CHAPTER XV.

MY REVENGE AT BILLIARDS.

_Enticed to Liverpool with a Burlesque Troupe--The comic Murderers--a nice Amateur--the unknown Friend--the Champion of England._

"Look here, Jack, you know Pattie Hastings?" said Horace Brown, as he entered my apartments hurriedly one morning.

"I have certainly set eyes on that young lady," I replied. "She is not here?"

"Who said she was? Why, you old hypocrite, you were mad about her last winter, and even now the recollection of these beautiful sonnets you used to send her, to say nothing of the bouquets and bracelets, makes her sigh--after a third glass of champagne!"

"Champagne has more than that to answer for. Suppose I did at one time admire the little woman's antics on and off the stage, what then? Has she sent you to me for a certificate of character? Eyesight all right? No Colorado gold nor Arizona diamonds for her; and she is sound in wind. I will back her to talk scandal against any three damsels you know. The Duke of C---- is not going to be divorced to marry her? No dissension, I hope, in a certain household?"

"You talk coolly enough now, old fellow!" said Brown. "Other times, other opinions. She was the queen of burlesque a short year ago, and her dancing some one not a mile off thought more graceful than Kate Vaughan's!"

"This is evidently the dull season, and you are hard up for subjects to speak about," said I. "Does Hughes run his horse at Sandown?"

"I don't know. But I say, Jack, you are not bad friends with Pattie?"

"Bother Pattie! Has the world taken a fit to revolve round her? Or is it a case of Miss Hastings on the brain? Pulse too rapid, head hot, skin too dry, feverish very; hold out your tongue, and let me prescribe for you."

"I see," said Brown, "you are in one of your 'waiting-to-be-fed' moods; it is no good asking a favour."

"You have confined your observations to Miss Hastings since you entered the room, permit me to observe. When I hear what the request is I may be able to answer. The money market, however, is tight."

"It is not money," said Brown. "I want you to come to Liverpool with me."

"To Liverpool!" said I. "Why not San Francisco? In queer street, eh? Pressing business abroad, I suppose?"

"Bosh!" said Brown. "Pattie Hastings is taking her troupe to America, and I am going to Liverpool to see her off. I wish you would come--she will be delighted."

"I see!" said I. "After the steamer goes dull hotel! No one to speak to or play billiards with! Long railway journey without a partner at _écarté_. Well, all right; I will take pity on you. When does this burlesque eclipse take place?"

"We start by the nine o'clock train to-morrow morning," said Brown.

Having agreed to go, we arrived at the station at the appointed time, and went to Liverpool. There were the gushing Pattie and her invaluable troupe, and a more forward set of young women I never saw. We put them safely on board a Cunard steamer, and returned to the Washington Hotel. The question then arose how we were to dispose of our time, as we did not mean to leave for town till next day. The theatres were no good--all old pieces, which we had seen many times in London. Brown suggested a visit to a waxworks in the neighbourhood, where all the notorious murderers--Rush, Palmer, and Co.--wore evening-costume, and only wanted a flower in their coats to look like stewards of a county ball. I declined to interview the horrors. We eventually made up our minds to try our luck at that ever-fascinating game--billiards.

Notwithstanding that I play a more than an average game, I happened to meet my match that night.

As regards playing cards with strangers, an amusing anecdote is related of the elder Matthews and his partner Mr. Yates. They were on a professional tour and found themselves at a country hotel on a stormy day without any means of killing the time during the bad weather. They would have liked a game of whist immensely, but where were they to find partners, double dummy being dull work? The landlord was consulted, and asked if he knew of any gentleman who would have a game of whist? He replied in the affirmative, a gentleman being then in the hotel whom he thought understood the game pretty well. A polite message was immediately conveyed to the stranger, inviting him to join them in a game. The unknown gentleman soon made his appearance, and they all sat down to play, the new arrival taking dummy.

Luck was dead against the comedians. They could not win a single game. After they had played some time, and no inconsiderable amount of money had passed to the holder of "dummy," the stranger looked at his watch and said he was sorry to have to leave, having to meet an important engagement. The comedians were apparently surprised at this sudden termination of the game, and Matthews asked whether he would be disengaged soon again? The stranger replied that he would be most happy to meet them at any hour next day, when perhaps they would be in better luck, at the same time regretting it was most urgent business that called him away. "Pray," said Matthews, who was rather excited, and when so stammered, "what may your--your business be if--if--it isn't--im--pertinent--to inquire?" "Why," replied the stranger, with a knowing nod, "I am, like yourselves, a professional--a magician--and give a performance to-night at the Town Hall. You will, therefore, excuse my departure. Good evening, gentlemen!" and the stranger bowed and retired. The two comedians considered it prudent next morning not to renew the game with so lucky an opponent, and thought they had had enough of it, although very much dissatisfied with the stranger and his "luck."

Well, I considered I was "done" at billiards at Liverpool, but determined, unlike the comedians, to have satisfaction and revenge before I left. Dinner over at the Washington, we strolled a little through the city, and came across some excellent billiard-rooms in the neighbourhood of the Exchange. Having nothing else on hand at the time I suggested a game to Brown, and just as we had finished our third hundred a well-dressed, young-looking man came into the room. As he appeared rather anxious to play, I obliged him, and it was not long before I found, to my surprise, that he was a much better player than I had anticipated. Thinking I could win easily, I began very carelessly, but my young-looking opponent soon made me stare with astonishment at his good play; and as he kept edging up to the "spot-stroke" without leaving the balls about, I began to anticipate defeat. I, however, pulled myself together, and, after a well-contested and exciting game, I came off the winner. The second game was also exciting, as I was ninety-eight when he ran out the victor. The third game commenced very steadily, but eventually I came off triumphant. The betting, at first in half-sovereigns, increased as we continued to play, and I found myself at the end of the game richer by £4. Brown was also a gainer by the result.

