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CHAPTER XII
DICK GARDEN TO THE RESCUE

Aunt and Uncle Leth and their children sat in their once happy home in Camden Town gazing at each other in mute despair. For them the tragedy of life was complete and overwhelming, and their condition was such that they could find no words to give expression to their horror and grief. They were waiting for Fred Cornwall, who had obtained permission to see Phœbe in prison. When he entered the room his face was white and stern. He felt the terrible blow which had fallen upon them no less poignantly than they; but he had not lost the power to act, nor, as with them, had hope entirely deserted him.

"I have seen her," he said, in a low tone. "She sends loving messages to you. I expected to find her heart-broken and prostrate, but she is imbued with a strange strength and resignation. The worst is over, she says she must not think of the past, but of the future. She is sustained by a consciousness of innocence, and is inexpressibly comforted by the thought that we know she is innocent. She begs that you will not grieve too deeply for her." He paused a moment or two. "That is the sense of her message to you. She is an angel and a martyr. I can trust myself to say nothing more of my visit to the prison. I must not remain with you now, unless you have something to communicate which may help me in the task upon which I am engaged – of even yet clearing her from the wicked charge. Yes, Aunt Leth, I will move heaven and earth to establish her innocence. I will not rest, I will not sleep – " Again he was compelled to pause; and when he could control himself he said: "I must see Tom Barley. Has he been here to-day?"

"Yes," replied Aunt Leth; "but I fear it will be long before he comes here again. There was a dreadful scene between him and 'Melia Jane. The girl stormed at him for giving his evidence about seeing a woman in a blue dress at Parksides on that fatal night. She said if it had not been for him our poor Phœbe would have been set free; and when he asked what else he could do but answer the questions they put to him, she answered that he ought to have cut his tongue out first."

"'Melia Jane was right," said Fanny.

"I don't see that he could have acted differently," said Fred, thoughtfully. "Without his evidence the case against my suffering angel would have been incomplete; but there can be no question that he spoke the truth. He did see a woman in a blue dress at Parksides; but it was not Phœbe. The evidence relating to the dresses worn by Mrs. Pamflett is not to be shaken, and it could not have been that she wore on that night a blue dress in order to throw suspicion upon our innocent darling."

"She could have worn such a dress," said Uncle Leth, "and afterward destroyed it."

"That is possible enough; but she could have had no hope, supposing her to be the guilty wretch – "

"Or her son," interposed Fanny.

"She could have had no hope of entangling our Phœbe by so doing. She knew that Phœbe was living here, and the sudden visit our poor girl paid to her father could not by any possibility have become known to her beforehand. If the woman Tom Barley saw was neither Phœbe nor Mrs. Pamflett, who is she? There are now two mysterious persons in this horrible affair – the man who was in the habit of visiting Miser Farebrother late at night and this woman whom Tom Barley saw, and who was conspicuously anxious that he should not see her face. These matters must be followed up; we can agitate, we can get time. I hear on all sides nothing but sympathy expressed for our dear Phœbe, and the case against her is so entirely circumstantial that I will not, I cannot, give up hope. A friend of mine who has chambers next to mine is so much interested in the case that he has offered to help me all he can. He is clearer-headed than I am just now, and cleverer, and higher up the ladder. He is convinced that Phœbe is innocent, and that there is a mystery in the affair which, unravelled, would set her free."

"God bless him!" sobbed Fanny. "What is the name of this good friend, that I may remember it in my prayers."

"Dick Garden. We are going to work together. He is waiting for me now in my rooms. He is a good fellow – the best of friends; I rely greatly upon him. Calm as I appear, I am burning with wrath and indignation, and I am scarcely to be depended upon for a clear judicial reasoning upon anything we may happily discover. I must go at once. Then you cannot tell me where I can find Tom Barley?"

"I will find him for you," said Robert, starting up.

"Do; and send him on to my place immediately. Good-by – good-by. If you hear anything, don't fail to let me know."

He drove rapidly to his rooms, where he found his friend Richard Garden awaiting him. This friend was of about the same age as himself; an ambitious, astute young fellow, determined to get along in the world, and almost certain to succeed, for the reason that he had brains and indomitable courage and industry.

