The Spider and the Fly

CHAPTER XXXI

CLOSING IN

From the moment Mr. Dockett, the detective, discovered our hero things took a clearer and more promising aspect.

While Leicester and Stumpy were left at Penruddie Mr. Dockett repaired to London and set about his task with a zeal and cunning highly commendable.

In the first place he appeared one morning in the city, dressed after the fashion of a simple and wealthy country squire.

He made his way to the offices of one of the companies over which Howard Murpoint was director, and inquired for that gentleman.

The clerk told him that Mr. Murpoint was not in the city at that early hour, and would probably not arrive until one o'clock.

Mr. Dockett waited patiently, and at last the great man arrived.

Mr. Dockett was shown into the great man's parlor and announced his business.

"I am," he said, "in search of a good investment. My name is Squirrel, and I've had a large sum of money left me, which I don't quite know what to do with. My lawyers tell me I must put it in the three-per-cents, but I thought that you, being a great city man, would be able to show me a better investment than that. So I made bold to come and ask you."

The captain had often been applied to for advice as to investments, and, after the first slight surprise, saw nothing suspicious in the country squire, and in his pleasant way informed him that he certainly could assist him.

Then he told Mr. Dockett that he could not do better than put his money in this and that company, and concluded by mentioning all the financial schemes in which he was interested.

Mr. Dockett listened attentively and jotted down the names of the companies in which the captain was concerned, and then, thanking him gratefully, took his leave.

From the offices he repaired to a small room in Scotland Yard and rang a little hand-bell.

It was answered by another detective, very much like Mr. Dockett, but with more of the city air about him.

Mr. Dockett and he shook hands, then Mr. Dockett said:

"Giles, I've got a city job on. Look here, do you know anything of that gentleman?" and he passed a slip of paper upon which Mr. Howard Murpoint's name was written.

Mr. Giles smiled.

"Everybody knows him, Mr. Dockett," he said.

"Ah, but do you know anything of him in the way I mean?"

"Well," hesitated Mr. Giles, "perhaps I may have my suspicions."

"Exactly; and perhaps I have mine. He's got too much business; too many wires a-pulling; when I see one chap with so many concerns all running on I begin to think that it's shaky."

"Exactly," said Mr. Giles. "I don't know anything against Mr. H. M.; he's a great and powerful man, but I dare say I can find out if you set me to it."

"That's just what I want," said Mr. Dockett. "You get at it at once; I'll take him at the West End, you watch him at the city, and directly you find anything that even looks wrong let me know. You needn't spare the money; this is a job that will afford a thou or two."

"I understand," said Mr. Giles, and almost without another word he took his departure.

From that hour there was a bloodhound upon Howard Murpoint's track, a ferret ever worming and prying and nosing into his business. There was always a thin, quiet-looking man mixing with his clerks, getting hold of his private letters, holding open his carriage door, catching his visitors as they entered his office, and dogging him through every hour he spent at office or at chambers.

Mr. Giles was at work, and no bloodhound could be thirstier and more eager, no ferret more restless, and no lynx more watchful.

At home at the West End another bloodhound was watching him there.

When the great man came home to his palatial residence that bloodhound would watch him enter, and then in the guise of a porter or a policeman, drop into his kitchen and chatter with his servants. If Mr. Howard Murpoint walked the room all night the bloodhound learned it from the chambermaid.

Every scrap of paper which fell into his waste-paper basket found its way into the hands of Mr. Dockett, and Mr. Howard Murpoint never gave a party or attended one without Mr. Dockett's knowing it, and sometimes being present.

Gentle, noble-hearted Violet came in for a portion of this lynx-bloodhound's consideration.

Often when he was leaning against the rail of the Row, exquisitely dressed, and the Mildmay carriage passed him with its claret liveries and high-stepping horses, with Mrs. Mildmay, Violet and Howard Murpoint inside, Mr. Dockett would slightly scratch his head and mutter:

"I can't make that young lady out! What on earth made her promise to marry him? I'm sure she was in love with that unlucky young gentleman with the false beard. Perhaps she's got a wrong idea of duty; and there's no doubt that Mr. H. M. is a wonderful, smooth-tongued gentleman!"

Then he'd leave the Row and return to his watch on the Murpoint mansion and in quite another costume gather all he could from the servants and tradespeople. But what he learned was not much in itself.

