Loe raamatut: «The Mystery of M. Felix», lehekülg 27

CHAPTER LI.
SOPHY MAKES A STRANGE STATEMENT

"I had never seen Dr. Peterssen, and I imagined it was he who had so unexpectedly presented himself. In that case I was in a quandary. The desk had been stolen from Dr. Peterssen's house, and the clever little thief was dozing in the room. I was implicated in the theft, and had forced the lock with burglar's tools. Without counting the cost we had taken the law into our own hands-usurped its functions, so to speak. Bringing such a man as Dr. Peterssen to book might prove an awkward fix for us. However, I determined to brazen it out.

"The desk being open, the wood of which it was made and the silver with which it was inlaid were not so apparent as they would have been had it been closed. The stranger's eyes did not rest upon it, but wandered to Sophy. My gaze followed his, and I was surprised to observe that there was no sign of recognition in his face. But he may be acting a part, I thought.

"I soon discovered that all my conjectures were wrong.

"'Am I right in supposing that I am addressing Mr. Agnold?' he asked. He spoke with a foreign accent.

"'No,' I said, 'my name is not Agnold.'

"'Mr. Tucker, then?'

"'You are right there.'

"'Mr. Agnold mentioned your name in his letters to Mrs. Braham,' said the stranger. 'Both you and Mr. Agnold are working in that lady's interests. It is exceedingly kind of you.'

"I stared at him. This was not the language that Dr. Peterssen would have used, and my first doubts being dispelled, I saw that my visitor was a gentleman-which Dr. Peterssen is not. But who could he be? I thought it best to hold my tongue; I wished to avoid compromising myself.

"'I, also,' continued the stranger, 'am here in Mrs. Braham's interests. My business admits of no delay. It is necessary that I should see Mr. Agnold immediately.'

"'He is in London,' I said.

"This information appeared to discompose him; but only for a moment.

"'You represent Mr. Agnold?'

"'Yes, I think I may say as much.'

"'Thank you. I have a letter here addressed to him, but it is in an open envelope, and as Mr. Agnold's representative there can be no objection to your reading it.'

"I read the letter, and now in my turn I must have exhibited some sign of discomposure. Without being able to recall its contents word for word, I can sufficiently explain its nature. It was to the effect that the gentleman who presented it, M. Bordier, was empowered by the lady we were working for to join us, if he desired, or to take the affair entirely in his own hands, and assume the direction of it.

"'You are M. Bordier?' I said.

"He bowed. 'I am M. Bordier. The position in which Mrs. Braham and I stand to each other warrants my presence here at this untimely hour. It is due to Mrs. Braham that I should say it was at my urgent request she has given me authority to act for her. I am acquainted with all the circumstances of your proceedings, so far as they have been disclosed in Mr. Agnold's letters.' Again his eyes wandered to Sophy, and he moved a step or two toward her with a look of sympathetic eagerness. 'Is that the young girl who was taken to Dr. Peterssen's establishment as a patient?'

"'Yes,' I replied.

"'Her task, then, is ended. She was in search of a desk. She is a brave little girl, and shall be rewarded. A desk of cedar-wood, inlaid with silver.' He turned suddenly to me, and approached the table. 'She has succeeded,' he said, laying his hand upon the desk and raising the lid. 'Yes, it is the desk. How did you open it? Did you have the key?'

"'No,' I said, with a guilty glance at the tools with which I had picked the lock.

"'Ah, I see. There is a secret drawer in this desk, and you have been seeking for it. Allow me. When I was a young man I had some knowledge of this kind of thing, and was acquainted with the tricks employed by ingenious makers to construct a receptacle in which important papers might be safely concealed. This is no common piece of work, and the so-called drawer may be merely a false panel, with little space behind, but sufficient for the purpose. I will take the liberty of making use of your tools. This dumb shape of wood, Mr. Tucker, may be the arbiter of the happiness of human lives, may be the means of bringing a foul wrong to light.' While he spoke he was busy measuring the thickness of the sides and back and every part of the desk, putting down figures on paper to prove whether any space was not accounted for. He knew what he was about, and I followed his movements with curiosity, learning something from them which may be useful in the future. 'There is no actual drawer,' he continued; 'it must be a panel.' He completely emptied the desk of its papers, and then began to sound the bottom and the sides, listening for signs of a hollow space. 'It is a clever piece of workmanship, but if there is a panel I will find it. I would rather not destroy the desk, but I will do it before I give up the hunt, if I do not succeed in a legitimate way. Ah, I have it! There is a panel. A man might have this desk in his possession a lifetime and not suspect it. See, it moves in a groove, and there is a paper behind.'

