The Haute Noblesse: A Novel

Chapter Fifty Six

Hard Test

“Harry, dear Harry!” said Louise, as they stood together in a shabbily furnished room in one of the streets off Tottenham Court Road, “I feel at times as if it would drive me mad. Pray, pray let me write!”

“Not yet, I tell you; not yet,” he said angrily. “Wait till we are across the Channel, and then you shall.”

“But – ”

“Louy!” he half shouted at her, “have some patience.”

“Patience, dear? Think of our father’s agony of mind. He loves us.”

“Then the joy of finding we are both alive and well must compensate for what he suffers now.”

“But you do not realise what must be thought of me.”

“Oh, yes, I do,” he said bitterly; “but you do not realise what would be thought of me, if it were known that I was alive. I shiver every time I meet a policeman. Can’t you see how I am placed?”

“Yes – yes,” said Louise wearily; “but at times I can only think of our father – of Madelaine – of Uncle Luke.”

“Hush?” he cried with an irritable stamp of the foot. “Have patience. Once we are on the Continent I shall feel as if I could breathe; but this wretched dilatory way of getting money worries me to death.”

“Then why not sell the jewels, and let us go?”

“That’s talking like a woman again. It’s very easy to talk about selling the jewels, and it is easy to sell them if you go to some blackguard who will take advantage of your needs, and give you next to nothing for them. But, as Pradelle says – ”

“Pradelle!” ejaculated Louise, with a look of dislike crossing her face.

“Yes, Pradelle. That’s right, speak ill of the only friend we have. Why, we owe everything to him. What could we have done? Where could we have gone if it had not been for him, and my finding out where he was through asking at the old meeting-place?”

“I do not like Mr Pradelle,” said Louise firmly. “Then you ought to,” said Harry, as he walked up and down the room like some caged animal. “As he says, if you go to sell the things at a respectable place they’ll ask all manner of questions that it is not convenient to answer, and we must not risk detection by doing that.”

“Risk detection?” said Louise, clasping her hands about one knee as she gazed straight before her.

“The people here are as suspicious of us as can be, and the landlady seems ready to ask questions every time we meet on the stairs.”

“Yes,” said Louise in a sad, weary way; “she is always asking questions.”

“But you do not answer them?”

“I – I hardly know what I have said, Harry. She is so pertinacious.”

“We must leave here,” said the young man excitedly. “Why don’t Pradelle come?”

“Do you expect him to-night?”

“Expect him? Yes. I have only half-a-crown left, and he has your gold chain to pledge, he is to bring the money to-night. I expected him before.”

“Harry, dear.”

“Well?”

“Do you think Mr Pradelle is trustworthy?”

“As trustworthy as most people,” said the young man carelessly. “Yes, of course. He is obliged to be.”

“But could you not pledge the things yourself instead of trusting him?”

“No,” he cried, with an impatient stamp. “You know how I tried, and how the assistant began to question and stare at me, till I snatched the thing out of his hands and hurried out of the shop. I’d sooner beg than try to do it again.”

Louise was silent for a few moments, and sat gazing thoughtfully before her.

“Let me write, Harry, telling everything, and asking my father to send us money.”

“Send for the police at once. There, open the windows, and call the first one up that you see pass. It will be the shortest way.”

“But I am sure, dear – ”

“Once more, so am I. At the present moment I am free. Let me have my liberty to begin life over again honestly, repentantly, and with the earnest desire to redeem the past. Will you let me have that?”

“Of course – of course, dear.”

“Then say no more to me about communicating with home.”

Louise was silent gain, beaten once more by her brother’s arguments in her desire to see him redeem the past.

“Harry,” she said at last, after her brother had been standing with his cheek pressed against the window pane, looking down the street in search of the expected visitor.

“Well?”

“Has it ever occurred to you that Mr Pradelle is trying to keep us here?”

“Absurd!”

“No; I feel sure it is so, and that he does not want us to go away. Let me take my bracelets and necklet to one of those places where they buy jewellery or lend money.”

“You?”

