CHAPTER I.
THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER.
I DON'T suppose it rained harder in the good town of Slop-
perton-on-the-Sloshy than it rained anywhere else. But it
did rain. There was scarcely an umbrella in Slopperton
that could hold its own against the rain that came pouring
down that November afternoon, between the hours of four
and five. Every gutter in High Street, Slopperton; every
gutter in Broad Street (which was of course the narrowest
street); in New Street (which by the same rule was the old-
est street); in East Street, West Street, Blue Dragon Street,
and Windmill Street; every gutter in every one of these
thoroughfares was a little Niagara, with a maelstrom at the
corner, down which such small craft as bits of orange-peel,
old boots and shoes, scraps of paper, and fragments of rag
were absorbedas better ships have been in the great north-
ern whirlpool. That dingy stream, the Sloshy, was swollen
into a kind of dirty Mississippi, and the graceful coal-barges
which adorned its bosom were stripped of the clothes-lines
B
## p. 2 (#18) ###############################################
2 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
and fluttering linen which usually were to be seen on their
decks. A bad, determined, black-minded November day.
A day on which the fog shaped itself into a demon, and
lurked behind men's shoulders, whispering into their ears,
"Cut your throat you know you've got a razor, and can't
shave with it, because you've been drinking and your hand
shakes; one little gash under the left ear, and the business
is done. It's the best thing you can do. It is, really." A
day on which the rain, the monotonous, ceaseless, persever-
ing rain, has a voice as it comes down, and says, "Don't you
think you could go melancholy mad? Look at mes be good
enough to watch me for a couple of hours or so, and think,
while you watch me, of the girl who jilted you ten years
ago; and of what a much better man you would be to-day
if she had only loved you truly. O, I think, if you'll only
be so good as watch me, you might really contrive to go
mad." Then again the wind. What does the wind say, as
it comes cutting through the dark passage, and stabbing
you, like a coward as it is, in the back, just between the
shoulderswhat does it say? Why, it whistles in your ear
a reminder of the little bottle of laudanum you've got up-
stairs, which you had for your toothache last week, and never
used. A foggy, wet, windy November day. A bad daya
dangerous day. Keep us from bad thoughts to-day, and
keep us out of the Police Reports next week. Give us a
glass of something hot and strong, and a bit of something
nice for supper, and bear with us a little this day; for if the
strings of yonder pianoan instrument fashioned on me-
chanical principles by mortal handsif they are depressed
and slackened by the influence of damp and fog, how do we
know that there may not be some string in this more critical
instrument, the human mind, not made on mechanical prin-
ciples or by mortal hands, a little out of order on this bad
November day ?
But of course bad influences can only come to bad men;
and of course he must be a very bad man whose spirits go
up and down with every fluctuation of the weather-glass.
## p. 3 (#19) ###############################################
THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER. 3
Wirtuous people no doubt are virtuous always; and by no
chance, orchange, or trial, or temptation, can they ever become
other than virtuous. Therefore why should a wet day or a
dark day depress them ? No; they look out of the windows
at houseless men and women and fatherless and mother-
less children wet through to the skin, and thank Heaven that
they are not as other men: like good Christians, punctual
rate-payers, and unflinching church-goers as they are.
Thus it was with Mr. Jabez North, assistant and usher
at the academy of Doctor Tappenden. He was not in any-
wise affected by fog, rain, or wind. There was a fire at one
end of the school-room, and Allecompain Major had been
fined sixpence, and condemned to a page of Latin grammar,
for surreptitiously warming his worst chilblain at the bars
thereof. But Jabez North did not want to go near the fire,
though in his official capacity he might have done so; ay,
even might have warmed his hands in moderation. He was
not cold, or if he was cold, he didn't mind being cold.
He was sitting at his desk, mending pens and hearing
six red-nosed boys conjugate the verb Amare 'to love'
while the aforesaid boys were giving practical illustrations
of the active verb 'to shiver',and the passive ditto, "to
be puzzled. He was not only a good young man, this
Jabez North (and he must have been a very good young
man, for his goodness was in almost every mouth in Slopper-
tonindeed, he was looked upon by many excellent old
ladies as an incarnation of the adjective 'pious')but he
was rather a handsome young man also. He had delicate
features, a pale fair complexion, and, as young women said,
very beautiful blue eyes; only it was unfortunate that these
eyes, being, according to report, such a very beautiful colour,
had a shifting way with them, and never looked at you long
enough for you to find out their exact hue, or their exact ex-
pression either. He had also what was called a very fine
head of fair curly hair, and what some people considered a
very fine headthough it was a pity it shelved off on either
side in the locality where prejudiced people place the organ
## p. 4 (#20) ###############################################
4 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
of conscientiousness. A professor of phrenology, lecturing
at Slopperton, had declared Jabez North to be singularly
wanting in that small virtue; and had even gone so far as
to hint that he had never met with a parallel case of defi-
ciency in the entire moral region, except in the skull of a very
distinguished criminal, who invited a friend to dinner and
murdered him on the kitchen stairs while the first course was
being dished. But of course the Sloppertonians pronounced
this professor to be an impostor, and his art a piece of char-
latanism, as they were only too happy to pronounce any
professor or any art that came in their way.
Slopperton believed in Jabez North. Partly because
Slopperton had in a manner created, clothed, and fed him,
set him on his feet, patted him on his head, and reared him
under the shadow of Sloppertonian wings, to be the good and
worthy individual he was.
The story was in this wise. Nineteen years before this
bad November day, a little baby had been dragged, to all
appearance drowned, out of the muddy waters of the Sloshy.
Fortunately or unfortunately, as the case may be, he turned
out to be less drowned than dirty, and after being subjected
to very sharp treatmentsuch as being held head down-
wards, and scrubbed raw with a jack-towel, by the Slopper-
tonian Humane Society, founded by a very excellent gentle-
man, somewhat renowned for maltreating his wife and turning
his eldest son out of doorsthis helpless infant set up a
feeble squall, and evinced other signs of a return to life. He
was found in a Slopperton river by a Slopperton bargeman,
resuscitated by a Slopperton society, and taken by the Slop-
perton beadle to the Slopperton workhouse; he therefore be-
longed to Slopperton. Slopperton found him a species of
barnacle rather difficult to shake off. The wisest thing,
therefore, for Slopperton to do, was to put the best face on a
bad matter, and, out of its abundance, rear this un-welcome
little stranger. And truly virtue has its reward; for, from
the workhouse brat to the Sunday-school teacher; from the
Sunday-school teacher to the scrub at Dr. Tappenden's aca-
## p. 5 (#21) ###############################################
THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER. 9
demy; from scrub to usher of the fourth form ; and from
fourth-form usher to first assistant, pet toady, and factotum,
were so many steps in the ladder of fortune which Jabez
mounted, as in seven-leagued boots.
As to his name, Jabez North, it is not to be supposed that
when some wretched drab (mad with what madness, or
wretched to what intensity of wretchedness, who shall guess?)
throws her hapless and sickly offspring into the riverit is
not, I say, to be supposed that she puts his card-case in his
pocket, with his name and address inscribed in neat copper-
plate upon enamelled cards therein. No, the foundling of
Slopperton was called by the board of the workhouse Jabez;
first, because Jabez was a scriptural name; secondly, per-
haps, because it was an ugly one, and agreed better with the
cut of his clothes and the fashion of his appointments than
Reginald, Conrad, or Augustus might have done. The gen-
tlemen of the board further bestowed upon him the surname
of North because he was found on the north bank of the
Sloshy, and because North was an unobtrusive and common-
place cognomen, appropriate to a pauper; like whose impu-
dence it would indeed be to write himself down Montmor-
ency or Fitz-Hardinge.
Now there are many natures (God-created though they
be) of so black and vile a tendency as to be soured and em-
bittered by workhouse treatment; by constant keeping down;
by days and days which grow into years and years, in which
to hear a kind word is to hear a strange languagea lan-
guage so strange as to bring a choking sensation into the
throat, and hot unbidden tears into the eyes. Natures there
are, so innately wicked, as not to be improved by tyranny;
by the dominion, the mockery, and the insult of little boys,
who are wise enough to despise poverty, but not charitable
enough to respect misfortune. And fourth-form ushers in a
second-rate academy have to endure this sort of thing now
and then. Some natures too may be so weak and sentimen-
tal as to sicken at a life without one human tie; a boyhood
without father or mother ; a youth without sister or brother.
## p. 6 (#22) ###############################################
6 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Not such the excellent nature of Jabez North. Tyranny found
him meek, it is true, but it left him much meeker. Insult
found him mild, but it left him lamb-like. Scornful speeches
glanced away from him; cruel words seemed drops of water
on marble, so powerless were they to strike or wound. He
would take an insult from a boy whom with his powerful
right hand he could have strangled: he would smile at the
insolence of a brat whom he could have thrown from the
window with one uplifting of his strong arm almost as easily
as he threw away a bad pen. But he was a good young
man; a benevolent young man; giving in secret, and gen-
erally getting his reward openly. His left hand scarcely
knew what his right hand did; but Slopperton always knew
it before long. So every citizen of the borough praised and
applauded this model young man, and many were the pro-
phecies of the day when the pauperboy should be one of the
greatest men in that greatest of all towns, the town of Slop-
perton.
The bad November day merged into a bad November
night. Dark night at five o'clock, when candles, few and
far between, flickered in Dr. Tappenden's school-room, and
long rows of half-pint mugs- splendid institutions for little
boys to warm their hands at, being full of a boiling and
semi-opaque liquid, par excellence milk-and-waterorna-
mented the school-room table. Darker night still, when
the half-pint mugs have been collected by a red maid-ser-
vant, with nose, elbows, and knuckles picked out in purple;
when all traces of the evening meal are removed; when the
six red-nosed first-form boys have sat down to Virgilfor
whom they entertain a deadly hatred, feeling convinced that
he wrote with a special view to their being flogged from in-
ability to construe him. Of course, if he hadn't been a
spiteful beast he would have written in English, and then
he wouldn't have had to be construed. Darker night still
at eight o'clock, when the boys have gone to bed, and per-
haps would have gone to sleep, if Allecompain Major had
not a supper-party in his room, with Banbury cakes, pigs'
## p. 7 (#23) ###############################################
THE GOOD SCHOOLMASTER. 7
trotters, periwinkles, acid rock, and ginger-beer powders,
laid out upon the bolster. Not so dark by the head assis-
tant's desk, at which Jabez sits, his face ineffably calm, ex-
amining a pile of exercises. Look at his face by that one
candle; look at the eyes, which are steady now, for he does
not dream that any one is watching himsteady, and lumi-
nous with a subdued fire, which might blaze out some day
into a deadly flame. Look at the face, the determined
mouth, the thin lips, which form almost an archand say,
is that the face of a man to be content with a life of dreary
and obscure monotony ? A somewhat intellectual face;
but not the face of a man with an intellect seeking no bet-
ter employment than the correcting of French and Latin
exercises. If we could look into his heart, we might find
the answers to these questions. He raises the lid of his
desk; a deep desk that holds many thingspaper, pens,
letters; and what?A thick coil of rope. A strange object
in the assistant's desk, this coil of rope He looks at it as
if to assure himself that it is safe; shuts his desk quickly,
locks it, puts the key in his waistcoat-pocket; and when at
half-past nine he goes up into his little bed-room at the top
of the house, he will carry the desk under his arm.
## p. 8 (#24) ###############################################
("HAPTER II.
GOOD FOR NOTHING.
THE November night is darkest, foggiest, wettest, and win-
diest out on the open road that leads into Slopperton. A
dreary road at the best of times, this Slopperton road, and
dreariest of all in one spot about a mile and a half out of
the town. Upon this spot stands a solitary house, known as
the Black Mill. It was once the cottage of a miller, and the
mill still stands, though in disuse.
The cottage had been altered and improved within the
last few years, and made into a tolerable-sized house; a
dreary, rambling, tumble-down place, it is true, but still
with some pretension about it. It was occupied at this
time by a widow lady, a Mrs. Marwood, once the owner
of a large fortune, which had nearly all been squandered by
the dissipation of her only son. This son had long left
Slopperton. His mother had not heard of him for years.
Some said he had gone abroad. She tried to hope this, but
sometimes she mourned him as dead. She lived in modest
style, with one old female servant, who had been with her
since her marriage, and had been faithful through every
change of fortuneas these common and unlearned crea-
tures, strange to say, sometimes are. It happened that at
this very time Mrs. Marwood had just received the visit of
a brother, who had returned from the East Indies with a
large fortune. This brother, Mr. Montague Harding, had
on his landing in England hastened to seek out his only
sister, and the arrival of the wealthy nabob at the solitary
house on the Slopperton road had been a nine days' wonder
## p. 9 (#25) ###############################################
GOOD FOR NOTHING. 9
for the good citizens of Slopperton. He brought with him
only one servant, a half-caste; his visit was to be a short
one, as he was about buying an estate in the south of Eng-
land, on which he intended to reside with his widowed
sister.
Slopperton had a great deal to say about Mr. Harding.
Slopperton gave him credit for the possession of uncounted
and uncountable lacs of rupees; but Slopperton wouldn't
give him credit for the possession of the hundredth part of an
ounce of liver. Slopperton left cards at the Black Mill, and
had serious thoughts of getting up a deputation to invite
the rich East Indian to represent its inhabitants at the great
congress of Westminster. But both Mr. Harding and Mrs.
Marwood kept aloof from Slopperton, and were set down
accordingly as mysterious, not to say dark-minded indivi-
duals, forthwith. -
The brother and sister are seated in the little, warm,
lamp-lit drawing-room at the Black Mill this dark Novem-
ber night. She is a woman who has once been handsome,
but whose beauty has been fretted away by anxieties and
suspenses, which wear out the strongest hope, as water wears
away the hardest rock. The Anglo-Indian very much re-
sembles her; but though his face is that of an invalid, it is
not care-worn. It is the face of a good man, who has a
hope so strong that neither fear nor trouble can disquiet
him.
He is speaking"And you have not heard from your
SOn 7"
"For nearly seven years. Seven years of cruel suspense;
seven years, during which every knock at yonder door seems
to have beaten a blow upon my heartevery footstep on
yonder garden-walk seems to have trodden down a hope."
"And you do not think him dead?"
"I hope and pray not. Not dead, impenitent; not dead,
without my blessing; not gone away from me for ever,
without one pressure of the hand, one prayer for my for-
## p. 10 (#26) ##############################################
10 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
giveness, one whisper of regret for all he has made me
suffer."
"He was very wild, then, very dissipated?"
"He was a reprobate and a gambler. He squandered
his money like water. He had bad companions, I know;
but was not himself wicked at heart. The very night he
ran away, the night I saw him for the last time, I'm sure
he was sorry for his bad courses. He said something to
that effect; said his road was a dark one, but that it had
only one end, and he must go on to the end."
"And you made no remonstrance?"
"I was tired of remonstrance, tired of prayer, and had
wearied out my soul with hope deferred."
"My dear Agnes. And this poor boy, this wretched
misguided boy, Heaven have pity upon him and restore
him! Heaven have pity upon every wanderer, this dismal
and pitiless night!"
Heaven, indeed, have pity upon that wanderer, out on
the bleak highroad to Slopperton; out on the shelterless
Slopperton road, a mile away from the Black Mill! The
wanderer is a young man, whose garments, of the shabby-
genteel order, are worst of all fitted to keep out the cruel
weather; a handsome young man, or a man who has once
been handsome, but on whom riotous days and nights,
drunkenness, recklessness, and folly, have had their dire
effects. He is struggling to keep a bad cigar alight, and
when it goes out, which is about twice in five minutes, he
utters expressions which in Slopperton are thought very
wicked, and consigns that good city, with its virtuous citi-
zens, to a very bad neighbourhood.
He talks to himself between his struggles with the cigar.
"Foot-sore and weary, hungry and thirsty, cold and ill; it
is not a very hopeful way for the only son of a rich man
to come back to his native place after seven years' absence.
I wonder what star presides over my vagabond existence;
if I knew, I'd shake my fist at it," he muttered, as he
looked up at two or three feeble luminaries glimmering
## p. 11 (#27) ##############################################
GOOD FOR NOTHING. 11
through the rain and fog. "Another mile to the Black
Milland then what will she say to me? What can she
say to me but to curse me? What have I earned by such
a life as mine except a mother's curse?" His cigar chose
this very moment of all others to go out. If the bad three-
halfpenny Havannah had been a sentient thing with reason-
ing powers, it might have known better. He threw it aside
into a ditch with an oath. He slouched his hat over his
eyes, thrust one hand into the breast of his coat-(he had a
stick cut from some hedgerow in the other)and walked
with a determined though a weary air onward through slush
and mire towards the Black Mill, from which already the
lighted windows shone through the darkness like so many
beacons.
On through slush and mire, with a weary and slouching
step.
No matter. It is the step for which his mother has
waited for seven long years; it is the step whose ghostly
echo on the garden-walk has smitten so often on her heart and
trodden out the light of hope. But surely the step comes
on nowfull surely, and for good or ill. Whether for good
or ill comes this long-watched-for step, this bad November
night, who shall say?
In a quarter of an hour the wanderer stands in the little
garden of the Black Mill. He has not courage to knock at
the door; it might be opened by a stranger; he might hear
something he dare not whisper to his own hearthe might
hear something which would strike him down dead upon the
threshold.
He sees the light in the drawing-room windows. He
approaches, and hears his mother's voice.
It is a long time since he has uttered a prayer; but he
falls on his knees by the long French window and breathes
a thanksgiving.
That voice is not still!
What shall he do? What can he hope from his mother,
so cruelly abandoned?
## p. 12 (#28) ##############################################
12 THE TRAIL of THE SERPENT.
At this moment Mr. Harding opens the window to look
out at the dismal night. As he does so, the young man falls
fainting, exhausted, into the room.
Draw a curtain over the agitation and the bewilderment of
that scene. The almost broken-hearted mother's joy is too
sacred for words. And the passionate tears of the prodigal
sonwho shall measure the remorseful agony of a man
whose life has been one long career of recklessness, and
who sees his sin written in his mother's face?
The mother and son sit together, talking gravely, hand
in hand, for two long hours. He tells her, not of all his
follies, but of all his regretshis punishment, his anguish,
his penitence, and his resolutions for the future.
Surely it is for good, and good alone, that he has come
over a long and dreary road, through toil and suffering, to
kneel here at his mother's feet and build up fair schemes for
the future.
The old servant, who has known Richard from a baby,
shares in his mother's joy. After the slight supper which
the weary wanderer is induced to eat, her brother and her
son persuade Mrs. Marwood to retire to rest; and left tle--
lte, the uncle and nephew sit down to discuss a bottle of
old madeira by the sea-coal fire.
"My dear Richard"the young man's name is Richard
("Daredevil Dick" he has been called by his wild com-
panions)"My dear Richard," says Mr. Harding very
gravely, "I am about to say something to you, which I
trust you will take in good part."
"I am not so used to kind words from good men that I
am likely to take any thing you can say amiss."
"You will not, then, doubt the joy I feel in your re-
turn this night, if I ask you what are your plans for the
future ?"
The young man shook his head. Poor Richard! he
had never in his life had any definite plan for the future, or
he might not have been what he was that night.
## p. 13 (#29) ##############################################
GOOD FOR NOTHING. 13
"My poor boy, I believe you have a noble heart, but
you have led a wasted life. This must be repaired."
Richard shook his head again. He was very hopeless of
himself.
"I am good for nothing," he said; "I am a bad lot.
I wonder they don't hang such men as me."
"I wonder they don't hang such men." He uttered this
reckless speech in his own reckless way, as if it would be
rather a good joke to be hung up out of the way and done
for.
"My dear boy, thank Heaven you have returned to us.
Now I have a plan to make a man of you yet." -
Richard looked up this time with a hopeful light in his
dark eyes. He was hopeless at five minutes past ten; he
was radiant when the minute-hand had moved on to the
next figure on the dial. He was one of those men whose
bad and good angels have a sharp fight and a constant
struggle, but whom we all hope to see saved at last.
"I have a plan which has occurred to me since your un-
expected arrival this evening," continued his uncle. "Now,
if you stay here, your mother, who has a trick (as all loving
mothers have) of fancying you are still a little boy in a
pinafore and frockyour mother will be for having you
loiter about from morning till night with nothing to do
and nothing to care for; you will fall in again with all
your old Slopperton companions, and all those companions'
bad habits. This isn't the way to make a man of you,
Richard."
Richard, very radiant by this time, thinks not.
"My plan is, that you start off to-morrow morning
before your mother is up, with a letter of introduction
which I will give you to an old friend of mine, a merchant
in the town of Gardenford, forty miles from here. At my
request, he will give you a berth in his office, and will treat
you as if you were his own son. You can come over here
to see your mother as often as you like; and if you choose
to work hard as a merchant's clerk, so as to make your own
## p. 14 (#30) ##############################################
14 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
fortune, I know an old fellow just returned from the East
Indies, with not enough liver to keep him alive many years,
who will leave you another fortune to add to it. What do
you say, Richard : Is it a bargain?"
"My dear, generous uncle," Richard cries, shaking the
old man by the hand.
Was it a bargain? Of course it was. A merchant's
officethe very thing for Richard. He would work hard,
work night and day to repair the past, and to show the
world there was stuff in him to make a man, and a good
man yet.
Poor Richard, half an hour ago wishing to be hung and
put out of the way, now full of radiance and hope, while
the good angel has the best of it!
"You must not begin your new life without money,
Richard: I shall therefore give you all I have in the house.
I think I cannot better show my confidence in you, and my
certainty that you will not return to your old habits, than
by giving you this money." Richard lookshe cannot
speak his gratitude.
The old man conducts his nephew upstairs to his bed-
room, an old-fashioned apartment, in one window of which
is a handsome cabinet, half desk, half bureau. He unlocks
this, and takes from it a pocket-book containing one hun-
dred and thirty-odd pounds in small notes and gold, and
two bills for one hundred pounds each on an Anglo-Indian
bank in the city.
"Take this, Richard. Use the broken cash as you re-
quire it for present purposesin purchasing such an outfit
as becomes my nephew; and on your arrival in Garden-
ford, place the bills in the bank for future exigencies. And
as I wish your mother to know nothing of our little plan
until you are gone, the best thing you can do is to start
before any one is up-to-morrow morning."
"I will start at day-break. I can leave a note for my
mother."
"No, no," said the uncle, "I will tell her all. You
## p. 15 (#31) ##############################################
GOOD FOR NOTHING. 15
can write directly you reach your destination. Now, you
will think it cruel of me to ask you to leave your home
on the very night of your return to it; but it is quite as
well, my dear boy, to strike while the iron's hot. If you
remain here your good resolutions may be vanquished by
old influences; for the best resolution, Richard, is but a
seed, and if it doesn't bear the fruit of a good action, it is
less than worthless, for it is a lie, and promises what it
doesn't perform. I've a higher opinion of you than to think
that you brought no better fruit of your penitence home to
your loving mother than empty resolutions. I believe you
have a steady determination to reform."
"You only do me justice in that belief, sir. I ask
nothing better than the opportunity of showing that I am
in earnest."
Mr. Harding is quite satisfied, and once more suggests
that Richard should depart very early the next day.
"I will leave this house at five in the morning," said
the nephew; "a train starts for Gardenford about six. I
shall creep out quietly, and not disturb any one. I know
the way out of the dear old houseI can get out of the
drawing-room window, and need not unlock the hall-door;
for I know that good stupid old woman Martha sleeps with
the key under her pillow."
"Ah, by the bye, where does Martha mean to put you to-
night?"
"In the little back parlour, I think she said; the room
under this."
The uncle and nephew went down to this little parlour,
where they found old Martha making up a bed on the
sofa.
"You will sleep very comfortably here for to-night,
Master Richard," said the old woman; "but if my mistress
doesn't have this ceiling mended before long there'll be an
accident some day."
They all looked up at the ceiling. The plaster had fallen
## p. 16 (#32) ##############################################
16 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in several places, and there were one or two cracks of con-
siderable size.
"If it was daylight," grumbled the old woman, "you
could see through into Mister Harding's bedroom, for his
worship won't have a carpet."
His worship said he had not been used to carpets in
India, and liked the sight of Mrs. Martha's snow-white
boards.
"And it's hard to keep them white, sir, I can tell you;
for when I scour the floor of that room the water runs through
and spoils the furniture down here."
But Daredevil Dick didn't seem to care much for the di-
lapidated ceiling. The madeira, his brightened prospects,
and the excitement he had gone through, all combined to
make him thoroughly wearied out. He shook his uncle's
hand with a brief but energetic expression of gratitude, and
then flung himself half dressed upon the bed.
"There is an alarum clock in my room," said the old man,
"which I will set for five o'clock. I always sleep with my
door open; so you will be sure to hear it go down. It won't
disturb your mother, for she sleeps at the other end of the
house. And now good night, and God bless you, my boy!"
He is gone, and the returned prodigal is asleep. His
handsome face has lost half its look of dissipation and care,
in the renewed light of hope; his black hair is tossed off his
broad forehead, and it is a fine candid countenance, with a
sweet smile playing round the mouth. O, there is stuff in
him to make a man yet, though he says they should hang
such fellows as he
His uncle has retired to his room, where his half-caste
servant assists at his toilette for the night. This servant,
who is a Lascar, and cannot speak one word of English (his
master converses with him in Hindostanee), and is thought
to be as faithful as a dog, sleeps in a little bed in the dress-
ing-room adjoining his master's apartment.
So, on this bad November night, with the wind howling
## p. 17 (#33) ##############################################
GOOD FOR NOTHING. 17
round the walls as if it were an angry unadmitted guest that
clamoured to come in ; with the rain beating on the roof, as
if it had a special purpose and was bent on flooding the old
house; there is peace and happiness, and a returned and
penitent wanderer at the desolate old Black Mill.
The wind this night seems to howl with a peculiar sig-
nificance, but nobody has the key to its strange language;
and if, in every shrill dissonant shriek, it tries to tell a
ghastly secret or to give a timely warning, it tries in vain,
for no one heeds or understands.
## p. 18 (#34) ##############################################
CHAPTER III.
THE USMER WASHES HIS IMANDS.
MR. JABEZ NoRTH had not his little room quite to himself
at Dr. Tappenden's. There are some penalties attendant even
on being a good young man, and our friend Jabez sometimes
found his very virtues rather inconvenient. It happened
that Allecompain Junior was ill of a feversometimes delir-
ious; and as the usher was such an excellent young person,
beloved by the pupils and trusted implicitly by the master,
the sick little boy was put under his especial care, and a bed
was made up for him in Jabez' room.
This very November night, when the usher comes up
stairs, his great desk under one arm (he is very strong, this
usher), and a little feeble tallow candle in his left hand, he
finds the boy very ill indeed. He does not know Jabez, for
he is talking of a boat-racea race that took place in the
bright summer gone by. He is sitting up on the pillow,
waving his little thin hand, and crying out at the top of his
feeble voice, "Bravo, red ! Red wins ! Three cheers for red!
Go itgo it, red! Blue's beatI say blue's beat ! George
Harris has won the day. I've backed George Harris. I've
bet six-pennorth of toffey on George Harris ! Go it, red !"
"We're worse to-night, then," said the usher; "so much
the better. We're off our head, and we're not likely to take
much notice; so much the better;" and this benevolent
young man began to undress. To undress, but not to go
to bed ; for from a small trunk he takes out a dark smock-
frock, a pair of leather gaiters, a black scratch wig, and a
countryman's slouched hat. He dresses himself in these
## p. 19 (#35) ##############################################
THE USHER WASHES HIS HANDS. 19
things, and sits down at a little table with his desk before
him.
The boy rambles on. He is out nutting in the woods
with his little sister in the glorious autumn months gone by.
"Shake the tree, Harriet, shake the tree; they'll fall if
you only shake hard enough. Look at the hazel-nuts! so
thick you can't count 'em. Shake away, Harriet; and take
care of your head, forthey'll come downlike ashower of rain!"
The usher takes the coil of rope from his desk, and be-
gins to unwind it; he has another coil in his little trunk,
another hidden away under the mattress of his bed. He
joins the three together, and they form arope of considerable
length. He looks round the room; holds the light over
the boy's face, but sees no consciousness of passing events
in those bright feverish eyes.
He opens the window of his room; it is on the second
story, and looks out into the playgrounda large space
shut in from the lane in which the school stands by a wall
of considerable height. About half the height of this room
are some posts erected for gymnastics; they are about ten
feet from the wall of the house, and the usher looks at them
dubiously. He lowers the rope out of the window and at-
taches one end of it to an iron hook in the walla very
convenient hook, and very secure apparently, for it looks as
if it had been only driven in that very day.
He surveys the distance beneath him, takes another
dubious look at the posts in the playground, and is about
to step out of the window, when a feeble voice from the
little bed cries outnot in any delirious ramblings this time
"What are you doing with that rope? Who are you?
What are you doing with that rope?"
Jabez looks round, and although so good a young man,
mutters something very much resembling an oath.
"Silly boy, don't you know me? I'm Jabez, your old
friend"
"Ah, kind old Jabez; you won't send me back in Virgil,
because I've been ill; eh, Mr. North ?"
## p. 20 (#36) ##############################################
20 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"No, no! See, you want to know what I am doing
with this rope; why, making a swing, to be sure."
"A swing? 0, that's capital. Such a jolly thick rope
too. When shall I be well enough to swing, I wonder? It's
so dull up here. I'll try and go to sleep; but I dream such
bad dreams."
"There, there, go to sleep," says the usher, in a sooth-
ing voice. This time, before he goes to the window, he puts
out his tallow candle, the rushlight on the hearth he extin-
guishes also ; feels for something in his bosom, clutches
this something tightly; takes a firm grasp of the rope, and
gets out of the window.
A curious way to make a swing ! He lets himself down
foot by foot, with wonderful caution and wonderful courage.
When he gets on a level with the posts of the gymnasium
he gives himself a sudden jerk, and swinging over against
them, catches hold of the highest post, and his descent is
then an easy one, for the post is notched for the purpose of
climbing, and Jabez, always good at gymnastics, descends it
almost as easily as anotherman would an ordinary staircase.
He leaves the rope still hanging from his bedroom window,
scales the playground wall, and when the Slopperton clocks
strike twelve is out upon the highroad. He skirts the town
of Slopperton by a circuitous route, and in another half hour
is on the other side of it, bearing towards the Black Mill.
A curious manner of making a swing this midnight ramble.
Altogether a curious ramble for this good young usher;
but even good men have sometimes strange fancies, and this
may be one of them.
One o'clock from the Slopperton steeples: two o'clock:
three o'clock. The sick little boy does not go to sleep,
but wanders, 0 how wearily, through past scenes in his
young life. Midsummer rambles, Christmas holidays, and
merry games; the pretty speeches of the little sister who
died three years ago; unfinished tasks and puzzling exer-
cises, all pass through his wandering mind; and when the
clocks chime the quarter after three, he is still talking, still
## p. 21 (#37) ##############################################
THE USHER WASHES HIS HANDS. 21
rambling on in feeble accents, still tossing wearily on his
pillow.
As the clocks chime the quarter, the rope is at work
again, and five minutes afterwards the usher clambers into
the room.
Not very good to look upon, either in costume or coun-
tenance; bad to look upon, with his clothes mud-bespattered
and torn; wet to the skin; his hair in matted locks stream-
ing over his forehead; worse to look upon, with his light
blue eyes, bright with a dangerous and wicked firethe eyes
of a wild beast baulked of his prey; dreadful to look upon,
with his hands clenched in fury, and his tongue busy with
half-suppressed but terrible imprecations.
"All for nothing!" he mutters. "All the toil, the
scheming, and the danger for nothingall the work of the
brain and the hands wastednothing gained, nothing
gained !"
He hides away the rope in his trunk, and begins to un-
button his mud-stained gaiters. The little boy cries out in
a feeble voice for his medicine.
The usher pours a tablespoonful of the mixture into
a wine-glass with a steady hand and carries it to the bed-
side.
The boy is about to take it from him, when he utters a
sudden cry.
"What's the matter?" asks Jabez, angrily.
"Your hand!your hand ' What's that upon your
hand P"
A dark stain scarcely drya dark stain, at the sight of
which the boy trembles from head to foot.
"Nothing, nothing!" answers the tutor. "Take your
medicine, and go to sleep."
No, the boy cries hysterically, he won't take his medi-
cine; he will never take anything again from that dreadful
hand. "I know what that horrid stain is. What have
you been doing? Why did you climb out of the window
with a rope? It wasn't to make a swing; it must have been
## p. 22 (#38) ##############################################
22 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
for something dreadful! Why did you stay away three
hours in the middle of the night? I counted the hours by
the church clocks. Why have you got those strange clothes
on ? What does it all mean? I'll ask the doctor to take
me out of this room ! I'll go to him this moment, for I'm
afraid of you."
The boy tries to get out of bed as he speaks; but the
usher holds him down with one powerful hand, which he
places upon the boy's mouth, at the same time keeping him
from stirring and preventing him from crying out.
With his free right hand he searches among the bottles
on the table by the bedside.
He throws the medicine out of the glass, and pours from
another bottle a few spoonfuls of a dark liquid labelled
"OpiumPoison!"
"Now, sir, take your medicine, or I'll report you to the
principal to-morrow morning."
The boy tries to remonstrate, but in vain; the powerful
hand throws back his head, and Jabez pours the liquid down
his throat.
For a little time the boy, quite delirious now, goes on
talking of the summer rambles and the Christmas games,
and then falls into a deep slumber.
Then Jabez North sets to work to wash his hands. A
curious young man, with curious fashions for doing things
above all, a curious fashion of washing his hands.
He washes them very carefully in a small quantity of
water, and when they are quite clean, and the water has be-
come a dark and ghastly colour, he drinks it, and doesn't
make even one wry face at the horrible draught.
"Well, well," he mutters, "if nothing is gained by to-
night's work, I have at least tried my strength, and I now
know what I'm made of."
Very strange stuff he must have been made ofvery
strange and perhaps not very good stuff, to be able to look
at the bed on which the innocent and helpless boy lay in a
deep slumber, and say, -
## p. 23 (#39) ##############################################
THE USHER WASHES HIS HANDS. 23
"At any rate, he will tell no tales."
No! he will tell no tales, nor ever talk again of summer
rambles, or of Christmas holidays, or of his dead sister's
pretty words. Perhaps he will join that wept-for little
sister in a better world, where there are no such good young
men as Jabez North.
That worthy gentleman goes down aghast, with a white
face, next morning, to tell Dr. Tappenden that his poor
little charge is dead, and that perhaps he had better break
the news to Allecompain Major, who is sick after that
supper, which, in his boyish thoughtlessness, and his cer-
tainty of his little brother's recovery, he had given last
night.
"Do, yes, by all means, break the sad news to the poor
boy; for I know, North, you'll do it tenderly."
## p. 24 (#40) ##############################################
CHAPTER IV.
RICHARD MARWOOD LIGHTS HIS PIPE.
DAREDEVIL DICK hears the alarum at five o'clock, and leaves
his couch very cautiously. He would like, before he leaves
the house, to go to his mother's door, if it were only to
breathe a prayer upon the threshold. He would like to go
to his uncle's bedside, to give one farewell look at the kind
face; but he has promised to be very cautious, and to
awaken no one; so he steals quietly out through the drawing-
room windowthe same window by which he entered so
strangely the preceding eveninginto the chill morning,
dark as night yet. He pauses in the little garden-walk for a
minute while he lights his pipe, and looks up at the shroud-
ed windows of the familiar house. "God bless her '" he
mutters; "and God reward that good old man, for giving a
scamp like me the chance of redeeming his honour!"
There is a thick fog, but no rain. Daredevil Dick knows
his way so well, that neither fog nor darkness are any hin-
drance to him, and he trudges on with a cheery step, and his
pipe in his mouth, towards the Slopperton railway station.
The station is half an hour's walk out of the town, and when
he reaches it the clocks are striking six. Learning that the
train will not start for half an hour, he walks up and down
the platform, looking, with his handsome face and shabby
dress, rather conspicuous. Two or three trains for different
destinations start while he is waiting on the platform, and
several people stare at him, as he strides up and down, his
hands in his pockets, and his weather-beaten hat slouched
over his eyes(for he does not want to be known by any
## p. 25 (#41) ##############################################
RICHARD MARWOOD LIGHTS HIS PIPE. 25
Slopperton people yet awhile, till his position is better)and
when one man, with whom he had been intimate before he
left the town, seemed to recognise him, and approached as
if to speak to him, Richard turned abruptly on his heel and
crossed to the other side of the station.
If he had known that such a little incident as that could
have a dark and dreadful influence on his life, surely he
would have thought himself foredoomed and set apart for a
cruel destiny.
He strolled into the refreshment-room, took a cup of
coffee, changed a sovereign in paying for his ticket, bought a
newspaper, seated himself in a second-class carriage, and in
a few minutes was out of Slopperton.
There was only one other passenger in the carriagea
commercial traveller; and Richard and he smoked their
pipes in defiance of the guards at the stations they passed.
When did ever Daredevil Dick quail before any authorities?
He had faced all Bow Street, chaffed Marlborough Street out
of countenance, and had kept the station-house awake all
night singing, "We won't go home till morning."
It is rather a dull journey at the best of times from Slop-
perton to Gardenford, and on this dark foggy November
morning, of course, duller than usual. It was still dark at
half-past six. The station was lighted with gas, and there
was a little lamp in the railway carriage, but for which the
two travellers would not have seen each other's faces. Richard
looked out of the window for a few minutes, got up a little
conversation with his fellow traveller, which soon flagged
(for the young man was rather out of spirits at leaving his
mother directly after their reconciliation), and then, being
sadly at a loss to amuse himself, took out his uncle's letter
to the Gardenford merchant, and looked at the superscrip-
tion. The letter was not sealed, but he did not take it from
the envelope. "If he has said any good of me, it's a great
deal more than I deserve," said Richard to himself; "but
I'm young yet, and there's plenty of time to redeem the
past."
## p. 26 (#42) ##############################################
26 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Time to redeem the past! 0, poor Richard :
He twisted the letter about in his hands, lighted another
pipe, and smoked till the train arrived at the Gardenford
station. Another foggy November day had set in.
If Richard Marwood had been a close observer of men
and manners, he might have been rather puzzled by the
conduct of a short, thick-set man, shabbily dressed, who
was standing on the platform when he descended from the
carriage. The man was evidently waiting for some one to
arrive by this train; and as surely that some one had ar-
rived, for the man looked perfectly satisfied when he had
scanned, with a glance marvellously rapid, the face of every
passenger who alighted. But who this some one was, for
whom the man was waiting, it was rather difficult to dis-
cover. He did not speak to any one, nor approach any one,
nor did he appear to have any particular purpose in being
there after that one rapid glance at all the travellers. A
very minute observer might certainly have detected in him
a slight interest in the movements of Richard Marwood, and
when that individual left the station the stranger strolled
out after him, and walked a few paces behind him down the
back street that led from the station to the town. Presently
he came up closer to him, and a few minutes afterwards
suddenly and unceremoniously hooked his arm into that of
Richard.
"Mr. Richard Marwood, I think," he said.
"I'm not ashamed of my name," replied Daredevil Dick,
"and that is my name. Perhaps you'll oblige me with
yours, since you're so uncommonly friendly." And the young
man tried to withdraw his arm from that of the stranger;
but the stranger was of an affectionate turn of mind, and
Kept his arm tightly hooked in his.
"0, never mind my name," he said; "you'll learn my
name fast enough, I daresay. But," he continued, as he
caught a threatening look in Richard's eye, "if you want
to call me any thing, why, call me Jinks."
"Very well then, Mr. Jinks, since I didn't come to
## p. 27 (#43) ##############################################
RICHARD MARWOOD IIIGHTS HIS PIPE. 27
Gardenford to make your acquaintance, and as now, hav-
ing made your acquaintance, I can't say I much care
about cultivating it further, why I wish you a very good
morning!" As he said this, Richard wrenched his arm
from that of the stranger, and strode two or three paces
forward.
Not more than two or three paces though, for the affec-
tionate Mr. Jinks caught him again by the arm, and a
friend of Mr. Jinks, who had also been lurking outside the
station when the train arrived, happening to cross over
from the other side of the street at this very moment,
caught hold of his other arm, and poor Daredevil Dick,
firmly pinioned by these two new-found friends, looked
with a puzzled expression from one to the other. -
"Come, come," said Mr. Jinks, in a soothing tone, "the
best thing you can do is to take it quietly, and come along
With me." -
"O, I see," said Richard. "Here's a spoke in the wheel
of my reform; it's those cursed Jews, I suppose, have got
wind of my coming down here. Show us your writ, Mr.
Jinks, and tell us at whose suit it is, and for what amount?
I've got a considerable sum about me, and can settle it on
the spot."
"O, you have, have you?" Mr. Jinks was so surprised
by this last speech of Richard's that he was obliged to take
off his hat, and rub his hand through his hair before he
could recover himself. "O!" he continued, staring at
Richard, "O ! you've got a considerable sum of money
about you, have you? Well, my friend, you're either very
green, or you're very cheeky; and all I can say is, take
care how you commit yourself. I'm not a sheriff's officer.
If you'd done me the honour to reckon up my nose you
might have knowed it" (Mr. Jinks's olfactory organ was a
decided snub); "and I ain't going to arrest you for debt."
"O, very well then," said Dick; "perhaps you and your
affectionate friend, who both seem to be afflicted with
rather an over-large allowance of the organ of adhesive-
## p. 28 (#44) ##############################################
28 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
ness, will be so very obliging as to let me go. I'll leave
you a lock of my hair, as you've taken such a wonderful
fancy to me." And with a powerful effort he shook the two
strangers off him; but Mr. Jinks caught him again by the
arm, and Mr. Jinks's friend producing a pair of handcuffs,
locked them on Richard's wrists with railroad rapidity.
"Now, don't you try it on," said Mr. Jinks. "I didn't
want to use these, you know, if you'd have come quietly.
I've heard you belong to a respectable family, so I thought
I wouldn't ornament you with these here objects of bigotry"
(it is to be presumed Mr. Jinks means bijouterie); "but it
seems there's no help for it, so come along to the station;
we shall catch the eight-thirty train, and be in Slopperton
before ten. The inquest won't come on till to-morrow."
Richard looked at his wrists, from his wrists to the
faces of the two men, with an utterly hopeless expression
of wonder.
"Am I mad," he said, " or drunk, or dreaming? What
have you put these cursed things upon me for? Why do
you want to take me back to Slopperton? What inquest?
Who's dead?"
Mr. Jinks put his head on one side, and contemplated
the prisoner with the eye of a connoisseur.
"Don't he come the hinnocent dodge, stunnin'?" he
said, rather to himself than to his companion, who, by the
bye, throughout the affair had never once spoken. "Don't
he do it beautiful? Wouldn't he be a first-rate actor up
at the Wictoria Theayter in London? Wouldn't he be
prime in the 'Suspected One, or 'Gonsalvo the Guiltless?'
Wy," said Mr. Jinks, with intense admiration, "he'd be
worth his two-pound-ten a week and a clear half benefit
every month to any manager as is."
As Mr. Jinks made these complimentary remarks, he
and his friend walked on. Richard, puzzled, bewildered,
and unresisting, walked between them towards the railway
station; but presently Mr. Jinks condescended to reply to
his prisoner's questions, in this wise:
## p. 29 (#45) ##############################################
RICHARD MARWOOD LIGHTS HIS PIPE. 29
"You want to know what inquest ? Well, a inquest
on a gentleman what's been barbarously murdered. You
want to know who's dead? Why your uncle is the gent as
has been murdered. You want to know why we are going
to take you back to Slopperton? Well, because we've got
a warrant to arrest you upon suspicion of having com-
mitted the murder."
"My uncle murdered!" cried Richard, with a face that
now for the first time since his arrest betrayed anxiety and
horror, for throughout his interview with Mr. Jinks he had
never once seemed frightened. His manner had expressed
only utter bewilderment of mind.
"Yes, murdered; his throat cut from ear to ear."
"It cannot be," said Richard. "There must be some
horrid mistake here. My uncle, Montague Harding, mur-
dered ! I bade him good-bye at twelve last night in per-
fect health."
"And this morning he was found murdered in his bed;
with the cabinet in his room broken open, and rifled of a
pocket-book known to contain upwards of three hundred
pounds."
"Why, he gave me that pocket-book last night. He
gave it to me. I have it here in my breast-pocket."
"You'd better keep that story for the coroner," said Mr.
Jinks. "Perhaps he'll believe it."
"I must be mad, I must be mad," said Richard.
They had by this time reached the station, and Mr. Jinks
having glanced into two or three carriages of the train
about to start, selected one of the second class and ushered
Richard into it. He seated himself by the young man's
side, while his silent and unobtrusive friend took his
place opposite. The guard locked the door, and the train
started.
Mr. Jinks's quiet friend was exactly one of those people
adapted to pass in a crowd. He might have passed in a
hundred crowds, and no one of the hundreds of people in
any one of those hundred crowds would have glanced aside
to look at him.
## p. 30 (#46) ##############################################
30 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
You could only describe him by negatives. He was
neither very tall nor very short, he was neither very stout
nor very thin, neither dark nor fair, neither ugly nor hand-
some; but just such a medium between the two extremi-
ties of each as to be utterly commonplace and unnotice-
able.
If you looked at his face for three hours together, you
would in those three hours find only one thing in that face
that was any way out of the commonthat one thing was
the expression of the mouth.
It was a compressed mouth with thin lips, which tight-
ened and drew themselves rigidly together when the man
thoughtand the man was almost always thinking; and
this was not all, for when he thought most deeply the
mouth shifted in a palpable degree to the left side of his
face. This was the only thing remarkable about the man,
except, indeed, that he was dumb but not deaf, having lost
the use of his speech during a terrible illness which he had
suffered in his youth.
Throughout Richard's arrest he had watched the pro-
ceedings with unswerving intensity, and he now sat opposite
the prisoner, thinking deeply, with his compressed lips
drawn on one side.
The dumb man was a mere scrub, one of the very lowest
of the police force, a sort of outsider and employ of Mr.
Jinks, the Gardenford detective; but he was useful, quiet,
and steady, and above all, as his patrons said, he was to be
relied on, because he could not talk.
He could talk though, in his own way, and he began to
talk presently in his own way to Mr. Jinks; he began to
talk with his fingers with a rapidity which seemed marvel-
lous. The fingers were more active than clean, and made
rather a dirty alphabet.
"0, hang it," said Mr. Jinks, after watching him for a
moment, "you must do it a little slower, if you want me to
understand. I am not an electric telegraph."
The scrub nodded, and began again with his fingers,
very slowly.
## p. 31 (#47) ##############################################
RICHARD MARWOOD LIGHTS HIS PIPE. 31
This time Richard too watched him; for Richard knew
this dumb alphabet. He had talked whole reams of non-
sense with it, in days gone by, to a pretty girl at a boarding-
school, between whom and himself there had existed a pla-
tonic attachment, to say nothing of a high wall and broken
glass bottles.
Richard watched the dirty alphabet.
First, two grimy fingers laid flat upon the dirty palm,
N. Next, the tip of the grimy forefinger of the right hand
upon the tip of the grimy third finger of the left hand, 0;
the next letter is T, and the man snaps his fingersthe
word is finished, NOT. Not what? Richard found himself
wondering with an intense eagerness, which, even in the
bewildered state of his mind, surprised him.
The dumb man began another word
GUIL
Mr. Jinks cut him short.
"Not guilty? Not fiddlesticks! What do you know
about it, I should like to know 7 Where did you get your
experience? Where did you get your sharp practice?
What school have you been formed in, I wonder, that you
can come out so positive with your opinion; and what's
the value you put your opinion at, I wonder? I should be
glad to hear what you'd take for your opinion."
Mr. Jinks uttered the whole of this speech with the
most intense sarcasm; for Mr. Jinks was a distinguished
detective, and prided himself highly on his acumen; and
was therefore very indignant that his sub and scrub should
dare to express an opinion.
"My uncle murdered!" said Richard; "my good, kind,
generous-hearted uncle! Murdered in cold blood! 0, it
is too horrible !"
The scrub's mouth was very much on one side as
Richard muttered this half to himself.
"And I am suspected of the murder?"
"Well, you see," said Mr. Jinks, "there's two or three
things tell pretty strong against you. Why were you in
## p. 32 (#48) ##############################################
32 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
such a hurry this morning to cut and run to Garden-
ford ** *
"My uncle had recommended me to a merchant's office
in that town: see, here is the letter of introduction, read
it."
"No, it ain't my place," said Mr. Jinks. "The letter's
not sealed, I see, but I mustn't read it, or if I do, I stand
the chance of gettin snubbed and lectured for goin' beyond.
my dooty: howsumdever, you can show it to the coroner.
I'm sure I should be very glad to see you clear yourself,
for I've heard you belong to one of our good old county
families, and it ain't quite the thing to hang such as you."
Poor Richard! His reckless words of the night before
came back to him: "I wonder they don't hang such fellows
as I am."
"And now," says Jinks, "as I should like to make all
things comfortable, if you're willing to come along quietly
with me and my friend here, why, I'll move those bracelets,
because they are not quite so ornamental as they're some-
times useful; and as I'm going to light my pipe, why, if
you like to blow a cloud too, you can."
With this Mr. Jinks unlocked and removed the hand-
cuffs, and produced his pipe and tobacco. Richard did the
same, and took from his pocket a match-box in which there
was only one match.
"That's awkward," said Jinks, "for I haven't a light
about me."
They filled the two pipes, and lighted the one match.
Now, all this time Richard had held his uncle's letter
of introduction in his hand, and when there was some little
difficulty in lighting the tobacco from the expiring lucifer,
he, without a moment's thought, held the letter over the
flickering flame, and from the burning paper lighted his
plpe. -
In a moment he remembered what he had done.
The letter of introduction the one piece of evidence in
his favour! He threw the blazing paper on the ground,
## p. 33 (#49) ##############################################
RICHARD MARWOOD LIGHTS HIS PIPE. 33
and stamped on it, but in vain. In spite of all his efforts
a few black ashes alone remained.
"The devil must have possessed me," he exclaimed. "I
have burnt my uncle's letter." -
"Well," says Mr. Jinks, "I've seen many dodges in my.
time, and I've seen a many knowing cards; but if that isn't
the neatest dodge, and if you ain't the knowingest card I
ever did see, blow me."
"I tell you that letter was in my uncle's hand; written
to his friend, the merchant at Gardenford; and in it he
mentions having given me the very money you say has
been stolen from his cabinet."
"O, the letter was all that, was it? And you've lighted
your pipe with it. You'd better tell that little story before
the coroner. It will be so very conwincing to the jury."
The scrub, with his mouth very much to the left, spells
out again the two words, "Not guilty!"
"O," says Mr. Jinks, "you mean to stick to your opi-
nion, do you, now you've formed it? Upon my word, you're
too clever for a country-town practice; I wonder they don't
send for you up at Scotland Yard; with your talents, you'd
be at the top of the tree in no time, I've no doubt."
During the journey, the thick November fog had been
gradually clearing away, and at this very moment the sun
broke out with a bright and sudden light that shone full
upon the threadbare coat-sleeve of Daredevil Dick.
"Not guilty!" cried Mr. Jinks, with sudden energy,
"Not guilty! Why, look here! I'm blest if his coat-sleeve
isn't covered with blood!"
Yes, on the shabby worn-out coat the sunlight revealed
dark and ghastly stains; and, stamped and branded by
those hideous marks as a villain and a murderer, Richard
Marwood rentered his native town.
## p. 34 (#50) ##############################################
CHAPTER W.
THE HEALING WATERS.
THE Sloshy is not a beautiful river, unless indeed mud is
beautiful, for it is very muddy. The Sloshy is a disagree-
able kind of compromise between a river and a canal. It is
like a canal which (after the manner of the mythic frog
that wanted to be an ox) had seen a river, and swelled
itself to bursting in imitation thereof. It has quite a
knack of swelling and bursting, this Sloshy; it overflows
its banks and swallows up a house or two, or takes an im-
promptu snack off a few outbuildings, once or twice a year.
It is inimical to children, and has been known to suck into
its muddy bosom the hopes of divers families; and has
afterwards gone down to the distant sea, flaunting on its
breast Billy's straw hat or Johnny's pinafore, as a flag of
triumph for having done a little amateur business for the
gentleman on the pale horse. -
It has been a soft pillow of rest too, this muddy breast
of the Sloshy; and weary heads have been known to sleep
more soundly in that loathsome, dark, and slimy bed than
on couches of down.
0, keep us ever from even whispering to our own hearts
that our best chance of peaceful slumber might be in such
a bed!
An ugly, dark, and dangerous rivera river that is
always telling you of trouble, and anguish, and weariness
of spirita river that to some poor, impressionable mortal
creatures, who are apt to be saddened by a cloud or bright-
ened by a sunbeam, is not healthy to look upon.
## p. 35 (#51) ##############################################
THE HEALING WATERS. 35
I wonder what that woman thinks of the river? A
badly-dressed woman carrying a baby, who walks with a
slow and listless step up and down by one of its banks, on
the afternoon of the day on which the murder of Mr. Mon-
tague Harding took place.
It is a very solitary spot she has chosen, on the furthest
outskirts of the town of Slopperton; and the town of Slop-
perton being at best a very ugly town, is ugliest at the
outskirts, which consist of two or three straggling manu-
factories, a great gaunt gaolthe stoniest of stone jugs-
and a straggling fringe of shabby houses, some new and
only half-built, others ancient and half fallen to decay,
which hang all round Slopperton like the rags that fringe
the edges of a dirty garment.
The woman's baby is fretful, and it may be that the
damp, foggy atmosphere on the banks of the Sloshy is
scarcely calculated to engender either high spirits or ami-
able temper in the bosom of infant or adult. The woman
hushes it impatiently to her breast, and looks down at the
little puny features with a strange unmotherly glance. Poor
wretch! Perhaps she scarcely thinks of that little load as
a mother is apt to think of her child. She may remember
it only as a shame, a burden, and a grief. She has been
pretty; a bright country beauty, perhaps, a year ago; but
she is a faded, careworn-looking creature now, with a pale
face, and hollow circles round her eyes. She has played
the only game a woman has to play, and lost the only
stake a woman has to lose.
"I wonder whether he will come, or whether I must
wear out my heart through another long, long day.
Hush, hush ! As if my trouble was not bad enough with-
out your crying."
This is an appeal to the fretful baby; but that young
gentleman is engaged at fisticuffs with his cap, and has
just destroyed a handful of its tattered border.
There is on this dingy bank of the Sloshy a little dingy
public-house, very old-fashioned, though surrounded by
## p. 36 (#52) ##############################################
36 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
newly-begun houses. It is a little, one-sided, pitiful place,
ornamented with the cheering announcements of "Our
noted Old Tom at 4d. per quartern;" and "This is the
only place for the real Mountain Dew." It is a wretched
place, which has never seen better days, and never hopes
to see better days. The men who frequent it are a few
stragglers from a factory near, and the colliers whose
barges are moored in the neighbourhood. These shamble
in on dark afternoons, and play at all-fours, or cribbage,
in a little dingy parlour with dirty dog's-eared cards, scor-
ing their points with beer-marks on the sticky tables. Not
a very attractive house of entertainment this; but it has
an attraction for the woman with the baby, for she looks
at it wistfully, as she paces up and down. Presently she
fumbles in her pocket, and produces two or three half-
pencejust enough, it seems, for her purpose, for she
sneaks in at the half-open door, and in a few minutes
emerges in the act of wiping her lips.
As she does so, she almost stumbles against a man
wrapped in a greatcoat, and with the lower part of his
face muffled in a thick handkerchief.
"I thought you would not come," she said.
"Did you? Then you see you thought wrong. But
you might have been right, for my coming was quite a
chance: I can't be at your beck and call night and day."
"I don't expect you to be at my beck and call. I've
not been used to get so much attention, or so much re-
gard from you as to expect that, Jabez."
The man started, and looked round as if he expected
to find all Slopperton at his shoulder; but there wasn't
a creature about.
"You needn't be quite so handy with my name," he
said; "there's no knowing who might hear you. Is there
any one in there?" he asked, pointing to the public-house.
"No One but the landlord."
"Come in, then; we can talk better there. This fog
pierces one to the bones."
## p. 37 (#53) ##############################################
THE HEALING WATERS. 37
He seems never to consider that the woman and the
child have been exposed to that piercing fog for an hour
and more, as he is above an hour after his appointment.
He leads the way through the bar into the little par-
lour. There are no colliers playing at all-fours to-day,
and the dog's-eared cards lie tumbled in a heap on one
of the sticky tables among broken clay-pipes and beer-
stains. This table is near the one window which looks
out on the river, and by this window the woman sits,
Jabez placing himself on the other side of the table.
The fretful baby has fallen asleep, and lies quietly in
the woman's lap.
"What will you take?"
"A little gin," she answers, not without a certain
shame in her tone.
"So you've found out that comfort, have you?" He
says this with a glance of satisfaction he cannot repress.
"What other comfort is there for such as me, Jabez?
It seemed at first to make me forget. Nothing can do
that now,-except"
She did not finish this sentence, but sat looking with a
dull vacant stare at the black waters of the Sloshy, which,
as the tide rose, washed with a hollow noise against the
brickwork of the pathway close to the window.
"Well, as I suppose you didn't ask me to meet you
here for the sole purpose of making miserable speeches,
perhaps you'll tell me what you want with me. My time
is precious, and if it were not, I can't say I should much
care about stopping long in this place; it's such a delici-
ously lively hole and such a charming neighbourhood."
"I live in this neighbourhoodat least, I slarve in
this neighbourhood, Jabez."
"O, now we're coming to it," said the gentleman, with
a very gloomy face, "we're coming to it. You want some
money. That's how this sort of thing always ends."
"I hoped a better end than that, Jabez. I hoped long
ago, when I thought you loved me"
## p. 38 (#54) ##############################################
38 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"0, we're going over that ground again, are we?" said
he ; and with a gesture of weariness, he took up the dog's.
eared cards on the sticky table before him, and began to
build a house with them, such as children build in their play.
Nothing could express better than this action his thor-
ough determination not to listen to what the woman might
have to say; but in spite of this she went on
"You see I was a foolish country girl, Jabez, or I might
have known better. I had been accustomed to take my
father and my brother's word of mouth as Bible truth, and
had never known that word to be belied. I did not think,
when the man I loved with all my heart and soulto utter
forgetfulness of every other living creature on the earth, of
every duty that I knew to man and heavenI did not think
when the man I loved so much said this or that, to ask
him if he meant it honestly, or if it was not a cruel and a
wicked lie. Being so ignorant, I did not think of that, and I
thought to be your wife, as you swore I should be, and that
this helpless little one lying here might live to look up to
you as a father, and be a comfort and an honour to you."
To be a comfort and an honour to you ! The fretful
baby awoke at the words, and clenched its tiny fists with a
spiteful action.
If the river, as a thing eternal in comparison to manif
the river had been a prophet, and had had a voice in its
waters wherewith to prophesy, I wonder whether it would
have cried
"A shame and a dishonour, an enemy and an avenger in
the days to come !"
Jabez card-house had risen to three stories; he took
the dog's-eared cards one by one in his white hands with a
slow deliberate touch that never faltered.
The woman looked at him with a piteous but tearless
glance; from him to the river; and back again to him.
"You don't ask to look at the child, Jabez."
"I don't like children," said he. "I get enough of
children at the Doctor's. Children and Latin grammar-
## p. 39 (#55) ##############################################
THE HEALING WATERS. 39
and the end so far off yet,"he said the last words to him-
self, in a gloomy tone
* "But your own child, Jabezyour own."
"As you say," he muttered.
She rose from her chair and looked full at hima long,
long gaze which seemed to say, "And this is the man I loved;
this is the man for whom I am lost." If he could have seen
her look! But he was stooping to pick up a card from the
groundhis house of cards was five stories high by this time.
"Come," he said, in a hard, resolute tone, "you've written
to me to beg me to meet you here, for you were dying of a
broken heart; that's to say, you've taken to drinking gin (I
daresay it's an excellent thing to nurse a child upon) and you
want to be bought off. How much do you expect? I
thought to have a sum of money at my command to-day.
Never you mind how; it's no business of yours." He said
this savagely, as if in answer to a look of inquiry from her;
but she was standing with her back turned to him, looking
steadily out of the window.
"I thought to have been richer to-day," he continued,
"but I've had a disappointment. However, I've brought as
much as I could afford; so the best thing you can do is to
take it, and get out of Slopperton as soon as you can, so that
I may never see your wretched white face again."
He counted out four sovereigns on the sticky table, and
then, adding the sixth story to his card-house, looked at the
frail erection with a glance of triumph.
"And so will I build my fortune in days to come," he
muttered.
A man who had entered the dark little parlour very softly
passed behind him and brushed against his shoulder at this
moment ; the house of cards shivered, and fell in a heap on
the table.
Jabez turned round with an angry look.
"What the devil did you do that for ?" he asked. -
The man gave an apologetic shrug, pointed with his fin-
gers to his lips, and shook his head.
## p. 40 (#56) ##############################################
40 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"O," said Jabez, "deaf and dumb | So much the
better."
The strange man seated himself at another table, on
which the landlord placed a pint of beer, took up a news-
paper, and seemed absorbed in it; but from behind the
cover of this newspaper he watched Jabez with a furtive
glance, and his mouth, which was very much on one side,
twitched now and then with a nervous action.
All this time the woman had never touched the money
never indeed turned from the window by which she stood;
but she now came up to the table, and took the sovereigns
up one by one.
"After what you have said to me this day, I would see
this child starve, hour by hour, and die a slow death before
my eyes, before I would touch one morsel of bread bought
with your money. I have heard that the waters of that river
are foul and poisonous, and death to those who live on its
bank; but I know the thoughts of your wicked heart to be
so much more foul and so much bitterer a poison, that I
would go to that black river for pity and help rather than to
you." As she said this, she threw the sovereigns into his
face with such a strong and violent hand, that one of them,
striking him above the eyebrow, cut his forehead to the bone,
and brought the blood gushing over his eyes.
The woman took no notice of his pain, but turning once
more to the window threw herself into a chair and sat mood-
ily staring out at the river, as if indeed she looked to that
for pity.
The dumb man helped the landlord to dress the cut on
Jabez forehead. It was a deep cut, and likely to leave a
scar for years to come.
Mr. North didn't look much the better, either in appear-
ance or temper, for this blow. He did not utter a word to
the woman, but began, in a hang-dog manner, to search for
the money, which had rolled away into the corners of the
room. He could only find three sovereigns; and though the
landlord brought a light, and the three men searched the
## p. 41 (#57) ##############################################
THE HEALING WATERS. 41
room in every direction, the fourth could not be found; so,
abandoning the search, Jabezpaid his score and strode out of
the place without once looking at the woman.
"I've got off cheap from that tiger-cat," he said to him-
self; "but it has been a bad afternoon's work. What can I
say about my cut face to the governor ?" He looked at his
watch, a homely silver one attached to a black ribbon.
"Five o'clock; I shall be at the doctor's by tea-time. I can
get into the gymnasium the back way, take a few minutes'
turn with the poles and ropes, and say the accident happened
in climbing. They always believe what I say, poor dolts."
His figure was soon lost in the darkness and the fogso
dense a fog that very few people saw the woman with the
fretful baby when she emerged from the public-house, and
walked along the river-bank, leaving even the outskirts of
Slopperton behind, and wandered on and on till she came to
a dreary spot, where dismal pollard willows stretched their
dark and ugly shadows, like the bare arms of withered hags,
over the dismal waters of the lonely Sloshy.
O, river, sometimes so pitiless when thou devourest youth,
beauty, and happiness, wilt thou be pitiful and tender to-
night, and take a poor wretch, who has no hope of mortal
pity, to peace and quiet on thy breast?
0, merciless river, so often bitter foe to careless happi-
ness, wilt thou to-night be friend to reckless misery and
hopeless pain?
God made thee, dark river, and God made the wretch
who stands shivering on thy bank: and maybe, in His bound-
less love and compassion for the creatures of His hand, He
may have pity even for those so lost as to seek forbidden com-
fort in thy healing waters.
## p. 42 (#58) ##############################################
CHAPTER WI.
TWO CORONER'S INQUESTS.
THERE had not been since the last general election, when
George Augustus Slashington, the Liberal member, had
been returned against strong Conservative opposition, in a
blaze of triumph and a shower of rotten eggs and cabbage-
stumpsthere had not been since that great day such ex-
citement in Slopperton as there was on the discovery of the
murder of Mr. Montague Harding.
A murder was always a great thing for Slopperton.
When John Boggins, weaver, beat out the brains of Sarah
his wife, first with the heel of his clog and ultimately with
a poker, Slopperton had a great deal to say about itthough,
of course, the slaughter of one "hand" by another was no
great thing out of the factories. But this murder at the
Black Mill was something out of the common. Uncom-
monly cruel, cowardly, and unmanly, and moreover occurring
in a respectable rank of life.
Round that lonely house on the Slopperton road there
was a crowd and a bustle throughout that short foggy day
on which Richard Marwood was arrested.
Gentlemen of the Press were there, sniffing out, with
miraculous acumen, particulars of the murder, which as yet
were known to none but the heads of the Slopperton police
force.
How many lines at three-halfpence per line these
gentlemen wrote concerning the dreadful occurrence,
without knowing any thing whatever about it, no one
## p. 43 (#59) ##############################################
TWO CORONER's INQUESTS. 43
unacquainted with the mysteries of their art would dare
to say. *
The two papers which appeared on Friday had accounts
varying in every item, and the one paper which appeared on
Saturday had a happy amalgamation of the two conflicting
accountsdemonstrating thereby the triumph of paste and
scissors over penny-a-liner's copy.
The head officials of the Slopperton police, attired in
plain clothes, went in and out of the Black Mill from an
early hour on that dark November day. Every time they
came out, though none of them ever spoke, by some strange
magic a fresh report got current among the crowd. I think
the magical process was this: Some one man auguring from
such and such a significance in their manner, whispered to
his nearest neighbour his suggestion of what might have
been revealed to them within; and this whispered sugges-
tion was repeated from one to another till it grew into a
fact, and was still repeated through the crowd, while with
every speaker it gathered interest until it grew into a series
of imaginary facts.
Of one thing the crowd was fully convincedthat was,
that those grave men in plain clothes, the Slopperton de-
tectives, knew all, and could tell all, if they only chose to
speak. And yet I doubt if there was beneath the stars more
than one person who really knew the secret of the dreadful
deed.
The following day the coroner's inquisition was held at
a respectable hostelry near the Black Mill, whither the jury
went, accompanied by the medical witness, to contemplate
the body of the victim. With solemn faces they hovered
round the bed of the murdered man: they took depositions,
talked to each other in low, hushed tones; and exchanged
a few remarks, in a low voice, with the doctor who had
probed the deep gashes in that cold breast.
All the evidence that transpired at the inquest only
amounted to this
The servant Martha, rising at six o'clock on the pre-
## p. 44 (#60) ##############################################
44 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
vious morning, went, as she was in the habit of doing, to
the door of the old East Indian to call himhe being always
an early riser, and getting up even in winter to study by
lamp-light.
Receiving, after repeated knocking at the door, no
answer, the old woman had gone into the room, and there
had beheld, by the faint light of her candle, the awful spec-
tacle of the Anglo-Indian lying on the floor by the bed-side,
his throat cut, cruel stabs upon his breast, and a pool of
blood surrounding him ; the cabinet in the room broken
open and ransacked, and the pocket-book and money
which it was known to contain missing. The papers of
the murdered gentleman were thrown into confusion and
lay in a heap near the cabinet; and as there was no blood
upon them, the detectives concluded that the cabinet had
been rifled prior to the commission of the murder.
The Lascar had been found lying insensible on his bed
in the little dressing-room, his head cruelly beaten; and
beyond this there was nothing to be discovered. The Lascar
had been taken to the hospital, where little hope was given
by the doctors of his recovery from the injuries he had re-
ceived.
In the first horror and anguish of that dreadful morn-
ing Mrs. Marwood had naturally inquired for her son; had
expressed her surprise at his disappearance; and when ques-
tioned had revealed the history of his unexpected return the
night before. Suspicion fell at once upon the missing man.
His reappearance after so many years on the return of his
rich uncle; his secret departure from the house before any
one had risenevery thing told against him. Inquiries
were immediately set on foot at the turnpike gates on
the several roads out of Slopperton; and at the railway
station from which he had started for Gardenford by the
first train.
In an hour it was discovered that a man answering to
Richard's description had been seen at the station; half an
hour afterwards a man appeared, who deposed to having seen
## p. 45 (#61) ##############################################
TWO CORONER's INQUESTS. 45
and recognised him on the platformand deposed, too, to
Richard's evident avoidance of him. The railway clerks
remembered giving a ticket to a handsome young man
with a dark moustache, in a shabby suit, having a pipe in
his mouth. Poor Richard! the dark moustache and pipe
tracked him at every stage. "Dark moustachepipe
shabby dresstallhandsome face." The clerk who played
upon the electric-telegraph wires, as other people play
upon the piano, sent these words shivering down the line
to the Gardenford station; from the Gardenford station
to the Gardenford police-office the words were carried in
less than five minutes; in five minutes more Mr. Jinks
the detective was on the platform, and his dumb assis-
tant, Joe Peters, was ready outside the station; and they
both were ready to recognise Richard the moment they
saw him.
0, wonders of civilised life cruel wonders, when you
help to track an innocent man to a dreadful doom.
Richard's story of the letter only damaged his case with
the jury. The fact of his having burned a document of
such importance seemed too incredible to make any impres-
sion in his favour.
Throughout the proceedings there stood in the back-
ground a shabbily-dressed man, with watchful observant
eyes, and a mouth very much on one side.
This man was Joseph Peters, the scrub of the de-
tective force of Gardenford. He rarely took his eyes from
Richard, who, with pale, bewildered face, dishevelled hair
and slovenly costume, looked perhaps as much like guilt as
innocence.
The verdict of the coroner's jury was, as every one
expected it would be, to the effect that the deceased had
been wilfully murdered by Richard Marwood his nephew;
and poor Dick was removed immediately to the county
gaol on the outskirts of Slopperton, there to lie till the
assizes.
The excitement in Slopperton, as before observed, was
## p. 46 (#62) ##############################################
46 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
immense. Slopperton had but one voicea voice loud in
execration of the innocent prisoner, horror of the treachery
and cruelty of the dreadful deed, and pity for the wretched
mother of this wicked son, whose anguish had thrown her
on a sick bedbut who, despite of every proof repeated
every hour, expressed her assurance of her unfortunate son's
innocence.
The coroner had plenty of work on that dismal Novem-
ber day; for from the inquest on the unfortunate Mr.
Harding he had to hurry down to a little dingy public-
house on the river's bank, there to inquire into the cause
of the untimely death of a wretched outcast found by some
bargemen in the Sloshy.
This sort of death was so common an event in the large
and thickly-populated town of Slopperton, that the coroner
and the jury (lighted by two guttering tallow candles with
long wicks, at four o'clock on that dull afternoon) had very
little to say about it.
One glance at that heap of wet, torn, and shabby gar-
mentsone half-shuddering, half-pitying look at the white
face, blue lips, and damp, loose, auburn hair, and a merciful
Verdict"Found drowned."
One juryman, a butcher(we sometimes think them
hard-hearted, these butchers)lays a gentle hand upon
the auburn hair, and brushes a lock of it away from the
pale forehead.
Perhaps so tender a touch had not been laid upon
that head for two long years. Perhaps not since the
day when the dead woman left her native village, and a
fond and happy mother for the last time smoothed the
golden braids beneath her daughter's Sunday bonnet.
In half an hour the butcher is home by his cheerful
fireside; and I think he has a more loving and protecting
glance than usual for the fair-haired daughter who pours
out his tea.
No One recognises the dead woman. No one knows her
story; they guess at it as a very common history, and
## p. 47 (#63) ##############################################
TWO CORONER'S INQUESTS. 47
bury her in a parish burying-grounda damp and dreary
spot not far from the river's brink, in which many such
as she are laid.
Our friend Jabez North, borrowing the Saturday's
paper of his principal in the evening after school-hours,
is very much interested in the accounts of these two
coroner's inquests.
## p. 48 (#64) ##############################################
CHAPTER VII.
THE DUMB DETECTIVE A PHILANTHROPIST.
THE dreary winter months pass by. Time, slow of foot to
some, and fast of wing to others, is a very chameleon, such
different accounts do different people give of him.
He is very rapid in his flight, no doubt, for the young
gentlemen from Dr. Tappenden's home for the Christmas
holidays: rapid enough perhaps for the young gentlemen's
papas, who have to send their sons back to the academy
armed with Dr. Tappenden's little accountwhich is not
such a very little account either, when you reckon up all
the extras, such as dancing, French, gymnastics, drill-ser-
jeant, hair-cutting, stationery, servants, and pew at church.
Fast enough, perhaps, is the flight of Time for Allecom-
pain Major, who goes home in a new suit of mourning, and
who makes it sticky about the cuffs and white about the
elbows before the holidays are out. I don't suppose he
forgets his little dead brother; and I daresay by the blazing
hearth, where the firelight falls dullest upon his mother's
black dress, he sometimes thinks very sadly of the little
grave out in the bleak winter night, on which the snow
falls so purely white. But "cakes and ale" are eternal
institutions; and if you or I, reader, died to-morrow, the
baker would still bake, and Messrs. Barclay and Perkins
would continue to brew the ale and stout for which they
are so famous, and the friends who were sorriest for us
would eat, drink, ay and be merry too, before long.
Who shall say how slow of foot is Time to the miser-
able young man awaiting his trial in the dreary gaol of
Slopperton ?
## p. 49 (#65) ##############################################
THE DUMB DETECTIVE A PHILANTHROPIST. 49
Who shall say how slow to the mother awaiting in agony
the result of that trial?
The assizes take place late in February. So, through
the fog and damp of gloomy November; through long,
dark, and dreary December nights; through January frost
and Snow(of whose outward presence he has no better
token than the piercing cold within)Richard paces up
and down his narrow cell, and broods upon the murder of
his uncle, and of his trial which is to come.
Ministers of religion come to convert him, as they say.
He tells them that he hopes and believes all they can teach
him, for that it was taught him in years gone by at his
mother's knee.
"The best proof of my faith," he says, "is that I am
not mad. Do you think, if I did not believe in an All-
seeing Providence, I should not go stark staring mad,
when, night after night, through hours which are as years
in duration, I think, and think, of the situation in which I
am placed, till my brain grows wild and my senses reel?
I have no hope in the result of my trial, for I feel how
every circumstance tells against me: but I have hope that
Heaven, with a mighty hand, and an instrument of its own
choosing, may yet work out the saving of an innocent man
from an ignominious death."
The dumb detective Peters had begged to be transferred
from Gardenford to Slopperton, and was now in the employ
of the police force of that town. Of very little account this
scrub among the officials. His infirmity, they say, makes
him scarcely worth his salt, though they admit that his in-
dustry is unfailing.
So the scrub awaits the trial of Richard Marwood, in
whose fortunes he takes an interest which is in no way
abated since he spelt out the words "Not Guilty" in the
railway carriage.
He had taken up his Slopperton abode in a lodging
in a small street of six-roomed houses yolept Little Gulliver
Street. At No. 5 Little Gulliver Street, Mr. Peters' atten-
E
## p. 50 (#66) ##############################################
50 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tion had been attracted by the announcement of the readi-
ness and willingness of the occupier of the house to take in
and do for a single gentleman. Mr. Peters was a single
gentleman, and he accordingly presented himself at No. 5,
expressing the amiable desire of being forthwith taken in
and done for.
The back bedroom of that establishment, he was assured
by its proprietress, was an indoor garden-of-Eden for a
single man; and certainly, looked at by the light of such
advantages as a rent of four-and-sixpence a week; a sofa-
bedstead(that deliciously innocent white lie in the way
of furniture which never yet deceived any body); a Dutch
oven, an apparatus for cooking any thing, from a pheasant
to a red herring; and a little high-art in the way of a
young gentleman in red-and-yellow making honourable
proposals to a young lady in yellow-and-red, in picture
number one; and the same lady and gentleman perpetu-
ating themselves, in picture number two, by means of a red
baby in a yellow cradle;taking into consideration such
advantages as these, the one-pair back was a paradise cal-
culated to charm a virtuously-minded single man. Mr.
Peters therefore took immediate possession by planting his
honest gingham in a corner of the room, and by placing
two-and-sixpence in the hands of the proprietress by way of
deposit. His luggage was more convenient than extensive
consisting of a parcel in the crown of his hat, containing
the lighter elegancies of his costume; a small bundle in
a red cotton pocket handkerchief, which held the heavier
articles of his wardrobe; and a comb, which he carried in
his pocket-book.
The proprietress of the indoor Eden was a maiden lady
of mature age, with a sharp red nose and metallic pattens.
It was with some difficulty that Mr. Peters made her un-
derstand, by the aid of pantomimic gestures and violent
shakings of the head, that he was dumb, but not deaf;
that she need be under no necessity of doing violence to
the muscles of her throat, as he could hear her with perfect
## p. 51 (#67) ##############################################
THE DUMB DETECTIVE A PHILANTHROPIST. 51
ease in her natural key. He then-still by the aid of pan-
tomimemade known a desire for pencil and paper, and
on being supplied with these articles wrote the one word
"baby," and handed that specimen of caligraphy to the
proprietress.
That sharp-nosed damsel's maidenly indignation sent
new roses to join the permanent blossoms at the end of
her olfactory organ, and she remarked, in a voice of vine-
gar, that she let her lodgings to single men, and that single
men as were single men, and not impostors, had no busi-
ness with babies.
Mr. Peters again had recourse to the pencil, "Not mine
fondling; to be brought up by hand; would pay for food
and nursing."
The maiden proprietress had no objection to a fondling,
if paid for its requirements; liked children in their places;
would call Kuppins; and did call Kuppins.
A voice at the bottom of the stairs responded to the call
of Kuppins; a boy's voice most decidedly; a boy's step
upon the stairs announced the approach of Kuppins; and
Kuppins entered the room with a boy's stride and a boy's
slouch; but for all this, Kuppins was a girl.
Not very much like a girl about the head, with that
shock of dark, rough, short hair; not much like a girl
about the feet, in high-lows, with hob-nailed soles; but a
girl for all that, as testified by short petticoats and a long
blue pinafore ornamented profusely with every variety of
decoration in the way of three-cornered slits and grease-
spots.
Kuppins was informed by her mistress that the gent
had come to lodge; and moreover that the gent was dumb.
It is impossible to describe Kuppins' delight at the idea
of a dumb lodger.
Kuppins had knowed a dumb boy as lived three doors
from mother's (Kuppins' mother understood); this 'ere
dumb boy was wicious, and when he was gone agin, 'owled
orrid.
## p. 52 (#68) ##############################################
52 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Was told that the gent wasn't vicious and never howled,
and seemed, if any thing, disappointed. Understood the
dumb alphabet, and had conversed in it for hours with the
aforesaid dumb boy. The author, as omniscient, may state
that Kuppins and the vicious boy had had some love-pas-
sages in days gone by. Mr. Peters was delighted to find
a kindred spirit capable of understanding his dirty alpha-
bet, and explained his wish that a baby, "a fondling" he
intended to bring up, might be taken in and done for as
well as himself.
Kuppins doated on babies; had nursed nine brothers and
sisters, and had nursed outside the family circle, at the
rate of fifteen-pence a week, for some years. Kuppins had
been out in the world from the age of twelve, and was
used up as to Slopperton at sixteen.
Mr. Peters stated by means of the dirty alphabet
(more than usually dirty to-day, after his journey from
Gardenford, whence he had transplanted his household gods,
namely, the gingham umbrella, the bundle, parcel, pocket-
book, and comb)that he would go and fetch the baby.
Kuppins immediately proved herself an adept in the art
of construing this manual language, and nodded triumph-
antly a great many times in token that she understood
the detective's meaning.
The baby was apparently not far off, for Mr. Peters
returned in five minutes with a limp bundle smothered in
an old pea-jacket, which on close inspection turned out to
be the "fondling."
Mr. Peters had lately purchased the pea-jacket second-
hand, and believed it to be an appropriate outer garment
for a baby in long-clothes.
The fondling soon evinced signs of a strongly-marked
character, not to say a vindictive disposition, and fought
manfully with Kuppins, smiting that young lady in the
face, and abstracting handfuls of her hair with an address
beyond his years.
"Ain't he playful?" asked that young person, who was
## p. 53 (#69) ##############################################
THE DUMB DETECTIVE A PHILANTHROPIST. 53
evidently experienced in fretful babies, and indifferent to
the loss of a stray tress or so from her luxuriant locks.
"Ain't he playful, pretty hinnercent! Lor! he'll make
the place quite cheerful!"
In corroboration of which prediction the "fondling" set
up a dismal wail, varied with occasional chokes and screams.
Surely there never could have been, since the founda-
tion-stones of the hospitals for abandoned children in Paris
and London were laid, such a "fondling" to choke as this
fondling. The manner in which his complexion would turn
from its original sickly sallow to a vivid crimson, from
crimson to dark blue, and from blue to blackwas some-
thing miraculous; and Kuppins was promised much em-
ployment in the way of shakings and pattings on the back,
to keep the "fondling" from an early and unpleasant
death. But Kuppins, as we have remarked, liked a baby
and, indeed, would have given the preference to a cross
babya cross baby being, as it were, a battle to fight, and
a victory to achieve.
In half an hour she had conquered the fondling in a
manner wonderful to behold. She laid him across her knee
while she lighted a fire in the smoky little grate; for the
in-door Eden offered a Hobson's choice to its inhabitants,
of smoke or damp; and Mr. Peters preferred smoke. She
carried the infant on her left arm, while she fetched a red
herring, an ounce of tea, and other comestibles from the
chandler's at the corner; put him under her arm while
she cooked the herring and made the tea, and waited on
Mr. Peters at his modest repast with the fondling choking
on her shoulder.
Mr. Peters, having discussed his meal, conversed with
Kuppins as she removed the tea-things. The alphabet by
this time had acquired a piscatorial flavour, from his having
made use of the five vowels to remove the bones of his
herring.
"That baby's a rare fretful one," says Mr. Peters with
rapid fingers.
## p. 54 (#70) ##############################################
54 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Kuppins had nursed a many fretful babies. "Orphants
was generally fretful; supposed the 'fondling was a
orphant."
"Poor little chap!yes," said Peters. "He's had his
trials, though he is a young 'un. I'm afeard he'll never
grow up a teetotaller. He's had a little too much of the
water already."
Has had too much of the water. Kuppins would very
much like to know the meaning of this observation. But
Mr. Peters relapses into profound thought, and looks at the
"fondling" (still choking) with the eye of a philanthropist
and almost the tenderness of a father.
He who provides for the young ravens had, perhaps, in
the marvellous fitness of all things of His creation, given to
this helpless little one a better protector in the dumb scrub
of the police force than he might have had in the father
who had cast him off, whoever that father might be.
Mr. Peters presently remarks to the interested Kup-
pins, that he shall "ederkate,"he is some time deciding
on the conflicting merits of a c or a k for this wordhe
shall "ederkate the fondling, and bring him up to his own
business."
"What is his business?" asks Kuppins naturally.
"Detecktive," Mr. Peters spells, embellishing the word
with an extraneous k.
"O, perlice," said Kuppins. "Criky, how jolly!
Shouldn't I like to be a perliceman, and find out all about
this 'ere 'orrid murder!"
Mr. Peters brightens at the word "murder," and he
regards Kuppins with a friendly glance.
"So you takes a hinterest in this 'ere murder, do yer?"
he spells out.
"O, don't I? I bought a Sunday paper. Shouldn't I
like to see that there young man as killed his uncle
scraggedthat's all."
Mr. Peters shook his head doubtfully, with a less
friendly glance at Kuppins. But there were secrets and
## p. 55 (#71) ##############################################
THE DUMB DETECTIVE A PHILANTHROPIST. 55
mysteries of his art he did not trust at all times to the
dirty alphabet; and perhaps his opinion on the subject of
the murder of Mr. Montague Harding was one of them.
Kuppins presently fetched him a pipe; and as he sat
by the smoky fire, he watched alternately the blue cloud
that issued from his lips and the clumsy figure of the dam-
sel pacing up and down with the "fondling" (asleep after
the exhaustion attendant on a desperate choke) upon her
al"InS.
"If," mused Mr. Peters, with his mouth very much to
the left of his nose"if that there baby was grow'd up, he
might help me to find out the rights and wrongs of this
here murder."
Who so fit? or who so unfit? Which shall we say? If
in the wonderful course of events, this little child shall ever
have a part in dragging a murderer to a murderer's doom,
shall it be called a monstrous and a terrible outrage of
. nature, or a just and a fitting retribution?
## p. 56 (#72) ##############################################
CHAPTER VIII.
SEVEN LETTERS ON THE DIRTY ALPHABET.
THE 17th of February shone out bright and clear, and a
frosty sunlight illumined the windows of the court where
Richard Marwood stood to be tried for his life.
Never, perhaps, had that court been so crowded; never,
perhaps, had there been so much anxiety felt in Slopperton
for the result of any trial as was felt that day for the issue
of the trial of Richard Marwood.
The cold bright sunlight streaming in at the windows,
seemed to fall brightest and coldest on the wan, white
face of the prisoner at the bar.
Three months of mental torture had done their work,
and had written their progress in such characters upon
that young and once radiant countenance, as Time, in his
smooth and peaceful course, would have taken years to trace.
But Richard Marwood was calm to-day, with the awful calm-
ness of that despair which is past all hope. Suspense had
exhausted him. But he had done with suspense, and felt
that his fate was sealed; unless, indeed, Heaveninfinite
both in mercy and in powerraised up as by a miracle
some earthly instrument to save him.
The court was one vast sea of eager faces; for, to the
spectators, this trial was as a great game of chance, which
the counsel for the prosecution, the judge, and the jury,
played against the prisoner and his advocate, and at which
the prisoner staked his life.
There was but one opinion in that vast assemblage;
## p. 57 (#73) ##############################################
SEVEN LETTERS ON THE DIRTY ALPHABET. 57
and that was, that the accused would lose in this dreadful
game, and that he well deserved to lose.
There had been betting in Slopperton on the resul"
of this awful hazard. For the theory of chances is to cer-
tain minds so delightful, that the range of subjects for a
wager may ascend from a maggot-race to a trial for mur-
der. Some adventurous spirits had taken desperate odds
against the outsider, "Acquittal;" and many enterprising
gentlemen had made what they considered "good books,"
by putting heavy sums on the decided favourite, "Found
Guilty." As, however, there might be a commutation of
the sentence of death to transportation for life, some specu-
lators had bet upon the chance of the prisoner being found
guilty, but not executed; or, as it had been forcibly ex-
pressed, had backed "Penal Servitude" against "Gallows."
So there were private interests, as well as a public in-
terest, among that swelling ocean of men and women; and
Richard had but very few backers in the great and terri-
ble game that was being played.
In a corner of the gallery of the court, high up over
the heads of the multitude, there was a little spot railed
off from the public, and accessible only to the officials, or .
persons introduced by them. Here, among two or three
policemen, stood our friend Mr. Joseph Peters, with his
mouth very much on one side, and his eyes fixed intently
upon the prisoner at the bar. The gallery in which he
stood faced the dock, though at a great distance from it.
If there was one man in that vast assembly who, next
to the prisoner, was most wretched, that man was the
prisoner's counsel. He was young, and this was only his
third or fourth brief, and this was, moreover, the first occa-
sion upon which he had ever been intrusted with an impor-
tant case. He was an intensely nervous and excitable man,
and failure would be to him worse than death; and he felt
failure inevitable. He had not one inch of ground for the
defence; and, in spite of the prisoner's repeated protestations
of his innocence, he believed that prisoner to be guilty. He
## p. 58 (#74) ##############################################
58 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
was an earnest man; and this belief damped his earnest-
ness. He was a conscientious man; and he felt that to
defend Richard Marwood was something like a dishonest
action.
The prisoner pleaded "Not guilty" in a firm voice. We
read of this whenever we read of the trial of a great crimi-
nal; we read of the firm voice, the calm demeanour, the
composed face, and the dignified bearing; and we wonder.
Would it not be more wonderful were it otherwise? If we
consider the pitch to which that man's feelings have been
wrought; the tension of every nerve; the exertion of every
force, mental and physical, to meet those five or six des-
perate hours, we wonder no longer. The man's life has
become a terrible drama, and he is playing his great act.
That mass of pale and watchful faces carries him through
the long agony. Or perhaps it is less an agony than an ex-
citement. It may be that his mind is mercifully darkened,
and that he cannot see beyond the awful present into the
more awful future. He is not busy with the vision of a
ghastly structure of wood and iron; a dangling rope swing-
ing loose in the chill morning air, till it is tightened
and strained by a quivering and palpitating figure, which
so soon grows rigid. He does not, it is to be hoped, see
this. Life for him to-day stands still, and there is not
room in his breastabsorbed with the one anxious desire
to preserve a proud and steady outward seeming-for a
thought of that dreadful future which may be so close at
hand.
So, Richard Marwood, in an unfaltering voice, pleaded
"Not guilty."
There was among that vast crowd but one person who
believed him.
Ay, Richard Marwood, thou mightest reverence those
dirty hands, for they have spelt out the only language,
except that of thy wretched mother, that ever spoke con-
viction of thy innocence.
Now the prisoner, though firm and collected in his
## p. 59 (#75) ##############################################
SEVEN LETTERS ON THE DIRTY ALPHABET. 59
manner, spoke in so low and subdued a voice as to be only
clearly audible to those near him. It happened that the
judge, one of the celebrities of the bench, was afflicted
with a trifling infirmity, which he would never conde-
scend to acknowledge. That infirmity was partial deaf-
ness. He was what is called hard of hearing on one side,
and histo use a common expressiongame ear happened
to be nearest Richard.
"Guilty," said the judge. "So, soGuilty. Very good."
"Pardon me, my lord," said the counsel for the defence,
"the prisoner pleaded not guilty."
"Nonsense, sir. Do you suppose me deaf?" asked his
lordship; at which there was a slight titter among the
habitus of the court. -
The barrister gave his head a deprecatory shake. Of
course, a gentleman in his lordship's position could not be
deaf.
"Wery well, then," said the judge, "unless I am deaf,
the prisoner pleaded guilty. I heard him, sir, with my
own earsmy own ears." -
The barrister thought his lordship should have said
"my own ear," as the game organ ought not to count.
"Perhaps," said the judge, "perhaps the prisoner will
be good enough to repeat his plea; and this time he will
be good enough to speak out."
"Not guilty," said Richard again, in a firm but not a
loud voicehis long imprisonment, with days, weeks, and
months of slow agony, had so exhausted his physical powers,
that to speak at all, under such circumstances, was an effort.
"Not guilty?" said the judge. "Why, the man doesn't
know his own mind. The man must be a born idiothe
can't be right in his intellect."