Howard Murpoint was no foolhardy villain.

All he did was done with circumspection and care, and he baffled Mr. Dockett. That gentleman ran down with his usual suddenness to Penruddie.

He went to Sanderson's cottage, and found Jamie, the lame boy, seated at the door with a book in his hand, with his large, melancholy eyes fixed upon the sea.

"Well, my lad," said Mr. Dockett, stealing upon him quietly. "How are you?"

Jamie started, flushed and answered, in his nervous way:

"I'm very well, sir. Do you want Willie?"

"No; I want the Spanish gentleman who lodges here!"

"He's on the cliffs," said Jamie.

Mr. Dockett stayed a few minutes, then repaired to the cliffs.

He found Leicester walking up and down moodily with his hands locked behind him and his head bent upon his breast.

"Ah!" said Leicester, with a sullen and feverish eagerness. "You have just come in time. I was about to take the train for London. I am tired out beyond endurance of stopping here inactive and idle. I cannot endure the suspense, and I am determined to push everything to an issue now – at once!"

"Hem!" said Mr. Dockett. "In a hurry to get to Newgate, sir, I suppose."

"I care not," said Leicester. "I have considered the pain of such a position, and I do not think it would be more terrible than that which suspense and uncertainty now produce. Newgate, if it must be so. I cannot stay here longer."

Mr. Dockett nodded.

"You don't trust me then?"

"I do. But I cannot wait longer. It is impossible. I shall go mad! What have you been doing? What have you discovered?"

"Very little as yet," said the detective, cautiously. "But you excite yourself unnecessarily. Why don't you stay indoors quietly and rest? That lad tells me you are always here, pacing up and down and fretting."

"I am," said Leicester. "I cannot tear myself away from this spot. It was here that the murder was done – just here, where I stand. From here I can see my old home and the spot where I first saw her. You cannot understand what a fascination this place has for me."

"Perhaps I can't; perhaps I can," said the detective. "And so you won't stay here?"

"No," said Leicester. "There is danger in it if there was no other reason. That lad has sharp eyes, and some day he will recognize me."

"Hem!" said Mr. Dockett. "That's the lad who behaves so strangely. I suppose – "

Then he paused as if an idea had struck him.

"Will you come back with me?" he said. "I don't mind confessing that I have as good as failed in London myself. Whether a mate of mine finds anything or not I can't say. He's at work, and he's a sharp fellow. I'm inclined, however, seeing the state of mind you are in, to push matters on, and I've hit on an idea."

"I'll come," said Leicester, and together they returned to the cottage.

On the way Mr. Dockett said:

"Where is your friend, Stewart – rather, Mr. Stumpy?"

"Down on the beach," said Leicester. "The faithful fellow thought it best to keep a watch on Job, and I don't think he lets him out of his sight night or day."

"Quite right," said Mr. Dockett. "He'd make a good detective. Ah, here's the lad. Now I want you to sit beside me inside the cottage, and when I give the signal take off that beard and wig."

Leicester nodded wearily.

"What plan have you?"

"Never mind," said Mr. Dockett.

They entered the cottage, and sat down in the little parlor.

Then Mr. Dockett called to Jamie, and asked him if he could bring a glass of water.

The lad rose and hobbled in with it.

"Sit down," said Mr. Dockett. "Sit down, my lad. What are you reading?" and he took a book out of Jamie's hand. "Ah! the 'Lives of Celebrated Assassins.' That's a strange book for a young lad!"

Jamie turned pale.

"Is it, sir?" he said. "I – I – like it."

"Don't much look like a murderer yourself," said Mr. Dockett. "Never saw one done, eh?"

"Heaven forbid!" said Jamie.

"Heard of one though," said the detective, "that murder on the cliffs, I suppose? You knew Mr. Leicester, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir," faltered the lad.

"Liked him too?" asked the detective.

"He was a good friend to me, sir," said Jamie. "A very good, kind friend."

"Ah!" said Mr. Dockett. "Do you think if he was to come to life now that you would know him again?"

"Know him!" said the lad. "Ah, in a moment."

"Of course you would," said the detective. Then he rose and wishing Leicester, "good day," left the room.

