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\ •**

> 1

r f ■•

"I AM A MA(;.srKAi i; oi- iiik Cou.niy of Essex." — Page j^ 2.

THE LOST HEIR

G. A. HENTY

author of

"the cl'Rse of carne's hold'

"thk (queen's cup "

ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BV ERNEST PRATER

TORONTO :
THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED.

:3 T 2 0007

Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one thousand eiglii
hundred and ninety-nine, by The Copp, Clark Company. Limited, Toronto,
Ontario, in the Office of the Minister of Agriculture.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. A Brave Action.

PACK
9

II.

In the South Seas

. 24

III.

A Deaf Girl

. 40

IV.
V.

The Gipsy

A Gambling Den

• 55

nd eiglit

. 70

roronto,

VI.
VII.

John Simcoe

John Simcoe's Friend

. 8s

. too

VIII.

General Mathieson's Seizure

. 116

IX.

A Strange Illness

131

Two Heavy Blows

144

XI.

A Startling Will

158

XII.

Dr. Leeds Speaks

' • ' . •

173

XIII.

Netta Visits Stowmarket

189

XIV.

An Advertisement . \

205

XV.

Very Bad News ,

219

XVI.

A Fresh Clue .

239

XVII.

Netta Acts Independently

254

CONTENTS

CHAHTER

X\'III. I)c)\v-\ i\ im.; .MAksHh;^
XIX. A Partial Sitckss

XX. A DlNNKK I'AklA

XXI. A 15(>x

A'l I HK ( )1'KR A

.XXll. Nkakinc; llIK (;(,).\l.

XX I II. Waltkk

XXIV. A Nkw BAKdK .

XX\'. A Crush

I NO Exposure

PAUti

271

287

303

?2I

335

Js*-

367
385

.XXVI. A Lktter kro.m Auroai?

400

THE LOST HEIR

CHAPTER L

A URAVE ACTION

A NUMBER of soldiers were standing in the road
r\ near the bungalow of Brigadier-General Mathieson
the officer in command of the force in the cantonments
of Benares, and the surrounding district.

" They are coming now, I think," one sergeant said to
another. " It is a bad business. They say the General
IS terribly hurt, and it was thought better to bring him
and the other fellow who was mixed up in it down in
doolies. I heard Captain Harvey say in the orderly-
room that they have arranged relays of bearers every
five miles all the way down. He is a good fellow is the
General, and we should all miss him. He is not one of
the sort who has everything comfortable himself and
don t care a rap how the soldiers get on : he sees to
the comfort of everyone and spends his money freely
too. He don't seem to care what he lays out in makincr
the quarters of the married men comfortable, and in
getting any amount of ice for the hospital, and extra
punkawallahs in the barrack-rooms during the hot
season. He goes out and sees to everything himself.

THE LOST HEIR

Why, on the march I have known liim, when all the
doolies V. ere full, give up his own horse to a man who
had fallen out. He has had bad luck too ; lost his
wife years ago by cholera, and he has got no one to care
for but his girl. She was only a few months old when
her mother died. Of course she was sent off to
England, and has been there ever since. He must be
a rich man, besides his pay and allowances ; but it ain't
every rich man who spends his money as he does.
There won't be a dry eye in the cantonment if he
goes under."

" How was it the other man got hurt ? "

"Well, I hear that the tiger sprang on to the General's
elephant and seized him by the leg. They both went off
together, and the brute shifted its hold to the shoulder,
and carried him into the jungle; then the other fellow
slipped off his elephant and ran after the tiger. He got
badly mauled too ; but he killed the brute and saved
the General's life."

" By Jove ! that was a plucky thing. Who was he ? "

" Why, he was the chap who was walking backwards
and forwards with the General when the band was play-
ing yesterday evening. Several of the men remarked
how like he was to you, Sanderson. I noticed it, too.
There certainly was a strong likeness."

" Yes, some of the fellows were saying so," Sanderson
replied. " He passed close to me, and I saw that he
was about my height and build, but of course I did not
notice the likeness ; a man does not know his own face
much. Anyhow, he only sees his full face, and doesn't
know how he looks

ideways

he?

"Yes, I believe so ; I know that the General is putting
him up at his quarters. He has been here about a

lii

;rson

it he

not

face

)esn't

isn't

A HRAVK ACTION

T r

week. I think he is some man from England, travel-
Hng, I suppose, to see the world. I heard the Adjutant
speak of him as Mr. Simcoe when he was talking about
the affair."

" Of course they will take him to the General's
bungalow?"

"No ; he is going to the next. Major Walker is away
on leave, and the doctor says that it is better that they
should be in different bungalows, because then if one
gets delirious and noisy he won't disturb the other.
Dr. Hunter is going to take up his quarters there to
look after him, with his own servants and a couple of
hospital orderlies."

By this time several officers were gathered at the
entrance to the General's bungalow, two mounted
troopers having brought in the news a few minutes
before that the doolies were within a mile.

They came along now, each carried by four men,
maintaining a swift but smooth and steady pace, and
abstaining from the monotonous chant usually kept up.
A doctor was riding by the side of the doolies, and
two mounted orderlies with baskets containing ice and
surgical dressings rode fifty paces in the rear. The
curtains of the doolies had been removed to allow of a
free passage of air, and mosquito curtains hung round
to prevent insects annoying the sufferers.

There was a low murmur of sympathy from the
soldiers as the doolies passed them, and many a mut-
tered ** God bless you, sir, and bring you through it all
right." Then, as the injured men were carried into the
two bungalows, most of the soldiers strolled off, some,
however, remaining near in hopes of getting a favour-
able report from an orderly or servant. A group of
officers remained under the shade of a tree near until

THE LOST HEIR

the surgeons who had ridden in with the doolies came
out.

"What is the report, McManus?" one of them asked,
as he approached.

" There is no change since I sent off my report last
night," he said. " The General is very badly hurt ; I
certainly should not like to give an opinion at present
whether he will get over it or not. If he does it will
be a very narrow shave. He was insensible till we
lifted him into the doolie at eight o'clock yesterday
evening, when the motion seemed to rouse him a little,
and he just opened his eyes ; and each time we changed
bearers he has had a little ice between his lips, and a
drink of lime juice and water v/ith a dash of brandy in
it. He has known me each time, and whispered a word
or two, asking after the other."

"And how is he?"

" I have no doubt that he will do ; that is, of course,
if fever does not set in badly. His wounds are not so
severe as the General's, and he is a much younger man,
and, as I should say, with a good constitution. If there
is no complication he ought to be about again in a
month's time. He is perfectly sensible. Let him lie
quiet for a day or two ; after that it would be as well
if some of you who have met him at the General's
would drop in occasionally for a short chat with him ;
but of course we must wait to see if there is going to
be much fever."

"And did it happen as they say, doctor? The
despatch told us very little beyond the fact that the
General was thrown from his elephant, just as the
tiger sprang, and that it seized him and carried him
into the jungle ; that Simcoe slipped off his pad and
ran in and attacked the tiger; that he saved the

^'^

A BRAVE ACTION

-N

General's life and killed the animal, but is sadly hurt
himself."

"That k about it, except that he did not kill the
tiger. Metcalf, Colvin, and Smith all ran in, and firing
tosfether knocked it over stone dead. It was an extra-
ordinarily plucky action of Simcoe, for he had emptied
his rifle, and had nothing but it and a knife when he
ran m.

" You don't say so ! By Jove ! that was an extra-
ordinary act of pluck ; one would almost say of mad-
ness, if he hadn't succeeded in dniwing the brute off
Mathieson, and so gaining time for the others to come
up. It was a miracle that he wasn't killed. Well, we
shall not have quite so easy a time of it for a bit. Of
course Murdock, as senior officer, will take command of
the brigade, but he won't be half as considerate for our
comfort as Mathieson has been. He is rather a scoffer
at what he calls new-fangled ways, and he will be as
likely to march the men out in the heat of the day as
at five in the morning."

The two sergeants who had been talking walked
back together to their quarters. Both of them were on
the brigade staff. Sanderson was the paymaster's clerk,
Nichol worked in the orderly-room. At the sergeants'
mess the conversation naturally turned on the tiger
hunt and its consequences.

" I have been in some tough fights," one of the older
men said, "and I don't know that I ever felt badly
scared — one hasn't time to think of that when one is
at work — but to rush in against a wounded tiger with
nothing but an empty gun and a hunting-knife is not
the sort of job that I should like to tackle. It makes
one's blood run cold to think of it. I consider that
ever)'one in the brigade ought to subscribe a day's pay

;i:k.

THE LOST HEIR

to get something to give that man, as a token of our
admiration for his pluck and of our gratitude for his
having saved General Mathieson's life."

There was a general expression of approval at the
idea. Then Sanderson said —

" I think it is a thing that ought to be done, but it
is not for us to begin it. If we hear of anything of
that sort done by the officers, two or three of us might
go up and say that it was the general wish among the
non-coms, and men to take a share in it ; but it would
never do for us to begin."

" That is right enough ; the officers certainly would
not like such a thing to begin from below. We had
better wait and see whether there is any movement
that way. I dare say that it will dep'ind a great deal
on whether the General gets over it or noi."

The opportunity did not come. At the end of five
weeks Mr. Simcoe was well enough to travel by easy
stages down to the coast, acting upon the advice that
he should, for the present, give up aii idea of making
a tour through India, and had better take a sea
voyage to Australia or the Cape, or, better still, take
his passage home at once. Had the day and hour
of his leaving been known, there was not a white
soldier in the cantonments who would not have turned
out to give him a hearty cheer, but although going
on well, the doctor said that all excitement should be
avoided. It would be quite enough for him to have
to say good-bye to the friends who had been in the
habit of coming in to talk with him daily, but anything
like a pubHc greeting by the men would be likely to
upset him. It was not, therefore, until Simcoe was
some way down the river that his departure became
known to the troops.

A BRAVE ACTION

Six weeks later there was a sensation in the canton-
ments. General Mathieson had so far recovered that
he was able to be carried up to the hills, and the camp
was still growling at the irritating orders and regula-
tions of his temporary successor in command, when
the news spread that Staff Pay-Sergeant Sanderson
had deserted. He had obtained a fortnight's furlough,
saying that he wanted to pay a visit to some old
comrades at Allahabad ; at the end of the fortnight
he had not returned, and the Staff Paymaster had gone
strictly into his accounts and found that there was a
deficiency of over ;^300, which he himself would of
course be called upon to make good. He had, indeed,
helped to bring about the deficiency by placing entire
confidence in the sergeant and by neglecting to check
his accounts regularly.

Letters were at once written to the heads of the
police at Calcutta and Bomba}', and to all the principal
places on the roads to those ports ; but it was felt
that with such a start as he had got, the chances wtre
all in his favour.

It was soon ascertained at Allahabad that he had
not been there. Inquiries at the various dak-bungalows
satisfied the authorities that he had not travelled by
land. If he had gone down to Calcutta he had gone
by boat ; but he might have started on the long land
journey across to Bombay, or have even made for
Madras. No distinct clue, however, could be obtained.

The Paymaster obtained leave and went down to
Calcutta and inspected all the lists of passengers and
made inqu'ries as to them ; but there were then bu.
few white men in the country, save those holding civil
or military positions and the merchants at the large
ports, therefore there was not much difficulty in ascer-

"' "'•■'S2*|ir.t

THE LOST HEIR

taining the identity of everyone who had left Calcutta
during the past month, unless, indeed, he had taken
a passage in some nacive craft to Rangoon or possibly
Singapore.

On his arrival at Calcutta he heard of an event
which caused deep and general regret when known at
Benares, and for a time threw even the desertion of
Sergeant Sanderson into the shade. The Nepaul^ in
which John Simcoe had sailed, had been lost in a
typhoon in the Bay of Bengal when but six days out.
There was no possible doubt as to his fate, for a vessel
half a mile distant had seen her founder, but could
render no assistance, being herself dismasted and un-
manageable and the sea so tremendous that no boat
could have lived in it for a moment. As both ships
belonged to the East India Company, and were well
known to each other, the captain and officials of the
Ceylon had no doubt whatever as to her identity, and,
indeed, the remains of a boat bearing the Nepaul's name
were picked up a few days later near the spot where
she had gone down.

" It 's hard luck, that is what I call it," Sergeant
Nichol said with great emphasis when the matter
was talked over in the sergeants' mess. " Here is a
man who faces a wounded tiger with nothing but a
hunting-knife, and recovers from his wounds; here
is the General, whose life he saved, going on first-rate,
and yet he loses his life himself, drowned at sea. I
call that about as hard luck as anything I have heard
of."

" Hard luck indeed I " another said. " If he had died
of his wounds it would have been only what might
have been expected ; but to get over them and then
to get drowned almost as soon as he had started is,

'::i

^'i questic
Sandei
never
Smalle
he wai
but I

A BRAVE ACTION

as you say, Nichol, very hard luck. I am sure the
General will be terribly cut up about it. I heard
Major Butler tell Captain Thompson that he had
heard from Dr. Huntc: hat when the General began
to get round and heard that Simcoe had gone, while
he was lying there too ill to know anything about it,
he regularly broke down and cried like a child ; and
I am sure the fact that he will never have the chance
of thanking him now will hurt him as bad as those
tiger's claws."

" And so there is no news of Sanderson ? "

" Not that I ha'^e heard. Maybe he has got clean
away ; but I should say it 's more likely that he is
lying low in some sailors' haunt until the matter blows
over. Then, like enough, he will put on sea-togs and
ship under another name before the mast in some trader
knocking about among the islands, and by the time she
comes back he could take a passage home without
questions being asked. He is a sharp fellow is
Sanderson. I never quite liked him myself, but I
never thought he was a rogue. It will teach Captain
Smalley to be more careful in future. I heard that
he was going home on his long leave in the spring,
but I suppose he will not be able to do so now for
a year or so ; three hundred pounds is a big sum to
have to fork out."

The news of the loss of the Nepaul, with all hands,
did indeed hit General Mathieson very heavily, and
for a time seriously delayed the progress that he was
making towards recovery.

"It's bad enough to think," he said, "that I shall

never have an opportunity of thanking that gallant

fellow for my life ; but it is even worse to know that

my rescue has brought about his death, for had it

THE LOST HEIR

».

not been for that he would have by this time been
up at Delhi or in Oude instead of lying at the bottom
of the sea. I would give half my fortune to grasp
his hand again and tell him what I feel."

General Mathieson's ill luck stuck to him. He gained
strength so slowly that he was ordered home, and it
was three years before he rejoined. Four years later
his daughter came out to him, and for a time his home
in Delhi, where he was now stationed, was a happy
one. The girl showed no desire to marry, and refused
several very favourable offers ; but after she had been
out four years she married a rising young civilian who
was also stationed at Delhi. The union was a happy
one, excef: that the first two children born to them
died in infancy. They were girls. The third was a
boy, who at the age of eight months was sent home
under the charge of an officer's wife returning with
her children to England. When they arrived there
he was placed in charge of Mrs. Covington, a niece
of the General's. But before he reached the shores
of England he was an orphan. An epidemic of cholera
broke out at the station at which his father, who was
now a deputy collector, was living, and he and his
wife were among the first victims of the scourge.

General Mathieson was now a major-general, and
in command of the troops in the Calcutta district.
This blow decided him to resign his command, land
return to England. He was now sixty ; the climate
of India had suited him, and he was still a hale, active
man. Being generally popular he was soon at home
in London, where he took a house in Hyde Park
Gardens and became a regular frequenter of the
Orioital and East Indian United Service Clubs, of
whic:h he had been for years a member, went a good

A BRAVE ACTION

been

►ottom

grasp

gained
and it
s later
; home
happy
refused
d been
in who
happy
> them

was a

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g with

there

. niece

shores
:;holera
10 was
nd his

and
istrict.
d, iand
:limate
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Park
of the
lbs, of
good

•

deal into society, and when at home took a lively
interest in his grandson, often running down to his
niece's place, near Warwick, to see how he was getting

on.

The ayah who had come with the child from India
had been sent back a few months after they arrived,
for his mother had written to Mrs. Covington request-
ing that he should have a white nurse. " The native
servants," she wrote, " spoil the children dreadfully, and
let them have entirely their own way, and the con-
sequence is that they grow up domineering, bad-
tempered, and irritable. I have seen so many cases
of it here that Herbert and I have quite decided that
our child shall not be spoilt in this way, but shall
be brought up in England as English children are, to
obey their nurses and to do as they are ordered."

As Mrs. Covington's was a large country house the
child was no trouble, an excellent nurse was obtained,
and the boy throve under her care.

The General now much regretted having remained
so many years in India, and if an old comrade re-
marked, " I never could make out why you stuck to
it so long, Mathieson ; it was ridiculous for a man
with a large private fortune, such as you have," he
would reply, " I can only suppose it was because I
was an old fool. But, you see, I had no particular
reason for coming home. I lost my only sister three
years after I went out, and had never seen her only
daughter, my niece Mary Covington. Of course I
hoped for another bout of active service, and when
he chance came at last up in the north, there was

stuck down in Calcutta. If it hadn't been for
ane I should certainly have given it up in disgjyst
vhen I found I was practically shelved. But slie

THE LOST HEIR

1 ;

always used to come down and stay with me for a
month or two in the cool season, and as she was
the only person in the world I cared for, I held on
from year to year, grumbling of course, as pretty well
every Anglo-Indian does, but without having sufficient
resolution to throw it up. I ought to have stayed at
home for good after that mauling I got from the tiger;
but, you see, I was never really myself while I was at
home. I did not feel up to going to clubs, and could
not enter into London life at all, but spent most of
my time at my own place, which was within a drive
of Mary Covington's, who had then just married.

"Well, you see, I got deucedly tired of life down
there. I knew nothing whatever of farming, and
though I tried to get up an interest in it I failed
altogether. Of course there was a certain amount of
society of a sort, and everyone called, and one had
to go out to dinner-parties. But such dinner-parties!
Why, a dinner in India was worth a score of them.
Most of them were very stifT and formal, and after |
the women had gone upstairs, the men talked of
nothing but hunting and shooting and crops and
cattle ; so at last I could stand it no longer, but |
threw up six months of my furlough and went out
again. Yes, of course I had Jane, but at that time
she was but fourteen, and was a girl at school ; and
when I talked of bringing her home and having al
governess, everyone seemed to think that it would be
the worst thing possible for her, and no doubt they|
were right, for the life would have been as dull for her
as it was for me.

"Of course now it is different. I feel as young and'
as well as I did twenty years ago, and can thoroughly
enjoy my life in London, though I still fight very shy

of th
that 1
that
out t
IJarral
0{ cc
never
doesn'
he use
young!
jokes,
has he
"I a
of you
plenty
were j
Bulstrc
of each
while I
the goc
scores (
and on
and we
wines,
they ai
except
"The
going t
and wil
liver al
and alt
enjoy n

The
Icndeavo

A BRAVK ACTION

; for a
le was
eld on
ty well
ifificient
lyed at
t tiger ;
was at ,
d could
Host of
a drive

e down

ig, and

I failed

lount of

)ne had

■parties !

if them.

id after 4
Iked of

)ps and
^er, but
ent out
lat time
>ol ; and i
laving a
/ould be
jbt they I
1 for her

ung and'
Droughly
very shy

of the country. !t is a satisfaction to me to know
that things are pretty quiet in India at present, so
that I am losing nothing that way, and if I were
out there I should be only holding inspections at
Barrakpoor, Dumdum, or on the Maidan at Calcutta.
Of course it was pleasant enough in its way, for I
never felt the heat ; but as a man gets on in life he
doesn't have quite so much enjoyment out of it as
he used to do. The men around him are a good deal
younger than himself. He knows all the old mess-room
jokes, and one bit of scandal is like scores of others he
has heard in his time.

" I am heartily glad that I have come home. Many
of you here are about my own standing, and there is
plenty to talk about of old friends and old days. You
were a young ensign when I was a captain, but
Bulstrode and I got our companies within a few days
of each other. Of course he is only a lieutenant-colonel,
while I am a major-general, but that is because he had
the good sense to quit the service years ago. There are
scores of others in the club just about my own standing,
and one gets one's rubber of whist in the afternoon,
and we dine together and run down the cooking and
wines, although every one of us knows at heart that
they are both infinitely better than we got in India,
except at the clubs in the Presidency towns.

"Then, of course, we all agree that the service is
going to the dogs, that the Sepoys are over- indulged
and will some day give us a lot of trouble. I keep my
liver all right by taking a long ride every morning,
and altogether I think I can say that I thoroughly
enjoy myself."

The General, on his first visit to England, had
kndeavoured, but in vain, to find out tiie family o£

THE LOST HEIR

til

John Simcoe. He had advertised largely, but without
effect.

'* I want to find them out," he said to his niece ; " I
owe that man a debt of gratitude I can never repay,
but doubtless there are some of his family who may
be in circumstances where I could give them a helpin^^
hand. There may be young brothers — of course I
could get them cadetships in the Indian army — may
be portionless sisters."

" But if he was travelling in India for pleasure he
must have been a well-to-do young fellow. Men cannot
wander about in the East without having a pretty full
purse."

" Yes, no doubt ; but I don't fancy it was so in his
case, and he said casually that he had come in for
some money, and as he had always had a great desire
to travel, he thought that he could do nothing better
than spend a year or two in the East, but that he
hoped before it was gone he should fall on his legs
and obtain some sort of employment. He did not
care much what it was, so that it was not quill-
driving. He thought that he could turn his hands to
most things. I laughed at the time, for I was by no
means sure that he was in earnest, but I have felt
since that he must have been. If it had not been so,
my advertisements would surely have caught the eye
of someone who knew his family. A family wealthy
enough for one of the sons to start on two years' travel
must be in a fair position, whether in town or country.
Had it been so I should have heard of it, and therefore
I think that what he said must have had some founda-
tion in fact. He was certainly a gentleman in manner,
and my idea now is that he belonged to a middle-class
family, probably in some provincial town, and that,

A BRAVE ACTION

«3

nthout

:e ; " I
repa>-,
D may
lelpin^^
urse 1
— may

ure he
cannot
tty full

in his
in for
; desire
better
hat he
is legs
[id not
quill-
nds to
by no
ve felt
sen so,
le eye
ealth}'
travel
3untry.
erefore
ounda-
lanner,
e-class
that,

•I

having come into some money at the death of his
father or some other relative, he followed his natural
bent and started on a sort of roving expedition, think-
ing, as many people do think, that India is a land where
you have only to stretch out your hands and shake the
pagoda tree.

" He would have found out his mistake, poor fellow,
if he had lived. The days are long past when any
dashing young adventurer can obtain a post of honour
in the pay of an Indian Rajah. Still, of course, after
what he did for me, had he remained in India, and I
found that he really wanted a berth, I might have done
something for him. I know numbers of these Indian
princes, some of them intimately, and to some I have
been of very considerable service ; and I fancy that
I might have got him a berth of some kind or other
without much difficulty. Or had he made up his mind
to return to England I would have set him up in any
business he had a fancy for. He has gone now, and
I wish I could pay someone he cared for a little of
the debt of gratitude I owe him. Well, I have done
my best and have failed, from no fault of my own ;
but remember that if ever you hear of a family of
the name of Simcoe, I want you to make inquiries
about them, and to give me full particulars concerning
them."

But no news ever reached the General on this head,
and it was a frequent cause of lamentation to him when
he finally settled in town, that although he had again
advertised h6 had heard nothing whatever of the family
of which he was in search.

CHAPTER 11,

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

(

AN island in the Pacific. The sun was shining down
Ix. from a cloudless sky, the sea was breaking on the
white beach, there was just sufficient breeze to move
the leaves of the cocoanut trees that formed a dark
band behind the sands. A small brig of about a
hundred tons burden lay anchored a short distance
from the shore. The paint was off in many places,
and everywhere blistered by the sun. Her sails hunc,^
loosely in the gaskets, and the slackness of her ropes
and her general air of untidiness alike showed the
absence of any sort of discipline on board.

In front of a rough shanty, built just within the line
of shade of the cocoanuts, sat three men. Two drunken
sailors lay asleep some fifty yards away. On the stump
of a tree in front of the bench on which the three men
were sitting were placed several black bottles and three
tin pannikins, while two gourds filled with water and
covered with broad banana leaves stood erect in holes
dug in the sand.

" I tell you what it is, Atkins, your men are carrying
it on too far. Bill here, and I, were good friends with
the natives ; the chief gave us wives, and we got on
well enough with them. What with the cocoanuts,
which are free to us all, and the patches of ground to
cultivate, we had all we wanted, and with the store of

IN THK SOUTH SEAS

beads and bright cotton we brought here with us we
paid the natives to fish for pearls for us, and have
collected enough copra to trade for rum and whatever
else we want. You have got all our copra on board,
and a good stock of native trumperies, and I should
recommend you to be off, both for your own sake and
ours. Your men have been more or less drunk ever
since they came here. I don't mind a drinking bout
myself now and again, but it does not do to keep it
up. However, it would be no odds to us whether your
men were drunk all the time or not if they would but
get drunk on board, but they will bring the liquor on
shore, and then they get quarrelsome, use their fists
on the natives and meddle with the women. Now,
these fellows are quiet and gentle enough if they are
left alone and treated fairly, but I don't blame them
for getting riled up when they are ill-treated, and I tell
you they are rilerl up pretty badly now. My woman
has spoken to me more than once, and from what she
says there is likely to be trouble, not only for you but
for us."

*'Well, Sim," the man that he was addressing said,
■' there is reason enough in what you say. I don't care
myself a snap for these black fellows ; a couple of
musket-shots would send them all flying. But, you see,
though i am skipper, the men all have shares and do
pretty much as they like. At present they like to stay
here, and 1 suppose tiiey wiii stay here till they are
tired of it."

"Well, Atkins, it 1 were m your place I should very
soon make a change, and if you like. Bill and I will
help you. You have got six men ; well, if you shot
three of them the other three would think better of
it; and if they didn't I would settle them too."

THE LOST HEIR

l{i

1 1

" It is all very well talking like that, Sim. How
could I sail the brig without hands? If I only kept
three of them I should be very short-handed, and if
I ever did manage to get to port they would lay a
complaint against me for shooting the others. It is all
very well for you to talk ; you have lived here long
enough to know that one can only get the very worst
class of fellows to sail with one in craft like this and
for this sort of trade. It pays well if one gets back
safely, but what with the risk of being cast ashore or
being killed by the natives, who arc savage enough
in some of the islands, it stands to reason that a man
who can get a berth in any other sort of craft won't
sail with us. But it is just the sort of life to suit chaps
like these ; it means ea-iy work, plenty of loafing about,
and if things turn out well a good lump of money at
the end of the voyage. However, they ought to have
had enough of it this job ; the rum is nearly gone, and
if you will come off to-morrow I will let you have
what remains, though if they are sober I doubt if they
will let 3'^ou take it away."

"We will risk that," the third man said. "We are
not nice about using our pistols if you are. I was
saying to Simcoe here, things are going a lot too far.
Enough mischief has been done already, and I am by
no means sure that when you have gone they won't
make it hot for us. We are very comfortable here, and
we are not doing badly, and I don't care about being
turned out of it."

"The pearl fishing is turning out well?" Atkins
asked quietly.

!' It might be worse and it might be better. Anyhow,
we are content to remain here for a bit.

" I don't like it, Jack," he said, as the skipper, having

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

aving

in vain tried to rouse the two drunken men, rowed
himself off to the brig. " My woman told me this
morning that there had been a big talk among the
natives, and that though they did not tell her anything,
she thought that they had made up their minds to wipe
the whites out altogether. They said that if we hadn't
been here, the brig would not have come ; which is like
enough, for Atkins only put in because he was an old
chum of ours, and thought that we should have got
copra enough to make it worth his while to come
round. Well, if the niggers only wiped out the crew,
and burnt the ship, I should say nothing against it,
as long as they let Atkins alone. He has stood by
me in more than one rough-and-tumble business, and
I am bound to stand by him. But there ain't no
discrimination among the niggers. Besides, I am not
saying but that he has been pretty rough with them
himself

" It makes all the difference whether you settle down
and go in for making a pile, or if you only stop to
water and take in fruit ; we agreed as to that when we
landed here. When we stopped here before and found
them friendly and pleasant, and we says to each other,
* If we can but get on smooth with them and set them
fishing for us we might make a good thing out of it.'
You see, we had bought some oysters one of them
brought up after a dive, and had found two or three
pearls in them.

"Well, we have been here nine months, and I don't
say I am not getting tired of it ; but it is worth
stopping for. You know we reckoned last week that
tho pearls we have got ought to be worth two or three
thousand pounds, and we agreed that we would stay
here till we have two bags the size of the one we have

THE LOST HEIR

IF;

got; but unless Atkins gets those fellows off, I doubt
if we shan't have to go before that. There is no
reasoning with these niggers ; if they had any sense
they would see that we can't help these things."

"Perhaps what the women tell us is untrue," the
other suggested.

" Don't you think that," Simcoe said ; " these black
women are always true to their white men when they
are decently treated. Besides, none of the natives have
been near us to-day. That, of course, might be because
they are afraid of these chaps ; but from this shanty we
can see the canoes, and not one has gone out to-day.
Who is to blame them, when one of their chiefs was
shot yesterday without a shadow of excuse? I don't
say that I think so much of a nigger's life one way or
another ; and having been in some stiff fights together,
as you know, I have always taken my share. But I am
dead against shooting without some reason ; it spoils
trade, and makes it unsafe even to land for water. I
have half a mind, Bill, to go on board and ask Atkins
to take us away with him ; we could mighty soon settle
matters with the crew, and if there was a fight and we
had to shoot thern all, we could take the brig into port
well enough."

*' No, no," said Bill, " it has not come to that yet.
Don't let us give up a good thing until we are sure that
the game is up."

"Well, just as you like ; I am ready to run the risk
if you are. It would be hard, if the worst came to the
worst, if we couldn't fight our way down to our canoe,
^nd once on board that we could laugl at them; for
as we have proved over and over again, they have not
one that can touch her."

"Well, I will be off to my hut ; the sun is just setting

■i

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

and my supper will be ready for me." He strolled off
to his shanty, which lay back some distance in the
wood. Simcoe entered the hut, where a native woman
was cooking.

" Nothing fresh, I suppose ? " he asked in her language.

She shook her head. " None of our people have
been near us to-day."

"Well, Polly" — for so her white master had christened
her, her native appellation being too long for ordinary
conversation — " it is a bad business, and I am sorry for
it ; but when these fellows have sailed away it will soon
come all right again."

" Polly hopes so," she said. " Polly very much afraid."

"Well, you had better go to-morrow and see them,
and tell them, as I have told them already, we are very
sorry for the goings on of these people, but it is not
our fault. You have no fear that they will hurt you,
have you ? Because if so, don't you go."

" They no hurt Polly now," she said ; " they know
that if I do not come back you be on guard."

"Well, I don't think there is any danger at present,
but it is as well to be ready. Do you take down to the
canoe three or four dozen cocoanuts and four or five big
bunches of plantains, and you may as well take three
or four gourds of water. If we have to take to the
boat, will you go with me or stay here ? "

*' Polly will go with her master," the woman said ;
" if she stay here they will kill her."

" I am glad enough for you to go with me, Polly,"
he said. " You have been a good little woman, and I
don't know how I should get on without you now ;
though why they should kill you I don't know, seeing
that your head chief gave you to me himself"

" Kill everything belonging to white man," she said

■I

THE LOST HEIR

!■' !

1 '■;!

quietly ; and the man knew in his heart that it would
probably be so. She put his supper on the table and
then made several journeys backwards and forwards to
the canoe, which lay afloat in a little cove a couple of
hundred yards way. When she had done she stood at
the table and ate the remains of the supper.

An hour later the man was sitting on the bench
outside smoking his pipe, when he heard the sound
of heavy footsteps among the trees. He knew this was
no native tread.

" What is it, Bill ? " he asked, as the man came up.

"Well, I came to tell you that there is a big row
going on among the natives. I can hear their tom-tom
things beating furiously, and occasionally they .set up a
tremendous yell. I tell you I didn't like it, Simcoe ; I
don't like it a bit. I sent my woman to see what it was
all about, but though she had been away three hours,
she hadn't come back when I started out to talk it over
with you."

" There has been a biggish row going on on, board
the brig too," the other said. " I have heard Atkins
storming, and a good deal of shouting among the men.
I suppose you have got your pearls all right in your
belt? Things begin to have an awkward look, and we
may have to bolt at short notice."

" You trust me for that, Simcoe ; I have had them
on me ever since the brig came in. I had no fear of
the natives stealing them out of my hut, but if one of
those fellows were to drop in and see them he would
think nothing of knifing the woman and carrying them
off."

•* I see you have brought your gun with you."

"Yes, and my pistols too. I suppose you are loaded,
and ready to catch up at a moment's notice ? "

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

3»

" Yes ; my girl has been carrying down cocoanuts
and plantains to the canoe, so, if we have to make a
bolt, we can hold on comfortably enough until we
get to the next island, which is not above three days*
sail, and lies dead to leeward, as the wind is at present.
Still, Bill, I hope it is not coming to that. I think it
is likely enough they may attack the brig in their
canoes, but they have always been so friendly with us
that I really don't think they can turn against us
now ; they must know that we cannot help these
people's doings."

" That is all very well," the other said, " but you and
I know half a dozen cases in which the niggers have
attacked a ship, and in every case beachcombers were
killed too."

Simcoe made no answer ; he knew that it was so,
and could hardly hope that there would be an excep-
tion in their case. After thinking for a minute he said,
" Well, Bill, in that case I think the safest plan will
be to take to the canoe at once. We can stay away
a few weeks and then come back here and see how
matters stand."

" But how about Atkins ? "

"Well, we will shout and get him ashore and tell
him what we think of it, and give him the choice of
either stopping or going with us. Nothing can be
fairer than that. If he chooses to stop and harm comes
of it we cannot blame ourselves. If we come back
in a few weeks of course we should not land until we
had overhauled one of their canoes and found out what
the feeling of the people was. They will have got
over their fit of rage, and like enough they will have
said to each other, ' We were better off when the two
white men were here. They paid us for our fishing

THE LOST HEIR

^ .'I'

and our copra, and never did us any harm. I wish
they were back again.'"

" That is reasonable enough," the other agreed.
"What about the trade things?"

" Well, we have only got some beads and small
knick-knacks left. Polly shall carry them down to the
canoe ; we shall want them for trading till we come
back here again."

He said a few words to the woman, who at once
began to carry the things down to the canoe. Then he
went down to the beach and shouted, " Atkins ! "

" Hullo ! " came back from the brig.

" Come ashore ; we want to talk to you about some-
thing particular." They saw the dinghy pulled up to
the ship's side, then Atkins rowed ashore.

" I have been having a row with the crew," he said.
** I thought it was coming to fighting. Two or three
of them took up handspikes, but I drew my pistols and
things calmed down. What do you want me for?"

"Bill here has brought news that there is a row
among the natives. They are beating their drums and
yelling like fiends, and we expect it means mischief.
At any rate it comes to this ; we are so convinced that
there is going to be trouble that we mean to cut and
run at once. We have got enough grub put on board
our canoe to take us to the next island, but we did not
want to leave you in the lurch, to be speared by the
niggers, so we have called you to offer you a seat in the
canoe."

"That is friendly," Atkins said, "but I should
lose the ship and cargo : and pretty near all that I
have got is in her. Why should not you two brinj^
your canoe ofif alongside and hoist her up? Then
we could get up anchor and be off. Three of the

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

wish

reed.

small
the
come

once
len he

some-
up to

e said.
: three
)ls and

a row

ns and
ischief.
:d that
jt and
board
lid not
y the
in the

ishould
Ithat I

brini;

Then
lof the

fellows are dead drunk and the other three half stupid.
I would give you each a share in the profits of the
voyage."

"Well, what do you think of that, Simcoe?" Bill
said.

" I tell you straight I don't care for it. You and
I are both good paddlers, and the canoe sails like
a witch in a light wind. Once afloat in her and we
are safe, but you can't say as much for the brig. I
have sailed in her before now, and I know that she
is slow, unless it is blowing half a gale. It is like
enough that the natives may be watching her now,
and if they saw us get under way they would be
after her, and would go six feet to her one. As to
fighting, what could we three do ? The others would
be of no use whatever. No, I like our plan best
by far."

" Well, I don't know what to say," Atkins said. " It
is hard to make a choice. Of course if I were sure that
the natives really meant mischief I would go with you,
but we cannot be sure of that."

" I feel pretty sure of it, anyhow," Bill said. " My

girl would be safe to follow me here when she got

back and found the hut empty, but I am mightily

afraid that some harm has come to her, or she would

[have been back long before this. It wasn't half a mile

I to go, and she might have been there and back in half

an hour, and she has been gone now over three hours,

and I feel nasty about it, I can tell you. I wish your

Icrew were all sober, Atkins, and that we had a score of

[men that I could put my hand on among the islands.

|l should not be talking about taking to a canoe then,

)ut I would just go in and give it them so hot that

they would never try their pranks on again."

THE LOST HEIR

l:.|l|

li'l

"Have you got all tbe things in, Polly?" Simcoe
asked the woman, as she crouched down by the door of
the hut.

" Got all in," she said. " Why not go ? Very bad
wait here."

" Well, I think you are about right. At any rate,
we will go and get on board and wait a spear's-throw
off the shore for an hour or so. If Bill's Susan comes
here and finds we have gone she is pretty safe to guess
that we shall be on board the canoe and waiting for
her. What do you say to that, Bill ? "

" That suits me ; nothing can be fairer. If she comes
we can take her on board, if she doesn't I shall know
that they have killed her, and I will jot it down against
them and come back here some day before long and
take it out of them. And you, Atkins?"

" I will go straight on board. Like enough it is all a
false alarm, and I ain't going to lose the brig and all
that she has got on board till I am downright certain
that they "

Ke stopped suddenly, and the others leapt to theit
feet as a burst of savage yells broke out across the
water.

" By heavens, they are attacking the ship ! " Simcoe
cried ; " they will be here in a moment. Come on,
Polly ! come on, Atkins ! we have no choice now."
Taking up his arms he started to run. " Quick, quick i "
he cried, " I can hear them."

They had gone but some thirty yards when aj
number of natives burst from the wood. Had they
arrived a minute sooner at the hut none of its occu-
pants would have lived to tell the tale, but the
impatience of those in the canoes lying round the
brig had caused the alarm to be given before they

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

had placed themselves in readiness for a simultaneous
rush on the hut. There was no further occasion for
silence ; a wild yell burst out as they caught sight of
tlie flying figures, and a dozen spears flew through
the air.

" Don't stop to fire," Simcoe shouted, " we shall
I have to make a stand at the boat and shall want every
[barrel."

They were three-quarters of the way to the boat
land the natives were still some twenty yards behind
[them. Suddenly Bill stumbled ; then with a savage
)ath he turned and emptied both barrels of his fowling-
piece into the natives, and the two leading men fell
orward on their faces, and some shouts and yells told
that some of the shots had taken effect on those behind.
" Are you wounded, Bill ? " Simcoe asked.
" Yes, I am hit hard. Run on, man ; I think I am
lone for."
" Nonsense ! " Simcoe exclaimed. " Catch hold of
\y arm ; I will help you along."
One native was in advance of the rest. He raised
^is arm to hurl his spear, but the native woman, who
lad all along been running behind Simcoe, threw
[erself forward and the spear pierced her through
le body. With an exclamation of fury Simcoe
jvelled his musket and shot the native through the

" Throw your arms round my neck. Bill ; the poor
^rl is done for, curse them. Can you hold on ? "
" Yes, I think so," he replied.

Simcoe was a very powerful man, and with his
)mrade on his back he ran on almost as swiftly as
jfore.
I" Now, Atkins, give them every barrel that you have

3«

THE LOST HEIR

got, then lift Bill into the boat, and I will keep them
back. I am not going until I have paid some of them
out for poor Polly."

Atkins fired his pistols, and with so steady an aim
that each shot brought down a savage ; then he
lifted Bill from Simcoe's shoulders and laid him in
the canoe.

*' Get up the sail ! " Simcoe shouted. " They will
riddle us with spears if we paddle." He shot down*
four of the natives with his double-barrelled pistols, and
then clubbing his gun threw himself with a hoarse^
shout upon them. The loss of seven of their leaders
had caused their followers to hesitate, and the fury
of Simcoe's attack and the tremendous blows he dealt
completed their discomfiture, and they turned and fled
in dismay.

" Now is your time," Atkins shouted ; " I have cut thej
cord and got the sail up." Turning, Simcoe was in
a moment knee-deep in the water ; pushing the boat
off, he threw himself into it.

" Lie down, man, lie down ! " he shouted to Atkins,
But the warning was too late ; the moment Simcoe
turned the natives had turned also, and as they reached
the water's edge half a dozen spears were flung. Twi
of them struck Atkins full in the body, and with a crj|
he threw up his arms and fell over the side of thf'
canoe. Then came several splashes in the waterj
Simcoe drew the pistols from his companion's belt, ancl
raising himself high enough to look over the stern, she I
two of the savages who were wading out waist deef^
and were but a few paces behind.

The sail was now doint^ its work, and the boat wa^
beginning to glide through the water at a rate ilvA
even the best swimmers could not hope to emulat

As si

tiirew

and

group

most

of the

and s(

"TI

"Poor

and tl

fellow'

afraid

over h

off, bu

out jus

him ; h

well as

A gr

with soi

Then h(

it and ti

" I ca

"Well, J

shot sev(

more. (

on boarc

and I e>

their dru

senses al

though I

for us."

Just as

" How >

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

As soon as he was out of reach of the spears Simcoe
threw the boat up into the wind, reloaded his pistols
and those of his comrade, and opened fire upon the
group of natives clustered at the water's edge. Like
most men of his class, he was a first-rate shot. Three
of the natives fell and the rest fled. Then with a stroke
of the paddle he put the boat before the wind again,
and soon left the island far behind.

"This has been a pretty night's work," he muttered.
" Poor little Polly killed ! She gave her life to save me,
and there is no doubt she did save me too, for that
fellow's spear must have gone right through me. I am
afraid that they have done for Bill too." He stooped
over his comrade. The shaft of the spear had broken
off, but the jagged piece with the head attached stuck
out just over the hip. " I am afraid it is all up with
him ; however, I must take it out and bandage him as
well as I can."

A groan burst from the wounded man as Simcoe
with some effort drew the jagged spear from the wound.
Then he took off his own shirt and tore some strips off
it and tightly bandaged the wound.

" I can do nothing else until the morning," he said.
"Well, Polly, I have paid them out for you. I have
shot seven or eight and smashed the skulls of as many
more. Of course they have done for those drunkards
on board the brig. I did not hear a single pistol fired,
and I expect that they knocked them on the head in
their drunken sleep. The brutes, if they had had their
senses about them we might have made a fair fight;
though I expect that they would have been too many
Ifor us."

Just as daylight was breaking Bill opened his eyes.

" How do you feel, old man ? "

THE LOST HEIR

. ■ 11;

" I am goitiy, Simcoe. You stood by me like a man ;
I heard it all till Atkins laid me in the boat. Where
is he?"

" He is gone, Bill. Instead of throwing himself down
in the boat, as 1 shouted to him, directly he got up the
sail, he stood there watching, f suppose, until I was in.
He got two spears in his body and fell overboard, dead,
I have no doubt."

" Look here, Sim ! " The latter had to bend down
his ear to listen. The words came faintly and slowh'.
"If you ever go back home again, you look up my |
brother. He is no mo-e on the square than I was,
but he is a clever fellow. He lives respectable —
Rose Cottage, Pentonvilie Hill. Don't forget it.
He goes by the name of Harrison. I wrote to him
every two or three years, and got an answer about the
same. Tell him how his brother Bill died, and how
you carried him off when the blacks were yelling
round. We were fond of each other, Tom and I.
You keep the pearls, Sim ; he don't want them. He
is a top-sawyer in his way, he is, and has offered again
and again that if I would come home he would set I
me up in any line I liked. I thought perhaps I should |
go home some day. Tom and I were great friends. I

remember " His eyelids drooped, his lips moved,

and in another minute no sounds came from them,
He gave one deep sigh and then all was over.

"A good partner and a good chum," Simcoe muttered,
as he looked down into the man's face. "Well, well, l|
have lost a good many chums in the last ten years, butl
not one I missed as I shall miss Bill. It is hard, he!
and Polly going at the same time. There are not
many fellows that I would have lain down to sleepj
with, with fifteen hundred pounds' or so worth of pearLl

IN THE SOUTH SEAS

man;
Vhero

down
ap the
iras in.
, dead, ^

down
slowly.

up my
I was,
table-
get it.
to him
.out the
nd how
yelling
and I.
He I
|d again
•uld set I
should
nds. I'
moved,
them.

in my belt, not out in these islands. But I never had
any fear with him. Well, well," he went on, as he took
the bag of pearls from his comrade's belt and placed it
in his own, "there is a consolation everywhere, though
wc might have doubled and trebled this lot if we had
stopped three months longer, which we should have
clone if Atkins had not brought that brig of his in.
I can't think why he did it. He might have been sure
that with that drunken lot of villains trouble would
come of it sooner or later. He wasn't a bad fellow
either, but too fond of liquor."

luttered
I, well, 1
tars, but
lard, hej
I are not
to sleep]
If pearl

CHAPTEK III.

A DEAF GIRL

'\7'ES, Lady Moulton, I will undertake the gipsy
JL tent business at your fete ; that is to say, I will
see to the getting up of the tent, provide a gipsy for
you, and someone to stand at the door and let in one
visitor at a time and receive the money. Do you mean
to make it a fixed charge, or leave it to each to pay the
gipsy?"

" Which do you think will be best, Hilda ? Of course
the great thing is to get as much money for the decayed
ladies as possible."

" I should say that it would be best to let them give
what they like to the gipsy. Lady Moulton."
" But she might keep some of it herself."
" I think I can guarantee that she won't do that ;
I will get a dependable gipsy. You see, you could
not charge above a shilling entrance, and very likely
she would get a good deal more than that given to
her."

" Well, my dear, I leave it all to you. Sparo no
expense about the tent and its fitting up. I have set
my heart upon the affair beii^g a success, ard I think
everything else has been most satisfactorily arranged.
It is a very happy thought of yours about the gipsy ; j
I hope that you will find a clever one. But you must
mind a;ud impress upon her that v/e don't want anyj

1 1

A DEAF GIRL

evil predictions. Nothing could be in worse taste. It
is all very well when a girl is promised a rich husband
and everything to match, but if she were told that
she would never get married, or would die young, or
something of that sort, it would be a most unpleasant
business."

" I quite agree with you, and will see that everything
shall be ' couleur de rose ' as to the future, and that
she shall confine herself as much as possible to the
past and present."

** I leave it in your hands, and I am sure that it will
be done nicely."

Lady Moulton was a leading member of society, a
charming woman with a rich and indulgent husband.
Her home was a pleasant one, and her balls were among
the most popular of the season. She had, as her friends
said, but one failing, namely, her ardour for "The Society
for Affording Aid to Decayed Ladies." It was on be-
half of this institution that she was now organising
a fete in the grounds of her residence at Richmond.
Hilda Covington was an orphan and an heiress, and
was the ward of her uncle, an old Indian officer, who
had been a great friend of Lady Moulton's father. She
had been ushered into society under her ladyship's
auspices. She had, however, rather forfeited that lad^^'s
favourable opinion by refusing two or three unexcep-
tionable offers.

" My dear," she remonstrated, " no girl can afford
to throw away such chances, even if she is, as you are,
well endowed, pretty, and clever."

The girl laughed.

" I am not aware that I am clever at all, Lady
Moulton. I speak German and French perfectly,
because I have been four or five years in Hanover;

THE LOST HEIR

but beyond that I am not aware of possessing any
special accomplisliments."

" But you are clever, my dear," the other said de-
cidedly. " The way you seem to understand people's
characters astonishes me. Sometimes it seems to me
that you are almost a witch."

" You are arguing against yourself," the girl laughed.
"If I am such a good judge of character I am not
likely to make a mistake in such an important matter
as choosing a husband for myself"

Lady Moulton was silenced but not convinced ; how-
ever, she had good sense enough to drop the subject.
General Mathieson had already told her that although
he should not interfere in any way with any choice
Hilda might make, he should make it an absolute
condition that she should not marrv until she c^me
of age; and as she was at present but eightetr rr., •■■::
things might occur in the three years' interval.

On her return home, after arranging to provide a
gipsy for Lady Moulton's fete, Hilda related what had
occurred to a girl friend who was staying with her.

"Of course, Netta, I merm to be the gipsy myself;
but you must help me. It would never do for me to be
suspected of being the sorceress, and so you must be
my double, so that I can, from time to time, go out
and mix with the crowd. A {q^n minutes at a time will
do."

The other laughed. " But what should I say to them,
Hilda?"

" Oh, it is as easy as A B C. All that you will have
to do is to speak ambiguously, hint at coming changes,
foresee a few troubles in the way, and prophesy a happy
solution of the difficulties. I will take upon myself the
business of surprising them, and I fancy that I shall be

'•%

■ I

A DEAF GIRL

ive

res,

Ihe
ibe

;il

able to astonish a few of them so much that even if
some do get only commonplaces we shall make a
general sensation. Of course, we must get two dis-
guises. I shall have a small tent behind the other
where I can change. It won't take a moment — a skirt
and a shawl, to go over my head and partly hide my
face, can be slipped on and off in an instant. Of
course I shall have a Ma.ck wig and some sort of yellow
wash that can be taken off with a damp towel. I shall
place the tent so that I can leave from behind without
being noticed. As we shall have the tent a good deal
darkened there will be no fear of the differences
between the two gipsies being discovered, and, indeed,
peoole are not likely to compare notes very closely."

" Well, I suppose you will have your way as usual,
Hilda."

" I like that ! " the other said, with a laugh. " You were
my guide and counsellor for five years, and now you
pretend that I always have my own way. Why, I
cannot even get my own wa\- in persuading you to
come and settle over here. I am quite sure that you
would get lots of pupils, when people understand the
system and its advantages."

"That is all ve. y well, Hilda, but, you see, in the first
place I have no friends here except yourself, and in the
second it requires a good deal of money to get up an
establishment and to wait until one gets pupils. My
aunt would, I know, put in the money she saved when
you were with us if I were to ask her, but I wouldn't
do so. To begin with, she regards that as my fortune
at her death. She has said over and over again how
happy the knowledge makes her that I shall not be left
absolutely penniless, except, of course, what I can get
for the house and furniture, and I would do anything

'rl

THE LOST '^EIR

rather than sell that. She admits that I might keep
myself by teaching deaf children, but, as she says, no
one can answer for their health. I might have a long
illness that would throw me out. I might suddenly
lose a situation, say, from the death of a pupil, and
might be a long time before I could hear of another.
She said to me once, ' I do hope, Netta, you will never
embark one penny of the little money that will come
to you in any sort of enterprise or speculation, however
promising it may look.' We had been talking of
exactly the plan that you are now speaking of. ' The
mere furnishing of a house in England large enough to
take a dozen children would swallow up a considerable
sum. At first you might have to wait some time till
you couii ' -in more than two or three children, and
there woulc i the rent and expenses going on, and
you might find yourself without money and in debt
before it began to pay its way ; therefore I do hope
that you will keep the money untouched except to
meet your expenses in times of illness or of necessity
of some kind. If you can save up money sufficient
to start an establishment, it will, I think, be a good
thing, especially if you could secure the promise of four
or five pupils to come to you at once. If in a few
years you should see your way to ensure starting with
enough pupils to pay your way, and I am alive at the
time, I would draw out enough to furnish the house
and will look after it for you.' That was a great con-
cession on her part, but I certainly would not let her
do it, for she is so happy in her home now, and I know
that she would worry herself to death."

" Well, Netta, you know I am still ready to become
the capitalist."

Both girls laughed merrily.

A DEAF GIRL

" Why not, Netta ? " the speaker went on. " I know
you said that you would not accept money as a loan
even from me, which, as I told you, was very stupid and
very disagreeable, but there is no reason why we should
not do it in a business way. Other women go into
business, why shouldn't I ? As you know, I can't
absolutely touch my money until I come of age, and
it is nearly three years before that ; still, I feel sure that
the General would let me have some money, and we
could start the Institute. It would be great fun. Of
course, in the first place, you would be principal, or lady
superintendent, or whatever you like to call yourself,
and you would draw, say, five hundred pounds a year.
After that we could divide the profits."

Again both girls laughed.

" And that is what you call a business transaction ? "
the other said. " I know that your guardian is very
kind, and indeed spoils you altogether, but I don't
think that you would get him to advance you money
for such a scheme."

" I am really in earnest, Netta."

" Oh, I don't say that you would not do it, if you
could. However, I think, anyhow, we had better wait
until you come of age. There is plenty of time. I am
only twenty yet, and even in three years' time I doubt
whether I should quite look the character of professor
or lady superintendent.

"Well, directly I get of age I shall carry out my
part of the plan," Hilda said positively, "and if you
are disagreeable and won't do as I want you, I shall
write to the professor and ask him to recommend
a superintendent."

The other laughed again.

" You would have a difficulty, Hilda. You and

4«

THE LOST HEIR

I are, so far, the only two English girls who have
learnt the system, and either your superintendent
would have to learn English or all her pupils would
have to learn German."

" We will not discuss it further at present. Miss
Purcell," Hilda said with dignity. "Oh, dear, those
were happy days we had in that dear old house, with
!ts pretty garden, when you were . thirteen and I was
eleven. I have got a great deal of fun from it since.
One gets such curious little scraps of conversation."

"Then people do not know what you learnt over
with us?"

" No, indeed ; as you know, it was not for a year after
I came back that I became altogether the General's ward,
and my dear mother said to me just before she died,
' It would be better for you, dear, not to say anything
about that curious accomplishment of yours. I know
that you would never use it to any harm, but if people
knew it they would be rather afraid of you.' Uncle
said the same thing directly I got here. So of course
I have kept it to myself, and indeed if they had not
said so I should never have mentioned it, for it gives
me a great deal of amusement."

When Hilda Covington was ten years old, she had,
after a severe attack of scarlet fever, lost her hearing,
and though her parents consulted the best specialists
of the time, their remedies proved of no avail, and at
last they could only express a hope, rather than an
opinion, that in time, with added health and strength,
nature might repair the damage. A year after her
illness Mr. Covington heard of an aurist in Germany
who had a European reputation, and he and Mrs.
Covington took Hilda over to him. After examining
her he said, " The mischief is serious, but not, I think,

A DEAF GIRL

irreparable. It is a case requiring great care both as
to dieting, exercise, and clothing. If it could be
managed I should like to examine her ears once a
fortnight, or once a month at the least. I have a house
here where my patients live when under treatment, but
I should not for a moment advise her being placed
there. A child, to keep in good health, requires cheer-
ful companions. If you will call again to-morrow I
will think the matter over and let you know what
I recommend."

Mr. and Mrs. Covington retired much depressed. His
opinion was, perhaps, a little more favourable than any
that they had received, but the thought that their only
child must either make this considerable journey once
a month or live there altogether was very painful to
them. However, on talking it over, they agreed that
it was far better that she should reside in Hanover for
a time, with the hope of coming back cured, than that
she should grow up hopelessly deaf

" It will only be as if she were at school here," Mr.
Covington said. " She will no doubt be taught to talk
German and French, and even if she is never able to
converse in these languages, it will add to her pleasures
if she can read them."

The next day when they called upon the doctor he
said, " If you can bring yourself to part with the child,
I have, I think, found the very thing to suit her. In
the first place you must know that there is in the town
an establishment, conducted by a Professor Menzel, for
the instruction of deaf mutes. It is quite a new system,
and consists in teaching them to read from the lips of
persons speaking to them the words that they are
saying. The system is by no means difficult for those
who have still, like your daughter, the power of speech,

THE LOST HEIR

and who have lost only their hearing. But even those
born deaf and dumb have learned to be able to converse
to a certain degree, though their voices are never quite
natural, for in nine cases out of ten deaf mutes are
mutes only because they have never learnt to use their
tongue. However, happily that is beside the question
in your daughter's case. I hope that she will regain
her hearing ; but should this unfortunately not be the
case, it will at least be a great mitigation to her position
to be able to read from the lips of those who address
her what is said, and therefore to converse like an
ordinary person. I can assure you that many of Herr
Menzel's pupils can converse so easily and rapidly that
no one would have the least idea of the misfortune
from which they suffer, as in fact they feel no incon-
venience beyond the fact that they are not aware of
being addressed by anyone standing behind them, or
whose face they do not happen to be watching."

"That would indeed be a blessing," Mrs. Covington
exclaimed. " I never heard of such a system."

" No, it is quite new, but as to its success there can
be no question. I called upon Professor Menzel last
evening. He said that as your daughter did not under-
stand German the difficulties of her tuition would be
very great. He has, however, among his pupils a young
English girl two years older than your daughter. She
lives with a maiden aunt, who has established herself
here in order that her niece might have the benefit of
learning the new system. Here is her name and
address. The professor has reason to believe that her
income is a small one, and imagines that she would
gladly receive your daughter as a boarder. Her niece,
who is a bright girl, would be a pleasant companion,
and, moreover, having in the two years that she has

A DEAF GIRL

been here made very great progress, she would be able
to commence your daughter's education by conversing
with her in English, and could act as her teacher in
(icrman also ; and so soon as the language was fairly
mastered your daughter could then become a pupil of
the professor himself."

" That would be an excellent plan indeed," Mrs.
Covington said, and her husband fully agreed with her.
The doctor handed her a slip of paper with the name,
' Miss Purcell, 2nd Etage, 5, Kocnigstrasse."

Hilda had already been informed by the finger alpha-
bet, which had been her means of communication since
her illness, of the result of the conversation with the
doctor on the previous day, and although she had cried
at the thought of being separated from her father and
mother, she had said that she would willingly bear any-
thing if there v;as a hope of her regaining her hearing.
She had watched earnestly the conversation between
the doctor and her parents, and when the former had
left and they explained what was proposed, her face
brightened up.

"That will be very nice," she exclaimed, "and if I
could but learn to understand in that way what people
say, instead of watching their fingers (and some of them
don't know the alphabet, and some who do ?re so slow
that one loses all patience), it would be deligutful."

Before going to see Miss Purcell, Mr. and Mrs. Coving-
ton talked the matter over together, and they agreed
that, if Miss Purcell were the sort of person with whom
Hilda could be happy, that no plan could be better than
that proposed.

" It certainly would not be nice for her," Mrs. Coving-
ton said, "to be living on a second floor in a street ; she
I has always been accustomed to be so much in the open
D

THE L( ST HEIR

air, and as the doctors all a^rec that much depends
upon her general health, I am sure it will be quite
essential that she should be so now. I think that we
should arrange to take some pretty little house with ;i
good garden, just outside the town, and furnish if, and
that Miss Purcell and her niece should move in there.
Of course we should pay a liberal sum for board, and if
she would agree, I should say that it would be best that »'
we should treat the house as ours and should pay the
expenses of keeping it up altogether. I don't suppose ^
she keeps a servant at present, and there are many little '
luxuries that Hilda has been accustomed to. Then, of
course, we would pay so much to the niece for teachini,^ '1
Hilda German and beginning to teach her this system. M
I don't suppose the whole thing would cost more than
three hundred pounds a year." I

"The expense is nothing," Mr. Covington said. "We
could afford it if it were five times the amount. I think
your idea is a very good one, and we could arrange for |
her to have the use of a pony-carriage for two or three
hours a. day whenever she was disposed. The great
thing is for her to be healthy and happy."

Ten minutes after they started with Hilda to see
Miss Purcell, after having explained to her the plan
they proposed. At this she was greatly pleased. The
thought of a little house all to themselves and a girl
friend was a great relief to hci, and she looked brighter |;^
and happier than she had done since she had lost her A
hearing. When they knocked at the door of the apart-
ment on the second floor, it wa-: opened by a bright-
faced girl of thirteen.

"This is Miss Purcell's, is it lot?" Mrs. Covingtoii|
asked.

''Yes, ma'am," the girl replied, with a slight expres-

sion (
rare.

be gla
with I
The
or twc
be gla(
Mis5
with a
poorly
and tid
"We
" m con
^yig, wJi
been
learned
system <
ing the
our dau
came or
her to n
would b(
that in c
still be
delicate^
cheerful
learn the
German,
suade yo
under yot
ment."

" I shot!
I could n

A DEAF GIRL

sioii of surprise which showed that visitors were very
rare.

" Will you give my card to her and say that we shall
be glad if she will allow us a few minutes' conversation
with her?"

The girl went into the room and returned in a minute
or two. " Will you come in ? " she said, " my aunt will
be glad to see you."

Miss Purcell was a woman of some fifty years old,
with a pleasant kindly face. The room was somewhat
poorly furnished, but everything was scrupulously neat
and tidy, and there was an air of comfort pervading it.

" We have called, Miss Purcell," Mrs. Covington began,
" in consequence of what we have learnt from Dr. Hart-
wig, whom we have come over to consult, and who has
been good enough to see Professor Menzel. He has
learned from him that your niece here is acquiring the
system of learning to understand what is said by watch-
ing the lips of speakers. The doctor is of opinion that
our daughter may in time outgrow the deafness that
came on a year ago, after scarlet fever, but he wishes
her to remain under his eye, and he suggested that it
would be well that she should learn the new system, so
that in case she does not recover her hearing she would
still be able to mingle with other people. Hilda is
delicate, and it is necessary that she should have a
cheerful home ; besides which she could not begin to
learn the system until she had become familiar with
German. The doctor suggested that if we could per-
suade you to do us the great kindness of taking her
under your charge it would be the best possible arrange-
ment."

" I should be glad to do so, madam, but I fear that
I could not accommodate her, for it is a mere closet

s»

(

'HE LOST HETR

that my niece sleeps in, and the other apartments on
this floor are all occupied. Were it not for that I shcnild
certainly be glad to consider the matter. It would be
pleasant to Netta t(3 have a companion, for it is but dull
work for her alone with me. We have few acquaint-
ances. I do not mind sa)'iiii; frankly that my means
are straitened, and that I cannot induh^e her with many
pleasures. She is a <j^randniece of mine ; her father
died some years ago, hc^r mother three years since, and
naturally she came to me. Shortly after, she lost her
hearing through measles. Just at that time I happened
to hear from a German workman of the institution
which had been started in this town, of which he was
a native. I had no ties in England, and as I heard that
living was cheap there, and that the fees were not large,
I decided to come over and have her taught this new
system, which would not only add greatly to her own
happiness, but would give her the means of earning her
livelihood when she grew up ; for although J ve a
small pension, as my husband was an Excis. .Acer,
this, of course, will expire at my death."

" Happil3^ Miss Purcell, we are in a position to say
that money is no object to us. Hilda is our only
child. We have talked it over, of course, and will tell
you exactly what we propose, and I hope that you will
fall in with the arrangement."

She then stated the plan that she and her husband
had discussed.

"You see," she went on, "you would, in fact, be
mistress of the house, and would have the entire
management of everything as if it was your own. We
are entirely ignorant of the cost of living here, or we
might have proposed a fixed monthly payment for the
expenses of servants and outgoings, and would still do

that

W'OUli

mont
had t
scale,
want
to yoi
)'our J
pouno
tor in
the la
classes
keep a
man tc
in orde
you \v\
like we
"I d
hesitati
altogetl
" Tha
want a
shall al
>'ou \yi\
"I d(
arranger
am sure
Netta,
the lips
" Oh, auil
and a ga
"You
Netta ? "
"I una

A DICAF GIRT.

that if you would prefer it, though \vc thou<jjht that it
would be better that you should, at the end of each
month, send us a line saying what the disbursements
had been. We would wish everything; done on a liberal
scale. Hilda has little appetite and it will, for a time,
want tempting;. However, that matter we could leave
to you. We propose to pay a hundred a year to you for
your personal services as mistress of the house, and fifty
pounds to your niece as Hilda's companion and instruc-
tor in German and in the s}'stem, until she understands
the language well enough to attend Professor Menzel's
classes. If the house we take has a stable we should
keep a pony and a light carriage, and a big lad or young
man to look after it and drive, and to keep the garden
in order in his spare time. I do hope, Miss Purcell, that
you will oblige us by falling in with our plans. If you
like we can give you a day to con ider them."

"I do not require a minute," she replied; "my only
hesitation is because the terms that you offer are
altogether too liberal."

" That is our affair," Mrs. Covington said. " We
want a comfortable, happy home for our child, and
shall always feel under a deep obligation to you if
you will consent."

" I do consent most willingly and gratefully. The
arrangement will be a delightful one for me, and I
am sure for Netta."

Netta, who had been stanr'ing where she could watch
the lips of both speakers, clapped her hands joyously.
" Oh, auntie, it will be splendid. Fancy having a house,
and a garden, and a pony-chaise ! "

" You understand all we have been saying then,
Netta?"

" I understand it all,' the girl replied. " I did not

THE LOST HEIR

cr'^ch every word, but quite enouj^h to know all that
you were saying."

"That certr'uly is a proof of the goodness of the
system," Mr. Covington said, speaking for the first time.
" How long have you been learning?"

" Eighteen months, sir. We have been here two
years, but I was six months learning German before I
knew enough to begin, and for the next six months
1 could not get on very fast as there were so many
words that I did not know, so that really I have only
been a year at it. The Professor says that in another
yea: I shall be nearly perfect and fit to begin to teach;
and he has no doubt that he will be able to find me
d situation where I can teach in the daytime and still
live with my aunt."

In a week the necessary arrangements were all made.
A pretty, furnished horie, a quarter of a mile out of
town, with a large garden and stables, had been taken,
and Netta and Hilda had already become friends, for
as the former had learned to talk with her fingers
before she came out she was able to keep up her
share of the conversation by that means while Hilda
talked in reply.

