Colonel Thorndyke's Secret

Although not inclined at the present time to agree with Mark in anything, Millicent could not but acknowledge that it were best that Ramoo should not be urged further to reconsider his determination, and she also fell in with his proposal that they should go up to London for a week, and then go down to Weymouth for a time, after which they would be guided by circumstances. Accordingly, two days later, Mark drove Millicent and Mrs. Cunningham up to London. A groom accompanied them on Mark’s favorite horse. This was to be left in town for his use, and the groom was to drive the carriage back again. Comfortable rooms were obtained in a quiet inn for the ladies, while Mark put up at the Bull, saying that he would come every day to take them out.

“Why did not Mark stay here, Mrs. Cunningham?” Millicent asked pettishly.

“I suppose he thought it better that he should not do so; and I own that I think he was right.”

“When we were, as we supposed, no relation to each other,” Millicent said, “we could be like brother and sister. Now that we find that we are cousins we are going to be stiff and ceremonious.”

“Not necessarily because you are cousins, Millicent. Before, you were his father’s ward, and under his father’s care; now you are a young lady on your own account. You must see that the position is changed greatly, and that what was quite right and proper before would not be at all right and proper now.”

Millicent shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, if Mark wishes to be distant and stiff he can certainly do so if he likes it. It makes no matter to me.”

“That is not at all fair, Millicent, and very unlike yourself. Had not Mark suggested his going to another inn, I should have suggested it myself.”

“Oh, yes; no doubt it is better,” Millicent said carelessly. “He has several friends in town, and of course we cannot expect him to be devoting himself to us.”

Mrs. Cunningham raised her eyebrows slightly, but made no answer. Millicent was seldom wayward, but at present things had gone very hardly with her, and her friend felt that it would be better to leave her entirely to herself until her humor changed. In the morning, when Mark came round, Millicent announced that she felt tired with the drive of the previous day, and would prefer staying indoors. Mark looked a little surprised, more at the tone than at the substance of the words, for the manner in which she spoke showed that the excuse she had given was not her only reason for not going out.

“Of course, I shall stay at home too,” Mrs. Cunningham said quietly, as he glanced toward her inquiringly. “Millicent is unnerved and shaken, and perhaps it is just as well for her to have a day’s complete rest.”

“Very well, Mrs. Cunningham; then I will, as I cannot be of any use to you, set about my own business for the day. I have already been round to the lawyer’s, and have got a check for Ramoo’s legacy. He will be up this afternoon, and I will go round to Leadenhall Street and find out what ships are sailing and when they start. I will come in this evening for a chat.”

Millicent sat without speaking for some minutes after he had left the room. Mrs. Cunningham, whose hands were always busy, took some work out of a bag and set to work at it industriously. Presently the girl said:

“What business is this that Mark is going to occupy himself in?”

“I do not know much about it,” she replied. “But from a few words which he let drop I believe that he intends to devote himself to discovering and hunting down your uncle’s murderer.”

The listless expression faded out at once of Millicent’s face.

“But surely, Mrs. Cunningham, that will be very dangerous work.”

“No doubt it will be dangerous work, but I don’t think that that is likely to hinder Mark. The man, whoever he may be, is of course a desperate character, and not likely to be captured without making a fierce struggle for it.”

“Then he ought to put the matter in the hands of the proper authorities,” Millicent said decidedly. “Of course such men are dangerous. Very likely, this man may have accomplices, and it is not against one only that Mark will have to fight. He has no right to risk his life in so desperate an adventure.”

Mrs. Cunningham smiled quietly over her work. The Squire had often confided to her how glad he would be if these two should some day come together. In that case the disclosure after marriage of the real facts of the case would cause no disturbance or difficulty. The estate would be theirs, and it would not matter which had brought it into the partnership; she had thoroughly agreed with him, but so far nothing had occurred to give any ground for the belief that their hopes would be fulfilled.

