The Mystery of M. Felix

"Remember Eden?" asked Bob, who was in the best of spirits. "Mark Tapley would have grown fat here."

At the end of the street we crossed a common, and then traversed an avenue of mournful trees, bounded by a stone wall.

"The outskirts of Tylney House," said Bob, with the air of a professional guide. "House can't be seen from this point. Nor from any point in particular. Lies in a valley. Observe the jagged glass at top of wall. Just here there's a bare spot. Think you could climb over it, Sophy, otherwise Maria?"

"Git over it like a bird," said Sophy. The conversation was carried on in low tones, Sophy's voice being sepulchral, in view of the part of the dumb patient she was presently to enact.

"Good girl. Prove yourself. There's a tree. Show us a climb."

It was a branchless tree, with scarce a knob on its straight trunk, and with nothing to hold on by, but Sophy tackled it unhesitatingly, and was a dozen feet above our heads in a twinkling. There she perched, peering over the wall into the grounds of Tylney House. Presently she scrambled down, and nudging Bob, said,

"Will that do?"

"You've got the heart of a lion," said Bob, admiringly. "I've no fears for you. Can you read?"

"No."

"Write?"

"No."

"Tell the time?"

"Oh, I can do that."

"That's a blessing. Here's a silver watch. A stem-winder. When we get back to Nutford I'll show you how to wind it up. What's the time now?"

"'Arf past eight."

"Correct. That tree is thirty feet high. Or thereabouts."

"What of that?"

"I should say it could be seen by anybody inside that stone wall. By you, when you're inside them. Now, Sophy, otherwise Maria, you have peculiarities. One, that you're dumb."

"Inside them walls," said Sophy, "I am. Dumb as a fish."

"Another, that you've an unconquerable habit of shying stones."

"I'm a dab at that," said Sophy.

"As a friendly patient," continued Bob, "you must be indulged. When you get it into your head to shy stones you're to be let alone. That's one of the conditions of your becoming a friendly patient."

"I twig. I'm to shy stones at that tree."

"You are. At certain times of the day. At twelve o'clock by the silver watch. At four o'clock by the same."

"Crikey!" exclaimed Sophy. "Yer don't mean to say I'm to have the ticker?"

"I do. Bought it for the special purpose. And it's not to be taken from you. When you shy stones at hours already stated I shall be outside. You don't shy many. Three, or four, or five. One of the stones is made of lead. I supply you with them. Here they are." He produced the pellets. "I give you some paper that you'll keep in your pocket. Lead stone wrapped in white paper means that you're quite comfortable. Lead stone wrapped in blue paper means you want to be taken away. Things not as they ought to be. That provides for your safety. We'll see you're not hurt, Sophy, otherwise Maria. I shall understand signals. An idea. Can you whistle?"

"Rather."

"Another of your peculiarities. As a friendly patient you're to be allowed to whistle. At twelve o'clock and at four I shall be in this neighborhood. I hear you whistle. I see the stones you shy, and the bit of lead wrapped in white paper. She's safe, I say to myself. Sophy, otherwise Maria, is quite comfortable with her weather eye open. Do you take all this in? Or shall I go over it again?"

"I know it by 'eart," replied Sophy. "It's a reg'lar game, that's what it is."

Here I thought it necessary to say a word.

"Suppose no stones at all are thrown, Bob?"

"In that case," said Bob, "without one minute's delay I ring the bell. I insist upon seeing my stepdaughter, Sophy, otherwise Maria. Leave it to me. I'll undertake that she comes to no harm. Time to get back to Nutford."

We left Sheldon without having been observed, I a little doubtful now that the adventure was to be seriously commenced, Bob very confident, and Sophy very bright. Before we went to bed we had a great deal of conversation, and Sophy convinced us that she perfectly understood Bob's instructions; then the silver watch was delivered to her as a prospective gift in the event of her success, and we retired to rest. Bob and I had each brought a Gladstone bag down with us, and Bob gave me another instance of his thoughtfulness by producing from his a small handbag, furnished with certain necessaries for a girl of Sophy's age, which he had purchased in London.

"You have really no fears for her, Bob?" I said as we undressed. He and I occupied a double-bedded room.