Scarcely had the words passed his lordship's lips, when
a long low whistle resounded through the court.
Every body looked up towards a corner of the gallery
from which the sound came, and the officials cried "Order!"
Among the rest the prisoner raised his eyes, and looking
## p. 60 (#76) ##############################################
6() THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
to the spot from which this unexampled and daring inter-
ruption proceeded, recognised the face of the man who had
spelt out the words "Not guilty" in the railway carriage.
Their eyes met: and the man signalled to Richard to watch
his hands, whilst with his fingers he spelt out several words
slowly and deliberately.
This occurred during the pause caused by the endeavours
of the officials to discover what contumacious person had
dared to whistle at the close of his lordship's remark.
The counsel for the prosecution stated the casea very
clear case it seemed tooagainst Richard Marwood.
"Here," said the barrister, "is the case of a young man,
who, after squandering a fortune, and getting deeply in
debt in his native town, leaves that town, as it is thought
by all, never to return. For seven years he does not return.
His widowed and lonely mother awaits in anguish for any tid-
ings of this heartless reprobate; but, for seven long years,
by not so much as one line or one word, sent through any
channel whatever, does he attempt to relieve her anxiety.
His townsmen believe him to be dead; his mother believes
him to be dead; and it is to be presumed from his conduct
that he wishes to be lost sight of by all to whom he once was
dear. But at the end of this seven years, his uncle, his
mother's only brother, a man of large fortune, returns from
India and takes up his temporary abode at the Black Mill.
Of course all Slopperton knows of the arrival of this gentle-
..man, and knows also the extent of his wealth. We are
always interested in rich people, gentlemen of the jury.
Now, it is not very difficult to imagine, that through some
channel or other the prisoner at the bar was made aware of his
uncle's return, and his residence at the Black Mill. The
fact was mentioned in every one of the five enterprising
journals which are the pride of Slopperton. The prisoner
may have seen one of these journals; he may have had
some former boon companion resident in Slopperton, with
whom he may have been in correspondence. Be that as
it may, gentlemen, on the eighth night after Mr. Montague
## p. 61 (#77) ##############################################
SEVEN LETTERS ON THE DIRTY ALPHABET. 61
Harding's arrival, the prisoner at the bar appears, after
seven years' absence, with a long face and a penitent story,
to beg his mother's forgiveness. Gentlemen, we know the
boundless power of maternal love; the inexhaustible depth
of affection in a mother's breast. His mother forgave
him. The fatted calf was killed; the returned wanderer
was welcomed to the home he had rendered desolate;
the past was wiped out; and seven long years of neglect
and desertion were forgotten. The family retired to rest.
That night, gentlemen, a murder was committed of a
deeper and darker dye than guilt ordinarily wears: a
murder which in centuries hence will stand among the
blackest chapters in the gloomy annals of crime. Under
the roof whose shelter he had sought for the repose of
his old age, Montague Harding was cruelly and brutally
murdered.
"Now, gentlemen, who committed this outrage? Who
was the monster in human form that perpetrated this vil-
lanous, cowardly, and blood-thirsty deed? Suspicion, gen-
tlemen of the jury, only points to one man; and to that
man suspicion points with so unerring a finger, that the
criminal stands revealed in the broad glare of detected
guilt. That man is the prisoner at the bar. On the dis-
covery of the murder, the returned wanderer, the penitent
and dutiful son, was of course sought for. But was he
to be found? No, gentlemen. The bird had flown. The
affectionate son, who, after seven years' desertion, had
returned to his mother's feetas it was of course pre-
sumed never again to leave herhad departed, secretly, in
the dead of the night; choosing to sneak out of a window
like a burglar, rather than to leave by the door, as the
legitimate master of the house. Suspicion at once points
to him; he is sought and foundwhere, gentlemen?
Forty miles from the scene of the murder, with the money
rifled from the cabinet of the murdered man in his posses-
sion, and with his coat-sleeve stained by the blood of his
victim. These, gentlemen, are, in brief, the circumstances
## p. 62 (#78) ##############################################
62 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
of this harrowing case; and I think you will agree with
me that never did circumstantial evidence so clearly point
out the true criminal. I shall now proceed to call the
witnesses for the crown."
There was a pause and a little bustle in the court;
the waves of the human sea were agitated for a moment.
The backers of the favourites, "Guilty" and "Gallows,"
felt they had made safe books. During this pause, a man
pushed his way through the crowd, up to the spot where
the prisoner's counsel was seated, and put a little dirty
slip of paper into his hand. There was written on it only
one word, a word of three letters. The counsel read it,
and then tore the slip of paper into the smallest atoms it
was possible to reduce it to, and threw the fragments on
the floor at his feet; but a warm flush mounted to his
face, hitherto so pale, and he prepared himself to watch
the evidence.
Richard Marwood, who knew the strength of the evi-
dence against him, and knew his powerlessness to contro-
vert it, had listened to its recapitulation with the pre-occu-
pied air of a man whom the proceedings of the day in no
way concerned. His abstracted manner had been noticed
by the spectators, and much commented upon.
It was singular, but at this most important crisis it
appeared as if his chief attention was attracted by Joseph
Peters, for he kept his eyes intently fixed upon the corner
where that individual stood. The eyes of the people, fol-
lowing the direction of Richard's eyes, saw nothing but a
little group of officials leaning over a corner of the gallery.
The crowd did not see what Richard saw, namely, the
fingers of Mr. Peters slowly shaping seven letterstwo
wordsfour letters in the first word, and three letters in
the second.
There lay before the prisoner a few sprigs of rue; he
took them up one by one, and gathering them together
into a little bouquet, placed them in his button-holethe
eyes of the multitude staring at him all the time.
## p. 63 (#79) ##############################################
SEVEN LETTERS ON THE DIRTY ALPHABET. 63
Strange to say, this trifling action appeared to be so
pleasing to Mr. Joseph Peters, that he danced, as invo-
luntarily, the first steps of an extempore hornpipe, and
being sharply called to order by the officials, relapsed into
insignificance for the remainder of the trial,
## p. 64 (#80) ##############################################
CHAPTER IX.
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY."
THE first witness called was Richard's mother. From one
to another amidst the immense number of persons in that
well-packed court-room there ran a murmur of compassion
for that helpless woman with the white, anguish-worn face,
and the quivering lip which tried so vainly to be still. All
in Slopperton who knew any thing of Mrs. Marwood, knew
her to be a proud woman; they knew how silently she had
borne the wild conduct of her son; how deeply she had
loved that son; and they could guess now, the depth of the
bitterness of her soul when called upon to utter words which
must help to condemn him.
After the witness had been duly sworn, the counsel for
the prosecution addressed her thus:
"We have every wish, madam, to spare your feelings; I
know there is not one individual present who does not sym-
pathise with you in the position in which you now stand.
But the course of Justice is as inevitable as it is sometimes
painful, and we must all of us yield to its stern necessities.
You will be pleased to state how long it is since your son
left his home 7"
"Seven yearsseven years last August."
"Can you also state his reasons for leaving his home 7"
"He had embarrassments in Sloppertondebts, which I
have since his departure liquidated."
"Can you tell me what species of debts?"
"They were" she hesitated a little, "chiefly debts of
honour."
## p. 65 (#81) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 65
"Then am I to understand your son was a gambler?"
"He was unfortunately much addicted to cards."
"To any other description of gambling?"
"Yes, to betting on the events of the turf."
"He had fallen, I imagine, into bad companionship?"
She bowed her head, and in a faltering voice replied,
"He had."
"And he had acquired in Slopperton the reputation of
being a scampa ne'er-do-well?"
"I am afraid he had."
"We will not press you further on this very painful sub-
ject; we will proceed to his departure from home. Your
son gave you no intimation of his intention of leaving Slop-
perton?"
"None whatever. The last words he said to me, were,
that he was sorry for the past, but that he had started on a
bad road, and must go on to the end."
In this manner the examination proceeded, the account
of the discovery of the murder being elicited from the wit-
ness, whose horror at having to give the details was exceed-
ingly painful to behold.
The prisoner's counsel rose and addressed Mrs. Marwood.
"In examining you, madam, my learned friend has not
asked you whether you had looked upon your son, the pri-
soner at the bar, as a good or a bad son. Will you be kind
enough to state your impression on this subject?"
"Apart from his wild conduct, he was a good son. He
was kind and affectionate, and I believe it was his regret for
the grief his dissipation had caused me that drove him away
from his home."
"He was kind and affectionate. I am to understand,
then, that his disposition was naturally good?"
"Naturally he had a most excellent disposition. He
was universally beloved as a boy; the servants were excess-
ively attached to him; he had a great love of animalsdogs
followed him instinctively, as I believe they always do follow
people who like them."
F
## p. 66 (#82) ##############################################
66 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"A very interesting trait, no doubt, in the prisoner's dis-
position; but if we are to have so much charmingly minute
description, I'm afraid we shall never conclude this trial,"
said the opposite counsel. And a juryman, who had a ticket
for a public dinner at four o'clock in his pocket, forgot him-
self so far that he applauded with the heels of his boots.
The prisoner's counsel, regardless of the observation of
his "learned friend," proceeded.
"Madam," he said, "had your son, before his departure
from home, any serious illness?"
"The question is irrelevant," said the judge.
"Pardon me, my lord. I shall not detain you long. I
believe the question to be of importance. Permit me to
proceed."
Mrs. Marwood looked surprised by the question, but it
came from her son's advocate, and she did her best to an-
swer it.
"My son had, shortly before his leaving home, a violent
attack of brain-fever."
"During which he was delirious?"
"Every body is delirious in brain-fever," said the judge.
"This is trifling with the court, sir."
The judge was rather inclined to snub the prisoner's
counsel; first, because he was a young and struggling man,
and therefore ought to be snubbed; and secondly, because
he had in a manner inferred that his lordship was deaf.
"Pardon me, my lord; you will see the drift of my ques-
tion by and by."
"I hope so, sir," said his lordship, very testily.
"Was your son, madam, delirious during this fever?"
"Throughout it, sir."
"And you attributed the fever"
"To his bad conduct having preyed upon his mind."
"Were you alarmed for his life during his illness?"
"Much alarmed. But our greatest fear was for his
reason."
"Did the faculty apprehend the loss of his reason?"
## p. 67 (#83) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 67
"They did."
"The doctors who attended him were resident in Slop-
perton?" -
"They were, and are so still. He was attended by Dr.
Morton and Mr. Lamb."
The prisoner's counsel here beckoned to some officials
near himwhispered some directions to them, and they im-
mediately left the court.
Resuming the examination of this witness, the counsel
said :
"You repeated just now the words your son made use of
on the night of his departure from home. They were rather
singular words, "he had started on a dark road, and he must
go on to the end of it."
"Those were his exact words, sir."
"Was there any wildness in his manner in saying these
words?" he asked.
"His manner was always wild at this timeperhaps
wilder that night than usual."
"His manner, you say, was always wild. He had acquired
a reputation for a wild recklessness of disposition from an
early age, had he not?" -
"He had, unfortunatelyfrom the time of his going to
school."
"And his companions, I believe, had given him some
name expressive of this?"
"They had."
"And that name was"
"Daredevil Dick."
Martha, the old servant, was next sworn. She de-
scribed the finding of the body of Mr. Harding.
The examination by the prisoner's counsel of this wit-
ness elicited nothing but that
Master Dick had always been a wild boy, but a good boy
at heart; that he had been never known to hurt so much as
a worm ; and that she, Martha, was sure he'd never done
the murder. When asked if she had any suspicion as to
## p. 68 (#84) ##############################################
68 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
who had done the deed, she became nebulous in her manner,
and made some allusions to "the French"having lived in
the days of Waterloo, and being inclined to ascribe any deed
of darkness, from the stealing of a leg of mutton to the
exploding of an infernal machine, to the emissaries of Na-
poleon.
Mr. Jinks, who was then examined, gave a minute and
rather discursive account of the arrest of Richard, paying
several artful compliments to his own dexterity as a detec-
tive officer.
The man who met Richard on the platform at the rail-
way station deposed to the prisoner's evident wish to avoid a
recognition; to his even crossing the line for that purpose.
"There is one witness," said the counsel for the crown,
"I am sorry to say I shall be unable to produce. That wit-
ness is the half-caste servant of the murdered gentleman,
who still lies in a precarious state at the county hospital, and
whose recovery from the injuries inflicted on him by the mur-
derer of his master is pronounced next to an impossibility."
The case for the prosecution closed; still a very clear
case against Richard Marwood, and still the backers of the
"Gallows" thought they had made a very good book.
The deposition of the Lascar, the servant of the mur-
dered man, had been taken through an interpreter, at the
hospital. It threw little light on the case. The man said,
that on the night of the murder he had been awoke by a
sound in Mr. Harding's room, and had spoken in Hindos-
tanee, asking if his master required his assistance, when he
received in the darkness a blow on the head, which imme-
diately deprived him of his senses. He could tell nothing
of the person who struck the blow, except that at the mo-
ment of striking it a hand passed across his facea hand
which was peculiarly soft and delicate, and the fingers of
which were long and slender.
As this passage in the deposition was read, every eye in
court was turned to the prisoner, who at that moment hap-
pened to be leaning forward with his elbow on the ledge of
## p. 69 (#85) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 69
the dock before him, and his hand shading his foreheada
very white hand, with long slender fingers. Poor Richard!
In the good days gone by he had been rather proud of his
delicate and somewhat feminine hand.
The prisoner's counsel rose and delivered his speech for
the defence. A very elaborate defence. A defence which
went to prove that the prisoner at the bar, though posi-
tively guilty, was not morally guilty, or legally guilty
"because, gentlemen of the jury, he is, and for some time
has been, insane. Yes, mad, gentlemen of the jury. What
has been every action of his life but the action of a mad-
man? His wild boyhood; his reckless, extravagant youth;
his dissipated and wasted manhood, spent among drunken
and dangerous companions. What was his return? Pre-
meditated during the sufferings of delirium tremens, and
premeditated long before the arrival of his rich uncle at
Slopperton, as I shall presently prove to you. What was
this, but the sudden repentance of a madman? Scarcely
recovered from this frightful diseasea disease during
which men have been known frequently to injure them-
selves, and those very dear to them, in the most terrible
mannerscarcely recovered from this disease, he starts on
foot, penniless, for a journey of upwards of two hundred
miles. He accomplishes that journeyhow, gentlemen, in
that dreary November weather, I tremble even to think
he accomplishes that long and painful journey; and on the
evening of the eighth day from that on which he left Lon-
don he falls fainting at his mother's feet. I shall prove to
you, gentlemen, that the prisoner left London on the very
day on which his uncle arrived in Slopperton; it is there-
fore impossible he could have had any knowledge of that
arrival when he started. Well, gentlemen, the prisoner,
after the fatigue, the extreme privation, he has suffered, has
yet another trial to undergothe terrible agitation caused
by a reconciliation with his beloved mother. He has eaten
scarcely anything for two days, and is injudiciously allowed
to drink nearly a bottle of old madeira. That night, gen-
## p. 70 (#86) ##############################################
70 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tlemen of the jury, a cruel murder is perpetrated; a murder
as certain of immediate discovery, as clumsy in execution,
as it is frightful in detail. Can there be any doubt that if
it was committed by my unhappy client, the prisoner at the
bar, it was perpetrated by him while labouring under an
access of delirium, or insanitytemporary, if you will, but
unmitigated insanityaggravated by excessive fatigue, un-
precedented mental excitement, and the bad effects of the
wine he had been drinking? It has been proved that the
cabinet was rifled, and that the pocket-book stolen there-
from was found in the prisoner's possession. This may
have been one of those strange flashes of method which
are the distinguishing features of madness. In his horror
at the crime he had in his delirium committed, the pri-
soner's endeavour was to escape. For this escape he re-
quired moneyhence the plunder of the cabinet. The
manner of his attempting to escape again proclaims the
madman. Instead of flying to Liverpool, which is only
thirty miles from this townwhence he could have sailed
for any part of the globe, and thus defied pursuithe starts
without any attempt at disguise for a small inland town,
whence escape is next to an impossibility, and is captured
a few hours after the crime has been committed, with the
blood of his unhappy victim upon the sleeve of his coat.
Would a man in his senses, gentlemen, not have removed,
at any rate, this fatal evidence of his guilt? Would a man
in his senses not have endeavoured to disguise himself, and
to conceal the money he had stolen? Gentlemen of the
jury, I have perfect confidence in your coming to a just
decision respecting this most unhappy affair. Weighing
well the antecedents of the prisoner, and the circumstances
of the crime, I can have not one shadow of a doubt that
your verdict will be to the effect that the wretched man
before you is, alas! too certainly his uncle's murderer, but
that he is as certainly irresponsible for a deed committed
during an aberration of intellect."
Strange to say, the counsel did not once draw attention
## p. 71 (#87) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 71
to the singular conduct of the prisoner while in court; but
this conduct had not been the less remarked by the jury,
and did not the less weigh with them.
The witnesses for the defence were few in number. The
first who mounted the witness-box was rather peculiar in his
appearance. If you include amongst his personal attractions
a red nose (which shone like the danger-signal on a railway
through the dusky air of the court); a black eyenot that
admired darkness of the organ itself which is the handi-
work of liberal nature, but that peculiarly mottled purple-
and-green appearance about the region which bears witness
to the fist of an acquaintance; a bushy moustache of a fine
blue-black dye; a head of thick black hair, not too inti-
mately acquainted with that modern innovation on manly
habits, the combyou may perhaps have some notion of
his physical qualifications. But nothing could ever give a
full or just idea of the recklessness, the effrontery of his
manner, the twinkle in his eye, the expression in every
pimple of that radiant nose, or the depth of meaning he
could convey by one twitch of his moustache, or one shake
of his forest of black ringlets.
His costume inclined towards the fast and furious, con-
sisting of a pair of loose Scotch plaid unmentionables, a
bright blue greatcoat, no under-coat or waistcoat, a great
deal of shirt ornamented with death's-heads and pink ballet-
dancersto say nothing of coffee and tobacco stains, and
enough sham gold chain meandering over his burly breast
to make up for every deficiency. While he was being duly
sworn, the eyes of the witness wandered with a friendly and
pitying glance towards the wretched prisoner at the bar.
"You are a member of the medical profession?"
6& I am."
"You were, I believe, in the company of the prisoner
the night of his departure from London for this town?"
"I Was."
"What was the conduct of the prisoner on that night?"
"Rum."
## p. 72 (#88) ##############################################
72 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
On being further interrogated, the witness stated that
he had known Mr. Richard Marwood for many years, being
himself originally a Slopperton man.
"Can you tell what led the prisoner to determine on re-
turning to his mother's house in the month of November last?"
"Blue devils," replied the witness, with determined con-
ciseness.
"Blue devils P'' -
"Yes, he'd been in a low way for three months, or more;
he'd had a sharp attack of delirium tremens, and a touch of
his old complaint"
"His old complaint?"
"Yes, brain-fever. During the fever he talked a great
deal of his mother; said he had killed her by his bad con-
duct, but that he'd beg her forgiveness if he walked to Slop-
perton on his bare feet." -
"Can you tell me at what date he first expressed this
desire to come to Slopperton?"
"Some time during the month of September."
"Did you during this period consider him to be in a
sound mind?"
"Well, several of my friends at Guy's used to think
rather the reverse. It was customary amongst us to say he
had a loose slate somewhere."
The counsel for the prosecution taking exception to this
phrase "loose slate," the witness went on to state that he
thought the prisoner very often off his nut, had hidden his
razors during his illness, and piled up a barricade of furni-
ture before the window. The prisoner was remarkable for
reckless generosity, good temper, a truthful disposition, and
a talent for doing every thing, and always doing it better
than any body else. This, and a great deal more, was
elicited from him by the advocate for the defence.
He was cross-examined by the counsel for the prosecu-
tion.
"I think you told my learned friend that you were a
member of the medical profession?"
## p. 73 (#89) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 73
"I did."
Was first apprenticed to a chemist and druggist at Slop-
perton; and was now walking one of the hospitals in Lon-
don with a view to attaining a position in the profession;
had not yet attained eminence, but hoped to do so; had
operated with some success in a desperate case of whitlow
on the finger of a servant-girl, and should have effected a
surprising cure, if the girl had not grown impatient and
allowed her finger to be amputated by a rival practitioner
before the curative process had time to develop itself, had
always entertained a sincere regard for the prisoner; had at
divers times borrowed money of him; couldn't say he re-
membered ever returning any; perhaps he never had re-
turned any, and that might account for his not remem-
bering the circumstance; had been present at the elec-
tion of, and instrumental in electing the prisoner a mem-
ber of a convivial club called the "Cheerful Cherokees."
No "Cheerful Cherokee" had ever been known to com-
mit a murder, and the club was convinced of the prisoner's
innocence. -
"You told the court and jury a short time ago, that the
prisoner's state on the last night you saw him in London
was 'rum," said the learned gentleman conducting the
prosecution; "will you be good enough to favour us with
the meaning of that adjectiveyou intend it for an ad-
jective, I presume?"
"Certainly," replied the witness. "Rum, an adjective
when applied to a gentleman's conduct; a substantive when
used to denominate his tipple."
The counsel for the prosecution doesn't clearly under-
stand the meaning of the word "tipple."
The witness thinks the learned gentleman had better
buy a dictionary before he again assists in a criminal prose-
cution.
"Come, come, sir," said the judge; "you are extremely
impertinent. We don't want to be kept here all night.
Let us have your evidence in a straightforward manner."
## p. 74 (#90) ##############################################
74 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The witness squared his elbows, and turned that lumi-
nary, his nose, full on his lordship, as if it had been a
bull's-eye lantern.
"You used another strange expression," said the counsel,
"in answer to my friend. Will you have the kindness to
explain what you mean by the prisoner having 'a loose
slate 7"
"A tile off. Something wrong about the roofthe
garretthe upper storythe nut."
The counsel for the prosecution confessed himself to be
still in the dark.
The witness declared himself sorry to hear ithe could
undertake to give his evidence; but he could not undertake
to provide the gentleman with understanding.
"I will trouble you to be respectful in your replies to
the counsel for the crown," said the judge.
The medical student's variegated eye looked defiantly at
his lordship; the counsel for the crown had done with him,
and he retired from the witness-box, after bowing to the
judge and jury with studious politeness.
The next witnesses were two medical gentlemen of a
different stamp to the "Cheerful Cherokee," who had now
taken his place amongst the spectators.
These gentlemen gave evidence of having attended the
prisoner some years before, during brain-fever, and having
very much feared the fever would have resulted in the loss
of the patient's reason.
The trial had by this time lasted so long, that the jury-
man who had a ticket for the public dinner began to feel
that his card of admission to the festive board was so much
waste pasteboard, and that the green fat of the turtle and
the prime cut from the haunch of venison were not for
him.
The counsel for the prosecution delivered himself of his
second address to the jury, in which he endeavoured to
demolish the superstructure which his "learned friend"
had so ingeniously raised for the defence. Why should the
## p. 75 (#91) ##############################################
"MAD, GENTLEMEN OF THE JURY." 75
legal defender of a man whose life is in the hands of the
jury not be privileged to address that jury in favour of his
client as often, at least, as the legal representative of the
prosecutor?
The judge delivered his charge to the jury.
The jury retired, and in an hour and fifteen minutes
returned.
They found that the prisoner, Richard Marwood, had
murdered his uncle, Montague Harding, and had further
beaten and injured a half-caste servant in the employ of his
uncle, while suffering from aberration of intellector, in
simple phraseology, they found the prisoner "Not guilty,
on the ground of insanity." -
The prisoner seemed little affected by the verdict. He
looked with a vacant stare round the court, removed the
bouquet of rue from his button-hole and placed it in his
bosom; and then said, with a clear, distinct enunciation
"Gentlemen of the jury, I am extremely obliged to you
for the politeness with which you have treated me. Thanks
to your powerful sense of justice, I have won the battle of
Arcola, and I think I have secured the key of Italy."
It is common for lunatics to fancy themselves some
great and distinguished person. This unhappy young man
believed himself to be Napoleon the First.
## p. 76 (#92) ##############################################
$ooh the Stromb.
A CLEARANCE OF ALL SCORES,
CHAPTER I.
BLIND PETER.
THE favourite, "Gallows," having lost in the race with
Richard Marwood, there was very little more interest felt in
Slopperton about poor Daredevil Dick's fate. It was known
that he was in the county lunatic asylum, a prisoner for
life, or, as it is expressed by persons learned in legal
matters, during the pleasure of the sovereign. It was
known that his poor mother had taken up her abode near
the asylum, and that at intervals she was allowed the
melancholy pleasure of seeing the wreck of her once light-
hearted boy. Mrs. Marwood was now a very rich woman,
inheritress of the whole of her poor murdered brother's
wealthfor Mr. Montague Harding's will had been found
to bequeath the whole of his immense fortune to his only
sister. She spent little, however, and what she did expend
was chiefly devoted to works of charity; but even her
benevolence was limited, and she did little more for the
poor than she had done before from her own small income.
The wealth of the East Indian remained accumulating in
the hands of her bankers. Mrs. Marwood was therefore
very rich, and Slopperton accordingly set her down as a
miser.
So the nine-days wonder died out, and the murder of
Mr. Harding was forgotten. The sunshine on the factory
chimneys of Slopperton grew warmer every day. Every
## p. 77 (#93) ##############################################
BLIND PETER. 77
day the "hands" appertaining to the factories felt more and
more the necessity of frequent application to the public-
house, as the weather grew brighter and brightertill the
hot June sun blazed down upon the pavement of every
street in Slopperton, baking and grilling the stones; till
the sight of a puddle or an overflowing gutter would have
been welcome as pools of water in the great desert of
Sahara; till the people who lived on the sunny side of the
way felt spitefully disposed towards the inhabitants of the
shady side; till the chandler at the corner, who came out
with a watering-pot and sprinkled the pavement before his
door every evening, was thought a public benefactor; till
the baker, who added his private stock of caloric to the
great firm of Sunshine and Co., and baked the pavement
above his oven on his own account, was thought a public
nuisance, and hot bread an abomination; till the butter
Slopperton had for tea was no longer butter, but oil, and
eluded the pursuit of the knife, or hid itself in a cowardly
manner in the holes of the quartern loaf when the house-
wife attempted to spread it thereon; till cattle standing in
pools of water were looked upon with envy and hatred; and
till, wonder of wonders, Slopperton paid up the water-rate
sharp, in fear and anguish at the thought of the possible
cutting-off of that refreshing fluid.
The 17th of June ushered in the midsummer holidays
at Dr. Tappenden's establishment, and on the evening of
that day Dr. Tappenden broke up. Of course, this phrase,
breaking up, is only a school-boy's slang. I do not mean
that the worthy Doctor (how did he ever come to be a
doctor, I wonder? or where did he get his degree?) experi-
enced any physical change when he broke up; or that he
underwent the moral change of going into the Gazette and
coming out thereof better off than when he went inwhich
is, I believe, the custom in most cases of bankruptcy; I
merely mean to say, that on the evening of the 17th of
June Dr. Tappenden gave a species of ball, at which Mr.
Pranskey, the dancing-master, assisted with his pumps and
## p. 78 (#94) ##############################################
78 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
his violin; and at which the young gentlemen appeared
also in pumps, a great deal of wrist-band and shirt-collar,
and shining facesin a state of painfully high polish, from
the effect of the yellow soap that had been lavished upon
them by the respectable young person who looked to the
wardrobe department, and mended the linen of the young
gentlemen.
By the evening of the 18th, Dr. Tappenden's young
gentlemen, with the exception of two little fellows with
dark complexions and frizzy hair, whose nearest connections
were at Trinidad, all departed to their respective family
circles; and Mr. Jabez North had the school-room to him-
self for the whole of the holidaysfor, of course, the little
West Indians, playing at a sea-voyage on one of the forms,
with a cricket-bat for a mast, or reading Sinbad the Sailor
in a corner, were no hindrance to that gentleman's pro-
ceedings.
Our friend Jabez is as calm-looking as ever. The fair,
pale complexion may be, perhaps, a shade paler, and the
arched mouth a trifle more compressed(that absurd pro-
fessor of phrenology had declared that both the head and
face of Jabez bespoke a marvellous power of secretiveness)
but our friend is as placid as ever. The pale face,
delicate aquiline nose, the fair hair and rather slender
figure, give a tone of aristocracy to his appearance which
even his shabby black suit cannot conceal. But Jabez is
not too well pleased with his lot. He paces up and down
the school-room in the twilight of the June evening, quite
alone, for the little West Indians have retired to the long
dormitory which they now inhabit in solitary grandeur.
Dr. Tappenden has gone to the sea-side with his slim only
daughter, familiarly known amongst the scholars, who have
no eyes for ethereal beauty, as "Skinny Jane." Dr. Tap-
penden has gone to enjoy himself; for Dr. Tappenden is a
rich man. He is said to have some twenty thousand
pounds in a London bank. He doesn't bank his money in
Slopperton. And of "Skinny Jane," it may be observed,
## p. 79 (#95) ##############################################
BLIND PETER. 79
that there are young men in the town who would give
something for a glance from her insipid gray eyes, and who
think her ethereal figure the very incarnation of the poet's
ideal, when they add to that slender form the bulky figures
that form the sum-total of her father's banking account.
Jabez paces up and down the long school-room with a
step so light that it scarcely wakes an echo (those crotchety
physiologists call this light step another indication of a
secretive disposition) up and down, in the darkening
summer evening.
"Another six months' Latin grammar," he mutters,
"another half-year's rudiments of Greek, and all the tire-
some old fables of Paris and Helen, and Hector and
Achilles, for entertainment! A nice life for a man with
my headfor those fools who preached about my deficient
moral region were right perhaps when they told me my
intellect might carry me any where. What has it done for
me yet? Well, at the worst, it has taken me out of loath-
some parish rags; it has given me independence. And it
shall give me fortune. But how? What is to be the next
trial? This time it must be no failure. This time my
premises must be sure. If I could only hit upon some
scheme ! There is a way by which I could obtain a large
sum of money; but then, the fear of detection! Detection,
which if eluded to-day might come to-morrow! And it is
not a year or two's riot and dissipation that I want to pur-
chase; but a long life of wealth and luxury, with proud
men's necks to trample on, and my old patrons to lick the
dust off my shoes. This is what I must fight for, and this
is what I must attainbut how How?"
He takes his hat up, and goes out of the house. He is
quite his own master during these holidays. He comes in
and goes out as he likes, provided he is always at home by
ten o'clock, when the house is shut up for the night.
He strolls with a purposeless step through the streets of
Slopperton. It is half-past eight o'clock, and the factory
hands fill the streets, enjoying the coolness of the evening,
## p. 80 (#96) ##############################################
80 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
but quiet and subdued in their manner, being exhausted
by the heat of the long June day. Jabez does not much
affect these crowded streets, and turns out of one of the
most busy quarters of the town into a little lane of old
houses, which leads to a great old-fashioned square, in
which stand two ancient churches with very high steeples,
an antique-looking town-hall (once a prison), a few quaint
houses with peaked roofs and projecting upper stories,
and a gaunt pump. Jabez soon leaves this square be-
hind him, and strolls through two or three dingy, narrow,
old-fashioned streets, till he comes to a labyrinth of tum-
ble-down houses, pig-styes, and dog-kennels, known as
Blind Peter's Alley. Who Blind Peter was, or how he
ever came to have this alleyor whether, as a place pos-
sessing no thoroughfare and admitting very little light,
it had not originally been called Peter's Blind Alley, nobody
living knew. But if Blind Peter was a myth, the alley was
a reality, and a dirty, loathsome, fetid reality, with regard
to which the Board of Health seemed as if smitten with the
aforesaid Peter's own infirmity, ignoring the horror of the
place with fatal blindness. So Blind Peter was the Alsatia
of Slopperton, a refuge for crime and destitutionsince
destitution cannot pick its company, but must be content
often, for the sake of shelter, to jog cheek by jowl with
crime. And thus no doubt it is on the strength of that
golden adage about birds of a feather that destitution and
crime are thought by numerous wise and benevolent persons
to mean one and the same thing. Blind Peter had risen to
popularity once or twiceon the occasion of a girl poison-
ing her father in the crust of a beef-steak pudding, and
a boy of fourteen committing suicide by hanging himself
behind a door. Blind Peter, on the first of these occasions,
had even had his portrait taken for a Sunday paper; and
very nice indeed he had looked in a woodcutso nice, that
he had found some difficulty in recognising himself; which
perhaps was scarcely wonderful, when it is taken into con-
sideration that the artist, who lived in the neighbour-
## p. 81 (#97) ##############################################
BLIND PETER. 81
hood of Holborn, had sketched Blind Peter from a mountain
gorge in the Tyrol, broken up with three or four houses out
of Chancery Lane.
Certainly Blind Peter had a peculiar wildness in his
aspect, being built on the side of a steep hill, and looked
very much like a London alley which had been removed
from its site and pitched haphazard on to a Slopperton
mountain.
It is not to be supposed for a moment that so highly
respectable an individual as Mr. Jabez North had any in-
tention of plunging into the dirty obscurity of Blind Peter.
He had come thus far only on his way to the outskirts
of the town, where there was a little brick-bestrewn, pseudo
country, very much more liberally ornamented by oyster-
shells, broken crockery, and scaffolding, than by trees or
wild flowerswhich natural objects were wondrous rarities
in this part of the Sloppertonian outskirts.
So Jabez pursued his way past the mouth of Blind
Peterwhich was adorned by two or three broken-down
and rusty iron railings that looked like jagged teeth
when he was suddenly arrested by a hideous-looking wo-
man, who threw her arms about him, and addressed him
in a shrill voice thus
"What, he's come back to his best friends, has he *
He's come back to his old granny, after frightening her out
of her poor old wits by staying away four days and four
nights. Where have you been, Jim, my deary ? And
where did you get your fine toggery?"
"Where did I get my fine toggery ? What do you
mean, you old hag! I don't know you, and you don't
know me. Let me pass, will you? or I'll knock you
down!"
"No, no," she screamed; "he wouldn't knock down his
old granny; he wouldn't knock down his precious granny
that nursed him, and brought him up like a gentleman,
and will tell him a secret one of these days worth a mint
of money, if he treats her well."
G
## p. 82 (#98) ##############################################
82 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Jabez pricked up his ears at the words "mint of money,"
and said in rather a milder tone
"I tell you, my good woman, you mistake me for some-
body else. I never saw you before."
"What! you're not my Jim ?"
"No. My name is Jabez North. If you're not satis-
fied, here's my card," and he took out his card-case.
The old woman stuck her arms a-kimbo, and stared
at him with a gaze of admiration.
"Lor'," she cried, "don't he do it nat'ral? Ain't he
a born genius : He's been a-doing the respectable reduced
tradesman, or the young man brought up to the church,
what waits upon the gentry with a long letter, and has
a wife and two innocent children staying in another town,
and only wants the railway fare to go to 'em. Eh, Jim,
that's what you've been a-doing, ain't it, now? And you've
brought home the swag like a good lad to your grand-
mother, haven't you now?" she said, in a wheedling tone.
"I tell you, you confounded old fool, I'm not the man
you take me for."
"What, not my Jim' And you can look at me with
his eyes, and tell me so with his voice. Then, if you're not
him, he's dead, and you're his ghost."
Jabez thought the old woman was mad; but he was no
coward, and the adventure began to interest him. Who
was this man who was so like him, and who was to learn a
secret some day worth a mint of money?
"Will you come home with me, then," said the old
woman, "and let me get a light, and see whether you are
my Jim or not?"
"Where's the house ?" asked Jabez.
"Why, in Blind Peter, to be sure. Where should it
be f*
"How should I know?" said Jabez, following her. He
thought himself safe even in Blind Peter, having nothing of
value about him, and having considerable faith in the pro-
tecting power of his strong right arm. *
## p. 83 (#99) ##############################################
BLIND PETER. 83
The old woman led the way into the little mountain
gorge, choked up with rickety hovels lately erected, or
crazy old houses which had once been goodly residences,
in the days when the site of Blind Peter had been a plea-
sant country lane. The house she entered was of this latter
class; and she led the way into a stone-paved room, which
had once been a tolerably spacious entrance-hall.
It was lighted by one feeble little candle with a long
drooping wick, stuck in an old ginger-beer bottle; and
by this dim light Jabez saw, seated on a heap of rubbish
by the desolate hearth, his own reflectiona man dressed,
unlike him, in the rough garments of a labourer, but whose
face gave back as faithfully as ever glass had done the
shadow of his own.
## p. 84 (#100) #############################################
--~~~~
CHAPTER II.
LIKE AND UNLIKE.
THE old woman stared aghast, first at one of the young
men, then at the other.
"Why, then, he isn't Jim " she exclaimed.
"Who isn't Jim, grandmother? What do you mean?
Here I am, back again; a bundle of aching bones, old rags,
and empty pockets. I've done no good where I've been;
so you needn't ask me for any money, for I haven't earned
a farthing either by fair means or foul."
"But the other," she said,"this young gentleman.
Look at him, Jim."
The man took up the candle, snuffed it with his fingers,
and walked straight to Jabez. He held the light before
the face of the usher, and surveyed him with a leisurely
stare. That individual's blue eyes winked and blinked at
the flame like an owl's in the sunshine, and looked every
way except straight into the eyes looking into his.
"Why, curse his impudence!" said the man, with a
faint sickly laugh; "I'm blest if he hasn't been and boned
my mug. I hope it'll do him more good than it's done
me," he added, bitterly.
"I can't make out the meaning of this," mumbled the
old woman. "It's all dark to me. I saw where the other
one was put myself. I saw it done, and safely done too.
O yes, of course"
"What do you mean by "the other one?'" asked the
man, while Jabez listened intently for the answer.
## p. 85 (#101) #############################################
LIKE AND UNLIKE. 85
"Why, my deary, that's a part of the secret you're to
know some of these days. Such a secret. Gold, gold, gold,
as long as it's kept; and gold when it's told, if it's told at
the right time, deary."
"If it's to be told at the right time to do me any good,
it had better be told soon, then," said Jim, with a dreary
shiver. "My bones ache, and my head's on fire, and my
feet are like lumps of ice. I've walked twenty miles to-day,
and I haven't had bite nor sup since last night. Where's
Sillikens?"
"At the factory, Jim deary. Somebody's given her a
piece of workone of the regular hands; and she's to bring
home some money to-night. Poor girl, she's been a-fretting
and a-crying her eyes out since you've been gone, Jim."
"Poor lass. I thought I might do some good for her
and me both by going away where I did; but I haven't;
and so I've come back to eat her starvation wages, poor lass.
It's a cowardly thing to do, and if I'd had strength I should
have gone on further, but I couldn't."
As he was saying these words a girl came in at the half-
open door, and running up to him, threw her arms round
his neck.
"O Jim, you've come back! I said you would; I knew
you'd never stop away; I knew you couldn't be so cruel."
"It's crueller to come back, lass," he said; "it's bad to
be a burden on a girl like you."
"A burden, Jim " she said, in a low, reproachful voice,
and then dropped quietly down amongst the dust and rub-
bish at his feet, and laid her head caressingly against his
knee.
She was not what is generally called a pretty girl.
Hers had not been the delicate nurture which nourishes so
frail an exotic as beauty. She had a pale, sickly face; but
it was lighted up by large dark eyes, and framed by a
heavy mass of dark hair.
She took the man's rough hand in hers, and kissed it
tenderly. It is not likely that a duchess would have done
## p. 86 (#102) #############################################
86 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
such a thing; but if she had, she could scarcely have done
it with better grace.
"A burden, Jim !" she said,"a burden! Do you think
if I worked for you day and night, and never rested, that
I should be weary? Do you think, if I worked my fingers
to the bone for you, that I should ever feel the pain? Do
you think, if my death could make you a happy man, I
should not be glad to die? 0, you don't know, you don't
know !"
She said this half-despairingly, as if she knew there was
no power in his soul to fathom the depth of love in hers.
"Poor lass, poor lass," he said, as he laid the other
rough hand gently on her black hair. "If it's as bad as this,
I'm sorry for itmore than ever sorry to-night."
"Why, Jim?" She looked up at him with a sudden
glance of alarm. "Why, Jim? Is any thing the matter?"
"Not much, lass; but I don't think I'm quite the thing
to-night." His head drooped as he spoke. The girl put
it on her shoulder, and it lay there as if he had scarcely
power to lift it up again.
"Grandmother, he's illhe's ill! Why didn't you tell
me this before ? Is that gentleman the doctor?" she asked,
looking at Jabez, who still stood in the shadow of the
doorway watching the scene within.
"No; but I'll fetch the doctor, if you like," said that
benevolent personage, who appeared to take a wonderful
interest in this family group.
"Do, sir, if you will be so good," said the girl implor-
ingly; "he's very ill, I'm sure.Jim, look up, and tell us
What's the matter?"
The man lifted his heavy eyelids with an effort, and
looked up with blood-shot eyes into her face. No, no!
Never could he fathom the depth of this love which looks
down at him now with more than a mother's tenderness,
With more than a sister's devotion, with more than a wife's
self-abnegation. This love, which knows no change, which
would shelter him in those entwining arms a thief or a
- "--------
## p. 87 (#103) #############################################
IIKE AND UNLIKE. 87
murderer, and which could hold him no dearer were he a
King upon a throne.
Jabez North goes for a doctor, and returns presently
with a gentleman, who, on seeing Jim the labourer, pro-
nounces that he had better go to bed at once; "for," as he
whispers to the old woman, "he's got rheumatic fever,
and got it pretty sharp too."
The girl they call Sillikens bursts out crying on hear-
ing this announcement, but soon chokes down her tears
(as tears are wont to be choked down in Blind Peter,
whose inhabitants have little time for weeping)and sets
to work to get ready a poor apology for a beda worn-
out mattress and a thin patch-work counterpane; and on
this they lay the bundle of aching bones known to Blind
Peter as Jim Lomax.
The girl receives the doctor's directions, promises to
fetch some medicine from his surgery in a few minutes, and
then kneels down by the sick man.
"0, Jim, dear Jim," she says, "keep a good heart, for
the sake of those who love you."
She might have said for the sake of her who loves
you, for it never surely was the lot of any man, from my
Lord the marquis to Jim the labourer, to be twice in his
life loved as this man was loved by her.
Jabez North on his way home must go the same way
as the doctor; so they walk side by side.
"Do you think he will recover?" asks Jabez.
"I doubt it. He has evidently been exposed to great
hardship, wet, and fatigue. The fever is very strong upon
him; and I'm afraid there's not much chance of his get-
ting over it. I should think something might be done
for him, to make him a little more comfortable. You are
his brother, I presume, in spite of the apparent difference
between you in station?"
Jabez laughed a scornful laugh. "His brother! Why
I never saw the man till ten minutes before you did."
"Bless me!" said the old doctor, "you amaze me. I
## p. 88 (#104) #############################################
88 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
should have taken you for twin brothers. The likeness
between you is something wonderful. In spite, too, of the
great difference in your clothes. Dressed alike, it would
be impossible to tell one from the other."
"You really think so?"
"The fact must strike any one."
Jabez North was silent for a little time after this.
Presently, as he parted from the doctor at a street-corner,
he said
"And you really think there's very little chance of this
poor man's recovery?"
"I'm afraid there is positively none. Unless a wonder-
ful change takes place for the better, in three days he will
be a dead man. Good night."
"Good night," said Jabez, thoughtfully. And he
walked slowly home.
It would seem about this time that he was turning his
attention to his personal appearance, and in some danger of
becoming a fop; for the next morning he bought a bottle
of hair-dye, and tried some experiments with it on one
or two of his own light ringlets, which he cut off for that
purpose.
It would seem a very trivial employment for so superior
and intellectual a man as Jabez North, but it may be that
every action of this man's life, however apparently trivial,
bore towards one deep and settled purpose.
## p. 89 (#105) #############################################
CHAPTER III.
A GOLDEN SECRET.
MR. JABEZ NORTH being of such a truly benevolent cha-
racter, came the next day to Blind Peter full of kind and
sympathetic inquiries for the sick man. For once in a way
he offered something more than sympathy, and adminis-
tered what little help he could afford from his very slender
purse. Truly a good young man, this Jabez.
The dilapidated house in Blind Peter looked still more
dreary and dilapidated in the daylight, or in such light as
was called daylight by the denizens of that wretched alley.
By this light, too, Jim Lomax looked none the better, with
hungry, pinched features, blood-shot eyes, and two burning
crimson spots on his hollow cheeks. He was asleep when
Jabezentered. The girl was still seated by his side, neverlook-
ing up, or taking her large dark eyes from his facenever
stirring, except to rearrange the poor bundle of rags which
served as a pillow for the man's weary head, or to pour out
his medicine, or moisten his hot forehead with wet linen.
The old woman sat by the great gaunt fire-place, where she
had lighted a few sticks, and made the best fire she could,
by the doctor's orders; for the place was damp and draughty,
even in this warm June weather. She was rocking herself
to and fro on a low three-legged stool, and muttering some
disconnected jargon.
When Jabez had spoken a few words to the sick man,
and made his offer of assistance, he did not leave the place,
but stood on the hearth, looking with a thoughtful face at
the old woman.
## p. 90 (#106) #############################################
90 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
She was not quite right in her mind, according to general
opinion in Blind Peter; and if a Commission of Lunacy had
been called upon to give a return of her state of intellect on
that day, I think that return would have agreed with the
opinion openly expressed in a friendly manner by her neigh-
bours.
She kept muttering to herself, "And so, my deary, this
is the other one. The water couldn't have been deep enough.
But it's not my fault, Lucy dear, for I saw it safely put
away."
"What did you see so safely put away?" asked Jabez, in
so low a voice as to be heard neither by the sick man nor
the girl.
"Wouldn't you like to know, deary?" mumbled the old
hag, looking up at him with a malicious grin. "Don't you
very much want to know, my dear? But you never will;
or if you ever do, you must be a rich man first; for it's part
of the secret, and the secret's goldas long as it is kept,
my dear, and it's been kept a many years, and kept faithful."
"Does he know it?" Jabez asked, pointing to the sick
Imall.
"No, my dear; he'd want to tell it. I mean to sell it
some day, for it's worth a mint of money! A mint of
money! He doesn't know itnor shenot that it matters
to her; but it does matter to him."
"Then you had best let him know before three days are
over, or he'll never know it!" said the schoolmaster.
"Why not, deary?"
"Never you mind! I want to speak to you; and I don't
want those two to hear what I say. Can we go any where
hereabouts where I can talk to you without the chance of
being overheard?"
The old woman nodded assent, and led the way with
feeble tottering steps out of the house, and through a gap in
a hedge to some broken ground at the back of Blind Peter.
Here the old crone seated herself upon a little hillock, Jabez
standing opposite her, looking her full in the face.
## p. 91 (#107) #############################################
A GOLDEN SECRET. 91
"Now," said he, with a determined look at the grinning
face before him, "now tell me,what was the something
that was put away so safely? And what relation is that
man in there to me? Tell me, and tell me the truth, or"
He only finishes the sentence with a threatening look, but
the old woman finishes it for him,-
"Or you'll kill meeh, deary? I'm old and feeble, and
you might easily do iteh? But you won'tyou won't,
deary! You know better than that Kill me, and you'll
never know the secret!the secret that may be gold to you
some day, and that nobody alive but me can tell. If you'd
got some very precious wine in a glass bottle, my dear, you
wouldn't smash the bottle now, would you? because, you
see, you couldn't smash the bottle without spilling the wine.
And you won't lay so much as a rough finger upon me, I
know."
The usher looked rather as if he would have liked to lay
the whole force of ten very rough fingers upon the most
vital part of the grinning hag's anatomy at that moment
but he restrained himself, as if by an effort, and thrust
his hands deep into his trousers-pockets, in order the better
to resist temptation.
"Then you don't mean to tell me what I asked you?"
he said impatiently.
"Don't be in a hurry, my dear! I'm an old woman,
and I don't like to be hurried. What is it you want to
know?"
"What that man in there is to me."
"Own brothertwin brother, my dearthat's all. And
I'm your grandmotheryour mother's mother. Ain't you
pleased to find your relations, my blessed boy?"
If he were, he had a strange way of showing plea-
Sure; a very strange manner of welcoming newly-found re-
lations, if his feelings were to be judged by that contracted
brow and moody glance.
"Is this true?" he asked.
The old harridan looked at him and grinned. "That's
## p. 92 (#108) #############################################
92 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
an ugly mark you've got upon your left arm, my dear," she
said, "just above the elbow; it's very lucky, though, it's
under your coat-sleeve, where nobody can see it."
Jabez started. He had indeed a scar upon his arm,
though very few people knew of it. He rememberedit from
his earliest days in the Slopperton workhouse.
"Do you know how you came by that mark?" continued
the old woman. "Shall I tell you? Why, you fell into
the fire, deary, when you were only three weeks old. We'd
been drinking a little bit, my dear, and we weren't used to
drinking much then, nor to eating much either, and one of
us let you tumble into the fireplace, and before we could get
you out, your arm was burnt; but you got over it, my dear,
and three days after that you had the misfortune to fall into
the Water."
"You threw me in, you old she-devil!" he exclaimed
fiercely.
"Come, come," she said, "you are of the same stock, so
I wouldn't call names if I were you. Perhaps I did throw
you into the Sloshy. I don't want to contradict you. If
you say so, I daresay I did. I suppose you think me a very
unnatural old woman?"
"It wouldn't be so strange if I did."
"Do you know what choice we had, your mother and me,
as to what we were to do with our youngest hopeyou're
younger by two hours than your brother in there? Why,
there was the river on one side, and a life of misery, perhaps
starvation, perhaps worse, on the other. At the very best,
such a life as he in there has ledhard labour and bad food,
long toilsome days and short nights, and bad words and
black looks from all who ought to help him. So we thought
one was enough for that, and we chose the river for the other.
Yes, my precious boy, I took you down to the river-side one
very dark night and dropped youin where Ithought the water
was deepest; but, you see, it wasn't deep enough for you.
0, dear," she said, with an imbecile grin, "I suppose there's
a fate in it, and you were never born to be drowned."
## p. 93 (#109) #############################################
A GOLDEN SECRET. 93
Her hopeful grandson looked at her with a savage frown.
"Drop that!" he said, "I don't want any of your cursed
Wit."
"Don't you, deary? Lor, I was quite a wit in my young
days. They used to call me Lively Betty; but that's a long
time ago."
There was sufficient left, however, of the liveliness of a
long time ago to give an air of ghastly mirth to the old wo-
man's manner, which made that manner extremely repulsive.
What can be more repulsive than old age, which, shorn of
the beauties and graces, is yet not purified from the follies
or the vices, of departed youth?
"And so, my dear, the water wasn't deep enough, and
you were saved. How did it all come about? Tell us, my
precious boy?"
"Yes; I daresay you'd like to know," replied her "pre-
cious boy,""but you can keep your secret, and I can keep
mine. Perhaps you'll tell me whether my mother is alive
Or dead?"
Now this was a question which would have cruelly agi-
tated some men in the position of Jabez North; but that
gentleman was a philosopher, and he might have been in-
quiring the fate of some cast-off garment, for all the fear,
tenderness, or emotion of any kind that his tone or manner
betrayed.
"Your mother's been dead these many years. Don't you
ask me how she died. I'm an old woman, and my head's not
So right but what some things will set it wrong. Talking
of that is one of 'em. She's dead. I couldn't save her, nor
help her, nor set her right. I hope there's more pity where
she's gone than she ever got here; for I'm sure if trouble
can need it, she needed it. Don't ask me any thing about
her."
"Then I won't," said Jabez. "My relations don't seem
such an eligible lot that I should set to work to write the
history of the family. I suppose I had a father of some
kind or other. What's become of him? Dead or"
## p. 94 (#110) #############################################
94 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Hung, eh, deary?" said the old woman, relapsing into
the malicious grin.
"Take care what you're about," said the fascinating Mr.
North, "or you'll tempt me to shake the life out of your
shrivelled old carcass."
"And then you'll never know who your father was. Eh?
Ha, ha! my precious boy; that's part of the golden secret
that none but me can tell."
"Then you won't tell me my father's name?"
"Perhaps I've forgotten it, deary; perhaps I never knew
itwho knows?"
"Was he of your classpoor, insignificant, and wretched,
the scum of the earth, the mud in the streets, the slush in
the gutters, for other people to trample upon with their dirty
boots? Was he that sort of thing? Because if he was, I
sha'n't put myself out of the way to make any tender inqui-
ries about him."
"Of course not, deary. You'd like him to have been a
fine gentlemana baronet, or an earl, or a marquis, eh, my
blessed boy? A marquis is about the ticket for you, eh?
What do you say to a marquis?"
It was not very polite, certainly, what he did say; not
quite the tone of conversation to be pleasing to any marquis,
or to any noble or potentate whatever, except one, and him,
by the laws of polite literature, I am not allowed to men-
tion.
Puzzled by her mysterious mumblings, grinnings, and
gesticulations, our friend Jabez stared hard in the old crone's
face for about three minuteslooking very much as if he
would have liked to throttle her; but he refrained from
that temptation, turned on his heel, and walked off in the
direction of Slopperton.
The old woman apostrophised his receding figure.
"O, yes, deary, you're a nice young man, and a clever,
civil-spoken young man, and a credit to them that reared
you; but you'll never have the golden secret out of me till
you've got the money to pay for it."
## p. 95 (#111) #############################################
CHAPTER IV.
JIM LOOKS OVER THE BRINK OF THE TERRIBLE GULF.
THE light had gone down on the last of the days through
which, according to the doctor's prophecy, Jim Lomax was
to live to see that light.
Poor Jim's last sun sank to his rest upon such cloud-
pillows of purple and red, and drew a curtain of such gor-
geous colours round him in the western sky, as it would
have very much puzzled any earthly monarch to have
matched, though Ruskin himself had chosen the colours, and
Turner had been the man to lay them on. Of course some
of this red sunset flickered and faded upon the chimney-pots
and window-panesrare luxuries, by the bye, those window-
panesof Blind Peter; but there it came in a modified de-
gree onlythis blessed sign-manual of an Almighty Power
as all earthly and heavenly blessings should come to the
poor.
One ray of the crimson light fell full upon the face of the
sick man, and slanted from him upon the dark hair of the
girl, who sat on the ground in her old position by the bed-
side. This light, which fell on them and on no other object
in the dusky room, seemed to unite them, as though it were
a messenger from the sky that said, "They stand alone in
the World, and never have been meant to stand asunder."
"It's a beautiful light, lass," said the sick man, "and I
wonder I never cared more to notice or to watch it than I
have. Lord, I've seen it many a time sinking behind the
sharp edge of ploughed land, as if it had dug its own grave,
and was glad to go down to it, and I've thought no more of
## p. 96 (#112) #############################################
96 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
- * * * *
it than a bit of candle; but now it seems such a beautiful
light, and I feel as if I should like to see it again, lass."
"And you willyou will see it again, Jim." She
drew his head upon her bosom, and stroked the rough
hair away from his damp forehead. She was half dead
herself, with want, anxiety, and fatigue; but she spoke in
a cheerful voice. She had not shed a tear throughout his
illness. "Lord help you, Jim dear, you'll live to see many
and many a bright sunset-live to see it go down upon
our wedding-day, perhaps."
"No, no, lass; that's a day no sun will ever shine upon.
You must get another sweetheart, and a better one, maybe.
I'm sure you deserve a better one, for you're true, lass, true
as steel."
The girl drew his head closer to her breast, and bending
over him, kissed his dry lips. She never thought, or cared
to know, what fever or what poison she might inhale in
that caress. If she had thought about it, perhaps she would
have prayed that the same fever which had struck him
down might lay her low beside him. He spoke again, as
the light, with a lingering glow, brightened, and flickered,
and then faded out.
"It's gone; it's gone for ever; it's behind me now, lass,
and I must look straight before"
"At what, Jim ?at what?"
"At a terrible gulf, my lass. I'm a-standing on the
edge of it, and I'm a-looking down to the bottom of ita
cold, dark, lonesome place. But perhaps there's another
light beyond it, lass; who knows?"
"Some say they do know, Jim," said the girl; "some
say they do know, and that there is another light beyond,
better than the one we see here, and always shining. Some
people do know all about it, Jim."
"Then why didn't they tell us about it?" asked the
man, with an angry expression in his hollow eyes. "I sup-
pose those as taught them meant them to teach us; but I
suppose they didn't think us worth the teaching. How
## p. 97 (#113) #############################################
JIM LOOKS OVER THE BRINK OF THE GULF. 97
many will be sorry for me, lass, when I am gone? Not
grandmother; her brain's crazed with that fancy of hers
of a golden secretas if she wouldn't have sold it long
before this if she'd had a secretsold it for bread, or more
likely for gin. Not any body in Blind Peterthey've
enough to do to think of the bit of food to put inside
them, or of the shelter to cover their unfortunate heads.
Nobody but you, lass, nobody but you, will be sorry for
me: and I think you will." -
He thinks she will be sorry. What has been the story
of her life but one long thought and care for him, in which
her every sorrow and her every joy have taken their colour
from joys and sorrows of his.
While they are talking, Jabez comes in, and, seating
himself on a low stool by the bed, talks to the sick man.
"And so," says Jim, looking him full in the face with
a curious glance"So you're my brotherthe old woman's
told me all about itmy twin brother; so like me, that it's
quite a treat to look at you. It's like looking in a glass,
and that's a luxury I've never been accustomed to. Light
a candle, lass; I want to see my brother's face."
His brother was against the lighting of the candleit
might hurt the eyes of the sufferer, he suggested; but Jim
repeated his request, and the girl obeyed.
"Now come here and hold the candle, lass, and hold it
close to my brother's face, for I want to have a good look
at him."
Mr. Jabez North seemed scarcely to relish the un-
flinching gaze of his newly-found relation; and again those
fine blue eyes, for which he was distinguished, winked and
shifted, and hid themselves, under the scrutiny of the sick
In all.
"It's a handsome face," said Jim; "and it looks like
the face of one of your fine high-born gentlemen too, which
is rather queer, considering who it belongs to; but for all
that, I can't say it's a face I much care about. There's
something undersomething behind the curtain. I say,
H
## p. 98 (#114) #############################################
98 TIE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
brother, you're hatching of some plot to-night, and a very
deep-laid plot it is too, or my name isn't Jim Lomax."
"Poor fellow," murmured the compassionate Jabez,
"his mind wanders sadly."
"Does it?" asked the sick man; "does my mind wan-
der, lad? I hope it does; I hope I can't see very clear to-
night, for I didn't want to think my own brother a villain.
I don't want to think bad of thee, lad, if it's only for my
dead mother's sake."
"You hear!" said Jabez, with a glance of appeal to
the girl, "you hear how delirious he is?"
"Stop a bit, lad," cried Jim, with sudden energy, laying
his wasted hand upon his brother's wrist; "stop a bit. I'm
dying fast: and before it's too late I've one prayer to make.
I haven't made so many either to God or man that I need
forget this one. You see this lass; we've been sweethearts,
I don't know how long, nowever since she was a little
toddling thing that I could carry on my shoulder; and
one of these days, when wages got to be better, and bread
cheaper, and hopes brighter, somehow, for poor folks like
us, we was to have been married; but that's over now.
Keep a good heart, lass, and don't look so white; perhaps
it's better as it is. Well, as I was saying, we've been sweet-
hearts for a many year, and often when I haven't been able
to get work, maybe sometimes when I haven't been willing,
when I've been lazy, or on the drink, or among bad com-
panions, this lass has kept a shelter over me, and given me
bread to eat with the labour of her own hands. She's been
true to me. I could tell you how true, but there's some-
thing about the corners of your mouth that makes me think
you wouldn't care to hear it. But if you want me to die in
peace, promise me thisthat as long as you've got a shil-
ling she shall never be without a sixpence; that as long as
you've got a roof to cover your head she shall never be with-
out a shelter. Promise!"
He tightened his grasp convulsively upon his brother's
wrist. That gentleman made an effort to look him full in
## p. 99 (#115) #############################################
JIM LOOKS OVER THE BRINE OF THE GULF. 99
the face; but not seeming to relish the searching gaze of
the dying man's eyes, Mr. Jabez North was compelled to
drop his own.
"Come," said Jim; "promiseswear to me, by all you
hold sacred, that you'll do this."
"I swear!" said Jabez, solemnly.
"And if you break your oath," added his brother, "never
come anigh the place where I'm buried, for I'll rise out of my
grave and haunt you."
The dying man fell back exhausted on his pillow. The
girl poured out some medicine and gave it to him, while
Jabez walked to the door, and looked up at the sky.
A very dark sky for a night in June. A wide black
canopy hung over the earth, and as yet there was not one
feeble star to break the inky darkness. A threatening night
the low murmuring of whose sultry wind moaned and
whispered prophecies of a coming storm. Never had the
blindness of Blind Peter been darker than to-night. You
could scarcely see your hand before you. A wretched woman
who had just fetched half-a-quartern of gin from the nearest
public-house, though a denizen of the place, and familiar with
every broken flag-stone and crumbling brick, stumbled over
her own threshold, and spilt a portion of the precious liquid.
It would have been difficult to imagine either the hea-
vens or the earth under a darker aspect in the month of
June. Not so, however, thought Mr. Jabez North; for,
after contemplating the sky for some moments in silence,
he exclaimed"A fine night ! A glorious night ! :
could not be better !"
A figure, one shade darker than the night, came be-
tween him and the darkness. It was the doctor, who said
"Well, sir, I'm glad you think it a fine night; but I
must beg to differ with you on the subject, for I never re-
member seeing a blacker sky, or one that threatened a more
terrible storm, at this season of the year."
"I was scarcely thinking of what I was saying, doctor.
That poor man in there"
## p. 100 (#116) ############################################
100 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Ah, yes; poor fellow ! I doubt if he'll witness the
storm, near as it seems to be. I suppose you take some in-
terest in him on account of his extraordinary likeness to
VOu ?"
"That would be rather an egotistical reason for being
interested in him. Common humanity induced me to come
down to this wretched place, to see if I could be of any ser-
vice to the poor creature."
"The action does you credit, sir," said the doctor.
"And now for my patient."
It was with a very grave face that the medical man
looked at poor Jim, who had, by this time, fallen into a
fitful and restless slumber; and when Jabez drew him
aside to ask his opinion, he said,
"If he lives through the next half-hour I shall be sur-
prised. Where is the old womanhis grandmother?"
"I haven't seen her this evening," answered Jabez.
And then turning to the girl, he asked her if she knew
where the old woman was.
"No; she went out some time ago, and didn't say
where she was going. She's not quite right in her mind,
you know, sir, and often goes out after dark."
The doctor seated himself on a broken chair, near the
mattress on which the sick man lay. Only one feeble gut-
tering candle, with a long, top-heavy wick, lighted the
dismal and comfortless room. Jabez paced up and down
with that soft step of which we have before spoken. Al-
though in his character of a philosopher, the death of a
fellow-creature could scarcely have been very distressing
to him, there was an uneasiness in his manner on this
night which he could not altogether conceal. He looked
from the doctor to the girl, and from the girl to his sick
brother. Sometimes he paused in his walk up and down
the room to peer out at the open door. Once he stooped
over the feeble candle to look at his watch. There was a
listening expression too in his eyes; an uneasy twitching
about his mouth; and at times he could scarcely suppress
## p. 101 (#117) ############################################
JIM LOOKS OVER THE BRINK OF THE GULF. 101
a tremulous action of his slender fingers, which bespoke
impatience and agitation. Presently the clocks of Slop-
perton chimed the first quarter after ten. On hearing this,
Jabez drew the medical man aside, and whispered to him,-
"Are there no means," he said, " of getting that poor
girl out of the way? She is very much attached to that
unfortunate creature; and if he dies, I fear there will be
a terrible scene. It would be an act of mercy to remove
her by some stratagem or other. How can we get her
away till it is all over ?"
"I think I can manage it," said the doctor. "My
partner has a surgery at the other end of the town; I will
send her there." -
He returned to the bedside, and presently said,
"Look here, my good girl; I am going to write a pre-
scription for something which I think will do our patient
good. Will you take it for me, and get the medicine
made up * -
The girl looked at him with an appealing glance in her
mournful eyes. -
"I don't like to leave him, sir."
"But if it's for his good, my dear?"
"Yes, yes, sir. You're very kind. I will go. I can
run all the way. And you won't leave him while I'm
gone, will you, sir?"
"No, my good girl, I won't. There, there; here's the
prescription. It's written in pencil, but the assistant will
understand it. Now listen, while I tell you where to find
the surgery."
He gave her the direction; and after a lingering and
mournful look at her lover, who still slept, she left the
house, and darted off in the direction of Slopperton.
"If she runs as fast as that all the way," said Jabez, as
he watched her receding figure, "she will be back in less
than an hour."
"Then she will find him either past all help, or better,"
replied the doctor.
## p. 102 (#118) ############################################
102 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Jabez's pale face turned white as death at this word
"better."
"Better!" he said. "Is there any chance of his re-
covery?"
"There are wonderful chances in this race between life
and death. This sleep may be a crisis. If he wakes, there
may be a faint hope of his living."
Jabez's hand shook like a leaf. He turned his back to
the doctor, walked once up and down the room, and then
asked, with his old calmness,
"And you, siryou, whose time is of such value to so
many sick personsyou can afford to desert them all, and
remain here, watching this man?"
"His case is a singular one, and interests me. Besides,
I do not know that I have any patient in imminent danger
to-night. My assistant has my address, and would send for
me were my services peculiarly needed."
"I will go out and smoke a cigar," said Jabez, after a
pause. "I can scarcely support this sick room, and the
suspense of this terrible conflict between life and death."
He strode out into the darkness, was absent about five
minutes, and returned.
"Your cigar did not last long," remarked the doctor.
"You are a quick smoker. Bad for the system, sir."
"My cigar was a bad one. I threw it away."
Shortly afterwards there was a knock at the door, and a
ragged vagabond-looking boy, peeping in, asked,
"Is Mr. Saunders the doctor here?"
"Yes, my lad. Who wants me?"
"A young woman up in Hill Fields, sir, what's took
poison, they say. You're wanted very bad."
"Poison: That's urgent," said Mr. Saunders. "Who
sent you here for me?"
The lad looked with a puzzled expression at Jabez
standing in the shadow, who, unperceived by the doctor,
whispered something behind his hand.
"Surgery, sir," answered the boy, still looking at Jabez.
## p. 103 (#119) ############################################
JIM LOOKS OVER THE BRINK OF THE GULF. 103
"O, you were sent from the surgery. I must be off, for
this is no doubt a desperate case. I must leave you to look
after this poor fellow. If he wakes, give him two tea-
spoonfuls of that medicine there. I could do no more if I
stopped myself. Come, my lad."
The doctor left the house, followed by the boy, and in a
few moments both were lost in the darkness, and far out of
the ken of Blind Peter.
Five minutes after the departure of the medical man
Jabez went to the door, and after looking out at the squalid
houses, which were all dark, gave a long low whistle.
A figure crept out of the darkness, and came up to
where he stood. It was the old woman, his grandmother.
"All's right, deary," she whispered. "Bill Withers has
got every thing ready. He's a waiting down by the wall
yonder. There's not a mortal about; and I'll keep watch.
You'll want Bill's help. When you're ready for him, you're
to whistle softly three times running. He'll know what it
means  and I'm going to watch while he helps you.
Haven't I managed beautiful, deary? And sha'n't I deserve
the golden sovereigns you've promised me? They was
guineas always when I was young, deary. Nothing's as
good now as it used to be."
"Don't let us have any chattering," said Jabez, as he
laid a rough hand upon her arm; "unless you want to
wake every body in the place."
"But, I say, deary, is it all over? Nothing unfair,
you know. Remember your promise."
"All over? Yes; half an hour ago. If you hinder me
here with your talk, the girl will be back before we're ready
for her." -
"Let me come in and close his eyes, deary," supplicated
the old woman. "His mother was my own child. Let me
close his eyes."
"Keep where you are, or I'll strangle you!" growled
her dutiful grandson, as he shut the door upon his vene-
rable relation, and left her mumbling upon the threshold.
## p. 104 (#120) ############################################
104 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Jabez crept cautiously towards the bed on which his
brother lay. Jim at this moment awoke from his restless
slumber; and, opening his eyes to their widest extent,
looked full at the man by his side. He made an effort to
speak, pointed to his lips, and, stretching out his hand
towards the bottles on the table, made signs to his brother.
These signs were a supplication for the cooling draught
which always allayed the burning heat of the fever.
Jabez never stirred. "He has awoke," he murmured.
"This is the crisis of his life, and of my fate."
The clocks of Slopperton chimed the quarter before
eleven.
"It's a black gulf, lass," gasped the dying man; "and
I'm fast sinking into it."
There was no friendly hand, Jim, to draw you back
from that terrible gulf. The medicine stood untouched
upon the table; and, perhaps as guilty as the first murderer,
your twin brother stood by your bed-side.
## p. 105 (#121) ############################################
CHAPTER W.
MIDNIGHT BY THE SLOPPERTON CLOCKS.
THE clouds and the sky kept their promise, and as the
clocks chimed the quarter before twelve the storm broke
over the steeples at Slopperton.
Blue lightning-flashes lit up Blind Peter, and attendant
thunder-claps shook him to his very foundation; while a
violent shower of rain gave him such a washing-down of
every flagstone, chimney-pot, and door-step, as he did not
often get. Slopperton in bed was almost afraid to go to
sleep; and Slopperton not in bed did not seem to care
about going to bed. Slopperton at supper was nervous as
to handling of glittering knives and steel forks; and Slop-
perton going to windows to look out at the lightning was
apt to withdraw hurriedly at the sight thereof. Slopper-
ton in general was depressed by the storm; thought there
would be mischief somewhere; and had a vague idea that
something dreadful would happen before the night was
Out.
In Dr. Tappenden's quiet household there was conster-
nation and alarm. Mr. Jabez North, the principal assist-
ant, had gone out early in the evening, and had not re-
turned at the appointed hour for shutting up the house.
This was such an unprecedented occurrence, that it had
occasioned considerable uneasinessespecially as Dr. Tap-
penden was away from home, and Jabez was, in a manner,
deputy-master of the house. The young woman who looked
after the gentlemen's wardrobes had taken compassion
## p. 106 (#122) ############################################
106 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
upon the housemaid, who sat up awaiting Mr. North's re-
turn, and had brought her workbox, and a lapful of young
gentlemen's dilapidated socks, to the modest chamber in
which the girl waited.
"I hope," said the housemaid, "nothing ain't happened
to him through the storm. I hope he hasn't been getting
under no trees."
The housemaid had a fixed idea that to go under a tree
in a thunder-storm was to encounter immediate death.
"Poor dear young gentleman," said the lady of the
wardrobes; "I tremble to think what can keep him out so.
Such a steady young man; never known to be a minute
after time either. I'm sure every sound I hear makes me
expect to see him brought in on a shutter."
"Don't now, Miss Smithers!" cried the housemaid,
looking behind her as if she expected to see the ghost of
Jabez North pointing to a red spot on his left breast, at
the back of her chair. "I wish you wouldn't now ! 0, I
hope he ain't been murdered. There's been such a many
murders in Slopperton since I can remember. It's only
three years and a half ago since a man cut his wife's throat
down in Windmill Lane, because she hadn't put no salt in
the saucepan when she boiled the greens."
The frightful parallel between the woman who boiled
the greens without salt and Jabez North two hours after
his time, struck such terror to the hearts of the young
women that they were silent for some minutes, during
which they both looked uneasily at a thief in the candle
which neither of them had the courage to take outtheir
nerves not being equal to the possible clicking of the
Snuffers.
"Poor young man," said the housemaid, at last. "Do
you know, Miss Smithers, I can't help thinking he has been
rather low lately." -
Now this word "low" admits of several applications, so
Miss Smithers replied, rather indignantly
"Low, Sarah Anne! Not in his language, I'm sure.
## p. 107 (#123) ############################################
MIDNIGHT BY THE SLOPPERTON CLOCKS. 107
And as to his manners, they'd be a credit to the nobleman
that wrote the letters."
"No, no, Miss Smithers; I mean his spirits. I've fan-
cied lately he's been a fretting about something; perhaps
he's in love, poor dear."
Miss Smithers coloured up. The conversation was get-
ting interesting. Mr. North had lent her Rasselas, which
she thought a story of thrilling interest; and she had kept
his stockings and shirt-buttons in order for three years.
Such things had happened; and Mrs. Jabez North sounded
more comfortable than Miss Smithers, at any rate.
"Perhaps," said Sarah Anne, rather maliciously"per-
haps he's been forgetting his situation and giving way to
thoughts of marrying our young missus. She's got a deal
o' money, you know, Miss Smithers, though her figure ain't
much to look at."
Sarah Anne's figure was plenty to look at, having a
tendency to break out into luxuriance where you least ex-
pected it.
It was in vain that Sarah Anne or Miss Smithers specu-
lated on the probable causes of the usher's absence. Mid-
night struck from the Dutch clock in the kitchen, the
eight-day clock on the staircase, the time-piece in the
drawing-rooma liberal and complicated piece of ma-
chinery which always struck eighteen to the dozenand
eventually from every clock in Slopperton, and yet there
was no sign of Jabez North.
No sign of Jabez North. A white face and a pair of
glazed eyes staring up at the sky, out on a dreary heath
three miles from Slopperton, exposed to the fury of a piti-
less storm. A man lying alone on a wretched mattress in
a miserable apartment in Blind Peterbut no Jabez
North.
Through the heartless storm, dripping wet with the
pelting rain, the girl they have christened Sillikens hastens
Dack to Blind Peter. The feeble glimmer of the candle,
## p. 108 (#124) ############################################
108 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
with the drooping wick sputtering in a pool of grease, is
the only light which illumes that cheerless neighbourhood.
The girl's heart beats with a terrible flutter as she ap-
proaches that light, for an agonising doubt is in her soul
about that other light; which she left so feebly burning,
and which may be now extinct. But she takes courage;
and pushing open the door, which opposes neither bolts nor
bars to any deluded votary of Mercury, she enters the
dimly-lighted room. The man lies with his face turned to
the wall; the old woman is seated by the hearth, on which
a dull and struggling flame is burning. She has on the
table among the medicine-bottles, another, which no doubt
contains spirits, for she has a broken teacup in her hand,
from which ever and anon she sips consolation, for it is evi-
dent she has been crying.
"Mother, how is hehow is he 7" the girl asks, with a
hurried agitation painful to witness, since it reveals how
much she dreads the answer.
"Better, deary, better0, ever so much better," the old
woman answers in a crying voice, and with another appli-
cation to the broken teacup.
"Better! Thank Heaven 'thank Heaven l' and the
girl, stealing softly to the bed-side, bends down and listens
to the sick man's breathing, which is feeble, but regular.
"He seems very fast asleep, grandmother. Has he
been sleeping all the time?" *
"Since when, deary?"
"Since I went out. Where's the doctor ?"
"Gone, deary. O, my blessed boy, to think that it
should come to this, and his dead mother was my only
child ! O dear, O dear!" And the old woman burst out
crying, only choking her sobs by the aid of the teacup.
"But he's better, grandmother; perhaps he'll get over
it now. I always said he would. 0, I'm so gladso glad."
The girl sat down in her wet garments, of which she never
once thought, on the little stool by the side of the bed.
Presently the sick man turned round and opened his eyes.
## p. 109 (#125) ############################################
MIDNIGHT BY THE SLOPPERTON CLOCKS. 109
"You've been away a long time, lass," he said.
Something in his voice, or in his way of speaking, she
did not know which, startled her; but she wound her arm
round his neck, and said
"Jim, my own dear Jim, the danger's past. The black
gulf you've been looking down is closed for these many
happy years to come, and maybe the sun will shine on our
wedding-day yet."
"Maybe, lassmaybe. But tell me, what's the time *
"Never mind the time, Jim. Very late, and a very
dreadful night ; but no matter for that ! You're better,
Jim ; and if the Sun never shone upon the earth again,
I don't think I should be able to be sorry, now you are
safe."
"Are all the lights out in Blind Peter, lass P" he asked.
"All the lights out? Yes, Jimthese two hours. But
why do you ask?"
"And in Slopperton did you meet many people, lass?"
"Not half-a-dozen in all the streets. Nobody would be
out in such a night, Jim, that could help it."
He turned his face to the wall again, and seemed to
sleep. The old woman kept moaning and mumbling over
the broken teacup
"To think that my blessed boy should come to thison
such a night too, on such a night !"
The storm raged with unabated fury, and the rain pour-
ing in at the dilapidated door threatened to flood the room.
Presently the sick man raised his head a little way from the
pillow.
"Lass," he said, "could you get me a drop o' wine? I
think, if I could drink a drop o' wine, it would put some
strength into me somehow."
"Grandmother," said the girl, "can I get him any?
You've got some money; it's only just gone twelve; I can
get in at the public-house. I will get in, if I knock them
up, to get a drop o' wine for Jim."
The old woman fumbled among her rags and produced
## p. 110 (#126) ############################################
110 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
a sixpence, part of the money given her from the slender
purse of the benevolent Jabez, and the girl hurried away to
fetch the wine.
The public-house was called the Seven Stars; the seven
stars being represented on a signboard in such a manner as
to bear rather a striking resemblance to seven yellow hot-
cross buns on a very blue background. The landlady of
the Seven Stars was putting her hair in papers when the
girl called Sillikens invaded the sanctity of her private life.
Why she underwent the pain and grief of curling her hair
for the admiration of such a neighbourhood as Blind Peter
is one of those enigmas of this dreary existence to solve
which the GEdipus has not yet appeared. I don't suppose
she much cared about suspending her toilet, and opening
her bar, for the purpose of selling sixpennyworth of port
wine; but when she heard it was for a sick man, she did
not grumble. The girl thanked her heartily, and hurried
homewards with her pitiful measure of wine.
Through the pitiless rain, and under the dark sky, it
was almost impossible to see your hand before you; but as
Sillikens entered the mouth of Blind Peter, a flash of light-
ning revealed to her the figure of a man gliding with a soft
step between the broken iron railings. In the instantaneous
glimpse she caught of him under the blue light, something
familiar in his face or form quickened the beating of her
heart, and made her turn to look back at him; but it was
too dark for her to see more than the indistinct figure of a
man hurrying away in the direction of Slopperton. Won-
dering who could be leaving Blind Peter on such a night
and at such an hour, she hastened back to carry her lover
the wine.
The old woman still sat before the hearth. The sputter-
ing candle had gone out, and the light from the miserable
little fire only revealed the dark outlines of the wretched
furniture and the figure of Jim's grandmother, looking, as
she sat mumbling over the broken teacup, like a wicked
witch performing an incantation over a portable cauldron.
## p. 111 (#127) ############################################
MIDNIGHT BY THE SLOPPERTON CLOCKS. 111
The girl hurried to the bed-sidethe sick man was not
there.
"Grandmother ! JimJim ! Where is he?" she asked,
in an alarmed voice, for the figure she had met hurrying
through the storm flashed upon her with a strange dis-
tinctness. "Jim Grandmother! tell me where he is, or I
shall go mad! Not gonenot gone out on such a night
as this, and in a burning fever?"
"Yes, lass, he's gone. My precious boy, my darling
boy. His dead mother was my only child, and he's gone
for ever and ever, and on this dreadful night. I'm a
miserable old woman."
No other explanation than this, no other words than
these, chattered and muttered again and again, could the
wretched girl extort from the old womanwho, half im-
becile, and more than half tipsy, sat grinning and grunting
over the teacup till she fell asleep in a heap on the cold
damp hearth, still hugging the empty teacup, and still
muttering, even in her sleep-
"His dead mother was my only child; and it's very
cruel it should come to this at last, and on such a night."
## p. 112 (#128) ############################################
CHAPTER VI.
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH.
THE morning after the storm broke bright and clear, pro-
mising a hot summer's day, but also promising a pleasant
breeze to counterbalance the heat of the sun. This was
the legacy of the storm, which, dying out about three
o'clock, after no purposeless fury, had left behind it a better
and purer air in place of the sultry atmosphere which had
heralded its coming.
Mr. Joseph Peters, seated at breakfast this morning,
attended by Kuppins nursing the "fondling," has a great
deal to say by means of the dirty alphabet (greasy from the
effects of matutinal bacon) about last night's storm. Kup-
pins has in nowise altered since we last saw her, and four
months have made no change in the inscrutable physiog-
nomy of the silent detective; but four months have made
a difference in the "fondling," now familiarly known as
"baby." Baby is short-coated; baby takes notice. This
accomplishment of taking notice appears to consist chiefly
in snatching at every article within its reach, from Kup-
pins's luxuriant locks to the hot bowl of Mr. Peters's pipe.
Baby also is possessed of a marvellous pair of shoes, which
are alternately in his mouth, under the fender, and upon
his feetto say nothing of their occasionally finding their
way out of the window, on to the dust-heap, and into
divers other domestic recesses too numerous to mention.
Baby is also possessed of a cap with frills, which it is
Kuppins's delight to small-plait, and the delight of baby
to demolish. Baby is devotedly attached to Kuppins, and
## p. 113 (#129) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 113
evinces his affection by such pleasing demonstrations as
poking his fists down her throat, hanging on to her nose,
pushing a tobacco-pipe up her nostrils, and other equally
gratifying proofs of infantine regard. Baby is, in short, a
wonderful child; and the eye of Mr. Peters at breakfast
wanders from his bacon and his water-cresses to his young
adopted, with a look of pride he does not attempt to
conceal.
Mr. Peters has risen in his profession since last Febru-
ary. He has assisted at the discovery of two or three rob-
beries, and has evinced on those occasions such a degree
of tact, triumphing so completely over the difficulties he
labours under from his infirmity, as to have won for him-
self a better place in the police force of Sloppertonand of
course a better salary. But business has been dull lately,
and Mr. Joseph Peters, who is ambitious, has found no
proper field for his abilities as yet.
"I should like an iron-safe case, a regular out and out
burglary," he muses, " or a good forgery, say to the tune of
a thousand or so. Or a bit of bigamy; that would be
something new. But a jolly good poisoning case might
make my fortune. If that there little 'un was growed up,"
he mentally ejaculated, as Kuppins's charge gave an un-
usually loud scream, "his lungs might be a fortune to me.
Lord," he continued, waxing metaphysical, "I don't look
upon that hinfant as a hinfant, I looks upon him as a
Voice."
The "voice" was a very powerful one just at this
moment; for in an interval of affectionate weakness Kup-
pins had regaled the "fondling" on the rind of Mr. Peters's
rasher, which, not harmonising with the limited develop-
ment of his swallowing apparatus, had brought out the
purple tints in his complexion with alarming violence.
For a long time Mr. Peters mused, and at last, after
signalling Kuppins, as was his wont on commencing a
conversation, with a loud snap of his finger and thumb,
he began thus:
I
## p. 114 (#130) ############################################
114 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"There's a case of shop-lifting at Halford's Heath, and
I've got to go over and look up some evidence in the vil-
lage. I'll tell you what I'll do with you; I'll take you
and baby over in Workins's traphe said as how he'd lend
it me whenever I liked to ask him for the loan of it; and
I'll stand treat to the Rose-Bush tea-gardens."
Never had the dirty alphabet fashioned such sweet
words. A drive in Mr. Workins's trap, and the Rose-Bush
tea-gardens! If Kuppins had been a fairy changeling,
and had awoke one morning to find herself a queen, I
don't think she would have chosen any higher delight
wherewith to celebrate her accession to the throne.
Kuppins had, during the few months of Mr. Peters's
residence in the indoor Eden of No. 5 Little Gulliver
Street, won a very high place in that gentleman's regards.
The elderly proprietress of the Eden was as nothing in the
eyes of Mr. Peters when compared with Kuppins. It was
Kuppins whom he consulted when giving his orders for
dinner; Kuppins, whose eye he knew to be infallible as
regarded a chop, either mutton or pork; whose finger was
as the finger of fate in the matter of hard or soft-roed
herrings. It was by Kuppins's advice he purchased some
mysterious garment for the baby, or some prodigious
wonder in the shape of a bandanna or a neck-handker-
chief for himself; and this tea-garden treat he had long
contemplated as a fitting reward for the fidelity of his
handmaiden.
Mr. Workins was one of the officials of the police force,
and Mr. Workins's trap was a happy combination of the cart
of a vender of feline provisions and the gig of a fast young
man of half a century gone bythat is to say, it partook
of the disadvantages of each, without possessing the capa-
bilities of either: but Mr. Peters looked at it with respect,
and in the eye of Kuppins it was a gorgeous and fashion-
able vehicle, which the most distinguished member of the
peerage might have driven along the Lady's Mile, at six
o'clock on a midsummer afternoon, with pride and delight.
## p. 115 (#131) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 115
At two o'clock on this June afternoon, behold Mr.
Workins's trap at the door of No. 5, Little Gulliver Street,
with Kuppins in a miraculous bonnet, and baby in a won-
derful hat, seated therein. Mr. Peters, standing on the
pavement, contemplated the appointments of the equipage
with some sense of pride, and the juvenile population
of the street hovered around absorbed in admiration of
the turn-out. -
"Mind your bonnet don't make the wehicle top-heavy,
miss," said one youthful votary of the renowned Joe Miller;
"it's big enough, anyways."
Miss Kuppins (she was Miss Kuppins in her Sunday
costume) flung a Parthian glance at the young barbarian,
and drew down a green veil, which, next to the "fondling,"
was the pride of her heart. Mr. Peters, armed with a
formidable whip, mounted to his seat by her side, and
away drove the trap, leaving the juvenile population afore-
said venting its envy in the explosion of a perfect artillery
of jeux de mots.
Mr. Workins's trap was as a fairy vehicle to Kuppins,
and Mr. Workins's elderly pony an enchanted quadruped,
under the strokes of whose winged hoofs Slopperton flew
away like a smoky dream, and was no more seenan
enchanted quadruped, by whose means the Slopperton
suburbs of unfinished houses, scaffolding, barren ground
for sale in building-lots, ugly lean streets, and inky river,
all melted into the distance, giving place to a road that
intersected a broad heath, in the undulations of which lay
fairy pools of blue water, in whose crystal depths the good
people might have admired their tiny beauties as in a
mirror. Indeed, it was pleasant to ride in Mr. Workins's
jingling trap through the pure country air, scented with the
odours of distant bean-fields, and, looking back, to see the
smoke of Sloppertonian chimneys a mere black daub on the
blue sky, and to be led almost to wonder how, on the face
of such a fair and lovely earth, so dark a blot as Slopperton
could be.
## p. 116 (#132) ############################################
116 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The Rose-Bush tea-gardens were a favourite resort of
Slopperton on a Sunday afternoon; and many teachers
there were in that great city who did not hesitate to
say that the rose-bushes of those gardens were shrubs
planted by his Satanic Majesty, and that the winding
road over Halford's Heath, though to the ignorant eye
bordered by bright blue streams and sweet-smelling
wild flowers, lay in reality between two lakes of fire and
brimstone. Some gentlemen, however, dared to say
gentlemen who wore white neckcloths too, and were
familiar and welcome in the dwellings of the poorthat
Slopperton might go to more wicked places than Rose-
Bush gardens, and might possibly be led into more evil
courses than the consumption of tea and water-cresses at
ninepence a-head. But in spite of all differences of
opinion, the Rose-Bush gardens prospered, and Rose-
Bush tea and bread-and-butter were pleasant in the mouth
of Slopperton.
Mr. Peters deposited his fair young companion, with
the baby in her arms, at the gate of the gardensafter
having authorised her to order two teas, and to choose an
arbourand walked off himself into the village of Halford
to transact his official business. -
The ordering of the teas and the choosing of the arbour
were a labour of love with the fair Kuppins. She selected
a rustic retreat, over which the luxuriant tendrils of a hop-
vine fell like a thick green curtain. It was a sight to see
Kuppins skirmishing with the earwigs and spiders in their
sylvan bower, and ultimately routing those insects from the
nests of their fathers. Mr. Peters returned from the village
in about an hour, hot and dusty, but triumphant as to the
issue of the business he had come about, and with an in-
ordinate thirst for tea at ninepence a-head. I don't know
whether Rose-Bush gardens made much out of the two
teas at ninepence, but I know the bread-and-butter and
water-cresses disappeared by the aid of the detective and
his fair companion as if by magic. It was pleasant to
## p. 117 (#133) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 117
watch the "fondling" during this humble fte champtre.
He had been brought up by hand, which would be better
expressed as by spoon, and had been fed on every variety
of comestible, from pap and farinaceous food, to beef-steaks
and onions, and the soft roes of red herringsto say noth-
ing of sugar-sticks, bacon-rinds, and the claws of shell-fish;
he therefore, immediately upon the appearance of the two
teas, laid violent hands on a bunch of water-cresses and a
slice of bread-and-butter, wiping the buttered side upon his
faceso as to give himself the appearance of an infant in a
violent perspirationpreparatory to its leisurely consump-
tion. He also made an onslaught on Mr. Peters's cup of
steaming tea, but scalding his hands therewith, withdrew
to the bosom of Kuppins, and gave vent to his indignation
in loud screams, which the detective said made the gardens
quite lively. After the two teas, Mr. Peters, attended by
Kuppins and the infant, strolled round the gardens, and
peered into the arbours, very few of which were tenanted
this week-day afternoon. The detective indulged in a
gambling speculation with some wonderful machine, the
distinguishing features of which were numbers and Bar-
celona nuts; and by the aid of which you might lose as
much as threepence half-penny before you knew where you
were, while you could not by any possibility win any thing.
There was also a bowling-green, and a swing, which Kup-
pins essayed to mount, and which repudiated that young
lady, by precipitating her forward on her face at the first
Start. -
Having exhausted the mild dissipations of the gardens,
Mr. Peters and Kuppins returned to their bower, where the
gentleman sat smoking his clay pipe, and contemplating
the infant, with a perfect serenity and calm enjoyment
delightful to witness. But there was more on Mr. Peters's
mind that summer's evening than the infant. He was
thinking of the trial of Richard Marwood, and the part
he had taken in that trial by means of the dirty alphabet;
he was thinking, perhaps, of the fate of Richardpoor un-
## p. 118 (#134) ############################################
118 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
lucky Richard, a hopeless and incurable lunatic, imprisoned
for life in a dreary asylum, and comforting himself in that
wretched place by wild fancies of imaginary greatness.
Presently Mr. Peters, with a preparatory snap of his fin-
gers, asks Kuppins if she can "call to mind that there
story of the lion and the mouse."
Kuppins can call it to mind, and proceeds to narrate
with volubility, how a lion once having rendered a service
to a mouse, found himself caught in a great net, and in
need of a friend; how this insignificant mouse had, by
sheer industry and perseverance, effected the escape of the
mighty lion. Whether they lived happy ever afterwards
Kuppins couldn't say, but had no doubt they did; that
being the legitimate conclusion of every legend, in this
young lady's opinion.
Mr. Peters scratched his head violently during this
story, to which he listened with his mouth very much
round the corner; and when it was finished he fell into
a reverie that lasted till the distant Slopperton clocks
chimed the quarter before eightat which time he laid
down his pipe, and departed to prepare Mr. Workins's trap
for the journey home.
