Works of Ellen Wood

by Ellen Wood

The surmise that the missing cheque had been changed into good money on the Saturday night, proved to be correct. White, the butcher at the corner of the shambles, had given change for it, and locked up the cheque in the cash-box. Had he paid it into the bank on Monday, he would have found what it was worth. But he did not do so. Mr. White was a fat man with a good-humoured countenance and black hair. Sergeant Delves proceeded to his house some time on the Tuesday.

  “I hear you cashed a cheque of the Messrs. Dunn on Saturday night,” began he. “Who brought it to you?”

  “Ah, what about that cheque?” returned the butcher. “One of your men has been in here, asking a lot of questions.”

  “A good deal about it,” said the sergeant. “It was stolen from Mr. Ashley.”

  “Stolen from Mr. Ashley!” echoed the butcher, staring at Sergeant Delves.

  “Stolen out of his desk. And you stand a nice chance, White, of losing the money. You should be more cautious. Who was it brought it here?”

  “A gentleman. A respectable man, at any rate. Who says it’s stolen?”

  “I do,” replied the sergeant, sitting himself down on the meat-block — rather a damp seat from its just having been washed with hot water. Delves liked to make himself familiar with his old friends in Helstonleigh in a patronising manner; it was only lately he had been promoted to sergeant. “Now! let’s have the particulars, White.”

  “I had just shut up my shop, all but the door, when in come a gentleman in a cloak and cap. ‘Could you oblige the Messrs. Dunn with change for a cheque, Mr. White?’ says he, handing a cheque to me. ‘Yes, sir,’ said I, ‘I can; very happy to oblige ‘em. Would you like it in gold?’ Well, he said he would like it in gold, and I gave it to him. ‘Thank ye,’ said he; ‘I’d have got it nearer if I could, for I’m troubled to death with tooth-ache; but people are shut up:’ and I noticed that he had kept his white handkerchief up to his mouth and nose. He went out with the gold, and I put up the cheque. And that’s all I know about it, Delves.”

  “Don’t you know who it was?”

  “No, I don’t. He had a cap on, with the ears coming down his cheeks; and, what with that, and the peak over his eyes, and the white handkerchief held up to his nose, I didn’t so much as get a sight of his face. The shop was pretty near dark, too, for the gas was out. There was only a candle at the pay window.”

  “If a man came in disguised like that, asking to have a cheque changed into gold, it might have occurred to some tradesmen there’d be something wrong about it,” cried the sergeant.

  “I didn’t know he was disguised,” objected the butcher. “I saw it was a good cheque of the Messrs. Dunn, and I never gave a thought to anything else. I’ve had their cheques before to-day. Mr. William Dunn has dealt here this twenty year. But now that it’s put into my head, I begin to think he was disguised,” continued the butcher. “His voice was odd, thick and low, and he spoke as if he had plums in his mouth.”

  “Should you know him again?”

  “Ay. That is if he came in dressed as he was then. I’d know the cloak out of a hundred. It was one of them old-fashioned plaid rockelows.”

  “Roquelaures,” corrected the sergeant.

  “Something of that. The collar was lined with red, with a little edge of fur on it. There’s a few such shaped cloaks in the town now, made of blue serge or cloth.”

  “What time was it?” asked the sergeant.

  “Just eleven. I was shutting up.”

  Sergeant Delves took possession of the cheque and proceeded to the office of Mr. Dare. A long conference ensued, and then they went out together towards Mr. Ashley’s manufactory. On the road they happened to meet Cyril, and Mr. Dare drew him aside.

  “Do you happen to know any one who wears an old-fashioned plaid cloak?” he asked.

  “Halliburton wears one,” replied Cyril: “the greatest object of a thing you ever saw. I say,” continued Cyril, “what’s old Delves doing with you?”

  “Not much,” carelessly said Mr. Dare. “He has been looking after a little private business for me.”

  “Oh, is that all?” and Cyril, feeling reassured, tore off on the errand he was bound for. For reasons best known to himself, it would not have pleased him that Sergeant Delves should be pressed into the affair of the cheque. At least, Cyril would have preferred that the matter should be allowed to rest.

