The Haute Noblesse: A Novel

Harry was silent for a few minutes, and then replied —

“Yes.”

“Your hand on it.”

Harry stretched out his hand unwillingly, and it was taken and held.

“I shall hold you to it now, my lad. Now, then, when is it to be?”

“Oh, first opportunity.”

“No; it’s going to be now – to-night – as soon as it’s dark.”

“Nonsense, it must be some day – when Crampton is not there.”

“That means it will not be done at all, for Crampton never leaves; you told me so. Look here, Harry Vine, if you borrow the amount then, and it’s missed, of course you are asked directly, and there you are. No, my lad, you’ll have to go to-night.”

“But it will be like housebreaking.”

“Bah! You’ll go quietly in by the back way, make your way along the passage to Van Heldre’s room, take the keys down from the hook – ”

“How did you know that the keys hung there?”

“Because, my dear little man, I have wormed it all out of you by degrees. To continue: you will go down the glass passage, open the office door, go to the safe, open that, get the two hundred – ”

“Two hundred! You said fifty would do.”

“Yes, but then I said a hundred, and now I think two will be better. Easier paid back. You can work more spiritedly with large sums than with small. You’ve got to do this, Harry Vine, so no nonsense.”

Harry was silent.

“When you have the notes, you will lock all up as before, and then if they are missing before we return them, which is not likely, who can say that you have been there? Bah! don’t be so squeamish. You’ve got to do that to-night. You have promised, and you shall. It is for your good, my lad.”

“Yes, and yours,” said Harry gloomily.

“Of course. Emancipation for us both.”

Harry was silent, and soon after they rose and strolled back to the old house, where through the open window came the strains of music, and the voices of Madelaine and Louise harmonised in a duet.

“One less at Van Heldre’s, lad. The old man will be having his evening pipe, and the doors open. Nothing could be better. Half-past nine, mind, while they are at tea. It will be quite dark then.”

Harry was silent, and the two young men entered and sat down, their coming seeming to cast a damp on the little party, for the music was put aside and work taken up, Vine being busy with some notes of his day’s observations of the actions of a newly found mollusc.

Tea was brought in at about a quarter-past nine, and Pradelle rose and went to the window.

“What a beautiful night, Harry,” he said. “Coming for half an hour’s stroll before bed?”

“Don’t you want some tea?” said Harry, loudly.

“No. Do you?”

“No,” said Harry shortly; and he rose and went out, followed by his friend.

“You mean this then,” he said, as soon as they were out on the cliff.

“No; but you do. There is just time for it, so now go.”

Harry hesitated for a few minutes, and then strode off down toward the town, Pradelle keeping step with him, till they reached the street where a lane branched off, going round by the back of Van Heldre’s house, but on a higher level, a flight of steps leading down into the half garden, half yard, overlooked by the houses at the back, whose basements were level with Van Heldre’s first floor.

The time selected by Pradelle for the carrying out of his scheme happened to be Crampton’s club night, and, according to his weekly custom, he had gone to the old-fashioned inn where it was kept, passing a muffled-up figure as he went along, the said figure turning in at one of the low entrances leading to dock premises as the old clerk came out, so that he did not see the face.

It was a trifling matter, but it was not the first time Crampton had seen this figure loitering about at night, and it somehow impressed him so that he did not enjoy his one glass of spirits and water and his pipe. But the matter seemed to have slipped his memory for the time that he was transacting his club business, making entries and the like. Later on it came back with renewed force.

Harry and Pradelle parted in the dark lane with very few more words spoken, the understanding being that they should meet at home at half-past nine.

As soon as the former was alone he walked slowly on round the front of Van Heldre’s house, and there, according to custom, sat the merchant smoking his nightly pipe, resting one arm upon the table, with the shaded lamp shining down on his bald forehead, and a thoughtful, dreamy look in his eyes. Mrs Van Heldre was seated opposite working and respecting her husband’s thoughtful mood, for he was in low spirits respecting the wreck of his ship. Insurance made up the monetary loss, but nothing could restore the poor fellows who had gone down.

