The Mystery of M. Felix

"Good God!" I cried, with a pang. "Have they been ill-treating her? What's the matter with you, Sophy?"

"Not afore 'im," she said. Her throat seemed to be parched, her voice was so choked.

"No, they have not ill-treated her," said Bob; "I can answer for that. When she came with the desk-"

"You've got the desk!" I cried. Notwithstanding my anxiety for Sophy the news excited me, and my attention was diverted from her for a moment.

"Yes," said Bob, with a laugh in which I detected a shade of bitterness, "we've got the desk. For all the good it's worth. When she hopped into my room with it she was as bright as a cricket. Later on sent her to bed. Supposed her to be asleep, when she tumbled into the room again with a face like-well, look at it. Thought she'd have a fit. She'd had a nightmare."

"I hadn't," gasped Sophy.

"I'll take your word for it," said Bob. "Anyway, she wouldn't open her lips to me. Very mysterious. She will to you, most likely."

"Yes, I will," said Sophy, still clinging to me; she was trembling all over.

"Thought as much," said Bob, who seemed to feel this lack of confidence in him very acutely. "There are things to tell. My proposition-if I may be allowed to make one-is that we begin at the beginning, else we shall get muddled."

"It's the properest way," said Sophy.

"Thank you. Even this slight mark of approval appreciated by yours truly. Do I gather that we are friends, Sophy, no longer Maria?"

"In course we are; but I ain't 'ad no nightmare, I've 'ad a scare." She offered him her hand, and it really put life into him. He spoke more briskly.

"Let us get back to the hotel," he said. "Everything down there in black and white-except Sophy's scare-the reason for which I shall be glad to hear, if permitted."

"If he likes," said Sophy, "he can tell yer everythink when he 'ears it 'isself. It's best it should be led up to." She addressed these last words to me.

"For which purpose," said Bob; "march."

I listened to all this in amazement, but I fell in with their humor to have Sophy's scare properly led up to, and we walked to the inn in comparative silence.

"When did you have your last meal, Sophy?" I asked.

"Two o'clock. Biled beef and cabbage."

"You oaf," I said good-humoredly to Bob, "that's the reason of her being so white. She has been ten hours without food."

Bob clapped his hand to his forehead. "I am an ass," he said.

"You ain't," said Sophy, promptly, "and it ain't what made me white. But I shouldn't turn my back on a bit of grub."

"And a bit of grub you shall have," said Bob, "the moment we are in our room. I've got the right side of the landlady. Cold meat and pickles always on tap for Bob Tucker."

In the room Bob was as good as his word. A cold supper was spread before Sophy, and a glass of weak brandy and water mixed for her. She ate with avidity, and while she was thus employed Bob turned his attention to me.

"My diary comes in handy here," he said, and he pushed the book toward me. "You will find everything entered, saves a world of talk."

I skimmed through the pages till I reached yesterday's date, under which I found my departure for London duly recorded, the brief entry being:

"Agnold restless. Gone to London. For no particular reason-but gone."

Further on the record of the present day:

"Six P.M. Just returned from Tylney House. A surprising number of stones thrown by Sophy, otherwise Maria. She usually throws three or four, never more than five, including pellet in white paper, denoting happiness and safety. But this afternoon, quite a shower, including four pellets in white paper. Counted altogether eighteen. Does it mean anything? Wait till to-morrow. Logical interpretation, that things going on more satisfactorily than ever. Something discovered, perhaps. A thousand pities Sophy, otherwise Maria, cannot read or write. If the latter, could obtain positive information. When this particularly clever girl comes out she must begin to learn immediately. Talents must have a fair chance. Cruel they should be wasted. See to it. Singular no letter from Agnold. But did not promise to write."

Following this was a revelation:

"Sent telegram to Agnold, advising him to come down at once. This is putting cart before horse-in this instance allowable. Begin now at the beginning of exciting chapter.

"At half-past seven was sitting alone, smoking and ruminating. Door suddenly burst open, and Sophy, no longer Maria, rushes in. I cry-'What, Sophy!' 'Yes,' she says, out of breath, 'it's me. I've got it; I've got it. Where's the other?' (meaning Agnold). I briefly explain that he has gone to London, but will return the moment telegraphed for. 'Do you mean to tell me,' 'I said,' as excited as herself, 'that you've brought the desk?' 'It's 'ere,' she says, and she plumps it on the table, also a large door-key. She had carried the desk wrapped in her cloak. There is no doubt about the article; it exactly answers description given by Agnold. Remarkable girl, Sophy.