Perhaps of the two journeys, the journey home was al-
most the more pleasant. It seemed to Kuppins's young
imagination as if Mr. Peters was bent on driving Mr. Wor-
kins's trap straight into the sinking sun, which was going
down in a sea of crimson behind a ridge of purple heath.
Slopperton was yet invisible, except as a dark cloud on the
purple sky. This road across the heath was very lonely on
every evening except Sunday, and the little party only met
one group of haymakers returning from their work, and
one stout farmer's wife laden with groceries hastening home
from Slopperton. It was a still evening, and not a sound
rose upon the clear air, except the last song of a bird or
the chirping of a grasshopper. Perhaps, if Kuppins had
been with any body else, she might have been frightened,
for Kuppins had a confused idea that such appearances
## p. 119 (#135) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 119
as highwaymen and ghosts are common to the vesper hour;
but in the company of Mr. Peters Kuppins would have
fearlessly met a regiment of highwaymen, or a churchyard
full of ghosts: for was he not the law and the police in
person, under whose shadow there could be no fear 2
Mr. Workins's trap was fast gaining on the sinking sun,
when Mr. Peters drew up, and paused irresolutely between
two roads. These diverging roads met at a point a little
further on, and the Sunday afternoon pleasure-seekers
crossing the heath, took sometimes one, sometimes the
other; but the road to the left was the least frequented,
being the narrower and more hilly, and this road Mr.
Peters took, still driving towards the dark line behind
which the red sun was going down.
The broken ground of the heath was all a-glow with
the warm crimson light; a dissipated skylark and an early
nightingale were singing a duet, to which the grasshoppers
seemed to listen with suspended chirpings; a frog of an
apparently fretful disposition was keeping up a captious
croak in a ditch by the side of the road; and beyond these
voices there seemed to be no sound beneath the sky. The
peaceful landscape and the tranquil evening shed a benign
influence upon Kuppins, and awakened the dormant poetry
in that young lady's breast.
"Lor', Mr. Peters," she said, "it's hard to think in such
a place as this, that gents of your purfession should be
wanted. I do think now, if I was ever led to feel to want
to take and murder somebody, which I hopes ain't likely
knowin' my duty to my neighbour betterI do think,
somehow, this evening would come back to my mind, and I
should hear them birds a-singing, and see that there sun
a-sinking, till I shouldn't be able to do it, somehow."
Mr. Peters shakes his head dubiously; he is a benevo-
lent man and a philanthropist; but he doesn't like his pro-
fession run down, and a murder and bread-and-cheese are
inseparable things in his mind.
"And, do you know," continued Kuppins, "it seems to
## p. 120 (#136) ############################################
120 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
me as if, when this world is so beautiful and quiet, it's
quite hard to think there's one wicked person in it to cast
a shadow on its peace."
As Kuppins said this, she and Mr. Peters were startled
by a shadow which came between them and the sinking sun
a distorted shadow thrown across the narrow road from the
sharp outline of the figure of a man lying upon a hillock a
little way above them. Now, there is not much to alarm
the most timid person in the sight of a man asleep upon a
summer's evening among heath and wild flowers; but some-
thing in this man's appearance startled Kuppins, who drew
nearer to Mr. Peters, and held the "fondling," now fast
asleep and muffled in a shawl, closer to her bosom. The
man was lying on his back, with his face upturned to the
evening sky, and his arms straight down at his sides. The
sound of the wheels of Mr. Workins's trap did not awaken
him; and even when Mr. Peters drew up with a sudden
jerk, the sleeping man did not raise his head. Now, I
don't know why Mr. Peters should stop, or why either he
or Kuppins should feel any curiosity about this sleeping
man; but they certainly did feel considerable curiosity. He
was dressed rather shabbily, but still like a gentleman; and
it was perhaps a strange thing for a gentleman to be sleep-
ing so soundly in such a lonely spot as this. Then again,
there was something in his attitudea want of ease, a cer-
tain stiffness, which had a strange effect upon both Kuppins
and Mr. Peters.
"I wish he'd move," said Kuppins; "he looks so awful
quiet, lying there all so lonesome."
"Call to him, my girl," said Mr. Peters with his
fingers.
Kuppins essayed a loud "Hilloa," but it was a dismal
failure, on which Mr. Peters gave a long shrill whistle,
which must surely have disturbed the peaceful dreams of
the seven sleepers, though it might not have awakened
them. The man on the hillock never stirred. The pony,
taking advantage of the halt, drew nearer to the heath
## p. 121 (#137) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 121
and began to crop the short grass by the road-side, thus
bringing Mr. Workins's trap a little nearer the sleeper.
"Get down, lass," said the fingers of the detective;
"get down, my lass, and have a look at him, for I can't
leave this 'ere pony."
Kuppins looked at Mr. Peters; and Mr. Peters looked
at Kuppins, as much as to say, "Well, what then?" So
Kuppins, to whom the laws of the Medes and Persians
would have been mild compared to the word of Mr. Peters,
surrendered the infant to his care, and descending from
the trap, mounted the hillock, and looked at the still,
reclining figure.
She did not look long, but returning rapidly to Mr.
Peters, took hold of his arm, and said
"I don't think he's asleepleastways, his eyes is open;
but he don't look as if he could see any thing, somehow.
He's got a little bottle in his hand."
Why Kuppins should keep so tight a hold on Mr.
Peters's arm while she said this, it is difficult to tell; but
she did clutch his coat-sleeve very tightly, looking back
while she spoke with her white face turned towards that
whiter face under the evening sky.
Mr. Peters jumped quickly from the trap, tied the el-
derly pony to a furze-bush, mounted the hillock, and pro-
ceeded to inspect the sleeping figure. The pale, set face,
and the fixed blue eyes, looked up at the crimson light
melting into the purple shadows of the evening sky, but
never more would earthly sunlight or shadow, or night or
morning, or storm or calm, be of any account to that quiet
figure lying on the heath. Why the man was there, or how
he had come there, was a part of the great mystery under
the darkness of which he lay: and that mystery was Death!
He had died apparently by poison administered by his own
hand; for on the grass by his side there was a little empty
bottle labelled "Opium," on which his fingers lay, not clasp-
ing it, but lying as if they had fallen over it. His clothes
were soaked through with wet, so that he must in all pro-
## p. 122 (#138) ############################################
122 TIE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
bability have lain in that place through the storm of the
previous night. A silver watch was in the pocket of his
waistcoat, which Mr. Peters found, on looking at it, to have
stopped at ten o'clockten o'clock of the night before, most
likely. His hat had fallen off, and lay at a little distance,
and his curling light hair hung in wet ringlets over his
high forehead. His face was handsome, the features well
chiselled, but the cheeks were sunken and hollow, making
the large blue eyes seem larger.
Mr. Peters, in examining the pockets of the suicide,
found no clue to his identity; a handkerchief, a little sil-
ver, a few halfpence, a penknife wrapped in a leaf torn out
of a Latin Grammar, were the sole contents.
The detective reflected for a few moments, with his
mouth on one side, and then mounting the highest hillock
near, looked over the surrounding country. He presently
descried a group of haymakers at a little distance, whom he
signalled with a loud whistle. To them, through Kuppins
as interpreter, he gave his directions; and two of the
tallest and strongest of the men took the body by the head
and feet and carried it between them, with Kuppins's shawl
spread over the still, white face. They were two miles from
Slopperton, and those two miles were by no means pleasant
to Kuppins seated in Mr. Workins's trap, which Mr. Peters
drove slowly, so as to keep pace with the two men and their
ghastly burden. Kuppins's shawl, which of course would
never be any use as a shawl again, was no good to con-
ceal the sharp outline of the face it covered; for Kuppins
had seen those blue eyes, and once to see was always
to see them, as she thought. The dreary journey came at
last to a dreary end at the police-office, where the men de-
posited their dreadful load, and being paid for their trouble,
departed rejoicing. Mr. Peters was busy enough for the
next half-hour giving an account of the finding of the body,
and issuing handbills of "Found dead, &c."
Kuppins and the "fondling" returned to Little Gulliver
Street, and if ever there had been a heroine in that street,
## p. 123 (#139) ############################################
THE QUIET FIGURE ON THE HEATH. 123
that heroine was Kuppins. People came from three streets
off to see her, and to hear the story, which she told so often
that she came at last to tell it mechanically, and to render
it slightly obscure by the vagueness of her punctuation.
Any thing in the way of supper that Kuppins would accept,
and two or three dozen suppers if Kuppins would conde-
scend to partake of them, were at Kuppins's service; and
her reign as heroine-in-chief of this dark romance in real
life was only put an end to by the appearance of Mr. Peters,
the hero, who came home by and by, hot and dusty, to an-
nounce to the world of Little Gulliver Street, by means of
the alphabet, very grimy after his exertions, that the dead
man had been recognised as the principal usher of a great
school up at the other end of the town, and that his name
was, or had been, Jabez North. His motive for committing
suicide he had carried a secret with him into the dark
and mysterious region to which he was a voluntary traveller;
and Mr. Peters, whose business it was to pry about the con-
fines of this shadowy land, though powerless to penetrate
the interior, could only discover some faint rumour of an
ambitious love for his master's daughter as being the cause
of the young usher's untimely end. What secrets this dead
man had carried with him into the shadow-land, who shall
say? There might be one, perhaps, which even Mr. Peters,
with his utmost acuteness, could not discover.
## p. 124 (#140) ############################################
CHAPTER VII.
THE USHER RESIGNS HIS SITUATION.
ON the very day on which Mr. Peters treated Kuppins and
the "fondling" to tea and water-cresses, Dr. Tappenden and
Jane his daughter returned to their household gods at Slop-
perton.
Who shall describe the ceremony and bustle with which
that great dignitary, the master of the house, was received?
He had announced his return by the train which reached
Slopperton at seven o'clock; so at that hour a well-furnished
tea-table was ready laid in the studythat terrible apart-
ment which little boys entered with red eyes and pale cheeks,
emerging therefrom in a pleasant glow, engendered by a spe-
cific peculiar to schoolmasters whose desire it is not to spoil
the child. But no ghosts of by-gone canings, no infantine
whimpers from shadow-land(though little Allecompain,
dead and gone, had received correction in this very room)
haunted the doctor's sanctoruma cheerful apartment,
warm in winter, and cool in summer, and handsomely fur-
nished at all times. The silver teapot reflected the evening
sunshine; and reflected too Sarah Jane laying the table,
none the handsomer for being represented upside down,
with a tendency to become collapsed or elongated, as she
hovered about the tea-tray. Anchovy-paste, pound-cake,
Scotch marmalade and fancy bread, all seemed to cry aloud
for the arrival of the doctor and his daughter to demolish
them; but for all that there was fear in the hearts of the
household as the hour for that arrival drew near. What
would he say to the absence of his factotum ? Who should
## p. 125 (#141) ############################################
THE USHER RESIGNS HIS SITUATION. 125
tell him? Every one was innocent enough, certainly; but
in the first moment of his fury might not the descending
avalanche of the doctor's wrath crush the innocent? Miss
Smitherswho, as well as being presiding divinity of the
young gentlemen's wardrobes, was keeper of the keys of
divers presses and cupboards, and had sundry awful trusts
connected with tea and sugar and butcher's billswas
elected by the whole household, from the cook to the knife-
boy, as the proper person to make the awful announcement
of the unaccountable disappearance of Mr. Jabez North.
So, when the doctor and his daughter had alighted from the
fly which brought them and their luggage from the station,
Miss Smithers hovered timidly about them, on the watch
for a propitious moment.
"How have you enjoyed yourself, miss? Judging by
your looks I should say very much indeed for never did I
see you looking better," said Miss Smithers, with more en-
thusiasm than punctuation, as she removed the shawl from
the lovely shoulders of Miss Tappenden.
"Thank you, Smithers, I am better," replied the young
lady, with languid condescension. Miss Tappenden, on the
strength of never having any thing the matter with her,
was always complaining, and passed her existence in taking
sal-volatile and red lavender, and reading three volumes a
day from the circulating library.
"And how," asked the ponderous voice of the ponderous
doctor, "how is every thing going on, Smithers?" By this
time they were seated at the tea-table, and the learned Tap-
penden was in the act of putting five lumps of sugar in his
cup, while the fair Smithers lingered in attendance.
"Quite satisfactory, sir, I'm sure," replied that young
lady, growing very much confused. "Every thing quite
satisfactory, sir; leastways"
"What do you mean by leastways, Smithers?" asked
the doctor, impatiently. "In the first place it isn't English;
and in the next it sounds as if it meant something un-
pleasant. For goodness sake, Smithers, be straightforward
## p. 126 (#142) ############################################
126 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
and business-like. Has anything gone wrong? What is it?
And why wasn't I informed of it?"
Smithers, in despair at her incapability of answering these
three questions at once, as no doubt she ought to have been
able to do, or the doctor would not have asked them, stam-
mered out,-
"Mr. North, sir"
"'Mr. North, sir'! Well, what of 'Mr. North, sir?"
By the bye, where is Mr. North? Why isn't he here to re-
ceive us?" -
Smithers feels that she is in for it; so, after two or
three nervous gulps, and other convulsive movements of
the throat, she continues thus"Mr. North, sir, didn't
come home last night, sir. We sat up for him till one
o'clock this morninglast night, sir."
The rising storm in the doctor's face is making Smithers's
English more un-English every moment.
"Didn't come home last night? Didn't return to my
house at the hour of ten, which hour has been appointed by
me for the retiring to rest of every person in my employ-
ment?" cried the doctor, aghast.
"No, sir! Nor yet this morning, sir! Nor yet this
afternoon, sir! And the West-Indian pupils have been
looking out of the window, sir, and would, which we told
them not till we were hoarse, sir."
"The person intrusted by me with the care of my pupils
abandoning his post, and my pupils looking out of the win-
dow!" exclaimed Dr. Tappenden, in the tone of a man who
says"The glory of England has departed! You wouldn't,
perhaps, believe it; but it has!"
"We didn't know what to do, sir, and so we thought
we'd better not do it," continued the bewildered Smithers.
"And we thought as you was coming back to-day, we'd
better leave it till you did come backand please, sir, will
you take any new-laid eggs?"
"Eggs!" said the doctor; "new-laid eggs! Go away,
Smithers. There must be some steps taken immediately.
## p. 127 (#143) ############################################
THE USHER RESIGNS HIS SITUATION. 127
That young man was my right hand, and I would have
trusted him with untold gold; or," he added, "with my
cheque-book."
As he uttered the words "cheque-book," he, as it were,
instinctively laid his hand upon the pocket which contained
that precious volume; but as he did so, he remembered that
he had used the last leaf but one when writing a cheque for
a midsummer butcher's bill, and that he had a fresh book
in his desk untouched. This desk was always kept in the
study, and the doctor gave an involuntary glance in the di-
rection in which it stood.
It was a very handsome piece of furniture, ponderous,
like the doctor himself; a magnificent construction of shin-
ing walnut-wood, and dark green morocco, with a recess for
the doctor's knees, and on either side of this recess two rows
of drawers, with brass handles and Bramah locks. The
centre drawer on the left-hand side contained an inner and
secret drawer, and towards the lock of this drawer the doctor
looked, for this contained his new cheque-book. The wal-
nut-wood round the lock of this centre drawer seemed a
little chipped; the doctor thought he might as well get up
and look at it; and a nearer examination showed the brass
handle to be slightly twisted, as if a powerful hand had
wrenched it out of shape. The doctor, taking hold of the
handle to pull it straight, drew the drawer out, and scat-
tered its contents upon the floor; also the contents of the
inner drawer, and amongst them the cheque-book, half-a-
dozen leaves of which had been torn out.
"So," said the doctor, "this man, whom I trusted, has
broken open my desk, and finding no money, he has taken
blank cheques, in the hope of being able to forge my name.
To think that I did not know this man!"
To think that you did not, doctor; to think, too, that
you do not even now, perhaps, know half this man may have
been capable of.
But it was time for action, not reflection; so the doctor
hurried to the railway station, and telegraphed to his bank-
## p. 128 (#144) ############################################
128 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
ers in London to stop any cheques presented in his signature,
and to have the person presenting such cheques immediately
arrested. From the railway station he hurried, in an undig-
nified perspiration, to the police-office, to institute a search
for the missing Jabez, and then returned home, striking
terror into the hearts of his household, ay, even to the soul
of his daughter, the lovely Jane, who took an extra dose of
sal-volatile, and went to bed to read "Lady Clarinda, or the
Heart-breaks of Belgravia."
With the deepening twilight came a telegraphic message
from the bank to say that cheques for divers sums had been
presented and cashed by different people in the course of the
day. On the heels of this message came another from the
police-station, announcing that a body had been found upon
Halford Heath answering to the description of the missing
Infln.
The bewildered schoolmaster, hastening to the station,
recognises, at a glance, the features of his late assistant.
The contents of the dead man's pocket, the empty bottle
with the too significant label, are shown him. No, some
other hand than the usher's must have broken open the
desk in the study, and the unfortunate young man's reputa-
tion had been involved in a strange coincidence. But the
motive for his rash act? That is explained by a most af-
fecting letter in the dead man's hand, which is found in his
desk. It is addressed to the doctor, expresses heartfelt
gratitude for that worthy gentleman's past kindnesses, and
hints darkly at a hopeless attachment to his daughter, which
renders the writer's existence a burden too heavy for him to
bear. For the rest, Jabez North has passed a threshold,
over which the boldest and most inquisitive scarcely care to
follow him. So he takes his own little mystery with him
into the land of the great mystery.
There is, of course, an inquest, at which two different
chemists, who sold laudanum to Jabez North on the night
before his disappearance, give their evidence. There is an-
## p. 129 (#145) ############################################
THE USHER RESIGNS HIS SITUATION. 129
other chemist, who deposes to having sold him, a day or two
before, a bottle of patent hair-dye, which is also a poisonous
compound; but surely he never could have thought of poi-
soning himself with hair-dye.
The London police are at fault in tracing the presenters
of the cheques; and the proprietors of the bank, or the
clerks, who maintain a common fund to provide against
their own errors, are likely to be considerable losers. In
the mean while the worthy doctor announces, by advertise-
ments in the Slopperton papers, that "his pupils assemble
on the 27th of July."
## p. 130 (#146) ############################################
- - - - -
ook the Chirb,
A HOLY INSTITUTION.
CHAPTER I.
THE WALUE OF AN OPERA-GLASS.
PARIS!City of fashion, pleasure, beauty, wealth, rank,
talent, and indeed all the glories of the earth. City of pal-
aces, in which La Wallire smiled, and Scarron sneered;
under whose roofs the echoes of Bossuet's voice have re-
sounded, while folly, coming to be amused, has gone away
in tears, only to forget to-morrow what it has heard to-
night. Glorious city, in which a bon-mot is more famous
than a good action; which is richer in the records of Ninon
de Lenclos than in those of Joan of Arc : for which Beau-
marchais wrote, and Marmontel moralised; which Scottish
John Law infected with a furious madness, in those halcyon
days when jolly, good-tempered, accomplished, easy-going
Philippe of Orleans held the reins of power. Paris, which
young Arouet, afterwards Voltaire, ruled with the distant
jingle of his jester's wand, from the far retreat of Ferney.
Paris, in which Madame du Deffand dragged out those
weary, brilliant, dismal, salon-keeping years, quarrelling with
Mademoiselle de l'Espinasse, and corresponding with Horace
Walpole; ce cher Horace, who described these brilliant French
ladies as women who neglected all the duties of life, and gave
very pretty suppers.
Paris, in which Bailly spoke, and Madame Roland dream-
ed; in which Marie Antoinette despaired, and gentle Prin-
cess Elizabeth laid down her saintly life; in which the son
## p. 131 (#147) ############################################
THE VALUE OF AN OPERA-GLASS. 131
of St. Louis went calmly to the red mouth of that terrible
machine invented by the charitable doctor who thought to
benefit his fellow creatures. City, under whose roofs bilious
Robespierre suspected and feared; beneath whose shadow
the glorious twenty-two went hand in hand to death, with
the psalm of freedom swelling from their lips. Paris, which
rejoiced when Marengo was won, and rang joy-bells for the
victories of Lodi, Arcola, Austerlitz, Auerstadt, and Jena ;
Paris, which mourned over fatal Waterloo, and opened its
arms, after weary years of waiting, to take to its heart only
the ashes of the Ruler of its election; Paris, the marvellous;
Paris, the beautiful, whose streets are as streets of palaces
fairy wonders of opulence and art;can it be that under
some of thy myriad roofs there are such incidental trifles
as misery, starvation, vice, crime, and death? Nay, we
will not push the question, but enter at once into one
of the most brilliant of the temples of that goddess whose
names are Pleasure, Fashion, Folly, and Idleness: and
what more splendid shrine can we choose whereat to wor-
ship the Divinity called Pleasure than the Italian Opera
House ?
To-night the house is thronged with fashion and beauty.
Bright uniforms glitter in the backgrounds of the boxes, and
sprinkle the crowded parterre. The Citizen King is there
not King of France; no such poor title will he have, but
King of the French. His throne is based, not on the broad
land, but on the living hearts of his people. May it never
prove to be built on a shallow foundation! In eighteen hun-
dred and forty-two, all is well for Louis Philippe and his
happy family.
In the front row of the stalls, close to the orchestra, a
young man lounges, with his opera-glass in his hand. He
is handsome and very elegant, and is dressed in the most
perfect taste and the highest fashion. Dark curling hair
clusters round his delicately white forehead; his eyes are of
a bright blue, shaded by auburn lashes, which contrast
rather strangely with his dark hair. A very dark and thick
## p. 132 (#148) ############################################
132 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
moustache only reveals now and then his thin lower lip and
a set of dazzling white teeth. His nose is a delicate aqui-
line, and his features altogether bear the stamp of aristoc-
racy. He is quite alone, this elegant lounger, and of the
crowd of people of rank and fashion around him not one
turns to speak to him. His listless white hand is thrown on
the cushion of the stall on which he leans, as he glances
round the house with one indifferent sweep of his opera-
glass. Presently his attention is arrested by the conversa-
tion of two gentlemen close to him, and without seeming to
listen, he hears what they are saying.
"Is the Spanish princess here to-night?" asks one.
"What, the marquis's niece, the girl who has that im-
mense property in Spanish America? Yes, she is in the box
next to the king's; don't you see her diamonds? They and
her eyes are brilliant enough to set the curtains of the box
On fire."
"She is immensely rich, then?"
"She is an Eldorado. The Marquis de Cevennes has
no children, and all his property will go to her; her
Spanish American property comes from her mother. She
is an orphan, as you know, and the marquis is her
guardian."
"She is handsome; but there's just a little too much of
the demon in those great almond-shaped black eyes and that
Small determined mouth. What a fortune she would be to
some intriguing adventurer '"
"An adventurer ! Walerie de Cevennes the prize of an
adventurer! Show me the man capable of winning her,
without rank and fortune equal to hers; and I will say you
have found the eighth wonder of the world."
The listener's eyes light up with a strange flash, and lift-
ing his glass, he looks for a few moments carelessly round
the house, and then fixes his gaze upon the box next to that
occupied by the royal party.
The Spanish beauty is indeed a glorious creature; of a
loveliness rich alike in form and colour, but with hauteur
## p. 133 (#149) ############################################
THE WALUE OF AN OPERA-GLASS. 133
-------------
and determination expressed in every feature of her face. A
man of some fifty years of age is seated by her side, and be-
hind her chair two or three gentlemen stand, the breasts of
whose coats glitter with stars and orders. They are speak-
ing to her; but she pays very little attention to them. If
she answers, it is only by a word, or a bend of her proud
head, which she does not turn towards them. She never
takes her eyes from the curtain, which presently rises. The
opera is La Sonnambula. The Elvino is the great singer of
the daya young man whose glorious voice and handsome
face have made him the rage of the musical world. Of his
origin different stories are told. Some say he was originally
a shoemaker, others declare him to be the son of a prince.
He has, however, made his fortune at seven-and-twenty, and
can afford to laugh at these stories. The opera proceeds, and
the powerful glass of the lounger in the stalls records the
minutest change in the face of Walerie de Cevennes. It
records one faint quiver, and then a firmer compression of
the thin lips, when the Elvino appears; and the eyes of the
lounger fasten more intently, if possible, than before upon
the face of the Spanish beauty.
Presently Elvino sings the grand burst of passionate re-
proach, in which he upbraids Amina's fancied falsehood.
As the house applauds at the close of the scene, Walerie's
bouquet falls at the feet of the Amina. Elvino, taking it in
his hand, presents it to the lady, and as he does so, the
lounger's glass, which, more rapidly than the bouquet has
fallen, has turned to the stage, records a movement so quick
as to be almost a feat of legerdemain. The great Tenor has
taken a note from the bouquet. The lounger sees the tri-
umphant glance towards the box next the king's, though it
is rapid as lightning. He sees the tiny morsel of glistening
paper crumpled in the singer's hand; and after one last
contemplative look at the proud brow and set lips of Valerie
de Cevennes, he lowers the glass.
"My glass is well worth the fifteen guineas I paid for
it," he whispers to himself. "That girl can command her
## p. 134 (#150) ############################################
134 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
eyes; they have not one traitorous flash. But those thin
lips cannot keep a secret from a man with a decent amount
of brains."
When the opera is over, the lounger of the stalls leaves
his place by the orchestra, and loiters in the winter night
outside the stage-door. Perhaps he is enamoured of some
lovely coryphelovely in all the gorgeousness of flake white
and liquid rouge; and yet that can scarcely be, or he would
be still in the stalls, or hovering about the side-scenes, for
the ballet is not over. Two or three carriages, belonging to
the principal singers, are waiting at the stage-door. Pre-
sently a tall, stylish-looking man, in a loose over-coat,
emerges; a groom opens the door of a well-appointed
little brougham, but the gentleman says
"No, Fare, you can go home. I shall walk."
"But, monsieur," remonstrates the man, "monsieur is
not aware that it rains."
Monsieur says he is quite aware of the rain; but that he
has an umbrella, and prefers walking. So the brougham
drives off with the distressed Fare, who consoles himself
at a caf high up on the boulevard, where he plays cart
with a limp little pack of cards, and drinks effervescing
lemonade.
The lounger of the stalls, standing in the shadow, hears
this little dialogue, and sees also, by the light of the
carriage-lamps, that the gentleman in the loose coat is no
less a personage than the hero of the opera. The lounger
also seems to be indifferent to the rain, and to have a fancy
for walking; for when Elvino crosses the road and turns
into an opposite street, the lounger follows. It is a dark
night, with a little drizzling raina night by no means
calculated to tempt an elegantly-dressed young man to
brave all the disagreeables and perils of dirty pavements
and overflowing gutters; but neither Elvino nor the lounger
seem to care for mud or rain, for they walk at a rapid pace
through several streetsthe lounger always a good way
behind and always in the shadow. He has a light step,
## p. 135 (#151) ############################################
THE WALUE OF AN OPERA-GLASS. 135
which wakes no echo on the wet pavement; and the fashion-
able tenor has no idea that he is followed. He walks
through long narrow streets to the Rue Rivoli, thence
across one of the bridges. Presently he enters a very aris-
tocratic, but retired street, in a lonely quarter of the city.
The distant roll of carriages and the tramp of a passing
gendarmes are the only sounds that break the silence.
There is not a creature to be seen in the wide street but the
two men. Elvino turns to look about him, sees no one,
and walks on till he comes to a mansion at the corner,
screened from the street by a high wall, with great gates,
and a porter's lodge. Detached from the house, and shel-
tered by an angle of the wall, is a little pavilion, the
windows of which look into the courtyard or garden within.
Close to this pavilion is a narrow, low door of carved oak,
studded with great iron nails, and almost hidden in the
heavy masonry of the wall which frames it. The house in
early times has been a convent, and is now the property of
the Marquis de Cevennes. Elvino, with one more glance
up and down the dimly-lighted street, approaches this door-
way, and stooping down to the key-hole whistles softly
three bars of a melody from Don GiovanniLa ci darem la
7714720.
"So!" says the lounger, standing in the shadow of a
house opposite, "we are getting deeper into the mystery;
the curtain is up, and the play is going to begin."
As the clocks of Paris chime the half-hour after eleven
the little door turns on its hinges, and a faint light in the
courtyard within falls upon the figure of the fashionable
tenor. This light comes from a lamp in the hand of a pretty-
looking, Smartly-dressed girl, who has opened the door.
"She is not the woman I took her for, this Walerie,"
says the lounger, "or she would have opened that door
herself. She makes her waiting-maid her confidantea
false step, which proves her either stupid or inexperienced.
Not stupid; her face gives the lie to that. Inexperienced,
then. So much the better."
## p. 136 (#152) ############################################
136 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
As the spy meditates thus, Elvino passes through the
doorway, stooping as he crosses the threshold, and the light
disappears.
"This is either a private marriage, or something worse,"
mutters the lounger. "Scarcely the last. Hers is the face
of a woman capable of a madness, but not of a degradation
the face of a Phaedra rather than a Messalina. I have
seen enough of the play for to-night."
## p. 137 (#153) ############################################
* CHAPTER II.
WORKING IN THE DARK.
EARLY the next morning a gentleman rings the bell of the
porter's lodge belonging to the mansion of the Marquis de
Cevennes, and on seeing the porter addresses him thus
"The lady's-maid of Mademoiselle Walerie de Cevennes
is perhaps visible at this early hour?"
The porter thinks not; it is very early, only eight
o'clock; Mademoiselle Finette never appears till nine. The
toilette of her mistress is generally concluded by twelve;
after twelve, the porter thinks monsieur may succeed in
seeing Mademoiselle Finettebefore twelve, he thinks not.
The stranger rewards the porter with a five-franc piece
for this valuable information; it is very valuable to the
stranger, who is the lounger of last night, to discover that
the name of the girl who held the lamp is Finette.
The lounger seems to have as little to do this morning
as he had last night; for he leans against the gateway, his
cane in his hand, and a half-smoked cigar in his mouth,
looking up at the house of the marquis with lazy in-
difference.
The porter, conciliated by the five-franc piece, is in-
clined to gossip.
"A fine old building," says the lounger, still looking up
at the house, every window of which is shrouded by pon-
derous venetian shutters.
"Yes, a fine old building. It has been in the family of
the marquis for two hundred years, but was sadly mutilated
## p. 138 (#154) ############################################
138 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in the first revolution; monsieur may see the work of the
cannon amongst the stone decorations."
"And that pavilion to the left, with the painted win-
dows and gothic decorationsa most extraordinary little
edifice," says the lounger.
Yes, monsieur has observed it? It is a great deal more
modern than the house; was built so lately as the reign of
Louis the Fifteenth, by a dissipated old marquis, who gave
supper-parties at which the guests used to pour champagne
out of the windows, and pelt the servants in the courtyard
with the empty bottles. It is certainly a curious little
place; but would monsieur believe something more curious?
Monsieur declares that he is quite willing to believe
any thing the porter may be good enough to tell him. He
says this with a well-bred indifference, as he lights a fresh
cigar, which is quite aristocratic, and which might stamp
him a scion of the noble house of De Cevennes itself.
"Then," replies the porter, "monsieur must know that
Mademoiselle Walerie, the proud, the high-born, the beau-
tiful, has lately taken it into her aristocratic head to occupy
that pavilion, attended only by her maid Finette, in prefer-
ence to her magnificent apartments, which monsieur may see
yonder on the first floor of the mansiona range of ten
windows. Does not monsieur think this very extraordi-
nary?"
Scarcely. Young ladies have strange whims. Monsieur
never allows himself to be surprised by a woman's conduct,
or he might pass his life in a state of continual astonish-
ment.
The porter perfectly agrees with monsieur. The porter
is a married man, "and, monsieur ?" the porter ven-
tures to ask with a shrug of interrogation.
Monsieur says he is not married yet.
Something in monsieur's manner emboldens the porter
to say
"But monsieur is perhaps contemplating a marriage?"
Monsieur takes his cigar from his mouth, raises his blue
## p. 139 (#155) ############################################
WORKING IN THE DARK. 139.
eyes to the level of that range of ten windows, indicated
just now by the porter, takes one long and meditative
survey of the magnificent mansion opposite him, and then
replies, with aristocratic indifference
"Perhaps. These Cevennes are immensely rich?"
"Immensely! To the amount of millions." The porter
is prone to extravagant gesticulation, but he cannot lift
either his eyebrows or his shoulders high enough to express
the extent of the wealth of the De Cevennes.
The lounger takes out his pocket-book, writes a few lines,
and tearing the leaf out, gives it to the porter, saying
"You will favour me, my good friend, by giving this to
Mademoiselle Finette at your earliest convenience. You
were not always a married man; and can therefore under-
stand that it will be as well to deliver my little note
secretly."
Nothing can exceed the intense significance of the
porter's wink as he takes charge of the note. The lounger
nods an indifferent good-day, and strolls away. -
"A marquis at the least," says the porter. "O, Made-
moiselle Finette, you do not wear black satin gowns and a
gold watch and chain for nothing."
The lounger is ubiquitous, this winter's day. At three
o'clock in the afternoon he is seated on a bench in the
gardens of the Luxembourg, smoking a cigar. He is
dressed as before, in the last Parisian fashion; but his
greatcoat is a little open at the throat, displaying a loosely-
tied cravat of a peculiarly bright blue.
A young person of the genus lady's-maid, tripping
daintily by, is apparently attracted by this blue cravat, for
she hovers about the bench for a few moments and then
seats herself at the extreme end of it; as far as possible
from the indifferent lounger, who has not once noticed her
by so much as one glance of his cold blue eyes.
His cigar is nearly finished, so he waits till it is quite
done; then, throwing away the stump, he says, scarcely
looking at his neighbour
## p. 140 (#156) ############################################
140 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Mademoiselle Finette, I presume?"
"The same, monsieur."
"Then perhaps, mademoiselle, as you have condescended
to favour me with an interview, and as the business on
which I have to address you is of a strictly private nature,
you will also condescend to come a little nearer to me?"
He says this, without appearing to look at her, while he
lights another cigar. He is evidently a desperate smoker,
and caresses his cigar, looking at the red light and blue
smoke almost as if it were his familiar spirit, by whose aid
he could work out wonderful calculations in the black art,
and without which he would perhaps be powerless. Made-
moiselle Finette looks at him with a great deal of surprise
and not a little indignation, but obeys him, nevertheless,
and seats herself close by his side.
"I trust monsieur will believe that I should never have
consented to afford him this interview, had I not been
assured"
"Monsieur will spare you, mademoiselle, the trouble of
telling him why you come here, since it is enough for him
that you are here. I have nothing to do, mademoiselle,
either with your motives or your scruples. I told you in
my note that I required you to do me a service, for which I
could afford to pay you handsomely; that, on the other
hand, if you were unwilling to do me this service, I had it
in my power to cause your dismissal from your situation.
Your coming here is a tacit declaration of your willingness
to serve me. So much and no more preface is needed.
And now to business."
He seems to sweep this curt preface away, as he waves
off a cloud of the blue smoke from his cigar with one
motion of his small hand. The lady's-maid, thoroughly
subdued by a manner which is quite new to her, awaits his
pleasure to speak, and stares at him with surprised black
eVeS.
y He is not in a hurry. He seems to be consulting the
blue smoke prior to committing himself by any further re-
## p. 141 (#157) ############################################
WORKING IN THE DARK. 141
mark. He takes his cigar from his mouth, and looks
into the bright red spot at the lighted end, as if it were the
lurid eye of his familiar demon. After consulting it for a
few seconds, he says, with the same indifference with which
he would make some observation on the winter's day
"So, your mistress, Mademoiselle Valerie de Cevennes,
has been so imprudent as to contract a secret marriage with
an opera-singer?"
He has determined on hazarding this guess. If he is
right, it is the best and swiftest way of coming at the truth;
if wrong, he is no worse off than before. One glance at the
girl's face tells him he has struck home, and has hit upon
the entire truth. He is striking in the dark; but he is a
mathematician, and can calculate the effect of every blow.
"Yes, a secret marriage, of which you were the wit-
ness." This is his second blow; and again the girl's face
tells him he has struck home.
"Father Prot has betrayed us, then, monsieur, for he
alone could tell you this," said Finette.
The lounger understands in a moment that Father Prot
is the priest who performed the marriage. Another point
in his game. He continues, still stopping now and then to
take a puff at his cigar, and speaking with an air of com-
plete indifference
"You see, then, that this secret marriage, and the part
you took with regard to it, have, no matter whether through
the worthy priest, Father Prot" He stops at this point
to knock the ashes from his cigar, and a sidelong glance
at the girl's face tells him that he is right again, Father
Prot is the priest;" or some other channel, come to my
knowledge. Though a French woman, you may be ac-
quainted with the celebrated aphorism of one of our Eng-
lish neighbours, 'Knowledge is power. Very well, ma-
demoiselle, how if I use my power?"
"Monsieur means that he can deprive me of my present
place, and prevent my getting another." As she said this,
Mademoiselle Finette screwed out of one of her black eyes a
## p. 142 (#158) ############################################
142 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
small bead of water, which was the best thing she could
produce in the way of a tear, but which, coming into im
mediate contact with a sticky white compound called pearl-
powder, used by the lady's-maid to enhance her personal
charms, looked rather more like a digestive pill than any
thing else.
"But, on the other hand, I may not use my power;
and, indeed, I should deeply regret the painful necessity
which would compel me to injure a lady."
Mademoiselle Finette, encouraged by this speech, wiped
away the digestive pill.
"Therefore, mademoiselle, the case resolves itself to
this: serve me, and I will reward yourefuse to do so, and
I can injure you."
A cold glitter in the blue eyes converts the words into
a threat, without the aid of any extra emphasis from the
WOlce.
"Monsieur has only to command," answers the lady's-
maid; "I am ready to serve him."
"This Monsieur Elvino will be at the gate of the little
pavilion to-night?"
"At a quarter to twelve."
"Then I will be there at half-past eleven. You will
admit me instead of him. That is all."
"But my mistress, monsieur: she will discover that I
have betrayed her, and she will kill me. You do not know
Mademoiselle de Cevennes."
"Pardon me, I think I do know her. She need never
learn that you have betrayed her. Remember, I have dis-
covered the appointed signal;you are deceived by my use
of that signal, and you open the door to the wrong man.
For the rest, I will shield you from all harm. Your mis-
tress is a glorious creature; but perhaps that high spirit
may be taught to bend."
"It must first be broken, monsieur," says Mademoiselle
Finette.
"Perhaps," answers the lounger, rising as he speaks
## p. 143 (#159) ############################################
WORKING IN THE DARK. 143
"Mademoiselle, au revoir." He drops five twinkling pieces
of gold into her hand, and strolls slowly away.
The lady's-maid watches the receding figure with a be-
wildered stare. Well may Finette Lris be puzzled by this
man: he might mystify wiser heads than hers. As he walks
with his lounging gait through the winter sunset, many
turn to look at his aristocratic figure, fair face, and black
hair. If the worst man who looked at him could have
seen straight through those clear blue eyes into his soul,
would there have been something revealed which might
have shocked and revolted even this worst man? Perhaps.
Treachery is revolting, surely, to the worst of us. The
worst of us might shrink appalled from the contemplation
of those hideous secrets which are hidden in the plotting
brain and the unflinching heart of the cold-blooded traitor.
## p. 144 (#160) ############################################
CHAPTER III.
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP.
HALF-PAST eleven from the great booming voice of Notre
Dame the magnificent. Half-past eleven from every turret
in the vast city of Paris. The musical tones of the time-
piece over the chimney in the boudoir of the pavilion testify
to the fact five minutes afterwards. It is an elegant time-
piece, surmounted by a group from the hand of a fashion-
able sculptor, a group in which a golden Cupid has hushed
a grim bronze Saturn to sleep, and has hidden the old
man's hour-glass under one of his lacquered wingsa
pretty design enough, though the sand in the glass will
never move the slower, or wrinkles and gray hairs be
longer coming, because of the prettiness of that patrician
time-piece; for the minute-hand on the best dial-plate that
all Paris can produce is not surer in its course than that
dark end which spares not the brightest beginning, that
weary awakening which awaits the fairest dream.
This little apartment in the pavilion belonging to the
house of the Marquis de Cevennes is furnished in the style
of the Pompadour days of elegance, luxury, and frivolity.
Oval portraits of the reigning beauties of that day are let
into the panels of the walls, and "Louis the well-beloved"
smiles an insipid Bourbon smile above the mantel-piece.
The pencil of Boucher has immortalised those frail god-
desses of the Versailles Olympus, and their coquettish
loveliness lights the room almost as if they were living
creatures, smiling unchangingly on every comer. The
chimney-piece is of marble, exquisitely carved with lotuses
## p. 145 (#161) ############################################
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP. 145
and water-nymphs. A wood fire burns upon the gilded
dogs which ornament the hearth. A priceless Persian
carpet covers the centre of the polished floor; and a golden
Cupid, suspended from the painted ceiling, in an attitude
which suggests such a determination of blood to the head
as must ultimately result in apoplexy, holds a lamp of
alabaster, which floods the room with a soft light.
Under this light the mistress of the apartment, Walerie
de Cevennes, looks gloriously handsome. She is seated in
a low arm-chair by the hearthlooking sometimes into the
red blaze at her feet, with dreamy eyes, whose profound
gaze, though thoughtful, is not sorrowful. This girl has
taken a desperate step in marrying secretly the man she
loves; but she has no regret, for she does love; and loss
of position seems so small a thing in the balance when
weighed against this love, which is as yet unacquainted
with sorrow, that she almost forgets she has lost it.
Even while her eyes are fixed upon the wood fire at her
feet, you may see that she is listening; and when the
clocks have chimed the half-hour, she turns her head to-
wards the door of the apartment, and listens intently.
In five minutes she hears somethinga faint sound in
the distance, the sound of an outer door turning on its
hinges. She starts, and her eyes brighten: she glances
at the time-piece, and from the time-piece to the tiny
watch at her side.
"So soon " she mutters; "he said a quarter to twelve.
If my uncle had been here! And he only left me at eleven
O'clock!"
She listens again; the sounds come nearertwo more
doors open, and then there are footsteps on the stairs. At
the sound of these footsteps she starts again, with a look
of anxiety in her face.
"Is he ill," she says, "that he walks so slowly ?
Hark!" -
She turns pale and clasps her hands tightly upon her
breast.
L
## p. 146 (#162) ############################################
146 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"It is not his step !"
She knows she is betrayed; and in that one moment
she prepares herself for the worst. She leans her hand
upon the back of the chair from which she has risen, and
stands, with her eyes fixed, and her thin lips firmly set,
facing the door. She may be facing her fate for aught she
knows, but she is ready to face anything.
The door opens, and the lounger of the morning enters.
He wears a coat and hat of exactly the same shape and
colour as those worn by the fashionable tenor, and he
resembles the tenor in build and height. An easy thing,
in the obscurity of night, for the faithful Finette to admit
this stranger without discovering her mistake. One glance
at the face and attitude of Walerie de Cevennes tells him
that she is not unprepared for his appearance. This takes
him off his guard. Has he too been betrayed by the
lady's-maid? He never guesses that his light step be-
trayed him to the listening ear which love has made so
acute. He sees that the young and beautiful girl is pre-
pared to give him battle. He is disappointed. He had
counted upon her surprise and confusion, and he feels
that he has lost a point in his game. She does not
speak, but stands quietly waiting for him to address her,
as she might were he an ordinary visitor.
"She is a more wonderful woman than I thought," he
says to himself, "and the battle will be a sharp one. No.
matter ! The victory will be so much the sweeter."
He removes his hat, and the light falls full upon his
pale, fair face. Something in that face, she cannot tell
what, seems in a faint, dim manner, familiar to hershe
has seen some one like this man, but when, or where, she
cannot remember.
"You are surprised, madame, to see me," he says, for
he feels that he must begin the attack, and that he must
not spare a single blow, for he is to fight with one who can
parry his thrusts and strike again. "You are surprised.
You command yourself admirably in repressing any de-
## p. 147 (#163) ############################################
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP. " 147
monstration of surprise, but you are not the less sur-
prised."
"I am certainly surprised, monsieur, at receiving any
visitor at such an hour." She says this with perfect com-
posure.
"Scarcely, madame," he looks at the time-piece; "for
in five minutes from this your husband willor shouldbe
here."
Her lips tighten, and her jaw grows rigid in spite of
herself. The secret is known, thenknown to this stranger,
who dares to intrude himself upon her on the strength of
this knowledge.
"Monsieur," she says, "people rarely insult Valerie de
Cevennes with impunity. You shall hear from my uncle
to-morrow morning; for to-night" she lays her hand
upon the mother-of-pearl handle of a little bellhe stops
her, saying, smilingly, -
"Nay, madame, we are not playing a farce. You wish
to show me the door? You would ring that bell, which no
one can answer but Finette, your maid, since there is no
one else in this charming little establishment. I shall not
be afraid of Finette, even if you are so imprudent as to
summon her; and I shall not leave you till you have
done me the honour of granting me an interview. For
the rest, I am not talking to Walerie de Cevennes, but
to Walerie de Lancy; Walerie, the wife of Elvino; Walerie,
the lady of Don Giovanni." -
De Lancy is the name of the fashionable tenor. This
time the haughty girl's thin lips quiver, with a rapid,
convulsive movement. What stings her proud soul is the
contempt with which this man speaks of her husband. Is
it such a disgrace, then, this marriage of wealth, rank, and
beauty, with genius and art 2 .
"Monsieur," she says, "you have discovered my secret.
I have been betrayed either by my servant, or the priest
who married meno matter which of them is the traitor.
You, who, from your conduct of to-night, are evidently an
## p. 148 (#164) ############################################
148 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
adventurer, a person to whom it would be utterly vain
to speak of honour, chivalry, and gentlemanly feeling
since they are doubtless words of which you do not even
know the meaningyou wish to turn the possession of
this secret to accunt. In other words, you desire to be
bought off. You, no doubt, amongst your other honourable
acquirements, are acquainted with the amount of my in-
come. You know, then, what I can afford to pay you.
Be good enough to say how much will satisfy you, and
I will appoint a time and place at which you shall receive
your earnings. You will be so kind as to lose no time.
It is on the stroke of twelve; in a moment Monsieur De
Lancy will be here. He may not be disposed to make so
good a bargain with you as I am. He might be tempted
to throw you out of the window."
She has said this with entire self-possession. She
might be talking to her modiste, so thoroughly indifferent
is she in her high-bred ease and freezing contempt for
the man to whom she is speaking. As she finishes
she sinks quietly into her easy-chair. She takes up a
book from a little table near her, and begins to cut the
leaves with a jewelled-handled paper-knife. But the battle
has only just begun, and she does not yet know her op-
ponent.
He watches her for a moment; marks the steady
hand with which she slowly cuts leaf after leaf, with-
out once notching the paper; and then he deliberately
seats himself opposite to her in the easy-chair on the
other side of the fireplace. She lifts her eyes from the
book, and looks him full in the face with an expression
of supreme disdain; but as she looks, he can see how
eagerly she is also listening for her husband's step. He
has a blow to strike which he knows will be a heavy
Olle.
"Do not, madame," he says, "distract yourself by
listening for your husband's arrival. He will not be here
to-night."
## p. 149 (#165) ############################################
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP. 149
This is a terrible blow. She tries to speak, but her
lips only move inarticulately.
"No, he will not be here. You do not suppose, madame,
that when I contemplated, nay contrived and arranged an
interview with so charming a person as yourself, I could
possibly be so deficient in foresight as to allow that inter-
view to be disturbed at the expiration of one quarter of an
hour? No; Monsieur Don Giovanni will not be here to-
night."
Again she tries to speak, but the words refuse to come.
He continues, as though he interpreted what she wants to
Say, -
"You will naturally ask what other engagement detains
him from his lovely wife's society? Well, it is, as I think,
a supper at the Trois Frres. As there are ladies invited,
the party will no doubt break up early; and you will, I
daresay, see Monsieur de Lancy by four or five o'clock in
the morning."
She tries to resume her employment with the paper-
knife, but this time she tears the leaves to pieces in her
endeavours to cut them. Her anguish and her womanhood
get the better of her pride and her power of endurance.
She crumples the book in her clenched hands, and throws
it into the fire. Her visitor smiles. His blows are be-
ginning to tell.
For a few minutes there is silence. Presently he takes
out his cigar-case.
"I need scarcely ask permission, madame. All these
opera-singers smoke, and no doubt you are indulgent to
the weaknesses of our dear Elvino?"
"Monsieur de Lancy is a gentleman, and would not
presume to smoke in a lady's presence. Once more, monsieur,
be good enough to say how much money you require of me
to ensure your silence?"
"Nay, madame," he replies, as he bends over the wood
fire, and lights his cigar by the blaze of the burning book,
"there is no occasion for such desperate haste. You are
## p. 150 (#166) ############################################
150 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT,
really surprisingly superior to the ordinary weaknesses of
your sex. Setting apart your courage, self-endurance, and
determination, which are positively wonderful, you are so
entirely deficient in curiosity."
She looks at him with a glance which seems to say she
scorns to ask him what he means by this.
"You say your maid, Finette, or the good priest,
Monsieur Prot, must have betrayed your confidence. Sup-
pose it was from neither of those persons I received my in-
formation ?"
"There is no other source, monsieur, from which you
could obtain it." -
"Nay, madame, reflect. Is there no other person whose
vanity may have prompted him to reveal this secret Do
you think it, madame, so utterly improbable that Mon-
sieur de Lancy himself may have been tempted to boast
over his wine of his conquest of the heiress of all the De
CeVennes?"
"It is a base falsehood, monsieur, which you are
uttering."
"Nay, madame, I make no assertion. I am only putting
a case. Suppose at a supper at the Maison Dore, amongst
his comrades of the opera and his admirers of the stalls
to say nothing of the coryphes, who, somehow or other,
contrive to find a place at these recherch little banquets
suppose our friend, Don Giovanni, imprudently ventures
some allusion to a lady of rank and fortune, whom his
melodious voice or his dark eyes have captivated? This
little party is not, perhaps, satisfied with an allusion; it
requires facts; it is incredulous; it lays heavy odds that
Elvino cannot name the lady; and in the end the whole
story is told, and the health of Walerie de Cevennes is
drunk in Cliquot's finest brand of champagne. Suppose
this, madame, and you may, perhaps, guess whence I got
my information."
Throughout this speech Walerie has sat facing him,
with her eyes fixed in a strange and ghastly stare. Once
## p. 151 (#167) ############################################
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP. 151
she lifts her hand to her throat, as if to save herself from
choking; and when the schemer has finished speaking she
slides heavily from her chair, and falls on her knees upon
the Persian hearth-rug, with her small hands convulsively
clasped about her heart. But she is not insensible, and she
never takes her eyes from his face. She is a woman who
neither weeps nor faintsshe suffers.
"I am here, madame," the lounger continuesand now
she listens to him eagerly; "I am here for two purposes.
To help myself before all things; to help you afterwards,
if I can. I have had to use a rough scalpel, madame, but
I may not be an unskilful physician. You love this tenor
singer very deeply; you must do so; since for his sake you
were willing to brave the contempt of that which you also love
very muchthe worldthe great world in which you move."
"I did love him, monsieur0, God! how deeply, how
madly, how blindly! Nay, it is not to such an eye as yours
that I would reveal the secrets of my heart and mind.
Enough, I loved him! But for the man who could de-
grade the name of the woman who had sacrificed so much
for his sake, and hold the sacrifice so lightlyfor the man
who could make that woman's name a jest among the com-
panions of a tavern, Walerie de Cevennes has but one senti-
ment, and that iscontempt."
"I admire your spirit, madame; but then, remember,
the subject can scarcely be so easily dismissed. A husband
is not to be shaken off so lightly; and is it likely that
Monsieur de Lancy will readily resign a marriage which, as
a speculation, is so brilliantly advantageous? Perhaps you
do not know that it has been, ever since his dbut, his de-
sign to sell his handsome face to the highest bidder; that
he haspardon me, madamebeen for two years on the
look-out for an heiress possessed of more gold than discri-
mination, whom a few pretty namby-pamby speeches se-
lected from the librettos of the operas he is familiar with,
would captivate and subdue."
The haughty spirit is bent to the very dust. This girl,
## p. 152 (#168) ############################################
152 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
truth itself, never for a moment questions the words which
are breaking her heart. There is something too painfully
probable in this bitter humiliation.
"O, what have I done," she cries, "what have I done,
that the golden dream of my life should be broken by such
an awakening as this?"
"Madame, I have told you that I wish, if I can, to help
you. I pretend no disinterested or utopian generosity.
You are rich, and can afford to pay me for my services.
There are only three persons who, besides yourself, were
witnesses of or concerned in this marriageFather Prot,
Finette, and Monsieur De Lancy. The priest and the maid-
servant may be silenced; and for Don Giovanniwe will
talk of him to-morrow. Stay, has he any letters of yours
in his possession?"
"He returns my letters one by one as he receives them,"
she mutters.
"Goodit is so easy to retract what one has said; but
so difficult to deny one's handwriting."
"The De Cevennes do not lie, monsieur !"
"Do they not? What, madame, have you acted no lies,
though you may not have spoken them? Have you never
lied with your face; when you have worn a look of calm in-
difference, while the mental effort with which you stopped
the violent beating of your heart produced a dull physical
torture in your breast; when, in the crowded opera-house,
you heard his step upon the stage? wasted lies, madame;
wasted torture; for your idol was not worth them. Your
god laughed at your worship, because he was a false god,
and the attributes for which you worshipped himtruth,
loyalty, and genius, such as man never before possessed
were not his, but the offspring of your own imagination,
with which you invested him, because you were in love with
his handsome face. Bah! madame, after all, you were only
the fool of a chiselled profile and a melodious voice. You are
not the first of your sex so fooled; Heaven forbid you should
be the last !"
## p. 153 (#169) ############################################
THE WRONG FOOTSTEP. 153
"You have shown me why I should hate this man; show
me my revenge, if you wish to serve me. My countrywo-
men do not forgive. O, Gaston de Lancy, to have been the
slave of your every word; the blind idolator of your every
glance; to have given so much; and, as my reward, to reap
only your contempt!"
There are no tears in her eyes as she says this in a hoarse
voice. Perhaps long years hence she may come to weep
over this wild infatuationnow, her despair is too bitter for
tears.
The lounger still preserves the charming indifference
which stamps him of her own class. He says, in reply to
her entreaty
"I can lead you to your revenge, madame, if your noble
Spanish blood does not recoil from the ordeal. Dress your-
self to-morrow night in your servant's clothes, wearing of
course a thick veil; take a hackney coach, and at ten o'clock
be at the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne. I will join you
there. You shall have your revenge, madame, and I will
show you how to turn that revenge (which is in itself an ex-
pensive luxury) to practical account. In a few days you
may perhaps be able to say, 'There is no such person as
Gaston de Lancy; the terrible delusion was only a dream;
I have awoke, and I am free l'"
She passes her trembling hand across her brow, and looks
at the speaker, as if she tried in vain to gather the meaning
of his words.
"At ten o'clock, at the entrance to the Bois de Boulogne?
I will be there," she murmurs faintly.
"Good! And now, madame, adieu ! I fear I have
fatigued you by this long interview. Stay! You should
know the name of the man to whom you allow the honour
of serving you."
He takes out his card-case, lays a card on the tiny table
at her side, bows low to her, and leaves her. Leaves her
stricken to the dust. He looks back at her as he opens the
## p. 154 (#170) ############################################
154 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
door, and watches her for a moment, with a smile upon his
face. His blows have had their full effect.
O Valerie, Walerie! loving so wildly, to be so degraded,
humiliated, deceived! Little wonder that you cry to-night,
"There is no light in the skythere is no glory in the
world ! Earth is weary, Heaven is dark, and death alone is
the friend of the broken heart 1"
## p. 155 (#171) ############################################
CHAPTER IV.
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION,
INSCRIBED on the card which the lounger leaves on the
table of Mademoiselle de Cevennes, or Madame de Lancy,
is the name of Raymond Marolles. The lounger, then, is
Raymond Marolles, and it is he whom we must follow, on
the morning after the stormy interview in the pavilion.
He occupies a charming apartment in the Champs
Elysessmall, of course, as befitting a bachelor, but fur-
nished in the best taste. On entering his rooms there is
one thing you could scarcely fail to notice: and this is the
surprising neatness, the almost mathematical precision, with
which every thing is arranged. Books, pictures, desks,
pistols, small-swords, boxing-gloves, riding-whips, canes and
gunsevery object is disposed in an order quite unusual
in a bachelor's apartment. But this habit of neatness is
one of the idiosyncrasies of Monsieur Marolles. It is to
be seen in his exquisitely-appointed dress; in his carefully-
trimmed moustache; it is to be heard even in the inflexions
of his voice, which rise and fall with rather monotonous
though melodious regularity, and which are never broken
by any thing so vulgar as anger or emotion.
At ten o'clock this morning he is still seated at break-
fast. He has eaten nothing, but he is drinking his second
cup of strong coffee, and it is easy to see that he is thinking
very deeply.
"Yes," he mutters, "I must find a way to convince her
she must be thoroughly convinced before she will be in-
duced to act. My first blows have told so well, I must not
## p. 156 (#172) ############################################
156 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
fail in my master-stroke. But how to convince herwords
alone will not satisfy her long; there must be ocular demon-
stration."
He finishes his cup of coffee, and sits playing with the
teaspoon, clinking it with a low musical sound against the
china teacup. Presently he hits it with one loud ringing
stroke. That stroke is a note of triumph. He has been
working a problem and has found the solution. He takes
up his hat and hurries out of the house; but as soon as
he is out of doors he slackens his step, and resumes his
usual lounging gait. He crosses the Place de la Concorde,
and makes his way to the Boulevard, and only turns aside
when he reaches the Italian Opera House. It is to the
stage-door he directs his steps. An old man, the door-
keeper, is busy in the little dark hall, manufacturing a pot
feu, and warming his hands at the same time at a tiny
stove in a corner. He is quite accustomed to the appa-
rition of a stylish young man; so he scarcely looks up
when the shadow of Raymond Marolles darkens the door-
way.
"Good morning, Monsieur Concierge," says Raymond;
"you are very busy, I see."
"A little domestic avocation, that is all, monsieur, being
a bachelor."
The doorkeeper is rather elderly, and somewhat snuffy
for a bachelor; but he is very fond of informing the
visitors of the stage-door that he has never sacrificed his
liberty at the shrine of Hymen. He thinks, perhaps, that
they might scruple to give their messages to a married
Imall.
"Not too busy, then, for a little conversation, my
friend?" asks the visitor, slipping a five-franc piece into
the porter's dingy hand.
"Never too busy for that, monsieur," and the porter
abandons the pot & few to its fate, and dusts with his
coloured handkerchief a knock-kneed-looking easy-chair,
which he presents to monsieur.
## p. 157 (#173) ############################################
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION. 157
Monsieur is very condescending, and the doorkeeper is
very communicative. He gives monsieur a great deal of use-
ful information about the salaries of the principal dancers;
the bouquets and diamond bracelets thrown to them; the
airs and graces indulged in by them; and divers other in-
teresting facts. Presently monsieur, who has been gra-
ciously though rather languidly interested in all this, says
"Do you happen to have amongst your supernumeraries,
or choruses, or any of your insignificant people, one of those
mimics so generally met with in a theatre?"
"Ah," says the doorkeeper, chuckling, "I see monsieur
knows a theatre. We have indeed two or three mimics;
but one above alla chorus-singer, a great man, who can
strike off an imitation which is life itself; a drunken, dis-
solute fellow, monsieur, or he would have taken to prin-
cipal characters and made himself a name. A fellow with
a soul for nothing but dominoes and vulgar wine-shops
but a wonderful mimic."
"Ah! and he imitates, I suppose, all your great people
your prima donna, your basso, your tenor" hazards
Monsieur Raymond Marolles.
"Yes, monsieur. You should hear him mimic this
new tenor, this Monsieur Gaston de Lancy, who has made
such a sensation this season. He is not a bad-looking
fellow, pretty much the same height as De Lancy, and
he can assume his manner, voice, and walk, so completely
that"
"Perhaps in a dark room you could scarcely tell one
from the other, eh?"
"Precisely, monsieur."
"I have rather a curiosity about these sort of people;
and I should like to see this man, if" he hesitates, jing-
ling some silver in his pocket.
"Nay, monsieur," says the porter; "nothing more
easy; this Mouce is always here about this time. They
call the chorus to rehearsal while the great people are loung-
ing over their breakfasts. We shall find him either on the
## p. 158 (#174) ############################################
158 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
stage, or in one of the dressing-rooms playing dominoes.
This way, monsieur."
Raymond Marolles follows the doorkeeper down dark
passages, and up innumerable flights of stairs; till, very
high up, he stops at a low door, on the other side of which
there is evidently a rather noisy party. This door the
porter opens without ceremony, and he and Monsieur
Marolles enter a long low room, with bare white-washed
walls, scrawled over with charcoal caricatures of prima
donnas and tenors, with impossible noses and spindle legs.
Seated at a deal table is a group of young men, shabbily
dressed, playing at dominoes, while others look on and bet
upon the game. They are all smoking tiny cigarettes,
which look like damp curl-papers, and which last about two
minutes each.
"Pardon me, Monsieur Mouce," says the porter, ad-
dressing one of the domino players, a good-looking young
man, with a pale dark face and black hair"pardon me
that I disturb your pleasant game; but I bring a gentleman
who wishes to make your acquaintance."
The chorus-singer rises, gives a lingering look at a
double-six he was just going to play, and advances to
where Monsieur Marolles is standing.
"At monsieur's service," he says, with an unstudied but
graceful bow.
Raymond Marolles, with an ease of manner all his own,
passes his arm through that of the young man, and leads
him out into the passage.
"I have heard, Monsieur Mouce, that you possess a ta-
lent for mimicry which is of a very superior order. Are you
willing to assist with this talent in a little farce I am preparing
for the amusement of a lady? If so, you will have a claim
(which I shall not forget) on my gratitude and on my purse."
This last word makes Paul Mouce prick up his ears.
Poor fellow! his last coin has gone for the half-ounce of
tobacco he has just consumed. He expresses himself only
too happy to obey the commands of monsieur.
## p. 159 (#175) ############################################
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION. 159
Monsieur suggests that they shall repair to an adjoin-
ing cafe, at which they can have half-an-hour's quiet con-
versation. They do so; and at the end of the half-hour,
Monsieur Marolles parts with Paul Mouce at the door of
this cafe. As they separate Raymond looks at his watch
"Half-past eleven; all goes better than I could have even
hoped. This man will do very well for our friend Elvino,
and the lady shall have ocular demonstration. Now for the
rest of my work; and to-night, my proud and beautiful
heiress, for you."
As the clocks strike ten that night, a hackney-coach
stops close to the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne; and as
the coachman checks his horse, a gentleman emerges from
the gloom, and goes up to the door of the coach, which he
opens before the driver can dismount. This gentleman is
Monsieur Raymond Marolles, and Walerie de Lancy is
seated in the coach.
"Punctual, madame!" he says. "Ah, in the smallest
matters you are superior to your sex. May I request you
to step out and walk with me for some little distance?"
The lady, who is thickly veiled, only bows her head in
reply; but she is by his side in a moment. He gives the
coachman some directions, and the man drives off a few
paces; he then offers his arm to Valerie.
"Nay, monsieur," she says, in a cold, hard voice, "I can
follow you, or I can walk by your side. I had rather not
take your arm."
Perhaps it is as well for this man's schemes that it is
too dark for his companion to see the smile that lifts his
black moustache, or the glitter in his blue eyes. He is
something of a physiologist as well as a mathematician,
this man; and he can tell what she has suffered since
last night by the change in her voice alone. It has a
dull and monotonous sound, and the tone seems to have
gone out of it for ever. If the dead could speak, they
might speak thus.
"This way, then, madame," he says. "My first object
## p. 160 (#176) ############################################
160 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
is to convince you of the treachery of the man for whom
you have sacrificed so much. Have you strength to live
through the discovery?"
"I lived through last night. Come, monsieur, waste
no more time in words, or I shall think you are a charlatan.
Let me hear from his lips that I have cause to hate him."
"Follow me, then, and softly."
He leads her into the wood. The trees are very young
as yet, but all is obscure to-night. There is not a star in
the sky; the December night is dark and cold. A slight
fall of snow has whitened the ground, and deadens the
sound of footsteps. Raymond and Walerie might be two
shadows, as they glide amongst the trees. After they have
walked about a quarter of a mile, he catches her by the
arm, and draws her hurriedly into the shadow of a group
of young pine-trees. "Now," he says, "now listen."
She hears a voice whose every tone she knows. At first
there is a rushing sound in her ears, as if all the blood were
surging from her heart up to her brain; but presently, she
hears distinctly; presently too, her eyes grow somewhat ac-
customed to the gloom; and she sees a few paces from her
the dim outline of a tall figure, familiar to her. It is Gas-
ton de Lancy, who is standing with one arm round the
slight waist of a young girl, his head bending down with the
graceful droop she knows so well, as he looks in her face.
Marolles' voice whispers in her ear, "The girl is a dancer
from one of the minor theatres, whom he knew before he
was a great man. Her name I think is Rosette, or some-
thing like it. She loves him very much; perhaps almost as
much as you do, in spite of the quarterings on your shield."
He feels the slender hand, which before disdained to
lcan upon his arm, now clasp his wrist, and tighten, as if
each taper finger were an iron vice.
"Listen," he says again. "Listen to the drama, ma-
dame. I am the chorus!" -
It is the girl who is speaking. "But, Gaston, this mar-
riage, this marriage, which has almost broken my heart."
## p. 161 (#177) ############################################
OCULAR DEMONSTRATION. 161
"Was a sacrifice to our love, my Rosette. For your
sake alone would I have made such a sacrifice. But this
haughty lady's wealth will make us happy in a distant
land. She little thinks, poor fool, for whose sake I endure
her patrician airs, her graces of the old rgime, her caprices,
and her folly. Only be patient, Rosette, and trust me.
The day that is to unite us for ever is not far distant,
believe me."
It is the voice of Gaston de Lancy. Who should better
know those tones than his wife? Who should better know
them than she to whose proud heart they strike death?
The girl speaks again. "And you do not love this fine
lady, Gaston? Only tell me that you do not love her !"
Again the familiar voice speaks. "Love her! Bah!
We never love these fine ladies who give us such tender
glances from opera-boxes. We never admire these great
heiresses, who fall in love with a handsome face, and have
not enough modesty to keep the sentiment a secret; who
think they honour us by a marriage which they are ashamed
to confess; and who fancy we must needs be devoted to
them, because, after their fashion, they are in love with us."
"Have you heard enough?" asked Raymond Marolles.
"Give me a pistol or a dagger !" she gasped, in a hoarse
whisper; "let me shoot him dead, or stab him to the heart,
that I may go away and die in peace!"
"So," muttered Raymond, "she has heard enough.
Come, madame. Yetstay, one last look. You are sure
that is Monsieur de Lancy?"
The man and the girl are standing a few yards from
them; his back is turned to Walerie, but she would know
him amongst a thousand by the dark hair and the peculiar
bend of the head.
"Sure!" she answers. "Am I myself?"
"Come, then; we have another place to visit to-night.
You are satisfied, are you not, madame, now that you have
had ocular demonstration?"
## p. 162 (#178) ############################################
CHAPTER W.
THE KING OF SPADES.
WHEN Monsieur Marolles offers his arm to lead Valerie de
Cevennes back to the coach, it is accepted passively enough.
Little matter now what new degradation she endures. Her
pride can never fall lower than it has fallen. Despised by
the man she loved so tenderly, the world's contempt is
nothing to her.
In a few minutes they are both seated in the coach
driving through the Champs Elyses.
"Are you taking me home 7" she asks.
"No, madame, we have another errand, as I told you."
"And that errand 7"
"I am going to take you where you will have your
fortune told."
"My fortune!" she exclaims with a bitter laugh.
"Bah! madame," says her companion. "Let us un-
derstand each other. I hope I have not to deal with a
romantic and love-sick girl. I will not gall your pride by
recalling to your recollection in what a contemptible posi-
tion I have found you. I offer my services to rescue you
from that contemptible position; but I do so in the firm
belief that you are a woman of spirit, courage, and deter-
mination, and"
"And that I can pay you well," she adds, scornfully.
"And that you can pay me well. I am no Don
Quixote, madame; nor have I any great respect for that
gentleman. Believe me, I intend that you shall pay me
well for my services, as you will learn by and by."
## p. 163 (#179) ############################################
THE KING OF SPADES. 163
Again there is the cold glitter in the blue eyes,
and the ominous smile which a moustache does well to
hide.
"But," he continues, "if you have a mind to break
your heart for an opera-singer's handsome face, go and
break it in your boudoir, madame, with no better confi-
dante than your lady's-maid; for you are not worthy of
the services of Raymond Marolles."
"You rate your services very high, then, monsieur *
"Perhaps. Look you, madame : you despise me be-
cause I am an adventurer. Had Ibeen born in the purple
lord, even in my cradle, of wide lands and a great name,
you would respect me. Now, I respect myself because I
am an adventurer; because by the force alone of my own
mind I have risen from what I was, to be what I am. I
will show you my cradle some day. It had no tapestried
coverlet or embroidered curtains, I can assure you."
They are driving now through a dark street, in a neigh-
bourhood utterly unknown to the lady.
"Where are you taking me?" she asks again, with
something like fear in her voice.
"As I told you before, to have your fortune told. Nay,
madame, unless you trust me, I cannot serve you. Re-
member, it is to my interest to serve you well: you can
therefore have no cause for fear."
As he speaks they stop before a ponderous gateway in
the blank wall of a high dark-looking house. They are
somewhere in the neighbourhood of Notre Dame, for the
grand old towers loom dimly in the darkness. Monsieur
Marolles gets out of the coach and rings a bell, at the sound
of which the porter opens the door. Raymond assists
Walerie to dismount, and leads her across a court-yard into
a little hall, and up a stone staircase to the fifth story
of the house. At another time her courage might have
failed her in this strange house, at so late an hour, with
this man, of whom she knows nothing; but she is reckless
to-night.
## p. 164 (#180) ############################################
164 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
- = - ---
There is nothing very alarming in the aspect of the
room into which Raymond leads her. It is a cheerful little
apartment lighted with gas. There is a small stove, near a
table, before which is seated a gentlemanly-looking man,
of some forty years of age. He has a very pale face, a
broad forehead, from which the hair is brushed away be-
hind the ears: he wears blue spectacles, which entirely
conceal his eyes, and in a manner shade his face. You
cannot tell what he is thinking of; for it is a peculiarity
of this man that the mouth, which with other people is
generally the most expressive feature, has with him no
expression whatever. It is a thin, straight line, which
opens and shuts as he speaks, but which never curves into
a smile, or contracts when he frowns.
He is deeply engaged, bending over a pack of cards
spread out on the green cloth which covers the table, as
if he were playing cart without an opponent, when Ray-
mond opens the door; but he rises at the sight of the lady,
and bows low to her. He has the air of a student rather
than of a man of the world.
"My good Blurosset," says Raymond, "I have brought
a lady to see you, to whom I have been speaking very
highly of your talents."
"With the pasteboard, or the crucible?" asks the im-
passible mouth.
"Both, my dear fellow; we shall want both your
talents. Sit down, madame; I must do the honours of the
apartment, for my friend Laurent Blurosset is too much
a man of science to be a man of gallantry; sit down,
madame; place yourself at this table, there, opposite Mon-
sieur Blurosset, and then to business."
This Raymond Marolles, of whom she knows absolutely
nothing, has a strange influence over Valerie; an influence
against which she no longer struggles. She obeys him
passively, and seats herself before the little green baize-
covered table.
The blue spectacles of Monsieur Laurent Blurosset look
## p. 165 (#181) ############################################
THE KING OF SPADES. 165
at her attentively for two or three minutes. As for the
eyes behind the spectacles, she cannot even guess what
might be revealed in their light. The man seems to have
a strange advantage in looking at every one as from behind
a screen. His own face, with hidden eyes and inflexible
mouth, is like a blank wall.
"Now then, Blurosset, we will begin with the paste-
board. Madame would like to have her fortune told. She
knows of course that this fortune-telling is mere charla-
tanism, but she wishes to see one of the cleverest charlatans."
"Charlatanism ! Charlatan! Well, it doesn't matter.
I believe in what I read here, because I find it true. The
first time I find a false meaning in these bits of pasteboard
I shall throw them into that fire, and never touch a card
again. They've been the hobby of twenty years, but you
know I could do it, Englishman"
"Englishman "exclaimed Walerie, looking up with asto-
nishment. -
"Yes," answered Raymond, laughing; "a surname which
Monsieur Blurosset has bestowed upon me, in ridicule of
my politics, which happened once to resemble those of our
honest neighbour, John Bull."
Monsieur Blurosset nods an assent to Raymond's asser-
tion, as he takes the cards in his thin yellow-white hands
and begins shuffling them. He does this with a skill pecu-
liar to himself, and you could almost guess in watching him
that these little pieces of pasteboard have been his com-
panions for twenty years. Presently he arranges them in
groups of threes, fives, sevens, and nines, on the green baize
reserving a few cards in his hand; then the blue specta-
cles are lifted and contemplate Walerie for two or three
seconds.
"Your friend is the queen of spades," he says, turning
to Raymond.
"Decidedly," replies Monsieur Marolles. "How the
insipid diamond beauties fade beside this gorgeous loveli-
ness of the south !"
## p. 166 (#182) ############################################
106 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Valerie does not hear the compliment, which at another
time she would have resented as an insult. She is absorbed
in watching the groups of cards over which the blue specta-
cles are so intently bent.
Monsieur Blurosset seems to be working some abstruse
calculations with these groups of cards, assisted by those he
has in his hand. The spectacles wander from the threes to
the nines; from the sevens to the fives; back again; across
again; from five to nine, from three to seven; from five to
three, from seven to nine. Presently he says
"The king of spades is every where here." He does not
look up as he speaks  never raising the spectacles from
the cards. His manner of speaking is so passionless and
mechanical, that he might almost be some calculating au-
tomaton.
"The king of spades," says Raymond, "is a dark and
handsome young man."
"Yes," says Blurosset, "he's every where beside the
queen of spades."
Walerie in spite of herself is absorbed by this man's
words. She never takes her eyes from the spectacles and
the thin pale lips of the fortune-teller.
"I do not like his influence. It is bad. This king of
spades is dragging the queen down, down into the very
mire." Walerie's cheek can searcely grow whiter than it
has been ever since the revelation of the Bois de Boulogne,
but she cannot repress a shudder at these words.
"There is falsehood," continues Monsieur Blurosset;
"and there is a fair woman here."
"A fair woman! That girl we saw to-night is fair,"
whispers Raymond. "No doubt Monsieur Don Giovanni
admires blondes, having himself the southern beauty."
"The fair woman is always with the king of spades,"
says the fortune-teller. "There is here no falsehoodno-
thing but devotion. The king of spades can be true; he
is true to this diamond woman; but for the queen of spades
he has nothing but treachery."
## p. 167 (#183) ############################################
THE KING OF SPADES. 167
"Is there anything more on the cards?" asks Raymond.
"Yes! A priesta marriagemoney. Ah! this king
of spades imagines that he is within reach of a great for-
tune."
"Does he deceive himself?"
"Yes! Now the treachery changes sides. The queen
of spades is in it now But staythe traitorthe real
traitor is here ; this fair manthe knave of diamonds"
Raymond Marolles lays his white hand suddenly upon
the card to which Blurosset is pointing, and says, hurriedly,
"Bah! You have told us all about yesterday; now tell
us of to-morrow." And then he adds, in a whisper, in the
ear of Monsieur Blurosset,-
"Fool! Have you forgotten your lesson?"
"They will speak the truth," mutters the fortune-teller.
"I was carried away by them. I will be more careful."
This whispered dialogue is unheard by Walerie, who sits
immovable, awaiting the sentence of the oracle, as if the
monotonous voice of Monsieur Blurosset were the voice of
Nemesis.
"Now then for the future," says Raymond. "It is pos-
sible to tell what has happened. We wish to pass the con-
fines of the possibletell us, then, what is going to happen."
Monsieur Blurosset collects the cards, shuffles them, and
re-arranges them in groups, as before. Again the blue
spectacles wander. From three to nine; from nine to seven;
from seven to five; Walerie following them with bright and
hollow eyes. Presently the fortune-teller says, in his old
mechanical way,
"The queen of spades is very proud."
"Yes," mutters Raymond in Walerie's ear. "Heaven
help the king who injures such a queen P
She does not take her eyes from the blue spectacles of
Monsieur Blurosset; but there is a tightening of her de-
termined mouth which seems like an assent to this remark.
"She can hate as well as love. The king of spades is in
danger," says the fortune-teller.
## p. 168 (#184) ############################################
168 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
" * - - - - - - - ---
There is, for a few minutes, dead silence, while the blue
spectacles shift from group to group of cards; Walerie intently
watching them, Raymond intently watching her.
This time there seems to be something difficult in the
calculation of the numbers. The spectacles shift hither and
thither, and the thin white lips move silently and rapidly,
from seven to nine, and back again to seven.
"There is something on the cards that puzzles you,"
says Raymond, breaking the deathly silence. "What is
it 7"
"A death !" answers the passionless voice of Monsieur
Blurosset. "A violent death, which bears no outward sign
of violence. I said, did I not, that the king of spades was
in danger?"
"You did." *
From three to five, from five to nine, from nine to
seven, from seven to nine: the groups of cards form a circle:
three times round the circle, as the sun goes; back again,
and three times round the circle in a contrary direction:
across the circle from three to seven, from seven to five, from
five to nine, and the blue spectacles come to a dead stop
at nine.
"Before twelve o'clock to-morrow night the king of
spades will be dead!" says the monotonous voice of Mon-
sieur Blurosset. The voices of the clocks of Paris seems to
take up Monsieur Blurosset's voice as they strike the hour
of midnight.
Twenty-four hours for the king of spades!
Monsieur Blurosset gathers up his cards and drops
them into his pocket. Malicious people say that he sleeps
with them under his pillow; that he plays cart by himself
in his sleep; and that he has played piquet with a very tall
dark gentleman, whom the porter never let either in or out,
and who left a sulphureous and suffocating atmosphere be-
hind him in Monsieur Blurosset's little apartment.
"Good!" says Monsieur Raymond Marolles. "So much
for the pasteboard. Now for the crucible."
## p. 169 (#185) ############################################
THE KING OF SPADES. 169
For the first time since the discovery of the treachery of
her husband Walerie de Lancy smiles. She has a beautiful
smile, which curves the delicate lips without distorting them,
and which brightens in her large dark eyes with a glorious
fire of the sunny south. But for all that, Heaven save the
man who has injured her from the light of such a smile as
hers of to-night !
"You want my assistance in some matters of chemistry?"
asks Blurosset.
"Yes! I forgot to tell you, madame, that my friend
Laurent Blurossetthough he chooses to hide himself in
one of the most obscure streets of Parisis perhaps one of
the greatest men in this mighty city. He is a chemist
who will one day work a revolution in the chemical science;
but he is a fanatic, madame, or, let me rather say, he is a
lover, and his crucible is his mistress. This blind devotion
to a science is surely only another form of the world's great
madnesslove ! Who knows what bright eyes a problem
in Euclid may have replaced ? Who can tell what fair hair
may not have been forgotten in the search after a Greekroot?"
Valerie shivers. Heaven help that shattered heart :
Every word that touches on the master-passion of her life is
a wound that pierces it to the core. -
"You do not smoke, Blurosset. Foolish man, you do not
know how to live. Pardon, madame." He lights his cigar
at the green-shaded gas-lamp, seats himself close to the
stove, and smokes for a few minutes in silence.
Valerie, still seated before the little table, watches him
with fixed eyes, waiting for him to speak.
In the utter shipwreck of her every hope this adventurer
is the only anchor to which she can cling. Presently he says,
in his most easy and indifferent manner
"It was the fashion at the close of the fifteenth and
throughout the sixteenth century for the ladies of Italy to
acquire a certain knowledge of some of the principles of
chemistry. Of course, at the head of these ladies we must
place Lucretia Borgia."
## p. 170 (#186) ############################################
170 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Monsieur Blurosset nods an assent. Walerie looks from
Raymond to the blue spectacles; but the face of the chemist
testifies no shade of surprise at the singularity of Raymond's
observation.
"Then," continued Monsieur Marolles, "if a lady was
deeply injured, or cruelly insulted by the man she loved;
if her pride was trampled in the dust, or her name and her
weakness held up to ridicule and contemptthen she knew
how to avenge herself and to defy the world. A tender
pressure of the traitor's hand; a flower or a ribbon given
as a pledge of love; the leaves of a book hastily turned
over with the tips of moistened fingerspeople had such
vulgar habits in those daysand behold the gentleman
died, and no one was any the wiser but the worms, with
whose constitutions aqua tofana at second hand may pos-
sibly have disagreed."
"Vultures have died from the effects of poisoned car-
rion," muttered Monsieur Blurosset.
"But in this degenerate age," continued Raymond, "what
can our Parisian ladies do when they have reason to be
revenged on a traitor? The poor blunderers can only give
him half a pint of laudanum, or an ounce or so of arsenic,
and run the risk of detection half an hour after his death !
I think that time is a circle, and that we retreat as we ad-
vance, in spite of our talk of progress."
His horrible words, thrice horrible when contrasted with
the coolness of his easy manner, freeze Valerie to the very
heart; but she does not make one effort to interrupt
him.
"Now, my good Blurosset," he resumes, "what I want
of you is this. Something which will change a glass of
wine into a death-warrant, but which will defy the scrutiny
of a college of physicians. This lady wishes to take a lesson
in chemistry. She will, of course, only experimentalise on
rabbits, and she is so tender-hearted that, as you see, she
shudders even at the thought of that little cruelty. For
the rest, to repay you for your trouble, if you will give
## p. 171 (#187) ############################################
THE KING OF SPADES. 171
her pen and ink, she will write you an order on her banker
for five thousand francs."
Monsieur Blurosset appears no more surprised at this
request than if he had been asked for a glass of water. He
goes to a cabinet, which he opens, and after a little search
selects a small tin box, from which he takes a few grains of
white powder, which he screws carelessly in a scrap of news-
paper. He is so much accustomed to handling these com-
pounds that he treats them with very small ceremony.
"It is a slow poison," he says. "For a full-grown rab-
bit use the eighth part of what you have there; the whole
of it would poison a man; but death in either case would
not be immediate. The operation of the poison occupies
some hours before it terminates fatally."
"Madame will use it with discretion," says Raymond;
"do not fear."
Monsieur Blurosset holds out the little packet as if ex-
pecting Walerie to take it; she recoils with a ghastly face,
and shudders as she looks from the chemist to Raymond
Marolles.
"In this degenerate age," says Raymond, looking her
steadily in the face, "our women cannot redress their own
wrongs, however deadly those wrongs may be ; they must
have fathers, brothers, or uncles to fight for them, and the
world to witness the struggle. Bah! There is not a woman
in France who is any better than a sentimental school-
girl."
Walerie stretches out her small hand to receive the
packet.
"Give me the pen, monsieur," says she; and the chemist
presents her a half-sheet of paper, on which she writes hur-
riedly an order on her bankers, which she signs in full with
her maiden name.
Monsieur Blurosset looked over the paper as she wrote.
"Walerie de Cevennes!" he exclaimed. "I did not
know I was honoured by so aristocratic a visitor."
## p. 172 (#188) ############################################
172 THE TRALL OF THE SERPENT.
Valerie put her hand to her head as if bewildered. "My
name!" she muttered, "I forgot, I forgot."
"What do you fear, madame?" asked Raymond, with
a smile. "Are you not among friends?"
"For pity's sake, monsieur," she said, "give me your
arm, and take me back to the carriage : I shall drop down
dead if I stay longer in this room."
The blue spectacles contemplated her gravely for a mo-
ment. Monsieur Blurosset laid one cold hand upon her
pulse, and with the other took a little bottle from the cabi-
net, out of which he gave his visitor a few drops of a trans-
parent liquid.
"She will do now," he said to Raymond, "till you get
her home; then see that she takes this," he added, hand-
ing Monsieur Marolles another phial; "it is an opiate
which will procure her six hours' sleep. Without that
she would go mad."
Raymond led Walerie from the room; but, once outside,
her head fell heavily on his shoulder, and he was obliged to
carry her down the steep stairs.
"I think," he muttered to himself as he went out into
the courtyard with his unconscious burden, "I think we
have sealed the doom of the king of spades!"
## p. 173 (#189) ############################################
CHAPTER WI.
A GLASS OF WINE.
UPON a little table in the boudoir of the pavilion lay a
letter. It was the first thing Walerie de Lancy beheld on
entering the room, with Raymond Marolles by her side,
half an hour after she had left the apartment of Monsieur
Blurosset. This letter was in the handwriting of her hus-
band, and it bore the post-mark of Rouen. Walerie's face
told her companion whom the letter came from before she
took it in her hand.
"Read it," he said, coolly. "It contains his excuses,
no doubt. Let us see what pretty story he has invented.
In his early professional career his companions surnamed
him Baron Munchausen."
Walerie's hand shook as she broke the seal; but she read
the letter carefully through, and then turning to Raymond,
she said
"You are right; his excuse is excellent, only a little too
transparent; listen.
"'The reason of my absence from Paris'(absence from
Paris, and to-night in the Bois de Boulogne)'is most ex-
traordinary. At the conclusion of the opera last night, I
was summoned to the stage-door, where I found a mes-
senger waiting for me, who told me he had come post haste
from Rouen, where my mother was lying dangerously ill,
and to implore me, if I wished to see her before her death,
to start for that place immediately. Even my love for you,
which you well know, Walerie is, the absorbing passion of
my life, was forgotten in such a moment. I had no means
## p. 174 (#190) ############################################
174 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPIENT.
of communicating with you without endangering our secret.
Imagine, then, my surprise on my arrival here, to find that
my mother is in perfect health, and had of course sent no
messenger to me. I fear in this mystery some conspiracy
which threatens the safety of our secret. I shall be in Paris
to-night, but too late to see you. To-morrow, at dusk, I
shall be at the dear little pavilion, once more to be blest by
a smile from the only eyes I love.GASTON DE LANCY.'"
"Rather a blundering epistle," muttered Raymond. "I
should really have given him credit for something better.
You will receive him to-morrow evening, madame?"
She knew so well the purport of this question, that her
hand almost involuntarily tightened on the little packet
given her by Monsieur Blurosset, which she had held all
this time, but she did not answer him.
"You will receive him to-morrow; or by to-morrow
night all Paris will know of this romantic but rather ridi-
culous marriage. It will be in all the newspaperscari-
catured in all the print-shops; Charivari will have a word
or two about it, and little boys will cry it in the streets, a
full, true, and particular account for only one sous. But
then, as I said before, you are superior to your sex, and
perhaps you will not mind this kind of thing."
"I shall see him to-morrow evening at dusk," she said,
in a hoarse whisper not pleasant to hear. "And I shall
never see him again after to-morrow."
"Once more, then, good night," says Raymond; "but
stay, Monsieur Blurosset begs you will take this opiate.
Nay," he muttered with a laugh as she looked at him
strangely, "you may be perfectly assured of its harmless-
ness. Remember, I have not been paid yet."
He bowed, and left the room. She did not lift her eyes
to look at him as he bade her adieu. Those hollow, tearless
eyes were fixed on the letter she held in her left hand. She
was thinking of the first time she saw this handwriting, when
every letter seemed a character inscribed in fire, because his
hand had shaped it; when the tiniest scrap of paper covered
## p. 175 (#191) ############################################
A GLASS OF WINE. 175
with the most ordinary words was a precious talisman, a
jewel of more price than the diamonds of all the Cevennes.
The short winter's day died out, and through the dusk
a young man, in a thick greatcoat, walked rapidly along
the broad quiet street in which the pavilion stood. Once
or twice he looked round to assure himself that he was un-
observed. He tried the handle of the little wooden door,
found it unfastened, opened it softly, and went in. In a
few minutes he was in the boudoir, and by the side of Wa-
lerie. The girl's proud face was paler than when he had
last seen it; and when he tenderly asked the reason of this
change, she said
"I have been anxious about you, Gaston. You can
scarcely wonder."
"The voice too, even your voice is changed," he said
anxiously. "Stay, surely I am the victim of no juggling
snare. It isit is Walerie."
The little boudoir was only lighted by the wood fire
burning on the low hearth. He drew her towards the
blaze, and looked her full in the face.
"You would scarcely believe me," he said; "but for the
moment I half doubted if it were really you. The false
alarm, the hurried journey, one thing and another have up-
set me so completely, that you seem changedaltered; I
can scarcely tell you how, but altered very much."
She seated herself in the easy-chair by the hearth.
There was an embroidered velvet footstool at her feet, and
he placed himself on this, and sat looking up in her face.
She laid her slender hands on his dark hair, and looked
straight into his eyes. Who shall read her thoughts at this
moment? She had learnt to despise him, but she had
never ceased to love him. She had cause to hate him ; but
she could scarcely have told whether the bitter anguish
which rent her heart were nearer akin to love or hate.
"Pshaw, Gaston!" she exclaimed, "you are full of silly
fancies to-night. And I, you see, do not offer to reproach
## p. 176 (#192) ############################################
176 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
you once for the uneasiness you have caused me. See how
readily I accept your excuse for your absence, and never
breathe one doubt of its truth. Now, were I a jealous or
suspicious woman, I might have a hundred doubts. I
might think you did not love me, and fancy that your
absence was a voluntary one. I might even be so foolish
as to picture you with another whom you loved better than
me."
"Valerie " he said, reproachfully, raising her small
hand to his lips.
"Nay," she cried, with a light laugh, "this might be
the thought of a jealous woman. But could I think so of
you, Gaston ?"
"Hark!" he said, starting, and rising hastily; "did you
not hear something ?"
"What ?"
"A rustling sound by that doorthe door of your dress-
ing-room. Finette is not there, is she I left her in
the ante-room below."
"No, no, Gaston; there is no one there; this is another
of your silly fancies."
He glanced uneasily towards the door, but re-seated
himself at her feet, and looked once more upward to the
proudly beautiful face. Walerie did not look at her com-
panion, but at the fire. Her dark eyes were fixed upon the
blaze, and she seemed almost unconscious of Gaston de
Lancy's presence. What did she see in the red light?
Her shipwrecked soul? The ruins of her hopes 2 The
ghost of her dead happiness? The image of a long and
dreary future, in which the love on whose foundation she
had built a bright and peaceful life to come could have
no part 2 What did she see ? A warning arm stretched
out to save her from the commission of a dreadful deed
which once committed must shut her out from all earthly
sympathy, though not perhaps from heavenly forgiveness
or a stern finger pointing to the dark end, to which she
hastens with a purpose in her heart so strange and fearful
## p. 177 (#193) ############################################
A GLASS OF WINE. 177
to her she scarcely can believe it is her own, or that she
is herself?