  He executed his commission, one that he had been charged with by Samuel Lynn, turned back, passed the manufactory, and took his way to Honey Fair on a little matter of his own. It was only the purchase of a dog — not to make a mystery of it. A dog that had taken Cyril’s fancy, and for which he and the owner had not yet been able to come to terms. So he was going up again to try his powers of persuasion.

  As he walked rapidly through Honey Fair, he saw a little bit of by-play on the opposite side. A young woman in a tattered gown, and a dirty bonnet drawn over her face, was walking along as rapidly as he. Her bent head, her humble attitude, her shrinking air, her haste to get out of sight of others, all betrayed that she, from some cause or other, was not in good odour with the world around. That she felt herself under a cloud, was only too apparent: it was a cloud of humiliation, for which she had only herself to thank. The women who met her hurried past with a toss of the head and then stood to peep after her as she disappeared in the distance.

  She hurried — hurried past them — glad, it seemed, to be away from their stern looks and condemning eyes. Had you seen her, you would never have recognised her. In the dim eye, darker than of yore, the white cheek, the wasted form, no likeness remained of the once-blooming Caroline Mason.

  Just as she passed opposite to Cyril, Eliza Tyrrett came out of a house and met her; and Eliza, picking up her skirts, lest they should become contaminated, swept past with a sidelong glance of reproach and a scornful gesture. Caroline’s head only bent the lower as she glided away from her old companion.

  It had been just as well that Charlotte East had not sent back that bundle, years ago, to surprise Anthony Dare. It was years now since Charlotte herself had come to the same conclusion.

  CHAPTER XIX.

  THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS.

  Leaning back against the corner of the mantel-piece by the side of the blazing fire in his private room, calmly surveying those ranged before him, and listening to their tale with an impassive face, was Thomas Ashley. Sergeant Delves and Mr. Dare were giving him the account of the changing of the cheque, obtained from White the butcher. Samuel Lynn stood near the master’s desk, his brow knit in perplexity, his countenance keen and anxious. The description of the cloak, tallying so exactly with the one worn by William Halliburton, led Mr. Dare to the conclusion, nay, to the positive conviction that the butcher’s visitor could have been no other than William. The sergeant held the same view; but the sergeant adopted it with difficulty.

  “It’s an odd thing for him to turn thief,” said he, reflectively. “I’d have trusted that young fellow, sir, with untold gold,” he added, to Mr. Ashley. “Here’s another proof how we may be deceived.”

  “I told you,” said Mr. Dare, turning to Mr. Ashley, “that it could be no other than Halliburton.”

  “Thee will permit me to say, friend Dare, that I do not agree with thy deductions,” interposed the Quaker, before Mr. Ashley could answer.

  “Why, what would you have?” returned Mr. Dare. “Nothing can be plainer. Ask Sergeant Delves if he thinks further proof can be needed.”

  “Many a man has been hanged upon less,” was the oracular answer of Sergeant Delves.

  “What part of my deductions do you object to?” inquired Mr. Dare of the Quaker.

  “Thee art assuming — if I understand thee correctly — that there is no other cloak in the city so similar to William’s as to be mistaken for it.”

  “Just so.”

  “Then, friend, I tell thee that there is.”

  Mr. Dare opened his eyes. “Who wears it?” he asked.

  “That is another question,” said Samuel
Lynn. “I should be glad to find out myself, for curiosity’s sake.”

  Then Mr. Lynn told the story of his having observed a man, whom he had taken for William, walking at the back of his house, apparently waiting for something. “I saw him on two evenings,” he observed, “at some considerable interval of time. The figure bore a perfect resemblance to William Halliburton; the height, the cloak, the cap — all appeared to be his. I taxed him with it. He denied it in toto, said he had not been walking there at all, and I believed he was attempting, for the first time since I have known him, to deceive me. I — —”

  “Are you sure he was not?” put in Mr. Dare.

