The Mystery of M. Felix

"A case of melancholia, Bob," I said. Bob nodded. "Was no effort made, Sophy, to bring his memory back to him?"

"Nobody did nothink; he was let alone, the same as I was. I did want 'ard to talk to 'im, but I didn't dare open my lips, or I should have been found out. I do wish somethink could be done for 'im, that I do. Look 'ere, you're rich, ain't you?"

"Not exactly rich, Sophy, but I am not poor."

"Well, then. Crawley's to be bought."

"How do you know that?"

"I 'eerd Crawley say to 'isself, 'If I 'ad a 'underd pound I'd cut the cussed concern, and go to Amerikey.'"

"Ah! We'll think over it. A hundred pounds is a large sum. It's late, Sophy. I've nothing more to ask you to-night. Get to bed, like a good girl."

But Sophy began to tremble again; her thoughts reverted to M. Felix.

"I daren't go to the room Mr. Tucker took me to; Mr. Felix's ghost'd come agin. Let me sleep 'ere, please."

"There's no bed, my girl. I tell you what you shall do. There are two beds in the next room-see, this door opens into it-which Mr. Tucker and I were to occupy. We'll bring a mattress and some bedclothes in here, and we'll manage for the night; I'll lie on the sofa. You shall sleep in there, where no ghost can get to you. It would have to come through this room first."

Sophy busied herself at once in bringing the mattress and bedclothes from the adjoining room, and after extemporizing a couple of beds for Bob and me wished us a grateful good-night.

Bob and I were alone. "Now, Bob," said I, "what do you think of her story?"

"There's more in it than meets the eye," said Bob. "Agnold, if any other person had related it I should set it down to an overwrought mind. But Sophy is an exceptional being; she is sharp, she is clever, she is brave, she is clear-witted. Naturally it is a puzzling affair, and I think it is worth arguing out."

"Let us do so, Bob," I said.

"It is always a mistake," said Bob, "in matters of conjecture, to pin one's self to a fixed point. This mistake, in my opinion, has been committed in all inquiries relating to the mystery of M. Felix. Having accepted a certain conclusion every person privately or professionally interested in the mystery started from that fixed point and branched out in all directions, north, east, south, and west, utterly ignoring the possibility-in this case I should say the probability-of the conclusion they accepted being a false one, as misleading as a will-o'-the-wisp."

"Am I included in this sweeping condemnation?" I asked.

"You are. The police I can excuse, but not a man of your discrimination and logical power."

"What fixed point, Bob, did I, in common with everyone else, start from in wild directions?"

"The fixed point," replied Bob, "that M. Felix is dead."

"But he was proved to be dead."

"Nothing of the sort. There was no post-mortem, there was not even an inquest. He is said to have died of heart disease. He lies inanimate on a bed for an inconsiderable number of hours, and then he disappears. My dear Agnold, have you ever heard of such a thing as suspended animation?"

"Of course I have."

"Have you ever heard of a person falling into a trance, and remaining to all appearance dead for three or four times as many hours as M. Felix lay before he disappeared? People have been buried alive in such conditions; others have been happily rescued at the moment the lids of their coffins have been about to be nailed down. I can furnish you with scores of instances of this kind of thing."

"There is no need; I know that they have occurred. Your theory opens out a wide field of possibilities. Then you believe that Sophy was right; that she did see, not M. Felix's ghost as she supposed, but M. Felix himself in the flesh?"

"It is my belief. Sophy is no fool; she has the nerve of a strong and healthy man; she does not believe in the supernatural; she has a heart susceptible of such kindness as you have shown her, but she is at the same time practical and hard-headed. Agnold, M. Felix is alive."

"Do you argue that he simulated death in the first instance for the purpose of carrying out some plan?"