"Not the least," replied Bob. "She's a gem. Of the first water. Wash and comb her regularly-dress her decently-teach her to read and write-give her two or three years to grow up in-and there's no telling what she may become. Much obliged for the introduction. Much obliged also for the business in hand." He said this with perfect sincerity. Bob Tucker was in his element.

On the following morning he and Sophy set off for Tylney House. By Bob's advice I remained behind in Nutford. It would be best, he said, that Dr. Peterssen should not see me.

I waited in great anxiety for his return, and at three o'clock in the afternoon he was with me again.

"All arranged," he said. "Sophy is now a friendly patient in Tylney House. Did not tell you, did I, that I telegraphed to Peterssen from London yesterday afternoon?"

"No," I replied, "I was not aware of it. You lay your plans well, Bob."

"No use undertaking a job unless you do. I sent him telegram-'Coming to your establishment to-morrow with young patient. SILAS NETTLEFOLD.' We arrive in a fly-ring the bell-man appears. I ask, 'Dr. Peterssen at home?' 'Name?' inquires the man. 'Silas Nettlefold,' I answer. 'Dr. Peterssen is at home,' says man. 'Walk in.' I do. Sophy slouches by my side-good actress, that girl. Man eyes her. She doesn't notice him apparently. All the same she sees him-and reckons him up. In the grounds she picks up stone-looks at it-turns it over in her hand-shies it over the wall. 'A way she's got,' I say to man. Slip two half-crowns into his hand. He grins, and leads the way. Peterssen-damned scoundrel-receives us. I introduce myself-and my stepdaughter Maria. He shakes hands with me-no suspicion in his manner. I was looking out for that. Puts his thumb under my step-daughter's chin-raises her face. She gives a silly laugh, and turns away. I explain matters, saying first, 'Can I speak plainly to you?' 'I am a man of the world,' he says. 'So am I,' I respond. I give him a sly look; he gives me one. I motion Sophy, otherwise Maria, out of the room. He rings for man to take her into the grounds. 'Not my daughter,' I say; 'my first wife's. Widow when I married her. Now, dead. Six weeks ago I married again. Second wife wants her out of the house. So do I. More comfortable for all parties. Dumb from her birth; quite silly, but has, or will have when she's of age, property. Meanwhile I am her guardian. Willing to pay well to have her well taken care of. Must not be ill-treated. Am a Christian-so are you.' Peterssen smiles; I smile. I continue: 'It is to my interest that she shall be happy. I wish her to live a long life-in such an establishment as yours-at so much a year, paid in advance. I should like her to get fat. The longer she lives, the better for me. If she died her property would pass out of my control.' And so on, and so on. Peterssen comprehends-grasps the situation. Promises everything I ask. Shall be treated as friendly patient, but of course the charge will be proportionate. 'Quite so,' I say. Everything then is arranged. She will have perfect liberty inside the stone walls. Will be kindly treated. Will be allowed to walk freely about the grounds, and to indulge her harmless habit of occasional stone-throwing. So far, all plain sailing. Then comes question of terms. 'Two hundred a year,' says Peterssen, rather stiff. 'We'll not haggle,' I say. Peterssen much relieved. He's devilish hard up. Saw it with half an eye. His hand stretched out to clutch the money. Took advantage of his eagerness. Gave him twenty pounds on account of first quarter. Promise to pay the other thirty in a month. After that, regular quarterly payments in advance. Peterssen made lame attempts to hold out for larger sum down on the nail. I stood my ground. Peterssen gave way. If he'd been flush of money would have seen me further first. Interview terminated. We go out to Sophy, otherwise Maria. Girl very happy, playing with two stones. 'Let her have her way,' I say, 'won't give you a bit of trouble.' I wish her good-by. She takes not the slightest notice of me. Begins to whistle. Clever girl, Sophy. Gives me a silly look, that's all. I speak to man, otherwise keeper, aside. 'Don't bother her,' I say, 'and she won't bother you. Treat her kindly, and you get a crown a week. Here's first fortnight in advance.' Keeper promises to be good to her, and not to interfere with her. A crown a week buys him body and soul. Sophy all right. Shake hands with Peterssen, pat Sophy on the head, and make my way here. Not in a straight line. Hired fly some distance off in another direction. Leave Bob Tucker alone for putting people off the scent."

