There the name of the widow was, unquestionably; figuring for the
second time in type, in a letter of the gossiping sort, supplied
by an "Occasional Correspondent," and distinguished by the title
of "Sayings and Doings in the North." After tattling pleasantly
of the prospects of the shooting season, of the fashions from
Paris, of an accident to a tourist, and of a scandal in the
Scottish Kirk, the writer proceeded to the narrative of a case of
interest, relating to a marriage in the sphere known (in the
language of footmen) as the sphere of "high life."
Considerable sensation (the correspondent announced) had been
caused in Perth and its neighborhood, by the exposure of an
anonymous attempt at extortion, of which a lady of distinction
had lately been made the object. As her name had already been
publicly mentioned in an application to the magistrates, there
could be no impropriety in stating that the lady in question was
Mrs. Glenarm--whose approaching union with the Honorable Geoffrey
Delamayn was alluded to in another column of the journal.
Mrs. Glenarm had, it appeared, received an anonymous letter, on
the first day of her arrival as guest at the house of a friend,
residing in the neighborhood of Perth. The letter warned her that
there was an obstacle, of which she was herself probably not
aware, in the way of her projected marriage with Mr. Geoffrey
Delamayn. That gentleman had seriously compr omised himself with
another lady; and the lady would oppose his marriage to Mrs.
Glenarm, with proof in writing to produce in support of her
claim. The proof was contained in two letters exchanged between
the parties, and signed by their names; and the correspondence
was placed at Mrs. Glenarm's disposal, on two conditions, as
follows:
First, that she should offer a sufficiently liberal price to
induce the present possessor of the letters to part with them.
Secondly, that she should consent to adopt such a method of
paying the money as should satisfy the person that he was in no
danger of finding himself brought within reach of the law. The
answer to these two proposals was directed to be made through the
medium of an advertisement in the local newspaper--distinguished
by this address, "To a Friend in the Dark."
Certain turns of expression, and one or two mistakes in spelling,
pointed to this insolent letter as being, in all probability, the
production of a Scotchman, in the lower ranks of life. Mrs.
Glenarm had at once shown it to her nearest relative, Captain
Newenden. The captain had sought legal advice in Perth. It had
been decided, after due consideration, to insert the
advertisement demanded, and to take measures to entrap the writer
of the letter into revealing himself--without, it is needless to
add, allowing the fellow really to profit by his attempted act of
extortion.
The cunning of the "Friend in the Dark" (whoever he might be)
had, on trying the proposed experiment, proved to be more than a
match for the lawyers. He had successfully eluded not only the
snare first set for him, but others subsequently laid. A second,
and a third, anonymous letter, one more impudent than the other
had been received by Mrs. Glenarm, assuring that lady and the
friends who were acting for her that they were only wasting time
and raising the price which would be asked for the
correspondence, by the course they were taking. Captain Newenden
had thereupon, in default of knowing what other course to pursue,
appealed publicly to the city magistrates, and a reward had been
offered, under the sanction of the municipal authorities, for the
discovery of the man. This proceeding also having proved quite
fruitless, it was understood that the captain had arranged, with
the concurrence of his English solicitors, to place the matter in
the hands of an experienced officer of the London police.
Here, so far as the newspaper correspondent was aware, the affair
rested for the present.
It was only necessary to add, that Mrs. Glenarm had left the
neighborhood of Perth, in order to escape further annoyance; and
had placed herself under the protection of friends in another
part of the county. Mr. Geoffrey Delamayn, whose fair fame had
been assailed (it was needless, the correspondent added in
parenthesis, to say how groundlessly), was understood to have
expressed, not only the indignation natural under the
circumstances but also his extreme regret at not finding himself
in a position to aid Captain Newenden's efforts to bring the
anonymous slanderer to justice. The honorable gentleman was, as
the sporting public were well aware, then in course of strict
training for his forthcoming appearance at the Fulham Foot-Race.
So important was it considered that his mind should not be
harassed by annoyances, in his present responsible position, that
his trainer and his principal backers had thought it desirable to
hasten his removal to the neighborhood of Fulham--where the
exercises which were to prepare him for the race were now being
continued on the spot.
"The mystery seems to thicken," said Arnold.
"Quite the contrary," returned Sir Patrick, briskly. "The mystery
is clearing fast--thanks to the Glasgow newspaper. I shall be
spared the trouble of dealing with Bishopriggs for the stolen
letter. Miss Silvester has gone to Perth, to recover her
correspondence with Geoffrey Delamayn."
"Do you think she would recognize it," said Arnold, pointing to
the newspaper, "in the account given of it here?"
"Certainly! And she could hardly fail, in my opinion, to get a
step farther than that. Unless I am entirely mistaken, the
authorship of the anonymous letters has not mystified _her._"
"How could she guess at that?"