"No. His apparent death was not a trick devised by himself. He had a seizure undoubtedly, to which he was compelled to succumb. After a time he recovered, and for his own ends resolved to take advantage of the opportunity to disappear, whether permanently or not I cannot say. He had a perfect right to do as he pleased with his own body, and he had good reasons for the device. He was threatened on two sides. Choosing for certain motives to drop his proper name of Leonard Paget and to adopt that of M. Felix, he finds himself suddenly standing on a rock with a precipice yawning on each side of him. A bold movement on the part of his sister-in-law hurls him into one; a desperate movement on the part of Dr. Peterssen hurls him over the other-either way, destruction. Of the special power which Dr. Peterssen holds over him I am ignorant, but it must be very potent. We are acquainted, however, with the power his sister-in-law holds over him. Her marriage proved, his life has been one long fraud, and he could be made to pay the penalty. Her unexpected presence in London confounds him, and he sees before him but one means of escape-flight. On the night of his supposed death he has had two agitating interviews, one with Dr. Peterssen, the other with his sister-in-law. She, waiting in the street to obtain an interview with M. Felix, overhears words which unmistakably prove that Peterssen has him at his mercy. Peterssen threatens to ruin M. Felix; he refers to a pleasant partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago; he asks M. Felix if he has forgotten his brother Gerald. Then he goes into the house with this precious Felix, and when he issues from it he has in his possession the desk which is now on the table before us. After that, the lady in whose behalf we have been working obtains admission to the house and confronts the villain who has ruined her happiness. We know what passed between them; we know that M. Felix was worked up to desperation. The excitement was too much for the plausible scoundrel, who saw the sword about to fall upon him. He staggers into his bedroom with the undoubted intention of getting his revolver; he presses his hand to his heart; he sinks into a chair and becomes insensible. He is to all appearance dead, and is so pronounced. On the following night when he recovers his senses, he hails the mishap as a fortunate chance; he resolves to disappear, and so put his enemies off the scent. Now, follow me. Sophy is below in bed. She hears a noise in the upper part of the house; the brave girl creeps up-stairs from the basement as M. Felix creeps down-stairs from his apartments. He dare not betray himself. He seizes her, disguises his voice, and works upon her fears. Exit M. Felix; for as long or as short a time as he pleases, he is dead to the world. It is a wonder he does not take his revolver with him, but that is an oversight. In such a crisis one cannot think of everything. It may happen-for there is work for us to do, Agnold-that this oversight will work in our favor. I do not despair of tracing the revolver, and you did a good stroke when you wrote down such a description of the weapon as will enable you to identify it. There is no room for doubt that the man who presented himself to Mrs. Middlemore as a police official, and who sent her on a false errand to Bow Street Police Station, was Peterssen. Alone in M. Felix's room he appropriates the revolver; other things as well, perhaps; but of the revolver we are morally convinced. What is his object in going there? I will tell you. He has doubts of M. Felix's death; he believes it to be a trick, and he thinks he may find something in M. Felix's room which will put him on the track of the man who had slipped out of his power. Reasoning the mystery out in this open way is very satisfactory, Agnold. Mists disappear; we see the light. How does it strike you?"

"You have convinced me, Bob," I said. "We will pursue the matter a little further. M. Felix is a man who is fond of pleasures which can be purchased only with money. Do you think he would voluntarily deprive himself of the means of obtaining it-for this is what his disappearance would lead him to, so long as he chose to conceal himself.

"Not at all likely," replied Bob, with a knowing look. "I can enlighten you on the point. It happens that I am acquainted with the manager of the branch bank at which M. Felix kept an account. After you had enlisted me in the present cause I became interested in everything concerning M. Felix, and in a confidential conversation with the bank manager I asked him whether M. Felix had a large balance standing to his credit. I learnt that he never had a large balance at the bank, and that he had certain bonds and shares of which he himself was the custodian. Ordinarily one entrusts such securities to the safe custody of the bank which transacts his business, but it was not so with M. Felix, and this fact leads to the presumption that it was his habit to keep himself personally possessed of negotiable property in preference to entrusting it to other keeping. From time to time checks from stock-brokers were paid in to the credit of M. Felix. In every instance the money was not allowed to lie in the bank for longer than a day or two. M. Felix invariably drew his own check for something near the amount of the last deposit, receiving payment in gold and bank notes. Two days before his supposed death a check for six thousand pounds odd was paid in to his credit, and on the following morning he went to the bank and drew out six thousand pounds in notes of various denominations, the numbers of which of course are known. Thus, unless he paid this money away, which is not at all likely, he must have been in possession of it when he disappeared. I am of the opinion that he had much more than the amount I have named, and if so he was well provided for. The peculiar position in which he stood would predispose him to keep always by him a large available sum of money in case of some emergency arising; an emergency did arise, and he could snap his fingers at the world, so far as money was concerned."