Till within the last year Millicent had been little more than a child; she had looked up to Mark as she might have done to a big brother, as something most admirable, as one whose dictum was law. During the last year there had been some slight change, but more, perhaps, on Mark’s part than on hers. He had consulted her wishes more, had asked instead of ordered, and had begun to treat her as if conscious that she was fast growing up into womanhood.

Millicent herself scarcely seemed to have noticed this change. She was little more inclined to assert herself than before, but was ready to accompany him whenever he wished her to do so, or to see him go away without complaint, when it so pleased him; but the last week had made a rapid change in their position. Millicent had sprung almost at a bound into a young woman. She had come to think and resolve for herself; she was becoming wayward and fanciful; she no longer deferred to Mark’s opinion, but held her own, and was capable of being vexed at his decisions. At any rate, her relations with Mark had changed rapidly, and Mrs. Cunningham considered this little outburst of pettishness to be a good omen for her hopes, and very much better than if they had continued on their old footing of affectionate cousins.

Mark went back again to the lawyer’s, and had a long talk with Mr. Prendergast over the lost treasure. The old lawyer scoffed at the idea that there could be any danger associated with the bracelet.

“Men in India, I suppose, get fanciful,” he said, “and imbibe some of the native superstitions. The soldier who got them from the man who stole them was stabbed. He might have been stabbed for a thousand reasons, but he had the bracelet on his mind. He was forever hiding it and digging it up, and fancying that someone was on his track, and he put down the attack as being made by someone connected with it. His manner impressed your uncle. He concealed the diamonds or sent them off somewhere, instantly. He never had any further trouble about them, but like many men who have a craze, fancied that he was being perpetually watched and followed. The unfortunate result of all this is that these jewels and the money that he accumulated during his service in India seem to be lost. A more stupid affair I never heard of.

“Now, as to the clew, any reasonable man would have given full instructions as to how the treasure was to be found; or if he did not do that, would, at least, instead of carrying about an absurd coin and a scrap of paper with a name upon it, have written his instructions and put them in that ridiculous hiding place, or, more wisely still, would have instructed his solicitor fully on the subject. The amount of trouble given by men, otherwise perfectly sane, by cranks and fancies is astonishing. Here is something like 100,000 pounds lost owing to a superstitious whim. As to your chance of finding the treasure, I regard it as small indeed. The things are hidden in India, in some old tomb, or other rubbishing place. Your uncle may have committed them to the charge of a native; he may have sent them to a banker at one of the great towns; he may have shipped them to England. He may have sent them to the North Pole for anything I know. How can one begin to search the universe?”

“I thought, sir, that perhaps he might have sent them to some London Bank or agent, with instructions to hold them until claimed by him, and that perhaps an inquiry among such houses would lead to the discovery that they hold certain property forwarded by him.”

“Well; there is some sense in that suggestion,” Prendergast grumbled, “and I suppose the first thing to be done will be to carry that out. If you wish, we will do it for you. They would be more likely to give the information, if they possess it, to a well known firm of solicitors like ourselves than to any private individual. Besides, if you were to go yourself, they would in each case want you to be identified before they would answer any question, whereas I should write a note to them in the firm’s name, with our compliments, saying that we should be glad to know if the late Colonel Thorndyke, of whose will we are the executors, had any account at their firm or has deposited any property in their hands. There are not above five or six banks doing business with India, and as many agents in a large way of business; and if he did such a foolish thing, he would be certain to do it with some houses of good standing—if, indeed, anything can be taken as certain in the case of a gentleman with such extraordinary fancies and plans as his.”

“Thank you, Mr. Prendergast,” Mark said, with a slight smile at the lawyer’s irritability; “that will be clearing the ground to a certain extent. If that does not succeed, I think I shall go to India myself, and shall there make similar inquiries at all the principal establishments at Calcutta and Madras. Should I fail there, it seems to me that the only remaining plan will be to find out from the military authorities the place where my uncle’s regiment was encamped on the day—we have the date on which the jewels were given to him—and to institute a minute search of all the old ruins within such a distance as he might have reached within a day’s ride.”