"You are very evenly matched, you two gentlemen," said a man, who, judging from his flash appearance, probably dabbled in horse-racing. "If you will play again, I don't mind backing the loser of the last game for £5 or £10!"

Brown jumped at the offer, and the money was accordingly deposited with the marker. "Now," said Brown, "you have not come across a 'duffer;' do your best!" Play commenced, and notwithstanding my having endeavoured by every possible means to win, I was defeated by three! This annoyed me very much, and Brown was exasperated that I should be beaten in this manner at my favourite game by a provincial. We now saw that my opponent stood in with the bookmaker in his bets; but this was to us quite immaterial so long as the marking was correct, which Brown took good care it should be.

The rumour spread by this time through the neighbourhood that billiards was being played for large sums of money, and the room became in consequence inconveniently crowded. Another game was proposed, and as I was anxious to win back Brown's money as well as my own, I consented, on condition that my opponent would give me points. This I scarcely expected would be granted.

"I think we are fairly matched," said my modest friend. "How many would you have the conscience to ask?"

"Can you give me ten in a hundred?"

"Impossible," replied my opponent. "I might as well give you the game."

The bookmaker here interposed, and persuaded him to let me have the ten points, offering at the same time to back his friend for £25, or any part of it!

Brown and I consulted, and as it seemed a certainty for me, the match was made. It is needless to describe the play here, but it was the most exciting of the series, and the betting equal. Suffice to say that, to my utter amazement, the game, with nine spot strokes, resulted in a victory for my opponent, my score being only ninety-five!

There was no help for it--luck was dead against us, and, like the comedians, Brown and I considered we had had enough of it--at least, for the present--and thought it prudent to retire. Before leaving, however, we learned the victor's name. His profession was that of a clerk in an insurance office. On striking a profit and loss account at the hotel we ascertained, to our dismay, that our evening's amusement had cost us £42! So much for Pattie Hastings and our trip to Liverpool.

The next morning we strolled down to see the extensive docks, and to witness the landing of the passengers from America, a Cunarder having just then arrived. I was pleased to find among the passengers an old friend of mine, who had been on a professional tour in the United States. Having informed him of the hotel we were stopping at, he agreed to accompany us, and on arriving and partaking of some refreshment he retired to have a few hours' rest. Brown and I again consulted as to our mode of procedure, and having struck on a good idea and discussed it, we resolved on remaining another night, and endeavouring if possible to turn the tables on our conquerors.

On my friend coming down to dinner, I had an opportunity to narrate to him our unlucky proceedings the previous evening, and the amount of money we lost. As he was acquainted with my play, he felt surprised, and was anxious to see this provincial wonder. Having succeeded in arousing his curiosity, he agreed to look in at the billiard-rooms, but his name was on no account to be mentioned. We accordingly appointed an hour, and when we entered the rooms it was easily to be seen that we were expected. The bookmaker, with his cable chain, was there, and there were a numerous gathering of his friends. There, too, was my opponent, playing a game with the marker. Before I was very long in the room I was asked if I should like to stand up, and I replied, with some hesitation, I would play one game for £5 on getting ten. This was assented to, and the play commenced in the midst of some enthusiasm, and resulted in my carrying off the honours, my opponent, for his own reasons, not wishing to show off his best form so early in the evening. When I declined to play any more, Brown was asked to have a game, and he declined. They then pressed our friend to try his luck, and he rather unwillingly consented, not being in so good a condition as he should wish, owing to his voyage across the Atlantic. Wishing to do us a favour if possible, he stood up and prepared for the play. When asked, however, how many points he would take, he caused some surprise in the room when he replied that, although he was somewhat cramped by a sea voyage, he would try to play level!

The game commenced, and the bookmaker's friends were jubilant; they looked upon this match as the best thing ever known for their champion! They hoped we would only stop some time in Liverpool, and they would make their fortunes. What an immense advantage it was to have such a splendid player to set against strangers like us!

But this time they were mistaken. They had caught the wrong bird. Our friend won the game, and, to their utter consternation, kept on winning game after game, until, after two hours' play, he whispered, "Got your money back?" and I answered, "Yes, with interest--don't play any more."

We immediately left the place and returned to the hotel, where we had an excellent supper and a few bottles of "phiz," leaving the bookmaker and his friends to wonder who the "unknown" was.

A couple of years afterwards I met the insurance clerk at St. James's Hall, and he showed us that he was one of the best players in the country. But the man who beat him at Liverpool was the Champion of England.

SECRETS OF A MATRIMONIAL AGENCY.

"You have saved my life."

"Nonsense," I answered; "the scoundrels were cowards and bolted the moment I came in sight."

"I tell you, sir, they would have murdered me, and flung my body into the river, where I should have become another 'Thames Mystery,' There were three of them--the wretches!"

"Valuables safe?" I asked.

The man felt his pockets.

"Lost my watch and chain," he said. "Easily replaced; but, if they had taken my life, who would have carried out my mission?"

"Your mission? May I inquire the nature of it?"

"You may; it is to make men and women happy."

"I understand; you preach."

"Quite wrong; I practise."

"You mystify me."

"Very likely," the strange-looking individual replied. "My conduct is at variance with the world's. I never seek to harm any one, and all my time is devoted to forwarding the interests of others."