"This is a piece of valuable information, Bob. Do you know if any of these last bank notes have been presented for payment?"

"I do not. There was nothing to call for special investigation into the matter."

"But the notes can be traced."

"Perhaps. The habit of a man to keep large sums by him is generally of long standing, and Peterssen was probably acquainted with M. Felix's peculiarity in this respect. The visit he paid to Mrs. Middlemore and the plan he carried into effect for being left alone in the house may have been inspired by the hope that he would discover one of M. Felix's hiding-places for his money. I conclude that he was disappointed; on the night of M. Felix's disappearance he left no money behind him. Too old a bird for that."

The earnestness with which Bob had set forth his views had caused him to forget his cultivated method of speaking in short sentences. Now he relapsed into it.

"Adopting your theory," I said, "that M. Felix is living, do you think that he and Dr. Peterssen have met?"

"Should say not. To-night-when Sophy saw his ghost-was probably on his way to Tylney House. For what purpose, to us unknown."

"Bob, you said there was work for us to do. I confess myself at a loss how to proceed. M. Bordier's visit to you and his appropriation of the document hidden in the secret drawer have snapped the threads of my plans. Have you anything to suggest?"

"I have. Early to-morrow morning endeavor to find M. Bordier. Then consult with him."

"You do not propose that we should leave this spot at once?"

"No. If M. Bordier not in the village do something else before leaving. Pay a bold visit to Tylney House."

"For what purpose?"

"Confront Peterssen. Ascertain if M. Felix has been there."

"Psha! We can get nothing of Peterssen."

"Not so sure. He is hard up. Offer of a good reward too tempting a bait not to nibble at."

"Why, Bob, those are very nearly the words M. Bordier used to Emilia, and your scheme is the same as that which he suggested."

"Proves it a good one. M. Bordier a wealthy man, I judge?"

"He is."

"Wouldn't mind expending money to bring matter to a satisfactory conclusion?"

"He has said as much."

"Word to be depended upon?"

"Thoroughly."

"Depend upon him, then, for the needful. Peterssen will bite."

"And if he does not?"

"Crawley, the keeper. Remember what Sophy overheard him say. If he had a hundred pounds he would cut the cursed concern, and go to America. Emphatic-and doubtless true. Two birds to shoot at. Peterssen missed, Crawley remains. Aim well, bring him down."

"To-morrow morning, early, we will resume work, Bob."

"The earlier the better. Good-night."

CHAPTER LIII.

THE PORTRAIT OF GERALD PAGET

At nine o'clock next morning Bob, Sophy, and I breakfasted together. Sophy's fears were abated, although she had not quite got over her fright. During breakfast I succeeded in dispelling it completely by imparting to her, in confidence, the opinion we had formed that M. Felix was alive, and that it was his veritable self, and not his ghost, she had seen on the previous night. She listened with her mouth and eyes wide open.

"You heard him speak, Sophy?" She nodded. "Ghosts can't speak. He caught hold of you; he lifted you up; you felt his touch?" She nodded again. "Ghosts can't touch; they can't make you feel them; they are made of air, Sophy; you can walk right through them. Be easy in your mind. If it was M. Felix you saw" – she nodded again two or three times-"then he is alive, and we intend to hunt him down."

I gave her time to revolve the matter over in her mind, and conversed with Bob while she went through the process.

"Crikey!" she exclaimed presently. "What a game it is! Then it must 'ave been 'im as scared me in the night when I left aunty asleep in the kitchen. I never could make out 'ow it was he knew 'is way about in the dark as he did. He's a deep 'un, he is, and no mistake. Well, of all the moves! But what did he do it for?"

"It would take too long to explain," I said, "and then you might not understand. We are going out soon, and you may as well come with us. It would not be safe, perhaps, to leave you here alone."

Bob and I had debated the advisability of sending Sophy back to London, and had agreed to keep her with us, at least for a time, as there was a likelihood of her being useful.

Our first task when we sallied forth was to endeavor to obtain some information of M. Bordier, but in this we were unsuccessful. Not a person of whom we inquired could give us the slightest satisfaction, and we were reluctantly compelled to abandon our quest. I discussed with Bob whether I should write an account of what had occurred to Emilia, and we decided I should not do so.

