom door behind him. The servants, who had not seen the entrance of Mr. Hugh, but had heard the noisy run up to his room, concluded that it was he who had come in. Everybody else being at home, they locked and barred the doors for the night, and then went to bed. But I, who had resolved to let nothing escape my notice, if it could be helped, knew that a little pantomime was being enacted for the benefit of the unsuspicious servants, for it was Mr. Stavanger who had come noiselessly downstairs, and had imitated his son’s manner of entering the house and going upstairs. The latter was still away from home.

“From this behaviour I drew certain deductions. Mr. Stavanger wanted to speak privately to his son; he did not want the servants to witness the time of Hugh’s arrival, nor the condition in which he arrived; and the matter about which he desired to speak must be of great importance, since it required to be discussed unseasonably.

“I determined to be present at the interview.

“To do this, prompt action on my part was necessary, as I must be on the scene before either of the principal actors. There are three servants in the house. Wear was the last of these to go to bed, and the moment she had passed the landing on to which my room door opened, I slipped downstairs, and passed quietly into the dining room, without being heard by anyone. Then I hid myself behind the window draperies, and awaited events.

“I had not long to wait. Scarcely two minutes had elapsed ere Mr. Stavanger, slipperless and cautious, came creeping into the room. Perhaps it was because he was nervous that he found it necessary to help himself to a big drink of brandy. Having disposed of this, he stepped softly into the hall, and, an instant later, I heard him carefully unfastening the front door. I was very glad that he did not return to the dining room immediately, as this enabled me to change my position into a more comfortable one. I sat down on the floor, leaned my back against one of the window frames, and readjusted the curtains.

“If there was to be an interview between father and son, I might expect them in this room, for they were not likely to be so indiscreet as to carry on a conversation in the hall. Nor was I mistaken. In about a quarter of an hour I heard someone ascend the front steps, and Mr. Stavanger, who had been waiting in the hall until then, opened the door before his son had time either to ring the bell or to insert a latch key.

“‘Keep yourself quiet,’ I heard him say in a low tone, ‘and go into the dining room. Make no noise, for your liberty is in danger.’

“Do you believe that, in cases of emergency, some of our faculties are strengthened to an enormous extent? I think that this must be so, and that I, for one, have been the subject of this phenomenon. Otherwise, how shall I account for being able to hear Mr. Stavanger’s words so distinctly? No doubt, the midnight quiet of the house and neighbourhood had something to do with it. Still, I shall always think that Providence thus showed its approval of my endeavours to save Harley Riddell from an unjust fate.

“Hugh’s answer to his father’s injunction was an ejaculation of which I did not catch the import. But he was evidently sufficiently impressed by his manner to be obedient for once. I heard the door quietly fastened again, and then the two men came into the room in which I was playing the eavesdropper. Mr. Stavanger, after turning up the gas, which he had previously lighted, seated himself, and requested his son to do the same.

“‘Now then,’ observed the latter, ‘I would like to know what all this mystery is about, and what you mean by insinuating that my liberty is in danger.’

“‘Have you no idea?’ questioned Mr. Stavanger.

“‘Not the slightest.’

“‘Think again.’

“‘Why the deuce don’t you out with it? It isn’t likely that I know just what you are driving at, and if I did, I am not fool enough to take the initiative.’

“‘Well I will tell you. I have all along suspected that you yourself were the thief for whom Riddell has been made the scapegoat. Perhaps it will be as well for me to tell you that I have from the first been sure of it. This was what made me so anxious to secure Riddell’s conviction. I hoped thereby to save our own name from disgrace. But my efforts are likely to prove futile, because, besides being a thief, a perjurer, and a scoundrel, you are proving yourself a fool. You have been spending and gambling recklessly of late, and people are talking about the amount of money you are getting through. The gossip about you has come to Mr. Lyon’s ears, and to-day I endured the greatest humiliation of my life, for I was told to my face that I had deliberately sent an innocent man to gaol, knowing the while that my son was guilty. It was in vain that I denied this. Mr. Lyon vows that he has proofs of your guilt, and he has given me his positive orders to refund the value of the theft and to endorse some story which he is going to trump up to show that no theft has been committed, or take the consequences.’

“‘Meaning that he would make me change places with Riddell! Good God! what shall I do? I can’t give up the diamonds!’

“‘But you must give them up! Do you think I will allow you to ruin us all? And simply because you want money to squander in drinking and gambling hells? Tell me what you have done with your booty.’

“‘It’s all gone. I realised the diamonds for a quarter their value, and paid my creditors with it.’

“‘What! you were heavily in debt?’

“‘Yes. I owed hundreds, and the money melted like wax.’

“‘What have you left?’

“‘About fifty pounds.’

“‘It’s a lie! You cannot have gone through the worth of all you took.’

“‘I tell you I have.’

“‘I wonder what I have done that I should be cursed by a son like you! I won’t ruin myself to buy your freedom. You shall go to gaol like the dog you are.’

“‘And what about the mater and the girls? If you won’t do it for me, you will perhaps wish you had done it for their sakes.’

“‘Ah, you have me there! You are not worth stretching out a saving hand to. But it would be hard to make them suffer for you.’

“‘Yes, I knew I should bring you to reason. What do you intend to do in the matter?’

“‘Do you think your equal for shamelessness could be found anywhere?’

“‘Suppose you stick to business. What is going to be done?’

