CHAPTER XLI. MR. PLAYMORE IN A NEW CHARACTER.
BY that night's post--although I was far from being fit to make theexertion--I wrote to Mr. Playmore, to tell him what had taken place, andto beg for his earliest assistance and advice.
The notes in Benjamin's book were partly written in shorthand, and were,on that account, of no use to me in their existing condition. At myrequest, he made two fair copies. One of the copies I inclosed in myletter to Mr. Playmore. The other I laid by me, on my bedside table,when I went to rest.
Over and over again, through the long hours of the wakeful night, I readand re-read the last words which had dropped from Miserrimus Dexter'slips. Was it possible to interpret them to any useful purpose? At thevery outset they seemed to set interpretation at defiance. After tryingvainly to solve the hopeless problem, I did at last what I might as wellhave done at first--I threw down the paper in despair. Where were mybright visions of discovery and success now? Scattered to the winds!Was there the faintest chance of the stricken man's return to reason? Iremembered too well what I had seen to hope for it. The closing lines ofthe medical report which I had read in Mr. Playmore's office recurredto my memory in the stillness of the night--"When the catastrophe hashappened, his friends can entertain no hope of his cure: the balanceonce lost, will be lost for life."
The confirmation of that terrible sentence was not long in reachingme. On the next morning the gardener brought a note containing theinformation which the doctor had promised to give me on the previousday.
Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel were still where Benjamin and I hadleft them together--in the long room. They were watched by skilledattendants, waiting the decision of Dexter's nearest relative (a youngerbrother, who lived in the country, and who had been communicated with bytelegraph). It had been found impossible to part the faithful Arielfrom her master without using the bodily restraints adopted in cases ofraging insanity. The doctor and the gardener (both unusually strong men)had failed to hold the poor creature when they first attempted to removeher on entering the room. Directly they permitted her to return to hermaster the frenzy vanished: she was perfectly quiet and contented solong as they let her sit at his feet and look at him.
Sad as this was, the report of Miserrimus Dexter's condition was moremelancholy still.
"My patient is in a state of absolute imbecility"--those were the wordsin the doctor's letter; and the gardener's simple narrative confirmedthem as the truest words that could have been used. He was utterlyunconscious of poor Ariel's devotion to him--he did not even appear toknow that she was present in the room. For hours together he remained ina state of utter lethargy in his chair. He showed an animal interest inhis meals, and a greedy animal enjoyment of eating and drinking as muchas he could get--and that was all. "This morning," the honest gardenersaid to me at parting, "we thought he seemed to wake up a bit. Lookedabout him, you know, and made queer signs with his hands. I couldn'tmake out what he meant; no more could the doctor. _She_ knew, poorthing--She did. Went and got him his harp, and put his hand up to it.Lord bless you! no use. He couldn't play no more than I can. Twangedat it anyhow, and grinned and gabbled to himself. No: he'll never comeright again. Any person can see that, without the doctor to help 'em.Enjoys his meals, as I told you; and that's all. It would be the bestthing that could happen if it would please God to take him. There's nomore to be said. I wish you good-morning, ma'am."
He went away with the tears in his eyes; and he left me, I own it, withthe tears in mine.
An hour later there came some news which revived me. I received atelegram from Mr. Playmore, expressed in these welcome words: "Obligedto go to London by to-night's mail train. Expect me to breakfastto-morrow morning."
The appearance of the lawyer at our breakfast-table duly followed theappearance of his telegram. His first words cheered me. To my infinitesurprise and relief, he was far from sharing the despondent view which Itook of my position.
"I don't deny," he said, "that there are some serious obstacles inyour way. But I should never have called here before attending to myprofessional business in London if Mr. Benjamin's notes had not produceda very strong impression on my mind. For the first time, as _I_ think,you really have a prospect of success. For the first time, I feeljustified in offering (under certain restrictions) to help you. Thatmiserable wretch, in the collapse of his intelligence, has done what hewould never have done in the possession of his sense and his cunning--hehas let us see the first precious glimmerings of the light of truth."
"Are you sure it _is_ the truth?" I asked.
"In two important particulars," he answered, "I know it to be the truth.Your idea about him is the right one. His memory (as you suppose) wasthe least injured of his faculties, and was the last to give way underthe strain of trying to tell that story. I believe his memory to havebeen speaking to you (unconsciously to himself) in all that he said fromthe moment when the first reference to 'the letter' escaped him to theend."
"But what does the reference to the letter mean?" I asked. "For my part,I am entirely in the dark about it."
"So am I," he answered, frankly. "The chief one among the obstacleswhich I mentioned just now is the obstacle presented by that same'letter.' The late Mrs. Eustace must have been connected with it in someway, or Dexter would never have spoken of it as 'a dagger in his heart';Dexter would never have coupled her name with the words which describethe tearing up of the letter and the throwing of it away. I can arrivewith some certainty at this result, and I can get no further. I have nomore idea than you have of who wrote the letter, or of what waswritten in it. If we are ever to make that discovery--probably themost important discovery of all--we must dispatch our first inquiriesa distance of three thousand miles. In plain English, my dear lady, wemust send to America."