" The fingers are useful as a help at first," Netta said,
"but Professor Menzel will not allow any of his pupils
to use their fingers, because they come to rely upon
them instead of watching the lips."

M 1

'"HAPTKT? TV.

THE GlFSy

R. and Mrs. Covington remained for a week after
Hilda was installed with the Purcells in their
new home. To her the house with its garden and
pretty pony-carriage and pony were nothing remark-
able, bnt Netta's enjoyment in all these things amused
her, and the thought that she, too, would some day be
able to talk and enjoy life as her companion did, greatly
raised her spirits. Her father and mother were de-
lighted at hearing her merry laugh mingled with that
of Netta as they walked together in the garden, and
they went home with lighter hearts and more hopeful
spirits than they had felt since the child's illness
began.

Every three or four months — for a journey to
Hanover was a longer and more serious business in
1843 than it is at present — they went over to spend a
week there. There could be no doubt from the first
that the change was most beneficial to Hilda. Her
cheeks regained their colour and her limbs their firm-
ness. She lost the dull look and the apathy to whatever
was going on around her that had before distressed
them. She progressed very rapidly in her study of
German, and at the end of six months her conversations
with Netta were entirely carried on in that language.
She had made some little progress in reading from her

THE LOST HEIR

companion's lips and had just entered at Herr Menzel's
academy. She could now take long walks with Netta,
and every afternoon, or, as summer came on, every
evening, they drove together in the pony-chaise. With
renewed health and strength there had been some slight
improvement in her hearing. She could now faintly
distinguish any loud sounds, such as those of the band
of a regiment marching past her or a sudden peal of
bells.

" I think that we shall make an eventual cure," Dr.
Hartwig said. *' It will be slow, and possibly her hear-
ing may never be absolutely good ; but at least we may
hope that she may be able to eventually hear as well as
nine people out of ten."

In another year she could, indeed, though with
difficulty, hear voices, and when she had been at
Hanover three years her cure was almost complete,
and she now went every morning to school vo learn
French and music. She herself was quite content to
remain there. She was very happy in her life and
surroundings, and could now read with the greatest
facility from the lips, and indeed preferred watching a
speaker's r.:.outh to listening to the voice. It was a
source of endless amusement to her that she could, as
she and Netta walked through the streets, read scraps
of conversation between persons on the other side of
the street or passing in carriages.

Another six months and both the doctor and
Professor Menzel said that they could do nothing
more for her. She was still somewhat hard of hear-
ing, but not enough so to be noticeable; while she
could with her eyes follow the most rapid speaker, and
the Professor expressed his regret that so excellent an
example of the benefit of his system should not be in

THE GIPSY

circumstances that would compel her to make a living
by becoming a teacher in it. Netta was now a paid
assistant at the institution.

The end of what had been a very happy time to
Hilda came abruptly and sadly, for three weeks be-
fore the date when her parents were to come over
to take her home, Miss Purcell, on opening a letter
that came just as they had finished breakfast, said,
after sitting silent for a few minutes, "You need not
put on your things, Hilda ; you cannot go to school
this morning ; I have some bad news, dear — very bad

'ft> >

news.

The tone of voice in which she spoke, even more than
the words, sent a chill into the girl's heart.

"What is it, aunt?" she said, for shf. had from the
first used the same term as N^^tta in addressing her.

" Your father has had a serious illness, my dear — a
very, very serious and sudden illness, and your mother
wishes you to go home at once."

Hilda looked at her with frightened, questioning eyes,
wnile every vestige of colour left her ( heeks. " Is he —
is he " she asked.

" Here is an enclosure for yo' " Miss Purcell said, as
she got up, and taking Hilda's hanu in one of hers drew
her with the other arm close to her ; ' your mother
wrote to me that I might prepare you a little before
giving it to you. A terrible misfortune has happened.
Your dear father is dead. He died suddenly f an
affection of the heart."

" Oh no, no, it cannot be ! " Hilda cried.

"It is true, my dear. God has taken him. You
must be strong and brave, dear, for your mot! r's
sake."

" Oh, my poor mother, my poor mother ! " Hilda

THE LOST HEIR

cried, bursting into a sudden flood of tears, "what
will she do ! "

It was not until some time afterwards that she was
sufficiently composed to read her mother's letter, which
caused her tears to flow afresh. After giving the
details of her father's death, it went on : —

" I have written to your uncle, General Mathieson,
who is, I know, appointed one of the trustees, and is
joined with me as your guardian. I have asked him to
find and send over a courier to fetch you home, and no
doubt he will arrive a day or two after you receive this
letter. So please get everything ready to start at once,
when he comes."

Two days later General Mathieson himself arrived,
accompanied by a courier. It was a great comfort to
Hilda that her uncle had come for her instead of a
stranger.

" It is very kind of you to come yourself, uncle," she
said, as she threw herself crying into his arms.

" Of course I should come, dear," he said. " Who
should fetch you except your uncle? I had to bring
a courier with me, for I don't understand any of their
languages, and he will take all trouble off my hands.
Now let me look at your face." It was a pale, sad
little face that was lifted up, but two days of sorrow
had not obliterated the signs of health and well-
being.

"Whiter than it ought to be," he said, "but clerr and
healthy, and very different from what it was when I saw
you before you came out. You have grown wonder-
fully, child. Really I should hardly have known you
again."

And so he kept on for two or three minutes, to allow
her to recover herself.

THE GIPSY

" Now, dear, you must take me in and introduce me
to your kind friends here."

Hilda led the way into the sitting-room.

" I have heard so much of you and your niece, Miss
Purcell," he said as he shook hands with her, " that
I do not feel that you are a stranger. You certainly
seem to have worked wonders between you for my
niece, and I must own that in the first place I thought
it a mistake her being here by herself, for I had no
belief that either her hearing would be restored or that
she would ever be able to follow what people were
saying by only staring at their lips."

" Ves, indeed, Hanover has agreed with her, sir, and
it is only a small part of the credit that is due to us."

" I must differ from you entirely, madam. If she had
not been perfectly happy here with you she would never
have got on as she has done."

" Have you any luggage, sir ? Of course you will
stay with us to-night."

" No, thank you, Miss Purcell. We have already
been to the Kaiserhof, and long before this my courier
will have taken rooms and made every preparation for
me. You see, I am accustomed to smoke at all times,
and could not think of scenting a house, solely inhabited
by ladies, with tobacco. Now, if you will excuse me,
I will ask Hilda to put on her bonnet and take a stroll
with me."

" I shall be very glad for her to do so. It is just
getting cool and pleasant for walking, and half an hour
in the fresh air will do her good."

It was an hour before they returned. General Mathie-
son had gently told her all there was to tell of her
father's death, and turning from that he spoke of her
mother, and how nobly she was bearing her trouble.

THE LOST HEIR

and ere long her tears, which had burst out anew,
flowed more quietly, and she felt comfo'" ,d. Presently
she said suddenly —

" What is going to be done here, uncle ? I have been
thinking over that ever since it was settled that I was to
come home next month, and I am sure that although
she has said nothing about it Miss Purcell has felt the
change that is coming. She said the other day, ' I shall
not go back to the apartments where you found us,
Hilda. You see, we are a great deal better off than
wc were before. In the first place I have had nothing
whatever to spend, and during the four years the
ridiculously liberal sum paid to Netta and myself has
been all laid aside and has mounted up to six hundred
pounds. My pension of eighty pounds a year has also
accumulated, with the exception of a small sum re-
quired for our clothes, so that in fact I have nearly
a thousand pounds laid by. Netta is earning thirty
pounds a year at the Institute ; with that and my
pension and the interest on money saved we shall
get on very comfortably.' I should not like, uncle,
to think of them in a little stuffy place in the town.
Having a nice garden and everything comfortable has
done a great deal for Miss Purcell. Netta told me
that she was very delicate before, and that she is
quite a different woman since she came out here from
the town. You cannot tell how kind she has always
been. If I had been her own child she could not have
been more loving. In fact, no one could have told by
her manner that she was not my mother and Netta my
sister."

" Yes, dear, I ran down to your mother before starting
to fetch you to help in the arrangements, and she spoke
about Miss Purcell. Under ordinary circumstances, of

THE GIPSY

course, at the end of the four years that you have been
here the house would be given up and she would, as
you say, go into a much smaller place ; but your
mother does not consider that these are ordinary
circumstances, and thinks that her care and kindness
have had quite as much to do with the improvement
in your health as has the doctor. Of course we had
no time to come to any definite plan, but she has
settled that things are to go on here exactly as at
present, except that your friend Nctta will not be
paid for acting as companion to you. I am to tell
Miss Purcell that with that exception everything is to
go on as before, and that your mother will need a
change, and will probably come out here in a month
or so for some time."

" Does she really mean that, uncle?"

" Certainly, and the idea is an excellent one. After
such a shock as she has had an eniu-e change of scene
will be most valuable ; and as she knows Miss Purcell
well, and you like the place very much, I don't think
';hat any better plan could be hit upon. I dare say
she will stay here two or three months, and you can
continue your studies. At the end of that time I have
no doubt some plan that will give satisfaction to all
parties will be hit upon."

Hilda returned to Hanover with her mother a month
later. At the end of three months Mrs. Covington
bought the house and presented the deeds to Miss
Purcell, who had known nothing whatever of her in-
tentions.

" I could not think of accepting it," she exclaimed.

" But you cannot help accepting it, dear Miss Purcell;
here are the deeds in your name. The house will be
rather large for you at present, but in a few years,

THE LOST HEIR

indeed in two or three years, Netta could begin to
take a few pupils. As soon as she is ready to do so
I shall, of course, mention it among my friends, and
be able to send a few children, whose parents would
be ready to pay well to have them taught this wonder-
ful method of brightening their lives, which is at present
quite unknown in England."

So it was arranged ; but a few months after her return
to England Mrs. Covington, who had never altogether
recovered from the shock of her husband's death, died
after a short illness, and Hilda became an inmate of
her uncle's house. Since that time three years had
elapsed, and Hilda was now eighteen, and Netta was
over for a two months' visit.

The scene in the grounds of Lady Moulton's charm-
ing villa at Richmond, a fortnight after the conversation
between that lady and Hilda, was a gay one. Everyone
in society had been invited and there were but few
refusals ; the weather was lovely, and all agreed that
even at Ascot the costumes were not brighter or more
varied.

Although the fete was specially on behalf of a
charity, no admission fees were c. arged to guests, but
everyone understood that it would be their duty to
lay out money at the various picturesque tents scattered
about under the trees. In these were all the most
popular entertainers of the day. In one pavilion John
Parry gave a short entertainment every half-hour. In
a larger one Mario, Grisi, Jenny Lind, and Alboni gave
short concerts, and high as were the prices of admission
there was never a seoc vacant. Conjurers had a tent,
electro-biologists — then the latest rage from the United
States — held their seances^ and at some distance from
the others Richardson's booth was in full swing.

nat

^iCi

THE GIPSY

The Grenadiers' band and a string band played alter-
nately.

Not the least attraction to many was the gipsy tent
erected at the edge of a thick shrubb'^ry, for it soon
became rumoured that the old gipsy woman there
was no ordinary impostor, but really possessed of
extraordinary powers of palmistry. Everything had
been done to add to the air of mystery pervading
the place. Externally it was but a long, narrow
marquee. On entering, the inquirer was shown by
an attendant to a seat in an apartment carpeted in
red, with black hangings and black cloth lining the
roof. From this hung a lamp, all other light being
excluded. As each visitor came out from the inner
apartment the next in order was shown in, and the
heavy curtains shut off all sound of what was passing.
Here sat an apparently aged gipsy on an old stump
of a tree. A fire burnt on the ground and a pot was
suspended by a tripod over it; a hood above this carried
the smoke out of the tent. The curtains here were
red, the roof, as in the other compartment, black, bui;
sprinkled with gold and silver stars. A stoci was
placed for the visitor close enough to the gipsy for
the latter to examine her hand by the light of two
torches, which were fastened to a rough sapling stuck
in the ground.

Hilda possessed every advantage for making the
most of the situation. Owing to her intimacy with
Lady Moulton, and her experience for a year in the
best London society, she knew all its gossip, while
she had gathered much more than others knew from
the conversations both of the dancers and the lookers-

on.

The first to enter was a young man who had been

THE LOST HEIR

laughingly challenged by the lady he was walking with
to go in and have his fortune told.

" 3e seated, my son," the old woman said ; "give me
your hand and a piece of money."

With a smile he handed net Imii a sovereign. She
crossed his palm with it and then proceeded attentively
to examine the lines.

'■A fair beginning," she said, "and then troubles and
difificulties. Here I see that, some three years back,
there is the mark of blood ; you won distinction in war.
Then there is a cross-mark which would show a change.
Some good fortune befell you. Then the lines darken.
Things go from bad to worse as the\ proceed. You
took to a vice — cards or horse-racing. Here are evil
associates, but there is a white line that runs through
them. There is a girl somewhere, with fair hair and
blue eyes, who loves you, and whom you love, and
whose happiness is imperilled by this vice and these
associates. Beyond, there is another cross-line and
sijns of a conflict. What happens after will depend
upon yourself Either the white line and the true love
will prove too powerful for the bad influences or these
will end in ruin and — ah ! sudden and violent death.
Your future therefore depends upon yourself, and it
is for you to say which influence must triumph. That
is all."

Without a word he went out.

" You look pale, Mr. Desmond," the lady said when
he rejoined her. " What has she told you ? "

" I would rather not tell you, Mrs. Markham," he
said seriously. " I thought it was going to be a
joke, but it is very far from being one. Either the
woman is a witch or she knew all about me person-
ally, which is barely within the limits of possibility.

}'A

THE GIPSY

At any rate she has ^ivcn me something to think

r"
oi.

" I will try myself," the lad}- said ; '* it is very in-
teresting,"

" I should arh ise }ou not to," he said earnestly.

"Nonsense!" she laughed; "I have no superstitions.
I will go in and hear what she has to say." And
leaving him she entered the tent.

The gipsy examined her hand in silence. " I would
rather not tell you what 1 see," slie said as she dropped
the hand. "Oh, ridiculous!" the lad\' exclaimed. "I
have crossed your palm with gold, and I expect to get
my money's worth," and she held out her hand again.

The gipsy again examined it.

" You stand at the crossing of the ways. There arc
two men — one dark, quiet, and earnest, who loves you.
You love him, but not as he loves you ; but your line
of life runs smoothly until the other line, that of a
brown man, becomes mixed up in it. He loves you
too, with a hot, passionate love that would soon fade.
You had a letter from him a day or two back. Last
night, as he crossed you in a dance, he whispered,
I have not had an answer,' and the next time he
passed you, you replied, ' \'ou must give me another
clay or two.' Upon the answer you give the future
of your life will depend. Here is a broad, fair line,
and here is a short, jagged one, telling of terrible
troubles and misery. It is for you to decide which
course is to be yours."

As she released her hold of the hand it dropped
nerveless. The gipsy poured out a glass of water
from a jug by her side, but her visitor waved it aside,
and with a great effort rose to her feet, her face as
pale as death.
E

THE LOST HEIR

"My God!" she murmured to herself. " this woman
is really a witch."

" They do not burn witches now," the j^ipsy said ;
*■ I only read what I see on the palm. You cannot
deny that what I have said is true. Stay a moment
and drink a glass of wine ; you need it before you
go out."

She took a bottle of wine from behind her seat,
enptied the water on to the earth, half filled a tumbler,
and held it out. The frightened woman felt that indeed
she needed it before going out into the gay scene, and
tossed it off.

" Thank you ! " she said. " Whoever you are, I thank
you. You have read my fate truly, and have helped me
to decide it."

Desmond was waiting for her when she came out,
but she passed him with a gesture.

"You are right ! " she said. " She is a witch indeed!"

Few other stories told were as tragic, but in -nearly
every case the visitors retired puzzled at the knowledge
the gipsy possessed of their life and surroundings, and
it soon became rumoured that the old woman's powers
were something extraordinary, and the little ante-room
was kept filled with visitors waiting their turn for an
audience. No one noticed the long and frequent
absences of Hilda Covington from the grounds. The
tent had been placed with its back hiding a small
path through the shrubbery. Through a peep-hole
arranged in the curtain she was able to see who was
waiting, and each time before leaving said a few words
as to their lives, which enabled Netta to support the
character fairly. When the last guest had departed
and she joined Lady Moulton she handed over a bag
containing nearly a hundred pounds.

((

THE GIPSY

'ers
om
an
ent
he
all
ole
rvas
rds
he
ed
ag

" I have deducted five pounds for the gipsy," she
said, "and eight pounds for the hire of the tent and
its fittings."

"That is at least five times as much as I expected,
Hilda. I have heard all sorts of marvellous stories
of the power of your old woman. Several people
told me that she seemed to know all about them,
and told them things that they believed were only
known to themselves. But how did she get so much
money ? "

Hilda laughed. "I hear that they began with half-
sovereigns, but as soon as they heard of her real powers,
they did not venture to present her with anj'thing less
than a sovereign, and in a good many cases they gave
more — no doubt to propitiate her into giving them good
fortunes. You see, each visitor only had two or three
minutes' interview, so that she got through from twenty
to thirty an hour; and as it lasted four hours she did
exceedingly well. '

"But who is the gipsy, and where did you find her?"

" The gipsy has gone, and is doubtless by this time
m some caravan or gipsy tent. I do not think that you
will ever find her again."

" I should have suspected that you played the gipsy
yourself, Hilda, were it not that I saw you half a dozen
times."

" I have no skill in palmistry," the girl laughed, " and
certainly have not been in two places at once. I did
my duty ana heard Jenny Lind sing and Parry play,
though I own that I did not patronise Richardson's
booth."

"Well, it is extraordinary that this old woman should
know the history of such a number of people as went
into her tent, few of whom she co'ld ever have heard

THE LOST HEIR

1 t' !
:-f.

of even by name, to say nothing of knowing them by
sight."

Several ladies called within the next few days,
specially to 'nquire from Lady Moulton about the

" Everyone is talking about her," one said. *■ Certainly
she told me several things about the past that it was
hardly possible that a woman in her position could
know. I have often heard that gipsies pick up in-
formation from servants, or in the countrv from
village gossip ; but at least a hunched people visited
this woman's tent, and from what 1 hear everyone
was as astonished as I was m}S(;lf at her knowledge
of their family matters. It is said that in some cases
she went farther than this, and told them things about
the present known only to themselves and two or three
intimate friends. Some of them seemed to have been
quite seriousl}' affected. I saw Mrs. Markham just
after she had left the tent, and she was as white as
a sheet, and I know she drove away a {q,\\ minutes
afterwards."

To all inquiries Lady Moulton simply replied — -
" I know no more about the gips}' thati you do.
Miss Covington took the entire management of the
gipsy tent off my hands, saw to the tent being
erected, and engaged the gipsv. Where she picked
her up I have no idea, but I fancy that she must
have got her from their encampment on Ham Common.
She turned the matter off when I asked her point-
blank, and I imagine that she must have given the
old crone a promise not to let it be known who she
was. They arc curious people, the gipsies, and for
aught I know may have an objection to any of the tribe
going to a gathering like ours to tell fortunes."

THE GIPSV

Some appeals were made to Hilda personally; but
Lacl>' Moultoii liad told her the answer she had given,
and takinc,r her cue from it she was able to so shape
her replies that her questioners left her convinced that
she had reall)-, while carryinjr out Lad\- Moulton's
instructions, lii,dited on a gipsy possessing s(jme of the
secrets of the almost forgotten science of palmistry.

CHAPTER V.

A GAMBLING DEN

IN a corner of one of the vvinding^ courts that lie
behind Fleet Street stood a dingy-looking house,
the lamp over the door bearing the words, " Billiards
and Pool." During the daytime no one would be seen
to enter save between the hours of twelve and two,
when perhaps a dozen young fellows, after eating a
frugal lunch, would resort there to pass their hour out
of office in smoking and a game of billiards. Of an
evening, however, there were lights in every window,
and the click of balls could be heard from the ground
floor and that above it. In each of these there were
two tables, and the play continued uninterruptedly
from seven until eleven or half-past.

The lights in the second iloor, however, often burnt
until two or three o'clock in the morning, and it was
here that the proprietor reaped b)^ far the larger pro-
portion of his profits. While the billiard-room windows
generally stood open, those of the large room on the
second floor were never raised, and when the lights
below were extinguished, heavy curtains were dropped
across the windows to keep both the light and the
sounds within from being seen or heard in the court
below. Here was a large roulecte table, while along
the sides of the room were smaller tables for those who
preferred other games. Here almost every evening

A GAMBLING DEN

some thirty or forty men assembled. Of these, perhaps
a third were clerks or shop assistants, the remainder
foreigners of almost every nationality. Betting lists
were expo.sed at one end of the room. Underneath
these a bookmaker had a small table, and carried on his
trade.

In 1 85 1 there were a score of such places in the
neighbourhood of the Strand and Fleet Street, but few
did a larger business than this. It was generally unvier-
stood that Wilkinson, the proprietor, had been a soldier;
but the belief originated rather from his upright carriage
and a certain soldierly walk than from anything he had
himself said, and he was not the sort of man whom
even the most regular of the frequenters of his estab-
lishment cared to question. He was a tall man, some
five-and- forty years of age, taciturn in speech, but firm
in manner while business was going on. ITc kept
admirable order in the place. He was generally to
be found in the room on the second floor, but when
a .whistle blew, and one of the markers whispered up
a speaking-tube that there was a dispute going on
between the players or lookers-on, he was at once upon
the spot.

" Now, gentlemen," he would say, interposing between
them, " you know the rules of this establishment ; the
marker's decision on all points connected with the game
is final, and must be accepted by both parties. I will
have no quarrels or disputes here, and anyone making a
row goes straight out into the street, and never comes in
here again."

In the vast majority of cases this settled the matter;
but when the men were flushed with liquor, and in-
clined to continue the dispute, they were seized by the
collar by Wilkinson's strong arm and were summarily

THE LOST HEIR

ejected from the house. In the inner room he j)re-
served order as strictly, but had much more difficulty
in doin<4 so amon^ the foreii^n element. Here quarrels
were not uncommon, and knives occasionally drawn ;
but Wilkinson was a poweifnl man and a ^ood boxer,
and a flush hit from the shoulder always settled the
business.

l^ut thoui^h stern in the manaij^ement of his establish-
ment, Wilkinson was |)o|)ular amon^" its fre(iuenters.
J le was accjuainted with most of their callings and
busitiess. Indeed, none were admitted to the upper
room unless well i..iro(luced l:y liahitHi's, or until he
had made prixale in(|uiries concerniu;.^ them. Ihus he
knew anions the foreigners whom he could trust, and
how far, when, after a run of ill luck, they came to him
and asked him for a loan, he could venture to go.

With the I'jiLilish portion of his customers he was
still more liberal, lie knew that he should not be
a loser from transactions with them ; they must repay
him, for were it kr.own to their employers that they
were in the habit of <;amblini;, it would mean instant
dismissal. There were among them several lawyers'
clerks, some of whom were, in comparison with their
means, deepl>' in debt to him. One or other of those
he would often invite up to liis private roon) on the
floor above, where a bottle of good wine would be on
the table, a box of excellent cigars beside it, and here
they would chat more or less comfortably until the
roulette room o[)ened.

Mr. Wilkinson matle no pretence that these meetings
were simply for the purpose of drinking his wine and
smoking his cigars. " I am a straightforward man," he
would say, "and business is business. I oblige you,
and 1 expect )ou to oblige me. I have always had

A (lAMULlNC. I)I-:N

a fancy that tluMi* is nioiu-)' to hi' made in coniu'c tioii
with lawyers' businesses. There are missini,; heirs to l)e
lumted up; there are provisoes in deeds, of wliose
existence some one or otiu;r would uive a irood deal

to k

now.

am sure

that

you are not in a position

to pay me the amount 1 have

t 1 h

lent

ou, and

lor wliicn

I hold your I.O.U.'s. I have no idea of pressini; ) ou
for the money, and shall be '•ontent to let it run on so

ion;

'OU Wll

let me know what is beinu doiie at

your office. The arrani^cMncr.t is tnai }'oii will tell me
anx'thiuLT that \-ou think can be i\:^v<\ to adv.nit.r'e, and
if mone)- is madt; out of any information you ma)- ^ive
me, I will enL^aj^e to pay }ou a third of what it brings
in. Now, I call that a fair bargain. What do y(Hi
sav ?

In some cases the offer was closed with at once ; in
others it was onl\' agreed to after threats that the debt
must be at once paid or an application would be made
forthwith. So far the L;amblinLj-house kee[)er's expecta-
tions had not met with the success he had looked for.
He Iiad spent a <;ood deal of time in en(k.'avourin<,^ t(j
find the descendants of persons who stood in the direct
line of succession to properties, but of wh(jm all clue
had been lost. He iiad indeed obtained an insit^ht into
various family differences that had enabled him to
successfully extort blackmail, but his _L;ains in this way
had not, so far, recouped hiin for the sums he had, as
he considered, invested in the speculation.

He was, hcnvever, a patient man, and felt n(j doubt
that sooner or later he should be able to make n c(jup
that would set him up for life. Still he was dis-
appointed ; his idea had been the one held by many
ignorant persons, that lawyers are as a class read)- to
res(jrt to tricks of all kinds, in the interests of their

THE LOST HEIR

clients or themselves. He had found that he had been
altogether wrong, and that although there were a few
firms who, working in connection with money-lenders,
financial agents, and the lowest class of bill discounters,
were mixed up in transactions of a more or less shady
character, these were the black sheep of the profession,
and that in the vast majority of cases the business
transacted was purely technical and connected with
the property of their clients. Nevertheless, he took
copious notes of all he learnt, contending that there
was no saying what might come in useful some
day.

" Well, Dawkins," he said one day to a dark-haired
young fellow with a handsome face that already showed
traces of the effect of late hours and dissipation, " I sup-
pose it is the usual thing ; the lawsuit as to the right
of way at Brownsgrove is still going on, the settlements
in Mr. Cochrane's marriage to Lady Gertrude Ivory are
being drawn up, and other business of the same sort.
You never give me a scrap of information that is of the
slightest use. I am afraid that your firm is altogether
too eminently respectable to have anything to do with
doubtful transactions."

" I told you so from the first, Wilkinson, that what-
ever your game might be, there would be nothing in
our office that could be of the least use to you, even
if you had copies of every deed drawn up in it. Ours
is what you might call a family business. Our clients
have for the most part dealt with the firm for the last
hundred years ; that is to say their families have. We
have drawn their wills, their marriage settlements, their
leases, and done everything relating to their property
for years and years. My own work for the last two
or three days has been drafting and engrossing the will

of a

Deer

A GAMBLING DEN

of a General Mathieson, whose father and grandfather
were our clients before him."

*' Mathieson — he is an old Indian officer, isn't he, if it
is the man I mean ? He was in command at Rcnares
twenty years ago. He was a handsome man, then,
about my height and build."

"Yes, I have no doubt that is the man — John Le
Marchand Mathieson."

" That is him. He was very popular with the troops.
He used to spend a good deal of money in improving
their rations and making them comfortable. Had a
first-rate stable, and they used to say he was a rich man.
Anyhow, he spent a good deal more than his pay."

" Yes, he was a second son, but his elder brother died,
and he came into the property ; but instead of coming
home to enjoy it he stopped out in India for years after
he came into it."

" He had a daughter, quite a little girl, in those days ;
her mother died out there. I suppose she inherits his
property ? "

" Well, no ; she married some time back ; she and
her husband are both dead, and their son, a boy, six or
seven years old, lives with the old man."

" How much does he leave?"

"Something over a hundred thousand pounds. At
least I know that that is about the \alue of the estates,
for we have always acted as his agents, collected the
rents and so on."

" I should like to see a copy of his will," Wilkinson
said, after sitting for some time silent. " I don't want
all the legal jargon, but just the list of the legacies."

" I can easily jot those down for you. The property
goes to the grandson, and if he dies before coming
of age, to a niece, Hilda Covington, who is his ward

THE LOST HEIR

and lives with him. He leaves her beside only five
hundred pounds, because she is herself an heiress.
There are a score of small legacies, to old servants,
soldiers, widows, and people of that sort."

" Well, you may as well give me the list entire."

Dawkins shrugged his shoulders.

"Just as you like," he said; "the will was signed
yesterday, but I have the note of instructions still by
me, and will bring round the list to-morrow evening ;
though, upon my word, I don't see what interest it can
possibly have for you."

" I don't know myself," the other said shortly, " but
there is never any saying."

After talking for a few minutes on other subjects he
said, " The room is open downstairs now, Dawkins, and
as we have finished the bottle 1 will not keep you any
longer. In fact, the name of that old General has
called up some queer memories of old times, and I
should like to think them over."

When the clerk had left, Wilkinson sat for a long
time in thought.

" It is a great idea,' he murmured to himself at last;
" it will want a tremendous lot of planning to arrange
it all, and of course it is tremendously risky. Still, it
can be done, and the stake is worth trying for, even if
it would be seven years' transportation if anything went
wrong. In the first place I have to get some proofs of
my identity. I own that I have neglected my family
scandalously," and his face, which had been stern and
hard, softened into a smile. " Then, of course, I must
establish myself in chambers in the West End, and as I
have three or four thousand pounds in hand I can carry
on for two or three years if necessary. At the worst
the General is likely to add me to his list of legatees,

A GAMBLING DEN

but of course that would scarcely be worth pla}iiig for
alone. The will is the thing'. I don't see m>' way to
that, but it is hard if it can't be manajjjed somehow.
The child is, of course, an obstacle, but that can cer-
tainly be got over, and as I dnn't suppo.se the old man
is going to die at present I have time to make my plans.
When I see how matters go I can put m\' hand on a
man who could be relied on to hel[) me carry out any-
thing I might put in his way. Well, 1 al\va}-s thought
that I should hit on .something good throu!>h these
young scamps who come here, but this is a bigger thing
than I ever dreamt of It will certainly be a difficult
game to play, but, knocking about all over the world
as I have been for fifteen years before I came back and
set up this show, I think that I have learnt enough to
pass muster anywhere."

Somewhat to the surpri.se of the habitues of the
room below it was nearly eleven o'clock before the
proprietor made his appearance there, and even when
he did so he took little interest in what was going
o*n, but moved restlessly from one room to another,
smoking cigar after cigar without intermission, and
acknowledging but briefly the greetings of those who
were the most regular frequenters of his establishment.

Two days later the following advertisement appeared,
not only in the London papers, but in a large number
of country journals : —

" John Slmcoe. — Any relatives of John Simcoe who
left England about the year 1830 or 1 831, and is sup-
posed to have been lost at sea in the Bay of Dengal, in
the ship Ncpaul, in December, 1832, are requested to
communicate with J. W. Thompson and Co., News-
paper Agents, Fleet Street, when they will hear of
something to their advantage."

THE LOST HEIR

Only one reply was received. It was dated " Myrtle
Cottage, Stowmarkct," and was as follows : —

" Sir, — A friend has shown nic the advertisement in
the Ipswich paper, which must, I think, refer to my
nephew, who left here twenty years a<;o. I received
a letter from him dated December 2nd, 1832, from
Calcutta, saying that he was about to sail for China
in the Nepaul. I never heard from him again, but the
Rector here kindly made iijuie inquiries for me some
months afterwards, and learnt that the vessel had never
been heard of after sailing, but was believed to have
foundered with all hands in a great gale that took
place a few days after she sailed. So far as I know
I am his only relative. Awaiting a further communi-
cation from you, I remain, your obedient servant,

'■ Martha Slmcoe."

Great was the excitement caused by the advertise-
ment at Myrtle Cottage. Miss Simcoe, who with a tiny
servant was the sole inmate of the cottage, had called
together all her female acquaintances, and consulted
them as to what the advertisement could mean, and as
to the way in which she should answer it.

" Do you think it would be safe to reply at all ?" she
inquired anxiously. " You see, my nephew John was a
very wild young fellow. I do not mean as to his
conduct here ; no one could say anything against that.
He was a clerk in the bank, you know, and, I believe,
was very well thought of; but when his father died, and
he came into two thousand pounds, it seemed to turn
his head. I know that he never liked the bank ; he had
always wanted to be either a soldier or a sailor, and
directly he got the money he gave up his situation at
the bank, and nothing would do but that he must travel.

^ -^

f—

A'GAMIU.mO' DEN

Everyone told him^that it was madness ; his Aunt
Maria — poor soul, you all knew her — and 1 cried over it,
but nothing would move him. A fine-lookiiij^ fellow he
was, as some of you will remember, standing six feet
high, and, as everyone said, looking more like a soldier
officer than a clerk at a bank.

" We asked him what he would do when his money
was gone, but he laughed it oft', and said that there
were plenty of things for a man to do with a pair of
strong arms. He said that he might enter the .service
of some Indian prince, or marry the daughter of a
black king, or discover a diamond mine, and all so' ls
of nonsense of that sort. He bought such an outfit
as you never did see— guns and pistols and all sorts
of things ; and as for clothes, why a prince could not
have wanted more. Shirts by the dozen, my dear ;
and I should say eight or ten suits of white clothes,
which I told him would make him look like a cricketer
or a baker. VVh)-, it took three big trunks to hold
all his things. But I will say for him that he wrote
regular, either to me or to my sister Maria. Last time
he wrote he said that he had been attacked by a tiger,
but had got well again, and was going to China,
though what he wanted to go there for I am sure I
don't know. He could not want to buy teacups and
saucers ; they would only get broken sending home.
Well, his death was a great blow to us."

" I don't know whether I should answer the ad-
vertisement. Miss Simcoe," one of her friends said.
"There is no saying what it might mean. Perhaps he
got into debt in India, and the people think that they
might get paid if they can find out his relations here."

The idea came like a douche of cold water upon the
little gathering.

THK LOST HEIR

" B'lt the advcrlisciiKMit says, 'will hear of somcthiii*^
to their a(lvanta<4e,' Mrs. Maberle)-," Miss Simcoc urged
tiiiiidlv.

" Oh, that is nothing, iny dear. That may be only
a lawyer's trick ; they are capable of an)'thing, I have
heard."

" Ikit they could not make Miss Simcoe pay," another
urged; "it seems to me much more likely that her
nephew may have left some of his money in the hands
of a banker at Calcutta, and now that it lias been so
many years unclaimed they are making in()uiries to see
who is his heir. That seems much more likely."

A murmur of assent ran round the circle, and after
much discussion the answer was drafted, and Mi.ss
Simcoe, in a fever of anxiety, awaited the reply.

Two days later a tall, well-dressed man knocked
at the door of Myrtle Cottage. It was a loud
authoritative knock, such as none of Miss Simcoe's
usual visitors gave.

" It must be about the advertisement," she exclaimed.

The little servant had been enjoined to wear her
Sunday clothes in case a visitor should come, and
after a hasty glance to sec if she was tidy, Miss
Simcoe sat down in her little parlour, and tried to
assume an appearance of calmness The front door
opened, and a man's voice inquired, " Is Miss Simcoe
in?" Then the parlour door opened and the visitor
entered, pushing [)ast the girl, who had been instructed
how to announce him in proper form, and exclaiming,
" My dear Aunt Martha," fairly lifted the astonished
old lady from her seat and kissed her.

" Dear me ! Dear me ! " she gasped, as he put her
on her feet again, " can it be that you are my nephew
John?"

nvi

of kno(
but sur

"Ye
remem
were d<
that w?
round
have ah

" Ye.^
changec
was no
passing
in the w
We tra
I had a
in my 1
about ir
enough
need it'

" Pool
'♦ It woi
creature

"\ an
you are

" Yes,
Maria a
life ann
very co
to draw

" VVel
to stint
home w
you an
F

A GAMHF,IN(; DEN

"Why, don't you know inc. aunt? Twenty years
of knockin*^ about have chan^ijed me sadl)-, I am afraid,
but surely you must remember me."

"Yc— es," she said doubtfully, "yes, I think that 1
remember you. Hut, you see, we all thoui^ht that you
were dead ; and I have only got that likeness of you
that was cut out in black paper by a man who caiiie
round when you were only eighteen, and somehow I
have always thought of you as like that."

"Yes, I remember," he lauglied. "Well, aunt, I have
changed since then, there is no doubt. So \-ou see I
was not drowned after all. I was picked uj) by a
passing ship, clinging tf) a spar, but I lost all my money
in the wreck of the Ncpaul. I shi})ped before the mast.
We traded among the islands for sc^me months, then
I had a row with the captain and ran away, and threw
in my lot with the natives, and I have been knocking
about in the East ever since, and have come back with
enough to live on comfortably, and to help you, if you
need it."

"Poor Maria died four years ago," she said tearfully.
" It would have been a happiness to her indeed, poor
creature, if you had come back before."

" \ am sorry indeed to hear that," he replied. "Then
you are living here all alone, aunt ? "

" Yes, except for my little maid. You see, John,
Maria and I laid out the money our father left us in
life annuities, and as long as we lived together we did
very comfortably. Since then, of course, I have had
to draw in a little, but I manage very nicely."

" Well, well, aunt, there will be no occasion for you
to stint yourself any more. As I said, I have come
home with my purse warmly lined, and I shall make
you an allowance of fifty pounds a year. You were

THE LOST HEIR

alwaj's \cr}' kind to mc as a boy, and I can very well
afford it, and I dare say it will make all the difference
to you."

" My dear Jolin, I could not think of taking such a
sum from vou."

"Pooh, pooh, aunt! What is the use of money if
one cannot use it to make one's friends comfortable?
So that is settled, and I won't have anything more said
about it."

The old lad)' wiped her eyes. " It is ^^ood of yon,
John, and it will indeed make all the difference to
me. It will almost double my inccjme, and I shan't
have to look at every halfpenny before I spend it."

"That is all ri^j^ht, aunt ; now let us sit down comfort-
ably to chat about old times. You don't mind my
smokinc^, I hope ? "

Miss Simcoc, for almost the fir.st time in her life, told
a lie. " Not at all, John ; not at all. Now, how was it
that you did not come down yourself instead of puttin;^
in an advertisement, which I should never have seen
if my frieiul Mrs. Maberley had not haj)pened to notice
it in the paper which siie takes in regularly, and brought
it in to sh(nv me ? "

'•Weil, I couUi not brin^ myself to come down, aunt.
Twenty years make ijreat chani^es, and it would have
been horrible to have come down here and found that
you had all gone, and that I was friendle.^'.s in the place
where I had been brought up as a boy. I thought th.a
by my putting it into a local paper, someone who had
known me would be sure to see it. Now let me hear
about all the people that 1 knew."

John Simcoe stayed for three days quietly at tin
cottage. The news of his return spread rapidly, and
soon many of the friends that had known him came to

wel
nep

havi
J*

A GAMRUNG DEN

»3

ticc

rht

int.
a\c

lat
ace

i;a
lad
car

thr

ind

welcome him. His auri: liad told her own circle of her
nephew's wealth and liberality, and throuL^h them the
news that John Simcoe harl returned home a wealth)'
man was imparted to all their acquaintances. Some ()(
his old friends declared that they should have known
him anywhere; others said fran'dy that n(»w tluy knew
who he was they saw the likeness, but that if they had
met him anywhere el.se they did not think they should
have reco<,niised him.

John Simcoe's memory hafl been <;reatiy refreshed by
h's aunt's incessant talk about his early days and
doings, and as his visitors were more anxious to hear
of his adventures abroad tiian t(j talk of the da\'s lonj;
past, he had no difficult)- whatever in satisf\'inL,r all as to
his identity, even had not the question been settled by
his liberality to his aunt, froin whom no return whatever
cojld po.ssibly be expected. W hen he left he handed
her fifty pounds in L^old.

" I may as well j^ive you a s-ear's nioney at once," he
.said ; " I am a careless man, and mij^ht fortjet to send it
quarterly."

" Where can I write to you, John ? " she asked.

"I cannot j^dve you an address at present,' he said;
" I have onlv been stojipinijj at a hotel until I could
find chambers to suit me. DirectI)- 1 cio so I will (\r()\)
you a line. I shall alwa)s be j^Iad to hear of you, and
will run down occasionally to see )(;u and havca chat
again with some of my old friends."

The return of John Simcoe served Stc)wmarket as a
subject for conversation for some ti»ne. Me had sj)ent
his money generously while there and had given a
dinner ai the {principal hotel to a score of those with
whom he had been most intimate when a bo\-. ('ham-
pagne had flowed in unstinted abundance, and it was

THE LOST HEIR

generally voted that he was a capital fellow, and well
deserved the good fortune that had attended him. In
the quiet Suffolk town the tales of the adventures that
he had gone through created quite a sensation, and
when repeated by their fathers sst half the boys of the
place wild with a desire to imitate his example, and to
embark in a life which was at once delightful, and
ended in acquiring untold wealth. Cn leaving he
pressed several of them, especially one who had been
a fellow-clerk with him at the bank, and was now its
manager, to pay him a visit whenever they came to
town.

" I expect to be in diggings of my own in a week or
two," he said, "and shall make a point of having a
spare bed, to pp.t up a friend at any time."

CHAPTER VL

JOHN SIMCOE

■GENERAL MATHIESON was on the point of
V^ going out for h drive wilii his niece, who wr'tS
buttoning her glove, when a servant entered the drav/-
ing-room and said that a gentleman wished to speak to
him.

" Who is he ? Did he give you his name or say what
was his business ? "

" No, sir. I have not seen him before. He merely
asked me to give you his message."

" I suppose I had better see him, Hilda."

" Well, uncle, I will get out of the way and go down-
stairs when' he has come in. Don't let him keep you,
for you know that when I have put y^ou down at your
club I have an engagement to take Lina C^ossley to
do some shopping first, and then for a drive in the
park."

" I don't suppose that he will be five minutes, whoever
he is."

Hilda slipped away just in time to avoid the visitor.
As the manservant opened the door the General looked
with some interest at the stranger, for such it seemed
to him his visitor was. He was a tall man, well dressed,
and yet without the precision that would mark him as
being a member of a good club or an habitue of the
Row.

THE LOST HKIR

"You don't rcnicniber ine, (leneral?" he said, with
a sliij^ht smile.

" I cannot say that I do," the General replied. " Your
face does not seem unfamiliar to me, though I cannot
at the present moment place it."

" It is rather an uncommon name," the visitor said ;
"but I am not surprised that you do not remember it
or me, for it is some twenty }ears since we met. My
name is Simcoe."

" Twenty years ! " the General repeated. " Then it
mu'^t have been in India, for twenty years ago I was
in command of the Henares district. Simcoe ! " he
broke off excitedly. " Of course I knew a ijentleman
of that name who did me an inestimable service ; in
fact, he saved my life'

" I don't know that it was as much as that, but at
least I saved you from being mauled by a tiger."

" Bless me ! " the General exclaimed, taking a step
forward, " and you are the man. I recognise you now,
and had I not believed that you had been k)st at sea
within a month after you had saved my life I should
have kiKJwn you at once, though, of course, twenty
years have changed you a good deal. My dear sir, I
am happy indeed to know that the report was a false
one, and to meet you again." And he shook hands
with his visitor with the greatc.-t warmth.

" I am not surpriscfl that you did not recognise me,"
the latter said; " I was bi t twent)'-five then, and have
been knocking about the world ever since, and have gone
through some very rough times and done some very
hard work. Of course y(Hi saw my name among the
list of the [)assengers on board the Nt'paul, which went
down with, as was sup[iosed, all hands in that tre-
mendous storm in the Bay of Bengal. Happily, I

escaped,
of the I
ine close
leeward
i^'ive da
carried
weeks,
out refe
that was
I bad c<
might a
take a 1'
it that i
chief ach
have ret'
enough 1
of my li
" How
" I ha
home to
an old 1
need sc;i
London
of way,
uncomfoi
years wi
the othe
attended
will call
remembr
Vt thi
little no

"My
to be so

John simcoe

escaped. I was waslied overboard just rs the wreck

)f the

'ied

01 me mainmast had been cut awa)'. j\ wave
ine close to it ; I climbed upon it, and lashed myself to
leeward of the to », which sheltered me a ^(x)d deal.
VWc days later I was picked up insensible and was
carried to Singapore. I was in hospital there for some
weeks. When I c]uite recovered, beinj^ [)enniless, witli-
out references or f''iends, I shipped on board a vessel
that was iJoinLi; on a tradin"' vovas/e amonir the islands
I bad come out to see the world, and thoui^ht that I
niii;ht as well see it that way as another. It would
take a lon^c^ time to relate my after-adventures ; suffice
it that at last, after numerous wanderin^^s, I became
chief adviser of a powerful chief in Burmah, and finally
have returned home, not exactly a rich man, but with
enough to live upon in more than comfort for the rest
of my life."

•' How long have you been in Londcjn ?"
" I have been here but a fortnight ; I ran down
home to see if I had relatives living, but found that
an old lady was the sole survivor of my family. I
need scarcely say that my first business on rea.hiug
London was to rig myself out in a presentable sort
of way, and I may say that at present I feel very
uncomfortable in these garments after being twenty
}'ears without putting on a black coat. I happened
the other day to see your name among those who
attended the kvee, and I said to myself at once, ' I
will call upon the General and see if he has any
remembrance of me.' "

vu this moment a servant entered the room with a
little note.

NCLE. — It is

lEAR

naui:

hty

you

to be so long, 1 am taking the carriage, and have

£)^>

THE LOST HEIR

told them to put the otlier horse into the brougham and
bring it round for you at once."

For more than an liour the two men sat talkini^^
together, and Simcoe, on leaving, accepted a cordial
invitation from the General to dinner on the following
day.

"Well, uncle, who was it?" Hilda asked, when they
met in the drawing-room a few minutes before the
dinner-hour. " You said you would not be five
minutes, and I waited for a quarter of an hour and
then lost patience. I asked when I came in how long
he had sta}ed, and heard that he did not leave until
five o'clock."

" He was a man who had saved my life in India,
child."

" Dear me ! And have you never heard of him since,
uncle? '

" No, dear. I did my best to find out his family, but
had no idea of ever seeing the man himself, for the
simple reason that I believed that he died twenty years
ago. He had sailed in a vessel that was reported as
lost with all hands, so you may well imagine my sur-
j^risc when he told me who he was."

" Did you recognise him at once, uncle?"

•' Not at first. Twenty years is a long time ; and he
was only about five-and-twenty when 1 knew him, and of
course he has changed greatly. However, even before
he told me who he was I was able to recall his face.
He was a tall, active young fellow then, and I could
certainly trace the likeness."

" I suppose he was in the army, uncle ? "

" No ; he was a young Englishman who was making

JOHN SIMCOK

a tour through India. I was in command at Benares
at the time, and he brought me letters of introduc-
tion from a man who had come out in the same ship
with him, and also from a friend of mine in Calcutta.
A few days after he arrived I was on the point of going
up with a party to do some tiger shooting in the Terai,
and I invited him to come with us. He was a pleasant
fellow and soon made him.self popular. He never said
much about himself, but as far as I understood him he
was not a rich man, but he was spending his money
in seeing the world, with a sort of happy confidence
that something would turn up when his money was
gone.

" We were out a week and had fair sport. As you
have often heard me say, I was passionately fond
of big game shooting, and I had had many narrow
escapes in the course of my life, but I never had so
narrow a one as happened to me on that occasion.
We liad wounded a tiger and had lost him. We had
spent a couple of hours in beating the jungle, but
without success, and had agreed that the brute could
not have been hit as hard as we had believed, but must
have made off altogether. We were within fifty yards
of the edge of the jungle, when there was a sudden
roar, and before I could u.se my rifle the tiger sprang.
I was not in a hovvdah, but on a pad ; and the tiger
struck one of its forepaws on my knee. With
the other he clung for a moment to the pad, and
then we went down together. The brute seized me
by the shoulder and sprang into the jungle again,
carried me a dozen yards or so, and then lay down, still
holding me by the shoulder.

** I was perfectly sensible, but felt somewhat dazed
and stupid ; I found myself vaguely thinking that he

THE LOST HEIR

must after all have been very badly hit, and instead
of making off hini hid up within a short distance
of the spot where we saw him. I was unable to
move hand or foot, for he was lying on me, and his
weight was pressing the life out of me. I know
that I vaguely hoj^ed I should die before he took
a bite at my shoulder. I suppose that the whole
thing did not last a minute, though to me it seemed
an interminable time. Suddenly there was a rustling
in the bush. VV^ith a deep growl the tiger loosed
his hold of my shoulder, and rising to his feet faced
half round. What happened after that I only know
from hearsay.

" Simcoe, it seems, was riding in the howdah on an
elephant behind mine. As the tiger sprang at my
elephant he fired and hit the beast on the shoulder.
It was that no doubt that caused its hold to relax, and
brought us to the ground together. As the tiger sprang
with me into the jungle Simcoe leapt down from the
howdah and followed. He had only his empty rifle
and a large hunting -knife. It was no easy work
pushing his way through the jungle, but in a minute
he came upon us. Clubbing his gun he brought it
down on the left side of the tiger's head before the
brute, who was hampered by his broken shoulder, and
weak from his previous wound, could spring. Had
it not been that it was the right shoulder that was
broken, the blow, heavy as it was, would have had little
effect upon the brute ; as it was, having no support
on that side it reeled half over and then, with a snarling
growl, sprang upon its assailant. Simcoe partly leapt
aside, and striking again with the barrel of his gun —
the butt had splintered with the first blow — so far
turned it aside that instead of receiving the blow direct.

which v\
in a slai

" The
as he
partly
and it (
or ciawj
rcmainii
of its b
rolled o
it, and i
balls str
officers
they saw
up just
conflict.

" Ther
myself, 1
The flesl
off from
been bro
but as it
grasped
so bad a!
leg was 1
the knee
were boi
carried c
was aboi
walk aga;
1 had a
and whei
the affair
never ha

TOHN SIMCOE

which would certainly have broken in his skull, it fell
in a slanting direction on his left shoulder.

"The force was sufficient to knock him down, but
as he fell he drew his knife. The tiger had lea[)t
partly beyond him, so that he lay under its stomach,
and it could not for the moment use either its teeth
or claws. The pressure was terrible, but with his last
remaining strength he drove the knife to the full length
of its blade twice into the tiger's body. The animal
rolled over for a moment, but there was still life in
it, and it again sprang to its feet, when a couple of
balls struck it in the head, and it fell dead. Three
officers had slipped down from their howdahs when
they saw Simcoe rushing into the jungle, and coming
up just in time, they fired, and so finished the
conflict.

" There was not much to choose between Simcoe and
my.self, though I had certainly got the worst of it.
The flesh of his arm had been pretty well stripped
off from the shoulder to the elbow ; my shoulder had
been broken and the flesh torn by the brute's teeth,
but as it had not shifted its hold from the time it first
grasped me till it let go to face Simcoe, it was not
so bad as it might have been. But the wound on the
leg was more serious ; its claws had struck just above
the knee-cap and had completely torn it off. We
were both insensible when we were lifted up and
carried down to the camp. In a fortnight Simcoe
was about ; but it was some months before I could
walk again, and, as you know, my right leg is still stiff.
I had a very narrow escape of my life ; fever set in,
and when Simcoe went down country a month after
the affair I was still lying between life and death, and
never had an opportunity of thanking him for the

THE LOST HEIR

manner in which, practically unarmed, he went in to
face a wounded ti^er in order to save my life. You
may imagine, then, my regret when a month later we
got the news that the N^paul in which he had sailed,
had been lost with all hands."

*' It wa« a gallant action indeed, uncle. You told
me sometning about it soon after I came here, when
I happened to ask you how it was that you walked
so stiffly, but you did not tell it so fully. And what
is he going to do now ? '

" He is going to settle in London. He has been,
as he says, knocking about in the East ever since,
being engaged in all sorts of adventures ; he has been
for some time in the service of a native chief some
way up near the borders of Burmah, Siam, and China,
and somehow got possession of a large number of
rubies and other precious stones, which he has turned
into money, and now intends to take chambers and
settle down to a quiet life, join a club and so on.
Of course I promised to do all in my power to further
his object, and to introduce him into as much society
as he cared for."

" What is he like, uncle ? "

" He is about my height, and I suppose about five-
and-forty — though he looks rather (;Ider. No wonder,
after such a life as he has led. He carries himself well,
and he is altogether much more presentable than you
would expect under the circumstances. Indeed, had
I not known that he had never served, I should un-
hesitatingly have put him down as having been in the
army. There is something about the way he carries
his shoulders that you seldom see except among men
who have been drilled. He is coming here to dine
to-morrow, so you will see him."

to '

ou
we
ed,

'«f»

JOHN SIMCOE

"That relieves me of anxiety, uncle; for you know
you had a letter this morning from Colonel Fit/Iui^di,
saying that he had been unexpectedl)- called out of town,
and you said that you would ask somebody at the club
to fill his place, but you know you very often forget
things that you ought to remember."

" I certainly had forgotten that when I asked him
to come, and as I came home I blamed myself for not
having asked someone else so as to make up an even
number."

A month later Mr. Simcoe had become an intimate
of General Mathieson's house. It had always been a
matter of deep regret to the General that he had been
unable to thank the man w ho at terrible risk to his life
had saved him from death, and that feeling was
heightened when the news came that his preserver
had been drowned, and that tbie opportunity of doing
so was for ever lost. He now spared no pains to further
his wishes. He constantly invited him to lunch or
dinner at his club, introduced him to all his friends
in terms of the highest euk^gium, and repeated over
and over again the story of his heroic action. As his
own club was a military one he could not propose him
there, but he had no difficulty in getting friends to
propose and support him for two other clubs of good
standing.

Several of the officers to whom he introduced Simcoe
had been at Benares at the time he was hurt. These
he recognised at once, and was able to chat with them
of their mutual acquaintances, and indeed surprised
them by his knowledge of matters at the station that
they would hardly have thought would be known to
one who had made but a sho

stay

One of

them said as much, but Simcoe said, laughing, "You

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23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

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■■' ll

THE LOST HEIR

forget that I was laid up for a month. Ever}'onc was
very good to me, and I had generally on*, or two men
sitting with me, and the amount of gossip I picked up
about the station was wonderful, Of course there was
not' ing else to talk about ; and as I have a good
memory, I think I could tell you something about the
private affairs of pretty nearly every civilian and mili-
tary man on the station."

Everyone agreed that Siincoe was a very pleasant
and amusing companion. He was full of anecdotes of
the wild people that he had lived among and of the
adventurers and escapes he had gone through. Although
none of the Benares friends of the General recognised
Simcoe when they first met him, they speedily recalled
his features. His instant recognition of them, his
acquaintance with persons and scenes at and around
Benares was such that they never for a moment doubted
his identity, and as their remembrance of the General's
visitor returned they even wondered that their re-
cognition of him had not been as instant as his of
them. As to his means, not even to the General had
Simcoe explained his exact position. He had taken
good apartments in Jermyn Street, gave excellent little
dinners there, kept undeniably good wine and equally
excellent cigars, dressed well, and was regarded as
being a thoroughly good fellow.

The General was not a close observer. Had he
been so, he would speedil)^ have noticed that his niece,
although always polite and courteous to Mr. Simcoe,
did not receive him with the warmth and pleasure with
which she greeted those who were her favourites. On
his part the visitor spared no pains to make himself
agreeable to her; he would at once volunteer to execute
any commission for her if she happened to mention in

JOHN SIMCOE

his presence anythijiir that she uanted. One evenin-
when she was -oinir to a ball he sent her an expensive
bouquet of flowers. The next day when she saw him
she said —

"I am very much obli-ed to >'ou for those lovely
flowers, and I carried the bouquet last ni-ht, but please
do not send any more. I don't think that it is quite
nice to accept presents from anyone c.vcept very near
relations. It was very kind of n'ou to think of it but
I would really rather that you did not do it a-ain
Uncle gives me carte blanche in the wa)- of flowers'' but
I do not avail myself of it very lai-dy, for the scent
IS apt to make me feel faint, and beyond the smallest
spray I seldom carry any. I made an excei)tion last
night, for those you sent me were most lovely. You
don't mind my sa)-ing that, do \ou ? "

"Not at all, Miss Covington; and I quite understand
what you mean. It seemed natural to me to send v-ou
some flowers. Out in the Pacific Islands, especiall>' at
Samoa and Tahiti, and, indeed, more or less everywhere
women wear a profusion of flowers in their hair, and no
present is so acceptable to them."

" I fancy flowers do not cost so much there as thev
do here, Mr. Simcoe?"

" No,'' the latter laughed ; "for half a dollar one can
get enough to render a girl the envy of all others."

I think you were right to ask Mr. Simcoe not
to repeat his present, Hilda," the (General said -I
particularly noticed the bouquet that you carried last

night."

"Yes, uncle, there was nothing ecjual to it in the
room ; it must have cost three or four guineas."

THE LOST HEIR

" I don't think that you quite Hke him, do you,
Hilda?"

" I hke him, uncle, because he saved your life ; but
in other respects I do not know that I do like him
particularly. He is very pleasant and very amusing,
but I don't feel that I quite understand him."

" How do you mean that you don't understand him ?"

" I cannot quite explain, uncle. To begin with, I
don't seem to get any nearer to him — I mean to what
he really is. I know more of his adventures and his
life than I did, but I know no more of him himself
than I did three months ago when I first met him at
dinner."

"At any rate you know that he is brave," the General
said, somewhat gravely.

" Yes, I know that, of course ; but a man can be
brave, exceptionally brave, and yet not possess all other
good qualities. He did behave like a hero in your
ca.se, and I need not say that I feel deeply grateful to
him for the service that he rendered you ; still, that is
the only side of his nature that I feel certain about."

"Pooh! pooh! Hilda," the General said, with some
irritation. "What do you know about nine-tenths of
the men you meet? You cannot even tell that they
are brave."

" No, uncle, 1 know only the side they choose to
present to me, whicn is a pleasant side, and I do not
care to know more. Hut it is different in this case.
Mr. Simcoe is here nearly every day ; he has become
one of our inner circle ; you are naturally deeply
interested in him, and I am, therefore, interested in him
also, and want to know more of him than I have got
to know. He is brave and pleasant ; is he also honest
and honourable? Is he a man of thoroughly good

JOHN SIMCOE

principles? We know what he tells us of his life
and his adventures, but he only tells us what he
chooses."

The General shrujrged his shoulders.

"My dear child, you may say the same thin- of
pretty nearly every unmarried man you meet. When
a man marries and sets up a household one does -et
to know something about him. There are his uife's
relations, who, as a rule, speak with much frankness
concerning a man who has married their daughter
sister, or cousin. But as to bachelors, as a rule one
has to take them at their own valuation. Of course I
know no more than you do as to whether Simcoe'is
in all respects an honourable gentleman. It is quite
sufficient that he saved my life, almost at the sacrifice
of his own, and whatever the life he may have led since
IS no business of mine. He is distinctly popular among
those I have introduced him to, and is not likely in any
way to discredit that introduction."

That Hilda was not entirely satisfied was evident by
the letter she wrote when her uncle had, as usual, gone
up one afternoon to his club.

" My dear Netta,_I have told you several times
about the Mr. Simcoe who saved uncle's life out in
India, and who is so intimate at the house. I can't
say that either my acquaintance with or my liking
for him increases. He does not stand the test of the
system, and the more I watch his lips the less I
understand him. He talks fluently and quickly, and
yet somehow I feel that there is a hesitation in his
speech, and that his lips are repeating what they have
learned, and not speaking spontaneously. You know
that we have noticed the same thing among those who

Tin-: LOST HEIR

have learned to speak by the system but are not yet
perfect in it, so I need not exphiin further what I mean,
as you will understand it. For example, I can always
tell at a public meeting, or when listening to a preacher,
whether he is speaking absolutely extemporary or
whether he has learned his speech by heart before-
hand.

" I really strongly misdoubt the man. Of course
I know that he saved my uncle's life ; beyond that
I know nothing of him, and it is this very feeling
that I do know nothing that disquiets me. I can no
more see into him than I can into a stone wall. I
can quite understand that it is of very great importance
to him to stand well with the General. He came here
a stranger with a queer history. He knew no one ; he
had money and wanted to get into society. Through
my uncle he has done so ; he has been elected to two
clubs, has made a great number of acquaintances, goes
to the Row, the Royal Academy, the theatres, and so
on, and is, at any rate, on nodding terms with a very
large number of people. All this he owes to my uncle,
and I fail to see what else he can wish for. It would
be natural with so many other engagements that he
should not come to us so often as he used to do, but
there is no falling off in that respect. He is the tame
cat of the establishment. I dare say you think me silly
to worry over such a thing, but I can't help worrying.
I hate things I don't understand, and I don't understand
this man.

"Another thing is, Walter does not like him. He
constantly brings the child toys, but Walter does not
take to him, refuses absolutely to sit upon his knee, or
to be petted by him in any way. I always think that
it is a bad sign when a child won't take to a man.

I w

wis

I t(

me,

oft

dim

com

had

kno^

siuei

•i

JOHN SIMCOE g^

However, I will not bother you more about it now •
J will keep him out of my letters as much as I can I
wish I could keep him out of my mind also. As
I tell myself over and over again, he is nothing to
me, and whether he possesses all the virtues or none
of them IS, or at any rate should be, a matter of in-
difference to me. I can't help wishing that you had
come over here two months later, then I should have
had the benefit of your advice and opinion, for you
know, Netta, how accustomed I was for years to con-
siuer you almost, if not quite, infallible."

CHAPTER VIl.
JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIKND

THERE was a great sensation amoni^ the frequenters
of the lioLise in Elejjhant Court when they were
told that Wilkinson had sold the business, and the new
proprietor would come in at once. The feeling among
those who were in his debt was one of absolute dismay,
for it seemed to them certain the amounts would be
at once called in. To their surprise and relief Wilkin-
son went round among the foreigners, whose debts in
no case exceeded five pounds, and handed to them their
notes of hand.

" I am going out of the business," he said, " and shall
be leaving for abroad in a day or so. I might, of
course, have arranged with the new man for him to
take over these papers, but he might not be as easy
as I have been, and I should not like any of you to
get into trouble. I have never pressed anyone since
I have been here, still less taken anyone into court, and
I should like to leave on friendly terms with all. So
here are your papers ; tear them up, and don't be fools
enough to borrow again."

Towards his English clients, whose debts were gene-
rally from ten to twenty pounds, he took the same course,
adding a little good advice as to dropping billiards and
play altogether and making a fresh start.

" You have had a sharp lesson," he said, " and I know

lOO

JOHN SIMCOK'S FRIEND lo,

that you have been on tliorns for the last year. I wanted
•o show you what folly it was to place Noursclf in
the power of anyone to ruin you, and I fancy I have
succeeded very well. There is no harm in a ijanie of
billiards now and then, but if you cannot play\vithout
bettmcr you had better cut it alto-ether. As for the
tables, it is simply madness. Vou must lose in the
long run, and I am quite sure that I have (rot out of
you several times the amount of the I.O.U.'s that
I hold."

Never were men more surprised and more relieved
They could hardly believe that they u'ere once more
free men, and until a fresh set of players had succeeded
them the billiard rooms were frequently almost deserted.
To Dawkins he was somewhat more explicit.

"You know," he said, "the interest I took in that
wdl of Gen.^ral Matheison. It was not the will so
much as the man that I was so interested in. It
showed me that he was most liberally disposed to those
who had done him a service. Now, it hajjpens that
years ago, when he was at Benares, I saved his life from
a tiger, and got mauled myself in doing so. I had not
thought of the matter for many years, but your mention
of his name recalled it to me. I had another name in
those days— men often change their names when they
knock about in queer places as I have done. However,
I called upon him, and he expressed himself most
grateful. I need not say that I did not mention the
billiard -room to him. He naturally supposed that
I had just arrived from abroad, and he has offered
to introduce me to many of his friends ; and 1 think
that I have a good chance of being put down in his
will for a decent sum. I brought money home with
me from abroad and have made a goodish sum here,

■ «

102

THE T.OST HKTR

so I shall resume my j)n)j)er name atul ^o West, and
drop this affair altoi^cther. I am not likely to come
against any of the crew here, and, as )ou see," and
he removed a false beard and whiskers from his face,
" I have shaved, though I got this hair to wear until
I had finally cut the court. So you see you have unin-
tentionally done nte a considerable service, and in return
I shall say nothing about that fifty pounds you owe me.
Now, lad, try and keep yourself straight in future.
You may not get out of another scrape as you have
out of this. All I ask is that you will not mention
what I have told you to anyone else. There is no
fear of my being recognised, with a clean - shaven
face and different toggery altogether, but at any rate
it is as well that everyone but yourself should believe
that, as I have given out, I have gone abroad again.
I shall keep your I.O.U.'s, but I promise you that you
shall hear no more of them as long as you hold your
tongue as to what I have just told you. Possibly I
may some day need your assistance, and in that case
shall know where to write to you."

It was not until after a great deal of thought that
John Simcoe had determined thus far to take Dawkins
into his confidence, but he concluded at last that it
was the safest thing to do. He was, as he knew,
often sent by the firm with any communications that
they might have to make to their clients, and should
he meet him at the General's he might recognise him
and give him some trouble. He had made no secret
that he had turned his hand to many callings, and that
his doings in the southern seas would not always bear
close investigation, and the fact that he had once kept a
billiard-room could do him no special harm. As to the
will, Dawkins certainly would not venture to own that

JOHN SIMCOK'S I RIKNI) ,05

ho had repcatccl oi.tsidc uliat l,;„l boon clone in Iho
of.ce. Ihc man mif.ht l,e useful t„ him in the future.
It was more than probable he would a^ain involve
h.mself m .Icbt, and was mst the ueak and empty-
headed younfj fellow «l,o miyht be n,ade a convenient
tool should he require one.