It would take too long to give her a description of all circumstances, and anything short of a full description would only agitate her. Then, in all probability, M. Bordier had returned to London, and had seen her. I dispatched a telegram to her, to the effect that if she had anything of importance to communicate to us she had better do so by telegraph. This done we walked to Tylney House. Our search for M. Bordier had occupied us three or four hours, and when we reached the gloomy-looking building it was two o'clock. To our surprise, the gate was open. Without hesitation we entered the grounds, and there we saw a van, and three men piling furniture on it. This furniture was of the commonest kind, and the men appeared to be in a hurry. We looked at each other in amazement. What did it all mean?

"A break-up, I should say," suggested Bob. "Peterssen giving up business."

"There's Crawley, the keeper," whispered Sophy, pulling my coat.

The man had lounged from the house, and was regarding the removal of the furniture with dissatisfaction. Bob stepped to his side and we followed.

"Hallo, Maria," said Crawley; "you've been up to some fine tricks, you have. But I'm hanged if I can make head or tail of it." Bob motioned to Sophy not to speak. "Have you two gentlemen come on business?" continued Crawley. "Well, you've come too late. The brokers are in, and we're sold up."

"Then we cannot see Dr. Peterssen," I said.

"No, you can't," replied Crawley. "He's gone for good."

"I owe you," said Bob, in a bland voice, "ten shillings. Here's the money. Do you want to earn a ten-pound note, which might swell into fifty? There's a gentleman friend of ours who would stand that, and more perhaps, for services rendered."

"What kind of services?" inquired Crawley, pocketing the ten shillings.

"Information. Truthful and accurate information. The ten pound note sure. That much we guarantee, and wouldn't mind giving half on account. The fifty-pound almost as sure. Here, let me speak to you aside."

They walked a little way from us, and I did not interrupt their conversation, which lasted some twenty minutes. At the end of that time Bob left Crawley to say a few words to me.

"Go back to the inn," he said, "you and Sophy, and wait for me. Will join you there in an hour or so. Crawley and I going to have a drink."

I obeyed him without wasting time in asking questions, and Sophy and I returned to the inn. It was a disappointment that a telegram from Emilia had not arrived. But before Bob made his appearance an incident occurred which profoundly agitated me. I was sitting at the table, making, as was usual with me, a record of what had happened, in the doing of which I had occasion to take some papers from my pockets. Among these papers which I placed on the table was the photograph of Gerald Paget which I had found in M. Felix's room, his name being written on the back. While I wrote, Sophy remained quiet. The girl has a discretion; she knows when to speak and when to hold her tongue. My writing done I took up the papers to put them in my pocket, and in doing so the photograph dropped to the ground. Sophy stooped and picked it up, and was about to give it to me, when her eyes fell on it.

"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If it ain't the pickcher of Number One!"

"What?" I cried.

"It is," she said, looking at it with absolute tenderness. "It's the image of 'im, though he's older now than when it was took; but it's 'is face as clear as clear can be."

"Sophy," I said, rising in my excitement, "are you mad? Do you know what you are saying?"

"'Course I do. It's Number One I tell yer. I'll take my Bible oath on it!"

"You must be dreaming," I said. "This is the portrait of a gentleman who died many years ago."

"If he's dead," she persisted, "he's come to life agin, like Mr. Felix. It's Number One's pickcher, and nobody else's."

She was so positive that I was confounded by the possibilities her statement opened up, supposing her not to be mistaken. Nothing that I said could shake her conviction.

"I know 'is face as well as I know your'n," she said. "I can't be mistook. It's the pickcher of Number One."

At this juncture Bob entered the room. Anxious as I was to hear his news I first explained the incident to him, and it was an additional surprise to me when he ranged himself on Sophy's side.

"I accept everything," he said. "No villainy too monstrous for Peterssen. Corroborative evidence handy. Crawley!"

The man was outside in the passage, and at the summons he came in.

"Know this portrait?" asked Bob, handing it to him.

"Of course I do. It's Number One. How did you get hold of it?"

"Never mind. Are you positive it is his portrait?"

"I'll swear to it."

"That will do. Go and get something to eat, and be ready when I call you. Mind, no drinking."

Crawley gone, Bob turned his attention to me.