Harry stood on the opposite side watching thoughtfully.

“It would be very easy,” he said to himself. “Just as we planned, I can slip round to the back, drop in the garden, go in, take the keys, get the money, lock up again, and go and hang up the keys. Yes; how easy for any one who knows, and how risky it seems for him to leave his place like that. But then it is people’s want of knowledge which forms the safest lock.”

“Yes,” he said, after a pause, as he stood there in profound ignorance of the fact that the muffled-up figure which had taken Crampton’s attention was in a low dark doorway, watching his every movement. “Yes, it would be very easy; and in spite of all your precious gloss, Master Victor Pradelle, I should feel the next moment that I had been a thief; and I’ll drudge as a clerk till I’m ninety-nine before I’ll do anything of the kind.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned off down by the harbour side, and hardly had he reached the water when Pradelle walked slowly up to the front of the house, noted the positions of those within by taking his stand just beneath the arched doorway opposite, and so close to the watcher that they nearly touched.

The next moment Pradelle had passed on.

“I knew he hadn’t the pluck,” he muttered bitterly. “A contemptible hound! Well, he shall see.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, and as if he were quite at home about the place, Pradelle went round to the narrow back lane and stood by the gate leading down the steps into the yard. As he pressed the gate it gave way, and he could see that the doorway into the glazed passage was open, for the light in the hall shone through.

There was no difficulty at all; and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped lightly down, ready with an excuse that he was seeking Harry, if he should meet any one; but the excuse was not needed. He walked softly and boldly into the passage, turned to his light, and entered the back room, which acted as Van Heldre’s private office and study. The keys lay where he knew them to be – in a drawer, which he opened and took them out, and then walked straight along the glazed passage to the office. The door yielded to the key, and he entered. The inner office was locked, but that was opened by a second key, and the safe showed dimly by the reflected lights which shone through the barred window.

“How easy these things are!” said Pradelle to himself, as he unlocked the safe; “enough to tempt a man to be a burglar.”

The iron door creaked faintly as he drew it open, and then began to feel about hastily, and with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. Books in plenty, but no notes.

With an exclamation of impatience, he drew out a little match-box, struck a light, and saw that there was an iron drawer low down. The flame went out, but he had seen enough, and stooping he dragged out the drawer, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with a leaden paper weight, beneath which, tied round with tape, was a bundle of notes.

“Hah!” he muttered with a half laugh, “I can’t stop to count you. Yes, I must, or they’ll miss ’em. Its tempting though. Humph! tied both – ”

Thud!

One heavy blow on the back of Victor Pradelle’s head which sent him staggering forward against the door of the safe; then he felt in a confused, half-stunned way that something had been snatched from his hand. A dead silence followed, during which his head swam, but he had sufficient sense left to totter across the outer office, and along the passage to the garden yard.

How he got outside into the little lane he could not afterwards remember, his next recollection being of sitting down on the steps by the water-side bathing his face.

Five minutes before Harry Vine had been in that very spot, from which he turned to go home.

“Let him say what he likes,” muttered the young man, “I must have been mad to listen to him. Why – ”

Harry Vine stopped short, for a thought had struck him like a flash.

How it was – why he should have such a suspicion he could not tell; but a terrible thought had seemed to burn into his brain. Then he felt paralysed as he shivered, and uttering an ejaculation full of rage and anger, he started off at a run toward Van Heldre’s place.

“Nonsense!” he said to himself, and he checked his headlong speed. “What folly!”

He walked on past a group of seamen, who had just quitted a public-house, and was about to turn up the lane which led to his home, when the thought came once more.

“Curse him!” he said, half aloud, “I’d sooner kill him,” and hurrying back, he made straight for the lane behind Van Heldre’s.

The gate yielded, he stepped down quickly into the yard, walked to the open door, looked to the right toward the hall, and then to the left toward the office. A dim light shone down the passage, and his heart seemed to stand still. The office door was open, and without hesitation he turned down the passage panting with horror, as he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. He crossed the outer room, the inner door was shut, and entering, he paused for a moment.