He looked up from the paper upon which he was writing when Fred entered. Upon a smaller table in the room some food was spread: a plate of ham and beef, a cold pie, and bread; also a jug of ale.

"You have had nothing to eat?" said Garden. Fred shook his head impatiently. "Of course you haven't; and you think that we can go into an affair like this with empty stomachs. No, old fellow; we must assist ourselves like sensible men. A craving stomach is a bad mental foundation. Come, tuck away; force something down. That's right. Just taste this cold pie – good, isn't it? A pint of ale between us – here's your half, no more and no less. You feel better, don't you? Now we are fit to set to work. You saw her?"

"Yes."

"Did you get her to talk calmly?"

"She was calmer than you are, Dick. She has made up her mind to die."

"Not for many a long year yet. Here's a letter I've written to the papers, signed 'A Lawyer,' showing up the weak points in the case, and appealing for sympathy and a surer kind of justice. Just finished the fourth copy as you came in. My lad is down-stairs; he will take the letters to the newspaper offices, and to-morrow they will be all over the country. Don't lose heart, Fred; there is some infernal mystery at the bottom of this affair, and I mean to get at it. You asked the poor girl about the dresses Mrs. Pamflett was in the habit of wearing?"

"Yes; and she said she never saw the woman in a blue dress."

"Is she still positive about the brooch?"

"She has not the slightest doubt. When her father turned her from his house she left the brooch behind her."

"Then it must have been placed in the grounds by some person – deliberately placed there."

"Unless it was dropped by accident."

"If so, it must have been a female who dropped it. Either way, the person who dropped or placed it where it was found can be no other than Mrs. Pamflett. Let us suppose that. If dropped by accident, it proves that she must have been near the spot where the miser was murdered; if placed there by her, it must have been placed there for a motive. Miss Farebrother adheres to the truth of her story as to what occurred on the night of her visit to Parksides?"

"Yes."

"She did not see Mrs. Pamflett?"

"No."

"But Mrs. Pamflett may have seen her. Let us assume that she or her son committed the deed. She sees Miss Farebrother in the grounds, and overhears, perhaps, what passes between the poor young lady and her father. She witnesses Miss Farebrother's departure from Parksides. After that the murder is committed. Then, seeing Miss Farebrother's veil on the ground – in Miss Farebrother's condition there are a thousand reasonable hypotheses to account for its having become detached from her hat – the idea presents itself to Mrs. Pamflett to strengthen the case against Miss Farebrother by placing the brooch also near the dead body."

"You do not forget the female in a blue dress that Tom Barley saw in the grounds?"

"I do not; and I cannot account for it. Did you ask Miss Farebrother anything about the man who, according to Mrs. Pamflett, had been in the habit for years of visiting Miser Farebrother secretly at night?"

"To her knowledge, no such man ever presented himself, and no such visits ever took place."

"She has no remembrance of anything of the kind occurring?"

"Not the slightest."

"It is inexplicable. There's some one at the door. Come in!"

It was Robert Lethbridge, who came to say that Tom Barley was on duty, and would not be able to visit Fred Cornwall before the morning; but if they wished to speak to him at once they would find him on his beat.

"No," said Garden; "we will not go to him. I want him when his time is his own, so that we can talk quietly and uninterruptedly. Go and tell him to come and see us at nine o'clock in the morning."

"He can be here earlier, Dick," said Fred Cornwall.

"Nine o'clock is early enough. It will give us time to sleep and rest. I am physician as well as lawyer in this case, it seems."

Robert Lethbridge departed with the message, and he was barely gone before two other visitors presented themselves. These were Kiss, the comedian, and Mr. Linton, the dramatic author. They looked very grave as they entered. Fred Cornwall introduced them to Richard Garden, who cast a shrewd glance at them, and then said, quietly:

"You have something to tell us?"

"You can speak freely," said Fred. "Mr. Garden and I are working together in this terrible matter."

"A terrible matter indeed, Mr. Cornwall," said Kiss, with deep feeling in his voice, "and Mr. Linton and I are responsible for it." The young lawyers looked at their visitors in surprise at this statement. Kiss continued: "It is the melancholy truth that if it had not been for us an innocent young girl, an angel of sweetness and purity, would not be lying at death's door as we stand here. Unless we can prove her innocence it will haunt us to our dying day."