"Before I tell you arrangements entered into with Crawley, finish about this picture. Sophy says, portrait of Number One. Crawley will swear it. I believe it-name of Gerald Paget back of picture. Deduction-portrait of Gerald Paget. Further deduction-Number One and Gerald Paget same person. Startling-but Peterssen and M. Felix, damned scoundrels, pair of them. No villainy too monstrous for them. In circumstance of Number One and Gerald Paget being same person, his solution of Peterssen's power over M. Felix. What does lady we are working for overhear? Overhears Peterssen threaten to ruin M. Felix; overhears him refer to a pleasant partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago. Overhears him ask M. Felix if he has forgotten his brother Gerald. Not idle words. On the contrary, deeply, darkly significant. To my mind, quite clear-and convincing. Splendid links of circumstantial evidence. Gerald Paget alive instead of dead, additional reason for M. Felix's disappearance. Threatened not on two sides, but on three. Peterssen-Gerald Paget-Gerald Paget's wife. Desperate fix for M. Felix. Your opinion, Agnold?"

"Coincides with yours, Bob. Light is truly breaking in upon this mystery."

"Right you are. Now to explain Crawley. Have taken him in our service-for one month, certain-thirty shillings a week. Matters brought to satisfactory conclusion, promise of passage to America, with few pounds in his pocket. No doubt M. Bordier will do what we wish, and indemnify us. If not, won't ruin us. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"I come now to Peterssen and Tylney House. Briefly. Things been going wrong for some time past. Peterssen in pecuniary difficulties. Dunned on all sides for money owing. Tradesmen threaten to stop supplies. Last night, Peterssen in frightful rage. Door of private room locked. Key missing. Door forced open. Something stolen from room. Crawley doesn't know what. We do. Sophy, otherwise Maria, nowhere to be found. Row between Peterssen and Crawley. Peterssen accuses Crawley of treachery. Crawley calls him another. At midnight Crawley hears bell ring. Peterssen answers it-admits visitor. Crawley doesn't see him. Visitor sleeps there-is there this morning-but Crawley can't catch sight of him. Keeps himself dark. Crawley sent on bogus errand. Occupies him three hours. Returns to find visitor gone, Peterssen gone, Number One gone. Note left for Crawley from his master. Concern burst up. In note, small sum for wages due. Not half what is due. Crawley furious, but helpless. I have enlisted him. He is to assist us to track Peterssen. That's all."

"Bob," said I, "Peterssen must be hunted down and brought to justice."

"He must," said Bob, "and shall be."

"There is some fresh villainy hatching," I said. "If possible we must prevent it. You will stand by me?"

"To the end," said Bob.

CHAPTER LIV.

OBTAIN AN EXPLANATION FROM EMILIA

It was now between five and six o'clock, and we did not wait for the night to pass before we commenced the task of hunting Dr. Peterssen down. The immediate result, however, was unsatisfactory. Indefatigable as we were we learnt nothing, and Crawley proved to be rather in our way than otherwise. Dr. Peterssen's movements must have been cunningly made indeed to so baffle us. We went to the railway station, but the station-master was positive that three such men as we described had not taken tickets for any place during the day. He could have identified Dr. Peterssen; of Peterssen's patient or of M. Felix he had no knowledge.

"There isn't much traffic here," he said, "and we know pretty well who comes and goes."

"But strangers sometimes pass through," I observed.

"That goes without saying," he responded.

"They might have travelled separately," suggested Bob.

"They might," said the station-master.

"It is hardly likely," I said aside to Bob, "that this would be the case. If Peterssen and M. Felix have come together again, Peterssen would not lose sight of his villainous partner; and neither of them would lose sight of the gentleman they have wronged."

I consulted the time-table. There was no other direct train to London that night, but a train passed through, without stopping, at 11.40. I inquired of the station-master whether it was possible for the train to stop a few seconds to take me up to London, and he answered that it could be managed. Having arranged the matter with him I left the station, accompanied by Bob and Sophy. Crawley lingered behind; he had a flask with him, out of which he took frequent drinks. I had already arrived at the conclusion that he would be of little assistance in tracking Dr. Peterssen, but as his evidence might be valuable in the event of our hunting Peterssen down I thought it advisable to keep him about us.