So Elephant Court knew Mr. Wilkinson no more
and certamly none of the hnhitnJs could have recognised
h.m m the smooth-shaven an<l faultlessly-dres.sed man
whom they might meet coming out of a West End
club Dawkins often tin-ned the matter over in his
mmd after his first relief had passed at finding the debt
that had weighed so heavily upon him perfectly wiped

" uiTT T^'" '°, ^ ""'"'-■>' '■" '■'•" ^^ «"•'' to himself,
but [don t .see where it comes in. In the first place

Irno iT'-''^,'"'^ Y^ '^"'" " K«'"bling.place without
acknowledgu,g that I had often been there, and I could
not say that ,t was a conversation of mine about the
General s w, 1 that put it into his head to call upon him,
and lastly he has me on the hip with those I.O U 's
I oss.bly ,f the General does leave him money, I may
manage to get some out of him, though I am by no
means sure of that. He is not a safe man to meddle
with, and he might certainly do me more harm than
1 could do him.

The matter had dropped somewhat from his mind
when three months later General Mathieson came into
the oihce to have an interview with his principals

After he had left, the managing clerk was called in.
On returnmg he handed Dawkins a sheet of paper

" You will prepare a fresh will for General Mathieson •

I04

THE LOST HEIR

It, but this h

it is to run exactly as at present, but this legacy
be inserted after that to Miss Covington. It might just
as well have been put in a codicil, but the General
preferred to have it in the body of the will.

Dawkins looked at the instruction. It contained the
words: "To John Simcoe, at present residing at 132,
Jermyn Street, I bequeath the sum of ten thousand
jjounds, as a token of my gratitude for his heroic
conduct in saving my life at the cost of great personal
injury to himself from the grip of a tiger, in the )car

1 83 1."
"By Jove, he has done well for himself!" Dawkins

muttered, as he sat down to his desk after the manag-
ing clerk had handed him the General's will from the
iron box containing papers and documents relating to
his affairs. " Ten thousand pounds ! I wish I could
light upon a general in a fix of some sort, though I
don't know that I should care about a .tiger. It is
wonderful what luck some men have. I ought to get
something out of this, if I coukl but see my way to it.
Fancy the keeper of a billiard-room and gaming-house
coming in for such a haul as this! It is disgusting ! "

He set about preparing a draft of the will, but he
found it difficult to keep his attention fixed upon his
work, and when the chief clerk ran his eye over it he
looked up in indignant surprise.

" What on earth is the matter with you, Mr. Dawkins ?
The thing is full of the most disgraceful blunders. In
several cases it is not even sense. During all the time
that I have been in this office I have never had such a
disgraceful piece of work come into my hands before.
Why, if the office boy had been told to make a copy of
the will he would have done it vastly better. What does
it mean?"

ICC I

tha

-"^■^

JOHN SIMCOR'S KRIRNI) 105

"I am very sorry, sir," Daw kins said, "but I don't
feci ver)' u'cli to-day, :ind I have rrot sucii a headache
that I can scarcely see what I am writinj;."

"Well, well," his superior said, somewhat mollified,
"that will account for it. I thouj,dit at first that you
must have been drinking. You had better take your
hat and be off. Go to the nearest chemist and take a
dose, and then go home and lie down. You are worse
than of no use in the state that you are. I hope that
>-ou will be all right in the morning, for we are, as you
know, very busy at present, and cannot spare a hand.
Tear up that draft and hand the will and instructions
to Mr. Macleod. The General will be down here at ten
o'clock to-morrow to .-.-e it ; he is like most military
men, sharp and prompt, and when he wants a thing
done he expects to have it done at once."

"You are feeling better, I hope, this morning?" he
said, when Dawkins came into the office at the usual
hour next day, " though I must say that you look far
from well. Do you think that you are capable of
work ? "

"I think so, sir; at any rate my head is better."
It was true that the clerk did not look well, for he
had had no sleep all night, but had tossed restlessly in
bed, endeavouring, but in vain, to hit on some manner
of extracting a portion of the legacy from the ex-
proprietor of the gambling - house. The more he
thought the more hopeless seemed the prospect. John
Simcoe was eminently a man whom it would be unsafe
to anger. The promptness and decision of his methods
had gained him at least the respect of all the frequenters
of his establishment, and just as he had sternly kept

io6

THE LOST HEIR

order there, so he would deal with any individual who
crossed his path. He held the best cards, too ; and
while a disclosure of the past could hardly injure him
seriously, he had the means of causing the ruin and
disgrace of Dawkins himself, if he ventured to attack
him.

The clerk was himself shrewd in his own way, but
he had the sense to feel that he was no match for
John Simcoe, and the conclusion that he finally came
to was that he must wait and watch events, and that,
so far as he could see, his only chance of obtaining a
penny of the legacy was to follow implicitly the instruc-
tions Simcoe had given him, in which case possibly he
might receive a present when the money was paid.

About a fortnight after he knew the will had been
signed by General Mathieson, Simcoe went down to
a small house on Pentonville Hill, where one of the
ablest criminals in London resided, passing unsuspected
under the eyes of the police in the character of a man
engaged in business in the City. A peculiar knock
brought him to the door.

"Ah, is it you, Simcoe?" he said ; "why, I have not
seen you for months. I did not know you for the
moment, for you have taken all the hair off your face."

" I have made a change, Harrison. I have given up
the billiard-rooms, and am now a swell with lodgings
in Jermyn Street."

" That is a change ! I thought you said the billiards
and cards paid well ; but I suppose you have got some-
thing better in view ? "

" They did pay well, but I have a very big thing in
hand."

JOHN SIMCOFAS FRIEND

107

" That is the riglit line to take up," the other said.
" You were sure to get into trouble with the police
aijout the card-playing before long, and then the place
would have been shut up, and you might have got three
months ; and when you got out the peelers would have
kept their eyes upon you, and your chances would have
been at an end. No, I have never had anything to do
with small affairs ; I go in, as you know, for big things.
They take time to work out, it is true ; and after all
one's trouble, something may go wrong at the last
moment, and the thing has to be given up. Some girl
who has been got at makes a fool of herself, and gets
discharged a week before it comes off; or a lady takes
it into her head to send her jewels to a banker's, and go
on to the Continent a week earlier than she intended to
do. Then there is a great loss in getting rid of the
stuff. Those sharps at Amsterdam don't give more
than a fifth of the value for diamonds. It is a heart-
rending game, on the whole ; but there is an excitement
about the life that when one has once taken it up it is
seldom indeed that one changes it, though one knows
that sooner or later one is sure to make a slip and get
caught. Now, what will you take? Champagne or
brandy?"

" I know that your brandy is first-rate, Harrison, and
I will sample it again."

** I have often thought," went on the other, after the
glasses had been filled and cigars lighted, " what a rum
thing it was that you should come across my brother
Bill out among the islands. He had not written to
me for a long time, and I had never expected to hear
of him again. I thought that he had gone down some-
how, and had either been eaten by sharks or killed by
the natives, or shot in some row with his mates. He

io8

THE LOST HEIR

was two years older than I was, and, as I have told you,
we were sons of a well-to-do auctioneer in the country ;
but he was a hard man, and we could not stand it after
a time, so we made a bolt for it. We were decently
dressed when we got to London. As we had been at
a good school at home, and were both pretty sharp, we
thought that we should have no d.ifficulty in getting
work of some sort.

" We had a hard time of it. No one would take us
without a character, so we got lower and lower, till we
got to know some boys who took us to what was called
a thieves' kitchen — a place where boys were trained as
pickpockets. The old fellow who kept it saw that we
were fit for higher game than was usual, and instead of
being sent out to pick up what we could get in the
streets we were dressed as ve had been before, and sent
to picture-galleries and museums and cricket matches,
and we soon became first-rate hands, and did well. In
a short time we didn't see why we should work for
another man, and we left him without saying good-
bye.

" Ic was not long before he paid us out. He knew
that we should go on at the same work, and dressed
up two or three of his boys and sent them to these
places, and one day when Bill was just pocketing
a watch at Lord's one of these Loys shouted out,
'Thief! thief! That boy has stolen your watch, sir,'
and Bill got three months, though the boy could not
appear against him, for I followed him after they had
nabbed Bill, and pretty nearly killed him.

" Then I went on my travels, and was away two or
three years from London. Bill had been out and in
again twice ; he was too rash altogether. I took him
away with me, but I soon found that it would not do,

anc
So

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND

109

do,

and that it would soon end in our both being shut up.
So I put it fairly to him.

" ' We are good friends, you know, Bill,' I said, ' but it
is plain to me that we can't work together with advan-
tage. You are twenty and I am eighteen, but, as you
have often said yourself, I have got the best head of the
two. I am tired of this sort of work. When we get
a gold ticker worth perhaps twenty pounds we can't get
above two for it, and it is the same with everything else.
It is not good enough. We have been away from
London so long that old Isaacs must have forgotten
all about us. I have not been copped yet, and as
I have got about twenty pounds in my pocket I can
take lodgings as a young chap who has come up to
walk the hospitals, or something of that sort. If you
like to live with me, quiet, we will work together ; if
not, it is best that we should each go our own way —
always being friends, you know.'

"Bill said that v/as fair enough, but that he liked
a little life and to spend his money freely when he got
it. So we separated. Bill got two more convictions,
and the last time it was a case of transportation. We
had agreed between ourselves that if either of us got
into trouble the other should call once a month at the
house of a woman we knew to ask for letters, and I did
that regularly after he was sent out I got a few letters
from him. The first was written after he had made his
escape. He told me that he intended to stay out there
— it was a jolly life, and a fr^^e one, I expect. Pens and
paper were not common where he was, anyhow he only
wrote once a year or so, and it was two vears since
I had heard from him when you wrote and said you
had brought me a message from Bill.
. " Ever since we parted I have gone on the same line,

THE LOST HEIR

only I have worked carefully. I was not a bad-looking
chap, and hadn't much difficulty in getting over servant
girls and finding out where things were to be had, so
I gradually got on. For years now I have only carried
on big affairs, working the thing up and always em-
ploying other hands to carry the job out. None of
them know me here. I meet them at quiet pubs and
arrange things there, and I need hardly say that I am
so disguised that none of the fellows who follow my
orders would know me again if they met me in the
street. I could retire if I liked, and live in a villa and
keep my carriage. Why, I made five thousand pounds
as my share of that bullion robbery between London
and Brussels. But I know that I should be miserable
without anything to do ; as it is, I unite amusement
with business. I sometimes take a stall at the Opera,
and occasionally I find a diamond necklace in my
pocket when I get home. I know well enough that
it is foolish, but when I see a thing that I need only
put out my hand to have, my old habit is too strong
for me. Then I often walk into s\vell entertainments.
You have only to be well got up, and to go rather
late, so that the hostess has given up expecting arrivals
and is occupied with her guests, and the flunkey takes
your hat without question, and you go upstairs and mix
with the people. In that way you get to know as to
the women who have the finest jewels, and have no
difficulty in finding out their names. I have got hold
of some very good things that way, but though there
would have been no difficulty in taking some of them
at the time, I never yielded to that temptation, xn
a crowded room one never can say whose eyes may
happen to be looking in your direction.

" I wonder that you never turned your thoughts that

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIKND

III

way. From what you have told me of your doings
abroad, I know that you are not squeamish in your
ideas, and with your afjpearance you ought to be able
to go anywhere without suspicion."

"I am certainly not squeamish," Simcoe said, "but
I have not had the training. One wants a little
practice and to begin young, as you did, to try that
game on. However, just at present I have a matter
in hand that will set me up for life if it turns out
well, but I shall want a little assistance. In the first
place I want to get hold of a man who could .nake
one up well, and who, if I gave him a portrait, could
turn me out so like the original that anyone who had
only seen him casually would take me for him."

"There is a man down in Whitechapel who is the
best hand in London at that sort of thing. He is a
downright artist. Several times when I have had
particular jobs in hand, inquiries I could not trust any-
one else to make, I have been to him, and when he has
done with me and I have looked in the glass there was
not the slightest resemblance to my own face in it. I
suppose the man you want to represent is somewhere
about your own height ? "

" Yes, I should say that he is as nearly as may be the
same. He is an older man than I am."

"Oh, that is nothing. He could make you look
eighty if you wanted it. Here is the man's address ;
his usual fee is a guinea, but as you want to be got
up to resemble someone else he might charge you
double."

"The fee is nothing," Simcoe said. "Then again
I may want to get hold of a man who is a good hand
at imitating handwriting."

"That is easy enough. Here is the address of a

112

THE LOST HEIR

man who does little jobs for me sometimes, and is,
I think, the best hand at it in England. You see,
sometimes there is in a house where you intend to
operate, some confoundedly active and officious fellow
— a butler or a footman — who might interrupt proceed-
ings. His master is in London, and he receives a note
from him ordering him to come up to town with a
dressing-case, portmanteau, guns, or something of that
kind, as may be suitable to the case. I got a countess
out of the way once by a messenger arriving on horse-
back with a line from her husband, saying that he
had met with an accident in the hunting-field, and
begging her to come to him. Of course I have always
prev'ously managed to get specim.ens of handwriting,
and my man imitates them so well that they have never
once failed in their action. I will give you a line to
him, saying that you are a friend of mine. He knows
me under the name of Sinclair. As a stranger you
would hardly get him to act."

" Of course, he is thoroughly trustworthy ? " Simcoe
asked.

" I should not employ him if he were not," the
other said. " He was a writing-master at one time,
but took to drink, and went altogether to the bad*
He is always more or less drunk now, and you had
better go to him before ten o'clock in the morning.
I don't say that he will be quite sober, but he will
be less drunk than he will be later. As soon as he
begins to write he pulls himself together. He puts
a watchmaker's glass in his eye and closely examines
the writing that he has to imitate, writes a few lines
to accustom himself to it, and then writes what he is
told to do as quickly and as easily as if it were his own
handwriting. He hands it over, takes his fee, which is

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND

two guineas, and then goes out to a public-house, and I
don't believe that the next day he has the slightest
remembrance of what he has written."

* Thank you very much, Harrison ; I think that
with the assistance of these two men I shall be able to
work the matter I have in hand without fear of a hitch."

" Anything else I can do for you ? You know that
you can rely upon me, Simcoe. You were with poor
Bill for six years, and you stood by him to the last,
when the natives rose and massacred the whites, and
you got Bill off, and if he did die afterwards of his
wounds, anyhow you did your best to save him. So
if I can help you I will do it, whatever it is, short of
murder, and there is my hand on it. You know in any
case I could not round on you."

" I will tell you the whole business, Harrison. I
have thought the matter pretty well out, but I shall
be very glad to have your opinion on it, and with
your head you are like to see the thing in a clearer
light than I can, and may suggest a way out of some
difficulties."

He then unfolded the details of his scheme.

" Very good ! " the other said admiringly, when he
had finished. " It does credit to you, Simcoe. You
risked your life, and, as you say, very nearly lost it to
save the General's, and have some sort of a right to
have his money when he has done with it. Your plan
of impersonating the General and getting another
lawyer to draw out a fresh will is a capital one ; and
as you have a list of the bequests he made in his old
one, you will not only be able to strengthen the last
will, but will disarm the opposition of those who would
have benefited by the first, as no one will suffer by the
change. But how about the boy ? "
H

114

THE LOST HEIR

((

The boy must be got out of the way somehow.

lid not

" Not by foul play, I hope, Simcoe.
with you there."

" Certainly not. That idea never entered my mind ;
but surely there can be no difficulty in carrying off
a child of that age. It only wants two to do that, one
to engage the nurse in talk, the other to entice the
child away, pop him into a cab waiting hard by, and
drive off with him."

*' I doubt whether the courts would hand over the
property unless they had some absolute proof that the
child was dead."

"They would not do so for some time, no doubt,
but evidence might be manufactured. At any rate I
could wait. They would probably carry out all the
other provisions of the will, and with the ten thousand
pounds and the three or four thousand I have saved I
could hold on for a good many years."

" How about the signature to the will ? "

" I can manage that much," Simcoe said. " I had
some work in that way years ago, and I have been for
the last three months practising the General's, and I
think now that I can defy any expert to detect the
difference. Of course, it is a very different thing learn-
ing to imitate a signature and writing a long letter."

The other agreed, and added, " I should be careful
to employ a firm of lawyers of long standing. If you
were to go to shady people it would in itself cause
suspicion."

" Yes, I quite feel that, and I want if possible to get
hold of people who just know the General by sight, so
as to have a fairly good idea of his face without
knowing him too well. I think I know of one. At the
club the other day Colonel Bulstrode, a friend of the

the

JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND 115

General's, said to him, ' I wish you would drive round
with me to my lawyers' ; their place is in the Temple
I want someone to sign as a witness to a deed, and as
It is rather important, I would rather have it witnessed
by a friend than by one of the clerks. It won't take
you a minute.'"

" I should think that would do very well ; they would
not be likely to notice him very particularly, and
probably the General would not have spoken at all
He would just have seen his friend sign the deed, and
then have affixed his own signature as a witness
Well, everything seems in your favour, and should you
need any help you can rely upon me."

CHAPTER VIII.

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

THREE months later John Simcoe called for a
letter directed to " Mr. Jackson, care of William
Scriven, Tobacconist, Fetter Lane." The address was
in his own handwriting. He carried it home before
opening it. The writing was rough and the spelling
villainous.

" Samoa.
"My dear Jack, — I was mitely glad when the old
brig came in and Captain Jephson handed me a letter
from you, and as you may guess still more pleased
to find with it an order for fifty pounds. It was good
and harty of you, but you alius was the right sort. I
have dun as you asked me ; I went to the wich man
and for twelve bottles of rum be gave me the packet
inclosed of the stuff he u cs. There ain't much of it,
but it is mitely strong. About as much as will lie on
the end of a knife will make a man foam at the mouth
and fall into convulsions, three times as much as that
will kill him outrite. He says there ain't no taste in it.
I hope this v/ill suit your purpus. You will be sorry to
hear that Long Peter has been wiped out ; he was
spered by a native, who thort Pete wanted to run away
with his wife, wich I don't believe he did for she wernt
no way a beuty. Vigors is in a bad way ; he has had
the shakes bad twice and I don't think that he can last

GKNKRAT. MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

117

much longer. Trade is bad liere, but now I have got
the rino I shall buy another cocoanut plantation and
two or three more wives to work it, and shall be com-
fortible. I am a pore hand with the pen, so no more
from your friend,

"Ben Stokks."

A week later Hilda wrote to her friend : —

'• My dear Netta, — I am writing in great distress.
Three days ago uncle had a terrible fit. He was seized
with it at the club, and I hear that his struggles were
dreadful. It was a sort of convulsion. He was sensible
when he was brought home, but very weak ; he does
not remember anything about it. Fortunately, Dr.
Pearson, who always attends us, was one of the party,
and he sent off cabs for two others. Dr. Pearson came
home with him. Of course I asked him what it was,
and he said that it was a very unusual case, and that he
and the other doctors had not yet come to any decision
upon it, as none of them had ever seen one precisely
like it. He said that some of the symptoms were those
of an epileptic fit, but the convulsions were so violent
that they rather resembled tetanus than an ordinary fit.
Altogether he seemed greatly puzzled, and he would
give no opinion as to whether it was likely to recur.
Uncle is better to-day ; he told me that he, Mr. Simcoe,
and four others had been dining together. He had just
drunk his coffee when the room seemed to swim round,
and he remembered nothing more until he found him-
self in bed at home. Mr. Simcoe came home with him,
and the doctor said, I must acknowledge, that no one
could have been kinder than he was. He looked quite
ill from the shock that he had had. But still I don't
like him, Netta ; in fact, I think I dislike 'him more and

ii8

THK LOST HKTR

more every day. I often tell myself. that I have not
a shadow of reason for cloin<T so, but I can't help it.
You may call it prejudice : I call it instinct.

"You can well ima^n'ne how all this has shocked me.
Uncle seemed so strong and well that I have always
thought he would live to a great age. He is sixty-eight,
but I am sure he looks ten years younger — at least he
did so, at present he might be ninety. But I can only
hope that the change is temporary, and that he will
soon be his dear self again. The three doctors are
going to have a meeting here to-morrow. I shall be
anxious, indeed, to hear the result. I hope that they
will order him a change, and that we can go down
together, either to his place or mine ; then I can always
be with him, whereas here he goes his way and I go
mine, and except at meal-times we scarcely meet. If
he does go I shall try and persuade him to engage
a medical man to go with us. Of course, I do not
know whether a doctor could be of any actual use in
case of another attack, but it would be a great comfort
to have one always at hand."

The letter stopped here, and was continued on the
following evening.

" The consultation is over ; Dr. Pearson had a long
talk with me afterwards. He said that it was without
doubt an epileptic fit, but that it differed in many
respects from the general type of that malady, and that
all of them were to some extent puzzled. They had
brought with them a fourth doctor, Sir Henry Haver-
court, who is the greatest authority on such maladies.
He had seen uncle, and asked him a few questions, and
had a talk with Dr. Pearson, and had from him a
minute account of the seizure. He pronounced it a

m(
an
tht
ab(
so

GENERAL MATHIIiSON'S SEIZURE

119

er-
es.
nd
a
a

most tntercstin^^ and, as far as he knew, a iini(iue case,
and expressed a wish to come as a friend to sec how
the General was ^ettins^ on. Of course lie incjuired
about his habits, asked what he had had for dinner, and
so on.

*" The grc.it point, Dr. Pearson,' I said, after the con-
sultation was over, ' is, of course, whether there is likely
to be any recurrence of the attack.' * That is more
than I can say,' he answered gravely ; ' at present he
can hardly be said to have recovered altogether from
the effects of this one, which is in itself an unusual
feature in the case. As a rule, when a person recovers
from an epileptic fit he recovers altogether — that is to
say, he is able to walk and talk as before, and his
face shows little or no sign of the struggle that he
has undergone. In this case the recovery is not
altogether complete. You may have noticed that his
voice is not only weak, but there is a certain hesitation
in it. His face has not altogether recovered its natural
expression, and is slightly, very slightly, drawn on one
side, which would seem to point to paralysis ; while
in other respects the attack was as unlike a paralytic
stroke as it could well have been. Thus, you see, it
is difficult in the extreme for us to give any positive
opinion concerning a case which is so entirely an
exceptional one. We can only hope for the best, and
trust to the strength of his constitution. At any rate,
we all agree that he .needs absolute quiet and very
simple and plain diet. You see, he has been a great
diner-out ; and though an abstemious man in the way
of drinking, he thoroughly appreciates a good dinner.
All this must be given up, at any rate for a time. I
should say that as soon as he is a little stronger, you
had better take him down into the country. Let him

I20

THE LOST HEIR

see as few visitors as possible, and only very intimate
friends. I do not mean that he should be lonely or left
to himself; on the contrary, quiet companionship and
talk are desirable.'

" I said that though the country might be best for
him, there was no medical man within three miles of
his place, and it would be terrible were we to have
an attack, and not know what to do for it. He said
that he doubted if anything could be done when he
was in such a state as he was the other night, beyond
sprinkling his face with water, and that he himself felt
powerless in the case of an attack that was altogether
beyond his experience. Of course he said it was out
of the question that I should be down there alone
with him, but that I must take down an experienced
nurse. He strongly recommended that she should
not wear hospital uniform, as this would be a constant
reminder of his illness.

" I said that I should very much like to have a
medical man in the house. Money was no object,
and it seemed to me from what he said that it would
also be desirable that besides being a skilful doctor
he should be also a pleasant and agreeable man, who
would be a cheerful companion to him as well as a
medical attendant.

" He agreed that this would certainly be very de-
sirable, and that he and the others were all anxious
that the case should be watched very carefully. He
said that he would think the matter over, and that
if he could not find just the man that would suit,
he would ask Sir Henry Havercourt to recommend
us one.

" He said there were many clever young men to
whom such an engagement for a few months would

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

121

be a godsend. He intended to run down himself
once a fortnight, from Saturday until Monday, which
he could do, as his practice was to a large extent
a consulting one. I could see plainly enough that
though he evidently put as good a face upon it as
he could, he and the other doctors took by no means
a hopeful view^ of the case.

" It is all most dreadful, Netta.. and I can hardly
realise that only three days ago everything was bright
and happy, while now it seems that everything is un-
certain and dark. There was one thing the doctor
said that pleased me, and that was, ' Don't let any
of his town friends in to see him ; and I think that
it would be as well that none of them should go
down to visit him in the country. Let him be kept
altogether free from anything that would in the smallest
degree excite him or set his brain working.' I told him
that no one had seen him yet, and that I would take
good care that no one should see him ; and I need
hardly tell you that Mr. Sijmcoe will be the first person
to be informed of the doctor's orders."

A week later General Mathieson came downstairs for
the first time. The change in him was even greater
than it had seemed to be when he was lying on the
sofa in his room ; and Tom Roberts, who had been
the General's soldier-servant years before, and had been
in his service since he left the army; had difficulty in
restraining his tears a& he entered, with his master
leaning heavily on his arm.

" I am shaky, my dear Hilda, very shaky," the General
said. " I feel just as I did when I was laid up with a
bad attack of jungle fever in India. However, no
doubt I shall pick up soon, just as I did then. Pearson

133

THE LOST HEIR

tells me that he and the others agree that I must go
down into the country, and I suppose I must obey
orders. Where is it we are to go?"

" To your own place, uncle."

" My own place ? " he repeated doubtfully, and then
after a pause, " Oh yes, of course. Oh yes."

There was a troubled look in his face, as if he was
trying to recall memories that had somehow escaped
him, and Hilda, resolutely repressing the impulse to
burst into a flood of tears, said cheerfully —

" Yes, I shall be very glad to be back at Holmwood.
We won't go down by train, uncle. Dr. Pearson does
not think that you are strong enough for that yet.
He is going to arrange for a comfortable carriage in
which you can lie down and rest. We shall make an
early start. He will arrange for horses to be sent down
so that we can change every ten or twelve miles, and
arrive there early in the afternoon. It is only seventy
miles, you know."

" Yes, I have driven up from there by the coach many
a time when I was a boy, and sometimes since ; have I
not, Tom ? "

" Yes, General. The railway was not made till six or
seven years ago."

" No, the railway wasn't made, Hilda ; at least, not
all the way."

Hilda made signs to Tom not to leave the room,
and he stood by his master's shoulder, prompting him
occasionally when his memory failed him.

"You must get strong very ^ast, uncle, for Dr.
Pearson said that you cannot go until you are more
fit to bear the fatigue."

" I shall soon get strong, my dear. What is to-day ? "

" To-day is Friday, uncle."

GENERAL MATHIESONS SEIZURE

"Somehow I have lost count of days," he said.
" Well, I should think that I shall be fit to ^ro early
next week ; it is not as if we were goin^r to ride down.
I was always fond of riding, and I hope I shall soon
be after the hounds again. Let me see, what month
is this?"

" It is early in June, uncle ; and the country will be
looking its best."

"Yes, yes, I shall have plenty of time to get strong
before cub-hunting begins."

So the conversation dragged on for another half-hour,
the General's words coming slower and slower, and at
the end of that time he dropped asleep. Hilda made
a sign to Tom Roberts to stay with him, and then ran
up to her own room, closed the door behind her, and
burst into a passion of tears. Presently there was a
tap at the door, and her maid came in.

"Tom has just slipped out from the dining-room,
miss, and told me to tell you that the General was
sleeping as peacefully as a child, ?nd he thought it was
like enough that he would not wake for hours. He said
that when he woke he and William would get him
upstairs to his own room."

" Thank you, Lucy." The door closed again. Hilda
got up from the bed on which she had lain down
and buried herself in the depths of a large cushion
chair. There she .sat thinking. For the first time she
realised how immense was the change in her uncle.
She had seen him several times each day, but he had
spoken but a few words, and it only seemed to her
that he was drowsy and disinclined to talk. Now she
saw how great was the mental as well as the physical
weakness.

"It is terrible ! " she repeated over and over again to

124

THE LOST HEIR

herself. "What a wreck — oh, what a dreadful wreck!
Will he ever get over it ? "

She seemed absolutely unable to think. Sometimes
she burst into sobs, sometimes she sat with her eyes
fixed before her, but seeing nothing, and her fingers
twining restlessly round each other. Presently the door
opened very gently, and a voice said, *' May I come
in?" She sprang to her feet as if electrified, while
a glad cry of " Netta ! " broke from her lips. A moment
later the two girls were clasped in a close embrace.

"Oh, Netta, how good of you ! " Hilda said, after she
had sobbed for some time on her friend's shoulder.
" Oh, what a relief it is to me ! "

" Of course I have come, you foolish girl. You did
not suppose I was going to remain away after your
letter. Aunt is with me ; she is downstairs, tidying
herself up. We shut up the house and left the gardener
in charge, and here we are, as long as you want us."

" But your pupils, Netta ? "

" I handed them all over to another of the Professor's
assistants, so we need not bother about them. I told
aunt that I should not be down for an hour. Mrs.
Brown is looking after her, and getting her a cup of
tea, and I asked her to bring two cups up here. I
thought that you would prefer for us to have a chat
by ourselves. Now tell me all about it, dear, that is
if there is anything fresh since you wrote."

Hilda told her the doctor's opinion, and the plans
that had been formed.

"Dr. Pearson brought a Dr. Leeds here with him
this morning. He says he is very clever. His term
as house surgeon at Guy's or St. Bartholomew's, I
forget which, has just expired, and as he had not
made any definite plans he was glad to accept the

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

125

doctor's offer to take charge of my uncle. He seemed,
from what little I saw of him, a pleasant man, and
spoke in a cheerful voice, which will be a great thing
for uncle. I should think that he is six or seven and
twenty. Dr. Pearson said he was likely to become
a very distinguished man in his profession some day.
He is going to begin at once. He will not sleep here,
but will spend most of his time here, partly because
he wants to study the case, and partly because he
wants uncle to get accustomed to him. He will travel
down with us, which will be a great comfort to me,
for there is no saying how uncle may stand the journey.
I suggested that we should have another carriage, as
the invalid carriage has room for only one inside
besides the patient, but he laughed, and said that he
would ride on the box with Tom Roberts ; there will
be room for two there, as we are going to post down.
Of course, you and your aunt will go down by train,
and be there to meet us ; it will make it so much
brighter and more cheerful having you to receive us,
than if we had to arrive all alone, with no one to say
welcome."

" And is your uncle so very weak ? "

"Terribly weak— weak both mentally and physically";
and she gave an account of the interview that after-
noon.

" That is bad indeed, Hilda ; worse than I had
expected. But with country air, and you and me to
amuse him, to say nothin'j of the doctor, we may hope
that he will soon be a very different man."

" Well, I will not stay talking here any longer, Netta ;
we have left your aunt half an hour alone, and if she
were not the kindest soul in the world, she would feel
hurt at being so neglected, after coming all this ',vay for

126

THE LOST HEIR

my sake. You don't know what good your coming has
eifected. Before you opened the door I was in the
depth of despair; everything seemed shaken, everything
looked hopeless. There seemed to have been a sort
of moral earthquake that had turned everything in my
life topsy-turvy, but now I feel hopeful again. With
you by my side I think that 1 can bear even the
worst."

They went down to the drawing-room, where they
found Mrs. Brown, the housekeeper, having a long
gossip with Miss Purcell over what had taken place,
whom, although a stranger, she was unaffectedly glad
to see, as it seemed to take some of her responsibilities
off her shoulders, and she knew that Netta's society
would be invaluable to Hilda.

It was not until a week later that after another con-
sultation the doctors agreed that it was as well that
the General should be moved down to his country place.
Dr. Pearson was of opinion that there was some im-
provement, but that it was very slight ; the others
could see no change since they had seen him ten days
before. However, they agreed with their colleague that
although there might be a certain amount of danger
in moving him to the country, it was best to risk that,
as the change might possibly benefit him materially.

" Have you formed any opinion of the case, Dr.
Leeds?" Sir Henry asked.

" I can scarcely be said to have any distinct opinion,
Sir Henry. The symptoms do not tally with those
one would expect to find after any ordinary sort of
seizure, although certainly they would point to
paralysis rather than epilepsy. I should, had the
case come before me in the ordinary way in the ward
of a hospital, have come to the conclusion that the

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

127

lof
o
e
d
e

seizure itself and the after effects pointed rather to
the administration of some drug than to any other
cause. I admit that I am not acquainted with any
drug whose administration vvc^uld lead to any such
results ; but then I know of no other manner in which
they could be brought about save by some lesion of
a blood-vessel in the brain of so unusual a character
that no such case has hitherto been reported in any
work with which I am acquainted. This, I say, would
be my first theory in the case of a patient of whose
previous history I was entirely unaware, and who came
under my charge in a hospital ward ; but I admit that
in the present case it cannot be entertained for a
moment, and I must, during my attendance upon
General Mathieson, watch closely for symptoms that
would aid me in localising brain lesion or other cause."

He spoke modestly and quietly in the presence, as
he was, of some of the leading men of his profession.
The theory he had enunciated had not occurred to
any of them, but as he spoke they all recognised that
the symptoms might under other circumstances have
led them to a similar conclusion. They were silent
for a minute when he ceased speaking, then Sir Henry
said gravely —

" I admit, Dr. Leeds, that some of the symptoms,
indeed the fit itself, might in the case of a patient
of whose history we were ignorant seem to point to
some obscure form of poisoning, since they do not
accord with what one would expect in ordinary forms
of brain seizures of this kind. However, there is no
doubt that we are all somewhat prone when we meet
with a case possessing unusual or altogether exceptional
features, to fall back upon the theory of poisoning.
In this case, fortunately, the circumstances are such

128

THE LOST HEIR

as to preclude the possibility of entertaining the idea
for a moment ; and, as you say, you must endeavour
to find, watching him as you will do, some other cause
of what I admit is a mysterious and obscure case ; and
knowing you as I do I am sure that you will mention
this theory, even as a theory, to no one.

" We are all aware that there are many cases which
come before us where we may entertain suspicions, and
strong suspicions, that the patient has been poisoned,
and yet we dare not take any steps because, in the first
place, we have no clue as to how or by whom he or
she has been poisoned, and because if after death an
autopsy should prove that we were mistaken, it would
be nothing short of professional ruin. Here, as you
said, the theory is happily irreconcilable with the cir-
cumstances of the case, and no drug known to European
science would produce so strange a seizure or the after
effects. Of course, as we all know, on the west coast
of Africa, and it is believed in India, the natives are
acquainted with poisons which are wholly unknown,
and will probably remain unknown, since medical men
who endeavour to investigate the matter have almost
always fallen victims themselves to poisons administered
by the people whose secrets they were endeavouring to
discover.

" However, we can happily put that altogether aside.
Dr. Pearson tells us that he intends to go down once
a fortnight, and has promised to furnish us with the
results of his own observations, and his own reports of
this very interesting case. If General Mathieson had,
in the course of his military career, ever been struck in
the head by a bullet, I should say unhesitatingly that
some splinter, possibly very minute, had obtruded into
the brain matter; but this has, I lesEhi, not been the

a
w

-4-

GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE

129

he
of

case. The only serious injury that he has ever received
was when he was terribly torn and nearly killed by a
tiger some twenty years ago in India. It may be useful
to you, Dr. Leeds, to keep this in your mind. There
can be no doubt that scratches and bites even of the
domestic cat occasionally give rise to violent inflam-
mations, and probably, indeed I believe it to be the
case, those of the great cats of India are still more
poisonous. As is the case with the bite of a mad dog,
the poison may in some cases remain latent for a con-
siderable time, until some circumstance may arouse it
into activity. I would suggest that should any scars
caused at that time remain, you should examine them
carefully, and ascertain whether there is any sign of
inflammatory action there. 1 grant the improbability
of any consequences arising so many years after the
event, but at the same time in a case of this kind,
where we are perfectly at a loss to explain what we
see, it is as well to look for the cause in every direction,
however improbable it may appear.

" Thank you. Sir Henry ; I will certainly do so. I
was not aware before of the General having suffered
such an injury, and I will go this afternoon and spend
a few hours in looking through the medical works at
the library of the India Office to see if there are any
records of serious disturbance caused in the system by
wounds inflicted by tigers a considerable time after they
have apparently healed."

The meeting then broke up, and two days later
General Mathieson was taken down to his seat in
Warwickshire. Post horses were in readiness all along
the road, and the journey was accomplished quickly
and without fatigue to the patient, who slept the greater
part of the distance. At each change Dr. Leeds got

13©

THE LOST HEIR

down and had two or three minutes' talk with Hilda,
and when the General was awake gave him a spoonful
of restorative medicine. His presence close at hand
was a great comfort to Hilda, upon whom the strain of
watching her uncle was very great, and she was thank-
ful indeed when they arrived at the end of the journey,
and found Netta and her aunt, who had gone down
by that morning's train together with the housekeeper
and her own maid, waiting on the steps to receive
them.

ilda,
nful
land
n of
ink-
ney,
own
eper
:eive

CHAPTER IX.
A STRANGE ILLNESS

FOR three months General Mathieson remained
in the country. His improvement was very
gradual, so gradual, indeed, that from week to week
it was scarce noticeable, and it was only by looking
back that it was perceptible. At the end of that time
he could walk unaided, there was less hesitation in his
speech, and his memory was distinctly clearer. He
passed much of his time on a sofa placed in the shade
in the garden, with Hilda and Netta sitting by him,
working and talking.

Netta had always been a favourite of his from the
time that he first met her in Hanover; and he had,
when she was staying with his niece the year before,
offered her a very handsome salary if she would remain
with her as her companion. The girl, however, was
reluctant to give up her occupation, of which she was
very fond, still less would she leave her aunt ; and
although the General would willingly have engaged
the latter also as an inmate of the house, to act as
a sort of chaperon to Hilda when she drove out alone
shopping, Netta refused in both their names.

"You would not have left the army, General, what-
ever temptations might have been held out to you.
I am happy in thinking that I am doing good and
useful work, and I don't think that any offer, even

131

132

THE LOST HEIR

one so kind and liberal as yours, would induce me to
relinquish it."

Her presence now was not only an inestimable com-
fort to Hilda, but of great advantage to the General
himself Alone Hilda would have found it next to
impossible to keep the invalid interested and amused.
He liked to talk and be talked to, but it was like the
work of entertaining a child. Netta, however, had
an inexhaustible fund of good spirits. After her long
intercourse with children who needed entertainment
with instruction and whose attention it was absolutely
necessary to keep fixed, she had no difficulty in keeping
the conversation going, and her anecdotes connected
with her life in Germany and the children she had
taught, were just suited to the General's mental
condition.

Little Walter was of great assistance to her. He
had come down with his nurse as soon as they were
fairly settled at Holmwood, and his prattle and play
were a great amusement to his grandfather. When-
ever the conversation flagged Netta offered to tell
him a story, which not only kept him quiet, but was
listened to with as much interest by the General as
by the child. Dr. Leeds was often a member of the
party, and his cheery talk always had its effect in
soothing the General when, as was sometimes the
case, he was inclined to be petulant and irritable.

They bad been a fortnight at Holmwood before
the doctor discovered Netta's infirmity. She happened
to be standing at a window with her back to him when
he asked her a question. Receiving no reply, he re-
peated it in a louder tone, but he was still unanswered.
Somewhat surprised, he went up to her and touched
her ; she faced round immediately.

"Ye

did no

"I 1

said ;
talk ah
then, f
address

"Is

"It
and th
measles
who ha(
happen(
an esta
to spea
She too
an undc
acting i
teaching
aunt's."

"The
doctor Si
not hav(
It never
were in
you wer
than is (
my face
"You
often ale
my eyes
when yo
always s

A STRANGE ILLNESS

133

"Were you speaking to me, Dr. Leeds?"

"Yes, I spoke to you twice, Miss Purcell, but you
(lid not hear me."

" I have been perfectly deaf from childhood," she
said ; " I cannot hear any sound whatever. I never
talk about it ; people ask questions and wonder, and
then, forgetting that I do not hear, they persist in
addressing me in loud tones."

" Is it possible that you are deaf? "

" It is a melancholy fact," she said, with a smile,
and then added more seriously, " It came on after
measles. When I was eight years old my good aunt,
who had taken me to some of the best aurists in London,
happened to hear that a Professor Menzel had opened
an establishment in Hanover for teaching deaf mutes
to speak by a new system of watching people's lips.
She took me over there, and, as you see, the result was
an undoubted success, and I now earn my living by
acting as one of the professor's assistants, and by
teaching two or three little girls who board at my
aunt's."

" The system must be an admirable one indeed," the
doctor said. " I have, of course, heard of it, but could
not have believed that the results were so excellent.
It never entered my mind for a moment that you
were in any way deficient in hearing, still less that
you were perfectly deaf. I have noticed that, more
than is common, you always kept your eyes fixed on
my face when I was speaking to you."

" You would have noticed it earlier had we been
often alone together," she said, " for unless I had kept
my eyes always upon you I should not have known
when you were speaking ; but when, as here, there are
always several of us together, my eyes are at once

■••<*>'•
^

~^.-

'34

THK LOST HETR

directed to your face when you speak, by seeing the
others look at you."

"Is it necessary to be quite close to you when one
speaks ? "

" Oh, not at all. Of course I must be near enough
to be able to see distinctly the motion of the lips,
say at twenty yards. It is a great amusement to
me as I walk about, for I can see what is being
said by people on the other side of the road, or
passing by in a vehicle. Of course one only gets
scraps of conversations, but sometirf^^s they are very
funny."

*' You must be quite i dangerous person, Miss
Purcell."

" I am," she laughed ; " and you must be careful not
to say things that you don't want to be overheard when
you are within reach of my eyes. Yesterday, for in-
stance, you said to Hilda that my aunt seemed a
wonderfully kind and intelligent old lady ; and you
were good enough to add some complimentary re-
marks about myself."

Dr. Leeds flushed.

"Well, I should not have said them in your hearing,
Miss Purcell ; but, as they were complimentary, no
harm was done. 1 think I said that you were invalu-
able here, which is certainly the case, for I really do not
know how we should be able to amuse our patient if
it were not for your assistance "

" Hilda and I had a laugh about it," Netta said ; "and
she said, too, that it was not fair your b': ''ng kept in the
dark as to our accomplishment."

" Our accomplishment ! " he repeated, in surprise.
"Do }ou mean to say that Miss Covington is deaf
alho ? But no, that is impossible ; for I called to her

the

ASS

A STRANGE ILLNESS 135

yesterday, when her back was turned, and the General
wanted her, and she answered immediately."

" My tongue has run too fast," the girl said, " but
I don't suppose she would mind your knowing what
she never speaks of herself She was, as you know
Imng with us in Ha^.wer for more than four years'
She temporarily lost her hearing after an attack of
scarlet fever, and the doctors who were consulted here
feared that it might be permanent. Her father and
mother, hearing of Dr. Hartwig as having the reputa-
tion of bemg the first aurist in Europe, took her out
to him. He held out hopes that she could be cured
and recommended that she should be placed in Pro-'
fessor Menzel's institution as soon as she could under-
stand German, so that in case a cure was not effected
she might be able to hear with her eyes. By crreat
good fortune he recommended that she should live'With
my aunt, partly because she spoke English, and partly
because, as I was aJread)^ able to talk, I could act as her
companion and instructor both in the system and in
German.

'' In three years she could get on as well as I cculd
but the need for it happily passed away, as her hearin-
was gradually restored. Still, she continued to live with
us while her education went on at the best school in the
town but of course she always talked with me as I
talked with her, and so she kept up the accomplishment
and has done so ever since. But her mother advised
her very strongly to keep the knowledge of her ability
to read people's words from their lips a profound secret
as It might tend to her disadvantage; for people micrht
be alraid of a girl possessed of the faculty of overhear-
ing their conversation at a distance.'^

" That explains what rather puzzled me the other

136

THE LOST HEIR

day," the doctor said. "When I came out into the
garden you were sitting together and were laughing and
talking. You did not notice me, and it struck me as
strange that while I heard the laughing I did not hear
the sound of your voices until I was within a few paces
of you. When Miss Covin^;ton noticed me I at once
heard your voices. '

" Yes, you gave us both quite a start, and Hilda said
wc must either give up talking silently or let you into
our secret; so I don't think that she will be vexed when
I tell her that I have let it out."

'* I am glad to have the matter explained," he said,
*' for really I asked myself whether I must not have
been temporarily deaf, and should have thought It was
so had I not heard the laughing as distinctly as usual.
I came to the conclusion that you must, for ome reason
or other, have dropped your voices to i '\v- >oper, and
that one or the other was telling some important secret
that you did not wish even the winds to hear."

" I think that this is the only secret that we have,"
Netta laughed.

" Seriously this is most interesting to me as a doctor,
and it is a thousand pities that a system that acts so
admirably should riot be introduced into this country.
You should set up a similar institution here, Miss
Purcell."

" I have been thinking of doing so some day. Hilda
is always urging me to it, but I feel that I ar v ,0
young yet to take the head of an establishment, i; it
in another four or five years' time I shall think seriously
about it."

" I can introduce you to all the aurists in London,
Miss Purcell, and I am sure that you will soon get as
many inmates as you may choose to take. In cases

.It

STRANGE ILLNESS 137

where their own skill fails altogether they would be
delighted to comfort parents by telling them how their
children may learn to dispense altogether with the
sense of hearing."

" Not quite altogether." she said. " It has happened
very often, as it did just now, that I have been addressed
by someone at whom I did not happen to be looking,
and then I hnve to explain my apparent rudeness by
owning myself to be entirely deaf Unfortunately, I
have not always been able to make people believc'it,
and I have several times been soundly rated by strangers
for endeavouring to excuse my rudeness by a palpable
falsehood."

" Really, I am hardly surprised," Dr. Leeds said, " for
I should myself have found it difficult to believe that
one altogether deaf could have been taught to join in
conversation as you do. Well, I must be very careful
what I say in future while in the society of two young
ladies possessed of such dangerous and exceptional
powers."

'*You need not be afraid, doctor; I feel sure that
there is no one here to whom you would venture to give
us a bad character."

"I /link," he went on more seriously, "that Miss
Covington's mother was very wise in warning her
against her letting anyone know that she could read
conversations at a distance. People would certainly
be afraid of her, for gossipmongers would be con-
vinced that she was overhearing, if I may use the word,
what was said, if she happened to look at them only
casually.''

At the end of three months the General became

138

THE LOST HEIR

restless, and was constantly expressing a wish to be
brought back to London.

" What do you think yourself, Dr. Leeds ? " Dr.
Pearson said, when he paid one of his usual visits.

" He is, of course, a great deal better than he was
when he first came down," the former replied, " but
there is still that curious hesitation in his speech, as if
he was suffering from partial paralysis. I am not
surprised at his wanting to get up to town again.
As he improves in health he naturally feels more and
more the loss of his usual course of life. I should
certainly have advised his remaining here until he had
made a good deal further advancement, but as he has
set his mind upon it, I believe that more harm would
h-^ f^one by refusing than by his going. In fact, I think
u . iie has, if anything, gone back in the last fortnight,
and above all things it is necessary to avoid any course
that might cause irritation, and so set up fresh brain
disturbances."

" 1 am quite of your opinion, Leeds. I have noticed
myself that he hesitates more than he did a short time
since, and sometimes instead of joining in the conversa-
tion he sits moody and silent ; and he is beginning to
resent being looked after and checked."

" Yes ; he said to me the other day quite angrily, * I
don't want to be treated as a child or a helpless invalid,
doctor. I took a mile walk yesterday. I am beginning
to feel quite myself again; it will do me a world of good
to be back in London, and to drive down to the club
and to have a chat with my old friends again.' "

" Well, I think it best that he should not be thwarted.
You have looked at the scars from time to time, I
suppose? "

" Yes ; there has been no change in them, they are

A STRANCIE ILLNESS 139

very red, but he tells me— and what is more to the
point, his man tells me— that they have always been
so."

"What do you think, Leeds? Will he ever be him-
self again ? Watching the case from day to day as you
have done, your opinion is worth a good deal more than
mine."

"I have not the slightest hope of it," the young
doctor replied quietly. "I have seen as complete
wrecks as he is gradually pull themselves round again,
but they have been cases where they have been the
victims of drink or of some malady from which they
had been restored by a successful operation. In his
case we have failed altogether to determine the cause of
his attack, or the nature of it. We have been feeling in
the dark, and hitherto have failed to discover a clue that
we could follow up. So far there has been no recurrence
of his first seizure, but with returning strength and
returning brain work it is in my opinion more thrn
likely that we shall have another recurrence of it. The
shock has been a tremendous one to the system. Were
he a younger man he might have rallied from it, but I
doubt whether at his age he will ever get over it.
Actually he is, I believe, under seventy, physically and
mentally, he is ninety."

"That is so, and between ourselves I cannot but
think that a long continuance of his life is not to be
desired. I believe with you that he will be a confirmed
mvalid, requiring nursing and humouring like a child,
and for the sake of Miss Covington and all around him'
one cannot wish that his life should be prolonged."

" I trust that when the end comes. Dr. Pearson, it will
be gradual and painless, and that there will be no
recurrence of that dreadful seizure."

140

THE LOST HEIR

" I iiope so indeed. I have seen many men in bad
fits, but I never saw anything to equal that. T can
assure you that several of the men who were present,
men who had gone through a dozen battles, were com-
pletely prostrated by it. At least half a dozen of them,
men whom I had never attended before, knowing that I
had been present, called upon me within the next two
or three days for advice, and were so evidently com-
pletely unstrung that I ordered them an entire change
of scene at once, and recommended them to go to
Homburg, take the waters, and play at the tables ; to
do anything, in fact, that would distract their minds
from dwelling upon the painful scene that they had
witnessed. Had it not been for that, one would have
had no hesitation in assigning his illness to some
obscure form of paralysis ; as it is, it is unaccountable.
Except," he added, with a smile, "by your theory of
poison."

The younger doctor did not smile in return. " It is
the only cause that I can assign for it," he said gravely.
" The more I study the case, the more I investigate
the writings of medical men in India and on the East
and West Coast of Africa, the more it seems to me that
the attack was the work of a drug alt'jgether unknown
to European science, but known to Obi women, fetish
men, and others of that class in Africa. In some of
the accounts of people accused of crime by fetish men,
and given liquor to drink, which they are told will not
affect them if innocent, but will kill them if guilty, I
find reports of their being seized with instant and
violent convulsions similar to those that you witnessed.
These convulsions often end in death ; sometimes,
where, I suppose, the dose was larger than usual, the
man drops dead in his tracks while drinking it. Some-

A STRANGE ILLNESS 141

times he dies in convulsions ; at other times he recovers
partially and lingers on, a mere wreck, for some months.
In other cases, where, I suppose, the dose was a light
one, and the man's relatives were ready to pay the
fetish man handsomely, the recovery was speedy and
complete ; that is to say, if, as is usually the case, the
man was not put to death at once upon the supposed
proof of his guilt. By what possible means such poison
could have found its way to England, for there is no
mstance of its nature being divulged to Europeans,
I know not, nor how it could have been administered •
but I own that it is still the only theory by which I can
account for the General's state. I need not say that
I should never think of giving the slightest hint to
anyone but yourself as to my opinion in the matter,
and trust most sincerely that I am mistaken; but
although I have tried my utmost I cannot overcome
the conviction that the theory is a correct one, and
I think, Dr. Pearson, that if you were to look into the
accounts of the various ways in which the poisons sold
by old negro women to those anxious to get rid of
enemies or persons whose existence is inconvenient
to them, and by the fetish men in these ordeals, you
will admit at least that had you been practising on
the West Coast, and any white man there had such
an attack as that through which the General hi., passed,
you would without a moment's hesitation have put it
down to poison by some negro who had a grudge
against him."

^ "No doubt, no doubt," the other doctor admitted;
" hut, you see, we are not on the West Coast. These
poisons are, as you admit, absolutely unobtainable by
white men from the men and women who prepare
them. If obtainable, when would they have been

T42

THE LOST HEIR

brought here, and by whom? And lastly, by whom
administered, and from what motive ? I admit all that
you say about the African poisons. I lately had a long
talk about them with a medical man who had been on
the coast for four or five years, but until these other
questions can be answered I must refuse to believe that
this similiarity is more than accidental, and in any
possible way due to the same cause."

" That is what I have told myself scores of times, and
it would be a relief to me indeed could I find some
other explanation of the matter. Then, you think that
he had better come up to London ? "

" I leave the matter in your hands, Dr. Leeds. I
would give him a few days longer and try *the effect
of a slight sedative ; possibly his desire to get up to
town may die out. If so he is without doubt better
here. If, however, you see that his irritation increases,
and he becomes more and more set upon it, by all
means take him up. How would you do so ? By rail
or road.?

" Certainly by rail. I have been trying to make him
feel that he is a free agent, and encouraged him in the
belief that he is stronger and better. If then I say to
him, ' My dear General, you are, of course, free to do
as you like, and it may be that the change will be
beneficial to you, if the ladies can be ready to-morrow
let us start without further delay,' I consider it quite
possible that this realyand chee^'ful acquiesence may
result in his no longer deiiiing it. One knows that in
this respect sick people are very like fractious children.
They set their minds on some special article of food,
as a child does on a toy, and when it comes they will
refuse to touch it, as the child will throw the coveted
toy down."

sh
ac
oh

an
sit

Pc
m

ag
tw

A STRANGE ILLNESS

It turned out so in this case. The moment the
General found that the doctor was willing that he -
should go up to town, and the ladies quite ready to
accompany him at once, he himself began to raise
objections.

"Perhaps it would be as well that we should wait
another month," he replied. A little pretended oppo-
sition strengthened this view, and the return was post-
poned. At the end of the month he had made so
much progress that when the longing for London was
again expressed, Dr. Leeds offered no opposition, and
two days later the whole party went up.

Cil AFTER X.

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

DURING the four months that General Mathieson
had remained at Holm wood no one had been
more constant in his inquiries as to his health than Mr.
Simcoe. He had seen Hilda before she started, and
had begged her to let him have a line once a week
saying how her uncle was going on.

" I will get Dr. Leeds to write," she said. " My own
opinion will be worth nothing, but his will be valuable.
I am afraid that he will find time hang heavily on his
hands, and he will not mind writing. 1 do not like
writing letters at the best of times, but in the trouble
we are in now I am sure that 1 shall not be equal to it."

Dr. Leeds willingly undertook the duty of sending a
short weekly bulletin, not only to Mr. Simcoe, but to
a dozen other intimate friends.

"It is not half an hour's work," he said, when Netta
offered to relieve him by addressing the envelopes
or copying out his report ; " very few words will be
sufficient. 'The General has made some slight progress
this week,' or 'The General remains in very much the
same state,* or * I am glad to be able to record some
slight improvement' That, with my signature, will be
quite sufficient, and when I said that half an hour
would be enough I exaggerated : I fancy that it will
be all done in five minuter."

144

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

145

Mr. Simcoe occasionally wrote a few lines of thanks,
but scarcely a day passed that he did not send some
little present for the invalid— a bunch of the finest
p^rapes, a few choice peaches, and other fruit from
abroad. Of flowers they had plenty in their own con-
servatories at Holmwood, while game was abundant,
for both from neighbours and from club friends they
received so large a quantity that a considerable pro-
portion was sent back in hampers to the London
hospitals.

Some of Mr. Simcoe's presents were of a different
description. Among them was a machine that would
hold a book at any angle desired, while at the same
time there was a shelf upon which a cup or tumbler,
a spare book or newspaper, could be placed.

"At any rate, Hilda, this Mr. Simcoe of yours is
very thoughtful and kind towards your uncle," Netta
said.

"Yes," Hilda admitted reluctantly, "he certainly is
very thoTightful, but I would much rather he did not
send things. We can get anything we want from War-
wirk or Leamington, or indeed from London, merely
by sending a line or a telegram. One hates being
under obligations to a man one does not like."

"It seems to me at present that you are unjust,
Hilda ; and I certainly look forward to seeing him in
London and drawing my own conclusions."

" Yes, no doubt you will see him, and often enough
too," Hilda said pettishly. " Of course, if uncle means
to go to his club, it will be impossible to say that he is
unfit to see his friends at home."

Netta, however, did not see Mr. Simcoe on their
return, for Dr. Leeds, on the suggestion of Hilda,
stated in his last report that the General would be
K

146

THE LOST HEIR

going up to town in a day or two, but that he strongly
deprecated any visits until he could see how the invalid
stood the journey.

There was no doubt that he stood it badly. Just at
first the excitement seemed to inspire him with strength,
but this soon died away, and he had to be helped from
the railway carriage to the brougham, and lifted out
vvhen he arrived at home. Dr. Leeds saw to his being
carried upstairs, undressed, and put to bed.

" FTe" is-'WeakciL than I thought," he said in repty to
Hilda's anxious look when he joined the party down-
stairs. " I cannot say that it is want of physical
strength, for he has walked over a mile several times
without apparent fatigue. It seems to me that it is
rather failure of will power, or brain power, if you
h'ke. I noticed that he very frequently sat looking
out of the window, and it is possible that the succession
of objects passing rapidly before the eye has had the
same effect of inducing giddiness that iJtzing has to
one unaccustomed to it. I trust the -morrow the
effect will have passed off. I had, as you know, in-
tended to sleep at a friend's chambers to-night ; but
I should not think of doing so now, but will sit up with
him. I will get Roberts to take watch and watch with
me. I can lie down on the sofa, and he can wake me
should there be ar.y change. I sent him off in a cab,
as soon as we got your uncle into bed, to fetch Dr.
Pearson ; if he is at home he will be here in a few
muJSfSg!**

It was, however, half an hour before Dr. Pearson
came, as he was out vvhen the cab arrived. He had on
the way learned from Tom Roberts the state in which
the General had arrived, and he hurried upstairs at once
to his room.

}

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

;on
on
ich
ice

}

" So he has broken down badly, Leeds ? "

" Very badly."

" I did not expect it. When I saw him last Sunday
he seemed to have made so much prof^ress that I thought
there could be no harm in his being brought up to
London, though, as I said to you, I thought it would
be better to dissuade him from g<3ing to his club. He
might see a few of his friends and have a quiet chat
with them here. Llis pulse is still much fuller than
I should have expected from the account his man gave
of him. There is a good deal of irregularity, but that
has been the case ever since the attack."

"I think that it is mental rather than bodily collapse,"
the younger man said. " A sudden failure of brain
power. He was absolutely unable to make any effort
to walk, or indeed to move his limbs at all. It was
a sort of mental paralysis."

*' And to some sliL,ht extent bodily also," Dr. Pearson
said, leaning over the bed and examining the patient
closely. " Do you see there is a slight but distinct
contortion of the face, just as there was after that fit?"

" I see there is. He has not spoken since we lifted
him from the railway carriage, and I am afraid that
to-morrow we shall find that he has lost, partially
or entirely, the power of speech. I fear that this is
the beginning of the end."

Dr. Pearson nodded.

"There can be little doubt of it, nor could we wish
it to be othei wise. Still, he may linger for 'weeks or
even months."

Hilda read the doctor's opinion in his face when
he went downstairs.

" Oh, doctor, don't say he is going to die ! " she cried.

** I do not say that he is going to die at once, my

THE LOST HEIR

dear. He may live for some time yet, but it is of no
use concealing from you that neither Dr. Leeds nor
myself have the slightest hope of his ultimate recc very.
There can be no doubt that paralysis is creeping over
him, and that it is most unlikely that he will ever leave
his bed again.

" Yes, I know it is hard, dear," he said soothingly,
as she burst into tears, " but much as you will regret
his loss you cannot but feel that it is best so. He
could never have been himself again, never have en-
joyed his life. There would have been an ever-present
anxiety and a dread of a recurrence of that fit. You
will see in time that it is better for him and for you
that it should be as it is, although^ of course, you can
hardly see that just at present. And now I must leave
you to your kind friends here."

Miss Purcell knew well enough that just at present
words of consolation would be thrown away, and that
it wa.^ a time only for silent sympathy, and her gentle
words and the warm pressure of Netta's hand did more
to restore Hilda's composure than any repetition of the
doctor's well-meant assurance that all was for the best
could do.

"Would you like me to v/rite a line in your name
to Colonel Pulstrode?" she asked.

" No, no ! " Hilda cried, " it would look as if we had
made up our minds that uncle was going to die. If he
were conscious it would be different ; for I know that
Colonel Bulstrode is his greatest friend and is named
one of his trustees, and uncle might want to talk to
him. Oh, how one wishes at a time like this that one
had a brother, or that he had a son alive, or that there
was someone who would naturally step in and take
everything into his hands ! "

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

149

no
nor

"There are his lawyers," Miss Purcell suggested.
" Yes, I did not think of them. Mr. Pettigrew is the
other trustee, and is, I know, joint guardian with me
of Walter. I am sorry now that we did not leave the
dear little fellow down at Holmwood, it will be so sad
and dull for him here, and he would have been ver}-
happy in the country. But perhaps it is best as it is ;
if my uncle recovers consciousness he is sure to ask for
him. He had come to be very fond of him, and Walter
has been so much with him lately."

"Yes, his eyes always used to follow the child about
in his play," Miss Purcell said. " I think it is best that
he should be here, and as the nursery is at the top of
the house he will not be in anyone's way."

There was but little change in General Mathieson's
condition next morning, although a slight movement
when Hilda spoke to him showed that he was dimly
conscious of her presence, and when she brought the
child down and he laid his hand on that of the General,
and said " Good morning, grandfather," according to his
custom, he opened his eyes for a momer.t, and there
was a slight movement of the lips, as if he were trying
to speak.

" Thank you, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said ; " the
experiment was worth making, and it proves that his
state of unconsciousness is not complete."

Walter always took his dinner with the others when
they lunched.

"Where is the child?" Hilda asked the footman;
"have you sent him up to tell nurse that lunch is
ready ? "

" I have not sent up, miss, because nurse has not
come back with him from his walk."

" No doubt she will be back in a few minutes," Hilda

^5o

THE LOST HEIR

said. " She is very punctual ; I never knew her late
before."

Lunch was half over when Tom Roberts came in
with a scared expression on his usually somewhat stolid
face.

"If you please, miss, nurse wishes to speak to you."

"What is the matter, Roberts?" Hilda exclaimed,
starting up. " Has Walter met with an accident?"

" Well, no, miss, not as I know of, but nurse has come
home, and she is just like a wild thing ; somehow or
other Master Walter has got lost."

Hilda, followed by Netta and Miss Purcell, ran out
into the hall. The nurse, a woman of two or three and
thirty, the daughter of one of the General's tenants, and
who had been in charge of the child since he arrived
a baby from India, was sitting on a chair, sobbing
bitterly. Her bonnet hung down at the back of her
head, her hair was unloosed, and she haf! evidently been
running wildly to and fro. Her appearance at once
disarmed Hilda, who said soothingly —

" How has it happened, nurse ? Stop crying and tell
us. I am sure that it could not have been your fault,
for you are always so careful with him. There is no
occasion to be so terribly upset. Of course he will
soon be found. The first policeman who sees him will
be sure to take him to the station. Now how did it
happen ? "

" I was walking along Queen's Road, miss," the
woman said between her sobs, " and Master Walter
was close beside me. I know that special, because
we had just passed a crossing, and I took hold of his
hand as we went over — when a man — he looked like
a respectable working-man — came up to me and said,
* I see you are a mother, ma'am.' ' Not at all,' said I ;

» 3

'rilK XlkSK WAS Sll riMi ON A (

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

15*

* how dare you say such a thing ? I am a nurse ; I am '
in charge of this young gentleman.' ' Well,' said he,
' I can see that you have a kind heart, anyhow ; that is
what made me speak to you, I am a carpenter, I am,
and I have been out of work for months, and I have
a child at home just about this one's age. He is
starving, and I haven't a bit to put into his mouth ;
the parish buried my wife three weeks ago, and I am
well-nigh mad. Would you give me the money to buy
him a loaf of bread ? ' The man was in such distress,
miss, that I took out my purse and gave him a shilling,
and thankful he was ; he was all but crying, and could
not say enough to thank me. Then I turned to take
hold of Walter's hand, and found that the child had
gone. I could not have been more than two or three
minutes talking ; though it always does take me a long
time to take my purse out of my pocket, still I know
that it could not have been three minutes altogether.

" First of all, I went back to the crossing, and looked
up and down the street, but he wasn't there; then
I thought that perhaps he had walked on, and was
hiding for fun in a shop doorway. When I could not
see him up or down I got regular frighted, and ran up
and down like a mad thing. Once I came back as far
as the house, but there were no signs of him, and I
knew that he could not have got as far as this, even if
he had run all the way. Then I thought of the mews,
and I ran back there. Master Walter was very fond of
horses, and he generally stopped when we got to the
entrance of the mews, and stood looking for a minute
or two at the grooms cleaning the horses, and I thought
that he might have gone in there. There were two or
three men about, but none had seen the child. Still
I ran on, and looked into several stables, a-cal'ing for

152

THE LOST HEIR

him all the time. When he wasn't there, I went well-
nigh stark mad, and I ran up and down the streets
asking everyone I met had they seen a child. Then
I came back here to tell you."

"We shall soon hear of him, nurse. Roberts, do
you and William start out at once. Go first to the
police-station and give notice that the child is missing
— he cannot have wandered far — and then do you
and James go all round the neighbourhood and tell
every policeman that you meet what has happened.
You can ask in all the shops in Queen's Road and
the streets near ; he may have wandered into one
of them, and as he was alone, they may have kept
him until someone came to inquire after him. Now,
Netta, will you put on your bonnet and come out
with me?"

"Shall I come with you too, Hilda?"

"No, thank you, Miss Purcell. In the first place
we shall walk too fast for you, and in the second it
would be ^s well for you to be here to comfort him
if he is brought back while we are out. We will come
every half-hour to hear if there is news of him. You
had better go upstairs and make yourself tidy, nurse,
and then you can come out and join in the hunt.
But you look so utterly worn out and exhausted that
I think perhaps you had better sit quiet for a time ;
you may be sure that it v/ill not be long before some
of us bring him back.

" I could not sit still. Miss Covington," the woman
said. " I will just run upstairs and put myself straight,
and then go out again."