"Sure enough, M. Bordier succeeded in sliding a panel in a cunningly made groove, and in drawing forth a paper which had been carefully folded and flattened and inserted in its hiding-place. There was an eager light in his eyes, and his fingers trembled as he unfolded the paper and read what was written thereon. A long sigh of satisfaction escaped him, and he murmured:

"'Thank God! Poor lady, poor lady! But your sufferings are ended now!'

"'M. Bordier,' I said, will you allow me to read the document?'

"He folded it up again, preserving its original creases, and put it in his pocket.

"'Mr. Tucker,' he said, speaking with great politeness; but this he had done all through; the document I have found relates to a private matter of exceeding delicacy, and I cannot show it to you. It is, indeed, a family secret, and none but those directly interested have a right to see it. Thanks for your courtesy, and good-night.'

"Before I had time to remonstrate with him for his high-handed proceeding he was gone. I was dumfounded. It is not often that I find myself unable to act on the spur of the moment, but M. Bordier had deprived me of my self-possession. In a moment or two, however, I recovered myself, and ran out of the room after my visitor. I saw no signs of him. He had vanished. I made my way immediately to the telegraph office, and sent Agnold a telegram-which brings me back to the commencing words of this entry.

"I returned to my room in the inn. Sophy was still dozing. I began to be beset by doubts. What if the stranger who had introduced himself to me as M. Bordier should turn out not to be M. Bordier, after all? What if the letter he gave me to read from Mrs. Braham should be a forged letter? I am greatly to blame. I deserve to have my head punched."

By the time I came to the end of this strange story Sophy had finished her supper, and now came nearer to us.

"Well, Bob," I said, "you have made a mess of it."

"Admitted," said Bob. "Take your share of the blame. You should not have run away to London. Relieve my doubts. Was it, or was it not, M. Bordier who came here?"

"It was certainly M. Bordier," I replied. "The lady you call Mrs. Braham gave him such a letter as you have described, and it is scarcely possible any other person could have obtained possession of it."

"That is some satisfaction. All the same, I have behaved like a fool. I ought not to have allowed him to escape me. I ought to have laid violent hands on him, and detained him till your arrival."

"You would not have succeeded, Bob. From the opinion I have formed of him he would not have submitted, and you would have found yourself worsted. If the document he discovered is what I hope it is, he has a better right to it than you or I. And now, Sophy," I said, turning to the girl, "what is this scare of yours which has taken all the blood out of your face?"

"Stop a bit," said Bob. "It is Sophy's desire that things should be led up to. Let us lead up to this."

Sophy nodded, and I said, "Go on, Bob."

"Well," said he, "I woke Sophy up when I got back here, and told her it was best she should go to bed. Her room was ready for her, and she was dead tired. She refused, and said she would wait up for you-I had told her I had sent you a telegram to come down immediately. I would not let her wait up, but insisted upon her going to bed. She gave in, and I took her to her room. Imagine my surprise. An hour before your arrival she rushed into this room with a face as white as a sheet, and fell down all of a heap into the corner there. I thought she must have had a nightmare, but I could get nothing out of her. She was too frightened to be left alone, and when I started to meet you at the station she came with me. Tried to pump her on the road. Useless. Offers of bribes thrown away. Not a word would she say of the cause of her fright. She promises to be more communicative to you."

"Speak out, Sophy," I said. "I have no secrets from Mr. Tucker, and he must hear what you have to tell."