“Yes. Why not?”

“Are you mad?”

“No. Why should I not sell what is my own?”

“Can you not understand?” cried Harry, whose voice sounded harsh from the mental irritation which had given him the look of one in constant dread of arrest.

“No, dear, I cannot. I want to help you. I want to get away from here – to remove you from the influence of this man, so that we may, if it must be so, get abroad and then set them at rest.”

“Now you are bringing that up again,” he cried angrily.

“I must, Harry, I must. I have been too weak as it is; but in the excitement of all that trouble I seemed to be influenced by you in all I did.”

“There, there, little sis,” he said more gently. “I ought not to speak so crossly, but I am always on thorns, held back as I am for want of a few paltry pounds.”

“Then let me go and dispose of these things.”

“It is impossible.”

“No, dear, you think of the degradation I should not be ashamed. We have made a false step, Harry, but if we must go on, let me do what I can to help you. Let me go.”

“But the beggarly disgrace. You don’t know what you are going to undertake.”

She looked at him with her frank, clear eyes.

“I am going to help you. There can be no disgrace in disposing of these trinkets for you to escape.”

“Ah! at last!” cried Harry, leaving the window to hurry to the door, regardless of the look of dislike which came into his sister’s face.

“Is that Mr Pradelle?” she said shrinkingly.

“Yes, at last. No, Louy, I’m bad enough, but I’m not going to send you to the pawnbroker’s while I stop hiding here, and it’s all right now.”

“Ah, Harry! Day, Miss Louy,” said Pradelle, entering, very fashionably dressed, and with a rose in his buttonhole. “Nice weather, isn’t it?”

“Look here, Vic,” cried Harry, catching him by the arm. “How much did you get?”

“Get?”

“Yes; for the chain?”

“Oh, for the chain,” said Pradelle, who kept his eyes fixed on Louise. “Nothing, old fellow.”

“Nothing?”

“Haven’t taken it to the right place, yet.”

“And you promised to. Look here, what do you mean?”

“What do I mean? Well, I like that. Hear him, Miss Louy? What a fellow he is! Here have I got him into decent apartments, where he is safe as the bank, when if he had depended upon himself he would have taken you to some slum where you would have been stopped and the police have found you out.”

“You promised to pledge those things for me.”

“Of course I did, and so I will. Why, if you had been left to yourself, who would have taken you in without a reference?”

“Never mind that,” said Harry, so angrily that Louise rose, went to his side, and laid her hand upon his arm. “If you don’t want to help me, say so.”

“If I don’t want to help you! Why, look here, Miss Louy, I appeal to you. Haven’t I helped him again and again? Haven’t I lent him money, and acted as a friend should?”

“Why haven’t you pledged that chain?” said Harry.

“Because people are so suspicious, and I was afraid. There you have the truth.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried Harry, excitedly.

“Well then, don’t. Your sister will. If you want me to bring the police on your track, say so.”

In a furtive way, he noted Harry’s start of dread, and went on.

“Take the chain or a watch yourself, and if the pawnbroker is suspicious, he’ll either detain it till you can give a good account of how you came by it, or send for a policeman to follow you to you lodgings.”

“But I am quite penniless!” cried Harry.

“Then why didn’t you say so, old fellow? Long as I’ve got a pound you’re welcome to it, and always were. I’m not a fine-weather friend, you know that. There you are, two halves. That’ll keep you going for a week.”

“But I don’t want to keep borrowing of you,” said Harry. “We have enough to do what I want. A sovereign will do little more than pay for these lodgings.”

“Enough for a day or two, old fellow, and do, for goodness’ sake, have a little more faith in a man you have proved.”

“I have faith in you, Vic, and I’m very grateful; but this existence maddens me. I want enough to get us across the Channel. I must and will go.”

“Right into the arms of those who are searching for you. What a baby you are, Harry! Do you want to be told again that every boat which starts for the Continent will be watched?”

Harry made a despairing gesture, and his haggard countenance told plainly of the agony he suffered.