“‘Mr. Lyon sails for America to-morrow on very important business, as you already know. He will not remain there above a week. In three weeks, therefore, we may expect him back. Before that time arrives two things must be done. I must place to the credit of Mr. Lyon and your uncle Samuel an equivalent for their share of the stolen property. And you must have left the country before then, for he has forbidden your entering the shop again, and will not pledge himself not to denounce you if he sees you.’

“‘But this is no reason why I should leave England?’

“‘There is another reason.’

“‘What is that?’

“‘Wear knows your secret. She saw the box of diamonds in your room on the day of the robbery. At first she did not think about it, but, after hearing of the robbery she put two and two together, and concluded that the fine things that were missing were the same which her prying eyes had seen hidden in the corner of one of your drawers. I can’t imagine how a man in your position could be fool enough to leave his drawers unlocked. Anyhow, Wear fathomed your secret, and tried to find the things again, but they were gone. Then she came to me, and threatened exposure unless I gave her fifty pounds to hold her tongue. This I did, hoping to hear no more of the matter from her. But she is a woman of such little sense that she is likely to ruin everything. Not content with demanding more money from time to time, she is vilely impertinent to us all, and behaves so very much like a person who holds us under her thumb, that I shall find it necessary to make some provision for her further away. But first, you must clear out of the country, for your conduct is such as to awaken too much suspicion.’

“‘Does the mater know all?’

“‘No. She knows that Wear holds you in her power somehow, but doesn’t know the actual facts. I was obliged to get up a plausible yarn as wide of the real truth as I could, in order to induce her to keep Wear on, now that she is so impertinent, until I could get rid of her diplomatically.’

“‘And when must I go?’

“‘To-morrow night, at nine o’clock, a certain Captain Cochrane will call to escort you to his ship. You must have everything in readiness to leave with him. But you will not be able to take any luggage with you, as Wear must not know you are going away.’

“‘Send Wear out of the way somewhere. Pack her off to the Crystal Palace for the day.’

“‘It won’t do. Our servants are not used to treats, and Wear would suspect something in a minute. Besides, I don’t want anybody except Captain Cochrane to know that I am cognisant of your departure. It may save a good deal of awkwardness for me in future.’

“This conversation, as you may easily believe, was listened to by me with the greatest eagerness, and I was desperately afraid of missing a word. Here was full proof to me, of Harley’s innocence. But my knowledge was, I knew, useless as evidence, since I had no witness but myself to bring forward. True, there is Wear. But she may be bought over by the other side. And at present our task must be the frustration of Hugh Stavanger’s attempt to escape with the diamonds. For, in spite of his assertion to the contrary, I believe him to be still in possession of the greater part of the stolen property. If he goes away with Captain Cochrane, he will contrive to take his booty on board with him.

“There is one thing that makes my discoveries incomplete. Otherwise I would have come home to tell you all this, never to return here, instead of sitting up all night to write this. The name of the ship in which Hugh Stavanger is to sail did not transpire, so Hilton will not be able to do anything to help until to-morrow night. He must then watch for the arrival of this captain, and be prepared to follow him and his intended companion wherever they may go. It may be necessary to try to obtain a passage with them. Is there any office on board a ship that Hilton can take?

“To-morrow night, if I see an opportunity of hearing what these bad people have to say to each other, I will try to gain some additional information, for use in case Hilton fails to get on board with them, or to intercept Hugh Stavanger’s attempt to escape. Perhaps I may learn something more during the day. But this meeting is too early for me to have any prospect of hiding unobserved, for the rest of the household will all be up and stirring. Even if I could secrete myself again, I might not be able to escape detection and reach my own room unobserved, as I have been able to do this last night.

“The fact is, I feel somewhat unnerved, and am afraid of betraying myself. In a few hours I must go through the farce of teaching Fanny, although I feel dead tired already. I shall not need to feign a headache. Still, if needs were, I could spend many a night in the work of love upon which I have entered, and the day will wear away as others do. Then as soon as I feel that my further presence here is useless, I will try to slip out unobserved and exchange experiences with Hilton, if there is time before the two men leave the house. As you know, I brought very little luggage with me, and I will put on as many clothes as possible, leaving the few things I cannot use. They are not marked, and I could not be traced through them, especially as I am dyed and painted to look like somebody else for awhile.”

This was all. Annie left off abruptly. Possibly she had feared interruption; or had had only time enough to catch the early morning post. Anyhow, she had done her part of the investigations well, and had sent a very comprehensive report.

“Isn’t she a splendid girl?” said Miss Cory, with enthusiasm.

“She is just wonderful,” answered Hilton. “No wonder my brother loves her so. I wish the world held more like her.”

“There are heaps of brave and noble girls, my boy, if you only knew where to look for them. I wish my poor child was nicely out of that nest of scoundrels.”

To which remark of Mr. Cory’s Mrs. Riddell, wiping first her eyes and then her spectacles, gave answer—“Mr. Cory, that girl is too plucky and sensible to get into trouble through being indiscreet. And as nothing else is likely to betray her identity, we may rest assured that she will get away all right. She will have no great distance to travel, but of course, some one must be on the lookout for her.”

“I will go with Hilton,” said Mr. Cory; “and we will be within watching distance of Mr. Stavanger’s house before half-past eight. Then, everything being arranged that requires to be arranged beforehand, Hilton will follow the two men, and find out what ship they are bound for, while I wait for Annie, and bring her home with me.”