"This is her tale-and glad she was to set her tongue going after the lock it has had on it for so many days. At Tylney House one day is so like another that a lengthy experience of it must be perfectly appalling. Sophy says it is like a long funeral. As a friendly patient Sophy had the run of the house, and she knows every room in it except one-Dr. Peterssen's private apartment, which he occupies when he is in evidence. He is seldom in evidence. Absent six days out of seven. As there was no sign of desk in any other part of the house, Sophy decides that it is in Peterssen's room, if in the house at all. She was right.

"Peterssen only been at home two days during Sophy's residence as friendly patient. The first time last week. The second time, this. In point of fact, this very day. Last week Peterssen stopped about two hours in private room. Sophy passed door, through passage, while he was within. Couldn't get a peep. Consequently knew nothing of desk. Peterssen came out of room, locked door, went away. Most girls would have been discouraged at the prospect of such small chance of success. Not Sophy. She had made up her mind that the desk was there. There's nothing like moral conviction. To-day at one o'clock Peterssen puts in an appearance. After dinner, Sophy, on her way into the grounds, passes private room. Door ajar. She gets a peep. On the table sees desk, cedar-wood, inlaid with silver. Heart beats. Time not wasted. Discovery made, but not yet utilized. Watches like a cat. Hears keeper say Peterssen going to stop all night. Heart beats faster. Now or never. But how is this to be accomplished. This explains meaning of such a number of stones thrown over wall. Symbolical, but at the time undecipherable to present writer. Quite clear now.

"At ten minutes past five by Sophy's silver watch (her own property now), letter arrives for Peterssen. Delivered to him by keeper. Evidently unexpected. Evidently of an exciting nature. He reads it, and hurries out of house. What has he done with the key of the private room? Sophy hears a bunch rattle in his pocket as he rushes past her. Almost despairs, but not quite.

"Sophy creeps into passage again. The door is closed. She tries to peep through keyhole, but it is blocked. By what? A key. The key being inside, Peterssen in haste must have forgotten to lock the door. It proves to be so. Sophy has only to put her hand on handle, to turn it softly round, and presto! she is in the room. But the desk is not on table. Where, then? Under the bed. Before you can say Jack Robinson Sophy seizes it, creeps out of room. But first a stroke of genius. She removes key of door from inside to outside, turns it in lock, removes it from keyhole and retains it. Sublime! When Peterssen returns he will find door locked. Will naturally think he has locked it himself. Will feel in his pocket for key, without finding it. Will spend time in searching for it. All in Sophy's favor. Bravo, little one!

"Sophy reconnoitres. Keeper in grounds. Presently enters house, goes up to his bedroom-for private nap, of course. Coast clear. Like a shot Sophy is in the grounds. Like a shot she is over the wall, where there is no broken glass. How she did it she does not remember.. She does not know. Neither do I. But it is done. There she is, over the wall, outside Tylney House, instead of inside, with the key of the door in her hand, and the precious desk under her arm. It takes my breath away.

"Getting here to me takes hers away, She makes mistakes in the roads, and comes seven miles instead of four. But she runs the distance, and here she is.

"'Sophy,' I say, 'you are a treasure.'

"'I done it all right, didn't I?' she says.

"'You did, my girl, and you deserve a medal.'

"I formally make over the silver watch to her, and promise her a silver chain to match. She is in ecstasies, but not quite happy because Agnold is not here. I tell her he will be here to-morrow, and then I examine the desk. An intense desire seizes me to open it. Right or wrong, I determine to do so. I'll chance what Agnold may say when he comes back. He should have remained. What made him go to London? He had no immediate business there. His immediate business was here.

"Not one of my keys will open the desk. But I can pick a lock, and I have some delicate tools with me. For an ambitious man, in the line to which I have devoted myself, they are necessary and invaluable.

"I set to work, and very soon, without injuring the lock in the least, the desk is open. There are papers in it, but no copy of a marriage certificate. Agnold said it would be most likely in a secret drawer, but no secret drawer could I discover.

"I was so much engrossed in the examination I was making that I did not hear the door opened. But open it was, and the shadow of a man fell upon me. Sophy's eyes were closed. She was tired. I looked up. A stranger stood before me."

CHAPTER LI.