Men with a grievance are plentiful enough, but a person whose sole object in life is to diffuse happiness is rather uncommon. In this age of iron such good-natured persons are looked upon with a suspicion of lunacy.

"Very commendable," I said; "but I am still in the dark as to how you attain such desirable ends."

"Of course you are, my worthy friend; but I hope to enlighten you. Answer me one question; are you single--a bachelor?"

"I am, and in no hurry to call any woman my wife."

"A misogamist," he muttered to himself; and then aloud, "I am glad you are single, because you will have occasion to rejoice that you met me--that you came to my assistance. You have rendered me one great favour; will you do me another?"

"If it's in my power," I replied.

"There is my card; dine with me to-morrow at 7."

I consented, but it was with some hesitation. I let him go, and I asked myself whether it was not the correct thing to place a philanthropist of this kind under some restraint. There is a society in work to suppress promiscuous charity, and for aught I know there may be an institution founded for the express purpose of shutting up universal benefactors.

His card bore the address, "Mr. Albert Dove, 1090, Finsbury Square, E.C."

The foregoing conversation took place on the Thames Embankment, near Waterloo Bridge, one stormy night in March of the present year.

Descending Savoy Street on my way to Scotland Yard, I heard a scuffle and a cry for help, and, knowing the bad reputation of the Embankment at that particular spot, I hastened to the rescue--with the result already told.

This chance encounter made me acquainted with a new phase of life abounding in striking scenes touching most notes of the gamut of existence.

My newly-acquired friend was not only peculiar in his speech, his appearance was out of the common. The first thing I noticed was his height, which was over six feet, and he looked taller on account of his high "chimney-pot" hat. His dark top-coat was closely-buttoned up to his chin, and reached down to his heels. It was impossible to judge of the man by his face, as it was covered by a tangled mass of black hair. His moustache and beard showed that not much time was spent in trimming them, and, taking advantage of their freedom, they rivalled each other in roughness and length. In his right hand Mr. Dove carried a heavy stick of black oak, typical of the robust build of the owner, and his recent assailants had cause to congratulate themselves that the suddenness of their attack prevented its being used.

For a man of his dimensions his eyes were exceedingly small, but what they lost in size they made up in brilliancy. If his eyes were diminutive, his arms were long--longer even than his great height justified; and when he walked he threw them about in the most irregular manner, just as if they were ready to go to war with each other, but neither one nor the other cared to take the initiative.

His mode of locomotion would draw attention to him anywhere, be it at church or fair. He was a most inelegant walker; each step seemed to be a combination of the jerk and shuffle, and, coupling this peculiarity with the slightly stooping body and lengthy arms, I thought that the man must be a little deformed, perhaps hump-backed. From a rough-cast individual like this you would naturally expect a harsh voice, but it was quite the reverse; his voice was musical to a degree, and he spoke as softly as any young woman addressing her lover.

It is not often we come across men of his disposition of mind or formation of body. But if the shell was gnarled, the kernel within was sound enough, and, strange as was Mr. Dove's business in life, you had only to become acquainted with him to be convinced that his chief aim was not the amassing of riches, but the well being of the men and women who entrusted their future to him.

But I must not anticipate--the extraordinary circumstances will be narrated as they befell me. Curious to know who Mr. Dove was, and what occupation he followed, I consulted Kelly's Directory, but without being made any the wiser. His name and address were correctly given, but nothing more. The man was unknown at Scotland Yard, except to one officer, who said he recollected the name of Dove cropping up some years ago in connection with a divorce case.

Punctual to the hour appointed, my cab drew up at 1090, Finsbury Square. In answer to my knock the door was opened by a negro servant, in a handsome light blue livery, who took my hat and coat, and ushered me, much to my surprise, into a drawing-room full of elegantly-dressed ladies and gentlemen, all engaged in agreeable conversation, intermingled with much laughter. I expected to dine quietly with Mr. Dove, and here were at least twenty guests, all entire strangers to me. The moment the servant pronounced my name, my host--who was quite a giant in comparison with his guests--came forward from a knot of ladies, with whom he was exchanging some pleasantry, and warmly welcomed me. Taking me round the company, he said--

"You will have great pleasure in becoming acquainted with the gentleman who saved my life."

"I was talking about you when you entered," addressing himself to me, "and explaining to my dear friends how much they are indebted to you. Without your valuable assistance last night, there would have been no joyous dinner--no spirit-stirring dance here this evening; and, alas! who would have administered to the wants of my flock?"

His language led me to suppose that my first idea was correct, that he was really a clergyman--perhaps of some new denomination. His appearance was very singular, and his manner eccentric, but not unpleasing. He appeared to be about forty-five, but the wrinkles on his forehead may have made him seem older than he really was.

I had hardly time to say that he made a great deal too much of the slight service, when dinner was announced by a pompous-looking butler dressed in black.

"You will take charge of Miss Bertram," my host said, with a wave of his hand in the direction of a pretty but pert-looking young lady eighteen or nineteen years of age, who at that instant entered the room, and who advanced without the slightest shyness, and placed the tips of her fingers on my arm.

The dining-room was on the other side of the entrance-hall, and during the short promenade, and while the guests were seating themselves, and during the progress of the dinner, the conversation never flagged for a moment--it was like the incessant roll of musketry.

The guests, with the exception of myself, were evidently well known to each other, and appeared very much at home. The host, by his genial manner, contributed not a little to the general cheerfulness, and he was exceedingly attentive to me.

The plate on the table, and the numerous paintings on the walls, to say nothing of the well-drilled servants in attendance, all betokened wealth. Mr. Dove must have money, and a good deal of it too; but what was his position in life, and who were the ladies and gentlemen assembled round his dinner-table?