“Her suggestion that, if Hugh Stavanger gets to sea before the diamonds can be found, as proof of what she says, I should try to embark on board the same ship, with the object of recovering the things, or indicating their whereabouts to the authorities, is a good one. But I have no experience of sea-life, beyond an occasional excursion for an hour or two from a sea-side holiday resort. And I have not the slightest idea of anything I could do to excuse my presence on board a ship of any sort. The sailors work above, and the firemen below. But even if I knew their duties, and could get a job on board, my chances of finding the diamonds would be small. But I would take care to keep my man in sight after he left the ship, and it will take him all his time to baffle me then.”

So said Hilton, and this time it was Miss Cory who made the suggestions which were ultimately followed.

“You couldn’t go on board directly after the captain to ask for work. The time would be so unseasonable as to cause suspicion. But you might perhaps ascertain casually whether the ship is leaving at once or not. If it is, then you will have to risk trying to get on board, in spite of the lateness of the hour. If not, wait till morning, but keep watch lest there should be an attempt to slip away earlier than the time mentioned to you. You have several hours yet before you, and you have more than one disguise ready. Use one of these, and pack the others in your box for use in emergencies. Go boldly on board, and offer to pay for your passage. Comport yourself as one who has plenty of money, but who has some reason for preferring to sail in a vessel that is not known as a passenger ship. The captain will at once jump to the conclusion that you are in some trouble, and you must humour his fancy. Hint something about a breach of promise action, and he will think you quite a hero.”

The last sentence was uttered with a scornful accent which plainly indicated Miss Cory’s opinion of man’s peculiar notions of what is honourable in his dealings with the other sex. But her suggestion “caught on,” and formed the basis of the tale with which Hilton Riddell was to hide his real motive in attempting to obtain a passage with Captain Cochrane. There was of course the possibility that his application would be refused. In this case, he would proceed by the quickest route to whichever place the merchant ship was bound for, and would be on the spot, ready to meet the diamond thief, and to do his best to convict him of the possession of some of the stolen property.

When, at the time agreed upon, Mr. Cory and Hilton Riddell set off on their mission of love and vengeance, every detail of their plans had been arranged, Hilton, not sure when or under what circumstances he would see his mother again, had bidden her a fond good-bye, and had left her praying for God’s help in the enterprise which she hoped would restore her banished son to her.

Meanwhile the Stavangers, father and son, were also maturing their plans, feeling pretty confident now of success, and little dreaming that the avenger was already on their track.

CHAPTER IV.
A SUSPICIOUS DEATH.

Nearly opposite the residence of Mr. Stavanger there was an untenanted house. The front area was well planted with trees and shrubs, which afforded capital shelter to two men who had loitered there for some time. The men were known to us, being none other than Mr. Cory and Hilton Riddell. They were getting somewhat fidgety lest a mistake had been made somewhere. For it was long past the time appointed for Hugh Stavanger’s departure with Captain Cochrane, and yet they had seen neither the one nor the other, although the house had been strictly watched for two hours.

“He can’t have eluded us by going away earlier than the time named?” said Hilton, anxiously.

“Oh no,” was the confident reply. “Annie would have been sure to let us know somehow or other.”

“Unless she is suspected, and is prevented from doing anything further just now.”

“That is possible. But I doubt it, for she would have no need or opportunity to watch Mr. Stavanger in any suspicious way during the day. And even if she had found it desirable to do so, and had been detected, what could these people do to her? They could not say: You shall not go out, because we have been stealing, and don’t want to be caught. As for locking her up in her room, that would be hardly practicable. No, since she has not come out to us I fancy that events are still multiplying indoors, and that we shall hear all about it soon. Ah—there is somebody coming out! It is Annie, I expect.”

“No; it is a woman, but it is not Miss Cory.”

“It is a servant, and on an urgent message, for she is actually running.”

“Hush! she might hear us. Now she has passed us. Shall I follow her, do you think?”

“No, no, stay here. Look how the lights are flashing about those upper rooms. The whole house seems to be in an uproar—and now I can hear a woman screaming. Good God! they are murdering Annie.”

As he almost shouted this, in his sudden alarm, Mr. Cory, followed by Hilton, rushed across the road and up the steps leading to Mr. Stavanger’s house. Someone was evidently expected, for the door was opened as soon as they reached it, and a young girl, the housemaid probably, stood before them with clasped hands and streaming eyes.

“Oh, sir, are you the doctor?” she exclaimed. “It’s just awful! Wear has been taken ill all of a sudden, and she is rolling on the floor and screaming dreadful, with the agony she’s in. The missis is too frightened to be beside her. But the governess is with her, and oh dear, doctor, do be quick!”

“I’m not the doctor,” answered Mr. Cory quickly, “but I’ll fetch one directly. I was passing and heard the screams. Come along.”

A moment later both men were hastening for a certain Doctor Mayne, whom they knew. He lived not far away, and from him they hoped to be able to hear a few after-details of the case. Fortunately he was at home, and set off at once. The doctor whom the servant had gone to seek had not been in when she arrived at his house, so Doctor Mayne was admitted to the patient at once. But the moment he looked at her he judged her case to be hopeless.

Nor was he mistaken. Poor Wear was, as the housemaid had said, in mortal agony. An hour later she was dead. Annie, though she was tired and heartsick, was with her to the last, rendering what help she could, and wondering all the while if this terrible event could be the accident it was supposed to be. For the woman’s death at this juncture, with Hugh Stavanger’s secret still unbetrayed by her, was so strangely opportune an occurrence that less suspicious natures than Annie’s might easily suspect some of the Stavangers to have had a hand in it.