This, naturally enough, took me completely by surprise. I waited eagerlyto hear why we were to send to America.
"It rests with you," he proceeded, "when you hear what I have to tellyou, to say whether you will go to the expense of sending a man to NewYork, or not. I can find the right man for the purpose; and I estimatethe expense (including a telegram)--"
"Never mind the expense!" I interposed, losing all patience with theeminently Scotch view of the case which put my purse in the first placeof importance. "I don't care for the expense; I want to know what youhave discovered."
He smiled. "She doesn't care for the expense," he said to himself,pleasantly. "How like a woman!"
I might have retorted, "He thinks of the expense before he thinks ofanything else. How like a Scotchman!" As it was, I was too anxious tobe witty. I only drummed impatiently with my fingers on the table, andsaid, "Tell me! tell me!"
He took out the fair copy from Benjamin's note-book which I had sent tohim, and showed me these among Dexter's closing words: "What about theletter? Burn it now. No fire in the grate. No matches in the box. Housetopsy-turvy. Servants all gone."
"Do you really understand what those words mean?" I asked.
"I look back into my own experience," he answered, "and I understandperfectly what the words mean."
"And can you make me understand them too?"
"Easily. In those incomprehensible sentences Dexter's memory hascorrectly recalled certain facts. I have only to tell you the facts,and you will be as wise as I am. At the time of the Trial, your husbandsurprised and distressed me by insisting on the instant dismissal ofall the household servants at Gleninch. I was instructed to pay thema quarter's wages in advance, to give them the excellent writtencharacters which their good conduct thoroughly deserved, and to seethe house clear of them at an hour's notice. Eustace's motive for thissummary proceeding was much the same motive which animated his conducttoward you. 'If I am ever to return to Gleninch,' he said, 'I cannotface my honest servants after the infamy of having stood my trial formurder.' There was his reason. Nothing that I could say to him, poorfellow, shook his resolution. I dismissed the servants accordingly. Atan hour's notice, they quitted the house, leaving their work for th
e dayall undone. The only persons placed in charge of Gleninch were personswho lived on the outskirts of the park--that is to say, the lodge-keeperand his wife and daughter. On the last day of the Trial I instructedthe daughter to do her best to make the rooms tidy. She was a good girlenough, but she had no experience as a housemaid: it would never enterher head to lay the bedroom fires ready for lighting, or to replenishthe empty match-boxes. Those chance words that dropped from Dexterwould, no doubt, exactly describe the state of his room when he returnedto Gleninch, with the prisoner and his mother, from Edinburgh. Thathe tore up the mysterious letter in his bedroom, and (finding no meansimmediately at hand for burning it) that he threw the fragments intothe empty grate, or into the waste-paper basket, seems to be the mostreasonable conclusion that we can draw from what we know. In any case,he would not have much time to think about it. Everything was done in ahurry on that day. Eustace and his mother, accompanied by Dexter, leftfor England the same evening by the night train. I myself locked up thehouse, and gave the keys to the lodge-keeper. It was understood thathe was to look after the preservation of the reception-rooms on theground-floor; and that his wife and daughter were to perform the sameservice between them in the rooms upstairs. On receiving your letter,I drove at once to Gleninch to question the old woman on the subject ofthe bedrooms, and of Dexter's room especially. She remembered the timewhen the house was shut up by associating it with the time when she wasconfined to her bed by an attack of sciatica. She had not crossed thelodge door, she was sure, for at least a week (if not longer afterGleninch had been left in charge of her husband and herself). Whateverwas done in the way of keeping the bedrooms aired and tidy during herillness was done by her daughter. She, and she only, must have disposedof any letter which might have been lying about in Dexter's room. Not avestige of torn paper, as I can myself certify, is to be discovered inany part of the room now. Where did the girl find the fragments of theletter? and what did she do with them? Those are the questions (if youapprove of it) which we must send three thousand miles away to ask--forthis sufficient reason, that the lodge-keeper's daughter was marriedmore than a year since, and that she is settled with her husband inbusiness at New York. It rests with you to decide what is to be done.Don't let me mislead you with false hopes! Don't let me tempt you tothrow away your money! Even if this woman does remember what shedid with the torn paper, the chances, at this distance of time, areenormously against our ever recovering a single morsel of it. Be in nohaste to decide. I have my work to do in the city--I can give you thewhole day to think it over."
"Send the man to New York by the next steamer," I said. "There is mydecision, Mr. Playmore, without keeping you waiting for it!"
He shook his head, in grave disapproval of my impetuosity. In my formerinterview with him we had never once touched on the question of money.I was now, for the first time, to make acquaintance with Mr. Playmore onthe purely Scotch side of his character.
"Why, you don't even know what it will cost you!" he exclaimed, takingout his pocket-book with the air of a man who was equally startled andscandalized. "Wait till I tot it up," he said, "in English and Americanmoney."
