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Tom gazed at him in silence, but did not try to speak.
“He’s ordered you out of his house, my lad,” continued Dick. “Not pleasant between father and son. There, I ain’t going to abuse him,” he hastened to add, as Tom made a deprecating gesture; “but don’t you mind that, – you acted like a man, and your conscience will set you right. Now, good-bye, my lad; and mind this: if you ever want a hundred pounds, or two hundred, or five hundred pounds, you’ve only got to say so to your uncle, Richard Shingle, and there it is.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Tom sadly; “but I shall not ask. Good-bye!”
“Good-bye?”
“Yes. I shall go abroad, and we may never meet again. I cannot stay here now. Good-bye, aunt. Good-bye, Jessie,” he cried passionately.
But she did not hear him; for, as Tom hurried to the door, she sank, fainting, at her mother’s knee, while he passed out, closely followed by the last-comer on the scene.
Volume Two – Chapter Eleven.
Hopper on Suicide
“Here! hold hard, you sir – hold hard!” cried Hopper, hooking Tom at last by the arm with his great stick.
Tom turned upon him savagely; but the old man did not move a muscle.
“Where are you going?”
“To the devil!” said Tom bitterly. “To drown myself, I think.”
“Hey? Drown yourself? Well, don’t go to do it on an empty stomach. I knew a man once who tried it, and he did nothing but float. Come home with me, and have a bit of dinner first.”
Tom Fraser was just in the humour to be led, and he could not help smiling at the old man’s words. The next moment Hopper seized his arm, and began signalling wildly with his stick to a passing hansom cab, into which he thrust him.
“Get over farther,” he cried, poking at him with his stick; and then, following, he shouted to the man, “Clement’s Inn.”
Nothing was said during the journey; and, on reaching the gateway, Hopper got out first, and, literally taking Tom into custody, led him to a black-looking house, and up a dingy old staircase, to a door at the top covered with iron bands and clamps. This he unlocked, and pushed his companion into a very old-fashioned-looking room, cumbered with pictures, curiosities, and odds and ends piled up amongst the antique furniture.
“There!” said Hopper, stopping to caress a cat that came rubbing itself up against his left leg, and another that purred against his right, while a third and fourth leaped upon his back when he stooped, “this is my kennel – cat’s kennel, if you like: I’ve got eight. That’s their garden,” he continued, throwing open a sliding window that looked upon a parapet; “they can run far enough along the roofs of the houses here. Good view this, Tom Fraser. Ah! the very thing,” he added, catching the young man’s sleeve; “look down there – eighty feet, and good firm stones at the bottom. You say you want to go to the devil: jump down – I won’t stop you.”
Tom glanced below, and turned away with a shudder. “Well, it would make a nasty mess on the pavement, certainly,” said Hopper, looking at him curiously, while the cats rubbed and purred about them; “but they’d soon sweep that away; and the dead-house is close by, in the Strand. I’ll go as witness.”
“For God’s sake, hold your tongue!”
“Hey? Hold my tongue? Why? Better and quicker than jumping into the river, and struggling up and down, and wanting to get out; besides running the risk of floating to and fro with the tide, and looking like swollen bagpipes.”
“Be silent!” shouted Tom, gazing at him in horror.
“What for?” chuckled the old man. “You’d look so ugly, too, with your nose rubbed off. Tide always rubs their noses off against the barges, and ships, and piers of bridges. Lots of people wouldn’t drown themselves if they knew how nasty they’d look when they were dead. I’ve seen ’em – dozens of times.”
“Do you find any pleasure in tormenting me?” cried Tom furiously.
“Torment you, hey? Not I,” chuckled Hopper. “You said you were going to drown yourself – that takes nearly five minutes; and they may fish you out with a boat-hook and bring you to, which they say isn’t pleasant. I only, as the oldest friend of your family, suggested a quicker way.”
Tom turned from the window, and threw himself into a chair.