Wear was known to be rather fond of an occasional drink of Hollands. On her box in her room was found a gin bottle, from which she had evidently been drinking. But the bottle contained no gin, but a deadly poison sometimes used for disinfecting purposes. How this happened to be in an unlabelled bottle, and how Wear happened to mistake it for gin, are mysteries which have never been elucidated, and never will be now. The dead woman can reveal neither of these secrets, nor that other one which was so important to the people in whose house she died.

It was about eleven o’clock when this event occurred.

Meanwhile our two watchers were in a great state of anxiety and suspense, which was not lessened when Doctor Mayne, surprised to see them there still when he left the house, told them that all was over.

“Some time, Doctor Mayne, I will explain everything to you. At present my great anxiety is about my daughter.”

“Why, is she ill?”

“No, she is in that house. The woman who had just died an awful death knew a secret likely to cost young Stavanger his liberty and to liberate young Riddell, and the Stavangers were aware that she had them in her power. My daughter is there. She also knows their secret. Her life is no safer than Wear’s was. She shall stay no longer, lest she also be poisoned.”

“You are saying terrible things, Mr. Cory,” said the doctor, “but your excitement must prove your excuse. The unfortunate woman certainly died from poison. But there is nothing in the event to lead to the supposition that anyone but herself was to blame for the accident. In any case, it is of a kind to which your daughter could hardly fall a victim. Even if Wear had been deliberately poisoned—and I do not for a moment think that is so—a repetition of the same kind of tragedy would not be ventured upon by even the most reckless criminals. The young lady whom I take to be your daughter looked so ill and upset that I advised her to go to bed at once, and I know that she agreed to follow my advice.”

“Where is Mr. Stavanger?”

“I do not know. There are no men in the house, I think, at present, and the women are all considerably cut up by to-night’s scene. And now, as I have had several broken nights lately, and am very tired, I will say good-bye. To-morrow I will talk things over.”

“Now, what do you think it behoves us to do?” asked Hilton, who was as greatly perplexed and alarmed as Mr. Cory was. “I cannot understand how it happens that the Stavangers, senior and junior, and this Captain Cochrane, of whom Annie spoke, have not turned up.”

“I have it,” said Mr. Cory, after some deliberation. “There has been some alteration of plans. We left home perhaps earlier than Annie expected, and there may even now be a message waiting for us. But here comes a woman. See how she loiters. One would think she was as much interested in this house as we are.”

“Why, so she is! It is Miss Cory, I am sure.”

And so it proved. It was Miss Cory indeed, looking for her brother and friend.

“Whatever brings you here, Margaret?” asked Mr. Cory, in considerable surprise.

“Come here and you shall know,” she answered. “You can do nothing more here, and I have much to tell you. Annie is not coming out to-night. She is all right. Now listen.”

And as the trio walked homewards, Miss Cory gave them the following particulars:

“You had not been gone many minutes,” she said, “when a letter from Annie arrived, saying that she would come home to-morrow, as her work would then, she thought, be quite done. She also said that Mrs. Stavanger had received a telegraphic message during the morning. It was addressed to her husband, but she had opened it, as was her usual custom with messages which came to the house. It simply said ‘Can’t come. Bring H. S. at 8.30 to Millwall Dock. Sail to-morrow.’ Annie understood the message, which Mrs. Stavanger indiscreetly read aloud. To the mistress of the house it was not so intelligible. But she comprehended that it might be important, and sent the boy who does odd jobs about the house during the day to the shop with it. It seems to me that it would take a very clever individual to throw dust into Annie’s eyes. ‘I am not sure,’ she writes, ‘that it is safe to neglect watching the house, and yet Hilton at least should try to keep Hugh Stavanger in sight. What we want to prove is that he has the diamonds. It is no use, as we know, to attempt to have him arrested until we have proof in our possession that will convict him. Of course we know that he is guilty, and certain other people know it also. But we may not be able to induce them to give evidence on our side. Mr. Lyon has the honour of the firm to support. Mr. Stavanger’s family credit and prosperity would be entirely ruined by the proof of his son’s guilt. Wear will stick to the Stavangers if they make a sufficiently high bid for her silence. We must therefore place our reliance on the diamonds, which Hugh Stavanger must have hidden somewhere or other. They will be our salvation if we can show that they have been seen in the scoundrel’s possession. I am afraid it is a dangerous thing to do, but there seems to be nothing for it but to follow the man to sea. If he does not come home before eight o’clock, it is hardly likely that the stolen property is here. If he does come home it might almost be safe to arrest him on the chance of finding the things on him. But I dread ruining all by premature action, so implore you to be cautious. Let father watch here with a detective if he likes, but let Hilton go at once to Millwall Dock and keep a sharp look out there. He might perhaps discover the name of the ship Captain Cochrane is commanding, and get a passage in her. If he cannot go as a passenger, he can try, after changing his disguise, to go as cook or steward. Of course he does not know the work, but that is a detail that cannot be taken into consideration when such great issues are at stake.’

“Now what do you think of that?” said Miss Cory, folding up the letter, which she had stopped to read by the light of a street lamp.

“I think Annie is a wonderful girl. She seems to think of everything,” was Hilton’s reply, given in a tone of great disappointment. “But her excellent advice comes too late. Our bird has flown, and it will be almost impossible to discover him to-morrow, since he is sure to keep dark, and we do not even know the name of the ship to which he has been taken.”

“Yes, men generally have an idea that women are of no use,” Miss Cory said, and her voice had such a triumphant inflection in it that her hearers at once found themselves heartened again. “But in this case they may thank their stars that they have got women to help them.”