  “Thee should allow me to finish, friend. Last night I was home somewhat earlier than usual — thee can recollect why,” the Quaker added, looking at Mr. Ashley. “I was up in my room, and I saw the same figure pacing about in precisely the same manner. William’s denial had staggered me, otherwise I could have been ready to affirm that it was himself and no other. The moon was not up; but it was a very light night, and I marked every point in the cloak — it was as like William’s as two peas are like each other. What he could want, pacing at the back of my house and of his, puzzled me much. I — —”

  “What time was this, Mr. Lynn?” interrupted the sergeant.

  “Past eight o’clock. Later than the hour at which I had seen him on the two previous occasions. ‘It is William Halliburton, of a surety,’ I said to myself; and I thought I would pounce upon him, and so convict him of the falsehood he had told. I left my house by the front door, went down the road, past the houses, and entered the gate admitting into the field. I walked up quietly, keeping under the hedge as much as possible, and approached William — as I deemed him to be. He was then standing still, and gazing at the upper windows of my house. In spite of my caution, he heard me, and turned round. Whether he knew me or not, I cannot say; but he clipped the cloak around him with a hasty movement, and made off right across the field. I would not be balked if I could help it. I opened friend Jane Halliburton’s back gate, and proceeded through the garden and house to the parlour, which I entered without ceremony. There sat William at his books.”

  “Then it was not he, after all!” cried Mr. Dare, interested in the tale.

  “Of a surety it was not he. I tell thee, friend, he was seated quietly at his studies. ‘Hast thee lent thy cloak to a friend to-night?’ I asked him. He looked surprised, and said he had not. But, to be convinced, I requested to see his cloak, and he took me outside the door, and there was the cloak hanging up in the passage, his cap beside it. That is why I did not approve of thy deductions, friend Anthony Dare, in assuming that the cloak, which the man had on who changed the cheque, must be William Halliburton’s,” concluded Mr. Lynn.

  “You say the man looked like William when you were close to him?” inquired Mr. Ashley, who thought the whole affair very curious, and now broke silence for the first time.

  “Very much like him,” answered Samuel Lynn. “But the resemblance may have been only in the cloak and cap. The face was not discernible; by accident or design, it was concealed. I think there need not be better negative proof that it was not William who changed the cheque.”

  Mr. Ashley smiled. “Without this evidence of Mr. Lynn’s I could have told you it was waste of time to cast suspicion on William Halliburton to me,” said he, addressing the sergeant and Mr. Dare. “Were you to come here and accuse myself, it would make just as much impression upon me. Wait an instant, gentlemen.”

  He went to the door, opened it, and called William. The latter came in, erect, courteous, noble — never suspecting the sergeant’s business there could have anything to do with him.

  “William,” began his master, “who is it that wears a similar cloak to yours, in the town?”

  “I am unable to say, sir,” was William’s ready reply. “Until last night,” and he turned to Samuel Lynn with a smile, “I should have said there was not another like it. I suppose now there must be one.”

  “If there is one, there may be more,” remarked Mr. Ashley. “The fact is, William, the cheque has been traced. It was changed at White’s, the butcher; and the person changing it wore a cloak, it seems, very much like yours.”

  “Indeed!” cried William, with animation. “Well, sir, of course there may be many such cloaks in the town. All I can say is, I have not seen them.”

  “There can’t be many,” spoke up the sergeant, “if it be the old-fashioned sort of thing described to me.”

  William looked the sergeant full in the face with his open countenance, his honest eyes. No guilt there. “Would you like to see my cloak?” he asked. “It may be a guide, if you think the one worn resembled it.”

  The sergeant nodded. “I was going to ask you to bring it in, if it was here.”

  William brought it in. “It is one of the bygones,” said he laughing. “I have some thoughts of forwarding it to the British Museum, as a specimen of antiquity. Stay! I will put it on, that you may see its beauties the better.”

  He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and exhibited himself off, as he had done once before in that counting-house for the benefit of Samuel Lynn. “I think the British Museum will get it,” he continued, in the same joking spirit. “Not until winter’s over, though. It is a good friend on a cold night.”

  Sergeant Delves’ eyes were riveted on the cloak. “Where have I seen that cloak?” he mused, in a dreamy tone. “Lately, too!”

  “You may have seen me in it,” said William.