SOPHY MAKES A STRANGE STATEMENT

"I had never seen Dr. Peterssen, and I imagined it was he who had so unexpectedly presented himself. In that case I was in a quandary. The desk had been stolen from Dr. Peterssen's house, and the clever little thief was dozing in the room. I was implicated in the theft, and had forced the lock with burglar's tools. Without counting the cost we had taken the law into our own hands-usurped its functions, so to speak. Bringing such a man as Dr. Peterssen to book might prove an awkward fix for us. However, I determined to brazen it out.

"The desk being open, the wood of which it was made and the silver with which it was inlaid were not so apparent as they would have been had it been closed. The stranger's eyes did not rest upon it, but wandered to Sophy. My gaze followed his, and I was surprised to observe that there was no sign of recognition in his face. But he may be acting a part, I thought.

"I soon discovered that all my conjectures were wrong.

"'Am I right in supposing that I am addressing Mr. Agnold?' he asked. He spoke with a foreign accent.

"'No,' I said, 'my name is not Agnold.'

"'Mr. Tucker, then?'

"'You are right there.'

"'Mr. Agnold mentioned your name in his letters to Mrs. Braham,' said the stranger. 'Both you and Mr. Agnold are working in that lady's interests. It is exceedingly kind of you.'

"I stared at him. This was not the language that Dr. Peterssen would have used, and my first doubts being dispelled, I saw that my visitor was a gentleman-which Dr. Peterssen is not. But who could he be? I thought it best to hold my tongue; I wished to avoid compromising myself.

"'I, also,' continued the stranger, 'am here in Mrs. Braham's interests. My business admits of no delay. It is necessary that I should see Mr. Agnold immediately.'

"'He is in London,' I said.

"This information appeared to discompose him; but only for a moment.

"'You represent Mr. Agnold?'

"'Yes, I think I may say as much.'

"'Thank you. I have a letter here addressed to him, but it is in an open envelope, and as Mr. Agnold's representative there can be no objection to your reading it.'

"I read the letter, and now in my turn I must have exhibited some sign of discomposure. Without being able to recall its contents word for word, I can sufficiently explain its nature. It was to the effect that the gentleman who presented it, M. Bordier, was empowered by the lady we were working for to join us, if he desired, or to take the affair entirely in his own hands, and assume the direction of it.

"'You are M. Bordier?' I said.

"He bowed. 'I am M. Bordier. The position in which Mrs. Braham and I stand to each other warrants my presence here at this untimely hour. It is due to Mrs. Braham that I should say it was at my urgent request she has given me authority to act for her. I am acquainted with all the circumstances of your proceedings, so far as they have been disclosed in Mr. Agnold's letters.' Again his eyes wandered to Sophy, and he moved a step or two toward her with a look of sympathetic eagerness. 'Is that the young girl who was taken to Dr. Peterssen's establishment as a patient?'

"'Yes,' I replied.

"'Her task, then, is ended. She was in search of a desk. She is a brave little girl, and shall be rewarded. A desk of cedar-wood, inlaid with silver.' He turned suddenly to me, and approached the table. 'She has succeeded,' he said, laying his hand upon the desk and raising the lid. 'Yes, it is the desk. How did you open it? Did you have the key?'

"'No,' I said, with a guilty glance at the tools with which I had picked the lock.

"'Ah, I see. There is a secret drawer in this desk, and you have been seeking for it. Allow me. When I was a young man I had some knowledge of this kind of thing, and was acquainted with the tricks employed by ingenious makers to construct a receptacle in which important papers might be safely concealed. This is no common piece of work, and the so-called drawer may be merely a false panel, with little space behind, but sufficient for the purpose. I will take the liberty of making use of your tools. This dumb shape of wood, Mr. Tucker, may be the arbiter of the happiness of human lives, may be the means of bringing a foul wrong to light.' While he spoke he was busy measuring the thickness of the sides and back and every part of the desk, putting down figures on paper to prove whether any space was not accounted for. He knew what he was about, and I followed his movements with curiosity, learning something from them which may be useful in the future. 'There is no actual drawer,' he continued; 'it must be a panel.' He completely emptied the desk of its papers, and then began to sound the bottom and the sides, listening for signs of a hollow space. 'It is a clever piece of workmanship, but if there is a panel I will find it. I would rather not destroy the desk, but I will do it before I give up the hunt, if I do not succeed in a legitimate way. Ah, I have it! There is a panel. A man might have this desk in his possession a lifetime and not suspect it. See, it moves in a groove, and there is a paper behind.'