" Try and calm yourself, nurse, or you will be taken
for a madwoman ; you certainly looked like one when
you came in/'

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

153

you

I tell

ened.

and

one

kept

Two minutes later Hilda aiui her friend started.

" Let us go first into Kensington Gardens, Netta ; he
often went there to play, and if he came down into the
main road, he would very likely wander in. It is
probable that nurse may have been longer speaking
to that man than she thinks, and that he had time to
get a good way before she missed him."

The gardens were thoroughly searched, and the park-
keepers questioned, but there were no signs of Walter
Then they called at the house to see whether there was
any news of him. Finding that there was not, they
again went out. They had no real hopes of finding
him now, for Hilda was convinced that he was not in
any of the streets near. Had he been, either the nurse
or the men would have found him.

" He has, no doubt, been either taken by some kind-
hearted person who has found him lust," she said, " and
who has either given notice to the police, or he has
been taken by them tc tne police-station. Still, it
relieves one to walk about ; it would be impossible
to sit quiet doing nothing. The others will have
searched all the streets near, and we had better go up
the Edgware Read, search in that direction, and give
notice to any policemen we may find."

But the afternoon went on and no news was received
of the missing child. It was a relief to them when
Dr. Leeds, who had gone off watch for a few hours
at twelve o'clock, returned. He looked grave for a
moment when he heard the news, but said cheerfully,
" It is very annoying, Miss Covington, but you need not
alarm yourself, Walter is bound to turn up."

" But he ought to have been sent to the police-station
long before this,"' Hilda said tearfully.

" Of course he ought, if all people possessed common-

'54

THE LOST HEIR

sense; unfortunately they don't. I expect that at the
present moment he is eating bread and jam, or some-
thing of that sort, in the house of some kind-hearted
old lady who has taken him in, and the idea of in-
forming the police has never occurred to her for a
moment, and, unfortunately, may not occur for some
little time. However, if you will give me the details
of his dress, I will go at once with it to the printer's
and get two or three hundred notices struck off and
sent round, to be placed in tradesmen's windows and
stuck up on walls, saying that whoever will bring the
child here will be handsomely rewarded. This is sure
to fetch him before long."

There was but little sleep that night at General
Mathieson's. The master of the house still lay un-
conscious, and from time to time Dr. Leeds came down
to say a few cheering words to the anxious girls. Tom
Roberts walked the streets all night with the faint idea
of finding the child asleep on a doorstep, and went
three times to the police-station to ask if there was any
news. The first thing in the morning Hilda went with
Dr. Leeds to Scotland Yard, and the description of the
child was at once sent to every station in London ;
then she drove by ..erself to the office of Messrs.
Farmer and Pettigrew, and waited there until the latter
gentleman arrived. Mr. Pettigrew, who was a very old
friend of the family, looked very grave over the news.

" I will not conceal from you, Miss Covington," he
said, when she had finished her story, " that the affair
looks to me somewhat serious ; and I am afraid that
you will have to make up your mind that you may not
see the little fellow as soon as you expect. Had he
been merely lost you should certainly have heard of
him in a few hours after the various and, I may say,

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

«55

affair

that

not

id he

rd of

say,,

judicious steps that you have taken. A child who loses
himself in the streets of London is morally certain
to come into the hands of the police in a very few
hours."

"Then what can have become of him, Mr. Petti-
grew ? "

" It may be that, as not unfrequently happens, the
child has been stolen for the sake of his clothes. In
that case he will probably be heard of before very long.
Or it may be a case of blackmail. Someone, possibly
an acquaintance of one of the servants, may have
known that the child, as the grandson and heir of
General Mathieson, would be a valuable prize, and that
if he could be carried off his friends might finally be
forced to pay a considerable sum to recover him.
I must say that it looks to me like a planned thing.
One of the confederates engages the silly woman, his
nurse, in a long rambling talk, the other picks the child
quietly up or entices him away to the next corner,
where he has a cab in waiting, and drives off with him
at once. However, in neither case need you fear that
the child will come to serious harm, it he has been
stolen for the sake of his clothes the woman will very
speedily turn him adrift, and he will be brought home
to you by the police in rags. If, on the other hand, he
has been taken for the purpose of blackmail, you may
be sure that he will be well cared for, for he will, in the
eyes of those who have taken him, be a most valuable
possession. In that case you may not hear from the
abductors for some little time. They will know that,
as the search continues and no news is obtained, his
friends will grow more and more anxious, and more
ready to pay handsomely for his return. Of course
it is a most annoying and unfortunate business, but

T5^>

THE LOST HEIR

I really do not think that you have any occasion to' feel
anxious about his safety, and it is morally certain that
in time you will have him back safe and sound. Now
how is your uncle? I hope that he shows signs of
rallying?"

" I am sorry to say there was no sign whatever of his
doing so up to eight o'clock this morning, and, indeed,
Dr. l^earson told me that he has but little hope of
his doing so. He thinks that there has been a slight
shock of paralysis. Dr. Leeds speaks a little more
hopefully than Dr. Pearson, but that is his way, and 1
think that he too considers that the end is not far off."

"Your friends, Miss Pircell and her niece, are still
with you, I hope ? "

" Yes ; they will not leave me as long as I am
in trouble. I don't know what I should do without
them, especially now this new blow has fallen upon
me."

** Well, my dear, if you receive any communication
respecting this boy send it straight to me. I do not
know whether you are aware that you and I have been
appointed his guardians ? "

" Yes ; uncle told me so months ago. But I never
thought then that he would not live till Walter came
of age, and I thought that it was a mere form."

" Doubtless it seemed so at the time," Mr. Pettigrew
agreed ; "your uncle's was apparently an excellent life,
and he was as likely as anyone I know to have
attained a great age."

"There is nothing you can advise me to do at
present ? "

" Nothing whatever, besides what you have done.
The police all over London will be on the look out
for a lost child ; they will probably assume at once that

TWO HEAVY BLOWS

'57

he has been stolen for his clothes, and will expect to see
the child they are in search of in ra^^s. They will know,
too, the quarter in which he is most liUcly to be found.
If it is for this purpose that he has been stolen you can
confidently expect to have him back by to-morrow
at latest ; the woman would be anxious to ^^et rid
of him without loss of time. If the other hypothesis
is correct you may not hear for a fortnii^dit or three
weeks ; the fellows in that case will be content to hide
their time."

Hilda drove back with a heavy heart. Netta herself
opened the door, and her swollen eyes at once told the
truth.

" Uncle is dead ? " Hilda exclaimed.

" Yes, dear ; he passed away half an hour ago, a few
minutes after Dr. Leeds returned. The doctor ran
down himself for a moment, almost directly he had
gone up, and said that the General was sinking fast,
and that the end might come at any moment. Ten
minutes later he came down and told us that all was
over."

CHAPTER XL

A STARTLING WILL

MR. PETTIGREW at once took the management
of affairs at the house in Hyde Park Gardens
into his hands, as one of the trustees, as joint guardian
of the heir, and as family solicitor. Hilda was com-
pletely prostrated by the two blows that had so sud-
denly fallen, and was glad indeed that all necessity for
attending to business was taken off her hands.

" We need not talk about the future at present," Mr.
Pettigrew said to her ; " that is a matter that can be
considered afterwards. You are most fortunate in
having the lady with whom you so long lived, here with
you, and I trust that some permanent arrangement
may be made. In any case you could not, ui" course,
well remain here alone."

" I have not thought anything about it yet," she said
wearily. " Oh, I wish I were a man, Mr. Pettigrew ;
then I could do something myself towards searching
for Walter, instead of being obliged to sit here use-
lessly."

" If you were a man, Miss Covington, you could do
nothing more at present than is being done. The
police are keeping up a most vigilant search. I have
offered a reward of five hundred pounds for any news
that may lead to the child's discovery, and notices have
even been sent to the constabularies of all the home

158

A STARTLING WILL

»59

counties, requesting them to make inquiries if any
tramp or tramps, accompanied by a child of about the
age of our young ward, have been seen passing along
the roads. But, as I told you when you called upon
me, I have little doubt but that it is a case of black-
mail, and that it will not be long before we hear of him.
It is probable that the General's death has somewhat
disconcerted them, and it is likely that they may wait
to see how matters go and who is the person with
whom they had best open negotiations. I have no
doubt that they are in some way or other keeping
themselves well informed of what is taking place here."

The funeral was over, the General being followed to
the grave by a number of his military friends and
comrades, and the blinds at the house at Hyde Park
Gardens were drawn up again. On the following
morning Mr. Pettigrew came to the house early. He
was a man who was methodical in all his doings, and
very rarely ruffled. As soon as he entered, however,
Hilda saw that something unusual had happened.

"Have you heard of Walter?" she exclaimed.

** No, my dear, but I have some strange and un-
pleasant news to give you. Yesterday afternoon I
received an intimation from Messrs. H?.!stead and
James, saying that they had in their possession the will
of the late General Mathieson bearing date the i6th of
May of the present year. I need not say that I was
almost stupefied at the news. The firm is one of high
standing, and it is impossible to suppose that any
mistake hac p.risen ; at the same time it seemed in-
credible that the Ger.eral should thus have gone behind
our backs, especially as it was only three months before

i6o

THE LOST HEIR

that we had at his request drawn out a fresh will for
him. Still, I am bound to say that su-'h cases are by
no means rare. A man wants to make a fresh di3-
position of his property, in a direction of which he feels
that his own solicitors, especially when they are old
family solicitors, will not approve, and, therefore, he
gets it done by some other firm, with the result that, at
his death, it comes like a bombshell to all concerned.
I can hardly doubt that it is so in this case, although
what dispositions the General may have made of his
property other than those contained in the last will we
drew up I am unable to say. At any rate one of the
firm will come round to our office at twelve o'clock
with this precious document, and I think that it is right
that you should be present when it is opened. You
will be punctual, will you not ? "

"You can rely upon my being there a few minutes
before twelve, Mr. Pettigrew. It all seems very strange.
I knew what was the general purport of my uncle's
last will, for he spoke of it to me. It was, he said, the
same as the one before it, with the exception that he
had left a handsome legacy to the man who had saved
his life from a tiger. I was not surprised at this at all.
He had taken a very great fancy to this Mr. Simcoe,
who was constantly here, and it seemed to me only
natural that he should leave some of his money to a
man who had done him so great a service, and who, as
he told me, had nearly lost his own life in doing it."

" Quite so," the lawyer agreed ; " it seemed natural
to us all. His property was large enough to permit of
his doing so without making any material difference to
his grandchild, who will come into a fine estate with
large accumulations during his long minority. Now I
must be off."

A STARTLING WILL

i6t

. »»

There was a little council held after the lawyer had
left.

" They say troubles never come singly," Hilda re-
marked, "and certainly the adage is verified in my case."

" But we must hope that this will not be so, my dear,"
Miss Purcell said.

" It cannot be any personal trouble, aunt," for Hilda
had fallen back into her old habit of so addressing her,
" because uncle told mc that as I was so well off, he
had only put me down for a small sum in his will, just
to show that he had not forgotten me. I feel sure that
he will have made no change in that respect, and that
whatever alteration he may have made cannot affect me
in the least ; except, of course, he may have come to
the conclusion that it would be better to appoint two
men as guardians to Walter, but I hardly think that he
would have done that. However, there must be some-
thing strange about it, or he would not have gone to
another firm of solicitors. No, I feel convinced that
there is some fresh trouble at hand."

The carriage drew up at the office in Lincoln's Inn
at five minutes to twelve. Mr. Pettigrew had not in-
cluded Miss Purcell and Netta in the invitation, but
Hilda insisted upon their coming with her. They were
shown at once into his private room, where some extra
chairs had been placed. Colonel Buistrode was already
there, and Mr. Farmer joined his partner as soon as
they were seated

" This is a most singular affair. Miss Covington," he
said, " and I need hardly say that it is a matter of great
annoyance as well as surprise to Pettigrew and myself
Of course General Mathieson was perfectly free to go
to any other firm of .solicitors, but as we h^ve made the
wills for his family and ymrs for the last hundred years,

l62

THE LOST HEIR

as well as conducted all their legal business, it is an
unpleasant shock to find that he has gone elsewhere,
and I must say that I am awaiting the reading of this
will with great curiosity, as its contents will doubtless
furnish us with the reason why he had it thus pre-
pared."

Just at the stroke of twelve Mr. Halstead and Mr.
James were announced.

" We thought it as well," the former said, " for us
both to come, Mr. Farmer, for we can understand your
surprise at finding that a later will than that which is
doubtless in your possession is in existence, and we are
ready to explain the whole circumstances under which
it was drawn out by us. General Mathieson came one
day to our office. He brought ^vith him the card of
Colonel Bulstrode ; but this was unnecessary, for some
months ago the General was at our office with the
Colonel. He was only there for the purpose of fixing
his name as a witness to the colonel's signature, as our
client, like many others, preferred having a personal
friend to witness hi- signature instead of this being
done by one of our clerks."

" That was so," the Colonel interjected.

"General Mathieson," Mr. Halstead went on, "was
only in our office a mmute or two on tha.i occasion,
but of course that was sufficient for us to recognise
him when he called again. He told us that he desired
us to draw out a will, and that as he had determined
to appoint Mt. Pettigrjw one of his trustees and guar-
dian to his heir, he thought it as well to employ another
firm to draw up the will.

"We pointed out that such a precaution was altogether
needless when dealing with a firm like yours, and he
then said, ' I have another reason. I am making a

A STARTLING WILL

163

change in one of the provisions of the will, and I fancy
that Farmer and Pettigrew might raise an argument
upon it. Here are the instructions.' I said, ' You will
permit me to read them through, General, before giving
you a decided answer.* Had the will contained any
provision that we considered unjust we should have
declined to hav-e had anything to do with the matter;
but as it in no way diverted the pn perty from the
natural heir, and was, as far as we could see, a just and
reasonable one, we saw no cause for refusing to carry
out his instructions ; for we have known, as doubtless
you have known, many similar instances, in which men,
for some reason or cjther, have chosen to go outside
their family solicitors in matters which they desired
should remain entirely a secret until after their death.
Had General Mathieson come to us as an altogether
unknown person we should have point blank refused
to have had anything to do with the business ; but as
an intimate friend of our client Colonel Bulstrode, and
as being known to us to some extent personally, we
decided to follow the instructions given us in writing.
I will now, with your permission, read the will."

" First let me introduce Miss Covington to you,"
Mr. Farmer said. " She is the General's nearest relative
with the exception of his grandson. These ladies are
here with her as her friends."

Mr, Halstead bowed, then broke the seals on a large
envelope, drew out a parchment, and proceeded to
read it. Messrs. Fanner and Pettigrew listened with
increasing surprise as he went on. The legacies were
absolutely identical with those in the will that they
had last prepared. The sam.e trustees and guardians
for the child were appointed, and they were unD.ble to
understand what had induced General Mathieson to

164

THE LOST HEIR

have what was almost a duplicate of his previous will
prepared so secretly. The last paragraph, however,
enlightened them. Instead of Hilda Covington, John
Simcoe was named as heir to the bulk of the property
in the event of the decease of Walter Rivington, his
grandson, before coming of age.

Hilda gave an involuntary start as the change was
announced, and the two lawyers looked at each other
in dismay. Mr. Halstead, to whom the General had
explained his reasons for gratitude to John Simcoe,
saw nothing unusual in the provision, which indeed
was heralded with the words, " as my only near rela-
tive, Hilda Covington, is well endowed, I hereby ap-
point my dear friend, John Simcoe, my sole heir in
the event of the decease of my grandson, Walter
Rivington, before coming of age, in token of my ap-
preciation of his heroic rescue of myself from the jaws
of a tiger, in the course of which rescue he was most
seriously wounded."

When he had finished he laid down the will and
looked round.

" I hope," he said, " that this will be satisfactory to
all parties."

" By gad, sir," Colonel Rulstrode said hotly, " I should
call this last part as unsatisfactory as possible."

"The will is identical," Mr. Farmer said, without
heeding the Colonel's interjection, " with the one that
General Mathieson last executed. The persons bene-
fited and the amounts left to them are in every case
the same, but you will understand the dismay with
which we have heard the concluding paragraph when
I tell you that General Mathieson's heir, Walter Riving-
ton, now a child of six or seven years old, disappeared
— I think I may say was kidnapped — on the day pre-

A STARTLING WILL

165

ceding General Mathieson's death, and that all efforts
to discover his whereabouts have so far been un-
successful."

Mr. Halstead and his partner looked at each other
with dismay, even greater than that exhibited by the
other lawyers.

"God bless me!" Mr. Halstead exclaimed. "This
is a bad business indeed — and a very strange one. Do
you think that this Mr. Simcoc can have been aware
of this provision in his favour ? "

" It is likely enough that he was aware of it," Mr.
Pettigrew said ; "he was constantly in the company of
General Mathieson, and the latter, who was one of the
I frankest of men, may very well have informed him ;

but whether he actually did do so or not of course
I cannot say. Would you have any objection to my
looking at the written instructions ? "

" Certainly not. I brought them with me in order
that they may be referred to as to any question that
might arise."

" It is certainly in the General's own handwriting,"
Mr. Pettigrew said, after looking at the paper. " But,
indeed, the identity of the legacies given to some twenty
or thirty persons, and of all the other provisions of the
will, including the appointment of trustees and guar-
dians, with those of the will in our possession, would
seem in itself to set the matter at rest. Were you
present yourself when the General signed it?"

" Certainly. Both Mr. James and myself were
present. I can only now express my deep regret
tliat we acceded to the General's request to draw up
the will."

" It is unfortunate, certainly," Mr, Farmer said. " I
do not see that under the circumstances of his intro-

i66

THE LOST HEIR

duction by an old client, and the fact that you had
seen him before, anyone could blame you for under-
taking the matter. Such cases are, as you said, by
no means unusual, and I am quite sure that you would
not have undertaken it had you considered for a moment
that any injustice was being done by its provisions."

" May I ask to v/hom the property was to go by the
first will?"

" It was to go to Miss Covington. I am sure that I
can say, in her name, that under other circumstances
she would not feel in any way aggrieved at the loss of a
property she can well dispense with, especially as the
chances of that provision coming into effect were but
small, as the child was a healthy little fellow, and in all
respects likely to live to come of age."

"I do not care in the least for myself," Hilda said
impetuously. " On the contrary, I would much rather
that it had gone to someone else. I should not have
at all liked the thought that I might benefit by Walter's
death, but I would rather that it had been left to anyone
but this man, whom I have always disliked, and whom
Walter also disliked. I cannot give any reasons why.
I suppose it was an instinct, and now the instinct is
justified, for I feel sure that he is at the bottom of
Walter's disappearance."

" Hush ! hush ! my dear young lady," Mr. Farmer
said, holding up his hand in dismay, " you must not say
such things ; they are libellous in the extreme. What-
ever suspicions you may have — and I own that at
present things look awkward — you must not mention
those suspicions until you obtain some evidence in their
support. The disappearance of the child at this moment
may be a mere coincidence — a singular one, if you like
— and we shall, of course, examine the matter to the

A STARTLING WILL

167

utmost and sift it to the bottom, but nothing must be
said until we have something to go on."

Hilda sat silent, with her lips pressed tightly together
and an expression of determination upon her face. The
other solicitors speedily left, after more expressions of
regret.

"What are we going to do next, Mr. Pettigrew?"
Hilda asked abruptly, as the door closed behind them.

" That is too difficult a matter to decide off-hand, but
after going into the whole matter with my co -trustee,
Colonel Bulstrode, with the assistance of my partner, we
shall come to some agreement as to the best course to
take. Of course we could oppose the probate of this
new will, but it does not seem to me that we have a lee
to stand upon in that respect. I have no doubt that
Halstead and James will retire altogether from the
matter, and refuse to act further. In that case it will
be my duty, of course, to acquaint Simcoe with the
provisions of the will, and to inform him that we, as
trustees, shall not proceed to take any further steps in
the matter until the fate of Walter Rivington is ascer-
tained, but shall until then administer the estate in his
behalf It will then be for him to take the next step,
and he certainly will not move for some months. After
a time he will, of course, apply to the court to have it
declared that Walter Rivington, having disappeared for
a long time, there is reasonable presumption of his
death. I shall then, in your name and mine, as the
child's guardians, be heard in opposition, and I feel
sure that the court will refuse to grant the petition,
especially under the serious and most suspicious cir-
cumstances of the case. In time Simcoe will repeat
the application, and we shall oL course oppose it. In
fact, I think it likely that it will be a good many years

•t-

1 68

THE LOST HEIR

before the court will talce the step asked, and all that
time we shall be quietly making inquiries about this
man and his antecedents, and we shall, of course, keep
up a search for the child. It may be that his disap-
pearance is only a coincidence, and that he has, as we
at first supposed, been stolen for the purpose of making
a heavy claim for his return."

" You may be sure that I shall not rest until I find
him, Mr. Pettigrew," Hilda said. " I shall devote my
life to it. I love the child dearly ; but even were he
a perfect stranger to me I would do everything in my
power, if only to prevent this man from obtaining the
proceeds of his villainy."

Mr. Farmer again interposed.

" My dear Miss Covington," he said, "you really must
not speak like this. Of course, with us it is perfectly
safe. I admit that you have good reason for your
indignation, but you must really moderate your expres-
sions, which might cause infinite mischief were you to
use them before other people. In the eye of the law
a man is innocent until he is proved guilty, and we have
not y. shadow of proof that this man has anything to
do with the child's abduction. Moreover, it might do
harm in other ways. To begin with, it might render
the discovery of the child more difficult ; for if his
abductors were aware or even suspected that you were
searching in all directions for him, they would take all
the greater pains to conceal his hiding-place."

" I will be careful, Mr. Farmer, but 1 shall proceed to
have a search made at every workhouse and night refuge
and places of that sort in London, and within twenty
miles round, and issue more placards of your offer of a
reward of five hundred pounds for information. There
is no harm in that."

A STARTLING VVIl.L

169

"Certainly not. Those are the -easures that one
would naturally take in any case. Indeed, I should
already have pushed my inquiries in that direction
but 1 have hitherto felt sure that had he been merely
taken for his clothes, the police would have traced him
before now ; but as they have not been able to do so,
that it was a case of blackmail, and that we should hear
very shortly from the people that had stolen him. I
sincerely trust that this may be the case, and that it
will turn out that this man Simcoe has nothing whatever
to do with it. I will come down and let you know what
steps we are taking from time to time, and learn the
directions in which you are pushing your inquiries."

Neither Miss Purcell nor Netta had spoken from
the time that they had entered the room, but as soon
as they took their places in the carriage waiting for
them, they burst out.

"What an extraordinary thing, Hilda! And yet,"
Miss Purcell added, "the search for Walter may do
good in one way, it will prevent you from turning
your thoughts constantly to the past and to the loss
that you have suffered."

" If it had not been for Walter being missing, aunt,
I should have thought nothing of uncle's appointing
Mr. Simcoe as heir to his property if anything should
happen to him. This man had obtained an extra-
ordinary influencv- over him, and there can be no
doubt from uncle's statement to me, that he owed his
life solely to him, and that Simcoe indeed was seriously
injured in saving him. He knew that I had no occasion
for the money, and have already more than is good
for a girl to have at her absolute disposal, therefore
I am in no way surprised that he should have left
him his estate in the event of Walter's death. All

170

THE LOST HEIR

that is quite right, and I have nothinj^ to say aj^ainst
it, except that I have always disliked the man. It
is only the extraordinary disappearance of Walter
just at this moment that seems to me to render it
certain that Simcoe is at the bottom of it. No one
else could have had any motive for stealing Walter,
more thin any other rich man's child. His interest
in his disappearance is immense. I have no doubt
uncle had told him what he had done, and the man
must have seen th:*L his chance of getting the estate
was very small unless the child could be put out of
the way."

"You don't think," Netta began, "that any harm can
have happened to him ? "

" No, I don't think that. Whether this man would
have shrunk from it if there were no other way, I
need not ask my.self; but there could have been no
occasion for it. W\i or is so young that he will very
soon forget the past ; he might be handed over to a
gipsy and grow up a little vagrant, and as there is
no mark on him by which he might be identified he
would be lost to us for ever. You see the man can
afford to wait. He has doubtless means of his own —
how large I do not know, but I have heard my uncle
say that he had handsome chambers, and certainly he
lived in good style Now he will have this legacy of
ten thousand pounds, and if the court keeps him wait-
ing ten or fifteen years before pronouncing Walter
dead, he can afford to wait. Anyhow, I shall have
plenty of time in which to act, and it will require a
lot of thinking over before I decide what I had best
do."

She lost no time, however, in beginning to work.
Posters offering the reward of five hundred pounds for

i.i

A STARTLINC; WITX

171

information of the missing boy were at once issued,
and stuck up not only in London, but in every town
and village within thirty miles. Then she obtained
from Mr. Pettigrew the name of a firm of trustworthy
private detectives and set them to make inquiries, in
the first place at all the institutions where a lost child
would be likely to be taken if found, or where it
might have been left by a tramp. Two days after
the reading of the will she received the following letter
from John Simcoe : —

"Dear Miss Covingtcn,— I have learned from
Messrs. Farmer and Pettigrew the liberal and I may
say extraordinary generosity shown towards myself by
the late General Mathieson, whose loss I most deeply
deplore. My feelings of gratitude are at the present
moment overwhelmed by the very painful position in
which I find m)'self I had of course heard, upon
calling at your door to make inquiries, that little
Walter was missing, and was deeply grieved at the
news, though not at the time dreaming that it could
affect me personally. Now, however, the circumstances
of the case are completely changed, for by the pro-
visions of the will I should benefit pecuniarily by the
poor child's death. I will not for a moment permit
myself to believe that he is not alive and well, and
do not doubt that you will speedily recover him ; but
until this occurs I feel that some sort of suspicion
must attach to me, who am the only person having
an interest in his disappearance. The thought that
this may be so is distressing to me in the extreme.
Since I heard of his disappearance I have spent the
greater part of my time in traversing the slums of
London in hopes of lighting upon him. I shall now

173

THE LOST HEIR

undertake wider researches, and shall to-day insert
advertisements in all the daily papers, offering one
thousand pounds for his recovery. I feel sure that you
at least will not for a moment entertain unjust sus-
picions concerning me, but those who do not know
me well, may do so, and although at present none of
the facts have been made public I feel as if I were
already under a cloud, and that men in the club look
askance at me, and unless the child is found my position
will speedily become intolerable. My only support in
this trial is my consciousness of innocence. You will
excuse me for intruding upon your sorrow at the present
moment, but I felt compelled to write as I have done,
and to assure you that I will use every effort in my
power to discover the child, not only for his own sake
and yours, but because I feel that until he is discovered
I must continue to rest under the terrible if un'^poken
suspicion of being concerned in his disappears. ice.
•' Believe me, yours very truly,

" John Simcoe."

CHAPTER XII.

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS

AFTER reading John Simcoe's letter, Hilda threw it
I~\ down with an exclamation of contempt.

" Read it ! " she said to Netta, who was alone with
her.

••The letter is good enough as it stands,". Netta
remarked, as she finished it.

"Good enough if coming from anyone else," Hilda
said scornfully, "perhaps better than most men would
write, but I think that a rogue can generally express
himself better than an honest man."

•' Now you are getting cynical — a new and unpleasant
phase in your character, Hilda. I have heard you say
that you do not like this man. but you have never given
me any particular reason for it, beyond, in one of your
letters, saying that it was an instinct Now do try to
give me a more palpable reason than that. At present
it seems to be only a case of Dr. Fell. You don't like
him because you don't."

" I don't like him because from the first I distrusted
him. Personally, I had no reason to complain ; on the
contrary, he has been extremely civil, and indeed will-
ing to put himself out in any way to do me small
services. Then, as I told you, Walter disliked him
too, although he was always bringing chocolates and
toys for him; so that the child's dislike must have

»73

yj>

■"^

'74

THE LOST HEIR

been also a sort of instinct. He felt, as I did, that
the man was not true and honest. He ahvaj's gave
me the impression of acting a part, and I have never
been able to understand how a man of his class could
have performed so noble and heroic an act as rushing
in almost unarmed to save another, who was almost
a stranger to him, from the grip of a tiger. So
absolutely did I feel this that I have at times even
doubted whether he could be the John Simcoe who
had performed this gallant action."

"My dear Hilda, you are getting fanciful ! Do you
think that your uncle was likely to be deceived in
such a matter, and that he would not have a vivid
remembrance of his preserver even after twenty
years? "

"That depends on how much he saw of him. My
uncle told me that Mr. Simcoe brought some good
introductions from a friend of his at Calcutta who
came out in the same ship with him. No doubt he
dined at my uncle's two or three times — he may even
haiV", stayed a few days in the house — possibly more ;
but as commanding the district my uncle must have
been fully occupied during the day, and can have seen
little of him until, I suppose, a week or so after his
arrival, when he invited him to join in the hunt for
a tiger. Although much hurt on that occasion,
Simcoe was much less injured than my uncle, who
lay between life and death for some time, and Simcoe
had left l^efore he was well enough to see him. If
he had dined with my uncle a few times after this
affair, undoubtedly his features would have been so
impressed on him that he would have recognised him
even after twenty years ; but, as it was, he could have
no particular interest in this gentleman, and can have

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS

entertained but a hazy recollection of his features. In
fact, the General did not recognise him when he first
called upon him, until he had related certain details
of the affair. It had always been a sore point with
my uncle that he had never had an opportunity of
thanking his preserver, who had, as he believed, lost
his life at sea before he himself was off his sick-bed,
and when he heard the man's story he was naturall)'
anxious to welcome him with open arms, and to do
all in his power for him. I admit that this man must
either have been in Benares then, or shortly afterwards,
for he remembered \arious officers who were there and
little incidents of cantonment life that could, one would
think, be only known to one who had been there at the
time."

" But you say he was only there a week, Hilda?"

" Only a week before this tiger business ; but it was a
month before he was able to travel. No doubt all the
officers there would make a good deal of a man who
had performed such a deed, and would go and sit
with him and chat to while away the hours ; so that
he would, in that time, pick up a great deal of the
gossip of the station."

"Well, then, what is your theory, Hilda? The real
man, as you say, no doubt made a great many acquaint-
ances there ; this man seems to have been behind the
scenes also."

" He unquestionably knew many of the officers, for
uncle told me that he recognised several men who had
been out there when he met them at the club, and went -
up and addressed them by name "

*' Did they know him also ? "

" No ; at first none of them had any idea v.ho he
was. But that is not surprising, for they had seen him

176

THE LOST HEIR

principally when he was greatly pulled down ; and
believing him to be drowned, it would have been
strange indeed if they had recalled his face until he
had mentioned who he was."

"Well, it seems to me that you are arguing against
)'ourself, Hilda. Everything you say points to the fact
that this man is the John Simcoe he claims to be. If
he is not Simcoe, who can he be ? "

"Ah ! There you ask a question that I cannot
answer."

" In fact, Hilda, you have nothing beyond the fact
that you do not like the man, and believe that he is
not the sort of man to perform an heroic and self-
sacrifici'.g action, on behalf of this curious theory of
yours."

" That is all at present, bi t I mean to set myself to
work to find out more about him. If I can find out
that this man is an impostor we shall recover Walter ;
if not, I doubt whether we shall ever hear of him

again.

Netta lifted her eyebrows.

"Well, at any rate, you have plenty of time before
you, Hilda."

The next morning Dr. Leeds, who had not called for
the last three or four days, came in to say that he
was arranging a partnership with a doctor of consider-
able eminence, but who was beginning to find the
pressure of work too much for him, and wanted the
aid of a younger and more active man.

"It is 1 ch?.nce in a thousand," he said. "I owe it
largely to the kind manner in which both Sir Henry
Havercourt and Dr. Pearson spoke to him as to my
abilitx'. You will excuse me," he went on, after Hilda
had warmly congratulated him, " for talking of myself

DR. LEEDS SPEAKS

177

and

been

iil he

jainst
e fact
e. If

:aniiOt

e fact
he is
1 self-
Dry of

self to

id out

alter ;

if him

before

led for

at he

hsider-

Id the

;d the

)we it
lenry

to my
Hilda
lyself

before I have asked any questions, but I know that,
had you obtained any news of Walter, you would have
let me know at once."

" Certainly ! should ; but I have some news, and
really important news to give you." And she related
the production of the new will and its provisions.

He looked very serious.

" It is certainly an ugly outlook," he said. '* I have
never seen this Simcoe, but I know from the tone in
which you have spoken of him, at least two or three
times, that he is by no means a favourite of yours.
Can you tell me anything about him ? "

" Not beyond the fact that he saved the General's
life from a tiger a great many )ears ago. Shortly after
that, he was supposed to be lost at sea. C :Ui\n\y the
vessel in which he sailed went down in a hurricane
with, as was reported, all hands, ile says that be was
picked up clinging to a spar. Of his life for the twenty
years following he has never given a very connected
account, at least as far as i know ; 1 at some of the
stories that I have heard him tell show that he led a
very wild sort of life. Sometimes he was working in
a small trader among the islands of the Pacific, and
I believe he had a share in some of these enterprises.
Then he claims to have been in the service of a native
prince somewhere up beyond Ikirmah, and according to
his account took part in many sanguinary wars and
adventures of all sorts."

The doctor's face grew more and more serious as she
proceeded.

"Do I gather, Miss Covington, that you do not
believe that this man is what he claims to be?"

" Frankly that is my opitn'on, doctor. I own that I
have no ground whatever for my disbelief, except that
M

H^H!

.78

Tiir: LOST HEIR

I have natural])' studied the man closely. I have
watched his li[).s as he spoke. When he has been
talking about these adventures with savages he spoke
without effort, and 1 have no doubt whatever that he
did take part in such adventures ; but when he was
speaking of India, and especially when at some of the
bachelor dinners uncle gave there were officers who
had known him out there, it was clear to me that he
did not speak with the same freedom. He weighed his
words, as if afraid of making a mistake. I believe that
the man was playing a part. His tone was genial and
sometimes a little boisterous, as it might well be on
the part of a man who had been years away from
civilisation ; but I always thought from his manner that
all this was false. I am convinced that he is a double-
faced man. When he spoke I observed that he watched
in a furtive sort of way the person to whom he was
speaking, to .sec the effect of his words ; but, above all,
I formed my opinion upon the fact that I am absolutely
convinced that this man could never have performed
the splendid acticm of facing a wounded tiger unarmed
for the sake of one who was in fact but a casual
acquaintance."

'* You will excuse me if I make no comment on what
you have told ine. Miss Covington. It is a matter far
too serious f c • any man to form a hasty opinion upon.
I myself have never seen this man, but 1 am content
to take your estimate of his character. One trained,
as you were for years, in the habit of clo.sely watching
faces cannot but be a far better judge of character than

I will take two
matter over ; and no* vill

those who have not had such training

ay>

you tell me what steps you are taking at pre unt to
discover Walter?'

DR. LEEDS SFEAKS

179

She told him of what was being done.

" Can you suggest anything else, Dr. Leeds ? "

" Not. ling. It seems to me that the key to the
mystery is in the hands of this man, and that it is there
it must be sought, though at present I can see no
way in which the matter can be set about. When one
enters into a struggle with a man like this, one must
be armed at all points, pr^jared to meet craft with
craft, and above all to have a well-marked-out plan of
campaign. Now I will .say good-morning. I suppose
Miss Purccll and her niece will stay on with you, at
any rate for a time ? "

" For a long time, I hope," she .said.

" May I ask if you have stated the view that you
have given me to Miss Netta Purcell?"

"Yes, I have told her. She is dispo.sed to treat it
as an absurd fancy on my part, but if I can get any-
thing to go upon which will convince her that there
is even a faint possibility of my being right, she will
go through fire and water to assist me,"

" I can well believe that," the doctor said. " I am
sure that she has a strong character, although so lively
and full of fun. Of course, having been thrown with
her for four months, I am able to form a very fair
opinion of her disposition."

After Dr. Leeds Jiad left, Plilda began to build castles
for her friend.

" It would be a splendid thing for her," she said.
" He is certainly not a man to speak in the way he
did unless he thoroughly meant it. I should think
that they were just suited to each other ; though it
w(nild be really a pity that the scheme I had set my
mind upon for getting her over here as head of an
institution for teaching deaf and dumb children on

i8o

THE LOST HEIR

Professor Menzel's plan, should come to nothing.
Perhaps, thou^^h, he might be willing that she should
act as the head of such an establishment, getting trained
assistants from those she knows in Han(jver and giving
a few hours a day herself to the general supervision,
if only for the sake of the good that such an institution
would do among, perhaps, the most unfortunate of all
beings. I am cjuite sure that so far she has no thought
of such a thing. However, perhaps 1 am running on
too fast, and that he only means what he said, that
he admired her character. I suppose there is no
reason that because a man admires a girl's character
he should fall in love with her, and yet Netta is so
bright and cheerful, and at the same time so kind and
thoughtful, I can hardly imagine that any man, thrown
with her as he has been, could help falling in love
with her."

Netta was surprised when Hilda told her that Dr.
Leeds had been inclined to view her theory seriously.

"Really, Hilda? Certainly he is not the sort of
man to be carried away by your enthusiasm, so please
consider all that I have said upon the subject as un-
spoken, and I will stand neutral until I hear further
what he says."

" He did not say very much, I admit, Netta ; but he
said that he would take the matter seriously into con-
sideration and let me know what he thinks in two or
three days,"

" I am afraid that he wants to let you down gently,"
Netta said. " Well, well, don't look vexed. I will
say no more about it until this solemn judgment is
delivered."

Netta was in the room when Dr. Leeds called two
days later.

DR. LEEDS STEAKS

i8x

thing,
hould
aincd
jiving
/ision,
tution
of all
ought
ng on
, that
is no
iracter
is so
cl and
hrown
1 love

at Dr.

.IS

,or

t of

)lease

las un-

rther

)ut he
[o con-
two or

ently,"
1 will
lent is

:d two

" Netta is in all my counsels, Dr. Leeds," Hilda
said, 'and she is as a rule a capital hand at keep-
ing a secret, though she did let mine slip out to
you."

There was no smile on the doctor's face, and both
girls felt at once that the interview was to be a serious
one.

** I am well aware that I can s[)eak before Miss
Purcell," he said, "although there are very few people
bef(jre whom I would repeat what I am going to
say. I have two questions to ask you. Miss Covington.
What is the date of this last will of your uncle's? "

" It is dated the sixteenth of May."

" About a fortnight before the General's alarming
seizure ? "

Hilda bowed her head in assent. The next question
took her quite by surprise.

" Do you know whether this man Simcoe was one
of the party when the seizure took {,^lace ? "

" He was, doctor. My uncle told me that he was
going to dine with him, and Dr. Pearson mentioned to
me that he was next to the General and caught him
as he fell from his chair."

Dr. Leeds got up and walked up and down the room
two or three minutes.

" I think that now things have come to the present
pass you ought to know what was the opinion that I
originally formed of General Mathieson's illness. Dr.
Pearson and Sir Henry Havercourt both differed from
me and treated my theory as a fanciful one, and without
foundation ; and of course I yielded to such superior
authorit)', and henceforth kept my ideas to myself.
Nevertheless, during the time the General was under
my charge I failed alt(jgether to find any theory or

l82

THK LOST Hi:iR

explanation for his strani^c atlark and subsequent
state, except that which I iiad first formed. It was
a theory that a medical man is always most reluctant
to declare unless he. is in a position to prove it, nr at
least to give some very strong reason in its favour,
fur a mistake would not only cost him his reputation,
but might involve him in litigation and ruin his career
altogether. But I think that I ought to tell you
what my opinion is, Miss Covington. You must not
take it for more than it is worth, namely as a
theory ; but it may possibly set you on a new track
and aid you in your endeavour to discover the missing
child."

The surprise of the two girls increased as he con-
tinued after a pause.

" Ever since the day when I was first requested to act
as the General's resident medical man I have devoted a
considerable time to the study of books in which here
and there could be found accounts of the action of the
herbs in use among the Obi women, feti.sh men, and
so-called wizards on the West Coast of Africa, also in
India, and among the savage tribes of the Malay
Archipelago and the Pacific Islands. What drugs
they use has never been discovered, although many
efforts have been made to obtain a knowledge of them,
both in India and on the West Coast ; but doctors have
found it necessary to abandon the attempt, several of
them having fallen victims to the jealousy of these
people because of the researches they were making.
But at least the effects of the administration of these
drugs have been frequently described, and in some
respects these correspond so closely to those notice-
able in the General's case that I say now, as I said at
first, I believe the General's illness was caused by the

DR T.KROS SIM'AKS

183

administration of some dniii absokitclv unknown to
European science."

"You think that my uncle was poison.d?" Hilda
exclaimed in a tone of horror, while Netta started to
her feet with clenched hands and flushed face.

"I have not used the word 'poisoned,' Miss Covincjton,
though in fact it comes to that. It may not have been
administered with the intention of killing ; it may have
been intended only to bring on a fit, which in due time
might have been attended by others ; but the dose may
have been stronirer than its administrator intended."

•'And you think, Dr. Leeds — you think that it was
administered by "

"No, Miss Covington; I accuse no one. I have no
shadow of proof against anyone ; but taking this illness,
with the abduction of the child, it cannot be denied that
one's suspicions must, in the first case, fall upon the
•nan who has profited by the crime, if crime it was.
On May i6th this will was drawn up, bequeathing the
property to a certain person. The circumstances of
ii the will were curious, but from what I learned from

you of the explanation given by the lawyers who
drew it up, it seems fair and above board enough.
The General was certainly greatly under the influence
of this man, who had rendered him the greatest service
one man can render another, and that at the risk of his
own life. Therefore I do not consider that this will,
which was, so to speak, sprung upon you, is in itself an
important link in the chain. But when we find that
twelve or fourteen days afterwards the General was,
when at table, seized with a terrible fit of an extra-
ordinary and mysterious nature, and that the man who
had an interest in his death was sitting next to him,
the coincidence is at least a strange one. When,

1 84

THE LOST HEIR

liowever, the General's heir is abducted, when the
General is at tlie point of death, the matter for the
first time assumes a position of the most extreme
gravity.

" At first, like you, I thought that Walter had either
been stolen by some woman for the sake of his clothes,
or that lie had been carried off by someone aware that
he was the General's heir, with a view to obtaining
a large sum of money as his ransom. Such things have
been done before, and will, no doubt, be done again.
The first hypothesis appears to have failed altogether;
no woman who had robbed a child of his clothes would
desire to detain him for an hour longer than was
necessary. The inquiries of the police have failed
altogether ; the people you have employed have
ascertained that neither at the workhouses of London
nor in the adjacent counties has any child at all
answering to Walter's description been left by a tramp
or brought in by the police or by someone who had
found him wandering about. It cannot be said that
the second hypothesis is also proved to be a mistaken
one; the men who took him away would be obliged to
exercise the greatest caution when opening negotiations
for his release, and it might be a month or more before
you heard from them.

" Therefore it would be unfair to this man Simcoe
to assume that he is the author of the plot, until so
long a period has passed that it is morally certain that
the boy was not stolen for the purpose of blackmail.
However, we have the following suspicious circum-
stances : first, that, ab I believe, the General was
drugged by some poison of whose nature we are
ignorant beyond that we read of very similar cases
occurring among native races in Africa and elsewhere.

I)R r,KEI)S SPKAKS

I '^5

Then \vc have tlic point that no oik- would have had
any interest in the General's death, with the exception
of the man he had named as his heir in the event of
the child's death. We know by the man's statement
that he was for many years livin<; amon^i; tribes where
poisons of this kind are used by the wi/ards and fetish
men to support their authorit\- and t(j remove persons
against whom they have a 5^n-ud<.;e. Lastl)', we have
the crowning fact of the abductic^n of tlie child, who
stood between this man and the estates. All this is at
best mere circumstantial evidence. We do not know
for certain what caused the General's fit, we have no
proof that Simcoe had any hand in the abduction, and
whatever our opinion may be, it is absolutely necessary
that we do not breathe a hint to any(Mie."

Hilda did iipt speak ; the shock and the horror of the
matter were t^'o much for her. She sat with open lips
and blanched face looking at Dr. Leeds. Netta, how-
ever, leapt to her feet again.

"It must be so, Dr. Leeds. It does not seem to me
that there can be a shadow of doubt in tlie matter, and
anything that I can do to bring the truth to light I will
do, however long a time it takes me."

"Thank you, Netta," Hilda said, holding out her
hand to her friend ; " as for me, I will devote my life to
clearing up this mystery."

" I am afraid, Miss Covington, that my engagements
henceforth will prevent my joining actively in your
search, but my advice will always be at your service,
and it may be that I shall be able to point out methods
that have not occurred to you."

"But, oh, Dr. Leeds," Hilda exclaimed suddenly, "if
this villain poisoned ni)' uncle, surely he will not hesitate
to put Walter out of his path."'

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

1.25

■so

1.4

1.6

Photographic

Sdences
Corporation

^".^ ^^

23 WBST WAIN STR"^,iT

WEBSTER, Nr. 14S80

(716) i!..^4503

THE LOST HEIR

" I have been thinking of that," Dr. Leeds exclaimed,
" but I have come to the conclusion that it is very-
unlikely that he will do so. In the first place, he must
have had accomplices. The man who spoke to the
nurse, and the cabman who drove the child away must
both have been employed by him, and I have no doubt
whatever that the child has been placed with some
persons who are probably altogether ignorant of his
identity. Walter was a lovable child, and as soon as
he got over his first grief he would no doubt become
attached to the people he was with, and although
these might be willing to take a child who they were
told had lost its parents, and was homeless and friend-
less, without inquiring too closely into the circum-
stances, it is unlikely in the extreme that they would
connive at any acts of violence. It is by no means
easy to murder and then to dispose of the body of
a child of seven, and I should doubt whether this man
would attempt such a thing. He would be perfectly
content that the boy would be out of his way, that
all traces of him should be lost, and that it would be
beyond the range of probability that he could ever be
identified, and, lastly, even the most hardened villains
do not like putting their necks in a noose. Moreover,
if in the last extremity his confederates, believing that
he had made away with the child, tried to blackmail
him, or some unforeseen circumstance brought home to
him the guilt of this abduction, he would be in a position
to produce the child, and even to make good terms
for himself for doing so. You yourself, whatever
your feelings might be as to the man whom you
believe to be the murderer of your uncle, would still
be willing to pay a considerable sum and allow him
to leave the country, on condition of his restoring

■i

DR. LEE)S SPEAKS

187

claimed,

is v'ery
he must

to the
ly must
o doubt
h some

of his
soon as
become
Ithough
ey were

friend-
circum-
'■ would

means
)ody of
lis man
erfectly
Ly, that
Duld be
2ver be
villains
)reover,
ig that
ickmail
ome to
)osition

terms
iatever
■n you
Id still
w him
storing

Walter. Therefore I think that you may make your
mind easy on that score, and confidently believe that
whatever has happened to him, or wherever he may
be, there is no risk whatever of actual harm befalling
him."

"Thank you very much, docior. That is indeed
a relief. And now have you thought of any plan upon
which we had best set to work ? "

" Not at present, beyond the fact that I see that
the power you both possess of reading what men say,
when, as they believe, out of earshot, ought to be of
material advantage to you. As Miss Purcell has pro-
mised to associate herself with you in the search,
I should say that she would be of more use in this
direction than you would. You have told me that he
must be perfectly aware of your dislike for him, and
would certainly be most careful, were you in his pre-
sence, although he might not dream of this power that
you possess. But he has never seen your friend, and
would not be on his guard with her. I have at present
not thought over any p^an by which she could watch
him — that must be for after consideration — but it
seems to me that this offers some chance of obtaining
a clue."

" I am ready to do anything. Dr. Leeds," Netta said
firmly. " You only have to find out a way, and I will
follow out your instructions to the letter. First we
must find out whether Hilda's theory about this man,
which I scoffed at when she first spoke of it to me,
is correct."

"You mean the theory that this man is not John
Simcoe at all, but someone who, knowing the facts
of the rescue from the tiger, and being also well
acquainted with people and things in Benares, has

i88

THE LOST HEIR

personated him ? I will not discuss that now. I have
an appointment to meet a colleague for consultation in
a difficult case, and have already run the time very
close. You shall see me again shortly, when I have
had time to think the whole matter over quietly."

!]I

CHAPTER XIII.

NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET

"TITELL, Netta," Hilda said, after Dr. Leeds had
VV left them, "I suppose you will not in future
laugh at my instincts. I only wish that they had
been stronger. I wish I had told my dear uncle that
I disliked the man so thoroughly that I was sure there
was something wrong with him, and implored him not
to become very intimate with him. If I had told him
how strongly I felt on the subject, although, of course,
he could have left or given him any sum that he chose,
I do think it would have had some influence with him.
No doubt he would have laughed at what he would
have called my suspicious nature, but I think he would
not have become so friendly with the man; but, of
course, I never thought of this. Oh, Netta, my heart
seems broken at the thought that my dear uncle, the
kindest of men, should have been murdered by a man
towards whom his thoughts were so kindly that he
api^^ointed him his heir in the event of Walter's death.
If he had left him double the sum he did, and had
directed that in case of Walter's death the property
should go to hospitals, the child might now have been
safe in the house. It is heart-breaking to think of."

" Well, dear," Netta said, " we have our work before
us. I say ' we ' because, although he was no relation to
me, I loved him from the first, when he came over with

189

190

THE LOST HEIR

the news of your father's death. Had I been his niece
as well as you, he could not have treated me more
kindly than he did when I was staying with you last
year, and during the last four months that I have been
with you. One could see, even in the state he was in,
how kind his nature was, and his very helplessness
added to one's affection for him. I quite meant what
I said, for until this matter is cleared up, and until this
crime, if crime it really is, is brought to light, I will
stay here, and be your helper, however long the time
may be. There are two of us, and I do not think that
either of us are fools, and we ought to be a match for
one man. There is one thing we have, that is a man
on whom we can rely. I do not mean Dr. Leeds ;
I regard him as our director. I mean Tom Roberts ;
he would have given his life, I am sure, for his master,
and I feel confident that he will carry out any instruc-
tions we may give him to the letter."

** I am sure he will, Netta. Do you think we ought
to tell him our suspicions ? "

" I should do .so unhesitatingly, Hilda. I am sure he
will be ready to go through fire and water to avenge his
master's death. As aunt is out I think it will be as well
to take him into our confidence at once."

Hilda said nothing, but got up and rang the bell.
When the footman entered she said, " Tell Roberts that
I want to speak to him." When the man came up
she went on : " We are quite sure, Tom, that you were
most thoroughly devoted to your master, and that you
would do anything in your power to get to the bottom
of the events that have brought about his death and
the carrying off of his grandson."

" That I would, miss ; there is not anything that I
would not do if you would only set me about it."

NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET

191

"Well, Roberts, I n.m about to take you into our
confidence, relying implicitly upon your silence and on
your aid."

V "You can do that, miss, safely enough. There is
nothing now that I can do for my master ; but as for
Master Walter, I would walk to China if I thought that
there was a chance of finding him there."

"In the first place you must remember, Roberts, that
we are acting only upon suspicion ; we have only that
to go upon, and our object must be to find some proofs
to justify those suspicions."

" I understand, miss ; you have got an idea, and you
want to see if it is ri<rht ? "

" We ourselves have little doubt of it, Roberts. Now
please sit down and listen to me, and don't interrupt
me until I have finished."

Then she related the grounds that she had for sus-
picion that the General's death and Walter's abduction
were both the work of John Simcoe, and also hjr own
theory that this man was not the person who had saved
the General's life. In spite of her warning not to inter-
rupt, Tom Roberts' exclamations of fury were frequent
and strongly worded.

"Well, miss," he exclaimed, when she had finished
and his tongue was untied, " I did not think that there
was such a villain upon the face of the earth. Why, if
I had suspected this I would have killed him, if I had
been hung for it a week after. And to think that he
regular took me in ! He had always a cheerful word
for me, if I happened to open the door for him. ' How
are you, Tom ? ' he would say, ' hearty as usual ? ' and
he would slip a crown into my hand to drink his health.
I always keep an account of tips that I receive, and
the first thing I do will be to add them up and see how

192

THE LOST TTETR

much I have had from him, and I will hand it over to
a charity. One don't like setting out to help to bring
a man to the galliis when you have got his money in
your pocket. I must have been a fool, miss, not to
have kept a better watch, but I never thought ill of
the man. It seemed to me that he had been a soldier.
Sometimes when he was talking with me he would
come out with barrack-room sayings, and though he
never said that he had served, nor the General neither,
I thought that he must have done so. He had a sort
of way of carrying his shoulders which you don't often
see among men who have not learnt the goose-step. I
will wait, miss, with your permission, until I have got
rid of that money, and then if you say to me, ' Go to
that man's rooms and take him by the throat and
squeeze the truth out of him,' I am ready to do it."

" We shall not require such prompt measures as that,
Tom ; we must go about our work carefully and quietly,
and I fear that it will be a very long time before we are
able to collect facts that we can act upon. We have
not decided yet how to begin. I may tell you that the
only other person who shares our suspicions is Dr.
Leeds. We think it best that even Miss Purcell should
know nothing about them. It would only cause her
great anxiety, and the matter will, therefore, be kept a
close secret among our four selves. In a few days our
plans will probably be complete, and 1 think that your
share in the business will be to watch every movement
of this man, and to ascertain who are his associates ;
many of them, no doubt, are club men, who, of course,
will be above suspicion, but it is certain that he must
have had accomplices in the abduction of the child.
Whether he visits them or they visit him, is a point to
find out There is little chance of their calling during

NETTA VISITS STOVVMARKET

193

daylight, and it is in the evcninj^ that you will have to
keep a close eye on him, and ascertain who his visitors
are.

"All right, miss, I wish he did not know me by sight;
but I expect that I can get s(jnic sort of a disguise so
that he won't recoifnise me."

" I don't tliink that there will be any difficulty about
that. Of course we are not going to rely only upon
you ; Miss Purcell and myself are both going to devote
ourselves to the search."

'* We will run him down between us, miss, never fear.
It cannot be meant that such a fellow as this should
not be found out in his villainy. I wish that there
was something more for me to do. I know several
old soldiers like myself, who would join me willingly
enough, and we might between us carry him off and
keep him shut up somewhere, just as he is doing
Master Walter, until he makes a clean breast of it. It
is wonderful what the cells and bread and water will
do to take a fellow's spirits down. It is bad enough
when one knows how long one has got to bear it ; but
to know that there is no end to it until you choose to
speak, would get the truth out of Old Nick, begging
your pardon for naming him."

" Well, we shall see, Roberts. That would certainly
be a last resource, and I fear that it would not be so
effectual as you think. If he told us that if he did not
pay his usual visit to the boy it would be absolutely
certain we should never see him alive again, we should
not dare retain him "

*' Well, miss, whatever you decide on I will do. I have
lost as good a master as ever a man had, and there is
nothing that I would not do to bring that fellow to
justice."
N

194

TFTR LOST HEIR

The f:jirls waited impatiently for the next visit of
Dr. L^eeds. It was four days before he came.

" I hofjed to liave been iiere before," he said, " but
I have been so busy that it has not been possible for
me to manage it. Of course this business has always
been in my mind, and it seems to me that the first
step to be taken is to endeavour to ascertain whether
this fellow is really, as )'ou belie\e, Miss Covington, an
impostor. Have )ou ever heard him say in what part
of the country he formerly resided ? "

"Yes; he lived at Stowmarket. I know that some
months at^o he introduced to uncle a gentleman who
was manager at a bank there, and had known him
from boyhcjod. He was up for a few days staying
with him,"

"That is certainly rather against your surmise, Miss
Covington ; however, it is as well to clear that matter
up before we attempt anything else."

" I will go down and make inquiries, doctor," Netta
said quietl) I am half a head shorter than Hilda,
and altogethei different in face ; therefore, if he learns
that any inquiries have been made he will be sure that
whoever made them \vas not Hilda."

" We might send down a detective, Miss Purcell."

" No ; I want to be useful," she said, " and I flatter
myself that I shall be able to do quite as well as a
detective. We could hardly take a detective into our
confidence in a matter of this kind, and not knowing
everything he might miss points that would give us a
clue to the truth. I will start to-morrow. I shall tell
my aunt that I am going away for a day or two to
follow up some clue we have obtained that may lead
to Walter's discovery. In a week you shall know
whether this man is really what he claims to be."

NKTTA VISITS STOWMARKRT

195

/isit of

1, "but
ible for
always
he first
v'hcther
ton, an
lat part

.t some
in who
vn him
staying

56, Miss
matter

Netta

Hilda,

learns

re that

1."

flatter
1 as a
ito our
nowing
ve us a
lall tell
two to
y lead
know
be."

"Very well, Miss Purccll, then we will leave this
matter in your hands."

"By the way, doctor," Hilda Covington said, " wc
have taken Roberts into our confidence. We know
that we can rely upon his discretion implicitly, and it
seemed to us that we must have somebody we can trust
absolutely to watch this man."

" I don't think that you could have done better," he
said. " I was going to suggest that it would be well
to obtain his assistance. I'>om what I have heard, very
few of these private detectives can be absolutely relied
upon. I do not mean that they are necessarily rogues,
who would take money from both sides, but that if after
trying for some time they consider the matter hopeless
they will go on running up expenses and making
charges when they have in reality given up the search.
What do you propose that he shall do?"

" I should say that, in the first place, he should watch
every evening the house where Sirt\coe lives, and follow
up everyone who comes out and ascertain who they are.
No doubt the great majority of them will be club men,
but it is likely that he will be occasionally visited by
some of his confederates."

" I think that is an excellent plan. He will, of course,
also follow him when he goes out, for it is much more
likely that he will visit these fellows than that they
should come to him. In a case like this he would
assuredly use every precaution, and would scarcely let
them know who he is and where he resides."

" No doubt that is so, doctor, and it would make
Roberts' work all the easier, for even if they came to
,the man's lodgings he might be away, following up the
track of someone who had called before him."

Netta returned at the end of four days.

196

T1I1< T.OST IIRIR

" I have not succeeded," she said in answer to ITilda's
incjin'rin^" look as she came in. " Ihe man is certainly
well known at Stowniarket as Jolni Simcoe; but that
does not prove that he; is the man, and just as he
deceived your uncli" he may haxc deceived the people
down there. Now i will l;() upstairs and take off my
thini^s, and then L;ive }()U a full account of my [)ro-

ceedin^s.

"My first step," she bei;an on her return, "was, of
course, to find out what members of the Simcoe family
lived there. After eni^aj^iuL; a room at tlie hotel, which
I can assure you was the most un[)leasant part of the
business, for they seemed to be altogether unaccustomed
to the arrival of youni;" ladies unattended, I went into
the town. It is not much of a place, and after making
some little purchases and in(]uirinL;- at several [)laces, I
heard of a maiden lad\- of that name. The woman who
told me of her was communicative. ' She has just had
a great piece of luck,' she said. ' About ten months
back a nephew, whom every one had supposed to have
been lost at sea, came home with a great fortune, and
they say that he has behaxed most handsomely to her.
She has always bought her Berlin wool and such things
here, and she has spent three or four times as much
since he came home as she did before, and I know from
a neighbour, of whom she is a customer, that the yards
and yards of flannel that she buys for making up into
petticoats for poor children is wonderful. Do you know
her, miss ? ' I said that I did not know her personally,
but that some friends of mine, knowing that I was
going to Stowmarket, had asked me to inquire if Miss
Simcoe was still alive. 1 said casually that I might
call and see her, and so got her address.

" I then went to call upon her. She lives in a little

NKTTA VISITS STOWMARKKT

19:

) Hilda's
certainly
but that
st as he
c people
\ off my
my [)ro-

' was, of
e family
j1, which
•t of the
iist(jmed
ent into

making
[)laces, I
nan who
just had

months

to have
une, and
i to her.
h things
Ls much
ow from
he yards

up into
Du know
rsonally,
t I was

if Miss
I might

1 a little

place called Myrtle C;)tta-e. I had been a good deal
pu/.zled as to what story 1 should Ic-ll her. I thought
at Hrst of giving myself out as the sister of the young
lady to whom her nephew was j)a\ing his addresses;
and as we knew nothing of him except that he was
wealthy, and as he had nienlioiied that he had an aunt
at Stowmarket, and as 1 was coming down there. 1 had
beiMi asked to make incjuiries about him. But I
thought this might render her so indignant that I
should get nothing bom her. I thouoiit, therefore,
1 had better get all she knew voluntarily ; so I went
to the house, knocked, and asked whether Miss Simcoe
was in. I was shown by a little maid into the |jarlour,
a funny, little, old-fashioned room. i'resently Miss
Simcoe herself came in. She was just the sort of
woman I had pictured— a kindly-looking, little old
maid.

'" I do not know whether I have done wrong, Miss
Simcoe,' I said, ' but I am a stranger here, and having
overworked myself at a picture i'nnn which I h(jpe
great things, 1 ha\e been recommended country air;
and a friend told me that Stowmarket was a pretty,
quiet, country town, just the place for an overworked
Londoner to gain health in, so I came down and made
some inquiries for a single lady who would perhaps
take me in and give me a comfortable home for two
or three months. Your name has been mentioned to
me as being just the lady I am seeking.'

"'You have been misinformed,' she said, a little
primly. 'I do not say that a few months back I
might not have been willing to have entertained such
an offer, but my circumstances have changed since then,
and now I should not think for a moment of doing so.'

"Rising from my seat with a tired air, I said that

198

THE LOST HEIR

1 was much obliged to her, but I was very sorry she
could not take me in, as I was sure that I should be
very comfortable , however, as she could not, of course
there was an end of it.

'*' Sit down, my dear,' the old lady said. ' I see that
you are tired and worn out ; my servant shall get }'ou a
cup of tea. You see,' she went on, as I murmured my
thanks and sat down, ' I cannot very well do what you
ask. As I said, a few months ago I should certainly
have been ver)' glad to have had a young lady like
yourself to stay with me for a time; I think that when a
lady gets to my age a little youthful companionship does
her good. Besides, I do not mind saying that my means
were somewhat straitened, and that a little additional
money would have been a great help to me ; but every-
thing was changed by the arrival of a nephew of mine.
Perhaps you may have heard his name ; he is a rich
man, and I believe goes out a great deal, and belongs
to clubs and .so on.'

" I said that I had not heard of him, for I knew
nothing about society, nor the sort of men who fre-
quented clubs.

" * No, of course not, my dear,' .she said. ' Well,
he had been away for twenty years, and everyone
thought he was dead. He sailed away in some ship
that was never heard of again, and you may guess my
surprise when he walked in here and called me aunt.'

"'You must have been indeed surpri.sed, Miss
Simcoe,' I said ; ' it must have been quite a shock to
you And did you know him at once?'

"'Oh, dear, no! He had been travelling about the
world, you see, for a very long time, and naturally in
twenty years he was very much changed ; but of
course I soon knew him when he began to talk.'

NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET

199

" ' You recognised his voice, I suppose ? ' I suggested.

" ' No, my dear, no. Of course his voice had changed,
just as his appearance had done. He had been what he
called knocking about, among all sorts of horrible
savages, eating and drinking all kinds of queer things ;
it made my blood run cold to listen to him. But I never
asked any questions about these things ; I was afraid
he might say that when he was among the cannibals he
used to eat human flesh, and I don't think that 1 could
like a man who had done that, even thcjugh he was my
nephew.'

"'Did he go out quite as a boy, Miss Simcoe?' I
asked.

*" Oh, no; he was twenty-four, I think, when he went
abroad. He had a situation in the bank here. I know
that the manager thought very highly of him, and,
indeed, he was everywhere well spoken of My brother
Joshua — his father, you know— died, and he came in for
two or three thousand pounds. He had always had a
great fancy for travel, and so, instead of looking out for
some nice girl and settling down, he threw up his situa-
tion and started on his travels.'

" ' Had his memory been affected by the hot suns and
the hardships that he had gone through ? ' 1 asked.

" ' Oh, dear, not at all. He recognised everyone
almost whom he had known. Of course he was a
good deal more changed than they were.'

" ' They did not recognise him any more than you
did ? '

"'Not at firp<-,' she said. 'When a man is believed
to have been dead for twenty years, his face does
not occur to old friends when they meet an apparent
stranger.'

*' * That is quite natural,' I agreed. ' What a pleasure

200

THE LOST HEIR

i;i"

it must have been to him to talk ovtr old times and (jld
friends ! '

" ' Indeed it was, my dear. He enjoyed it so much
that for three days he would not move out of the house.
Dear me, what pleasant talks we had.'

"'And you sa\-, Miss Simcoe, that his coming has
quite altered your position?'

" ' Yes, indeed. The very first thing he said after
coming into the house was that he had come home
resolved to make me and my sister Maria thoroughly
comfortable. Poor Maria died some \'ears ago, but of
course he did n(jt know it. Then he said that he should
allow me fifty pounds a year for life.'

'"That was very kind and nice indeed, Miss Simcoe,'
I said.

" By this time, seeing that my sympathy was with
her, her heart opened altogether to me, and she said
that she felt sure that her nephew would not like it
were she to take in a lodger, and might indeed consider
it a hint that he miiiht have been more liberal than he
was. But she invited me to stay three days with her
while I was looking about for suitable lodgings. I
found that her house was a regular rendezvous for the
tabbies of the neighbourhood. Every afternoon there
were some four or five of them there. Some brought
work, others came in undisguisedly to gossip. Many
of these had known John Simcoe in his younger days,
and by careless questioning I elicited the fact that no
one would have recognised him had it not been for Miss
Simcoe having told them of his arrival.

" The manager of the bank I rather shrank from an
encounter with, but I managed to obtain from Miss
Simcoe a letter her nephew had written to her when
he was away from home a short time before he left

NEITA VISITS SrOWMARKJ'/r

20I

lan he
th her
i. I

England, and also one written by him since his return.
So far as I could see there was not the slightest resem-
blance between them.