“We shall only be too glad to thank our stars—the women themselves,” quoth Hilton. Whereupon Miss Cory rejoined: “Very prettily said, Mr. Riddell, but you don’t know yet what you have to thank me for. I know where young Stavanger is to be found this minute.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really and truly.”

“But how in the world have you managed it?”

“Well, you see, when Annie’s letter arrived, you had already left home, and for a while I was more than a little puzzled as to what was best to be done. But there was no time to spare, and I soon had to come to a decision. Had I come to fetch either of you to go to Millwall, we should have been too late, and had I thought of intercepting either of the Stavangers on the way, my efforts would have been futile. There was but one course open to me, and I adopted it without delay. You and I, John, are about the same size. It being already nightfall, and it being, moreover, very essential that I should not be noticed much myself, I took a liberty with your wardrobe that you must excuse. I haven’t seen much of dock life, as you know, but I have an idea, which has proved to be correct, that women, at least respectable women, don’t hang about the dock gates at night unless they are on the look out for some particular ship. I am not one to stick at trifles, but I did not want to be mistaken for somebody who wasn’t respectable, and I did want to be as unnoticed as possible. So I just got dressed in one of your suits, put my hair out of the way—there isn’t much of it—donned a long top-coat and took an old hat, and set off for Millwall. I took the Underground, and changed at Mark Lane. At Fenchurch Street I just caught a train starting for the docks. If I had had to wait there I should have had a fruitless errand, for I lost a little time at the other end hunting about the dock gates, and I was afraid to attract attention to myself by asking my way. Perhaps you think that I ought to have known it, as I was down there with you last summer to look over one of the ships in which you are a shareholder. But things look very different in the bright sunshine, when you have a lot of friends with you, all bent upon pleasure, from what they do at night, when you are alone and nervous, and fearful alike of being seen yourself or of failing to see those of whom you are in search.

“I am thankful, however, to say that I overcame all obstacles, and I was luckier in my mission than I could have dreamed of, for I had barely got up to the dock gates, when a cab stopped for a moment to put down two men, whom I had little difficulty in recognising as Mr. David Stavanger and his son Hugh. I almost betrayed myself by trying to get too near them, as they questioned the watchman, but I suppose they thought themselves quite safe in that out-of-the-way region, and did not even trouble themselves to speak low, or to notice who stood near them.

“‘Do you know where the “Merry Maid” is lying?’ asked Mr. Stavanger.

“‘Yes, sir, she’s lying over there, sir, in that basin; but she’s not easy to get at. She’s been shifted into the middle of the dock, sir. She was to have sailed this tide, but the bo’sun was telling my mate, a bit since, that none of her stores have come aboard, through the steward not ordering them, and telling the skipper that he had. There’s been a jolly row, and the steward had to clear in a hurry to-night, although he had signed articles.’

“‘Then I suppose everybody all around is in a tear about it?’ put in Hugh Stavanger.

“‘Not a bit of it, sir,’ was the watchman’s reply. ‘Why should anybody be vexed except the owners? They are the only losers, having to pay a day’s expenses for nothing. The men are nearly all ashore, enjoying themselves a bit longer.’

“‘But how are we to get on board, if the ship is in the middle of the dock?’

“‘Oh, that’s easily managed, sir, when you know how to go about it. Hallo, Jim, just show the gents the way on board the “Merry Maid.”’

“‘Right you are,’ said the individual addressed as Jim. ‘Come along, sirs.’

“The next minute the Stavangers were on their way to the ship, and I was trudging back to the station, quite satisfied with the results of my mission, except for one thing. I had kept a sharp look-out on both father and son, but could see that they had no luggage whatever with them. Hugh Stavanger may have the diamonds concealed about him, or, as he is sure to have some luggage of some sort to follow him on board in the morning, the property we want to trace may be sent to him to-morrow. Anyhow, Hilton here, if he can get on board, will make it his business to seek it. He knows where to go, and he ought to start early, as the ship sails about noon. Just to finish my story—I got home as quickly as I could, and changed my clothes. Then I thought that, as you had missed Annie’s letter, you would perhaps hang about here all night, on the look-out for Captain Cochrane and his passenger. So I took a cab, and got out in the next street to the one I expected to find you in—and here I am, dead-tired, if I may own the truth.”

While Miss Cory had been talking, the trio had been walking homewards. They hoped to have come across a belated cab or hansom by the way, but were not fortunate enough to do so. They were all, therefore, very glad when they reached home, where warmth, food, and rest awaited them.

CHAPTER V.
AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW GUISE.

The ss. “Merry Maid” was making capital progress. She was well-engined, well-manned, her disc was well in evidence, and wind and weather were all that could be desired. The captain was in an unusually good humour, for, in addition to his regular means of making money over and above his salary, he had an extra good speculation on hand, in the shape of a young passenger whose supposed name was Paul Torrens, but whom we have known as Hugh Stavanger.

Mr. Torrens, as we will also call him for a time, hardly looked like the typical fugitive from justice, for his face, as he sat talking to Captain Cochrane, was that of a man who feels exceedingly well pleased with himself. The two men were sitting in the cabin of the steamer. Before them stood bottles and glasses, and the clouded atmosphere of the apartment gave testimony to the supposition that both men were ardent votaries of the goddess Nicotine.

“After all, it’s quite jolly to be at sea,” observed Mr. Torrens. “I expected to feel no end of squeamish.”

