Great Porter Square: A Mystery. v. 3

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER XLI.

  FREDERICK HOLDFAST MAKES THE DISCOVERY.

  Frederick Holdfast slept until late in the morning. Awaking, he lookedat his watch, which marked the hour of eleven. He did not begrudge thetime spent in sleep. It had refreshed and strengthened him, and he knewit would not be prudent on his part to work during the day in any roomin which he would run the risk of being observed by the neighbours. Hehad not been disturbed; when he awoke his revolver was in his hand, andperfect stillness reigned throughout the house.

  In his state of mind inaction was a torture to him, and he could notcontent himself with sitting idly down. Imprisoned as it were, whiledaylight lasted, to the basement, into the rooms in which passers-by inthe Square above could not peer, he resolved to examine carefully everyinch of the floor and walls in the kitchen and passage. The shuttersof the area-windows were closed, and darkness prevailed. His lantern,therefore, served him in as good stead by day as it had done by night;he trimmed the lamp carefully, and prepared for what he had no hopewould be anything but a fruitless task. He only undertook it, indeed,for the purpose of occupying the time during which he was shut out fromthe upper part of the house, to the windows in which there were noshutters. It comforted him to think that his dear girl was within ashort distance of him; a few inches of wall separated them, and theywere thinking of each other, praying for each other.

  He commenced in the passage, tracking the marks of his father's dyingsteps upon the floor, and of his hands upon the walls. Inclined as hewas to the closest examination, his attention was arrested by a slightscratch upon the wall, which he found repeated, both above and below,wherever his father had rested his hand for support in his descent tothe kitchen. The scratch was very slight, and was not to be found uponany part of the wall which the dying man had not touched with his hand.The fading stains within which these scratches were observable appearedto have been made by a clenched hand; the marks of the knuckles could betraced. The inference Frederick Holdfast drew from these signs was thathis father had a distinct motive in keeping his hand closed, and thatthe hand held something he wanted to deposit in safe keeping before lifeleft his poor wounded body. It was for this reason, then, Frederickargued, following out the train of thought, as much as for any other,that the mortally-wounded man had, in his death-agony, made his way tothe kitchen, where he believed the servant was asleep. In her hands hewould place the treasure his clenched hand guarded, and, that supremeeffort accomplished, he would then be content to die, comforted by thethought that he left behind him a clue by which the innocent might besaved and the guilty punished. What was this treasure which had been socarefully guarded by a man who had but a few moments to live? He hadbeen unable to place it in the safe possession of a friend to justice.Had it been found by one whose interest it was to conceal it, or hadit escaped all eyes, to be discovered by the son he had unwittinglywronged? This last surmise was scarcely needed by Frederick to prompthim to search in every unlikely nook and cranny in the passage andstairs; but when he raised the light to the kitchen door, and saw therethe fatal hand-mark, and with it the almost imperceptible scratchrepeated, he knew that he had wasted his time, and that whatever it washis father had held in his hand he had carried into the kitchen withhim. To this room, therefore, he confined his search, and after beingoccupied in it for hours--until, indeed, he heard the church clockstrike five--was about to give it up in despair, when his eyes fell uponwhat looked like a small piece of metal, firmly imbedded in a creviceof the floor. It had evidently been trodden into the crevice by heavyboots, and it was with difficulty Frederick dug it out. It proved to bea key, small enough for a drawer in a desk.

  Frederick immediately went into the passage to ascertain whether he wasright in his idea that the scratches had been produced by this key, andholding it between his knuckles, as his father might have done, andplacing his hand upon the wall, he was satisfied of its probability. Itwas not strange that an object so small had escaped the notice of thepolice or the people in the house. As the dying man fell to the ground,the key may have been struck out of his hand by the shock, and being atsome distance from the body, had been trodden down into the crevice bythe policeman's feet. After that, nothing but such a minute examinationas Frederick had carried out could have brought it to light.

  Quick as his eager thought would allow him, Frederick followed histrain of argument in logical sequence. It was this key which his fatherwished to place in the servant's hands before he died; it was this keywhich was to unravel the mystery of his life and death in No. 119Great Porter Square. The drawer of the desk which the key would unlockcontained the record which would make all things clear. It had beenin the house; the furniture had not been removed; it was still in thehouse. But not in the room occupied by his father. If it were there,Pelham would have been certain to have found it. In that room every lockhad been forced, every scrap of paper examined. No!--The document hadbeen placed in another room for safety. The murdered man, acquaintedwith the character of the persons who had brought disgrace upon him,had taken the precaution to secure his written thoughts and wishes fromtheir prying eyes. Mr. Pelham was working on a wrong scent; his labourhad been thrown away. Frederick knew, from the inquiries of thedetective in his employ, that the adjoining room to that his father hadoccupied--the room from which he had, on the previous night, watched theproceedings of his father's murderer (for upon that point now Frederickwas morally convinced)--had, during the last four days of his father'stenancy, been vacant. What more likely than that this very roomcontained a drawer which the key would fit?