He paused outside, and looking in at the window made a signal to Leicester. Leicester looked over at Jamie Sanderson and prepared him.

"Jamie," he said. "Don't be startled. Do you know me?"

The lad, at the sound of Leicester's natural voice, turned pale and trembled, but said nothing.

"Don't be frightened, Jamie," said Leicester, and very slowly be removed the wig and beard.

Jamie uttered a cry of joy, which rapidly changed to fear.

"Maester Leicester!" he cried, stretching out his thin hand in an agony of terror, "put them on again, and fly! Fly, this moment! You are in danger! All is known, all know it beside me! Oh, fly, for Heaven's sake!"

"Jamie," said Leicester, "be calm! What is known, my lad?"

"That you did the – the – murder! Oh, I know you didn't mean it, but they'll hang you, they'll hang you! And they'll make me witness against you! Oh, oh!" And he wrung his hands. "Why didn't I throw it away? Why didn't I bury it?"

"Bury it? What?" asked Leicester, puzzled.

The lad hobbled near him and laid a trembling hand upon his arm.

"Maester Leicester! I've got it. I found it on the cliff, among the bushes, and – oh! go away, sir, fly, for Heaven's sake!"

"Hush, my poor lad!" said Leicester, who was getting excited himself. "What did you find?"

The poor lad shuddered and put his lips to Leicester's ear.

"The knife! The knife you stabbed him with."

Leicester stared and the hot blood rushed up into his face.

There was a moment's pause, then, in a low, constrained voice, which trembled a little, he said:

"You found the knife, did you, Jamie? and you kept it?"

The lad nodded.

"Yes, forgive me, Maester Leicester. I tried to throw it away, I tried to bury it; but I couldn't. I thought the police would be sure to find it and that – that – it would tell against you!"

"I see," said Leicester. "You are a good lad, Jamie, a faithful lad. And where is the knife?"

"Upstairs," whispered the lad. "Upstairs, in a box in my little room."

"Ah!" said Leicester, as the words made the strange conduct of the lad quite clear. "Go and fetch it."

Jamie walked out of the room, and as he did so Mr. Dockett crept in.

"Hist!" said Leicester, and his eyes were all on fire.

"Have you heard anything?" said Mr. Dockett. "He has gone for the knife. I'll hide here," and he hid himself behind the curtain.

In a few minutes the lame boy's step could be heard upon the stairs, and he entered the room and cautiously locked the door.

"It's up my sleeve," he whispered. "Shut your eyes, Maester Leicester. You needn't look at the horrid thing, shut your eyes, and hide it away in your sleeve, then throw it out to sea! Oh! it is a horrid, horrid thing!"

"Give it to me," said Leicester, hoarsely; and to please the lad he shut his eyes. Jamie slipped the knife in his hands and instantly the detective slid from behind the curtain and grasped Leicester's hand.

Leicester offered no resistance, and hushed Jamie's cry of alarm.

"All right, Jamie, don't be frightened. This is a friend."

"Is it your knife?" said Mr. Dockett, quite coolly.

"Let me see," said Leicester, then as he looked at it he sprang to his feet. "By Heaven!" he exclaimed, with a shout of frenzy, "his sin has come home to him! Nemesis is on his track!"

"Whose knife is it, I ask you?" exclaimed the detective, almost excited.

"Howard Murpoint's," replied Leicester.

At that moment the door opened, and Stumpy entered.

He had heard every word, and as he paused on the threshold he muttered to himself: "Jerusalem! things are working round bad for the general!"

CHAPTER XXXII

THE PLOT FAILS

Captain Howard Murpoint was working fast toward a completion of his plans; but others were working faster, and Mr. Giles, the city detective, had made his report to Mr. Dockett. That report contained enough of information to surprise one more up in the wiles of the wicked than Mr. Dockett, but as he read the story of Howard Murpoint's money dodges he merely raised his eyebrows and muttered:

"He's a rare, clever one – a rare, clever one; it's almost a pity to interfere with him."

So it came to pass that time slipped by, and Howard Murpoint quite unconscious of the Nemesis upon his track, pressed Violet to name an early day for the wedding, for though preparations had for some time been in course, no actual day had been fixed.