The highly self-possessed young lady I took in to dinner, thinking, no doubt, I was a stranger, kindly entered into conversation with me as soon as we were seated at table.

"An odd collection," was her first remark.

Presuming that she referred to the numerous pictures hanging round the room, I replied--

"They do look curious. Good and bad, I suppose. Are they all English?"

This commonplace answer made her laugh.

"There are a few doubtful specimens among the French, but the most reputable are the English," she said.

"Perhaps Mr. Dove is not so easily deceived by the English; even experts are liable to be taken in by the artful French and Italian counterfeits."

Unknown to myself, I must have said something very funny, for Miss Bertram could not control her laughter.

"Does not our host get imposed on sometimes by worthless rubbish?" I asked.

When she could stop giggling she said--

"He makes mistakes of course, but he has been wonderfully successful. His knowledge of human nature is immense, and his foresight amounts to genius. These attributes account for his having so few failures."

Not perceiving what human nature and foresight had to do with buying pictures, I endeavoured to bring back the conversation to a lower and more comprehensible level.

"Does he make it the business of his life to pick up these splendid specimens?" I asked.

"I believe so; but speak lower in case the colonel opposite hears you; he might object, and he is a regular fire-eater. Coffee and pistols, you know."

"I would not hurt his feelings for the world. Is he interested in the speculation?"

"He is after the Queen of Sheba; the one with the bird of Paradise feather."

"After the Queen of Sheba, is he? Then there is a sale occasionally?"

"There is, but we call it by a different name, though it comes to much the same thing in the end."

"The specimens are, perhaps, disposed of privately to avoid the publicity of the auction-room."

The girl burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which drew attention to us.

"Glad you are enjoying yourself," called out Mr. Dove to me; "a glass of wine with you."

The middle-aged lady in red velvet on my left hand uttered some unpleasant observations about the forwardness of young ladies in general, and of Miss Bertram in particular, and the colonel on the other side of the table looked daggers at me; as if I could help it.

"Tell me the joke, and I will laugh, too," I whispered to my fair friend.

"Is this your first visit?" she asked, as if an idea had just occurred to her.

"The first."

"What are the symptoms? Are you an admirer of the classic, and is it blonde or brunette?"

This was beyond me, and I looked at the young girl in astonishment, which only redoubled her laughter. The horrible thought just then entered my head that I was in a private lunatic asylum; everything tended to confirm me in that opinion, and the marvel was that the truth had not dawned on my obtuse mind before. I had often been told that all mad doctors are, more or less, eccentric--that their attendance on insane people has, through course of time, an injurious effect on their own minds; and here was an example in the case of Mr. Dove!

The guests were no doubt his patients, and the stalwart men in waiting the keepers, ready to control any obstreperous individual, with their straight jackets, and bands of leather and iron in some convenient cupboard close at hand.

It is I know the belief of some doctors that it would be all the better for the afflicted ones if they were treated more like sane individuals, and were indulged in dinner parties and balls as if they still belonged to the outer world. I cautiously examined my fellow guests one by one, but I could discern nothing approaching the extravagant in their conduct, but everybody has heard of the wonderful cunning of lunatics; this evening they were evidently on their best behaviour.

As I glanced round the circle my eyes at length met the mirthful eyes of Miss Bertram, who was evidently watching me, and enjoying my perplexity. Was she mad, too? At first I was inclined to think she was rather an intelligent young woman--anything but stupid--but now the incoherent portion of her remarks rose up to condemn her. I was in the act of pitying her when she whispered behind her fan--

"Is it a very bad attack?"

It is necessary to humour mad people, so I replied--

"Not very; I feel quite myself at times."

She burst out laughing, and before she could recover herself the ladies rose from the table, and being next the door I did my duty. As Miss Bertram passed me with a sweeping bow, she said--

"Don't despair; have confidence in the doctor."

Before placing me in an assembly of lunatics, Mr. or Dr. Dove ought to have made me aware of the insanity of his guests. There was no telling what awkward things might have happened. When the ladies returned I sought an opportunity of speaking to him on the subject, but the gentlemen crowded up to his end of the table, and I had no chance. For a set of madmen, I must say their talk was rational enough; and, when the colonel, on whom the claret had a friendly effect, challenged me to a game of billiards, I could not but consent, and get well beaten on attempting to give points.

"Yes, go with the colonel," Mr. Dove said; "you have time for a game before the dancing commences."

I should have liked to mention the Queen of Sheba to the colonel, but he did not seem a man you could take a liberty with, and I thought better of it. Another lunatic was polite enough to mark the game, and called out the score with such accuracy that I at once set him down as an old billiard-marker.

When we had got through two games the sound of music reached us, and we returned to the drawing-room. The ball was in full progress, and it was a strange sight to see the huge and ungainly figure of our host moving amongst the dancers playing the fiddle. He was evidently an excellent performer, and it was to his music his patients danced. Occasionally he would waltz round the room playing his instrument all the time. His resemblance to the mythical satyr would at once strike an ordinary onlooker.

"A good dance makes people cheerful, and assists my cause," he remarked, as he waltzed past me.

"Many a happy wife has occasion to bless the Blue Danube," he whispered on another occasion.

"Come and see a recent success," he said in one of the short intervals; and I was led up and introduced to a shy-looking little man of fifty, and anything but a reserved young woman of twenty-five, his wife, who both looked happy enough, and seemed perfectly cured. Show patients, I presumed.