"Why do you accuse yourselves?" asked Garden.

"Was it not through our folly that Mr. Lethbridge was plunged into difficulties? Believing that my friend Linton had written a play which would make all our fortunes, did we not go to Mr. Lethbridge and by our plausible statements induce him to sign a bill for three hundred pounds which that infamous scoundrel, Jeremiah Pamflett, discounted? You will remember the play I refer to, Mr. Garden; it was A Heart of Gold, which, because of an extraordinary first-night speech made by Mr. Linton, blazed up for a fortnight or so, and then spluttered out like a tallow candle with a damp wick. It was in the hope of helping her uncle out of his difficulties – for which we, and we alone, were responsible – that Miss Farebrother paid a visit to her father on the night he was murdered. Had she not gone he would have been murdered all the same – there is no doubt in our minds as to that – and, safe and happy at home with her aunt and uncle, by no possibility could suspicion have been cast upon her. But she did go, because none of us were able to pay the money which Mr. Lethbridge borrowed for us. Do you see now how it is that we are responsible for what has occurred? It is Linton and I who ought to have been placed in the dock instead of that sweet, unfortunate young lady. Since the lying accusation was brought against her, we have not been able to sleep. If exhausted nature compels us to go off in a doze, we start up in affright and horror. There will never again be rest for either of us until Miss Farebrother is set at liberty and her honourable name restored to her."

"Your feelings do you credit," said Garden; "but it is not alone to say what you have said that you have come here to-night?"

"No; but it leads up to what may be of importance. God knows whether it will or not, but drowning men catch at a straw. I am glad you are working with Mr. Cornwall, sir; it is easy to see how he is suffering, and you must be a comfort to him – if," he added, feelingly, "anybody can comfort him at such a time as this. Well, sir, Linton and I have also been putting our heads together, and we decided to set a watch."

"Upon whom?"

"Upon that image of wickedness, Jeremiah Pamflett, and his equally wicked mother. Sir, that tale of hers as to what took place between her and Miss Farebrother on the night of the murder is false as – Never mind; it will not do to be profane."

"That is to say, you believe it to be false? You have no direct evidence to the contrary?"

"No, sir; unfortunately we have not. It is our belief, as you say, but none the less incontrovertible. It is not because we have dramatic ideas that we determined to watch this precious pair. It seemed to us to offer a chance of discovering something; therefore we set practically to work, Linton watching the son, I watching the mother. Until this evening we saw nothing that could be turned against them. You are probably aware that Mrs. Pamflett left Parksides shortly after the murder?"

"She had to leave," remarked Fred; "as Miss Farebrother's legal representative, I saw to that before the trial took place."

"Quite proper. And her son had to leave the London office and seek lodgings elsewhere?"

"Yes; that was also effected through me."

"Being thrown upon their own resources, they took two rooms in Knightsbridge. We tracked them there. Sometimes they went out together, sometimes alone. When they were together they scarcely spoke to each other, and it seemed to us as if this silence had been determined upon between them; what they said might have been overheard, and they might have said something injudicious. It almost appeared as if nothing was to come of our watch. There was a monotony in it which weighed upon us, and we were almost in despair. We tried to get a room in the house they lodged in, but there was none to let. The day before yesterday, however, something occurred to rouse us. We saw a woman watching the house they lived in. She knocked at the street door, and received an answer to her questions from the landlady. Then she retired, and from a short distance kept watch upon the house – you may imagine how excited this made us – until Jeremiah Pamflett came out alone. He walked along apparently with no suspicion in his mind that he was being followed by the woman, and certainly with no suspicion that Linton and I were walking behind them both. You may be certain that we were very careful. It is excusable in me as an actor, and in Linton as a dramatic author, that we should adopt some slight disguise, altered from day to day under my direction, to lessen the chances of our being detected in case Jeremiah Pamflett should happen to see us. Well, sir, as the four of us were walking along in Indian file, what did the woman suddenly do but go up to Jeremiah and accost him! And what did he do but start violently, turn round to look at the woman, and then, without saying one word to her, walk rapidly away with the conspicuous intention of getting rid of her. From a rapid walk he got into a run, and the woman and we lost sight of him. So far as that incident was concerned, there was an end of it. We lost sight, too, of the woman; but not before we saw sufficient of her to be able to recognize her if we should see her again. Yesterday we were again in view of the house in which these Pamfletts lodged, and there again was the same woman watching, as we judged, for her friend Jeremiah. But he did not make his appearance, and after remaining in the neighbourhood for nearly an hour, we saw the landlady put a card in her front window, 'Rooms to let.' Across the road went the woman; she knocked at the door, made some inquiries of the landlady, and came away with a spiteful, disappointed expression on her face. I told Linton to follow her, and find out where she lived. Meanwhile I myself went across to the home, and inquired about the rooms to let. It was as I suspected: the Pamfletts had left – 'quite sudden,' the landlady said. Putting this and that together, I came to the conclusion that they had left their lodgings, and most probably the neighbourhood, because of the discovery by the woman of their whereabouts. This looked so much like fright on the part of Jeremiah Pamflett that it stirred me up and made me hopeful. But where had he and his mother flown to? Sir, this very evening chance has befriended us, and we are again on the track. Give me, if you please, your closest attention; I am approaching something rather startling."