With her left hand still upon the dark hairwhich
even now she could not touch without a tenderness, that,
having no part in her nature of to-day, seemed like some
relic of the wreck of the pastshe stretched out her right
arm towards a table near her, on which there were some
decanters and glasses that clashed with a silvery sound
under her touch.
"I must try and cure you of your fancies, Gaston. My
physician insists on my taking every day at luncheon a
glass of that old madeira of which my uncle is so fond.
They have not removed the wineyou shall take some;
pour it out yourself. See, here is the decanter. I will
hold the glass for you."
She held the antique diamond-cut glass with a steady
hand while Gaston poured the wine into it. The light
from the wood fire flickered, and he spilt some of the ma-
deira over her dress. They both laughed at this, and her
laugh rang out the clearer of the two.
There was a third person who laughed; but his was
a silent laugh. This third person was Monsieur Marolles,
who stood within the half-open door that led into Walerie's
dressing-room.
"So," he said to himself, "this is even better than I
had hoped. I feared his handsome face would shake her
resolution. The light in those dark eyes is very beautiful,
no doubt, but it has not long to burn."
As the firelight flashed upon the glass, Gaston held
it for a moment between his eyes and the blaze.
"Your uncle's wine is not very clear," he said, "but I
would drink the vilest vinegar from the worst tavern in
Paris, if you poured it out for me, Walerie."
As he emptied the glass the little time-piece struck six.
"I must go, Walerie. I play Gennaro in Lucretia
Borgia, and the king is to be at the theatre to-night. You
will come 2 I shall not sing well, if you are not there."
N
## p. 178 (#194) ############################################
178 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Yes, yes, Gaston." She laid her hand upon her head
as she spoke.
"Are you ill?" he asked, anxiously.
"No, no, it is nothing. Go, Gaston; you must not
keep his Majesty waiting," she said.
I wonder whether as she spoke there rose the image in
her mind of a King who reigns in undisputed power over
the earth's wide face; whose throne no revolution ever
shook; whose edict no creature ever yet set aside, and to
whom all terrible things give place, owning in him the
king of terrors!
The young man took his wife in his arms and pressed
his lips to her forehead. It was damp with a deadly cold
perspiration.
"I am sure you are ill, Valerie," he said.
She shivered violently, but pushing him towards the
door, said, "No, no, Gaston; go, I implore you; you will
be late; at the theatre you will see me. Till then, adieu."
He was gone. She closed the door upon him rapidly,
and with one long shudder fell to the ground, striking her
head against the gilded moulding of the door. Monsieur
Marolles emerged from the shadow, and lifting her from
the floor, placed her in the chair by the hearth. Her head
fell heavily back upon the velvet cushions, but her large
black eyes were open. I have said before, this woman was
not subject to fainting-fits.
She caught Raymond's hand in hers with a convulsive
grasp.
"Madame," he said, "you have shown yourself indeed
a daughter of the haughty line of the De Cevennes. You
have avenged yourself most nobly."
The large black eyes did not look at him. They were
fixed on vacancy. Vacancy? No! there could be no such
thing as vacancy for this woman. Henceforth for her the
whole earth must be filled with one hideous phantom.
There were two wine-glasses on the table, which stood
a little way behind the low chair in which Valerie was
## p. 179 (#195) ############################################
A GLASS OF WINE. 179
seated. Very beautiful glasses, antique, exquisitely cut,
and emblazoned with the arms of the De Cevennes. In
one of these glasses, the one from which Gaston de Lancy
had drunk, there remained a few drops of wine, and a
little white sediment. Walerie did not see Raymond, as
with a stealthy hand he removed this glass from the table,
and put it in the pocket of his greatcoat.
He looked once more at her as she sat with rigid
mouth and staring eyes, and then he said, as he moved
towards the door
"I shall see you at the opera, madame ! I shall be
in the stalls. You will be, with more than your wonted
brilliancy and beauty, the centre of observation in the box
next to the king's. Remember, that until to-night is over,
your play will not be played out. Au revoir, madame.
To-morrow I shall say mademoiselle / For to-morrow the
secret marriage of Walerie de Cevennes with an opera-
singer will only be a foolish memory of the past."
## p. 180 (#196) ############################################
CHAPTER WII.
THE LAST ACT OF LUCRETIA BORGIA.
Two hours after this interview in the pavilion, Raymond
Marolles is seated in his old place in the front row of the
stalls. Several times during the prologue and the first act
of the opera, his glass seeks the box next to that of the king,
always to find it empty. But after the curtain has fallen on
the finale to the first act, the quiet watcher raises his glass
once more, and sees Valerie enter, leaning on her uncle's arm.
Her dark beauty loses nothing by its unusual pallor, and
her eyes to-night have a brilliancy which, to the admiring
crowd who know so little and so little care to know the
secrets of her proud soul, is very beautiful. She wears a
high dress of dark green velvet, fastened at the throat with
one small diamond ornament, which trembles and emits
bright scintillations of rainbow light. This sombre dress,
her deadly pallor, and the strange fire in her eyes, give to
her beauty of to-night a certain peculiarity which renders her
more than usually the observed of all observers.
She seats herself directly facing the stage, laying down
her costly bouquet, which is of one pure white, being com-
posed entirely of orange-flowers, snow-drops, and jasmine,
a mixture of winter, summer, and hot-house blossoms, for
which her florist knows how to charge her. She veils the
intensity which is the distinctive character of her face with
a weary listless glance to-night. She does not once look
round the house. She has no need to look, for it seems as
if without looking she can see the pale face of Monsieur
## p. 181 (#197) ############################################
THE LAST ACT OF LUCRETIA BORGIA. 181
Marolles, who lounges with his back to the orchestra, and
his opera-glass in his hand.
The Marquis de Cevennes glances at the programme
of the opera, and throws it away from him with a dissatis-
fied air
"That abominable poisoning woman!" he says, "when
will the Parisians be tired of horrors?"
His niece raises her eyebrows slightly, but does not lift
her eyelids as she says"Ah, when, indeed!"
"I don't like these subjects," continued the marquis.
"Even the handling of a Victor Hugo cannot make them
otherwise than repulsive: and then again, there is some-
thing to be said on the score of their evil tendency. They
set a dangerous example. Lucretia Borgia in black velvet
avenging an insult according to the rules of high art and to
the music of Donizetti, is very charming, no doubt; but we
don't want our wives and daughters to learn how they may
poison us without fear of detection. What do you say,
Rinval?" he asked, turning to a young officer who had just
entered the box. "Do you think I am right?"
"Entirely, my dear marquis. The representation of
such a hideous subject is a sin against beauty and inno-
cence," he said, bowing to Valerie. "And, though the music
is very exquisite"
"Yes," said Walerie, "my uncle cannot help admiring
the music. How have they been singing to-night?" *
"Why, strange to say, for once De Lancy has disap-
pointed his admirers. His Gennaro is a very weak perfor-
mance."
"Indeed!" She takes her bouquet in her hand and plays
with the drooping blossom of a snow-drop. "A weak perfor-
mance? You surprise me really!" She might be speaking of
the flowers she holds, from the perfect indifference of her tone.
"They say he is ill," continues Monsieur Rinval. "He
almost broke down in the 'Pescator ignobile. But the
curtain has risenwe shall have the poison-scene soon, and
you can judge for yourself." -
## p. 182 (#198) ############################################
182 Tii F. TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tra-- - -
She laughs. "Nay," she says, "I have never been so
enthusiastic an admirer of this young man as you are, Mon-
sieur Rinval. I should not think the world had come to an
end if he happened to sing a false note."
The young Parisian bent over her chair, admiring her
grace and beautyadmiring, perhaps, more than all, the
haughty indifference with which she spoke of the opera-
singer, as if he were something too far removed from her
sphere for her to be in earnest about him even for one mo-
ment. Might he not have wondered even more, if he had
admired her less, could he have known that as she looked
up at him with a radiant face, she could not even see him
standing close beside her; that to her clouded sight the
opera-house was only a confusion of waving lights and burn-
ing eyes; and that, in the midst of a chaos of blood and fire,
she saw the vision of her lover and her husband dying by
the hand that had caressed him ?
"Now for the banquet-scene," exclaimed Monsieur Rin-
val. "Ah! there is Gennaro. Is he not gloriously handsome
in ruby-velvet and gold? That clubbed Venetian wig be-
comes him. It is a wig, I suppose ?"
"O, no doubt. That sort of people owe half their beauty
to wigs, and white and red paint, do they not ?" She
asked, contemptuously; and even as she spoke she was
thinking of the dark hair which her white fingers had
smoothed away from the broad brow so often, in that time
which, gone by but a few short days, seemed centuries ago
to her. She had suffered the anguish of a life-time in losing
the bright dream of her life.
"See," said Monsieur Rinval, "Gennaro has the poisoned
goblet in his hand. He is acting very badly. He is sup-
porting himself with one hand on the back of that chair,
though he has not yet drunk the fatal draught."
De Lancy was indeed leaning on an antique stage-chair
for support. Once he passed his hand across his forehead,
as if to collect his scattered senses, but he drank the wine,
## p. 183 (#199) ############################################
THE LAST ACT OF LUCRETIA BORGIA. 183
and went on with the music. Presently, however, every
performer in the orchestra looked up as if thunderstruck.
He had left off singing in the middle of a concerted piece;
but the Maffeo Orsini took up the passage, and the opera
proceeded.
"He is either ill, or he does not know the music," said
Monsieur Rinval. "If the last, it is really shameful; and
he presumes on the indulgence of the public."
"It is always the case with these favourites, is it not?"
asked Valerie.
At this moment the centre of the stage was thrown open.
There entered first a procession of black and shrouded monks
singing a dirge. Next, pale, haughty, and vengeful, the
terrible Lucretia burst upon the scene.
Scornful and triumphant she told the companions of
Gennaro that their doom was sealed, pointing to where,
in the ghastly background, were ranged five coffins, waiting
for their destined occupants. The audience, riveted by
the scene, awaited that thrilling question of Gennaro.
"Then, madame, where is the sixth ?" and as De Lancy
emerged from behind his comrades every eye was fixed
upon him.
He advanced towards Lucretia, tried to sing, but his
voice broke on the first note; he caught with his hand con-
vulsively at his throat, staggered a pace or two forward, and
then fell heavily to the floor. There was immediate con-
sternation and confusion on the stage; chorus and singers
crowded round him; one of the singers knelt down by his
side, and raised his head. As he did so, the curtain fell
suddenly.
"I was certain he was ill," said Monsieur Rinval, "I
fear it must be apoplexy."
"It is rather an uncharitable suggestion," said the mar-
quis; "but do you not think it just possible that the young
man may be tipsy 7"
There was a great buzz of surprise amongst the audience,
and in about three minutes one of the performers came be-
## p. 184 (#200) ############################################
184 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
fore the curtain, and announced that in consequence of the
sudden and alarming illness of Monsieur De Lancy it was
impossible to conclude the opera. He requested the indul-
gence of the audience for a favourite ballet which would
commence immediately.
The orchestra began the overture of the ballet, and
several of the audience rose to leave the house.
"Will you stop any longer, Valerie? or has this dismal
finale dispirited you?" said the marquis.
"A little," said Valerie; "besides, we have promised to
look in at Madame de Wermanville's concert before going
to the duchess's ball."
Monsieur Rinval helped to muffle her in her cloak, and
then offered her his arm. As they passed from the great
entrance to the carriage of the marquis, Walerie dropped
her bouquet. A gentleman advanced from the crowd and
restored it to her.
"I congratulate you alike on your strength of mind, as
on your beauty, mademoiselle !" he said, in a whisper too
low for her companions to hear, but with a terrible emphasis
on the last word.
As she stepped into the carriage, she heard a bystander
say
"Poor fellow, only seven-and-twenty! And so mar-
vellously handsome and gifted!"
"Dear me," said Monsieur Rinval, drawing up the
carriage window, "how very shocking! De Lancy is dead!"
Walerie did not utter one exclamation at this announce-
ment. She was looking steadily out of the opposite win-
dow. She was counting the lamps in the streets through
the mist of a winter's night.
"Only twenty-seven " she cried hysterically, "only
twenty-seven! It might have been thirty-seven, forty-
seven, fifty-seven! But he despised her love; he trampled
out the best feelings of her soul; so it was only twenty-
seven: Marvellously gifted and marvellously handsome,
and only twenty-seven!"
## p. 185 (#201) ############################################
THE LAST ACT OF LUCRETIA BORGIA. 185
"For heaven's sake open the windows and stop the
carriage, Rinval!" cried the marquis"I'm sure my niece
is ill."
She burst into a long, ringing laugh
"My dear uncle, you are quite mistaken. I never was
better in my life; but it seems to me as if the death of this
opera-singer has driven every body mad."
They drove rapidly home, and took her into the house.
The maid Finette begged that her mistress might be carried
to the pavilion, but the marquis overruled her, and had his
niece taken into her old suite of apartments in the mansion.
The first physicians in Paris were sent for, and when they
came they pronounced her to be seized by a brain-fever
which promised to be a very terrible one.
## p. 186 (#202) ############################################
CHAPTER VIII.
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING.
THE sudden and melancholy death of Gaston de Lancy
caused a considerable sensation throughout Parismore
especially as it was attributed by many to poison. By
whom administered, or from what motive, none could guess.
There was one story, however, circulated that was believed
by some people, though it bore very little appearance of
probability. It was reported that on the afternoon pre-
ceding the night on which De Lancy died, a stranger had
obtained admission behind the scenes of the opera-house,
and had been seen in earnest conversation with the man
whose duty it was to provide the goblets of wine for the
poison-scene in Lucretia Borgia. Some went so far as to
say, that this stranger had bribed the man to put the con-
tents of a small packet into the bottom of the glass given
on the stage to De Lancy. But so improbable a story was
believed by very few, and, of course, stoutly denied by the
man in question. The doctors attributed the death of the
young man to apoplexy. There was no inquest held on his
remains; and at the wish of his mother he was buried at
Rouen, and his funeral was no doubt a peculiarly quiet one,
for no one was allowed to know when the ceremonial took
place. Paris soon forgot its favourite. A few engravings
of him, in one or two of his great characters, lingered for
some time in the windows of the fashionable print-shops.
Brief memoirs of him appeared in several papers, and in
one or two magazines; and in a couple of weeks he was
forgotten. If he had been a great general, or a great
## p. 187 (#203) ############################################
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WARING. 187
minister, it is possible that he would not have been re-
membered much longer. The new tenor had a fair com-
plexion and blue eyes, and had two extra notes of falsetto.
So the opera-house was as brilliant as ever, though there
was for the time being a prejudice among opera-goers and
opera-singers against Lucretia Borgia, and that opera was
put on the shelf for the remainder of the season.
A month after the death of De Lancy the physician
pronounced Mademoiselle De Cevennes sufficiently recovered
to be removed from Paris to her uncle's chateau in Nor-
mandy. Her illness had been a terrible one. For many
days she had been delirious. Ah, who shall paint the
fearful dreams of that deliriumdreams, of the anguish of
which her disjointed sentences could tell so little? The
face of the man she had loved had haunted her in every
phase, wearing every expressionnow thoughtful, now
sparkling with vivacity, now cynical, now melancholy; but
always distinct and palpable, and always before her night
and day. The scene of her first meeting with him; her
secret marriage; the little chapel a few miles out of Paris;
the old priest. The bitter discovery in the Bois de Bou-
lognethe scene of his treachery. The lamplit apartment
of Monsieur de Blurosset; the cards and the poisons.
Every action of this dark period of her life she acted over
in her disordered brain again and again; a hundred times
through the long day, and a hundred times more through
the still longer night. So when, at the expiration of a
month, she was strong enough to walk from one room into
another, it was but a wreck of his proud and lovely heiress
which met her uncle's eyes.
The chateau of the marquis, some miles from the town
of Caen, was situated in a park which was as wild and
uncultivated as a wood. A park full of old timber, and
marshy, reedy grounds dotted with pools of stagnant water,
which in the good days of the old rgime were beaten
nightly by submissive peasantry, that monseigneur, the
marquis, might sleep on his bedstead of ormolu and buhl A
## p. 188 (#204) ############################################
188 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
la Louis Quatorze, undisturbed by the croaking of the
frogs.
Every thing around was falling into ruin; the chateau
had been sacked, and one wing of it burnt down, in the
year 1793; and the present marquis, then a very little boy,
had fled with his father to the hospitable shores of England,
where for more than twenty years of his life he had lived in
poverty and obscurity, teaching sometimes his native lan-
guage, sometimes mathematics, sometimes music, sometimes
one thing, sometimes another, for his daily bread. But
with the restoration of the Bourbons came the restoration
of the marquis to title and fortune. A wealthy marriage
with the widow of a rich Buonapartist restored the house of
De Cevennes to its former grandeur; and looking now at
the proud and stately head of that house, it was a difficult
thing to imagine that this man had ever taught French,
music, aud mathematics for a few shillings a lesson, in the
obscure academies of an English manufacturing town.
The dreary park, which surrounded the still more
dreary and tumble-down chateau, was white with the fallen
snow, through which the servants, or their servants the
neighbouring peasantry, coming backwards and forwards
with some message or commission from the village, waded
knee-deep, or well nigh lost themselves in some unsus-
pected hollow where the white drifts had swept and lay
collected in masses whose depth was dangerous. The
dark, oak-panelled apartments appropriated to Walerie
looked out upon the snow-clad wilderness; and very dismal
they seemed in the dying February day.
Grim pictures of dead-and-gone branches of this haughty
house stared and frowned from their heavy frames at the
pale girl, half-seated, half-reclining in a great easy-chair in
the deep embayed window. One terrible mail-clad baron,
who had fought and fallen at disastrous Agincourt, held an
uplifted axe, and in the evening shadow it seemed to
Walerie as if he raised it with a threatening glance beneath
his heavy brows, which took a purpose and a meaning as
## p. 189 (#205) ############################################
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING. 189
the painted eyes met hers. And turn which way she would,
the eyes of these dark portraits seemed to follow her: some-
times threateningly, sometimes reproachfully, sometimes
with a melancholy look, fraught with a strange and ominous
sadness that chilled her to the soul.
Logs of wood burned on the great hearth, supported by
massive iron dogs, and their flickering light falling now
here, now there, left always the corners of the large room
in shadow. The chill white night looking in at the high
window strove with the fire-light for mastery, and won it,
so that the cheery beams playing bo-peep among the quaint
oaken carving of the panelled walls and ceiling hid them-
selves abashed before the chill stare of the cold steel-blue
winter sky. The white face of the sick girl under this
dismal light looked almost as still and lifeless as the face of
her grandmother, in powder and patches, simpering down
at her from the wall. She sat aloneno book near her, no
sign of any womanly occupation in the great chamber, no
friend to watch or tend her (for she had refused all com-
panionship); she sat with listless hands drooping upon the
velvet cushions of her chair, her head thrown back, as if in
utter abandonment of all things on the face of the wide
earth, and her dark eyes staring straight before her out into
the dead waste of winter Snow.
So she has sat since early morning; so she will sit till
her maid comes to her and leads her to her dreary bed-
chamber. So she sits when her uncle visits her, and tries
every means in his power to awaken a smile, or bring one
look of animation into that dead face. Yes, it is the face
of a dead woman. Dead to hope, dead to love, dead to the
past: still more utterly dead to a future, which, since it
cannot restore the dead, can give her nothing.
So the short February days, which seem so long to her,
fade into the endless winter nights; and for her the morn.
ing has no light, nor the darkness any shelter. The conso-
lations of that holy Church, on which for ages past her
ancestors have leant for succour as on a rock of mighty
## p. 190 (#206) ############################################
190 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
and eternal strength, she dare not seek. Her uncle's chap-
lain, a white-haired old man who had nursed her in his
arms a baby, and who resides at the chateau, beloved and
honoured by all aroundcomes to her every morning, and
on each visit tries anew to win her confidence: but in
vain. How can she pour into the ears of this good and
benevolent old man her dismal story? Surely he would
cast her from him with contumely and horror. Surely he
would tell her that for her there is no hope; that even a
merciful Heaven, ready to hear the prayer of every sinner,
would be deaf to the despairing cries of such a guilty wretch
as she.
So, impenitent and despairing, she wears out the time,
and waits for death. Sometimes she thinks of the arch
tempter who smoothed the path of crime and misery in
which she had trodden, and who, in doing so, seemed so
much a part of herself, and so closely linked with her an-
guish and her revenge, that she often, in the weakness of
her shattered mind, wondered if there were indeed such
a person, or whether he might not be only the hideous
incarnation of her own dark thoughts. He had spoken
though of payment, of reward for his base services. If he
were indeed human as her wretched self, why did he not
come to claim his due 2
As the lonely impenitent woman pondered thus in the
wintry dusk, her uncle entered the chamber in which she
Sat.
"My dear Valerie," he said, "I am sorry to disturb you,
but a person has just arrived on horseback from Caen.
He has travelled, he says, all the way from Paris to see
you, and he knows that you will grant him an interview.
I told him it was not likely you would do so, and that you
certainly would not with my consent. Who can this person
be, who has the impertinence to intrude at such a time
as this? His name is entirely unknown to me."
He gave her a card. She looked at it, and read aloud
## p. 191 (#207) ############################################
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING. 191
"'Monsieur Raymond Marolles. The person is quite
right, my dear uncle, I will see him."
"But, Walerie" remonstrated the marquis.
She looked at him, with her mother's proud Spanish
blood mantling in her pale cheek.
"My dear uncle," she said quietly, "it is agreed be-
tween us, is it not, that I am in all things my own mistress,
and that you have entire confidence in me? When you
cease to trust me, we had better bid each other farewell,
for we can then no longer live beneath the same roof."
He looked with one imploring glance at the inflexible
face, but it was fixed as death.
"Tell them," she said, "to conduct Monsieur Marolles
to this apartment. I must see him, and alone."
The marquis left her, and in a few moments Raymond
entered the room, ushered in by the groom of the chambers.
He had the old air of well-bred and fashionable indiffer-
ence which so well became him, and carried a light gold-
headed riding-whip in his hand.
"Mademoiselle," he said, "will perhaps pardon my in-
trusion of this evening, which can scarcely surprise her,
if she will be pleased to remember that more than a month
has elapsed since a melancholy occurrence at the Royal
Italian Opera House, and that I have some right to be im-
patient."
She did not answer him immediately; for at this mo-
ment a servant entered, carrying a lamp, which he placed
on the table by her side, and afterwards drew the heavy
velvet curtains across the great window, shutting out the
chill winter night.
"You are very much altered, mademoiselle," said
Raymond, as he scrutinised the wan face under the lamp-
light.
"That is scarcely strange," she answered, in a chilling
tone. "I am not yet accustomed to crime, and cannot wear
the memory of it lightly."
Her visitor was dusting his polished riding-boot with
## p. 192 (#208) ############################################
192 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
--
his handkerchief as he spoke. Looking up with a smile,
he said,
"Nay, mademoiselle, I give you credit for more philo-
sophy. Why use ugly words? Crimepoisonmurder!"
He paused between each of these three words, as if every
syllable had been some sharp instrumentas if every time
he spoke he stabbed her to the heart and stopped to calcu-
late the depth of the wound. "There are no such words as
those for beauty and high rank. A person far removed
from our sphere offends us, and we sweep him from our
path. We might as well regret the venomous insect which,
having stung us, we destroy."
She did not acknowledge his words by so much as one
glance or gesture, but said coldly,
"You were so candid as to confess, monsieur, when
you served me, yonder in Paris, that you did so in the
expectation of a reward. You are here no doubt to claim
that reward?"
He looked up at her with so strange a light in his blue
eyes, and so singular a smile curving the dark moustache
which hid his thin arched lips, that in spite of herself she
was startled into looking at him anxiously. He was deter-
mined that in the game they were playing she should hold no
hidden cards, and he was therefore resolved to see her face
stripped of its mask of cold indifference. After a minute's
pause he answered her question-
"I am."
"It is well, monsieur. Will you be good enough to
state the amount you claim for your services?"
"You are determined, mademoiselle, it appears," he
said, with the strange light still glittering in his eyes,
"you are determined to give me credit for none but the
most mercenary sentiments. Suppose I do not claim any
amount of money in repayment of my services?"
"Then, monsieur, I have wronged you. You are a dis-
interested villain, and, as such, worthy of the respect of the
wicked. But since this is the case, our interview is at
## p. 193 (#209) ############################################
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING. 193
an end. I am sorry you decline the reward you have
earned so worthily, and I have the honour to wish you good
evening." -
He gave a low musical laugh. "Pardon me, mademoi-
selle," he said, "but really your words amuse me'A dis-
interested villain!' Believe me, when I tell you that dis-
interested villany is as great an impossibility as disinter-
ested virtue. You are mistaken, mademoiselle, but only as
to the nature of the reward I come to claim. You would
confine the question to one of money. Cannot you im-
agine that I have acted in the hope of a higher reward
than any recompense your banker's book could afford
me?"
She looked at him with a puzzled expression, but his face
was hidden. He was trifling with his light riding-whip,
and looking down at the hearth. After a minute's pause he
lifted his head, and glanced at her with the same dangerous
Smile.
"You cannot guess, then, mademoiselle, the price I claim
for my services yonder?" he asked.
6& No."
"Nay, mademoiselle, reflect."
"It would be useless. I might anticipate your claim-
ing half my fortune, as I am, in a manner, in your
power"
"O, yes," he murmured softly, interrupting her, "you
are, in a manner, in my power certainly."
"But the possibility of your claiming from me any
thing except money has never for a moment occurred to
me."
"Mademoiselle, when first I saw you I looked at you
through an opera-glass from my place in the stalls of the
Italian Opera. The glass, mademoiselle, was an excellent
one, for it revealed every line and every change in your
beautiful face. From my observation of that face I made
two or three conclusions about your character, which I now
find were not made upon false premises. You are impulsive,
O
## p. 194 (#210) ############################################
194 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
mademoiselle, but you are not far-seeing. You are strong
in your resolutions when once your mind is fixed; but that
mind is easily influenced by others. You have passion,
genius, couragerare and beautiful gifts which distinguish
you from the rest of womankind; but you have not that
power of calculation, that inductive science, which never
sees the effect without looking for the cause, which men
have christened mathematics. I, mademoiselle, am a math-
ematician. As such, I sat down to play a deep and danger-
ous game with you; and as such, now that the hour has
come at which I can show my hand, you will see that I hold
the winning cards."
"I cannot understand, monsieur"
"Perhaps not, yet. When you first honoured me with
an interview you were pleased to call me "an adventurer.'
You used the expression as a term of reproach. Strange to
say, I never held it in that light. When it pleased Heaven,
or Fate  whichever name you please to give the ab-
stractionto throw me out upon a world with which my
life has been one long war, it pleased that power to give me
nothing but my brains for weapons in the great fight. No
rank, no rent-roll, neither mother nor father, friend nor pa-
tron. All to win, and nothing to lose. How much I had
won when I first saw you it would be hard for you, born in
those great saloons to which I have struggled from the mire
of the streetsit would be very hard, I say, for you to guess.
I entered Paris one year ago, possessed of a sum of money
which to me was wealth, but which might, perhaps, to you,
be a month's income. I had only one objectto multiply
that sum a hundredfold. I became, therefore, a speculator,
or, as you call it, "an adventurer. As a speculator, I took
my seat in the stalls of the Opera House the night I first
saw you."
She looked at him in utter bewilderment, as he sat in
his most careless attitude, playing with the gold handle of
his riding-whip, but she did not attempt to speak, and he
continued-
## p. 195 (#211) ############################################
BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING. 195
"I happened to hear from a by-stander that you were the
richest woman in France. Do you know, mademoiselle,
how an adventurer, with a tolerably handsome face and a
sufficiently gentlemanly address, generally calculates on
enriching himself? Or, if you do not know, can you guess?"
"No," she muttered, looking at him now as if she were
in a trance and he had some strange magnetic power over
her.
"Then, mademoiselle, I must enlighten you. The ad-
venturer who does not care to grow gray and decrepit in
making a fortune by that slow and uncertain mode which
people call 'honest industry, looks about him for a fortune
ready-made and waiting for him to claim it. He makes a
wealthy marriage."
"A wealthy marriage?" She repeated the words after
him, as if mechanically.
"Therefore, mademoiselle, on seeing you, and on hear-
ing the extent of your fortune, I said to myself, that is the
woman I must marry!"
"Monsieur!" She started indignantly from her reclin-
ing attitude; but the effort was too much for her shattered
frame, and she sank back exhausted.
"Nay, mademoiselle, I did not say that is the woman I
will marry, but rather, that is the woman I must try to
marry; for as yet, remember, I did not hold one card in the
great game I had to play. I raised my glass, and looked
long at your face. A very beautiful face, mademoiselle, as
you and your glass have long decided between you. I was,
pardon me, disappointed. Had you been an ugly woman,
my chances would have been so much better. Had you been
disfigured by a hump-(if it had been but the faintest eleva-
tion of one white shoulder, prouder, perhaps, than its fellow),
had your hair been tinged with even a suspicion of the ar-
dent hue which prejudice condemns, it would have been a
wonderful advantage to me. Wain hope to win you by flat-
tery, when even the truth must sound like flattery. And
then, again, one glance told me that you were no pretty
## p. 196 (#212) ############################################
196 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
simpleton, to be won by a stratagem, or bewildered by ro-
mantic speeches. And yet, mademoiselle, I did not despair.
You were beautiful : you were impassioned. In your veins
ran the purple blood of a nation whose children's love and
hate are both akin to madness' You had, in short, a soul,
and you might have a secret!"
"MOnSieur!"
"At any rate it would be no lost time to watch you. I
therefore watched. Two or three gentlemen were talking to
you; you did not listen to them; you were asked the same
question three times, and on the second repetition of it you
started, and replied as by an effort. You were weary, or
indifferent. Now, as I have told you, mademoiselle, in the
science of mathematics we acknowledge no effect without a
cause; there was a cause, then, for this distraction on your
part. In a few minutes the curtain rose. You were no
longer absent-minded. Elvino came on the stageyou were
all attention. You tried, mademoiselle, not to appear at-
tentive, but your mouth, the most flexible feature in your
face, betrayed you. The cause, then, of your late distraction
wasElvino, otherwise the fashionable tenor, Gaston de
Lancy." -
"Monsieur, for pity's sake" she cried imploringly.
"This was card number one. My chances were looking
up. In a few minutes I saw you throw your bouquet on the
stage. I also saw the note. You had a secret, mademoi-
selle, and I possessed the clue to it. My cards were good
ones. The rest must be done by good play. I knew I
was no bad player, and I sat down to the game with the de-
termination to rise a winner."
"Finish the recital of your villany, monsieur, I begit
really becomes wearisome." She tried as she spoke to
imitate his own indifference of manner; but she was utterly
subdued and broken down, and waited for him to continue
as the victim might wait the pleasure of the executioner,
and with as little thought of opposing him.
"Then, mademoiselle, I have little more to say, except
## p. 197 (#213) ############################################
"BAD DREAMS AND A WORSE WAKING. 197
to claim my reward. That reward isyour hand." He
said this as if he never even dreamt of the possibility of a
refusal.
"Are you mad, monsieur?" She had for some time
anticipated this climax, and she felt how utterly power-
less she was in the hands of an unscrupulous villain. How
unscrupulous, she did not yet know.
"Nay, mademoiselle, remember ! A man has been poi-
soned. Easy enough to set suspicion, which has already
pointed to foul play, more fully at work. Easy enough to
prove a certain secret marriage, a certain midnight visit to
that renowned and not too highly respected chemist, Mon-
sieur Blurosset. Easy enough to produce the order for five
thousand francs signed by Mademoiselle de Cevennes. And
should these proofs not carry with them conviction, I am
the fortunate possessor of a wine-glass emblazoned with
the arms of your house, in which still remains the sedi-
ment of a poison well known to the more distinguished
members of the medical science. I think, mademoiselle,
these few evidences, added to the powerful motive re-
vealed by your secret marriage, would be quite suffi-
cient to set every newspaper in France busy with the
details of a murder unprecedented in the criminal annals
of this country. But, mademoiselle, I have wearied you;
you are pale, exhausted. I have no wish to hurry you into
a rash acceptance of my offer. Think of it, and to-
morrow let me hear your decision. Till then, adieu."
He rose as he spoke. -
She bowed her head in assent to his last proposition,
and he left her.
Did he know, or did he guess, that there might be
another reason to render her acceptance of his hand possi-
ble? Did he think that even his obscure name might be a
shelter to her in days to come 7
O Valerie, Walerie, for ever haunted by the one beloved
creature gone out of this world never to return! For ever
pursued by the image of the love which never was, which at
## p. 198 (#214) ############################################
198 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
its best and brightest was but a false dream. Most treach-
erous when most tender, most cruel when most kind, most
completely false when it most seemed a holy truth. Weep,
Walerie, for the long years to come, whose dismal burden
shall for ever be, "O, never, never more!"
## p. 199 (#215) ############################################
CHAPTER IX.
A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.
A MONTH from the time at which this interview took place,
every one worth speaking of in Paris is busy talking of a
singular marriage about to be celebrated in that smaller
and upper circle which forms the apex of the fashionable
pyramid. The niece and heiress of the Marquis de Ce-
vennes is about to marry a gentleman of whom the fan-
bourg St. Germain knows very little. But though the fau-
bourg knows very little, the faubourg has notwithstanding
a great deal to say; perhaps all the more from the very
slight foundation it has for its assertions. Thus, on Tues-
day, the faubourg affirms that Monsieur Raymond Marolles
is a German, and a political refugee. On Wednesday the
faubourg rescinds; he is not a German, he is a Frenchman,
the son of an illegitimate son of Philip Egalit, and conse-
quently nephew to the king, by whose influence the mar-
riage has been negotiated. The faubourg, in short, has so
many accounts of Monsieur Raymond Marolles, that it is
quite unnecessary for the Marquis de Cevennes to give any
account of him whatever, and he alone therefore is silent on
the subject. Monsieur Marolles is a very worthy man, agen-
tleman of course, and his niece is very much attached to him;
beyond this, the marquis does not condescend to enlighten
his numerous acquaintance. How much more might the fau-
bourg have to say if it could for one moment imagine the
details of a stormy scene which took place between the
uncle and niece at the chateau in Normandywhen, kneel-
ing before the cross, Walerie swore that there was so dread-
ful a reason for this strange marriage, that, did her uncle
## p. 200 (#216) ############################################
200 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
know it, he would himself kneel at her feet and implore
her to sacrifice herself to save the honour of her noble house.
What might have been suggested to the mind of the marquis
by these dark hints no one knew; but he ceased to oppose
the marriage of the only scion of one of the highest fami-
lies in France with a man who could tell nothing of him-
self, except that he had received the education of a gentle-
man, and had a will strong enough to conquer fortune.
The religious solemnisation of the marriage was per-
formed with great magnificence, at the Madeleine. Wealth,
rank, and fashion were equally represented at the dejener
which succeeded the ceremonial, and Monsieur Marolles
found himself the centre of a circle of the old nobility of
France. It would have been very difficult, even for an at-
tentive observer, to discover one triumphant flash in those
light blue eyes, or one smile playing round the thin lips, by
which a stranger might divine that the bridegroom of to-day
was the winner of a deep-laid and villanous scheme. He
bore his good fortune, in fact, with such well-bred indiffer-
ence, that the faubourg immediately set him down as a
great man, even if not one of the set which was the seventh
heaven in that Parisian paradise. And it would have been
equally difficult for any observer to read the secret of the pale
but beautiful face of the bride. Cold, serene, and haughty,
she smiled a stereotyped smile upon all, and showed no more
agitation during the ceremony than she might have done
had she been personating a bride in an acted charade.
It may be, that the hour when any event, however start-
ling, however painful, could move her from this cold se-
renity, had for ever passed away. It may be, that having
outlived all the happiness of her life, she had almost out-
lived the faculty of feeling or of suffering, and must hence-
forth exist only for the worlda distinguished actress in
the great comedy of fashionable life.
She is standing in a window filled with exotics, which
form a great screen of dark green leaves and tropical flowers,
through which the blue spring sky looks in, clear, bright,
## p. 201 (#217) ############################################
A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 201
and cold. She is talking to an elderly duchess, a languid
and rather faded personage, dressed in ruby velvet, and
equally distinguished for the magnificence of her lace
and the artful composition of her complexion, which is as
near an approach to nature as can be achieved by pearl-pow-
der. "And you leave France in a month, to take possession
of your estates in South America?" she asks.
"In a month, yes," says Walerie, playing with the large
dark leaf of a magnolia. "I am anxious to see my mother's
native country. I am tired of Paris."
"Really? You surprise me!" The languid duchess
cannot conceive the possibility of any one being tired of a
Parisian existence. She is deep in her thirty-fourth pla-
tonic attachmentthe object, a celebrated novelist of the
transcendental school; and as at this moment she sees him
entering the room by a distant door, she strolls away from
the window, carrying her perfumed complexion through the
delighted crowd.
Perhaps Monsieur Raymond Marolles, standing talking to
an old Buonapartist general, whose breast is one constellation
of stars and crosses, had only been waiting for this opportu-
nity, for he advanced presently with soft step and graceful
carriage towards the ottoman on which his bride had seated
herself. She was trifling with her costly bridal bouquet as
the bridegroom approached her, plucking the perfumed
petals one by one, and scattering them on the ground at
her feet in very wantonness.
"Walerie," he said, bending over her, and speaking in
tones which, by reason of the softness of their intonation,
might have been tender, but for the want of some diviner
melody from within the soul of the man, not having which,
they had the false jingle of a spurious coin.
The spot in which the bride was seated was so sheltered
by the flowers and the satin hangings which shrouded the
window, that it formed a little alcove, shut out from the
crowded room,
## p. 202 (#218) ############################################
202 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPRNT.
"Walerie!" he repeated; and finding that she did not
answer, he laid his white ungloved hand upon her jewelled
wrist.
She started to her feet, drawing herself up to her full-
est height, and shaking off his hand with a gesture which,
had he been the foulest and most loathsome reptile
crawling upon the earth's wide face, could not have be-
spoken a more intense abhorrence.
"There could not be a better time than this," she said,
"to say what I have to say. You may perhaps imagine that
to be compelled to speak to you at all is so abhorrent to me,
that I shall use the fewest words I can, and use those words
in their very fullest sense. You are the incarnation of my
misery and crime. As such you can perhaps understand
how deeply I hate you. You are a villain; and so mean
and despicable a villain, that even in the hour of your suc-
cess you are a creature to be pitied!since from the very
depth of your degradation you lack the power to know how
much you are degraded! As such I scorn and loathe you,
as we loathe those venomous reptiles which, from their
noxious qualities, defy our power to handle and extermi-
nate them" 
"And as your husband, madame?" Her bitter words
discomposed him so little, that he stooped to pick up a
costly flower which in her passion she had thrown down,
and placed it carefully in his button-hole. "As your hus-
band, madame * The state of your feelings towards me in
that character is perhaps a question more to the point."
"You are right," she said, casting all assumption of in-
difference aside, and trembling with scornful rage. "That
is the question. Your speculation has been a successful
One." -
"Entirely successful," he replied, still arranging the
flower in his coat.
"You have the command of my fortune"
"A fortune which many princes might be proud to pos-
sess," he interposed, looking at the blossom, not at her. He
## p. 203 (#219) ############################################
A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 203
may possibly have been a brave man, but he was not dis-
tinguished for looking in people's faces, and he did not care
about meeting her eyes to-day.
"But if you think the words whose sacred import has
been prostituted by us this day have any meaning for you or
meif you think there is a lacquey or a groom in this vast
city, a ragged mendicant standing at a church-door whom I
would not sooner call my husband than the wretch who
stands beside me now, you neither know me nor my sex.
My fortune you are welcome to. Take it, squander it, scat-
ter it to the winds, spend it to the last farthing on the low
vices that are pleasure to such men as you. But dare to
address me with but one word from your false lips, dare
to approach me so near as to touch but the hem of my
dress, and that moment I proclaim the story of our marriage
from first to last. Believe me when I sayand if you look
me in the face you will believe methe restraining influ-
ence is very slight that holds me back from standing now in
the centre of this assembly to proclaim myself a vile and
cruel murderess, and you my tempter and accomplice. Be-
lieve me when I tell you that it needs but one look of yours
to provoke me to blazon this hideous secret, and cry its de-
tails in the very market-place. Believe this, and rest con-
tented with the wages of your work."
Exhausted by her passion, she sank into her seat. Ray-
mond looked at her with a supercilious sneer. He despised
her for this sudden outbreak of rage and hatred, for he felt
how much his calculating brain and icy temperament made
him her superior.
"You are somewhat hasty, madame, in your conclusions.
Who said I was discontented with the wages of my work,
when for those wages alone I have played the game in
which, as you say, I am the conqueror? For the rest, I do
not think I am the man to break my heart for love of any
woman breathing, as I never quite understood what this
same weakness of the brain, which men have christened
love, really is; and even were the light of dark eyes neces-
## p. 204 (#220) ############################################
204 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
sary to my happiness, I need scarcely tell you, madame,
that beauty is very indulgent to a man with such a fortune
as I am master of to-day. There is nothing on earth to
prevent our agreeing remarkably well; and perhaps this
marriage, which you speak of so bitterly, may be as happy
as many other unions, which, were I Asmodeus, and you my
pupil, we could look down on to-day through the house-
tops of this good city of Paris."
I wonder whether Monsieur Marolles was right? I won-
der whether this thrice-sacred sacrament, ordained by an
Almighty Power for the glory and the happiness of the
earth, is ever, by any chance, profaned and changed into a
bitter mockery or a wicked lie? Whether, by any hazard,
these holy words were ever used in any dark hour of this
world's history, to join such people as had been happier far
asunder, though they had been parted in their graves; or
whether, indeed, this solemn ceremonial has not so often
united such people, with a chain no time has power to wear
or lengthen, that it has at last, unto some ill-directed minds,
sunk to the level of a pitiful and worn-out farce?
## p. 205 (#221) ############################################
CHAPTER X.
ANIMAL MAGNETISM.
NEARLY a month has passed since this strange marriage,
and Monsieur Blurosset is seated at his little green-covered
table, the lamp-light falling full upon the outspread pack
of cards, over which the blue spectacles bend with the same
intent and concentrated gaze as on the night when the fate
of Walerie hung on the lips of the professor of chemistry
and pasteboard. Every now and then, with light and care-
ful fingers, Monsieur Blurosset changes the position of
some card, or cards. Sometimes he throws himself back
in his chair and thinks deeply. The expressionless mouth,
which betrays no secrets, tells nothing of the nature of
his thoughts. Sometimes he makes notes on a long slip
of paper; rows of figures, and problems in algebra, over
which he ponders long. By and by, for the first time, he
looks up and listens.
His little apartment has two doors. One, which leads
out on to the staircase. A second, which communicates
with his bed-chamber. This door is open, a very little,
but enough to show that there is a feeble light burning
within the chamber. It is in the direction of this door
that the blue spectacles are fixed when Monsieur Blurosset
suspends his calculations in order to listen; and it is to a
sound within this room that he listens intently.
That sound is the laboured and heavy breathing of a
man. The room is tenanted.
"Good," says Monsieur Blurosset, presently, "the res-
## p. 206 (#222) ############################################
206 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
piration is certainly more regular. It is really a most
Wonderful case."
As he says this, he looks at his watch. "Five minutes
past eleventime for the dose," he mutters.
He goes to the little cabinet from which he took the
'drug he gave to Valerie, and busies himself with some
bottles, from which he mixes a draught in a small medi-
cine-glass; he holds it to the light, puts it to his lips, and
then passes with it into the next room.
There is a sound as if the person to whom he gave the
medicine made some faint resistance, but in a few minutes
Monsieur Blurosset emerges from the room carrying the
empty glass.
He reseats himself before the green table, and resumes
his contemplation of the cards. Presently a bell rings.
"So late," mutters Monsieur Blurosset; "it is most likely
some one for me." He rises, sweeps the cards into one
pack, and going over to the door of his bedroom, shuts it
softly. When he has done so, he listens for a moment with
his ear close to the wood-work. There is not a sound of
the breathing within.
He has scarcely done so when the bell rings for the
second time. He opens the door communicating with the
staircase, and admits a visitor. The visitor is a woman,
very plainly dressed, and thickly veiled.
"Monsieur Blurosset?" she says, inquiringly.
"The same, madame. Pray enter, and be good enough
to be seated." He hands her a chair at a little distance
from the green table, and as far away as he can place it
from the door of the bedchamber; she sits down, and as
he appears to wait for her to speak, she says
"I have heard of your fame, monsieur, and come"
"Nay, madame," he says, interrupting her, "you can
raise your veil if you will. I perfectly remember youI
never forget voices, Mademoiselle de Cevennes."
There is no shade of impertinence in his manner as he
says this; he speaks as though he were merely stating a
## p. 207 (#223) ############################################
ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 207
simple fact which it is as well for her to know. He has the
air, in all he does or says, of a scientific man who has no
existence out of the region of science.
Waleriefor it is indeed sheraises her veil.
"Monsieur," she says, "you are candid with me, and
it will be the best for me to be frank with you. I am very
unhappyI have been so for some months past; and I
shall be so until my dying day. One reason alone has
prevented my coming to you long ere this, to offer you half
my fortune for such another drug as that which you sold
to me some time past. You may judge, then, that reason
is a very powerful one, since, though death alone can give
me peace, I yet do not wish to die. But I wish to have
at my command a means of certain death. I may never
use it at allI swear never to use it on any one but my-
Self!"
All this time the blue spectacles have been fixed on her
face, and now Monsieur Blurosset interrupts her
"And for such a drug, mademoiselle, you would offer
me a large sum of money?" he asks.
"I would, monsieur."
"I cannot sell it you," he says, as quietly as though he
were speaking of some unimportant trifle.
"You cannot?" she exclaims.
"No, mademoiselle. I am a man absorbed entirely in
the pursuit of science. My life has been so long devoted
to science only, that perhaps I may have come to hold
every thing beyond the circle of my little laboratory too
lightly. You asked me some time since for a poison, or
at least you were introduced to me by a pupil of mine,
at whose request I sold you a drug. I had been twenty
years studying the properties of that drug. I may not
know them fully yet, but I expect to do so before this
year is out. I gave it to you, and, for all I know to the
contrary, it may in your hands have done some mischief."
He pauses here and looks at her for a moment; but she
has borne the knowledge of her crime so long, and it has
## p. 208 (#224) ############################################
208 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
become so much a part of her, that she does not flinch
under his scrutiny.
"I placed a weapon in your hands," he continues, "and
I had no right to do so. I never thought of this at that
time; but I have thought of it since. For the rest, I have
no inducement to sell you the drug you ask for. Money is
of little use to me, except in the necessary expenses of the
chemicals I use. These"he points to the cards"give
me enough for those expenses; beyond those, my wants
amount to some few francs a week."
"Then you will not sell me this drug? You are deter-
mined?" she asks.
"Quite determined."
She shrugs her shoulders. "As you please. There is
always some river within reach of the wretched; and you
may depend, monsieur, that they who cannot support life
will find a means of death. I wish you good evening."
She is about to leave the room, when she stops, with
her hand upon the lock of the door, and turns round.
She stands for a few minutes, motionless and silent,
holding the handle of the door, and with her other hand
upon her heart. Monsieur Blurosset has the faintest sha-
dow of a look of surprise in his expressionless counte-
IlanC6.
"I don't know what is the matter with me to-night,"
she says, "but something seems to root me to this spot.
I cannot leave this room."
"You are ill, mademoiselle, perhaps. Let me give you
some restorative."
"No, no, I am not ill."
Again she is silent; her eyes are fixed, not on the
chemist, but with a strange vacant gaze upon the wall be-
fore her. Suddenly she asks him \
"Do you believe in animal magnetism?"
"Madame, I have spent half my lifetime in trying to
answer that question, and I can only answer it now by
halves. Sometimes no; sometimes yes."
## p. 209 (#225) ############################################
ANIMAL MAGNETISM. 209
"Do you believe it possible for one soul to be gifted
with a mysterious prescience of the emotions of another
soul?to be sad when that is sad, though utterly uncon-
scious of any cause for sadness; and to rejoice when that
is happy, having no reason for rejoicing?"
"I cannot answer your question, madame, because it
involves another. I never yet have discovered what the
soul really is. Animal magnetism, if it ever become a
science, will be a material science, and the soul escapes
from all material dissection."
"Do you believe, then, that by some subtle influence,
whose nature is unknown to us, we may have a strange
consciousness of the presence or the approach of some
people, conveyed to us by neither the hearing nor the
sight, but rather as if we felt that they were near?"
"You believe this possible, madame, or you would not
ask the question."
"Perhaps. I have sometimes thought that I had this
consciousnessbut it related to a person who is dead"
"Yes, madame."
"Andyou will think me madHeaven knows, I
think myself soI feel as if that person were near me to-
night."
The chemist rises, and, going over to her, feels hel
pulse. It is rapid and intermittent. She is evidently vio-
lently agitated, though she is trying with her utmost power
to control herself.
"But you say that this person is dead?" he asks.
"Yes; he died some months since."
"You know that there are no such things as ghosts?"
"I am perfectly convinced of that!"
"And yet?" he asks.
"And yet I feel as though the dead were near me
to-night. Tell methere is no one in this room but our-
Selves?"
"NO One."
And that doorit leads"
## p. 210 (#226) ############################################
210 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Into the room in which I sleep."
"And there is no one there?" she asks.
"No one. Let me give you a sedative, madame: you
are certainly ill."
"No, no, monsieur: you are very good. I am still
weak from the effects of a long illness. That weakness
may be the cause of my silly fancies of to-night. To-
morrow I leave France, perhaps for ever."
She leaves him; but on the steep dark staircase she
pauses for a moment, and seems irresolute, as if half deter-
mined to return; then she hurries on, and in a minute
is in the street. *
She takes a circuitous route towards the house in which
she lives. So plainly dressed, and thickly veiled, no one
stops to notice her as she walks along.
Her husband, Monsieur Marolles, is engaged at a dinner
given by a distinguished member of the chamber of peers.
Decidedly he has held winning cards in the game of life.
And she, for ever haunted by the past, with weary step goes
onward to a dark and unknown future.
## p. 211 (#227) ############################################
$ook the fourth.
NAPOLEON THE GREAT.
CHAPTER I.
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON.
EIGHT years have passed since the trial of Richard Mar-
wood. How have those eight years been spent by "Dare-
devil Dick" P
In a small room a few feet square, in the County Lunatic
Asylum, fourteen miles from the town of Slopperton, with
no human being's companionship but that of a grumpy old
deaf keeper, and a boy, his assistantfor eight monotonous
years this man's existence has crept slowly on; always the
same; the same food, the same hours at which that food
must be eaten, the same rules and regulations for every
action of his inactive life. Think of this, and pity the man
surnamed "Daredevil Dick," and once the maddest and
merriest creature in a mad and merry circle. Think of the
daily walk in a great square flagged yardthe solitary walk,
for he is not allowed even the fellowship of the other lu-
natics, lest the madness which led him to commit an awful
crime should again break out, and endanger the lives of
those about him. During eight long years he has counted
every stone in the flooring, every flaw and every crack in
each of those stones. He knows the shape of every shadow
that falls upon the white-washed wall, and can, at all sea-
sons of the year, tell the hour by the falling of it. He
knows that at such a time on a summer's evening the
shadows of the iron bars of the window will make long
## p. 212 (#228) ############################################
212 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
black lines across the ground, and mount, and mount, divid-
ing the wall as if it were in panels, till they meet, and ab-
sorbing altogether the declining light, surround and absorb
him too, till he is once more alone in the darkness. He
knows, too, that at such a time on the gray winter's morn-
ing these same shadows will be the first indications of the
coming light; that, from the thick gloom of the dead night,
they will break out upon the wall, with strips of glimmering
day between, only enough like light to show the blackness
of the shade. He has sometimes been mad enough and
wretched enough to pray that these shadows might fall
differently, that the very order of nature might be reversed,
to break this bitter and deadly monotony. He has some-
times prayed that, looking up, he might see a great fire in
the sky, and know that the world was at an end. How
often he has prayed to die, it would be difficult to say. At
one time it was his only prayer; at one time he did not
pray at all. He has been permitted at intervals to see his
mother: but her visits, though he has counted the days,
hours, and even minutes between them, have only left him
more despondent than ever. She brings so much with her
into his lonely prison, so much memory of a joyous past, of
freedom, of a happy home, whose happiness he did his best
in his wild youth to destroy; the memory, too, of that care-
less youth, its boon companions, its devoted friends. She
brings so much of all this back to him by the mere fact of
her presence, that she leaves behind her the blackness of a
despair far more terrible than the most terrible death. She
represents to him the outer world; for she is the only crea-
ture belonging to it who ever crosses the threshold of his
prison. The asylum chaplain, the asylum doctor, the keepers
and the officials belonging to the asylum; all these are part
and parcel of this great prison-house of stone, brick, and
mortar, and seem to be about as capable of feeling for him,
listening to him, or understanding him, as the stones, bricks,
and mortar themselves. Routine is the ruler of this great
prison; and if this wretched insane criminal cannot live by
## p. 213 (#229) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 213
rules and regulations, he must die according to them, and
be buried by them, and so be done with, out of the way,
and his little room, No. 35, will be ready for some one else,
as wicked, as dangerous, and as unfortunate as he.
During the earlier part of his imprisonment the idea had
pervaded the asylum, that, as he had been found guilty of
committing one murder, he might, very likely, find it neces-
sary to his peculiar state of mind to commit more murders,
and would probably find it soothing to his feelings to assas-
sinate any body who might come in his way any morning
before breakfast. The watch kept upon him was therefore
for some time very strict. He was rather popular at first
in the asylum, as a distinguished public character; and the
keepers, though a little shy of attending upon him in their
proper persons, were extremely fond of peering in at him
through a little oval opening in the upper panel of the door
of his cell. They also brought such visitors as came to im-
prove their minds by going over the hospital for the insane,
to have a special and private view of this maniacal mur-
derer; and they generally received an extra donation from
the sight-seers thus gratified. Even the lunatics themselves
were interested in the supposed assassin. A gentleman, who
claimed to be the Emperor of the German Ocean and the
Chelsea Waterworks, was very anxious to see him, as he
had received a despatch from his minister of police inform-
ing him that Richard Marwood had red hair, and he par.
ticularly wished to confirm this intelligence, or to give the
minister his cong.
Another highly-respectable person, whose case was be-
fore the House of Commons, and who took minutes of it
every day on a slate, with a bit of slate-pencil which he
wore attached to his button-hole by a string, and which
tlso served him as a tooth-pickthe slate being intrusted
to a keeper who forwarded it to the electric telegraph, to
be laid on the table of the House, and brought home, washed
clean, in half an hour, which was always done to the minute;
this gentleman also sighed for an introduction to poor
## p. 214 (#230) ############################################
214 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Dick, for Maria Martin had come to him in a vision all the
way from the Red Barn, to tell him that the prisoner was
his first cousin, through the marriage of his uncle with the
third daughter of Henry the Eighth's seventh wife, and he
considered it only natural and proper that such near rela-
tions should become intimately acquainted with each other.
A lady, who pronounced herself to be the only child of
the Pope of Rome, by a secret union with a highly-respect-
able young person, heiress to a gentleman connected with
the muffin-trade somewhere about Drury Lane, fell in love
off-hand with Richard, from description alone; and begged
one of the keepers to let him know that she had a clue to a
subterranean passage, which led straight from the asylum
to a baker's shop in Little Russell Street, Covent Garden, a
distance of some two hundred and fifty miles, and had been
originally constructed by William the Conqueror for the
convenience of his visits to Fair Rosamond when the
weather was bad. The lady begged her messenger to in-
form Mr. Marwood that if he liked to unite his fortune
with hers, they could escape by this passage, and set up in
the muffin businessunless, indeed, his Holiness of the
triple crown invited them over to the Vatican, which per-
haps, under existing circumstances, was hardly likely.
But though a wonder, which elsewhere would only last
nine days, may in the dreary monotony of such a place as
this, endure for more than nine weeks, it must still die out
at last. So at last Richard was forgotten by every one
except his heart-broken mother, and the keeper and boy
attending upon him.
His peculiar hallucination being his fancy that he was
the Emperor Napoleon the First, was, of course, little wonder
in a place where every wretched creature fancied himself some
one or some thing which he was not; where men and women
walked about in long disjointed dreams, which had no waking
but in death; where once bright and gifted human beings
found a wild and imbecile happiness in crowns of straw, and
decorations of paper and rags; which was more sad to see
## p. 215 (#231) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 215
than the worst misery a consciousness of their state might
have brought them. At first, Richard had talked wildly of
his fancied greatness, had called his little room the rock of
St. Helena, and his keeper, Sir Hudson Lowe. But he grew
quieter day by day, and at last never spoke at all, except in
answer to a question. And so on, for eight long years.
In the autumn of the eighth year he fell ill. A strange
illness. Perhaps scarcely to be called an illness. Rather
a dying out of the last light of hope, and an utter abandon-
ment of himself to despair. Yes, that was the name of the
disease under which the high and bold spirit of Daredevil
Dick sank at last. Despair. A curious disease. Not to be
cured by rules and regulations, however salutary those rules
might be; not to be cured even by the Board, which was
supposed to be in a manner omnipotent, and to be able to
cure any thing in one sitting; not to be cured certainly by
the asylum doctor, who found Richard's case very difficult
to deal withmore especially difficult, since there was no
positive physical malady to attack. There was a physical
malady, because the patient grew every day weaker, lost
appetite, and was compelled to take to his bed; but it was
the malady of the mind acting on the body, and the cure of
the last could only be effected by the cure of the first.
So Richard lay upon his narrow little couch, watching
the shadows on the bare wall, and the clouds that passed
across the patch of sky which he could see through the
barred window opposite his bed, through long, sunny days,
and moonlight nights, throughout the month of September.
Thus it happened that one dull afternoon, on looking
up, he saw a darker cloud than usual hurry by; and in its
train another, darker still; then a black troop of ragged fol-
lowers; and then such a shower of rain came down, as he
could not remember having seen throughout the time of his
captivity. But this heavy shower was only the beginning of
three weeks' rainy weather; at the end of which time the
country round was flooded in every direction, and Richard
heard his keeper tell another man that the river outside the
## p. 216 (#232) ############################################
216 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
prison, which usually ran within twenty feet of the wall on
one side of the great yard, was now swollen to such a de
gree as to wash the stonework of this wall for a considerable
height.
The day Richard heard this, he heard another dialogue,
which took place in the passage outside his room. He was
lying on his bed, thinking of the bitterness of his fate, as he
had thought so many hundred times, through so many
hundred days, till he had become, as it were, the slave of a
dreadful habit of his mind, and was obliged to go over the
same ground for ever and ever, whether he would or no
he was lying thus, when he heard his keeper say,
"To think as how the discontented little beast should
take and go and better his-self at such a time as this here,
when there ain't a boy to be had for love or moneywhich
three shillings a week is all the Board will giveas will
come here to take care of him."
Richard knew himself to be the "him" alluded to.
The doctor had ordered the boy to sit up with him at
night, during the latter part of his illness, and it had been
something of a relief to him, in the blank monotony of his
life, to watch this boy's attempts to keep awake, and his
furtive games at marbles under the bed when he thought
Richard was not looking, or to listen to his snoring when
he slept.
"You see, boys as is as bold as brass many waysas
would run under 'osses' heads, and like it; as thinks it
fun to run across the rail-road when there's a hexpress
hengine a comin', and as will amuse their-selves for the hour
together with twopen'orth of gunpowder and a lighted can-
dlestill feels timersome about sittin' up alone of nights
with him," said the keeper.
"But he's harmless enough, ain't he 7" asked the other.
"Harmless | Lord bless his poor hinnercent 'art! there
ain't no more harm in him nor a baby. But it's no use a
sayin' that, for there ain't a boy far or near what'll come
and help to take care of him."
## p. 217 (#233) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 217
A minute or two after this, the keeper came into
Richard's room with the regulation basin of brotha
panacea, as it was supposed, for all ills, from water on the
brain to rheumatism. As he put the basin down, and was
about to go, Richard spoke to him
"The boy is going, then?"
"Yes, sir." The keeper treated him with great respect,
for he had been handsomely fee'd by Mrs. Marwood on
every visit throughout the eight years of her son's imprison-
ment. "Yes, he's a goin', sir. The place ain't lively enough
for him, if you please. I'd lively him, if I was the Board
Ain't he had the run of the passages, and half an hour
every night to enjoy his-self in the yard! He's a goin' into
a doctor's service; he says it'll be jolly, carrying out medi-
cine for other people to take, and gloating over the thoughts
of 'em a-taking it."
"And you can't get another boy to come here?"
"Well, you see, sir, the boys about here don't seem to
take kindly to the place. So I've got orders from the Board
to put an advertisement in one of the Slopperton papers;
and I'm a goin' to do it this afternoon. So you'll have a
change in your attendance, maybe, sir, before the week's
Out."
Nothing could better prove the utter dreariness and
desolation of Richard's life than that such a thing as the
probable arrival of a strange boy to wait upon him seemed
an event of importance. He could not help, though he des-
pised himself for his folly, speculating upon the possible ap-
pearance of the new boy. Would he be big or little, stout
or thin? What would be the colour of his eyes and hair?
Would his voice be gruff or squeaky, or would it be that
peculiar and uncertain voice, common to over-grown boys,
which is gruff one minute and squeaky the next, and always
is in one of these extremes when you most expect it to be in
the other?
But these speculations were of course a part of his mad-
ness; for it is not to be supposed that a long course of soli-
## p. 218 (#234) ############################################
218 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tary confinement could produce any dreadful change in the
mind of a sane man; or surely no human justices or law-
givers would ever adjudge so terrible a punishment to any
creature, human as themselves, and no more liable to error
than themselves.
So Richard, lying on his little bed through the long rainy
days, awaits the departure of his old attendant, and the
coming of a new one; and in the twilight of the third day
he still lies looking up at the square grated window, and
counting the drops falling from the eavesfor there is at
last some cessation in the violence of the rain. He knows
it is an autumn evening; but he has not seen the golden red
of one fallen leaf, or the subdued colouring of one autumnal
flower: he knows it is the end of September because his
keeper has told him so, and when his window is open, he
can hear sometimes, far away, deadened by the rainy atmos-
phere as well as by the distance, the occasional report of
some sportsman's gun. He thinks, as he hears this, of a
September many years ago, when he and a scape-grace com-
panion took a fortnight's shooting in a country where to
brush against a bush, or to tread upon the long grass, was to
send a feathered creature whirring up into the clear air. He
remembers the merry pedestrian journey, the road-side inns,
the pretty bar-maids, the joint purse; the blue smoke from
two short meerschaum pipes curling up to the gray morning
sky; the merry laughter from two happy hearts ringing out
upon the chill morning air. He remembers encounters with
savage gamekeepers, of such ferocious principle and tender
consciences as even the administration of a half-crown could
not lull to sleep; he remembers jovial evenings in the great
kitchens of old inns, where unknown quantities of good old
ale were drunk, and comic songs were sung, with such a
chorus, that to join in it was to be overcome by such fatigue,
or to be reduced from wildest mirth to such a pitch of
sudden melancholy, as ultimately to lead to the finishing of
the evening in tears, or else under the table. He remembers
## p. 219 (#235) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 219
all these things, and he wondersas, being a madman, it is
natural he shouldwonders, whether it can be indeed him-
self, who once was that wittiest, handsomest, most generous,
and best of fellows, baptised long ago in a river of sparkling
hock, moselle, and burgundy, "Daredevil Dick."
But something more than these sad memories comes
with the deepening twilight, for presently Richard hears the
door of his room unlocked, and his keeper's voice, saying
"There, go in, and tell the gent you've come. I'm a
comin' in with his supper and his lamp presently, and then
I'll tell you what you've got to do."
Naturally Richard looked round in the direction of the
door, for he knew this must be the strange boy. Now, his
late juvenile attendant had numbered some fifteen summers;
to say nothing of the same number of winters, duly chroni-
cled by chilblains and chapped hands. Richard's eyes there-
fore looked towards the open door at about that height from
the ground which a lad of fifteen has commonly attained;
and looking thus, Richard saw nothing. He therefore low-
ered his glance, and in about the neighbourhood of what
would have been the lowest button of his last attendant's
waistcoat, he beheld the small, pale, thin face of a very small
and very thin boy. - -
This small boy was standing rubbing his right little foot
against his left little wizen leg, and looking intently at
Richard. To say that his tiny face had a great deal of char-
acter in it would not be to say much; what face he had was
all character.
Determination, concentration, energy, strength of will,
and brightness of intellect, were all written in unmistakable
lines upon that pale, pinched face. The boy's features were
wonderfully regular, and had nothing in common with the
ordinary features of a boy of his age and his class; the tiny
nose was a perfect aquiline; the decided mouth might have
belonged to a prime-minister with the blood of the Planta-
genets in his veins. The eyes, of a bluish gray, were small,
and a little too near together, but the light in them
## p. 220 (#236) ############################################
220 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
was the light of an intelligence marvellous in one so
young.
Richard, though a wild and reckless fellow, had never
been devoid of thought, and in the good days past had dab.
bled in many a science, and had adopted and abandoned
many a creed. He was something of a physiognomist, and
he read enough in one glance at this boy's face to awaken
both surprise and interest in him.
"So," said he, "you are the new boy! Sit down," he
pointed to a little wooden stool near the bed as he spoke.
"Sit down, and make yourself at home."
The boy obeyed, and seated himself firmly by the side of
Richard's pillow; but the stool was so low, and he was so
small, that Richard had to change his position to look over
the edge of the bed at his new attendant. While Daredevil
Dick contemplated him the boy's small gray eyes peered
round the four white-washed walls, and then fixed them
selves upon the barred window, with such a look of con-
centration, that it seemed to Richard as if the little lad must
be calculating the thickness and power of resistance of each
iron bar with the accuracy of a mathematician.
"What's your name, my lad?" asked Richard. He had
been always beloved by all his inferiors, for a manner com-
bining the stately reserve of a great king with the friendly
condescension of a popular prince.
"Slosh, sir," answered the boy, bringing his gray eyes with
a great effort away from the iron bars, and back to Richard.
"Slosh! A curious name. Your surname, I suppose?"
"Surname and christen name too, sir. Sloshshort for
Sloshy." *
"But have you no surname, then?"
"No, sir; fondling, sir."
"A foundling: dear me, and you are called Sloshy!
Why, that is the name of the river that runs through Slop-
perton."
"Yes, sir, which I was found in the mud of the river, sir,
when I was only three months old, sir."
## p. 221 (#237) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 221
"Found in the riverwere you?poor boyand by
whom ?"
"By the gent what adopted me, sir."
"And he is?" asked Richard.
"A gent connected with the police force, sir; detec-
tive"
This one word worked a sudden change in Richard's
manner. He raised himself on his elbow, looked intently at
the boy, and asked, eagerly
"This detective, what is his name? But no," he mut-
tered, "I did not even know the name of that man. Stay
tell me, you know perhaps some of the men in the Slopper-
ton police force besides your adopted father?"
"I knows every man jack of em, sir; and a fine staff
they isa credit to their country, and a happiness to their-
selves."
"Do you happen to know, amongst them, a dumb man?"
asked Richard.
"Lor, sir, that's him."
"Who?"
"Father, sir. The gent what found me and adopted me.
I've got a message for you, sir, from father, and I was a goin'
to give it you, only I thought I'd look about me a little first;
but stay0, dear, the gentleman's took and fainted. Here,"
he said, running to the door and calling out in a shrill voice,
"come and unlock this here place, will yer, and look alive
with that lamp ! The gentleman's gone offinto a dead faint,
and there ain't so much as a drop of water to chuck over his
face." -
The prisoner had indeed fallen back insensible on the
bed. For eight long year he had nourished in his heart a
glimmering though dying hope that he might one day re-
ceive some token of remembrance from the man who had
taken a strange part in the eventful crisis of his life. This
ray of light had lately died out, along with every other ray
which had once illuminated his dreary life; but in the very
moment when hope was abandoned, the token once eagerly
## p. 222 (#238) ############################################
222 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
looked for came upon him so suddenly, that the shock was
too much for his shattered mind and feeble frame.
When Richard recovered from his swoon, he found him-
self alone with the boy from Slopperton. He was a little
startled by the position of that young person, who had seat-
ed himself upon the small square deal-table by the bed-side,
commanding from this elevation a full view of Richard's
face, whereon his two small gray eyes were intently fixed,
with that same odd look of concentration with which he had
regarded the iron bars.
"Come now," said he, with the consolatory tone of an
experienced sick-nurse; "Come now, we mus'n't give way
like this, just because we hears from our friends; because
you see, if we does, our friends can't be no good to us, which-
ever way their intention may be."
"You said you had a message for me," said Richard, in
feeble but anxious tones.
"Well, it ain't a long 'un, and here it is," answered the
young gentleman from his extempore pulpit; and then he
continued, with very much the air of giving out a text
"Keep up your pecker."
"Keep up what?" muttered Richard.
"Your pecker. 'Keep up your pecker, them's his words;
and as he never yet vos known to make a dirty dinner off
his own syllables, it ain't likely as he'll take and eat 'em.
He says to meon his fingers, in course"Tell the gent to
keep up his pecker, and leave all the rest to you; for you're
a pocket edition of all the sharpness as ever knives was
nothing to, or else say I've brought you up for no good
whatsomedever.'"
This was rather a vague speech; so perhaps it is scarcely
strange that Richard did not derive much immediate com-
fort from it. But, in spite of himself, he did derive a great
deal of comfort from the presence of this boy, though he
almost despised himself for attaching the least importance
to the words of an urchin of little better than eight years of
age. Certainly this urchin of eight had a shrewdness of
## p. 223 (#239) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 223
manner which would have been almost remarkable in a man
of the world of fifty, and Richard could scarcely help fancy-
ing that he must have graduated in some other hemisphere,
and been thrown, small as to size, but full grown as to acute-
ness, into this; or it seemed as if some great strong man
had been reduced into the compass of a little boy, in order
to make him sharper, as cooks boil down a gallon of gravy
to a pint in the manufacture of strong soup.
But, however the boy came to be what he was, there he
was, holding forth from his pulpit, and handing Richard the
regulation basin of broth which composed his supper.
"Now, what you've got to do," said he, "is to get well;
for until you are well, and strong too, there ain't the least
probability of your bein' able to change your apartments, if
you should feel so inclined; which perhaps ain't likely."
Richard looked at the diminutive speaker with a wonder-
ment he could not repress.
"Starin' won't cure you," said his juvenile attendant
with friendly disrespect, "not if you took the pattern of my
face till you could draw it in the dark. The best thing you
can do is to eat your supper, and to-morrow we must try
what we can do for you in the way of port-wine; for if you
ain't strong and well afore that ere river outside this ere wall
goes down, it's a chance but vot it'll be a long time afore
you sees the outside of the vall in question."
Richard caught hold of the boy's small arm with a grasp
which, in spite of his weakness, had a convulsive energy that
nearly toppled his youthful attendant from his elevation.
"You never can think of any thing so wild?" he said, in
a tumult of agitation.
"Lor bless yer 'art, no," said the boy; "we never thinks
of any thing vot's wildour 'abits is business-like; but vot
you've got to do is to go to sleep, and not to worrit your-
self; and as I said before, I say again, when you're well and
strong we'll think about changin' these apartments. We
can make excuse that the look-out was too lively, or that
the colour of the whitewash was a hinjurin our eye-sight."
## p. 224 (#240) ############################################
224 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
For the first time for many nights Richard slept well;
and opening his eyes the next morning, his first anxiety
was to convince himself that the arrival of the boy from
Slopperton was not some foolish dream engendered in his
disordered brain. No, there the boy sat; whether he had
been to sleep on the table, or whether he had never taken
his eyes off Richard the whole night, there he was, with
those eyes fixed, exactly as they had been the night before,
on the prisoner's face.
"Why, I declare we're all the better for our good night's
rest," he said, rubbing his hands, as he contemplated Rich-
ard; "and we're ready for our breakfast as soon as ever we can
get it, which will be soon, judging by our keeper's hobnailed
boots as is a comin' down the passage with a tray in his hand."
This rather confused statement was confirmed by a noise
in the stone corridor without, which sounded as if a pair of
stout working-men's bluchers were walking in company with
a basin and a tea-spoon.
"Hush!" said the boy, holding up a warning forefinger;
"keep it dark!" Richard did not exactly know what he
was to keep dark; but as he had, without one effort at re-
sistance, surrendered himself, mentally and physically, to
the direction of his small attendant, he lay perfectly still,
and did not utter a word.
In obedience to this youthful director he also took his
breakfast, to the last mouthful of the regulation bread, and
to the last spoonful of the regulation coffeeay, even to the
grounds(which, preponderating in that liquid, formed a
species of stratum at the bottom of the basin, commonly
known to the inmates of the asylum as "the thick")for
as the boy said, "grounds is strengthening." Breakfast
finished, the asylum physician came, in the course of his
rounds, for his matutinal visit to Richard's cell. His skill
was entirely at a loss to find any cure for so strange a
disease as that which affected the prisoner. One of the
leaning features, however, in this young man's sickness, had
been an entire loss of appetite, and almost an entire ina-
## p. 225 (#241) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 225
bility to sleep. When, therefore, he heard that his patient
had eaten a good supper, slept well all night, and had just
finished the regulation breakfast, he said,
"Come, come, we are getting better thenour com-
plaint is taking a turn. We are quiet in our mind, too,
eh ? Not fretting about Moscow, or making ourselves
unhappy about Waterloo, I hope *
The asylum doctor was a cheerful, easy, good-tempered
fellow, who humoured the fancies of his patients, however
wild they might be; and though half the kings in the his-
tory of England and some sovereigns unchronicled in any
history whatever were represented in the establishment, he
was never known to forget the respect due to a monarch,
however condescending that monarch might be. He was
therefore a general favourite; and had received more orders
of the Bath and the Garter, in the shape of red tape and
scraps of paper, and more title-deeds, in the way of old curl-
papers and bits of newspaper, than would have served as the
stock in trade of a marine-store keeper, with the addition of
a few bottles and a black doll. He knew that one charac-
teristic of Richard's madness was to fancy himself the
chained eagle of the sea-bound rock, and he thought to
humour the patient by humouring his hallucination.
Richard looked at this gentleman, with a thoughtful
glance in his dark eyes.
"I didn't mind Moscow, sir," he said, very gravely;
"the elements beat me thereand they were stronger than
Hannibal; but at Waterloo, what broke my heart was
not the defeat, but the disgrace!" He turned away his
head as he spoke, and lay in silence, with his back turned
to the good-natured physician.
"No complaints about Sir Hudson Lowe, Ihope?" said the
medical man. "They give you everything you want, general?"
The good doctor, being so much in the habit of hu-
mouring his patients, had their titles always at the tip of
his tongue; and walked about in a perfect atmosphere of
Pinnock's Goldsmith.
Q
## p. 226 (#242) ############################################
226 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
As the general made no reply to his question, the doctor
looked from him to the boy, who had, out of respect to the
medical official, descended from his pulpit, and stood tug-
ging at a very diminutive lock of hair, with an action which
he intended to represent a bow.
"Does he ask for any thing," asked the doctor.
"Don't he, sir?" said the boy, answering one question
with another. "He's been doing nothin' for ever so long
but askin' for a drop o' wine. He says he feels a kind of
sinkin' that nothin' but wine can cure."
"He shall have it, then," said the doctor. "A little port-
wine with a touch of iron in it would help to bring him
round as soon as any thing, and be sure you see that he
takes it. I've been giving him quinine for some time past;
but it has done so little towards making him stronger, that
I sometimes doubt his having taken it. Has he complained
of any thing else?"
"Well, sir," said the boy, this time looking at his ques-
tioner very intently, and seeming to consider every word
before he said it, "there is somethin' which I can make out
from what he says when he talks to his-selfand he does
talk to his-self awfulsomethin which preys upon his mind
very much; but I don't suppose it's much good mentioning
it either" Here he stopped, hesitating, and looking very
earnestly at the doctor.
"Why not, my boy?"
"Because, you see, sir, what he hankers after is agen the
rules of the asylumleastways, the rules the Board makes
for such as him."
"But what is it, my good lad? Tell me what it is he
wishes for?" said the medical man.
"Why, it's a singular wish, I daresay, sir; but he's allus
a talkin' about the other lun" he hesitated, as if out
of delicacy towards Richard, and substituted the word
"boarders" for that which he had been about to use
"and he says, if he could only be allowed to mix with 'em
now and then he'd be as happy as a king. But, of course,
## p. 227 (#243) ############################################
THE BOY FROM SLOPPERTON. 227
as I was a-tellin him when you come in, sir, that's agen
the rules of the establishment, and in consequence is impos-
siblecause why, these 'ere rules is like Swedes and Nas
turtiums [the boy from Slopperton may possibly have
been thinking of the Medes and Persians],-and can't be
gone agen."
"I don't know about that," said the good-natured doctor.
"So, general," he added, turning to Richard, who had shifted
his position, and now lay looking at his visitor rather
anxiously, "so, general, you would like to mix with your
friends out there?" - - -
"Indeed I should, sir." Those deep and earnest dark
eyes, with which Richard watched the doctor's face, were
scarcely the eyes of a madman. -
"Very well, then," said the medical man, "very well;
we must see if it can't be managed. But I say, general,
you'll find the Prince Regent among your fellow-boarders;
and I wouldn't answer for your not meeting with Lord
Castlereagh, and that might cause unpleasantnesseh,
general?" -
"No, no, sir; there's no fear of that. Political differ-
ences should never"
"Interfere with private friendship. A noble sentiment,
general. Very well, you shall mix with the other boarders
to-morrow. I'll speak to the Board about it this afternoon.
This, luckily, is a Board-day. You'll find George the Fourth
a very nice fellow. He came here because he would take
every thing of other people's that he could lay his hands on,
and said he was only taking taxes from his subjects. Good-
day. I'll send round some port-wine immediately, and you
shall have a couple of glasses a-day given you; so keep up
your spirits, general."
"Well," said the boy from Slopperton, as the doctor
closed the door behind him, "that 'ere medical officer's a
regular brick: and all I can say is to repeat his last words
which ought to be printed in gold letters a foot high-
than dose words is,'Keep up your spirits, general.'"
## p. 228 (#244) ############################################
CHAPTER II.
MR. AUGUSTUS DARLEY AND MR. JOSEPH PETERS
GO OUT FISHING.
A LONG period of incessant rains had by no means improved
the natural beauties of the Sloshy; nor had it in any man-
ner enhanced the advantages attending a residence on the
banks of that river. The occupants of the houses by the
water-side were in the habit of going to sleep at night with
the firm conviction that the lower portion of their tenement
was a comfortable kitchen, and awakening in the morning
were apt to find it a miniature lake.
Then, again, the river had a knack of dropping in at
odd times, in a friendly way, when least expected when
Mrs. Jones was cooking the Sunday's dinner, or while Mrs.
Brown was gone to market; and, as its manner of entering
an apartment was, after the fashion of a ghost in a melo-
drama, to rise through the floor, the surprise occasioned by
its appearance was not unalloyed by vexation.
It would intrude, an uninvited guest, at a social tea-
party, and suddenly isolate every visitor on his or her chair
as on an island.
There was not a mouse or a black-bettle in any of the
kitchens by the Sloshy whose life was worth the holding,
such an enemy was the swelling water to all domestic peace
or comfort. \
It is true that to some fresh and adventurous spirits the
rising of the river afforded a kind of eccentric gratification.
It gave a Smack of the flavour of Venice to the dull insi-
pidity of Slopperton life; and to an imaginative mind every
## p. 229 (#245) ############################################
MESSRS. DARLEY AND PETERS GO OUT FISHING. 229
-- " ------------------------
coal-barge that went by became a gondola, and only wanted
a cavalier, with a very short doublet, pointed shoes, and a
guitar, to make it perfection. -
Indeed, Miss Jones, milliner and dress-maker, had been
heard to say, that when she saw the water coming up to
the parlour-windows she could hardly believe she was not
really in the city of the winged horses, round the corner out of
the square of St. Mark's, and three doors from the Bridge of
Sighs. Miss Jones was well up in Venetian topography, as
she was engaged in the perusal of a powerful work in penny
numbers, detailing the adventures of a celebrated "Bravo"
of that city.
To the ardent minds of the juvenile denizens of the
water-side the swollen river was a source of pure and un-
alloyed delight. To take a tour round one's own back
kitchen in a washing-tub, with a duster for a sail, is per-
haps, at the age of six, a more perfect species of enjoy-
ment than that afforded by any Alpine glories or Highland
scenery through which we may wander in after-years, when
Reason has taught us her cold lesson, that, however bright
the sun may shine on one side of the mountain, the shadows
are awaiting us on the other.
There is a gentleman in a cutaway coat and a white hat,
smoking a very short and black clay-pipe, as he loiters on
the bank of the Sloshy. I wonder what he thinks of the river?
It is eight years since this gentleman was last in Slop-
perton; then he came as a witness in the trial of Richard
Marwood; then he had a black eye, and was out-at-elbows:
now, his optics are surrounded with no dark shades which
mar their natural coloura clear bright gray. Now, too,
he is, to speak familiarly, in high feather. His cutaway
coat of the newest fashion (for there is fashion even in cut-
aways); his plaid trousers, painfully tight at the knees, and
admirably adapted to display the development of the calf,
are still bright with the greens and blues of the Mac-
donald. His hat is not crushed or indented in above half-
a-dozen directionsa sign that it is comparatively new, for
## p. 230 (#246) ############################################
230. THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
the circle in which he moves considers bonneting a friendly
demonstration, and to knock a man's hat off his head and
into the gutter rather a polite attention.
Yes, during the last eight years the prospects of Mr.
Augustus Darley(that is the name of the witness)have
been decidedly looking up. Eight years ago he was a medi-
cal student, loose on wide London; eating bread-and-cheese
and drinking bottled stout in dissecting-rooms, and chalking
up alarming scores at the caravansary round the corner of
Goodge Streetwhen the proprietor of the caravansary would
chalk up. There were days which that stern man refused to
mark with a white stone. Now, he has a dispensary of his own
a marvellous place, which would be entirely devoted to sci-
entific pursuits if dominoes and racing calendars did not in
some degree predominate therein. This dispensary is in a
populous neighbourhood on the Surrey side of the water;
and in the streets and squaresto say nothing of the courts
and mewsround this establishment the name of Augustus
Darley is synonymous with every thing which is popular
and pleasant. His very presence is said to be as good as
physic. Now, as physic, in the abstract and apart from its
curative qualities, is scarcely a very pleasant thing, this
may be considered rather a doubtful compliment; but for
all that, it was meant in perfect good faith, and what's
more, it meant a great deal.
When any body felt ill, he sent for Gus Darley(he
had never been called Mr. but once in his life, and then by
a sheriff's officer, who, arresting him for the first time,
wasn't on familiar terms; all Cursitor Street knew him as
"Gus, old fellow," and "Darley, my boy," before long).
If the patient was very bad, Gus told him a good story. If
the case seemed a serious one, he sang a comic song. If
the patient felt, in popular parlance, "low," Darley would
stop to supper; and if by that time the patient was not
entirely restored, his medical adviser would send him a
ha'porth of Epsom salts, or three farthings' worth of rhubarb
and magnesia, jocosely labelled "The Mixture." It was a
## p. 231 (#247) ############################################
MESSRS. DARLEY AND PETERS GO OUT FISHING. 231.
comforting delusion, laboured under by every patient of Gus
Darley's, that the young surgeon prescribed for him a very
mysterious and peculiar amalgamation of drugs, which,
though certain death to any other man, was the only pre-
paration in the whole pharmacopoeia that could possibly
keep him alive.
There was a saying current in the neighbourhood of the
dispensary, to the effect that Gus Darley's description of
the Derby Day was the best Epsom salts ever invented for
the cure of man's diseases; and he has been known to come
home from the races at ten o'clock at night, and assist at
a sick-bed (successfully), with a wet towel round his head,
and a painful conviction that he was prescribing for two
patients at once.
But all this time he is strolling by the swollen Sloshy,
with his pipe in his mouth and a contemplative face, which
ever and anon looks earnestly up the river. Presently he
stops by a boat-builder's yard, and speaks to a man at work.
"Well," he says, "is that boat finished yet?"
"Yes, sir," says the man, "quite finished, and uncom-
mon well she looks too; you might eat your dinner off her;
the paint's as dry as a bone."
"How about the false bottom I spoke of ?" he asks.
"O, that's all right, sir, two feet and a half deep, and six
feet and a half long. I'll tell you what, sir, no offence
but you must catch a precious sight more eels than I think
you will catch, if you mean to fill the bottom of that 'ere
punt."
As the man speaks, he points to where the boat lies
high and dry in the builder's yard. A great, awkward, flat-
bottomed punt, big enough to hold half-a-dozen people.
Gus strolls up to look at it. The man follows him.
He lifts up the bottom of the boat with a great thick
loop of rope. It is made like a trap-door, two feet and a
half above the keel. -
"Why," said Gus, "a man could lie down in the keel
of the boat, with that main deck over him."
--~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ *-
------
## p. 232 (#248) ############################################
232 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"To be sure he could, sir, and a pretty long 'un too;
though I don't say much for its being a over-comfortable
berth. He might feel himself rather cramped if he was of
a restless disposition."
Gus laughed, and said"You're right, he might cer-
tainly, poor fellow! Come, now, you're rather a tall chap,
I should like to see if you could lie down there comfortably
for a minute or so. We'll talk about some beer when you
COme Out."
The man looked at Mr. Darley with rather a puzzled
glance. He had heard the legend of the mistletoe-bough.
He had helped to build the boat, but for all that there
might be a hidden spring somewhere about it, and Gus's
request might conceal some sinister intent; but no one who
had once looked our medical friend in the face ever doubted
him; so the man laughed and said
"Well, you're a rum'un, whoever the other is" (people
were rarely very deferential in their manner of addressing
Gus Darley); "howsomedever, here's to oblige you." And
the man got into the boat, and lying down, suffered Gus to
lower the false bottom of it over him.
"How do you feel?" asks Gus. "Can you breathe?
have you plenty of air?"
"All right, sir," says the man through a hole in the
plank. "It's quite a extensive berth, when you've once
settled yourself, only it ain't much calculated for active ex-
ercise."
"Do you think you could stand it for half an hour?"
Gus inquires.
"Lor bless you, sir, for half-a-dozen hours, if I was paid
accordin'."
"Should you think half-a-crown enough for twenty
minutes?"
"Well, I don't know, sir; suppose you made it three
shillings?" -
"Wery good," said Gus; "three shillings it shall be.
It's now half-past twelve," he looks at his watch as he
## p. 233 (#249) ############################################
MESSRS. DARLEY AND PETERS GO OUT FISHING. 233
speaks. "I'll sit here and smoke a pipe; and if you
lie quiet till ten minutes to one, you'll have earned the
three bob."
Gus steps into the boat, and seats himself at the prow;
the man's head lies at the stern.
"Can you see me?" Gus inquires.
"Yes, sir, when I squints."
"Wery well, then, you can see I don't make a bolt
of it. Make your mind easy; there's five minutes gone
already."
Gus finishes his pipe, looks at his watch againa quarter
to one. He whistles a scena from an opera, and then jumps
out of the boat and pulls up the false bottom.
"All's right," he says, "time's up."
The man gets out and stretches his legs and arms,
as if to convince himself that those members are unim-
paired.
"Well, was it pretty comfortable?" Gus asks.
"Lor love you, sir, regular jolly, with the exception of
bein' rather warm, and makin a cove precious dry."
Gus gives the man wherewith to assuage this drought,
and then says
"You may shove the boat down to the water, then.
My friend will be here in a minute with the tackle, and
we can then see about making a start."
The boat is launched, and the man amuses himself with
rowing a few yards up the river, while Gus waits for his
friend.
In about ten minutes his friend arrives, in the person of
Mr. Joseph Peters of the police force, with a couple of eel-
spears over his shoulder (which give him somewhat the ap-
pearance of a dry-land Neptune), and a good-sized carpet-
bag, which he carries in his hand.
Gus and he exchange a few remarks in the silent alpha-
bet, in which Gus is almost as great an adept as the dumb
detective, and they step into the punt.
-------------- - - - - - ------
## p. 234 (#250) ############################################
234 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The boat-builder's man is sent for a gallon of beer in a
stone bottle, a half-quartern loaf, and a piece of cheese.
These provisions being shipped, Darley and Peters each
take an oar, and they pull away from the bank and strike
out into the middle of the river.
## p. 235 (#251) ############################################
CHAPTER III.
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA.
'ON this same day, but at a later hour in the afternoon,
Richard Marwood, better known as the Emperor Napoleon,
joined the inmates of the county asylum in their daily
exercise in the grounds allotted for that purpose. These
grounds consisted of prim grass-plots, adorned with here
and there a bed in which some dismal shrubs, or a few
sickly chrysanthemums, held up their gloomy heads, beaten
and shattered by the recent heavy rains. These grass-plots
were surrounded by stiff, straight gravel-walks; and the
whole was shut in by a high wall, surmounted by a
chevaux-de-frise. The iron spikes composing this adorn-
ment had been added of late years; for, in spite of the com-
forts and attractions of the establishment, some foolish in-
habitants thereof, languishing for gayer and more dazzling
scenes, had been known to attempt, if not to effect, an
escape from the numerous advantages of their home.
I cannot venture to say whether or not the vegetable
creation may have some mysterious sympathy with animated
nature; but certainly no trees, shrubs, flowers, grass, or
weeds, ever grew like the trees, shrubs, flowers, grass, and
weeds in the grounds of the county lunatic asylum. From
the gaunt elm, which stretched out two great rugged arms,
as if in a wild imprecation, such as might come from the lips
of some human victim of the worst form of insanity, to the
frivolous chickweed in a corner of a gravel-walk, which grew
as if not a root, or leaf, or fibre but had a different purpose
to its fellow, and flew off at its own peculiar tangent, with
## p. 236 (#252) ############################################
236 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
an infantine and kittenish madness, such as might have
afflicted a love-sick miss of seventeenfrom the great,
melancholy mad laurel-bushes that rocked themselves to and
fro in the wind with a restlessness known only to the in-
sane, to the eccentric dandelions, that reared their dis-
ordered heads from amidst the troubled and dishevelled
grassevery green thing in that great place seemed more or
less a victim to that terrible disease whose influence is of so
subtle a nature, that it infects the very stones of the dark
walls which shut in shattered minds that once were strong
and whole, and fallen intellects that once were bright and
lofty.