“My dear Miss Louy,” continued Pradelle, “do pray help me to bring him to reason. You must see that you are both safe here, and that it is the wisest thing to wait patiently till the worst of the pursuit is over.”

“We do not know that there is any pursuit, Mr Pradelle,” said Louise coldly.

“Come, I like that!” cried Pradelle, in an ill-used tone. “I thought I told you that they were searching for you both. If you like to believe that you can leave your home as you did without your people making any search, why you have a right to.”

Harry began pacing the room, while Pradelle went on in a low, pleading way.

“Ever since Harry came to me, I thought I had done all that a friend could, but if I can do more, Miss Louy, you’ve only got to tell me what, and it shall be done.”

“You’ve done your best, Prad,” said Harry.

“Yes, but you don’t think it. I could go and do all kinds of rash things; but I’ve been working to throw them off the scent, and I don’t think, so far, I’ve done amiss. You’re not taken yet.”

Harry drew a long breath and glanced at door and window, as if for a way of escape.

“Come, that’s better,” cried Pradelle. “Take a more cheerful view of things. You want change, Harry. You’ve been shut up too much. Have a cigar,” he continued, drawing out his case. “No? I beg your pardon, Miss Louy. Oughtn’t to ask him to smoke here.”

Harry shook his head impatiently.

“Yes; have one, old fellow. They’re good. Take two or three; and, look here; go and have a walk up and down for an hour. It’s getting dusk now.”

Louise gave her brother an excited look, which did not escape Pradelle. “Let’s all go,” he said. “We might go along the back streets as far as the park. Do you both good.”

“No, no,” said Harry sharply. “I shall not go out.”

“Go together, then,” said Pradelle, half mockingly. “I don’t want to intrude; but for goodness’ sake, man, try and have a little change; it would make life move different, and you’d be more ready to take a friend’s advice.”

“What advice?”

“To settle down here. London’s the best place in the world for hiding yourself.”

“Don’t talk to me any more, old fellow,” said Harry. “I’m out of temper. I can’t help it.”

“All right, lad. I’ll go now; and you get him out, Miss Louy, do. It’s the best thing for him.”

Harry made an impatient gesture, and threw himself in a chair.

“You shall do as you like, and I’ll raise all the money for you that I can,” said Pradelle, rising to go; “but take things more coolly. Good-bye, old boy.”

“Good-bye,” said Harry, shaking hands limply.

“Good-bye,” said Pradelle, as Harry turned away to rest his aching head upon his hand.

“Miss Louy!”

He gave his head a jerk towards the door, and Louise rose and followed him.

“Come outside,” he whispered. “I want to speak to you.”

“Mr Pradelle can say what he has to say here.”

“But it’s about him.”

“Well, Mr Pradelle?”

“Well, Miss Louy, I only wanted to say that some day you’ll find out who is your true friend. I want to help you both. I do, on my honour.”

“Your honour!” thought Louise.

“Have a little more confidence in a man if you can. I do want to help you. Good-bye.”

He held out his hand, and she felt constrained to give him hers, which he held, and, after glancing hastily at Harry, raised to his lips; but the kiss he imprinted was on the yielding air, for the hand was snatched indignantly away.

“You’ll know me better by-and-by,” said Pradelle; and giving her a peculiar look, he left the room.

Louise stood for a few minutes gazing after him, her brow knit and her eyes thoughtful. Then, going back to where her brother sat with his head resting upon his hand, she laid hers upon his shoulder.

“Harry, dear,” she said firmly, “that man is fighting against us.”

“Rubbish,” he cried impatiently. “You never liked Pradelle.”

“Better for you if you had hated him. Harry, he is striving to keep us here.”

“Nonsense! Don’t talk to me now.”

“I must, Harry. You must act, and decisively.”

“What do you mean?”

“Either you must raise money at once, and go right from here – ”

He looked up sharply.

“No, I do not mean that,” she said sadly. “I will not leave you till you are fit to leave; but you must either act as I advise at once, or I shall do what I think best.”

“What do you mean?”