To which elegant remark Captain Cochrane replied in kind: “And you haven’t turned a hair! I am glad of it too, for I hate to have to do with folk who get sea-sick. They are such an awful nuisance while ill, and are limp and unsociable for days sometimes, even after they are supposed to be over the worst of the visitation. A fellow who can take his share at the whisky bottle is more to my taste.”

“Then I ought to suit you?”

“Yes, you do. Perhaps better than you imagine.”

“Indeed? I should like to know what you mean. It’s something new to be so well appreciated.”

“It doesn’t take much to please me. Kindred tastes and a well-lined pocket go a long way towards it.”

“But if the owner of the well-lined pocket declines to part with the rhino?”

“In this case there is something more at stake than mere rhino, and I think that the present possessor of it will not dare refuse to go shares with me.”

As Captain Cochrane said this he emphasised his meaning by such an unmistakably menacing look that Mr. Torrens shrank together as if struck, and grew pale to the very lips.

“Of whom and of what are you speaking?” he stammered. But his whole manner showed that he entertained no doubt on the subject, and his companion was so sure of his position that he did not trouble himself to enter into explanations, but smiled coolly and remarked: “Suppose we go into my berth to discuss matters more fully? It may save future trouble if we come to an understanding at once, and this place is perhaps not quite private enough.”

Without a word of remonstrance or comment, Mr. Torrens rose and followed the captain into his private berth. The latter closed the door behind his visitor, and pointed out a comfortable chair to him.

“Now then, we will talk business, Mr. —— Torrens. I happen to know that the individual who got potted for a certain diamond robbery had no more to do with the job than I had.”

“How do you happen to know that?”

“Well, during the time that elapsed between receiving a visit from a certain Mr. Stavanger, and the reception of his son as a passenger on board the “Merry Maid,” I made a good many inquiries which enlightened me considerably. I based my inquiries on the circumstance that it was found desirable to send Mr. Hugh Stavanger out of the country—presumably for his health, which happens to be very good. That little yarn about his declining health turning out to be fiction, I looked around for another reason, since it is evident that a reason there must be. It was not difficult to discover that Mr. Hugh Stavanger had of late been leading a very fast life, and that he had been much more flush of money since the robbery than was the case before that event took place. I am not given to being foolishly charitable in my opinions of others, and I did not think myself to be far wrong in believing that I knew the source of his increased income. There was another thing that convinced me that I was right. There had been no hesitation in fixing the guilt of the robbery upon a man against whom there had never been a breath of suspicion, and who had proved himself a valued servant. The rancour with which such a man was pursued to his doom ought to have set blear-eyed Justice on the right track. But she has such a curious knack of toading to wealth and position that a poor devil in the dock stands no chance at all, but may thank his stars that no more lies are raked up against him. No doubt Messrs. Stavanger felt it to be necessary to secure a conviction, since, the affair being apparently settled, the law’s sagacious bloodhounds could turn their attention to a less simple case on the face of it. Perhaps they have not remembered that this Riddell whom they have sent to penal servitude has friends and relations who may even now be trying to find evidence against the real thief.”

“And if they are seeking evidence, what has that to do with me?”

“Everything, my dear sir, since it may result in a reversal of your positions. But we have beaten about the bush long enough. It’s time we spoke plainly. You are, I am quite sure, the man who stole the diamonds, and swore away another man’s liberty to save your own skin. There must be a good share of the stolen property in your possession. In fact, it is in that little leather bag that you take such care of, that it goes to bed with you at night. Too much valuable property is good for no man. You will therefore fetch that bag out of your berth at once. You will then open it, and spread its contents upon this table, the door being securely fastened against intruders. I shall then choose my share of the plunder as a solatium to my conscience for consenting to associate with a thief.”

“And what if I refuse?”

“Then I shall have you fastened in the remaining spare berth, without giving you a chance to overhaul your baggage. I shall then have you taken ashore at Malta, and formally charged with being an absconded thief; your baggage will be searched, and you know best whether you can afford to refuse my offer of complete protection, on condition that we go shares in the plunder.”

For a few seconds Mr. Torrens did not reply. Then he resigned himself to the inevitable, and, cursing his ill-luck, which left him no peace; cursing his father, who had chosen a scoundrel to convey him out of harm’s way; cursing the captain because he was an avaricious brute; cursing anything and everybody but his own vile self, he proceeded to the berth he had occupied during the time he had been at sea. Thence he soon after emerged, carrying the small bag to which Captain Cochrane had referred.

Meanwhile the latter was smiling with satisfaction, and chuckling at the astuteness which was helping him to enrich himself so easily. When Mr. Torrens left him for a moment he felt no uneasiness concerning the diamonds, for he considered that that worldly-wise young man would not throw the proof of his guilt through the window in preference to sharing it with another.

“He is not fool enough to chuck it away, and if he were so inclined, I am keeping a sharp eye on his berth, and can stop him if he even tries to open the bag before he brings it here.”

So murmured the captain, quite unconscious of the fact that his low-spoken words found an eager listener. Yet so it was, and to explain how this happened a slight description of the cabin of the “Merry Maid” is necessary.

It was a square apartment, lighted from a large skylight in the centre. On either side it was flanked by berths. To the right, at the foot of the companion, was the steward’s pantry. Then came the berth allotted to Mr. Torrens, and those which the officers occupied. Immediately opposite the passenger’s berth was the captain’s room. On either side of the latter were built respectively a small berth for the steward and a bathroom. Another spare berth on this side completed the accommodation.