"Stop a moment," said Garden, rising and going to the side-board, from which he took a bottle of apollinaris and a bottle of brandy, "you seem rather faint."

"To tell you the truth," said Kiss, "I have scarcely tasted food to-day, I have been that anxious and distressed."

"We are all engaged in the same good cause," said Garden, smiling, "and every one, with the exception of myself, seems bent upon starving himself. Take a slice of this pie; Mr. Linton will join you. You don't object to brandy and apollinaris?"

"Not at all," said Kiss, speaking with his mouth full; "split it between Linton and me. Mr. Garden, you are a wise gentleman and a capable chief. If we are happily successful in the end we have in view – and I pray God we shall be! – we shall have you to thank for it. Do you not think with me, Mr. Cornwall?"

Fred pressed Garden's hand with emotion, and Garden, shrewd, cool, self-possessed, and with all his wits about him, returned the pressure, and gave Fred a look of encouragement. It was like wine to Fred. His hopes grew stronger. Perhaps, after all, his dear, suffering girl would, by the mercy of God, be rescued from her dread peril, and be spared to brighten his life and the lives of those who held her dear. His eyes grew dim, and he pressed his hand across them.

"Do not overrate my services," said Garden, in his clear strong voice. "I am only a moderately skilful engineer, and my hardest task, it appears to me, is to keep the machinery of which I have direction in fair workable order. Now, then, Mr. Kiss, you look double the man you were. We are all attention."

CHAPTER XIII
THE DIAMOND BRACELET AGAIN

"Mr. Linton," continued Kiss, "followed the woman who was so anxious to enter into relations – evidently not new ones – with that abominable scoundrel Jeremiah Pamflett, and who had exhibited such vexation at his sudden disappearance; he learnt her address, but could not discover her name. Inquiring of people who lived in the same house, he was informed by some that they knew nothing whatever of her, and was told by others to mind his own business. But, as I said, chance befriended us; not two hours ago we saw the woman and Jeremiah together. We had failed in tracking him down; she had succeeded. And of all the corners in this Babylon where should Jeremiah have taken up his new lodgings but in South Lambeth, three doors from the house in which Linton lives! That is not the only piece of luck which chance has thrown in our way. The landlady of the house in which he rents rooms is a friend of Mrs. Linton. This good lady, who is as deeply concerned in the terrible course of events as we are, is now in that house – on the watch. Jeremiah Pamflett and his mother will not escape us again so easily. So much for the side issue – what I may call the under-plot. Now for the important discovery. When we saw Jeremiah and the woman together – he looking very much disturbed and she very determined and vicious – I desired Linton to keep in the background. Without flattery, I may say I am a better actor than he is, and, besides, I was more completely disguised. My object was to discover what these two were talking about. So I followed them close enough to hear scraps of their conversation, but not close enough to draw suspicious observation upon myself. The first thing I heard that caused me surprise was a name – Captain Ablewhite. It was the woman who gave utterance to it, and accompanying her mention of the name were some words by no means complimentary to its owner. 'He's a damned scoundrel,' said the woman to Jeremiah, as I casually passed them, 'and you're another!' Now a high-minded, honest man would have fired up at this. Jeremiah Pamflett did not; he was as meek as a turnip. They passed on out of hearing; but I did not lose sight of them. 'Captain Ablewhite!' thought I, 'Captain Ablewhite! How is it that the name seems so familiar to me?' Does it sound familiar to you, sir?"