"You'll never believe me," said Sophy, in a low, fear-stricken tone, "but if it's the last I ever speak it's the truth, and the 'ole truth, and nothink but the truth. I sor it as plain as I see you."

"Saw what?" I asked.

"The ghost of Mr. Felix," she replied.

CHAPTER LII.
THE GHOST OF M. FELIX

She put her hand on my arm as if for protection as she uttered these words, and I took it in mine to reassure her; it was cold as ice. It was clear that she had received a shock, and I was disposed to ascribe it to the strain she had undergone during the past fortnight. But this view was shaken when I thought of her courage and daring.

"What did I tell you?" said Bob, sticking to his guns. "Nightmare."

"That's somethink yer must be in bed to 'ave, ain't it?" said Sophy.

"Yes," said Bob, "and asleep."

"I wasn't neither," said Sophy; "I was as wide-awake as you are."

"Oh, you didn't go to bed when I put you in your room?"

"No, I didn't. I waited a minute or two, and then I went out."

"What made you do that, Sophy?" I asked.

"I don't know, 'xcep' that I wanted to go to the mad'ouse-outside, yer know-to see if they'd found out about the desk."

"It was a dangerous thing to do," I said.

"Well, I didn't do it. I 'adn't got 'arf way there when a sperrit crep' past me. I told Aunty I didn't believe in sperrits, but I do now. I didn't think it was a sperrit at fust, I thought it was a man; and I sed to myself, If you can creep, so can I,' and I crep' after it."

"But why, Sophy?"

"I don't know why. I did it 'cause somethink made me. All at once it stopped and turned, and the moon lit up its face. It was the ghost of Mr. Felix."

She was speaking more quietly now, and there was a note of conviction in her voice that startled me.

"Is that what you call a nightmare?" she asked of Bob, whose eyes were fixed intently upon her.

"No," he replied, "but you were mistaken. It was only a fancied resemblance."

"It wasn't nothink of the sort, and I wasn't mistook. I'm ready to take my dying oath on it. There ain't two Mr. Felixes, there's only one, and it was 'is ghost I sor."

"What did you do, Sophy?" I inquired.

"I stood like a stone, and couldn't move. But when it looked at me, and when I 'eered its voice, and when I sor it moving up to me, I give a scream, and run away. But I fell down over the stump of a tree, and it caught 'old of me and lifted me up. Then it wrenched my face to the light, and poked it's 'ead for'ard, and I sor clearer than ever that it was Mr. Felix's ghost. I don't know 'ow I managed it, but I twisted myself away, and run as I'd never run in my life before till I got 'ere."

"Is that all, Sophy?"

"That's all I can tell yer. Ain't it enough?"

"If there is any truth in it, my girl, it is more than enough? You cannot say whether it followed you?"

"No, I never look behind. It was more than I dared do."

"You heard it speak, you say. What words did it utter?"

"It said, 'What the devil!'"

"Nothing more?"

"Nothink as I 'eerd."

She had told all she knew, and it was useless to question her farther upon the subject, so I put it aside for a moment, with the intention of talking it over with Bob when we were alone. But I had not yet done with Sophy; before I parted with her for the night I was desirous of obtaining fuller information of Dr. Peterssen's establishment than she had given Bob. She was perfectly willing to tell everything she knew, and seemed to be relieved to have her attention turned to other matters.

"You had the run of Dr. Peterssen's house, Sophy?"

"Yes, I 'ad."

"How many servants are there in it?"

"Only one-the keeper."

"What is his name?"

"Crawley."

"Did no woman come to do the cleaning or cooking?"

"Nobody come. Crawley did everythink."

"You were not ill-treated?"

"Oh, no."

"Did you have your meals alone?"

"No; the three of us 'ad 'em together."

"The three of you. Dr. Peterssen, Crawley, and you?"

"No; Dr. Peterssen never 'ad nothink with us. I mean the other patient."

"But there was more than one?"

"There wasn't while I was there. There was only one."

I turned to Bob. "You said there were children, Bob?"

"So I was informed, but I may have been misled."