“Vic?” he whispered harshly.

All was still.

Trembling now with agitation, he was rapidly crossing to the safe when he stepped on something which gave beneath his feet, and he nearly fell headlong.

Recovering himself, he stooped down to pick up the heavy ebony ruler used by old Crampton, and polished by rubs of his coat-tail till it shone.

Harry felt giddy now with excitement, but he went to the safe door, felt that it was swung open, and groaning to himself, “Too late, too late!” he bent his head; felt for the drawer.

Empty!

“You scoundrel!” he groaned; “but he shall give up every note, and – ”

Once more he felt as if paralysed, for as he turned from the safe he knew that he was not alone in the office.

Caught in the act! Burglary – the open safe – the notes gone, who would believe in his innocence?

He could think of nothing else, as he heard Van Heldre’s voice in the darkness – one fierce angry utterance – “Who’s there?”

“He does not know me,” flashed through Harry Vine’s brain.

“You villain!” cried Van Heldre, springing at him.

It was the instinctive act of one smitten by terror, despair, shame, and the desire to escape – a mad act, but prompted by the terrible position. As Van Heldre sprang at him and grasped at his breast, Harry Vine struck with all his might, the heavy rule fell with a sickening crash upon the unguarded head, he felt a sudden tug, and with a groan his father’s friend sank senseless on the floor.

For one moment Harry Vine stood bending over his victim; then uttering a hoarse sigh, he leaped over the body and fled.

Chapter Twenty

In the Black Shadow

Mrs Van Heldre let her work fall in her lap and gazed across at her husband.

“I suppose Harry Vine will walk home with Madelaine?” she said.

“Eh? Maddy? I’d forgotten her,” said Van Heldre laying down his pipe. “No; I’ll go up and fetch her myself.”

“Do, dear, but don’t stay.”

“Not I,” was the reply; and going out of the dining-room, where he always sat when he had his evening pipe, the merchant went into the study, where by the dim light he saw that his writing-table drawer was open.

“How’s that?” he thought. “Did I – No.”

He ran out into the passage, saw that his office door was open, and entered to receive the blow which laid him senseless before the safe.

Van Heldre did not lie there long.

Crampton came away from the old inn, stick in hand, conscious of having done a good evening’s work over the business of the Fishermen’s Benefit Club, the men having paid up with unusual regularity; but all the same, he did not feel satisfied. Those pedlar sailor men troubled him. They had been hanging about the town for some time, and though he knew nothing against them, he had, as a respectable householder, a confirmed dislike to all nomadic trading gentry. To him they were, whether Jew or Gentile, French or German, all gipsies, and belonging to a class who, to use his words, never took anything out of their reach.

He felt sure that the man he had seen in the darkness was one of these, and blaming himself now for not having taken further notice of the matter, he determined to call at his employer’s on his way home to mention the fact.

“Better late than never,” he said, and he stumped steadily down the main street as a man walks who is possessed of a firm determination to do his duty.

As he went on he peered down every one of the dark, narrow alleys which led to the water-side places, all reeking of tar and old cordage, and creosoted nets, and with more than a suspicion of the celebrated ancient and fishlike smell so often quoted.

“If I had my way,” said Crampton, “I’d have a lamp at each end of those places. They’re too dark – too dark.”

But though he scanned each place carefully, he did not see any lurking figure, and he went on till he reached his employer’s house, where, through the well-lit window, he could see Mrs Van Heldre looking plump, rosy, and smiling, as she busied herself in putting away her work.

Crampton stopped at the opposite side, took off his hat and scratched his head.

“Now if I go and tell him what I think, he’ll call me a nervous old fool, and abuse me for frightening his wife.”

He hesitated, and instead of going to the front door, feeling that perhaps, after all, he had taken an exaggerated view of things, he went on to the corner of the house and lane, with the intention of having a look round and then going on home.

He had just gone about half way, when there was a loud rap given by the gate leading down into Van Heldre’s yard. Some one had thrown it violently back against the wooden step, and that somebody had sprung out and run down the lane in the opposite direction to that by which the old clerk had come.