" I thought that I might possibly get at someone less
likely to be on his guard than the bank manager, and
she happened to mention as an interesting fact that
one of the clerks who had entered the bank a lad of
seventeen, only a month or two before her nephew left,
was now married to the daughter of one of her gossips.
I said that her story had so deeply interested me that I
should be glad to make his acquaintance.

" He came with his wife the evening before I left.
He was very chatty and pleasant, and while there was a
general conversation going on among the others, I said
to him that I was a great student of handwriting, and I
flattered myself that I could tell a man's character from
his handwriting ; but I owned that I had been quite
disconcerted by two letters which Miss Simcoe was kind
enough to show me from her nephew, one written befcjre
he left the bank, the other dated three or four months

ago.

" ' I cannot see the slightest resemblance between the
two,' I said, ' and do not remember any instance which
has come under my knowledge of the handwriting of
any man or woman changing so completely in the course
of twenty years. The one is a methodical, business sort
of writing, showing marks of steady purpose, regularity
of habits, and a kindly disposition. I won't give you
my opinion of the othjr, but the impression that was
left upon my mind was far from favourable.'

" ' Yes, there has been an extraordinary change,' he
agreed. * I can recollect the former one perfectly, for
I saw him sign scores of letters and documents, and if
he had had an account standing at the bank now I

202

THE LOST HEIR

should without question honour a cheque so signed.
No doubt the <j^reat difference is accounted for by the
hfe that Mr. Sinicoe has led. lie told me himself that
for years, at one time, he had never taken a pen in
hand, and that he had almost forgotten how to write ;
and that his fingers had grown so clumsy pulling at
ropes, rowing an oar, digging for gold, and opening
oysters for pearls, that they had become all thumbs,
and he wrote no better than a schoolboy.'

"'But that is not the case, Mr. Askill,' I said; 'the
writing is still clerkly in character, and does not at all
answer to his own descrij)tion.'

"'I noticed that myself, and so did our chief. He
showed me a letter that he had received from Simcoe,
asking him to run ujj for a few da}s to stay with him
in London. He showed it to me with the remark
that in all his exi)crience he had never seen so great
and complete a change in the handwriting of any man
as in that of Mr. Simcoe since he left the bank. He
considered it a striking proof how completely a man's
handwriting depends upon his surroundings. He turned
up an old ledger containing many entries in Simcoe's
handwriting, and we both agreed that we could not see
a single point of resemblance.'

'"Thank you,' I said; 'I am glad to find that my
failure to recognise the two handwritings as being those
of the same man has been shared by two gentlemen
who are, like myself in ^. humble way, experts at hand-
writing.'

" The next morning I got your letter, written after I
had sent you the address, and told Miss Simcoe that
I was unexpectedly called back to town, but that it
was quite probable that I should ere long be down
again, when I would arrange with one or other of tlie

■!

NETTA VISITS STOWMARKRT

203

signed.
• by the
;elf that

pen in
o write ;
liling at
opening
thumbs,

id ; ' the
ot at all

ief. He

Simcoe,

vith him

remark

so great

my man

nk. He

a man's

e turned

Simcoe's

not see

that my
ng those
ntlemen
at hand-

1 after I
coe that
; that it
)e down
;r of the

people of wiiom she had kindly spoken to mc. That
is ail I have been able to learn, Hilda."

" But it seems to me that you have learned an
immense deal, Netta. You have managed it most
admirably."

"At any rate, I have got as much as I exj)ected, if
not more; I have learned that no one recognised this
man Simcoe on his first arrival in his native town, and
it was only when this old lady had spread the news
abroad, and had told the tale of his generosit)' to her,
and so jjrcpared the way fc^r him, that he was more or
less recognised, she having no shadow of doubt but that
he was her long- lost nephew. In the three da}s that he
stopped with her he had no doubt learned from the dear
old g()ssi[) almost every fact connected with his boy-
]u)od, the men he was most intimate with, the positions
they helrl, and I doubt not some of the escaf)ades in
which they might have taken part together ; so that
he was thoroughly well primed before he met them,
l^esides, no doubt they were more anxious to hear tales
of adventure than to talk of the past, and his course
must have been a very easy one.

" Miss Simcoe said that he spent money like a prince,
and gave a dinner to all his old friends, at which every
dainty appeared, and the champagne flowed like water.
We may take it as certain that none of his guests ever
entertained the slightest doubt that their host was the
man he pretended to be. There could seem to them
no conceixAable rea.son why a stranger should come
down, settle an income upon Miss Simcoe, and spend
his money liberally among all his former acquaintances,
if he were any other man than John Simcoe.

" Lastly, we have the handwriting. The man seems
to have laid his plans marvellously well, and to have

204

THE LOST HEIR

provided against every unforeseen contingency; yet
undoubtedly he must have altogether overlooked the
question of handwriting, although his declaration that
he had almost forgotten how to use his pen was an
ingenious one, and I might have accepted it myself
if he had written in the rough scrambling character
you would expect under the circumstances. But his
handwriting, although in some places he had evidently
tried to write roughl}'-, on the whole is certainly that
of a man accustomed at one time of his life to clerkly
work, and yet differing as widely as the poles from the
handwriting of Simcoe, both in the bank ledger and in
the letter to his aunt

" I think, Hilda, that although the matter cannot be
decided, it certainly points to your theory that this man
is not the John Simcoe who left Stowmarket twenty
years ago. He attempted, and I think very cleverly,
to establish his identity by a visit to Stowmarket, and
no doubt did so to everyone's perfect satisfaction ; but
when we come to go into the thing step by step we see
that everything he did, might have been done by any-
one who happened to have a close resemblance to John
Simcoe in figure and some slight resemblance in face,
after listening for three days to Miss Simcoe's gossip."

CHAPTER XIV.

AN ADVERTISEMENT

I CANNOT wait for Dr. Leeds to come round,"
Hilda said the next morning at breakfast. " You
and I will pay him a visit in Harley Street. I am sure
that he will not grudge a quarter of an hour to hear
what you have done."

"What mystery are you two girls engaged in?" Miss
Purcell asked, as she placidly poured out the tea.

" It is a little plot of our own, aunt," Nctta said.
"We are trying to get on Walter's track in our own
way, and to be for a time amateur detectives. So far
w^ have not found any decisive clue, but I think
that we are searching in the right direction. Please
trust us entirely, and we hope that some day we shall
have the triumph of bringing Walter back safe and
sound."

" I pray God that it may be so, my dear. I know
that you are both sensible girls, and not likely to get
yourselves into any silly scrape."

" I don't think we are, aunt ; but I am afraid that
neither of us would consider any scrape a foolish one
that brought us even a little bit nearer to the object
of our search. At any rate, aunt, it will reassure you
to know that we are acting in concert with Dr.
Leeds, of whom I know that you entertain the highest
opinion."

205

206

THE LOST HEIR

I
li

> \:

"Certainly I do. Of course I am no jiuli^e whatever
as to wlietlier lie is a ^oocl doctor, but 1 should think,
from what ')r. Pearson sa)'s, that he must, in tlic opinion
of other medical men, be considered an exceptionally
clever man for his aL;e ; and having" seen him for four
months and lived in close contact with him, I would
rather be attended by him than by anv^one else I have
ever met. His kindness to the General was unccasinj^.
Had he been his son he could not have been more
patient and more attentive. He showed wonderful skill
in manajj;in<^ him, and was at once sympathetic and
cheerful. But, more than that. I admired his tact in
filliuL; the somewhat difficult position in which he was
placed. Although he was completely one of the family,
and any stranL;er would have supposed that he was
a brother, t)r at least a cousin, there was always some-
thing- in his manner that, even while laui^hing and
chattini;- with us all, placed a little barrier between us
and himself; and one felt that althoui^h most essentially
a friend, he was still there as the General's medical
attendant.

" It was a difficult position for a man of his age to
be placed in. Had he been like most of the doctors
we knew in Germany, a man filled with the idea that he
must always be a professor of medicine, and impressing
people with his learning and gravity, it might have
been easy enough. But there is nothing of that sort
about him at all ; he is just as high-spirited and is as
bright and cheerful as other young men of about the
same age, and it was only when he was with the General
that his gentleness of manner recalled the fact that he
was a doctor. As I say, it was a difficult position, with
only an old woman like myself and two girls, who
looked up to him for comfort and hope, who treated

AN Ar)vr:i<'i'isi':MENT

207

him as if he had been an old friend, and were con-
stantly appealing; to him for his opinion on all sorts
of subjects.

" I confess that when he first came here with Dr.
J'earson, I thoii<;ht that it was a very rash experiment
to introduce a youw^ and eviflently j)leasant man to
us under such circumstances, es|jecially as you, Hilda,
are a rich heiress and your own mistress ; and feeling
as I did that I was in the position of your chaperon,
I must say that at first I felt very anxious about you,
and it was a great relief to me when after a time I saw
no signs, either on his part or yours, of any feeling
stronger than friendship springing up."

Hilda laughed merrily.

" The idea never entered into my mind, aunt ; it is
funny to me that so many peojjle should think that
a young man and a young woman cann(jt be thrown
together without falling in love with each other. At
present, fortunately, I don't quite understand what
falling in love means. I like Dr. Leeds better, I think,
than any young man I ever met, but I don't think that
it can be in the least like what people feel when they
fall in love. Certainly it was always as uncle's doctor,
rather than as a possible suitor for my hand— that is
the proper expression, isn't it .?— that I thought of
him."

"So I was glad to perceive, Hilda; and I was very
thankful that it was so. Against him personally I had
nothing to say, quite the contrary ; but 1 saw that he
was greatly attached to a profession in which he seems
likely to make himself a fine position, and nothing
could be more uncomfortable than that such a man
should marry a girl with a fine country estate. Either
he would have to §ive up his profession or she would

2o8

THIC LOST HKIK

have to settle down in London as tlic wife of a physician,
and practicall)' forfeit all her advantages."

Llilda again laughed.

" It is wonderful that all these things should never
have oecurred to me, aunt. I see now how fortunate
it was that 1 did not fall in love with him. And now,
Netta, as we have finished breakfast we will put on
our things ;it once and go and consult our physician
in ordinary. We have a- fair chance of being the first
to arrive if we start immediately. I told Roberts to
have the carriage at the door at half-past nine, and he
does not begin to see jxitients until ten."

" Ih'avo ! Miss Purcell," Doctor Leeds exclaimed,
when she had given him an account of her mission.
"Of course there is nothing absolutely proved, but at
least it shows that his identity is open to doubt, since
none of the people he had known recognised him at
first sight, and of course all his knowledge of them
may have been picked up from the gossiping old lady,
his aunt. Something has been gained, but the evidence
is rather negative than positive. It is possible that he
he is not the man that he pretends to he ; thoii.Ji at
present, putting aside the question of handwriting, we
must admit that the balance of probability is very
much the other w^ay. To begin with, how could this
man, supposing him to be an impostor, know that John
Simcoe was born in Stovvmarket, and had relatives
living there ? ''

" I forgot to mention that, Dr. Leeds. An advertise-
ment was inserted in the county paper, saying that
if any relatives of John Simcoe, who left England
about 1830, would communicate with someone or other
in town they would hear something to their advantage.
I was told this by one of Miss Simcoe 's friends, who

AN ADVER'riSi:MKNT

209

lysician,

d never
jrtiiiuite
lid now,
put on
hysician
the first
berts to
, and he

claimed,
mission.
I, but at
bt, since

him at
3f them
(Id lady,

vidence

that he

lou h at

ting, we

is very
•uld this
lat John
relatives

dvertise-
ng that
England
or other
vantage,
ids, who

saw it in the paper and brought it in to her. She
was very proutl of having made the discovery, and
regarded herself quite in the light of a benefactor to
Miss Simcoe. I remarked, when she told me, that it
was curious he should have advertised instead of
coming down himself to inquire. Miss Simcoe said
that she had expressed surprise to him, and that he
had said he did so because he should have shrunk from
coming down had he not learned there was someone to
welcome him."

" Curious," Dr, Leeds said thoughtfully. " We may
quite put it out of our minds that the reason he gave
was the real one. A man of this kind would ncjt have
suffered any very severe shock had he found that Stow-
market and all it contained had been swallowed dp
by an earthquake. No, certainly that could not have
been the reason ; we must think of some other. And
now, ladies, as this is the third card I have had
brought in since you arrived, I must leave the matter
as it stands. I think that we are getting on much
better than we could have expected."

" That advertisement is very curious, Netta," Hilda
said as they drove back. " Why should he have put
it in? It would have been so much more natural that
he should have gone straight down."

" I cannot think, Hilda. It did not strike me
particularly when I heard of it, and I did not give
it a thought afterwards. You see, I did not mention
it either to you or Dr. Leeds until it flashed across
my mind when we were talking. Of course I did not
see the advertisement itself, but Miss Simcoe told me
that there had been a good deal of discussion before
she answered it, as some of them had thought that it
might be a trick."
O

2IO

THE LOST HEIR

" When was it he went down ? "

"It was in August last year; and it was in the first
week in September that he came iiere."

*' He went down to get or manufacture proof of his
identity,' Hilda said. " As it turned out, uncle accepted
his statement at once, and never had the smallest doubt
as to his being John Simcoe. The precaution, there-
fore, was unnecessary ; but at the same time it certainly
helps him now that a doubt has arisen. It would have
been very strange if a man possessing sufficient means
to travel in India should have had no friends or
connections in England. I was present when he told
my uncle that he had been down to see his aunt at
Stowmarket, and in the spring he brought a gentleman
who he said was manager of the Stowmarket Bank,
in which he had himself been at one time a clerk. So
you see he did strengthen his position by going down
there."

" It strengthens it in one way, Hilda, but in the
other it weakens it. As long as no close inquiries
were made, it was doubtless an advantage to him to
have an aunt of the same name, in Stowmarket, and
to be able to prove by means of a gentleman in the
position of manager of the bank that he, John Simcoe,
had worked under him three or four and twenty years
ago. On the other hand, it was useful to us as a
starting-point. If we had been utterly in the dark
as to Simcoe's birthplace or past career, we should
have had to start entirely in the dark. Now, at any
rate, we have located the birthplace of the real man,
and learned something of his position, his family, and
how he became possessed of money that enabled him
to start on a tour round the world. I adhere as firmly
^s before to the belief that this is not the real man^

AN ADVERTISEMENT

flii

the first

Df of his
accepted
jst doubt
n, there-
certainly
uld have
It means
iends or
1 he told
aunt at
sntleman
et Hank,
erk. So
ng down

: in the
inquiries
> him to
ket, and
n in the
Simcoe,
ity years
us as a
he dark
i should
at any
eal man,
nily, and
Died him
as firmly
eal man^

and the next step is to discover how he learnt that
John Simcoe iiad lived at Stowmarkct. At any rate it
would be as well that wc should find the advertise-
ment. It might tell us nothing, but at the least we
should learn the place to which answers were to be sent.
How should we set about that ? "

" I can get a reader's ticket for the British Museum,
because the chief librarian was a friend of uncle's and
dined with him several times," Hilda replied. " If I
write to him and say that I want to examine some
files of newspapers, to determine a question of im-
portance, I am sure that he will send me a ticket at
once. I may as well ask for one for you also. We
m^y want to go there again to decide some other
point.

Hilda at once wrote a note and sent Tom Roberts
with it to the museum, and he returned two hours later
with the tickets.

"There are three Suffolk papers," the chief assistant
in the Newspaper Department said courteously, on
their sending up the usual slip of paper. " Which do
you want ? "

" I do not know. I should like to see them all three,
please ; the numbers for the first two weeks in August
last."

In a few minutes three great volumes were placed
on the table. These contained a year's issue, and on
turning to the first week in August they found that
the advertisement had appeared in all of the papers.
They carefully copied it out, and were about to leave
the library when Netta said —

" Let us talk this over for a minute or two before
we go. It seems to me that there is a curious omission
in the advertisement."

212

THE LOST HEIR

"What is that?"

" Don't you see that he does not mention Stow-
market? He simply inquires for relations of John
Simcoe, who was supposed to have been lost at sea.
It would c(jftaiiily seem to be more natural that he
should put it only in the paper that was likely to be
read in Stowmarket, and surely he would have said
'relatives of John Simcoe, who left Stowmarket in the
year 1830.' It looks very much as if, while he knew
that Simcoe was a Suffolk man, he had no idea in what
part of the county he had lived."

" It is very '■urious, certainly, Netta ; and, as you
say, it does seem that if he had known that it had
been Stowmarket he would have s.ud so in the ad-
vertisement. Possibly," Hilda exclaimed so sharply
that a gentleman at an adjoininc^ table murmured
"Hush!", "he did not know that it was in Suffolk.
Let us look in the London papers. Let us ask for the
files of the Tv//rs and Sl(ii/d\ird"

The papers were brought and the advertisement was
found in both of them.

" There, you see," Netta said triumphantly, " he still
says nothing about Suffolk "

She beckoned to the attendant.

" I am sorry to give )'()u so much trouble, but will
you please get us the files of three or four countr}-
papers of the same date. I should like them in
different parts of the country — Yorkshire, for instance,
and Hereford, and Devonshire."

" It is no trouble, miss," he replied ; " that is what we
are here for."

In a few minutes the three papers were brought,
and Netta's triumph was great when she found the
advertisement in < .ich of them.

AN ADVERTISEMENT

213

in Stow-
of John
t at sea.
that he
t\y to be
lave said
et in the
he knew
I in what

, as you
.t it had

the ad-
I sharply
lurmured

Suffolk.
ik for the

ment was

"he still

, but will

• countr}-

them in

instance,

5 what we

brought,
ound the

" That settles it conclusively," she said. " The man
did not know what part of the country John Simcoe
came from, and he advertised in the London papers,
and in the provincial papers all over the country."

"That was a splendid idea of yours, Netta. I think
that it settles the (|ucstion as to the fact that the theory
you all laughed at was correct, and that this man is
not the real John Simcoe."

When they got back, Hilda wrote a line to Dr.
Leeds.

"Dear Doctor,— I do think that we have dis-
covered beyond doubt that the man is an impostor,
and that whoever he may be, he is not John Simcoe.
When you can spare time, please come round. It is
too long to explain."

At nine o'clock that evening Dr. Leeds arrived, and
heard of the steps that they had taken.

" Really, young ladies," he said, " I must retire at
once from my post of director of searches. It was
an excellent thought to ascertain the exact wording
of the advertisement, and the fact that the word
Stowmarket did not appear in it, and that it was
inserted in otlier county papers, was very significant
as to the advertiser's 'gnorance of John Simcoe's birth-
place. But the quickness with which you saw how
this could be proved up to the hilt shows that you
are born detectives, and I shall be happy to sit at your
feet in future."

"Then you think that it is quite conclusive?"

" Perfectly so. The real John Simcoe would, of
course, have put the advertisement into the county
paper published nearest to Stowmarket, and he would
naturally have used the word Stowmarket, That

214

THE LOST HEIR

I i

II' I

omission might, however, have been accidental ; but
the appearance of the advertisement in the London
papers, and as you have seen, in provincial papers all
over England, appears to me ample evidence that he
did not know from what county Simcoe came, and
was ready to spend a pretty heavy amount to discover
it. Now, I think that you should at once communicate
with Mr. Pettigrew, and inform him of your suspicion
and the discovery that you have made. It is for him
to decide whether any steps should be taken in the
matter, and, if so, what steps. As one of the trustees
he is responsible for the proper division of the estates
of General Mathieson, and the matter is of considerable
importance to him.

" I think now, too, that our other suspicions should
also be laid before him. Of course, these are greatly
strengthened by this discovery. John Simcoe, who
saved your uncle's life at the risk of his own, was
scarcely the sort of man who would be guilty of murder
and abducti6n ; but an unknown adventurer, who had
passed himself off as being Simcoe, with the object
of obtaining a large legacy from the General, may
fairly be assumed capable of taking any steps that
would enable him to obtain it. If you like to write
to Mr. Pettigrew and make an appointment to meet
him at his office at three o'ckock to-morrow afternoon,
I will be here half an liour befor 3 and accompany you."

The lawyer was somewhat surprised when Dr. Leeds
entered the office with the two ladies, but that astonish
ment became stupefaction when they told their story.

" In the whole of my professional career I have
never heard a more astonishing storj^ I own that
the abduction of the child at that critical moment
did arouse suspicions in my mind that this Mr. Simcoe,

'i:^ ■"^v

AN ADVERTISEMENT

215

tal; but

London
ipers all

that he
me, and
discover
nunicate
luspicion

for him
1 in the

trustees
e estates
siderable

s should
; greatly
oe, who
wn, was
r murder
ivho had
e object
'al, may
sps that
to write
to meet
fternoon,
ny you."
h. Leeds
istonisli

story.

I have
wn that
moment

Simcoe,

the only person that could be benefited by'l\is dis-
appearance, might be at the bottom of it, and I wa§
quite prepared to resist until the last any demand that
might be made on his part for Walter to be declared
to be dead, and the property handed over to him. But
that the man could have had any co.mection whatever
with the illness of the General, or that he was an
impostor, never entered my mind. With regard to the
first, it is still a matter of suspicion only, and we have
not a shadow of proof to go upon. You say yourself,
Dr. Leeds, that Dr. Pearson, the General's own medical
attendant, and the other eminent physicians called in,
refused absolutely to accept your suggestion, because,
exceptional as the seizure and its effects were, there
was nothing that absolutely pointed to poison. Unless
we can obtain some distinct evidence on that point,
the matter must not be touched upon ; for even you
would hardly be prepared to swear in court that the
General was a victim to poison?"

" No. I could not take my oath to it, but I certainly
could declare that the symptoms to my mind could be
attributed to poison only."

" In the case of the abduction of the boy," the lawyer
went on, " the only absolute ground for our suspicion is
that this man and no one else would have benefited by
it ; and this theory certainly appears to be, after the
discoveries you have made, a very tenable one. It all
comes so suddenly on me that I caiyiot think of giving
any opinion as to the best course to be adopted. I
shall, in the first place, consult Mr. Farmer, and in the
next place shall feel it my duty to take my co-trustee.
Colonel Bulstrode, into my confidence, because any
action that we may take must of course be in our joint
names. He called here the other day and stated to me

•<";'

.(te.

• .;■■'?

2l6

THE LOST HEIR

that he regarded the whole matter of Walter's abduc-
tion to be suspicious in the extreme. He said he was
convinced that John Simcoe was at the bottom of it,
his interest in getting the boy out of the way being
unquestionable, and that we must move heaven and
earth to find the child. He agreed that we can do
nothing about carrying out the will until we have found
him. I told him of the steps that we have been taking
and their want of success. 'By gad, sir,' he said, 'he
must be found, if we examine every child in the
country.' I ventured to suggest that this would be a
very difficult undertaking, to which he only made some
remark about the cold-bloodedness of lawyers, and said
that if there were no other way he would dress himself
up as a costermonger and go into every slum of
London. Whether you would find him a judicious
assistant in your searches I should scarcely be inclined
to say, but you would certainly find him ready to give
every assistance in his power."

The next day at three o'clock Colonel Bulstrode was
announced. He was a short man, of full habit of body.
At the present moment his face was even redder than
usual.

" My dear Miss Covington," he burst out, as he came
into the room, " I have just heard of all this rascality,
and what you and your friend Miss Purcell have dis-
covered. By gad, young ladies, I feel ashamed of
myself Here am I, Harry Bulstrode, a man of the
world, and, as such, considered that this affair of the
man Simcoe being made heir in case of the child's
death and the simultaneous disappearance of the boy
to have been suspicious in the extreme, and yet I have
seen no way of doing anything, and have been so upset
that my temper has, as that rascal Andrew, my old

AN ADVERTISEMENT

217

servant, had the impudence to tell me this morning,
become absolutely unbearable. And now I find that
you two girls and a doctor fellow have been quietly
working the whole thing out, and that not improbably
my dear old friend was poisoned, and that the man
who did it is not the man he pretended to be, but an
infernal impostor, who had of course carried the child
away and may, for anything we know, have murdered
him. It has made me feel that I ought to go to school
again, for I must be getting into my second childhood.
Still, young ladies, if, as is evident, I have no sense to
plan, I can at least do all in my power to assist you in
your search, and you have only to say to me, ' Colonel
Bulstrode, we want an inquiry made in India,' and I am
off by the first P. and O."

" Thank you very much. Colonel," Hilda said, trying
to repress a smile. " I was quite sure that from your
friendship for my dear uncle you would be ready to
give us your assistance, but so far there has been no
way in which you could have aided us in the inquiries
that we have made. Indeed, as Dr. Leeds has im-
pressed upon us, the fewer there are engaged in the
matter the better ; for if this man knew that we were
making all sorts of inquiries about him, he might think
it necessary for his safety either to put Walter out of
the way altogether, or to send him to some place so
distant that there would be practically no hope what-
ever of our ever discovering him. At present I think
that we have fairly satisfied ourselves that this man
is an impostor, and that the real John Simcoe was
drowned, as supposed, in the ship in which he sailed
from India. Who this man is, and how he became
acquainted with the fact that John Simcoe saved my
uncle's life in India, are mysteries that so far we have

;-?■•

2t8

THE LOST HEIR

no clue to ; but these matters are at present of minor
importance to us. Before anything else, we want to
find where Walter is hidden, and to do this we are
going to have this man watched. He cannot have
carried off Walter by himself, and no doubt he meets
occasionally the people who helped him, and who are
now hiding Walter. It is scarcely probable that they
come to his lodgings. He is not likely to put himself
into anyone's power, and no doubt goes by night in
some disfi^uise to meet them. As of course he knows
you perfectly well, it would be worse than useless for
you to try to follow him. That is going to be done by
Tom Roberts."

" Well, my man Andrew might help him," the Colonel
said. "Simcoe has often dined with me at the club,
but he never came to my chambers. One man cannot
be always on the watch, and Andrew can take turns
with Roberts. He is an impudent rascal, but he has
got a fair share of sense ; so when you are ready, if you
will drop me a line, he shall come here and take his
instructions from you."

*' Thank you very much, Colonel. That certainly
would be of assistance. It is only of an evening that
he would be wanted, for we are quite agreed that these
meetings are sure to take place after dark."

CHAPTER XV.

VERY BAD NEWS

A MONTH passed. Tom Roberts and Andrew
watched together in Jermyn Street, the former
with a cap pulled well down over his face and very
tattered clothes, the latter dressed as a groom, but
making no attempt to disguise his face. During that
time everyone who called at the house in Jermyn
Street was followed, and their names and addresses
ascertained, one always remaining in Jermyn Street
while the other was away. The man they were watch-
ing had gone out every evening, but it was either to
one or the other of the clubs to which he belonged, or
to the theatre or opera.

"You will trace him to the right place presently,
Roberts," Hilda said cheerfully when she saw that he
was beginning to be disheartened at the non-success
of his search. " You may be sure that he will not go
to see these men oftener than he can help. Does he
generally wear evening clothes ? "

" Always, miss."

" I don't think there is any occasion to follow him
in future when he goes out in that dress; I think it
certain that when he goes to meet these men he will
be in disguise. When you see him come out dressed
altogether differently to usual, follow him closely. Even

219

220

THE LOST HEIR

if we only find where he goes it will be a ve«*y important

step."

******

On the seventh week after the disappearance of
Walter, Mr. Pettigrew came in one morning at eleven
o'clock. His air was very grave.

"Have you heard news, Mr. Pettigrew?" Hilda
asked.

" I have very bad news. Mr. Comfrey, a lawyer of
not the highest standing, who is, I have learnt, acting
for this fellow, called upon me. He said, * I am sorry
to say that I have some painful news to give you,
Mr. Pettigrew. Yesterday the body of a child, a boy
some six or seven years old, was found in the canal
at Paddington. It was taken to the lock-house. The
features were entirely unrecognisable, and the police
surgeon who examined it said that it had been in
the water over a month. Most of its clothing was
gone, partly torn off by barges passing over the
body ; but there still remained a portion of its under-
clothing, and this bore the letters W. R. The police
recognised them as those of the child who has been
so largely advertised for, and as my client Mr. Simcoe
had offered a thousand pounds reward, and as all in-
formation was to be sent to me, a policeman came down
just as I was closing the office to inform me of the
fact.

" * I at once communicated with my client, who was
greatly distressed. He went to Paddington the first
thing this morning, and he tells me that he has no doubt
whatever that the remains are those of Walter Riving-
ton, although he could not swear to his identity, as
the features are altogether unrecognisable. As I
understand, sir, that you and Miss Covington were

VERY BAD NEWS

221

the guardians of this unfortunate child, I have driven
here at once in order that you may go up and satisfy
yourselves on the subject. I understand that an inquest
will be held to-morrow.'"

Hilda had not spoken while Mr. Pettigrew was tell-
ing his story, but sat speechless with horror.

" It cannot be ; surely it cannot be ! " she murmured.
" Oh, Mr. Pettigrew, say that you cannot believe it."

" I can hardly say that, my dear ; the whole affair
is such a terrible one that I can place no bounds
whatever to the villainy of which this man may be
capable. This may be the missing child, but, on
the other hand, it may be only a part of the whole
plot."

"But who else can it be if it has Walter's clothes
on?"

"As to that I can say nothing; but you must
remember that this man is an extraordinarily aoroit
plotter, and would hesitate at nothing to secure this
inheritance. There would be no very great difficulty
in obtaining from .some ra.scally undertaker the body
of a child of the right age, dressing him up in .some
of our ward's clothes, and dropping the body into
the canal, which may have been done seven weeks
ago, or may have been done but a month. Of course
I do not mean to say that this was so. I only mean
to say that it is possible. No. I expressed my opinion
when we talked it over before, that no sensible man
would put his neck in a noose if he could carry
out his object without doing so ; and murder could
hardly be perpetrated without running a very great
risk, for the people with whom the child was placed
would, upon missing it suddenly, be very likely to
suspect that it had been made away with, and would

222

THE LOST HEIR

ill ,

either denounce the crime or extort money by holch'ng
a threat over his head for years."

"Yes, tliat may be so," llilchi exclaimed, risint,^ to her
feet. " Let us 5^0 and see at once. I will take Netta
with me ; she knows him as well as I do."

She ran upstairs, and in a few words told Netta the
news, and in five minutes they came down ready to
start.

" I have told Walter's nurse to come with us," Hilda
said. " If anyone can recoijnise the child she ought
to be able to do so. Fortunately, she is still in the
house."

" Now, young ladies," the lawyer said before they
started, " let me caution you, unless you feel a moderate
certainty that this child is Walter Rivington, make no
admission whatever that you see any resemblance. If
the matter comes to a trial, your evidence and mine
cannot but weigh with the court as against that of this
man who is interested in proving its identity with
Walter. Of course, if there is any sign or mark on
the body that you recognise, you will acknowledge it
as the body of our ward. We shall then have to fight
the case on other grounds. But unless you detect some
unmistakable mark, and it is extremely unlikely that
you will do so in the state the body must be in, confine
yourself to simply stating that you fail to recognise it
in any way."

" There never was any mark on the poor child's
body," Hilda said. " I have regretted it so much,
because in the absence of any descriptive marks the
chance of his ever being found was, of course, much
lessened."

The lawyer had come in a four-wheeled cab, and in
this the party all took their places. Not a word was

h«

VERY BAD NEWS

223

spoken on the way, except tliiit Ilikla repeated what
Mr. Petti^rew had said to tlie mirsc. It was with very
white faces that they entered the lock-house. The little
body was lying on a board supported by two trestles.
It was covered by a piece of sail-cloth, and the tattered
garments that it had had on were placed on a chair
beside it. Prepared as she was for soniethiiij^ dreadful,
the room swam round, and had Ilikla not been leaninj^
on Mr. Pettij^rew's arm she would have fallen. There
was scarce a semblance of humanity in the little figure.
The features of the face had been entirely obliterated,
possibly by the passage of barges, possibly the work
of simple decay.

" Courage, my dear," Mr. Pettigrew said ; " it is n
painful duty, but it must be performed."

The three women stood silent beside the little c()ri)sj.
Netta was the first to speak.

" I cannot identify the body as that of Walter Riving-
ton," she said. " I don't think that it would be possible
for anyone to do so."

" Is the hair of the same colour?" the policeman who
was in charge of the room asked.

" The hair is rather darker than his," Netta said ; " but
being so long in the water, and in such dirty water, it
might have darkened."

" That was never Master Walter's hair," the nurse
exclaimed. ** The darling had long, soft hair, and
unless those who murdered him cut it short, it would
not be like this. Besides, this hair is stiffer. It is
more like the hair of a workhouse child than Master
Walter's."

" That is so," Hilda said. ** I declare that I not only
do not recognise the body as that of my ward, but that
I am convinced it is not his,"

224

THE LOST HEIR

" JudginjT only by the hair," Mr. Pcttigrew said," I am
entirely of your opinion, Miss Covington. I have stroked
the child's head many times, and his hair was like silk.
I have nothing else to go by, and am convinced that the
body is not Walter Rivington's."

They then looked at the fragments of clothes. In
two places they were marked " W. R."

" That is my marking, miss," the nurse said, after
closely examining the initials. " I could not swear to
the bits of clothes, but I can to the letters. You see,
miss, I always work a line above the letters and another
below them. I was taught to do it so when i was a girl in
our village school, and I have always done it since. But
I never saw anyone else mark them so. You see the
letters are worked in red silk and the two lines in white.
The old woman who taught us said that it made a
proper finish to the work. Yes, Miss Covington, I can
swear to these things being Master Walter's."

" You could not swear to their being those in which
he went out the morning he was lost, nurse?"

" I can, sir, because there is nothing missing except
what he had on. I have all his things properly counted,
and everything is there."

At this moment there was a little stir outside, and
Hilda glanced down and whispered to Netta —

" Let down your fall ; I do not want this man to
recognise you."

Just as she did so John Simcoe entered. He bowed
to Hilda.

" I am sorry indeed to meet yoii under such painful
circumstances."

" I beg you not to address me, sir," she said haughtily.
" I wish to have no communication with or from you.
Your coming here reminds me of the thirty-seventh

-4

VERY BAD NEWS

225

verse of the nineteenth chapter of St. John. You can
look it out, sir, if you happen to have a ]V\\)\c at home.
I'ortunately it is not wholly applicable, for we are all
absolutely convinced that this poor little body is not
that of General Mathieson's <:jrandson."

So saying she stepped out of the little house, fol-
lowed by the others, leavini^ John Simcoe white with
passion.

" You should not have shown your hand so plainly,
Miss Covington."

** I could not help it," the girl said. '* He has called
a dozen times at the house and has always received the
message, * Not at home,' and he must know that I
suspect him of being Walter's abductor."

"What is the verse you referred him to, Hilda?"
Netta said. " I confess that I do not know any verse
in St. John that seems to be at all applicable to him."

"The quotation is, ' They shall look on Him whom
they pierced.' "

Netta could not help smiling. Mr. Pettigrew shook
his head.

" You are really too outspoken, Miss Covington, and
you will get yourself into trouble. As it is, you have
clearly laid yourself open to an action for libel for
having practically called the man a murderer. We
may think what we like, but we are in no position to
prove it."

" I am not afraid of that," she sa'd. " I wish that
he would do it ; then we should have all the facts
brought out in court, and, even if we could not, as
you say, prove everything, we could at least let the
world know what we think. No, there is no chance
of his doing that, Mr. Pettigrew."

" It is fortunate for us, Miss Covington, that our

226

TIU: LOST HEIR

clients arc for the most [)<irt men. Your sex are so
impetiKJiis and so hcadslronL;' that we should have a
hard time of it indeed if we had to take our instructions
from them."

" Mr. PettiL^H'ew, )-ou will please remember that there
are three of m)- sex in this cab, and if you malign us
in this way we will at once <j;et out and walk."

The old law}'er smiled indulgently.

" It is quite true, m\' dear. Women are always
passionately certain that they are right, and neither
counsel nor entreaty can get them to believe that
there can be any (jther side to a case than tnat which
they take. Talk about men ruining themselves by
litigation ; the number that do so is as nothing to that
of the women w ho would be so, were they to get as
oft?n involved in lawsuits ! When Dickens drew the
man who haunted the courts he would have been
much nearer the mark had he drawn the woman who
did so. You can persuade a man that when he has
been beaten in exer)- court his case is a lost one ; but
a woman sim[)ly regards a hostile decision as the effect
either of great partiality or of incompetence on the
part of a judge, and even after being beaten in the
House of Lords will attend the courts and pester the
judges with applications for the hearing of some new
points. It becomes a perfect mania with .some of them."

" V^ery well, Mr. Pettigrew, I would certainly carry
my case ujd to the highest court, and if I were beaten
I would not admit that I was in the wrong ; still, I do
not think that I should pester Ihe poor old judges after
that. I suppose we shall all have to come up again
to-morrow to the inquest ? "

" Certainly. Nurse lias recognised the clothes, and I
suppose }ou all recognise the marks, Miss Covington?"

v1':ry bad news

227

are so
have a
ructions

at there
iHgn us

always
neither
ve that
it .vhich
;lves by
r to that
D get as
drew the
ve been
nan who
he has
)ne ; but
le effect
on the
n in the
;ster the
)me new
)f them."
ily carry
e beaten
till, I do
ges after
,ip again

es, and I
ington ? "

"Yes ; I have no doubt whatever that the clothes ,'!rc
Walter's"

" Of course we shall be represented by counsel,"
Mr. Pettigrew went on. "We must not let the jur\'
find that this is Walter's body if we can pos^*bly pre-
vent it."

"You think that they will do so?"

" I am afraid of it. They will know nothing of the
real circumstances of the case ; they will only know
that the child has been missing for nearly two months,
and that in spite of large rewards no news has been
obtained of him. They will see that this child is about
the same age, that the clothes in which it was found
are those worn by the missing boy. They will them-
I selves have viewed the body and have seen that
identification is almost impossible. This man will
give his evidence to the effect that he believes it to
be Walter Rivington's body. We shall give it as our
opinion that it is not ; that opinion being founded upon
the fact that the few patches of hair left on the head
are shorter and coarser than his was. To us this may
appear decisive, J3ut the counsel who will no doubt
appear for Simcoe will very legitimately say this fact
lias no \veigiit, and will point out tli^t no real judgment
can be formed upon ti^is. The child was missing —
probably stolen for the sake of its clothes. Seeing
the description in the handbills and placards, the first
step would be to cut off its hair, which disposes of
the question of length, and, as he will point out, hair,
which when very kiig seems soft and silk)-, will stand
up and appear almost bristly when cropped close to
the head. I am afraid that in the face of all that
we can say the coroner's jury will find that the body
is Walter's. As to the cause of death they will probyb'y

128

THIC LOST HEIR

Ljive an open verdict, for even if the surf^^eon has found
any signs of violence upon tlie body, these may have
been inflicted by passing barges long after death."

"Will you have it brought forward that Simcoe has
an interest in proving the body to be Walter's ? "

" I think not. There would be no u.se in beginning the
fight in the coroiler's court. It will all have to be gone
into when he applies to the higher courts for an order
on the trustees of the will to proceed to carry out its
provision.s. Then our case will be fully gone into. Wc
shall plead that in the first place the will was made
under undue influence. We shall point to the singularity
of the General's mysterious attack, an attack which
one of the doctors who attended him at once put
down to poison, and that at the moment of the attack
Simcoe was sitting next to him at dinner. We shall
point to the extraordinary coincidence that the child
who stood between Simcoe and the inheritance dis-
appeared on the evening when the General was in
"■trends, and, lastly, we shall fire our last shot by
denying that the man is the John Sifncoe named in
the will, but is an impostor wl o assumed his name
and traded upon his brave action on the General's
behalf.

" But I do not want the fight to begin until we are
in a better position than at present to prove what we
Sa\'. As yet, however satisfactory to us, we have not
got beyond the point of conjecture and probabilities,
and I trust that before we have to fight the case we
shall obtain some absolute facts in support of our
theory. The man would be able at present to put into
court a number of highly respectable witnesses from
Stowmarket, and of officers he has met here, who would
all testify to his being John Simcoe, and as against

VERY RAD NEWS

229

as found
lay have
h."

ncoe has
>"

ining the
» be gone
an order
y out its
ito. We
ra.s made
ni^ularity
ck which
once put
he attack
We shall
the child
ance dis-
1 was ///

shot by
named in
lis name

General's

il we arc
what we
have not
^abilities,
case we
t of our
) put into
sses from
ho would
,s against

their evidence our conjectures would literally go for
nothing. No doubt you will all receive notices to
attend this evening. The policeman took your names
and addresses, and will have told the officer in charge
of the case the nature of the eviflence you will probably
give. And please remembe;r that in g'VMig evidence
you must carefully abstain from sa^-ing anything that
would lead the jury to {)ercei\e that you have any
personal feeling against Simcoe, for they would be
likely to put down your declaration of inability to
recognise the body as a result of a bias against him.
Do not let it be seen that there is any personal feeling
in the matter at all."

The summonses arrived that evening, and the next
morning they drove to the coroner's court, Miss Purcell
:; Tompanying them. They found Mr. Pettigrew await-
itig them at the door.

" There is another case on before ours," he said, " and
I should advise you to take a drive for half an hour,
and "hen you come back to sit in the carriage until
I come for you. The waiting-room is a stuffy little
place, and is at present full of witnes.ses in the case now
on, and as that case is one of a man killed in a drunken
row, they are not of a class whom it is pleasant to mix
with."

When they returned, he again came out. " I have
just .«- ^l-^|, to the coroner and told him who you are,
and h . s kindly given permission for you to go up
to his o\v room. The case he has now before him
may last another half- hour."

It was just about that time when Mr. Pettigrew came
up and saici tluiL their ca.sc was about to commence,
and that they must go down and take their places in
court Ihis was now almost empty; a few minutes

THE LOST HEIR

before it had been crowded by those interested in the
proceedini^s which had terminated in the finding of
manslaughter aiz^ainst four of those concerned in the
fray. The (Hscovery of a child's body in the canal was far
too common an event to afford any attraction, and with
the exception of the witnesses, two counsel seated in the
front line facing the coroner, and two or three officials,
there was no one in court. As soon as the little stir
caused by the return of the jury from viewing the body
had ceased, the coroner addresed them.

" We shall now, gentlemen of the jury, proceed to the
case of the body of a child said to be that of Walter
Rivington, which was found under very strange and
suspicious circumstai : lear this end of the canal.
You will hear that the i 1 was missing from its home
in Hyde Park Gardens on the 23rd of October, and for
his discovery, as some of you are doubtless aware, large
sums have been offered. The day before }'esterday the
drags were used for the purpose of discovering whether
another child, who was lost, and who had been seen
going near the bank, had been drowned. In the course
of that search this body was brought up. You have
already viewed it, gentlemen. Dr. Alacllvaine will tell
you that it has certainly been a month in the water,
perhaps two or three weeks longer. Unfortunately the
state of the body is such that it is impossible now to
ascertain the cause of death, or whether it was alive
when it fell in or was placed in the water. Fortunately
some of its clothes still remained on the body, and one
of the witnesses, the nurse of the missing boy, will tell
you that the marks upon them were worked by herself,
and that she can swear to them. Whether any other
matters will come before you in reference to the case,
which, from the fact that the child was grandson of

VERY BAD NEWS

23»

in the
iing of

in the
was far
nd with
:l in the
officials,
ttle stir
tie body

d to the
Walter
i<>e and
e canal.
ts home
, and for
ire, large
rday the
whether
en seen
e course
on have
will tell
e water,
jitely the
now to
las alive
tunately
land one
will tell
herself,
y other
[he case,
dson of

the late General Mathicsoii and heir to liis property,
has attracted much attention, I cannot sa)'. The first
witness you will hear is the lock-keeper, who was
present at the finding of the bod)-."

Before the witness was c.dled, however, one of the
counsel rose ar, said —

" I am instructed, sir, to api)ear to watch th*" pro-
ceedings on behalf of Air. John Simcoe, who by the
death of Walter Rivington, inherits under the will of
the late General Mathieson."

The coroner bowed. The other counsel then rose.

"And I, sir, have been instructed by Mr. Pettigrew
and Colonel lUilstrode, the trustees under the will, the
former gentleman being also joint guardian with A'liss
Hilda Covington of the missing child, to watch the case
on their behalf"'

There was again an exchange of bows, and the lock-
keeper then entered the box. I Us exidence was given
in few word.s. He simpl)- deposcfl to assisting in drag-
ging the canal, and to the finding of the bod\'.

"Have you any questions to ask the witness?" the
coroner said, turning to the barristers.

The counsel employed by Mr. Pettigrew rose.

"Yes, sir, I have a [c\v questions to ask. Now, Mr.
Cousins, you sa)- that you took part in drugging the
canal. You are in charge oNthe drags, are \'ou not.'"

" Yes, sir ; they are always kept in readiness at the
lock-house."

" How came you to use the drags ? I suppose you
don't take them down and spend a day or two in
dragging the canal unless you have reason for sup-
posing that a body is there."

" No, sir. The afternoon before, a woman came up
crying, and said that her child had fallen into the water.

232

THE LOST HEIR

I,'"

He had gone out in the morning to pla}', and when
dinner-time came and he didn't return, she searched
everywhere for him, and two children had just told her
that they were playing with him on the bank of the
canal and that he had fallen in. They tried to get him
out, but he sank, and they were so frightened that they
ran home without saying anything. But they thought
now that iliey had better tell. I said that she had
better go to the police-station and repeat her statement,
and they would send a constable to h'^^lp me. She did
that, and came back with the policeman. It was getting
late then, but we took a boat and dragged the canal
for two or three hours. The next mornins.*^ she came
again, and said that the boys had shown her just where
her child fell in, and we dragged there and found this
body. We brought it ashore, and after we had carried
it to the lock-house we set to work again, but could not
find any other body."

" What became of the woman ? "

" She was with us till we fetched up this body. When
she saw it she ran away crying, and did not come back

agam.

" You have not seen he'' since, Mr. Cousins ? "

'* No, sir, I have not seen her since. I believe the

constable made inquiries about her."

" Thank you, I have nothing more to ask."

The policeman then entered the box and gave his

evidence shortly, as to assisting in the operation of

dragging and to finding the body.

" About this woman who gave the alarm," the barrister

asked. "Have you seen her, constable?"

" No, sir, not since the body was found. Thinking

it strange that she did not come back I reported it

at the station. She had given the name of Mary Smith

VERY BAD NEWS ^^^

and an address in Old Park. I was told to go round
here but no such person was known, and no one had
heard of a ch.ld being lost. On my reporting this
inquiries were made all round the neighbourhood ; but
no^one had heard of such a woman, nor of a missing

"This is a very strange circumstance, sir. and it
looks as ,f the whole story of the drowning child was
a fabrication. The fact that the body of the child
whose death we are considering was found close to
the spot would certainly seem to point to the fact
that some person or persons who were cognizant of
the fact that this body was there were for some reasons
anxious that it should be found, and so employed this
woman to get the drags used at that point in order that
the body might be brought to light."

;' It^ is certainly a very strange business," the coroner
said, and I hope that the police will spare no efforts to
discover this woman. However, as she is not before us
we must proceed with the case."

Then the officer of the court called out the name of
Mary Summerford, and the nurse went into the witness

" I understand, Mary Summerford, that you were
nurse to Walter Rivington ? "
" I was, sir."

''Will you tell the jury when you last saw him and
how It was that he was lost ? "

She told the story as she had told it to Hilda on the
day that he was missing.

" You have seen the clothes found on the body Do
}-ou recognise them as those that he was wearing" when
you last saw him ? " ^^

" Yes, sir."

234

THE LOST HEIR

'* How do you recognise them ? "

" Because his initials are worked in two places. I
worked them m)'self, and can swear to them."

"You cannot recofjnise the body, nurse?"

" I do not believe it is the body of my young master,"
.she .said ; " his hair was lovely — long and silky. What
hair remains on the body is very short, and what I
should call stubbly."

" But the hair might have been cut short by the
people who stole him," the coroner .said. ' It is the
first precaution they would take to evade the search
that would at once be set on foot."

" Yes, sir, but I don't think that it would have grown
up so stiff"

" My experience of workhouse children," the coroner
remarked, " is that whatever the hair they may have
had when they entered the house it is stiff enough to
stand upright when cut close to the head. There is
nothing else, is there, which leads you to doubt the
identify of the child?"

'* No, sir, I cannot say that there is ; but I don't
believe that it is Master Walter's body."

Hilda, Nctta, and Mr. Pettigrew each gave their
evidence. The two former stated that they identified
the clothes, but, upon the same ground as the nurse,
they failed to recogni.se the body as that of Walter
Rivington. All were asked if they could in any way
account for the finding of the child's body there.
The question had been foreseen, and they said that
although they had used every means of discovering
the child, they had obtained no clue whatever as to
his whereabouts from the time that he was stolen to the
time they were summoned to identify the body.

"You quite assume that he was stolen, and not that

VERY BAD NEWS

235

don't

he wandered awa)', as children will do when their
nurses are t^ossipinnr ? "

" We are convinced that he was stolen, sir, because
the search was be^^un so inometitarily after he was
missed that he could hardly have got out of sight
had he merely wandered away (mi foot. Notice was
given to the police an hour after he disappeared, and
every street in this part of London was scoured
immediately."

"Children of that age, Miss Covington, have often a
fancy for hiding themselves ; and this child may have
hidden somewhere close until he saw his nurse pass
by, and then made off in the opposite direction. The
spot where the child's body was found is little more
than a quarter of a mile from the corner where he was
missed. He might have u'andered up there, found
himself on the canal bank, and, childlike, have begun
to play, and so slipped into the water."

John Simcoe was the last witness called. He gave
his evidence to the effect that he had seen the body,
and that personally he saw no reason to doubt that it
was that of Walter Rivinijton.
His counsel then rose.

"You are, I believe, Air. Simcoe, owing to the death
of this poor child, the principal legatee under the will
of General Mathieson ? "

" I am sorry to say that I am. The whole busine..s
has caused me immense distress. I have felt that,
being the only person that would benefit by the child's
death, those who did not know me would have a
suspicion that I might have had a hand in his mysterious
disappearance."

"You have taken an active part in the search for
him ? "

2 1,G

TTIIC IX)ST HFJR

"I offered a reward of one tlioiisatid pounds for
any infornialioii tliat would k-ad to his discovery, and
I l)eHeve tliat I liave travelled up and down every
obscure slum in Lopilon in hopes of liL;htin<^ upon
him."

" ICven without the provision in the will which made
you next heir you benefited by it, did you not?"

"I did, most munificently. (leneral Alathieson liad
himself informed me that I should find, by his will,
that he had not been ungrateful for a service that I
rendered him many years aijo ; but I was not aware
of the sum that he had left me. As to the distant
contingency of inheriting in case of the child's death,
I was altoL;"ether iij^norant of it ; but had I known it, it
would in no way have affected me. The Httle fellow was
a fine health)' child, and ihcivrorc the th{)UL;lit that he
might not live to come of age wohld never have entered
my mind."

As the other counsel had no question to ask, the
evidence was now concluded.

" Well, gentlemen, you have heard the evidence,"
the coroner said. "Dr. Macllvaine has told you, as
indeed you might judge for yourself on viewing the
body, that it is im[)ossible, in its advanced state of
decomposition, to say whether the child was alive or
(\ei d at the time he fell, or was placed in the canal.
As to who were the guilty persons who beguiled the
child away, if he was beguiled, we have no shadow
of evidence, and it may well be that he was stolen
for the sake of his clothes. The cutting short of his
hair certainly points to the truth of this theoi/, as
does also the fact that no vestige has been fou id of
his upper clothing. It is probable that some woman
enticed him av.ay, and kept him for some time with her,

VI'.KV I '.A I) NEWS

237

and lli.'it wlicti she hccimc alarmed by the search inade
for him, carried him in his sleep from the house and
|)erhaj>s laid him down by the canal, thinkin^^ that he
would be found tlu^e in the morning, and that the poor
child awoke in the dark, wandered about, and fell into
the canal.

"However, this is only theory; but it is at least
suj)porte(l by the mysterious incident of the unknown
woman, who by means of a tale which aiJ|)ears beyond
doubt to have beeti wholly fictitious, caused the water
at that spot to be dra^i^ed. The fact that on the second
day she pointed out almost the exact point where the
body was found would seem to show that the child
could scarcely h.ave fallen in the water, as she suj^j^ested,
for in that case she could not have known the precise
sj)ot. It would seem, then, more likely that either the
child died a natural death, perhaps from confmement
or bad treatment, or possibly that, terribly alarmed at
the search that was beini; maintained, he was put out
of the way and then thrown into the canal at this
spot In that case we may admit that it is certainly
stran^L^e that she should risk discovery by the course
she took, and I can only account for it on the ground
that she had been, ever since his death, suffering from
remorse, and possibly she may have thought that she
might in some sort of way atone for her conduct were
she to point out where the child was, and so secure
for him Christian burial. That, however, is not before
us at present, and I see no advantage in an adjournment
for an indefinite time until this mystery is solved. The
police have taken the matter in hand, and will spare
no pains to discover the woman. If they do so, un-
doubtedly proceedings will be taken in another court.
The point that we have to consider is who this child

238

THE T.OST HEIR

was, and how he came to his death. Unfortunately we
are absokitely without any evidence of what became
of him from the time he trot lost iiD to the discovery of
liis body, and I thi:ik t..al ) ou «>-uimot do otherwise than
find an open verch'ct.

*' As to the question of identity, there can, I thini<,
be no shadow of doubt. The clothes in which he was
found prove him beyond question to have been Waller
Rivin^ton, although the body itself is absolutely beyond
identification. I do not think that you need give any
weight to the nurse's failure to rec(jgnise him, or to her
opinion about the hair. She is naturally reluctant to
acknowledge, even to herself, that the child which was
lost by her inadvertence is dead, and the ladies would
be equally reluctant to admit that all hope was over."

The jury put their heads together, and there was
evidently no difference of opinion, for in two or three
minutes they sat down again and the foreman stood up.

" You have decided on your verdict ? " the coroner
asked.

" We have, sir. We find that the body is that of
Walter Rivington, and that he was found dead in the
canal, but how he came there and by what means he
came by his death there is no evidence to show."

" Thank you, gentlemen, that is precisely the verdict
that I should myself have given."

CHAPTFK XVT

A FRESH CLUE

" I UST the verdict that I expected," Mr. Pettigrevv
^ said, as he and the ladies issued from the court-
house.

" I suppose that it is for the best, Mr. Petti^^rew but it
seems hard, when we could have said so much,' to be
obliged to hold our tongues altogether."

"No doubt you will have an opportunity later on
Miss Covington. Our tongues are tied until we can
obtain some sort of proof to g.. upon. VVe cannot
go into court with merely suspicions; we must get
facts. All we have done at present is to obtain some
sort of foundation on which to work ; but facts we
shall, I hope, get ere long from what we may dis-
cover of this fellow's movements. He is likely to
be less careful now that it has been decided that
Walter is dead. He is doubtless well aware of the
fact that trustees have a )'ear given them before proceed-
ing to carry out the provisions of a will, and therefore
for that time he will keep quiet. At the end of the
year his solicitor will write as a courteous letter askinrr
when we shall be in a position to distribute the estate in
accordance with the provisions of the will. We shall
reply that we are not in a position to do so. Then after
a time, will come letters of a more and more peremptory
character, and at last a notice that they are about to

239

240

Th'T^ LOST HEIR

apply lo the courts for an order for us to act upon
the provisions of the will. About two years after the
General's death the matte/ will probably come on. I
ma}' say that I have already sent cheques to all the
small leiiatees."

"Thank you, I was aware of that, because Tom
Roberts came to me yesterday with his cheque for two
hundred pounds, and said, ' Look here, Miss Covington,
you said you n'lcant to keep me on just the same as in
the General's time, so this won't be of any use to me.
and I should like to sjiend it in any way that you think
best to find 01. t what has become of Master Walter.'
Of course I told him that the money could not be
spent in that way, and that the work he was doing was
of far ci^reater use than ten times that sum would be."

" I will send yo:i your cheque to-morrow, Miss Coving-
ton. The sum we have paid to t^ e people who have
been searching, and all other expenses that may be
incurred, will, of course, come out of the estate. You
have not as }ct settled, I suppose, as to your future
plans ? "

" No, except that I shall certainly keep on the house
in Hyde Lark Gardens for the present. It is, of course,
ridiculously large for me, but I don't want the trouble
of making a move until I make one permanently, and
shall therefore stay here until this matter is finally
cleared up. Miss Purcell has most kindly consented to
remain as my chaperon, and her plans and those of her
niece will depend upon mine."

They had sent away their carriage when they entered
the court, and they walked quietly home, Mr. Pettigrew
returning at once to his office. The next morning Tom
Roberts accosted Hilda as she entered the breakfast-
room with a face that showed he had news.

A FRESH CLUE

241

.ct upon
after the
e on. I
. all the

ise Tom
e ^or two
ovington,
ime cis in
3e to mc.
you think
- Walter.'
d not be
ioing was
jld be."
ks Coving-
who have
may be
ate. You
Dur future

the house
of course,
trouble
ently, and
is finally
nsented to
ose of her

lev entered
Pettigrew
niiig Tom
break fast-

" VVe have traced him down to one of his places at
last, h iss. I said to Andrew, 'We must keep a special
sharp look out to-night, for like enough, now that the
inquest is over, he will be going to talk over the matter
with his pals.' Well, miss, last night, at half-past nine,

for although.

out h(

ne comes, Me wasn t m evenmg dress, tor aitnougt
as usual, he had a topcoat on, he had light trousers and
walking boots. He did not turn the usual way, but
went up into Picciidilly, We followed him. I kept
close behind him, and Andrew at a distance, so that
he should not notice us together. At the Circus he
hailed a cab, and as he got in I heard him say to
the driver, ' King's Cross station.' As soon as he had
gone off Andrew and I jumped into another cab, and
told the man to drive to the same place, and that
we would give him a shilling extra if he drove
sharp.

" He did drive sharp, and I felt sure that we had got
there before our man. I stopped outside the entrance,
Andrew went inside. In five minutes he arrived, paid
the driver his fare, and went in. I had agreed to wait
two or three minutes outside, while Andrew was to be
at the ticket-office to see where he booked for. I was
just going in when, to my surprise, out the man came
again and walked briskly away. I ran in and fetched
Andrew, and off we went after him. He hadn't more
than a minute's start, and we were nearly up to him by
the time he had got down to the main road. We kept
behind him until we saw him go up Pentonville Mill,
then Andrew went on ahead of him and 1 followed.
We agreed that if he looked back, suspicious, I should
drop behind. Andrew, when he once got ahead, was to
keep about the same distance in front of him, so as to
be able to drop behind and take it up instead of me,
Q

243

THE LOST HEIR

while I was to cross over the road if I thought that he
iiad discovered I was following him.

" However, it did not seem to strike him that anyone
was watching him, and he walked on briskly until he
came to a small house standing by itself, and as he
turned in we were in time to see that the door was
opened to him by a man. Andrew and I consulted. I
wt rt in at the gate, took my shoes off, and went round
the house. There was only a light in one room, which
looked as if there were no servants. The curtains were
pulled together inside, and I could see nothing of what
was going on. He stopped there for an hour and a
half, then came out again, hailed a cab half-way down
the hill, and drove off. Andrew and I had compared
watches, and he had gone back to Jermyn Street, so
that we should be able to know by the time the chap
arrived whether he had gone anywhere else on his way
back. When I joined him I found that the man must
have driven straigiit to the Circus and then got out, for
he walked in just twenty minutes after I had seen him
start."

"That is good news indeed, Roberts,
go and see Mr. Pett'grew directly after

Please order the carriage to be round at

We will
breakfast,
a quarter
to ten."

Netta was as pleased as her friend when she heard
that a step had been made at last.

"I am sick of this inaction,' she said, "and want to
be doing something towards getting to the bottom of
the affair. I do hope that we shall find some way in
which I can be useful."

" I have no doubt at all that you will be very useful
when we get fairly on the track. I expect that this
vyrill lead to something."

A FRESH CLUE

243

t that he

Lt anyone
until he
nd as he
door was
suited. I
ent round
Dm, which
:ains were
s of what
3ur and a
way down
compared
Street, so
3 the chap
fn his way
man must
ot out, for
seen him

We will
breakfast,
a quarter

she heard

id want to
bottom of
Ime way in

Ivery useful
It that this

After Tom Roberts has repeated his story to Mr.
Pettigrevv, Hilda said —

" I brought Roberts with me, Mr. Pettigrevv, that he
might tell the story in his own way. It seems to me
that the best thing now would be to employ a private
detective to find out who the man is who lives in Rose
Cottage. This would be out of the line of Tom
Roberts and Colonel Bulstrode's servant altogether.
They would not know how to set about making
inquiries, whereas a detective would be at home at such
work."

" I quite agree with you," the lawyer said. " To
make inquiries without exciting suspicion requires
training and practice. An injudicious question might
lead to this man being warned that inquiries were
being made about him and might ruin the matter
altogether. Of course your two men will still keep
up their watch. It may be that we shall find it is
of more use to follow the track of this man than the
other. But you must not be too sanguine ; the man at
Rose Cottage may be an old acquaintance of Simcoe.
Well, my dear," he went on, in answer to a decided
shake of the head on Hilda's part, "you must call the
man by the only name that he is known by liough
it may not belong to him. I grant that the ma 1 in
which he drove into King's Cross station and tlien
walked out on foot would seem to show that he was
anxious to throw anyone who might be watching him
off the scent, and that the visit was, so to speak, a
clandestine one. But it may relate to an entirely
different matter ; for this man may be, for aught we
know, an adept in crime, and may be in league with
many other doubtful characters."

" It may be so, Mr. Pettigrew, but we will hope not."

a i auiifeS

244

THE T.OST HEIR

" Very well, my dear," the lawyer said, " I will send
for a trustworthy man at once, and set him to work
collecting information rc^^ardinLj the occupant of the
cottage. And now I have a point upon which I
wish to ask your opinion. I have this morning re-
ceived a letter from this man's s(jlicitor asking if we
intend to uiMJertake the funeral of the body which
the coroner's jur}' lia\c found to be that of VV\'iltei
Rivingtor ; and that if we do not, his client will himself
have it carried out."

"What do you think, I\Ir I'ettigrew?" Hilda said
hesitatingly " We may be wrong, you know, and it
may be Walter's body."

'* I have been thinking it over," the lawyer replied,
"and I must sa)- it is ni)' opinion that, as we have all
stated our conviction that it is not, we should only
stultify ourselves if we now undertook the funeral and
put a stone wdth his name on over the grave. If we
should at any time become convinced that we have
been wrong, we can apply for a faculty to remove
the coffin to the family vault down in Warwickshire."

*' If we could do that I should not mind," Hilda said ;
" but even the possibility of Walter being buried by the
man who we firmly belie\e was the cause of his death
is terrible."

" Yes, I can quite understand your feelings, but 1
think that it is necessary that the family should make ;:
protest against its being supposed that they recognis'
the child, b}- declining to undertake the funeral. N*>
protest could well be stronger."

" If you think that, Mr. Pettigrew, we certainly had
best stand aside and let that poor child be buried b}
this man."

Two days later the)' were driving in the Row. It

A FRESH Cl.VK ,^j

«'as Hi,,, ., fi ,t appearance there sfnce the General's
■le th, an. after talkin. it over with Notta .she^ou^
aH.ea,e,l tl,ere ,n order to .show that she was perfect y
.".>v„Ke<l tnat the child uLich had been found n the
>ana, w... not her little cousin. The details o? the

™uid b; 1 'k r • ";"' '•'-" "•'''^-'■•■•'"cc h, the pan.

would be the best proof that she could .rive that the

.i:t'oV;;:;:i;r"""^ ^"'■""'^"' '-^ '-^'^'y - -

Mf.ss I'urcell and Netta were with her. The latter
l>acl on as usual. .. thick veil. This she always w re

::::■ joh::i,.tr'^ --' '-''^ -'-'^ »-> ' -^^

"thJf '■'!,''' ^V",""'" ""^^ ■''"■^ '° ^^' '" ^ ^harp tone-
.idtf 'tS^^'^ '"° '''"''"' °" ''^ -" «- -^er'

a si^i'ti-renr ^^^^ Litid to til: -^''^^ "'■" ''-

l^j^ -^ "^" "^ ^'i'^^ to the man next to

littie^'vixe," TlVl'V'''' '" ''^'-■'^ ""'°"^"''"^'' " ■•^ that
tie v.xen, Hilda Cov.njfton. Confound her, .she is at

vetn th '", '"" '^.""'"■=' •''"^ ' '^^■■'■'•■- ^he would
..^'ve ten thousand out of her own pocket to checkmate

The carriage was opposite to them now Hilda

looked straight in front of her, while Nett. who

was sitt ng with her bari- tr. tu u , ' "

watch. ^°""'^- ^"^^ "P *e

"She would have to be sharp indeed to do that"
tl>e other man said. " So far everything has gone
"•■thout a hitch, and I don't see a sh,gle^eak point
^tCr.--"^- '■'" '""'' '-"blesomeVrt has bZ

246

THE LOST HEIR

And now some carriages going the other way cut
off the view, and Netta could read no further. She
drew a long breath as Hilda's eyes turned towards
her.

" What did you read ? " the latter asked.

Netta repeated what she had caught, and then Hilda
took up the conversation.

"It is quite evident that this man, whoever he is,
is an accomplice. He is a gentlemanly-looking man,
and I fancy that he sat in the stalls near to us one
evening this spring. However, it is quite clear that
he is a confederate of Simcoe. Just repeat his words
over again. They were in answer to his remark that
I would give ten thousand pounds to be able to check-
mate him."

Netta repeated the answer of Simcoe's companion.

"You see, Netta, there is something to find out
that would checkmate him ; that is quite evident. He
thinks that I cannot find it out. It must be, I should
think, that Walter is kept in hiding somewhere. It
could not mean that he had killed my uncle, for he
would hardly tell that to anyone, and so put himself in
their power.