“Write to our father to come and help us, for you are too weak and broken down to protect me.”

“Louy!” he cried excitedly; “I am not so weak as you think. I will act; I will take your advice.”

“And get rid of this Mr Pradelle?”

“Anything you like, Louy, only don’t let them know at home – yet, and don’t leave me. If you did I should break down at once.”

“Then will you be guided by me?”

“Yes.”

“And take these jewels yourself and raise money?”

“Yes; but it is too late now.”

Louise glanced at the window, and in her ignorance of such matters half felt the truth of his words.

“Then to-morrow you will do as I wish?”

“Yes, to-morrow,” he said wearily.

“Put not off until to-morrow – ” said Louise softly to herself; and she stood watching her brother as he sat with bended head, weak, broken, and despairing, in the gathering gloom.

Chapter Fifty Seven

An Old Friend – or Enemy?

“Where shall we stay? I’ll show you,” said Uncle Luke, after giving instructions to the cabman. “My old hotel in Surrey street. Comfortable, motherly woman. No nonsense.”

“And what do you propose doing?”

“Let’s hear first what you propose,” shouted the old man, so as to make his voice heard above the rattle of the cab windows – four-wheelers Jehu’s enemies, which lose him many a fare.

“I have nothing to propose,” said Leslie sadly; “only to find her.”

“And I’ve given you twenty-four hours to think it out, including last night at Plymouth.”

“My head is in a whirl, sir; I am in no condition to think. Pray suggest something.”

“Hah! The old folks are useful, then, after all. Well, then, you would like to hear my plans?”

Leslie nodded.

“First, then, there is a good tea, with some meat; and while we are having that I shall send off a messenger.”

“To find them?”

“No. Wait.”

Leslie had found out that the best way to deal with Uncle Luke was to treat him like a conger-eel, such as they caught among the rocks about Hakemouth. Once hooked, if the fisher dragged at the line, the snaky monster pulled and fought till the line cut into the holder’s hands, and sometimes was broken or the hook torn out: whereas, if, instead of pulling, the creature had its head given, it began to swim up rapidly, and placed itself within reach of the gaff. So, in spite of his fretful irritation of mind he allowed the old man to have his own way.

The result was, that before they sat down to their meal at the quiet hotel, Uncle Luke wrote a letter, which was dispatched by special messenger, after which he ate heartily; while Leslie played with a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast.

“Not the way to do work,” said Uncle Luke grimly. “Eat, man; eat. Coal and coke to make the human engine get up steam.”

Leslie made an effort to obey, but everything seemed distasteful, and he took refuge behind a paper till the waiter entered with a card.

“Hah! yes; show him in,” said Uncle Luke. “Here he is, Leslie,” he continued.

“Here who is?”

“Parkins.”

“Parkins?”

“Sergeant Parkins. You remember?”

Leslie had forgotten the name, but directly after the whole scene of the search for Harry came back as the quiet, decisive-looking detective officer entered the room, nodded shortly to both, and after taking the seat indicated, looked inquiringly at Uncle Luke.

“At your service, sir,” he said. “You’ve brought me some news about that affair down yonder?”

“No,” said Uncle Luke. “I have come to see if you can help us in another way;” and he told him the object of his visit.

“Hah!” ejaculated their visitor. “Yes, that’s different, sir;” and taking out a note-book, he began to ask question after question on points which seemed to him likely to be useful, till he had gained all the information he thought necessary, when he closed the book with a snap, and buttoned it up in his breast.

“Rather curious fact, sir,” he said, looking at both in turn; “but I’ve been thinking about Hakemouth a good deal this last day or two.”

“Why?” asked Uncle Luke shortly.

“I’ve been away all over the Continent for some time – forgery case, and that Hakemouth business has gone no farther. As soon as I got back, and was free, I wanted something to do, so I said to myself that I’d take it on again, and I have.”

“Oh, never mind that now,” said Leslie angrily. “Can you help us here?”

“I don’t know, sir. I shall try; but I might mention to you that we think we have obtained a clue to the gentleman who escaped.”