“Ah! you’re better,” said Hopper, poking the fire up to make it blaze.
“Better!” groaned Tom.
“Yes, ever so much. You’re not fretting about your step-father, but about Jessie: you’re in love.”
Tom was starting up, but the old man forced him back into his chair.
“Sit still, you young fool. You are in love, arn’t you?”
“I suppose so,” said Tom bitterly.
“I’ll give you a dose for the complaint,” chuckled the old fellow.
Then there was a knock at the door, which he opened, and a neat-looking servant bustled in and spread the table with the snowiest of cloths and brightest of old-fashioned glass and silver, ending by placing the first portion of a capitally cooked dinner on the table, and sending all the cats out of the window into the gutter, where they sat down patiently in a row, to gaze solemnly through the panes of glass till the repast was at an end.
“Why, I thought you were very poor!” said Tom, gazing curiously at his shabbily dressed host, as he opened a massive carved oak cellaret, and took out a wine bottle that looked as old as the receptacle.
“Hey? Thought I was poor? More fool you! – you’re always thinking stupid things. You’ve gone about nearly two years thinking Jessie don’t care for you.”
Tom started as if he had been stung; but he sank back in his chair, gazing wonderingly at the quaint old fellow, as he opened the bottle to pour out a couple of large glasses of generous fluid; and began wondering how much he knew.
“There, you handsome young long-eared donkey!” cried Hopper, placing one glass in the young man’s fingers – “that’s the finest Burgundy to be got for love or money. That’ll give you strength of mind, and blood to sustain, and make you take a less bilious view of things than you do now. Catch hold! I’m an old-fashioned one, I am. Here’s a toast. Are you ready?”
Tom took the glass, and nodded.
“Here’s my darling little Jessie. God bless her! and may she soon be happy with the man of her choice.”
He looked maliciously at the young man as he spoke; but Tom set down his glass untasted.
“I can’t drink that,” he said sternly.
“Hey? Not drink it! Why not?”
“Because, if she marries my brother, she will never be a happy woman.”
“Bah! Idiot! Young fool!” chuckled Hopper. “She won’t marry Fred. I’d sooner poison her. Drink! You care for her, don’t you?”
“I do,” said Tom fervently.
“Then drink to her happiness, and don’t be a selfish ass. If you can’t have her, don’t grudge the pretty little sweet bit of fruit to some one else. Drink.”
“Jessie!” said Tom, softly and reverently; and he drained his glass.
“You’re getting better,” chuckled Hopper; “and I shall make you well before I’ve done.”
Certainly a great change did come over Tom Fraser as he partook of the excellent dinner brought in nice and hot by the neat servant; the old fellow seeming to be far less hard of hearing than usual, and chuckling and laughing as he took his wine freely, opened a fresh bottle, and finally brought out pipes and cigars, as the dinner was replaced by dessert.
“Thought I was poor, did you, Tom, my boy?” he cried, slapping the other on the shoulder. “I’m not, you see; but that’s my secret. Your step-father’s got his; your Uncle Dick his; so I don’t see why I shouldn’t have mine. I never bring anybody here hardly. Your father has never been, nor your Uncle Dick neither. Lucky dog! He’s made lots of money, and goes on making it too, a fox – and hang me if I know how.”
“The same way as you, perhaps.”
“No, that he don’t I do a bit in the City, and speculate in a few bills occasionally. I’ve got paper with names on that would startle you, I’ll be bound.”
“I daresay,” said Tom sadly.
“There, there, man! take another glass of your medicine. You’re coming out bad with your old complaint again – lovesickness.”
“Ah!” cried Tom, who had, like his host, got into the confidential stage. “You don’t know what it means.”
“I don’t know what it means?” cried the old fellow, rising, and leaning his hands on the table as he laid down his pipe. “Look there, Tom Fraser – look there!” he cried, crossing to a drawer, unlocking it hastily, and taking out an old-fashioned miniature of a very beautiful woman.