“But you have no certainty that it was a ruin. He might have dug a hole under his tent and have buried the things there; he might have taken a shovel and buried them in a clump of bushes a quarter of a mile away. The thing is more and more ridiculous the more you look at it.”

“I see it is very difficult, sir, but one might narrow it down somewhat if one discovered the spot. Probably there are still native officers in the regiment who were there at the time. If so, they might possibly know who was my uncle’s servant at the time. The man may be a pensioner, and in that case I might discover his address through the military authorities, and I could find out from him whether my uncle often rode out at night, what were his habits, and possibly where the tent stood, and so on.”

“Well,” Mr. Prendergast said, “if you like to undertake a wild goose chase of this sort it is your business, and not mine; but I consider the idea is the most Utopian that I ever heard of. As to where the tent stood, is it likely that a man would remember to within a hundred yards where a tent stood fourteen years ago? Why, you might dig up acres and acres of ground and not be sure then that you had hit upon the right place.”

“There is one other circumstance, Mr. Prendergast,” Mark said quietly, “that has to be taken into consideration, and which renders it improbable that these diamonds were hidden anywhere by my uncle himself at that time. He certainly spoke of the whole of this treasure collectively. It is morally certain that he would not carry all these jewels that he had been collecting about with him, and certainly not his treasure in money. He must, therefore, have sent these diamonds to the person, whoever he may be, who had the keeping of his other jewels and of his money. This certainly points to a bank.”

“There is a sensible conjecture. Yes, there is something in that. He certainly could not have carried about him 50,000 pounds in gold and as much in jewelry; it would have been the act of a madman, and Colonel Thorndyke, although eccentric and cranky, was not mad. But, on the other hand, he may have carried about a banker’s passbook, or what is equivalent to it, for the amount that had been deposited with a native banker or agent, together with a receipt for the box containing the jewels, and this he might have hidden with the diamonds.”

“I don’t think that he would have done that; there could have been no object for his putting the power of demanding his money and valuables out of his possession.”

“Well, well,” the lawyer said testily, “it is of no use arguing now what he might or might not have done. A man who would have taken the trouble that he did to prevent his daughter knowing that she was an heiress, and fancied that he was followed about by black fellows, might do anything, reasonable or unreasonable, under the sun. At any rate, Mr. Thorndyke, I will carry out your instructions as to inquiries in London, and will duly inform you of the result; beyond that I must really decline to give any advice or opinion upon the matter, which is altogether beyond me.”

On leaving the lawyer’s, Mark went to Bow Street, and related to the chief the circumstances attending his father’s murder.

“I have heard them from the man I sent down at your request, Mr. Thorndyke, and taking the attempt early in the evening and the subsequent murder, there can be no doubt that the affair was one of revenge, and not of robbery. Had the second attempt stood alone, robbery might have been the object; the mere fact that nothing was stolen in no way alters the case. Men are often seized with a certain panic after committing a murder, and fly at once without attempting to carry out their original purpose. Your father, no doubt, fell heavily, and the man might well have feared that the fall would be heard; but the previous attempt precludes the supposition that robbery was at the bottom of it. It points to a case of revenge, and certainly goes a very long way to support the theory that we talked over when I last saw you, that the highwayman who endeavored to stop you on the road, whom you wounded, and who afterwards went down to Southampton, was the escaped convict, Bastow. Since that time I have had a man making inquiries along the roads between Reigate and Kingston, but altogether without success. I should be glad to follow up any other line that you might suggest, and that might offer any reasonable possibility of success, but I must own that at present we are entirely off the scent.”