But as a stranger to this place, looking for the first time
at the groups of men and women lounging slowly up and
down these gravel-walks, perhaps what most startles you,
perhaps even what most distresses you, is, that these
wretched people scarcely seem unhappy. 0, merciful and
wondrous wise dispensation from Him who fits the back to
bear the burden | He so appoints it. The man, whose
doubts, or fears, or wild aspirings to the misty far-away,
all the world's wisdom could not yesterday appease, is
to-day made happy by a scrap of paper or a shred of rib-
bon. We who, standing in the blessed light, look in
upon this piteous mental darkness, are perhaps most un-
happy, because we cannot tell how much or how little sorrow
this death-in-life may shroud. They have passed away
from us; their language is not our language, nor their world
our world. I think some one has asked a strange question
Who can tell whether their folly may not perhaps be
better than our wisdom ? He only, from whose mighty
hand comes the music of every soul, can tell which is the
discord and which the harmony. We look at them as we
look at all elsethrough the darkened glass of earth's un-
certainty.
No, they do not seem unhappy. Queen Victoria is
talking to Lady Jane Grey about to-day's dinner, and the
reprehensible superabundance offat in a leg-of-mutton served
## p. 237 (#253) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 237.
up thereat. Chronology never disturbs these good people;
nobody thinks it any disgrace to be an anachronism. Lord
Brougham will divide an unripe apple with Cicero, and
William the Conqueror will walk arm-in-arm with Pius the
Ninth, without the least uneasiness on the score of proba-
bility; and when, on one occasion, a gentleman, who for
three years had enjoyed considerable popularity as Cardinal
Wolsey, all of a sudden recovered, and confessed to being
plain John Thomson, the inmates of the asylum were unani-
mous in feeling and expressing the most profound contempt
for his unhappy state.
To-day, however, Richard is the hero. He is surrounded
immediately on his appearance by all the celebrities and a
great many of the non-celebrities of the establishment. The
Emperor of the German Ocean and the Chelsea Water-
works in particular has so much to say to him, that he does
not know how to begin; and when he does begin, has to go
back and begin again, in a manner both affable and be-
wildering.
Why did not Richard join them before, he asks; they
are so very pleasant, they are so very socialwhy, in
goodness-gracious name (he opens his eyes very wide as he
utters the name of goodness-gracious, and looks back over
his shoulder rather as if he thinks he may have invoked
some fiend), why did not Richard join them?
Richard tells him he was not allowed to do so.
On this, the potentate looks intensely mysterious. He is
rather stout, and wears a head-dress of his own manufac-
turea species of coronet, constructed of a newspaper and a
blue-and-white bird's-eye pocket-handkerchief. He puts his
hands to the very furthest extent that he can push them into
his trousers-pockets; plants himself right before Richard on
the gravel-walk, and says, with a wink of intense significance
"Was it the Khan?"
Richard says, he thinks not.
"Not the Khan" he mutters thoughtfully. "You
really are of opinion that it was not the Khan?"
## p. 238 (#254) ############################################
238 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"I really am," Richard replies.
"Then it lies between the last Duke of Devonshire but six-
teen and Abd-el-KaderI do hope it wasn't Abd-el-Kader.
I had a better opinion of Abd-el-KaderI had indeed."
Richard looks rather puzzled, but says nothing.
"There has evidently," continued his friend, "been
some malignant influence at work to prevent your appear-
ing amongst us before this. You have been a member of
the society, for, let me see, three hundred and sixty-three
yearsbe kind enough to set me right if I make a misstate-
mentthree hundred anddid I say seventy-twelve years
and you have never yet joined us! Now, there is some-
thing radically wrong here; to use the language of the
ancients in their religious festivals, there is "a screw loose."
You ought to have joined us, you really ought! We are
very social: we are positively buoyant; we have a ball every
evening. Well, no, perhaps it is not every evening. My
ideas as to time, I am told, are vague; but I know it is
either every ten years, or every other week. I incline to
thinking it must be every other week. On these occasions
we dance. Are you a votary of Terpwhat you may call
her, the lady who had so many unmarried sisters? Do you
incline to the light fantastic?" By way of illustration, the
Emperor of the Waterworks executed a caper, which would
have done honour to an elderly elephant taking his first les-
son in the polka.
There was one advantage in conversing with this gentle-
man. If his questions were sometimes of rather a difficult
and puzzling nature, he never did any thing so under-bred
as to wait for an answer. It now appeared for the first time
to strike him, that perhaps the laws of exclusiveness had in
some manner been violated, by a person of his distinction
having talked so familiarly to an entire stranger; he there-
fore suddenly skipped a pace or two backwards, leaving a
track of small open graves in the damp gravel made by the
impression of his feet, and said, in a tone of voice so digni-
fied as to be almost freezing
## p. 239 (#255) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 239
"Pray, to whom have I the honour to make these obser-
Vations?"
Richard regretted to say he had not a card about him,
but added"You may have heard of the Emperor Napo-
leOn P"
"Buonaparte? 0, certainly; very frequently, very fre-
quently; and you are that worthy person? Dear me! this
is very sadnot at your charming summer residence at
Moscow, or your pleasant winter retreat on the field of
Waterloo; this is really distressing, very."
His pity for Richard was so intense, that he was moved
to tears, and picked a dandelion with which to wipe his
eyes.
"My Chelsea property," he said presently, "is fluctuat-
ing, very. I find a tendency in householders to submit to
having their water cut off, rather than pay the rate. Our
only plan is to empty every cistern half an hour before tea-
time. Persevered in for a week or so, we find that course
has a harassing effect, and they pay. But all this is wearing
for the nerves, very."
He shook his head solemnly, rubbed his eyes very hard
with the dandelion, and then ate that exotic blossom.
"An agreeable tonic," he said; "known to be conducive
to digestion. My German Ocean I find more profitable, on
account of the sea-bathing."
Richard expressed himself very much interested in the
commercial prospects of his distinguished friend; but at
this moment they were interrupted by the approach of a
lady, who, with a peculiar hop, skip, and jump entirely her
own, came up to the Emperor of the Waterworks and took
hold of his arm.
She was a gushing thing of some forty-odd summers, and
wore a bonnet, the very purchase of which would have
stamped her as of unsound intellect, without need of any
further proof whatever. To say that it was like a coal-
scuttle was nothing; to say that it resembled a coal-scuttle
which had suffered from an aggravated attack of water on
## p. 240 (#256) ############################################
240 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
the brain, and gone mad, would be perhaps a little nearer
the mark. Imagine such a bonnet adorned with a green
veil, rather bigger than an ordinary table-cloth, and three
quill-pens tastefully inserted in the direction in which
Parisian milliners are wont to place the plumage of foreign
birdsand you may form some idea of the lady's head-gear.
Her robes were short and scanty, but plentifully embellished
with a species of trimming, which to an ordinary mind sug-
gested strips of calico, but which amongst the inmates
passed current as Valenciennes lace. Below these robes ap-
peared a pair of apple-green bootsboots of a pattern such
as no shoemaker of sound mind ever in his wildest dreams
could have originated, but which in this establishment
were voted rather recherch than otherwise. This lady
was no other than the damsel who had suggested an elope-
ment with Richard some eight years ago, and who claimed
for her distinguished connections the Pope and the muffin-
II1811.
"Well," she said to the Emperor of the Waterworks,
with a voice and manner which would have been rather
absurdly juvenile in a girl of fifteen,"and where has its
precious one been hiding since dinner? Was it the fat
mutton which rendered the most brilliant of mankind unfit
for general society, or was it that it "had a heart for false-
hood framed'? I hope it was the fat mutton."
"It's precious one" looked from the charmer at his side
to Richard, with rather an apologetic shrug.
"The sex is weak," he said, "conqueror of Agincourt
I beg pardon, Waterloo. The sex is weak; it is a fact es-
tablished alike by medical science and political economy.
Poor thing ! she loves me."
The lady, for the first time, became aware of the presence
of Richard. She dropped a very low curtsey, in the per-
formance of which one of the green boots described a com-
plete circle, and said,
"From Gloucestershire, sir?" interrogatively.
"The Emperor Napoleon Buonaparte," said the proprie-
## p. 241 (#257) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 241
tor of the German Ocean. "My dear, you ought to know
him."
"The Emperor Nap-o-le-on Bu-o-na-parte," she said very
slowly, checking off the syllables on her fingers, "and from
Gloucestershire? How gratifying!all our great men come
from Gloucestershire. It is a well-known factfrom Glou-
cestershire? Muffins were invented in Gloucestershire by
Alfred the Great. Did you know our dear Alfred? You
are perhaps too younga great loss, my dear sir, a great
loss; conglomerated essence of toothache on the cerebral
nerves took him off in fourteen days, three weeks, and one
month. We tried every thing; from dandelions" (her eyes
wandered as if searching the grounds for information as
to what they had tried)"from dandelions to chevaux-de-
frise"
She stopped abruptly, staring Richard full in the face,
as if she expected him to say something; but as he said
nothing, she became suddenly interested in the contempla-
tion of the green boots, looking first at one, and then at the
other, as if revolving in her mind the probability of their
wanting mending.
Presently she looked up suddenly, and said with great
solemnity
"Do you know the muffin-man?
Richard shook his head.
"He lives in Drury Lane," she added, looking at him
rather sternly, as much as to say, "Come, no nonsense!
you know him well enough!"
"No," said Richard, "I don't remember having met
him."
"There are seventy-nine of us who know the muffin-
man in this establishment, sirseventy-nine; and do you
dare to stand there and tell me that you"
"I assure you, madam, I have not the honour of his
acquaintance."
"Not know the muffin-man!you don't know the muf-
fin-man: Why, you contemptible stuck-up jackanapes-"
R
## p. 242 (#258) ############################################
242 | THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
What the lady might have gone on to say, it would be
difficult to guess. She was not celebrated for the refine-
ment of her vocabulary, when much provoked; but at this
moment a great stout man, one of the keepers, came up,
and cried out
"Holloa ! What's all this!"
"He says he doesn't know the muffin-man!" exclaimed
the lady, her veil flying in the wind like a pennant, her
arms a-kimbo, and the apple-green boots planted in a de-
fiant manner on the gravel-walk.
"O, we know him well enough," said the man, with a
wink at Richard, "and very slack he bakes his muffins."
Having uttered which piece of information connected with
the gentleman in question, the keeper strolled off, giving
just one steady look straight into the eyes of the lively
damsel, which seemed to have an instantaneous and most
soothing effect upon her nerves.
As all the lunatics allowed to disport themselves for an
hour in the gardens of the establishment were considered
to be, upon the whole, pretty safe, the keepers were not in
the habit of taking much notice of them. Those officials
would congregate in little groups here and there, talking
among themselves, and apparently utterly regardless of the
unhappy beings over whom it was their duty to watch. But
let Queen Victoria or the Emperor Nero, Lady Jane Grey
or Lord John Russell, suffer themselves to be led away by
their respective hobbies, or to ride those animals at too
outrageous and dangerous a pace, and a strong hand would
be laid upon the rider's shoulder, accompanied by a recom-
mendation to "go in-doors," which was very seldom dis-
regarded.
As Richard was this afternoon permitted to mix with
his fellow-prisoners for the first time, the boy from Slopper-
ton was ordered to keep an eye upon him; and a very sharp
eye the boy kept, never for one moment allowing a look,
word, or action of the prisoner to escape him.
The keepers this afternoon were assembled near the
## p. 243 (#259) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 243
portico, before which the gardens extended to the high
outer wall. The ground between the portico and the wall
was a little less than a quarter of a mile in length, and at
the bottom was the grand entrance and the porter's lodge.
The gardens surrounded the house on three sides, and on
the left side the wall ran parallel with the river Sloshy.
This river was now so much swollen by the late heavy rains
that the waters washed the wall to the height of four feet,
entirely covering the towing-path, which lay ordinarily be-
tween the wall and the water-side.
Now Richard and the Emperor of the Waterworks, ac-
companied by the gushing charmer in the green boots, being
all three engaged in friendly though rather erratic conver-
sation, happened to stroll in the direction of the grounds
on this side, and consequently out of sight of the keepers.
The boy from Slopperton was, however, close upon their
heels. This young gentleman had his hands in his pockets,
and was loitering and lounging along with an air which
seemed to say, that neither man nor woman gave him any
more delight than they had afforded the Danish prince of
used-up memory. Perhaps it was in utter weariness of life
that he was, as if unconsciously, employed in whistling the
melody of a song, supposed to relate to a passage in the life
of a young lady of the name of Gray, Christian name Alice,
whose heart it was another's, and consequently, by pure
logic, never could belong to the singer.
Now there may be something infectious in this melody;
for no sooner had the boy from Slopperton whistled the first
few bars, than some person in the distance outside the walls
of the asylum gardens took up the air and finished it. A
trifling circumstance this, in itself; but it appeared to af-
ford the boy considerable gratification; and he presently
came suddenly upon Richard in the middle of a very in-
teresting conversation, and whispered in his ear, or rather
at his elbow, "All right, general!" Now as Richard, the
Emperor of the Waterworks, and the only daughter of the
Pope, all talked at once, and all talked of entirely different
## p. 244 (#260) ############################################
244 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
subjects, their conversation might, perhaps, have been just
a little distracting to a short-hand reporter; but, as a con-
versation, it was really charming.
Richardstill musing on the wild idea which was known
in the asylum to have possessed his disordered brain ever
since the day of his trialwas giving his companions an
account of his escape from Elba.
"I was determined," he said, taking the Emperor of the
Waterworks by the button, "I was determined to make one
desperate effort to return to my friends in France"
"Very creditable, to be sure," said the damsel of the
green boots; "your sentiments did you honour."
"But to escape from the island was an enterprise of
considerable difficulty," continued Richard.
"Of course," said the damsel, "considering the price of
flour. Flour rose a halfpenny in the bushel in the neigh-
bourhood of Drury Lane, which, of course, reduced the size
of muffins"
"And had a depressing effect upon the water-rates," in-
terrupted the gentleman.
"Now," continued Richard, "the island of Elba was
surrounded by a high wall"
"A very convenient arrangement; of course facilitating
the process of cutting off the water from the inhabitants,"
muttered the Emperor of the German Ocean.
The boy Slosh again expressed his feelings with refer-
ence to Alice Gray, and some one on the other side of the
wall coincided with him.
"And," said Richard, "on the top of this wall was a
chevaux-de-frise."
"Dear me," exclaimed the Emperor, "quite a what-you-
may-call-it. I mean an extraordinary coincidence; we too
have a chevaux de thing-a-me, for the purpose, I believe, of
keeping out the catscats are unpleasant; especially," he
added, thoughtfully, "especially the Tom-sexI mean the
Sterner sex."
"To surmount this wall was my great difficulty."
## p. 245 (#261) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 245
"Naturally, naturally," said the damsel, "a great under-
taking, considering the fall in muffinsa dangerous under-
taking."
"There was a boat waiting to receive me on the other
side," said Richard, glancing at the wall, which was about a
hundred yards distant from him.
Some person on the other side of the wall had got a
good deal nearer by this time; and, dear me, how very much
excited he was about Alice Gray.
"But the question," Richard continued, "was how to
climb the wall,"still looking up at the chevaux-de-frise.
"I should have tried muffins," said the lady.
"I should have cut off the water," remarked the gentle-
Imall.
"I did neither," said Richard; "I tried a rope."
At this very moment, by some invisible agency, a thickly-
knotted rope was thrown across the chevaux-de-frise, and the
end fell within about four feet of the ground.
"But her heart it is another's, and it never can be mine."
The gentleman who couldn't succeed in winning the
affections of Miss Gray was evidently close to the wall now.
In a much shorter time than the very greatest master
in the art of stenography could possibly have reported the
occurrence, Richard threw the Emperor of the Waterworks
half-a-dozen yards from himwith such violence as to cause
that gentleman to trip-up the heels of the only daughter of
the Pope, and fall in a heap upon that lady as on a feather-
bedand then, with the activity of a cat or a sailor, clam-
bered up the rope, and disappeared over the chevaux-de-
frise.
The gentleman outside was now growing indifferent to
the loss of Miss Gray, for he whistled the melody in a most
triumphant manner, keeping time with the sharp plash of
his oars in the water. -
It took the Emperor and his female friend some little
time to recover from the effects of the concussion they had
experienced, each from each; and when they had done
## p. 246 (#262) ############################################
246 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
so, they stood for a few moments looking at one another
in mute amazement.
"The gentleman has left the establishment," at last
said the lady.
"And a bruise on my elbow," muttered the gentleman,
rubbing the locality in question.
"Such a very unpolite manner of leaving, too," said the
lady. "His muffinsI mean his manners, have evidently
been very much neglected."
"He must be a Chelsea householder," said the Em-
peror. "The householders of Chelsea are proverbial for
bad manners. They are in the habit of slamming the door
in the face of the tax-gatherer, with a view to injuring the
tip of his nose; and I'm sure Lord Chesterfield never ad-
vised his son to do that."
It may be as well here to state that the Emperor of the
Waterworks had in early life been collector of the water-
rate in the neighbourhood of Chelsea; but having unfor-
tunately given his manly intellect to drinking, and being
further troubled with a propensity for speculation (some
people pronounced the word without the first letter), which
involved the advantageous laying-out of his sovereign's
money for his own benefit, he had first lost his situation
and ultimately his senses.
His lady friend had once kept a baker's shop in the
vicinity of Drury Lane, and happening, in an evil hour, at
the ripe age of forty, to place her affections on a young
man of nineteen, the bent of whose genius was muffins, and
being slighted by the youth in question, she had retired
into the gin-bottle, and thence had been passed to the
asylum of her native county.
Perhaps the inquiring reader will ask what the juvenile
guardian of Richard is doing all this time? He has been
told to keep an eye upon him; and how has he kept his trust?
He is standing, very coolly, staring at the lady and
gentleman before him, and is apparently much interested in
their conversation.
## p. 247 (#263) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 247
"I shall certainly go," said the Emperor of the Water-
works, after a pause, "and inform the superintendent of
this proceedingthe superintendent ought really to know
Of it."
"Superintendent" was, in the asylum, the polite name
given the keepers. But just as the Emperor began to
shamble off in the direction of the front of the house, the
boy called Slosh flew past him and ran on before, and by
the time the elderly gentleman reached the porch, the
boy had told the astonished keepers the whole story of the
escape.
The keepers ran down to the gate, called to the porter
to have it opened, and in a few minutes were in the road in
front of it. They hurried thence to the river-side. There
was not a sign of any human being on the swollen waters,
except two men in a punt close to the opposite shore, who
appeared to be eel-spearing.
"There's no boat nearer than that," said one of the
men; "he never could have reached that in this time if
he had been the best swimmer in England."
The men took it for granted that they had been in-
formed of his escape the moment it occurred.
"He must have jumped slap into the water," said ano-
ther; "perhaps he's about somewhere, contriving to keep
his head under."
"He couldn't do it," said the first man who had
spoken; "it's my opinion the poor chap's drowned. They
will try these escapes, though no one ever succeeded yet."
There was a boat moored at the angle of the asylum
wall, and one of the men sprang into it. -
"Show me the place where he jumped over the wall,'
he called to the boy, who pointed out the spot at his
direction.
The man rowed up to it.
"Not a sign of him any where about here!" he cried.
"Hadn't you better call to those men?" asked his com-
rade; "they must have seen him jump."
c-------~~~~~~~
## p. 248 (#264) ############################################
248 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The man in the boat nodded assent, and rowed across
the river to the two fishermen.
"Holloa!" he said, "have you seen any one get over
that Wall ?"
One of the men, who had just impaled a fine eel, looked
up with a surprised expression, and asked
"Which Wall ?"
"Why the asylum, yonder, straight before you."
"The asylum ! Now, you don't mean to say that's the
asylum; and I've been taking it for a gentleman's mansion
and grounds all the time," said the angler (who was no
other than Mr. Augustus Darley), taking his pipe out of
his mouth.
"I wish you'd give a straight answer to my question,"
said the man; "have you seen any one jump over that
wall; yes, or no?"
"Then, no!" said Gus; "if I had, I should have gone
over and picked him up, shouldn't I, stupid?"
The other fisherman, Mr. Peters, here looked up, and
laying down his eel-spear, spelt out some words on his fingers.
"Stop a bit," cried Gus to the man, who was rowing
off, "here's my friend says he heard a splash in the water
ten minutes ago, and thought it was some rubbish shot
Over the wall."
"Then he did jump! Poor chap, I'm afraid he must
be drowned."
* DroWned P"
"Yes; don't I tell you one of the lunatics has been
trying to escape over that wall, and must have fallen into
the river ?"
"Why didn't you say so before, then?" said Gus.
"What's to be done? Where are there any drags?"
"Why, half-a-mile off, worse luck, at a public-house
down the river, the 'Jolly Life-boat."
"Then, I'll tell you what," said Gus, "my friend and I
will row down and fetch the drags, while you chaps keep a
look-out about here."
------
## p. 249 (#265) ############################################
THE EMPEROR BIDS ADIEU TO ELBA. 249
"You're very good, sir," said the man; "dragging the
river's about all we can do now, for it strikes me we've seen
the last of the Emperor Napoleon. My eyes! won't there
be a row about it with the Board l''
"Here we go," says Gus; "keep a good heart; he may
turn up yet;" with which encouraging remarks Messrs.
Darley and Peters struck off at a rate which promised the
speedy arrival of the drags.
## p. 250 (#266) ############################################
CHAPTER IV.
JOY AND HAPPINESS FOR EVERY BODY.
WHETHER the drags reached the county asylum in time
to be of any service is still a mystery; but Mr. Joseph
Peters arrived with the punt at the boat-builder's yard
in the dusk of the autumn evening. He was alone, and he
left his boat, his tridents, and other fishing-tackle in the
care of the men belonging to the yard, and then putting his
hands in his pockets, trudged off in the direction of Little
Gulliver Street.
If ever Mr. Peters had looked triumphant in his life,
he looked triumphant this evening; if ever his mouth had
been on one side, it was on one side this evening; but
it was the twist of a conqueror which distorted that
feature.
Eight years, too, have done something for Kuppins.
Time hasn't forgotten Kuppins, though she is a humble
individual. Time has touched up Kuppins; adding a littles
bit here, and taking away a little bit there, and altogether
producing something rather imposing. Kuppins has grown.
When that young lady had attained her tenth year, there
was a legend current in little Gulliver Street and its vici-
nity, that in consequence of a fatal predilection for gin-and-
bitters evinced by her mother during the infancy of Kup-
pins, that diminutive person would never grow any more:
but she gave the lie both to the legend and the gin-and-
bitters, by outgrowing her frocks at the advanced age of
seventeen; and now she was rather a bouncing young
woman than otherwise, and had a pair of such rosy cheeks
## p. 251 (#267) ############################################
JOY AND HAPPINESS FOR EVERY BODY. 251
as would have done honour to healthier breezes than those
of Slopperton-on-the-Sloshy.
Time had done something, too, for Kuppins's shock of
hair, for it was now brushed, and combed, and dragged, and
tortured into a state not so very far from smoothness; and
it was furthermore turned up; an achievement in the hair-
dressing line which it had taken her some years to effect,
and which, when effected, was perhaps a little calculated to
remind the admiring beholder of a good-sized ball of black
cotton with a hair-pin stuck through it.
What made Kuppins in such a state of excitement on
this particular evening, who shall say? Certain it is that
she was excited. At the first sound of the click of Mr.
Peters's latch-key in the door of No. 5 Little Gulliver
Street, Kuppins, with a lighted candle, flew to open it.
How she threw her arms round Mr. Peters's neck and
kissed himhow she left a lump of tallow in his hair, and
a smell of burning in his whiskershow, in her excitement
she blew the candle out, and how, by a feat of leger-de-main
or leger-de-lungs, she blew it in again, must have been seen
to be sufficiently appreciated. Her next proceeding was to
drag Mr. Peters upstairs into the indoor Eden, which bore
the very same appearance it had done eight years ago. One
almost expected to find thered baby grown upbut it wasn't;
and that dreadful attack of the mumps from which the in-
fant had suffered when Mr.Peters first became acquainted with
it did not appear to have abated in the least. Kuppins
thrust the detective into his own particular chair, planted
herself in an opposite seat, put the candlestick on the table,
snuffed the candle, and then, with her eyes opened to the
widest extent, evidently awaited his saying something.
He did say somethingin his own way, of course; the
fingers went to work. "I've d-" said the fingers.
"'One it," cried Kuppins, dreadfully excited by this time,
"done it! You've done it! Didn't I always say you would?
Didn't I know you would? Didn't I always dream you
would, three times running, and a house on fire?that
## p. 252 (#268) ############################################
252 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
meant the river; and an army of soldiersthat meant the
boat; and every body in black clothesmeaning joy and
happiness. It's all come true; it's all come out. O, I'm so
happy!" In proof of which Kuppins immediately com-
menced a series of evolutions of the limbs and exercises of
the human voice, popularly known in the neighbourhood as
strong hysterics,so strong, in fact, that Mr. Peters couldn't
have held her still if he had tried. Perhaps that's why he
didn't try; but he looked about in every direction for some-
thing cold to put down her back, and finding nothing handy
but the poker, he stirred her up with that in the neighbour-
hood of the spinal marrow, as if she had been a bad fire,
whereon she came to.
"And where's the blessed boy?" she asked, presently.
Mr. Peters signified upon his fingers that the blessed
boy was still at the asylum, and that there he must remain
till such time as he should be able to leave without raising
suspicion.
"And to think," said Kuppins, "that we should have
seen the advertisement for a boy to wait upon poor Mr.
Marwood; and to think that we should have thought of
sending our Slosh to take the situation; and to think that
he should have been so clever in helping you through with
it! 0, my!" As Kuppins here evinced a desire for a
second edition of the hysterics, Mr. Peters changed the con-
versation by looking inquiringly towards a couple of sauce-
pans on the fire.
"Tripe," said Kuppins, answering the look, "and taters,
floury ones;" whereon she began to lay the supper-table.
Kuppins was almost mistress ofthe house now, for the elderly
proprietress was a sufferer from rheumatism, and kept to her
room, enlivened by the society of a large black cat, and such
gossip as Kuppins collected about the neighbourhood in the
course of the day and retailed to her mistress in the evening.
So we leave Mr. Peters smoking his pipe and roasting his
legs at his own hearth, while Kuppins dishes the tripe and
onions, and strips the floury potatoes of their russet jackets.
*-
## p. 253 (#269) ############################################
JOY AND HAPPINESS FOR EVERY BODY. 253
Where all this time is the Emperor Napoleon?
There are two gentlemen pacing up and down the plat-
form of the Birmingham station, waiting for the 10 P.M. Lon-
don express. One of them is Mr. Augustus Darley; the other
is a man wrapped in a greatcoat, who has red hair and
whiskers, and wears a pair of spectacles; but behind these
spectacles there are dark brown eyes, which scarcely match
the red hair, any better than the pale dark complexion
agrees with the very roseate hue of the whiskers. These
two gentlemen have come across the country from a little
station a few miles from Slopperton-on-the-Sloshy.
"Well, Dick," said Darley, "doesn't this bring back old
times, my boy?"
The red-haired gentleman, who was smoking a cigar,
took it from his mouth and clasped his companion by the
hand, and said
"It does, Gus, old fellow; and when I forget the share
you've had in to-day's work, may I may I go back to
that place and eat out my own heart, as I have done for
eight years!"
There was something so very like a mist behind his spec-
tacles, and such an ominous thickness in his voice, as the
red-haired gentleman said this, that Gus proposed a glass
of brandy before the train started.
"Come, Dick, old fellow, you're quite womanish to-night,
I declare. This won't do, you know. I shall have to knock
up some of our old pals and make a jolly night of it, when
we get to Londonthough it will be to-morrow morning
if you go on in this way."
"I'll tell you what it is, Gus," replied the red-haired gen-
tleman, "nobody who hadn't gone through what I've gone
through could tell what I feel to-night. I think, Gus, I
shall end by being mad in real earnestand that my release
will do what my imprisonment even couldn't effectturn
my brain. But I say, Gus, tell me, tell me the truth; did
any of the old fellowsdid they ever think me guilty?"
## p. 254 (#270) ############################################
254 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Not one of them, Dick, not one; and I know if one of
them had so much as hinted at such a thought, the others
would have throttled him before he could have said the
words. Have another drop of brandy," he said hastily,
thrusting the glass into his hand; "you've no more pluck
than a kitten or a woman, Dick."
"I had pluck enough to bear eight years of that," said
the young man, pointing in the direction of Slopperton,
"but this does rather knock me over. My mother, you'll
write to her, Gusthe sight of my hand might upset her,
without a word of warningyou'll write and tell her that
I've got a chance of escaping; and then you'll write and say
that I have escaped. We must guard against a shock, Gus;
she has suffered too much already on my account."
At this moment the bell rang for the train's starting;
the young men took their seats in a second-class carriage,
and away sped the engine, out through the dingy manufac-
turing town, into the open moonlit country.
Gus and Richard light their cigars, and wrap themselves
in their railway rugs. Gus throws himself back and drops
off to sleep (he can almost smoke in his sleep), and in a
quarter of an hour he is dreaming of a fidgety patient who
doesn't like comic songs, and who can never see the point of
a joke; but who has three pretty daughters, and who pays
his bill every Christmas without even looking at the items.
But Richard Marwood doesn't go to sleep. Will he ever
sleep again? Will his nerves ever regain their tranquillity,
after the intense excitement of the last three or four days?
He looks backlooks back at that hideous time, and won-
ders at its hopeless sufferingwonders; till he is obliged to
Wrench his mind away from the subject, for fear he should
go mad. How did he ever endure it? How did he ever
live through it? He had no means of suicide? Pshaw! he
might have dashed out his brains against the wall. He
might have resolutely refused food, and so have starved
himself to death. How did he endure it? Eight years!
Eight centuries! and every hour a fresh age of anguish!
## p. 255 (#271) ############################################
JOY AND HAPPINESS FOR EVERY BODY. 255
Looking back now, he knows, what then he did not know,
that at the worstthat in his bitterest despair, there was a
vague undefined something, so vague and undefined that he
did not recognise it for itselfa glimmering ray of hope, by
the aid of which alone he bore the dreadful burden of his
days; and with clasped hands and bent head he renders up
to that God from whose pity came this distant light a thanks-
giving, which perhaps is not the less sincere and heartfelt
for a hundred reckless words, said long ago, which rise up
now in his mind a shame and a reproach.
Perhaps it was such a trial as this that Richard Marwood
wanted, to make him a good and earnest man. Something
to awaken dormant energiessomething to arouse the better
feelings of a noble soul, to stimulate to action an intellect
hitherto wastedsomething to throw him back upon the
God he had forgotten, and to make him ultimately that
which God, in creating such a man, meant him to become.
Away flies the engine. Was there ever such an open
country? Was there ever such a moonlight night? Was
earth ever so fair, or the heavens ever so bright, since man's
universe was created?Not for Richard | He is free; free
to breathe that blessed air; to walk that glorious earth;
free to track to his doom the murderer of his uncle.
In the dead of the night the express train rattles into
the Euston Square station; Richard and Gus spring out,
and jump into a cab. Even smoky London, asleep under
the moonlight, is beautiful in the eyes of Daredevil Dick, as
they rattle through the deserted streets on the way to their
destination.
## p. 256 (#272) ############################################
CHAPTER W.
THE CHEROKEES TAKE AN OATH.
THE cab stops in a narrow street in the neighbourhood of
Drury Lane, before the door of a small public-house, which
announces itself, in tarnished gilt letters on a dirty board,
as "The Cherokee, by Jim Stilson." Jim Stilson is a very
distinguished professor of the noble art of self-defence; and
(in consequence of a peculiar, playful knack he has with his
dexter fist) is better known to his friends and the general
public as the Left-handed Smasher.
Of course, at this hour of the night, the respectable
hostelry is wrapped in that repose which befits the house of
a landlord who puts up his shutters and locks his door as
punctually as the clocks of St. Martins-le-Grand and St. Cle-
ment Danes strike the midnight hour. There is not so much
as the faintest glimmer of a rush-light in one of the upper
windows; but for all that, Richard and Darley alight, and
having dismissed the cab, Gus looks up and down the street
to see that it is clear, puts his lips to the keyhole of the door
of Mr. Stilson's hostelry, and gives an excellent imitation
of the feeble miauw of an invalid member of the feline
species.
Perhaps the Left-handed Smasher is tender-hearted, and
, nourishes an affection for distressed grimalkins; for the
door is softly openedjust wide enough to admit Richard
and his friend.
The person who opens the door is a young lady, who
has apparently been surprised in the act of putting her hair
## p. 257 (#273) ############################################
THE CHEROREES TAKE AN OATH. 257
in curl-papers, as she hurriedly thrusts her brush and
comb in among the biscuits and meat-pies in a corner of
the bar. She is evidently very sleepy, and rather inclined
to yawn in Mr. Augustus Darley's face; but as soon as they
are safe inside, she fastens the door and resumes her station
behind the bar. There is only one gas lamp alight, and it
is rather difficult to believe that the gentleman seated in
the easy-chair before an expiring fire in the bar-parlour,
his noble head covered with a red cotton bandanna, is
neither more nor less than the immortal left-handed one;
but he snores loud enough for the whole prize-ring, and the
nervous listener is inclined to wish that he had made a
point of clearing his head before he went to sleep.
"Well, Sophia Maria," says Mr. Darley, "are they all
up there?" pointing in the direction of a door that leads to
the stairs.
"'Most every one of 'em, sir; there's no getting 'em to
break up, nohow. Mr. Splitters has been and wrote a
drama for the Victoria Theayter, and they've been a chaff-
ing of him awful because there's fifteen murders, and four
low-comedy servants that all say, 'No, you don't, in it.
The guv'nor had to go up just now, and talk to 'em, for
they was a throwin' quart pots at each other, playful."
"Then I'll run up, and speak to them for a minute,"
said Gus. "Come along, Dick."
"How about your friend, sir," remonstrated the
Smasher's Hebe; "he isn't a Cheerful, is he, sir?"
"O, I'll answer for him," said Gus. "It's all right, So-
phia Maria; bring us a couple of glasses of brandy-and-water
hot, and tell the Smasher to step up, when I ring the bell."
Sophia Maria looked doubtfully from Gus to the slum-
bering host, and said
"He'll wake up savage if I disturb him. He's off for
his first sleep now, and he'll go to bed as soon as the place
is clear."
"Never mind, Sophia; wake him up when I ring, and
send him upstairs; he'll find something there to put him
S
## p. 258 (#274) ############################################
258 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in a good temper. Come, Dick, tumble up. You know
the way."
The Cheerful Cherokees made their proximity known by
such a stifling atmosphere of tobacco about the stair-case
as would have certainly suffocated any one not initiated in
their mysteries. Gus opened the door of a back-room on the
first floor, of a much larger size than the general appear-
ance of the house would have promised. This room was
full of gentlemen, who, in age, size, costume, and personal
advantages, varied as much as it is possible for any one
roomful of gentlemen to do. Some of them were playing
billiards; some of them were looking on, betting on the
players; or more often upbraiding them for such play as,
in the Cheerful dialect, came under the sweeping denunci-
ation of the Cherokee adjective "duffing." Some of them
were eating a peculiar compound entitled "Welsh rarebit"
a pleasant preparation, if it had not painfully reminded the
casual observer of mustard-poultices, or yellow soap in a
state of solutionwhile lively friends knocked the ashes of
their pipes into their plates, abstracted their porter just as
they were about to imbibe that beverage, and in like fasci-
nating manner beguiled the festive hour. One gentleman,
a young Cherokee, had had a rarebit, and had gone to
sleep with his head in his plate and his eyebrows in his
mustard. Some were playing cards; some were playing
dominoes; one gentleman was in tears, because the double
six he wished to play had fallen into a neighbouring spit-
toon, and he lacked either the moral courage or the physical
energy requisite for picking it up; but as, with the excep-
tion of the sleepy gentleman, every body was talking very
loud and on an entirely different subject, the effect was
lively, not to say distracting.
"Gentlemen," said Gus, "I have the honour of bringing
a friend, whom I wish to introduce to you."
"All right, Gus!" said the gentleman engaged at domi-
noes, "that's the cove I ought to play," and fixing one half-
open eye on the spotted ivory, he lapsed into a series of
## p. 259 (#275) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES TAKE AN OATH. 259
imbecile imprecations on every body in general, and the
domino in particular.
Richard took a seat at a little distance from this gentle-
man, and at the bottom of the long tablea seat sacred on
grand occasions to the vice-chairman. Some rather noisy
lookers-on at the billiards were a little inclined to resent
this, and muttered something about Dick's red wig and
whiskers, in connection with the popular accompaniments
to a boiled round of beef.
"I say, Darley," cried a gentleman, who held a billiard-
cue in his hand, and had been for some time impotently
endeavouring to smooth his hair with the same. "I say,
old fellow, I hope your friend's committed a murder or two,
because then Splitters can put him in a new piece."
Splitters, who had for four hours been in a state of
abject misery from the unmerciful allusions to his last
chef-d'oeuvre, gave a growl from a distant corner of the
table, where he was seeking consolation in every body else's
glass; and as every body drank a different beverage, was
not improving his state of mind thereby.
"My friend never committed a murder in his life, Split-
ters, so he won't dramatise on that score; but he's been
accused of one; and he's as innocent as you are, who never
murdered any thing in your life but Lindley Murray and
the language of your country."
"Who's been murdering somebody?" said the domino-
player, passing his left hand through his hair, till his
chevelure resembled a turk's-head broom. "Who's mur-
dered? I wish every body was; and that I could dance
my favourite dance upon their graves. Blow that double
six; he's the fellow I ought to play."
"Perhaps you'll give us your auburn-haired friend's
name, Darley," said a gentleman with his mouth full of
Welsh rarebit; "he doesn't seem too brilliant to live; he'd
better have gone to the "Deadly Livelies, in the other
street." The "Deadly Livelies was the sobriquet of a rival
club, which plumed itself on being a cut above the Chero-
## p. 260 (#276) ############################################
260 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
kees. "Who's dead?" muttered the domino-player. "I
wish every body was, and that I was contracted with to
bury 'em cheap. I should have won the game," he added
plaintively, "if I could have picked up that double six."
"I suppose your friend wants to be Vice at our next
meeting," said the gentleman with the billiard-cue; who, in
default of a row, always complained that the assembly was
too quiet for him.
"It wouldn't be the first time if he were Vice, and it
wouldn't be the first time if you made him Chair," said
Gus. "Come, old fellow, tell them you're come back, and
ask them if they're glad to see you?"
The red-haired gentleman at this sprang to his feet,
threw off the rosy locks and the ferocious whiskers, and
looked round at the Cherokees with his hands in his
pockets.
"Daredevil Dick l'" A shout aroseone brief wild
huzza, such as had not been heard in that room, which,
as we know, was none of the quietest, within the memory of
the oldest Cherokee. Daredevil Dickescapedcome
backas handsome as everas jolly as everas glorious
a fellowas thorough-going a brickas noble-hearted a
trump as eight years ago, when he had been the life and
soul of all of them! Such shaking of hands; every body
shaking hands with him again and again, and then every
body shaking hands with every body else; and the billiard-
player wiping his eyes with his cue; and the sleepy gentle-
man waking up and rubbing the mustard into his drowsy
optics; and the domino-player, who, though he execrates
all mankind, wouldn't hurt the tiniest wing of the tiniest
fly, even he makes a miraculous effort, picks up the double
six, and magnanimously presents it to Richard.
"Take ittake it, old fellow, and may it make you
happy! If I'd played that domino, I should have won
the game." Upon which he executed two or three steps
of a Cherokee dance, and relapsed into the aforesaid im-
becile imprecations, in mixed French and English, on
## p. 261 (#277) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES TAKE AN OATH. 261
the inhabitants of a world not capable of appreciating
him.
It was a long time before any thing like quiet could be
restored; but when it was, Richard addressed the meeting.
"Gentlemen, before the unfortunate circumstance which
has so long separated us, you knew me, I believe, well, and
I am proud to think you esteemed and trusted me."
Did they? O, rather. They jingled all the glasses,
and broke three in the enthusiastic protestation of an
affirmative.
"I need not allude to the unhappy accusation of which
I have been the victim. You are, I understand, acquainted
with the full particulars of my miserable story, and you
render me happy by thinking me to be innocent."
By thinking him to be innocent? By knowing him to
be innocent! They are so indignant at the bare thought of
any body believing otherwise, that somebody in the door-
way, the Smasher himself, growls out something about a-
forcible adjectivenoise, and the police.
"Gentlemen, I have this day regained my liberty;
thanks to the exertions of a person to whom I am also
indebted for my life, and thanks also to the assistance of
my old friend Gus Darley."
Every body here insisted on shaking hands over again
with Gus, which was rather a hindrance to the speaker's
progress; but at last Richard went on
"Now, gentlemen, relying on your friendship" (hear,
hear! and another glass broken), "I am about to appeal to
you to assist me in the future object of my life. That ob-
ject will be to discover the real murderer of my uncle, Mon-
tague Harding. In what manner, when, or where you may
be able to assist me in this, I cannot at present say, but you
are all, gentlemen, men of talent." (More glasses broken,
and a good deal of beer spilt into every body's boots.)
"You are all men of varied experience, of inexhaustible
knowledge of the world, and of the life of London. Strange
things happen every day of our lives; who shall say that
## p. 262 (#278) ############################################
262 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
some one amongst you may not fall, by some strange ac-
cidient, or let me say rather by the handiwork of Providence,
across a clue to this at present entirely unravelled mystery?
Promise me therefore, gentlemen, to give me the benefit of
your experience; and whenever that experience throws you
into the haunts of bad men, remember that the man I seek
may by some remote chance be amongst them; and that to
find him is the one object of my life. I cannot give you
the faintest index to what he may be, or who he may be.
He may be dead, and beyond the reach of justicebut he
may live! and if he does, Heaven grant that the man who
has suffered the stigma of his guilt may track him to his
doom. Gentlemen, tell me that your hearts go with me."
They told him so, not once, but a dozen times; shaking
hands with him, and pushing divers liquors into his hand
every time. But they got over it at last, and the gentleman
with the billiard-cue rapped their heads with that instru-
ment to tranquillise them, and then rose as president, and
said
"Richard Marwood, our hearts go with you, thoroughly
and entirely, and we swear to give you the best powers of
our intellects and the utmost strength of our abilities to aid
you in your search. Gentlemen, are you prepared to sub-
scribe to this oath ?"
They were prepared to subscribe to it, and they did sub-
scribe to it, every one of themrather noisily, but very
heartily.
When they had done so, a gentleman emerges from the
shadow of the doorway, who is no other than the illustrious
left-handed one, who had come upstairs in answer to Darley's
summons, just before Richard addressed the Cherokees. The
Smasher was not a handsome man. His nose had been
broken a good many times, and that hadn't improved him;
he had a considerable number of scars about his face, in-
chuding almost every known variety of cut, and they didn't
improve him. His complexion, again, bore perhaps too
close a resemblance to mottled soap to come within the
## p. 263 (#279) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES TAKE AN OATH. 263
region of the beautiful; but he had a fine and manly ex-
pression of countenance, which in his amiable moments re-
minded the beholder of a benevolent bull-dog.
He came up to Richard, and took him by the hand. It
was no small ordeal of courage to shake hands with the
Left-handed Smasher, but Daredevil Dick stood it like a
Imall.
"Mr. Richard Marwood," said he, "you've been a good
friend to me, ever since you was old enough" he stopped
here, and cast about in his mind for the fitting pursuits of
early youth"ever since you was old enough to give a cove
a black eye, or knock your friend's teeth down his throat
with a light back-hander. I've known you down stairs, a
swearin' at the barmaid, and holdin' your own agin the
whole lot of the Cheerfuls, when other young gents of your
age was a makin' themselves bad with sweet-stuffs and
green apples, and callin' it life. I've known you help that
gent yonder," he gave a jerk with his thumb in the direc-
tion of the domino-player, "to wrench off his own pa's
knocker, and send it to him by twopenny post next mornin',
seventeen and sixpence to pay postage; but I never know'd
you to do a bad action, or to hit out upon a cove as was
down."
Richard thanked the Smasher for his good opinion, and
they shook hands again. .
"I'll tell you what it is," continued the host, "I'm a
man of few words. If a cove offends me, I give him my
left between his eyes, playful; if he does it agen, I give
him my left agen, with a meanin', and he don't repeat it.
If a gent as I like does me proud, I feels grateful, and
when I has a chance I shows him my gratitude. Mr.
Richard Marwood, I'm your friend to the last spoonful of
my claret; and let the man as murdered your uncle keep
clear of my left mawley, if he wants to preserve his
beauty."
## p. 264 (#280) ############################################
CHAPTER WI.
MR. PETERS RELATES HOW HE THOUGHT HE HAD ACLUE,
AND HOW HE LOST IT.
A WEEK after the meeting of the Cherokees, Richard Mar-
wood received his mother, in a small furnished house he had
taken in Spring Gardens. Mrs. Marwood, possessed of the
entire fortune of her murdered brother, was a very rich
woman. Of her large income she had, during the eight
years of her son's imprisonment, spent scarcely any thing;
as, encouraged by Mr. Joseph Peters's mysterious hints and
vague promises, she had looked forward to the deliverance
of her beloved and only child. The hour had come. She
held him in her arms again, free.
"No, mother, no," he says, "not free. Free from the
prison walls, but not free from the stain of the false accu-
sation. Not till the hour when all England declares my
innocence shall I be indeed a free man. Why, look you,
mother, I cannot go out of this room into yonder street with-
out such a disguise as a murderer himself might wear,
for fear some Slopperton official should recognise the fea-
tures of the lunatic criminal, and send me back to my cell
at the asylum." *
"My darling boy," she lays her hands upon his shoulders,
and looks proudly into his handsome face, "my darling boy,
these people at Slopperton think you dead. See," she
touched her black dress as she spoke, "it is for you I wear
this. A painful deception, Richard, even for such an ob-
ject. I cannot bear to think of that river, and of what
might have been."
"Dear mother, I have been saved, perhaps, that I may
make some atonement for that reckless wicked past."
## p. 265 (#281) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 265
"Only reckless, Richard; never wicked. You had
always the same noble heart, always the same generous
soul; you were always my dear and only son."
"You remember what the young man says in the play,
mother, when he gets into a scrape through neglecting his
garden and making love to his master's daughter"You
shall be proud of your son yet."
"I shall be proud of you, Richard? I am proud of
you. We are rich ; and wealth is power. Justice shall be
done you yet, my darling boy. You have friends"
"Yes, mother, good and true ones. Petersyou brought
him with you?"
"Yes; I persuaded him to resign his situation. I have
settled a hundred a year on him for lifea poor return for
What he has done, Richard, but it was all I could induce
him to accept, and he only agreed to take that on condition
that every moment of his life should be devoted to your
service."
"Is he in the house now, mother?"
"Yes, he is below; I will ring for him."
"Do, mother. I must go over to Darley, and take him
with me. You must not think me an inattentive or neg-
lectful son; but remember that my life has but one business
till that man is found." -
He wrung her hand, and left her standing at the window
watching his receding figure through the quiet dusky street.
Her gratitude to Heaven for his restoration is deep and
heartfelt; but there is a shade of sadness in her face as she
looks out into the twilight after him, and thinks of the
eight wasted years of his youth, and of his bright manhood
now spent on a chimera; for she thinks he will never find
the murderer of his uncle. How, after eight years, without
one clue by which to trace himhow can he hope to track
the real criminal?
But Heaven is above us all, Agnes Marwood; and in
the dark and winding paths of life light sometimes comes
when and whence we least expect it.
## p. 266 (#282) ############################################
266 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
If you go straight across Blackfriars Bridge, and do not
suffer yourself to be beguiled either by the attractions of
that fashionable transpontine lounge the "New Cut," or by
the eloquence of the last celebrity at that circular chapel
some time sacred to Rowland Hillif you are not a man to
be led away by whelks and other piscatorial delicacies, second-
hand furniture, birds and bird-cages, or easy shaving, you
may ultimately reach, at the inland end of the road, a local-
ity known to the inhabitants of the district of Friar Street.
Whether, in any dark period of our ecclesiastical history,
the members of the mother church were ever reduced to the
necessity of living in this neighbourhood I am not prepared
to say. But if ever any of the magnates of the Catholic
faith did hang out in this direction, it is to be hoped that
the odours from the soap-boiler's round the corner, the rich
essences from the tallow manufactory over the way, the
varied perfumes from the establishment of the gentleman
who does a thousand pounds a week in size, to say nothing
of such minor and domestic effluvia as are represented by
an amalgamation of red herrings, damp corduroy, old boots,
onions, washing, a chimney on fire, dead cats, bad eggs, and
an open drain or twoit is to be hoped, I say, that these
conflicting scents did not pervade the breezes of Friar
Street so strongly in the good old times as they do in these
our later days of luxury and refinement.
Mr. Darley's establishment, ordinarily spoken of as the
Surgery par excellence, was perhaps one of the most pretend-
ing features of the street. It asserted itself, in fact, with
such a redundancy of gilt letters and gas burners, that it
seemed to say, "Really now, you must be ill; or if you're
not, you ought to be." It was not a very large house, this
establishment of Mr. Darley's, but there were at least half-a-
dozen bells on the doorpost. There was Surgery; then
there was Day, and Night (Gus wanted to have Morning,
and Afternoon, but somebody told him it wasn't profes-
sional); then there was besides surgery, day, and night
bells, another brilliant brass knob, inscribed "Visitors," and
## p. 267 (#283) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 267
a ditto ditto, whereon was engraven "Shop." Though as
there was only one small back-parlour beyond the shop into
which visitors ever penetrated; and as it was the custom
for all such visitors to walk straight through the aforesaid
shop into the aforesaid parlour without availing themselves
of any bell whatever, the brass knobs were looked upon
rather in the light of a conventionality than a convenience.
But Gus said they looked like business, especially when
they were clean, which wasn't always, as a couple of Ameri-
can gentlemen, friends of Darley's, were in the habit of
squirting tobacco-juice at them from the other side of the
way, in the dusky twilightthe man who hit the brass
oftenest out of six times to be the winner, and the loser to
stand beer all the evening; that is to say, until some indefi-
nite time on the following morningfor Darley's parties
seldom broke up very early, and to let the visitors out and
take the morning milk in was often a simultaneous proceed-
ing in the household of our young surgeon.
If he had been a surgeon only, he would surely have
been a Sir Benjamin Brodie; for when it is taken into ac-
count that he could play the piano, organ, guitar, and
violoncello, without having learned any of those instru-
ments; that he could write a song, and compose the melody
to it; that he could draw horses and dogs after Herring and
Landseer; make more puns in one sentence than any bur-
lesque-writer livingmake love to half-a-dozen women at
once, and be believed by every one of them; sing a comic
song, or tell a funny story; name the winner of the Derby
safer than any prophet on that side of the water; and make
his book for the Leger with one hand while he wrote a pre-
scription with the other; the discriminating reader will
allow that there was a good deal of some sort of talent or
other in the composition of Mr. Augustus Darley.
In the twilight of this particular autumn evening he
is busily engaged putting up a heap of little packets
labelled "Best Epsom Salts," while his assistant, a very
small youth, of a far more elderly appearance than his
## p. 268 (#284) ############################################
268 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
master, lights the gas. The half-glass door that communi-
cates with the little back-parlour is ajar, and Gus is talking
to some one within
"If I go over the water to-night, Bell" he says.
A feminine voice from within interrupts him"But you
won't go to-night, Gus; the last time you went to that
horrid Smasher's, Mrs. Tompkins's little boy was ill, and
they sent into the London Road for Mr. Parker. And you
are such a favourite with every body, dear, that they say if
you'd only stay at home always, you'd have the best practice
in the neighbourhood."
"But, Bell, how can a fellow stay at home night after
night, and perhaps half his time only sell a penn'orth of
salts or a poor-man's plaster? If they'd be ill," he added
almost savagely, "I wouldn't mind stopping in; there's
some interest in that. Or if they'd come and have their
teeth drawn; but they never will; and I'm sure I sell 'em
our Infallible Anti-toothache Tincture; and if that don't
make 'em have their teeth out, nothing will."
"Come and have your tea, Gus; and tell Snix to bring
his basin." -
Snix was the boy, who forthwith drew from a cupboard
under the counter the identical basin into which when a
drunken man was brought into the shop Gus usually bled
him, with a double view of obtaining practice in his art and
bringing the patient back to consciousness.
The feminine occupant of the parlour is a young lady
with dark hair and gray eyes, and something under twenty
years of age. She is Augustus Darley's only sister; she
keeps his house, and in an emergency she can make up a
prescriptionnay, has been known to draw a juvenile
patient's first tooth, and give him his money back after
the operation for the purchase of consolatory sweet-stuffs.
Perhaps Isabel Darley is just a little what very prim
young ladies who have never passed the confines of the
boarding-school or the drawing-room might call "fast."
But when it is taken into consideration that she was left an
## p. 269 (#285) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 269
orphan at an early age, that she never went to school in her
life, and that she has for a very considerable period been in
the habit of associating with her brother's friends, chiefly
members of the Cherokee Society, it is not so much to be
wondered at that she is a little more masculine in her at-
tainments and "go-ahead" in her opinions than some others
of her sex.
The parlour is small, as has before been stated. One of
the Cherokees has been known to suggest, when there were
several visitors present and the time arrived for their de-
parture, that they should be taken out singly with a cork-
screw. Other Cherokees, arriving after the room had been
filled with visitors, have been heard to advise that some-
body should go in first with a candle, to ascertain whether
vitality could be sustained in the atmosphere. Perhaps the
accommodation was not extended by the character of the
furniture, which consisted of a cottage piano, a chair for the
purposes of dental-surgery, a small Corinthian column sup-
porting a basin with a metal plug and chain useful for like
purposesalso a violoncello in the corner, a hanging book-
shelf(which was a torture to tall Cherokees, as one touch
from a manly head would tilt down the shelves and shower
the contents of Mr. Darley's library on the head in question,
like a literary waterfall)and a good-sized sofa, with that
unmistakable well, and hard back and arms, which distin-
guish the genus sofa-bedstead. Of course tables, chairs,
china ornaments, a plaster-of-Paris bust here and there,
caricatures on the walls, a lamp that wouldn't burn, and a
patent arrangement for the manufacture of toasted cheese,
are trifles in the way of furniture not worth naming. Miss
Darley's birds, again, though they did spill seed and water
into the eyes of unoffending visitors, and drop lumps of
dirty sugar sharply down upon the noses of the same, could
not of course be considered a nuisance; but certainly the
compound surgery and back-parlour in the mansion of
Augustus Darley was, to say the least, a little too full of
furniture.
## p. 270 (#286) ############################################
270 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
While Isabel is pouring out the tea, two gentlemen open
the shop door, and the bell attached thereto, which should
ring but doesn't, catching in the foremost visitor's foot,
nearly precipitates him headlong into the emporium of the
disciple of Esculapius. This foremost visitor is no other
than Mr. Peters, and the tall figure behind him, wrapped in
a greatcoat, is Daredevil Dick.
"Here I am, Gus!" he cries out, in his own bold hearty
voice; "here I am; found your place at last, in spite of the
fascinations of half the stale shell-fish in the United
Kingdomhere I am ; and here's the best friend I
have in the world, not even excepting yourself, old fel-
low."
Gus introduces Richard to his sister Isabel, who has
been taught from her childhood to look upon the young
man shut up in a lunatic asylum down at Slopperton as
the greatest hero, next to Napoleon Buonaparte, that ever
the world had boasted. She was a little girl of eleven years
old at the time of Dick's trial, and had never seen her wild
brother's wilder companion; and she looks up now at the
dark handsome face with a glance of almost reverence in her
deep gray eyes. But Bell is by no means a heroine; and
she has a dozen unheroine-like occupations. She has the
tea to pour out, and in her nervous excitement she scalds
Richard's fingers; drops the sugar into the slop-basin, and
pours all the milk into one cup of tea. What she would
have done without the assistance of Mr. Peters, it is impos-
sible to say; for that gentleman showed himself the very
genius of order; cut thin bread-and-butter enough for half-
a-dozen, which not one of the party touched; re-filled the
teapot before it was empty; lit the gas-lamp which hung
from the ceiling; shut the door which communicated with
the shop and the other door which led on to the staircase;
and did all so quietly that nobody knew he was doing any
thing. -
Poor Richard! In spite of the gratitude and happiness
he feels in his release, there is a gloom upon his brow and
## p. 271 (#287) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 271
an abstraction in his manner, which he tries in vain to
shake off.
A small, round, chubby individual, who might be twelve
or twenty, according to the notions of the person estimating
her age, removed the tea-tray, and in so doing broke a
saucer. Gus looked up. "She always does it," he said,
mildly. "We're getting quite accustomed to the sound.
It rather reduces our stock of china, and we sometimes are
obliged to send out to buy tea-things before we can have
any breakfast; but she's a good girl, and she doesn't
steal the honey, or the jujubes, or the tartaric acid out of
the seidlitz-powders, as the other one did; not that I
minded that much," he continued; "but she couldn't read,
and she sometimes filled up the papers with arsenic for fear
of being found out, and that might have been inconvenient,
if we'd ever happened to sell them."
"Now, Gus," said Richard, as he drew his chair up to
the fireplace and lit his pipepermission being awarded by
Bell, who lived in one perpetual atmosphere of tobacco-
smoke"now, Gus, I want Peters to tell you all about
this affairhow it was he thought me innocent ; how he
hit upon the plan he formed for saving my neck; how he
tried to cast about and find a clue to the real murderer;
how he thought he had found a clue, and how he lost it."
"Shall my sister stop while he tells the story?" asked
Gus.
"She is your sister, Gus," answered Richard. "She
cannot be so unlike you as not to be a true and pitying
friend to meMiss Darley," he continued, turning towards
her as he spoke, "you do not think me quite so bad a fellow
as the world has made me out; you would like to see me
righted, and my name freed from the stain of a vile
crime?"
"Mr. Marwood," the girl answered, in an earnest voice,
"I have heard your sad story again and again from my
brother's lips. Had you too been my brother, I could not,
believe me, have felt a deeper interest in your fate, or a
## p. 272 (#288) ############################################
272 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
truer sorrow for your misfortunes. It needs but to look
into your face, or hear your voice, to know how little you
deserve the imputation that has been cast upon you."
Richard rises and gives her his hand. No languid and
lady-like pressure, such as would not brush the down off a
butterfly's wing, but an honest hearty grasp, that comes
straight from the heart.
"And now for Mr. Peters's story," said Gus, "while I
brew a jugful of whisky-punch."
"You can follow his hands, Gus?" asks Richard.
"Every twist and turn of them. He and I had many
a confab about you, old fellow, before we went out fishing,"
said Gus, looking up from the pleasing occupation of peel-
ing a lemon.
"Now for it, then," said Richard; and Mr. Peters ac-
cordingly began.
Perhaps, considering his retiring from the Slopperton
police force a great event, not to say a crisis, in his life,
Mr. Peters had celebrated it by another event; and, taking
the tide of his affairs at the flood, had availed himself of the
water to wash his hands with. At any rate, the digital
alphabet was a great deal cleaner than when, eight years
ago, he spelt out the two words, "Not guilty," in the rail-
way carriage.
There was something very strange to a looker-on, in the
little party, Gus, Richard, and Bell, all with earnest eyes
fixed on the active fingers of the detectivethe silence
only broken by some exclamation at intervals from one of
the three.
"When first I see this young gent," say the fingers, as
Mr. Peters designates Richard with a jerk of his elbow.
"I was a-standin' on the other side of the way, a-waitin'
till my superior, Jinks, as was as much up to his business
as a kitting"(Mr. Peters has rather what we may call a
fancy style of Orthography, and takes the final g off some
words to clap it on to others, as his taste dictates)
"a-waitin', I say, till Jinks should want my assistance.
## p. 273 (#289) ############################################
iMR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 273
Well, gents allbeggin' the lady's parding, as sits up so
manly, with none of yer faintin nor steriky games, as I
a'most forgot she was a ladyno sooner did I clap eyes upon
Mr. Marwood here, a-smokin' his pipe, in Jinks's face and
a-answerin him sharp, and a-behavin' what you may call
altogether cocky, than I says to myself, "They've got the
wrong 'un. My fust words and my last, about this 'ere
gent, was, 'They've got the wrong 'un.'"
Mr. Peters looked round at the attentive party with a
glance of triumph, rubbed his hands by way of a full-stop,
and went on with his manual recital. '
"For why?" said the fingers, interrogatively, "for why
did I think as this 'ere gent was no good for this 'ere mur-
derfor why did I think them chaps at Slopperton had got
on the wrong scent ? Because he was cheeky ? Lor bless
your precious eyes, miss" (by way of gallantry he addresses
himself here to Isabel), "not a bit of it ! When a cove
goes and cuts another cove's throat off-hand, it ain't likely
he ain't prepared to cheek a police-officer. But when I
reckoned up this young gent's face, what was it I see?
Why, as plain as I see his nose and his moustachiosand
he ain't bad off for neither of them," said the fingers, paren-
thetically, "I see that he hadn't done it. Now, a cove
what's screwed up to face a judge and jury, may be can
face 'em, and never change a line of his mug; but there isn't
a cove as lives as can stand that first tap of a detective's
hand upon his shoulder as tells him, plain as words, "The
game is up. The best of 'em, and the pluckiest of 'em,
drops under that. If they keeps the colour in their face
which some of 'em has got the power to do, and none as
never tried it on can guess the painif they can do that
'ere, the perspiration breaks out wet and cold upon their
for'eds, and that blows 'em. But this young genthe was
took aback, he was surprised, and he was riled, and used
bad language; but his colour never changed, and he wasn't
once knocked over till Jinks, unbusiness-like, told him of
his uncle's murder, when he turned as white as that 'ere
T
## p. 274 (#290) ############################################
274 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
'ed of Bon-er-part." Mr. Peters, for want of a better com-
parison, glanced in the direction of a bust of the victor of
Marengo, which, what with tobacco-smoke and a ferocious
pair of burnt cork moustachios, was by no means the
whitest object in creation.
"Now, what a detective officer's good at, if he's worth
his salt, is this 'erewhen he sees two here, and another
two there, he can put 'em together, though they might be
a mile apart to any body not up to the trade, and make 'em
into four. So, thinks I, the "gent isn't took aback at bein'
arrestedbut he is took aback when he hears as how his
uncle's murdered. Now, if he'd committed the murder, he'd
know of it; and he might sham surprise, but he wouldn't
be surprised, and this young gent was knocked all of a
heap as genuine as" Mr. Peters's ideas still revert to the
bust of Napoleon"as ever that 'ere forring cove was, when
he sees his old guard scrunched up small at the battle of
Waterloo."
"Heaven knows, Peters," said Richard, taking his pipe
out of his mouth, and looking up from his stooping position
over the fire, "Heaven knows you were right; I did feel
my heart turn cold when I heard of that good man's
death."
"Well, that they'd got the wrong'un, I saw was as clear
as daylightbut where was the right 'un? That was the
question. Whoever committed the murder did it for the
money in that 'ere cabinetand sold agen they was, who-
ever they was, and didn't get the money. Who was in the
house? This young gent's mother and the servant. I was
nobody in the Gardenford force; and I was less than nobody
at Slopperton, so get into that house at the Black Mill I
couldn't; this young gent was walked off to jail, and I was
sent about my businessmy orders bein' to be back in Gard-
enford that evenin', leavin' Slopperton by the three-thirty
train. Well, I was a little cut up about this young gent;
for I seed that the case was dead agen himthe money
in his pocketthe blood on his sleevea cock-and-a-bull
## p. 275 (#291) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 275
story of a letter of introduction, and a very evident at-
tempt at a bolt-only enough to hang him, that's all; and,
for all that, I had a inward conwiction that he was as hin-
nercent of the murder as that 'ere plaster-of-Paris stattur."
Mr. Peters goes regularly to the bust for comparisons, by
way of saving time and trouble in casting about for fresh
Ol16S.
"But my orders," continued the fingers, "was positive,
so I goes down to the station to start by the three-thirty;
and as I walks into the station-yard, I hears the whistle,
and sees the train go. I was too late; and as the next
train didn't start for near upon three hours, I thought I'd
take a stroll and 'aw a look at the beauties of Slopperton.
Well, I strolls on, promiscuous like, till I comes to the side
of a jolly dirty-looking river; and as by this time I feels a
little dry, I walks on, lookin' about for a public; but ne'er
a one do I see, till I almost tumbles into a dingy little
place, as looked as if it did about half-a-pint a-day reg'lar,
when business was brisk. But in I walks, past the bar;
and straight afore me I sees a door as leads into the par-
lourthe passage was jolly dark; and this 'ere door was
ajar; and inside I hears voices. Well, you see, business
is business, and pleasure is pleasure; but when a cove takes
a pleasure in his business, he gets a way of lettin his
business habits come out unbeknownst when he's takin'
his pleasure; so I listens. Now, the voice I heerd fust was
a man's voice; and, though the place was a sort of crib
such as nobody but navvies or such-like would be in the
habit of going to, this 'ere was the voice of a gentleman. I
can't say as I ever paid much attention to grammar myself,
though I daresay it's very pleasant and amusin when you
enter into it; but, for all that, I'd knocked about in the
world long enough to know a gent's way of speakin' from
a navvy's, as well as I know'd one tune on the accordion
from another tune. It was a nice, soft-spoken voice too,
and quite melodious and pleasant to listen to; but it was
a-sayin' some of the cruelest and hardest words as ever
## p. 276 (#292) ############################################
276 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
was spoke to a woman yet, by any creature with the cheek
to call his-self a man. You're not much good, my friend,
says I, with your lardy-dardy ways and your cold-blooded
words, whoever you are. You're a thin chap, with light
hair and white hands, I know, though I've never seen you;
and there's very little in the way of wickedness that you
wouldn't be up to on a push. Now, just as I was a-thinkin'
this, he said somethin that sent the blood up into my face
as hot as fire"I expected a sum of money, and I've been
disappointed of it, he said; and before the girl he was
a-talkin' to could open her lips, he caught her up sudden
"Never you mind how, he says, "never you mind how.'
"He expected a sum of money, and he'd been disap-
pointed of it ! So had the man who had murdered this
young gent's uncle.
"Not much in this, perhaps. But why was he so fright-
ened at the thoughts of her asking him how he expected the
money, and how he'd bin disappointed? There it got
fishy. At any rate, says I to myself, I'll have a look at
you, my friend; so in I walks, very quiet and quite unbe-
knownst. He was a-sittin' with his back to the door, and
the young woman he was a-talkin' to was standin lookin'
out of the winder; so neither of 'em saw me. He was
buildin' up some cards into a 'ouse, and had got 'em up
very high, when I laid my hand upon his shoulder sud-
den. He turned round and looked at me." Mr. Peters
here paused, and looked round at the little group, who sat
watching his fingers with breathless attention. He had
evidently come to a point in his narrative.
"Now, what did I see in his face, when he looked at
me? Why, the very same look that I missed in the face of
this young gent when Jinks took him in the mornin'. The
very same look that I'd seen in a many faces, and never
know'd it differ, whether it came one way or another, always
bein' the same look at bottomthe look of a man as is
guilty of what will hang him and thinks that he's found
out. But as you can't give looks in as evidence, this wasn't
## p. 277 (#293) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 277
no good in a practical way; but I says to myself, if ever
there was anything certain in this world since it was begun,
I've come across the right 'un : so I sits down and takes up
a newspaper. I signified to him that I was dumb, and he
took it for granted I was deaf as wellwhich was one of
those stupid mistakes your clever chaps sometimes fall into
so he went on a-talking to the girl.
"Well, it was a old story enough, what him and the
girl was talkin' of ; but every word he said made him out
a more cold-blooded villain than the last.
"Presently he offered her some moneyfour sovereigns.
She served him as he ought to have been served, and threw
them every one slap in his face. One cut him over the eye;
and I was glad of it. 'You're-marked, my man, thinks I,
'and nothin could be handier agen I want you. He picked up
three of the sovereigns, but for all he could do he couldn't
find the fourth. So he had the cut (which was a jolly deep
'un) plastered up, and he went away. She stared at the river
uncommon hard, and then she went away. Now I didn't
much like the look she gave the river, so as I had about
half an hour to spare before the train started, I followed
her. I think she knew it ; for presently she turned short
off into a little street, and when I turned into it after her,
she wasn't to be seen right or left.
"Well, I had but half an hour, so I thought it was no
use chasin' this unfortunate young creature through all the
twistings and turnings of the back slums of Slopperton; so
after a few minutes' consideration, I walked straight to the
station. Hang me if I wasn't too late for the train again.
I don't know how it was, but I couldn't keep my mind off
the young woman, nor keep myself from wonderin what
she was agoin' to do with herself, and what she was agoin'
to do with that 'ere baby. So I walks back agen down by
the water, and as I'd a good hour and a half to spare, I
walks a good way, thinking of the young man, and the cut
on his forehead. It was nigh upon dark by this time, and
foggy into the bargain. Maybe I'd gone a mile or more,
## p. 278 (#294) ############################################
278 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
when I comes up to a barge what lay at anchor quite soli-
tary. It was a collier, and there was a chap on board, sittin'
in the stern, smokin', and lookin' at the water. There was
no one else in sight but him and me; and no sooner does
he spy me comin' along the bank than he sings out,
"'Hulloa! Have you met a young woman down that
way?
"His words struck me all of a heap somehow, comin'so
near upon what I was a-thinkin' of myself: I shook my
head; and he said,
"'There's been some unfort'nate young girl down here
tryin' to dround her baby. I see the little chap in the
water, and fished him out with my boat-hook. I'd seen the
girl hangin' about here, just as it was a-gettin' dark, and
then I heard the splash when she threw the child in ; but
the fog was too thick for me to see any thing ashore by that
time."
"The barge was just along-side the bank, and I stepped
on board. Not bein'so fortunate as to have a voice, you
know, it comes awkward with strangers, and I was rather
put to it to get on with the young man. And didn't he sing
out loud when he came to understand I was dumb ; he
couldn't have spoke in a higher key, if I'd been a forriner.
"He told me he should take the baby round to the
Union; all he hoped, he said, was, that the mother wasn't
agoin' to do any thing bad with herself.
"I hoped not too; but I remembered that look of hers
when she stood at the window staring out at the river, and
I didn't feel very easy in my mind about her.
"I took the poor little wet thing up in my arms. The
young man had wrapped it in an old jacket, and it was
a-cryin' piteous, and lookin', O, so scared and miserable.
"Well, it may seem a queer whim, but I'm rather soft-
hearted on the subject of babies, and often had a thought
that I should like to try the power of cultivation in the way
of business, and bring a child up from the very cradle to the
police detective line, to see whether I couldn't make that
## p. 279 (#295) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 279
'ere child a ornament to the force. I wasn't a marryin'
man, and by no means likely ever to 'aw a family of my own;
so when I took up that 'ere baby in my arms, somehow or
other the thought came into my 'ed of adoptin him, and
bringin' of him up. So I rolled him up in my greatcoat,
and took him with me to Gardenford."
"And a wonderful boy he is," said Richard; "we'll
educate him, Peters, and make a gentleman of him."
"Wait a bit," said the fingers very quickly; "thank you
kindly, sir; but if the police force of this 'ere country was
robbed of that 'ere boy, it would be robbed of a gem as
it couldn't afford to lose."
"Go on, Peters; tell them the rest of your story."
"Well, though I felt in my own mind that by one of
those strange chances which does happen in life, maybe as
often as they happen in story-books, I had fallen across the
man who had committed the murder, yet for all that I
handn't evidence enough to get a hearin'. I got transferred
from Gardenford to Slopperton, and every leisure minute I
had I tried to come across the man I'd marked; but no-
where could I see him, or hear of any one answering his
description. I went to the churches; for I thought him
capable of any thing, even to shammin' pious. I went to
the theayter, and I see a young woman accused of poisonin'
a fam'ly, and proved innocent by a police cove, as didn't
know his business any more than a fly. I went any where
and every where, but I never see that man; and it was
gettin' uncommon near the trial of this young gent, and
nothin' done. How was he to be saved ? I thought of
it by night and thought of it by day; but work it out I
couldn't nohow. One day I hears of an old friend of the
pris'ner's being sup-bone-aed as witness for the crown. This
friend I determined to see; for two 'eds"Mr. Peters
looked round, as though he defied contradiction"shall
be better than one."
"And this friend," said Gus, "was your humble servant;
who was only too glad to find that poor Dick had one sin-
## p. 280 (#296) ############################################
280 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
cere friend in the world who believed in his innocence,
besides myself."
"Well, Mr. Darley and me," resumed Mr. Peters, "put
our 'eds together, and we came to this conclusion, that if
this young gent was mad when he committed the murder,
they couldn't hang him, but would shut him in a asy-
lum for the rest of his nat'ral lifewhich mayn't be pleas-
ant in the habstract, but which is better than hangin',
any day." *
"So you determined on proving me mad," said Richard.
"We hadn't such very bad grounds to go upon, perhaps,
old fellow," replied Mr. Darley; "that brain fever, which we
thought such a misfortune when it laid you up for three
dreary weeks, stood us in good stead; we had something
to go upon, for we knew we could get you off by no other
means. But to get you off this way we wanted your
assistance, and we didn't hit upon the plan till it was too
late to get at you and tell you our scheme; we didn't hit
upon it till twelve o'clock on the night before your trial.
We tried to see your counsel; but he had that morning
left the town, and wasn't to return till the trial came on.
Peters hung about the court all the morning, but couldn't
see him; and nothing was done when the judge and jury
took their seats. You know the rest; how Peters caught
your eye"
"Yes," said Dick, "and how seven letters upon his
fingers told me the whole scheme, and gave me my cue;
those letters formed these two words, "Sham mad.'"
"And very well you did it at the short notice, Dick,"
said Gus; "upon my word, for the moment I was almost
staggered, and thought, suppose in getting up this dodge
we are only hitting upon the truth, and the poor fellow
really has been driven out of his wits by this frightful
accusation ?"
"A scrap of paper," said Mr. Peters, on his active
fingers, "gave the hint to your counsela sharp chap
enough, though a young'un."
## p. 281 (#297) ############################################
MR. PETERS LOSES HIS CLUE. 281
"I can afford to reward him now for his exertions,"
said Richard, "and I must find him, for that purpose. But
Peters, for heaven's sake tellus about this young man whom
you suspect to be the murderer. If I go to the end of
the world in search of him, I'll find him, and drag him
and his villany to light, that my name may be cleared
from the foul stain it wears."
Mr. Peters looked very grave. "You must go a little
further than the end of this world to find him, I'm afraid,
sir," said the fingers. "What do you say to looking for
him in the next 2 for that's the station he'd started for when
I last saw him ; and I believe that on that line, with the
exception of now and then a cock-and-a-bull-lane ghost,
they don't give no return tickets."
"Dead?" said Richard. "Dead, and escaped from
justice?"
"That's about the size of it, sir," replied Mr. Peters,
"Whether he thought as how something was up, and he
was blown, or whether he was riled past bearin at findin'
no money in that 'ere cabinet, I can't take upon myself
to say; but I found him six months after the murder,
out upon a heath, dead, with a laudanum-bottle a-lying
by his side."
"And did you ever find out who he was ?" asked Gus.
"He was a usher, sir, at a 'cademy for young gents,
and a very pious young man he was too, I've heard; but
for all that he murdered this young gent's uncle, or my
name isn't Peters."
"Beyond the reach of justice," said Richard; "then
the truth can never be brought to light, and to the end
of my days I must bear the stigma of a crime of which
I am innocent."
## p. 282 (#298) ############################################
$ooh the fifth.
THE DUMB DETECTIVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE COUNT DE MAROLLES AT HOME.
THE denizens of Friar Street and such localities, being in
the habit of waking in the morning to the odour of melted
tallow and boiling soap, and of going to sleep at night
with the smell of burning bones under their noses, can of
course have nothing of an external nature in common with
the inhabitants of Park Lane and its vicinity; for the
gratification of whose olfactory nerves exotics live short and
unnatural lives, on staircases, in boudoirs, and in conserva-
tories of rich plate glass and fairy architecture, where
perfumed waters play in gilded fountains through the long
summer days.
It might be imagined, then, that the common griefs
and vulgar sorrows, -such as hopeless love and torturing
jealousy, sickness, or death, or madness, or despair, would
be also banished from the regions of Park Lane, and en-
tirely confined to the purlieus of Friar Street. Any person
with a proper sense of the fitness of things would of course
conclude this to be the case, and would as soon picture my
lady the Duchess of Mayfair dining on red herrings and
potatoes at the absurd hour of one o'clock P.M., or black-
leading her own grate with her own alabaster fingers, as
weeping over the death of her child, or breaking her heart
for her faithless husband, just like Mrs. Stiggins, potato
## p. 283 (#299) ############################################
THE COUNT DE MAROILLES AT HOME. 283
and coal merchant on a small scale, or Mrs. Higgins, whose
sole revenues come from "Mangling done here."
And it does seem hard, O, my brethren, that there
should be any limit to the magic power of gold. It may ex-
clude bad airs, foul scents, ugly sights, and jarring sounds; it
may surround its possessors with beauty, grace, art, luxury,
and so-called pleasure; but it cannot shut out death or care;
for to these stern visitors Mayfair and St. Giles's must alike
open their reluctant doors whenever the dreaded guests may
be pleased to call.
You do not send cards for your morning concerts, or ftes
champtres, or ths dansantes, to Sorrow or Sadness, O no-
ble duchesses and countesses; but have you never seen their
faces in the crowd when you least looked to meet them?
Through the foliage and rich blossoms in the conserva-
tory, and through the white damask curtains of the long
French window, the autumn sunshine comes with subdued
light into a boudoir on the second floor of a large house in
Park Lane. The velvet-pile carpets in this room, and the
bedchamber and dressing-room adjoining, are made in imi-
tation of a mossy ground, on which autumn leaves have
fallen; so exquisite, indeed, is the design, that it is difficult
to think that the light breeze which enters at the open
window cannot sweep away the fragile leaf, which seems to
flutter in the sun. The walls are of the palest cream-colour,
embellished with enamelled portraits of Louis the Sixteenth, ,
Marie Antoinette, Madame Elizabeth, and the unfortunate
boy prisoner of the Temple, let into the oval panels on the
four sides of the room. Every thing in this apartment,
though perfect in form and colour, is subdued and simple;
there are none of the buhl and marqueterie cabinets, the
artificial flowers, ormolu clocks, French prints and musical
boxes, which might adorn the boudoir of an opera-dancer
or the wife of a parvenu. The easy-chairs and luxurious
sofas are made of a polished white wood, and are covered
with white damask. On the marble mantelpiece there are
two or three vases of the purest and most classical forms;
## p. 284 (#300) ############################################
284 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
and these, with Canova's bust of Napoleon, are the only
ornaments in the room. Near the fireplace, in which burns
a small fire, there is a table loaded with booksFrench,
English, and German, the newest publications of the day;
but they are tossed in a great heap, as if they had one by
one been looked at and cast aside unread. By this table
there is a lady seated, whose beautiful face is rendered still
more striking by the simplicity of her black dress.
This lady is Walerie de Lancy, now Countess de Marolles;
for Monsieur Marolles has expended some part of his wife's
fortune upon certain estates in the south of France which
give him the title of Count de Marolles.
A lucky man, this Raymond Marolles. A beautiful
wife, a title, and an immense fortune, are no such poor
prizes in the lottery of life. But this Raymond is a man
who likes to extend his possessions; and in South America
he has established himself as a banker on a large scale, and
he has lately come over to England with his wife and son,
for the purpose of establishing a branch of this bank in
London. Of course, a man with his aristocratic connections
and enormous fortune is respected and trusted throughout
the continent of South America.
Eight years have taken nothing from the beauty of
Walerie de Marolles. The dark eyes have the same fire, the
proud head the same haughty grace: but alone and in repose
the face has a shadow of deep and settled sadness that is
painful to look upon, for it is the gloomy sadness of despair.
The world in which this woman lives, which knows her only
as the brilliant, witty, vivacious, and sparkling Parisian,
little dreams that she talks because she dare not think,-
that she is restless and vivacious because she dare not be
stillthat she hurries from place to place in pursuit of
pleasure and excitement, because only in excitement, and in
a life which is as false and hollow as the mirth she assumes,
can she fly from the phantom which pursues her. Oshadow
that will not be driven away! O pale and pensive ghost,
that rises before us in every hour and in every scene, to
## p. 285 (#301) ############################################
THE COUNT DE MAROLLES AT HOME. 285
mock the noisy and tumultuous revelry which, by the rule of
opposites, we call Pleasurewhich of us is free from your
haunting presence, O phantom, whose name is The Past?
Walerie is not alone; a little boy, between seven and
eight years of age, is standing at her knee, reading aloud
to her from a book of fables.
"A frog beheld an ox" he began. But as he read the
first words the door of the boudoir opened, and a gentleman
entered, whose pale fair face, blue eyes, light eyelashes, and
dark hair and eyebrows proclaimed him to be the husband
of Walerie.
"Ah," he said, glancing with a sneer at the boy, who
lifted his dark eyes for a moment, and then dropped them
on his book with an indifference that bespoke little love for
the new-comer, "you are teaching your child, madame.
Teaching him to read? Is not that an innovation? The
boy has a fine voice, and the ear of a maestro. Let him
learn the solfeggi, and very likely one of these days he will
be as great a man as"
Valerie looks at him with the old contempt, the old icy
coldness in her face. "Do you want any thing of me this
morning, monsieur?" she asked.
"No, madame. Having the entire command of your
fortune, what can I ask? A smile Nay, madame; you
keep your smiles for your son; and again, they are so cheap
in London, the smiles of beauty."
"Then, monsieur, since you require nothing at my
hands, may I ask why you insult me with your presence?"
"You teach your son to respecthis father, madame,"
said Raymond with a sneer, throwing himself into an easy-
chair opposite Walerie. "You set the future Count de
Marolles a good example. He will be a model of filial
piety, as you are of"
"Do not fear, Monsieur de Marolles, but that one day I
shall teach my son to respect his father; fear rather lest I
teach him to avenge"
"Nay, madame, it is for you to fear that."
## p. 286 (#302) ############################################
286 THE TRAIL of THE SERPENT.
During the whole of this brief dialogue, the little boy
has held his mother's hand, looking with his serious eyes
anxiously in her face. Young as he is, there is a courage
in his glance and a look of firmness in his determined under-
lip that promises well for the future. Valerie turns from
the cynical face of her husband, and lays a caressing hand
on the boy's dark ringlets. Do those ringlets remind her
of any other dark hair? Do any other eyes look out in the
light of those she gazes at now?
"You were good enough to ask me just now, madame,
the purport of my visit; your discrimination naturally sug-
gesting to you that there is nothing so remarkably attractive
in the society to be found in these apartments, infantine
lectures in words of one syllable included"he glances
towards the boy as he speaks, and the cruel blue eyes are
never so cruel as when they look that way"as to induce
me to enter them without some purpose or other."
"Perhaps monsieur will be so good as to be brief in
stating that purpose? He may imagine, that being entirely
devoted to my son, I do not choose to have his studies, or
even his amusements, interrupted."
"You bring up young Count Almaviva like a prince,
madame. It is something to have good blood in one's veins,
even on one side"
If she could have killed him with a look of those bright
dark eyes, he would have fallen dead as he spoke the words
that struck one by one at her broken heart. He knew his
power; he knew wherein it lay, and how to use itand he
loved to wound her; because, though he had won wealth
and rank from her, he had never conquered her, and he felt
that even in her despair she defied him.
"You are irrelevant, monsieur. Pray be so kind as to
say what brought you here, where I would not insult your
good sense by saying you are a welcome visitor."
"Briefly then, madame. Our domestic arrangements
do not please me. We are never known to quarrel, it is
true; but we are rarely seen to address each other, and we
## p. 287 (#303) ############################################
THE COUNT DE MAROLLES AT HOME. 287
are not often seen in public together. Very well this in
South America, where we were king and queen of our circle
here it will not do. To say the least, it is mysterious.
The fashionable world is scandalous. People draw infe-
rencesmonsieur does not love madame, and he married
her for her money; or, on the other hand, madame does not
love monsieur, but married him because she had some
powerful motive for so doing. This will not do, countess.
A banker must be respectable, or people may be afraid to
trust him. I must be, what I am now called, 'the eminent
banker; and I must be universally trusted."
"That you may the better betray, monsieur; that is the
motive for winning people's confidence, in your code of
moral economy, is it not?"
"Madame is becoming a logician; her argument by
induction does her credit."
"But, your business, monsieur?"
"Was to signify my wish, madame, that we should be
seen oftener together in public. The Italian Opera, now,
madame, though you have so great a distaste for it  a dis-
taste which, by the bye, you did not possess during the early
period of your lifeis a very popular resort. All the world
will be there to-night, to witness the dbut of a singer of
continental celebrity. Perhaps you will do me the honour
to accompany me there?"
"I do not take any interest, monsieur"
"In the fortunes of tenor singers. Ah, how completely
we outlive the foolish fancies of our youth ! But you will
occupy the box on the grand tier of her Majesty's Theatre,
which I have taken for the season. It is to your son'sto
Cherubino's interest, for you to comply with my request."
He glances towards the boy once more, with a sneer on his
thin lips, and then turns and bows to Walerie as he
SaWS-
y "Au revoir, madame. I shall order the carriage for
eight o'clock."
A horse, which at a sale at Tattersall's had attracted the
attention of all the votaries of the Corner, for the perfection
## p. 288 (#304) ############################################
288 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
of his points and the enormous price which he realised,
caracoles before the door, under the skilful horsemanship of
a well-trained and exquisitely-appointed groom. Another
horse, equally high-bred, waits for his rider, the Count de
Marolles. The groom dismounts, and holds the bridle, as
the gentleman emerges from the door and springs into the
saddle. A consummate horseman the Count de Marolles;
a handsome man too, in spite of the restless and shifting
blue eyes and the thin nervous lips. His dress is perfect,
just keeping pace with the fashion sufficiently to denote
high ton in the wearer, without outstripping it, so as to
stamp him a parvenu. It has that elegant and studious
grace which, to a casual observer, looks like carelessness,
but which is in reality the perfection of the highest art of
allthe art of concealing art. -
It is only twelve o'clock, and there are not many people
of any standing in Piccadilly this September morning; but
of the few gentlemen on horseback who pass Monsieur de
Marolles, the most aristocratic-looking bow to him. He is
well known in the great world as the eminent banker, the
owner of a superb house in Park Lane. He possesses a man
cook of Parisian renown, who wears the cross of the Legion
of Honour, given him by the first Napoleon on the occa-
sion of a dinner at Talleyrand's. He has estates in South
America and in France; a fortune, said to be boundless; and a
lovely wife. For the rest, if his own patent of nobility is of
rather fresh date, and if, as impertinent people say, he never
had a grandfather, or indeed any thing in the way of a father
to speak of, it must be remembered that great men, since
the days of mythic history, have been celebrated for being
born in rather an accidental manner.
But why a banker? Why, possessed of an enormous
fortune, try to extend that fortune by speculation? That
question lies between Raymond de Marolles and his con-
science. Perhaps there are no bounds to the ambition of
this man, who entered Paris eight years ago an obscure ad-
venturer, and who, according to some accounts, is now a
millionaire. -
## p. 289 (#305) ############################################
CHAPTER II.
MR. PETERS SEES A GHOST.
MR. PETERS, pensioned off by Richard's mother with an in-
come of a hundred pounds a-year, has taken and furnished
for himself a small house in a very small square not far
from Mr. Darley's establishment, and rejoicing in the high-
sounding address of Wellington Square, Waterloo Road.
Having done this, he feels that he has nothing more to do
in life than to retire upon his laurels, and enjoy the otium
cum dignitate which he has earned so well.
Of course Mr. Peters, as a single man, cannot by any
possibility do for himself; and ashaving started an esta-
blishment of his ownhe is no longer in a position to be
taken in and done for, the best thing he can do is to send
for Kuppins; accordingly he does send for Kuppins.
Kuppins is to be cook, housekeeper, laundress, and
parlour-maid all in one; and she is to have ten pounds per
annum, and her tea, sugar, and beerwages only known in
Slopperton in very high and aristocratic families where
footmen are kept and no followers or Sundays out allowed.
So Kuppins comes to London, bringing the "fondling"
with her; and arriving at the Euston Square station at eight
o'clock in the evening, is launched into the dazzlingly bewil-
dering gaiety of the New Road.
Well, it is not paved with gold certainly, this marvellous
city; and it is maybe, on the whole, just a little muddy.
But, O, the shopswhat emporiums of splendour ! What de-
lightful excitement in being nearly run over every minute !
to say nothing of that delicious chance of being knocked
U
## p. 290 (#306) ############################################
290 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
down by the crowd which is collected round a drunken wo-
man expostulating with a policeman. Of course there must
be a general election, or a great fire, or a man hanging, or a
mad Ox at large, or a murder just committed in the next
street, or something wonderful going on, or there never
could be such crowds of excited pedestrians, and such tearing
and rushing, and smashing of cabs, carts, omnibuses, and
parcel-delivery vans, all of them driven by charioteers in the
last stage of insanity, and drawn by horses as wild as that
time-honoured steed employed in the artistic and poetical
punishment of our old friend Mazeppa. Tottenham Court
Road ! What a magnificent promenade Occupied, of
course, by the houses of the nobility! And is that mag-
nificent establishment with the iron shutters, Buckingham
Palace or the Tower of London? Kuppins inclines to think-
ing it must be the Tower of London, because the iron shut-
ters look so warlike, and are evidently intended as a means
of defence in case of an attack from the French.
Kuppins is told by her escort, Mr. Peters, that this is
the emporium of Messrs. Shoolbred, haberdashers and linen-
drapers. She thinks she must be dreaming, and wants to
be pinched and awakened before she proceeds any further. It
is rather a trying journey for Mr. Peters; for Kuppins wants
to stop the cab every twenty yards or so, to get out and
look at something in this wonderful Tottenham Court Road.
But the worst of Kuppins, perhaps, is, that she has al-
most an insane desire to see that Tottenham Court whence
Tottenham Court Road derives its name; and when told that
there is no such place, and never was, leastways, never as Mr.
Peters heard of, she begins to think London, in spite of all
its glories, rather a take-in. Then, again, Kuppins is very
much disappointed at not passing either Westminster Abbey
or the Bank of England, which she had made up her mind
were both situated at Charing Cross; and it was a little try-
ing for Mr. Peters to be asked whether every moderate-sized
church they passed was not St. Paul's Cathedral, or every
little bit of dead wall Newgate. To go over a bridge, and
## p. 291 (#307) ############################################
MR. PETERS SEES A GHOST. 291
for it not to be London Bridge, but Waterloo Bridge, was
in itself a mystery; but to be told that the Shot Tower on
the Surrey side was not the Monument was too bewildering
for endurance. As to the Wictoria Theatre, which was illu-
minated to such a degree that the box-entrance seemed as
a pathway to fairyland, Kuppins was so thoroughly assured
in her own mind of its being Drury Lane, and nothing else,
unless, perhaps, the Houses of Parliament or Covent Garden,
that no protestations on Mr. Peters's fingers could root out
the fallacy. | - -
But the journey came to an end at last; and Kuppins,
safe with bag and baggage at No. 17 Wellington Square,
partook of real London saveloys and real London porter
with Mr. Peters and the "fondling," in an elegant front
parlour, furnished with a brilliantly polished but rather
rickety Pembroke table, that was covered with a royal Stuart
plaid woollen cloth; half-a-dozen cane-seated chairs, so new
and highly polished as to be apt to adhere to the garments
of the person who so little understood their nature or pro-
perties as to attempt to sit upon them; a Kidderminster
carpet, the pattern of which was of the size adapted to the
requirements of a townhall, but which looked a little dis-
proportionate to Mr. Peters's apartment, two patterns and a
quarter stretching the entire length of the room; and a
mantelpiece ornamented with a looking-glass divided into
three compartments by gilded Corinthian pillars, and further
adorned with two black velvet kittens, one at each corner,
and a parti-coloured velvet boy on a brown velvet donkey in
the centre.