“My grandmother!” said Tom, starting, as he held the portrait to the light.
“And my love,” said the old fellow, in a softened, changed voice. “Yes, Tom, I loved her very dearly – as dearly as I hated the man who took her from me. Not that she ever cared for me. Hah! she was an angel. Your grandfather was a scoundrel, and the blood of the two has run its different courses. Women somehow like scoundrels,” he said, as he reverently put away the miniature.
“They do,” groaned Tom.
“But not all, Tom – not all. There, man, fill up and drink. Here’s my little darling Jessie – your darling, if you’re the man I take you for.”
“If you talk like that, I must go,” said Tom.
“Hey? What! go? Stuff, man! Have a little faith. I don’t say Jessie’s perfect; but she’s a better girl than you believe her. Try her again, man.”
Tom shook his head.
“Fred is always there in my light.”
“Turn him out of it, then. Bah! You weak idiot! You imagine twice as much as you have any grounds for. Take my advice, or leave it – I don’t care which. I only give you the hint for your own sake. Puss, puss, puss!”
He got up, opened the window, and the cats came trooping in, to leap upon him and show their delight, while he petted first one and then another as they thrust their heads into his hands, Tom sitting back and watching him the while.
“Curious, isn’t it?” said Hopper, chuckling. “But a man must have friends. I’ve got very few, so I take to cats, and they are as faithful as truth. Capital things to keep, Tom, my lad. Only behave well to them, and it don’t matter how great a scoundrel you are, they never find you out, nor believe what the world says – they stick to you to the end.”
Tom took another glance round the quaint room, to see dozens of fresh objects at every look – old china, ancient weapons, curious watches, besides articles of vertu that must have been of great value; and the old fellow chuckled as he saw the direction of his glances.
“Queer place to live in, Tom, and queer things about Look at this, my lad: here’s my will. I keep it in this old canister, just where it can be found – ready for my executors. What! Hey? Going? Well, good-bye. Come again – often – I shall be glad to see you.”
“Do you mean this?” said Tom, returning the old man’s warm pressure of the hand.
“Hey?”
“I say, do you mean it?”
“Oh yes! I heard. Mean it? Of course I do, man, or I shouldn’t ask you. Only come in a sensible way, not in a ghostly form. None of your drowned ghosts, without their noses. I mean you in the flesh, not in the spirit.”
“You need have no fear,” said Tom sadly. “My mad fit is past. I should not be guilty of such folly.”
“I should think not!” said Hopper, laughing. “We make nearly all our own troubles, my boy; and then men are such cowards that they run away from them. Have another cigar? That’s right – light up. Good-bye, lad. I say, why don’t you go round by your uncle’s house, and have a peep at some one’s window? There, be off; you’re a poor coward of a lover, after all!”
Volume Two – Chapter Twelve.
Private Inquiry
Several weeks passed. Jessie seemed to have received a serious shock from the encounter that had taken place at her father’s house; and for days together she would be depressed, silent, and stand at the window watching, as if in expectation of some one coming. Then an interval of feverish gaiety would set in, during which, with brightened eye, she would chat and play and sing, showing so much excitement that Dick would shake his head to his wife and declare it was a bad sign.
“It’s all fretting, mother,” he would say. “She’s thinking of that scamp Fred.”
Whereupon Mrs Shingle would shake her head in turn, and declare tartly that he knew nothing at all about it, for she was sure it was Tom.
“You are very clever, no doubt, Dick, at keeping secrets and hiding things away from your wife – ”
“That’s right,” said Dick. “Go it! I wish I was poor again.”
“But you know no more about that poor girl’s feelings than you do of Chinese.”
“Well, I don’t know much about Chinese, mother, certainly, but I’m sure it ain’t Tom. How can it be?”