"It may mean that you cannot find out that he is not
John Simcoe," Netta suggested.

" Possibly ; but he cannot know we suspect that."

" It might be about the last will, Hilda."

The latter shook her head.

" We have never thought that there could be any-
thing wrong about it. The will was drawn up by
Colonel Bulstrode's law}'ers, and they knew my uncle
by sight ; besides, all the legacies were exactly the
same as in the other will, the signature and the written
instructions were in his handwriting, and he signed it

A FRESH CLUE

447

way cut

ler. She

towards

len

Hilda

^er he is,
dng man,
:o us one
clear that
his words
mark that
I to check-

ipanion.

^ find out

dent. He

I should

where. It

cle, for he

himself in

it he is not

: that."

n[d be any-
|wn up by
my uncle
[xactly the
the written
signed it

in the solicitor's office in the presence of two of
their clerks. No, I don't think he can possibly mean
that. It must be either Walter's abduction or that
he is not John Simcoe, and I should say that the
former is much the more likely. You see, he had no
need of an accomplice in the matter of getting evidence
as to identity, whereas he did need an accomplice in
the carrying off of Walter. I should say that he is
far too clever a man to let anyone into any of his
secrets, unless he needed his assistance. I wonder who
the man with him can be. He is dressed in good style,
and I have certainly met him somewhere. I believe, as
I said, it was at the opera. I should have thought
that a man of that class is the last Simcoe would choose
as a confederate."

Miss Purcell looked from one to the other as they
talked. She had by this time been taken completely
into their confidence, but had refused absolutolv *"0
believe that a man could be guilty of such wicked-
ness as that which they suspected. On their return
home they found a letter awaiting them from M/.
Pettigrew,

"My dear Miss Covington (it ran), — My detective
has not yet finished his inquiries, but has at least
discovered that the proprietor of Rose Cottage, for
they say that the place belongs to him, is somewhat
of a mystery to his neighbours. He lives there
entirely alone. He goes out regularly in a morning,
it is supposed to some occupation in the City. No
tradesmen ever call at the door ; it is supposed that
he brings home something for his breakfast and cooks
it for himself, and that he dines in the City and makes
himself a cup of tea in the evening, or else that he

:Tji?V-.

248

THE LOST HEIR

goes out after dark. Sometimes, of summer evenings,
he has been seen to go out just at twilight, dressed
in full evening costume — that is to say, it is supposed
so, for he wore a long light overcoat — but certainly
a white necktie, black trousers, and patent boots. Of
course in all this there is nothing in itself absolutely
suspicious. A man engaged in the City would naturally
enough take his meals there, and may prefer to do
everything for himself to having the bother of servants.
Also, if his means permit it, he may like to go to
theatres or places of amusement, or may go out to
visit business friends. I have, of course, directed the
detective to follow him to town and find out what is his
business, and where employed. I will let you know
result to-morrow."

The next day brought the letter

" The man's name is William Barens. He has a
small office on the third floor of a house of business
in Great St. Helens, and on the doorway below his
name is the word " accountant." The housekeeper
knows nothing about him, except that he has occupied
the room for the last twelve years, and that he is a
gentleman who gives no trouble. He alwi^^ s puts his
papers away at night in his safe, so that his table can
be properly dusted. She knows that he has clients,
as several times when he has been away for his dinner-
hour she has: been asked when he would return. He
is a well-spoken gentleman, though not as particular
about his dress as some ; but liberal with his money,
and gives her as handsome a tin at Christmas as some
people who have three or four rooms, and, no doubt,
think themselves much finer people. This certainly
does not amount to much. By the way, the old woman

A FRESH CLUK

249

ening-^,
dressed
pposed
-rtainly
.ts. Of
^olutely
aturally
r to do
ervants.
> go to
out to
:ted the
lat is his
)U know

e has a
business
elow his
isekeeper
occupied

he is a

puts his
able can
cHents,
is dinner-
urn. He
particular
is money,

as some
no doubt,

certainly
Id woman

said that she knew he was ompk)\'ctl b)- several trades-
men in the neighbourhood to kce[) their books H-r
tiiem."

Two days later there was another communication.

"Mv DEAR Miss Covinciton, — My man has taken
a step which I should certain!}' have forbidden had he
told me beforehand of his intention. He watched the
man go out, and then, having previously provided him-
self with instruments for picking locks, he opened the
door and went in. On the table were several heavy
ledgers and account-books, all bearing the names of
tradesmen in the neighbourhood, with several files of
accounts, bills, and invoices. These fully bore out what
the woman had told him. Besides the chairs, table, and
safe, the only other articles of furniture in the room
were an office washing-stand and a large closet. In the
latter was a dress suit and boots, and a suit of fashion-
able walking clothes, so tnat it is evident that he often
changed there instead of going home. I am sorry to
say that all this throws no further li^ht upon the man's
[pursuits, and had it not been for Simcoe's visit to him,
it would be safe to say that he is a hardworking account-
ant, in a somewhat humble, but perhaps well-paying
line; that he is a trifle eccentric in his habits, and prefers
living a cheap, solitary life at home, while spending his
money freely in the character of a man about town in
the evening. I cannot say that the prospect in this
direction seems hopeful. I have told my man that for
the present we shall not require his services further."

"It does not seem very satisfactory, certainly," Hilda
said with a sigh ; " I am afraid that we shall have to
keep on watching Simcoe. I wish I could peep into his

250

THE LOST HEIR

room as this detective did into that of the Pentonville
man."

" I don't sup[)ose that you would find anything there,
Hilda; he is not the sort of man to keep a memorandum
book, jottinj^ down all his own doings."

"No," Hilda said with a laugh; "'still, one always
thinks that one can find something."

Had Hilda Covington had her wish and looked into
John Simcoe's room that morning, she would certainly
have derived some satisfaction from the sight. He had
finished his breakfast before opening a letter that lay
beside him.

" What a plague the old woman is with her letters !
I told her that I hated correspondence, but she persists
in writing every month or so, though she never gets any
reply except, ' My dear Aunt, — Thanks for your letter.
I am glad to hear that you are well. — Your affectionate
nephew.' Well, I suppose I must read it through."

He glanced over the first page, but on turning to the
second his eye became arrested, and he read carefully,
frowning deeply as he did so. Then he turned back
and read it again. The passage was as follows : —

" I had quite an interesting little episode a day or two
after I last wrote. A young lady — she said her name
was Barcum, and that she was an artist — came in and
asked if I would take her in as a lodger. She was
a total stranger to the place, and had come down for
her health, and said that some tradesman had recom-
mended her to come here, saying that, as a single lady,
I might be glad to accommodate her. Of course I told
her that I did not take lodgers. She got up to go,
when she nearly fainted, and 1 could not do less than
offer her a cup of tea. Then we got very chatty, and
as 1 saw that she was really too weak to go about the

A FRKSH CLUE

251

tonville

g there,
randum

; always

ked into

certainly

He had

that lay

r letters!
c persists
gets any
)ur letter,
fectionate

ng to the
carefully,
ned back
s : —

ay or two
her name
ne in and

She was

down for

ad recom-

ingle lady,

urse I told

up to go,

less than
:hatty, and

about the

■ t

town looking for lodgings, I invited her to stay a day or
two with me, she being quite a lady and a very pleasant
spoken one. She accepted, and a plcasantcr companion
I never had. Naturally I mentioned your name, and
told her what adventures you had gone through, and
how kind )^ou were. She was greatly interested, and
often asked questions about you, and I do think that
she almost fell in love with you from my description.
She left suddenly on receipt of a letter that called her
up to town, saying that she would return ; but I have
not heard from her since, and I am greatly afraid that
the poor child must be seriously ill. She was a pretty
and intelligent-looking girl, with dark eyes and hair,
and I should say that when in good health she must be
very bright. Of course, she may have changed her
mind about coming down. I am sure she would have
written if she had been well."

"Confound the old gossip!" John Simcoe said angrily,
as he threw the letter down. " I wonder what this
means, and who this girl can be? It is clear enough
that whoever she is she was sent down there to make
inquiries about me. It is that girl Covington's doing,
I have no doubt, though it was not the minx herself,
for the description does not tally at all. She has light
brown hair and greyish sort of eyes. There is one
comfort, she would learn nothing to my disadvantage
from the old woman, nor, I believe, froir anyone at
Stowmarket. In fact, she would only get more and
more confirmation of my story. I have no fear upon
that score, but the thing shows how that girl is working
on my track. As for the lawyer, he is an old fool ; and
if it hadn't been for her I would bet a hundred to one
that he would never have entertained any suspicion that
all was not riglit. It is her doing all through, and this

mmm

a$9

Till': LOST IIIUR

is a piece of it. Of course she could liave no suspicion
tiiat I was not John Simcoe, hul I suppose she wanted
U) learn if there was any dark spot in my history —
whether I had ever been suspected of robhinj; a hank,
or had been expelled from school for thieving, or some-
thing of that sort. I be^^in to be ddwurijj^u afraid of
her. She had a way of lookin^j through me when I was
telliny; my best stories to the (jeneral that always jjut
me out. She d'sliked me from the first, thou_L;h I am
sure I tried m ever)- way to be pli'asant to her. I felt
from the da)- I first saw her that she was an enemy,
and that if any tn)uble ever did come it would be
through her. I have no doubt she is moving heaven
and earth to find Walter ; but tliat she will never do,
for Harrison is as true as steel, and he is the only man
who could put them on the right track. Moreover,
I. have as much pull over him as he has over me. He
has never had a doubt about my being John Simcoe ;
he doesn't know about the other affair, but only that
Walter stood between me and the estate, and he was
quite ready to lend me a hand to manage to get him
out of the way. So in that business he is in it as deep
as I am, while I know of a score of schemes he has been
engaged in, any one of which would send him abroad
for life. I expect those inquiries were made at Stow-
market to endeavour to find out whether any child had
been sent down there. If so, Miss Covington is not so
sharp as I take her to be. Stowmarket would be the
very last place where a man, having relations and friends
there, would send a child whom h'^ wished to keep con-
cealed. Still it is annoying, confoundedly annoying ;
and it shows that these people, that is to say Hilda
Covington, are pushing their inquiries in every direction,
likely or unlikely.

A I'Ri'.sii rwii

253

van ted

tory —

L biink,

• some-

Vaid of

\ 1 was

lys put

h I am
1 felt

enemy,

)uld be
heaven

3ver do,

Illy man

oreover,

ne. He

Simcoc ;

Illy that
he was

fret him
as deep
as been
abroad
Stow-
Id had
is not so
be the
d friends
eep con-
noying ;
y Hilda
iirection,

"The only comfort is, the more closely they search
the sooner they will come to tiie ccjnclusion that the
boy is not to be found. I believe that, thouijh the)'
declared they did not recognise the body, they had no
real doubt about 4I, and they only said so because if
tied it, the trustees would have had no
earr)in^i^ out the j)rovisions of the will.

ey had

r^m

excuse tor

That text the ^irl had the imj)udence to (juote to me
looked as if siie believed thi* hodv w.is Waller's, and
that I had killed him ; though it may be that she only
said it to drive me to briii^iiiL; the whole business into
court, by brii\i;iny[ an action aijainst her for libel ; but
am not such a fool as to do that. Just at present
"there is a lot of public feeliiij^^ excited by the circum-
stances of the child's loss and the findin<^ of the body,
and even if I ^ol a verdict I fane)- that the jury would
be all on the i^irl's side, and ^nve me such trifling
damages that the verdict would do me more harm than
t;"ood. No, our game clearl\' is to let the matter rest
until it has died out of the public mind. Then we
shall apoly formally for the trustees to be called upon
to act. No doubt they will give us a great deal of
trouble, but Comfrey says that he thinks that the order
must be granted at last, though possibly it may be
withheld, as far as the estate is concerned, for some
years. At any rate I ought to get the ten thousand
at once, as the cjuestion whether the boy is alive or
dead cannot affect that in the slightest."

CHAPTER XVII. 0k

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY

T seems to me, Hilda, that somehow or other we
are wasting our time," Netta said one morning
suddenly, as they were sitting together.

" How do you mean, Netta?" ^

"Well, you see, we relied a great deal on ^ing able
to overhear conversaiions from a distance ; and, except
those few words we gathered in the Park, we have abso-
lutely done nothing that way."

'■ But how can we do more than we are doing ? "
" J don't know ; that is w hat is troubling me. You
know, dear, that I am quite content to give up my own
work to help you. At first, of course, aunt and I
would have stayed here, at any rate for a time, to keep
you company ; but your uncle has been dead now for
more than eight months, and time is going on. If I
were really helping you I would stop, if it were five
years ; but in fact I am not helping you in the way we
intended."

** You are helping me, Netta," Hilda exclaimed, with
tears in her eyes. " How should I have got on through
all this sad time if you had not been here to comfort
and cheer me?"

" Yes, but the necessity for that is over. You have
your friends, and though you don't go out yet, you

254

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTT.Y

255

often go to Lady Moulton's and some of your other
friends, and they come to see you."

"Yes, and you will never go with me, Netta, nor sec
them when they come.*'

" No, dear ; I have nothing in common with them.
I do not know the people of whom you talk, and
should simply sit there uncomfortably, so I prefer to
be out o^it altogether. Then I really miss my work.
Ever since you came to us some eight years ago I have
been teaching eight or ten hours a day. I like the
▲ work ; it is immensely interesting, and I am happy in
seeing my pupils improve."

"And all this means," Hilda said sorrowfully, "you
are going to say that it is time for you to go back."

" No, it does not necessarily mean that, there is an
alternative ; I must either be doing something or go
back." * '

" But, as I said before, Netta, what can we do, more
than we have done } "

"That is what I have been thinking, Hilda. Any-
how, I mean to try to do something before I give it
up and go to Germany again."

" I warn you, Netta, that I shall be furious if you
do that. I am my own mistress now, for Mr. Pettigrew
will Icc me do as I like now I am nineteen, and am
quite determined that our old plan shall be carried out,
and that you shall start an institution like that of
Professor ATenzel somewhere near London. You have
been tvv^elve months away, your pupils have already taken
to other teachers, and there cannot be the least occa.sion
f^r your assistance ii an institution that is now well
stocked with teachers, while here you could do enormous
i,^ood. Anyhow, whether you stay or not, I shall, as
soon as all this is settled, take a large h(juse standing

256

THE LOST HEIR

in its own grounds, in some healthy place near London,
and obtain teachers."

"Well, we need not talk of that just yet," Netta said
quietly; "it will be time enough when I have failed in
carrying out my plans."

" But what are your plans ? "

"I have not quite settled myself; and when I do I
mean to work entirely in my own way, and^shall say
nothing about it until I come to you and say I have
succeeded, or I have failed." '

Hilda opened her eyes in surprise.

" But why should I be kept in the dark ? "

" Because, dear, you might not approve of my plans,"
Netta replied coolly.

"You are not thinking of doing anything foolish, I
hope?" Hilda exclaimed.

" If it were foolish it would be excusable where the
counsels of wisdom have failed," Netta laughed ; and
then more seriously, "Nothing would be foolish if it
could possibly lead to the discovery of Walter's hiding-
place."

That afternoon, when Hilda drove out with Miss
Purcell to make some calls, Netta rang the bell, and
when Tom Roberts came in she said —

" I want to have a long talk with you, Roberts. But
mind, what I say is to be kept a perfect secret between
ourselves."

" Yes, miss," he said in surprise.

" Now, sit down," she went on ; ** we can talk more
comfortably so. Now, Roberts, there is no doubt
that we are not making much headway with our
search."

" That we are not, Miss Netta," he agreed. " I
did think that uc had gained something when \\c

■Vim

ir London,

Netta said
^e failed in

tien I do I
j#shall say
sa*/ I have

NF/ITA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY

my plans/'

g foolish, I

; where the
ghed ; and
oolish if it
er's hiding-

v/ith Miss
le bell, and

iberts. But
ret between

1 talk more

no doubt

/■ with our

greed. " I
S when wc

257

traced him to that house on Pentonville Hill, but it
(Iocs not seem that anythin- has come of it after

all."

"Then it is quite time that ue took some other step,"
she said dccisivciy.

"I am rearly, miss," he replied eai^^crly ; '-you tell me
what to do, and I am game to do it."

" Weil, tiierc are two or three thin-s I have in my

mind. First of all, I uant to be able to watch John

Simcoe and this Pentonville man when they are talkincr

\ I together." ^

"Yes, I understand,' he said; "but how is it to be

clone? "

"That is what I want to find out. Now, in the first
place, about this house. Which way did the window
look of the room where there was a light?"

"That window was at the side of the house, miss-
el httle way round the corner. VVe noticed the light
there, but there was another window looking out ''on
the front. We did not see any light there, as the
shutters were closed."

"And you say that the curtains of the other window
were pulled very close?"

"Yes, they crossed each other most of the way

down."

" \ .w, the question in m>' mind, Roberts, is which
|\onk. be easier— to cut a slit in the curtain, or to
hore a hole m tlic shutter, or to take a brick out
carefully from the side wall and then to deepen the
hole until we got to the wall-paper, and then make
a slight hole there?"

Roberts looked at her with astonishment. "Do vou
really mean it, miss?"

'• Certainly I mean it ; it seems to me that our only

R ^

^"'^RBBssni!

258

THE LOST HEIR

chance of ever finding Walter is to overhear those
men's talk."

" Then, miss, I should say that the simplest way
would be to cut a window-pane out."

" Yes ; but, you sec, it is pretty certain that that
curtain will not be drawn until they come in, and
they would notice it at once. If we took out a pane
in the front window the shutter would prevent our
seeing or hearinfj^, and the man would be sure to
notice the pane was missin<; as he walked up from
the gate to the house."

" I should say, miss, the... .nc best plan would be
for me to manage to get into the house some time
during the day and to hide in that room, under the
table or sofa or somewhere, and listen to them."

She shook her head.

** In the first place, Roberts, you would certainly hv
murdered if they found you there."

" I would take my chance of that, miss ; and you
may be sure that I would talce a brace of the General's
pistols with me, and they would not find it such easy
work to get rid of me."

" That may be so," Netta said, " but if in the struggle
you shot them both, our last chance of ever hearin;^
of Walter would be gone. You yourself might be
tried for murder, and it would be assumed, of course',
that you were a burglar; for the explanation that you
had broken into the house only to hear a conversation
would scarcely be believed. Moreover, you must re-
member that we don't know how often these men meet.
Simcoe has not been there since you tracked him there
six months ago, and the only thing we have since
found out is that the man I saw him with in the park
is the man who lives in that house. It would never

NraTA AC'I'S INDEPENDENTLY

250

ear those

plest way

that that
le in, and
>ut a pane
revent our
>e sure to
d up from

I would be
some time
, under the
them."

certainly be

and you
lie General's
X such easy

|the struggle
iver hearing;
If might be
d, of course,
[on that you
|conversatioii

)U must rc-
\e men meet.

id him there
have since
in the park

Iwould never

do for you to make an entrance into tlie house nighl
after night and week after week, to run the risk of
being detected there, or seized as you entered, or
caught by the poh'ce as a burgkir. No, as far as I
can see, the only safe plan is to get out a brick very
carefully in the side wall and to make a hole behind
it through to the paper. It might be necessary to
make an entry into the house before this w.is rlone,
so as to decide which was the best s[)ot for iva opening.
A great deal would depend upon the paper in the
room. If it is a light [japer, v.ith only a small amount
of pattern upon it, any hole large enough to see
through might be noticed. If it is a dark pa{jer, well
covered, a hole might be made without any fear of
its catching the eye. You see, it must be a rather
large hoh^, for, su[)posing the wall is only nine
inches thick, a jjerson standing outside c(juld not see
what was passing inside unless the hole were a good
size.

" But I doubt much if you would be able to hear
them. Miss Netta."

" No, I don't think that I should ; es{)ecially as
people talking of things of that sort, even if they had
no great fear of being overheard, would speak in a
low voice. But that w(mld not matter if I could
see their faces. I should know what they were
saying."

Roberts did not think it right to offer any remark
on what appeared to him to be im[)ossible, and he
confined himself to saying in a respectful voice, " In-
deed, Miss Netta."

" I am stone deaf," she said, " but have learned to
read what [)eople are sa)ing from the mo\cment of
their lips."

2 6o

THE LOST HEIR

Although the " Indeed, miss," was as respectful as
before, Netta saw that he did not in the slightest degree
believe her.

"Just go to the other end of the room, Roberts, and
make some remark to yourself Move your lips in
the same way as if you were talking, but do not
make any sound."

Roberts, with military obedience, marched to the
other end of the room, placed himself in a corner, and
turned round facing her. His lips moved, and, con-
fident that she could not know what he was saying,
he expressed his natural sentiments.

The girl at once repeated the words: "Well, I'm
jiggered! This is a rum start; Miss Netta has gone
clean off her head."

Roberts' jaw dropped, and he flushed up to the
hair.

" I am sure," he began ; but he was stopped by the
girl's merry laugh.

"Do not apologise, Roberts ; it was natural enough
that you should be surprised. Well, you see I can do
as I say. We will now go on with our talk."

Greatly abashed, Tom Roberts returned to the chair,
murmuring to himself as he sat down, " Well, I 'm
blowed ! " when he was roughly recalled to the necessity
of keeping his mouth shut by her quiet remark, " Never
mind about being blowed at present, Roberts ; let us
talk over another plan. Who are the keepers of the
house in Jermyn Street ? "

"It is kept by a man and his wife, miss. He has
been a butler, I believe, and his wife was a cook. He
waits upon the gentlemen who lodge there, and she
cooks. They have a girl who sweeps and does the
bedrooms and the scrubbing and that sort of thing."

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY 261

" What sort of a girl is she, Roberts ? "

"She seems a nice sort of young woman, miss.
Andrew has spoken to her more than I have, because,
you see, my get-up ain't hkely to take much with a
young girl."

"I suppose she is not very much attached to her

place ? "

"Lor', no, miss; she told Andrew that she was only
SIX months up from the country, and they don't pay
her but eight pounds a year, and pretty hard work she
has to do for it. '
" Well, Roberts, I want to take her place."

" You want " and Roberts' voice failed him in his

astonishment.

" Yes, I want to take her place, Roberts. I should
thmk that if you or Andrew uere to tell her that you
have a friend up from the country who wants just such
a place, and is ready to pay five pounds to get one she
might be ready to take the offer, especially as you m'ight
say that you knew of a lady who is in want of an under-
housemaid and you thought that you could get her the
place."

"As to that, miss, I have no doubt that she would
leave to-morrow, if she could get five pounds She
told Andrew that she hated London, and should go
down home and take a country place aj soon as she
had saved up money to do so."

"All the better, Roberts; then all she would have to
do would be to say that she had heard of a place
near home, and wanted to leave at once. She did
not wish to inconvenience them, but that she had a
cousin who was just coming up to London and
wanted a place, and that she would jump at it She
could say that her cousin had not been in service

262

THE LOST HEIR

before, but that she was a thorough good cleaner and
hard worker."

" And do you mean that you would go as a servant,
Miss Netta? Why, it would not be right for you to do
so."

" Anj'thing would be right that led to the discovery
of Walter's hiding-place, Roberts. I have been accus-
tomed to teaching, and I have helped my aunt to look
after the house for years, and I do not in the slightest
degree mind pla)'ing the part of a servant for a short
time, in order to try and get at the bottom of this
matter. You think that it can be managed?"

*' I am sure it can be managed right enough, miss ;
but what Miss Covington would say if she knew that
I had a hand in bringing it about I can't say."

"Well, you won't be drawn into the matter. I shall
say enough to my aunt to satisfy her that I am acting
for the best, and shall simply, when I go, leave a note for
your mistress, telling her that I have gone to work out
an idea that I have had in my mind, and that it would
be no use for her to inquire into the matter until she
hears of me again."

" W^hat am I to tell Andrew, miss ? "

"Simply tell him that a young woman has been en-
gaged to watch Simcoe in his lodgings. Then tell him
the story he has to tell the girl. I shall want three
or four days to get my things ready. I shall have to
go to a milliner's and tell her that I want three or four
print gowns for a young servant about my own figure,
and as soon as they are ready I shall be ready
too."

"Well, miss, I will do as you tell me, but I would
say, quite respectful, I hope that you will bear in mind,
if things goes wrong, that I was dead against it, and

NETTA ACTS INDEPENOKNTLY

^63

saner

and

a servant,
you to do

discovery
een accus-
int to look
le slightest
for a short
)m of this

)ugh, miss ;
knew that

er. I shall
I am acting
e a note for
o work out
\at it would
jr until she

as been en-
Lcn tell him
want three
all have to
iree or four
own figure,
be ready

lut I would
-ar in mind,
linst it, and

that it was only because you said that it was our only
chance of finding Master Walter that I agreed to lend
a hand. "

" I will certainly bear that in mind," Netta said, with
a smile. " Talk it over with Andrew to-night ; but
remember he is only to know that a young woman has
been engaged to keep a watch on Simcoe."

" He will be glad enough to hear, miss, that someone
else is going to do something. He says the Colonel
is so irritable because he has found out so little that
there is no bearing with him."

" The Colonel is trying," Netta laughed. " As you
know, he comes here two or three times a week and
puts himself into such rages that, as he stamps up and
down the room, I expect to hear a crash and to find
that the dining-room ceiling has fallen down. He is
a thoroughly kind-hearted man, but is a dreadful
specimen of what an English gentleman may come
to after he has had the command of an Indian
regiment for some years, and been accustomed to
have his will obeyed in everything. It is very bad
for a man."

" It is a good deal worse for his servant, miss," Tom
Roberts said, in a tone of deep sympathy for his com-
rade. " I doubt whether I could have stood it myself;
but though Andrew expresses his feelings strong some-
times, I know that if you offered him a good place,
even in Buckingham Palace, he would not leave the
Colonel."

Two days later Netta heard that the girl in Jermyn
Street had joyfully accepted the offer, and had that
morning told her master that she had heard that she
was wanted badly at home, and that a cousin of hers
would be up in a day or two, and would, she was

264

THE LOST HEIR

sure, be very t^lad to take her jjlace. The master
agreed to jTJve her a trial, if she looked a clean and
tidy <^irl.

" I shall be clean and tidy, Roberts ; and I am sure
I shall do no injustice to her recommendation."

Roberts shook his head. The matter was, to his
n\ind, far too serious to be joked about, and he almost
felt as if he were acting in a treasonable sort of way in
aiding to carry out such a j)roject.

On the following Monday Hilda, on '-fuming down to
breakfast, found a note on the table. She opened it in
haste, seeing that it was in Xetta's handwriting, and
her eyes opened in surprise and almost dismay as she
read —

"My darlinc Hil1).\, — I told you that I had a plan.
Well, I am off to carry it out. It is of no use your
asking what it is, or where I am going. " You will hear
nothing of me until I return to tell \ »u whether I
have failed or succeeded. Aunt knows what I am
going to do,"

Hilda at once ran upstairs to Miss Purcell's room.

"Where has Netta gone?" she exclaimed. "Her
letter has given me quite a turn. She says that you
know ; but I feel sure that it is something very foolish
and rash."

" I thought that you had a better opinion of Netta's
common sense," Miss Purcell said placidly, smiling a
little at Hilda's excitement. "It is her arrangement,
dear, and not mine, and I am certainly not at libert)-
to give you any information about it. I do not say
that I should not have opposed it in the first instance,
had I known of it, but I certainly cannot say that there
is anything foolish in it, and I admit that it seems to

NEITA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY

265

he master
clean and

1 am sure

•as, to bis

be almost

t of way in

icr down to
pcned it in
-ritini;-, and
:nay as she

ine to offer a better chance of success than any plan
that has )'et been tried. I don't think there is any
ixiety about her. Netta has thought

had a plan,
o use your
t>u will hear
whether I
what I am

s room,
led. " Her
•s that you
,^ery foolish

of Nctta's
smiling a

■ran<:jcment,
at libert)'

Ido not say

1st instance,
that there

lit seems to

occasion for an

over her plans very careiuuy, ana nas gone to work m
a methodical way ; she may fail, but if so I don't think
that it will be her fault."

" But wh)- could she not tell me as well as you ? "
Hilda asked, rather indignantly.

" Possibly because she did not wish to raise hopes
that might not be fulfilled ; but principally, I own,
because she thought you would raise objections to it,
and she was bent upon having her o'.vn way. She
lias .seconded you well, my dear, all through this
business."

" Yes, I know, aunt ; she has been most kind in
every respect."

" Well, my dear, then don't grudge her having a little
plan of her ow^n."

" I don't grudge her a bit," Hilda said impetuously,
"and, as you are quite satisfied, I will try to be quite
satisfied too. Ikit, you .see, it took me by surprise ; and
I was so afraid that she might do something rash and
get into trouble .somehow. You know really I am quite
afraid of this man, and would certainly far rather run a
risk myself than let her do so."

"Of that I have no doubt, Hilda; but I am quite
sure that if the case had been rever.sed you would have
undertaken this little plan that she has hit upon, to
endeavour to relieve her of a terrible anxiety, just as
she is doing for you."

" Well, 1 will be patient, aunt. How long do you
think that she will be away?"

" That is more than I can tell you ; but at any rate
she has promised to write me a line at least twice a

266

THE LOST HEIR

week, and, should I think it right, I can recall
her."

"That is something, aunt. You cannot guess whether
it is likely to be a week or a month?"

Miss Purcell shook her head.

" It will all depend upon whether she succeeds in
hitting I! poll a clue as to where Walter is. If she finds
that sh(,' has no chance of so doing she will return ; if,
on the other nand, she thinks that there is a probability
that with patience she will succeed, she will continue
to watch and wait."

"Miss Netta is not ill, I hope, miss?" Roberts
said, when he came in to clear the breakfast things
away.

" No, she has gone away on a short visit," Hilda
replied. Had she been watching the old soldier's face
she might have caught a slight contortion that would
have enlightened her as to the fact that he knew more
than .she did about the matter ; but she had avoided
looking at him lest he should read in her face that
she was in ignorance as to Netta's whereabouts. She
would have liked to have asked when she went ;
whether she took a box with her, and whether she
had gone early that morning or late the evening
before ; but she felt that any questions of the sort
would show that she was totally in the dark as to
her friend's movements. In fact Netta had walked
out early that morning, having sent off a box by the
carrier on the previous Saturday when Hilda was out,
Roberts having himself carried it to the receiving-
house.

It was four or five days before Dr. Leeds called
again.

" Is Miss Purcell out ? " he asked carelessly, when

NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTTA

267

in recall
3 whether

ccccds in
she finds
return; if,
)robability
1 continue

•' Roberts
fast things

sit," Hilda
)ldier's face
that would
knew more
ad avoided
Ir face that
,outs. She
she went;
hether she
,e evening
,f the sort
dark as to
lad walked
»ox by the
a was out,
receiving-
Leeds called
lessly, when

some little time had elapsed without her making her
appearance.

"Is that asked innocently, Dr. Leeds?" Hilda said
i]Liickly.

The doctor looked at her in genuine surprise.

•'Innocently, Miss Covington? I don't think that I
(juite understand you."

" I see, doctor, that I have been in error. I suspected
)'ou of being an accomplice of Netta's in a little scheme
in which she is engaged on her own account." And she
then told him about her disappearance, of the letter that
she had received, and of the conversation with her aunt.
Dr. Leeds was seriously disturbed. •

" I need hardly say that this comes as a perfect sur-
prise to me, Miss Covington, and I say frankly a very
unpleasant one. But the only satisfactory feature is
that the young lady's aunt does not absolutely dis-
approve of the scheme, whatever it is, although it is
evident that her approval is by no means a warm one.
This is a very serious matter. I have the highest
opinion of your friend's judgment and sense, but I
own that I feel extremely uneasy at the thought that
she has, so to speak, pitted herself against one of the
most unscrupulous villains I have ever met, whose past
conduct shows that he would stop at nothing, and
who is playing for a very big stake. It would be as
dangerous to interfere between a tiger and his prey as
to endeavour to discover the secret on which so much
depends."

" I feel that myself, doctor, and I own that I 'm ex-
ceedingly anxious. Aunt has had two short letters
from her. Both are written in pencil, but the envelope
is in ink, and in her usual handwriting. I should think
it probable that she took with her several directed

268

THE LOST HEIR

envelopes. The letters are very short. The first was:
' I am Ljcttiiii( on all rii^ht, aunt, and am ccjinfortable.
Too early to sa}' whether I am likel)' to discover any-
thinL,^ Pray do not fidi^et about me, nor let Hilda do
so. There is nothini,^ to be uneas\- about.' The second
was as nearly as j)()ssil)le in the same words, except
that she said, ' \'ou and Hilda must be patient. Rome
was not built in a day, and after so man)' clever people
have failed )ou cannot ex|)ect that I can succeed all
at once.

" 1 hat is i^ood as far as it i^oes," the doctor said,
"but )-ou .see it does not l^o ver)- far. It is not until
success is nearly reached that the d;mL;er will reall)'
bej.,dn. I do not mind sa)'in_n to }'ou that Mi.ss I'urcell
is very dear to me. I have not spoken to her on the
subject, as I wished to .see how niv present partner.shi])
w;is likely to turn out. I am wlujlly dependent upon
my profession, and until I felt my i^round thorouL,dily
I determined to remain silent. V(H1 can imac^ine, there-
fore, how troubleil I am ;'t )()ur news. Were it not
that I have sucli imi)licit conriilence in her judi^ment
I should feel it still more ; but even as it i.s, wiien 1
think how unscru[nilous and how desperate is the man
against wliom she has, single iianded, entered the list.s,
I cannot but be alanneo."

" 1 am very L;lad at what )'ou have told me, doctor.
I had a little hope that it might be so. it seeirtetl to
me imp(jssible that )()u could be living for four months
with such a denr girl without being greatly attracted by
her. Of cour.^e i know nothing of her feelings. The
subject is one that ha.-^ never been alluded to between
us, but I am sure that no girl living is more fitted than
she is to be the wife of a medical man. I would give
much to have Netta back again, but Miss I'urcell 1:^

NETTA ACTS INDKl'ENDENTLY

2^1)

obdurate. She sa)'.s that ktiowin^.^ as she floes what
N'etta is doiii!';, she floes not think that she is runniiic?
ail)' risk — at an\' rate, none projK)rtionate to the iin-
|)<)rtance of findiii*^ a clue to Walter's hiflin<;-jjlacc."

"Will you ask her if she will write t(j her niece and
iir^e her to return, saN-ini; how anxious yf)u are about
her. Or, if she will not do that, whether she will release
her from her promise of .secrecy, so that she may let
us know what she is floini;?"

" I will i^o and ask her now ; I will brin^,^ her flown so
t'nat you can add your entreaties to mine, floctor."

Hut Miss I'urcell refused to interfere.

" I consifler Xetta's scheme to be a possible one," she
saifl, "though 1 am ' ertainlv doubtful of its success.
Hut she has .set her heart upon it, and I will df) nothing
[() V)aulk her. I fl(^ not say that I am free from an.xiety
tin-self, but mv confidence in Xetta's cleverness, and I
may .say pruflence, is such that I believe that the risk
she is runnint^ is very slight. It woukl be cruel, aiifl I
think wronc; at the present tnoment, when above all
thin<^s it is necessary that her br.iin shf)uld be clear,
to distress and trouble h.ei by interferiuL;' with her
actions."

"Perhaps yf^u are ri!,^ht. Miss CoviiiLjton." the floctor
said th.oui^htfullw " Heini;' totall)' in the flark in the
matter, 1 ain not justified in L^ivini^ a flecisivc opinion,
hut I will adnn't that it woukl nf)t cf)nduce eitlu-r to lu-r
(onifort or to the success of her undertakinij were we
to harass her by interferinij; in an\- way with her plan,
which I have no doubt has been thorou!.4hl\' th.»nL|,ht
out before she undertook it. Xo one but a madiiian
would shouc instructif^ns fjr warnini^s to a |)ersf)n per-
forming a dangerous feat re(]uiring coolness anfl presence
of mind. Such, 1 take it, is the .scheme, whatever it is,

270

THE LOST HEIR

in which she is engaged ; and as you are the only one
who knows what that scliemc is, I must, liowever re-
luctantly, abide by your decision. When Miss Coving-
ton tells you the conversation that we have had together
)'()n will recognise how deeply I am interested in the
matter."

: only one
)\vcver le-
ss Coving-
d together
ted in the

CHAPTER XVIII.

DOWN IN THE MARSHES

/COMPARATIVELY few of the

adf

ij».

ithend ft

ose wno nowadays
breath of fresh air

give a tnoug

:50Ui

e fact that tlie wide stretch of low
country lying between the railroad and the Thames
from Pitsea to Leigh, was at one time, and that not
so many centuries back, a mud flat, a contitiuation of
the great line of sand that still, with but a short break
here and there, stretches down beyond Yarmouth ; still
less that were it not for the watchfulness of those who
dwell upon it, it would in a short time revert to its
original condition, the country lying below the level
of high water.

Along the whole face of the river run banks — the
work, doubtless, of engineers br(jught over by Dutch
William — strong, massive, and stone-faced, as they
need be to withstand the rush and fret of the tide
and the acton of the waves when, as is often the case,
the east wind knocks up ridges of sh(jrt angry water
in Sea "iveach. Similarly, the winding creeks are all em-
banked, but here dams of earth are sufficient to retain
within its bounds the sluggish water as it rises and falls.
Standing on any of these, the farmhouses and little
homesteads lie below, their eaves for the most part level
with the top of the bank, though there are a few knolls
which rise above ti e level of the tidal water.

271

272

THE LOST HEIR

The most conspicuous objects are the brown sails

of the barges, which seem to stand up in the midst

of the brownish-green fields, the hulls being invisible.

This cannot be called marsh land, for the ground is

intersected by ditches, having sluices through which

they discharge their water at low tide. Very fertile

is the land in serine spots, notably in Canvey Island,

where there are great stretches of wheat and broad

. . . •

meadows deep with rich waving grass ; but there are

other ^larcr. where the grass is brown and coarse.

showing that, though the surface may be hard and

dry, water lies not far below. Here a few cattle

gather a scanty living, and the little homesteads are

few and far between. Most of the houses are placed

near the banks of the creeks. The barges serve as

their waggons, and carry their hay up to London and

bring down manure and other things required, or carry

coal and lime to the wharves at Pitsea.

A rare place was this in the old smuggling days,
and indeed until quite lately the trade was carried on,
though upon a reduced scale. Vessels drifting slowly
up the river would show a light as they passed a barge
at anchor or a bawley hanging to its trawl, a light
would be shown in answer, and a moment later a boat
would row off to the ship, and a score of tubs or a
dozen bales of tobacco be quick!)' transferred, and
before morning the contents v/ould be stowed in
underground cellars in some of the little farmhouses
on the creeks, or be hidden away in the Leigh
marshes.

"Will Bill be in to-night with the barge?" a child
asked a woman, as he came down from the bank to
a not uncomfortablc-lookmg homestead ten yards from
its foot.

DOWN IN THE MARSHES

/,•)

:he midst
invisible.

rrrOUlKl is
o

<Th which
cry fertile
ey Island,
md broad

there are
nd coarse.

hard and
few cattle
isteads arc-
arc placed
^s serve as
.ondon and
ed, or carry

-ling days,
carried on,

ing slowly
sed a barge
uvl, a light
later a boat
tubs or a

ferred, and
stowed in

farmhouses

the Leigh

e?" a chiUl
the bank tn
yards from

" I told you that you are to call him uncle," the
woman said sharpl)', but not unkindly. " I have told
you so over and over again, child,"

" I generally d(^ now, but on ' forgets sometimes."

"There is never any saying," the woman went on in
reply to his question, "there is never any saying; it
all depends on tide and wind. Sometimes the\' have
to anchor and lose a tide, or maybe two. .Sometimes
they get a cargo directly they get into the Pool or
at Rochester ; sometimes they wait two or three days.
They have been away four days now ; they might have
been here yesterday, but may not come till to-morrow.
One thing is certain, whenever he do come he will want
something to eat, and I hope that they will bring it
with them, for there is nothing here but bread and
bacon."

" And do you think that I shall soon go home again,
aunt ? "

" There is no saying," the woman said evasively.
" You are very comfortable here, ain't you ? "

" Oh, yes ; there are the dogs and the ducks and the
chickens, and uncle says that he will take me some-
times for a sail with him in the barge."

" Yes, I expect it won't be long first. You know, I used
to go with him regular till, as I have told you, my little
\V\\\y fell overboard one night, and we knew nothing
of it until he was gone, and I have never liked the
barge since. Besides, I have plenty to do here. But
1 am going across to Rochester very soon. It's a
L^ood place for shopping, and I want groceries and
little things f - myself and more things for you.
I will take you with me, but you will have to promise
to be very good and careful."

"I wi'l be careful," t'''e child said confidently, "and

274

THE LOST HEIR

you know that uncle said that when spring comes he
will teach me to swim ; and I shall like that, and if
I tumble overboard it won't matter. He says that
when I get a few years older I shall go with him
regularly, and learn»j:o steer and to manage the sails,
I shall like that ; but I should like to go back
somcitimes to see Hilda and Xetta and my grand-
papa."

" Well, well, my dear, we will see about it ; thc\-
can't take you at picscnt. I think that they have gone
away travelling, and may not be back for a long time.
And mind, you know you are not to talk about them.
Just when you are here with me I don't care ; but you
know uncle does not like it, and if anyone asks, you
must say just what he told you, that your father and
mother are dead, and that Uncle Bill has took to
you."

" I shan't forget," the boy said. " I never do talk-
about it before him ; it makes him angry. I don't
know why, but it does."

'* But he is always kind to you, Jack ? "

" Oh, yes, he is very kind, and he often brings mc
things when he comes back ; he brought me my de.ir
little kitten. Pussy, where have you hidden yourself?
Puss ! puss ! " And in answer a little ball of white fur
bounded out from behind a chair, and the child was
soon engaged in a game of romps with it.

"It is a shame," the woman said, as she watched
them ; " I don't mind the other things, but I never liked
this. I wonder who the poor little chap is. By the
way he talked when he first came, about his home
and his nurse and horses and carriages, his friends
must be rich people. Bill has never understood why
they wanted to get rid of him ; but I suppose that

DOWN IN THE MARSHES

275

g comes he
that, and if
e says that
o with him
<Te the sails.
to go back
my grand-

3ut it; they
ey have gone

a long time.

about them.
;are ; but you
)ne asks, you
ur father and

has took to

tiever do talk
gry. I don't

en brings me

me my dear

den yourself?

Ill of white fur

the child w;is|

she watched I
I never liked I
ip is. l^y the
lout his home]
les, his friends
liderstood whyl
suppose that

he was in somebody's way, and, as he never speaks
of his father and mother, but only of those two girls
and his grandfather, who socms to have been an invalid,
I expect that he must have lost his father and mother
before he can remember. Well, he will be right enough
here ; J. should miss him dreadful if he were to go
away ; he seems to have taken the place of my little
Billy. And Bill takes to him too, wonderful. He said
the other day that when the boy grew up he would
buy a barge, a new one of the best kind, and that
some day it should be the boy's own. So he won't
do so bad, after all."

A stranger would have wondered at the comfort in
the interior of the little farmhouse. The land round
it was very poor. Three horses — which seemed as if
they had nothing to do but to nibble the coarse grass —
and a couple of cows wandered about on a few acres
of land, enclosed by deep water ditches ; a score or two
of ducks and geese paddled in the mud in the bottom of
the creek at low tide, or swam about in the water
when it was up ; and a patch of garden ground, attended
to chiefly by the woman, surrounded the cottage. But
all this would have afforded a scanty living indeed,
were it not that the master, Bill Nibson, was the owner
of the Mary Ann barge, an old craft with a somewhat
dilapidated sail, which journeyed up and down the
river with more or less regularity, ladeti, for the most
part, with manure, hay, lime, bricks, or coal. This he
navigated with the aid of a lad of fourteen, a waif,
whose mother, a tramp, had died by the roadside one
bitter cold night four yeari before. Bill had been
summoned on the coroner's juiy and had offered to
take the boy.

" I can do with him on board the barge," he said ;

276

THE LOST HEIR

" he is only a little nipper now, but in a year or two
he will be useful. The boy I have got wants to go
to sea, and I shan't be sorry to get rid of him ; he is
getting too knowing for me altogether."

As no one else wanted the bo\' he was handed over
to Bill, and was now a sharp lad, who, never having been
instructed in the niceties of right and wrong, and being
especially ignorant that there was any harm in cheating
Her Majesty's Customs, was in all things a useful
assistant to his master. Ht; had, inrlced, very soon
imbibed the spirit, not uncommon among the dwellers
on the marshes, that if managed without detection,
the smuggling of tobacco and spirits was a meritorious
action, advantageous to the community at large, and
hurting no one except that mysterious and unknown
entity, the queen's revenue. He was greatly attached
to Bill, and took an occasional thrashing as a matter
of course, regarding him as having saved him from the
workhouse, and having put him in a fair way of makini;
a man of himself.

The next day at tweh j o'clock the child, playing
on the bank, ran in and reported that Joshua was
coming along the bank, and in a few minutes the box-
appeared.

'* Morning, missis," he said. " Master sent me on
to say that the barge got into the haven this mornini;
and that she will come on with the evening tide. lie
sent me on with this lump of meat, and these rokeis
he got from a bawley which came in just as we wen
getting up sail off Grain Spit. He says he has got
a barrel of beer on board, that he will land as he passes.
He will be along about nine o'clock. Well, Jack, how
are you ? "

'• I am all right," the child said, " and so is Kitty.

noWN IN THE MARSHES

277

sent me on
Ithis morni"',^

t as we were

I am ^lad that you are back. How long are you g<jinL;
to stay ? "

" I suppose that it will take us a couple of days to
unload. Master is going as usual to hire a couple of men
to get the lime out, so I shall be over here by breakfast.
Me says that I may as well do a job of digging in the
garden, as he wants to get some things in before we
get fnxst)' nights. Have you any message for him,
missis ? '■

"You can tell him he may as well get a dish of eels
from one of the Dutchman there. I suppose there is
one in the haven ? "

'• Two of them, missis ; he will be able to get them,
for one of them is the Mnrdcn, and the skipper has
always let master have some, though he won't sell an
eel to anyone else."

" Is there any business to be done ? " the woman
asked significantly.

The boy nodded.

"All right, tell him that I will get the horses in."

The child was put to bed upstairs at seven o'clock,
although he in vain petitioned to be allowed to stop up
until the barge came along. He already knew, how-
ever, by experience, that his request was not likely to
be granted, as when the barge came along after dark he
was always put to bed, the woman telling him that Bill
dichi't like him to be up when he came in, as he wanted
to have a talk with her in quiet, and to eat his supper
in peace.

An hour after dark the woman went out on to
the bank and listened. In a quarter of an hour
she heard the rattle of a block in the distance.
She went down, stirred up the fire, and put on the
kettle, and in twenty minutes the barge came along.

278

THE LOST HEIR

to\v:n<^

behind as usual, was

The boat, instead
alon<;side.

" You take her on, Joshua," its owner said, as he
quietly got into the boat; "run in where the water is
deep alongside, a quarter of a mile this side Pitsea. I
will come aioncj and ijet on board there as soon as
I have finished this job. Keep a sharp look out on the
banks ; some of the coastguardsmen may be about. If
they hail you and ask if I am on board, say I landed
as we passed here, to have a cup of tea, and that I shall
not be five minutes,"

Then he pushed the btjat to shore. "Well, Betsy,
how are you ? I have got twenty kegs here, and five
or six hundredweight of tobacco. I will get it up the
bank, and you had better stow it away at once ; I will
lend you a hand as soon as it is all up."

As fast as he could carry the kegs up the banks she
slipped slings round them, two at a time, hooked them
to a milkmaid's \-oke, and went off with them to a shed
which served as a stable and cowhouse in the winter.
Against this was a rick of hay. Putting the kegs down
she returned for more, and by the time that they were
all in the stable her husband had finished his share of
the work and had carried the heavy bales of tobacco to
the shed. The three horses were already there.

"Are you going to take them out at once.^"

" No, not until I come back. I must get on board
the barge as soon as possible We will bundle them
all in, in case any of those fellows should come along."

Three planks were removed from the side of the shed
next to the stack, and an opening was seen. Some turf
was taken up and a trap-door exposed. The kegs and
tobacco were speedily carried down into a large cellar,
the trap-door was closed, and the boards placed securely

DOWN IN THE NFARSHES

279

in position and fastened by six lon<^ screws. Then
they returned to the house. The teapot and cups were
on the table, the kettle was boiling, and in two or three
minutes they were taking tea. Scarcely had they begun
their meal when there was a knock at the door. Hill
got up and opened it, and two coastguards entered.

" We saw there was a light burning, and thought that
you might be here. Bill. The wind is bitter cold."

"Come in and have a cup of tea or <'i glass of rum,
whichever you like best. As you say, the wind is bitter
cold, and 1 thought that I would land and have a cup
t)f tea. I shall catch the barge up before she gets to
ritsea."

The coastguardsmen accepted the offer of a cup of
tea, glancing furtively round the room as they drank it.

*' It is good tea."

" 'Tis that," Bill said, " and it has never paid duty.
I got it from a Indiaman that was on the Nore three
weeks ago. She transhipped part of her cargo on my
barge and floated next tide. It was one of the best
jf)bs I 've had for some time, and stood me in fifty
|)ounds and a pound or two of tea."

" Perhaps a chest of it ! " one of the men said, with
a laugh.

" Well, well, I am not sure that it was not a chest.
1 like my cup of tea, and so dots Jietsy ; and there is
no getting tea like this at Stanford." ,

They chatted for about ten minutes, when Bill re-
marked, " I must be going," and they went out together,
and taking his place in his boat he rowed up the creek,
while the coastguards continued their walk along the
bank.

" He is not a bad uti, Tom," one of them said.
*' I guess he is like a good many of the others, runs

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280

THE LOST HEIR

a ke<^ occasional!)-. However, his place h?- been
searched half a dozen times, and nothin^^ has been
found. We have drunk many a glass of ale with him
at the ' Looster Smack ' at Hole Haven, and I am sure
I don't want to catch him unless there is some informa-
tion to go on. The barge passed us half an hour ago,
and I knew that it was no use looking in her, but of
course when the boatswain said this afternoon, 'Just
follow that barge when she gets under way, and see if
she goes on to Pitsea,' we had to do it ; but the boat
was late for us where the creek branches off round the
island, and before we were across he must have got
more than half an hour's start of us. And I am not
sorry, Tom. We have got to do our duty, but we
don't want to be at war with every good fellow on the
marshes."

" Right you are, Dick ; besides, they are as slippery
as eels. Who can tell what they have got under their
lime or manure? Short of unloading it to the bottom
there would be no finding it, if they had anything ; and
it is a job that I .should not care for. Besides, there
ain't no place to empty it on ; and we could not go and
chuck a cargo overboard unless we were quite certain
that we should find something underneath. As you
say, I dare say Bill runs a keg or two now and then, but
I don't suppose that he is worse than his neighbours ;
I have always suspected that it was he who left a keg
of whisky at our door last Christmas."

In the meantime Bill had overtaken his barge, and
they soon had her alongside the little wharf at Pitsea.

"Tide is just turning. She will be aground in half
an hour," he said. " As soon as you have got these
mooring ropes fastened, you had better fry that steak
and have your supper. I shall be over by seven o'clock

nOWN IN THE MARSHES

281

has been
r bis been
le with him
I I am sure
ne informa-
n hour ago,

her, but of
rnoon, 'Just
/, and see if
3ut the boat
ff round the
ist have got
id I am not
luty, but we
fellow on the

e as slippery

t under their

o the bottom

y thing ; and

besides, there

d not go and

quite certain

tth. As you

and then, but

neighbours ;

Iho left a keg

[is barge, and
rf at Pitsea.
Iround in half
ive got these
["ry that steak
seven o'clock

111 the morninsj. If Harvev and Wilson cume alongside
before that, tell them they can have the job at the
usual price, and can set to work without waiting for me.
It will be prett}' late before I am in bed to-night."

It was over a mile walk back to his cottaije As soon
as he arrived he sat down to a hearty supper which his
wife had prepared for him. He then got three pack-
saddles out of the cellar, put them on the horses, and
fastened four kegs on each horse. Tying one behind
the other, he started, and in an hour the kegs were
stowed in the cellars of four farmers near Stanford. It
was midnight before he returned home. At half-past
six he was down to breakfast.

" Well, uncle, how are you ? " he asked the child, who
was already up

" I am not your uncle," the boy replied ; "you are my
uncle."

" Ah, well, it 's a way of speaking down here. It does
not mean that anyone is one's uncle ; it is just a way of
speaking."

The child nodded. He was learning many things.

'Then is it a way of speaking when I call you
uncle ? "

"No, no; that is different. A child like you would
not call anyone uncle unless he was uncle ; while a man
my age calls anyone uncle."

" That is funny, isn't it ? "

" Well, I suppose when you think of it, it is ; but, as
I said, it is a way we have in this part of the country.
Well, mother, ha\'e you got that fish nearly fried ? "

" It will be ready in five minutes. This roker is a
very thick one. I put it on as soon as I heard you
stirring, and it is not quite ready yet. That was a pretty
near escape last night, Bill."

2^2

'rni-: lost hicir

"Yes; hut, )()U sec, thcv can hardly catch us unless
tlicy send men down in the afternoon. They cannot
i;et aloni; from the station without passin^i; two or three
creeks; pnd coniini,^ aloni; with tlie tide, especially when
there is a hreath of wind to help her, we can do it in
hah' the time. \'ou see, I ahva}s ij^et the thinj^s out
from under the cari^o and into the boat as vvc come
a.lon«^, so that tlie l)arij^e shall not be stop|)ed."

" But they miifht send down a boat from the Thames
Haven station, Hill."

" Yes ; but then the\' don't know when the barge is in,
or when it is i^ointj to start. So we iret the best of
them in that way. liesides, they have a good bit to go
along the river face, and they have to cro.ss a dozen
deep cuts to get here. No, I have no fear of them, nor
of the others either, as far as that goes. I have more
than once had a word dro[)ped, meant to put me on my
guard, and instead of landi:)g the things here have
dropped them in a deep hole in the creek, where I could
pick them up the next night I came in. Things have
changed with us for the better, lass Five years ago we
had prett}' hard w(M-k, with the frrm and the old boat,
to live at all comfortable ; but since I have got into the
swim things have changed with us, and I can tell vou
that I am making money hand over fist. I allow that
there is a certain risk in it, but, after all, one likes it all
the better for that. If the worst came to the worst they
could but confiscate the old barge ; if they gave me
a heavy fine 1 could pay it, and if they gave me six
months I could work it out, and buy a new barge and
half a dozen farms like this on the day I came
out."

" But the other would be more serious, Bill ? "

"Well, yes ; but I don't s^e any chance of that being

DOWN IN THE MARSHEf?

283

1 us unless
iicy cannot
,vo or three
cially when
an do it in

thin<^s out
IS vvc come

1."

the Thames

2 barge is in,
the best of

)od bit to go
ross a dozen
of them, nor
I have more
ut me on my
s here have
inhere I could
Things have
years ago we
;he old boat,
got into the
can tell you
I allow that
le likes it all
he worst they
hey gave me
gave me six
iw barge and
day I came

nil ? "

lof that being

found out. A gent comes to me at a spot we have
settled on, say on the road half-way between Pitsea
and Stanford; he hands ine a box, sometimes two; I
j)uts them on one of the horses, and rides over here
with them ; then I stows them away in that secret
place off the store, where there aiii't a shadow of a
chance of the sharpest-eyed coastguardsman ever find-
ing them. They would be too delighted to light on the
spirits and bacca to think of digging up the floor under-
neath. There they lie, till I take them down to the
Manieu. They put them into the eel tank, and next
morning off she sail.s."

" Hut you have had heavy cases brought once or
twice?"

* Only once — heavy enough to be troublesome. Ten
cases there was then, each as heavy as a man could lift.
It took me three journeys with three horses, and I had
to dig a big hole in the garden to bury them till the
Marden had got rid of her eels, and was ready to sail
again. Yes, that was a heavy job, and I got a couple
of hundred pounds for my share of the business. I
should not mind having such a job twice a week. A
few months of that, and I could buy the biggest
farm on this side of Essex — that is to say, if I could
make up my mind to cut it and settle down as a
farmer."

'* You will never do that, Bill ; but you might .settle
down in Rochester, and buy half a dozen barges, with
a tip-top one you would sail yourself. You might have
a couple of men and a cabin forward, and a nice roomy
place for yourself and me aft ; and you could just steer
when you liked, or sit down and smoke your pipe and
watch her going through the fleet as we worked through
the swatchway. That would be more your sort, Bill,

^""vassgsBSasSBH

284

THE I-OST HEIR

and mine too. I know you have money enough laid by
to get such a bari^c."

" That is so, Betsy. I allow that I could do that. 1
have been thinkinij of it for some time, but somehow
or other one never works one's self up to the right point
to give it all up of a sudden and cut the old place.
VVell, I suj)pose one of these days I shall do it, if it
is only to please you."

" It would please me, you know, Bill. I don't see
no harm in running the kegs or the bacca — it's what
the people about here have been doing for hundreds
of years — but I don't like this other business. You
don't know what is in the cases, and you don't ask,
but there ain't much difficulty in guessing. And 1
don't much like this business of the child. I did not
like it at all at first ; but when I found that he had
no father nor mother as he knew of, and so it was
certain that no one was breaking their heart about
him, I did not mind it ; and 1 have taken to him,
and he has pretty nearly forgotten about his home,
and is as contented as if he had been here all his
life. I have nothing more to say about him, though
it is as certain as eggs is egizs that it has been a
bad business. The boy has been cheated out of his
money, and if his friends ever find him it is a nice
row tliat we shall get into."

" You need not bother yourself about that," the man
said ; " he ain't more likely to be found here than if
he was across the seas in Ameriky, We have had
him near nine months now, and in another three
months if you were to put him down in front of his
own house he would not know it. Everyone about
here believes as he is my nevvy, the son of a brother
of yours who died down in the Midlands, and left

DOWN IN THE MARSHES

2S5

i<^h laid by

do that. I

t somehow

right point

old place.

do it, if it

I don't see
L — it's what
3r hundreds
iiness. You
I don't ask,
ng. And 1
I did not
that he had
id so it was
heart about
cen to him,
t his home,

lere all hi^
him, though

las been a
out of his

it is a nice

at," the man
lere than if
e have had
-lother three
front of his
ryone about
of a brother
ids, and left

hiin motherless. No one asks any questions about
him now no more than they does about Joshua. No,
no, we are all riHit there, missis, and tlie hundred
j)ounds that we had down with him, and fifty pounds
;i year till he gets big enough to earn his own grul)
on the barge, all helps. Anyhow, if something should
happen to me before I have marie up m\' mind to quit
this, you know where the pot of money is hidden. Yon
can .settle in Rochester, and get him some schooling
and then apprentice him to a barge owner and start
him with a barge of his own as soon as he is out of his
time. You bear it in mind that is what I should like
(lone.

"I will mind," she said (juietly ; "but I am as likely
to be carried to the churchyard as you are, and you
remember what I should like, and try, Bill, if you give
up the water yourself, to see that he is with a man
as doesn't drink. Most of the things we hears of — of
barges being run down, and of men falling overboard
on a dark night — are just drink, and nothing else. You
are not a man as drinks yourself; you take your glass
when the barge is in the creek, but I have never seen
you the worse for liquor since }'ou coiu-ted me fifteen
years ago, and I tell you there is not a night when
you are out on the barge as I don't thank God that
it is so. I .says to myself, when the wind is blowing
on a dark night, 'He is anchored somewheres under
a weather shore, and he is snug asleep in his cabin.
There is no fear of his driving along through it and
carrying on sail, there is no fear of his stumbling as
he goes forward and pitching over ' ; and no one but
myself knows what a comfort it is to me. You bring
him up in the same way. Bill. You teach him as it
is always a good thing to keep from liquor, though

286

THE LOST HEIR

a pint with an old mate ain't neither here nor there,
but that he mi^ht ahnost as well take poison as to
drink down in the cabin."

" I will mind, missis ; I like the child, and have got it
in my mind to brin^ him up straight, so let us have no
more words about it."

d have got it
:t us have no

CHAPTKR XIX.

A PARTIAL SUCCESS

INJETTA had been away three weeks when one

cry of joy Hilda ran into lier arms

kn'owTh.rf "'' J"''"' ^""■" ■*'= --'-'-d, "I

deserve Aat iT \T '° f"'^^' '° ^°"- ^- d""''
deserve that I should even look at you. but I cannot

Miss Purcell embraced her niece more soberly but
H Ida saw by the expression of her face that her .^.'.^
return relieved her of a burden of anxiety which at
t.mes she had had difficulty in concealing. ^

In the first place, Netta, before I even dive vou ;,
cup of tea tell me if this is a final return o whether
you are going to disappear again " ^"^

N^:^:;^"'"' ^-"'^^ ^°" ^-<^ -^-^ -y -ry,

" And have you got any news of Walter ? "
JlZ^tV"'' '''''"'''■ S'> y- Wc Kept m,

"I promised that I would, dear, and of course I have
kep^ my word, though it was very difficult to resist
Hildas pleadmg. Dr. Leeds, too, has been terriUy
anx,ous about you, and not a day has passed th« t

287

.?88

THE T-OST HFJR

lias not r'ln in for a few minutes to learn if there was
any news."

"I don't see why he should have known that I have
been away."

"Why, my dear," Hilda said, "cominj; here as often
as he does, he naturally inciuired where )'ou were, and
as I was uncertain how Ion;*' vou would be awa\',
and as he had always been in our counsels, I could
hardly keep him in the dark, even had I wished to
do so. Now, my dear, let us know all about it, there-
can be no possible reason for keepin«j^ silent an\-
longer."

" Well, Hilda, the whole affair has been very simple,
and there was not the least occasion for being anxious.
I simply wanted to keep it quiet because I felt that you
would raise all sorts of objections to the plan. We
had, as you know, thought over a great many methods
by which we might overhear a conversation between
John Simcoe and the man on Pentonville Hill. But it
seemed next to impossible that it could be managed
there. Suddenly the idea came into my brain that as a
servant at Simcoe's lodgings in Jermyn Street I might
have an excellent chance."

Hilda gave an exclamation of horror.

" My dear Netta, you never can really have thought
of carrying this out?"

" I not only thought of it, but did it. With a Httle
management the girl there was got hold of; and as
it fortunately happened that she did not Hke London
and wanted to take a country situation, there was very
little difficulty, and she agreed to introduce me as a
friend who was willing to take her place. Of course, it
took a few days to make all the arrangements and to
get suitable clothes for the place, and these I sent by

r there was

that 1 have

2re as often
II were, and

^ ''-ARTIA,, SUCflOSS- ,

-•'" and his wife vcrT ood e r'';'"' ""•' ''"'-- The

""e on each floor; the „„.„ n , ' ^f' "^'°''^^^-'''
«nd my „.„,.!,. „,,. ^^ ,, ' ''' "'^^'f "a.te.l upon the.n,

liouse tidy fienerally » "' """"'' "nd k-eep the

A^ain Hilda gave a -M.sp

'wiholThe::,::;^^^^^^^^^^^ ^';-/'Netta went on,

-ork when we we.-e in Gem .' . 1 TT' °' "^"^ '^°"-
^•™ry .satisfaction. Of co " ^,L ' , ' """"^ "'«' ' gave
about my deafness. I wT, "h, w "''''"' ^'^-^y "'a.s
"-f ' -a.s very hard o e.l f If "T""" '" '^en,
^'I'oken to. Mr. Johnstone a "^ ''' ' '"''' ^"'•'^«'3-
'"'"-Ifvvhenhewasathome "or' """"'"^ "'^ ^ells
""t it was my duty to doTo wl ""T'' "*^" ^<^ "as
't was simple enonfrh for I on: , ? "'*' downstairs
of the room of which -.w fh k ,',° «° '° ""^ ''oor
fi-t they seemed to th,;^ ^. ".' '" '"""■™- '^^t
'"■^"perable; but I bel eve thl • "'" ^"^^""^ "'a-^
'""ed them so well dit ,h ,'" °"'"^ --^^P^"-^ '
''"t of it, and whi ier hSan'r ■■■' '° "^''^ "-
"Psta,rs Mrs. Johnstone tool t "''■" °"' '''"'' ^ ''"^
Jl-el's, or if a lodger rang vh L ""^*^"".? ^'e door
^er husband seldom ^nto , .""ir' '''' "'"^"- f-'
')vay, she would come upstairs 1 hVm'^ '''"" ^" "'^-^e
'mself said to me one dav tl^", '"' ""'■ -'"""''one
fad ever had, and that hfst ad of I"-''^ "^'^ 8irl he
Icarefully over the sitting roo^. / r^""^ '° S° most
fame in for breakfast, Kn^th ^ ■■' ''' ^^""<="'en
Jerfectly dusted and fdied "o ^^^'T^""'"^ "'"' =°
hhing for him to do ^ ^^' *^''« ^^ --eally

"But oh, Hilda,, never had the sh-ghtese idea before

290

THE LOST HEIR

how untidy men are! The way they s|iill thL'ir tobacco
ash all over the room, and put the ends of their ci^^'lrs
upon mantelpieces, tables, and everywhere else, y(Mi
would hardly believe it. The i^n^ound floor and the
second floor were the worst, for they very often had
men in of an evenin*^, and the state of the njoms in the
morning was something; awful. Our man was on tlu-
first floor, and did not frive an\ thinir like so much
trouble, for he almost always went out in the evenin;^
and never had more than one or t\v() friends in with
him. One of these friends was the man we saw with
him in the Row, and who, we had n(j doubt, was an
accomplice of his. He came oftener than an3'one else,
very often coming in to fetch him. As he was alwaj-s
in evening dress I suppo.se they went to some club or
to the theatre together. I am bound to say that his
appearance is distinctly that of a gentleman.