"I 'eerd Crawley say the young 'uns were took away the day before I come," said Sophy.

"That explains it. So there was only one patient left?"

"Only one."

"A man?"

"A gentleman."

"How did you find out he was a gentleman?"

"Yer can't be mistook between a man and a gent. You're a gent; Mr. Tucker's another."

"Much obliged, Sophy," said Bob.

"What is the name of the gentleman patient, Sophy?"

"He didn't 'ave none that I know of. I 'eered the greengrocer's boy say to Crawley once, 'Ow's Number One, Mr. Crawley?' That's how I got to know 'ow he was called, and what the keeper's name was. I couldn't arks nothink, of course, 'cause I was deaf and dumb. 'Same as ever,' said Crawley to the boy, 'mem'ry quite gone.'"

"Poor fellow! There is no doubt, I suppose, about his being mad?"

"I don't know about that. He never did nothink, and 'ardly ever spoke a word. But he was very kind to me, and I was very sorry for 'im. He'd put 'is 'and on my 'ead, and smooth my 'air, and look at me pitiful like, with tears in 'is eyes which made 'em come into mine."

"A case of melancholia, Bob," I said. Bob nodded. "Was no effort made, Sophy, to bring his memory back to him?"

"Nobody did nothink; he was let alone, the same as I was. I did want 'ard to talk to 'im, but I didn't dare open my lips, or I should have been found out. I do wish somethink could be done for 'im, that I do. Look 'ere, you're rich, ain't you?"

"Not exactly rich, Sophy, but I am not poor."

"Well, then. Crawley's to be bought."

"How do you know that?"

"I 'eerd Crawley say to 'isself, 'If I 'ad a 'underd pound I'd cut the cussed concern, and go to Amerikey.'"

"Ah! We'll think over it. A hundred pounds is a large sum. It's late, Sophy. I've nothing more to ask you to-night. Get to bed, like a good girl."

But Sophy began to tremble again; her thoughts reverted to M. Felix.

"I daren't go to the room Mr. Tucker took me to; Mr. Felix's ghost'd come agin. Let me sleep 'ere, please."

"There's no bed, my girl. I tell you what you shall do. There are two beds in the next room-see, this door opens into it-which Mr. Tucker and I were to occupy. We'll bring a mattress and some bedclothes in here, and we'll manage for the night; I'll lie on the sofa. You shall sleep in there, where no ghost can get to you. It would have to come through this room first."

Sophy busied herself at once in bringing the mattress and bedclothes from the adjoining room, and after extemporizing a couple of beds for Bob and me wished us a grateful good-night.

Bob and I were alone. "Now, Bob," said I, "what do you think of her story?"

"There's more in it than meets the eye," said Bob. "Agnold, if any other person had related it I should set it down to an overwrought mind. But Sophy is an exceptional being; she is sharp, she is clever, she is brave, she is clear-witted. Naturally it is a puzzling affair, and I think it is worth arguing out."

"Let us do so, Bob," I said.

"It is always a mistake," said Bob, "in matters of conjecture, to pin one's self to a fixed point. This mistake, in my opinion, has been committed in all inquiries relating to the mystery of M. Felix. Having accepted a certain conclusion every person privately or professionally interested in the mystery started from that fixed point and branched out in all directions, north, east, south, and west, utterly ignoring the possibility-in this case I should say the probability-of the conclusion they accepted being a false one, as misleading as a will-o'-the-wisp."

"Am I included in this sweeping condemnation?" I asked.

"You are. The police I can excuse, but not a man of your discrimination and logical power."

"What fixed point, Bob, did I, in common with everyone else, start from in wild directions?"

"The fixed point," replied Bob, "that M. Felix is dead."

"But he was proved to be dead."

"Nothing of the sort. There was no post-mortem, there was not even an inquest. He is said to have died of heart disease. He lies inanimate on a bed for an inconsiderable number of hours, and then he disappears. My dear Agnold, have you ever heard of such a thing as suspended animation?"

"Of course I have."