“I don’t know how it can be,” said Mrs Shingle tartly, “or how it can’t be; but fretting after Tom Shingle she is, and it’s my belief he’s very fond of her.”
“There you go,” said Dick, who was warming himself, with his back to the fire, waiting for the object of their solicitude to come down to dinner – for she had been lying down the greater part of the day – “there you go, mother, a-showing yourself up and contradicting common-sense. I say it’s after Fred she’s fretting.”
“I know you do,” said Mrs Shingle, tightening her lips and giving her head a shake, which plainly said – “I’ll die before I’ll give in.”
“Let me have one word in, mother, if it’s only edgewise,” cried Dick.
“There, go on – I know what you are about to say.”
“No, you don’t, mother; so don’t aggravate. I say it’s Fred.”
“I know you do.”
“For this reason. He’s forbid the house, and I won’t have it; for I hear nothing but what’s bad spoken of him. I won’t have him here. He ain’t worthy of her. So he can’t come, and she, poor girl, frets about it; and if she don’t get better I shall have to give in. Now, you say it’s Tom.”
“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, nodding her head.
“Well, then, why don’t he come? or why don’t she send for him and make it right? Can’t you see that if it were as you say, all would be right directly?”
Mrs Shingle shook her head.
“That’s right; be obstinate, mother, when you know there’s nothing to prevent his coming.”
Jessie came in directly, looking very pale and sweet in her sadness: her eyes were sunken with wakefulness, but she had a smile for both, and an affectionate kiss before taking her place at the table; where, after kicking himself in his misery, Dick set-to, pretending not to notice his child’s depression, though he felt a bitter pang at his heart as he was guilty of every bit of clowning in his efforts to bring a smile from the suffering girl’s eyes.
At times, though, he was very absent, and his tongue went on talking at random – of the last thing, perhaps, that he had seen – while his mind was far away. In fact, had his brother been present, with witnesses, he would have had strong grounds for saying that Dick’s brain was softening at the very least.
He began with grace, standing up, and very reverently said the customary formula, ending “truly thankful. Amen. Pure pickles, sauces, and jams,” he continued, for his eye had lighted upon the label of a bottle in the silver stand.
He started the next moment, and looked round, with one hand in his breast, to see if the string of his front was all right, for he occasionally put on one of those delusive articles of linen attire when he dressed for dinner, and always went in torture for the rest of the evening, on account of the treacherous nature of the garment – one which invariably seeks to betray the weakness of a man’s linen-closet by bursting off strings or creeping insidiously round under his arm. In fact, one of Richard Shingle’s, on a certain evening, deposited the bottom of the well-starched plaits in his soup, by making a dive out from within his vest as he leaned forward.
“Glass of wine, Jessie?” said Dick, as the dinner went on; and to oblige him the poor girl took a little, just as Mrs Shingle exclaimed —
“Bless me! I have no handkerchief. Did you take my handkerchief, Jessie?”
“Lor’! mother, don’t talk of your handkerchief as if it was a pill. You do roll ’em up pretty tight, but not quite so bad as that.”
The boy, who was waiting at table, exploded in a burst of laughter, which he tried to hide by rattling the glasses on the sideboard, and then turning uncomfortable as his master gave him a severe frown.
“What’s the pudden, my dear?” said Dick at last.
“It’s a new kind,” said Mrs Shingle. “You’ll have some? I told the cook how to make it.”
“That I will, and so will Jessie. I always like your puddens, mother, they make one feel so good while one’s eating them – they’re so innocent.”
“You’ve not seen any more of your brother, I suppose?” said Mrs Shingle just then, inadvertently.
“Well, I have seen him,” said Dick, – “twice. He’s up to some little game.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, that he’s got a man always watching me. He follows me like my shadow. He wants to find out my business, or else he’s going to try on his little dodge again. But I’m not afraid. Jessie, my gal, what is it?”
“Nothing, father – nothing,” she said, trying to smile as she rose from the table. “The room is too hot. I think I’ll go upstairs.”