"For the encouragement of others," he whispered in my ear. "Won't you dance? There is Miss Bertram disengaged. Most accomplished girl. Daughter of an old friend. A sad history; but I will tell you all about her in my study, for you must smoke a cigar with me before you go."

Until the circumstances were cleared up a bit I considered it advisable not to dance with Miss Bertram or any other lady.

* * * * *

It was a new experience, and I could not be too cautious.

When we were closeted in the study by our two selves, with a good cigar and a brandy and soda, I soon approached the subject which was troubling my mind. I thought Mr. Dove would have died of laughing at my extraordinary mistake in taking his house to be a private lunatic asylum. He stamped and danced about the room in his uproarious glee, and I could not get a word out of him for some time--until he was thoroughly exhausted.

I must admit that when I heard the name of the establishment I was greatly surprised, but it must be remembered that there is not a similar house to 1090, Finsbury Square, in her Majesty's dominions.

"If love is lunacy," my host said, waving his hand toward the ball-room, "you are right, but my patients reside in an abode of joy, not of sorrow, and they are free to depart at any time--in couples."

In other words, the place was a +MATRIMONIAL AGENCY+.

CRUEL WORK OF AN INTIMATE FRIEND.

Public sympathy was entirely with the accused, yet the verdict pronounced--that of Guilty--was generally expected. The evidence put forward by the prosecutor was so conclusive. There was not much chance for the prisoner when two witnesses swore that he (Edward Fraser) had said in their hearing that he would do the deceased (Sydney Marshall) some deadly harm, and when three more individuals were placed in the box to prove that they beheld the struggle between the two men, and saw the person in custody push his opponent over the cliffs into the water. Much disappointment was, however, felt throughout the country when the grand jury scheduled the crime as murder instead of manslaughter. But this decision was quite of a piece with Fraser's other misfortunes. Marshall's body had not been recovered, notwithstanding a very diligent search, and the local fishermen thought that it had been carried out to sea by the under-current. Still no one doubted that the man had perished. Although he richly deserved his fate, that was no justification of the deed in the eye of the law. Provocation beyond human endurance does not, as poor Fraser found out, permit a man to be a law unto himself. The husband may have his home broken up, his future career destroyed, his wife dishonoured--as in the case of this man--but he is prohibited from laying violent hands on the seducer.

The judge in sentencing the prisoner to be hanged, said that the recommendation of the jury (to mercy) would be forwarded to the proper quarter, but that he could not hold out much hope of a reprieve. It so happened that a number of capital sentences had been commuted about this time, and the Government deemed it necessary, as murders were on the increase, to make an example. Whichever way it turned, fortune was decidedly adverse to Fraser. He was not only unlucky in having a treacherous friend and an unchaste wife, but he must needs seek his revenge at an inopportune moment.

The jury's message of mercy was duly sent to the Home Office, and there soon followed it a great many petitions to the same effect, signed by thousands of all grades of society, from the bishop to the bricklayer. The prisoner was no hardened criminal, and the fatal blow, or push, or whatever it was, was given in defence of his household goods. Before deciding on the question of life or death, the Home Secretary consulted the judge, and communicated, as usual, with Scotland Yard. He required full particulars of the antecedents of the two men, and wished to know if it was within the range of possibility for Sydney Marshall to have escaped with his life.

"The press has not left us much to discover," remarked the chief, as he handed me the letter from the Home Office. "This is Tuesday; the answer must go on Friday. See if you can throw any new light on the subject."

It may be as well to state here that every care is taken that these revelations will not injure living individuals. When it is considered desirable, names of persons and places are more or less changed, but otherwise the eventful episodes are real, and the author only writes about matters in which he was personally concerned in his official capacity:

In search of information for the Home Secretary, I had an interview with the prisoner at Lewes Gaol (the murder was committed near Brighton), and saw all the relatives and acquaintances of the two men in London, and the following is what I learned:--

Edward Fraser and Sydney Marshall had been intimate friends. They first got to know each other through Miss Evans, who became the wife of Fraser, and afterwards ran away with Marshall. This frail but pretty young woman was the daughter of a draper at Kensington. "More beauty than wit," was how an old lady described her. She was, however, wise enough to give her hand to the more eligible of her two suitors. Marshall was a clerk in a city bank, and had only his salary to depend on, whereas Fraser was a junior partner with his father, a solicitor in Gray's Inn. Considering that there had been a serious quarrel, ending in blows, in the presence of the young lady, it was surprising that Marshall cared to remain intimate with the newly-married couple, but he may have had his revenge in view.

Except in their affection for the same young lady, no two individuals could have been more dissimilar in their tastes and habits than Fraser and Marshall. It was an instance of extremes meeting. Marshall read much, and was a thinker, persuasive and subtle. He effectually hid his wicked designs underneath a placid exterior. Not easily got out of temper, and when there was a purpose in view he was never impatient. In appearance he was rather handsome, of the medium height, slightly built, and very dark; eyes closely set together (a bad sign), small and bright.

On the other hand, Fraser was a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed Saxon--an athlete not unknown at certain running-grounds, and at the Oval--a young man not over fond of book learning, but full of life, and a capital companion. His father had given him a year on the Continent before taking him into partnership, and in his travels he had managed to perfect his knowledge of the French and German languages. It was his ability to speak French which suggested the idea of his going to the Mauritius, and it was while on this voyage that his friend betrayed him.

His marriage with Miss Evans was not popular with his parents; they saw what a silly, frivolous girl she was, but they could not make him listen to reason. He was in love, I suppose, and consequently a little insane. At the wedding Marshall acted as best man, and a sister of his was one of the bridesmaids. The short honeymoon was spent in Paris, and on their return the happy pair found the villa they had taken ready for occupation. Enjoying excellent health, and with a good position, no two young people could have commenced their married life with finer prospects; but vessels sometimes founder in summer seas. Their happiness was fated to be but short-lived; their intimate friend was biding his opportunity to destroy it.