The next morning Mr. Peters announced his intention
of taking the "fondling" into the city of London, for the
purpose of showing him the outside of St. Paul's, the Monu-
ment, Punch and Judy, and other intellectual exhibitions
adapted to his tender years. Kuppins was for starting then
and there on a visit to the pig-faced lady, than which mag-
nificent creature she could not picture any greater wonder
in the whole metropolis; but Kuppins had to stay at home
## p. 292 (#308) ############################################
292 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in her post of housekeeper, and to inspect and arrange the
domestic machinery of No. 17 Wellington Square. So the
"fondling," being magnificently arrayed in a clean collar
and a pair of boots that were too small for him, took hold
of his protector's hand, and they sallied forth.
If any thing, Punch and Judy bore off the palm in this
young gentleman's judgment of the miracles of the big vil-
lage.
It was not so sublime a sight, perhaps, as the outside of
St. Paul's; but, on the other hand, it was a great deal
cleaner; and the "fondling" would have liked to have seen
Sir Christopher Wren's masterpiece picked out with a little
fresh paint before he was called upon to admire it. The
Monument, no doubt, was very charming in the abstract;
but unless he could have been perpetually on the top of it,
and perpetually within a hair's breadth of precipitating
himself on to the pavement below, it wasn't very much in
his way. But Punch, with his delightfully original style of
elocution, his overpoweringly comic domestic passages with
Judy, and the dolefully funny dog with a frill round his
neck and an evident dislike for his professionthis, indeed,
was an exhibition to be seen continually, and to be more
admired the more continually seen, as no doubt the "fond-
ling" would have said had he been familiar with Dr. Johnson,
which, it is to hoped for his own peace of mind, he wasn't.
It is rather a trying day for Mr. Peters, and he is not
sorry when, at about four o'clock in the afternoon, he has
taken the "fondling" all round the Bank of England(that
young gentleman insisting on peering in at the great mas-
sive windows, in the fond hope of seeing the money)and
has shown him the broad back of the Old Lady of Thread-
needle Street, and the Clearing-house, and they are going
out of Lombard Street, on their way to an omnibus which
will take them home. But just as they are leaving the street
the "fondling" makes a dead stop, and constrains Mr. Peters
to do the same.
Standing before the glass doors of a handsome building,
## p. 293 (#309) ############################################
MR. PETERS SEES A GHOST. 293
which a brass plate announces to be the "Anglo-Spanish-
American Bank," are two horses, and a groom in faultless
buckskins and tops. He is evidently waiting for some one
within the bank, and the "fondling" vehemently insists upon
waiting too, to see the gentleman get on horseback. The
good-natured detective consents; and they loiter about the
pavement for some time before the glass doors are flung
open by a white-neckclothed clerk, and a gentleman of rather
foreign appearance emerges therefrom.
There is nothing particularly remarkable in this gentle-
man. The fit of his pale lavender gloves is certainly ex-
quisite; the style of his dress is a recommendation to his
tailor; but what there is in his appearance to occasion Mr.
Peters's holding on to a lamp-post it is difficult to say.
But Mr. Peters did certainly cling to the nearest lamp-post
and did certainly turn as white as the whitest sheet of paper
that ever came out of a stationer's shop. The elegant-looking
gentleman, who was no other than the Count de Marolles,
had better occupation for his bright blue eyes than the
observation of such small deer as Mr. Peters and the "fond-
ling." He mounted his horse, and rode slowly away, quite
unconscious of the emotion his appearance had occasioned
in the breast of the detective. No sooner had he done S0,
than Mr. Peters, relinquishing the lamp-post and clutching
the astonished "fondling," darted after him. In a moment
he was in the crowded thoroughfare before Guildhall. An
empty cab passed close to them. He hailed it with frantic
gesticulations, and sprang in, still holding the "fondling."
The Count de Marolles had to rein-in his horse for a mo-
ment from the press of cabs and omnibuses; and at Mr.
Peters's direction the "fondling" pointed him out to the
cabman, with the emphatic injunction to "follow that gent,
and not to lose sight of him nohow." The charioteer gives
a nod, cracks his whip, and drives slowly after the equestrian,
who has some difficulty in making his way through Cheap-
side. The detective, whose complexion still wears a most
striking affinity to writing-paper, looks out of the window,
## p. 294 (#310) ############################################
294 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
as if he thought the horseman they are following would
melt into thin air, or go down a trap in St. Paul's Church-
yard. The "fondling" follows his protector's eyes with his
eyes, then looks back at Mr. Peters, and evidently does not
know what to make of the business. At last his patron
draws his head in at the window, and expresses himself
upon his fingers thus,
"How can it be him, when he's dead?"
This is beyond the "fondling's" comprehension, who evi-
dently doesn't understand the drift of the query, and as
evidently doesn't altogether like it, for he says,
"Don't ! Come, I say, don't, now."
"How can it be him," continues Mr. Peters, enlarging
upon the question, "when I found him dead myself out
upon that there heath, and took him back to the station,
and afterwards see him buried, which would have been
between four cross roads with a stake druv' through him
if he'd poisoned himself fifty years ago?"
This rather obscure speech is no more to the "fondling's"
liking than the last, for he cries out more energetically than
before,
"I say, now, I tell you I don't like it, father. Don't
you try it on now, please. What does it mean? Who's
been dead fifty years ago, with a stake druv' through 'em,
and four cross roads on a heath? Who?"
Mr. Peters puts his head out of the window, and direct-
ing the attention of the "fondling" to the elegant equestrian
they are following, says, emphatically, upon his fingers,
66 Him p.
"Dead, is he 7" said the "fondling," clinging very close
to his adopted parent. "Dead! and very well he looks, con-
siderin'; but," he continued, in an awful and anxious whisper,
"Where's the stake and the four cross roads as was druv'
through him ? Does he wear that 'ere loose coat to hide
'em P"
Mr. Peters didn't answer this inquiry, but seemed to be
ruminating, and, if one may be allowed the expression,
## p. 295 (#311) ############################################
MR. PETERS SEES A GHOST. 295
thought aloud upon his fingers, as it was his habit to do at
times.
"There couldn't be two men so much alike, surely. That
one I found dead was the one I saw at the public talkin' to
the young woman; and if so, this is another one, for that
One was dead as sure as eggs is eggs. When eggs ceases to
be eggs, which," continued Mr. Peters, discoursively, "con-
siderin' they're sellin' at twenty for a shilling, French, and
dangerous, if you're not partial to young parboiled chickens,
is not likely yet awhile, why, then, that one I found on the
heath will come to life again."
The "fondling" was too busy stretching his neck out
of the window of the cab, in his eagerness to keep his eye
upon the Count de Marolles, to pay any attention to Mr.
Peters's fingers. The outside of St. Paul's, and the perform-
ance of Punch and Judy, were very well in their way, but
they were mild dissipations indeed, compared to the delight
of following a ghost which had had a stake driven through
his phantasmal form and wore lavender-kid gloves.
"There was one thing," continued the musing detective,
"which struck me as curious, when I found the body of that
young gent. Where was the scar from the sovering as that
young woman throwed at him? Why nowheres! Not a
trace of it to be seen, which I looked for it particular; and
yet that cut wasn't one to leave a scar that would wear out
in six months, nor yet in six years either. I've had my face
scratched myself, though I'm a single man, and I know what
that is to last, and the awkwardness one has to go through
in saying one's been playing with spiteful kittens, and such-
like. But what's that to a cut half a inch deep from the
sharp edge of a sovering? If I could but get to see his
forehead. The cut was just over his eyebrow, and I could
see the mark of it with his hat on."
While Mr. Peters abandons himself to such reflections as
these, the cab drives on and follows the Count de Marolles
down Ludgate Hill, through Fleet Street and the Strand,
Charing Cross and Pall Mall, St. James Street and Picca-
## p. 296 (#312) ############################################
296 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
dilly, till it comes up with him at the corner of Park
Lane.
"This," says Mr. Peters, "is where the swells live. Very
likely he hangs out here; he's a ridin' as if he was a goin' to
stop presently, so we'll get out." Whereupon the "fondling"
interprets to the cabman Mr. Peters's wish to that effect, and
they alight from the vehicle.
The detective's surmise is correct. The Count stops,
gets off his horse, and throws the reins to the groom. It
happens at this very moment that an open carriage, in which
two ladies are seated, passes, on its way to Grosvenor Gate.
One of the ladies bows to the South-American banker, and
as he lifts his hat in returning her salute, Mr. Peters, who
is looking at nothing particular, sees very distinctly the scar
which is the sole memorial of that public-house encounter
on the banks of the Sloshy.
As Raymond throws the reins to the groom he says, "I
shall not ride again to-day, Curtis. Tell Morgan to have
the Countess's carriage at the door at eight for the opera."
Mr. Peters, who doesn't seem to be a person blest with
the faculty of hearing, but who is to all appearance busily
engaged in drawing the attention of the "fondling" to the
architectural beauties of Grosvenor Gate, may nevertheless
take due note of this remark.
The elegant banker ascends the steps of his house, at
the hall-door of which stand gorgeous and obsequious flun-
keys, whose liveries and legs alike fill with admiration the
juvenile mind of the "fondling."
Mr. Peters is very grave for some time, as they walk
away; but at last, when they have got halfway down Picca-
dilly, he has recourse once more to his fingers, and addresses
his young friend thus:
"What did you think of him, Slosh?"
"Which," says the "fondling;" "the cove in the red
velvet breeches as opened the door, or the swell ghost?"
"The SWell."
"Well, Ithink he's uncommon handsome, and very easy
## p. 297 (#313) ############################################
MR. PETERS SEES A GHOST. 297
in his manners, all things taken into consideration," said
that elderly juvenile with deliberation.
"O, you do, do you, Slosh?"
Slosh repeats that he does.
Mr. Peters's gravity increases every moment. "O, you
do, do you, Slosh'' he asks again, and again the boy answers.
At last, to the considerable inconvenience of the passers-by,
the detective makes a dead stop, and says, "I'm glad you
thinks him han'some, Slosh; and I'm glad you thinks him
easy, which, all things considered, he is, uncommon. In
fact I'm glad he meets your views as far as personal appear-
ance goes, because, between you and me, Slosh, that man's
your father."
It is the boy's turn to hold on to the lamp-post now.
To have a ghost for a father, and, as Slosh afterwards re-
marked, "a ghost as wears polishy boots, and lives in Park
Lane too," was enough to take the breath out of any boy,
however preternaturally elderly and superhumanly sharp his
police-office experiences may have made him. On the whole,
the "fondling" bears the shock very well, shakes off the effect
of the information, and is ready for more in a minute.
"I wouldn't have you mention it just now, you know,
Slosh," continues Mr. Peters, "because we don't know what
he may turn out, and whether he may quite answer our
purpose in the parental line. There's a little outstanding
matter between me and him that I shall have to look him
up for. I may want your help; and if I do, you'll give it
faithful, won't you, Slosh?" "
"Of course I will," said that young gentleman. "Is
there any reward out for him, father?" He always called
Mr. Peters father, and wasn't prepared to change his habit
in deference to any ghostly phenomenon in the way of a
parent suddenly turning up in Lombard Street. "Is there
any reward out for him?" he asks, eagerly; "bankers is
good for something in the levanting line, I know, now-
adays."
The detective looked at the boy's sharp thin features
## p. 298 (#314) ############################################
298 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
with a scrutinising glance common to men of his profes-
S10Il.
"Then you'll serve me faithful, if I want you, Slosh? I
thought perhaps you might let family interests interfere.
with business, you know."
"Not a bit of it," said the youthful enthusiast. "I'd
hang my grandmother for a sovering, and the pride of
catching of her, if she was a downy one."
"Chips of old blocks is of the same wood, and it's only
reasonable there should be a similarity in the grain," mused
Mr. Peters, as he and the "fondling" rode home in an
omnibus. "I thought I'd make him a genius, but I didn't
know there was such a under-current of his father. It'll
make him the glory of his profession. Soft-heartedness has
been the ruin of many a detective, as has had the brains
to work out a deep-laid game, but not the heart to carry it
through."
## p. 299 (#315) ############################################
CHAPTER III.
THE CHEROREES MARK THEIR MAN.
HER Majesty's Theatre is peculiarly brilliant this evening.
Diamonds and beauty, in tier above tier, look out from the
amber-curtained boxes. The stalls are full, and the pit is
crammed. In fop's alley there is scarcely standing-room
indeed, one gentleman remarks to another, that if Pande-
monium is equally hot and crowded, he will turn Methodist
parson in his old age, and give his mind to drinking at tea-
meetings.
The gentleman who makes this remark is neither more
nor less than a distinguished member of the "Cheerfuls,"
the domino-player alluded to some chapters back.
He is standing talking to Richard; and to see him now,
with an opera-glass in his hand, his hair worn in a manner
conforming with the usages of society, and only in a modi-
fied degree suggesting that celebrated hero of the Newgate
Calendar and modern romance Mr. John Sheppard, a dress-
coat, patent-leather boots, and the regulation white waist-
coat, you would think he had never been tipsy or riotous in
his life. -
This gentleman is Mr. Percy Cordonner. All the Che-
rokees are more or less literary, and all the Cherokees have,
more or less, admission to every place of entertainment,
from Her Majesty's Theatre to the meetings of the mem-
bers of the "P.R." But what brings Richard to the Opera
to-night? and who is that not very musical-looking little
gentleman at his elbow '
"Will they all be here?" asked Dick of Mr. Cordonner.
## p. 300 (#316) ############################################
300 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Every one of them; unless Splitters is unable to tear
himself away from his nightly feast of blood and blue fire
at the Wic. His piece has been performed fourteen times,
and it's my belief he's been at every representation; and
that he tears his hair when the actors leave out the gems of
the dialogue and drop their n's. They do drop their h's
over the water," he continues, lapsing into a reverie; "when
our compositors are short of type, they go over and sweep
them up." "
"You're sure they'll be here, then, Percy?"
"Every one of them, I tell you. I'm whipper-in.
They're to meet at the oyster-shop in the Haymarket; you
know the place, where there's a pretty girl and fresh Col-
chesters, don't charge you any thing extra for the lemon,
and you can squeeze her hand when she gives you the
change. They're sure to come in here two at a time, and
put their mark upon the gentleman in question. Is he in
the house yet, old fellow?"
Richard turns to the quiet little man at his elbow; who
is our old friend Mr. Peters, and asks him a question: he
only shakes his head in reply.
"No, he's not here yet," says Dick; "let's have a look at
the stage, and see what sort of stuff this Signor Mosquetti
is made of."
"I shall cut him up, on principle," says Percy; "and
the better he is, the more I shall cut him up, on another
principle."
There is a great deal of curiosity about this new tenor
of continental celebrity. The opera is the Lucia, and the
appearance of Edgardo is looked forward to with anxiety.
Presently the hero of the square-cut coat and jack-boots
enters. He is a handsome fellow, with a dark southern
face, and an easy insouciant manner. His voice is melody
itself; the rich notes roll out in a flood of sweetness,
without the faintest indication of effort. Though Richard
pretends to look at the stage, though perhaps he does try
to direct his attention that way, his pale face, his wander-
## p. 301 (#317) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES MARK THEIR MAN. 301
ing glance, and his restless under-lip, show him to be greatly
agitated. He is waiting for that moment when the detec-
tive shall say to him, "There is the murderer of your uncle.
There is the man for whose guilt you have suffered, and
must suffer, till he is brought to justice." The first act of
the opera seemed endless to Daredevil Dick; while his phi-
losophical friend, Mr. Cordonner, looked on as coolly as he
would have done at an earthquake, or the end of the world,
or any other trifling event of that nature.
The curtain has fallen upon the first act, when Mr.
Peters lays his hand on Richard's arm and points to a box
on the grand tier.
A gentleman and lady, and a little boy, have just taken
their seats. The gentleman, as becomes him, sits with his
back to the stage and faces the house. He lifts his opera-
glass to take a leisurely survey of the audience. Percy puts
his glass into Richard's hand, and with a hearty "Courage,
old boy!" watches him as he looks for the first time at his
deadliest enemy.
And is that calm, aristocratic, and serene face the face
of a murderer? The shifting blue eyes and the thin arched
lips are not discernible from this distance; but through the
glass the general effect of the face is very plainly seen,
and there is no fear that Richard will fail to know its
owner again, whenever and wherever he may meet him.
Mr. Cordonner, after a deliberate inspection of the per-
sonal attractions of the Count de Marolles, remarks, with
less respect than indifference,
"Well, the beggar is by no means bad-looking, but he
looks a determined scoundrel. He'd make a first-rate light-
comedy villain for a Porte-St.-Martin drama. I can ima-
gine him in Hessian boots poisoning all his relations, and
laughing at the police when they come to arrest him."
"Shall you know him again, Percy?" asks Richard.
"Among an army of soldiers, every one of them dressed
in the same uniform," replies his friend. "There's some-
thing unmistakable about that pale thin face. I'll go and
## p. 302 (#318) ############################################
302 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
bring the other fellows in, that they may all be able to swear
to him when they see him."
In groups of two and three the Cherokees strolled into
the pit, and were conducted by Mr. Cordonner, who, to serve
a friend, could, on a push, be almost active, to the spot where
Richard and the detective stood. One after another they
took a long look, through the most powerful glass they
could select, at the tranquil features of Victor de Marolles.
Little did that gentleman dream of this amateur band of
police, formed for the special purpose of the detection of the
crime he was supposed to have committed.
One by one the "Cheerfuls" register the Count's hand-
some face upon their memories, and with a hearty shake of
the hand each man declares his willingness to serve Richard
whenever and wherever he may see a chance, however faint
or distant, of so doing. -
And all this time the Count is utterly unmoved. Not
quite so unmoved though, when, in the second act, he recog-
nises in the Edgardothe new tenor, the hero of the night
his old acquaintance of the Parisian Italian Opera, the
chorus-singer and mimic, Monsieur Paul Mouce. This
skilful workman does not care about meeting with a tool
which, once used, were better thrown aside and for ever
done away with. But this Signor Paolo Mosquetti is
neither more nor less than the slovenly, petit-Verre-drink-
ing, domino-playing chorus-singer, at a salary of thirty
francs a-week. His genius, which enabled him to sing an
aria in perfect imitation of the fashionable tenor of the day,
has also enabled him, with a little industry, and a little less
wine-drinking and gambling, to become a fashionable tenor
himself, and Milan, Naples, Vienna, and Paris testify to his
triumphs.
And all this time Walerie de Marolles looks on a stage
such as that on which, years ago, she so often saw the form
she loved. That faint resemblance, that likeness in his
walk, voice, and manner, which Mouce has to Gaston de
Lancy strikes her very forcibly. It is no great likeness,
## p. 303 (#319) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES MARK THEIR MAN. 303
except when the mimic is bent on representing the man he
resembles; then, indeed, as we know, it is remarkable. But
at any time it is enough to strike a bitter pang to this
bereaved and remorseful heart, which in every dream and
every shadow is only too apt to recall that unforgotten past.
The Cherokees meanwhile express their sentiments
pretty freely about Monsieur Raymond de Marolles, and
discuss divers schemes for the bringing of him to justice.
Splitters, whose experiences as a dramatic writer suggested
to him every possible kind of mode but a natural One, pro-
posed that Richard should wait upon the Count, when con-
venient, at the hour of midnight, disguised as his uncle's
ghost, and confound the villain in the stronghold of his
crimemeaning Park Lane. This sentence was verbatim
from a playbill, as well as the whole very available idea;
Mr. Splitters's notions of justice being entirely confined to
the retributive or poetical, in the person of a gentleman
with a very long speech and two pistols.
"The Smasher's outside," said Percy Cordonner. "He
wants to have a look at our friend as he goes out, that he
may reckon him up. You'd better let him go into the
Count's peepers with his left, Dick, and damage his beauty;
it's the best chance you'll get."
"No, no; I tell you, Percy, that man shall stand where
I stood. That man shall drink to the dregs the cup I
drank, when I stood in the criminal dock at Slopperton and
saw every eye turned towards me with execration and
horror, and knew that my innocence was of no avail to sus-
tain me in the good opinion of one creature who had known
me from my very boyhood."
"Except the 'Cheerfuls," said Percy. "Don't forget
the 'Cheerfuls."
"When I do, I shall have forgotten all on this side of
the grave, you may depend, Percy. No ; I have some
firm friends on earth, and here is one;" and he laid his
hand on the shoulder of Mr. Peters, who still stood at
his elbow.
## p. 304 (#320) ############################################
304 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The opera was concluded, and the Count de Marolles and
his lovely wife rose to leave their box. Richard, Percy,
Splitters, two or three more of the Cherokees, and Mr.
Peters left the pit at the same time, and contrived to be at
the box-entrance before Raymond's party came out.
At last the Count de Marolles' carriage was called; and
as it drew up, Raymond descended the steps with his wife
on his arm, her little boy clinging to her left hand.
"She's a splendid creature," said Percy; "but there's a
spice of devilry in those glorious dark eyes. I wouldn't be
her husband for a trifle, if I happened to offend her."
As the Count and Countess crossed from the doors of the
opera-house to their carriage, a drunken man came reeling
past, and before the servants or policemen standing by
could interfere, stumbled against Raymond de Marolles, and
in so doing knocked his hat off. He picked it up imme-
diately, and, muttering some unintelligible apology, returned
it to Raymond, looking, as he did so, very steadily in the
face of M. de Marolles. The occurrence did not occupy a
moment, and the Count was too finished a gentleman to
make any disturbance. This man was the Smasher.
As the carriage drove off, he joined the group under the
colonnade, perfectly sober by this time.
"I've had a jolly good look at him, Mr. Marwood," he
said, "and I'd swear to him after forty rounds in the ring,
which is apt sometimes to take a little of the Cupid out of
a gent. He's not a bad-looking cove on the whole, and
looks game. He's rather slight-built, but he might make
that up in science, and dance a pretty tidy quadrille round
the chap he was put up agin, bein' active and lissom. I see
the cut upon his forehead, Mr. Peters, as you told me to
take notice of," he said, addressing the detective. "He
didn't get that in a fair stand-up fight, leastways not from
an Englishman. When you cross the water for your anta-
gonist, you don't know what you may get."
"He got it from an Englishwoman, though," said
Richard.
## p. 305 (#321) ############################################
THE CHEROKEES MARK THEIR MAN. 305
"Did he, now? Ah, that's the worst of the softer sect;
you see, sir, you never know where they'll have you.
They're awful deficient in science, to be sure; but, Lord
bless you, they make it up with the will," and the Left-
handed one rubbed his nose. He had been married during
his early career, and was in the habit of saying that ten
rounds inside the ropes was a trifle compared with one round
in your own back-parlour, when your missus had got your
knowledge-boxin chancery against the corner of the mantel-
piece, and was marking a dozen different editions of the
ten commandments on your complexion with her bunch of
fives.
"Come, gentlemen," said the hospitable Smasher, "what
do you say to a Welsh rarebit and a bottle of bitter at my
place? We're as full as we can hold down stairs, for the
Finsbury Fizzer's trainer has come up from Newmarket; and
his backers is hearin' anecdotes of his doings for the last
interesting week. They talk of dropping down the river on
Tuesday for the great event between him and the Atlantic
Alligator, and the excitement's tremenjous; our barmaid's
hands is blistered with working at the engines. So come
round and see the game, gentlemen; and if you've any loose
cash you'd like to put upon the Fizzer, I can get you decent
odds, considerin he's the favourite."
Richard shook his head. He would go home to his
mother, he said; he wanted to talk to Peters about the day's
work. He shook hands heartily with his friends, and as
they strolled off to the Smasher's, walked with them as far
as Charing Cross, and left them at the corner that led into
quiet Spring Gardens.
In the club-room of the Cherokees that night the mem-
bers renewed the oath they had taken on the night of
Richard's arrival, and formally inaugurated themselves as
"Daredevil Dick's secret police."
## p. 306 (#322) ############################################
CHAPTER IV.
THE CAPTAIN, THE CHEMIST, AND THE LASCAR.
IN the drawing-room of a house in a small street leading out
of Regent Street are assembled, the morning after this opera-
house rencontre, three people. It is almost difficult to ima-
gine three persons more dissimilar than those who compose
this little group. On a sofa near the open window, at which
the autumn breeze comes blowing in over boxes of dusty
London flowers, reclines a gentleman, whose bronzed and
bearded face, and the military style even of the loose morn-
ing undress which he wears, proclaim him to be a soldier.
A very handsome face it is, this soldier's, although darkened
not a little by a tropical sun, and a good deal shrouded by
the thick black moustache and beard which conceal the ex-
pression of the mouth, and detract from the individuality of
the face. He is smoking a long cherry-stemmed pipe, the
bowl of which rests on the floor. A short distance from
the sofa on which he is lying, an Indian servant is seated
on the carpet, who watches the bowl of the pipe, ready to
replenish it the moment it fails, and every now and then
glances upward to the grave face of the officer with a look
of unmistakable affection in his soft black eyes.
The third occupant of the little drawing-room is a pale,
thin, studious-looking man, who is seated at a cabinet in a
corner away from the window, amongst papers and books,
which are heaped in a chaotic pile on the floor about him.
Strange books and papers these are. Mathematical charts,
inscribed with figures such as perhaps neither Newton or
Laplace ever dreamed of Volumes in old worm-eaten bind-
## p. 307 (#323) ############################################
THE CAPTAIN, THE CHEMIST, AND THE LASCAR. 307
ings, and written in strange languages long since dead and
forgotten upon this earth; but they all seem familiar to this
pale student, whose blue spectacles bend over pagesofcrabbed
Arabic as intently as the eyes of a boarding-school miss who
devours the last volume of the last new novel. Now and
then he scratches a few figures, or a sign in algebra, or a
sentence in Arabic, on the paper before him, and then goes
back to the book again, never looking up towards the
smoker or his Hindoo attendant. Presently the soldier, as
he relinquishes his pipe to the Indian to be replenished,
breaks the silence.
"So the great people of London, as well as of Paris, are
beginning to believe in you, Laurent ?" he says.
The student lifts his head from his work, and turning
the blue spectacles towards the smoker, says in his old
unimpassioned manner
"How can they do otherwise, when I tell them the
truth? These," he points to the pile of books and papers
at his side, "do not err: they only want to be interpreted
rightly. I may have been sometimes mistakenI have
never been deceived."
"You draw nice distinctions, Blurosset."
"Not at all. If I have made mistakes in the course of
my career, it has been from my own ignorance, my own pow-
er lessness to read these aright; not from any shortcoming
in the things themselves. I tell you, they do not deceive."
"But will you ever read them aright Will you ever
fathom to the very bottom this dark gulf of forgotten
Science P"
"Yes, I am on the right road. I only pray to live long
enough to reach the end."
"And then?"
"Then it will be within the compass of my own will to
live for ever."
"Pshaw! The old storythe old delusion. How
strange that the wisest on this earth should have been
fooled by it !"
## p. 308 (#324) ############################################
308 ..THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Make sure that it is a delusion, before you say they
were fooled by it, Captain."
"Well, my dear Blurosset, Heaven forbid that I should
dispute with one so learned as you upon so obscure a sub-
ject. I am more at home holding a fort against the
Indians than holding an argument against Albertus Mag-
nus. You still, however, persist that this faithful Mujee-
bez here is in some manner or other linked with my
destiny?"
"I do."
"And yet it is very singular! What can connect two
men whose experiences in every way are so dissimilar?"
"I tell you again that he will be instrumental in con-
founding your enemies."
"You know who they areor rather, who he is. I
have but one."
"Not two, Captain?"
"Not two. No, Blurosset. There is but one on whom
I would wreak a deep and deadly vengeance."
"And for the other?"
"Pity and forgiveness. Do not speak of that. There
are some things which even now I am not strong enough to
hear spoken of That is one of them."
"The history of your faithful Mujeebez there is a singu-
lar one, is it not?" asks the student, rising from his books,
and advancing to the window.
"A very singular one. His master, an Englishman,
With whom he came from Calcutta, and to whom he was de-
votedly attached"
"I was indeed, Sahib," said the Indian, in very good
English, but with a strong foreign accent.
"This master, a rich nabob, was murdered, in the house
of his sister, by his own nephew."
"Very horrible, and very unnatural! Was the nephew
hung?"
"No. The jury brought in a verdict of insanity; he
was sent to a madhouse, where no doubt he still remains
## p. 309 (#325) ############################################
THE CAPTAIN, THE CHEMIST, AND THE LASCAR. 309
confined. Mujeebez was not present at the trial; he had
escaped by a miracle with his own life; for the murderer,
coming into the little room in which he slept, and finding
him stirring, gave him a blow on the head, which placed him
for some time in a very precarious state."
"And did you see the murderer's face, Mujeebez?" asks
Monsieur Blurosset.
"No, Sahib. It was dark, I could see nothing. The
blow stunned me; when I recovered my senses, I was in
the hospital, where I lay for months. The shock had
brought on what the doctors called a nervous fever. For
a long time I was utterly incapable of work; when I left
the hospital I had not a friend in the world; but the good
lady, the sister of my poor murdered master, gave me money
to return to India, where I was kitmutghar for some time
to an English colonel, in whose household I learned the
language, and whom I did not leave till I entered the ser-
vice of the good Captain."
The "good Captain" laid his hand affectionately on
his follower's white-turbaned head, something with the pro-
tecting gesture with which he might caress a favourite and
faithful dog.
"After you had saved my life, Mujeebez," he said.
"I would have died to save it, Sahib," answered the
Hindoo. "A kind word sinks deep in the heart of the
Indian."
"And there was no doubt of the guilt of this nephew 7"
asks Blurosset.
"I cannot say, Sahib. I did not know the English lan-
guage then ; I could understand nothing told me, ex-
cept that my poor master's nephew was not hung, but put
in a madhouse."
"Did you see himthis nephew P"
"Yes, Sahib, the night before the murder. He came
into the room with my master when he retired to rest. I
saw him only for a minute, for I left the room as they en-
tered."
## p. 310 (#326) ############################################
310 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Should you know him again?" inquired the student.
"Any where, Sahib. He was a handsome young man,
with dark hazel eyes and a bright smile. He did not look
like a murderer."
"That is scarcely a sure rule to go by, is it, Laurent ?"
asks the Captain, with a bitter smile.
"I don't know. A black heart will make strange lines
in the handsomest face, which are translatable to the close
observer." *
"Now," says the officer, rising, and surrendering his
pipe to the hands of his watchful attendant"Now for my
morning's ride, and you will have the place to yourself
for your scientific visitors, Laurent."
"You will not go where you are likely to meet"
"Any one I know? No, Blurosset. The lonelier the
road the better I like it. I miss the deep jungle and the
tiger-hunt, eh, Mujeebez?we miss them, do we not?"
The Hindoo's eyes brightened, as he answered eagerly,
"Yes, indeed, Sahib."
Captain Lansdown, that is the name of the officer, is of
French extraction; he speaks English perfectly, but still
with a slightly foreign accent. He has distinguished him-
self by his marvellous courage and military genius in the
Punjaub, and is over in England on leave of absence. It
is singular that so great a friendship should exist between
this impetuous, danger-loving soldier, and the studious
French chemist and pseudo-magician, Laurent Blurosset;
but that a very firm friendship does exist between them is
evident. They live in the same house; are both waited
upon by Egerton Lansdown's Indian servant, and are con-
stantly together.
Laurent Blurosset, after becoming the fashion in Paris,
is now the rage in London. But he rarely stirs beyond
the threshold of his own door, though his presence is eagerly
sought for in scientific coteries, where opinion is still, how-
ever, divided as to whether he is a charlatan or a great
man. The materialists sneerthe spiritualists believe.
## p. 311 (#327) ############################################
THE CAPTAIN, THE CHEMIST, AND THE LASCAR. 311
His disinterestedness, at any rate, speaks in favour of his
truth. He will receive no money from any of his numerous
visitors. He will serve them, he says, if he can, but he
will not sell the wisdom of the mighty dead; for that is
something too grand and solemn to be made a thing of
barter. His discoveries in chemistry have made him suffi-
ciently rich; and he can afford to devote himself to science,
in the hope of finding truth for his reward. He asks no
better recompense than the glory of the light he seeks.
We leave him, then, to his eager and inquisitive visitors,
while the Captain rides slowly through Oxford Street, on
his way to the Edgeware Road, through which he emerges
into the country.
## p. 312 (#328) ############################################
CHAPTER W.
THE NEW MILKMAN IN PARK LANE.
THE post of kitchen-maid in the household of the Count de
Marolles is no unimportant one, and Mrs. Moper is ac-
"ounted a person of some consequence in the servant's hall.
Fhe French chef, who has his private sitting-room, wherein
he works elaborate and scientific culinary combinations,
which when he condescends to talk English he designates
"plates," has of course very little communication with the
household. Mrs. Moper is his prime minister; he gives
his orders to her for execution, and throws himself back in
his easy-chair to think out a dish, while his handmaiden
collects for him the vulgar elements of his noble art. Mrs.
Moper is a very good cook herself; and when she leaves the
Count de Marolles she will go into a family where there is
no foreigner kept, and will have forty pounds per annum
and a still-room of her own. She is in the caterpillar stage
now, Mrs. Sarah Moper, and is content to write herself
down kitchen-maid ad interim.
The servant's-hall dinner and the housekeeper's repast
are both over; but the preparations for the dinner have not
yet begun, and Mrs. Moper and Liza, the scullery-maid,
Snatch half-an-hour's calm before the coming storm, and
sit down to darn stockings.
"Which," Mrs. Moper says, "my toes is through and
my heels is out, and never can I get the time to set a stitch.
For time there isn't any in this house for a under-servant,
which under-servant I will be no more than one year
longer; or say my name's not Sarah Moper."
## p. 313 (#329) ############################################
THE NEW MILKMAN IN PARK LANE. 313
Liza, who is mending a black stocking with white
thread (and a very fanciful effect it has too), evidently has
no wish to dispute such a proposition.
"Indeed, Mrs. Moper," she said, "that's the truest
word as ever you've spoke. It's well for them as takes
their wages for wearin silk gowns, and oilin' of their hair,
and lookin' out of winder to watch the carriages go in at
Grosvenor Gate; which, don't tell me as Life Guardsmen
would look up imperdent, if they hadn't been looked down
to likewise." Eliza gets rather obscure here. "This 'ouse,
Mrs. M., for upper-servants may be 'eaven, but for unders
it's more like the place as is pronounced like a letter of the
alphabet, and isn't to be named by me."
There is no knowing how far this rather revolutionary
style of conversation might have gone, for at this moment
there came that familiar sound of the clink of milk-pails
on the pavement above, and the London cry of milk.
"It's Budgen with the milk, Liza; there was a pint of
cream wrong in the last bill, Mrs. Mellflower says; ask him
to come down and correctify it, will you, Liza?"
Liza ascends the area steps and parleys with the milk-
man; presently he comes jingling down, with his pails
swinging against the railings; he is rather awkward with
his pails, this milkman, and I'm afraid he must spill more
milk than he sells, as the Park Lane pavements testify.
"It isn't Budgen," says Liza, explanatory, as she ushers
him into the kitchen. "Budgen as 'urt his leg, a-milkin'
a cow Wot kicks when the flies worrits, and 'as sent this
young man, as is rather new to the business, but is anxious
to do his best."
The new milkman enters the kitchen as she concludes
her speech, and releasing himself from the pails, expresses
his readiness to settle any mistake in the weekly bill.
He is rather a good-looking fellow, this milkman, and
he has a very curly head of flaxen hair, preposterously light
eyebrows, and dark hazel eyes, which form rather a piquant
contrast. I don't suppose Mrs. Moper and Liza think him
## p. 314 (#330) ############################################
314 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
bad-looking, for they beg him to sit down, and the scullery-
maid thrusts the black stocking, on which she was hereto-
fore engaged, into a table-drawer, and gives her hair a
rapid extemporary smoothing with the palms of her hands.
Mr. Budgen's man seems by no means disinclined for a
little friendly chat; he tells them how new he is to the
business; how he thinks he should scarcely have chosen
cowkeeping for his way of life; if he'd known as much
about it as he does now; how there's many things in the
milk business, such as horses' brains, warm water and
treacle, and such-like, as goes against his conscience. How
he's quite new to London and London ways, having come
up only lately from the country.
"Whereabouts in the country?" Mrs. Moper asks.
"Berkshire," the young man replies.
"Lor," Mrs. Moper says, "never was any thing so
remarkable. Poor Moper come from Berkshire, and knowed
every inch of the country, and so I think do I, pretty well.
What part of Berkshire, Mr. Mr.?"
"Wolpes," suggested the young man.
"What part of Berkshire, Mr. Wolpes?"
Mr. Wolpes looks, strange to say, rather at a loss to
answer this very natural and simple inquiry. He looks at
Mrs. Moper, then at Liza, and lastly at the pails. The
pails seem to assist his memory, for he says, very distinctly,
"Burley Scuffers."
It is Mrs. Moper's turn to look puzzled now, and she
exclaims "Burley"
"Scuffers," replies the young man. "Burley Scuffers,
market town, fourteen miles on this side of Reading. The
'Chicories, Sir Yorrick Tristram's place, is a mile and a
half out of the town."
There's no disputing such an accurate and detailed de-
scription as this. Mrs. Moper says it's odd, all the times
she's been to Reading, "which I wish I had as many
sovereigns," she mutters in parenthesis, never did she re-
member passing through "Burley Scuffers."
## p. 315 (#331) ############################################
THE NEW MILKMAN IN PARK LANE. 315
"It's a pretty little town, too," says the milkman;
"there's a lime-tree avenue just out of the High Street,
called Pork-Butchers' Walk, as is crowded with young
people of a Sunday evening after church."
Mrs. Moper is quite taken with this description; and
says, the very next time she goes to Reading to see poor
Moper's old mother, she will make a point of going to
Burley Scuffers during her stay.
Mr. Wolpes says, he would if he were she, and that she
couldn't employ her leisure time better.
They talk a good deal about Berkshire; and then Mrs.
Moper relates some very interesting facts relative to the
late Mr. Moper, and her determination, "which upon his
dying bed it was his comfort so to think," never to marry
again; at which the milkman looks grieved, and says the
gentlemen will be very blind indeed to their own interests
if they don't make her change her mind some day; and
somehow or other (I don't suppose servants often do such
things), they get to talking about their master and their
mistress. The milkman seems quite interested in this
subject, and, forgetting in how many houses the innocent
liquid he dispenses may be required, he sits with his
elbows on the kitchen-table, listening to Mrs. Moper's
remarks, and now and then, when she wanders from her
subject, drawing her back to it with an adroit question.
She didn't know much about the Count, she said, for the
servants was most all of 'em new ; they only brought two
people with them from South America, which was Mon-
sieur St. Mirotaine, the chef, and the Countess's French
maid, Mademoiselle Finette. But she thought Monsieur
de Marolles very 'aughty, and as proud as he was 'igh,
and that madame was very unhappy, "though it's hard
to know with them furriners, Mr. Wolpes, what is what,"
she continues, "and madame's gloomy ways may be French
for happiness, for all I knows."
"He's an Englishman, the Count, isn't he?" asks Mr.
Wolpes.
## p. 316 (#332) ############################################
316 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"A Englishman' Lor bless your heart, no. They're
both French; she's of Spanish igstraction, I believe, and
they lived since their marriage mostly in Spanish Ame-
rica. But they always speaks to each other in French,
when they do speak; which them as waits upon them
says isn't often."
"He's very rich, I suppose," says the milkman.
"Rich !" cries Mrs. Moper, "the money as that man
has got, they say is fabellous, and he's a regular business
man too, down at his bank every day, rides off to the
City as punctual as the clock strikes ten. Lor, by the
bye, Mr. Wolpes," says Mrs. Moper suddenly, "you don't
happen to know of a tempory tiger, do you?"
"A temporary tiger!" Mr. Wolpes looks considerably
puzzled.
"Why, you see, the Count's tiger, as wasn't higher
than the kitchen-table I do believe, broke his arm the
other day. He was a-hangin' on to the strap behind the
cab, a-standin' upon nothing, as them boys will, when the
vehicle was knocked agen an omnibus, and his arm bein'
wrenched sudden out of the strap, snapped like a bit of
sealing-wax; and they've took him to the hospital, and he's
to come back as soon as ever he's well; for he's a deal
thought on, bein' a most the smallest tiger at the West-end.
So, if you happen to know of a boy as would come tem-
porary, we should be obliged by your sending him round."
"Did he know of a boy as would come temporary?"
Mr. Budgen's young man appeared so much impressed by
this question, that for a minute or two he was quite in-
capable of answering it. He leaned his elbows on the
kitchen-table, with his face buried in his hands and his
fingers twisted in his flaxen hair, and when he looked up
there was, strange to say, a warm flush over his pale
complexion, and something like a triumphant sparkle in
his dark brown eyes.
"Nothing could fall out better," he said; "nothing,
nothing !"
## p. 317 (#333) ############################################
THE NEW MILKMAN IN PARK LANE. 317
"What, the poor lad breaking his arm?" asked Mrs.
Moper, in a tone of surprise.
"No, no, not that," said Mr. Budgen's young man,
just a little confused; "what I mean is, that I know
the very boy to suit youthe very boy, the very boy of
all others to undertake the business; ah," he continued
in a lower voice, "and to go through with it too to the
very end."
"Why, as to the business," replied Mrs. Moper, "it
ain't overmuch, hangin' on behind, and lookin' knowin',
and givin' other tigers as good as they bring, when waitin'
outside the Calling or the Anthinium ; which tigers as is
used to the highest names in the peerage familiar as their
meat and drink, will go on contemptuous about our fambly,
callin' the bank 'the shop, and a-askin', till they got our
lad's blood up (which he had had his guinea lessons from
the May Fair Mawler, and were better left alone), when
the smash was a-comin', or whether we meant to give
our three-and-sixpence in the pound like a honest house,
or do the shabby thing and clear ourselves by a com-
pensation with our creditors of fourpence-farthing? Ah,"
continued Mrs. Moper, gravely, "many's the time that
child have come home with his nose as big as the 'ead
of a six-week old baby, and no eyes at all as any one
could discover, which he'd been that knocked about in
a stand-up fight with a lad three times his weight and
Size."
"Then I can send the boy, and you'll get him the
situation?" said Mr. Budgen's young man, who did not
seem particularly interested in this rather elaborate re-
cital of the exploits of the invalid tiger.
"He can have a character, I suppose?" inquired the
lady.
"O, ah, to be sure. Budgen will give him a cha-
racter."
"You will impress upon the youth," said Mrs. Moper
with great dignity, "that he will not be able to make
## p. 318 (#334) ############################################
318 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
this his permanence 'ome. The pay is good, and the
meals is reg'lar, but the situation is tempory."
"All right," said Mr. Budgen's assistant; "he doesn't
want a situation for long. I'll bring him round myself
this eveninggood afternoon;" with which very brief
farewell, the flaxen-haired, dark-eyed milkman strode out
of the kitchen.
"Hum!" muttered the cook, "his manners has not the
London polishI meant to have ast him to tea."
"Why, I'm blest," exclaimed the scullery-maid sud-
denly, "if he haven't been and gone and left his yoke
and pails behind him! Well, of all the strange milk-
men I ever come a-nigh, if he ain't the strangest."
She might have thought him stranger still, perhaps,
this light-haired milkman, had she seen him hail a stray
cab in Brook Street, spring into it, snatch off his flaxen
locks, whose hyacinthine waves were in the convenient
form known by that most disagreeable of words, a wig;
snatch off also the holland blouse common to the pur-
veyors of milk, and rolling the two into a bundle, stuff
them into the pocket of his shooting-jacket, before throw-
ing himself back into the corner of the vehicle, to enjoy
a meditative cigar, as his charioteer drives his best pace
in the direction of that transpontine temple of Escu-
lapius, Mr. Darley's surgery. Daredevil Dick has made
the first move in that fearful game of chess which is to
be played between him and the Count de Marolles.
## p. 319 (#335) ############################################
CHAPTER WI.
SIGNOR MOSQUETTI RELATES AN ADVENTURE.
ON the evening which follows the very afternoon during
which Richard Marwood made his first and only essay in
the milk-trade, the Count and Countess de Marolles attend
a musical partyI beg pardon, I should, gentle reader, as
you know, have said a Soire musicaleat the house of a lady
of high rank in Belgrave Square. London was almost
empty, and this was one of the last parties of the season;
but it is a goodly and an impressive sight to seeeven when
London is, according to every fashionable authority, a per-
fect Saharahow many splendid carriages will draw up to
the awning my Lady erects over the pavement before her
door, when she announces herself "at home," how many
gorgeously dressed and lovely women will descend there-
from, scenting the night-air of Belgravia with the fragrance
wafted from their waving tresses and point-d'Alenon-
bordered handkerchiefs; lending a perfume to the autumn
violets struggling out a fading existence in Dresden boxes
on the drawing-room balconies; lending the light of their
diamonds to the gas-lamps before the door, and the light of
their eyes to help out the aforesaid diamonds; sweeping the
autumn dust and evening dews with the borders of costly
silks, the marvels of Lyons and Spitalfields, and altogether
glorifying the ground over which they walk.
On this evening one range of windows, at least, in Bel-
grave Square is brilliantly illuminated. Lady Londers-
don's Musical Wednesday, the last of the season, has been
inaugurated with clat by a scena from Signora Scorici,
of Her Majesty's Theatre and the Nobility's Concerts; and
## p. 320 (#336) ############################################
320 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Mr. Argyle Fitz-Bertram, the great English basso baritono,
and the handsomest man in England, has just shaken the
square with the buffo duet from the Cenerentola; in which
performance he, Argyle, has so entirely swamped that
amiable tenor Signor Maretti, that the latter gentleman
has serious thoughts of calling him out to-morrow morn-
ing; which idea he would carry into execution if Argyle
Fitz-Bertram were not a crack shot, and a pet pupil of Mr.
Angelo's into the bargain.
But even the great Argyle finds himselfwith the ex-
ception of being up to his eyes in a slough of despond, in
the way of a platonic flirtation with a fat duchess of fifty
comparatively nowhere. The star of the evening is the new
tenor, Signor Mosquetti, who has condescended to attend
Lady Londersdon's Wednesday. Argyle, who is the best-
natured fellow as well as the most generous, and whose great
rich voice wells up from a heart as sound as his lungs, throws
himself back into a low easy-chairit creaks a little under
his weight, by the byeand allows the duchess to flirt with
him, while abuzz goes round the roomMosquetti is going
to sing. Argyle looks lazily out of his half-closed dark eyes,
with that peculiar expression which seems to say"Sing
your best, old fellow! My g in the bass clef would crush
your half-octave or so of falsetto before you knew where you
were, or your "Pretty Jane either. Sing away, my boy
we'll have 'Scots wha hae by and by; I've some friends
down in Essex who want to hear it, and the Wind's in the
right quarter for the voice to travel. They won't hear you
five doors off. Sing your best."
Just as Signor Mosquetti is about to take his place at
the piano, the Count and Countess de Marolles advance
through the crowd about the doorway.
Walerie, beautiful, pale, calm as ever, is received with
considerable empressement by her hostess. She is the heiress
of one of the most ancient and aristocratic families in
France, and is moreover the wife of one of the richest men
in London, so is sure of a welcome throughout Belgravia.
## p. 321 (#337) ############################################
SIGNOR MOSQUETTI RELATES AN ADVENTURE. 321
"Mosquetti is going to sing," murmurs Lady Londers-
don; "you were charmed with him in the Lucia, of course?
You have lost Fitz-Bertram's duet. It was charming; all
the chandeliers were shaken by his lower notes; charming,
I assure you. He'll sing again after Mosquetti; the Duchess
of C. is prise, as you see. I believe she is perpetually send-
ing him diamond rings and studs; and the Duke, they
do say, has refused to be responsible for her account at
Storr's."
Valerie's interest in Mr. Fitz-Bertram's conquest is not
very intense; she bends her haughty head, just slightly
elevating her arched eyebrows with the faintest indication
of well-bred surprise; but she is interested in Signor
Mosquetti, and avails herself of the seat her hostess offers
her near Erard's grand piano. The song concludes very
soon after she is seated; but Mosquetti remains near the
piano, talking to an elderly gentleman, who is evidently a
connoisseur.
"I have never heard but one man, Signor Mosquetti,"
says this gentleman, "whose voice resembled yours."
There is nothing very particular in the words, but
Walerie's attention is apparently arrested by them, for she
fixes her eyes intently on Signor Mosquetti, as though
awaiting his reply.
"And he, my lord?" says Mosquetti, interrogatively.
"He, poor fellow, is dead." Now indeed Valerie, pale
with a pallor greater than usual, listens as though her whole
soul hung on the words she heard.
"He is dead," continued the gentleman. "He died
young, in the zenith of his reputation. His name waslet
me seeI heard him in Paris last; his name was"
"De Lancy, perhaps, my Lord?" says Mosquetti.
"It was De Lancy; yes. He had some most peculiar
and at the same time most beautiful tones in his voice,
and you appear to me to have the very same."
Mosquetti bowed at the compliment. "It is singular,
my Lord," he said; "but I doubt if those tones are quite
Y
## p. 322 (#338) ############################################
322 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
natural to me. I am a little of a mimic, and at one period
of my life I was in the habit of imitating poor De Lancy,
whose singing I very much admired."
Valerie grasps the delicate fan in her nervous hand so
tightly, that the group of courtiers and fair ladies, of the
time of Louis Quatorze, dancing nothing particular on a
blue cloud, are crushed out of all symmetry, as she listens
to this conversation.
"I was, at the time I knew De Lancy, merely a chorus-
singer at the Italian Opera, Paris."
The listeners draw nearer, and form quite a circle round
Mosquetti, who is the lion of the night; even Argyle Fitz-
Bertram pricks up his ears, and deserts the Duchess in order
to hear this conversation.
"A low chorus-singer," he mutters to himself. "So
help me, Jupiter, I knew he was a nobody."
"This passion for mimicry," said Mosquetti, "was so
great that I acquired a sort of celebrity throughout the
Opera House, and even beyond its walls; I could imitate
De Lancy better, perhaps, than any one else, for in height,
figure, and general appearance I was said to resemble
him."
"You do," said the gentleman; "you do very much re-
semble the poor fellow." -
"This resemblance, one day, gave rise to quite an ad-
venture; which, if I shall not bore you" he glanced
round.
There is a general murmur, "Bore us! No! delighted,
enraptured, charmed above all things!" Fitz-Bertram is
quite energetic in this omnes business, and says, "No, no!"
muttering to himself afterwards, "So help me, Jupiter, I
knew the fellow was a nuisance!"
"But the adventure! Pray let us hear it?" cried eager
voices.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, I was a careless, reckless
fellow ; quite content to put on a pair of russet boots which
half swallowed me and a green cotton-Velvet tunic short in
## p. 323 (#339) ############################################
SIGNOR MOSQUETTI RELATES AN ADVENTURE. 323
the sleeves and tight across the chest, and to go on the stage
and sing in a chorus with fifty others, as idle as myself, in
other russet boots and cotton-Velvet tunics, which, as you
know, is the court costume of a chorus-singer from the time
of Charlemagne to the reign of Louis XV. I was quite
happy, I say, to lounge on to the stage, unknown, unnoticed,
badly paid and worse dressed, provided when the chorus was
finished I had my cigarette, dominoes, and my glass of
cognac, in a third-rate caf. I was playing one morning at
those eternal dominoes(and never, I think," said Mos-
quetti, parenthetically, "had a poor fellow so many double
sixes in his hand)when I was told a gentleman wanted to
see me. This seemed too good a jokea gentleman for
me! It couldn't be a limb of the law, as'I didn't owe a
farthingno Parisian tradesman being quite so demented
as to give me credit. It was a gentleman; a very aristo-"
cratic-looking fellow; handsomebut I didn't like his face;
affableand yet I didn't like his manner."
Ah, Walerie you may well listen now !
"He wanted me, he said," continued Mosquetti, "to
decide a little wager. Some foolish girl, who had seen De
Lancy on the stage, and who believed him the ideal hero of
romance, and was only in too much danger of throwing her
heart and fortune at his feet, was to be disenchanted, by any
stratagem that could be devised. Her parents had intrusted
the management of the affair to him, a relation of the lady's.
Would I assist him ? Would I represent De Lancy, and
play a little scene in the Bois de Boulogne, to open the eyes
of this silly boarding-school misswould I, for a consider-
ation ? It was only to act a little stage-play off the stage,
and was for a good cause. I consented; and that evening,
at half-past ten o'clock, under the shadow of the winter
night and the leafless trees, I"
"Stop, stop, Signor Mosquetti!" cry the bystanders.
"Madame ! Madame de Marolles ! Water | Smelling-
salts' Your flacon, Lady Emily; she has fainted !"
No; she has not fainted; this is something worse than
## p. 324 (#340) ############################################
324 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
fainting, this convulsive agony, in which the proud form
writhes, while the white and livid lips murmur strange and
dreadful words.
"Murdered, murdered and innocent ! while I, vile dupe,
pitiful fool, was only a puppet in the hands of a demon '"
At this very moment Monsieur de Marolles, who has
been summoned from the adjoining apartment, where he
has been discussing a financial measure with some mem-
bers of the lower house, enters hurriedly.
"Walerie, Walerie, what is the matter?' he says, ap-
proaching his wife.
She risesrises with a terrible effort, and looks him full
in the face.
"I thought, monsieur, that I knew the hideous abyss of
your black soul to its lowest depths. I was wrong; I never
knew you till to-night."
Imagine such strong language as this in a Belgravian
drawing-room, and then you can imagine the astonishment
of the bystanders.
"Good heavens !" exclaimed Signor Mosquetti hur-
riedly.
"What?" cried they eagerly.
"That is the very man I have been speaking of."
"That ? The Count de Marolles P''
"The man bending over the lady who has fainted."
Petrified Belgravians experience a new sensation-sur-
priseand rather like it.
Argyle Fitz-Bertram twists his black moustachios re-
flectively, and mutters
"So help me, Jupiter, I knew there'd be a row! I sha'n't
have to sing 'Scots wha hae, and shall be just in time for
that little supper at the Caf de l'Europe."
## p. 325 (#341) ############################################
CHAPTER VII.
THE GOLDEN SECRET IS TOLD, AND THE GOLDEN BOWL IS
BROKEN.
THE new tiger, or, as he is called in the kitchen, the "tem-
pory tiger," takes his place, on the morning after Lady
Londersdon's Wednesday, behind the Count de Marolles'
cab, as that gentleman drives into the City.
There is little augury to be drawn from the pale smooth
face of Raymond de Marolles, though Signor Mosquetti's
revelation has made his position rather a critical one. Till
now he has ruled Walerie with a high hand; and though
never conquering the indomitable spirit of the proud Spanish
woman, he has at least forced that spirit to do the will of
his. But now, now that she knows the trick put upon her
now that she knows that the man she so deeply adored
did not betray her, but died the victim of another's treachery
that the blood in which she has steeped her soul was the
blood of the innocent,--what if now, in her desperation and
despair, she dares all, and reveals all; what then?
"Why, then," says Raymond de Marolles, cutting his
horse over the ears with a delicate touch of the whip, which
stings home though, for all its delicacy; "why then, never
shall it be said that Raymond Marolles found himself in a
dilemma, without finding within himself the power to extri-
cate himself. We are not conquered yet, and we have seen
a good deal of life in thirty yearsand not a little danger.
Play your best card, Walerie; I've a trump in my own hand
to play when the time comes. Till then, keep dark. I
tell you, my good woman, I have hothouses of my own,
## p. 326 (#342) ############################################
326 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
and don't want your Covent-Garden exotics at twopence a
bunch!"
This last sentence is addressed to a woman, who pleads
earnestly for the purchase of a wretched bunch of violets,
which she holds up to tempt the man of fashion as she runs
by the wheels of his cab, driving very slowly through the
Strand.
"Fresh violets, sir. Do, sir, please. Only twopence,
just twopence, sir, for the love of charity. I've a poor old
woman at home, not related to me, sir, but I keep her.
She's dyingstarving, sir, and dying of old age."
"Bah! I tell you, my good woman, I'm not Lawrence
Sterne on a sentimental journey, but a practical man of
business. I don't give macaroons to donkeys, or save mythic
old women from starvation. You'd better keep out of the
way of the wheels, they'll be over your feet presently, and if
you suffer from corns they may probably hurt you," says
the philanthropic banker, in his politest tones. -
"Stop, stop!" suddenly exclaims the woman, with an
energy that almost startles even Raymond. "It's you, is
itJim 2 No, not Jim; he's dead and gone, I know; but
you, you, the fine gentleman, the other brother. Stop,
stop, I tell you, if you want to know a secret that's in
the keeping of one who may die while I am talking here!
Stop, if you want to know who you are and what you are !
Stop!"
Raymond does pull up at this last sentence.
"My good woman, do not be so energetic. Every eye
in the Strand is on us; we shall have a crowd pre-
sently. Stay, wait for me in Essex Street; I'll get out
at the corner; that's a quiet street, and we shall not be
observed. Any thing you have to tell me you can tell me
there."
The woman obeys him, and draws back to the pavement,
where she keeps pace with the cab. *
"A pretty time this for discoveries!" mutters the Count.
"Who I am, and what I am | It's the secret, I suppose,
## p. 327 (#343) ############################################
THE GOLDEN SECRET IS TOLD. 327
that the twaddling old maniac in Blind Peter made such a
row about. Who I am, and what I am! O, I daresay I
shall turn out to be somebody great, as the hero does in a
lady's novel. It's a pity I haven't the mark of a coronet
behind my ear, or a bloody hand on my wrist. Who I am,
and what I am! The son of a journeyman tailor perhaps,
or a chemist's apprentice, whose aristocratic connections
prevented his acknowledging my mother."
He is at the corner of Essex Street by this time, and
springs out of the cab, throwing the reins to the temporary
tiger, whose sharp face we need scarcely inform the reader
discloses the features of the boy Slosh. -
The woman is waiting for him; and after a few moments'
earnest conversation, Raymond emerges from the street,
and orders the boy to drive the cab home immediately; he
is not going to the City, but is going on particular business
elsewhere.
Whether the "temporary tiger" proves himself worthy
of the responsible situation he holds, and does drive the
cab home, I cannot say; but I only know that a very
small boy, in a ragged coat a great deal too large for him,
and a battered hat so slouched over his eyes as quite to
conceal his face from the casual observer, creeps cautiously,
now a few paces behind, now a hundred yards on the other
side of the way, now disappearing in the shadow of a door-
way, now reappearing at the corner of the street, but never
losing sight of the Count de Marolles and the purveyor of
violets as they bend their steps in the direction of Seven
Dials.
Heaven forbid that we should follow them through all
the turnings and twistings of that odoriferous neighbour-
hood, where foul scents, foul sights, and fouler language
abound: whence May Fair and Belgravia shrink shud-
dering, as from an ill it is well for them to let alone, and a
wrong that he may mend who will: not they who have been
born for better things than to set disjointed times aright,
or play the revolutionist to the dethronement of the legiti-
## p. 328 (#344) ############################################
328 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
mate monarchy of Queen Starvation and King Fever, to
say nothing of the Princes of the bloodDirt, Drunken-
ness, Theft, and Murder. When John Jones, tired of the
monotonous pastime of beating his wife's skull with a poker,
comes to Lambeth and murders an Archbishop of Canter-
bury for the sake of the spoons, it will be time, in the
eyes of Belgravia, to reform Joh Jones. In the mean
while we of the upper ten thousand have Tattersall's and
Her Majesty's Theatre, and John Jones (who, low repub-
lican, says he must have his amusements too) has such little
diversions as wife-murder and cholera to break the mono-
tony of his existence.
The Count and the violet-seller at last come to a pause.
They had walked very quickly through the pestiferous
streets, Raymond holding his aristocratic breath and shut-
ting his patrician ears to the scents and the sounds around
him. They come to a stand at last, in a dark court, before
a tall, lopsided house, with irresolute chimney-pots, which
looked as if the only thing that kept them erect was the
want of unanimity as to which way they should fall.
Raymond, when invited by the woman to enter, looks
suspiciously at the dingy staircase, as if wondering whether
it would last his time, but at the request of his companion
ascends it.
The boy in the large coat and slouched hat is playing
marbles with another boy on the second-floor landing, and
has evidently lived there all his life: and yet I'm puzzled as
to who drove that cab home to the stables at the back of
Park Lane. I fear it was not the "temporary tiger."
The Count de Marolles and his guide pass the youthful
gamester, who has just lost his second halfpenny, and ascend
to the very top of the rickety house, the garrets of which
are afflicted with intermittent ague whenever there is a high
wind.
Into one of these garrets the woman conducts Raymond,
and on a bedor its apology, a thing of shreds and patches,
straw and dirt, which goes by the name of a bed at this end
## p. 329 (#345) ############################################
THE GOLDEN SECRET IS TOLD 329
of the townlies the old woman we last saw in Blind
Peter.
Eight years, more or less, have not certainly had the
effect of enhancing the charms of this lady; and there is
something in her face to-day more terrible even than wicked
old age or feminine drunkenness. It is death that lends
those livid hues to her complexion, which all the cosmetics
from Atkinson's or the Burlington Arcade, were she minded
to use them, would never serve to conceal. Raymond has
not come too soon if he is to hear any secret from those
ghastly lips. It is some time before the woman, whom she
still calls Sillikens, can make the dying hag understand who
this fine gentleman is, and what it is he wants with her;
and even when she does succeed in making her comprehend
all this, the old woman's speech is very obscure, and calcu-
lated to try the patience of a more amiable man than the
Count de Marolles.
"Yes, it was a golden secreta golden secret, eh, my
dear? It was something to have a marquis for a son-in-law,
wasn't it, my dear, eh?" mumbled the dying old hag.
"A marquis for a son-in-law ! What does the jibbering
old idiot mean?" muttered Raymond, whose reverence for
his grandmother was not one of the strongest points in his
composition. "A marquis! I daresay my respected pro-
genitor kept a public-house, or something of that sort. A
marquis! The 'Marquis of Granby, most likely."
"Yes, a marquis," continued the old woman, "eh, dear!
And he married your mothermarried her at the parish
church, one cold dark November morning; and I've got the
c'tificate. "Yes," she mumbled, in answer to Raymond's
eager gesture, "I've got it; but I'm not going to tell you
where;no, not till I'm paid. I must be paid for that
secret, in gold,yes, in gold. They say that we don't rest
any easier in our coffins for the money that's buried with
us; but I should like to lie up to neck in golden sovereigns
new from the Mint, and not one light one amongst
'em."
## p. 330 (#346) ############################################
330 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Well," said Raymond, impatiently, "your secret ! I'm
rich, and can pay for it. Your secretquick!"
"Well, he hadn't been married to her long before a
change came, in his native country, over the sea yonder,"
said the old woman, pointing in the direction of St.
Martin's Lane, as if she thought the British Channel flowed
somewhere behind that thoroughfare. "A change came,
and he got his rights again. One king was put down and
another king was set up, and every body else was massacred
in the streets; it wasaI don't know what they call it;
but they're always a-doin' it. So he got his rights, and he
was a rich man again, and a great man; and then his first
thought was to keep his marriage with my girl a secret.
All very well, you know, my girl for a wife while he was
giving lessons at a shilling a piece, in Parlez-vous Fran-
cais, and all that; but now he was a marquis, and it was
quite another thing."
Raymond by this time gets quite interested; so does the
boy in the big coat and the slouched hat, who has trans-
ferred the field of his gambling operations in the marble
line to the landing outside the garret-door.
"He wanted the secret kept, and I kept it for gold. I
kept it even from her, your mother, my own ill-used girl,
for gold. She never knew who he was; she thought he'd
deserted her, and she took to drinking; she and I threw
you into the river when we were mad drunk and couldn't
stand your squalling. She dieddon't you ask me how.
I told you before not to ask me how my girl diedI'm
mad enough without that question; she died, and I kept
the secret. For a long time it was gold to me, and he used
to send me money regular to keep it dark; but by and by
the money stopped from coming. I got savage, but still I
kept the secret; because, you see, it was nothing when it
was told, and there was no one rich enough to pay me to
tell it. I didn't know where to find the marquis; I only
knew he was somewhere in France."
"France?" exclaims Raymond.
## p. 331 (#347) ############################################
THE GOLDEN SECRET IS TOLD. 331
"Yes; didn't I tell you France? he was a French
marquis. A refugee they called him when he first made
acquaintance with my girl, a teacher of French and mathe-
matics."
"And his namehis name?" asks Raymond eagerly.
"His name, woman, if you don't want to drive me
mad."
"He called himself Smith, when he was a-teachin', my
dear," said the old woman with a ghastly leer; "what are
you going to pay me for the secret?"
"Whatever you like, only tell metell me before
you"
"Die. Yes, deary; there ain't any time to waste, is
there? I don't want to make a hard bargain. Will you
bury me up to my neck in gold?"
"Yes, yes; speak!" He is almost beside himself, and
raises a threatening hand. The old woman grins.
"I told you before that wasn't the way, deary. Wait a
bit. Sillikens, give me that 'ere old shoe, will you? Look
you here! It's a double sole, and the marriage-certificate is
between the two leathers. I've walked on it this thirty
year and more."
"And the namethe name?"
"The name of the Marquis was Dede"
"She's dying! Give me some water!" cries Ray-
mond.
"De CeCe" the syllables come in fitful gasps.
Raymond throws some water over her face.
"De Cevennes, my deary!and the golden secret is
told."
And the golden bowl is broken!
Lay the ragged sheet over the ghastly face, Sillikens, and
kneel down and pray for help in your utter loneliness; for
the guilty being whose soul has gone forth to meet its
Maker was your only companion and stay, however frail
that stay might be.
Go out into the sunshine, Monsieur de Marolles; that
## p. 332 (#348) ############################################
332 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
which you leave behind in the tottering garret, shaken by
an ague-paroxysm with the fitful autumn wind, is nothing
so terrible to your eyes.
You have accustomed yourself to the face of death
before now; you have met that grim potentate on his own
ground, and done with him what it is your policy to do
with every thing on earthyou have made him useful to
you.
## p. 333 (#349) ############################################
CHAPTER VIII.
ONE STEP FURTHER ON THE RIGHT TRACK.
IT is not a very romantic locality to which we must now
conduct the reader, being neither more nor less than the
shop and surgery of Mr. Augustus Darley; which temple
of the healing god is scented, this autumn afternoon, with
the mingled perfumes of Cavendish and bird's-eye tobacco,
Turkey rhubarb, whisky-punch, attar of roses, and muffins;
conflicting odours, which form, or rather object to form, an
amalgamation, each particular effluvium asserting its indi-
viduality.
In the surgery Gus is seated, playing the intellectual
and intensely exciting game of dominoes with our acquaint-
ance of the Cheerful Cherokee Society, Mr. Percy Cordonner.
A small jug, without either of those earthenware conven-
tionalities, spout or handle, and with Mr. Cordonner's ban-
danna stuffed into the top to imprison the subtle essences
of the mixture within, stands between the two gentlemen;
while Percy, as a guest, is accommodated with a real tum-
bler, having only three triangular bits chipped out of the
edge. Gus imbibes the exciting fluid from a cracked custard-
cup, with paper wafered round it to keep the parts from
separating, two of which cups are supposed to be equal (by
just measurement) to Mr. P. C.'s tumbler. Before the
small fire kneels the juvenile domestic of the young sur-
geon, toasting muffins, and presenting to the two gentle-
men a pleasing study in anatomical perspective and the
mysteries of foreshortening; to which, however, they are
singularly inattentive, devoting their entire energies to the
## p. 334 (#350) ############################################
334 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPIENT.
pieces of spotted ivory in their hands, and the consump-
tion, by equitable division, of the whisky-punch.
"I say, Gus," said Mr. Cordonner suddenly, stopping in
the middle of a gulp of his favourite liquid, at the risk of
strangulation, with as much alarm in his face as his placid
features were capable of exhibiting"I say, this isn't the
professional tumbler, is it?"
"Why, of course it is," said his friend. "We have only
had that one since midsummer. The patients don't like it
because it's chipped; but I always tell them, that after
having gone through having a tooth outparticularly," he
added parenthetically, "as I take 'em out (plenty of lancet,
forceps, and key, for their eighteen-pence)they needn't
grumble about having to rinse their mouths out of a cracked
tumbler."
Mr. Cordonner turned pale.
"Do they do that ?" he said, and deliberately shot his
last sip of the delicious beverage over the head of the kneel-
ing damsel, with so good an aim that it in a manner grazed
her curl-papers. "It isn't friendly of you, Gus," he said
with mild reproachfulness, "to treat a fellow like this."
"It's all right, old boy," said Gus, laughing. "Sarah
Jane washes it, you know. You wash the tumbler and
things, don't you, Sarah Jane?" -
"Wash'em," answered the youthful domestic; "I should
think so, sir, indeed. Why, I wipes 'em round reg'lar with
my apron, and breathes on 'em to make 'em bright."
"0, that'll do!" said Mr. Cordonner, piteously. "Don't
investigate, Gus; you'll only make matters worse. O, why,
why did I ask that question ? Why didn't I remember
'it's folly to be otherwise. That punch was delicious
and now" He leant his head upon his hand, buried his
face in his pocket-handkerchief, pondered in his heart,
and was still.
In the mean time the shop is not empty. Isabella is
standing behind the counter, very busy with several bottles,
a glass measure, and a pestle and mortar, making up a pre-
## p. 335 (#351) ############################################
ONE STEP FURTHER ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 335
scription, a cough mixture, from her brother's Latin. Ra-
ther a puzzling document, this prescription, to any one but
Bell; for there are calculations about next year's Derby
scribbled on the margin, and rough sketches of the Smasher,
and a more youthful votary of the Smasher's art, surnamed
"Whooping William," pencilled on the back thereof; but to
Bell it seems straightforward enough. At any rate, she
dashes away with the bottles, the measure, and the pestle and
mortar, as if she knew perfectly well what she was about.
She is not alone in the shop. A gentleman is leaning
on the counter, watching the busy white hands very intently,
and apparently deeply interested in the progress of the
cough-mixture. This gentleman is her brother's old friend,
"Daredevil Dick."
Richard Marwood has been a great deal at the surgery
since the night on which he first set foot in his old haunts;
he has brought his mother over, and introduced that lady to
Miss Darley. Mrs. Marwood was delighted with Isabella's
frank manners and handsome face, and insisted on carrying
her back to dine in Spring Gardens. Quite a sociable little
dinner they had too, Richard beingfor a man who had
been condemned for a murder, and had escaped from a
lunatic asylumvery cheerful indeed. The young man told
Isabella all his adventures, till that young lady alternately
laughed and criedthereby affording Richard's fond mother
most convincing proof of the goodness of her heartand
was altogether so very brilliant and amusing, that when at
eleven o'clock Gus came round from a very critical case (viz.
a quarrel of the Cheerfuls as to whether Gustavus Ponsonby,
novelist and satirist, magazine-writer and poet, deserved
the trouncing he had received in the "Friday Pillory") to
take Bell home in a cab, the little trio simultaneously de-
clared that the evening had gone as if by magic : As if by
magic | What if to two out of those three the evening did
really go by magic? There is a certain pink-legged little
gentleman, with wings, and a bandage round his eyes, who,
some people say, is as great a magician in his way as Alber-
## p. 336 (#352) ############################################
336 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tus Magnus or Doctor Dee, and who has done as much mis-
chief and worked as much ruin in his own manner as all
the villanous saltpetre ever dug out of the bosom of the
peaceful, corn-growing, flower-bearing earth. That gentle-
man, I have no doubt, presided on the occasion.
Thus the acquaintance of Richard and Isabella had ri-
pened into something very much like friendship; and here
he is, watching her employed in the rather unromantic busi-
ness of making up a cough-mixture for an elderly washer-
woman of methodistical persuasions. But it is one of the
fancies of the pink-legged gentleman aforesaid to lend his
bandage to his victims; and there is nothing that John,
William, George, Henry, James, or Alfred can do, in which
Jane, Eliza, Susan, or Sarah, will not see a dignity and a
charm, or vice versa. Pshaw ! It is not Mokannah who
wears the silver veil; it is we who are in love with Mo-
kannah who put on the glittering, blinding medium; and,
looking at that gentleman through the dazzle and the
glitter, insist on thinking him a very handsome man, till
some one takes the veil off our eyes, and we straightway
fall to and abuse poor Mokannah, because he is not what
we chose to fancy him. It is very hard upon poor to-
bacco-smoking, beer-imbibing, card-playing, latch-key-loving
Tom Jones, that Sophia will insist on elevating him into
a god, and ther being angry with him because he is Tom
Jones and fond of bitter ale and bird's-eye. But come
what may, the pink-legged gentleman must have his di-
version, and no doubt his eyes twinkle merrily behind that
bandage of his, to see the fools this wise world of ours is
made up of.
"You could trust me, Isabella, then," said Richard ;
"you could trust me, in spite of allin spite of my wasted
youth and the blight upon my name?"
"Do we not all trust you, Mr. Marwood, with our entire
hearts?" answered the young lady, taking shelter under
cover of a very wide generality.
"Not 'Mr. Marwood, Bell; it sounds very cold from
## p. 337 (#353) ############################################
ONE STEP FURTHER ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 337
the lips of my old friend's sister. Every one calls me
Richard, and I, without once asking permission, have
called you Bell. Call me Richard, Bell, if you trust me."
She looks him in the face, and is silent for a moment;
her heart beats a great deal fasterso fast that her lips can
scarcely shape the words she speaks.
"I do trust you, Richard; I believe your heart to be
goodness and truth itself."
"Is it worth having, then, Bell? I wouldn't ask you
that question if I had not a hope now, ay and not such
a very feeble one either, to see my name cleared from the
stain that rests upon it. If there is any truth in my heart,
Isabella, that truth is yours alone. Can you trust me, as
the woman who loves truststhrough life and till death,
under every shadow and through every cloud 9"
I don't know whether essence of peppermint, tincture
of myrrh, and hair-oil, are the proper ingredients in a
cough-mixture; but I know that Isabella poured them into
the glass measure very liberally.
"You do not answer me, Isabella. Ah, you cannot
trust the branded criminalthe escaped lunaticthe man
the World calls a murderer !"
"Not trust you, Richard?" Only four words, and only
one glance from the gray eyes into the brown, and so much
told. So much more than I could tell in a dozen chapters
told in those four words and that one look!
Gus opens the half-glass door at this very moment.
"Are you coming to tea 7" he asks; "here's Sarah Jane up
to her eyes in grease and muffins."
"Yes, Gus, dear old friend," said Richard, laying his
hand on Darley's shoulder; "we're coming in to tea im-
mediately, brother " -
Gus looked at him with a glance of considerable as-
tonishment, shook him heartily by the hand, and gave a
long whistle; after which he walked up to the counter and
examined the cough-mixture.
"O!" he said, "I suppose that's why you've put enough
Z
## p. 338 (#354) ############################################
338 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
laudanum into this to poison a small regiment, eh, Bell?
Perhaps we may as well throw it out of the window; for if
it goes out of the door I shall be hung for wholesale
murder."
They were a very merry party over the little tea-table;
and if nobody ate any of the muffins, which Mr. Cordonner
called "embodied indigestions," they laughed a great deal,
and talked still moreso much so, that Percy declared his
reasoning faculties to be quite overpowered, and wanted to
be distinctly informed whether it was Richard who was
going to marry Gus, or Gus about to unite himself to the
juvenile domestic, or he himself who was to be married
against his inclinationwhich, seeing he was of a yielding
and peace-loving disposition, was not so unlikelyor, in
short, to use his own expressive language"what the row
was all about 7"
Nobody, however, took the trouble to set Mr. P. C.'s
doubts at rest, and he drank his tea with perfect content-
ment, but without sugar, and in a dense intellectual fog.
"It doesn't matter," he murmured; "perhaps Richard will
turn again and be Lord Mayor of London town, and then
my children will read his adventures in a future Pinnock,
and they may understand it. It's a great thing to be a
child, and to understand those sort of things. When I was
six years old I knew who William Rufus married, and how
many people died in the Plague of London. I can't say it
made me any happier or better, but I daresay it was a great
advantage."
At this moment the bell hung at the shop-door (a noisy
preventive of petty larceny, giving the alarm if any juvenile
delinquent had a desire to abstract a bottle of castor-oil,
or a camomile-pill or so, for his peculiar benefit) rang
violently, and our old friend Mr. Peters burst into the shop,
and through the shop into the parlour, in a state of such
excitement that his very fingers seemed out of breath.
"Back again?" cried Richard, starting up with sur-
prise ; for be it known to the reader that Mr. Peters had
## p. 339 (#355) ############################################
ONE STEP FURTHER ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 339
only the day before started for Slopperton on the Sloshy to
hunt up evidence about this man, whose very image lay
buried outside that town. -
Before the fingers of Mr. Peters, which quite shook
with excitement, could shape an answer to Richard's ex-
clamation of surprise, a very dignified elderly gentleman,
whose appearance was almost clerical, followed the de-
tective into the room, and bowed politely to the assembled
party.
"I will take upon myself to be my own sponsor," said
that gentleman. "If, as I believe, I am speaking to Mr.
Marwood," he added, looking at Richard, who bowed affir-
matively, "it is to the interest of both of usof you, sir,
more especiallythat we should become acquainted. I am
Doctor Tappenden, of Slopperton."
Mr. Cordonner, having politely withdrawn himself from
the group, so as not to interfere with any confidential com-
munication, was here imprudent enough to attempt to
select a book from the young surgeon's hanging-library,
and, in endeavouring to take down the third volume of
Bragelonne, brought down, as usual, the entire literary
shower-bath on his devoted head, and sat quietly snowed up
as it were in loose leaves of Michel Lvy's shilling edition,
and fragments of illustrations by Tony Johannot.
Richard looked a little puzzled at Doctor Tappenden's
introduction; but Mr. Peters threw in upon his fingers
this piece of information,"He knows him " and Richard
was immediately interested.
"We are all friends here, I believe?" said the school-
master, glancing round interrogatively.
"O, decidedly, Monsieur d'Artagnan," replied Percy,
absently looking up from one of the loose leaves he had
selected for perusal from those scattered around him.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan Your friend is pleased to be
facetious," said the doctor, with some indignation.
"O, pray excuse him, sir. He is only absent-minded,"
replied Richard. "My friend Peters informs me that you
## p. 340 (#356) ############################################
340 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
know this manthis singular, this incomprehensible villain,
whose supposed death is so extraordinary."
"Heeither the man who died, or this man who is
now occupying a high position in Londonwas for some
years in my employ; but in spite of what our worthy
friend the detective says, I am inclined to think that Jabez
North, my tutor, did actually die, and that it was his body
which I saw at the police-station."
"Not a bit of it, sir," said the detective on his rapid
fingers, "not a bit of it ! That death was a doa do, out
and out. It was too systematic to be any thing else, and
I was a fool not to see there was something black at the
bottom of it at the time. People don't go and lay them-
selves out high and dry upon a heath with clean soles to
their shoes on a stormy night, and the bottle in their hand
not took hold of, neither, but lying loose, you under-
stand; put therenot clutched as a dying man clutches
what his hand closes upon. I say this ain't how people
make away with themselves when they can't stand life any
longer. It was a doa plant, such as very few but that
man could be capable of; and that man's your tutor, and
the death was meant to put a stop to all suspicion; and
while you was a-sighin' and a-groanin over that poor young
innocent, Mr. Jabez North was a-cuttin a fine figure,
and a-captivatin a furrin heiress, with your money, or
your banker's money, as had to bear the loss of them forged
cheques."
"But the likeness?" said Dr. Tappenden. "That dead
man was the very image of Jabez North."
"Very likely, sir. There's mysterious goin's on, and
some coincidences in this life, as well as in your story-
books that's lent out at three half-pence a volume, keep 'em
three days and return 'em clean."
"Well," continued the schoolmaster, "the moment I
see this man I shall know whether he is indeed the person
we want to find. If he should be the man who was my
usher, I can prove a circumstance which will go a great
## p. 341 (#357) ############################################
ONE STEP FURTHER ON THE RIGHT TRACK. 341
:
way, Mr. Marwood, towards fixing your uncle's murder
upon him."
"And that is?" asked Richard, eagerly.
But there is no occasion for the reader to know what it
is just yet, so we will leave the little party in the Friar
Street surgery to talk this business over, which they do
with such intense interest, that the small hours catch them
still talking of the same subject, and Mr. Percy Cordonner
still snowed up in his corner, reading from the loose leaves
the most fascinating olla podrida of literature, wherein the
writings of Charles Dickens, George Sand, Harrison Ains-
worth, and Alexandre Dumas are blended together in the
most delicious and exciting confusion.
## p. 342 (#358) ############################################
CHAPTER IX.
CAPTAIN LANSDOWN OVERHEARSA CONVERSATION WHICH
- APPEARS TO INTEREST HIM.
LAURENT BLUROSSET was a sort of rage at the West-end of
London. What did they seek, these weary denizens of the
West-end, but excitement? Excitement | No matter how
obtained. If Laurent Blurosset were a magician, so much
the betterif he had sold himself to the devil, so much the
better again, and so much the more exciting. There was
something almost approaching to a sensation in making a
morning call upon a gentleman who had possibly entered
into a contract with Sathanas, or put his name on the back
of a bit of stamped paper payable at sight to Lucifer him-
self. And then there was the slightest chance, the faintest
shadow of a probability, of meeting the proprietor of the
gentleman they called upon ; and what could be more de-
lightful than that? How did he visit Marlborough Street
the proprietor? Had he a pass-key to the hall-door? or
did he leave his card with the servant, like any other of the
gentlemen his pupils and allies? Or did he rise through
a trap in the Brussels carpet in the drawing-room ? or slide
through one of the sham Wouvermanns that adorned the
walls? At any rate, a visit to the mysterious chemist of
Marlborough Street was about the best thing to do at this.
fag-end of the worn-out London season; and Monsieur
Laurent Blurosset was considered a great deal better than
the Opera.
It was growing dusk on the evening on which there was
so much excitement in the little surgery in Friar Street,
when a plain close carriage stopped at Monsieur Blurosset's
## p. 343 (#359) ############################################
CAPT. LANSDOWN OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 343
door, and a lady alighted thickly veiled. The graceful but
haughty head is one we know. It is Walerie, who, in the
depth of her misery, comes to this man, who is in part the
author of that misery.
She is ushered into a small apartment at the back of the
house, half study, half laboratory, littered with books,
manuscripts, crucibles, and mathematical instruments. On
a little table, near a fire that burns low in the grate, are
thrown in a careless heap the well-remembered cardsthe
cards which eight years ago foretold the death of the king
of spades.
The room is empty when she enters it, and she seats
herself in the depth of the shadow; for there is no light
but the flickering flame of the low fire.
What does she think of, as she sits in the gloom of that
silent apartment ? Who shall say? What forest-deep,
what lonely ocean-strand, what desert island, is more dis-
mal than the back-room of a London house, at the window
of which looks in a high black wall, or a dreary, smoke-
dried, weird, vegetable phenomenon which nobody on earth
but the landlord ever called a tree ? 
What does she think of in this dreary-room? What
can she think of ? What has she ever thought for eight
years past but of the man she loved and murdered? And
he was innocent ! As long as she had been convinced of
his guilt, of his cruel and bitter treachery, it had been a
sacrifice, that ordeal of the November night. Now it took
another colour; it was a murderand she a pitiful puppet
in the hands of a master-fiend |
Monsieur Blurosset enters the room, and finds her alone
with these thoughts.
"Madame," he says, "I have perhaps the honour of
Knowing you?" He has so many fair visitors that he thinks
this one, whose face he cannot see, may be one of his old
clients. -
"It is eight years since you have seen me, monsieur," she
replies. "You have most likely forgotten me?" " .
----------- -- ---
## p. 344 (#360) ############################################
344 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Forgotten you, madame, perhaps, but not your voice.
That is not to be forgotten."
"Indeed, monsieurand why not?"
"Because, madame, it has a peculiarity of its own,
which, as a physiologist, I cannot mistake. It is the voice
of one who has suffered ?"
"It is lit is !"
"Of one who has suffered more than it is the common
lot of woman to suffer."
"You are right, monsieur."
"And now, madame, what can I do for you?"
"Nothing, monsieur. You can do nothing for me but
that which the commonest apothecary in this city who
will sell me an ounce of laudanum can do as well as you."
"0, has it come to that again?" he says, with a shade
of sarcasm in his tone. "I remember, eight years ago"
"I asked you for the means of death. I did not say I
wished to die then, at that moment. I did not. I had a
purpose in life. I have still."
As she said these words the fellow-lodger of Blurosset
the Indian soldier, Captain Lansdown, who had let himself
in with his latch-key-crossed the hall, and was arrested at
the half-open door of the study by the sound of voices
within. I don't know how to account for conduct so un-
worthy of an officer and a gentleman, but the captain
stopped in the shadow of the dark hall and listenedas if
life and death were on the wordsto the voice of the
speaker.
"I have, I say, still a purpose in lifea solemn and a
sacred oneto protect the innocent. However guilty I
may be, thank Heaven I have still the power to protect my
Son."
"You are married, madame P"
"I am married. You know it as well as I, Monsieur
Laurent Blurosset. The man who first brought me to your
apartment must have been, if not your accomplice, at least
your colleague. He revealed to you his scheme, no doubt,
--~~~
## p. 345 (#361) ############################################
CAPT. LANSDOWN OVERHEARSA CONVERSATION. 345
in order to secure your assistance in that scheme. I am
married to a villainsuch a villain as I think Heaven never
before looked down upon."
"And you would protect your son, madame, from his
father ?"
Captain Lansdown's face gleams through the shadow as
white as the face of Walerie herself, as she stands looking
full at Monsieur Blurosset in the flickering fire-light.
"And you would protect your son from his father,
madame?" repeats the chemist.
"The man to whom I am at present married is not the
father of my son," says Walerie, in a cold, calm voice.
"How, madame P"
"I was married before," she continued. "The son I so
dearly love is the son of my first husband. My second
marriage has been a marriage only in name. All your
worthy colleague, Monsieur Raymond Marolles, stained
his hands in innocent blood to obtain, was a large fortune.
He has that, and is content; but he shall not hold it long."
"And your purpose in coming to me, madame?"
"Is to accuse youyes, Monsieur Laurent Blurosset,
to accuse you, as an accomplice in the murder of Gaston de
Lancy."
"An accomplice in a murder !"
"Yes; you sold me a poisonyou knew for what that
poison was to be usedyou were in the plot, the vile and
demoniac plot, that was to steep my soul in guilt. You
prophesied the death of the man I was intended to murder;
you put the thought into my distracted brainthe weapon
into my guilty hand; and while I suffer all the tortures
which Heaven inflicts on those who break its laws, are you
to go free? No, monsieur, you shall not go free. Either
join with me in accusing this man, and help me to drag him
to justice, or by the light in the sky, by the life-blood of
my broken heartby the life of my only child, I swear to
denounce you! Gaston de Lancy shall not go unavenged
by the woman who loved and murdered him."
## p. 346 (#362) ############################################
346 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
The mention of the name of Gaston de Lancy, the man
she so dearly and devotedly loved, has a power that no-
thing else on earth has over Walerie, and she breaks into
a passionate torrent of tears.
Laurent Blurosset looks on silently at this burst of
anguish; perhaps he regards it as a man of science, and
can calculate to a moment how long it will last.
The Indian officer, in the shadow of the doorway, is
more affected than the chemist and philosopher, for he
falls on his knees by the threshold and hides his pale
face in his hands. -
There is a silence of perhaps five minutesa terrible
silence it seems, only broken by the heart-rending sobs of
this despairing woman. At last Laurent Blurosset speaks
speaks in a tone in which she has never heard him speak
beforein a tone in which probably very few have heard
him speakin a tone so strange to him and his ordinary
habits that it in a manner transforms him into a new man.
"You say, madame, I was an accomplice of this man's.
How if he did not condescend to make me an accomplice?
How if this gentleman, who, owing all his success in life to
his unassisted villany, has considerable confidence in his
own talentsdid not think me worthy of the honour of
being his accomplice?"
"How, monsieur?"
"No, madame; Laurent Blurosset was not a man for
the brilliant Parisian adventurer Raymond Marolles to
enlist as a colleague. No, Laurent Blurosset was merely
a philosopher, a physiologist, a dreamer, a little bit of a
madman, and but a poor puppet in the hands of the man
of the world, the chevalier of fortune, the unscrupulous
and designing Englishman."
"An Englishman?"
"Yes, madame; that is one of your husband's secrets;
he is an Englishman. I was not clever enough to be
the accomplice of Monsieur Marolles; in his opinion I
was not too clever to become his dupe."
--~~~~ --- ---
## p. 347 (#363) ############################################
CAPT. LANSDOWN OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 347
"His dupe?"
"Yes, madame, his dupe. His contempt for the man
of science was most supreme; I was a useful automaton
nothing more. The chemist, the physiologist, the man
whose head had grown gray in the pursuit of an induc-
tive sciencewhose nights and days had been given to
the study of the great laws of cause and effect, was a
puppet in the hands of the chevalier of fortune, and as
little likely to fathom his motives as the wooden doll is
likely to guess those of the showman who pulls the
strings that make it dance. So thought Raymond Ma-
rolles, the adventurer, the fortune-hunter, the thief, the
murderer!"
"What, monsieur, you knew him, then?"
"To the very bottom of his black heart, madame.
Science would indeed have been a lie, wisdom would in-
deed have been a chimera, if I could not have read
through the low cunning of the superficial, showy ad-
venturer, as well as I can read the words written in
yonder book through the thin veil of a foreign charac-
ter. I, his dupe, as he thoughtthe learned fool at
whose labours he laughed, even while he sought to avail
himself of their helpI laughed at him in turn, read
every motive; but let him laugh on, lie on, till the time
at which it should be my pleasure to lift the mask, and
say to himRaymond Marolles, charlatan liar! fool!
dupe ! in the battle between wisdom and cunning the
gray-eyed goddess is the conqueror." -
"What, monsieur? Then you are doubly a murderer.
You knew this man, and yet abetted him in the vilest
plot by which a wretched woman was ever made to de-
stroy the man she loved a thousand times better than
her Worthless self!"