“I’ll go with you, my darling,” exclaimed Mrs Shingle; but Jessie insisted on her staying, and she had her own way, going up to sit at her window, as was her wont, to watch wistfully along the darkened road for the relief that seemed as if it would never come.
She had been there about an hour, when suddenly she started up, and gazed down excitedly into the garden, where she could plainly make out the figure of a man; and as she looked he raised his hands to her and sharply beckoned her to come down.
“At last!” she cried, with a look of joy flashing from her eyes; and, going to the door, she listened for a few moments, hesitated, and then went below to the breakfast-room, which opened with French casements on to the garden, unfastened one, and in the dim light a figure passed in rapidly and closed the window.
There were two men standing in the shadow of a gate on the other side, one of whom scribbled something quickly on a page of a note-book, and gave it to the other, with the words —
“Run – first cab! Don’t lose a moment.”
A quarter of an hour later, just as Dick and his wife were about to leave the dining-room, there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by the trampling of feet in the hall, and Union Jack’s voice heard in protestation —
“I tell you he’s at dinner, and won’t be disturbed. Master always gives strict orders that – ”
“Tell your master that Mr Maximilian Shingle insists upon seeing him on business.”
“Does he?” said Dick sharply. And he stood at the door, looking at his brother, and flourishing a dinner napkin about, as his eyes lighted upon his two companions; while a nervous feeling akin to alarm came upon him, for he saw that they were two well-dressed, keen-looking men.
“They’re mad doctors – both of ’em,” thought Dick, “and they’re going to listen to what I say, sign certificates, and have me dragged away. They’ll have a tough job of it if they do, though,” he muttered. “Yes, and there’s the carriage just come up that’s to take me off,” he continued, as there was the noise of wheels stopping at the door. “Don’t open that door, John,” he cried aloud.
But he was too late; for the boy had opened the door on the instant, and before he could shut it, Hopper, closely followed by Tom, entered the hall.
“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Dick, nodding, and feeling relieved.
“Hey? Yes, it’s me,” said Hopper quietly. “We thought we’d just drop in.”
“Well, then, Mr Max Shingle, perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what you want, disturbing me at my dinner?” said Dick sharply.
“Well, the fact is,” said Max, smiling maliciously, but rubbing his hands and trying to look smooth the while, “these gentlemen and I – ”
“Let’s see,” said Dick coolly; for he felt now that he was well backed up. “But, stop a moment. John, my lad, fetch a policeman.”
“By all means,” said Max eagerly. “Get one, my boy.” The lad, who had been staring with open eyes, unfastened the door, to find one close at hand, beating his gloves together, probably attracted by the scent of something going on.
“Here’s one outside, sir,” cried the boy eagerly.
“That’s right,” said Dick. “Here, you Number something, come in. You’re to see fair over this, my man.”
He nodded to Tom and Hopper, who were both singularly silent, and then turned to Max, as the front door was closed; and Mrs Shingle stood half in the dining-room, a wondering spectator of the proceedings.
“Now, Mr Max, if you please,” said Dick quietly, “proceed. You say these gentlemen – who I know again: they’ve been watching me, I suppose, to make up a case, ever since that little brotherly quarrel of ours; and now, I suppose, they’ve found it all out.”
“You shall hear what they’ve found out directly,” said Max, rubbing his hands.
“My secret, I suppose,” said Dick, laughing. “Well, I don’t mind that.”
“It will be a lesson to a disobedient son, too,” said Max, turning and darting a withering look at Tom. “One who fortunately happens to be here.”
“Well, when you’ve got through the introductory matter, or described the symptoms,” said Dick, laughing, “perhaps you’ll administer the pill. Your friends are mad doctors, I suppose?”
Max laughed derisively; and the taller of the two men – a curious-looking fellow, whose ears stood out at either side of his head so that you could look into them – in a sharp, businesslike way took out his pocket-book, and presented a card.