"In a vague way, yes," replied Garden; "but I cannot immediately place it. I am not personally acquainted with any one of that name."

"Nor I, sir; but that did not prevent it bothering me. I took another favourable opportunity of getting close to the woman and Jeremiah. She was talking away at a rapid rate, he saying hardly a word; but I happened to catch a wicked look in his eyes once as he looked down on her. It was more than wicked, it was devilish; and I could not help thinking that it was a good job they were not walking in a dark place with no people about. If ever murder was expressed in a man's face, it was expressed in the face of Jeremiah Pamflett as he cast that look at his companion. 'Half the money you and Ablewhite got for the diamond bracelet' – don't miss a word of this, sir; I am repeating what the woman said to Jeremiah – 'was to come to my share, and a few sovereigns is all I have managed to screw out of him. The false villain has thrown me over for another woman, and has given me the slip; but I'll take care you don't serve me the same. I have found out your new quarters – you live at No. 12, Surrey Street.' That, sir, is three doors from Linton's lodgings – he lives at No. 15. You will understand that it would have been the height of imprudence for me to have remained near this precious pair for more than a few moments at a time, but what I had already heard opened my eyes. It came upon me like a flash of lightning. Captain Ablewhite and a diamond bracelet! Why, that story was in all the papers a little while ago, and created a regular stir. Linton is making use of it now in a new drama he is writing. Real life, sir; facts with which the public is familiar – that's the sort of thing for the stage. You remember the story, of course?"

"I remember it well," said Garden, cool and collected as ever. "Go on, Mr. Kiss; something may come of this."

"Something will come of it, sir," said Kiss, his voice growing more excited. "You haven't got the essence of what I heard; I shall astonish you presently. You remember what a laugh there was when Mr. Quinlan's statement was published in the papers. Mr. Quinlan was the husband of the lady from whom the diamond bracelet had been stolen, and the information he gave to the police and the reporters was that the bracelet that had been stolen was one he had had made in imitation of the genuine article, and that the stones the thieves had got hold of were false. 'The Biters Bit' – that was the heading in the newspapers."

"I remember it all perfectly."

"Listen now to what I learnt from the stray bits of conversation I picked up as I followed Jeremiah and the woman. She was Mrs. Quinlan's maid; the man waiting outside the Langham Hotel was Jeremiah Pamflett. She gave him the bracelet. Afterward he met Captain Ablewhite, but what passed between them, of course, cannot be known. The woman knows, however, that the bracelet was taken to Miser Farebrother, and that it was he who advanced money on it, Jeremiah being the go-between. I did not hear all this as I am relating it, but I put it together out of what I managed to pick up, and I will stake my life that it is near enough to the truth for us or any one to work upon. That, however, does not bring down the curtain; you have yet to hear the climax. Linton could not have worked it up more dramatically. The last words that reached my ears were these: 'You fool!' said the woman to Jeremiah. 'The bracelet you received from me was the genuine one. The stones were real, and are worth forty thousand pounds, and I mean to have my share of the plunder.' The moment she said this, Jeremiah, in a kind of frenzy, clapped his hand on her mouth and dragged her away. A cab was passing, and he hailed it, and hustled the woman in, giving some directions to the driver. The next moment they were gone. If there had been another cab in view I would have followed them, but unfortunately there wasn't one in the street. The first thing I did after that was to run with Linton to his lodgings, and the first thing Mrs. Linton said to us was that Mrs. Pamflett and her son had taken the two rooms that had been to let at No. 12. 'Are you acquainted with the landlady?' I asked, and Mrs. Linton answered that she and the landlady of No. 12 were friends. 'Go and bring her here at once,' I said; and no sooner said than done. It took but a few minutes to get the landlady on our side; it was Mrs. Linton who did that. It would not have been safe for me or Linton to go to No. 12 to watch; Jeremiah Pamflett knows us, and at close quarters might see through any disguise we might assume; but neither he nor Mrs. Pamflett has ever seen Mrs. Linton, so we appointed her sentinel. The next best thing we thought we could do was to come straight here and make Mr. Cornwall acquainted with our discovery. The question is, what is to be done? We might go to the police – "

Garden held up his hand, and Kiss did not finish the sentence.