"In this way, as I think. Whatever she may have previously
thought, she must suspect, by this time, that the missing
correspondence has been stolen, and not lost. Now, there are only
two persons whom she can think of, as probably guilty of the
theft--Mrs. Inchbare or Bishopriggs. The newspaper description of
the style of the anonymous letters declares it to be the style of
a Scotchman in the lower ranks of life--in other words, points
plainly to Bishopriggs. You see that? Very well. Now suppose she
recovers the stolen property. What is likely to happen then? She
will be more or less than woman if she doesn't make her way next,
provided with her proofs in writing, to Mrs. Glenarm. She may
innocently help, or she may innocently frustrate, the end we have
in view--either way, our course is clear before us again. Our
interest in communicating with Miss Silvester remains precisely
the same interest that it was before we received the Glasgow
newspaper. I propose to wait till Sunday, on the chance that Mr.
Crum may write again. If we don't hear from him, I shall start
for Scotland on Monday morning, and take my chance of finding my
way to Miss Silvester, t
hrough Mrs. Glenarm."
"Leaving me behind?"
"Leaving you behind. Somebody must stay with Blanche. After
having only been a fortnight married, must I remind you of that?"
"Don't you think Mr. Crum will write before Monday?"
"It will be such a fortunate circumstance for us, if he does
write, that I don't venture to anticipate it."
"You are down on our luck, Sir."
"I detest slang, Arnold. But slang, I own, expresses my state of
mind, in this instance, with an accuracy which almost reconciles
me to the use of it--for once in a way."
"Every body's luck turns sooner or later," persisted Arnold. "I
can't help thinking our luck is on the turn at last. Would you
mind taking a bet, Sir Patrick?"
"Apply at the stables. I leave betting, as I leave cleaning the
horses, to my groom."
With that crabbed answer he closed the conversation for the day.
The hours passed, and time brought the post again in due
course--and the post decided in Arnold's favor! Sir Patrick's
want of confidence in the favoring patronage of Fortune was
practically rebuked by the arrival of a second letter from the
Glasgow lawyer on the next day.
"I have the pleasure of announcing" (Mr. Crum wrote) "that I have
heard from Miss Silvester, by the next postal delivery ensuing,
after I had dispatched my letter to Ham Farm. She writes, very
briefly, to inform me that she has decided on establishing her
next place of residence in London. The reason assigned for taking
this step--which she certainly did not contemplate when I last
saw her--is that she finds herself approaching the end of her
pecuniary resources. Having already decided on adopting, as a
means of living, the calling of a concert-singer, she has
arranged to place her interests in the hands of an old friend of
her late mother (who appears to have belonged also to the musical
profession): a dramatic and musical agent long established in the
metropolis, and well known to her as a trustworthy and
respectable man. She sends me the name and address of this
person--a copy of which you will find on the inclosed slip of
paper--in the event of my having occasion to write to her, before
she is settled in London. This is the whole substance of her
letter. I have only to add, that it does not contain the
slightest allusion to the nature of the errand on which she left
Glasgow."
Sir Patrick happened to be alone when he opened Mr. Crum's
letter.
His first proceeding, after reading it, was to consult the
railway time-table hanging in the hall. Having done this, he
returned to the library--wrote a short note of inquiry, addressed
to the musical agent--and rang the bell.
"Miss Silvester is expected in London, Duncan. I want a discreet
person to communicate with her. You are the person."
Duncan bowed. Sir Pa trick handed him the note.
"If you start at once you will be in time to catch the train. Go
to that address, and inquire for Miss Silvester. If she has
arrived, give her my compliments, and say I will have the honor
of calling on her (on Mr. Brinkworth's behalf) at the earliest
date which she may find it convenient to appoint. Be quick about
it--and you will have time to get back before the last train.
Have Mr. and Mrs. Brinkworth returned from their drive?"
"No, Sir Patrick."
Pending the return of Arnold and Blanche, Sir Patrick looked at
Mr. Crum's letter for the second time.
He was not quite satisfied that the pecuniary motive was really
the motive at the bottom of Anne's journey south. Remembering
that Geoffrey's trainers had removed him to the neighborhood of
London, he was inclined to doubt whether some serious quarrel had
not taken place between Anne and Mrs. Glenarm--and whether some
direct appeal to Geoffrey himself might not be in contemplation
as the result. In that event, Sir Patrick's advice and assistance
would be placed, without scruple, at Miss Silvester's disposal.
By asserting her claim, in opposition to the claim of Mrs.
Glenarm, she was also asserting herself to be an unmarried woman,
and was thus serving Blanche's interests as well as her own. "I
owe it to Blanche to help her," thought Sir Patrick. "And I owe
it to myself to bring Geoffrey Delamayn to a day of reckoning if
I can."
The barking of the dogs in the yard announced the return of the
carriage. Sir Patrick went out to meet Arnold and Blanche at the
gate, and tell them the news.
Punctual to the time at which he was expected, the discreet
Duncan reappeared with a note from the musical agent.
Miss Silvester had not yet reached London; but she was expected
to arrive not later than Tuesday in the ensuing week. The agent
had already been favored with her instructions to pay the
strictest attention to any commands received from Sir Patrick
Lundie. He would take care that Sir Patrick's message should be
given to Miss Silvester as soon as she arrived.