"Sure enough, M. Bordier succeeded in sliding a panel in a cunningly made groove, and in drawing forth a paper which had been carefully folded and flattened and inserted in its hiding-place. There was an eager light in his eyes, and his fingers trembled as he unfolded the paper and read what was written thereon. A long sigh of satisfaction escaped him, and he murmured:

"'Thank God! Poor lady, poor lady! But your sufferings are ended now!'

"'M. Bordier,' I said, will you allow me to read the document?'

"He folded it up again, preserving its original creases, and put it in his pocket.

"'Mr. Tucker,' he said, speaking with great politeness; but this he had done all through; the document I have found relates to a private matter of exceeding delicacy, and I cannot show it to you. It is, indeed, a family secret, and none but those directly interested have a right to see it. Thanks for your courtesy, and good-night.'

"Before I had time to remonstrate with him for his high-handed proceeding he was gone. I was dumfounded. It is not often that I find myself unable to act on the spur of the moment, but M. Bordier had deprived me of my self-possession. In a moment or two, however, I recovered myself, and ran out of the room after my visitor. I saw no signs of him. He had vanished. I made my way immediately to the telegraph office, and sent Agnold a telegram-which brings me back to the commencing words of this entry.

"I returned to my room in the inn. Sophy was still dozing. I began to be beset by doubts. What if the stranger who had introduced himself to me as M. Bordier should turn out not to be M. Bordier, after all? What if the letter he gave me to read from Mrs. Braham should be a forged letter? I am greatly to blame. I deserve to have my head punched."

By the time I came to the end of this strange story Sophy had finished her supper, and now came nearer to us.

"Well, Bob," I said, "you have made a mess of it."

"Admitted," said Bob. "Take your share of the blame. You should not have run away to London. Relieve my doubts. Was it, or was it not, M. Bordier who came here?"

"It was certainly M. Bordier," I replied. "The lady you call Mrs. Braham gave him such a letter as you have described, and it is scarcely possible any other person could have obtained possession of it."

"That is some satisfaction. All the same, I have behaved like a fool. I ought not to have allowed him to escape me. I ought to have laid violent hands on him, and detained him till your arrival."

"You would not have succeeded, Bob. From the opinion I have formed of him he would not have submitted, and you would have found yourself worsted. If the document he discovered is what I hope it is, he has a better right to it than you or I. And now, Sophy," I said, turning to the girl, "what is this scare of yours which has taken all the blood out of your face?"

"Stop a bit," said Bob. "It is Sophy's desire that things should be led up to. Let us lead up to this."

Sophy nodded, and I said, "Go on, Bob."

"Well," said he, "I woke Sophy up when I got back here, and told her it was best she should go to bed. Her room was ready for her, and she was dead tired. She refused, and said she would wait up for you-I had told her I had sent you a telegram to come down immediately. I would not let her wait up, but insisted upon her going to bed. She gave in, and I took her to her room. Imagine my surprise. An hour before your arrival she rushed into this room with a face as white as a sheet, and fell down all of a heap into the corner there. I thought she must have had a nightmare, but I could get nothing out of her. She was too frightened to be left alone, and when I started to meet you at the station she came with me. Tried to pump her on the road. Useless. Offers of bribes thrown away. Not a word would she say of the cause of her fright. She promises to be more communicative to you."

"Speak out, Sophy," I said. "I have no secrets from Mr. Tucker, and he must hear what you have to tell."

"You'll never believe me," said Sophy, in a low, fear-stricken tone, "but if it's the last I ever speak it's the truth, and the 'ole truth, and nothink but the truth. I sor it as plain as I see you."

"Saw what?" I asked.

"The ghost of Mr. Felix," she replied.

CHAPTER LII.

THE GHOST OF M. FELIX

She put her hand on my arm as if for protection as she uttered these words, and I took it in mine to reassure her; it was cold as ice. It was clear that she had received a shock, and I was disposed to ascribe it to the strain she had undergone during the past fortnight. But this view was shaken when I thought of her courage and daring.

"What did I tell you?" said Bob, sticking to his guns. "Nightmare."

"That's somethink yer must be in bed to 'ave, ain't it?" said Sophy.

"Yes," said Bob, "and asleep."