"Have you ever heard of a person falling into a trance, and remaining to all appearance dead for three or four times as many hours as M. Felix lay before he disappeared? People have been buried alive in such conditions; others have been happily rescued at the moment the lids of their coffins have been about to be nailed down. I can furnish you with scores of instances of this kind of thing."

"There is no need; I know that they have occurred. Your theory opens out a wide field of possibilities. Then you believe that Sophy was right; that she did see, not M. Felix's ghost as she supposed, but M. Felix himself in the flesh?"

"It is my belief. Sophy is no fool; she has the nerve of a strong and healthy man; she does not believe in the supernatural; she has a heart susceptible of such kindness as you have shown her, but she is at the same time practical and hard-headed. Agnold, M. Felix is alive."

"Do you argue that he simulated death in the first instance for the purpose of carrying out some plan?"

"No. His apparent death was not a trick devised by himself. He had a seizure undoubtedly, to which he was compelled to succumb. After a time he recovered, and for his own ends resolved to take advantage of the opportunity to disappear, whether permanently or not I cannot say. He had a perfect right to do as he pleased with his own body, and he had good reasons for the device. He was threatened on two sides. Choosing for certain motives to drop his proper name of Leonard Paget and to adopt that of M. Felix, he finds himself suddenly standing on a rock with a precipice yawning on each side of him. A bold movement on the part of his sister-in-law hurls him into one; a desperate movement on the part of Dr. Peterssen hurls him over the other-either way, destruction. Of the special power which Dr. Peterssen holds over him I am ignorant, but it must be very potent. We are acquainted, however, with the power his sister-in-law holds over him. Her marriage proved, his life has been one long fraud, and he could be made to pay the penalty. Her unexpected presence in London confounds him, and he sees before him but one means of escape-flight. On the night of his supposed death he has had two agitating interviews, one with Dr. Peterssen, the other with his sister-in-law. She, waiting in the street to obtain an interview with M. Felix, overhears words which unmistakably prove that Peterssen has him at his mercy. Peterssen threatens to ruin M. Felix; he refers to a pleasant partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago; he asks M. Felix if he has forgotten his brother Gerald. Then he goes into the house with this precious Felix, and when he issues from it he has in his possession the desk which is now on the table before us. After that, the lady in whose behalf we have been working obtains admission to the house and confronts the villain who has ruined her happiness. We know what passed between them; we know that M. Felix was worked up to desperation. The excitement was too much for the plausible scoundrel, who saw the sword about to fall upon him. He staggers into his bedroom with the undoubted intention of getting his revolver; he presses his hand to his heart; he sinks into a chair and becomes insensible. He is to all appearance dead, and is so pronounced. On the following night when he recovers his senses, he hails the mishap as a fortunate chance; he resolves to disappear, and so put his enemies off the scent. Now, follow me. Sophy is below in bed. She hears a noise in the upper part of the house; the brave girl creeps up-stairs from the basement as M. Felix creeps down-stairs from his apartments. He dare not betray himself. He seizes her, disguises his voice, and works upon her fears. Exit M. Felix; for as long or as short a time as he pleases, he is dead to the world. It is a wonder he does not take his revolver with him, but that is an oversight. In such a crisis one cannot think of everything. It may happen-for there is work for us to do, Agnold-that this oversight will work in our favor. I do not despair of tracing the revolver, and you did a good stroke when you wrote down such a description of the weapon as will enable you to identify it. There is no room for doubt that the man who presented himself to Mrs. Middlemore as a police official, and who sent her on a false errand to Bow Street Police Station, was Peterssen. Alone in M. Felix's room he appropriates the revolver; other things as well, perhaps; but of the revolver we are morally convinced. What is his object in going there? I will tell you. He has doubts of M. Felix's death; he believes it to be a trick, and he thinks he may find something in M. Felix's room which will put him on the track of the man who had slipped out of his power. Reasoning the mystery out in this open way is very satisfactory, Agnold. Mists disappear; we see the light. How does it strike you?"