Marshall had not long to wait for the desired change. One of the oldest clients of Mr. Fraser, sen., was a Mr. Hampton, who had a sugar plantation in the island of Mauritius, managed by Frederick Lefevre, a Frenchman. The Governor, Sir George Bowen, had through a friend apprised Mr. Hampton that rumours to the discredit of Lefevre were current at Port Louis, and that the affairs of the estate wanted looking into. Mr. Hampton was old, and half an invalid, and, therefore, not inclined to undertake the long journey, and he asked his legal adviser whether he knew a suitable person. The remuneration was to be something handsome.

The lawyer thought that this would be a splendid opportunity for his son, but the young man would not hear of it unless he could take his wife with him, which was out of the question. He had only been married six months, and was, it was presumed, still surrounded by the glamour of love. Great pressure was brought to bear upon him to accept the mission. Even his wife's relatives agreed that it was too tempting a proposal to be rejected.

When Sydney Marshall was consulted he said there should be no hesitation whatever about it--that offers of that kind did not drop from the clouds every day. Such opportunities never came in _his_ way. There was no occasion to trouble about Mrs. Fraser; he and his sister would look after her. They would do what they could to prevent the young wife being too miserable in her husband's absence. She was miserable enough at the idea of her husband leaving her, but somehow or other became reconciled to it. Finding everyone, not excepting his wife, in favour of his going, Fraser sailed for the Mauritius.

Mrs. Fraser, jun., did not appear to take the temporary loss of her husband very much to heart. She did not go to the theatre or visit her friends seldomer than before, and her constant companions were Marshall and his sister. Her mother-in-law hinted that she saw a little too much of the Marshall's, but the young wife replied that the close intimacy was the wish of her husband. At parting had not Edward put her hand in Marshall's and said, "Sydney, here is your other sister; remember, you are her guardian?"

Husbands who object to disagreeable surprises should always inform their wives of the hour of their return, so that their fair partners may be in waiting to receive them with open arms. At least that is the opinion of your humble servant, an unmarried man. Edward Fraser was foolish enough to neglect this precaution, and the result was quite the reverse of what he anticipated. In his mind's eye he no doubt often pictured the disconsolate wife gazing on his photograph and kissing it, and seeking consolation from his love-letters. And as the ship neared Southampton on the return journey he frequently heard, in imagination, her joyful cry of welcome as he stepped across the threshold of his home.

Leaving his luggage to be forwarded, he hurried up from Southampton, and reached the vicinity of his villa one night about eleven o'clock. He sent no telegram announcing his arrival in England, and the "Ajax," having had a good passage, reached port twenty-four hours before she was due. Everything favoured the pleasant surprise in store for his wife. He, like a lover who had a clandestine appointment, stopped the cab a few doors from the house, and jumped out with only a small bag in his hand, containing presents for the treasure of his heart (that is the correct phrase, I think). Stealthily opening the garden gate, the fond husband, dying to embrace his wife, hastened through the shrubbery and trees which bordered the approach to the front door and make the place pitch dark. All his precautions had been useless. Before he had gone many steps a lady rushed into his arms and kissed him.

"My darling," she whispered, "you have come at last!"

It was his wife; she had been on the watch for him. So overjoyed was he at this mark of affection, all he could say was--

"Beloved one!"

"There is no letter or telegram, dearest Sydney," she whispered in his ear, putting her arms round his neck; "a few more hours of bliss."

"Woman!" he exclaimed, horrified, "what do I hear? I am your husband."

She uttered a startled cry, jumped apart from him, and fled.

At this moment the gate clicked, and a footstep approached.

"He has returned! run for your life!" called out the wife from the shrubbery.

Sydney Marshall, for it was that trustworthy gentleman, did not require a second warning. He was out of the gate and round the corner in a second.

The dazed and maddened husband quickly followed, but Marshall was not to be seen, and he did not return to his apartments that night.

Fraser would not trust himself to go near his wife again, and he went to his father's. When father and son reached the villa next morning the servants told them that Mrs. Fraser had packed up a couple of boxes and left at six o'clock, as she said, to meet her husband.

The guilty pair had, no doubt, left London. It was ascertained that, on the plea of urgent private affairs, Marshall had received a fortnight's leave of absence from business.

"Let me know where they are, and your task is finished," he said to the detectives employed to trace them; and at the end of two days--an eternity to him--he got the address, a farmhouse, in the neighbourhood of Brighton. "That is enough," remarked Fraser; "I will now make sure that the scoundrel will not corrupt another man's wife." It was this remark that told so much against him at his trial.

In the darkening light of an October afternoon the quondam friends met face to face on the cliffs, and the deadly struggle began. It did not last long. Fraser, being the stronger of the two, soon had the advantage, and he hurled the destroyer of his happiness into the sea. The deed accomplished, the betrayed husband did not attempt to fly. He gave himself up to the first policeman he met; and all that he said to the inspector was, that, as the law did not meet his case, he had been obliged to be his own judge and executioner.

Not the slightest trace of Sydney Marshall, dead or alive, had been discovered.

The official report to the Home Secretary was based on these details, which I have curtailed as much as possible.

Whether they came at a wrong time or not, the petitions in favour of a commutation of the sentence were unsuccessful.