“I am thinking of devoting myself entirely to the quest. I have no occupation at present. I have an income amply sufficient for my wants, and for all expenses that I may incur, and I intend to devote, if necessary, some years of my life to hunting this man down. As your men have searched without success in the country, I think for the present my best plan will be to devote myself to learning something of the ways and haunts of the criminal classes of London, and it is with that object that I have come to you now. I should like, for some time, at any rate, to enter the detective force as an enrolled member. I should, of course, require no pay, but should be prepared to obey all orders and to do any work required, as any other member of the corps would do. I am strong, active, and have, I hope, a fair share of intelligence. I should not mind risking my life in carrying out any duty that you might assign to me. I presume that I need not always be on duty, and could, when not required, employ my time as I liked, and keep up my acquaintances in town. Should it be otherwise, however, I am perfectly ready to submit myself in all respects to your rule. I have a first rate horse and should be available for country duty, wherever you might think fit to send me. I should not desire any distinction to be made between me and the paid officers.”

“Your proposal is an altogether novel one, Mr. Thorndyke, but it is worthy of consideration. I have no doubt that you would make a very useful officer; the work is certainly interesting, though not without serious hazards. However, I will think the matter over, and if you will call in tomorrow you shall have my answer. We are always glad to have a new hand in the force, for the faces of our men are so well known among the criminal class that they are liable to be detected even under the cleverest disguises. There is work, too, upon which it is absolutely necessary that a gentleman should be employed, and in the event of your joining us, I should wish you to keep the matter strictly from all your acquaintances; and it would certainly be advantageous that you should, when disengaged, continue to mix with your friends and to mingle in society of all kinds as freely as possible. There is crime among the upper classes as well as among the lower, though of a different type; and as Mr. Thorndyke of Crowswood you would have far better opportunities of investigating some of these cases than any of my men would have. You would not object to take up such cases?”

“Not at all, sir; that is, if it could be arranged that I should not do the actual work of making an arrest, or have to appear in court as a witness.”

“That could be managed,” the chief said “When you have got to a certain point the matter of the final arrest could always be handed over to someone else, but as a rule we keep our officers in the background as much as possible, because at every trial the court is half full of men of the criminal class, and the faces of our men would soon be known to every one of them. Well, if you will call about ten o’clock tomorrow you shall have my answer; but I should advise you to think the matter well over before you see me again. The responsibilities as well as the dangers are great, and indeed in some of the work you would literally have to carry your life in your hand; and I can assure you that the task you would undertake is by no means a light one.”

CHAPTER XI

Mark called that evening, as he had promised, upon Mrs. Cunningham.

“I hope that you feel all the better for your day’s rest, Millicent,” he said.

The girl looked quickly at him to see if there was any sarcasm in the question, but it was evident that the inquiry was made in earnest.

“Yes, I feel better now,” she said. “I have dozed a good deal today. I did not feel up to anything. Mrs. Cunningham’s work has progressed wonderfully. I should say that she has done more today than she ordinarily finds time to do in a week. What have you been doing with yourself?”

“I have been having a long talk with Mr. Prendergast about the lost treasure.”

“And of course he said that you would never find it, Mark?”

“Well, yes, he distinctly expressed that opinion.”

“And afterwards?”

“Afterwards I went to Bow Street and had a long talk also with the chief officer there.”

“I don’t like the idea of your searching for this man, Mark. In the first place, I don’t see why you should hope to succeed when the men whose business it is to do such work have failed. In the next place, I think that you may get into serious danger.”

“That I must risk, Millicent. I have already proved a better shot than he is, and I am quite ready to take my chance if I can but come upon him; that is the difficult part of the matter. I know that I shall need patience, but I have plenty of time before me, and have great hopes that I shall run him to earth at last.”

“But you would not know him if you saw him?”

“I think I should,” Mark said quietly; “at least, if he is the man that I suspect.”

“Then you do suspect someone?” Mrs. Cunningham said, laying down her work.