Laurent Blurosset smiled a most impenetrable smile.
"I acted for a purpose, madame. I wished to test
the effects of a new poison. Yours the murderif there
was a murder; not mine. You asked me for a weapon;
## p. 348 (#364) ############################################
348 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
I put it into your hands; I did not compel you to
use it."
"No, monsieur; but you prompted me. If there is
justice on earth, you shall suffer for that act as well as
Monsieur Marolles; if not, there is justice in heaven!
God's punishments are more terrible than those of men,
and you have all the more cause to tremble, you and the
wretch whose accomplice you werewhose willing accom-
plice, by your own admission, you were."
"And yourself, madame? In dragging us to justice,
may you not yourself suffer?"
"Suffer!" She laughs a hollow, bitter peal of mock-
ing laughter, painful to hear; very painful to the ears of
the listener in the shadow, whose face is still buried in
his hands. "Suffer ! No, Monsieur Blurosset, for me on
earth there is no more suffering. If in hell the wretches
doomed to eternal punishment suffer as I have suffered
for the last eight years, as I suffered on that winter's
night when the man I loved died, then, indeed, God is an
avenging Deity. Do you think the worst the law can
inflict upon me for that guilty deed is by one thousandth
degree equal to the anguish of my own mind, every day
and every hour? Do you think I fear disgrace? Dis-
grace! Bah! What is it? There never was but one
being on earth whose good opinion I valued, or whose bad
opinion I feared. That man I murdered. You think I
fear the World 2 The World to me was him; and he is
dead. If you do not wish to be denounced as the accom-
plice of a murderess and her accomplice, do not let me quit
this room; for, by the heaven above me, so surely as I quit
this room alive I go to deliver you, Raymond Marolles, and
myself into the hands of justice "
"And your son, madamewhat of him ?"
"I have made arrangements for his future happiness,
monsieur. He will return to France, and be placed under
the care of my uncle."
For a few moments there is silence. Laurent Blurosset
------------------------------
## p. 349 (#365) ############################################
CAPT. LANSDOWN OVERHEARS A CONVERSATION. 349
*
seems lost in thought; Valerie sits with her bright hollow
eyes fixed on the flickering flame of the low fire. Blurosset
is the first to speak.
"You say, madame, that if I do not wish to be given up
to justice as the accomplice of a murderer, I shall not suffer
you to leave this room, but sacrifice you to the preservation
of my own safety. Nothing more easy, madame; I have
only to raise my handto wave a handkerchief, medicated
in the manner of those the Borgias and Medicis used of old,
before your face; to scatter a few grains of powder into
that fire at your feet; to give you a book to read, a flower
to smell; and you do not leave this room alive. And this
is how I should act, if I were, what you say I am, the
accomplice of a murderer." *
"How, monsieur !you had no part in the murder of
my husband?you, who gave me the drug which killed
him 7"
"You jump at conclusions, madame. How do you
know that the drug which I gave you killed Gaston de
Lancy?"
"0, for pity's sake, do not juggle with me, monsieur.
Speak! What do you mean?"
"Simply this, madame. That the death of your hus-
band on the evening of the day on which you gave him the
drugged wine may have beena coincidence."
"0, monsieur ! in mercy"
"Nay, madame, it was a coincidence. The drug I gave
you was not a poison. You are guiltless of your husband's
death."
"0, heaven be praised ! Merciful heaven be praised "
She falls on her knees, and buries her head in her hands in
a wild burst of tearful thanksgiving.
While her face is thus hidden, Blurosset takes from a
little cabinet on one side of the fireplace a handful of a
light-coloured powder, which he throws upon the expiring
cinders in the grate. A lurid flame blazes up, illuminating
the room with a strange unnatural glare.
## p. 350 (#366) ############################################
350 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Walerie, Countess de Marolles," he says, in a tone of
solemn earnestness, "men say I am a magiciana sorcerer
a disciple of the angel of darkness! Nay, some more
foolish than the rest have been so blasphemous as to declare
that I have power to raise the dead. Yours is no mind to
be fooled by such shallow lies as these. The dead never
rise again in answer to the will of mortal man. Lift your
head, Walerienot Countess de Marolles. I no longer call
you by that name, which is in itself a falsehood. Walerie
De Lancy, look yonder '"
He points in the direction of the open door. She rises,
looks towards the threshold, staggers a step forward, utters
one long wild shriek, and falls senseless to the floor.
In all the agonies she has endured, in all the horrors
through which she has passed, she has never before lost her
senses. The cause must indeed be a powerful one.
## p. 351 (#367) ############################################
$ook the Sixth.
ON THE TRACK.
CHAPTER I.
FATHER AND SON.
THREE days have passed since the interview of Walerie with
Laurent Blurosset, and Raymond de Marolles paces up and
down his study in Park Lane. He is not going to the
bank to-day. The autumn rains beat in against the double
windows of the apartment, which is situated at the back of
the house, looking out upon a small square patch of so-
called garden. This garden is shut in by a wall, over which
a weak-minded and erratic-looking creeper sprawls and
straggles, and there is a little green door in this wall,
which communicates with a mews.
A hopelessly wet daytwelve by the clock, and not
enough blue in the gloomy sky to make the smallest article
of wearing apparelno, not so much as a pair of wristbands
for an unhappy seaman. Well to be the Count de Marolles,
and to have no occasion to extend one's walk beyond the
purple-and-crimson border of that Turkey carpet, on such a
day as this ! The London sparrows, transformed for the
time being into a species of water-fowl, flutter dismally
about the small swamp of grass-plot, flanked here and there
by a superannuated clump of withered geraniums which
have evidently seen better days. The sparrows seem to
look enviously at the bright blaze reflected on the double
windows of the Count's apartment, and would like, perhaps,
to go in and sit on the hob; and I daresay they twitter to
## p. 352 (#368) ############################################
352 THE TRAIL of THE SERPENT.
each other, in confidence, "A fine thing to be the Count
de Marolles, with a fortune which it would take the life-
time of an Old Parr to calculate, and a good fire in wet
Weather."
Yet, for all this, Raymond de Marolles does not look
the most enviable object in creation on this particular rainy
morning. His pale fair face is paler than everthere are
dark circles round the blue eyes, and a nervous and inces-
sant twitching of the thin lower lip; signs which never
were, and never will be, indications of a peaceful mind.
He has not seen Walerie since the night on which Monsieur
Paul Mouce, alias Signor Mosquetti, told his story. She
has remained secluded in her own apartments; and even
Raymond de Marolles has scarce cared to break upon the
solitude of this woman, in whom grief is so near akin to
desperation.
"What will she do, now she knows all? Will she
denounce me? If she does, I am prepared. If Blurosset,
poor scientific fool, only plays his part faithfully, I am safe.
But she will hardly reveal the truth. For her son's sake
she will be silent. O strange, inexplicable, and mysterious
chance, that this fortune for which I have so deeply
schemed, for which I have hazarded so much and worked
so hard, should be my ownmy own lthis woman a mere
usurper, and I the rightful heir to the wealth of the De
Cevennes ! What is to be done? For the first time in my
life I am at fault. Should I fly to the marquistell him I
am his son ?difficult to prove, now that old hag is dead;
and even if I prove itas I would move heaven and earth
to dowhat if she denounce me to her uncle, and he re-
fuse to acknowledge the adventurer, the poisoner? I could
soon silence her. But unfortunately she has been behind
the scenes, and I fear she would scarcely accept a drop of
Water from the hands of her devoted husband. If I had
any one to help me! But I have no one; no one that I
can trustno one in my power. O Laurent Blurosset, for
some of your mighty secrets, so that the very autumn wind
## p. 353 (#369) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 353
blowing in at her window might seal the lips of my beau-
tiful cousin for ever !"
Pleasant thoughts to be busy with this rainy autumn
day; but such thoughts are by no means unfamiliar to the
heart of Raymond de Marolles.
It is from a reverie such as this that he is aroused by
the sound of carriage-wheels, and a loud knocking and
ringing at the hall-door. "Too early for morning callers.
Who can it be at such an hour? Some one from the bank,
perhaps?" He paces up and down the room, rather anx-
iously, wondering who this unexpected visitor might be,
when the groom of the chambers opens the door and
announces, "The Marquis de Cevennes !"
"So, then," mutters Raymond, "she has played her
first cardshe has sent for her uncle. We shall have
need of all our brains to-day. Now then, to meet my father
face to face."
As he speaks, the Marquis enters.
Face to facefather and son. Sixty years of agefair
and pale, blue eyes, aquiline nose, and thin lips. Thirty
years of agefair and pale, blue eyes, aquiline nose, and
thin lips again; and neither of the two faces to be trusted
not one look of truth, not one glance of benevolence, not
one noble expression in either. Truly father and sonall
the world over, father and son.
"Monsieur le Marquis affords me an unexpected honour
and pleasure," said Raymond Marolles, as he advanced to
receive his visitor. -
"Nay, Monsieur de Marolles, scarcely, I should ima-
gine, unexpected; I come in accordance with the earnest
request of my niecethough what that most erratic young
lady can want with me in this abominable country of your
adoption is quite beyond my poor comprehension."
Raymond draws a long breath. "So," he thinks, "he
knows nothing yet. Good! You are slow to play your
cards, Walerie. I will take the initiative; my leading
trump shall commence the game."
AA
## p. 354 (#370) ############################################
354 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
- - - ----------
"I repeat," said the Marquis, throwing himself into the
easy-chair which Raymond had wheeled forward, and warm-
ing his delicate white hands before the blazing fire; "I
repeat, that the urgent request of my very lovely but ex-
tremely erratic niece, that I should cross the Channel in
the autumn of a very stormy yearI am not a good sailor
is quite beyond my comprehension." He wears a very
magnificent emerald ring, which is too large for the slender
third finger of his left hand, and he amuses himself by
twisting it round and round, sometimes stopping to con-
template the effect of it with the plain gold outside, when
it looks like a lady's wedding-ring. "It is, I positively
assure you," he repeated, looking at the ring, and not at
Raymond, "utterly beyond the limited powers of my humble
comprehension."
Raymond looks very grave, and takes two or three
turns up and down the room. The light-blue eyes of the
Marquis follow him for a turn and a halffind the occupa-
tion monotonous, and go back to the ring and the white
hand, always interesting objects for contemplation. Pre-
sently the Count de Marolles stops, leans on the easy-chair
on the opposite side of the fireplace to that on which the
Marquis is seated, and says, in a very serious tone of
voice
"Monsieur de Cevennes, I am about to allude to a
subject of so truly painful and distressing a nature, both
for you to hear and for me to speak of, that I almost fear
adverting to it." -
The Marquis has been so deeply interested in the ring,
emerald outwards, that he has evidently heard the words of
Raymond without comprehending their meaning; but he
looks up reflectively for a moment, recalls them, glances
Over them afresh as it were, nods, and says
"0, ah! Distressing nature; you fear adverting to it
eh! Pray don't agitate yourself, my good De Marolles.
I don't think it likely you'll agitate me." He leaves the
ring for a minute or two, and looks over the five nails on
r
## p. 355 (#371) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 355
--s**** ----- --~.
his left hand, evidently in search of the pinkestfinds it on
the third finger, and caresses it tenderly, while awaiting
Raymond's very painful communication.
"You said, Monsieur le Marquis, that you were utterly
at a loss to comprehend my wife's motive in sending for
you in this abrupt manner ?"
"Utterly. And I assure you I am a bad sailora very
bad sailor; when the weather's rough, I am positively
compelled toit is really so absurd," he says, with a light,
clear laugh. "I am obliged toto go to the side of the
vessel. Both undignified and disagreeable, I give you my
word of honour. But you were saying"
"I was about to say, monsieur, that it is my deep grief
to have to state that the conduct of your niece has been for
the last few months in every way inexplicableso much so,
that I have been led to fear"
"What, monsieur * The Marquis folds his white hands
one over the other on his knee, leaves off the inspection of
their beauties, and looks full in the face of his niece's hus-
band.
"I have been led, with what grief Ineed scarcely say"
"O no, indeed; pray reserve the account of your grief-
your grief must have been so very intense. You have been
led to fear"
"That my unhappy wife is out of her mind."
"Precisely. I thought that was to be the climax. My
good Monsieur Raymond, Count de Marollesmy very
worthy Monsieur Raymond Marolles, my most excellent
whoever and whatever you may be, do you think that Ren
Thodore Auguste Philippe Le Grange Martel, Marquis de
Cevennes, is the sort of man to be twisted round your
fingers, however clever, unscrupulous, and designing a
villain you may be 7"
"Monsieur le Marquis "
"I have not the least wish to quarrel with you, my good
friend. Nay, on the contrary, I will freely confess that I
am not without a certain amount of respect for you. You
## p. 356 (#372) ############################################
356 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
are a thorough villain. Every thing thorough is, in my
mind, estimable. Wirtue is said to lie in the golden mean
virtue is not in my way; I therefore do not dispute the
questionbut to me all mediums are contemptible. You
are, in your way, thorough ; and, on the whole, I respect
you."
He goes back to the contemplation of his hands and
his rings, and concentrates all his attention on a cameo
head of Mark Antony, which he wears on his little finger.
"A villain, Monsieur le Marquis !"
"And a clever villain, Monsieur de Marolles; a clever
villain! Witness your success. But you are not quite
clever enough to hoodwink menot quite clever enough to
hoodwink any one blest with a moderate amount of brains !"
"Monsieur !"
"Because you have one fault. Yes, really,"he flicks a
grain of dust out of Mark Antony's eye with his little finger,
"yes, you have one fault. You are too smooth. Nobody
ever was so estimable as you appear to beyou over-do it.
If you remember," continues the Marquis, addressing him
in an easy, critical, and conversational tone, "the great
merit in that Venetian villain in the tragedy of the worthy
but very much over-rated person, William Skakespeare, is,
that he is not smooth. Othello trusts Iago, not because he
is smooth, but because he isn't. "I know this fellow's of
exceeding honesty,' says the Moor; as much as to say,
'He's a disagreeable beast, but I think trustworthy. You are
a very clever fellow, Monsieur Raymond de Marolles, but
you would never have got Desdemona smothered. Othello
would have seen through youas I did "
"Monsieur, I will not suffer"
"You will be good enough to allow me to finish what I
have to say. I daresay I am prosy, but I shall not detain
you long. I repeat, that though you are a very clever
fellow, you would never have got the bolster-and-pillow
business accomplished, because Othello would have seen
through you, as I did. My niece insisted on marrying you.
## p. 357 (#373) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 357
Why? It was not such a very difficult riddle to read, this
marriage, apparently so mysterious. You, an enterprising
person, with a small capital, plenty of brains, and white
hands quite unfit for rough work, naturally are on the look-
out for some heiress whom you may entrap into marrying
you."
"Monsieur de CeVennes !"
"My dear fellow, I am not quarrelling with you. In
your position I should have done the same. That is the
very clue by which I unravel the mystery. I say to myself,
what should I have done if fate had been so remarkably
Shabby as to throw me into the position of that young
man? Why, naturally I should have looked out for some
woman foolish enough to be deceived by that legitimate and
old-established shamso useful to novelists and the melo-
dramatic theatrescalled 'Love. Now, my niece is not a
fool. Ergo, she was not in love with you. You had then
obtained some species of power over her. What that power
was I did not ask ; I do not ask now. Enough that it was
necessary for her, for me, that this marriage should take
place. She swore it on the crucifix. I am a Woltairean
myself, but, poor girl, she derived those sort of ideas from
her motherso there was nothing for me but to consent to
the marriage, and accept a gentleman of doubtful pedigree.".
"Perhaps not so doubtful."
"Perhaps not so doubtful! There is a triumphant curl
about your upper lip, my dear nephew-in-law. Has papa
turned up lately?"
"Perhaps. I think I shall soon be able to lay my hand
upon him." He lays a light and delicate hand on the
Marquis's shoulder as he says the words.
"No doubt; but if in the mean time you would kindly
refrain from laying it on me, you would obligeyou would
really oblige me. Though why," said the Marquis philo-
sophically, addressing himself to Mark Antony, as if .
he would like to avail himself of that Roman's Sagacity,
"why we should object to a villain simply because he is a
## p. 358 (#374) ############################################
358 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
villain, I can't imagine. We may object to him if he is
coarse, or dirty, or puts his knife in his mouth, or takes
soup twice, or wears ill-made coats, because those things
annoy us; but, object to him because he is a liar, or a
hypocrite, or a coward 2 Perfectly absurd ' I say, there-
fore, I consented to the marriage, asked no unnecessary or
ill-bred questions, and resigned myself to the force of cir-
cumstances; and for some years affairs appeared to go on
very smoothly, when suddenly I am startled by a most
alarming letter from my niece. She implores me to come
to England. She is alone, without a friend, an adviser, and
she is determined to reveal all."
"To reveal all" Raymond cannot repress a start.
The sang froid of the Marquis had entirely deceived him
whose chief weapon was that very sang froid. -
"Yes. What then? You, being aware of this letter
having been writtenor, say, guessing that such a letter
would be written, determine on your course. You will throw
over your wife's evidence by declaring her to be mad. Eh?
This is what you determine upon, isn't it?" It appears
so good a joke to the Marquis, that he laughs and nods
at Mark Antony, as if he would really like that respectable
Roman to participate in the fun.
For the first time in his life Raymond Marolles has
found his match. In the hands of this man he is utterly
powerless.
"An excellent idea. Only, as I said before, too obvious
too transparently obvious. It is the only thing you can
do. If I were looking for a man, and came to a part of the
country where there was but one road, I should of course
know that he mustif he went any wherego down that
road. So with you, my dear Marolles, there was but one
resource left youto disprove the revelations of your wife
by declaring them the hallucinations of a maniac. I take
... no credit to myself for seeing through you, I assure you.
There is no talent whatever in finding out that two and two
make four ; the genius, would be the man who made them
## p. 359 (#375) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 359
into five. I do not think I have any thing more to say. I
have no wish to attack you, my dear nephew-in-law. I
merely wanted to prove to you that I was not your dupe.
I think you must be by this time sufficiently convinced of
that fact. If you have any good Madeira in your cellars, I
should like a glass or two, and the wing of a chicken, before
I hear what my niece may have to say to me. I made a
very poor breakfast some hours ago at the Lord Warden."
Having expressed himself thus, the Marquis throws himself
back in his easy-chair, yawns once or twice, and polishes
Mark Antony with the corner of his handkerchief; he has
evidently entirely dismissed the subject on which he has
been speaking, and is ready for pleasant conversation.
At this moment the door is thrown open, and Walerie
enters the room.
It is the first time Raymond has seen Walerie since the
night of Mosquetti's story, and as his eyes meet hers he
starts involuntarily.
What is it? This change, this transformation, which
has taken eight years off the age of this woman, and
restored her as she was on that night when he first saw her
at the Opera House in Paris. What is it? So great and
marvellous an alteration, he might almost doubt if this
indeed were she. And yet he can scarcely define the
change. It seems a transformation not of the face, but of
the soul. A new soul looking out of the old beauty. A
new soul? No, the old soul, which he thought dead. It is
indeed a resurrection of the dead.
She advances to her uncle, who embraces her with a
graceful and drawing-room species of tenderness, about as
like real tenderness as ormolu is like rough Australian gold
as Lawrence Sterne's sentiment is like Oliver Goldsmith's
pathos.
"My dear uncle! You received my letter, then?"
"Yes, dear child. And what, in Heaven's name, can
you have to tell me that would not admit of being delayed
until the weather changed?and I am such a bad Sailor,'
## p. 360 (#376) ############################################
360 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
he repeats plaintively. "What can you have to tell
me?"
"Nothing yet, my dear uncle,"the bright dark eyes
look with a steady gaze at Raymond as she speaks,
"nothing yet; the hour has not yet come."
"For mercy's sake, my dear girl," says the Marquis, in
a tone of horror, "don't be melodramatic. If you're going
to act a Porte-St.-Martin drama, in thirteen acts and twenty-
six tableaux, I'll go back to Paris. If you've nothing to
say to me, why, in the name of all that'sfeminine, did you
Send for me?"
"When I wrote to you, I told you that I appealed to
you because I had no other friend upon earth to whom,
in the hour of my anguish, I could turn for help and
advice."
"You did, you did. If you had not been my only
brother's only child, I should have waited a change in the
wind before I crossed the ChannelI am such a wretched
sailor! But life, as the religious party asserts, is a long
SacrificeI came !"
"Suppose that, since writing that letter, I have found a
friend, an adviser, a guiding hand and a supporting arm,
and no longer need the help of any one on earth besides this
new-found friend to revenge me upon my enemies?"
Raymond's bewilderment increases every moment. Has
she indeed gone mad, and is this new light in her eyes the
fire of insanity?
"I am sure, my dear Walerie, if you have met with such
a very delightful person, I am extremely glad to hear it, as
it relieves me from the trouble. It is melodramatic cer-
tainly, but excessively convenient. I have remarked, that
in melodrama circumstances generally are convenient. I
never alarm myself when every thing is hopelessly wrong,
and villany deliciously triumphant; for I know that some-
body who died in the first act will come in at the centre
doors, and make it all right before the curtain falls."
"Since Madame de Marolles will no doubt wish to be
## p. 361 (#377) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 361
alone with her uncle, I may perhaps be permitted to go into
the City till dinner, when I shall have the honour of meet-
ing Monsieur le Marquis, I trust."
"Certainly, my good De Marolles; your chef, I believe,
understands his profession. I shall have great pleasure in
dining with you. Au revoir, mon enfant; we shall go upon
velvet, now we so thoroughly understand each other." He
waves his white left hand to Raymond, as a graceful dis-
missal, and turns towards his niece. -
"Adieu, madame," says the Count, as he passes his wife;
then, in a lower tone, adds, "I do not ask you to be silent
for my sake or your own; I merely recommend you to re-
member that you have a son, and that you will do well not
to make me your enemy. When I strike, I strike home,
and my policy has always been to strike in the weakest
place. Do not forget poor little Cherubino!" He looks at
her steadily with his cruel blue eyes, and then turns to
leave the room. -
As he opens the door, he almost knocks down an elderly
gentleman dressed in a suit of clerical-looking black and a
white neckcloth, and carrying an unpleasantly damp um-
brella under his arm.
"Not yet, Mr. Jabez North," says the gentleman, who
is neither more nor less than that respectable preceptor and
guide to the youthful mind, Doctor Tappenden, of Slop-
perton"not yet, Mr. North; I think your clerks in Lom-
bard Street will be compelled to do without you to-day.
You are wanted elsewhere at present."
Any thing but thisany thing but this, and he would
have borne it, likelike himself! Thank Heaven there is
no comparison for such as he. He was prepared for all
but this. This early period of his life, which he thought
blotted out and forgottenthis he is unprepared for; and
he falls back with a ghastly face, and white lips that refuse
to shape even one exclamation of horror or surprise.
"What is this?" murmurs the Marquis. "North
JabezJabez North ? O, I see, we have come upon the
## p. 362 (#378) ############################################
362 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
pre-Parisian formation, and that," he glances towards Dr.
Tappenden, "is one of the vestiges."
At last Raymond's tremulous lips consent to form the
words he struggles to utter.
"You are under some mistake, sir, whoever you may be.
My name is not North, and I have not the honour of your
acquaintance. I am a Frenchman; my name is De Ma-
rolles. I am not the person you seek."
A gentleman advances from the doorway(there is
quite a group of people in the hall)and says,
"At least, sir, you are the person who presented, eight
years ago, three forged cheques at my bank. I am ready,
as well as two of my clerks, to swear to your identity.
We have people here with a warrant to arrest you for that
forgery."
The forgery, not the murder?no one knows of that,
thenthat, at least, is buried in oblivion.
"There are two or three little things out against you,
Mr. North," said the doctor; "but the forgery will serve
our purpose very well for the present. It's the easiest
charge to bring home as yet."
What do they mean? What other charges? Come
what may, he will be firm to the lastto the last he will
be himself. After all, it is but death they can threaten
him with: and the best people have to die, as well as the
WOrSt.
"Only death, at most!" he mutters. "Courage, Ray-
mond, and finish the game as a good player should, with-
out throwing away a trick, even though beaten by better
cards.
"I tell you, gentlemen, I know nothing of your forgery,
or you either. I am a Frenchman, born at Bordeaux, and
never in your very eccentric country before; and indeed, if
this is the sort of thing a gentleman is liable to in his own
study, I shall certainly, when I once return to France, never
visit your shores again."
"When you do return to France, I think it very unlikely
## p. 363 (#379) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 363
you will ever revisit England, as you say, sir. If, as you
affirm, you are indeed a Frenchman(what excellent Eng-
lish you speak, monsieur, and what trouble you must have
taken to acquire so perfect an accent!)you will, of course,
have no difficulty in proving the fact; also that you were
not in England eight years ago, and consequently were not
for some years assistant in the academy of this gentleman
at Slopperton. All this an enlightened British jury will
have much pleasure in hearing. We have not, however,
come to try you, but to arrest you. Johnson, call a cab
for the Count de Marolles! If we are wrong, monsieur,
you will have a magnificent case of false imprisonment, and
I congratulate you on the immense damages which you
will most likely obtain. Thomson, the handcuffs 1 I must
trouble you for your wrists, Monsieur de Marolles."
The police-officer politely awaits the pleasure of his pri-
soner. Raymond pauses for a moment; thinks deeply, with
his head bent on his breast; lifts it suddenly with a glitter
in his eyes, and his thin lips set firm as iron. He has
arranged his game.
"As you say, sir, I shall have an excellent case of false
imprisonment, and my accusers shall pay for their insolence,
as well as for their mistake. In the mean time, I am ready
to follow you; but, before I do so, I wish to have a mo-
ment's conversation with this gentleman, the uncle of my
wife. You have, I suppose, no objection to leaving me
alone with him for a few minutes. You can watch outside
in the hall; I shall not attempt to escape. We have, unfor-
tunately, no trap-doors in this room, and I believe they do
not build the houses in Park Lane with such conveniences
attached to them as sliding panels or secret staircases."
"Perhaps not, sir," replies the inflexible police-officer;
"but they do, I perceive, build them with gardens"he
walks to the window, and looks out"a wall eight feet
high-door leading into mews. Not by any means such a
very inconvenient house, Monsieur de Marolles. Thomson,
one of the servants, will be so good as to show you the
## p. 364 (#380) ############################################
364 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
way into the garden below these windows, where you will
amuse yourself till this gentleman has done talking with his
uncle."
"One momentone moment," says the Marquis, who,
during the foregoing conversation, has been entirely ab-
sorbed in the endeavour to extract a very obstinate speck of
dust from Mark Antony's nostril. "One moment, I beg"
as the officer is about to withdraw"why an interview?
Why a police person in the gardenif you call that dread-
ful stone dungeon with the roof off, a garden? I have
nothing to say to this gentleman. Positively nothing. All
I ever had to say to him I said ten minutes ago. We per-
fectly understand each other. He can have nothing to say
to me, or I to him; and really, I think, under the circum-
stances, the very best thing you can do is to put on that
unbecoming iron machineryI never saw thing of the kind
before, and, as a novelty, it is actually quite interesting"
he touches the handcuffs, that are lying on the table, with
the extreme tip of his taper third finger, hastily withdraw-
ing it, as if he thought they would bite"and to take
him away immediately. If he has committed a forgery, you
l:now," he adds, deprecatingly, "he is not the sort of thing
one likes to see about one. He really is not."
Raymond de Marolles never had, perhaps, too much of
that absurd weakness called love for one's fellow-creatures;
but if ever he hated any man with the blackest and bit-
terest hate of his black and bitter heart, so did he hate the
man standing now before him, twisting a ring round and
round his delicate finger, and looking as entirely at his ease
as if no point were in discussion of more importance than
the wet weather and the cold autumn day.
"Stay, Monsieur le Marquis de Cevennes," he said in
a tone of suppressed passion, "you are too hasty in your
conclusionsyou have nothing to say to me. Granted !
But I may have something to say to youand I have a
great deal to say to you, which must be said; if not in pri-
vate, then in publicif not by word of mouth, I will print
## p. 365 (#381) ############################################
FATHER AND SON. 365
it in the public journals, till Paris and London shall ring
with the sound of it on the lips of other men. You will
scarcely care for this alternative, Monsieur de Cevennes,
when you learn what it is I have to say. Your sang froid
does you credit, monsieur; especially when, just now, though
you could not repress a start of surprise at hearing that
gentleman," he indicates Dr. Tappenden with a wave of his
hand, "speak of a certain manufacturing town called Slop-
perton, you so rapidly regained your composure, that only
so close an observer as myself would have perceived your
momentary agitation. You appear entirely to ignore, mon-
sieur, the existence of a certain aristocratic emigrant's son,
who thirty years ago taught French and mathematics in
that very town of Slopperton. Nevertheless, there was such
a person, and you knew himalthough he was content to
teach his native language for a shilling a lesson, and had
at that period no cameo or emerald rings to twist round his
fingers." -
If the Marquis was ever to be admired in the whole
course of his career, he was to be admired at this moment.
He smiled a gentle and deprecating smile, and said, in his
politest tone
"Pardon me, he had eighteenpence a lessoneighteen-
pence, I assure you; and he was often invited to dinner at
the houses where he taught. The women adored him
they are so simple, poor things. He might have married
a manufacturer's daughter, with an immense fortune, thick
ancles, and erratic h's."
"But he did not marry any one so distinguished. Mon-
sieur de Cevennes, I see you understand me. I do not ask
you to grant me this interview in the name of justice or
humanity; because I do not wish to address you in a lan-
guage which is a foreign one to me, and which you do not
even comprehend; but in the name of that young French-
man of noble family, who was so very weak and foolish,
so entirely false to himself and to his own principles, as
to marry a woman because he loved, or fancied that he
## p. 366 (#382) ############################################
366 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
loved her, I say to you, Monsieur le Marquis, you will find
it to your interest to hear what I have to reveal."
The Marquis shrugs his shoulders slightly. "As you
please," he says. "Gentlemen, be good enough to remain
outside that door. My dear Walerie, you had better retire
to your own apartments. My poor child, all this must be
so extremely wearisome to youalmost as bad as the third
volume of a fashionable novel. Monsieur de Marolles, I am
prepared to hear what you may have to saythough"he
here addresses himself generally"I beg to protest against
this affair from first to lastI repeat, from first to last, it
is so intolerably melodramatic."
## p. 367 (#383) ############################################
CHAPTER II.
RAYMOND DE MAROLLES SHOWS HIMSELF BETTER THAN
ALL BOW-STREET.
"AND so, Monsieur de Marolles," said the Marquis, as Ray-
mond closed the door on the group in the hall, and the
two gentlemen were left entirely alone, "and so you have
by what means I shall certainly not so far inconvenience
myself as to endeavour to guess-contrived to become
informed of some of the antecedents of your very humble
Servant '''
"Of some of the antecedentswhy not say of all the
antecedents, Monsieur de Cevennes?"
"Just as you like, my dear young friend," replies the
Marquis. He really seems to get quite affectionate to Ray-
mond, but in a far off, patronising, and superb manner
something that of a gentlemanly Mephistopheles to a pro-
mising Doctor Faustus;"and having possessed yourself
of this information, may I ask what use you intend making
of it? In this utilitarian age every thing is put to a use,
sooner or later. Do you purpose writing my biography?
It will not be interesting. Not as you would have to write
it to-day. Alas! we are not so fortunate as to live under
the Regency, and there are not many interesting biographies
nowadays." -
"My dear Marquis, I really have no time to listen to
what I have no doubt, amongst your own particular friends,
is considered most brilliant wit ; I have two or three
things to say to you that must be said, and the sort of
people who are now waiting outside the door are apt to be
impatient."
## p. 368 (#384) ############################################
368 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Ah, you are experienced; you know their manners and
customs! And they are impatient," murmured the Mar-
quis, thoughtfully; "and they put you in stone places as if
you were coal, and behind bars as if you were zoological;
and then they hang you. They call you up at an absurd
hour in the morning, and they take you out into a high
place, and drop you down through a hole as if you were a
penny put into a savings' box; and other people get up at
an equally absurd hour of the morning, or stay up all night,
in order to see it done. And yet there are persons who
declare that the age of romance has passed away."
"Monsieur de Cevennes, that which I have to say to you
relates to your marriage."
"My marriage. Suppose I say that I never was mar-
ried, my amiable friend?"
"I shall then reply, monsieur, that I not only am
informed of all the circumstances of your marriage, but
what is more, I am possessed of a proof of that marriage."
"Supposing there was such a marriage, which I am
prepared to deny, there could only be two proofsthe wit-
nesses and the certificate."
"The witnesses, monsieur, are dead," said Raymond.
"Then that would reduce the possible proofs to one
the certificate."
"Nay, monsieur, there might be another evidence of the
marriage."
"And that would be?"
"The issue of it. You had two sons by that marriage,
monsieur. One of those sons died eight years ago."
"And the other?" asked the Marquis.
"Still lives. I shall have something to say about him
by and by."
"It is a subject in which I take no sort of interest,"
said the Marquis, throwing himself back into his chair,
and abandoning himself once more to Mark Antony. "I
may have been married, or I may not have been married
it is not worth my while to deny that fact to you; be-
## p. 369 (#385) ############################################
RAYMOND DE MAROLLES BEATS BOW-STREET. 369
cause if I confess it to you, I can of course deny it the mo-
ment I cross the threshold of that doorI may have sons,
or I may not have sons; in either case, I have no wish to
hear of them, and any thing you may have to say about
them is, it appears to me, quite irrelevant to the matter in
hand; which, merely, is your going to prison for forgery, or
your not going to prison for forgery. But what I most
earnestly recommend, my very dear young friend, is, that
you take the cab and handcuffs quietly, and go! That
will, at least, put an end to fuss and discussion; and O, what
an inexpressible relief there is in that! I always envy
Noah, floundering about in that big boat of his; no new
books; no houses of parliament; no poor relations; no
Times newspaper; and no taxes'universal as you were,'
as Mr. Carlyle says; plenty to eat, and every thing come to
an end ; and that foolish Noah must needs send out the
dove, and begin it all over again. Yes, he began it all over
again, that preposterous Noah. Whereby, cab, handcuffs,
forgery, long conversation, and police persons outside that
door; all of which might have been prevented if Noah had
kept the dove indoors, and had been unselfish enough to
bore a hole in the bottom of his boat."
"If you will listen to me, Monsieur le Marquis, and keep
your philosophical reflections for a more convenient season,
there will be some chance of our coming to an understand-
ing. One of these twin sons still lives."
"Now, really, that is the old ground again. We are not
getting on"
"Still lives, I say. Whatever he is, Monsieur de Ce-
venneswhatever his chequered life may have been, the
guilt and the misery of that life rest alike on your head."
The Marquis gives the head alluded to an almost imper-
ceptible jerk, as if he threw this moral burden off, and looks
relieved by the proceeding. "Don't be melodramatic," he
remarks, mildly; "this is not the Porte St. Martin, and
there are no citizens in the gallery to applaud."
"That guilt and that misery, I say, rest upon your head.
BB
## p. 370 (#386) ############################################
370 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPIENT.
When you married the woman whom you abandoned to
starvation and despair, you loved her, I suppose ?"
"I daresay I did; I have no doubt I told her so, poor
little thing !"
"And a few months after your marriage you wearied of
her, as you would have done of any other plaything."
"As I should have done of any other plaything! Poor
dear child, she was dreadfully wearisome. Her relations
too. Heaven and earth, what relations! They were looked
upon in the light of human beings at Slopperton: but they
were wise to keep out of Paris, for they'd have been most
decidedly put into the Jardin des Plantes; and, really,"
said the Marquis, thoughtfully, "behind bars, and aggra-
wated by fallacious offers of buns from small children, they
would have been rather amusing."
"You were quite content that this unhappy girl should
share your poverty, Monsieur le Marquis; but in the hour
of your good fortune"
"I left her. Decidedly. Look you, Monsieur de Ma-
rolles, when I married that young person, whom you insist
on dragging out of her gravepoor girl, she is dead, no
doubt, by this timein this remarkably melodramatic man-
nerI was a young man, without a penny in the world,
and with very slight expectations of ever becoming possessed
of one. I am figurative, of course. I believe men of my
temperament and complexion are not very subject to that
popular epidemic, called love. But as much as it was in
my power to love any one, I loved this little factory girl.
I used to meet her going backwards and forwards to her
Work, as I went backwards and forwards to mine; and we
became acquainted. She was gentle, innocent, pretty. I
was very young, and, I need scarcely say, extremely stupid;
and I married her. We had not been married six months
before that dreadful Corsican person took it into his head
to abdicate, and I was summoned back to France, to make
my appearance at the Tuileries as Marquis de Cevennes.
Now, what I have to say is this, if you wish to quarrel with
## p. 371 (#387) ############################################
RAYMOND DE MAROLLES BEATS BOW-STREET. 371
any one, quarrel with the Corsican person; for if he had
never signed his abdication at Fontainbleau (which he did,
by the bye, in a most melodramatic mannerI am ac-
quainted with some weak-minded people who cannot read
the description of that event without shedding tears), I
should never have deserted my poor little English wife."
"The Marquis de Cevennes could not, then, ratify the
marriage of the obscure teacher of French and mathe-
matics?" asked Raymond.
"If the Marquis de Cevennes had been a rich man, he
might have done so; but the Restoration, which gave me
back my title, and the only chateau (my ancestors had
three) which the Jacobins had not burned to the ground,
did not restore me the fortune which the Revolution had
devoured. I was a poor man. Only one course was open
to mea rich marriage. The wealthy widow of a Buona-
partist general beheld and admired your humble servant,
and the doom of my poor little wife was sealed. For many
years I sent money regularly to her old motheran awful
woman, who knew my secret. She had, therefore, no occa-
sion to starve, Monsieur de Marolles. And now, may I be
permitted to ask what interest you have in this affair, that
you should insist on recalling these very disagreeable cir-
cumstances at this particular moment?" -
"There is one question you do not ask, Monsieur le
Marquis."
"Indeed; and what is that?" asked the Marquis.
"You seem to have very little curiosity about the fate of
your surviving son."
"I seem to have very little curiosity, my young friend;
I have very little curiosity. I daresay he is a very worthy
individual; but I have no anxiety whatever about his fate;
for if he at all resembles his father, there is very little
doubt that he has taken every care of himself. The De
Cevennes have always taken care of themselves; it is a
family trait."
"He has proved himself worthy of that family, then.
## p. 372 (#388) ############################################
372 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
He was thrown into a river, but he did not sink; he was
put into a workhouse and brought up as a pauper, but by
the force of his own will and the help of his own brain he
extricated himself, and won his way in the world. He
became, what his father was before him, a teacher in a
school. He grew tired of that, as his father did, and left
England for Paris. In Paris, like his father before him,
he married a woman he did not love for the sake of her
fortune. He became master of that fortune, and till this
very day he has surmounted every obstacle and triumphed
over every difficulty. Your only son, Monsieur de Cevennes
the son whose mother you desertedthe son whom you
abandoned to starve, steal, drown, or hang, to beg in the
streets, die in a gutter, a workhouse, or a prisonhas lived
through all, to stand face to face with you this day, and to
tell you that for his own and for his mother's wrongs, with
all the strength of a soul which those wrongs have steeped
in wickednesshe hates you !"
"Don't be violent," said the Marquis, gently. "So, you
are my son? Upon my word I thought all along you were
something of that kind, for you are such a consummate
Villain."
For the first time in his life Raymond de Marolles feels
what it is to be beaten by his own weapons. Against the
sang froid of the Marquis the torrent of his passionate words
dashes, as the sea dashes at the foot of a rock, and makes
as little impression.
"And what then?" says the Marquis. "Since it ap-
pears you are my son, what then?"
"You must save me, monsieur," said Raymond, in a
hoarse voice.
"Save you? But, my worthy friend, how save you?
Save you from the cab and handcuffs? If I go out to
those people and say, 'He is my son; be so good as to forego
the cab and handcuffs, they will laugh at me. They are
so dreadfully matter-of-fact, that sort of people. What is
to be done?"
## p. 373 (#389) ############################################
RAYMOND DE MAROLLES BEATS DOW-STREET. 373
"Only this, monsieur. I must make my escape from
this apartment. That window looks into the garden, from
the garden to the mews, through the mews into a retired
street, and thence"
"Never mind that, if you get there. I really doubt the
possibility of your getting there. There is a policeman
watching in that garden."
Raymond smiles. He is recovering his presence of mind
in the necessity for action. He opens a drawer in the library
table and takes out an air-pistol, which looks rather like
some elegant toy than a deadly weapon.
"I must shoot that man," he says.
"Then I give the alarm. I will not be implicated in a
murder. Good Heavens ! the Marquis de Cevennes impli-
cated in a murder! Why, it would be talked of in Paris
for a month."
"There will be no murder, monsieur. I shall fire at
that man from this window and hit him in the knee. He
will fall, and most likely faint from the pain, and will not,
therefore, know whether I pass through the garden or not.
You will give the alarm, and tell the men without that I
have escaped through this window and the door in the wall
yonder. They will pursue me in that direction, while I-"
"You Will do What?"
"Go out at the front door as a gentleman should. I
was not unprepared for such an event as this. Every room
in this house has a secret communication with the next
room. There is only one door in this library, as it seems,
and they are carefully watching that."
As he speaks he softly opens the window and fires at
the man in the garden, who falls, only uttering a groan.
As Raymond predicted, he faints with the pain.
With the rapidity of lightning he flings the window up
violently, hurls the pistol to the farthest extremity of the
garden, snatches the Marquis's hat from the chair on which
it lies, presses one finger on the gilded back of a volume
of Gibbon's Rome, a narrow slip of the bookcase opens in-
## p. 374 (#390) ############################################
374 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
wards, and reveals a door leading into the next apartment,
which is the dining-room. This door is made on a peculiar
principle, and, as he pushes through, it closes behind him.
This is the work of a second; and as the officers, alarmed
by the sound of the opening of the window, rush into the
room, the Marquis gives the alarm.
"He has escaped by the window !" he said. "He has
wounded your assistant, and passed through that door. He
cannot be twenty yards in advance; you will easily know
him by his having no hat on."
"Stop!" cries the detective officer, "this may be a trap.
He may have got round to the front door. Go and watch,
Johnson."
A little too late this precaution. As the officers rushed
into the library, Raymond passed from the dining-room
door out of the open street-door, and jumped into the very
cab which was waiting to take him to prison.
"Five pounds, if you catch the Liverpool express," he
said to the cabman.
"All right, sir," replied that worthy citizen, with a wink.
"I've druw a many gents like you, and very good fares
they is too, and a godsend to a hard-working man, what
old ladies with hand-bags and umberellas grudges eight-
pence a-mile to," mutters the charioteer, as he gallops down
Upper Brook Street and across Hanover Square, while the
gentlemen of the police force, aided by Dr. Tappenden and
the obliging Marquis, search the mews and neighbourhood
adjoining. Strange to say, they cannot obtain any informa-
tion from the coachman and stable-boys concerning a gen-
tleman without a hat, who must have passed through the
mews about three minutes before.
## p. 375 (#391) ############################################
CHAPTER III.
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK,
IT is a palpable and humiliating proof of the decadence of
the glories of white-cliffed Albion and her lion-hearted
children," said the sporting correspondent of the Liverpool
Bold Speaker and Threepenny Aristides, a gentleman, who,
by the bye, was very clever at namingfor half-a-dozen
stampsthe horses that didn't win; and was, indeed, useful
to fancy betters, as affording accurate information what to
avoid: nothing being better policy than to give the odds
against any horse named by him as a sure winner, or a safe
second; for those gallant steeds were sure to be, whatever
the fluctuating fortune of the race, ignominiously nowhere.
"It is," continued the Liverpool B. S., "a sign of the
downfalling of the lion and unicorn, over which Britannia
may shed tears and the inhabitants of Liverpool and its
vicinity mourn in silent despair, that the freedom of Eng-
land is no more ! We repeat" (The Liverpool Aristides here
gets excited, and goes into small capitals)"BRITAIN is no
longer FREE | Her freedom departed from her on that day
On which the blue-coated British Sbirri of Sir Robert Peel
broke simultaneously into the liberties of the nation, the
mightiest clauses of Magna Charta, and the Prize Ring, and
stopped the operations of the Lancashire Daddy Longlegs
and the celebrated metropolitan favourite, the Left-handed
Smasher, during the eighty-ninth round, and just as the
real interest of the fight was about to begin. Under these
humiliating circumstances, a meeting has been held by the
referees and backers of the men, and it has been agreed be-
## p. 376 (#392) ############################################
376 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
tween the latter and the stakeholder to draw the money.
But, that the valiant and admired Smasher may have no
occasion to complain of the inhospitality of the town of
Liverpool, the patrons of the fancy have determined on
giving him a dinner, at which his late opponent, our old
favourite and honoured townsman, Daddy Longlegs, will be
in the chair, having a distinguished gentleman of sporting
celebrity as his vice. It is to be hoped that, as some proof
that the noble art of self-defence is not entirely extinct in
Liverpool, the friends of the Ring will muster pretty strong
on this occasion. Tickets, at half-a-guinea, to be obtained
at the Gloves Tavern, where the entertainment will take
place."
On the very day on which the Count de Marolles left his
establishment in Park Lane in so very abrupt a manner,
the tributary banquet to the genius of the Ring, in the per-
son of the Left-handed Smasher, came off in excellent style
at the above-mentioned Gloves Taverna small hostelry,
next door to one of the Liverpool minor theatres, and chiefly
supported by the members of the Thespian and pugilistic
arts. The dramatic element, perhaps, rather predominated
in the small parlour behind the bar, where Brandolph of the
Burning Brandafter fighting sixteen terrific broad-sword
combats, and being left for dead behind the first grooves
seven times in the course of three actswould take his
Welsh rarebit and his pint of half-and-half in company with
the Lancashire Grinder and the Pottery Pet, and listen with
due solemnity to the discourse of these two popular charac-
ters. The little parlour was so thickly hung with portraits
of theatrical and sporting celebrities, that GEdipus himself
distinguished as he is for having guessed the dullest of con-
undrumscould never have discovered the pattern of the
paper which adorned the walls. Here, Mr. Montmorency,
the celebrated comedian, smirkedwith that mild smirk
only known in portraitsover the ample shoulders of his
very much better half, at the Pet in fighting attitude.
There, Mr. Marmaduke Montressor, the great tragedian,
## p. 377 (#393) ############################################
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK. 377
frowned, in the character of Richard the Third, at Pyrrhus
the First, winner of the last Derby. Here, again, Made-
moiselle Pasdebasque pointed her satin slipper side by side
with the youthful Challoner of that day; and opposite
Mademoiselle Pasdebasque, a gentleman in scarlet, whose
name is unknown, tumbled off a burnt-sienna horse, in
excellent condition and a very high state of varnish, into a
Prussian-blue ditch, thereby filling the spectator with ap-
prehension lest he should be, not drowned, but dyed. As
to Brandolph of the Brand, there were so many pictures of
him, in so many different attitudes, and he was always
looking so very handsome and doing something so very
magnanimous, that perhaps, upon the whole, it was rather a
disappointment to look from the pictures down to the origi-
nal of them in the dingy costume of private life, Seated
at the shiny little mahogany table, partaking of refresh-
ment.
The theatrical profession mustered pretty strongly to do
honour to the sister art on this particular occasion. The
theatre next door to the Gloves happened, fortunately, to be
closed, on account of the extensive scale of preparations for
a grand dramatic and spectacular performance, entitled,
"The Sikh Victories, or the Tyrant of the Ganges," which
was to be brought out the ensuing Monday with even more
than usual magnificence. So the Votaries of Thespis were
free to testify their admiration for the noble science of self-
defence by taking tickets for the dinner at ten-and-sixpence
a piece, the banquet being, as Mr. Montressor, the comedian
above mentioned, remarked, with more energy than ele-
gance, a cheap blow-out, as the dinner would last the guests
who partook of it two days, and the indigestion attendant
thereon would carry them through the rest of the week.
I shall not enter into the details of the pugilistic dinner,
but will introduce the reader into the banquet-hall at rather
a late stage in the proceedings; in point of fact just as the
festival is about to break up. It is two o'clock in the
morning; the table is strewn with the dbris of a dessert,
## p. 378 (#394) ############################################
378 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
in which figs, almonds and raisins, mixed biscuits, grape-
stalks, and apple-and orange-peel seem rather to predominate.
The table is a very field of Cressy or Waterloo, as to dead
men in the way of empty bottles; good execution having evi-
dently been done upon Mr. Hemmar's well-stocked cellar.
From the tumblers and spoons before each guest, however,
it is also evident that the festive throng has followed the
example of Mr. Sala's renowned hero, and after having tried
a "variety of foreign drains," has gone back to gin-and
water pur et simple. It is rather a peculiar and paradoxical
quality of neat wines that they have, if any thing, rather an
untidy effect on those who drink them ; certainly there is a
looseness about the hair, a thickness and indecision in the
speech, and an erratic and irrelevant energy and emphasis
in the gestures of the friends of the Smasher, which is
entirely at variance with our ordinary idea of the word
"neat." Yet, why should we quarrel with them on that
account ? They are harmless, and they are happy. It is
surely no crime to see two gas-burners where, to the nor-
mal eye, there is only one; neither is it criminal to try
five distinct times to enunciate the two words, "slight-
est misunderstanding," and to fail ignominiously every
time. If any thing, that must be an amiable feeling which
inspires a person with a sudden wild and almost pathetic
friendship for a man he never saw before; such a friend-
ship, in short, as pants to go to the block for him, or to
become his surety to a loan-office for five pounds. Is it any
such terrible offence against society to begin a speech of a
patriotic nature, full of allusions to John Bull, Queen Wic-
toria, Wooden Walls, and the Prize Ring, and to burst into
tears in the middle thereof * Is there no benevolence in the
wish to see your friend home, on account of your strong im-
pression that he has taken a little too much, and that he
will tumble against the railings and impale his chin upon
the spikes; which, of course, you are in no danger of doing?
Are these things crimes? No! We answer boldly, No!
Then, hurrah for neat wines and free trade ! Open wide
## p. 379 (#395) ############################################
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK. 379
our harbours to the purple grapes that flourish in the vine-
yards of sunny Burgundy and Bordeaux; and welcome,
thrice welcome, to the blushing tides which Horace sang so
many hundred years ago, when our beautiful Earth was
younger, and maybe fairer, and held its course, though it is
hard to believe it, very well indeed, without the genius of
modern civilisation at the helm.
There had been a silver cup, with one of the labours of
Herculespoor Hercules, how hard they work him in the
sporting world !embossed thereon, presented to the
Smasher, as a tribute of respect for those British qualities
which had endeared him to his admirers; and the Smash-
er's health had been drunk with three-times-three, and
a little one in ; and then three more three-times-three, and
another little one in: and the Smasher had returned thanks,
and Brandolph of the Brand had proposed the Daddy Long-
legs, and the Daddy Longlegs had made a very neat speech
in the Lancashire dialect, which the gentlemen of the the-
atrical profession had pretended to understand, but had not
understood; and a literary individualbeing, in fact, the
gentleman whose spirited writing we have quoted above,
Mr. Jeffrey Hallam Jones, of the Liverpool Aristides, sport-
ing and theatrical correspondent, and constant visitor at the
Gloveshad proposed the Ring; and the Smasher had pro-
posed the Press, for the liberties of which, as he said in
noble language, afterwards quoted in the Aristides, the
gentlemen of the Prize-Ring were prepared to fight as
long as they had a bunch of fives to rattle upon the know-
ledge-box of the foe; and then the Daddy Longlegs had
proposed the Stage, and its greatest glory, Brandolph of the
Brand; and ultimately every body had proposed every body
elseand then, some one suggesting a quiet song, every
body sang. -
Now, as the demand for a song from each member of
the festive band was of so noisy and imperative a nature
that a refusal was not only a moral but a physical im-
possibility, it would be unbecoming to remark that the
## p. 380 (#396) ############################################
380 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPIENT.
melody and harmony of the evening were, at best, fluctuat-
ing. Annie Laurie was evidently a young lady of an
undecided mind, and wandered in a pleasing manner from
C into D, and from D into E, and then back again with
laudable dexterity to C, for the finish. The gentleman
whose heart was bowed down in the key of G, might have
rendered his performance more effective, had he given his
statement of that affliction entirely in one key ; and another
gentleman, who sang a comic song of seventeen eight-line
verses, with four lines of chorus to every verse, would have
done better if he had confined himself to his original plan
of singing super-humanly flat, instead of varying it, as he
occasionally did, by singing preternaturally sharp. Of
course it is an understood thing, that in a chorus, every
singer should choose his own key, or where is the liberty of
the subject 2so that need not be alluded to. But all this
is over; and the guests of Mr. Hemmar have risen to de-
part, and have found the act of rising to depart by no
means the trifle they thought it. It is very hard, of course,
in such an atmosphere of tobacco, to find the door; and
that, no doubt, is the reason why so many gentlemen seek
for it in the wrong direction, and buffet insanely with their
arms against the wall, in search of that orifice.
Now, there are two gentlemen in whom Mr. Hemmar's
neat wines have developed a friendship of the warmest
description. Those two gentlemen are none other than the
two master-spirits of the evening, the Left-handed Smasher
and Brandolph of the Brand, who, by the bye, in private
life, is known as Augustus de Clifford. His name is not
written thus in the register of his baptism. On that mali-
cious document he is described as William Watson; but to
his friends and the public he has for fifteen years been
admired and beloved as the great De Clifford, although
often familiarly called Brandolph, in delicate allusion to his
greatest character.
Now, Brandolph is positively convinced that the
Smasher is not in a fit state to go home alone, and the
## p. 381 (#397) ############################################
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK. 381
Smasher is equally assured that Brandolph will do himself
a mischief unless he is watched; so Brandolph is going to
see the Smasher home to his hotel, which is a considerable
distance from the Gloves Tavern; and then the Smasher is
coming back again to see Brandolph to his lodgings, which
are next door but two to the Gloves Tavern. So, after
having bade good night to every one else, in some instances
with tears, and always with an affectionate pathos verging
upon tears, Brandolph flings on his loose over-coat, just as
Manfred might have flung on his cloak prior to making a
morning call upon the witch of the Alps, and the Smasher
twists about five yards of parti-coloured woollen raiment,
which he calls a comforter, round his neck, and they sally
forth.
A glorious autumn night; the full moon high in the
heavens, with a tiny star following in her wake like a well-
bred tuft-hunter, and all the other stars keeping their dis-
tance, as if they had retired to their own "grounds," as the
French say, and were at variance with their queen on some
matter connected with taxes. A glorious night; as light
as daynay, almost lighter; for it is a light which will
bear looking at, and which does not dazzle our eyes as the
sun does, when we are presumptuous enough to elevate our
absurdly infinitesimal optics to his sublimity. Not a spec
on the Liverpool pavement, not a dog asleep on the door-
step, or a dissipated cat sneaking home down an area, but
is as visible as in the broad glare of noon. "Such a night
as this" was almost too much for Lara, and Brandolph of
the Brand grows sentimental. -
"You wouldn't think," he murmurs, abstractedly,
gazing at the moon, as he and the Smasher meander arm-in-
arm over the pavement; "you wouldn't think she hadn't
an atmosphere, would you? A man might build a theatre
there, and he might get his company up in balloons; but I
question if it would pay, on account of that trivial want
she hasn't got an atmosphere."
"Hasn't she?" said the Smasher, who certainly, if any
## p. 382 (#398) ############################################
382 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
thing, had, in the matter of sobriety, the advantage of the
tragedian. "You'll have a black eye though, if you don't
steer clear of that 'ere lamp-post you're makin' for. I never
did see such a cove," he added; "with his hatmospheres,
and his moons, and his b'loons, one would think he'd never
had a glass or two of wine before."
Now, to reach the hotel which the left-handed one
honoured by his presence, it was necessary to pass the quay;
and the sight of the water and the shipping reposing in the
stillness under the light of the moon, again awakened all
the poetry in the nature of the romantic Brandolph.
"It is beautiful!" he said, taking his pet position, and
waving his arm in the orthodox circle, prior to pointing to
the scene before him. "It is peaceful: it is we who are
the blots upon the beauty of the earth. 0, whywhy, are
we false to the beautiful and heroic, as the author of
the Lady of Lyons would observe? Why are we false to
the true? why do we drink too much and see double?
Standing amidst the supreme silences, with breathless
creation listening to our words, we look up to the stars
that looked down upon the philosopher of the cave! and we
feel that we have retrograded." Here the eminent trage-
dian gave a lurch, and seated himself with some violence
and precipitation on the kerb-stone. "We feel," he re-
peated, "that we have retrograded. It is a pity!"
"Now, who's to pick him up?" inquired the Smasher,
looking round in silent appeal to the lamp-posts about him.
'Who's to pick him up? I can't; and if he sleeps here he'll
very likely get cold. Get up, you snivelling fool, can't
you?" he said, with some asperity, to the descendant of
Thespis, who, after weeping piteously, was drying his eyes
with an announce bill of the "Tyrant of the Ganges,"
and by no means improving his personal appearance with
the red and black printer's ink thereof.
How mine host of the Cheerful Cherokee would ever
have extricated his companion from this degraded position,
without the timely intervention of others, is not to be said;
## p. 383 (#399) ############################################
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK. 383
for at this very moment the Smasher beheld a gentleman
alight from a cab at a little distance from where he stood,
ask two or three questions of the cabman, pay and dismiss
him, and then walk on in the direction of some steps that
led to the water. This gentleman wore his hat very much
slouched over his face; he was wrapped in a heavy loose
coat, that entirely concealed his figure, and evidently
carried a parcel of some kind under his left arm.
"Hi!" said the Smasher, as the pedestrian approached :
"Hi, youthere ! Give us a hand, will you?"
The gentleman addressed as "you there," took not
the slightest notice of this appeal, except, indeed, that he
quickened his pace considerably, and tried to pass the
left-handed one.
"No, you don't," said our pugilistic friend; "the cove
as refuses to pick up the man that's down is a blot upon
the English character, and the sooner he's scratched out
the better;" wherewith the Smasher squared his fists and
placed himself directly in the path of the gentleman with
the slouched hat.
"I tell you what it is, my good fellow," said this indi-
vidual, "you may pick up your drunken friend yourself, or
you may wait the advent of the next policeman, who will
do the public a service by conveying you both to the station-
house, where you may finish the evening in your own
highly-intellectual manner. But perhaps you will be good
enough to let me pass, for I'm in a hurry! You see that
American vessel yondershe's dropped down the river to
wait for the wind; the breeze is springing up as fast as it
can, and she may set sail as it is, before I can reach her;
so, if you want to earn a sovereign, come and see if you can
help me in arousing a waterman and getting off to her?"
"0, you are off to America, are you?" said the Smasher,
thoughtfully. "Blow that 'ere wine of Hemmar's! I ought
to know the cut of your figure-head. I've seen you before-
I've seen you somewheres before, though where that some-
wheres was, spifficate me if I can call to mind! Come,
## p. 384 (#400) ############################################
384 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
lend us a hand with this 'ere friend o' mine, and I'll lend
you a hand with the boatman."
"Dn your friend!" said the other savagely; "let me
pass, will you, you drunken fool?"
This was quite enough for the Smasher, who was just in
that agreeable frame of mind attendant on the consump-
tion of strong waters, in which the jaundiced eye is apt to
behold an enemy even in a friend, and the equally pre-
judiced ear is ready to hear an insult in the most civil
address.
"Come on, then," said he; and putting himself in a
scientific attitude, he dodged from side to side two or three
times, as if setting to his partner in a quadrille, and then
with a movement rapid as lightning went in with his left
fist, and planted a species of postman's knock exactly be-
tween the eyes of the stranger, who fell to the ground as an
ox falls under the hand of an accomplished butcher.
It is needless to say that, in falling, his hat fell off, and
as he lay senseless on the pavement, the moonlight on his
face revealed every feature as distinctly as in the broadest
day.
The Smasher knelt down by his side, looked at him
attentively for a few moments, and then gave a long, low
whistle.
"Under the circumstances," he said, "perhaps I
couldn't have done a better thing than this 'ere I've done
promiscuous. He won't go to America, by that vessel at
any rate; so if I telegraph to the Cherokeees, maybe they
will be glad to hear what he's up to down here. Come
along," continued the sobered Smasher, hauling up Mr. De
Clifford by the collar, as ruthlessly as if he had been a sack
of coal; "I think I hear the footsteps of a Bobby a-coming
this way, so we'd better make ourselves scarce before we're
asked any questions."
"If," said the distinguished Brandolph, still shedding
tears, "if the town of Liverpool was conducted after the
manner of the Republic of Plato, there wouldn't be any
## p. 385 (#401) ############################################
THE LEFT-HANDED SMASHER MAKES HIS MARK. 385
policemen. But as I said before, we have retrograded.
Take care of the posts," he added plaintively. "It is mar-
wellous the effect a few glasses of light wine have upon
some people's legs; while others, on the contrary" here
he slid again to the ground, and this time eluded all thf
Smasher's endeavours to pick him up.
"You had better let me be," he murmured. "It is
hard, but it is clean and comfortable. Bring me my boots
and hot water at nine o'clock; I've an early rehearsal of
'The Tyrant. Go home quietly, my dear friend, and don't
take any thing more to drink, for your head is evidently
not a strong one. Good night."
"Here's a situation," said the Smasher. "I can't dance
attendance on him any more, for I must run round to the
telegraph office and see if it's open, that I may send Mr.
Marwood word about this night's work. The Count de
Marolles is safe enough for a day or two, anyhow; for I
have set a mark upon him that he won't rub off just yet,
elever as he is."
CC
## p. 386 (#402) ############################################
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM IN WHICH THE MURDER.
WAS COMMITTED.
AT the time that the arrest of the Count de Marolles was
taking place, Mr. Joseph Peters was absent from London,
being employed upon some mission of a delicate and secret
nature in the town of Slopperton on the Sloshy.
Slopperton is very little changed since the murder at the
Black Mill set every tongue going upon its nine-days won-
der. There may be a few more tall factory chimneys; a
few more young factory ladies in cotton jackets and coral
necklaces all the week, and in rustling silks and artificial
flowers on Sunday; the new townthat dingy hanger-on
of the old townmay have spread a little farther out to-
wards the bright and breezy country; and the railway pas-
senger may perhaps see a larger veil of black smoke hanging
in the atmosphere as he approaches the Slopperton station
than he saw eight years ago.
Mr. Peters, being no longer a householder in the town,
takes up his abode at a hostelry, and, strange to say, selects
the little river-side public-house in which he overheard that
conversation between the usher and the country girl, the
particulars of which are already known to the reader.
He is peculiar in his choice of a hotel, for "The Barge-
man's Delight" certainly does not offer many attractions to
any one not a bargeman. It is hard indeed to guess what
the particular delight of the bargeman may be, which the
members of that guild find provided for them in the water-
side tavern alluded to. The bargeman's delight is evidently
## p. 387 (#403) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 387
not cleanliness, or he would go elsewhere in search of that
virtue; neither can the bargeman affect civility in his enter-
tainers, for the host and that one slip-shod young person who
is barmaid, barman, ostler, cook, chambermaid, and waiter
all in one, are notoriously sulky in their conversation with
their patrons, and have an aggrieved and injured bearing
very unpleasant to the sensitive customer. But if, on the
other hand, the bargeman's delight should happen to consist
in dirt, and damp, and bad cooking, and worse attendance,
and liquors on which the small glass brandy-balls peculiar
to the publican float triumphantly, and pertinaciously refuse
to go down to the bottomif such things as these be the
bargeman's delight, he has them handsomely provided for
him at this establishment.
However this may be, to "The Bargeman's Delight" came
Mr. Peters on the very day of the Count's arrest, with a
carpet-bag in one hand and a fishing-rod in the other, and
with no less a person than Mr. Augustus Darley for his
companion. The customer, by the bye, was generally initi-
ated into the pleasures of this hostelry by being tripped up
or tripped down on the threshold, and saluting a species of
thin soup of sawdust and porter, which formed the upper
stratum of the floor, with his olfactory organ. The neophyte
of the Rosicrucian mysteries, and of Freemasonry, has, I
believe, something unpleasant done to him before he can
be safely trusted with the secrets of the Temple; why, then,
should not the guest of the Delight have his initiation?
Mr. Darley, with some dexterity, however, escaped this
danger; and, entering the bar safely, entreated with the
ship-shod and defiant damsel aforesaid.
"Could we have a bed?" Mr. Darley asked; "in point
of fact, two beds 2"
The damsel glared at him for a few minutes without
giving any answer at all. Gus repeated the question.
"We've got two beds," muttered the defiant damsel.
"All right, then," said Gus. "Come in, old fellow," he
added to Mr. Peters, whose legs and bluchers were visible at
## p. 388 (#404) ############################################
388 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
the top of the steps, where he patiently awaited the result of
his companion's entreaty with the priestess of the temple.
"But I don't know whether you can have 'em," said the
girl, with a more injured air than usual. "We ain't in
general asked for beds."
"Then why do you put up that ?" asked Mr. Darley,
pointing to a board on which, in letters that had once been
gilt, was inscribed this legend, "Good Beds."
"0, as for that," said the girl, "that was wrote up before
we took the place, and we had to pay for it in the fixtures,
so of course we wasn't a-goin' to take it down! But I'll ask
master." Whereon she disappeared into the damp and dark-
ness, as if she had been the genius of that mixture; and
presently reappeared, saying they could have beds, but that
they couldn't have a private sitting-room because there
wasn't onewhich reason they accepted as unanswerable,
and furthermore said they would content themselves with
such accommodation as the bar-parlour afforded; whereon
the slip-shod barmaid relaxed from her defiant mood, and
told them that they would find it quite cheerful, as there
was a nice look out upon the river."
Mr. Darley ordered a bottle of winea tremendous
order, rarely known to be issued in that establishment
and further remarked that he should be glad if the land-
lord would bring it in, as he would like five minutes con-
versation with him. After having given this overwhelming
order, Gus and Mr. Peters entered the parlour.
It was empty, the parlour; the bargeman was evidently
taking his delight somewhere else that afternoon. There were
the wet marks of the bargeman's porter-pots of the morning,
and the dry marks of the bargeman's porter-pots of the day
before, still on the table; there were the bargeman's broken
tobacco-pipes, and the cards wherewith he had played all-
fourswhich cards he had evidently chewed at the cor-
ners in aggravation of spirit when his luck deserted him
strewn about in every direction. There were the muddy
marks of the bargeman's feet on the sandy floor; there was
## p. 389 (#405) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 389
a subtle effluvium of mingled corduroy, tobacco, onions,
damp leather, and gin, which was the perfume of the barge-
man himself; but the bargeman in person was not there.
Mr. Darley walked to the window, and looked out at the
river. A cheerful sight, did you say, slip-shod Hebe? Is it
cheerful to look at that thick, dingy water, remembering
how many a wretched head its current has flowed over;
how many a tired frame has lain down to find in death
the rest life could not yield; how many a lost soul has
found a road to another world in that black tide, and
gone forth impenitent, from the shore of time to the ocean
of eternity; how often the golden hair has come up in the
fisherman's net ; and how many a Mary, less happy, since
less innocent than the heroine of Mr. Kingsley's melodious
song, has gone out, never, never to return ' Mr. Darley
perhaps thinks this, for he turns his back to the window,
calls out to the barmaid to come and light a fire, and
proceeds to fill man's great consoler, his pipe.
I very much wonder, gentle readers of the fair sex, that
you have never contrived somehow or other to pick a
quarrel with the manes of good, cloak-spoiling, Guinea-
finding, chivalrous, mutineer-encountering, long-suffering,
maid-of-honour-adoring Walter Raleighthe importer of
the greatest rival woman ever had in the affections of man,
the tenth Muse, the fourth Grace, the uncanonised saint,
Tobacco. You are angry with poor Tom, whom you hen-
peck so cruelly, Mrs. Jones, because he came home last
night from that little business-dinner at Greenwich slightly
the worse for the salmon and the cucumbernot the iced
punch!0, no! he scarcely touched that You are angry
with your better half, and you wish to give him, as you ele-
gantly put it, a bit of your mind. My good soul, what does
Tom care for youbehind his pipe? Do you think he is
listening to you, or thinking of you, as he sits lazily watch-
ing with dreamy eyes the blue wreaths of smoke curling
upwards from that honest meerschaum bowl? He is think-
ing of the girl he knew fourteen years ago, before ever he
## p. 390 (#406) ############################################
390 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
fell on his knees in the back parlour, and ricked his ancle
in proposing to you; he is thinking of a pic-nic in Epping
Forest, where he first met her; when coats were worn
short-waisted, and Plancus was consul; when there was
scaffolding at Charing Cross, and stage-coaches between
London and Brighton; when the wandering minstrel was
to be found at Beulah Spa, and there was no Mr. Robson at
the Olympic. He is looking full in your face, poor Tom :
and attending to every word you sayas you think! Ah !
my dear madam, believe me, he does not see one feature
of your face, or hear one word of your peroration. He sees .
her; he sees her standing at the end of a green arcade, with
the sunlight flickering between the restless leaves upon her
bright brown curls, and making arabesques of light and
shade on her innocent white dress; he sees the little coquet-
tish glance she flings back at him, as he stands in an atti-
tude he knows now was, if any thing, spooney, all amongst
the dbris of the banquetlobster-salads, veal-and-ham
pies, empty champagne-bottles, strawberry-stalks, parasols,
and bonnets and shawls. He hears the singing of the
Essex birds, the rustling of the forest-leaves, her ringing
laugh, the wheels of a carriage, the tinkling of a sheep-bell,
the roar of a blacksmith's forge, and the fall of waters in
the distance. All those sweet, rustic sounds, which make a
music very different to the angry tones of your voice, are in
his ears; and you, madamyou, for any impression you can
make on him, might just as well be on the culminating point
of Teneriffe, and would find quite as attentive a listener in
the waste of ocean you might behold from that eminence
And who is the fairy that works the spell? Her earthly
name is Tobacco, alias Bird's-eye, alias Latakia, alias
Cavendish; and the magician who raised her first in the
British dominions was Walter Raleigh. Are you not glad
now, gentle reader, that the sailors mutinied, that the dear
son was killed in that far land, and that the mean-spirited
Stuart rewarded the noblest and wisest of his age with a
life in a dungeon and the death of a traitor?
## p. 391 (#407) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 391
I don't know whether Augustus Darley thought all this
as he sat over the struggling smoke and damp in the par-
lour of the "Bargeman's Delight," which smoke and damp
the defiant barmaid told him would soon develop into a
good fire. Gus was not a married man; and, again, he
and Mr. Peters had very particular business on their hands,
and had very little time for sentimental or philosophical
reflections.
The landlord of "The Delight" appeared presently, with
what, he assured his guests, was such a bottle of port as
they wouldn't often meet with. There was a degree of
obscurity in this commendation which savoured of the in-
spired communications of the priestess of the oracle. acida
might conquer the Romans, or the Romans might annihi-
late AEacida; the bottle of port might be unapproachable
by its excellence, or so utterly execrable in quality as to be
beyond the power of wine-merchant to imitate, and either
way the landlord not forsworn. Gus looked at the bright
side of the question, and requested his host to draw the
cork and bring another glass"that is," he said, "if you
can spare half an hour or so for a friendly chat."
"0, as for that," said the landlord, "I can spare time
enough, it isn't the business as'll keep me movin'; it's never
brisk except on wet afternoons, when they comes in with
their dirty boots, and makes more mess than they drinks
beer. A "found drowned' or a inquest enlivens us up now
and then; but Lord, there's nothing doing nowadays, and
even inquests and drownin' seems a-goin' out."
The landlord was essentially a melancholy and blighted
creature; and he seated himself at his own table, wiped
away yesterday's beer with his own coat-sleeve, and pre-
pared himself to drink his own port, with a gloomy resig-
nation sublime enough to have taken a whole band of
conspirators to the scaffold in a most creditable manner.
"My friend," said Mr. Darley, introducing Mr. Peters
by a wave of his hand, "is a foreigner, and hasn't got hold
of our language yet; he finds it slippery, and hard to catch,
## p. 392 (#408) ############################################
392 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
on account of the construction of it, so you must excuse his
not being lively." -
The landlord nodded, and remarked in a cheering
manner, that he didn't see what there was for the liveliest
cove goin' to be lively about nowadays.
After a good deal of desultory conversation, and a de-
scription of several very interesting inquests, Gus asked
the landlord whether he remembered an affair that hap-
pened about eight or nine years ago, or thereaboutsa girl
found drowned in the fall of the year.
"There's always bein' girls found drowned," said the
landlord moodily; "it's my belief they likes it, especially
when they've long hair. They takes off their bonnets, and
they lets down their back hairs, and they puts a note in
their pockets, wrote large, to say as they hopes as how
he'll be sorry, and so on. I can't remember no girl in par-
ticular, eight years ago, at the back end of the year. I can
call to mind a many promiscuous like, off and on, but not
to say this was Jane, or that was Sarah."
"Do you remember a quarrel, then, between a man and
a girl in this very room, and the man having his head cut
by a sovereign she threw at him ?"
"We never have no quarrels in this room," replied the
landlord with dignity. "The bargemen sometimes have a
few words, and tramples upon each other with their hob-
nailed boots, and their iron heels and toes will dance again
when their temper's up; but I don't allow no quarrels here.
And yet," he added, after a few moments' reflection, "there
was a sort of a row, I remember, a many years ago, between
a girl as drowned herself that night down below, and a
young gent, in this 'ere room; he a-sittin' just as you may
be a-sittin' now, and she a-standin' over by that window,
and throwin' four sovereigns at him spiteful, one of them
a-catchin' him just over the eyebrow, and cuttin' of him
to the boneand he a-pickin' 'em up when his head was
bound, and walkin' off with 'em as if nothin had hap-
pened."
## p. 393 (#409) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 393
"Yes; but do you happen to remember," said Gus,
"that he only found three out of the four sovereigns; and
that he was obliged to give up looking for the last, and go
away without it?"
The landlord of "The Delight" suddenly lapsed into
most profound meditation; he rubbed his chin, making a
rasping noise as he did so, as if going cautiously over a
French roll, first with one hand and then with the other;
he looked with an earnest gaze into the glass of puce-
coloured liquid before him, took a sip of that liquid,
Smacked his lips after the manner of a connoisseur, and
then said that he couldn't at the present moment call to
mind the last circumstance alluded to.
"Shall I tell you," said Gus, "my motive in asking this
question?"
The landlord said he might as well mention it as not.
"Then I will. I want that sovereign. I've a particular
reason, which I don't want to stop to explain just now, for
wanting that very coin of all others, and I don't mind
giving a five-pound note to the man that'll put that twenty
shillings worth of gold into my hand."
"You don't, don't you?" said the landlord, repeating
the operations described above, and looking very hard at
Gus all the time: after which he sat staring silently from
Gus to Peters, and from Peters to the puce-coloured liquid,
for some minutes; at last he said"It ain't a trap ?"
"There's the note," replied Mr. Darley; "look at it, and
see if it's a good one. I'll lay it on this table, and when
you lay down that sovereignthat one, mind, and no other
it's yours."
"You think I've got it, then ?" said the landlord in-
terrogatively.
"I know you've got it," said Gus, "unless you've spent
it."
"Why, as to that," said the landlord, "when you first
called to mind the circumstance of the girl, and the gent,
and the inquest, and all that, I've a short memory and
## p. 394 (#410) ############################################
394 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
couldn't quite recollect that there sovereign; but now I do
remember finding of that very coin a year and a half after-
wards, for the drains was bad that year, and the Board of
Health came a-chivying of us to take up our floorings
and lime-wash ourselves inside, and in taking up the floor-
ing of this room what should we come across but that very
bit of gold 7"
"And you never changed it?"
"Shall I tell you why I never changed it Sovereigns
ain't so plentiful in these parts that I should keep this one
to look atwhat do you say to it's not being a sovereign
at all ?"
"Not a sovereign?"
"Not; what do you say to it's being a twopenny-half-
penny foreign coin, with a lot of rum writin' about it
a coin as they has the cheek to offer me four-and-sixpence
for as old gold, and as I kep', knowin' it was worth more
for a curiosityeh?"
"Why, all I can say is," said Gus, "that you did very
wisely to keep it; and here's five or perhaps ten times its
value, and plenty of interest for your money."
"Wait a bit," muttered the landlord; and disappearing
into the bar, he rummaged in some drawer in the interior
of that sanctum, and presently re-appeared with a little
parcel screwed carefully in newspaper. "Here it is," he
said, "and jolly glad I am to get rid of the useless lumber,
as wouldn't buy a loaf of bread if one was a starving; and
thank you kindly, sir," he continued, as he pocketed the
note. "I should like to sell you half-a-dozen more of 'em
at the same price, that's all."
The coin was East Indian; worth perhaps six or seven
rupees; in size and touch not at all unlike a sovereign, but
about fifty years old.
"And now," said Gus, "my friend and I will take a
stroll; you can cook us a steak for five o'clock, and in the
mean time we can amuse ourselves about the town."
"The factories might be interesting to the foreigneering
## p. 395 (#411) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 395
gent," said the landlord, whose spirits seemed very much
improved by the possession of the five-pound note; "there's
a factory hard by as employs a power of hands, and there's
a wheel as killed a man only last week, and you could see
it, I'm sure, gents, and welcome, by only mentioning my
name. I serves the hands as lives round this way, which is
a many."
Gus thanked him for his kind offer, and said they would
make a point of availing themselves of it.
The landlord watched them as they walked along the
bank in the direction of Slopperton. "I expect," he re-
marked to himself, "the lively one's mad, and the quiet
one's his keeper. But five pounds is five pounds; and
that's neither here nor there."
Instead of seeking both amusement and instruction, as
they might have done from a careful investigation of the
factory in question, Messrs. Darley and Peters walked at
a pretty brisk rate, looking neither to the right nor to the
left, choosing the most out-of-the-way and unfrequented
streets, till they left the town of Slopperton and the waters
of the Sloshy behind them, and emerged on to the high
road, not so many hundred yards from the house in which
Mr. Montague Harding met his deaththe house of the
Black Mill.
It had never been a lively-looking place at best ; but
now, with the association of a hideous murder belonging to
itand so much a part of it, that, to all who knew the
dreadful story, death, like a black shadow, seemed to brood
above the gloomy pile of building and warn the stranger
from the infected spotit was indeed a melancholy habita-
tion. The shutters of all the Windows but one were closed;
the garden-paths were overgrown with weeds; the beds
choked up; the trees had shot forth wild erratic branches
that trailed across the path of the intruder, and entangling
themselves about him, threw him down before he was aware.
The house, however, was not uninhabitedMartha, the old
servant, who had nursed Richard Marwood when a little
## p. 396 (#412) ############################################
396 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
child, had the entire care of it; and she was further pro-
vided with a comfortable income and a youthful domestic
to attend upon her, the teaching, admonishing, scolding,
and patronising of whom made the delight of her quiet
existence.
The bell which Mr. Darley rang at the gate went clang-
ing down the walk, as if to be heard in the house were a
small part of its mission, for its sonorous power was calcu-
lated to awaken all Slopperton in case of fire, flood, or in-
vasion of the foreign foe.
Perhaps Gus thought just a littleas he stood at the
broad white gate, overgrown now with damp and moss, but
once so trim and brightof the days when Richard and he
had worn little cloth frocks, all ornamented with divers
meandering braids and shining buttons, and had swung to
and fro in the evening sunshine on that very gate.
He remembered Richard throwing him off, and hurting
his nose upon the gravel. They had made mud-pies upon
that very walk; they had set elaborate and most efficient
traps for birds, and never caught any, in those very shrub-
beries; they had made a swing under the lime-trees yonder,
and a fountain that would never work, but had to be ig-
nominiously supplied with jugs of water, and stirred with
spoons like a pudding, before the crystal shower would con-
sent to mount. A thousand recollections of that childish
time came back, and with them came the thought that the
little boy in the braided frock was now an outcast from
society, supposed to be dead, and his name branded as that
of a madman and a murderer.
Martha's attendant, a rosy-cheeked country girl, came
down the walk at the sound of the clanging bell, and stared
aghast at the apparition of two gentlemenone of them so
brilliant in costume as our friend Mr. Darley.
Gus told the youthful domestic that he had a letter for
Mrs. Jones. Martha's surname was Jones; the Mrs. was
an honorary distinction, as the holy state of matrimony was
one of the evils the worthy woman had escaped. Gus
## p. 397 (#413) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 397
brought a note from Martha's mistress, which assured him
a warm welcome: "Would the gentlemen have tea *
Martha said. "Sararanne (the youthful domestic's name
was Sarah Anne, pronounced both for euphony and con-
venience, Sararanne)Sararanne should get them anything
they would please to like directly." Poor Martha was quite
distressed, on being told that all they wanted was to look
at the room in which the murder was committed.
"Was it in the same state as at the time of Mr. Hard-
ing's death ?" asked Gus.
It had never been touched, Mrs. Jones assured them,
since that dreadful time. Such was her mistress's wish;
it had been kept clean and dry; but not a bit of furniture
had been moved.
Mrs. Jones was rheumatic, and rarely stirred from her
seat of honour by the fire-side; so Sararanne was sent with
a bunch of keys in her hand to conduct the gentlemen to
the room in question.
Now there were two things self-evident in the manner
of Sararanne; first, that she was pleased at the idea of a
possible flirtation with the brilliant Mr. Darley; secondly,
that she didn't at all like the ordeal of opening and enter-
ing the dreaded room in question; so, between her desire
to be fascinating and her uncontrollable fear of the en-
counter before her, she endured a mental struggle painful
to the beholder.
The shutters in the front of the house being, with one
exception, all closed, the hall and staircase were wrapped in
a shadowy gloom, far more alarming to the timid mind
than complete darkness. In complete darkness, for in-
stance, the eight-day clock in the corner would have been
a clock, and not an elderly ghost with a broad white face
and a brown greatcoat, as it seemed to be in the uncertain
glimmer which crept through a distant skylight covered
with ivy. Sararanne was evidently possessed with the idea
that Mr. Darley and his friend would decoy her to the very
threshold of the haunted chamber, and then fly ignomin-
## p. 398 (#414) ############################################
398 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
iously, leaving her to brave the perils of it by herself. Mr.
Darley's repeated assurances that it was all right, and that
on the whole it would be advisable to look alive, as life was
short and time was long, etcetera, had the effect at last of
inducing the damsel to ascend the stairslooking behind
her at every other stepand to conduct the visitors along a
passage, at the end of which she stopped, selected with
considerable celerity a key from the bunch, plunged it into
the keyhole of the door before her, said, "That is the room,
gentlemen, if you please," dropped a curtsey, and turned
and fled.
The door opened with a scroop, and Mr. Peters realised
at last the darling wish of his heart, and stood in the very
room in which the murder had been committed. Gus
looked round, went to the window, opened the shutters to
their widest extent, and the afternoon sunshine streamed
full into the room, lighting every crevice, revealing every
speck of dust on the moth-eaten damask bed-curtains
every crack and stain on the worm-eaten flooring.
To see Mr. Darley look round the room, and to see Mr.
Peters look round it, is to see two things as utterly wide
apart as it is possible for one look to be from another.
The young surgeon's eyes wander here and there, fix them-
selves nowhere, and rest two or three times upon the same
object, before they seem to take in the full meaning of that
object. The eyes of Mr. Peters, on the contrary, take the
circuit of the apartment with equal precision and rapidity
go from number one to number two, from number two
to number three; and having given a careful inspection to
every article of furniture in the room, fix at last in a
gaze of concentrated intensity on the tout ensemble of the
chamber.
"Can you make out any thing ?" at last asks Mr.
Darley.
Mr. Peters nods his head, and in reply to this question
drops on One knee, and falls to examining the flooring.
## p. 399 (#415) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 399
"Do you see any thing in that ?" asks Gus.
"Yes," replies Mr. Peters on his fingers; "look at
this."
Gus does look at this. This is the flooring, which is in
a very rotten and dilapidated state, by the bedside. "Well,
What then ?" he asks.
"What then ?" said Mr. Peters, on his fingers, with an
expression of considerable contempt pervading his features;
"what then ? You're a very talented young gent, Mr.
Darley, and if I wanted a prescription for the bile, which
I'm troubled with sometimes, or a tip for the Derby, which
I don't, not being a sporting man, you're the gent I'd come
to; but for all that you ain't no police-officer, or you'd
never ask that question. What then ? Do you remember
as one of the facts so hard agen Mr. Marwood was the
blood-stains on his sleeve You see these here cracks and
crevices in this here floorin'? Wery well, then; Mr. Mar-
wood slept in the room under this. He was tired, I've
heard him say, and he threw himself down on the bed in
his coat. What more natural, then, than that there should
be blood upon his sleeve, and what more easy to guess than
the way it came there ?"
"You think it dropped through, then?" asked Gus.
"I think it dropped through," said Mr. Peters, on his
fingers, with biting irony; "I know it dropped through,"
His counsel was a nice 'un, not to bring this into court,"
he added, pointing to the boards on which he knelt. "If
I'd only seen this place before the trial But I was no-
body, and it was like my precious impudence to ask to go
over the house, of course ! Now then, for number two."
"And that is?" asked Mr. Darley, who was quite in
the dark as to Mr. Peters's views; that functionary being
implicitly believed in by Richard and his friend, and al-
lowed, therefore, to be just as mysterious as he pleased.
"Number two's this here," answered the detective. "I
wants to find another or two of them rum Indian coins; for
our young friend Dead-and-Alive, as is here to-day and gone
## p. 400 (#416) ############################################
400 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
to-morrow, got that one as he gave the girl from that
cabinet, or my name's not Joseph Peters;" wherewith Mr.
Peters, who had been intrusted by Mrs. Marwood with the
keys of the cabinet in question, proceeded to open the doors
of it, and to carefully inspect that old-fashioned piece of
furniture.
There were a great many drawers, and boxes, and
pigeon-holes, and queer nooks and corners in this old cabi-
net, all smelling equally of old age, damp, and cedar-wood.
Mr. Peters pulled out drawers and opened boxes, found
secret drawers in the inside of other drawers, and boxes hid
in ambush in other boxes, all with so little result, beyond
the discovery of old papers, bundles of letters tied with
faded red tape, a simpering and neutral-tinted miniature
or two of the fashion of some fifty years gone by, when a
bright blue coat and brass buttons was the correct thing for
a dinner-party, and your man about town wore a watch in
each of his breeches-pockets, and simpered at you behind a
shirt-frill wide enough to separate him for ever from his
friends and acquaintance. Besides these things Mr. Peters
found a Johnson's dictionary, a ready-reckoner, and a pair
of boot-hooks; but as he found nothing else, Mr. Darley
grew quite tired of watching his proceedings, and suggested
that they should adjourn; for he remarked"Is it likely
that such a fellow as this North would leave any thing be-
hind him P"
"Wait a bit," said Mr. Peters with an expressive jerk
of his head. Gus shrugged his shoulders, took out his
cigar-case, lighted a cheroot, and walked to the window,
where he leaned with his elbows on the sill, puffing blue
clouds of tobacco-smoke down among the straggling creep-
ers that covered the walls and climbed round the casement,
while the detective resumed his search among the old bun-
dles of papers. He was nearly abandoning it, when, in
one of the outer drawers, he took up an object he had
passed over in his first inspection. It was a small canvas
bag, such as is used to hold money, and was apparently
## p. 401 (#417) ############################################
WHAT THEY FIND IN THE ROOM. 401
- - - ----------
empty; but while pondering on his futile search, Mr.
Peters twisted this bag in a moment of absence of mind
between his fingers, swinging it backwards and forwards in
the air. In so doing, he knocked it against the side of the
cabinet, and, to his surprise, it emitted a sharp metallic
sound. It was not empty then, although it appeared so. A
moment's examination showed the detective that he had
succeeded in obtaining the object of his search; the bag
had been used for money, and a small coin had lodged in
the seam at one corner of the bottom of it, and had stuck so
firmly as not to be easily shaken out. This, in the murder-
er's hurried ransacking of the cabinet, in his blind fury at
not finding the sum he expected to obtain, had naturally
escaped him. The piece of money was a small gold coin,
only half the value of the one found by the landlord, but of
the same date and style.
Mr. Peters gave his fingers a triumphant snap, which
aroused the attention of Mr. Darley; and, with a glance
expressive of the pride in his art which is peculiar to your
true genius, held up the little piece of dingy gold.
"By Jove!" exclaimed the admiring Gus, "you've got
it, then! Egad, Peters, I think you'd make evidence, if
there wasn't any."
"Eight years of that young man's life, sir," said the rapid
fingers, "has been sacrificed to the stupidity of them as
should have pulled him through."
IDD
## p. 402 (#418) ############################################
CHAPTER W.
MR. PETERS DECIDES ON A STRANGE STEP, AND
ARRESTS THE DEAD.
WHILE Mr. Peters, assisted by Richard's sincere friend, the
young surgeon, made the visit above described, Daredevil
Dick counted the hours in London. It was essential to the
success of his cause, Gus and Peters urged, that he should
not show himself, or in any way reveal the fact of his ex-
istence, till the real murderer was arrested. Let the truth
appear to all the world, and then time enough for Richard
to come forth, with an unbranded forehead, in the sight of
his fellow-men. But when he heard that Raymond Marolles
had given his pursuers the slip, and was off, no one knew
where, it was all that his mother, his friend Percy Cordon-
ner, Isabella Darley, and the lawyers to whom he had
intrusted his cause, could do, to prevent his starting that
instant on the track of the guilty man. It was a weary day,
this day of the failure of the arrest, for all. Neither his
mother's tender consolation, nor his solicitor's assurances
that all was not yet lost, could moderate the young man's
impatience. Neither Isabella's tearful prayers that he
would leave the issue in the hands of Heaven, nor Mr. Cor-
donner's philosophical recommendation to take it quietly
and let the "beggar" go, could keep him quiet. He felt
like a caged lion, whose ignoble bonds kept him from the
vile object of his rage. The day wore out, however, and no
tidings came of the fugitive. Mr. Cordonner insisted on
stopping with his friend till three o'clock in the morning,
and at that very late hour set out, with the intention of
going down to the Cherokeesit was a Cheerful night, and
they would most likely be still assembledto ascertain, as
## p. 403 (#419) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 403
he popularly expressed it, whether any thing had "turned
up" there. The clock of St. Martin's struck three as he
stood with Richard at the street-door in Spring Gardens,
giving friendly consolation between the puffs of his cigar to
the agitated young man.
"In the first place, my dear boy," he said, "if you can't
catch the fellow, you can't catch the fellow, that's sound
logic and a mathematical argument; then why make your-
self unhappy about it ! Why try to square the circle, only
because the circle's round, and can't be squared ? Let it
alone. If this fellow turns up, hang him ! I should glory
in seeing him hung, for he's an out-and-out scoundrel, and
I should make a point of witnessing the performance, if the
officials would do the thing at a reasonable hour, and not
execute him in the middle of the night and swindle the
respectable public. If he doesn't turn up, why, let the
matter rest, marry that little girl in there, Darley's pretty
sisterwho seems, by the bye, to be absurdly fond of you
and let the question rest. That's my philosophy."