There was nothing to find fault with in Bobgs description; all that I had wished for had been cleverly carried out, and everything seemed now to depend upon whether the desk of Indian wood was in Dr. Peterssen's establishment and whether Sophy would be able to obtain possession of it. But it was not without an uneasy feeling that I thought of Sophy being at the mercy of such a man as the master of Tylney House. Bob did his best to dispel my uneasiness. He was positive that Sophy was quite safe. Dr. Peterssen was seldom in the house, his inclinations and pleasures lying elsewhere, and the management of the establishment was left almost entirely in the hands of the keeper who Bob said he had bought for five shillings a week.

"Doesn't get a tip once in a blue moon," said Bob. "That was evident from his manner of accepting mine. It was such a novelty that it almost knocked him over. Doesn't get too well paid, either. There's a tumbledown air about Tylney House which made me think of a man on his last legs. One thing is certain. Peterssen's heart is not in it. Mind occupied by matters more engrossing. Generally savage look upon his face. The fellow's ripe."

"For what, Bob?"

"For any kind of villainy, from pitch and toss to manslaughter. Wouldn't stop short of manslaughter. Oh, I know my customer."

"Did you see any of the other patients?" I asked.

"No," answered Bob. "Kept out of the way, most likely. Looked about for harmless patient green-grocer's boy spoke of. Didn't catch a glimpse of him."

We left Nettlefold that evening, and went to another village on the other side of Sheldon. This was done to enable Bob to assume a different disguise, in which he was to pay his daily visits to the tree outside the stone walls of Tylney House, which was to serve as a target for Sophy's stones twice a day; and he told me that he had given Sophy explicit instructions how to reach us at our new address. It seems that he had the removal in view when we were at Nettlefold, and had let Sophy into the secret; and I commended and admired his thoughtfulness.

The change of quarters safely made, I had nothing to do but to await the course of events. I considered it expedient to keep Bob company, so as to be on the spot in case Sophy should make an unexpected appearance. Bob's proceedings and methods afforded me some amusement. At a quarter to eleven every morning he started for Sheldon, returning at a quarter to two. An hour afterward he started again for the same place, returning at a quarter to six. He was punctuality itself, and his movements resembled those of a well-regulated clock. Every time he returned he said, "Sophy quite safe. Three stones, and a pellet wrapped in white paper. Whistling like a bird. Sophy getting fine markswoman. Two of the stones hit tree. Capital exercise for muscles this stone-throwing. Pity Sophy can't write. She would be able to tell us news." He kept an exact record of all his proceedings, and devoted a separate page, more than one, if necessary, to each entry. "In matters like this," he said, "avoid confusion. Be precise. My diary saves a world of trouble in deciding absolutely what was done at such an hour on such a day." The time, I must confess, hung heavily on my hands, and I would much rather have been an active worker in the task upon which we were engaged. However, I had no choice. I wrote regularly to my people at home and to Emilia, who thus became acquainted with my country address, and it was to Emilia's knowledge of my whereabouts which led to unforeseen diversions in the plans I had so carefully mapped out.

CHAPTER XLIX.

M. BORDIER JOINS THE HUNT

On the twelfth day I said:

"Bob, I think I shall run up to London."

"By all means," said Bob, cheerfully, a sign that my society was not indispensable to him, and that he was not wearying of his task. "Should anything occur I will telegraph to you. To which address, though?"

"Repeat your telegrams," I said, "to my chambers and my mother's house. I shall be back in two days, and if by that time things are still in the same position I think you should pay a visit to Sophy, and contrive somehow to speak to her. This inaction is intolerable."

"You have no patience," said Bob. "The train is laid. What more do you want?"

"Movement, Bob, movement." I looked at my watch. "Mustn't lose the train. I'm off."

And off I was, and in a few minutes whirling toward London. It was destined, however, that I should not reach there as early as I expected. We were midway when the train slackened, crawled along a few hundred yards, then came to a standstill.

"What's the matter?" I called to the guard, thrusting my head out of the window.

"Engine broke down, sir," was the answer. "Can't get on."

"Confound it!" I cried. "How long shall we have to wait?"

"There's no knowing, sir. Not till to-morrow morning, perhaps."

"But it is impossible for me to remain here all night."

