CHAPTER VI.

MRS. PELLYPOP TALKS.

Mrs. Pellypop was an epitome of all that was good; a happy mixture of Hannah More and Florence Nightingale, with just a slight flavour of Mrs. Candour to add piquancy to her character. She was an excellent housekeeper, a devout Christian, rigorous in all her social duties, a faithful wife--and yet, the late Mr. Pellypop must have been glad when he died. She was too overpoweringly virtuous, and wherever she went showed herself such a shining example of all that was excellent, that she made everyone else's conduct, however proper it might be, look black beside her own. The fact is, people do not like playing second fiddle, and as Mrs. Pellypop always insisted on leading the social orchestra, her room was regarded as better than her company.

Her father had been a clergyman, and when she married Mr. Pellypop, who was in the wine trade, and came out to Melbourne to settle, she never lost an opportunity of acquainting people with the fact. Mr. Pellypop died from an overdose of respectability, and left his widow fairly well off, so she declined to marry again--not having any chance of doing so--and devoted herself to the education of her only daughter, Elizabeth, whom she nearly succeeded in making as objectionably genteel as herself. Elizabeth was good, gentle, and meek, and as Mrs. Pellypop wanted a son-in-law of a similar nature, she married Elizabeth to the Rev. Charles Mango, who was then a humble curate in Melbourne.

After marriage, the Rev. Charles turned out to have a will of his own, and refused to let Mrs. Pellypop manage his household as she wished to do. Indeed, when he was created Bishop of Patagonia for his book on "Missionary Mistakes," he went off with his meek little wife to his diocese in South America, and absolutely refused to let his upright mother-in-law accompany him. So Mrs. Pellypop made a virtue of necessity, and stayed behind in Melbourne; talked scandal with her small circle of friends, bragged about her son-in-law the Bishop, gave tracts to the poor, which they did not want, and refused them money, which they did, and, in short, led, as she thought, a useful, Christian life. Other people said she was meddlesome, but then we all have our enemies, and if the rest of her sex could not be as noble and virtuous as Mrs. Pellypop, why it was their own fault.

At last she heard that the Bishop and his wife had gone to England to see that worthy prelate's parents, so Mrs. Pellypop sold all her carefully preserved furniture, gave up her house, and took her passage on board the "Neptune" in order to see her dear children before they went back to the wilds of South America. On board the ship she asserted her authority at once, and came a kind of female Alexander Selkirk, monarch of all she surveyed. Two or three ladies did indeed attempt a feeble resistance, but Mrs. Pellypop made a good fight for it, and soon reduced them to submission. Her freezing glance, like that of Medusa, turned everyone into stone, and though the young folk talked flippantly enough about her behind her back, they were quiet enough under the mastery of her eye.

When the ship left Gibraltar, late in the afternoon, Mrs. Pellypop was not pleased, and sat in her deck chair steadily knitting, and frowned at the grand mass of the Ape's Head on the African coast as if that mountain had seriously displeased her. She was annoyed with the conduct of Miss Cotoner who took an independent stand and refused to be dictated to by Mrs. Pellypop or anyone else; so the good lady, anxious to guide the young and impulsive girl, and find out all about her, determined to speak to her and subjugate her, if possible. So she sat in her chair knitting away like one of the Fates, and pondering over her plan of action, for Mrs. Pellypop never did anything in hurry, and always marshalled her forces beforehand.

Carmela, with the Marchese on one side and Ronald on the other--both of which gentlemen were exchanging scowls of hate--was looking at the romantic coast of Spain as they steamed through the Straits. The rolling, green meadows--undulating, like the waves of the sea, with the glint of yellow sunlight on them made a charming picture, and, turning to the other side, she could see the granite peaks of the Ape's Head with wreaths of feathery clouds round it, and, a little farther back, the white houses of Ceuta. Add to this charming view, a bright sky, a fresh breeze, which made the white sails belly out before it, and two delightful young men to talk to, it was little to be wondered at that Carmela felt happy.