The execution took place within the precincts of Lewes Gaol, and, as the case interested me, and I had business at Brighton, I was present. It was quite true, Fraser owned that he had sought the man's life, and as he had broken the law he must pay the penalty. He proposed to meet his ignominious end with quiet firmness. An incident occurred at the last moment to destroy his fortitude, and which rivetted my attention. It was immediately before Marwood pulled the cap over the condemned man's face. Fraser was taking his last look on earth when his eyes met those of one of the reporters. Suddenly, as a flash of lightning, his face underwent the most extraordinary change; before it wore a resigned expression--now it had all the malignity of a fiend.

The governor and everyone could see that the man was terribly agitated; his body swayed violently, and he attempted to speak, but, as fortune would have it, the clock was sounding the last beat of eight, and the hangman made haste to finish his horrible work.

When all was over the reporter who had so greatly disturbed Fraser's dying moments sneaked quickly out of the prison, but I did not mean to lose sight of him. An explanation was necessary. Detectives see so many phases of crime that they are not usually astonished at anything, but I must own to being dumbfounded when I discovered, under all his disguise, that reporter to be Sydney Marshall.

A good swimmer, and terrified for his life, he had, when pitched into the water, struck out to sea in the hope that he might fall in with a passing vessel, and he was evidently picked up by a French fishing-boat and landed at Portail.

"Why were you there?" I demanded, pointing to the gaol.

"As I was never safe until he was dead, I wished to see the last of him."

"But how did you obtain an entrance?" I asked.

"Easily enough. I induced a Brighton reporter to let me take his place."

"Do you think Fraser recognised you?"

"I am sure he did."

"Hanging would be too good for you!" I said.

The villain was tired of my examination. What could have been done with him if I had detained him?

Several years have passed since then, but, directly or indirectly, I have heard nothing more of Sydney Marshall.

It was some consolation for Fraser's heartbroken parents to know that the prisoner was guiltless of murder.

The notoriety was too much for the Evans' family, and with their frail daughter they emigrated to Buenos Ayres.

THE MISSING "RAJAH" DIAMOND.

About ten days or a fortnight after Fraser met his sad fate, I was summoned to the private room of the chief.

"Have you anything particular in hand?" he asked.

"Nothing, chief," I replied.

"Then you are really disengaged? The matter I am going to entrust you with must be inquired into with the utmost circumspection."

"I will be extra careful."

"Lady B---- has been here this morning in a great state of agitation. A diamond, known as the 'Rajah,' and worth something like twenty-five thousand pounds, has disappeared from her jewel-box, which is really a safe built in the wall, with two keys--one held by Lady B----, and the other by her husband."

"Yes, chief, it would be difficult to dispose of a stone of that value."

"Impossible; and no one at Amsterdam would risk cutting it without the highest references. The stone is well known, and is said to have been the eye of an idol in India. Occasionally it has been set to wear at Court, but when it disappeared it was quite loose."

"And when was it missed? Yesterday?"

"No; a week ago."

"As long as that?"

"Yes. You see Lady B---- was of opinion that the stone would be replaced in the safe."

"How could that possibly happen?"

"As you may have heard, Lord B---- is rather eccentric. He is a great connoisseur of precious stones, and he may have taken out the 'Rajah' diamond to admire it, and forgotten to return it."

"But why not ask him?"

"That is what we want to avoid. Her ladyship's object in coming here is to get us to trace the stone without his knowing anything about it. He is in such delicate health, the disappearance of his much-prized diamond might be very hurtful."

"Her ladyship could give you no clue?"

"None whatever; but you will see her yourself. She is at the town mansion to-day, but leaves for their place in Norfolk to-morrow. The jewel-box is at the Norfolk house. You must arrange with Lady B---- to be quartered in the house as sanitary inspector, or something of that kind. As a sanitary inspector you can roam all over the house without suspicion."

"I will do my best, chief."

There was a slight difference in the ages of Lady B---- and her husband; she was twenty-three, and he would never see sixty-five again. Lord B---- was not always the wealthy man he is now; an elder brother conveniently died without family, and an unusually rich seam of coal was discovered on his property. All at once his income rose from a few hundreds to twenty thousand per annum--that was on the death of his brother--and it is now said to exceed thirty thousand. A man who had such a splendid income was bound to have a pretty wife, and in Miss M-- he met the belle of two seasons, admired by everyone, from the prince to the peasant. Envious tongues did not hesitate to say that this union of May and December would not be lasting, and that because a near female relative had gone wrong, Lady B---- would soon give occasion for scandal. These wiseacres were disappointed for once. Lady B---- proved herself an exemplary wife, and there were two children, a boy and a girl, born of the marriage.

Arrayed in frock coat and a tall hat, I presented myself at the town house at four o'clock.

"Her ladyship in?" I asked.

"I will see," replied the man servant. "What name?"

I produced my card--

"+MR. ROBERT CHARRINGTON+, Sanitary Inspector,"

and on it in writing, "By appointment."

"Her ladyship does not recollect your name, but will you walk upstairs?"

On being ushered into Lady B---- 's presence and when the footman had retired, she came forward and said--

"I expected someone--from Scotland Yard."

"Quite right, my lady; here is a note from my chief."

"Of course you understand that this is quite a private matter at present. I think the stone has been mislaid--not stolen."

"Does your ladyship suspect no one?"

"Only my husband. He has the jewellery out frequently to dust, and he is a little forgetful."

"Does no one assist his lordship on these occasions?"

"He is either alone or I am with him."

"There are two keys, I believe; can the safe be opened without the production of both?"

"One is sufficient, but you must have the 'word.'"

"The 'word,' madam?"