  He trembled with eagerness, feeling that he was on the brink ofdiscovery, and the shock of these mental revelations, which a fewminutes would see verified, was so great that a faintness stole overhis senses. Then he remembered that he had partaken of but little foodduring the day. He knew not what was before him in the night to come; heneeded all his strength.

  He sat down resolutely, curbing his impatience, and ate and drank hisfill. When he had finished his meal, he felt that he had acted well andwith prudence. He was ready now for any emergency, equal to any effort.

  It was by this time dark, and he could move into the upper part of thehouse with comparative safety. All day long the rain had been plashinginto the area with a dismal sound; the dreariness of the weather and thedreariness of the house would have daunted any man who had not a seriouspurpose to sustain him. Frederick had held no further communication withthe detective; during the day it was impracticable. But it had beenarranged between them that when night came, the detective, if he hadanything of importance to communicate, should drop a letter into thearea, of course at such time and in such a way as should afford nochance of detection. Before going upstairs with his precious key,Frederick cautiously opened the door which led into the area, and sawthat a small packet of brown paper had been dropped during the day. Hepicked it up and opened it; there was a stone inside, and round thestone a sheet of note paper, on which was written, in the detective'shandwriting:

  "Mrs. H. has received to-day a large sum of money. Her friend, Mr. P., was with her for nearly two hours. Upon leaving her house he drove to the City and cashed a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds. He was in high spirits. There is something in the wind; it looks as if they are making preparations to flit. Mrs. H. is getting together as much ready money as she can lay her hands on. I have no doubt she and Mr. P. have arranged to-day to go away together. Nothing further to say on that head. Your young lady friend in No. 118, Becky, is quite safe, but she looks anxious. On your account, I guess. Her little friend, Fanny, is a brick. We shall be on the watch all night in the Square. If you are in want of help, use your whistle."

  Not being in want of help at present, Frederick destroyed the letter,and went upstairs to the first floor. Opening the door of the roomhis father had occupied, he saw that no person had entered it duringthe day; everything was as Pelham had left it early in the morning.Frederick, by the light of his lantern, looked around for drawer ordesk. A chest
of drawers was there, unlocked and empty; a desk also,which had been broken open, and which the key he had found would notfit. As he left the room he saw, lying in a corner of the wall, a largekey. It was the key of his father's room. He put it in the lock, and itturned easily.

  "Pelham would be astonished to-night," he thought, "if, when he came, hefound the door locked against him. But that would be putting him on hisguard. I will open the trap for him instead of closing it. Murderer!Your hour is approaching!"

  He unlocked the door, and put the key in his pocket, with no distinctintention, but with an idea that it might in some way prove useful.When in his thought the unspoken words came to his mind, "I willopen the trap for him instead of closing it," he had not the dimmestcomprehension of their awful significance, or of the fearful manner inwhich they were to be verified.

  He entered the adjoining room in which he had kept his long and painfulwatch on the previous night. In the room was a sideboard, and to this hefirst directed his attention. The key he had found in the kitchen wastoo small for either of the sideboards, and as they were locked, heforced them open. There was nothing inside but some mouldy biscuits anda couple of old-fashioned decanters, with dregs of wine in them. He feltabout for secret drawers, but found none. A cupboard next attracted hisattention, and he searched it carefully. It contained plates and wineglasses, a shell box and a shell caddy, with views of Margate on them.Both were open, and he discovered nothing on the shelves which waslikely to bring his search to a successful issue. Before proceedingfurther he thought--in case Pelham should take it into his head tocommence his work early on this which he declared should be his lastnight in No. 119--it would be well to replace the table which had fallenover when he stepped from it. He raised it carefully and replaced it onits carved feet. It was a round table of Spanish mahogany, and was acontrast to the other furniture in the room, being old-fashioned and ofancient make. As he raised it, one of the lower surfaces upon which heplaced his hand shifted slightly, and the thought flashed through hismind that there might be a drawer beneath. He stooped and looked upward,and saw that his impression was a correct one. A drawer was there,evidently intended as a secret drawer; it was locked. With tremblinghands he tried the key. It fitted the lock, turned, and the drawer wasopen--and there, beneath his eyes, were some sheets of folio paper, uponwhich he recognised his dead father's handwriting.

  He drew forth the sheets and rapidly scanned them. They were in theform of a diary, and contained the record of his father's last days, orperhaps his last hours. Tears filled his eyes as he gazed at the belovedmemorial of a dear one, from whose heart he had been torn by the foulesttreachery. He dashed the tears away. No time now for grief; a sternerduty than that of mourning for the dead was before him. In his handshe held the vindication of his good name, and, he hoped, the means ofbringing the guilty to punishment. He must to work at once, and read thewords the dead had written for him. He went down to the kitchen, and,setting the door open so that no sound made in the house should escapehis ears, commenced the perusal of his murdered father's diary.

  [Decoration]