“Hah!” he ejaculated, and hurrying on he hastily descended the steps, entered the passage, and trembling now in every limb, made his way into the office, where, with all the regular method of the man of business, he quickly took a box of matches from the chimney-piece, and turned on and lit one of the gas burners.

The soft light from the ground-glass globe showed nothing wrong as he glanced round.

Yes; something was missing – the heavy ebony ruler which always reposed on the two brass hooks like a weapon of war at the end of his desk. That was gone.

Crampton’s brow knitted, and his hands shook so that he could hardly strike a second match, as he pushed open the door and entered the inner office where, forcing himself not to look round, he lit another gas jet before taking in the scene at a glance.

There lay Van Heldre, bleeding profusely from a terrible cut on the forehead, the safe was open, and in a very few minutes the old clerk knew that the packet of bank-notes was gone.

“But I’ve got all their numbers entered,” he said to himself, as he went down on his knee by his master’s side, and now, knowing the worst, growing moment by moment more calm and self-contained.

His first act was to take his voluminous white cravat from his neck, and bind it tightly round Van Heldre’s temples to staunch the bleeding.

“I knew no good would come of it,” he muttered. “I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?” he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man’s ear.

There was no reply; just a spasm and a twitching of the hands.

“What shall I do?” thought Crampton. “Give the alarm? No; only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor.”

He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night.

“Eh? Van Heldre?” he said. “Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?”

“Yes.”

Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back.

The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words “Police Station” over the door.

“Where is your husband?” said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman.

“On his rounds, sir.”

“I want him at our office. Can I find him? Can you?”

“I know where he’ll be in about ten minutes, sir,” said the woman promptly, as if she were a doctor’s helpmate.

“Very well,” said Crampton. “Get him and send him on.”

The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man’s face, when he heard the doctor’s step.

“Hah!” said the latter, after a brief examination, “we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton.”

“Is he much hurt, sir?”

“Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?”

“Or thief, sir,” said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. “My dear master! what would his poor father have said?”

“Hush! Be firm, man,” said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. “Does Mrs Van Heldre know?”

Crampton shook his head.

“I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once.”

“But she must be told.”

“John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine.”

Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man.

“Doctor Knatchbull! what is the matter – a fit?”

The trouble was culminating, for another voice was heard in the glass corridor.

“Papa! papa! here is Mr Vine. He walked home with me. I made him come in. Oh, what a shame to be at work so late!”

“Keep her – keep her back,” gasped Mrs Van Heldre, and then with a piteous sob she sank down by Van Heldre’s side.

“John, my husband! speak to me, oh, speak,” she moaned as she raised his head to her lap.

“Ah, you want Brother Luke to you, John Van,” cried Vine, as with Madelaine on his arm he came to the door of the inner room.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Madelaine uttered a wild cry, and ran to her father’s side.

“Good heavens! Crampton, what is it?” cried Vine excitedly, – “a fit?”

“No, sir, struck down by a villain – a thief – and that thief – ”

Crampton stopped short in the midst of his excitement, for there was a heavy step now in the passage, and the sergeant of police and one of his men came in.

“Yes. I’ve had my eye on a couple of strangers lately,” he said, as he took out a book and gave a sharp look round. “P’r’aps Mr Crampton, sir, you’ll give me the information I want.”

“Mr Crampton will give you no information at all,” said the keen-looking doctor angrily. “The first thing is to save the man’s life. Here, sergeant, and you, my man, help me to carry him up to his bed – or no – well, yes, he’ll be better in his own room. Pray, ladies, pray stand aside.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Madelaine excitedly, as she rose. “Mother, dear, we must be calm and helpful.”

“Yes; but – but – ” moaned the poor woman.

“Yes, dearest,” cried Madelaine, “afterwards. Dr Knatchbull wants our help.”

“Good girl,” said the doctor, nodding. “Get the scissors, some old linen, and basin, sponge and water, in the bedroom.”