"I can't wait! I want to make more discoveries!"
He took no notice of my interruption; he went on impenetrably with hiscalculations.
"The man will go second-class, and will take a return-ticket. Very well.His ticket includes his food; and (being, thank God, a teetotaler) hewon't waste your money in buying liquor on board. Arrived at New York,he will go to a cheap German house, where he will, as I am crediblyinformed, be boarded and lodged at the rate--"
By this time (my patience being completely worn out) I had taken mycheck-book from the table-drawer, had signed my name, and had handed theblank check across the table to my legal adviser.
"Fill it in with whatever the man wants," I said. "And for Heaven's sakelet us get back to Dexter!"
Mr. Playmore fell back in his chair, and lifted his hands and eyes tothe ceiling. I was not in the least impressed by that solemn appealto the unseen powers of arithmetic and money. I insisted positively onbeing fed with more information.
"Listen to this," I went on, reading from Benjamin's notes. "What didDexter mean when he said, 'Number Nine, Caldershaws. Ask for Dandie. Youshan't have the Diary. A secret in your ear. The Diary will hang him?'How came Dexter to know what was in my husband's Diary? And what does hemean by 'Number Nine, Caldershaws,' and the rest of it? Facts again?"
"Facts again!" Mr. Playmore answered, "muddled up together, as you maysay--but positive facts for all that. Caldershaws, you must know, is oneof the most disreputable districts in Edinburgh. One of my clerks (whomI am in the habit of employing confidentially) volunteered to inquirefor 'Dandie' at 'Number Nine.' It was a ticklish business in everyway; and my man wisely took a person with him who was known in theneighborhood. 'Number Nine' turned out to be (ostensibly) a shop for thesale of rags and old iron; and 'Dandie' was suspected of trading nowand then, additionally, as a receiver of stolen goods. Thanks to theinfluence of his companion, backed by a bank-note (which can be repaid,by the way, out of the fund for the American expenses), my clerksucceeded is making the fellow speak. Not to trouble you with needlessdetails, the result in substance was this: A fortnight or more beforethe date of Mrs. Eustace's death, 'Dandie' made two keys from wax modelssupplied to him by a new customer. The mystery observed in the matterby the agent who managed it excited Dandie's distrust. He had theman privately watched before he delivered the keys; and he ended indiscovering that his customer was--Miserrimus Dexter. Wait a little!I have not done yet. Add to this information Dexter's incomprehensibleknowledge of the contents of your husband's diary, and the productis--that the wax models sent to the old-iron shop in Caldershaws weremodels taken by theft from the key of the Diary and the key of thetable-drawer in which it was kept. I have my own idea of the revelationsthat are still to come if this matter is properly followed up. Nevermind going into that at present. Dexter (I tell you again) is answerablefor the late Mrs. Eustace's death. _How_ he is answerable I believe youare in a fair way of finding out. And, more than that, I say now, what Icould not venture to say before--it is a duty toward Justice, as wellas a duty toward your husband, to bring the truth to light. As for thedifficulties to be encountered, I don't think they need daunt you. Thegreatest difficulties give way in the end, when they are attacked by theunited alliance of patience resolution--_and_ economy."
With a strong emphasis on the last words, my worthy adviser, mindful ofthe flight of time and the claims of business, rose to take his leave.
"One word more," I said, as he held out his hand. "Can you manage tosee Miserrimus Dexter before you go back to Edinburgh? From what thegardener told me, his brother must be with him by this time. It would bea relief to me to hear the latest news of him, and to hear it from you."
"It is part of my business in London to see him," said Mr. Playmore."But mind! I have no hope of his recovery; I only wish to satisfy myselfthat his brother is able and willing to take care of him. So far as _we_are concerned, Mrs. Eustace, that unhappy man has said his last words."
He opened the door--stopped--considered--and come back to me.
"With regard to that matter of sending the agent to America," heresumed--"I propose to have the honor of submitting to you a briefabstract--"
"Oh, Mr. Playmore!"
"A brief abstract in writing, Mrs. Eustace, of the estimated expenses ofthe whole proceeding. You will be good enough maturely to consider thesame, making any remarks on it, tending to economy, which may suggestthemselves to your mind at the time. And you will further oblige me, ifyou approve of the abstract, by yourself filling in the blank space onyour check with the needful amount in words and figures. No, madam! Ireally cannot justify it to my conscience to carry about my personany such loose and reckless document as a blank check. There's a totaldisregard of the first claims of prudence and economy implied in thissmall slip of paper which is nothing less than a flat contradiction ofthe principles tha
t have governed my whole life. I can't submit to flatcontradiction. Good-morning, Mrs. Eustace--good-morning."
He laid my check on the table with a low bow, and left me. Among thecurious developments of human stupidity which occasionally presentthemselves to view, surely the least excusable is the stupidity which,to this day, persists in wondering why the Scotch succeed so well inlife!
The Law and the Lady Page 41