“Yes, I know of no reason why you should not know it now. I suspect—indeed, I feel morally certain—that the man who murdered my father was Arthur Bastow.”

An exclamation of surprise broke from both his hearers, and they listened with horror while he detailed the various grounds that he had for his suspicions. They were silent for some time after he had brought his narrative to a conclusion, then Mrs. Cunningham said:

“What a merciful release for Mr. Bastow that he should have died before this terrible thing came out! For after what you have told us I can hardly doubt that you are right, and that it is this wicked man who is guilty.”

“Yes, it was indeed providential,” Mark said, “though I think that, feeble as he has been for some months, it might have been kept from him. Still, a word from a chance visitor, who did not associate Bastow the murderer with our dear old friend, might have enlightened him, and the blow would have been a terrible one indeed. It is true that, as it was, he died from the shock, but he did not know the hand that struck the blow.”

“Now that you have told me this,” Millicent said, “I cannot blame you, Mark, for determining to hunt the man down. It seems even worse than it did before; it is awful to think that anyone could cherish revenge like that. Now tell me how you are going to set about it.”

“I have promised the chief officer that I will tell absolutely no one,” he said. “I have a plan, and I believe that in time it must be successful. I know well enough that I could tell you both of it without any fear of its going further, but he asked me to promise, and I did so without reservation; moreover, I think that for some reasons it is as well that even you should not know it. As it is, you are aware that I am going to try, and that is all. If I were to tell you how, you might be picturing all sorts of imaginary dangers and worrying yourself over it, so I think that it will be much the best that you should remain in ignorance, at any rate for a time. I can say this, that I shall for the present remain principally in London, and I think that I am more likely to come upon a clew here than elsewhere.”

Millicent pouted, but Mrs. Cunningham said: “I think, perhaps, that you are right, Mark, and it is better that we should know nothing about it; we shall know that you are looking for a clew, but of course no danger can arise until you obtain it and attempt to arrest him. I feel sure that you will do nothing rash, especially as if any harm befell you he might escape unpunished, and therefore that when the time comes to seize him you will obtain such help as may be necessary, and will, if possible, arrest him at a moment when resistance is impossible.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cunningham; I shall certainly spare no efforts in taking him that way, and would far rather he met his fate on a gibbet than by a bullet from my pistol.”

“I agree with you, Mark,” Millicent said; “even hanging is too good for such a wicked man. When are you going to set about it?”

“I hope to be able to begin tomorrow,” he said. “I am impatient to be at work, even though I know perfectly well that it may be months before I can get on his track. I hope to get a good deal of information as to the habits of men of his kind from the Bow Street runners, and I have an appointment tomorrow morning to see their chief, who will give me every assistance in his power.”

“Then you will not be able to take us out?” Millicent said.

“I trust to do so later on, but I cannot say how long I shall be engaged. However, I hope to get away so as to go out with you after lunch, and may possibly be able to postpone my getting regularly to work until after you have gone, so as to be able to devote myself to your service.”

“But what sort of work? I cannot make out how you are going to begin.”

“I can tell you this much, that to begin with I shall go in company with a constable to various places where such a man is likely to be found. It will take some time to acquaint myself with all these localities; the next step will be to find out, if possible, if anyone at all answering to his description is in the habit of coming there occasionally, and whom he visits; another thing will be to find out the places where receivers of stolen goods do their business, and to watch those with whom highwaymen are suspected of having dealings. All this, you see, will entail a lot of work, and require a very large amount of patience. Of course, if nothing whatever comes of such inquiries, I shall have to try quiet places in the suburbs; you must remember that this fellow during his time as a convict must have had opportunities of getting a vast amount of information likely to be useful to him, such as the addresses of men holding positions of apparent respectability, and yet in alliance with thieves. You may be sure that when he returned he took every imaginable pains to obtain a safe place of concealment before he began his work; my own opinion is that I am more likely to find him living quietly in a suburban cottage than in a London slum.”