" I had taken with me two or three things that I
foresaw I should want. Among them was an auger,
and .some corks of a size that would exactly fit the
hole that it would make. Simcoe's bedroom com-
municated with the sittini^-room, and he always used
this door in going from one room to the other ; and it
was evident that it was only thnnigh that that I could
get a view of what was going on. I did not see how
I could possibly make a hole through the door itself.
It was on one side, next to that where the fireplace
was, and there was a window directly opposite, and of
course a hole would have been noticed immediate!)-.
The only place that 1 could see to make it was through
the door frame. Its position was a matter of muchi
calculation, I can assure you. The auger was half-an-
inch bore. 1 dared not gtt it larger, and it would have
been hopeless to try and see anything with a smaller

A PARTIAL SUCCKSS

291

/w tobacco
heir ci'^ars
: else, y<JH
)r iuul Ih^^

often had
00ms in the
was on the
,,j so much
the cvenin;^
luls in with
we saw with
)ubt, was an
anyone else,
e was ahva>s
some club or

say that his

in.

things that I
/as an auger,
xactly fit the
cdroom conv
ahvays used
other ; and it
that 1 could
, not see how-
he door itself.
the fireplace
iposite, and of
ll immediately,
it was through
matter of much
;r was half-an-
it would have
Iwith a smaller'

one, especially as the hole would have to be four or five
inches lo..|^. As I sometimes went into the room when
they were together, either with hot water or grilled
bones, or sunietiiing of that sc^rt, I was able to notice
exactly where the chairs were generally placed. Simcoc-
sat with his back to the bedrcjom docjr, and the other
man on the other side of the hearthrug, facing him.
I therefore decided to make the h(^le on the side
nearest to the wall, so that I could see the other man
past Simcoe. Of ccjurse I wanted the hole to be as
low as possible, as it would not be so likely to be
noticed as it would were it higher up. I chose a point,
therefore, that would come level with my eye when I
was kneeling down.

" At about four o'clock in the afternoon they always
went out, and from then till six Johnstone also took
his airing, and I went upstairs to turn down the beds
and tidy up generally. It was very seldom that any
of them dined at home : I therefore had that two hours
to myself. I got the line the hole should go by leaving
the door open, fastening a stick to the back of a chair
till it was, as nearly as I could judge, the height of
the man's face, tying a piece of string to it and bringing
it tight to the point where I settled the hole should
start, and then marking the line the string made across
the frame. Then there was a good deal more calcula-
tion as to the side-slant ; but ten days ago I boldly set
to work and bored the hole. Everything was perfectly
right ; 1 could see the head of the stick, and the circle
was large enough for me to get all the man's face in
view. Of course I had put a duster on the ground to
prevent any chips falling on to the carpet.

" I was a little nervous when I set to work to drill
I that hole ; it was the only time that I felt nervous at

292

THE LOST HEIR

all. I had beforehand drilled several holes in the
shelves of cupboards, so as to accustom myself to use
t!i2 auger, and it did not take me many minutes before
it came through on the other side. The corks were
of two sizes ; one fitted tightly into the hole, the other
could be drawn in or out with very little difficulty. I
had gone out one day and bought some tubes of paint
of the colours that I thought would match the graining;
of the door frame. I also bought a corkscrew that was
about an inch and a half shorter than the depth of the
hole. It was meant to be used by a cross-piece that
went through a hole at the top I had got this cross-
piece out with some trouble, and tied a short loop of
string through the hole it had gone through. I put
the corkscrew into one of the smaller corks and pushed
it through until it was lexel with the frame on the
sitting-room side, and found that by aid of the loop
of string I could draw it out easily. Then I put one
of the larger corks in at the bedroom side of the hole
and pushed it in until it was level with that side.
Then I painted the ends of the corks to resemble the
graining, and when it was done they could be hardly
noticed a couple of feet away.

" I had now nothing to do but to wait until the right
moment came. It came last night. The man arrived
about seven o'clock. Johnstone was out, and I showed
him upstairs. Simcoe was already dressed, and was
in the 'sitting-room. I lost no time, but went into the
bedroom where the gas was burning, turned down the
bed on the side nearest to the door, and then wentj
round, and with another corkscrev/^ I had ready in myi
pocket, took out the inner cork, got hold of the loop,
and pulled the other one out also. Even had I hadi
my hearing, I could have heard nothing of what was]

holes in the
myself to use
linutes before
le corks were
lole, the other
; difficulty. I
tubes of paint
1 the grainini;
jcrew that was
; depth of the
•oss-piece that
Tot this cross-
short loop of
rough. I put
ks and pushed
frame on the
d of the loop
hen I put one
de of the hole
/ith that side,
3 resemble the
Duld be hardly

until the right
le man arrived
, and I showed
sssed, and was
t went into the
irned down the I
and then went
id ready in my
Did of the loop,
ven had I had
ng of what was

A PARTIAL SUCCESS 293

said inside for the doors were of mahogany, and very
uell fitted, and Johnstone had said one day that even
if a man shouted in one room he would hardly be
heard m the next, or on the landing. I pushed a
wedge under the door so as to prevent its being opened
suddenly. That was the thing that I was most afraid
of. I thought that Simcoe could hardiv move without
commg within my line of sight and that I should have
tune to jump up and be busy at the bed before he
could open the door. But I was not sure of this so
I used the wedge. If he tried the door and could
not open it, he would only suppose that the door
had stuck, and I could snatch out the wecjcre and
kick ,t under the bed by the time he made a "second
effort.

" Kneeling down, I saw to my delight that my calcu-
lations had been perfectly right. I could see the man's
face well for the light of the candles fell full upon it
Ihey talked for a time about the club and the men
they H^re going to dine with, and I began to be afraid
tliat there was going to be nothing more, when the
man said, « By the way, Simcoe, I went down to Tilburv
yesterday.' What Simcoe said, of course, I could not
hear ; but the other answered, ' Oh, yes. he is all ri-ht
getting quite at home, the man said ; and has ahU
ceased to talk about his friends. Then I saw him rise^
and at once jumped up and went on turning down the
bed, lest Simcoe should have forgotten something and
come in for it. However, he did not, and two or three
mmutes later I peeped in again. The room was all
dark, and I knew that they had gone. Then I put mv
corks in again, saw that the paint was all ri^rht and
went downstairs. I told Mrs. Johnstone that if'^I could
be spared I should like to go out for two or three

294

THE T.OST HEIR

li'

hours this morning to see a friend in service. It was
the time that I could best be spared. I should have
finished the sitting-rooms by eight o'clock, and as none
of the men have breakfast until about eleven, there was
plenty of time for me to make the beds after I got
back."

Hilda was crying now. Her relief at hearing that
Walter was alive and well was unbounded. She had
absolutely refused to recognise the body found in the
canal, but she could not but admit that the probabilities
were all against her. It was certain that the clothes
were his, the child's age was about the same, the bod}-
must have been in the water the right length of time,
the only shadow of evidence to support her was the
hair. She had taken the trouble to go to two or three
workhouses, and found that the corotr-r's assertion that
soft hair when cut quite close will in a very short time
stand upright was a correct one. She kept on hoping
against hope, but her faith had been yielding, especially
since Netta's absence had deprived her of the support
that she obtained from her when inclined to look at
matters from a dark point of view.

" Oh, Netta," she cried, " how can I thank you
enough ! How happy the news has made me ! And
to think that 't',|iBve been blaming you, wh'le you have
been doing all this. You cannot tell what a relief it is
to me. I have thought so much of that poor little
body, and the dread that it ^^'as Walter's after all, has
been growing upon me. I have scarcely slept for a
long time. '

" I know, dear. It was because I saw that thouL;h
you still kept up an appearance of hope, you were
really in despair, and could tell from your heavy eyes
when you came down of a morning that you had hardly

A PARTIAL SUCCESS

295

ce. It was
hould have
nd as none
1, there was
after I got

learing that
1. She had
Dund in the
probabilities
: the clothes
ne, the bod}-
rrth of time,
her was the
two or three
ssertion that
■y short time
Dt on hopini^
ig, especially
the support
1 to look at

thank you
e me! And
Ue you have

a relief it is
it poor little
after all, has

slept for a

that thouL;h
§)e, you were
r heavy eyes
)U had hardly

slept, that I made up my mind something must be
done. There was no hardship whatever in my acting
as a servant for a month or two. I can assure you that
I regarded it rather as fun, and was quite proud of the
credit that my master gave me. Now, the question is,
shall I go back again ? "

" Certainly not, Netta. You might be months there
without having such a piece of luck again. At any
moment you might be caught listening, or they might
notice the hole that you made so cleverly. Besides, wc
have gained a clue now to Walter's hiding-place. But
even that is as nothing to me in comparison with
having learned that he is alive and well, and that he
has ceased to fret and is becoming contented in his
new home. We can afford to wait now. Sooner or
later we are sure to find him. Before, I pictured him,
if still alive, as shut up in some horrible cellar. Now
I can be patient. I think that we are sure to find him
before long."

" Well, I think, dear," Miss Purcell said quietly,
"that we had better ring the bell and have some fresh
tea made. Everything is perfectly cold, for it is three-
quarters of an hour since it came up."

Hilda rang the bell and gave the necessary orders.

" Let Janet bring the things up, Roberts, and come
back yourself when you have given the order. I want
to send a line to Dr. Leeds. You will be delighted
to hear that Miss Purcell has learned, at least, that
Walter is alive and well ; but mind," she went on, as
the old soldier was about to burst out into exclamations
of delight, " you must keep this altogether to yourself.
It is quite possible that we have been watched as closely
as we have been watching this man, and that he may in
some way learn everything that passes here, therefore

296

THE LOST HEIR

it must not be whispered outside this room that we
have obtained any news."

" I understand, miss. I won't say a word about it
downstairs."

Hilda scribbled a line in pencil to the doctor, saying
that Netta was back and that she had obtained some
news of a favourable description, and that as she knew
that at this hour he could not i^et away she would come
over with Netta at once to tell him what they had
learned, and would be in Harley Street within half an
hour of his getting the message.

As soon as they had finished breakfast they drove
to the doctor's. They were shown up into the drawing-
room, where Dr. Leeds joined them almost imme-
diately.

" We are not going to detain you more than two
or three minutes," Hilda said, while he shook hands
warmly with Netta. "You must come ove;- this
evening, and then you shall hear the whole story;
but I thought that it was only fair that Netta should
have the satisfaction of telling you her.self what she
had learned."

" It is very little, but so far as it goes it is quite
satisfactory, Dr. Leeds. I heard, or rather I saw, the
man we suspected of being Simcoe's accomplice sa\-,
'By the way, I ran down to Tilbury yesterday.' Simcoe
then said something, but what I could not tell, as
his face was hidden from me, and the man in reply
said, ' Oh, yes, he is all right, and has almost ceased
to taLv about his friends.' Now you must be content
with that until this evening."

** I will be content with it," the doctor said, " if you
will assure me that you are not going away again.
If )ou will not, I will stop here and hear the whole

A PARTIAL SUCCESS

297

story, even at the risk of a riot down in my waiting
room."

" No, she is not going away, doctor ; she had not
quite settled about it when she got back this morning,
but I settled it for her. I will take care that she
does not slip out of my sight till after you have seen
her and talked it all over."

"Then the matter is finally settled," Netta said,
" for unless I go in half an hour's time I cannot go
at all."

" Then I will be patient until this evening."

"Will you come to dinner, doctor?" Hilda said.
*' I have sent notes off to Mr. Pettigrew and Colonel
Bulstrode to ask them to come, as 1 have news of
importance to give them."

" What will they do, Netta, when they find that
you do not come back?" Hilda asked as they drove
awa}-.

" That has puzzled me a good deal. I quite saw
that if I disappeared suddenly they might take it
into their heads that something had happened to me,
and might go to the police office and say I was
missing. But that would not be the worst. Simcoe
might guess, when he heard that I had gone without
notice and left my things behind me, that I had
been put there to watch him. He certainly would not
suspect that he could have been overheard, for he must
know that it would be quite impossible for any words
to be heard through the doors ; still, he would be un-
easy, and might even have the child moved to some
other locality. So I have written a note, which we
can talk over when we get in. Of course they may
think that I have behaved very badly in throwing
them over like this, but it is better that they should

298

THE LOST HEIR

do that than that they should think there was anything
suspicious about it. My wages are due to-morrow ;
Hke the girl I succeeded, I was to have had eight
pounds a year. I have left my box open, so that
the mistress can see for herself that there is none of
the lodgers' property in it. There are two or three
print dresses — I put on my Sunday gown when I came
out — and the under-clothes are all duly marked Jane
Clotworthy."

" What a name to take, Netta ! "

"Yes, I do not know how I came to choose it. I
was thinking what name I would take when Clotworthy
flashed across my mind. I don't think that I ever
heard the rime before, and how I came to think of
it I cannot imagine ; it seemed to me a sort of in-
spiration, vSO I settled on it at once."

" Now, let me see the letter," Hilda asked, as soon
as they returned home.

" I hardly liked to write it," Netta said, " it is .such
a wicked story ; but I don't see how a person can
act as detective without telling stories, and, at any rate,
it is perfectly harmles.s."

" Oh, yes, it is quite certain, Netta, that you could
not write and tell her that you have been in her house
in disguise, and that having found out what you
wanted, you have now left her. Of course you must
make up a story of some sort, or, as you say, Simcoe
would at once suspect that you had been sent there
to watch him. He might feel perfectly sure that no
conversation could have been heard outside the room,
but he could not be sure that you might not have
been hidden under the table or sofa, or behind a
curtain. When so much depends upon his thinking
that he is absolutely safe, one must use what weapons

! 9.

A PARTIAL SUCCESS

299

. anything
)- morrow ;
had eight
1, so that
is none of
) or three
len I came
rked Jane

oose it. I
Clotworthy
liat 1 ever
:o think of
sort of in-

ed, as soon

it is such
Derson can
at any rate,

you could
her house
what you
you must
;ay, Simcoe
sent there
ire that no
; the room,
t not have
• behind a
is thinking
at weapons

one can. If you have any scruples about it, I will
write the letter for you."

" No, I do not think the scruples will trouble me.'
Netta laughed. " Of cour.se, I have had to tell stories,
and one more or less will not weigh on my mind. Here
is the letter. If you can think of any better reason for
running away so suddenly, by all means let me have it."

The letter was written in a sprawling hand, and with
many of the words misspelt. It began —

"Dear Mrs. Johnstone, — 1 am afraid you will
think very badly of me for leaving you so sudding,
after you and Mr. Johnstone have been so kind to
me, but who should I meet at my friend's but my
young man. We were ingaged to be married, but
we had a quarrel, and that is why I came up to town
so sudding. We has made it up. He only come up
yesterday, and is going down this morning, and nothing
would do but that I must go down with him and that
we should get married directly. He says that as the
banns has been published there ain't any occasion to
wait, and we might be married at the end of the
week, as he has got everything ready and is in good
employment. So the long and short of it is, mam,
that I am going down with him home this afternoon.
As to the wages that was due to-morrow, of course
I forfeit them, and sorry I am to give you troubil, by
leaving you without a girl. My box is not locked,
plese look in it and you will see that there ain't nothing
there that isn't my own. In one corner you will find
half-a-crown wrapped up in paper, plese take that to
pay for the carriage of the box, the key is in the lock,
and I send a labil to tie on."

" What do you think of that, Hilda ? "

300

THE LOST HETR

" I think it will do capitally. I don't think any better
excuse could be made. But where will you have the
box sent ? "

"That is what we must settle together. It would
not do to send it down to some little village, for if the
address was unknown it might be sent back again."

" Yes ; and if John Simcoe had any suspicions that
the story was a false one he might go down there to
make inquiries about Jane Clotworthy, and, finding no
such name known there, and the box still lying at the
station, his suspicion that he had been watched would
become almost a certainty."

" I should think that Reading would be a good place
to send it to. ' Jane Clotworthy, Luggage Office, Read-
ing.' Then I could go down myself and ask for it, and
could bring it up by the next train."

" Tom Roberts could do that, Netta ; there is no
reason why you should trouble about it."

" I think that I had better go myself It is most un-
likely that Simcoe would send down anyone to watch
who took the box away, but if he should be very uneasy
he might do so. He would be sure to describe me to
anyone that he sent, so that it would be better that I
should go myself."

" I think that your story is so plausible, Netta, that
there is no risk whatever of his having any doubts
about it, but still one cannot be too careful."

" Then I will wind up the letter.

" * Begging your pardon for having left you in the
lurch so sudding. I remain, your obedient servant,

"'Jane Clotworthy.

' * P.S. — I am very sorry.

" * P.S. — Plese give my respects to Mr. Johnstone, and
excuse blots.' "

A PARTIAL SUCCESS

301

there is no

Hilda burst into a fit of lau<^hter as she glanced at
the postscript.

" That will do admirably, Netta," she said. " Now
how had we better send it?"

" I should think that your maid had better take it.
You might tell her to ring at the bell, hand it to the
woman, and come away at once, without talking, except
saying ' I was told to give you this.* Then she would
be well away before Mrs. Johnstone had mastered the
contents of the note. It had better be sent off at once,
for by this time they will be getting in a way."

" I think that I had better send Roberts. No doubt
Johnstone himself will be in, and will answer the door ;
and he might ask Lucy where she came frorr, and I
don't want to tell her anything. Roberts could say
that a young woman of his acquaintance, down Chelsea
way, asked him to get on a 'bus and leave it for her.
He can be trusted, if the man does detain him and ask
him questions, to give sensible answers."

The letter was sealed and Roberts called up.

" Take a cab and go down with this to Jermyn
Street," Hilda said. " I want it left at that house. If
the man who opens the door asks you who you have
brought it from, say from a young woman, a friend of
yours, in a place down Chelsea way. I don't suppose
that he will ask any other questions, and you had best
say 'Good-morning,' and saunter off carelessly, as if,
having done your errand, you had nothing else on hand.
Of course you won't drive up to the door. Leave the
cab round the corner, and come straight back here in

it."

"All right, miss," he answered.

There was a little look of amusement in the man's
face as he glanced at Netta that did not this time pass

302

thp: lost heir

unnoticed by his mistress. Slie waited until the door
had closed behind him, and then turned sharply on her
friend.

" I believe, Netta, you have had Roberts in your
confidence all the time, and while we have all been
\vorkin<^ ourselves into a fever as to where you could
be, he has known it all alon^.'

" One cannot work without accomplices," Netta
laughed. " It was necessary that someone should make
arrangements with the servant there for me to take
her place, and who could I trust better than Roberts ?
I think Colonel Bulstrode's servant helped in the matter ;
at any rate, they managed it capitally between them.
Of course it was Roberts who carried my box out that
morning. You must not be angry with him, Hilda, for
keeping it from you. I made him promise most faith-
fully that nothing should induce him to confess."

" I shan't be angry with him, Netta, but you may
be sure that I shall give him a little lecture and say
that I will have no more meddling on his part, except
by my express orders. It is really annoying, you
know, to think that all this time we were fretting
about you there was Roberts going about laughing in
his sleeve."

" Well, you know, Hilda, he has the discovery of
Walter as much at heart as we have, and he has cer-
tainly not spared himself in the search for him."

" No, that he has not. He is a faithful fellow, and I
promise you that I won't be too hard on him."

r-}5

CHAPTER XX.

A DINNER PARTY

TT was the first time that anyone had dined at
1 the house in Hyde Park Gardens since General
Mathieson's death, and it seemed stran-e to Hilda
when Mr. Petti-rew, at her request, faced her at the
table. The gentlemen had all arrived within a minute
or two of each other, and no word had been said by
Hilda as to the subject about which she had specially
asked them there. The table was well lighted and
bright with flowers, and the lawyer and Colonel 13ul-
strode were both somewhat surprised at the cheerful
tone in which Hilda began to talk as soon as they sat
down. It was, however, eight months since the house
\vas first shut up, and though all had sincerely regretted
the General's death, it was an old story now, and they
were relieved to find that it was evidently not Hilda's
intention to recall the past.

During dinner the talk went on as usual, and it was
not until the servants had left the room that Hilda
said —

"Now, Mr. Pettigrew, I have no doubt that both you
and Colonel Jiulstrode are wondering what the matter
of importance about which I asked you to come here
can be. It is rather a long story, so instead of going
upstairs we will stop here. My news is great news
We have discovered-at least my friend Miss Purcell

31S

304

THE T.OST HEIR

has discovered — that without doubt Walter is alive and
well."

An exclamation of surprise broke from Mr. Pettigrew
;ind the Colonel.

" By gad, that is great news indeed ! " the latter
exclaimed, *' and I congratulate you most heartily.
I had quite given up all hope myself, and although
I would have fought that fellow to the last, I never
had any real doubt in my mind that the child they
fished out of the canal was General Mathieson's grand-
son.

"You astonish me indeed," Mr. Pettigrew said. "I
own that, while I was able to swear that I did not
recognise him, yet as a reasonable man I felt that the
evidence was overpowering the other way. Tho"gh
I would not dash your hopes by saying so, it appeared
to me certain that sooner or later the courts would
decide that the provisions of the will must be carried
out. And so you discovered this, Miss Netta ? May
we ask how you did it ? "

" Netta wanted her share in the matter to remain a
secret, Mr. Pettigrew ; but I told her that was out
of the question, and that it was quite necessary that
you and Colonel Bulstrode should know the precise
facts, for that, as a lawyer, you could not take any
action or decide upon any course to be pursued unless
you knew the exact circumstances of the case. How-
ever, she has asked me, as she has given me the whole
particulars, to tell the story for her. When I have done
she will answer any questions you make like to ask."

Hilda then repeated almost word for word the story
Netta had told her. Mr. Pettigrew and the Colonel
several times broke in with exclamations of surprise
as she went on. Dr. Leeds sat grave and thoughtful.

A DIXNKR PAR IV

305

Splendidly done ! " Colonel Bulstroclc excl.iinicd

hen she brought her stor)' to an end

was a

ina^Miificent idea, and it must have needed no c\n\ of
pluck to carry it out as you did. Hut how, b)' loc^kiiiL;
at a fellow's mouth through a hole, you knew what he
said beats me alto</ether."

"That part was very simple, Colonel lUilstrode,"
Xetta said quietly. " I learned it by a new s)'stem

that th(

;ir

ichc

have m German)'
ill the institution. You may not know, perhaps, that
1 am stone deaf."

"You are not jokin<^, Miss Furcell, arc you?" the
Colonel said, looking at her earnestly. " Why, I have
talked to you a dozen times and it never struck me
that you were in the slightest degree deaf"

" I am absolutely so, as Miss Covington will tell you,
and Mr. Pettigrew knows it also. Fortunately I did
not lose my hearing until I was six years old, and
I had not altogether lost the habit of speaking when I
went out out to Germany three years later. Had
I been born deaf and dumb I could have learned to
understand what was said perfectly, but should never
have spoken in a natural voice."

" Well, it is wonderful altogether, and I should not
have believed it if a stranger had told me. However,
the great thing at present is that you have found out
that the child is alive. We ought not to be long in
laying hands on him now, Pettigrew, eh ? "

" I hope not, Colonel ; but you must not be too
sanguine about that ; we have evidently very crafty
scoundrels to deal with. Still, now that we feel sure
that the child is alive and well, the matter is a com-
paratively straightforward one, and we can afford to
work and wait patiently. Tilbury is only a bit of a
U

3o6

Till-: LOST HICIR

village, but beyond that stretches <;reat marshes — in
fact, all South I'^ssex as far as tlie mouths of the rivers
Crouch, lilacUwater, and Coin. lie would say, 'I went
down to Tilbury,' because Till)ury is the terminus of
the railway, Possibl)- he may have crossed to Graves-
end ; possibly he may h;ive i^one inland to Uj)minster
or some other \ illai^e l\ini; in that district ; or he ma\-
have driven down as far as l'\)ulness, which, so far as
anybody knows anythini;' about it, mii^ht be the end
of the world. Therefore, there is :i wide area to be
searched."

" Hut he can be followed when he <^oc^ down acfain,
Mr. Tettigrew ? "

" Of course, my -lear, that is what must be done,
thou<;h there is no reason why we should not set about
inquiries at once. lUit, \-ou see, it is not so easy to
follow a man about country roads as it is in the streets
of London. No doubt he must drive or ride, unless,
indeed, Writer is within two or three miles of the
station, and }-ou max- be sure that if he sees a trap
coming after him he will not go near the place where
the child is. Possibly, again, he may not go near the
place at all, but may meet someone who takes the
money for the child's keep. It may be a bargeman
who sails round to Harwich or somewhere along the
south coast. It may be the steward of a steamer that
goes regularly backwards and forwards to France.

"I don't want to dishearten you, my dear," he broke
off, as he saw how Hilda's face fell as he went on, " but,
you see, we have not common rogues to deal with;
their whole proceedings have shown an exceptional
amount of coolness and determination. Although 1
own that I can see nothing absolutely suspicious in the
way that last will was drawn up and signed, still I have

•\

A DINNER PARTY

307

marshes — in
of the rivers
say, • 1 went
terminus <>f
d to Graves-
UptTiinsU-r
: ; or he ma\-
ich, so far as
t be the end
e area to be

s down again,

nust be done,

not set about

lot so easy to

in the streets

)r ride, unless,

miles of the

le sees a trap

le place where

Dt go near the

ho takes the

e a bargeman

kere along the

|a steamer that

France.
[lear,"he broke
went on, " but,
to deal with;
.n exceptional
Although 1
ispicious in the
led, still 1 have

never been able to divest my mind of an idea that there
is sometin'ng radically wrong about it. Ihit putting
aside the strange death of )'our uncle, we have the
cunm'ng way in which the hoy was stolen, the complete
success with which our search was baffled, the daring
aUemj>t to prove his death by wliat we now know must
have been the substitution of the body of some other
child of tht* same age dressed in his clothes. All this
shows how carefully every detail must have been
thought out, and we must assume that equal care will
he shown to prevent our recovering the boy. Were
tht'v to suspect that they had been traced to Tilbury,
and were watched there, or that any inquiries were
being made in the neighbourhood, you may be sure
that Walter would be at once removed some distance
away, or possibly sent abroad, perhaps to Australia
or the States. There could be no difficulty about that.
Tiiere are hundreds of emigrants going out every week
with their families, who would jump at the offer of
a hundred pounds for adopting a child, and once away
it would be next to impossible cer to c(jme upon his
traces. So, you see, we shall need to exercise the most
extreme caution in our sear lies."

"I see, Mr. Pettigrew," Hilda said quietly, " that the
difiiculties are far greater than I ever dreamt of. It
seemed tc me that when we had found out that Walter
was alive and well, and that Tilbury was, so to speak,
the starting-place of our search, it would be an easy
matter to find him. Now I see that, except for the
knowledge that he is alive, we are nearly as far off
as ever."

" 1 think Mr. Pettigrew is rather making the worst of
things, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said, speaking for
the first time. " No doubt the difficulties are consider-

3o8

THE LOST HEIR

1^^ n

able, but I think we have good heads on our side too, as
Miss Purcell has proved, and I feel confident that now
that we have learned as much as we have done we shall
be successful in the end."

" My opinion," Colonel Hulstrode said, " is that \vc
ought to give these two fellows in custody as rogues,
vagabonds, and kidnappers. Then the police will set
to work to find out their antecedents, and at least
while they are shut up they can do no harm.
Gad, sir, we should make short work of them in
India."

*' I am afraid that that woyld hardly do. Colonel
Bulstrode," Mr. i'ettigrew said mildly. " We have
practically nothing to go upon ; we have no evidence
that a magistrate would entertain for a moment. The
men would be discharged at once, and we should no
doubt be served the next morning with a writ for at
least ten thousand pounds damages, and, what is more,
they would get them ; and you may be very sure that
you would never find the child."

" Then it is shameful that it should be so," the Colonel
said warmly; "why, I served three years as a police
officer in India, and when I got news that a dacoit, for
instance, was hiding in a jungle near a village, down
I would go, with a couple of dozen men, surround the
place, and make every man and woman a prisoner,
Then the police would examine them, and let me tell
you that they have pretty rough ways of finding out
a secret. Of course I knew nothing about it, and
asked no questions, but you may h"^ sure that it was
not long before they made someone open his mouth.
Hanging up a man by his thumbs, for instance, freshens
his memory wonderfull)'. You may say that thisi
thorough way of getting at things is not according to

A DINNER PARTY

309

ir side too, as
ent that ncnv
done we shall

" is that we

dy as rogues,

)olice will set

and at least

lo no harm.

of them in

y do, Colonel
" We have

e no evidence

moment. 'Ihe
we should no

\ a writ for at
what is more,
very sure that

;o," the Colonel
,rs as a police
|at a dacoit, for
village, down
1, surround the
Ian a prisoner,
.nd let me tell
of finding out
about it, and
re that it was
)en his mouth,
,tance, freshens
say that this I
)t according to

( I

modern ideas. I don't care a fig for modern ideas, and,
as far as that goes, neither do the natives of India. My
bjcct is to find out the author of certain crimes : the
\illagers' object is to shield him. If they are obstinate,
they bring it on themselves ; the criminal is caught, and
justice is satisfied. What is the u.se of police if the\-
are not to catch criminals? I have no [xitience witii
the maudlin nonsense that prevails in this country, that
a criminal should have every chance of escape. He is
warned not to say anything that would incriminate him-
self, material evidence is not admitted, his wife mayn't
be questioned. Why, it is downright sickening, sir.
The co-called spirit of fairness is all on the side of the
criminal, and it seems to me that our whole procedure,
instead of being directed to punish criminals, is calcu-
lated to enable them to escape from punishment. The
whole thing is wrong, sir — radically wrong." And
Colonel Bulstrode wiped his heated forehead with a
huge Indian silk handkerchief. Hilda laughed, Netta
smiled, and Mr. Pettigrew's eyes twinkled.

" There is a good deal in what you say. Colonel
Bulstrode, though I cannot go with you in the matter
of hanging men up by their thumbs."

" Why, sir, broke in the Colonel, *' what is it ? "
Their own native princes would have stretched them
over a charcoal fire until they got the truth out of
them."

"So, possibly, would our own forefathers. Colonel."

" Humph ! They had a lot more common sense in
those days than they have now, Mr. Pettigrew. There
was no sentimentality about them ; they were short and
sharp in their measures. They were men, sir — men.
They drank like men, and they fought like men ; there
was sterling stuff in them ; they didn't weaken their

.^lO

THE 1X)SI' HEIR

Ijodies by drinking slops, or their minds by reading
newspapers."

"Well, Colonel Ikilstrode," Hilda said, smilin^^ "if
it is not contrary to your convictions, we will i^o up-
stairs and have a cup of tea. No doubt there is
something to be said for the old days, but there is a
good deal to be said on the other side of the question
too."

When they went upstairs Dr. Leeds sat down by
Netta.

" I am afraid that you blame me for what I did,
Dr. Leeds," she said timidly.

" No, I do not blame you at all for doing it, but
I do think that you ought to have consulted us all
before undertaking it. Your intention was a noble
one, but the risk that you ran was so great that
certainly I should not have felt justified in allowing
you to undertake it had I had any voice in the
matter."

" But I cannot see that it was dangerous," the girl
said. " He could not have knocked me down and
beaten me, even if he had caught me with my eye at
the peep-hole. He could only have called up Johnstone
and denounced me as an eavesdropper, and at the worst
I should only have been turned straight out of the
house."

" I do not think that that would have been at all his
course of action. I believe, on the contrary, that
although he would have spoken angrily to you, he
would have said nothing to the lodging-house keeper.
He would have at once guessed that you had not taken
all this trouble merely to gratify a silly curiosity, but
would have been sure that )'ou had been employed as a
spy. What he would have done I do not know, but he

-ij

A DINNER PARTY

3i«

[it down b\-

what I did,

would certainly have had you watched as you watched
him, and he would, in liis conversation with his con-
federates, have droj)i)ed clues that would have sent us
all off on wil(l-L;()ose chases. I don't thinU that he
would have ventured on ^eltini,^ )'ou removed, for he
would have known that he wcjiild have been suspected
of foul play at (jnce by those who had employed you. I
hoj)e you will Ljive me a j)romi.se that you will never
undertake any plan without consulting Miss Covinj^ton
and myself. You can hardly realise what anxiety I
have suffered while you have been away."

" I will promise willingly, Dr. Leeds. I did not think
anything of the danger, and do not believe even now
there was any ; but I do think that Hilda would not
have heard of my going as a servant, and that you
would not have approved of it. Still, as I saw no harm
in it myself, I thought that for once I would act upon
my own ideas."

" There are circumstances under which no one need
disapprove of a lady acting as a .servant," he .said
quietly. " If a family misfortune has happened, and
she has to earn her own living, I think that there are
many who would be far happier in the position of a
servant in a good family, than as an ill-paid and over-
worked governess. The one is at least her own
mistress, to a large extent, as long as she does her
work properly ; the other can never call her time her
own. In your case, certainly, the kind object with
which you undertook the task was a full justification
of it, had you not been matching yourself against an
unscrupulous villain, who, had he oci^ected your dis-
guise, would have practically hesitated at nothing to
rid himself of you. It happened, too, in this case you
were one of the few per.sons who could have succeeded ;

312

THK LOST Hi:iK

for, as you say, it would liave been next to impossible
for anyone unpossessed of \our i)eculiar faculty U)
have overheard a conversation, doubtless conducted in
a st)me\vhat low voice, through such a hole as you
made."

" Then you don't think any worse of me for it?"

" Vou need not be afraid of that," he said (juietly ;
"my oj)inion is alread)' so fixed on that subject that I
doubt if anything you could do would shake it."

Then he got up and walked across to where the
others were chatting together.

" Now, are we to have another council ? " Hilda asked.

" I think not," Dr. Leeds said ; " it seems to mc that
the matter reiiuires a great deal of thinking over be-
fore we decide, and fortunatelx', as the man went down
to Tilbury only two da)-s ago, he is not likely to repeat
his visit for another month at least, possibly for
another three months. Men like that do not give
away chances, and he would probably pay for three
months board for the child at a time, s(j as to avoid
having to make the journey oftcner, however confi-
dent he might be that he was not watched."

" I agree with you, Dr. Leeds,' Mr. Pettigrew said ;
" it would never do to make a false step."

"Still," Hilda urged, "surely there cannot be any
need to wait for his going down again. A sharp
detective might find out a good deal. He could in-
quire whether tlierc was anyone at Tilbury who let
out traps. Probably nothing beyond a gig or a pony-
cart could be obtained there. He would, of course,
hire it for a drive to some place within three or four
miles, and while it was got ready would casually ask
if it was often let ; he might possibl)' hear of someone
who came down from town — a bagman, perhaps, who

A DINXKR I'AKTY 3,,

iiiL Villages rouiul.
"I thinl< that that is a capital s„.^r,sti„„;. Mr
ett grcv sa„l. •• I <|o„'t sec ul,y. 7uH. u-o Ic

'"t «ct tlK-.se „K|u,r,cs ,na.lc. Tlicy .ni^ht be of some
^^s^ance to ns. , .i„ send a ,„a„ ,,,:.„ to-.n.:.;:

,,v;,;o„ ■■ "^^ ""-^ '"' "'^■' " ""'' «'- - -"-">i"g to

Netta went clown t,vo clays later to Reading She
;Kl he box labelled to Oxford, and took a tlnVd-cfas

f w T lonr • ''" '"" '" ■^"^'''^■'"" "-' ' -

clcsely at her. and she saw him afterwards sa.mter
-ay towards the luj^gay, „fficc When the rain
c me m her box was put into the van, and ^he "^
■ut at the next station and returned by the first tr.^n
o London, feeling satisfied that she would ne^r e^^
anythuig more of the box.

The next day a detective called, ^^■ho had been en
^^d ..her ,n the search fcr Walter and had Ire:;::^;;

"Mr. J'ettigrew said, IWiss Covington, that I had
better come to you and tell you exactly what I itavc^
one. , went down to Tilbury yest/rday 1 00k
«'th n,e one or two cases made up like a traveler's
samples, and I presently found thit the man at the
pubhchouse by the water had a pony-trap .vhfch he
let J^went over to hnn and said that I wanted it for

How far are you going ? ' he asked

nZt!""! ^™."^ '° Stanford,' 1 said; 'then by a cross-
>oad by Lamdon to Hornchurch and back '
" ■ It IS rather a long round for one day,' he said.

THE LOST HEIR

"*'Tis a long round,' I said. 'Well, maybe I might
sleep at Hornchurch, and go on to Upminster.'

"'You will have to pay a deposit of a couple of
pounds,' he said, ' unless you like to take a boy.*

" I said I preferred driving myself, and that it was less
weight for the pony. *I suppose you often let it out.^'
I remarked.

" * Pretty often,' he said ; * you see, there is no way of
getting about beyond this. It would pay me to keep
a better trap if it wasn't that commercials generall}-
work this country in their own vehicles, and take the
road from Barking through Dagenham, or else from
Brentwood or Chelmsford or one of the other Great
Eastern stations. There is one in your line comes
occasionally ; he goes by the same route you are taking,
and always has the trap to himself He travels for some
spirit firm, I think ; he always brings down a couple of
cases of bottles."

" * That is my line too,' I said. * He hasn't been here
lately, I hope ? '

" ' Well, yes, he was here three or four days ago ; he
is a pretty liberal chap with his samples, I should say,
for he always comes back with his cases empty.' Of
course I hired the pony and trap. I drove through
New Tilbury, Low Street, and Stanford. I put up
there for three or four hours. At each place I went
to all the public-houses, and as I marked the liquors
cheap I got several orders. I asked at every place
had anyone in my line been round lately, and they
all said no, and nobody had noticed the pony-cart;
but of course that did not prove that he might not
have driven through there."

"You did not make any inquiries about a missing
child ? "

A DINNER PARTY

3T5

It a missing

" No, Miss Covington. Mr. Pettigrew particularly
told me that I was not to make any inquiries what-
ever."

" Yes, that is what we agreed upon, Bassett ; we
don't want to run the slightest risk of their suspect-
ing that we are inquirwig in that direction. My own
idea is that you could do no harm if you went round
several times, just as you did yesterday ; and perhaps
it would be better for you not to start from the same
place, but to hire a vehicle and drive round the country,
stopping at all the villages, and apparently trying to
get orders for spirits or tobacco. That idea of yours
is an excellent one, because your inquiry whether
another man had been aloni^ in the same trade would
seem natural. You might say everywhere that you
had heard of his going round there, but that it did
not look much like business driving a rickety little
trap with a pony not worth fifty shillings. At any
village public-houses at which he stopped they could
hardly help noticing it, and if you heard that he had
put up there for an hour or two, it would certainly
be something to go upon, and a search round there
might lead to a result. However, do not go until
you hear again from me. I will talk it over with
Mr. Pettigrew, and see what he thinks of it."

" It certainly seems to me that we might light upon
a clue that way, Miss Covington, and if he were to
happen to hear that another man in ih^ same line
had been there asking questions about him, it would
seem natural enough, because of course a commercial
would like to know what line another in the same
branch was following, and how he was doing. Then
I will wait your further orders. There would be sure
to be traps to be hired at Barking or Rainham, and

3i6

Tin: LOST iii<:iR

if there are not, I could ^a-t one at Bminley. Indeed,
as I should want it for a da)' or two, it would be
just as well to '^cX it there as farther east, and I
should be likely to ^et a l:)etter-lookiii;j^ turn-out In
little places a man with a good turn-out is in(jre
likely to do business than one who looks second-
rate altOLjether. It seems a sort of credit to the
jjlace ; and they would give him orders where they
would not to a man who made no sort of show. I
should say, miss, that as I shall be going over the
ground more than once, it would be best to send on
the goods I get orders for; they don't amount to
very much^ and I should get about the same price
that I gave for them. I know a clerk in the firm
whose liquors I took down. I told him that I was
going down in that part of Jvssex, and asked if they
would give me a commission on anything that I could
sell. They said 'yes' willingly enough, and the clerk
said I was a respectable man who could be trusted ;
and .so it will cost nothing, and will open the wa}'
for my making another call. Of course when I am
known there I can ask questions more freely, sit in
the bar-parlour, smoke a cigar with the landlord, and
so on."

" I think that is an excellent idea. Well, at any rate
you shall hear in the course of a day or two." -

Miss Purcell had gone on quietly with her knitting
and uttered no remarks while the man was present.
Immediately he had left, she said, " I think, Netta, that
we shall gradually get at it."

" Yes, I think so ; that man seems really a sharp
fellow. I had quite lost all faith in detectives, but I
see that when they have really got something to go
upon, they know how to follow it up."

DINNKR

PARTY

3»7

Hilda wrote a lon^ lctt(M- to Mr. rcttl^n-c\v, and
received three words in answer: " Wy all means." So
liassett was written to and tcjld to continue iiis career
as a commercial traveller, but to abstain alto^i^ether, for
the present, from any questions about the boy.

Ten days later Mr. Petti^^rew forwarded a letter
that lie had received from lias.sett, which was as
follows: —

"Sir, — I have to report that I have for the last
fortnight been ent,^'i<^^ed in drivini,^ about the country
in accordance with Miss Covinj^tcKi's instructions. The
only place where I can ascertain that the pony and
cart from Tilbury was noticed about that time was
at Stanford. My incjuiries there before had failed, but
after dining at the inn, I went out into the yard behind,
and asked the helper whether the same trap that 1
drove over in from Tilbury had been there since.

" ' Not since you were here last,' he said, ' at least
if it was )'ou as drove the pony over somewhere about
three weeks ago. I did not see you then, 1 was doing
a job over at the cow-house. That pony ain't been
here since then, though he was here two days before.
The man put him up for three or four hours, and
hired a horse from the landlord to ride over to
Billericay. He must have gone cross-country, I should
say, by the mud on its legs. However, he tipped me
a bob, so I cleaned it up and said nothing ;: master;
but the horse was all in a lather and must have been
taken along at a hunting-pace all the way.' Waiting-
further orders, I remain yours respectfully,

" H. BASSETT."

Mr. Pettigrew came down himself in the evening.
"Well, Miss Covington, I think that the scent is

3i8

TMK T^OST HRTR

y^ctting warm. Now is the time that you mu5?t be ver)-
t:autious. I think vvc may take it that the child is
somewhere within ten or twelve miles of Stanford,
north or east of it. The man was away for over three
hours, and he rode fast. It's not likel)' that the horse
was anything out of the way. However, allowing for
half an hour's stay somewhere, I think wc may take
twelve miles as the limit. Still, a circle of twelve miles
radius covers a very large area. I have been looking
up the map since that man set about inquiring down
there. Twelve miles would include the whole of the
marshes as far as Leigh. It goes up to lirentwood,
Hillcricay, Downham, and touches Rayleigh ; and in
that semi-circle would be some sixty or seventy villages,
large and small. '

" 1 have been looking at the map too, Mr. Petti-
grew, and it does not seem to me at all likely that
he would go near the places that you first mentioned ;
they are quite close to the Great ICastern Railway,
by which he would have travelled, instead of going
round such an enormous detour by Tilbury and
Stanford."

" One would think so, my dear, certainly ; but, you
see, a man having the least idea that he was watched,
which I admit we have no reason for believing that
this fellow has, would naturally choose a very circuitous
route. However, I think that we need hardly try so
far to the north, to begin with ; I should say that the
area of our search need go no farther north than
Downham, and that between a line running west from
that place and the river the child is most likely to be
hidden."

" I should say, Mr. Pettigrew, that the detective
might engage four or five fellows who could act

A DINNER PARTY

319

separately in villages on each of the roads runninj^
from Stanford cast or north-east. The villaf^es should
be at least two miles away from Stanford, because he
might start by one road and then turn off by another.
But in two miles he would probably settle down on the
road he was going to follow and we siiould, therefore,
get the general direction of Walter's hiding - |)lace.
Then as soon as he passed, the watcher should follow
him on foot till he met him coming back. If he did
meet him he woukl kiMnv that at any rate he had been
farther ; if he did not meet him he would know that
he had turned off somewhere between him and the
village that he had passed. Netta and I have been
talking the matter over and it seems to us that this
would be the best plan, and that it would be as well,
also, to have a man to watch at Tilbury Station ;
because he may possibly choose some entirely different
route the next time he comes, and the men in the
villages, not knowing that he had come down at all,
might be kept there for a month waiting for his next
visit."

"You and your friend have certainly put your heads
together to good purpose," the old lawyer said, "and
I do not see any better plan than you suggest. You
had better have Bassett down here, and give him your
instructions yourself"

" Yes, Mr. Pettigrew ; and I shall be glad if you
will write a line to him to-night, for in three days it
will be a month since this man last went down, or
at any rate since we know that he went down. Of
course, it may be three months before he goes again,
and if he does not come in four or five days the men
must be recalled ; for although each of them could stop
in a village for a day or two under the pretence of

320

THE LOST HEIR

finding work in the neighbourhood, they certainly could
not stop for a month."

"Very well, I leave you a free hand in the matter,
altogether, Miss Covington ; for frankly I acknowledge
that you are vastly more likely to ferret the thing out
than I am."

CHAPTER XXI.

A BOX AT THE OPICKA

" T TELL you ..vhat it is, Simcoe," Harrison said, two
1 months later, " tins affair of yours i.s getting to be

a good deal ,no,e troublesome than I bargained for.

It all looked simple enough ; one only had to pick up a
clnld dnve h,m in a cab across London, then down in a

rap to I ,tsea, hand him over to a man I knew would
take good care of him, and take the paj-ments for him
u-hen they became due, which would be no trouble
as I had to sec the man occasionally on my own
business. Of course I expected that there would be a
big hue and cry for him, but I had no fear whatever of
Ills being found. Then I managed through another
man to get that body from the workhouse undertaker
and you managed the rest easily enough ; but I tell you'
t.iat .he matter is getting a good deal hotter than I
ever thoufjht it would.

" I told you that I had been followed several times
after leaving your place, and one morning when [ went
out early I saw footmarks, showing that someone had
been wa kmg round my house and trying to look in at
the windows I have a strong suspicion that I have
beeu followed to my office, and I know that someone
S^t in there one day at my dinner-hour. 1 know, because
1 always fasten a piece of thread, so that if the door is
opened it breaks it. There is nothing there that anyone

322

THE LOST HEIR

could make anything of, but it is just as well to know
if anyone has been pryinj^ about. The woman of the
house was sure tiiat slie had not been in there, nor had
she let anyone in ; so the lock must have been picked.
Of course anyone is liable to have his office robbed
when he is out and it is empty ; but nothing was taken,
and if a common thief had found nothing else he would
probably have made off with my dress suit, which
would have brought him a sov. ''n a second-hand clothes
shop.

" You know I have an excessive objection to being
watched. I have had nothing on hand lately, at any
rate nothing that has come off, but I might have had,
you know. Well, }'esterday I was going down to sec
my man in the marshes, and to tell him that like!)-
enough I should bring something down i ) next
week. I got out of the train at Tilbury, and, as you
know, there are not a dozen houses anywhere near the
station. Now, I have a habit o( keeping my eyes open,
and I saw a man sitting on an old boat. What cai.cd
my attention particularly to him was that he wr>s
turned half round watching the entrance to the station
as I came out. You can always tell whether a mar.
is watching for someone, or whether he is mercl)-
looking generally in that direction, and this man was
certainly watching for someone. The instant his e\ ■
fell upon me he turned round and stared at the ri >
The path to the public house lay just behind him. N- .
it would be natural that hearing a footstep a man doing
nothing would look round and perhaps say a word —
ask the time, or something of that sort. Well, he didn't
turn round. Now, it is my habit, and a very useful one,
always to carry a glass of about the size of a folded
letter in my pocket. Instead of going on to the public

A BOX AT THE OPERA

323

€

house I turned off from the path and walked away from
the rivei. When I had got some little distance I took
out my glass, and still walking along I held it up so
that I could see in it what was going on behind. The
man was standing up watching me. I put the glass in
m\' pocket and dropped my handkerchief I stooped
clown to pick it up, of course partly turning as I did so,
and saw that he had instantly dropj^ed into a sitting
position again, with his back to me.

"That was good enough. I turned, cut across the
fields, went straight back to the station and took the
next ferry-boat to Gravesend, and came back that way.
It is quite clear to me that not only is this girl on the
track still, but the chase is getting to be a very hot one,
and that not only arc they watching you, but they are
watching me, and have in some way or other, though how
I cannot guess, found out that I go down to Tilbury,
and have accordingly sent a man down to follow me.
Now, I tell you frankly, I will have no more to do with
the matter — that is to say, as far as going down on
your business. As I have told you, I have always
managed my own affairs so well that :he police and
I have no acquair ance whatever ; and I am not going
to be spied upon and followed and have the 'tecs upon
my track about an affair in which I have no interest at
all, except that you having stcjod by my brother, I
was glad to do you any service I could. Ikit this
is getting serious. I don't like it. I have told you I
have business with the man, and get things oft* abroad
through him that I should have great trouble in getting
rid of in any other way ; but unless in quite exceptional
cases, these things are so small that they could be
hidden away for months with(jut much risk o( their
being found, however sharp the hunt after them might

324

THE LOST HEIR

be. As I am in no way pressed for money I can afford
to wait, though I own that I like to get the things off
my hands as soon as I can, and as I considered th.it
I ran practically no risk in going down with them \nU)
Essex, I never kept them at my house. However, for
a time I must do so. I must tell you that when I am
going down I always write beforehand ;ind make an
appointment for him to have his barge at the wharf
at Pitsea, and I send my letter addressed to him :
'Mr. William Nihson, barge I\f<ny Antt, care of Mr.
Scholey, Spotted Morse, Pitsea.' You had better write
to him in future. You need not put anything inside
tl'" envelope exce[)t notes for twenty-five pounds, and
the ds, ' For the child's keep for six months.' I

need uA say that you had better disguise your writini^,
both on the envelope and on the inside, and it is best
that you should get your notes from some bookmaker
on a racecourse. You tell me you often go to races
now and do a little betting. They are not the sort of
men who take the numbers of the notes they pay out,
and it would be next to impossible for them to be
traced to you."

" Thank you, I larrison ; you have behaved like a true
pal to me, and I am ever so much obliged to you. I
quite see what you mean, and indeed it is as much for
my interest as yours that you should not go down there
any more Confound that girl Covington ! I am sure
she is the laoving spirit of it all. I always felt uneasy
about her from the first, and was sure that if there \\as
any trouble it would come from her. I wonder how
the deuce she ever found out that you went down to
Tilbury."

"That beats me too, Simcoe. As you may guess,
I am always most cautious about it, and always

A BOX AT THE OPERA

325

take a very roundabout way of going to the
station."

" I have been uneasy ever since that girl at our place
left so suddenly. A fortnight afterwards we found that
there was a hole bored through the door-post. Of
course it might have been bored before I went there ;
bi in that case it is curious that it was never noticed
before. I cannot help thinking that she did it."

" Yes, you told me ; but you said that you tried the
experiment, and found that when your man and his
wife were talking there in a loud voice, and you had
your ear at the hole, you could not catch a .single
word."

" Yes, that was certainly .so. I could hear them
talking, but I could not make out a word of their con-
versation. Still it is evident that somebody has been
trying to hear. I cannot help thinking that it was that
girl, though both Johnstone and his wife spoke very
highly of her. Certainly the story she told them was
true to a certain extent, for when the\' sent the box
down to Reading 1 sent a man down there to watch,
and she called to fetch it, and my man found out that
she labelled it ' Oxford,' and took it away with her on
the down train. As he had no directions to follow
her farther he came back. After we found the hole I
sent him down again ; but he never came upon her
traces, though he inquired at every village near
Oxford."

" She may have been put there as a spy," the other
said ; " but as it is evident that she couldn't hear through
that hole, it is clear that she could not have done them
any good. That is, I suppose, why they called her off;
so the puzzle still remains how they got on my track at
Tilbury. 1 should like to have a good look at this

%26

THE LOST HEIR

Covington <g\\-\. I can admire a clever wench, even
when she is workini^ against me."

"There is T/ic Huguoiots at Her Majesty's to-night
the first time tliis season. She very often goes in Lady
MoLilton's box, and it is likely enough that she will go
to-night. It's the tiiird box from the stage, on the first
tier ; I will go down to B(jnd Street and see if I can get
hold of a box opposite, on the second or third tier.
The mone\- will be well laid out, for I should very
much like \'ou to study her face, and I won enough at
pool at the club thi^' afternoon to pay for it."

" Very well, then I will come round at your place.
I really am curious to see the girl. I only caught a
passing glimpse of lier in the park that day."

Simcoe was not wrong in his conjecture, for Llilda
dined at Lady Moulton's, and they took their places in
the hitter's box just as the first bar of the overture
sounded. She was in half-mourning now, and in black
lace with white camellias in her hair and breast, was, as
Netta had told her before starting, looking her best.

'* That is the girl," Simcoe exclaimed, as she went
forward to the front of the box.

" Well, there is no denying that she is good-looking,"
Ihe otl^er said, as he turned his glasses upon her ; "there
is not a better-looking woman in the house. Plenty of
self-possession too," he added, as Ililda took her seat
and at once, m apjxircnt ignorance that any glasses
were upon her, took hei" own lorgnettes from their case
and proceeded calmly to scan the stalls and boxes, to
see who among her numerous acquaintances were there.
As her eyes fell upon the two men sitting nearly opposite
to her, her glasses steadied, then after a minute she
lowered them.

" Lad}' Moulton, I regard it as a providence that you

A BOX AT THE OPERA

327

broucrht mc here this evening. Do you see those two
men there in the box nearly opposite, in the second tier?
Well, one of the men is Simcoe, to whom my uncle left
all his property if Walter should not live to come o^
age, and who I am absolutely convinced carried the
child away."

" 1 sec them, my dear ; they are staring at you. I
suppose they are as much interested in you as you in
them."

Hilda again put her glas.ses to her eye.s.
" She has just told Lady Moulton who I am," Simcoe
said.

"She has a clever face, Simcoe — broad across the
chin — any amount of determination, I should .say.
Ah ! there, she is getting up to make room for some-
body else."

" Stay where you are, my dear," Lady Moulton .said,
putting her hand on Hilda's arm; "there is plenty of
room for three."

"Plenty," she replied; "but I want to watch those
two men, and I cannot keep my glasses fixed on them
while I am sitting in the front row."

" Hardly, my dear," Lady Moulton said with a smile.
" Well, have your own way."

A fourth lady came in almost immediately. She
took the third chair in the front, and Hilda, sitting half
in the shade, was able to devote herself to her purpose
free from general observation. She had already heard
that Simcoe's companion had apparently suspected ^hat
he was watched, and had returned to town at once
without speaking to anyone at Tilbury. She felt that
he would probably henceforth choose some other route,
and the chances of following him would be greatly
diminished. The opportunity was a fortunate one in-

328

THE LOST HEIR

deed. For montlis she had been hoping- that some day
or other she could watch these men talking, and now, as
it seemed by accident, just at the moment when her
hopes had fallen, the chance had come to her.

" She has changed her place in order to have a better
look at us," John Simcoe said, as she moved. " She has
got her glasses on us."

"We came to stare at her. It seems to me that she
is staring at us," Harrison said.

" Well, I should think that she knows my face pretty
well by this time," Simcoe laughed. " I told you she
has a way of looking through one that has often mad(;
me uncomfortable."

" I can quite understand that. I noticed myself that
when she looked at us, without her glasses, there was
a curious intentness in her expression, as if she was
taking stock of every point about us. She cannot be
the girl who has been to your lodging."

" Certainly not," the other said ; " 1 know her a great
deal too well for her to try that on. Besides, beyond
the fact that the other was a good-looking girl too —
and, by the way, that she had the same trick of looking
full in your face when you spoke — there was no re-
semblance whatever between them."

The curtain now drew up, and silence fell upon the
house, and the men did not speak again until the end of
the first act. They then continued their conversation
where they had left it off.

" She has moved, and has been attending to the opera,"
Simcoe said ; " but she has gone into the shade again,
and is taking another look at us."

*' I am not given to nervousness, but upon my word
those glasses fixed upon me make me quite fidgety."

" Pooh ! man, she is not looking at you ; she is looking

A BOX A'l' THE OPERA

329

at me. I duii't know whether she thinks that she can
read my tli(ui<^hts, and find out vvlierc the child is hidden.
\W the way, I know nothin^^- about this place Pitsea.
Where is it, and which is the best way to ^^et there?"

"You can drive straight down by road through Tp-
ininstcr and Laindon. The place lies about three miles
this side of IkMilleet. There are only about half a
d(jzen houses, at the end of a creek that comes up
from Hole Haven. JJut I should not think of going
near the house. The letter directed as I told you is
sure to find the man."

" Oh, I am not thinking of going, but I shall get a
man to watch the fellows they sent down to watch you,
and if I find that they seem to be getting on the right
track, I shall run down at all hazards and take him
away."

" Your best plan by far will be to go with him, on
board Nibson s barge, up to Rochester. No doubt he
can find some bargeman there who will take the boy in.
Or, what would perhaps be better, hire a trap there, and
drive him down to Margate or Ramsgate. There are
plenty of schools there, and you might get up a }'arn
about his being a nephew of yours, and leave him there
for a term or two. That would give you time to decide.
By this time he will have but a very faint remembrance
of his life in town, and anything that he may say about
it will certainly meet with no attention."

" Would it be as well to do it at once, do you think ? "
Simcoe asked.

" No ; we have no idea how many people they may
have on the watch, and it would be only running un-
necessary risks. Stick to the plan that we have already
agreed on, of communicating only by writing. But I
think your idea of sending two or three sharp fellows

330

THK LOST HEIR

down there to find out what the party arc doing is really
a crood one."

Hilda lowered her glasses as the curtain rose again.
"Oh, Lad)' Moulton,' she whispered, " I liave found out
<ill that I ha\e been so louij wantinir to know. I believe
now that in three days I shall have the child home

aj^ani.

Ladv IVTouiton turned half round.

"How on earth have }-ou found that out, Hilda?
Are you a wizard indeed, who can read men's thoughts
in their faces? I al\va}'s thought that there was some-
thing uncanny about )'ou, ever since that day of my
fete."

To Llarrison's relief, Miss Covington did not turn
her glass towards him again during the evening. When
the curtain fell on the next act a gentleman, to whom
Lady Moulton had nodded in the stalls, came in. After
shaking hands with her and her friends, he seated him-
self by the side of Hilda.

" Miss Covington," he said, *' I have never had an
opportunity of speaking to you since that fete at Lady
Moulton's. I have understood that the gipsy on that
occasion was engaged by you, and that there was, if
you will excuse me saying so, some little mystery about
it. I don't wish to pry into that, but if you should ever
.see the woman again you will oblige me very greatly by
telling her that I consider I owe her a deep debt oi
gratitude. She said something to me then that made a
tremendous impression upon me, and I do not mind
telling you it brought me up with a rounci turn. I had
been going ahead a great deal too fast, and I see now
that had I continued on the .^ame course I should have
brought absolute ruin upon myself, and blighted my
life in every way. The shock she gave me by warning

A I^OX AT THE OPERA

331

me what would come if I did not give up cards and
racing showed me my utter folly, and on that day I
swore never to touch a card or lay a penny upon a horse
for the rest of my life. When I tell you that I have
comjjletely pulled m}'self round, and that, by the aid of
an old uncle, to whom I went and made a clean breast
of all, I am now straight in every way, and, as you may
have heard, am going to be married to Miss T'ortescue
in a fortnight, you may guess what deep reason I have
to be grateful to this gij)s\' woman of yours, and how I
hope that should you come across her again )'ou will
tell her so, and should there be any [)ossible way in
which I can prove m)' gratitude, by money or otherwise,
I shall be delighted to do so."

" I will tell her. Captain Desmond," the girl said in a
low voice. " I am sure that it will make her happy to
know that she did some good that evening. I do not
think that she is in need of money or eissistance of any
kind, but should she be so I will let you know."

"And do you re ill)' mean that you have discovered
where General Mathieson's grandson is living?" Lady
Moulton asked as they rose to leave their seats when
the curtain fell.

" I think so ; I am almost sure of it."

Lady Moulton had heard a good deal from Hilda as
to the situation. Mr. Pettigrew had strongly impressed
upon both Hilda and Colonel Bulstrode that it was very
important that the contents of the will should not be
talked about. " We don't want our private affairs dis-
cussed in the press and made the subject of general
talk," he had said, and it was only to Lady Moulton
that Hilda had .spoken freely of the matter, so far as
the discovery of the new will, the change that had been
made, and the singularity of Walter being missing.

332

THE LOST HEIR

She had also mentioned her belief that Simcoe was at
the bottom of this, but had breathed no words of her
suspicion that the Cjteneral had come to his death by
foul play, or of her own conviction that Simcoe was
an impost(^r, althouj;h there had been some talk in the
clubs over the matter, for Colonel Hulstrode was by no
means so discreet as Hilda, and among his intimate
friends spoke his mind with great vehemence and
strength of language as to General Mathieson having
made so singular a disposition of his property, ^d he
made no secret of his suspicion that Simcoe was at the
bottom of Walter's disappearance. Thus the matter
had gradually gone the round of the clubs ; but it was
not until Simcoe's own counsel had drawn from him
the fact that Walter's death would put him into posses-
sion of the estate that the public in general learned the
facts.

"It was a clever move," Mr. Pettigrew had said,
talking it over with his partner. ' No doubt he was
afraid that the question would be asked by o counsel,
and he thought that it was better that the should

come voluntarily from himself. His best plan by far
was to brazen it out. No doubt nine men out of ten
will consider that the affair is a very suspicious one, and
some of them will give him the cold shoulder; but
whatever their opinions, they dare not express them
without laying themselves open to an action for libel,
while, on the other hand, the fact that a man is heir
to a good estate will always cause a good many to rally
round him. Not the best of men, you know, but enough
to prevent his being a lonely figure in a club.

" Yes, I think he was certainly well advised to declare
his heirship voluntarily, instead of having it drawn from
him. He must have known, of course, that sooner or

A BOX AT THE OPERA

333

later the matter would be made public, and it is better
for him to ^et the talk ajul <;o.ssip over now instead of
the matter beinir known for the first time when he
bc^i^ins to take lej;al steps to comi)el us to put him
into possession of the estate."

"What on earth did you mean, Hilda," Lady Moulton
said, as the door of the carriat^c was closed and thev
drove off from Her Majest\''s, " by sa\'ini^ that you had
discovered a clue by which you might in a few days
find your little cousin?"

" I cannot tell )<)u exactly how I discovered it. At
j)resent it is a secret that both my mother and uncle
charged me to keep, but when these troubles are over
I will explain it all to you, though I should certainly
do so to no one else."'

"Well, I suppose I must be content with that, Hilda.
Rut it certainly does seem extraordinary to me that by
merely seeing two men in a box on the other side of
the house you should have obtained a clue to what you
have for a year now been trying to get at."

" It does seem extraordinary. Lady Moulton, but it
really is not so, and I hope to convince you that I am
riglit by producing Walter in a week from the present
time."

" I hope you will, Hilda. I sincerely hope so, both
for the child's sake, yours, and my own. Of course,
when he is found there will be no possible reason for
your keeping yourself sliut up as }'ou have done. I
have missed you very much, aiul shall be very glad to
have you under my wing again "

" Thank you for saying so, Lady Moulton ; but so
far as I have formed my plans, they are that Walter's
trustees shall either let or sell the house in H)Tle Park
Gardens, and that I shall go down for a time with him

334

THE LOST HEIR

into the country. I have had a great deal of anxiety
this last yeir, and I shall be very glad of complete rest
for a time."

" That is reasonable enough, my dear, but I do hope
that you are not thinking of burying yourself in the
country for good. There, I am at home. Good-night,
Hilda ; thanks for the lift. It is not often my horses
or my coachmen have a night off during the season."

'li

CHAPTER XXII.

NEARING THE GOAL

"T SUPPOSE Miss Xctta is in bed?" Hilda asked,

1 as she entered the house.

"Yes, miss, slie and Miss PLircell went to their rooms
soon after ten o'clock."

Hilda ran upstairs to Netta's room.

"Are you awake, Netta?" she asked, as she opened
the door.

"Well, I think I was asleep, Hilda; I didn't intend
to go off, for I made sure that you would come in for
a chat, as usual, when you got back ; but I think I
must have dozed off."

"Well, if you had been so .sound asleep that I had
had to violently wake you up, I should have done so.
1 have had my chance, Netta. Simcoe and his friend
were in a box opposite to ours, and I have learned
where Walter is."

" That is news indeed," Netta exclaimed, leaping up ;
"that is worth being awakened a hundred times for.
Please hand me my dressing-gown. Now let us sit
down and talk it over comfortably."

Hilda then repeated the whole conversation "lat she
had overheard.

" Splendid ! " Netta exclaimed, clapping her hands ;
"and that man was right, dear, in feeling uncomfortable
when your glasses were fixed on his face, though he

335

33^

THE LOST HEIR

little guessed what reason he had for the feeling. Well,
it is worth all the four years you spent with us to have
learned to read people's words from their lips. I always
said that you were my best pupil, and you have pro\c(l
it so now. What is to be done next ? "

"We shall need a general council for that!" Hilda
laughed. "We must do nothing rash now that success
.seems .so close ; a false move might spoil everything."

"Yes, we shall have to Be very careful. This barge-
man may not live near there at all ; though no doubt
he goes there pretty often, as letters are sent there for
him, l^esides, Simcoe may have someone stationed
there to find out whether any inquiries have been made
for a missing child."

" Yes, I see that we shall have to be very careful,
Netta, and we must not spoil our chances by being
over hasty."