"I wasn't neither," said Sophy; "I was as wide-awake as you are."

"Oh, you didn't go to bed when I put you in your room?"

"No, I didn't. I waited a minute or two, and then I went out."

"What made you do that, Sophy?" I asked.

"I don't know, 'xcep' that I wanted to go to the mad'ouse-outside, yer know-to see if they'd found out about the desk."

"It was a dangerous thing to do," I said.

"Well, I didn't do it. I 'adn't got 'arf way there when a sperrit crep' past me. I told Aunty I didn't believe in sperrits, but I do now. I didn't think it was a sperrit at fust, I thought it was a man; and I sed to myself, If you can creep, so can I,' and I crep' after it."

"But why, Sophy?"

"I don't know why. I did it 'cause somethink made me. All at once it stopped and turned, and the moon lit up its face. It was the ghost of Mr. Felix."

She was speaking more quietly now, and there was a note of conviction in her voice that startled me.

"Is that what you call a nightmare?" she asked of Bob, whose eyes were fixed intently upon her.

"No," he replied, "but you were mistaken. It was only a fancied resemblance."

"It wasn't nothink of the sort, and I wasn't mistook. I'm ready to take my dying oath on it. There ain't two Mr. Felixes, there's only one, and it was 'is ghost I sor."

"What did you do, Sophy?" I inquired.

"I stood like a stone, and couldn't move. But when it looked at me, and when I 'eered its voice, and when I sor it moving up to me, I give a scream, and run away. But I fell down over the stump of a tree, and it caught 'old of me and lifted me up. Then it wrenched my face to the light, and poked it's 'ead for'ard, and I sor clearer than ever that it was Mr. Felix's ghost. I don't know 'ow I managed it, but I twisted myself away, and run as I'd never run in my life before till I got 'ere."

"Is that all, Sophy?"

"That's all I can tell yer. Ain't it enough?"

"If there is any truth in it, my girl, it is more than enough? You cannot say whether it followed you?"

"No, I never look behind. It was more than I dared do."

"You heard it speak, you say. What words did it utter?"

"It said, 'What the devil!'"

"Nothing more?"

"Nothink as I 'eerd."

She had told all she knew, and it was useless to question her farther upon the subject, so I put it aside for a moment, with the intention of talking it over with Bob when we were alone. But I had not yet done with Sophy; before I parted with her for the night I was desirous of obtaining fuller information of Dr. Peterssen's establishment than she had given Bob. She was perfectly willing to tell everything she knew, and seemed to be relieved to have her attention turned to other matters.

"You had the run of Dr. Peterssen's house, Sophy?"

"Yes, I 'ad."

"How many servants are there in it?"

"Only one-the keeper."

"What is his name?"

"Crawley."

"Did no woman come to do the cleaning or cooking?"

"Nobody come. Crawley did everythink."

"You were not ill-treated?"

"Oh, no."

"Did you have your meals alone?"

"No; the three of us 'ad 'em together."

"The three of you. Dr. Peterssen, Crawley, and you?"

"No; Dr. Peterssen never 'ad nothink with us. I mean the other patient."

"But there was more than one?"

"There wasn't while I was there. There was only one."

I turned to Bob. "You said there were children, Bob?"

"So I was informed, but I may have been misled."

"I 'eerd Crawley say the young 'uns were took away the day before I come," said Sophy.

"That explains it. So there was only one patient left?"

"Only one."

"A man?"

"A gentleman."

"How did you find out he was a gentleman?"

"Yer can't be mistook between a man and a gent. You're a gent; Mr. Tucker's another."

"Much obliged, Sophy," said Bob.

"What is the name of the gentleman patient, Sophy?"

"He didn't 'ave none that I know of. I 'eered the greengrocer's boy say to Crawley once, 'Ow's Number One, Mr. Crawley?' That's how I got to know 'ow he was called, and what the keeper's name was. I couldn't arks nothink, of course, 'cause I was deaf and dumb. 'Same as ever,' said Crawley to the boy, 'mem'ry quite gone.'"

"Poor fellow! There is no doubt, I suppose, about his being mad?"

"I don't know about that. He never did nothink, and 'ardly ever spoke a word. But he was very kind to me, and I was very sorry for 'im. He'd put 'is 'and on my 'ead, and smooth my 'air, and look at me pitiful like, with tears in 'is eyes which made 'em come into mine."