"So these are the Pillars of Hercules?" she said, looking from one side of the strait to the other.

"Yes," answered her cousin, "so the Greeks said. I don't think much of Hercules as an architect--do you?"

"Indeed I do," replied Carmela, enthusiastically; "what can be grander than Gibraltar and the Ape's Head?"

"They are not exactly alike," said Ronald, looking at Vassalla, "and the Marchese likes consistency."

"Of course, I do," retorted Vassalla, with an angry flush on his cheek, "especially in women," with a significant look at his cousin.

"Then my dear Matteo, you are sure to be disappointed," retorted Miss Cotoner, calmly, "for you'll never get it--the age of miracles is past my friend."

Ronald laughed, and was rewarded by a scowl from the Marchese, and then Carmela, tired of keeping peace between these hot-headed young men, went off to talk to Mrs. Pellypop. Without doubt, there would have been high words between the rivals had not a steward come up to Ronald with a message that the captain wanted to see him. So Ronald retreated, leaving Vassalla in possession of the field, and the Marchese, seeing there was no chance of talking to Carmela, went off to solace himself with a cigarette.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Pellypop received Carmela with an affectation of friendliness, and proceeded to question her in a Machiavellian manner.

"What a pretty place Valletta is," said the matron, dropping her knitting and rubbing her plump white lands; "I suppose you know it very well?"

"I ought to," answered the girl laughing; "I've lived there nearly all my life."

"Yet you speak English well," said Mrs. Pellypop sceptically.

"Yes, there are so many English people in Malta; and, besides, my mother was English."

"Oh," thought Mrs. Pellypop, noticing the use of the past tense, "her mother is dead." "So you are going home to your mother's people I suppose?" she asked aloud.

"Just on a visit," replied Carmela carelessly.

"Indeed, they live in London I presume?"

"No, at Marlow on the Thames."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Pellypop, sitting up suddenly, "is that so? I am going down there myself on a visit to my son-in-law. He's the Bishop of Patagonia, my dear, and his parents live near Marlow. Mango is the name. I believe they are well known."

"Yes; I've heard of them," said Carmela cordially. "A dear old couple I believe."

Mrs. Pellypop drew herself up stiffly: "The parents of a bishop should never be called 'a dear old couple';" it savoured of the peasantry.

"May I inquire the name of your relative?" she asked, coldly, taking up her knitting.

"Sir Mark Trevor."

"Indeed," said Mrs. Pellypop, impressed with the fact that the young lady was connected with a baronet. "It's a Cornish name, is it not?"

"I believe so. He has estates in Cornwall; but also has a house on the Thames, where he stays for the summer."

"Oh! a bachelor's place I presume?" said Mrs. Pellypop artfully.

"Not exactly; he's a widower, and has one daughter nearly as old as I am, and they are going to meet me London, and then we intend to go to Marlow for the summer."

"Then I shall probably see you there," said Mrs. Pellypop cordially.

"It's not unlikely," replied Carmela rising. "Good-bye, for the present, Mrs. Pellypop, I'm going to lie down for an hour before dinner."

"Good-bye, my dear," said the matron, resuming her knitting. "I hope I shall meet you on the Thames. I should like you to know the bishop."

Carmela laughed as she went downstairs.

"She's quite pleased with me now," she said gaily; "and all because I have a cousin who is a baronet. Heavens, how amusing these people are!"

Mrs. Pellypop was pleased with Miss Cotoner; and what she had termed forward conduct before, she now called eccentricity. This young lady had aristocratic relatives, which relatives lived near the place to which Mrs. Pellypop was going. So the worthy matron, who had a slight spice of worldliness, resolved to cultivate the girl from Malta as a desirable acquaintance.

"She needs a mother's care," thought good Mrs. Pellypop, "so I must try and look after her."

What would Mrs. Pellypop's conduct have been had Carmela told her that her cousin was a butcher? Just the same of course; for how could a good woman attach any importance to such idle things as rank and wealth?