"Very sorry, sir. It doesn't depend upon me. Accidents will happen."

Fretting and fuming would not mend matters, and I was compelled to submit. It turned out as the guard had indicated. Something else had occurred on the line which rendered it out of the question that another engine could be sent to our aid, and we did not arrive in London till the afternoon of the following day. I hastened at once to my chambers, then visited the office of the Evening Moon, and then proceeded to my mother's house, which I did not reach till six o'clock in the evening. The moment the street door was opened Emilia ran into the passage to greet me.

"You have seen him," she cried, "and he has explained all."

"Seen whom?" I asked, very much astonished, "and what is there to explain?"

"You have not met M. Bordier, then," she said, falling back.

"No," I replied. "I left the country suddenly yesterday, and an accident happened to the train. I was detained all night."

"I sent you a letter also," said Emilia, "it was posted yesterday morning."

"That accounts for my not receiving it. It must have arrived after my departure."

I saw that she was agitated, and I led her to the sitting-room, where, after exchanging a few words with my mother, we were left alone. Then I learnt what had taken place.

M. Bordier, it appears, had visited Emilia every day during my absence, and had observed in her signs of suppressed excitement which had caused him deep concern. At first he made no comment upon this change in her, but at length he questioned her, and, receiving no satisfaction, told her with delicate pointedness that he deemed it her duty to confide in him if she were in any trouble. Still she evaded his inquiries, and this with marks of such extreme distress that he became more pressing in his desire that she should be candid and straightforward with him. I will give what afterward transpired in Emilia's own words.

"He came the night before last," she said, "and asked to speak privately with me. I could not refuse him; it appeared to me as if my refusal to appease his natural curiosity had aroused suspicions which might be fatal to my daughter's happiness. He spoke very kindly, but very firmly. Considering the relations in which we stood to each other, he had come to a decision which it was right should be communicated to me. Before doing so he would ask me a question or two to which he expected frank answers. He asked me how long I had known your family. I replied, about two weeks. Had I any previous knowledge of them? I said no. Through whom had I become acquainted with them? I said, through you. He then asked who and what you were; I told him, trembling all the time, because his questions were leading straight to the secret I was hiding from him. Had I any previous knowledge of you, he asked; were you related to me in any way? I answered that you were not related to me, and that I had made your acquaintance only since my arrival in London. Were you acquainted with the cause of my trouble, he asked. I said yes, you were, and that you were endeavoring to befriend me. He reflected a little before he continued, and when he spoke it was in the same kind and gentle voice, but more firmly than before. 'It amounts to this,' he said, 'that you have a secret which has brought grief upon you, and that you confide this secret to a stranger and deny it to me. I draw from this a reasonable inference-that you have a trouble of a private nature which you are deliberately concealing from those who have a right, if anyone has the right, to share it with you. Is it a pecuniary trouble?' I answered that it was not, and he said that he regretted it, as then it might be easily got over. He then referred to the conversation we had in Geneva, when he came to speak to me about Julian's attachment to my dear child, and to a remark he had made that the time would arrive when it would be necessary that he should become acquainted with certain particulars of my past life. My heart fainted within me when he bluntly inquired whether my secret was in any way connected with my past history. I could make but one reply, yes. 'Do you not see,' he said, 'that you are creating suspicions in my mind, and that I am beginning to ask myself whether I should be doing my duty as a father if I allowed the engagement between our children to continue? Be advised for your own sake, for theirs. Tell me everything; accord to me at least the privileges you have accorded to a stranger. I have the reputation of being a just man, and I know that I have none but kindly feelings toward you. There are difficulties, I admit, in many human lives which need the skill of a strong man to surmount. I place my knowledge of the world and my goodwill at your service, and if you refuse to avail yourself of them your conduct will inspire me with very grave doubts.' Thus driven, what could I do? It seemed to me that it would be the wisest course to confide implicitly in him, and I did so. I laid bare the story of my life, from my earliest remembrance to the hour the disclosure was made. The errand upon which I came to England, my adventures here, my meeting with you, my interview with Gerald's brother-nothing was concealed; I even searched my mind to be sure that not a detail was omitted. And then I threw myself upon his mercy. I swore solemnly to the truth of my story, and to my belief that the marriage ceremony was genuine. 'To part from your son now,' I said, 'will break my daughter's heart. In mercy to her, have pity!' 'From my inmost soul I pity you,' he said. 'I believe your story; I believe you to be honestly married; but it must be proved; we must be able to hold up our heads in the face of the world. You say there is a chance of the copy of your marriage certificate being hidden in the secret drawer of the writing-desk you have described, and that a scheme is in operation which holds out a hope that the desk may be found. Julian loves your daughter; his happiness is bound up in her; and because I am his father and love him most sincerely I will do all that lies in my power to set this crooked matter straight. I will go down to your friend Mr. Agnold as your representative and champion. Give me a letter to him which will confer upon me the right to act for you. There are means in my hands which Mr. Agnold may not possess, or would not naturally be willing to employ, by which we can attain our object. I can go myself to this Dr. Peterssen, and offer to purchase the desk from him, supposing it to be in his possession. To such a man a large sum of money would be a temptation; I would not stop short of five thousand pounds; and this, with a guarantee that he shall not be molested, and time afforded him to reach another country, may be the crowning inducement. Even if he has not the desk, he is pretty sure to have learnt from Mr. Gerald Paget the name of the place in which the marriage ceremony was performed, and would be willing to sell the information for the sum I have named. The proof then would be easy. Write a letter at once; I will start to-morrow.' His words, his voice, gave me hope. I wrote the letter, and yesterday he left London to present it to you."