At last, then, there was news to be relied on! At last there was
a prospect of seeing her! Blanche was radiant with happiness,
Arnold was in high spirits for the first time since his return
from Baden.
Sir Patrick tried hard to catch the infection of gayety from his
young friends; but, to his own surprise, not less than to theirs,
the effort proved fruitless. With the tide of events turning
decidedly in his favor--relieved of the necessity of taking a
doubtful journey to Scotland; assured of obtaining his interview
with Anne in a few days' time--he was out of spirits all through
the evening.
"Still down on our luck!" exclaimed Arnold, as he and his host
finished their last game of billiards, and parted for the night.
"Surely, we couldn't wish for a more promising prospect than
_our_ prospect next week?"
Sir Patrick laid his hand on Arnold's shoulder.
"Let us look indulgently together," he said, in his whimsically
grave way, "at the humiliating spectacle of an old man's folly. I
feel, at this moment, Arnold, as if I would give every thing that
I possess in the world to have passed over next week, and to be
landed safely in the time beyond it."
"But why?"
"There is the folly! I can't tell why. With every reason to be in
better spirits than usual, I am unaccountably, irrationally,
invincibly depressed. What are we to conclude from that? Am I the
object of a supernatural warning of misfortune to come? Or am I
the object of a temporary derangement of the functions of the
contemptible is humanity, Arnold, rightly understood! Give me my
candle, and let's hope it's the liver."
EIGHTH SCENE--THE PANTRY.
CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH.
ANNE WINS A VICTORY.
ON a certain evening in the month of September (at that period of
the month when Arnold and Blanche were traveling back from Baden
to Ham Farm) an ancient man--with one
eye filmy and blind, and
one eye moist and merry--sat alone in the pantry of the Harp of
Scotland Inn, Perth, pounding the sugar softly in a glass of
whisky-punch. He has hitherto been personally distinguished in
these pages as the self-appointed father of Anne Silvester and
the humble servant of Blanche at the dance at Swanhaven Lodge. He
now dawns on the view in amicable relations with a third
lady--and assumes the mystic character of Mrs. Glenarm's "Friend
in the Dark."
Arriving in Perth the day after the festivities at Swanhaven,
Bishopriggs proceeded to the Harp of Scotland--at which
establishment for the reception of travelers he possessed the
advantage of being known to the landlord as Mrs. Inchbare's
right-hand man, and of standing high on the head-waiter's list of
old and intimate friends.
Inquiring for the waiter first by the name of Thomas (otherwise
Tammy) Pennyquick, Bishopriggs found his friend in sore distress
of body and mind. Contending vainly against the disabling
advances of rheumatism, Thomas Pennyquick ruefully contemplated
the prospect of being laid up at home by a long illness--with a
wife and children to support, and with the emoluments attached to
his position passing into the pockets of the first stranger who
could be found to occupy his place at the inn.
Hearing this doleful story, Bishopriggs cunningly saw his way to
serving his own private interests by performing the part of
Thomas Pennyquick's generous and devoted friend.
He forthwith offered to fill the place, without taking the
emoluments, of the invalided headwaiter--on the understanding, as
a matter of course, that the landlord consented to board and
lodge him free of expense at the inn. The landlord having readily
accepted this condition, Thomas Pennyquick retired to the bosom
of his family. And there was Bishopriggs, doubly secured behind a
respectable position and a virtuous action against all likelihood
of suspicion falling on him as a stranger in Perth--in the event
of his correspondence with Mrs. Glenarm being made the object of
legal investigation on the part of her friends!
Having opened the campaign in this masterly manner, the same
sagacious foresight had distinguished the operations of
Bishopriggs throughout.
His correspondence with Mrs. Glenarm was invariably written with
the left hand--the writing thus produced defying detection, in
all cases, as bearing no resemblance of character whatever to
writing produced by persons who habitually use the other hand. A
no less far-sighted cunning distinguished his proceedings in
answering the advertisements which the lawyers duly inserted in
the newspaper. He appointed hours at which he was employed on
business-errands for the inn, and places which lay on the way to
those errands, for his meetings with Mrs. Glenarm's
representatives: a pass-word being determined on, as usual in
such cases, by exchanging which the persons concerned could
discover each other. However carefully the lawyers might set the
snare--whether they had their necessary "witness" disguised as an
artist sketching in the neighborhood, or as an old woman selling
fruit, or what not--the wary eye of Bishopriggs detected it. He
left the pass-word unspoken; he went his way on his errand; he
was followed on suspicion; and he was discovered to be only "a
respectable person," charged with a message by the landlord of
the Harp of Scotland Inn!
To a man intrenched behind such precautions as these, the chance
of being detected might well be reckoned among the last of all
the chances that could possibly happen.
Discovery was, nevertheless, advancing on Bishopriggs from a
quarter which had not been included in his calculations. Anne
Silvester was in Perth; forewarned by the newspaper (as Sir
Patrick had guessed) that the letters offered to Mrs. Glenarm
were the letters between Geoffrey and herself, which she had lost