The young man turned away with an impatient sigh;
then laying his hand on Percy's shoulder, he said, "My
dear old fellow, if every body in the world were like you,
Napoleon would have died a Corsican lawyer, or a lieuten-
ant in the French army. Robespierre would have lived a
petty barrister, with a penchant for getting up in the night
to eat jam tarts and a mania for writing bad poetry. The
third state would have gone home quietly to its farm-yards
and its merhants offices; there would have been no Oath
of the Tenis Court, and no Battle of Waterloo."
"And a very good thing too," said his philosophical
friend; "nobody would have been a loser but Astley's-
only think of that. If there had been no Napoleon, what
a loss for image boys, Gomersal the Great, and Astley's.
Forgive me, Dick, for laughing at you. I'll cut down to
the Cheerfuls, and see if any thing's up. The Smasher's
away, or he might have given us his advice; the genius of
the P.R. might have been of some service in this affair.
## p. 404 (#420) ############################################
404 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
Good-night !" He gave Richard a languidly affectionate
shake of the hand, and departed.
Now, when Mr. Cordonner said he would cut down to
the Cherokees, let it not be thought by the simple-minded
reader that the expression "cut down," from his lips, con-
veyed that degree of velocity, which, though perhaps a suffi-
ciently vague phrase in itself, it is calculated to carry to the
ordinary mind. Percy Cordonner had never been seen by
mortal man in a hurry. He had been known to be too late
for a train, and had been beheld placidly lounging at a few
paces from the departing engine, and mildly but rather re-
proachfully regarding that object. The prospects of his
entire life may have hinged on his going by that particular
train; but he would never be so false to his principles as to
make himself unpleasantly warm, or in any way disturb the
delicate organisation with which nature had gifted him.
He had been seen at the doors of the Opera-house when
Jenny Lind was going to appear in the Figlia, and while
those around him were afflicted with a temporary lunacy,
and trampling one another wildly in the mud, he had been
observed leaning against a couple offat men as in an easy-
chair, and standing high and dry upon somebody else's boots,
breathing gentlemanly and polyglot execrations upon the sur-
rounding crowd, when, in swaying to and fro, it disturbedorat-
tempted to disturb his serenity. So, when he said he would
cut down to the Cherokees, he of course meant that he
would cut after his manner, and he accordingly rolled lan-
guidly along the deserted pavements of the Strand, with
something of the insouciant and purposeless manner that
Rasselas may have had in a walk through the arcades of his
happy Valley. He reached the well-known tavern at last,
however, and stopping under the sign of the washed-out
Indian desperately tomahawking nothing, in the direction
of Covent Garden, with an arm more distinguished for mus-
cular development than correct drawing, he gave the well-
known signal of the club, and was admitted by the damsel
before described, who appeared always to devote the watches
## p. 405 (#421) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 405
of the night to the process of putting her hair in papers,
that she might wear that becoming "head" for the admir-
ation of the jug-and-bottle customers of the following day,
and shine in a frame of very long and very greasy curls that
were apt to sweep the heads off brown stouts, and dip
gently into "goes" of spirits upon the more brilliant com-
pany of the evening. This young lady, popularly known
as 'Liza, was well up in the sporting business of the house,
read the Life during church-time on Sundays, and was even
believed to have communicated with that Rhadamanthine
journal, under the signature of L., in the answers to corres-
pondents. She was understood to be engaged, or, as her
friends and admirers expressed it, to be "keeping company"
with that luminary of the P.R., the Middlesex Mawler,
whose head-quarters were at the Cherokee.
Mr. Cordonner found three Cheerfuls assembled in the
bar, in a state of intense excitement and soda-water A
telegraphic message had just arrived from the Smasher. It
was worthy, in economy of construction, of the Delphic
oracle, and had the advantage of being easy to understand;
it was as follows"Tell R. M. he's here: had no orders, so
went in with left: he won't be able to move for a day or
tWO."
Mr. Cordonner was almost surprised, and was thus very
nearly false, for once in his life, to the only art he knew.
"This will be good news in Spring Gardens," he said; "but
Peters won't be back till to-morrow night. Suppose," he
added, musing, "we were to telegraph to him at Slopperton
instanter ? I know where he hangs out there. If any body
could find a cab and take the message it would be doing
Marwood an inestimable service," added Mr. Cordonner,
passing through the bar, and lazily seating himself on a
green-and-gold Cream of the Walley cask, with his hat very
much on the back of his head, and his hands in his pock-
lets. "I'll write the message."
He scribbled upon a card. "Go across to Liverpool.
He's given us the slip, and is there," and handed it politely
## p. 406 (#422) ############################################
406 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
towards the three Cheerfuls who were leaning over the
pewter counter.
Splitters, the dramatic author, clutched the document
eagerly; to his poetic mind it suggested that best gift of
inspiration, "a situation."
"I'll take it," he said; "what a fine line it would make
in a bill! "The intercepted telegram, with a comic railway
clerk, and the villain of the piece cutting the wires!"
"Away with you, Splitters," said Percy Cordonner.
"Don't let the Strand become verdant beneath your airy
tread. Don't stop to compose a five-act drama as you go,
that's a good fellow. 'Liza, my dear girl, a pint of your
creamiest Edinborough, and let it be as mild as the disposi-
tion of your humble servant."
Three days after the above conversation, three gentlemen
were assembled at breakfast in a small room in a tavern
overlooking the quay at Liverpool. This triangular party
consisted of the Smasher, in an elegant and simple morning-
costume, consisting of tight trousers of Stuart plaid, an
orange-coloured necktie, a blue checked waistcoat, and shirt-
sleeves. The Smasher looked upon a coat as an essentially
outdoor garment, and would no more have invested himself
in it to eat his breakfast than he would have partaken of
that refreshment with his hat on, or an umbrella up. The
two other gentlemen were Mr. Darley, and his chief, Mr.
Peters, who had a little document in his pocket, signed by
a Lancashire magistrate, on which he set considerable value.
They had come across to Liverpool as directed by the tele-
graph, and had there met with the Smasher, who had re-
ceived letters for them from London with the details of
the escape, and orders to be on the look-out for Peters and
Gus. Since the arrival of these two, the trio had led a suffi-
ciently idle and apparently purposeless life. They had
engaged an apartment overlooking the quay, in the window
of which they were seated for the best part of the day, play-
ing the intellectual and exciting game of all-fours. There
did not seem much in this to forward the cause of Richard
## p. 407 (#423) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 407
Marwood. It is true that Mr. Peters was wont to vanish
from the room every now and then, in order to speak to
mysterious and grave-looking gentlemen, who commanded
respect wherever they went, and before whom the most
daring thief in Liverpool shrunk as before Mr. Calcraft
himself. He held strange conferences with them in corners
of the hostelry in which the trio had taken up their abode;
he went out with them, and hovered about the quays and
the shipping; he prowled about in the dusk of the evening,
and meeting these gentlemen also prowling in the uncertain
light, would sometimes salute them as friends and brothers,
at other times be entirely unacquainted with them, and
now and then interchange two or three hurried gestures
with them, which the close observer would have perceived
to mean a great deal. Beyond this, nothing had been done
and, in spite of all this, no tidings could be obtained of
the Count de Marolles, except that no person answering to
his description had left Liverpool either by land or water.
Still, neither Mr. Peters's spirits nor patience failed him;
and after every interview held upon the stairs or in the pas-
sage, after every excursion to the quays or the streets, he
returned as briskly as on the first day, and re-seated himself
at the little table by the window, at which his colleagues
or rather his companions, for neither Mr. Darley nor the
Smasher were of the smallest use to him-played, and took
it in turns to ruin each other from morning till night. The
real truth of the matter was, that, if anything, the detective's
so-called assistants were decidedly in his way; but Augustus
Darley, having distinguished himself in the escape from the
asylum, considered himself an amateur Widocque; and the
Smasher, from the moment of putting in his left, and uncon-
sciously advancing the cause of Richard and justice by ex-
tinguishing the Count de Marolles, had panted to write his
name, or rather make his mark, upon the scroll of fame, by
arresting that gentleman in his own proper person, and
without any extraneous aid whatever. It was rather hard
for him, then, to have to resign the prospect of such a
## p. 408 (#424) ############################################
408 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
glorious adventure to a man of Mr. Peters's inchesbut he
was of a calm and amiable disposition, and would floor his
adversary with as much good temper as he would eat his
favourite dinner; so, with a growl of resignation, he aban-
doned the reins to the steady hands so used to hold them,
and seated himself down to the consumption of innumer-
able clay pipes and glasses of bitter ale with Gus, who,
being one of the most ancient of the order of the Chero-
kees, was an especial favourite with him.
On this third morning, however, there is a decided tone
of weariness pervading the minds of both Gus and the
Smasher. Three-handed all-fours, though a delicious and
exciting game, will pall upon the inconstant mind, especially
when your third player is perpetually summoned from the
table to take part in a mysterious dialogue with a person or
persons unknown, the result of which he declines to commu-
nicate to you. The view from the bow-window of the blue
parlour in the White Lion, Liverpool, is no doubt as ani-
mated as it is beautiful; but Rasselas, we know, got tired
of some very pretty scenery, and there have been readers so
inconstant as to grow weary of Dr. Johnson's book, and to
go down peacefully to their graves unacquainted with
the climax thereof. So it is scarcely perhaps to be wondered
that the volatile Augustus thirsted for the waterbrooks of
Blackfriars; while the Smasher, feeling himself to be blush-
ing unseen, and wasting his stamina, if not his sweetness,
on the desert air, pined for the familiar shades of Bow Street
and Winegar Yard, and the home-sounds of the rumbling
and jingling of the wagons, and the unpolite language of
the drivers thereof, on market mornings in the adjacent
market. Pleasures and palaces are all very well in their
way, as the song says; but there is just one little spot on
earth which, whether it be a garret in Petticoat Lane, or a
mansion in Belgrave Square, is apt to be dearer to us than
the best of them; and the Smasher languishes for the
friendly touch of the ebony handles of the porter-engine,
and the scent of the Welsh rarebits of his youth. Perhaps
## p. 409 (#425) ############################################
MR PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 409
I express myself in a more romantic manner on this subject,
however, than I should do, for the remark of the Left-handed
one, as he pours himself out a cup of tea from the top of the
tea-pothe despises the spout of that vessel as a modern
innovation on ancient simplicityis as simple as it is ener-
getic. He merely observes that he is "jolly sick of this
lot,"this lot meaning Liverpool, the Count de Marolles,
the White Lion, three-handed all-fours, and the detective
police-force.
"There was nobody ill in Friar Street when I left," said
Gus mournfully; "but there had been a run upon Pimper-
neckel's Universal Regenerator Pills; and if that don't
make business a little brisker, nothing will."
"It's my opinion," observed the Smasher doggedly,
"that this 'ere forrin cove has give us the slip out and out ;
and the sooner we gets back to London the better. I never
was much of a hand at chasing wild geese, and"he added,
with rather a spiteful glance at the mild countenance of the
detective"I don't see neither that standin' and makin'
signs to parties unbeknown at street-corners and stair-heads
is the quickest way to catch them sort of birds; leastways
it's not the opinion held by the gents belongin' to the Ring
as I've had the honour to make acquaintance with."
"Suppose" said Mr. Peters, on his fingers.
"O !" muttered the Smasher, "blow them fingers of his.
I can't understand 'emthere !" The left-handed Hercules
knew that this was to attack the detective on his tenderest
point. "Blest if I ever knows his p's from his b's, or his
w's from his a 's, let alone his vowels, and them would puzzle
a conjuror." -
Mr. Peters glanced at the prize-fighter more in sorrow
than in anger, and taking out a greasy little pocket-book,
and a greasier little pencil, considerably the worse for hav-
ing been vehemently chewed in moments of pre-occupation,
he wrote upon a leaf of it, thus
"Suppose we catch him to-day?"
"Ah, very true," said the Smasher sulkily, after he had
--------
## p. 410 (#426) ############################################
410 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
examined the document in two or three different lights
before he came upon its full bearings; "very true indeed,
suppose we doand suppose we don't, on the other hand;
and I know which is the likeliest. Suppose, Mr. Peters,
we give up lookin' for a needle in a bundle of hay, which
after a time gets tryin' to a lively disposition, and go back
to our businesses. If you had a girl as didn't know British
from best French a-servin' of your customers," he continued
in an injured tone, "you'd be anxious to get home, and let
your forrin counts go to the devil their own ways."
"Then go," Mr. Peters wrote, in rather large letters and
no capitals.
"O, ah; yes, to be sure," replied the Smasher, who, I
regret to say, felt painfully, in his absence from domestic
pleasures, the want of somebody to quarrel with; "no, I
thank you! Go the very day as you're going to catch him!
Not if I'm in any manner aware of the circumstance. I'm
obliged to you," he added, with satirical emphasis.
"Come, I say, old boy," interposed Gus, who had been
quietly doing execution upon a plate of devilled kidneys
during this little friendly altercation"Come, I say, no
Snarling, Smasher; Peters isn't going to contest the belt
With you, you know."
"You needn't be a-diggin' at me because I ain't cham-
pion," said, the ornament of the P.R., who was inclined to
find a malicious meaning in every word uttered that par-
ticular morning; "you needn't come any of your sneers
because I ain't got the belt any longer."
The Smasher had been Champion of England in his
youth, but had retired upon his laurels for many years, and
only occasionally emerged from private life in a public-house
to take a round or two with some old opponent.
"I tell you what it is, Smasherit's my opinion the
air of Liverpool don't suit your constitution," said Gus.
"We've promised to stand by Peters here, and to go by
his word in every thing, for the sake of the man we want
to serve; and, however trying it may be to our patience
## p. 411 (#427) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 411.
doing nothing, which perhaps is about as much as we can
do and make no mistakes, the first that gets tired and de-
serts the ship will be no friend to Richard Marwood."
"I'm a bad lot, Mr. Darley, and that's the truth," said
the mollified Smasher; "but the fact is, I'm used to a turn
with the gloves every morning before breakfast with the
barman, and when I don't get it, I daresay I ain't the
pleasantest company goin'. I should think they've got
gloves in the house; would you mind taking off your coat
and having a turnfriendly like?"
Gus assured the Smasher that nothing would please him
better than that trifling diversion; and in five minutes they
had pushed Mr. Peters and the breakfast-table into a corner,
and were hard at it, Mr. Darley's knowledge of the art being
all required to keep the slightest pace with the scientific
movements of the agile though elderly Smasher.
Mr. Peters didn't stay at the breakfast-table long, but
after having drunk a huge breakfast cupful of very opaque
and substantial-looking coffee at a draught, just as if it
had been half a pint of beer, he slid quietly out of the
TOOIn.
"It's my opinion," said the Smasher, as he stood, or
rather lounged, upon his guard, and warded off the most
elaborate combinations of Mr. Darley's fists with as much
ease as he would have brushed aside so many flies"It's
my opinion that chap ain't up to his business."
"Isn't he?" replied Gus, as he threw down the gloves
in despair, after having been half an hour in a violent per-
spiration, without having succeeded in so much as rumpling
the Smasher's hair. "Isn't he?" he said, choosing the in-
terrogative as the most expressive form of speech. "That
man's got head enough to be prime minister, and carry the
House along with every twist of his fingers."
"He must make his p's and b's a little plainer, afore
he'll get a bill through the Commons though," muttered
the left-handed one, who couldn't quite get over his feelings
of injury against the detective for the utter darkness in
## p. 412 (#428) ############################################
412 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
which he had been kept for the last three days as to the
other's plans.
The Smasher and Mr. Darley passed the morning in
that remarkably intellectual and praiseworthy manner pecu-
liar to gentlemen who, being thrown out of their usual oc-
cupation, are cast upon their own resources for amusement
and employment. There was the daily paper to be looked
at, to begin with ; but after Gus had glanced at the leading
article, a rifacimento of the Times leader of the day before,
garnished with some local allusions, and highly spiced with
satirical remarks apropos to our spirited contemporary the
Liverpool Aristides; after the Smasher had looked at the
racing fixtures for the coming week, and made rude observa-
tions on the editing of a journal which failed to describe
the coming off of the event between Silver-polled Robert
and the Chester Crusher;after, I say, the two gentlemen
had each devoured his favourite page, the paper was an
utter failure in the matter of excitement, and the window
was the next-best thing. Now to the peculiarly-constituted
mind of the left-handed one, looking out of a window was
in itself very slow work; and unless he was allowed to eject
missiles of a trifling but annoying charactersuch as hot
ashes out of his pipe, the last drop of his pint of beer, the
dirty water out of the saucers belonging to the flower-pots
on the window-sill, or lighted lucifer-matchesinto the
eyes of the unoffending passers-by, he didn't, to use his
own forcible remark, "seem to see the fun of it." Harm-
less old gentlemen with umbrellas, mild elderly ladies with
hand-baskets and brass-handled green-silk parasols, and
young ladies of from ten to twelve going to school in clean
frocks, and on particularly good terms with themselves, the
Smasher looked upon as his peculiar prey. To put his head
out of the window and make tender and polite inquiries
about their maternal parents; to go further still, and ex-
press an earnest wish to be informed of those parents' do-
mestic arrangements, and whether they had been induced
to part with a piece of machinery of some importance in
## p. 413 (#429) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 413
the getting up of linen; to insinuate alarming suggestions
of mad bulls in the next street, or a tiger just broke loose
from the Zoological Gardens; to terrify the youthful scholar
by asking him derisively whether he wouldn't "catch it
when he got to school, O no, not at all, neither l' and to
draw his head away suddenly, and altogether disappear
from public view;to act, in fact, after the manner of an
accomplished clown in a Christmas pantomime, was the
weak delight of his manly mind; and when prevented by
Mr. Darley's friendly remonstrance from doing this, the
Smasher abandoned the window altogether, and concen-
trated all the powers of his intellect on the pursuit of a
lively young blue-bottle, which eluded his bandanna at
every turn, and bumped itself violently against the win-
dow-panes at the very moment its pursuer was looking for
it up the chimney.
Time and the hour made very long work of this par-
ticular morning, and several glasses of bitter had been
called for, and numerous games of cribbage had been played
by the two companions, when Mr. Darley, looking at his
watch for not more than the twenty-second time in the last
hour, announced with some satisfaction that it was half-
past two o'clock, and that it was consequently very near
dinner-time.
"Peters is a long time gone," suggested the Smasher.
"Takemy word for it," said Gus, "something has turned
up; he has laid his hand upon De Marolles at last."
"I don't think it," replied his ally, obstinately refusing
to believe in Mr. Peters's extra share of the divine afflatus;
"and if he did come across him, how's he to detain him, I'd
like to know? He couldn't go in with his left," he mut-
tered derisively, "and split his head open upon the pave-
ment to keep him quiet for a day or two."
At this very moment there came a tap at the door, and
a youthful person in corduroy and a perspiration entered
the room, with a very small and very dirty piece of paper
twisted up into a bad imitation of a three-cornered note.
## p. 414 (#430) ############################################
414 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
"Please, you was to give me sixpence if I run all the
way," remarked the youthful Mercury, "an I 'ave; look
at my forehead;" and, in proof of his fidelity, the messenger
pointed to the water-drops which chased each other down
his open brow and ran a dead heat to the end of his nose.
The scrawl ran thus"The Washington sails at three
for New York; be on the quay and see the passengers
embark; don't notice me unless I notice you. Yours
truly  "
"It was just give me by a gent in a hurry wot was
dumb, and wrote upon a piece of paper to tell me to run
my legs off so as you should have it quickthank you
kindly, sir, and good afternoon," said the messenger, all
in one breath, as he bowed his gratitude for the shilling
Gus tossed him as he dismissed him.
"I said so," cried the young surgeon; as the Smasher
applied himself to the note with quite as much, nay perhaps
more earnestness and solemnity than Chevalier Bunsen
might have assumed when he deciphered a half-erased and
illegible inscription, in a language which for some two
thousand years has been unknown to mortal man. "I said
so; Peters is on the scent, and this man will be taken yet.
Put on your hat, Smasher, and let's lose no time; it only
wants a quarter to three, and I wouldn't be out of this for
a great deal."
"I shouldn't much relish being out of the fun either,"
replied his companion; "and if it comes to blows, perhaps
it's just as well I haven't had my dinner."
There were a good many people going by the Washing-
ton, and the deck of the small steamer which was to convey
them on board the great ship, where she lay in graceful
majesty down the noble Mersey river, was crowded with
every species of luggage it was possible to imagine as ap-
pertaining to the widest varieties of the genus traveller.
There was the maiden lady, with a small income from the
three-per-cents, and a determination of blood to the tip of a
sharp nose, going out to join a married brother in New
## p. 415 (#431) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 415
York, and evidently intent upon importing a gigantic brass
cage, containing a parrot in the last stage of bald-headed-
nesspolitely called moulting; and a limp and wandering-
minded umbrellaweak in the ribs, and further afflicted
with a painfully sharp ferule, which always appeared where
it was not expected, and evidently hankered wildly after the
bystanders' back-bonesas favourable specimens of the
progress of the fine arts in the mother country. There
were several of those brilliant birds-of-passage popularly
known as "travellers," whose heavy luggage consisted of a
carpet-bag and walking-stick, and whose light ditto was
composed of a pocket-book, and a silver pencil-case of
protean construction, which was sometimes a pen, now
and then a penknife, and very often a toothpick. These
gentlemen came down to the steamer at the last moment,
inspiring the minds of nervous passengers with super-
natural and convulsive cheerfulness by the light and airy
way in which they bade adieu to the comrades who had
just looked round to see them start, and who made ap-
pointments with them for Christmas supper-parties, and
booked bets with them for next year's Newmarket first
springas if such things as shipwreck, peril by sea, heeling
over Royal Georges, lost Presidents, with brilliant Irish
comedians setting forth on their return to the land in
which they had been so beloved and admired, never, nevel
to reach the shore, were things that could not be. There
were rosy-cheeked country lasses, going over to earn fabu-
lous wages and marry impossibly rich husbands. There
were the old people, who essayed this long journey on an
element which they knew only by sight, in answer to the
kind son's noble letter, inviting them to come and share
the pleasant home his sturdy arm had won far away in the
fertile West. There were stout Irish labourers armed with
pick-axe and spade, as with the best sword wherewith to
open the great oyster of the world in these latter degene-
rate days. There was the distinguished American family,
with ever so many handsomely dressed, spoiled, affectionate
## p. 416 (#432) ############################################
416 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
children clustering round papa and mamma, and having
their own way, after the manner of Transatlantic youth.
There were, in short, all the people who usually assemble
when a good ship sets sail for the land of dear brother
Jonathan; but the Count de Marolles there was not.
No, decidedly, no Count de Marolles ! There was a
very quiet-looking Irish labourer, keeping quite aloof from
the rest of his kind, who were sufficiently noisy and more
than sufficiently forcible in the idiomatic portions of their
conversation. There was this very quiet Irishman, leaning
on his spade and pick-axe, and evidently bent on not going
on board till the very last moment; and there was an
elderly gentleman in a black coat, who looked rather like a
methodist parson, and who held a very small carpet-bag in
his hand; but there was no Count de Marolles; and what's
more, there was no Mr. Peters.
This latter circumstance made Augustus Darley very
uneasy; but I regret to say that the Smasher wore, if any
thing, a look of triumph as the hands of the clocks about
the quay pointed to three o'clock, and no Peters ap-
peared.
"I knowed," he said, with effusion"I knowed that
cove wasn't up to his business. I wouldn't mind bettin'
the good-will of my little crib in London agen sixpenn'orth
of coppers that he's a-standin' at this very individual
moment of time at a street-corner a mile or so off, makin'
signs to one of the Liverpool police-officers."
The gentleman in the black coat standing before them
turned round on hearing this remark, and smiledsmiled
very, very faintly; but he certainly did smile. The
Smasher's blood, which was something like that of Lan-
caster, and distinguished for its tendency to mount, was up
in a moment. -
"I hope you find my conversation amusin', old gent,"
he said, with considerable asperity; "I came down here on
purpose to put you in spirits, on account of bein' grieved to
see you always a-lookin' as if you'd just come home from
## p. 417 (#433) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 417
your own funeral, and the undertaker was a-dunnin' you
for the burial-fees."
Gus trod heavily on his companion's foot as a friendly
hint to him not to get up a demonstration; and addressing
the gentleman, who appeared in no hurry to resent the
Smasher's contemptuous animadversions, asked him when
he thought the boat would start.
"Not for five or ten minutes, I daresay," he answered.
"Look there; is that a coffin they're bringing this way?
I'm rather short-sighted; be good enough to tell me if it is
a coffin P"
The Smasher, who had the glance of an eagle, replied
that it decidedly was a coffin; adding, with a growl, that he
knowed somebody as might be in it, and no harm done to
Society.
The elderly gentleman took not the slightest notice of
this gratuitous piece of information on the part of the left-
handed gladiator; but suddenly busied himself with his
fingers in the neighbourhood of his limp white cravat.
"Why, I'm blest," cried the Smasher, "if the old baby
ain't at Peters's game, a-talkin' to nobody upon his fingers."
Nay, most distinguished professor of the noble art of
self-defence, is not that assertion a little premature ?
Talking on his fingers, certainlylooking at nobody, cer-
tainly; but for all that, talking to somebody, and to a
somebody who is looking at him; for, from the other side
of the little crowd, the Irish labourer fixes his eyes intently
on every movement of the grave elderly gentleman's fingers,
as they run through four or five rapid words, and Gus
Darley perceiving this look, starts in amazement, for the
eyes of the Irish labourer are the eyes of Mr. Peters of the
detective police.
But neither the Smasher nor Gus are to notice Mr.
Peters, unless Mr. Peters notices them. It is so expressed
in the note, which Mr. Darley has at that very moment in
his waistcoat pocket. So Gus gives his companion a nudge,
and directs his attention to the smock-frock and the
EE
## p. 418 (#434) ############################################
418 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
slouched hat in which the detective has hidden himself,
with a hurried injunction to him to keep quiet. We are
human at the best; ay, even when we are celebrated for our
genius in the muscular science, and our well-known blow of
the left-handed postman's knock, or double auctioneer; and,
if the sober truth must be told, the Smasher was sorry to
recognise Mr. Peters in that borrowed garb. He didn't
want the dumb detective to arrest the Count de Marolles
he had never read Coriolanus, neither had he seen the
Roman, Mr. William Macready, in that character; but, for
all that, the Smasher wanted to go home to the dear pur-
lieus of Drury Lane, and say to his astonished admirers,
"Alone, I did it!" And lo, here were Mr. Peters and the
elderly stranger both entered for the same event.
While gloomy and vengeful thoughts, therefore, troubled
the manly breast of the Winegar-Yard gladiator, four men
approached, bearing on their shoulders the coffin which had
so aroused the stranger's attention. They bore it on board
the steamer, and a few moments after, a gentlemanly and
cheerful-looking man, of about forty, stepped across the
narrow platform, and occupied himself with a crowd of
packages, which stood in a heap, apart from the rest of the
luggage on the crowded deck.
Again the elderly stranger's fingers were busy in the
region of his cravat. The superficial observer would have
merely thought him very fidgety about the limp bit of
muslin; but this time the fingers of Mr. Peters telegraphed
an anSWel".
"Gentlemen," said the stranger, addressing Mr. Darley
and the Smasher in the most matter-of-fact manner, "you
will be good enough to go on board that steamer with me?
I am working with Mr. Peters in this affair. Remember, I
am going to America by that vessel yonder, and you are my
friends come with me to see me off. Now, gentlemen."
He has no time to say any more, for the bell rings; and
the last stragglers, the people who will enjoy the latest
available moment on terra firma, scramble on board;
## p. 419 (#435) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 419
amongst them the Smasher, Gus, and the stranger, who
stick very closely together.
The coffin has been placed in the centre of the vessel,
on the top of a pile of chests, and its gloomy black outline
is sharply defined against the clear blue autumn sky. Now
there is a general feeling amongst the passengers that the
presence of this coffin is a peculiar injury to them.
It is unpleasant certainly. From the very moment of
its appearance amongst them a change has come over the
spirits of every one of the travellers. They try to keep
away from it, but they try in vain; there is a dismal fasci-
nation in the defined and ghastly shape, which all the
rough wrappers that can be thrown over it will not conceal.
They find their eyes wandering to it, in preference even to
watching receding Liverpool, whose steeples and tall chim-
neys are dipping down and down into the blue water, and
will soon disappear altogether. They are interested in it in
spite of themselves; they ask questions of one another;
they ask questions of the engineer, and of the steward, and
of the captain of the steamer, but can elicit nothing
except that lying in that coffin, so close to them, and yet so
very, very far away from them, there is an American gentle-
man of some distinction, who, having died suddenly in
England, is being carried back to New York, to be buried
amongst his friends in that city. The aggrieved pas-
sengers for the Washington think it very hard upon them
that the American gentleman of distinctionthey re-
member that he is a gentleman of distinction, and modify
their tone accordinglycould not have been buried in
England like a reasonable being. The British dominions
were not good enough for him, they supposed. Other pas-
sengers, pushing the question still further, ask whether he
couldn't have been taken home by some other vessel; nay,
whether indeed he ought not to have had a ship all to him-
self, instead of harrowing the feelings and preying upon the
spirits of first-class passengers. They look almost spite-
fully, as they make these remarks, towards the shrouded
## p. 420 (#436) ############################################
420 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
coffin; which, to their great aggravation, is not entirely
shrouded by the wrappers about it. One corner has been
left uncovered, revealing the stout rough oak; for it is only
a temporary coffin, and the gentleman of distinction will be
put into something better befitting his rank when he
arrives at his destination. It is to be observed, and it
is observed by many, that the cheerful passenger, in
fashionable mourning, and with the last greatcoat which
the inspiration of Saville Row has given to the Lon-
don world thrown over his arm, hovers in a protect-
ing manner about the coffin, and evinces a fidelity which,
but for his perfectly cheerful countenance and self-pos-
sessed manner, would be really touching, towards the late
American gentleman of distinction, whom he has for his
only travelling companion.
Now, though a great many questions had been asked on
all sides, one question especially, namely, whether itpeople
always dropped their voices when they pronounced that
small pronounwhether it would not be put in the hold as
soon as they got on board the Washington, the answer to
which question was an affirmative, and gave considerable
satisfactionexcept indeed to one moody old gentleman,
who asked, "How about getting any little thing one hap-
pened to want on the journey out of the hold?" and was
very properly snubbed for the suggestion, and told that
passengers had no business to want things out of the hold
on the voyage; and furthermore insulted by the liveliest of
the lively travellers, who suggested, in an audible aside,
that perhaps the old gentleman had only one clean shirt,
and had put that at the bottom of his travelling chest,-
now, though, I say, so many questions had been asked, no
one had as yet presumed to address the cheerful-looking
gentleman convoying the American of distinction home to
his friends, though this very gentleman might, after all, be
naturally supposed to know more than any body else about
the subject. He was smoking a cigar, and though he kept
very close to the coffin, he was about the only person on
## p. 421 (#437) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 421
board who did not look at it, but kept his gaze fixed on
the fading town of Liverpool. The Smasher, Gus, and Mr.
Peters's unknown ally, stood very close to this gentleman,
while the detective himself leant over the side of the vessel,
near to, though a little apart from, the Irish labourers and
rosy-cheeked country girls, who, as steerage passengers,
very properly herded together, and did not attempt to con-
taminate by their presence the minds or the garments of
those superior beings who were to occupy state-cabins six
feet long by three feet wide, and to have green peas and
new milk from the cow all the way out. Presently, the
elderly gentleman of rather shabby-genteel but clerical
appearance, who had so briefly introduced himself to Gus
and the Smasher, made some remarks about the town of
Liverpool to the cheerful friend of the late distinguished
American.
The cheerful friend took his cigar out of his mouth,
smiled, and said, "Yes; it's a thriving town, a small Lon-
don, reallythe metropolis in miniature." -
"You know Liverpool very well?" asked the Smasher's
companion.
"No, not very well; in point of fact, I know very little
of England at all. My visit has been a brief one."
He is evidently an American from this remark, though
there is very little of brother Jonathan in his manner.
"Your visit has been a brief one? Indeed. And it has
had a very melancholy termination, I regret to perceive,"
said the persevering stranger, on whose every word the
Smasher and Mr. Darley hung respectfully.
"A very melancholy termination," replied the gentle-
man, with the sweetest smile. "My poor friend had hoped
to return to the bosom of his family, and delight them many
an evening round the cheerful hearth by the recital of his
adventures in, and impressions of, the mother country.
You cannot imagine," he continued, speaking very slowly,
and as he spoke allowing his eyes to wander from the
stranger to the Smasher, and from the Smasher to Gus, with
## p. 422 (#438) ############################################
422 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
a glance which, if any thing, had the slightest shade of
anxiety in it; "you cannot imagine the interest we on the
other side of the Atlantic take in every thing that occurs in
the mother country. We may be great over there we
may be rich over therewe may be universally beloved and
respected over there,but I doubtI really, after all,
doubt," he said sentimentally, "whether we are truly happy.
We sigh for the wings of a dove, or to speak practically, for
our travelling expenses, that we may come over here and be
at rest."
"And yet, I conclude it was the especial wish of your
late friend to be buried over there?" asked the stranger.
"It washis dying wish."
"And the melancholy duty of complying with that wish
devolved on you?" said the stranger, with a degree of
puerile curiosity and frivolous interest in an affair en-
tirely irrelevant to the matter in hand which bewildered
Gus, and at which the Smasher palpably turned up his
nose; muttering to himself at the same time that the
forrin swell would have time to get to America while they
was a-palaverin' and a-jawin' this 'ere humbug.
"Yes, it devolved on me," replied the cheerful gentle-
man, offering his cigar-case to the three friends, who de-
clined the proffered weeds. "We were connections; his
mother's half-sister married my second cousinnot very
nearly connected certainly, but extremely attached to each
other. It will be a melancholy satisfaction to his poor
widow to see his ashes entombed upon his native shore, and
the thought of that repays me threefold for any thing I
may suffer."
He looked altogether far too airy and charming a crea-
ture to suffer very much; but the stranger bowed gravely,
and Gus, looking towards the prow of the vessel, perceived
the earnest eyes of Mr. Peters attentively fixed on the little
group.
As to the Smasher, he was so utterly disgusted with
the stranger's manner of doing business, that he abandoned
---
## p. 423 (#439) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 423
himself to his own thoughts, and hummed a tune- the
tune appertaining to what is generally called a comic song,
being the last passages in the life of a humble and unfortu-
nate member of the working classes as related by himself.
While talking to the cheerful gentleman on this very
melancholy subject, the stranger from Liverpool happened
to get quite close to the coffin, and, with an admirable
freedom from prejudice which astonished the other passen-
gers standing near, rested his hand carelessly on the stout
oaken lid, just at that corner where the canvas left it ex
posed. It was a most speaking proof of the almost over-
strained feeling of devotion possessed by the cheerful
gentleman towards his late friend that this trifling
action seemed to disturb him; his eyes wandered un-
easily towards the stranger's black-gloved hand, and at
last, when, in absence of mind, the stranger actually drew
the heavy covering completely over this corner of the coffin,
his uneasiness reached a climax, and drawing the dingy
drapery hurriedly back, he rearranged it in its old fashion.
"Don't you wish the coffin to be entirely covered?"
asked the stranger quietly.
"YesNo; that is," said the cheerful gentleman, with
some embarrassment in his tone, "that isIyou see there
is something of profanity in a stranger's hand approaching
the remains of those we love."
"Suppose, then," said his interlocutor, "we take a turn
about the deck? This neighbourhood must be very painful
to you."
"On the contrary," replied the cheerful gentleman,
"you will think me, I daresay, a very singular person, but
I prefer remaining by him to the last. The coffin will be
put in the hold as soon as we get on board the Washing-
ton; then my duty will have been accomplished and my
mind will be at rest. You go to New York with us?"
he asked.
"I shall have that pleasure," replied the stranger.
"And your friendyour sporting friend?" asked the
## p. 424 (#440) ############################################
424 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
gentleman, with a rather supercilious glance at the many-co-
loured raiment and mottled-soap complexion of the Smasher,
who was still singing sotto voce the above-mentioned melody,
with his arms folded on the rail of the bench on which he
was seated, and his chin resting moodily on his coat-
sleeves.
"No," replied the stranger; "my friends, I regret to
say, leave me as soon as we get on board."
In a few minutes more they reached the side of the brave
ship, which, from the Liverpool quay, had looked a white-
winged speck not a bit too big for Queen Mab ; but which
was, 0, such a Leviathan of a vessel when you stood just
under her, and had to go up her side by means of a ladder
which ladder seemed to be subject to shivering fits, and
struck terror into the nervous lady and the bald-headed
parrot.
All the passengers, except the cheerful gentleman with
the coffin and the strangerwith Gus and the Smasher and
Mr. Peters loitering in the backgroundseemed bent on
getting up each before the other, and considerably increased
the confusion by evincing this wish in a candid but not
conciliating manner, showing a degree of ill-feeling which
was much increased by the passengers that had not got on
board looking daggers at the passengers that had got on
board, and seemed settled quite comfortably high and dry
upon the stately deck. At last, however, every one but the
aforesaid group had ascended the ladder. Some stout sailors
were preparing great ropes wherewith to haul up the coffin,
and the cheerful gentleman was busily directing them, when
the captain of the steamer said to the stranger from Liver-
pool, as he loitered at the bottom of the ladder, with Mr.
Peters at his elbow,"Now then, sir, if you're for the
Washington, quick's the word. We're off as soon as ever
they've got that job over," pointing to the coffin. The
stranger from Liverpool, instead of complying with this very
natural request, whispered a few words into the ear of the
captain, who looked very grave on hearing them, and then,
## p. 425 (#441) ############################################
MR. PETERS ARRESTS THE DEAD. 425
advancing to the cheerful gentleman, who was very anxious
and very uneasy about the manner in which the coffin was
to be hauled up the side of the vessel, he laid a heavy hand
upon his shoulder, and said,"I want the lid of that coffin
taken off before those men haul it up."
Such a change came over the face of the cheerful gentle-
man as only comes over the face of a man who knows that he
is playing a desperate game, and knows as surely that he has
lost it. "My good sir," he said, "you're mad. Not for the
Queen of England would I see that coffin-lid unscrewed."
"I don't think it will give us so much trouble as that,"
said the other quietly. "I very much doubt it's being
screwed down at all. You were greatly alarmed just now,
lest the person within should be smothered. You were
terribly frightened when I drew the heavy canvas over
those incisions in the oak," he added, pointing to the lid, in
the corner of which two or three cracks were apparent to
the close observer.
"Good Heavens ! the man is mad!" cried the gentleman,
whose manner had entirely lost its airiness. "The man is
evidently a maniac I This is too dreadful : Is the sanctity
of death to be profaned in this manner ? Are we to cross
the Atlantic in the company of a madman?"
"You are not to cross the Atlantic at all just yet," said
the Liverpool stranger. "The man is not mad, I assure
you, but he is one of the principal members of the Liverpool
detective police-force, and is empowered to arrest a person
who is supposed to be on board this boat. There is only
one place in which that person can be concealed. Here is
my warrant to arrest Jabez North, alias Raymond Marolles,
alias the Count de Marolles. I know as certainly as that I
myself stand here that he lies hidden in that coffin, and I
desire that the lid may be removed. If I am mistaken, it
can be immediately replaced, and I shall be ready to render
you my most fervent apologies for having profaned the re-
pose of the dead. Now, Peters!"
The dumb detective went to one end of the coffin, while
## p. 426 (#442) ############################################
426 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
his colleague stood at the other. The Liverpool officer was
correct in his supposition. The lid was only secured by two
or three long stout nails, and gave way in three minutes.
The two detectives lifted it off the coffinand there, hot,
flushed, and panting, half-suffocated, with desperation in his
wicked blue eyes, his teeth locked in furious rage at his
utter powerlessness to escape from the grasp of his pursuers
there, run to earth at last, lay the accomplished Raymond,
Count de Marolles !
They put the handcuffs on him before they lifted him
out of the coffin, the Smasher assisting. Years after, when
the Smasher grew to be an older and graver man, he used to
tell to admiring and awe-stricken customers the story of
this arrest. But it is to be observed that his memory on
these occasions was wont to play him false, for he omitted
to mention either the Liverpool detective or our good friend
Mr. Peters as taking any part in the capture; but described
the whole affair as conducted by himself alone, with an
incalculable number of "I says," and "so then I thinks,"
and "well, what do I do next 7" and other phrases of the
same description.
The Count de Marolles, with tumbled hair, and a white
face and blue lips, sitting handcuffed upon the bench of the
steamer between the Liverpool detective and Mr. Peters,
steaming back to Liverpool, was a sight not good to look
upon. The cheerfulgentleman sat with the Smasher and Mr.
Darley, who had been told to keep an eye upon him, and
whothe Smasher especiallykept both eyes upon him
With a Will.
Throughout the little voyage there were no words
spoken but these from the Liverpool detective, as he first put
the fetters on the white and slender wrists of his prisoner.
"Monsieur de Marolles," he said, "you've tried this
little game once before. This is the second occasion, I
understand, on which you've done a sham die. I'd have you
beware of the third time. According to superstitious people,
it's generally fatal."
## p. 427 (#443) ############################################
CHAPTER WI.
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD.
ONCE more Slopperton on the Sloshy rang with a subject
dismissed from the public mind eight years ago, and now
revived with a great deal more excitement and discussion
than ever. That subject was, the murder of Mr. Montague
Harding. All Slopperton made itself into one voice, and
spoke but upon one themethe pending trial of another
man for that very crime of which Richard Marwood had
been found guilty years agoRichard, who, according to
report, had died in an attempt to escape from the county
asylum.
Very little was known of the criminal, but a great deal
was conjectured; a great deal more was invented; and ulti-
mately, most conflicting reports were spread abroad by the
citizens of Slopperton, every one of whom had his particular
account of the seizure of De Marolles: and every one of
whom stood to his view of the case with a pertinacity and
fortitude worthy of a better cause. Thus, if you went into
High Street, entering that thoroughfare from the Market-
place, you would hear how this De Marolles was a French
nobleman, who had crossed the Channel in an open boat on
the night of the murder, walked from Dover to Slopperton
(not above two hundred miles by the shortest cut)and
gone back to Calais in the same manner. If, staggered
by the slight discrepancies of time and place in this ac-
count of the transaction, you pursued your inquiries a
little further down the same street, you would very likely
be told that De Marolles was no Frenchman at all, but
the son of a clergyman in the next county, whose unfortu-
## p. 428 (#444) ############################################
428 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
nate mother was at that moment on her knees in the throne-
room at Buckingham Palace, soliciting his pardon on ac-
count of his connection with the clerical interest. If this
story struck you as more romantic than probable, you had
only to turn the corner into Little Market Street(rather
a low neighbourhood, and chiefly inhabited by butchers
and the tripe and cow-heel trade)and you might sup full
of horrors, the denizens of this locality labouring under
the fixed conviction that the prisoner then lying in Slop-
perton gaol was neither more nor less than a distinguished
burglar, long the scourge of the united kingdoms of Great
Britain and Ireland, and guilty of outrages and murders
innumerable.
There were others who confined themselves to animated
and detailed descriptions of the attempted escape and cap-
ture of the accused. These congregated at street-corners,
and disputed and gesticulated in little groups, one man
often dropping back from his companions, and taking a
wide berth on the pavement, to give his particular story
the benefit of illustrative action. Some stories told how
the prisoner had got half way to America concealed in the
paddle-wheel of a screw steamer; others gave an animated
account of his having been found hidden in the corner of
the engine-room, where he had lain concealed for fourteen
days without either bite or sup. Others told you he had
been furled up in the foretop-sail of an American man-of-
war; others related how he had made the passage in the
maintop of the same vessel, only descending in the dead of
the night for his meals, and paying the captain of the ship
a quarter of a million of money for the accommodation.
As to the sums of money he had embezzled in his capacity
of banker, they grew with every hour; till at last Slopper-
ton turned up its nose at any thing under a billion for the
sum total of his plunder.
The assizes were looked forward to with such eager
expectation and interest as never had been felt about any
other assizes within the memory of living Sloppertonian;
## p. 429 (#445) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 429
and the judges and barristers on this circuit were the envy
of judges and barristers on other circuits, who said, bitterly,
that no such case ever came across their way, and that it
was like Prius Q.C.'s luck to be counsel for the prosecution
in such a trial; and that if Nisi, whom the Count de Ma-
rolles had intrusted with his defence, didn't get him off, he,
Nisi, deserved to be hung in lieu of his client.
It seemed a strange and awful instance of retributive
justice that Raymond Marolles, having been taken in his
endeavour to escape in the autumn of the year, had to
await the spring assizes of the following year for his trial,
and had, therefore, to drag out even a longer period in his
solitary cell than Richard Marwood, the innocent victim of
circumstantial evidence, had done years before.
Who shall dare to enter this man's cell? Who shall
dare to look into this hardened heart? Who shall follow the
dark and terrible speculations of this perverted intellect?
At last the time, so welcome to the free citizens of Slop-
perton, and so very unwelcome to some of the denizens in
the gaol, who preferred awaiting their trial in that retreat
to crossing the briny ocean for an unlimited period as
the issue of that trialat last, the assize time came round
once more. Once more the tip-top Slopperton hotels were
bewilderingly gay with elegant young barristers and grave
gray-headed judges. Once more the criminal court was
one vast sea of human heads rising wave on wave to the
very roof; and once more every eager eye was turned to-
wards the dock in which stood the elegant and accom-
plished Raymond, Count de Marolles, alias Jabez North,
sometime pauper of the Slopperton on the Sloshy Union,
afterwards usher in the academy of Dr. Tappenden, charged
with the wilful murder of Montague Harding, also of Slop-
perton, eight years before. -
The first point the counsel for the prosecution endea-
voured to prove to the minds of the jury was the identity
of Raymond de Marolles, the Parisian, with Jabez North,
the pauper school-boy. This hinged chiefly upon his power
## p. 430 (#446) ############################################
430 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
to disprove the supposed death of Jabez North, in which
all Slopperton had hitherto firmly believed. Dr. Tappen-
den had stood by his usher's corpse. How, then, could
that usher be alive and before the Slopperton jury to-day?
But there were plenty to certify that here he was in the
fleshthis very Jabez North, whom so many people re-
membered, and had been in the habit of seeing, eight
years ago. They were ready to identify him, in spite of
his dark hair and eyebrows. On the other hand, there
were some who had seen the body of the suicide, found
by Peters, the detective, on the heath outside Slopperton;
and these were as ready to declare that the afore-men-
tioned body was the body of Jabez North, the usher to
Dr. Tappenden, and none other. But when a rough-
looking man, with a mangy fur cap in his hand, and two
greasy locks of hair carefully twisted into limp curls on
either side of his swarthy face, which curls were known
to his poetically and figuratively-disposed friends as New-
gate knockerswhen this man, who gave his name to
the jury as Slithery Billor, seeing the jury didn't approve
of this cognomen, Bill Withers, if they liked it better
was called into the witness-box, his evidence, sulkily and
rather despondingly given, as from one who says, "It may
be my turn next," threw quite a new light upon the subject.
Bill Withers was politely asked if he remembered the
summer of 18. Yes; Mr. Withers could remember the
summer of 18; was out of work that summer, and made
the marginal remark that "them as couldn't live might
starve or steal, for all Slopperton folks cared."
Was again politely asked if he remembered doing one
particular job of work that summer.
Did remember itmade the marginal remark, "and it
was a jolly queer dodge as ever a cove had a hand in."
Was asked to be good enough to state what the particu-
lar job was.
Assented to the request with a polite nod of the head,
and proceeded to smooth his Newgate knockers, and fold
## p. 431 (#447) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 431
his arms on the ledge of the witness-box prior to stating
his case; then cleared his throat, and commenced dis-
cursively, thus
"Wy, it was as this 'ereI was out of work. I does up
small gent's gardens in the spring, and tidies and veeds
and rakes and hoes 'em a bit, back and front, when I can
get it to do, Vich ain't often ; and bein' out of work, and
old Mother Thingamy down Blind Peter, she ses to me,
vich she was a vicked old 'ag, she ses to me, 'I've got a
job for them as asks no questions, and don't want to be
told no lies; by vich remark, and the way of her alto-
gether, I knowed she weren't up to no good; so I ses, "You
looks here, mother; if it's a job a respectable young man,
vot's out o' vork, and ain't had a bite or sup since the day
afore yesterday, can do with a clear conscience, I'll do it
if it ain't, vy I vont. There !'" Having recorded which
heroic declaration, Mr. William Withers wiped his mouth
with the back of his hand, and looked round the court, as
much as to say, "Let Slopperton be proud of such a
citizen."
"'Don't you go to flurry your tender constitution and
do yourself a unrecoverable injury, the old cat made reply;
'it's a job as the parson of the parish might do, if he'd got a
truck. "A truck?' I ses; 'is it movin' boxes you're making
this 'ere palaver about?' 'Never you mind vether it's boxes
or vether it ain't; vill you do it?' she ses; 'vill you do it,
and put a sovering in your pocket, and never go for to split,
unless you wants that precious throat of yours slit some fine
eVenin'?'"
"And you consented to do what she required of you?"
suggested the counsel.
"Well, I don't know about that," replied Mr. Withers,
"but I undertook the job. "So, ses she, that's the old 'un,
she ses, 'you bring a truck down by that there broken
buildin' ground at the back of Blind Peter at ten o'clock
to-night, and you keep yourself quiet till you hears a whistle.
Wen you hears a whistle, she ses, 'bring your truck around
## p. 432 (#448) ############################################
432 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
agin our front door. This here's all you've got to do, she
ses, besides keepin' your tongue between your teeth.' "All
right, I ses, and off I goes to see if there was any cove as
would trust me with a truck agen the evenin'. Well, I finds
the cove, vich, seein' I wanted it bad, he stood out for a bob
and a tanner for the loan of it."
"Perhaps the jury would wish to be told what sum
of moneyI conclude it is moneya bob and a tanner
represent?" said the counsel.
"They must be a jolly ignorant lot, then, anyways,"
replied Mr. Withers, with more candour than circumlocu-
tion. "Any infant knows eighteenpence ven it's showed
him."
"O, a bob and a tanner are eighteenpence? Wery good,"
said the counsel, encouragingly; "pray go on, Mr. Withers."
"Well, ten o'clock come, and veren't it a precious stormy
night, that's all; and there I was a-waitin' a-sittin' on this
blessed truck at the back of Blind Peter, vich vos my di-
rections. At last the whistle come, and a precious cautious
whistle it was too, as soft as a niteingel vot's payin' its ad-
dresses to another niteingel; and round I goes to the front,
as vos my directions. There, agen her door, stands the old
'ag, and agen her stands a young man in a old ragged pair
of trousis an a shirt. Lookin' him hard in the face, who
does I see but Jim, the old 'un's granson; so I ses, 'Jim !'
friendly like, but he makes no reply; and then the old 'un
ses, 'Lend this young gent a 'and 'ere, will yer?" So in I
goes, and there on the bed I sees somethink rolled up very
careful in a old counterpane. It giv' me a turn like, and
I didn't much like the looks of it; but I ses nothink; and
then the young man, Jim, as I thinks, ses, 'Lend us a hand
with this 'ere, villyer?" and it giv'd me another turn like, for
though it's Jim's face, somehow it ain't quite Jim's voice
more genteel and fine like; but I goes up to the bed, and I
takes hold of von end of vot lays there; and then I gets turn
number threefor I finds my suspicions was correctit vos
a dead body!"
## p. 433 (#449) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 433
"A dead body?"
"Yes; but who's it vos, there vos no knowin', it Vos
wrapped up in that manner. But I feels myself turn
dreadful white, and I ses, 'If this ere's any think wrong,
I washes my hands ov it, and you may do your dirty work
yourself. I hadn't got the words out afore this 'ere young
man, as I thought at first vos Jim, caught me by the throat
sudden, and threw me down on my knee. I ain't a baby;
but, lor, Ivos nothink in his grasp, though his hand vos as
vite and as deliket as a young lady's. "Now you just look
'ere, he ses; and I looked, as well as I could, with my eyes
a-startin' out ov my head in cosekence of bein' just upon
the choke: "you see vot this is, and with his left hand he
takes a pistol out ov his pocket; 'you refuse to do vot ve
vant done, or you go for to be noisy or in any way ill-con-
wenient, and it's the last time as ever you'll have the
chance of so doing. Get up, he says, as if I vos a dog;
and I gets up, and I agrees to do vot he wants, for there
was that there devil in that young man's hye, that I began
to think it vos best not to go agen him."
Here Mr. Withers paused for refreshment after his ex-
ertions, and blew his nose very deliberately on a handker-
chief, which, from its dilapidated condition, resembled a
red cotton cabbage-net. Silence reigned throughout the
crowded court, broken only by the scratching of the pen
with which the counsel for the defence was taking notes
of the evidence, and the fluttering of the leaves of the
reporters' pocket-books, as they threw off page after page
of flimsy paper.
The prisoner at the bar looked straight before him; the
firmly-compressed lips had never once quivered, the golden-
fringed eyelashes had never drooped.
"Can you tell me," said the counsel for the prosecu-
tion, "whether you have ever, since that night, seen this
young man, who so closely resembled your old friend,
Jim * -
"Never seen him since, to my knowledge"there was
FF
## p. 434 (#450) ############################################
434 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
a flutter in the crowded court, as if every spectator had
simultaneously drawn a long breath"till to-day."
"Till to-day?" said the counsel. This time it was
more than a flutter, it was a subdued murmur that ran
through the listening crowd.
"Be good enough to say if you can see him at this
present moment?"
"I can," replied Mr. Withers. "That's him! or my
name ain't vot I've been led to believe it is." And he
pointed with a dirty but decided finger at the prisoner at
the bar.
The prisoner slightly elevated his arched eyebrows
superciliously, as if he would say, "This is a pretty sort
of witness to hang a man of my standing."
"Be so good as to continue your story?" said the
counsel.
"Well, I does vot he tells me, and I lays the body, with
his 'elp, on the truck. "Now, he ses, 'follow this 'ere
old woman, and do every think vot she tells you, or you'll
find it considerably worse for your future 'appiness; with
vich he slams the door upon me, the old 'un, and the
truck, and I sees no more of 'im. Well, I follows the old
'un through a lot o' lanes and back slums, till ve leaves
the town behind, and gets right out upon the 'eath; and
ve crosses over the 'eath, till ve comes to were it's pre-
cious lonely, yet the hedge of the pathway like; and 'ere
she tells me as we're to leave the body, and 'ere we shifts
it off the truck and lays it down upon the grass, vich it
was a rainin' 'eavens 'ard, and a thunderin' and a light-
nin' like von o'clock. "And now, she ses, 'vot you've
got to do is to go back from wheres you come from, and
lose no time about it ; and take notice, she ses, "if ever
you speaks or jabbers about this 'ere business, it'll be
the end of your jabberin' in this world; with vitch she
looks at me like a old witch as she vos, and points
with her skinny arm down the road. So I walks my
chalks, but I doesn't walk 'em very far, and presently I
## p. 435 (#451) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 435
sees the old 'ag a-runnin' back towards the town as fast
as ever she could tear. 'Ho! I ses, 'you are a nice lot,
you are; but I'll see who's dead, in spite of you. So I
crawls up to were we'd left the body, and there it vos sure
enuff, but all uncovered now, the face a-starin' up at the
black sky, and it vos dressed, as far as I could make out,
quite like a gentleman, all in black, but it vos so jolly
dark I couldn't see the face, when all of a sudden, while
I Vos a kneelin' down and lookin' at it, there comes von
of the longest flashes of lightnin' as I ever remember,
and in the blue light I sees the face plainer than I could
have seen it in the day. I thought I should have fell
down all of a heap. It vos Jim Jim his-self, as I
knowed as well as I ever knowed myself, dead at my feet.
My first thought vos as how that young man as vos so
like Jim had murdered him; but there worn't no marks
of wiolence nowheres about the body. Now, I hadn't in
my own mind any doubts as how it vos Jim ; but still, I
ses to myself, I ses, 'Every think seems topsy-turvy like
this night, so I'll be sure; so I takes up his arm and
turns up his coat-sleeve. Now, vy I does this, is this
'ere: there vos a young woman Jim Vos uncommon fond
ov, vich her name vos Bess, though he and many more
called her, for short, Sillikens: and von day when me and
Jim Vos at a public, we happened to fall in vith a sailor,
vot we'd both knowed afore he vent to sea. So he Vos a
tellin' of us his adventures and such-like, and then he
said promiscus, "I'll show you somethin' pretty ; and
sure enuff, he slipped up the sleeve ov his Garnsey, and
there, all over his arm, vos all manner ov sort of picters
done with gunpowder, such as ankers, and Rule Britan-
nias, and ships in full sail on the backs of flyin' alli-
gators. So Jim takes quite a fancy to this 'ere, and he
ses, 'I wish, Joe (the sailor's name bein' Joe), I wish,
Joe, as how you'd do me my young woman's name and
a wreath of roses on my arm, like that there. Joe Ses,
"And so I will, and velcome.' And sure enuff, a week
## p. 436 (#452) ############################################
436 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
or two artervards Jim comes to me with his arm like a
picter-book, and Bess as large as life just above the elber-
joint. So I turns up his coat-sleeve, and waits for a flash
ow lightnin'. I hasn't to wait long, and there I reads
'B.E.S.S.' 'There ain't no doubt now,' I ses, 'this 'ere's
Jim, and there's some willany or other in it, vot I ain't
up to." -
"Very good," said the counsel; "we may want you
again by and by, I think, Mr. Withers; but for the pre-
sent you may retire."
The next witness called was Dr. Tappenden, who re-
lated the circumstances of the admission of Jabez North
into his household, the high character he had from the
Board of the Slopperton Union, and the confidence reposed
in him.
"You placed great trust, then, in this person?" asked
the counsel for the prosecution.
"The most implicit trust," replied the schoolmaster;
"so much so, that he was frequently employed by me to
collect subscriptions for a public charity of which I was the
treasurerThe Slopperton Orphan Asylum. I think it
only right to mention this, as on one occasion it was the
cause of his calling upon the unfortunate gentleman who
was murdered."
"Indeed! Will you be so good as to relate the circum-
stance P"
"I think it was about three days before the murder,
when, one morning, at a little before twelve o'clockthat
being the time at which my pupils are dismissed from their
studies for an hour's recreation,I said to him, 'Mr. North,
I should like you to call upon this Indian gentleman, who
is staying with Mrs. Marwood, and whose wealth is so much
talked of" -
"Pardon me. You said, 'whose wealth is so much
talked of,'can you swear to having made that remark?"
"I can."
"Pray continue," said the counsel.
## p. 437 (#453) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 437
"'I should like you, I said, 'to call upon this Mr.
Harding, and solicit his aid for the Orphan Asylum; we
are sadly in want of funds. I know, North, your heart is in
the work, and you will plead the cause of the orphans suc-
cessfully; you have an hour before dinner; it is some dis-
tance to the Black Mill, but you can walk fast there and
back. He went accordingly, and on his return brought a
five-pound note, which Mr. Harding had given him."
Dr. Tappenden proceeded to describe the circumstance
of the death of the little boy in the usher's apartment, on
the very night of the murder. One of the servants was
examined, who slept on the same floor as North, and who
said she had heard strange noises in his room that night,
but had attributed the noises to the fact of the usher
sitting up to attend upon the invalid. She was asked what
were the noises she had heard.
"I heard some one open the window, and shut it a long
While after."
"How long do you imagine the interval to have been
between the opening and shutting of the window?" asked
the counsel.
"About two hours," she replied, "as far as I could
guess."
The next witness for the prosecution was the old servant,
Martha.
"Can you remember ever having seen the prisoner at
the bar 7" -
The old woman put on her spectacles, and steadfastly
regarded the elegant Monsieur de Marolles, or Jabez North,
as his enemies insisted on calling him. After a very deli-
berate inspection of that gentleman's personal advantages,
rather trying to the feelings of the spectators, Mrs. Martha
Jones said, rather obscurely
"He had light hair then."
"'He had light hair then. You mean, I conclude,"
said the counsel, "that at the time of your first seeing the
prisoner, his hair was of a different colour from what it is
## p. 438 (#454) ############################################
438 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
now. Supposing that he had dyed his hair, as is not an
uncommon practice, can you swear that you have seen him
before to-day."
"I can."
"On what occasion ?" asked the counsel.
"Three days before the murder of my mistress's poor
brother. I opened the gate for him. He was very civil-
spoken, and admired the garden very much, and asked me
if he might look about it a little."
"He asked you to allow him to look about the garden?
Pray, was this as he went in, or as he went out?"
"It was when I let him out."
"And how long did he stay with Mr. Harding?"
"Not more than ten minutes. Mr. Harding was in
his bedroom; he had a cabinet in his bedroom in which
he kept papers and money, and he used to transact all his
business there, and sometimes would be there till dinner-
time."
"Did the prisoner see him in his bedroom?"
"He did. I showed him upstairs myself."
"Was any body in the bedroom with Mr. Harding when
he saw the prisoner?"
"Only his coloured servant; he was always with him."
"And when you showed the prisoner out, he asked to
be allowed to look at the garden? Was he long looking
about?"
"Not more than five minutes. He looked more at the
house than the garden. I noticed him looking at Mr.
Harding's window, which is on the first floor; he took par-
ticular notice of a very fine creeper that grows under the
Window."
"Was the window, on the night of the murder, fastened,
Or not ?"
"It never was fastened. Mr. Harding always slept with
his window a little way open."
After Martha had been dismissed from the witness-box,
the old servant of Mr. Harding, the Lascar, who had been
-*-
----------------- ---
## p. 439 (#455) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 439
found living with a gentleman in London, was duly sworn,
prior to being examined.
He remembered the prisoner at the bar, but made the
same remark as Martha had done, about the change in colour
of his hair.
"You were in the room with your late master when the
prisoner called upon him ?" asked the counsel.
"I Was."
"Will you state what passed between the prisoner and
your master ?"
"It is scarcely in my power to do so. At that time
I understood no English. My master was seated at his
cabinet, looking over papers and accounts. I fancy the
prisoner asked him for money. He showed him papers
both printed and written. My master opened a pocket-
book filled with notes, the pocket-book afterwards found
on his nephew, and gave the prisoner a bank note. The
prisoner appeared to make a good impression on my late
master, who talked to him in a very cordial manner. As
he was leaving the room, the prisoner made some remark
about me, and I thought from the tone of his voice, he
was asking a question."
"You thought he was asking a question?"
"Yes. In the Hindostanee language we have no inter-
rogative form of speech, we dependentirely on the inflexion
of the Voice; our ears are therefore more acute than an
Englishman's. I am certain he asked my master some
questions about me."
"And your master?"
"After replying to him, turned to me, and said, 'I am
telling this gentleman what a faithful fellow you are,
Mujeebez, and how you always sleep in my dressing-
room.'"
"You remember nothing more ?"
"Nothing more." -
The Indian's deposition, taken in the hospital at the
time of the trial of Richard Marwood, was then read over
:*-**** -
-----------~~~~~~~~ - - --~~~~
## p. 440 (#456) ############################################
440 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
r
to him. He certified to the truth of this deposition, and
left the witness-box.
The landlord of the Bargeman's Delight, Mr. Darley,
and Mr. Peters (the latter by an interpreter), were ex-
amined, and the story of the quarrel and the lost Indian
coin was elicited, making considerable impression on the
Jury.
There was only one more witness for the crown, and this
was a young man, a chemist, who had been an apprentice
at the time of the supposed death of Jabez North, and who
had sold to him a few days before that supposed suicide the
materials for a hair-dye.
The counsel for the prosecution then summed up.
It is not for us to follow him through the twistings and
windings of a very complicated mass of evidence; he had
to prove the identity of Jabez North with the prisoner at
the bar, and he had to prove that Jabez North was the
murderer of Mr. Montague Harding. To the mind of
every spectator in that crowded court he succeeded in prov-
'ng both.
In vain the prisoner's counsel examined and cross-exa-
mined the witnesses.
The witnesses for the defence were few. A Frenchman,
who represented himself as a Chevalier of the Legion of
Honour, failed signally in an endeavour to prove an alibi,
and considerably damaged the defence. Other witnesses
appeared, who swore to having known the prisoner in Paris
the year of the murder. They could not say they had seen
him during the November of that yearit might have been
earlier, it might have been later. On being cross-examined,
they broke down ignominiously, and acknowledged that it
might not have been that year at all. But they had known
him in Paris about that period. They had always believed
him to be a Frenchman. They had always understood that
his father fell at Waterloo, in the ranks of the old guard.
On cross-examination they all owned to having heard him
at divers periods speak English. He had, in fact, spoken it
- * ~ * - - -- - - - ----------- " " ------
"--------------- - - - --------
## p. 441 (#457) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARE ROAD. 441
fluently, yes, even like an Englishman. On further cross-
examination it also appeared that he did not like being
thought an Englishman. That he would insist vehemently
upon his French extraction. That nobody knew who he
was, or whence he came, and that all any one did know of
him was what he himself had chosen to state.
The defence was long and laboured. The prisoner's
counsel did not enter into the question of the murder
having been committed by Jabez North, or not having
been committed by Jabez North. What he endeavoured to
show was, that the prisoner at the bar was not Jabez
North; but that he was a victim to one of those cases of
mistaken identity of which there are so many on record
both in English and foreign criminal archives. He cited
the execution of the Frenchman Joseph Lesurges, for the
murder of the Courier of Lyons. He spoke of the case of
Elizabeth Canning, in which a crowd of witnesses on either
side persisted in supporting entirely conflicting statements,
without any evident motive whatsoever. He endeavoured
to dissect the evidence of Mr. William Withers; he sneered
at that worthy citizen's wholesale slaughter of the English
of her most gracious Majesty and subjects. He tried to
overthrow that gentleman by ten minutes on the wrong
side of the Slopperton clocks; he did his best to damage
him by puzzling him as to whether the truck he spoke of
had two legs and one wheel, or two wheels and one leg;
but he tried in vain. Mr. Withers was not to be damaged;
he stood as firm as a rock, and still swore that he carried
the dead body of Jim Lomax out of Blind Peter and on to
the heath, and that the man who commanded him so to do
was the prisoner at the bar. Neither was Mr. Augustus
Darley to be damaged; nor yet the landlord of the "Barge-
man's Delight," who, in spite of all cross-examination, pre-
served a gloomy and resolute attitude, and declared that
"that young man at the bar, which his hair was then light,
had a row with a young woman in the tap-room, and
throwed that there gold coin to her, which she chucked it
## p. 442 (#458) ############################################
442 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
back savage." In short, the defence, though it lasted
two hours and a half, was a very lame one; and a close ob-
server might have seen one flash from the blue eyes of the
man standing at the bar, which glanced in the direction of
the eloquent Mr. Prius, Q.C., as he uttered the last words
of his peroration, revengeful and murderous enough, brief
though it was, to give to the spectator some idea that the
Count de Marolles, innocent and injured victim of circum-
stantial evidence as he might be, was not the safest person
in the world to offend.
The judge delivered his charge to the jury, and they
retired.
There was breathless impatience in the court for three-
quarters of an hour; such impatience that the three quar-
ters seemed to be three entire hours, and some of the spec-
tators would have it that the clock had stopped. Once
more the jury took their places.
"Guilty!" A recommendation to mercy? No! Mercy
was not for such as he. Not man's mercy. O, Heaven be
praised that there is One whose mercy is as far above the
mercy of the tenderest of earth's creatures as heaven is above
that earth. Who shall say where is the man so wicked he
may not hope for compassion there?
The judge put on the black cap and delivered the sen-
tence. -
"To be hanged by the neck!" -
The Count de Marolles looked round at the crowd. It
was beginning to disperse, when he lifted his slender ringed
white hand. He was about to speak. The crowd, swaying
hither and thither before, stopped as one man. As one
man, nay, as one surging wave of the ocean, changed, in a
breath, to stone. He Smiled a bitter, mocking, defiant
Smile.
"Worthy citizens of Slopperton," he said, his clear
enunciation ringing through the building, distinct and
musical, "I thank you for the trouble you have taken this
day on my account. I have played a great game, and I
## p. 443 (#459) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARK ROAD. 443
have lost a great stake; but, remember, I first won that
stake, and for eight years held it and enjoyed it. I have
been the husband of one of the most beautiful and richest
Women in France. I have been a millionaire, and one of
the wealthiest merchant princes of the wealthy south. I
started from the workhouse of this town; I never in my
life had a friend to help me, or a relation to advise me.
To man I owe nothing. To God, I owe only this, a will as
indomitable as the stars He made, which have held their
course through all time. Unloved, unaided, unprayed for,
unwept; motherless, fatherless, sisterless, brotherless, friend-
less; I have taken my own road, and have kept to it; defy-
ing the earth on which I have lived, and the unknown
Powers above my head. That road has come to an end,
and brought mehere! So be it! I suppose, after all,
the unknown Powers are strongest! Gentlemen, I am
ready." He bowed and followed the officials, who led him
from the dock to a coach waiting for him at the entrance to
the court. The crowd gathered round him with scared
faces and eager eyes.
The last Slopperton saw of the Count de Marolles was
a pale, handsome face, a sardonic smile, and the delicate
white hand which rested upon the door of the hackney
coach.
Next morning, very early, men with grave faces con-
gregated at street-corners, and talked together earnestly.
Through Slopperton like wildfire spread the rumour of
something, which had only been darkly hinted at the gaol.
The prisoner had destroyed himself!
Later in the afternoon it was known that he had bled
himself to death by means of a lancet not bigger than a pin,
which he had worn for years concealed in a chased gold ring
of massive form and exquisite workmanship.
The gaoler had found him, at six o'clock on the morning
after his trial, seated, with his bloodless face lying on the
little table of his cell, white, tranquil, and dead.
The agents from an exhibition of wax-works, and seve-
## p. 444 (#460) ############################################
444 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
ral phrenologists, came to look at and to take casts of his
head, and masks of the handsome and aristocratic face.
One of the phrenologists, who had given an opinion on his
cerebral development ten years before, when Mr. Jabez
North was considered a model of all Sloppertonian virtues
and graces, and who had been treated with ignominy for
that very opinion, was now in the highest spirits, and
introduced the whole story into a series of lectures, which
were afterwards very popular. The Count de Marolles,
with very long eyelashes, very small feet, and patent-leather
boots, a faultless Stultsian evening costume, a white waist-
coat, and any number of rings, was much admired in the
Chamber of Horrors at the eminent wax-work exhibition
above mentioned, and was considered well worth the extra
sixpence for admission. Young ladies fell in love with
him, and vowed that a Beingthey called him a Being
with such dear blue glass eyes, with beautiful curly eye-
lashes, and specks of lovely vermilion in each corner, could
never have committed a horrid murder, but was, no doubt,
the innocent victim of that cruel circumstantial evidence.
Mr. Splitters put the Count into a melodrama in four Pe-
riodsnot Acts, but Periods. 1. Boyhoodthe Workhouse.
2. Youththe School. 3. Manhoodthe Palace. 4. Death
the Dungeon. This piece was very popular, and as Mr.
Percy Cordonner had prophesied, the Count was represented
as livingen permanencein Hessian boots with gold
tassels; and as always appearing, with a spirited disregard
for the unities of time and space, two or three hundred
miles distant from the spot in which he had appeared five
minutes before, and performing in scene four the very
action which his foes had described as being already done
in scene three. But the transpontine audiences to whom
the piece was represented were not in the habit of asking
questions, and as long as you gave them plenty of Hessian
boots and pistol-shots for their money, you might snap your
fingers at Aristotle's ethics, and all the Greek dramatists
into the bargain. What would they have cared for the
~~~~~~~~~ - -
- ~~~~~->=-
## p. 445 (#461) ############################################
THE END OF THE DARR ROAD. 445
classic school? Would they have given a thank-you for
"Zaire, vous pleurez!" or, "Qu'il mourut!" No, give
them enough blue fire and honest British sentiment, with
plenty of chintz waistcoats and top-boots, and you might
laugh Corneille and Voltaire to scorn, and be sure of a long
run on the Surrey side of the water.
So the race was run, and, after all, the cleverest horse
was not the winner. Where was the Countess de Marolles
during her husband's trial? Alas! Valerie, thine has
been a troubled youth, but it may be that a brighter fate is
yet in store for thee.
## p. 446 (#462) ############################################
CHAPTER THE LAST.
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND.
SCARCELY had Slopperton subsided in some degree from the
excitement into which it had been thrown by the trial and
suicide of Raymond de Marolles, when it was again astir
with news, which was, if any thing, more exciting. It is
needless to say that, after the trial and condemnation of De
Marolles, there was not a little regretful sympathy felt by
the good citizens of Slopperton for their unfortunate towns-
man, Richard Marwood, who, after having been found guilty
of a murder he had never committed, had perished, as the
story went, in a futile attempt to escape from the asylum in
which he had been confined. What, then, where the feelings
of Slopperton, when, about a month after the suicide of the
murderer of Montague Harding, a paragraph appeared in
one of the local papers, which stated positively that Mr.
Richard Marwood was still alive, he having succeeded in
escaping from the county asylum ?
This was enough; here was a hero of romance indeed;
here was innocence triumphant for once in real life, as on
the mimic scene. Slopperton was wild with one universal
desire to embrace so distinguished a citizen. The local
papers of the following week were full of the subject, and
Richard Marwood was earnestly solicited to appear once
more in his native town, that every inhabitant thereof, from
the highest to the lowest, might be enabled to testify heart-
felt sympathy for his undeserved misfortunes, and sincere
delight in his happy restoration to name and fame.
The hero was not long in replying to the friendly petition
of the inhabitants of his native place. A letter from Richard
appeared in one of the papers, in which he stated that, as he
## p. 447 (#463) ############################################
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 447
was about to leave England for a considerable period, perhaps
for ever, he should do himself the honour of responding to
the kind wishes of his friends, and once more shake hands
with the acquaintance of his youth before he left his native
country.
The Sloppertonian jack-in-the-green, assisted by the
rather stalwart damsels in dirty pink gauze and crumpled
blue-and-yellow artificial flowers, had scarcely ushered in
the sweet spring month of the year, when Slopperton arose
simultaneously, and hurried as one man to the railway-
station, to welcome the hero of the day. The report has
spreadno one ever knows how these reports arisethat Mr.
Richard Marwood is to arrive this day. Slopperton must
be at hand to bid him welcome to his native town, to repair
the wrong it has so long done him, in holding him up to
universal detestation as the George Barnwell of modern
times.
Which train will he come by ? There is a whisper of
the three-o'clock express; and at three o'clock in the after-
noon, therefore, the station and station-yard are crowded.
The Slopperton station, like most other stations, is built
at a little distance from the town, so that the humble tra-
veller who arrives by the parliamentary train, with all his
earthly possessions in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief or a
brown-paper parcel, and to whom such things as cabs are
unknown luxuries, is often disappointed to find that when
he gets to Slopperton station he is not in Slopperton proper.
There is a great Sahara of building ground and incomplete
brick-and-mortar, very much to let, to be crossed before the
traveller finds himself in High Street, or South Street, or
East Street, or any of the populous neighbourhoods of this
magnificent city.
Every disadvantage, however, is generally counterbalanced
by some advantage, and nothing could be more suitable than
this grand Sahara of broken ground and unfinished neigh-
bourhood for the purposes of a triumphal entry into Slop-
perton.
## p. 448 (#464) ############################################
448 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
*
There is a great deal of animated conversation going on
upon the platform inside the station. It is a noticeable fact
that every body presentand there are some hundreds
appears to have been intimately acquainted with Richard
from his very babyhood. This one remembers many a game
at cricket with him on those very fields yonder; another
would be a rich man if he had only a sovereign for every
cigar he has smoked in the society of Mr. Marwood. That
old gentleman yonder taught our hero his declensions, and
always had a difficulty with him about the ablative case.
The elderly female with the dropsical umbrella had nursed
him as a baby; "and the finest baby he was as ever I saw,"
she adds enthusiastically. Those two gentlemen who came
down to the station in their own brougham are the kind
doctors who carried him through that terrible brain-fever of
his early youth, and whose evidence was of some service to
him at his trial. Every where along the crowded platform
there are friends, noisy, excited, gesticulating friends, who
have started a hero on their own account, and who wouldn't
turn aside to-day to get a bow from majesty itself.
Five minutes to three. From the doctor's fifty-guinea
chronometer, by Benson, to the silver turnip from the wide
buff waistcoat of the farmer, every body's watch is out, and
nobody will believe but that his particular time is the right
time, and every other watch, and the station clock into the
bargain, Wrong.
Two minutes to three. Clang goes the great bell. The
station-master clears the line. Here it comes, only a speck
of dull red fire as yet, and a slender column of curling
smokebut the London express for all that. Here it comes,
wildly tearing up the tender green country, rushing head-
long through the smoky suburbs; it comes within a few
hundred yards of the station; and there, amidst a labyrinth
of straggling lines and a chaos of empty carriages and dis-
abled engines, it stops deliberately for the ticket-collectors
to go their accustomed round.
Good gracious me, how badly those ticket-collectors do
.
f
## p. 449 (#465) ############################################
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 449
their duty!how slow they are!what a time the elderly
females in the second-class appear to be fumbling in their
reticules before they produce the required document!what
an age, in short, it is, before the train puffs lazily up to the
platform; and yet, only two minutes by the station-clock.
Which is he? There is a long line of carriages. The
eager eyes look into each. There is a fat dark man with
large whiskers reading the paper. Is that Richard? He
may be altered, you know, they say; but surely eight years
could never have changed him into that. No! there he is!
There is no mistaking him this time. The handsome dark
face, with the thick black moustache, and the clustering
frame of waving raven hair, looks out of a first-class car-
riage. In another moment he is on the platform, a lady by
his side, young and pretty, who bursts into tears as the crowd
press around him, and hides her face on an elderly lady's
shoulder. That elderly lady is his mother. How eagerly
the Sloppertonians gather round him! He does not speak,
but stretches out both his hands, which are nearly shaken
off his wrists before he knows where he is.
Why doesn't he speak? Is it because he cannot ? Is
it because there is a choking sensation in his throat, and his
lips refuse to articulate the words that are trembling upon
them ? Is it because he remembers the last time he alighted
on this very platformthe time when he wore handcuffs on
his wrists and walked guarded between two men; that bitter
time when the crowd held aloof from him, and pointed him
out as a murderer and a villain? There is a mist over his
dark eyes as he looks round at those eager friendly faces,
and he is glad to slouch his hat over his forehead, and to
walk quickly through the crowd to the carriage waiting
for him in the station-yard. He has his mother on one
arm and the young lady on the other; his old friend Gus
Darley is with him too; and the four step into the carriage.
Then, how the cheers and the huzzas burst forth, in
one great hoarse shout! Three cheers for Richard, for his
mother, for his faithful friend Gus Darley, who assisted
GG
## p. 450 (#466) ############################################
450 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
him to escape from the lunatic asylum, for the young lady
But who is the young lady? Every body is so anxious
to know who the young lady is, that when Richard intro-
duces her to the doctors, the crowd presses round, and
putting aside ceremony, openly and deliberately listens.
Good Heavens! the young lady is his wife, the sister of
his friend Mr. Darley, "who wasn't afraid to trust me," the
crowd heard him say, "when the world was against me,
and who in adversity or prosperity alike was ready to bless
me with her devoted love." Good gracious me! More
cheers for the young lady. The young lady is Mrs. Mar-
wood. Three cheers for Mrs. Marwood. Three cheers for
Mr. and Mrs. Marwood. Three cheers for the happy pair!
At last the cheering is overor, at least, over for the
moment. Slopperton is in such an excited state that it
is easy to see it will break out again by and by. The
coachman gives a preliminary flourish of his whip as a
signal to his fiery steeds. Fiery steeds, indeed! "Nothing
so common as a horse shall carry Richard Marwood into
Slopperton," cry the excited townspeople. We ourselves
will draw the carriagewe, the respectable tradespeople
we, the tag-rag and bobtail, any body and every body
will make ourselves for the nonce beasts of burden, and
think it no disgrace to draw the triumphal car of this our
townsman. In vain Richard remonstrates. His handsome
facehis radiant smiles, only re-kindle the citizens' enthu-
siasm. They think of the bright young scapegrace whom
they all knew years ago. They think of his very faults
which were virtues in the eyes of the populace. They re-
member the day he caned a policeman who had laid violent
hands on a helpless little boy for begging in the streets
the night he wrenched off the knocker of an unpopular
magistrate who had been hard upon a poacher. They re-
call a hundred escapades for which those even who reproved
him had admired him; and they gather round the carriage
in which he stands with his hat off, the May sunlight in
his bright hazel eyes, his dark hair waving in the spring
## p. 451 (#467) ############################################
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 451
*
breeze around his wide, candid brow, and one slender hand
stretched out to restrain, if he can, this tempest of enthu-
siasm. Restrain it 2No! that is not to be done. You
can go and stand upon the shore and address yourself to
the waves of the sea; you can mildly remonstrate with the
wolf as to his intentions with regard to the innocent lamb;
but you cannot check the enthusiasm of a hearty British
crowd when its best feelings are excited in a good cause.
Away the carriage goes, with the noisy populace about
the wheels. What is this?music? Yes; two opposition
bands. One is playing "See, the conquering hero comes!"
while the other exhausts itself, and gets black in the face,
with the exertion necessary in doing justice to "Rule Bri-
tannia." At last, however, the hotel is reached. But the
triumph of Richard is not yet finished. He must make a
speech. He does, ultimately, consent to say a few words
in answer to the earnest entreaties of that clamorous crowd.
He tells his friends, in a very few simple sentences, how this
hour, of all others, is the hour for which he has prayed for
nearly nine long years; and how he sees, in the most trifling
circumstances which have aided, however remotely, in bring-
ing this hour to pass, the hand of an all-powerful Provi-
dence. He tells them how he sees in these years of sorrow
through which he has passed a punishment for the careless
sins of his youth: for the unhappiness he had caused his
devoted mother: and for his indifference to the blessings
Heaven had bestowed on him; how he now prays to be
more worthy of the bright future which lies so fair before
him; how he means the rest of his life to be an earnest
and a useful one; and how, to the last hour of that life, he
will retain the memory of their generous and enthusiastic
reception of him this day. It is doubtful how much more
he might have said; but just at this point his eyes became
peculiarly affectedperhaps by the dust, perhaps by the
Sunshineand he was forced once more to have recourse
to his hat, which he pulled fairly over those optics prior to
springing out of the carriage and hurrying into the hotel,
## p. 452 (#468) ############################################
452 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
amidst the frantic cheers of the sterner sex, and the audible
sobs of the fairer portion of the community.
His visit was but a flying one. The night-train was to
take him across country to Liverpool, whence he was to
start the following day for South America. This was kept,
however, a profound secret from the crowd, which might
else have insisted on giving him a second ovation. It was
not very quickly dispersed, this enthusiastic throng. It
lingered for a long time under the windows of the hotel.
It drank a great deal of bottled ale and London porter in
the bar round the corner by the stable-yard; and it stead-
fastly refused to go away until it had had Richard out upon
the balcony several times, and had given him a great many
more tumultuous greetings. When it had quite exhausted
Richard(our hero looking pale from over-excitement)
it took to Mr. Darley as vice-hero, and would have carried
him round the town with one of the bands of music, had
he not prudently declined that offer. It was so bent on
doing something, that at last, when it did consent to go
away, it went into the market-place and had a fightnot
from any pugilistic or vindictive feeling, but from the simple
necessity of finishing the evening somehow.
There is no possibility of sitting down to dinner till
after dark. But at last the shutters are closed and the
curtains are drawn by the obsequious waiters; the dinner-
table is spread with glittering plate and snowy linen; the
landlord himself brings in the soup and uncorks the sherry,
and the little party draws round the social board. Why
should we break in upon that happy group? With the wife
he loves, the mother whose devotion has survived every
trial, the friend whose aid has brought about his restoration
to freedom and society, with ample wealth wherefrom to
reward all who have served him in his adversity, what more
has Richard to wish for?
A close carriage conveys the little party to the station;
and by the twelve-o'clock train they leave Slopperton, some
of them perhaps never to visit it again.
t
## p. 453 (#469) ############################################
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 453
The next day a much larger party is assembled on board
the Oronoko, a vessel lying off Liverpool, and about to sail
for South America. Richard is there, his wife and mother
still by his side; and there are several others whom we
know grouped about the deck. Mr. Peters is there. He
has come to bid farewell to the young man in whose for-
tunes and misfortunes he has taken so warm and unfailing
an interest. He is a man of independent property now,
thanks to Richard, who thinks the hundred a-year settled
on him a very small reward for his devotionbut he is very
melancholy at parting with the master he has so loved.
"I think, sir," he says on his fingers, "I shall marry
Kuppins, and give my mind to the education of the 'fond-
ling. He'll be a great man, sir, if he lives; for his heart,
boy as he is, is all in his profession. Would you believe it,
sir, that child bellowed for three mortal hours because his
father committed suicide, and disappointed the boy of seein'
him hung? That's what I calls a love of business, and no
mistake."
On the other side of the deck there is a little group
which Richard presently joins. A lady and gentleman and
a little boy are standing there; and, at a short distance
from them, a grave-looking man with dark-blue spectacles,
and a servanta Lascar.
There is a peculiar style about the gentleman, on whose
arm the lady leans, that bespeaks him to the most casual
observer to be a military man, in spite of his plain dress
and loose greatcoat. And the lady on his arm, that dark
classic face, is not one to be easily forgotten. It is Walerie
de Cevennes, who leans on the arm of her first and beloved
husband, Gaston de Lancy. If I have said little of this
meetingof this restoration of the only man she ever loved,
which has been to her as a resurrection of the deadit is
because there are some joys which, from their very in-
tensity, are too painful and too sacred for many words.
He was restored to her. She had never murdered him.
The potion given her by Blurosset was a very powerful
## p. 454 (#470) ############################################
454 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
opiate, which had produced a sleep resembling death in
all its outward symptoms. Through the influence of the
chemist the report of the death was spread abroad. The
truth, except to Gaston's most devoted friends, had never
been revealed. But the blow had been too much for him;
and when he was told by whom his death had been at-
tempted, he fell into a fever, which lasted for many months,
during which period his reason was entirely lost, and from
which he was only rescued by the devotion of the chemist
a devotion on Blurosset's part which, perhaps, had pro-
ceeded as much from love of the science he studied, as of
the man he saved. Recovering at last, Gaston de Lancy
found that the glorious voice which had been his fortune
was entirely gone. What was there for him to do? He
enlisted in the East India Company's service; rose through
the Sikh campaign with a rapidity which astonished the
bravest of his compeers. There was a romance about his
story that made him a hero in his regiment. He was
known to have plenty of moneyto have had no earthly
reason for enlisting; but he told them he would rise, as his
father had done before him, in the wars of the Empire,
by merit alone, and he had kept his word. The French
ensign, the lieutenant, the captainin each rising grade
he had been alike beloved, alike admired, as a shining
example of reckless courage and military genius.
The arrest of the soi-disant Count de Marolles had
brought Richard Marwood and Gaston de Lancy into con-
tact. Both sufferers from the consummate perfidy of one
man, they became acquainted, and, ere long, friends.
Some part of Gaston's story was told to Richard, and his
young wife Isabella; but it is needless to say, that the dark
past in which Walerie was concerned remained a secret in
the breast of her husband, of Laurent Blurosset, and her-
self. The father clasped his son to his heart, and opened
his arms to receive the wife whom he had pardoned long
ago, and whose years cf terrible agony had atoned for the
wildly-attempted crime of her youth.
*
## p. 455 (#471) ############################################
FAREWELL TO ENGLAND. 455.
On Richard and Gaston becoming fast friends it had
been agreed between them that Richard should join De
Lancy and his wife in South America; where, far from the
scenes which association had made painful to both, they
might commence a new existence. Valerie, once more mis-
tress of that immense fortune of which De Marolles had so
long had the command, was enabled to bestow it on the
husband of her choice. The bank was closed in a manner
satisfactory to all whose interests had been connected with
it. The cashier, who was no other than the lively gentle-
man who had assisted in De Marolles' attempted escape,
was arrested on a charge of embezzlement, and made to
disgorge the money he had abstracted.
The Marquis de Cevennes elevated his delicately-arched
eyebrows on reading an abridged account of the trial of his
son, and his subsequent suicide; but the elegant Parisian
did not go into mourning for this unfortunate scion of his
aristocratic house ; and, indeed, it is doubtful if five minutes
after he had thrown aside the journal he had any sensation
whatever about the painful circumstances therein related.
He expressed the same gentlemanly surprise upon being
informed of the marriage of his niece with Captain Lans-
down, late of the East India Company's service, and of her
approaching departure with her husband for her South-
American estates. He sent her his blessing and a breakfast
service; with the portraits of Louis the Well-beloved, Ma-
dame du Barry, Choiseul, and D'Aiguillon, painted on the
cups, in oval medallions, on a background of turquoise,
packed in a casket of buhl lined with white velvet; and, I
daresay, he dismissed his niece and her troubles from his
recollection quite as easily as he despatched this elegant
present to the railway which was to convey it to its desti-
nation.
The bell rings; the friends of the passengers drop down
the side of the vessel into the little Liverpool steamer.
There are Mr. Peters and Gus Darley waving their hats in
the distance. Farewell, old and faithful friends, farewell;
## p. 456 (#472) ############################################
456 THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT.
but surely not for ever. Isabella sinks sobbing on her hus-
band's shoulder. Walerie looks with those deep unfathom-
able eyes out towards the blue horizon-line that bounds the
far-away to which they go.
"There, Gaston, we shall forget"
"Never your long sufferings, my Walerie," he murmurs,
as he presses the little hand resting on his arm; "those shall
never be forgotten."
"And the horror of that dreadful night, Gaston"
"Was the madness of a love which thought itself wronged,
Walerie; we can forgive every wrong which springs from the
depth of such a love."
Spread thy white wings, O ship ! The shadows melt
away into that purple distance. I see in that far South two
happy homes; glistening white-walled villas, half buried in
the luxuriant verdure of that lovely climate. I hear the
voices of the children in the dark orange-groves, where the
scented blossoms fall into the marble basin of the fountain.
I see Richard reclining in an easy-chair, under the veranda,
half hidden by the trailing jasmines that shroud it from
the evening sunshine, smoking the long cherry-stemmed
pipe which his wife has filled for him. Gaston paces,
with his sharp military step, up and down the terrace at
their feet, stopping as he passes by to lay a caressing hand
on the dark curls of the son he loves. And Walerieshe
leans against the slender pillar of the porch, round which
the scented yellow roses are twined, and watches, with
earnest eyes, the husband of her earliest choice. O, happy
shadows! Few in this work-a-day world so fortunate as
you, who win in your prime of life the fulfilment of the dear
dreams of your youth!
THE END.