"That would be the worst thing we could do," he said. "What you have discovered must at present be mentioned to no other person but ourselves. The task upon which we are engaged is that of saving an innocent young lady's life; all else is of small importance. How was the woman dressed?"

"Very quietly, in black."

"Does she resemble Miss Farebrother in build?"

"Not at all. She is shorter and stouter."

"Did you hear anything definite as to the length of time she has been in London?"

"Nothing; but judging in a general way, I should say she has only recently returned from foreign parts with the idea of obtaining from Jeremiah Pamflett a share of the proceeds of the robbery."

"A share of the money he received from Miser Farebrother for the bracelet that was stolen? Yes, that is a natural conclusion." The young lawyer rose from his seat and went to a corner of the room where a great pile of newspapers lay. "Mr. Cornwall keeps a file of the Times for reference; it will help us." He searched through the papers, and soon found the one he wanted. He smiled quietly as he looked down the columns. "It is as I suspected. The account of the robbery of the diamond bracelet was first published on the day preceding that upon which Miser Farebrother was murdered." They all started at this. And the young lawyer proceeded: "Let us build up a theory. Jeremiah Pamflett takes a diamond bracelet of great value to his master, and upon the strength of his representations Miser Farebrother advances a sum of money upon it – believing the stones to be genuine. On the day before his death a newspaper falls into his hands, and he learns from it that he has been tricked – that the bracelet has been stolen, and that the diamonds are false. We know that the one passion of his life is money – it is his idol, his god. We have it in evidence that on that day, in the afternoon, doubtless, after he made this discovery, he sent a telegram to Jeremiah Pamflett in London, requesting his manager's attendance at Parksides. Miser Farebrother was not in the habit of wasting money upon telegrams; hence his sending of this message was prompted by some particular motive – say the demand from Jeremiah Pamflett for the restitution of the money of which he has been defrauded. Before this scoundrel leaves London for Parksides he also has learnt that a trick has been played upon him by Captain Ablewhite and the woman who has tracked him down. At Parksides a stormy scene takes place between the miser and his scoundrel manager. The miser threatens criminal proceedings, but perhaps gives the scoundrel time to refund the money he has advanced. They part with feelings of bitter rage towards each other. What course is now open to Jeremiah Pamflett? Has he the money to refund? Unlikely. Can he borrow it? Quite as unlikely. I bear in mind what I gathered from you, Fred, respecting the bill for three hundred pounds which Mr. Lethbridge accepted. You arranged for the payment of that bill with a betting man, who had received it from Jeremiah Pamflett. Natural inference: that the scoundrel Jeremiah had been backing horses, and losing. If necessary, we will look that betting man up. Not seeing his way to refund the money which has been advanced on the bracelet, nothing but exposure and disgrace lies before Jeremiah Pamflett. How to avoid impending ruin? How to avoid a felon's fate? Miser Farebrother lives practically alone in the house at Parksides, waited upon by the house-keeper, Jeremiah's mother. These two are bound to each other by mutual interests. Who so likely to profit by Miser Farebrother's death as Jeremiah Pamflett? Unhappily, on that night Miss Farebrother goes down to Parksides on her heavenly mission of love. But, before she makes her appearance there, the murder of her father is resolved upon. There is no independent evidence that Jeremiah returned to London and reached his office by eleven o'clock. We have only his word for it. Had Miss Farebrother not visited Parksides on that night, suspicion would have fallen upon the Pamfletts, and the hour of the scoundrel's return to London would have been a vital point. I put aside the account given by Mrs. Pamflett of the visit of a strange man to Miser Farebrother. It may or may not be true. Equally it may or may not be a concocted story, invented beforehand for safety. Here comes in Tom Barley's evidence as to his seeing in the grounds a female in a blue dress. The honest fellow spoke the truth; he saw what he was compelled to swear to. Miss Farebrother wore such a dress. But why should she avoid him? He was her tried and faithful friend. Convinced as we are of her innocence, there is no reason for her avoidance. Here lies the mystery; if we can solve it Miss Farebrother is safe. And solve it we will – My God!"