“Yes, yes,” said Leslie impatiently; “but can you help us here?”

“Give me time, sir, and I’ll do my best,” said the sergeant. “Not an easy task, sir, you know. A needle is hard to find in a bundle of hay, and all the clue you give me is that a lady left your neighbourhood with a French gentleman. Fortunately I did see the lady, and should know her again. Good morning.”

“But what are we to do?” said Leslie eagerly.

“You, sir?” said the sergeant quietly, and with a suspicion of contempt in his tone. “Oh, you’d better wait.”

“Wait!” cried Leslie in a voice full of suppressed rage.

“And practise patience,” muttered the man. “One moment, sir,” he said aloud. “You saw this French gentleman?”

“I saw him, but not his face. Mr Vine here told you; the light was overturned.”

“But you saw his figure, the man’s shape?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And you heard his voice?”

“Yes.”

“Broken French?”

“Yes.”

“Now, sir, just think a moment. I have a slight idea. French name – spoke – ”

“We mentioned no name.”

“One minute, sir. Spoke French – brother’s fellow-clerk and intimate – gentleman who went off – been staying at the house – long time in the lady’s society. What do you say now to its being this Mr Pradelle?”

Uncle Luke gave the table a thump which made the tea-things rattle, and Leslie started from his seat, gazing wildly at the officer, who smiled rather triumphantly.

“Great Heavens!” faltered Leslie, as if a new light had flashed into his darkened mind.

“Of course, sir, this is only a suggestion,” said the sergeant. “It is all new to me; but seems likely.”

“No,” said Uncle Luke emphatically, “no. She would never have gone off with him.”

“Very good, gentlemen. I’ll see what I can do at once.”

“One moment,” said Leslie as he slipped some notes into the man’s hand. “You will spare neither time nor money.”

“I will not, sir.”

“Tell me one thing. What shall you do first?”

“Just the opposite to what you’ve done, gentlemen,” said the officer.

“What do you mean?”

“Go down to Hakemouth by to-night’s mail, and work back to town.”

“I feel certain,” said Leslie, “that he brought her to London to take tickets for France.”

“I don’t, sir, yet. But even if I did, it’s a long bridge from here to Cornwall, and I might find them resting in one of the recesses. You leave it to me, sir. Good-day.

“Humph!” he added as he went out; “plain as a pikestaff. Women are womanly, and I have known instances of a woman sticking to a man for no reason whatever, except that he was a scamp, and sometimes the greater the scamp the tighter the tie. Pradelle’s my man, and I think I can put my thumb upon him before long.”

“No, Leslie, no. Louy wouldn’t look at him. That’s not the clue,” said Uncle Luke.

Chapter Fifty Eight

The Needle in a Bundle of Hay

A week of anxiety, with the breaks in it of interviews with Sergeant Parkins, who had very little to communicate; but still that little was cogent.

He had been down to Hakemouth, and by careful inquiry had tracked the missing pair to Plymouth, where he had missed them. But, after the fashion of a huntsman, he made long casts round and picked up the clue at Exeter, where a porter remembered them from what sounded like an altercation in a second-class compartment, where a dark young lady was in tears, and the “gent” who was with her said something to her sharply in a foreign tongue. Pressed as to what it was like, he said it sounded as if the gent said “Taisey.”

There the sergeant had lost the clue; but he had learned enough to satisfy himself that the fugitives had been making for London, unless they had branched off at Bristol, which was hardly likely.

“Come up to London,” said Leslie. “Well, that is what we surmised before we applied to you.”

“Exactly, sir; but I have nearly made your surmise a certainty.”

“Yes, nearly,” said Leslie bitterly.

“We must have time, sir. A hunter does not secure his game by rushing at it. He stalks it.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Luke in assent, “and of course you must be certain. This is not a criminal matter.”

“No, sir, of course not,” said the sergeant drily, and with a meaning in his tone which the others did not detect.

“If you are successful in finding their whereabouts, mind that your task ends there. You will give us due notice, and we will see to the rest.”