“That is my name and address, sir,” he said – “E. Gilderoy, private inquiry agent. This is one of my assistants.”
“Thankye,” said Dick, smiling. “There now, let’s have an inquiry in private.”
Max hesitated for a moment, and then went on.
“The fact is, Mr Richard Shingle, I have employed these gentlemen to – ”
“I know – watch me,” said Dick sharply. “There, you needn’t shrink, Max; I was quite satisfied with the thrashing I gave you before, and if I want you turned out I shall set X Number something to work.”
“I am accustomed to your insults,” said Max, “so say what you like. I say, I employed these gentlemen in the interest of your wife and child as much as in that of the family, since you are so imbecile that you cannot take care of yourself.”
“All right: go on,” said Dick, coolly picking his teeth.
“I don’t care; say what you like – I deserve something for that kicking I gave you.”
“And these gentlemen have reported to me that for many nights past your house has had a man lurking about it, evidently for no good purpose.”
“One of these two, I suppose?” said Dick contemptuously.
“Your interruptions are most uncalled for,” said Max.
“Besides us, sir,” said Mr Gilderoy, nodding at his assistant.
“Yes, sir, besides us,” said that worthy.
“This evening the matter culminated in the man gaining entrance to your house,” said Max, with a malignant look in his eyes.
“Nonsense!” cried Dick.
“Oh no,” said Max, with a sneer, “it’s truth.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried Dick. “I’ll question the servants.”
“There is no need,” said Max maliciously; “you had better search the house, for he is here still.”
“It’s a lie – an invention!” cried Dick indignantly.
“You’d better ask Miss Jessie if it is,” said Max, laughing. “Ask – ask Jessie?” cried Dick, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean? To – Oh, I won’t have it. Who dares to say anything of the kind?”
“Fact, sir,” said the private inquirer sharply. “Young lady, sitting at window on first-floor, sits there every evening watching along the road.”
“Yes,” said Dick, in a bewildered way; “she does – but – ”
“To-night, at seven fifty-six, tall gent in dark coat came up, jumped the railing, crossed the flower-bed, and made signs.”
There was a pause, and Tom sighed.
“Dark gent, with big beard – something like this gent, sir,” said the private inquirer, pointing to Tom.
“Was it you, Tom?” said Dick, with his old puzzled look growing more distinct upon his lined brow.
“No, uncle,” said Tom hoarsely; and then to himself – “Would to God it had been!”
“Oh no, sir, not this gent,” said the private inquirer, referring to his note-book – “something like him, but not him. He signals to the lady at the window. Lady comes down. Lady opens breakfast-room window.”
“How the devil do you know which is the breakfast-room?” cried Dick savagely.
“My duty to know, sir,” said the man, in the most unruffled way. “That’s the breakfast-room door, sir. Gent goes in through window – shuts it after him; and he didn’t come out.”
“How do you know?” cried Dick.
“Men watching back and front, sir,” said the private inquirer imperturbably.
“Well, Max, and if some one did, what then?” said Dick. “Suppose a policeman or some one comes to see one of the maids?”
“You had better turn him out,” said Max. “I should search the room.”
“That’s soon done,” said Dick, throwing open the door. “Here, John – a lighter.”
The boy took a taper to the hall lamp, and a couple of the burners in the breakfast-room being lit, they entered, to discover nothing.
“There,” said Dick, wiping the perspiration from his face, “you see there is no one here. I won’t have any more of your poll-prying about. You pay men to see things, Max, and they see them.”
“That’s an aspersion on my word, sir,” said the private inquirer sharply.
“Serve you right!” cried Dick fiercely. “What do you come watching for? No one else saw, I’ll swear. You saw nobody come in, did you, Hopper? – nor you, Tom?”
Neither answered, and Dick grew more and more excited.
“I won’t have it!” he cried. “I’ll have the house cleared.”