This was the story which Emilia narrated to me, and I could not blame her for acting as she had done. Only I was angry with myself for leaving Bob; had I remained I should have seen M. Bordier, and we might have discussed matters and brought them to a head. In view of what Bob had said of his impression that Dr. Peterssen was very hard up, the temptation which M. Bordier was ready to offer would be too strong for him. Five thousand pounds was a grand bait, and Dr. Peterssen would have accepted it and fled the country.

"You have done right," I said to Emilia.

"How thankful I am that you approve!" she exclaimed. "It seemed to me ungrateful that I should take a step so important without consulting you."

"You had no choice," I said, "and M. Bordier is a gentleman. Did his son accompany him?"

"Poor Julian! I do not know. I fear he is scarcely in a fit state."

I inferred from this that Julian Bordier was ill, but before I had time to make an inquiry my mother entered the room.

"A telegram for you," she said, and handed it to me.

I tore it open and read it. "I have strange and important news for you. Sophy is with me. Come down at once. Bob."

There was an A B C in the house, and I turned over the pages feverishly. I had just twenty-two minutes to catch a train, the last of the day, which would enable me to get to Bob at about eleven o'clock. Late as it would be I knew that he would expect me. I rapidly explained to Emilia the necessity of my immediate departure, and ran out of the house. Fortunately a cab was passing. "Drive as if Old Nick was at your heels," I said to the cabby, jumping in. "Treble fare." The driver cracked his whip, and away we rattled.

CHAPTER L.

CLEVER SOPHY

Bob was waiting for me on the platform. He was smoking a cigar, and did not appear the least flurried. His calm demeanor, being somewhat antagonistic to the tone of his telegram, annoyed me.

"Well, Bob?" I said.

"Well, old man?" said he. "Knew you would come down by this train."

"Of course you did," I said irritably. "Now for your news."

"No hurry," he said, phlegmatically. "Plenty of time before us."

"Don't trifle, there's a good fellow. Have you seen M. Bordier?"

"I have seen a gentleman of that name. Introduced himself to me. Showed me a letter from your lady friend. It was addressed to you, but he made free with it. He had a right to do so perhaps, as it was in an unsealed envelope. Who is the gentleman? Has he anything to do with this affair?"

"He is an important person in our inquiry, Bob," I replied, "and is intimately connected with it."

"Ah," said Bob, dryly. "If I'd been in your place I should have mentioned him earlier. He came like a bombshell upon me, and vanished, so to speak, like a flash of lightning. Any better, Sophy?"

Then for the first time I noticed the girl. She was crouched up on a bench, with her cloak over her head. The words Bob and I had exchanged were uttered at a little distance from her, and she had not heard my voice. I stepped close to her and removed the cloak from her head.

"Sophy," I said, "are you ill?"

She jumped up and took the hand I held out to her, but did not answer. Her face was very white, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.