"Yes, it is a French idea, I think, and Milner had to pay money to use it. There are three small discs, each surrounded with the letters of the alphabet, on the door of the safe, and the diminutive hands on the discs have to be set to a certain word before the keys are of any use. When the diamond disappeared the word was 'war;' one hand had to be pointing to 'w,' the second to 'a,' and the third to 'r.' When the safe is locked the hands on the discs are, of course, turned to any of the letters of the alphabet but the right ones. Although you held the key, it would be perfectly useless to you without knowing the exact word, and you might go through the whole dictionary without discovering it."

"Have you any system in changing the 'word?'"

"I generally alter it every month; this is effected through the clock-work on the back of the lid--but although I always acquaint my husband with the secret it soon escapes his memory, and he has invariably to come to me for the information."

"Can the diamond have fallen into wrong hands?"

"That will be for you to discover; there is one thing certain, it is not in the safe nor in Lord B---- 's possession. My maid and I have made a thorough search."

"Then the loss of this stone is well known in your ladyship's household?"

"On the contrary, it is quite a secret."

"Your maid knows?"

"Ann Gregory does not count; she can be trusted. She has been in the family all her life, first with my father, and on my marriage she came with me."

"I understand that the knowledge of the loss has been withheld from his lordship; have you any reason to suppose that he is aware of the fact?"

"Any sudden shock might seriously affect Lord B----, and until all my efforts to find the 'Rajah' had failed, I did not propose to mention the matter to him; still I am not quite sure that he does not know the diamond has disappeared. Since I first missed the stone, a week ago yesterday, Lord B---- has been to the safe twice, and, although he said nothing, after these visits he appeared much depressed."

"When did your ladyship last see the diamond?"

"Exactly ten days ago. I wore it at Court, and on my return to Norfolk I put it in the safe myself. Lord B---- happened to be present, and with a pair of pincers he took the stone out of its setting, after which I placed it in the case marked 'Rajah.'"

"Such a valuable diamond must be found. If your ladyship will kindly give me a line to your butler I will go down to Norfolk as a sanitary inspector, and when I have any good news to communicate, I will ask to see you."

"Certainly. I return to-morrow, and will remain in Norfolk three weeks. I need not say to you that the recovery of a stone worth £25,000 will meet with a suitable acknowledgment."

"Thanks from you, my lady, would be a sufficient reward."

I am no Communist, and am quite satisfied with my position in life; but only imagine a stone which I could easily slip into my waistcoat pocket being worth such a large sum of money. Will one of your chartered accountants please compute how many individuals could be made independent if not happy for life with the amount mentioned? One hundred cottages could, I suppose, be built for something like £25,000.

On reaching the Norfolk house my letter to the butler received every attention, and I was soon installed in a good room of the bachelors' quarter, and I arranged to have my meals served in an adjoining sitting-room. I had some ground plans with me, borrowed for the occasion, which I took care to leave open on the table for the inspection of inquisitive servants.

There was a large staff of servants, male and female, and I took steps to satisfy myself that the "Rajah" had not been accidentally hidden amongst their belongings. This was a work of care and time. How did I manage it? That is my secret. No dresses were left rumpled nor coats unfolded, and not one of the servants was a whit the wiser.

From the time the diamond was replaced in the safe to the day of its disappearance there had been no visitors in the house, and Lord B---- had not been from home.

As the opportunity occurred, I made a minute search in the room occupied by his lordship, but without any success.

"Rather dull here," I said to Lord B---- 's confidential servant one day. "You could do with a little amusement."

"That we could, sir," he said. "Times are changed since his lordship became an invalid."

"You were not accustomed in former times to let the grass grow under your feet?"

"That we did not. We went the pace and no mistake."

"You have been a long time with Lord B----?"

"Going on now for twenty years; and although his lordship has been a good master to me, I don't think if his life were published it would be suitable for family reading."

"Gay, eh?"

"Downright fact, sir. The pranks we played in London and Paris would shock a quiet gentleman like yourself. The farmers down here used to send their daughters out of the way when they heard of our coming."

"Lord B---- must now find time hang heavily on his hands. How does he amuse himself?"

"When he is able, he walks a great deal. If the day is at all fine, he generally goes as far as Oakshot Farm."

"An old flame?"

"People said so," he replied, with a laugh.

Next morning found me at Oakshot Farm, and I was made welcome by a bold-faced, handsome woman, about thirty. I was tired after my long walk, at least I said so, and asked the favour of a glass of milk. The woman hastened to get the milk, and we were soon in the full swing of a big conversation.

"What makes you think Lord B---- is failing rapidly?" I asked.

"Why he says and does such uncommon things; for instance, being our landlord, my husband and I thought we could not do wrong in calling our last baby after him. We asked his permission, which he generously gave us, and said he would give the youngster a handsome present."

"Well?"

"A year elapsed, and we saw nothing of the promised gift. One day recently--he comes often here--he asked me which of the children was named Gerald, and when I pointed out baby to him on the floor, he pulled out a piece of glass--fancy a bit of glass--and put it into his fingers, saying something about its being a talisman against all the ills of life. What could he mean?"

"A little wrong," and I touched my forehead.

"Just what I thought."

"Is that the bit of glass?" I asked, taking up the glittering morsel, which was being thrown from one child to the other.

"It is; a shilling would have been of more use."

"The children shall not be disappointed. I will give them a shilling each for it."

"You are robbing yourself, sir," she said, "and I am sure you are welcome to the milk."

In this extraordinary manner did I manage to recover the great "Rajah" diamond, which now rests more securely at Lord B---- 's banker's than it did at the house in Norfolk.

THE END [Illustration]