“Without clearing your daughter’s name?” said Max, with a sneer.
“Clear my daughter’s name? It wants no clearing,” cried Dick angrily; and now his nervous, weak manner was thrown off, and he stood up proud and defiant. “Here, stop! You, Tom Fraser, and you, Hopper! I won’t have you go, if it comes to that.”
“I would rather go,” said Tom sadly, from the hall.
“But I say you shall not go.”
“Uncle,” said Tom – and he spoke in a low whisper – “let me go, for Heaven’s sake: I cannot bear it.”
“No,” said Dick sternly; “you shall not go till this has been set right. Do you, too, believe ill of my girl?”
“God forbid, uncle! I only wanted to know that my case was hopeless; and I have heard.”
“Heard what?” whispered Dick.
“What these men told you,” said Tom bitterly.
“Do you dare to say – ”
“I say nothing, uncle – only that what those men have said is true.”
“Here!” cried Dick furiously, “mother, quick! – tell Jessie to come here. Oh, you are there,” he cried, as, hearing a door close on the landing, he looked up and saw Jessie.
“Uncle, for Heaven’s sake think of what you are doing,” cried Tom, catching his arm.
“I am thinking, sir, of clearing her name. My girl would not be guilty of – ”
He stopped short; for he recalled the little incident in the old home.
“I don’t care,” he cried passionately. “I’m driven to it, and it shall be sifted to the bottom.”
As he spoke, he ran up the stairs, closely followed by Max and his private inquirers.
“Mr Hopper,” cried Tom passionately, “this is your doing, to bring me in here. Come away. It is too cruel to her.”
“Hey? cruel? – I don’t care,” said Hopper sturdily. “I’ll see it out; for look here, Tom, and you too, Mrs Richard, – I say, as I’ve said before, she’ll come out of it clear as day. Now, come up.”
He stumped hastily upstairs, Tom feeling compelled to follow, but hating himself for the part he was playing, the result of hanging about the house time after time, for the sake of catching a glimpse of Jessie, and then telling Hopper that evening what he had seen.
The old man had been astounded when, half-frantic, Tom had met him on his way to Richard Shingle’s; and then insisted upon his coming to have the matter cleared up, vowing that there was a mistake.
As the party reached the large landing, Jessie stood in front of the door of her room, the policeman being the last to complete the half-circle that surrounded her; and then Dick spoke.
“Jessie, my darling,” he said, tenderly, “I know this will upset you; but, my girl, when cruel conspiracies are hatched against us by scoundrels, we must meet them boldly.”
“Yes, father,” said Jessie, who did not shrink, but darted a reproachful look at Tom that went to his heart.
“Your uncle, to stab your fair fame, my dear, has brought these men to swear that they saw you let in some one to-night by the breakfast-room window; and they say he has not gone out. Speak out, my dear, and tell them it’s a lie.”
There was no reply, and Mrs Shingle caught at her husband’s arm; but he flushed up with passion and shook her off.
“Jessie,” he cried in a choking voice, “speak out quick! – is any one in that room of yours?”
Jessie looked wildly from face to face, her glance resting longest on those of Max and Tom.
“I say, is any one in that room?” thundered Dick, catching her by the wrist, which she snatched away, and, spreading her hands from side to side, as she stood back against the door, she cried out, wildly —
“No, father, no!”
As she spoke there was a sharp creaking noise from within, as of a sash being thrown up; and Dick once more caught her by the wrist.
“No, no!” she cried, struggling with him frantically. “Tom, dear Tom, for pity’s sake save me from this disgrace!”
Tom dashed forward, and caught her in his arms, more in sorrow than in anger; for Dick had swung her round with a savage oath, throwing open the door, and dashing in with the private inquiry men, to return dragging out a man with a strong resemblance to Tom, till Gilderoy gave his beard a twitch, and pulled it off, revealing the sallow, frightened countenance of Fred.