Meanwhile Ronald was in the captain's cabin talking over the mysterious crime which had takes place on board the "Neptune;" and both of them were in considerable doubt how to proceed.

"I want the affair cleared up," said Templeton, "if only for the credit of the ship; it won't encourage people to travel with us if they think there's a chance of being murdered on board."

"The difficulty is how to start," replied Ronald thoughtfully; "you see there is absolutely no clue to follow."

"Precisely," answered the Captain leaning forward, "let me state the case. A gentleman comes on board at Melbourne, and conducts himself in a rational and sane manner, which puts the idea of suicide quite out of the question--just before we arrive at Malta he is restless and uneasy, and tells you the story of his life, which affords strong grounds for suspicion that his wife wanted to kill him--he goes on shore, spies his wife, and returns at once on board--he goes to bed before the ship sails, and the deck is crowded with all sorts and conditions of people, such a crowd that there's absolutely no chance of knowing any of them. He is found dead next morning, with an Italian stiletto in his breast, a weapon which a Maltese would probably use in preference to a knife. There is no evidence to show that anyone was seen near his cabin. Now your theory is that his wife came on board before the ship sailed, killed him, and escaped on shore in the confusion?"

"Yes; that is my theory, but only founded on the story he told me."

"Very good! We then find he told you that Ventin as not his real name. I search his boxes and papers, ad find no other name but Lionel Ventin, and yet he distinctly denied that that was his proper name?"

"He did--distinctly."

"I place all the facts and evidence in the hands of he authorities at Gibraltar, and they are equally mystified, with ourselves--they suggest that it might have been a lascar or a steward."

"Impossible! there was no motive."

"No robbery, certainly," answered Templeton; "but do you think there could have been any other motive?"

"How could there? With the exception of myself, he was very reserved with everyone else on board."

"Then we dismiss the steward and lascar theories; it must have been the wife. Now I have stated the case; how do you propose to unravel the mystery?"

"Ask me something easier," replied Ronald with laugh.

"Think again--he told you his story, did he mention any names?"

"One; Elsie Macgregor."

"Good: now do you see a clue?"

"Ah!"--Ronald thought a moment,--"yes, I see what you mean, if Ventin were divorced, Elsie Macgregor must have been joined as co-respondent."

"Exactly," answered Templeton; "I see you've caught my idea; now I can't take up this case, and though I'll have to put it into the hands of the authorities, they are sure to make a mess of it, so if you want to unravel this mystery, you must find out the murderer or murderers of Lionel Ventin yourself."

"I see," said Ronald, pulling his mustache, "you want me to find out the divorce case."

The Captain nodded triumphantly.

"But Macgregor is such a common name," objected Ronald; "there may be dozens of co-respondents called Macgregor."

"Very likely, but what about the sex? The co-respondent you look for must be a woman called Elsie Macgregor.

"Yes," cried Ronald, quickly, "and then I'll find out Ventin's real name."

"Of course," answered the Captain, "and once you find out his real name you'll soon find the wife."

"And then?"

Templeton shrugged his shoulders.

"Oh, then you'll have to prove the truth of his story to you."

"But if I find out all about her, the stiletto will have to be put in evidence."

"Of course," answered Templeton; "and that you can get from the authorities at Gibraltar, in whose hands I placed it."

"I have a letter of introduction to the son of an old friend of my father," said Ronald; "he is a barrister, of the Middle Temple."

"Oh--young?"

"About thirty."

"The very man," replied Templeton rising, "go and see him and tell him all about it; if he's anxious to make a mark in the world----"

"Which he hasn't done yet," interjected Ronald.

"He'll go in for this case; gad, I wish I could go into it myself; I ought to have been a private detective."

"Well," said Ronald, as they went out on to the deck; "I came for a pleasure trip, but it looks as if I shall have to work all the time."

"Yes, but think of the time you will have of it putting this puzzle together," replied Templeton, "it will be most exciting; besides, if you bring this crime home you'll get your reward; if not on earth, at least in heaven."

"I'd rather have it on earth," said Ronald, thinking of Carmela.