“Yes, doctor,” said Madelaine, perfectly calm and self-contained now. “Mother, dear, I want your help.”

She knelt down and pressed her lips for a moment to her father’s cheek, and then placed her arm round her mother, and led her away.

An hour later, when everything possible had been done, and Mrs Van Heldre was seated by her husband’s pillow, Vine being on the other side holding his friend’s hand, Madelaine showed the doctor into the next room.

“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”

“My dear child,” said the doctor, “You know all that I know. Some scoundrel must have been surprised by your father, and – ”

“Doctor,” said Madelaine quietly, and with her clear matter-of-fact eyes gazing into his, “I have been praying for strength to help my mother and my poor father in this terrible affliction. I feel as if the strength had been given to me, so speak now as if I were a woman whom you could trust. Tell me the whole truth.”

The doctor gazed at her with a look full of admiration, and taking her hand, he said kindly:

“I was treating you as if you were a girl, but I will tell you the truth. I am going to telegraph to town for Mr Reston; there is a fracture and pressure on the brain.”

“And great danger, doctor?”

“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “and great danger. But, please God, my child, we will save his life. He is a fine, strong, healthy man. There; I can say no more.”

“Thank you,” said Madelaine calmly, and she quietly left the room.

“Any one might think that she did not feel it,” said the doctor slowly; “but I know better than that. It’s wonderful what a woman will suffer without making a sign. I cannot telegraph till eight o’clock, but I may as well write my message,” he muttered, as he went down-stairs. “Humph! the news is spreading. Somebody come.”

Chapter Twenty One

Harry Looks the Fact in the Face

Harry Vane checked his headlong pace as soon as he was out of the lane, and walked swiftly along by the harbour till he reached the sea. Here, in the shelter of a rock, he stooped down and lit a cigar, before throwing himself on a patch of shingle, and holding his temples with his hands, as he tried to quell the tumult in his brain and to think calmly.

But it was in vain. He felt half mad, and as if the best way out of his difficulty was to go and leap into the sea.

“Curse Pradelle!” he groaned. “I wish I had never seen him – coward, thief, cheat! Oh, what am I talking about? Why didn’t I face it, and tell Van Heldre the honest truth? I was innocent. No, no; I was as bad as Pradelle, and he shall disgorge. Every penny shall go back. If he says no, come what may, I’ll out with the whole truth.”

“I couldn’t help it,” he groaned after a pause. “I’d give anything to have frankly told the truth.”

He walked quickly home, and assuming a calmness he did not feel, entered the drawing-room, where Louise was seated reading.

“Your company gone?” he said roughly.

“Yes, dear. Papa has walked home with Madelaine.”

Harry turned sharply round, for he mentally pictured in one agonising thought the scene at Van Heldre’s home.

“Is anything the matter?” asked Louise.

“Matter? No. It’s very dark outside, and the light makes one’s eyes ache. Seen Pradelle?”

“No, dear,” said Louise gravely. “I thought he went out with you.”

“Yes, of course, but he likes to go wandering about the town. I wanted a quiet smoke by the water-side. I’m tired. I think I shall go to bed.”

“Do, dear. I’ll wait till papa comes.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Harry dear,” she said rising, and, putting her arms around his neck, she laid her cheek to his. “Good night, dear. Harry darling, don’t worry about the work. Do it like a brave, true man; it will make father so happy.”

There was a sudden catching sob in Harry Vine’s throat, as like a flash, the memory of old happy boy and girl days came back. He caught his sister to his breast, and held her tightly there as he kissed her passionately again and again.

“My darling brother!” cried Louise as she tightened her grasp about his neck. “And you will try for all our sakes.”

“Yes, yes,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

“Never mind what poor aunt says. Be a man – a frank, honourable man, Harry. It is the order of the true haute noblesse after all. You will try?”

“Please God, yes, Lou – so hard – ah, so hard.”

“That’s like my dear brother once again,” she cried, fondling him. “There, darling, I’m speaking to you like our mother would. Let me be your mother to you as well as sister. You will begin again?”