"You have convinced me, Bob," I said. "We will pursue the matter a little further. M. Felix is a man who is fond of pleasures which can be purchased only with money. Do you think he would voluntarily deprive himself of the means of obtaining it-for this is what his disappearance would lead him to, so long as he chose to conceal himself.

"Not at all likely," replied Bob, with a knowing look. "I can enlighten you on the point. It happens that I am acquainted with the manager of the branch bank at which M. Felix kept an account. After you had enlisted me in the present cause I became interested in everything concerning M. Felix, and in a confidential conversation with the bank manager I asked him whether M. Felix had a large balance standing to his credit. I learnt that he never had a large balance at the bank, and that he had certain bonds and shares of which he himself was the custodian. Ordinarily one entrusts such securities to the safe custody of the bank which transacts his business, but it was not so with M. Felix, and this fact leads to the presumption that it was his habit to keep himself personally possessed of negotiable property in preference to entrusting it to other keeping. From time to time checks from stock-brokers were paid in to the credit of M. Felix. In every instance the money was not allowed to lie in the bank for longer than a day or two. M. Felix invariably drew his own check for something near the amount of the last deposit, receiving payment in gold and bank notes. Two days before his supposed death a check for six thousand pounds odd was paid in to his credit, and on the following morning he went to the bank and drew out six thousand pounds in notes of various denominations, the numbers of which of course are known. Thus, unless he paid this money away, which is not at all likely, he must have been in possession of it when he disappeared. I am of the opinion that he had much more than the amount I have named, and if so he was well provided for. The peculiar position in which he stood would predispose him to keep always by him a large available sum of money in case of some emergency arising; an emergency did arise, and he could snap his fingers at the world, so far as money was concerned."

"This is a piece of valuable information, Bob. Do you know if any of these last bank notes have been presented for payment?"

"I do not. There was nothing to call for special investigation into the matter."

"But the notes can be traced."

"Perhaps. The habit of a man to keep large sums by him is generally of long standing, and Peterssen was probably acquainted with M. Felix's peculiarity in this respect. The visit he paid to Mrs. Middlemore and the plan he carried into effect for being left alone in the house may have been inspired by the hope that he would discover one of M. Felix's hiding-places for his money. I conclude that he was disappointed; on the night of M. Felix's disappearance he left no money behind him. Too old a bird for that."

The earnestness with which Bob had set forth his views had caused him to forget his cultivated method of speaking in short sentences. Now he relapsed into it.

"Adopting your theory," I said, "that M. Felix is living, do you think that he and Dr. Peterssen have met?"

"Should say not. To-night-when Sophy saw his ghost-was probably on his way to Tylney House. For what purpose, to us unknown."

"Bob, you said there was work for us to do. I confess myself at a loss how to proceed. M. Bordier's visit to you and his appropriation of the document hidden in the secret drawer have snapped the threads of my plans. Have you anything to suggest?"

"I have. Early to-morrow morning endeavor to find M. Bordier. Then consult with him."

"You do not propose that we should leave this spot at once?"

"No. If M. Bordier not in the village do something else before leaving. Pay a bold visit to Tylney House."

"For what purpose?"

"Confront Peterssen. Ascertain if M. Felix has been there."

"Psha! We can get nothing of Peterssen."

"Not so sure. He is hard up. Offer of a good reward too tempting a bait not to nibble at."

"Why, Bob, those are very nearly the words M. Bordier used to Emilia, and your scheme is the same as that which he suggested."

"Proves it a good one. M. Bordier a wealthy man, I judge?"

"He is."

"Wouldn't mind expending money to bring matter to a satisfactory conclusion?"

"He has said as much."

"Word to be depended upon?"

"Thoroughly."

"Depend upon him, then, for the needful. Peterssen will bite."

"And if he does not?"

"Crawley, the keeper. Remember what Sophy overheard him say. If he had a hundred pounds he would cut the cursed concern, and go to America. Emphatic-and doubtless true. Two birds to shoot at. Peterssen missed, Crawley remains. Aim well, bring him down."

"To-morrow morning, early, we will resume work, Bob."

"The earlier the better. Good-night."