The steward was evidently a man with an inquisitive turn of mind, for during the conversation just recorded he was kneeling on the top of his bunk, with his ear pressed close to a small orifice in the partition wall. It was an odd coincidence that the steward, who had shipped under the name of “William Trace,” should have a hole at the front of his berth through which he could survey the cabin when desirous of doing so. Still more odd was it that the pantry should also be similarly furnished with means of observation. To prevent undue notice of his own movements, Mr. Trace had furnished his peepholes with small discs of cardboard, with which he covered them when he required a light in his room. The orifices were so small and so cleverly placed as to be almost certain to escape detection, provided the steward was careful.

When we first observe him watching the captain, and listening to his conversation with Mr. Torrens, his face is lighted up with joy, and his limbs are shaking with excitement.

“He cannot escape me,” he thinks. “I have run him to earth, and within ten days he will be denounced. Heaven grant me patience to keep my counsel until we reach Malta. Ha! now he returns with his ill-gotten gains, and that other scoundrel little imagines how he will be punished for his greed.”

For the next ten minutes Mr. Trace finds connected thought impossible, but, with his eye put close to the peephole, is taking a necessarily circumscribed view of the scene being enacted in the captain’s berth. There is a tempting display of very beautiful jewellery, and there is considerable haggling anent its distribution. But the latter is accomplished at last, and the captain places his share in his private desk, which he locks very carefully. Mr. Torrens, wearing a very savage look on his face, crosses the cabin to his own berth, and fastens the door after him. As it is still early in the afternoon, he is perhaps thinking of taking a nap.

The steward is apparently satisfied with his observations for the present, for he gets down from his post of vantage, and prepares himself for his afternoon duties. Tea has to be ready at five o’clock, and, from a purely stewardly point of view, much time has been wasted, so that it behoves him to hurry himself now. His beard, which is brown and bushy, requires some little readjustment, and Captain Cochrane would be considerably surprised if he could see how easily removable both beard and wig are.

But we, who already recognise in William Trace our friend Hilton Riddell, feel no surprise whatever, unless it be at his temerity in offering himself for a post concerning the duties of which he knew positively nothing. When, on attempting to engage a berth as passenger in the “Merry Maid,” he found his application rejected, he straightway resolved to change his disguise; and having found that the ship had not her full complement of men, and could not sail until morning, he resolved to apply to the mate to be taken on as steward. The mate, without much inquiry, gave him the post, and had already repented of his indiscretion, for a man may have a great deal of natural aptitude, and yet fail utterly at a post that is quite strange to him. It was so with William Trace, and he had already learnt the savour of a seaman’s invective.

It may have hurt his pride a little to hear himself called a fraud and a duffer, and to have a number of burning adjectives hurled at his head every day. But, in view of his recent discoveries, he is inclined to condone these offences against his self-respect.

Unfortunately for him, he has forgotten to lower the piece of cardboard with which he is wont to cover the peephole which overlooks the captain’s berth.

From such simple oversights do tragedies spring.

CHAPTER VI.
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.

Late that evening the steward of the “Merry Maid” was sitting in his berth, writing.

The accommodation at his disposal was of the most meagre kind. It included neither desk nor table, for which, by-the-bye, the tiny place would not have had room if they had been available. By way of a substitute, however, his washstand, which was of the sort commonly considered quite luxurious enough for a seafarer, was fitted with a deal top, and upon this he had spread the wherewithal to write a long letter. He sat upon his campstool and applied himself very diligently to his work, covering sheet after sheet with minute writing. Actually, he was writing a very detailed account of all that had transpired after he left home to enter upon the duties of an amateur detective. Having made his budget of news as complete and circumstantial as possible, he folded the papers upon which he had written into a long, thin roll. Then he reached out of the drawer under his bunk an empty wine bottle. He had evidently prepared it for the occasion, for it was quite clean and dry. Into this receptacle he thrust his roll of paper. Then he corked the bottle, and wired the cork firmly down, tying over all a piece of washleather, in order to prevent the possibility of the entrance of sea-water into the bottle. His next proceeding was to open the port, and to lower the bottle through it into the water, through which the “Merry Maid” was running at the rate of ten knots an hour—not at all bad for an ordinary ocean tramp, as the class of vessels to which the “Merry Maid” belonged is often called.

“There,” he thought, “I feel easier after taking that precaution. One never knows what may happen, and there is too much at stake to permit it to depend entirely on my safety. I wonder what makes me feel so uneasy. I don’t think I have done anything to betray myself. And yet I have a strange foreboding of coming ill. Shall I ever see old England again? Just now I have my doubts. Throwing that bottle into the sea was the first outcome of the new feeling of dread which has come over me, and even if ill comes to me before we reach Malta, there is the chance of Harley being rescued after all, for the first person who picks the bottle up will examine and report upon its contents. I once read of a castaway bottle floating about two years—sent hither and thither, caught first by one current, and then by another—before it was finally washed ashore. God grant that Harley may not have to wait two years for his deliverance.”

While he was thus musing in a depressed mood that struck him as uncanny and unaccountable, considering the information that he had gained, the steward of the “Merry Maid” prepared himself for bed, for he had to rise early next morning. Had he but cast his tired eyes up to the little peephole which overlooked the next berth, he would have noticed something which would have alarmed him. The hole being unprotected, the light from his oil lamp had betrayed him.