Violet shrank a little, but she, in her gentle, dreamy way, agreed that the day should be postponed no longer, and, accordingly, the 24th of August was set down, and the lawyers and the dressmakers bidden to hasten.

August the 20th came, and Violet, still dreamy and quietly calm, was seated in the drawing-room; some trifling piece of lady's work was in her hand, but the needle was still, and her hands were idle.

Mrs. Mildmay was seated at the open window, busily engaged in writing out a list of invitations for the wedding breakfast.

From time to time she glanced over at Violet and put some questions, which Violet always answered in her quiet, preoccupied way, and Mrs. Mildmay wrote on.

"Shall we have the candles, my dear?" she said, at last, as the twilight fell and compelled her to pause.

"If you like, auntie," said Violet. "Why do you not rest a while? I wish you would let me help you," and she crossed the room, bent over her aunt, and kissed her.

Mrs. Mildmay looked at her and drew her down to a footstool beside her.

"Violet," she said, "you do not seem much excited by – by the great event coming."

"No," said Violet, with a smile and a sigh, her face gradually growing abstracted and her eyes more fixed. "Aunt, am I wrong to take things so quietly? Sometimes I think it is wicked. Sometimes I fear that I am cold, indifferent, ungrateful for all Captain Murpoint's kindness."

"No," said Mrs. Mildmay. "I am sure you are not that; but – "

"I know," said Violet, "I know what you would say. But I cannot help it, auntie. I feel sometimes as if I were not myself – as if Violet Mildmay were dead and I were her shadow and wraith. Do you know what I mean? As if this were all a dream, and that I should in the end find myself dead! I am not dead, aunt, I know, and I strive to rouse myself. I do rouse sometimes, but only for a little while," she sighed. "The strange, numbed, unreal feeling comes over me again very soon, and this wedding seems to be that of some one else; but it is mine – mine – mine!"

She started suddenly, and looked up at her aunt with a look of horror.

"There, aunt, I am roused, and, see! I am shuddering. I feel as if this were some dreadful crime I was about to commit. I hear Leicester's voice warning me! I feel his hand drawing me back! No – no, I will not be Howard Murpoint's wife!"

Mrs. Mildmay rose with alarm.

"Violet!"

"Hush, aunt!" said Violet. "It has gone! I am wicked and silly. It has gone, that dreadful horror and dread. I am dreaming again and numbed. Do not let us talk any more about it. Sit still, dear auntie, and talk of something else."

Mrs. Mildmay resumed her seat, and looked at her darling with a troubled heart.

"My dear Violet, you must struggle against such feelings, especially to-night. Howard is coming, you know, and Mr. and Mrs. Dodson. We are all to talk over your wedding trip."

"To-night are they coming?" said Violet.

"Yes. Captain Murpoint has to take a journey to Penruddie" – Violet shuddered – "to-morrow, and may be away for all the time before the 24th. Think, my dear! You will be the wife of a great and good man. Perhaps – for they are all talking of it – you will be Lady Murpoint."

At that time a servant knocked at the door.

"A gentleman wishes to see Miss Violet, madam."

"It is very late," said Mrs. Mildmay. "What is his name?"

"He has given no name. He wishes to see her on business, I believe, madam."

"Will you see him here, Violet?" added Mrs. Mildmay. "I do not like to send him away."

"No; why should you?" said Violet, rising and taking her former seat. "I will see him here, John."

The footman returned and ushered in an ordinary-looking gentleman in black. There was another one with him, who came forward with outstretched hand.

"Mr. Thaxton!" said Violet. "Why did you not say it was you?"

"I feared," said Mr. Thaxton, "that you might think I had come on business, and would refuse to see me."

"You wrong me," said Violet.

"This," said Mr. Thaxton, "is a very greatly respected friend of mine. I have brought him to assist me in making a statement which it is necessary you should hear."

Violet bowed to Mr. Dockett – for the gentleman in black was he – and, with a vague look of expectation, sat down.

Mrs. Mildmay had shaken hands with Mr. Thaxton, and invited them to be seated.

"Miss Mildmay," said Mr. Thaxton, "did I not feel sure that you are as strong of heart as you are true, I should approach the task before me with dread. As it is, I do so with reluctance."

"Stay!" said Violet, growing pale. "Answer me one question, and answer it truly. Is the business you have come about in any way connected with my marriage?"