  The sergeant shook his head. He lifted one hand to his temples, and proceeded to rub them gently, as if the process would assist his memory, never once relaxing his gaze.

  “Did White say the changer of the cheque was a tall man?” asked Mr. Ashley.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Dare. “Whether he meant as tall as William Halliburton, I cannot say. There are not — why, I should think there are not a hundred men in the town who come up to that height,” he added, looking at William.

  “Yourself one of them,” said William, turning to him with a smile.

  Mr. Dare shook his head, a regret for his past youth crossing his heart. “Ay, once. I am beginning to grow downward now.”

  Mr. Ashley was buried in reflection. There was a curious sound of mystery about the tale altogether, to his ears. That there were many thieves in Helstonleigh, he did not doubt — people who would appropriate a cheque, or anything else that came in their way; but why the same person — if it was the same — should pace the cold field at night, watching Samuel Lynn’s house, was inexplicable. “It may not be the same,” he observed aloud. “Shall you watch for the man again?” he asked of Mr. Lynn.

  “I shall not give myself much trouble over it now,” was the reply. “While I was concerned to ascertain William’s truthfulness — —”

  “I scarcely think you need have doubted it, Mr. Lynn,” interrupted William.

  “True. I have never doubted thee yet. But it appeared to be thy word against the sight of my own eyes. The master will understand — —”

  A most extraordinary interruption came from Sergeant Delves. He threw up his head with a start, and gave vent to a shrill, prolonged whistle. “It looks dark!” cried he.

  “What didst thee say, friend Delves?”

  “I beg pardon, gentlemen,” answered the sergeant. “I was not speaking to any of you; I was following up the bent of mine own thoughts. It suddenly flashed into my mind who it is that I have seen in one of these cloaks.”

  “And who is it?” asked Mr. Dare.

  “You must excuse me, sir, if I keep that to myself,” was the answer.

  “As tall a man as William Halliburton?”

  The sergeant ran his eyes up and down William’s figure. “A shade taller, I should say, if anything.”

  “And it struck me that the man who made off across the field was a shade taller,” observed Samuel Lynn.

  “Well, I can’t make sense of it,” resumed Mr. Dare, breaking a pause. “Let us allow, if
you like, that there are fifty such cloaks in the town. Unless one, wearing such, had access to Mr. Ashley’s counting-house, to this very room that we are now in, how does the fact of there being others remove the suspicion from William Halliburton?”

  Mr. Dare had not intended wilfully to cause him pain. He had forgotten for the moment that William was a stranger to the doubt raised touching himself. Amidst the deep silence that ensued, William looked from one to the other.

  “Who suspects me?” he asked, surprise the only emotion in his tone.

  Sergeant Delves tapped him significantly on the shoulder. “Never you trouble yourself, young sir. If what has come into my mind be right, it isn’t you who are guilty.”

  When he and Mr. Dare went out, Mr. Ashley followed them to the outer gate. As they stood there talking, Frank Halliburton passed. “Look here,” thought the sergeant to himself, “there’s not much doubt as to the black sheep — I see that: but it’s as well, to be on the sure side. Young man,” cried he aloud to Frank, in the authoritative, patronizing manner which Sergeant Delves was fond of assuming when he could, “what time did your brother William get home last Saturday night? I suppose you know, if you were at home yourself.”

  Frank looked at him rather haughtily. “I know,” he replied. “I have yet to learn why you need know.”

  “Tell him, Frank,” said Mr. Ashley, with a smile.

  “It was a little after ten,” said Frank.

  “Did he go out again?” asked the sergeant.

  “Out again at that time!” cried Frank. “No: he did not go out again. We sat talking together ever so long, and then went up to bed.”

  “Ah!” rejoined the sergeant. It was all he answered. And he wished Mr. Ashley good day, and departed with Mr. Dare.

  “I am going to Oxford at Easter, Mr. Ashley,” cried Frank with animation.

  “I am pleased to hear it.”

  “But only as a servitor. I don’t mind,” he added, throwing back his head with pardonable pride. “Let me once get a start, and I hope to rise above some who go there as gentlemen-commoners. I intend to make this my circuit,” he went on, half jokingly, half seriously.