The captain had retired for the night, but found sleep to be in too fitful and fleetsome a mood to benefit him. The fact that he was richer by at least a thousand pounds than he was a day or two ago had set his imagination going, and he was in fancy entering into all sorts of plans for doubling his capital. Towards one o’clock, he was dozing off, when a slight noise awoke him. Some people are easily aroused by any unexpected sound. Captain Cochrane was one of these people. There is hardly any time so quiet at sea in a merchant ship as one o’clock in the morning. All hands not on watch are in bed, and those who are on watch content themselves with doing their duty. Supplementary caperings or promenadings are deferred until a more seasonable time.

This being the case, we can understand how it was that Captain Cochrane was on the alert at once when the sound of a splash in the water close to his port fell on his startled ears. For a moment he lay wondering whether someone had fallen overboard or not. Then, just as he came to the conclusion that the splash was hardly loud enough to account for a cat falling into the water, he noticed something else that surprised him.

Just opposite his face, as he sat up in his bunk, there was a small round patch of light. He had no light burning in his berth. Whence came this illumination of a spot to which no light for which he could account could penetrate? He must find out. With Captain Cochrane, to resolve was usually to do. It did not take him long to discover William Trace’s secret.

A hole had been deliberately cut in the partition. Such an act would not be done without a purpose. What was that purpose? A very cursory inspection, conducted in the quietest possible manner, convinced the captain that he had come upon a means of espionage. He himself had been the object of supervision. It was time to reverse the situation, and this was accordingly done. The blood of William Trace would, of a surety, have run cold if he could have seen the baleful look in the eye which was now peering down at him as he unconsciously betrayed his dual identity by divesting himself of the thick wig and beard, which he found hot and uncomfortable.

Chancing, as he vaulted into his bunk, to glance at his means of inspecting the next berth, he noticed, to his horror, that the card-board disc was not in its place. To repair the omission was the work of a moment. But he could not so soon recover from the shock which his blunder had caused him. The sense of foreboding which had visited him in the earlier part of the night attacked him with redoubled force, but amid all his doubts of his own personal safety, inspired by his conviction of the villainous character of the two men with whom he had to deal, there rose a sense of thankfulness that Harley’s rescue no longer depended entirely upon his brother’s personal safety.

The replacing of the card-board disc prevented Captain Cochrane from seeing into the steward’s berth. But this fact did not trouble him. The hole had served his purpose, and he had seen enough to convince him that he had brought to sea as ship’s steward a man who was neither more nor less than a spy. A spy, moreover, who had found it necessary to cloak his identity by an elaborate disguise.

What could be his special motive, and who was the object of his attentions? The captain felt quite easy as regarded himself, for he had always been very careful to avoid adding to his perquisites in so clumsy a manner as to lead to unpleasant inquiries. His transaction with Mr. Torrens was the first for which he felt the law might have a legitimate grip upon him. But as the steward had evidently been officiating as spy, or detective, whichever he might like to call himself, before the occurrence of the little scene just alluded to, it was clear that this was not the cause of the stranger’s presence on board. His motive must be anterior to the division of the spoil. Yet that it had something to do with the flight of Mr. Torrens, and the abduction of the said spoil, Captain Cochrane felt morally convinced.

Now, had the pursuit and discovery of a diamond thief involved no loss or danger to himself, the skipper of the “Merry Maid” would not have felt very much concern. But the events of the last few days had materially altered his notions on the subject. For, whereas he would formerly have felt it incumbent upon him to lend his aid in the cause of right and justice, he now felt his own safety involved in the maintenance of Mr. Torrens’s desire to do what he liked with what was left of the proceeds of his venture.

For was he not an accessory after the fact? And had he not in his own possession a very handsome share of the plunder? Detection and exposure of Torrens meant loss, disgrace, and imprisonment for Captain Cochrane.

“Having gone so far,” he said, clenching his teeth, and looking very grim about the eyes, “I will go on to the bitter end. I won’t allow any man to foil me, if I can help it. This William Trace, as he calls himself, came here at his own risk, and on his head be it if he does not find his way home again.”

The next morning, or, rather, at eight o’clock the same morning, there was considerable speculation in the minds of two of the individuals in the cabin of the “Merry Maid.” One of them was the steward, who was, to the best of his ability, attending to the wants of those at the breakfast table. But though he was keenly observant of the captain’s manner, there was nothing in it that could lead him to suppose his secret to have been betrayed. Nay, the captain was even more forbearing than usual, and had nothing to say anent the sloppy nature of the dry hash, or the extraordinary mixture dignified by the name of curried lobster.

Altogether, breakfast passed over pretty quietly, and Hilton Riddell, alias William Trace, began to feel more comfortable in his mind. Further espionage he did not think necessary to go in for, as he had already learned enough to prove his case. If only the ship could be made to accelerate her speed, and arrive quicker at Malta. He could then disburthen himself of the immense responsibility which weighed upon him. Meanwhile, the best thing he could do was to endeavour to give satisfaction as steward, in order to lead as peaceful a life as possible while on board.

After breakfast, the captain requested Mr. Torrens to accompany him to the chart-room, as he had something he wanted to show him there.

“Certainly; any blessed thing for a change,” said the passenger. “I should feel inclined to blow my brains out if I had to put up with this stagnation long. How on earth you fellows stand the monotony, I don’t know.”

“Well, you see,” was the captain’s reply, as the two were crossing the poop deck together, “we are used to the life, and, what’s more, we like it. But that is not what I want to talk to you about just now. I have something to tell you that will astonish you. Ah! there he goes. Do you know that fellow? I mean the one who has just gone along to the galley.”

“Of course I know him. He is the steward.”