They talked for upwards of an hour, ano then went
to their beds. The next morning Roberts took a
note to Dr. Leeds. It contained only a few lines from
Hilda:—

"My dear Dr. Leeds, — We have found a most
important clue, and are going to have a consultation,
at which,'of course, we want you to be present. Could
you manage to be at Mr. Pettigrew's office at three
o'clock ? If so, on hearing from you I will send to
him to make an ap[)ointment."

The answer came back : —

" I congratulate you heartily, and will meet you at
three o'clock at Pettigrew's office."

A note was at once sent off to the lawyer's to make

NEARING THE GOAL

337

er's to make

the appointroent, and th: girls arrived with Miss Purcell
two or three minutes before the hour, and were at once
shown into Mr. Pettigrew's room, where Mr. Farmer
immediately joined them

" I will wait a minute or two before I begin," Hilda
said. " I have asked Dr. Leeds to join us here. He has
been so very kind throughout the whole matter that
we thought it was only fair that he should be here."

"Certainly, I thoroughly agree with you. I never
thought that terrible suspicion of his well founded, but
he certainly took immense pains in collecting informa-
tion of all sorts about these native poisons, and since
then has shown the greatest desire to assist in any
\\ay."

A minute later Dr. Leeds was shown iii.

"Now, Miss Covington," Mr. Farmer said, "we are
ready to hear your communication."

Hilda tnen related what she had learned at the
opera.

"Really, Miss Covington," Mr. Farmer continued,
" it is a thousand pities that you and your friend
cannot utilise your singular accomplishment in the
detective line. You ought to make a fortune by it. I
have, of course, heard from my j atner of the education
that you had in Germany, and of your having acquired
some new system by which you can understand what
people are saying by watching their lips, but^ I certainly
had no conception that it could be carried to such an
extent as you have just proved it can. It is like
gaining a new sense. Now I suppose you have come
to us for advice as to what had best be done next."

"That is it, Mr. Farmer. It is quite evident to us
that we must be extremely careful, for if these p pie
suspect that we are so far on their track, they might
Y

338

THE LOST HEIR

remove Walter at once, and we might never be able
to light upon a clue again."

"Yes, I see that. Of course, if we are absolutely
in a position to prove that this child has been kept
down near Pitsea with their cognizance we could
arrest them at once ; but, unfortunately, in the words
you heard there was no mention of the child, and at
present we have nothing but a series of small circum-
stantial facts to adduje. You believe, Mr. Pettigreu
tells me, that the man who calls himself John Simcoe is
an impostor who has no right to the name, and that
General Mathieson was under a complete delusion
when he made that extraordinary will. You believe
that, or at any rate you have a suspicion that, havini^
got the General to make the will, he administered some
unknown drug that finally caused his death. You
believe that as this child alone stood between him and
the inheritance, he had him carried off with the assist-
ance of the other man. You believe that the body the
coroner's jury decided to be that of, Walter Rivington
was not his, and that the child himself is being kept out
of the way somewhere in Essex, and you believe that
the conversation that you most singularly overheard
related to him.

" But, unfortunately, all these beliefs are unsupported
by a single legal fact, and I doubt very much whetlier
any magistfate would issue a warrant for these men's
arrest upon your story being laid before him. Even if
they were arrested, >ome confederate might hasten
down to Pitsea and carry the child off; and, indeed,
Pitsea may only be the meeting- place of these con-
spirators, and the child may be at Limehouse or at
Chatham, or at any other place frequented by barges.
Therefore we must for the present give up all idea of

NEARING THE GOAL

339

seizing these men. Any researches at Pitsea itself are
clearly attended by danger, and yet I see no other way
of proceeding."
,, " It seems," Dr. Leeds said, " that this other man, who
■ appears to have acted as Simcoe's agent throughout the
"^ attair, took the alarm the other day, and instead of
taking a trap as usual from Tilbury, returned to the
station, took the ferry across to Gravesend, and then,
as we suppose, came up to town again, told Simcoe
that he found he was watched, and that Simcoe must
himself take the matter up. Evidently, by what Miss
Covington overheard, he had instructed him where and
how tf communicate with this bargeman, or in case of
necessity to find him. I should think that the first step
would be to withdraw the men now on watch, for it is
possible that they may also send down men to places in
the locality of Pitsea. In point of fact, your m(in have
been instructed to make no such inquiries, but only to
endeavour to trace where Simcoe's agent drives to.
Still, I think it woul^ be as well to withdraw them at
once, as they can do no further good."
Mr. Pettigrew nodded.

" I know nothing of Pitsea," the doctor went on, " but
I do know Hole Haven. When I was walking the
hospital, three or four of us had a little sailing-boat, and
used to go out from Saturday until Monday morning.
Hole Haven was generally the limit of our excursions.
It is a snug little harbour for small boats, and there is
a comfortable old-fashioned little inn there where we
used to sleep. The coastguards were all sociable
fellows, ready to chat with strangers and not averse
to a small tip. Of course the same men will not be
there now, nor would it be very safe to ask questions
of them ; for no doubt they are on friendly terms

340

THE LOST HEIR

with the men on the barges which go up and down
the creek. I might, however, learn something from
them of the ways of these men, and I should think
that on giving my card to the petty officer in char^^e,
I could safely question him. I don't suppose that he
would know where this man Nibson has his head-
quarters. If he lives at Rochester, or Chatham, or at
Limehouse, or Shadwell, he certainly would not know
him ; but if he lives at Pitsea he might know him.
I fancy they keep a pretty sharp look-out on the
barges. I know that the coastguard told me tiiat
there was still a good deal of smuggling carried on
in the marshes between Leigh and Thames Haven.
I fancy, from what he said, that the Leigh fishermen
think it no harm to run a few pounds of tobacco or
a keg of spirit from a passing ship, and, indeed, as
there are so many vessels that go ashore on the sands
below, and as they are generally engaged in unloading
them or helping them to get off, they have consider-
able facilities that way. At any rate, as an old
frequenter of the place and as knowing the land lord-
that is to say if there has been no change there — no
suspicion could fall upon me of going down there in
reference to your affair. To-day is Friday. On
Sunday morning, early, I will run down to Gravesend,
hire a boat there, and sail down to Hole Haven. It
will be an outing for me, and a pleasant one ; and at
least I can be doing no harm."

"Thank you very mucii indeed, Dr. Leeds," Hilda
said warmly ; " that is a splendid idea."

On Sunday evening Dr. Leeds called at Hyde Park
Gardens to report his day's work.

" I think that my news is eminently satisfactory.
I saw the petty officer in command of the coastguard

NEARING THE GOAL

341

ip and down ■ station, and he willingly gave me all the information in

his

U[)

power. He knew the bargee, Bill Nibson. He is
and down the creek, he says, once and sometimes
twice a week. He has got a little bit of a farm and
a house on the bank of the creek a mile and a half
oti this side of Pitsea They watch him pretty clos:;ly,
as they do all the men who use the creek ; there is not
one of them who does not carry on a bit of smuggling
if he gets the chance.

'" I thought that was almost given up,' I said. *Oh,
no ; it is carried on,' he replied, ' on a much smaller scale
than it used to be, but there is plenty of it, and I should
say that there is more done that way on the Thames
than anywhere else. In the first place, Dutch, German,
and French craft coming up the channels after dark can
have no difficulty whatever in transferring tobacco and
spirits into barges or fishing-boats. I need hardly say
it is not ships of any size that carry on this sort of
business, but small vessels, such r. > bil'y-boys and craft
of that sort. They carry their regular cargoes, and
probably never bring more than a few hundredweight of
tobacco and a dozen or so kegs of spirts. It is doubt-
ful whether their owners know anything of what is being
done, and I should say that it is generally a sort of
speculation on the part of the skipper and men. On
this side the trade is no doubt fn the hands of men who
either work a single barge or fishing-boat of their own,
or who certainly work it without the least suspicion on
the part of the owners.

" ' The thing is so easily arranged. A man before he
starts from Ostend or Hamburg, or the mouth of the
Seine, sends a line to his friends here, at Rochester or
Limehouse or Leigh, " Shall sail to-night. Expect to
come up the south channel on Monday evening." The

342

TIIK l-OST 1 1 KIR

hartj^cinati or fislu'rmati runs down at the time arran^^d,
and five or six niiUvs lu-Iow \hc Norc brinp[s up and
shows a lii^ht. lie knows that the craft he expects will
not l)e up before that time, for if tlie wind was extremely
favourable, and they made the run (luicker than the)- ex-
pected, they would brinijj up in Marijjate Roads till the
time appointed. If they (hchi't arrive that nij^ht, they
would do so the next, and the barL;e would lay there and
wait for them, or tiie fishermen would <;o into Sheerness
or Leij^h and come out attain the next nij^ht.

" ' Vou mii;ht wonder how a bar,i;e could waste twenty-
four or fortN-eii^ht hours without beint]f called to account
b\' its owners, but there are bari^es which will anchor up
for two or three days under the pretence that the weather
is bad, but really from sheer laziness.

"'That is one way the stuff comes into the country,
and, so far as I can see, there is no way whatever of
stopping it. The difficulty, of course, is with the land-
ini;, and even that is not great. When the tide turns to
run out tliere are scores, I ma}' say hundreds, of barges
anchored between Chatham and Gravescnd. They
generally anchor close in shore, and it would reciuire
twenty times the number of coastguards there are
between Chatham and '^'avesend on one side, and
Foulness and Tilbury on the other, to watch the whole
of them and to see that boats do not come ashore.

"'A few strokes and they are there. One man will
wait in the boat while the other goes up on to the bank
to see that all is clear. If it is, the things are carried up
at once. Probably the barge has put up some flag that
is understood by friends ashore ; they are there to meet
it, and in half an hour the kegs are either stowed away
in lonely farmhouses or sunk in some of the deep
ditches, and there they will remain until they can be

NKARTNC, TIIK GOAL

34.^

fislu'd up and stMit off in a cart loaded with hay or
sonu!lhiii}^f of that sort. V'oii may tak'>: it tliat aiiK.n^
the marshes on the hanks of the MeUway and rhames
there is a i)reU)' ^^ood deal done in the way of smn^^din;.;
still. We keej) a very close e)'e npo'i all tlv* barges that
come u|) here, hut it is ver)' si;ldom that we make any
catch. One camiot seize a barge like the M<ny Ann,
that is the boat beloni^n'ng to Nibson.with jKjrhaps sixty
tons of manure or cement or bricks, and unload it with-
out .some specific information that would justify our
doinj^ so. Indeed, we hardly could unload it unless we
took it out into the Thames and threw the contents
overboard. We could not carry it uj) this stee|>, stone-
faced bank, and hit^her uj) there are very few places
where a barije could lie alon<4side the bank to be
unloafled. We suspect Nibson of doinj^ something
that way, but we have never been able to catch him
at it. We have .searched his place suddenly three or
four times, but never found anything suspicious.'

"• May I ask what family the man has? ' I said.

" He shook his head. ' There is his wife — I have .seen
her once or twice on board the Vjargc as it has come in
and out — and there is a boy, who helps him on the
barge — I don't know whether he is his .son or not.
I have no idea whether he has any family, but I have
never .seen a child on the barge.*

'* All this seemed to be fairly .satisfactory. I told
him that we suspected that a .stolen child was kept in
Nibson's hou.se, and asked him whether one of his men
off duty would, at any time, go with me in a boat and
point out the hou.se. He said that there would be nc
difficulty about that. My idea, Miss Covington, v^as
that it would be by far the best plan for us to go down
with a pretty strong party — that is to say, two or three

344

THE LOST IIKIR

men — and to ^o from Gravcscnd in a boat, arrivin^^ at
Hole Haven at eleven or twelve o'clock at night. 1
should write beforehand to the coasty^uard officer, askinij
him to have a man in readiness to guide us, and then
row up to the house. In that way we should avoid
all chance of a warning being sent on ahead from
Pitsea, or from any other place where they might have
men on watch.

" I mentioned this to the officer, and he said, ' Well,
I don't see how you could break into the man's house.
If the child is not there you might find yourself in a
very awkward position, and if Nib.son himself ha{)pcnc(l
to be at home he would be perfectly justified in using
firearms.' I said of course that was a point I must
consider. It is indeed a point on which we must take
Mr. Pettigrew's opinion. But probably we shall have
to lay an information before the nearest magistrate,
though I think m)'self that if we were to take the
officer into our confidence — and he seemed to me a
bluff, hearty fellow — he would take a lot of interest
in the matter, and might stretch a point, and send
three or four men down after dark to search the place
again for smuggled goods ; }'ou see, he has strong
suspicions of the man, and has searched his place
more than once. Then, when they were about it, we
could enter and seize Walter. Should there be a mis-
take altogether, and the child not be found there, we
could give the officer a written undertaking to hold him
free in the very unlikely event of the fellow making
a fuss about his house being entered."

The next morning Hilda again drove up with Netta
to see Mr. Pettigrew.

" We must be careful, my dear, we must be very
careful," he said. " If we obtain a search warrant, it

NEARINC; THE GOAL

J45

with Netta

cm only bo executed (lurin<^ the day, and even if the
coastguards were to make a raid upon the place, we,
as civilians, would not have any right to enter the
house. I don't like the idea of this night business —
indeed, I do not see why it should not be managed by
(lay. Apparentl)', from what Dr. Leeds said, this IL^le
Haven is a place where little sailing-boats often go in
I don't know much of these matters, but probabl)'
ill some cases gentlemen are accompanied by ladies,
and no doubt sometimes these boats go up the creeks.
Now, there must be gof)d-sized boats that could be
hired at Gravesend, with men accustomed to sailing
them, and I can see no reason why we should not
go down in a party. I should certainly wish to be
there myself, and think Colonel Bulstrode should be
there. You might bring your two men, and get an
information laid before an Essex magistrate and obtain
a warrant to search this man's place for a child suppcjsed
to be hidden there. By the way, I have a client who
is an Essex magistrate ; he lives near Billericay. I will
have an information drawn out, and will go myself with
it and see him ; it is only about five miles to drive from
Brentwood Station. If I sent a clerk down, there
might be some difficulty, whereas, when I personally
explain the circumstances to him he will, I am sure,
grant it. At the same time I will arrange with him
that two of the county constabulary shall be at this
place, Hole Haven, at the time we arrive there, and
shall accompany us to execute the warrant. Let me
see," and he turned to his engagement book, " there
is no very special matter on for to-morrow, and I am
sure that Mr. Farmer will see to the little matters
that there are in my department By the way, it was a
year yesterday since the General's death, and we have

34^

THE T.OSr HEIR

this morninfT been served with a notice to show cause
why we should not proceed at once to distribute
the various legacies under his will. I don't think
that refers to the be(iuest of the estates, though, of
course, it may do so, but to the ten thousand pounds
to which Simcoe is clearly entitled. Of course, \vc
should appear by counsel in any case ; but with
Walter in our hands we can bring him to his knees
at once, and he will have to wait some time before
he touches the money. We cannot prevent his having
that. He may get five years for abducting the child,
but that does not affect his claim to the money."

*' Unless, Mr. Pettigrew, we could prove that he is not
John Simcoe."

" Certainly, my dear," the lawyer said, with an in-
dulgent smile. "Your other theories have turned out
very successful, I am bound to admit ; but for this you
have not a shadow of evidence, while he could produce
a dozen respectable witnesses in his favour. However,
we need not trouble our.selves about that now. As
to the abduction of the child, while our evidence is
pretty clear against the other man, we have only the
fact against Simcoe that he was a constant associ.ite
of his, and had an immense interest in the child being
lost. The other man .seems to have acted as his
intermediary all through, and so far as we actually
know, Simcoe has never seen the child since he was
taken away, Of course, if Walter can prove to the
contrary, the case is clear against him ; but without this it
is only circumstantial, though I fancy that the jury would
be pretty sure to convict. And now, how about the
boat? Who wiU undertake that? We are rather busy
at present, and could scarcely spare a clerk to go down."

" We will look after that, Mr. Pettigrew ; it is only an

NRARlNd THE GOAL

347

hour's run to Gravcsciul, and it will be an amusement
for us. We will take Roberts down with us. What
day shall we fix it for?"

" Well, my dear, the sooner the better. I shall t,^et
the warrant to-morrow, and there is no reason wh\' the
constables should not be at Mole Haven the next day,
at, say, two in the afternoon. So if you ^o down to-
morrow and arrange for a boat, the matter may as well
be carried out at once, especially as I know that )'ou
are burning with anxiety to get the child back. Of
course this rascal of a bargeman must be arrested."

" I should think that would depend partly on how he
has treated Walter," Hilda .said. " I don't suppose he
knows who he is, or anything of the circumstances of
the case; he is simply paid so much to take charge of
him. If he has behaved cruelly to him it is of course
right that he should be punished ; but if he has been
kind to him I don't see why he should not be let off.
Besides, we may want him as a witness against the
others."

"Well, there is something in that. Of course we
might, if he were arrested, allow him to turn Queen's
evidence, but there is always a certain feeling against
this class of witness. However, we needn't discuss that
now. I suppose that we ought to allow an hour and a
half or two hours to get to this place from Gravesend,
but you can find that out when you hire the boat. Of
course, it will depend a good deal on which way the
tide is. By the way, you had better look to that at
once ; for if it is not somewhere near high tide when
we get to Hole Haven there may not be water enough
to row up the creek."

He called in ^ne of the clerks, and told him to go out
to get him an almanack with a tide-table.

34^

THE LOST HEIR

** I want to know when it will be high water the day
after to-morrow at Gravescnd," he said.

" I can tell you that at once, sir. When I '^amc
across Waterloo l^rid^e this morning at a quarter to
nine the tide was running in. I should say that it
was about half-flood, and would be high about twelve
o'clock. So that it will be high about half-past one
o'clock on Wednesday. It is about three-quarters oi
an hour earlier at Gravesend. I don't know whether
that is near enough for you, sir?"

'• Yes, that is near enough, thank you. So, you see,"
he went on after the clerk had left the room, " the tide
will be just about high when you get to Gravesend, and
you wiH get there in about an hour, I should .say. 1
don't know exactly how far this place is, but I should
say .seven or eight miles , and with a sail, or, if the wind
is contrary, a couple of oars, you will not be much
above an hour, and I should think that there will be
still plent)' of water in the creek. You had better .see
Colonel I-5ulstrode. As joint trustee he .should certainly
be there."

They drove at once to the Colonel's and found him
in. He h.id not heard of the discovery Hilda had
made, and was greatl}' e.xcited at the prospect of so
soon recovering Walter, and bringing, as he .said, "the
rascals to book. '

The next morning they went down with Roberts
to Grav^'send to engage a large and roomy boat
with two watermen for their trip. Just as they
were entering Hyde Park Gardens on their return a
man passed them. Roberts looked hard at him, and
then said, "If you don't want me any more now, miss,
I should like to speak to that man ; he is an old fellow-
soldier."

NEARING THE GOAL

349

"Certainly, Roberts. I shall not want you again for
some time."

Roberts hurried after the man. "Sergeant Nichol,"
he said, as he came up to him, " it is years since I saw
you last."

" I remember your face if I do not remember your
name," the man said.

" I am Tom Roberts. I was in your company, you
know, before you went on to the staff"

" I remember you now, Roberts," and the two shook
hands heartily. "What -ire you doing now? If I re-
member right, you went as servant to General Mathieson
'vhen you got your discharge."

" Yes ; you see, I had been In's orderl)- for two or three
years before, and when I got my discharge with my
pension, I told him that I should like to stop with him
if he would take me. I was with him out there for five
years after ; then I came h(Mnj. and was with him until
his death, and am still in the service of his niece, Miss
Covington, one of the young ladies I was with just now.
And what are you doing? "

" I am collector for a firm in the City. It is an easy
berth, and with my pension I am as comfortable as a
man can wish to be."

So they chatted for half an hour, and when they
parted Roberts received a hearty invitation to look in
at the other's place at Kilhurn.

" Hoth my boys are in the army," he said, "and likely
to get on well. My eldest [-irl is married, my youngest
is at home with her mother and m>se]f; they will be
pleased to see you too. The missus enjcjys a gossip
about hviia, and is always glad to welcome any old
comrade of mine."

CHAPTER XXIII.

WALTER

THE wind was westerly, and the boat ran fast
down the river from Gravesend; Roberts and
Andrew, both in civiHan clothes, were sitting in the bows,
where there were stowed a large hamper and a sm.ill
travelling-bag with some clothes. One waterman sat
by the mast, in case it should be necessary to lower
sail, the other was aft at the tiller. The men must
have thought that they had never had so silent and
grave a pleasure party before : two elderly gentlemen
and two girls, none of whom seemed inclined to make
merry in any way. Colonel Ikilstrode, indeed, tried
hard to keep up a conversation about the ships, barges,
and other craft that they met, or which lay at anchor
in the stream, and recalling reminiscences of trips on
Indian rivers.

Netta was the only one of his hearers who apparently
took any interes*^ in the talk. To her the scene was
so new that she regarded everything with attenti; ;i
and pleasure, and looked with wonder at the grt.it
ships which were dragged along by tiny tugs, wondereti
at the rate at which the clumsy-looking barges made
their way through the water, and enjoyed the ra[)id
and easy motion with which their o\vn boat glided
along. Mr. Pettigrew was revolving in his mind the
problem of what should next be done; while Hilda's

350

WALTER

351

thoughts were centred upon Walter, and the joy that
it would be to have him with her again.

"This is Hole Haven," the boatman in the stern
said, as a wide sheet of water opened on their left.

" Why don't you turn in, then ? " Colonel Bulstrodc
asked.

" There is scarce water enough for us, sir ; they are
neap tides at present, and in half an hour the sands
will begin to show all over ihere. We have to go in
on to the farther side — that is where the channel s.
You see those craft at anchor: there is the landing
just in front of the low roof you see oVer the bank.
That is the ' Lobster Smack,' and a very comfortable
house it is ; and you can get as good a glass of beer
there as anywhere on the river."

As they turned into the creek they saw two con-
stables on the top of the bank, and at the head of the
steps stood a gentleman talking with a coastguard
officer.

"That is my friend, Mr. Bostock," Mr. Pettigrew
said. "He told me that if he could manage it he
would drive over himself with the two constables. I
am glad that he has been able to do so ; his presence
will strengthen our hands."

A coastguard boat, with four sailors in it, was lying
close to the steps, and the officer came down with Mr.
Bostock, followed by the two constables. The manis-
trate greeted Mr. Pettigrew and took his place in the
boat beside him, after being introduced to the two
ladies and the Colonel. The (jfficcr with the two
constables stepped into the coastguard boat, which
rowed on ahead of the other.

" I could not resist the temptation of coming over
to see the end of this singular affair, of which I heard

352

THE LOST HEIR

from Mr. Pettigrew," Mr. Bostock .said to Hilda. " Tlu-
officer of the coastguard is going on, partly to .show
us the way to the house, and partly because it will
be a good opportunity for him to search the place
thoroughly for smuggled goods. He tells me that the
barge is up the creci< now ; it went up yesterdu
evening. So we may find vhe fellon- at home."

" Now, my men," Colonel I^ulstrode .said to the
boatmen, "we have got to follow that boat. You
will have i)lenty of time for beer when you get there,
and a good lunch besides. So pull your hardest ; wc
have not got very far to go. Can either of you nnii
row?

" I can pull a bit," Roberts said, and, aided by the
.sail and the three oars, the boat went along at a fair
rate through the water, the coastguard boat keepini;
a .short distance ahead of them. After a quarter of
an hour's rowing the bargeman's hou.se came in view.
The revenue officer pointed to it.

' Now, row your hardest, men," Colonel Bulstrodc
said ; " we have but a hundred yards further to go."

The two boats rowed up to the bank together; Mr.
Bostock sprang out, as did the constables and sailors,
and ran up the bank, the othiers following at once. As
they appeared on the bank a bo)' working in the garden
gave a .shrili whistle ; a man immediately appeared at
the door and looked surprised at the appearance of
the party. He stepped back a foot, and then, as if
changing his mind, came out and closed the door after.
him.

" I am a magistrate of the county of Esse.x," Mr,
Bostock said, " and I have come to see a warrant
executed for the search of your house for a child
named Walter Rivington, who is believed to be con-

WALTER

353

le in view,

ccaled here, and who has been stolen from the care of
his guardians."

" I know nothing of any child of that name," the
man repHed, "but I have a child here that I am
taking care of for a gentleman in London ; I have
had him here for just a year, and no one has made
any inquiries about him. You are welcome to enter
and see if he is the one you are in search of. If
he is, all that I can say is that I know nothing
about his being stolen, . and shall be very sorry to
lose him."

He stood aside, and the two constables entered,
followed closely by Hilda. The laiter gave a cry of
joy, for seated on the ground, playing with a box of
soldiers, was Walter. She would hardly have known
him anywhere else. His curls had been cut short, his
face was brown and tanned, and his clothes, although
scrupulously clean, were such as would be worn by any
bargeman's boy of that age. The child looked up as
they entered. Hilda ran to him, and caught him up
in her arms.

" Don't you know me, Walter? Don't you remember
cousin Hilda? "

" Yes, I remember you," the child said, now returning
her embrace. " You used to tell me stories and take
me out in a carriage for drives. Where have you been
.so long? And where is grandpapa? Oh, here is
Netta," and as Hilda put him down he ran to her,
for during the four months spent in the country she
had been his chief playmate.

" I have learned to swim, Netta. Uncle Bill has
taught me himself; and he is going to take me out
in his barge some day."

The woman who had come in with her arms covered
I

354

THE LOST HEIR

with lather from the little washhouse adjoining the house,
now came forward.

" I hope, miss, that there is nothing wrong," she said
to Hilda. " We have done our best for the little boy, and
I have come to care for him just as if he had been my
own ; and if you are going to take him away I shall
miss him dreadful, for he is a dear little fellow," and she
burst into tears.

Walter struggled from Netta's arms, and ran to the
woman, and, pulling her by the apron, said —

" Don't cry. Aunt Hetsy ; Jack is not going away from
you. Jack will stay here ; he likes going in a barge
better than riding in a carriage."

"Well, Miss Covington," Mr. Bostock said, "the re-
cognition appears to be complete on both sides ; now
what is the next step ? Do you give this man into
custody for unlawfully concealing this child and aiding
and abetting in his abduction ? "

" Will you wait a minute while I speak to Mr. I'etti-
grew ? " she said ; and they went out of the house to-
gether.

"Well, what do you think, Mr. Pettigrevv?"

" I have been thinking it over all the way as we came
down," the lawyer said. " Of course, we have no shadow
of proof that this man was aware who the child was,
and, in fact, if he had seen the placards offerii.^- al-
together fifteen hundred pounds for his recovery, we
must certainly assume that he would have given him
up ; for however well he may have been paid for taking
charge of him, the offer would have been too tempting
for a man of that kind to have resisted. No doubt he
had strong suspicions, but you can hardly say that it
amounted to guilty knowledge that the child had been
abducted. If Walter had been ill-treated I should have

WALTRR

355

said at once, 'Give him into custody'; but this docs
not seem to have been the case."

" No ; they have evidently been very kind to him.
I am so grateful for that, that I should be sorry to do
the man any harm."

"That is not the only point," the lawyer went on.
" It is evident that the other people very seldom come
clown here, and from what you heard, in future Simcoe
is going to write. If we arrest this man the others will
know at once that the game is up. Now, if you will
take the child away quietly, we can tell the man that
he shall not be prosecuted, providing that he takes no
steps whatever to inform his employers that the child
is gone ; even if one of them came down here to see
the child the wife must say that he is away on the
barge. Anyhow, we shall have ample time to decide
upon what steps to take against Simcoe, and can lay
hands upon him whenever we choose ; whereas if he
got an inkling that we had discovered the child he and
his associate would probably disappear at once, and we
might have lots of trouble to find them."

"Yes, I think that would be a very good plan,
Mr. Pettigrew. I will ask him and his wife to come
out"

"That will be the best way, my dear. We could
hardly discuss the matter before Bostock."

Hilda went in. As soon as she spoke to the man
and his wife Mr. Bostock said, ** If you want a con-
ference, Miss Covington, I will go out and leave you
to talk matters over."

He and the two constables withdrew, and Mr. Petti-
grew came in.

" Now, my man," he began, ' )'ou must see that you
have placed yourself in a very awkward position. You

35^

'nil' LOST HEIR

are found taking care of a child that has been stf)len,
and for whose recovery large rewards ha\e been offered
all over the country. It is like the case of a man found
hiding stolen goods. He would be called upon to
account for their being in his possession. Now, it is
hardly possible that you can have been ignorant thai
this child was stolen. You ma\' not have been told so
in words, but you cannot have helped having suspicions.
From what the child no doubt said when he first came
here, you must have been sure that he had been brouglit
up in luxury. No doubt he spoke of rides in a carriage,
of servants, his nurse, and so on. However, Miss Cov-
ington is one of the child's guardians, and I am the
other, and we are most reluctant to give you in charge.
It is evident, from the behaviour of the child, and from
the affection that he shows to yourself and your wife,
that you have treated him very kindly since he has been
here, and these toys I see about show that you have
done your best to make him happy."

" That we have, sir," the man said. " Betsy and I
took to him from the first. We have no children of
our own, none living at least, and we have made as
much of him as if he had been one of our own —
perhaps more. We have often talked it over, and both
thought that we were not doing the fair thing by him,
and were, perhaps, keeping him out of his own. I did
not like having anything to do with it at first, but I had
had some business with the man who gave him to me,
and when he asked me to undertake the job it did not
seem to me so serious an affair as it has done since.
I am heartily sorry that we have had any hand in it ;
not only because we have done the child harm, but
because it seems that we are going to lose him now that
we have come to care for him as if he was our own."

WALTKR

357

" Of course you played only a minor part in the
business, Nibson. We quite understand th' and it is
the men who have carried out this abduction that we
want to catch. Do you know the name of the man
who brought the child to you ? "

" I don't, sir. lie knows where to find me, but I have
no more idea than a child unborn who he is or where he
li\es. When he writes to me, which he generally does
before he comes down, which may be two or three times
a month, or may be once in six months, he signs himself
Smith. I don't suppose that is his right name, but 1
say fairly that if 1 knew it, and where he lived, I would
not peach upon him. He has always been straight with
me in the business I have done with him, and I would
rather take six months for this affair than say anything
against him."

" We are not asking you at present to say anything
against him, and he is not the principal man in this
business. I believe he is only acting as agent for
another more dangerous rascal than himself We are
not prepared at the present moment to arrest the chief
scoundrel. Before we do that we must obtain evidence
that will render his conviction a certainty. We have
reason to believe that this man that you know will
not come down for some time, and that you will re-
ceive the money for the child's keep by post ; but if
we abstain altogether from prosecuting you in this
matter, you must give us your word that you will not
take any steps whatever to let them know that the
child is no longer with you. He says that you pro-
mised to take him out in your barge. Well, if by
any chance this man — not your man, but the other — •
comes down here, and wants to see the child, you
or your wife will lead him to believe that he is on

358

THE LOST HKTR

buard your barge. It will als(j be necessary that ir
we do arrest them you should attend as a witness
to prove that the man handed the child over to you.
You could let it be seen that you are an unwilliiiL;
witness, but the evidence of the handinj^ over of the
child will be an absolute necessity."

" All right, sir, I will undertake that. There is no
fear of my letting him know that the child has gone,
for I don't know where to write him; and if he or
the other should come down, if I am here I shall
have no difficulty in keeping it from him that th.e
child has gone, for my man has never set foot in this
house. He just meets me on the road near Pitsca,
says what he has to say, and gives me what he has
to give me, and then drives off again. Of course if
I am summoned as a witness I know that the law-
can make me go. I remember now that when he
gave me the child he said he was doing it to oblige
a friend of his, and he 'May be able to prove that he
had nothing to do with carrying it off"

" That is as it may be," the lawyer said drily. " How-
ever, we are quite content with your promise. *

"And I thank you most heartily, you and your wife,"
Hilda Covington said warmly, " for your kindness to
the child. It would have made me very hap{)y all
this time if I could have known that he was in such
good hands, but I pictured him shut up in some vile
den in London, ill treated, and half starved. He has
grown very much since he has been with you, and
looks a great deal more boyish than he did."

"Yes, he plays a good deal with my barge boy, who
has taken to him just as we have "

" Well, your kindness will not be forgotten nor un-
rewarded, Mr. Nibson. '

iry that it
H witness
•cr to you.
I unwillini;
vcr of the

'here is no
1 has ^one,
d if he or
ire I shall
n that tlic
foot in this
lear I'itsca,
hat he lias
)f course if
lat the law
|t when he
it to obii'^c
)ve that he

ly. " How-

your wife,"
l<indness to
happy all
'as in such
some vile

He h;

you,

and

[e boy, who

m nor un-

W ALTER

359

I 'm sure we don't want any reward, miss ; we have

f we hadn't been paid at all

Id h

ave gone on kee

been well paid, Hut even
after the first month, we shou
him just the same."

"Now, Walter," Hilda said "we want you to come
home with us ; we have all been wanting you very
badly. Nurse and Tom Roberts have been in a terrible
way, and so has Dr. Leeds. You remember him, don't
you ? He was very kind to you all the time that you
were down in the country."

The ciiild nodded. " I should like to see Tom
Roberts and nurse, but I don't want to go away. I
am g(jing out in the barge soon."

" Well, dear, I dare sa}' that we shall be able to
arrange for you to come down sometimes, and to go
out in it, especially as you have learned to swim. We
are going away now in a boat"

" I often go out in the boat," Waiter pouted. " I
go with Joshua ; he is a nice boy, Joshua is, and I
like him."

"Well, dear, we will see what we can do for Joshua."

" You are sure that I shall come back and go out in
the barge ? "

" Quite sure, dear ; and perhaps I will go out with
you too."

"Yes, you must go, like a good boy," Mrs, Nibson
said. " You know, dear, that I shall always love you,
and shall be very, very glad if the ladies can spare you
to come down to see me sometimes. You won't forget
me, will you ? "

" No, Aunt Jietsy, I shall never forget you ; I pro-
mise you that," the child .said. " And I don't want
to go away from you at all, only cousin Hilda says
I must."

360

THE LOST HEIR

Mr. l^cttigrevv went out to tell Mr. Bostock that they
should not ^ivc Nibson into custody.

" The principal scoundrels would take the alarm
instantly," he said, " and, above all things, we want
to keep them in the dark until we are ready to arrest
them. It will be much better that we should have this
man to call as a witness than that he should appear in
the dock as an accomplice."

" I think that you are right there," the magistrate
agreed; "and really, he and his wife seem to ha\c
been very kind to the child. I have been talking to
this young barge boy. It seems he is no relation of
these people. His mcjther was a tramp, who died one
winter's night on the road to Pitsea. He was about
ten or eleven years old then, and they would have
sent him to the workhouse ; but Nibson, who was on
the coroner's jury, volunteered to take him, and I dare
say he finds him very useful on board the barge. At
an)' rate, he has been well treated, and says that Nibson
is the best master on the river. So the fellow must
have some good in him, though from what the coast-
guard officer said, there are very strong suspicions that
he is mixed up in the smuggling business, which, it
seems, is still carried on in these marshes. Well, no
doubt you have decided wisely ; and now, I suppose,
we shall be off."

At this moment they were joined by the coastguard
officer.

" He has done us again," he said. " We have been
investigating these outhouses thoroughly, and there is
no question that he has had smuggled goods here.
We found a clever hiding-place in that cattle-shed.
It struck me that it was a curious thing that there
should be a stack of hay built up right against the

WAITER

361

de of it. So we took down a plank or two, and I

as nut surpriscil to find that there was a hollow in the
stack. One of the men stamped his foot, and the
sound showed that there was another hollow under-
neath. We du|^ up the <Ti-ound, and found, si.x inches
below it, a trap-door, and on liftin<^ it discovered a
hole five or six feet deep and six feet scjuare. It was
lined with bricks rouLijhly cemented together. It is
lucky for hiin that the place is emi)ty, and I she uld
think that after this he will go out of the business
for a time. Of course we cannot arrest a man merely
lor having a hidden cellar; I fancy that there are not
many houses on the marshes that have not some places
i)f the sort. Indeed, I am rather glad that we did not
catch him, for in other respects Nibson is a decent,
hardworking fellow. Sometimes he has a glass or two
at the * Lobster Smack,' but never takes too much, and
is always very quiet and decent in his talk. I doubt
whether the men would have found that hiding-place
if I had not been there ; they all know him well, and
would not get him into a scrape if they could help
it, though there are some fellows on the marshes they
would give a month's pay to catch with kegs or tobacco."

The door of the house opened, and the three women
and Nibson came out with Walter, who was now
dressed in the clothes that they had brought down for
him.

While the others were getting ready to enter the
boat the officer took Nibson aside.

"You have had a close squeak of it, Nibson; we
found your hiding-place under the stack, and it is lucky
for you that it was empty. So we have nothing to say
to you. I should advise you to give it up, my man,
sooner or later you are bound to be caught."

362

THE LOST HEIR

The man's brow had darkened as the officer bcj^an,
but it cleared up again.

"All right," he said ; " I have been thinking for the
last half-hour that I shall droj) the business altogether,
but when a man once gets into it, it is not so easy to
get out. Now that you have found that cellar, it is
a good excuse to cut it. I can well say that I dare n<»t
risk it again, for that after so nearly catching me, )oii
would oe sure to keep an extra sharp eye on me in the
future."

" You give me your word for that, Nibson } "

" Yes, sir, I swear off it altogether from the present
day."

" Good. I will take your word for it, and you can
go in and come out as you like without being watched.
and you need not fear that we shall pay you another
visit."

Walter went off in fair spirits. The promise thai
he should come down again and see his friends and
have a sail in the barge lessened the pang of leaving,
and as Hilda's and Netta's faces came more stron<'l\-
back to him as they talked to him and recalled pleasant
things that had almost faded from his memory, he went
away contentedly, while Betsy Nibson went back to
the house and had what she called " a good cry." She
too, however, cheered up when her husband told her
how narrow an escape he had had, and how he had
given his word that he would dro[) smuggling altogether

"That makes my mind easier than it has been fur
years, Bill. And will you give up the other thing too?
There may not be much harm in running kegs and
bacca. but there is no doubt about its being wrong to
have anything to do with stolen goods and to mix
yourself up with men vvho steal them."

WALTER

y>.^

nd to mix

"Yes, I will give thit up too, Hets\' ; and as soon
as I have time to look round I will give an order foi-
a new barge to be built for me. 1 have been ashamed
of the old thing for a long lime past u ith her patelu-d
sails. Of course, she suited my purpose, for when the
other barges kept on their course it gave Uic a good
excuse for anchoring ; but it ain't pleasant to have
every barge passing you. There is old Joe Ilargett,
he said the other day that if I ever thought of getting
a new barge he would give me a lumdivd for her. He
has got a set of decent sails and he is a pretty handy
carpenter, and no doubt he will make her look decent
again. A hundred pound ain't much, but it will helji.
I can get a new one comi)iete, sails and all, for f )urteen
or fifteen hundred, and have a hundred or two left in
the bag afterwards. I tell you what, Hets\'. I will get
an extra comfortable cabin made, and a place forward
for Joshua. It will be dull for you here now the child
is gone, and it would be a sight more comfortable for
us both to be always together."

" That it will, liill." she said joyfully. " I was always
very happy on board till we hrst our \V\\\y. I took a
dislike to it then, and was glad enough to c(jme here ;
but I have got over it now, and this place is very lonely
during the l<ng winter nights when )-ou are away."

Then they talked over tht* barge, and how the cabin
should be fitted uj), and, in spite of having lost Walter,
the evening was a pleasant one to them.

That was not the only conversation that took place
that day with reference to a new barge for Rill Xib.son.
As they rowed up against the tide, Hilda said —

"We must do something (or that bargeman, Colonel
Rulstrode. I am sure we cannot be too grateful to him
and his wife for their treatment of Walter. Think how

3^H

THE LOST HEIR

different it mii^ht have been had he fallen into bad
hands. Now he looks the jjicture of health ; the chaiii^c
in the life and the open air has done wonders. You
know, Dr. Leeds said that the officer of the coast-
fjLiard had told hiin that Xibson's barge was one of the
oldest and rottenest crafts on the river. Now, I propose
that we buy him a new one. What would it cost,
Colonel Bulstrode?"

" I have not the slightest idea," ^c Colonel re{)liccl ;
'it might cost five hundred pounds, or it might c<.st
five thousand, for all I know."

"I will ask the waterman," Hilda said, and raising
her voice she said, " How much do barges cost wiicn
they are new ? "

" J'Vom ten or eleven hundred up to fifteen, ' the man
said.

"Does iliat include sails and all?"

" Yes, miss, down to the boa^"

"Who is considered the best, barge-builder?"

•' Well, there are a good many of them, miss ; but I
should say that Gill, of Rochester, is considered as gijod
as any."

"What do you think, Ah. Pettigrew?" Hilda said.
" Should we, as Walters guardians, be justified in s:nciul-
ing this money? Mind, I don't care a bit whether ue
are or not, because I would bu)- it myself if iv would
not be right for us to use his money."

" I am afraid that it would not be right,"' Mr. Pettigrt-w
.said. "As a trustee of the propert)', I should certaiiil)'
not feel myself justified in sanctioning such a sum
being drawn, though I quite admit that this goiul
couple should be rewarded. I cannot regard a barg'j
as a necessary ; anything in reason that the child could
recjuire we siiould be justified in agreeing to. Of course,

WAITER

365

md raisin<r

whatever may be his expenses at a public school we
I should pay them without hesitation ; but for a child
of that age to give a present of fifteen hundred pounds
would be altogether beyond our power to sanction."

"Very well," Hilda said decidedly, "then I shall take
the matter into my own hands, and I shall go down to
Rochester to-morrow and see if these people have a
l)arge ready built. I don't know whether they are the
sort of things people keep in stock."

"That I can't say, my dear. I should think it pro-
i>able that in slack times they ma}' build a barge or two
on speculation, for the purpose of keeping their hands
employed, but whether that is the case now or not I
don't know. If these people at Rochester have not got
one you may hear of one somewhere else. I want you
all to come up to the office one day ne.xl week to talk
over this matter of the order Simcoe is applying for -
for us to carry out the provisions of the will — at any
rate as far as his legacy is concerned."

"Very well, Mr. Petligrew, I will come up any time
that you write to me, but you know that I have very
strong opinions about it."

" I know your opinions are strong, as ladies' opinions
generally are," Mr. Pettigrew said, with a sn. ie ; "but,
unfortunately, they are much more influenced by their
own view of matters than by the legal bearing of them.
However, we will talk that over when we meet again."

The arrival of Walter occasioned the most lively joy
in Hyde Park Gardens. Hilda had written to his nurse,
who had gone home to live with her mother when all
hope of finding Walter had secined to be at an end, to
tell her that he would [)robably be at home on Wednes-
('ay evening, and that she was to be there to meet him.
ILm' greeting of him was rapturous. I*; had been a

3<5'5

THE LOST HEIR

source of hitter grief to her that he harl been lost
tliroui;h a iiioiiieiitary act of carelessness on her part,
and the reh'ef that Hilda's letter had caused was great
indeed. The child was scarcely less pleased to see her,
for he retained a much more vivid recollection of lu-r
than he did of the others. He had already been told
of his graiulfather's death, but a year had so effaced his
memory of him that he was not greatly affected at the
news. In the course of a few hours he was almost as
much at home in the house as if he had never left it.

'\^^

CHAPTER XXIV.

A NliW IJARGE

H "T^^^^^ "^'"^.^ morniii<r Hilda ^vent clown to Rochester
^ 1 with Xctta, Tom Roberts accornpanyinj,^ them.
They had no (hfficulty in discoverin<; the bar<,re-biiiklers.
It seemed to tlie <;\v\s a dirty-KjoUin^r place, thickly
littered as it was with shavings ; men were at work on
tuo or three barges which seemed, thus seen out of the
water, an enormous size.
''Which is Mr. (]ill ?" Hilda asked a man passing.
" That is him, miss," and he {pointed to a man who
was in the act of giving directions to some workmen
Ihey waited until he had finished, and then went up to
him.

" I want to buy a barge, Mr. Gill," Hilda said.

"To buy a barge!" he repeated in surprise, for never
before had he had a yoimg lady as a customer.

Hilda nodded. "I want to give it to a bargeman

who has rendered me a great service," as if it were an

I everyday occurrence for a j-cnuig lady to buy a barge as

;i present. " I want it at once, please ; and it is to be a

first-class barge. How much would it cost?"

The builder rubbed his chin. "Well, miss, it is a
little unusual to sell a barge right off in this 'way • as
a rule people want barges built for them. Some want
them for speed, some want them for their carrying
-i|.acity." ^ ^

367

368

THE LOST HEIR

"I want a first-class barge," Hilda repficd. "I sup-
pose it will be for traffic on the Thames, and that he
will like it to be f?ist."

" Well, miss," the builder said slowly, for he could
not yet quite persuade himself that this young lady was
really prepared to pay such a sum as a new barge would
cost, " I have got such a barge. She was launched last
week, but I had a dispute with the man for whom I
built her, and I said that I would not hold him to his
bargain, and that he i:ould get a barge elsewhere. He
went off in a huff, but I expect he will come back
before long and ask me to let him have her, and I
should not be altogether sorry to say that she is gone.
She is a first-class barge, and I expect that she will he
as fast as anything on the river. Of course, I have
got everything ready for her — masts, sails, and gear,
even down to her dinghy — and in twenty-four hours she
would be ready to sail. The price is fifteen hundred
pounds"; and he looked sharply at Hilda to see wliat
effect that communication would have. To his great
surprise .^he replied quietly —

"That is about the sum I expected, Mr. Gill. Can
we look at her ? "

" Certainly, miss ; she is lying alongside, and it is
nearly high tide."

He led the way over piles of baulks of timber,
across sloppy pieces of ground, over which at high
tide water extended, to the edge of the wharf, where
the barge lloated. She was indeed all ready for lier
mast ; hes sides shone with fresh paint, her upper
works were painted an emerald green, a colour greatly
in favour among bargemen, and there was a patch
of the same on her bow, ready for the name, sur-
rounded by gilt scroll-work.

A NEW BARGE

3^9

" There she is, miss ; as handsome a barge as there
is afloat."

" I want to see the cabin. What a little place ! " she
went on, as she and Netta went down through a
narrow hatchway, " and how low ! "

" It is the usual height in barges, miss, and the same
size, unless especially ordered otherwise."

" I should like the cabin to be made very comfortable,
for I think the boatman will have his wife on board.
Could it not be made a little larger?"

"There would be no great difficulty about that. You
see, this is a water-tight compartment, but of course it
could be carried six feet farther forward and a perma-
nent hatchway be fixed over it, and the lining made
good in the new part. As to height, one might put in
a good-sized skylight ; it would not: be usual, but of
course it could be done."

"And you could put the bed-place across there,
could you not, and put a curtain to draw across it ? "

"Yes, that could be managed easy enough, miss ; and
it would make a very tidy cabin."

"Then how much would that cost extra?"

" Forty or fifty pounds at the outside."

" And when could you get it all finished, and every-
thing painted a nice colour.-'"

" I could get it done in a week or ten days, if you
made a point of it."

" I do make a point of it," Hilda said.

" What do you say to our leaving this bulkhead ui)
as it is, miss, and making a door through it, and putting
a small skylight, say three feet square, over the new
part? You see, it will be fifteen feet wide by six feet,
so that it will make a tid)' little place. It would not
cost more than the other way, not so much perhaps ;

2 A

370

THE LOST HEIR

for it would be a lot of trouble to get this bulkhead
down, and then, you see, the second hand could have
his bunk u here, on the lockers, and be quite separate."

" Isn't there a cabin at the other end ? "

"Well, there is one, miss ; you can come and look at
it. That is where the second hand always sleeps when
the bargeman has got his wife on board."

" I think that it would be better to have the second
hand sleep there," Hilda said. " This is very rough,"
she went on, when she inspected the little cabin (uv-
ward ; " there are all the beains sticking out. Surely it
can be made more comfortable than this."

*' We could matchboard the timbers over if you like,
but it is not usual."

*' Never mind, please do it ; and put some lockers up
for his clothes, and make it very comfortable. Has the
barge got a name yet ? "

'* Well, miss, we have always called her the Mahuay;
but there is no reason that you should stick to that
name. She has not been registered yet, so we can call
her any name you like."

"Then we will call her the Walter" Hilda said,
for the girls had already settled this point between
them.

"And now, Mr. Gill, I suppose there is nothing to do
but to give you a cheque for fifteen hundred pounds,
and I can pay for the alterations when I come down
next Monday week. Can you get me a couple of men
who understand the work — bargees, don't you call
them ? I want them to take her as far as Hole Ha\en
and a short way up the creek."

**I can do that easily enough," the builder said; "and
I promise you that everything shall be ready for sailini;,
though I don't guarantee that the paint in the new part

A NEW BARGE

371

of the cabin will be dry. All the rest I can promise.
I will set a strong gang of men on at once."

A few days later Hilda wrote a line to William
Nibson, saying that she intended to come down with
the child on the following Monday, and hoped that he
would be able to make it convenient to be at home on
that day.

" She is not long in coming down again, Betsy," he
said, when on the Friday the barge went up to Pitsea
again, and he received the letter, which was carried
home and read by his wife, he himself being, like most
of his class at the time, unable to read or write.

*' I suppose the child pined in his new home, and she
had to pacify him by saying that he should come down
and see us next week. That will suit me very well. I
have a load of manure waiting for me at Rotherhithe ;
it is for Farmer Gilston, near Pitsea, so that I shall
just manage it comfortably. Next week I will go over
to Rochester and see if I can hear of a good barge for
sale."

On the following Monday morning the girls again
went down :o Rochester, this time taking Walter with
them, having the previous week sent off three or four
great parcels by luggage train. Roberts went to look
for a cart to bring them to the barge-builders, and the
girls went on alone.

" There she lies, miss," Mr. Gill said, " pointing to a
barge with new tanned sails lying out in the stream ;
" she is a boat any man might be proud of."

"She looks very nice indeed,' Hilda said, "though,
of course, I am no judge of such things."

"You may be sure that she is all right, Miss
Covington."

" Is the paint dry down below ? "

372

THE LOST HKIR

"Yes. I saw that you were anxious about it, so
put plcnt)' of driers in. So that, though she wa^
only painted on Saturday morninc^, she is perfect])-
dry now. lUit you are rather earHer than I had
expected."

"Yes; we have sent a lot of things down by rail.
Our man is getting a cart, and 1 dare say they will be
liere in a ciuarter of an hour."

The things were brought on a large hand-cart, and
as soon as these were carried down to the boat thc\
went off with Mr. (iill to the barge.

"There, miss," he said, as he led the way down into
the cabin; "there is not a barge afloat with such a
comfortable cabin as this. I put up two or three mc)re
cupboards, for as they will sleep in the next room there
is plenty of si)ace for them."

Except in point of height, the cabin was as comfort-
able a little room as could be desired. It was painted
a light slate colour, with the panels of the closets of
a lighter .shade of the same. The inner cabin was of
the same colour. A broad wooden bedstead extended
across o:ie end and at the other were two long cup-
boards extending from the ceiling to the floor. The
skylight afforded plenty of light to this room, while the
large one in the main cabin gave standing height six
feet square in the middle.

" It could not have been better," Hilda said, greatly
pleased.

" Well, miss, I took upon myself to do several things
in the way of cupboards, and so on, that you had not
ordered, but seeing that }'ou wanted to have things
comfortable I took upon m\self to do them."

"You did quite right, Mr. Gill. This big skylight
makes all the difference in height. I see that you ha\e

A Ni:\V HAROi:

373

painted the name, and that you have ^ot a fla<; flyin;^
from the mast head."

" Yes; barfjemen L,^enerally h'ke a bit of a (\i\<^, that is
to say if tlicy take any pride in their boat. You cannot
trade in the bar^^e until you liave iiad it rei^istered ;
shall I get that done for you?"

"Yes, I should be very much obliged if you would."

"And in whose name shall 1 register it? In yours? "

"No; in the name of William Xibson. If you want
his address it is Creek I^uin, Pitsea."

"Well, miss, he is a lucky fell(jw. I will get it done,
and he can call here for the register the first time he
comes up the IVIedwa}."

Roberts was sent ashore again for a number of
hooks, screws, and a few tools.

"Now, Mr. Gill, we are cjuite ready to start. VVc
shall get things straight on the voyage."

" You will have plenty of time, miss ; she will anchor
off Grain spit till the tide begins to run up hard. You
won't be able to get up the creek till an hour before
high tide."

"That won't matter," Hilda said ; "it will not be dark
till nine."

' You can get up the anchor now," the builder said to
two men who had been sitting smoking in the bow.

The barge's boat was l)'ing botttjm upwards on th';
hatches and another boat lay behind her.

"This boat does not belong to her, Mr. Gill, does
.she?" Hilda asked.

" No, miss ; that is the men's boat. When they have
got the barge to where she is to be moored, they will
row down to II(jle Haven, and get a tow up with the
first barge that comes down after the tide has turned.
How will you be coming back, Miss Covington?"

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W*SBSTER, N.Y. 14580
(-/16) 872-4503

374

THE LOST HEIR

" We have arranged for a gig to be at Hole Haven at
eight o'clock to drive us to Brentwood, where we shall
take train to town. We shall not be up before half-past
eleven, but as we have our man with us that does not
matter; be ides, the carriage is to be at the station to
meet the train."

The girls and Walter watched the operation of
getting up the anchor and of setting the f(jresail and
jib. They remained on deck while the barge beat
down the long reach past the dockyards, and then
with slackened sheets rounded the wooded curve down
into Gillingham Reach, then, accompanied by Roberts,
they went below. Here they were soon hard at work.
The great packages were opened, and mattresses and
bedclothes brought out.

" This reminds one of our work when you first came
to us," Netta laughed, as the\' made the bed.

" Yes, it is like old times, certainly. We used to like
to work then, because we were doing it together ; we
like it still more to-day, because not only are we
together, but we are looking forward to the delight
that we are going to give."

Carpets were laid down, curtains hung to the bed,
and a wash-hand stand fixed in its place. A hamper
of crockery was unpacked and the contents placed
on the shelves that had been made for them, and
cooking utensils arranged on the stove, which had
been obtained for them by the builder. By this time
Roberts had screwed up the hooks in the long cup-
boards, and in every spot round both cabins where
they could be made available. Then numerous
japanned tin boxes, filled with tea, sugar, and
other groceries, were stowed awa}', and a large one
with a label, " Tobacco," placed on a shelf for Bill

A NEW BARGE

Sl$

Nibson's special delectation. Curtains that coulci be
drawn were fixed to the skylights looking-glasses
fastened against the walls, and by the time that tlie
barge neared Sheerness their labours were finished.
Then the forward cabin was similarly made comfort-
able. Walter had assisted to the best of his power in
all the arrangements, and when he became tired was
allowed to go up on deck, on his prcjmise to remain
quiet by the side of the helmsman.

" Now I think that everything Is in its place," Hilda
said at last, " and really they make two very pretty little
rooms. I can't say that the one in the bow is pretty, but
at any rate it is thoroughly comfortable, and I have no
doubt that Joshua will be as pleased with it as the
Nib.sons are with theirs. Oh dear, how dusty one gets !
and we never thought of getting water on board for the
jugs."

On going up on deck, however, they observed two
barrels lashed together.

"Are those water?" Hilda asked the man at the
tiller.

" Yes, ma'am."

" How do you get it out ? I don't .see a tap."

" You put that little pump lying by the side into the
bunghole. I will do it for you, miss."

" Now we will go downstairs and tidy up, and
then come and sit up here and enjoy ourselves,"
said Hilda.

When they were below they heard a rattle of the
chain, and on going up found that the barge had come
to anchor in the midst of some thirty or forty others.
The foresail had been run down and the jib lowered, but
the great mainsail, with its huge, brightly painted sprit,
was still standing. Roberts now opened a hamper that

376

THE LOST HEIR

had been left on deck, and produced luncheon. Cold
meat and beer were handed to the two watermen, who
went up into the bow to eat it. An hour later the tide
began to slacken, and many of the barges got up sail.

" Shall we get up the anchor, ma'am ? " one of the
vvatcimen asked.

" There s plenty of time, is there not ? " Hilda asked.

" Yes, ma'am, but we thought that you would like to
see how she goes with the others."

" Yes, I she uld like that," Hilda said, and in a few
minutes the barge was under sail again.

" She is a clipper, and no mistake," the man at the
tiller said, as one by one they passed the barges that harl
started ahead of them, and Walter clapped his hands in
delight.

" We may as well go down to the lower end of the
Hope, miss. We shall have plenty of time to get back
again before there is water enough for us in the creek."

For three hours they sailed about, the girls enjoyint;
it as much as Walter.

" I do think, Netta, that I shall have to buy a barge
on my own account. It is splendid, and, after all, the
cabins are large enough for anything."

" You had better have a yacht," Netta laughed. "You
would soon get tired of always going up and down the
river."

" One might do worse," Hilda said. "Of course, now
we shall give up that big house in Hyde Park Gardens,
which is ridiculous for me and the boy. We have each
got a country house, and when we want a thorough
change I would infinitely rather have a yacht than a
small house in town. I don't suppose that it would
cost very much more. Besides, you know, it is arranged
that I am always to have rooms at your house at the

A NEW BARCIE

377

k?,f 1". ^^"' " '° ""' "^° ■'^•^' ""■"^' -- aft-: you
know that IS quite af^reed upon." ' ^

"No. th'i w f ''.'",''" '" >™'-k again," Netta sakl.

Nc^ that VVa ter ,s found, there is certainly nothin..

to keep us any longer in town." "

Vett?h°r "'■■" '' T'' ''''^■" ^''" ^""'^^y d"ll for yoL,.
Netta but you see that you are partly to blame yourself
for refusnig to go out with me."

" r"sl''l7r''' u"'" ''"'-'" ''"""'' '''"'" '^"•-•«a laughed.
I should have been a long tin,e before I got to know
people, and there is no good in knouing people Xen
you are gomg right away from them in a ^hort ime and
may never meet them again."

.n,f ' K^f ""^ """" "'"''' "'^* '^"''^ "'°"W be water
enough to get up i!ie crtek.

■We ..han't be able to sail up, mi.ss; you see the
wn,a w,.l be right i„ our teeth. But thai d^ln't matte
we can pole her t,p. The tide will take us along and
we shall only have to keep her straight and ge her
round the corners." ^

_'| Are you sure that there will be water enough ? "
Ves, miss. You see, she is empty, and doesi.'t dra«-
much more than a foot of water."

As they entered the hav':n the head sails were
dropped ana tne mainsail oraiieo up. 1 ne tide was
running ,n strong, and as the men had said thev iTac

T^^zzr " ''-' "- ^-^- ■" '"^ ^-p- p-

"How do you think they will be coming, Bill ?" Betsv

,W oTtr b VT ^■°''""' "'='■ '^"^•^-^''' -ho was stani
ing on the bank dressed in his Sunday clothes

' I cannot say, Betsy ; if I had known I should have

378

THE LOST HEIR

gone to meet them. They cannot drive here from
Pitsea, but must walk ; and of course I would ha\e
been there if I had been sure of their coming that way.
But I should think most likely that they will drive to
the haven and come up by boat."

" There is a new barge coming up the creek," Joshiin
said "You can see that she is new by her spars and
sails."

"That's so, boy," Bill agie^^d. "She has got a flag
I haven't seen before at her masthead. It is white, and
I think there are some red letters on it — her name, I
suppose. 'Tis not often that a new barge comes up to
Pitsea. She is a fine-looking craft," he went on, as
a turning in the creek brought her wholly into view.
"A first-class barge, I should say. Yes, there is no
doubt about her being new. I should say, from the
look of her spars, she cannot have made many trips up
and down the river."

" She has got a party on board," Mrs. Nibson said
presently. " There are two women and a child. Perhaps
it's them. Bill. They may have some fi-iend in the
barge line, and he has offered to bring them down,
seeing that this is a difficult place to get at."

" I believe you are right, Betsy. They are too far
off to see their faces, but they are certainly not barge
people."

" They are waving their handkerchiefs ! " Betsy ex-
claimed ; " it is them, sure enough. Well, we have
wondered how they would come down, but we never
thought of a barge."

The three hurried along the bank to meet the barge.
Walter danced and waved his hat and shouted loudly
to them as they approached.

"You did not expect to see us arrive in a barge.

A NEW BARGK

379

Mrs. Nibson," Hilda called out as they came abreast of
them.

" No, indeed, miss ; we talked it over together as to
how you would come, but we never thought of a barge."

"It belongs to a friend of ours, and we thought that
it would be a pleasant way of coming. She is a new
boat. You must come on board and have a look at
her before we land."

In a few minutes the barge was alongside the bank,
opposite the house. A plank was run across and
Walter scampered over it to his friends.

" Bless his little face ! " Mrs. Nibson said, as she lifted
him up to kiss her. " What a darling he looks, Bill !
And he has not forgotten us a bit."

" He could not well forget in a week," Bill said,
rather gruffly, for he, too, was moved by the warmth
of the child's welcome. "Well, let us go on board and
pay our respects. She is a fine barge, surely ; and she
has got the same name as the child."

"Why, it is not 'Jack,'" his wife said, looking up.

" Jack ! " her husband repeated .scornfully. " Didn't
they call him Walter the other day ? Go on, wife, the
lady is waiting at the end of the plank for you."

Mrs. Nibson put the child down and followed him
across the plank, smoothing her apron as she went.

" My best respects, miss," she said, as Hilda shook
hands with her warmly.

"We are glad to see you again, Mrs. Nibson, and
hope that you have not missed Walter very much."

" I cannot say that I have not missed him a good
deal, miss, but, luckily, we have had other things to
think about. -We are giving up the farm ; it is lone-
some here in the winter, and I am going to take to
barge life again."

38c

THE i-osr Hi: IK

"Well, what do you think of this bari^c, Mr. Nibson ?"
Hilda asked.

" I allow she is a handsome craft, and she ou^ht to
be fast."

" She is fast. We have been sailing about until
there was enouc^h water in the creek, and we ha\c
passed every barge that we have come near. She is
comfortable, too. Come below and look at her cabin."

"Well, I never!" Mrs. Nibson said, pausing in
astonishment at the foot of the ladder. " I have been
in many barge cabins, but never saw one like this."
Her surprise increased when the door of the bulkhead
was opened and she saw the sleeping cabin beyond.
" Did >'ou ever, Bill ? "

" No, I never saw two cabins in a barge before,' her
husband said. " I suppose, miss, the owner must have
had the cabin specially done up for his own use some-
times, and the crew live forward."

*' There is a place forward for the second hand," she
replied, "and I suppose the owner will sleep here."

" Of course it is a loss of space, but she will carry
a big load too. Who is the owner, miss, if I may
make so bold as to ask ? "

"The registered owner is W^illiam Nibson," Hilda
said quietly.

The bargeman and his wife gazed at each other in
astonishment.

" But," he said hesitatingly, " I have never heard of
any owner of that name."

" Except yourself, Nibson."

"Yes, except myself; but I am not an owner, as I
have sold the Mary Aim."

" There is no other owner now," she said, " that I
know of, of that name. The barge is yours. It is

A NICW liAROK

381

^Ir. Nibsoii?"

she ou-^ht to

er heard of

I.ouRht as a testimony of our s,n-atit,Klc for the kindness
Ifto him.""''"' ■*""'" ^^'•'""-'■■' "■"' y"" *« it is named
" It is too much, miss," sai<l Bill huskily, while his
w, e burst ,nto tears. " ,t is too much alto.^ether. We
m.ly d.d our duty to the child, and we were well paid

"You did m(,re than your <luty," IIil,|,., siuVl "The
money might pay for foo.l and shelter and clothes, hut
m.,ney cannot huy love, and that is what you gave
bo h of yot, ; and it is for that that we now pay as
well as we can. p / "»

^ "IMiss Coviufiton should s,-.y •[,'■• Netta broke in

for .t ,.s her present entirely. Walter's trustees could

IL M h,s n,oney for the purpose, and so she has
done it herself.

: ^" j^ •' ^.f-- You should have said nothing about
It, H.Ida said; and then, turning to Nibson, went on
I am his nearest relative-his only relative, in fact-
bes.des being his guardian, and therefore naturally I
am the most interested in his happiness; and as
fortunately, I am myself very well off, I can well afford
he pleasure of helping those who have been so good
to him. 1 ease do not say anything more about it
Now we will go on deck for a kw minutes, and leave
you and your wife to look round. We will show
Joshua his cabin."

So saying she and Netta went on deck. Joshua, led
by Walter, was just crossing the plank. He had not
received a special invitation, and he felt too shy to 0-0 on
board with these ladies present. Walter, however had
run across to him, and at last persuaded him to come.

Well Joshua," Hilda said, as she reached him, '' what
do you think of the barge ? " > ^^

382

THE 1-OST MKIR

" She is as good a one as ever I seed," the boy said.

•' Well, Joshua, she belongs to Mr. Nibson."

"To Bill?" Joshua exclaimed. "You don't mean
it, miss. '

" I do mean it," she said ; "this is his barge."

"Well, 1 shouldn't have thouL;ht that Hill was that
artful ! " Joshua ex'claimed almost indignantly. " Fancy
his keeping it from the missis and me that he had been
and bought a new barge ! IJut she is a fine one, there
ain't no doubt about that."

" Come forward and look at your cabin, Joshua.
I think you will say that it is more comfortable than
usual."

" Well, I am blowed ! " the boy ejaculated, as he
followed her down the ladder and looked round.
"Why, it is a palace, that is wot it is; it is more
comfortable than the master's cabin aft in most barges.
And what a bed ! Why, it is soft enough for a
hemperor."

"There are no sheets, Joshua. They told me that
the men never use sheets in barges."

" Lor' bless you, no, ma'am. We mostly stretch our-
selves on the locker and roll ourselves up in a blanket,
if we are lucky enough to have one. Why, I don't
know as I shan't be afraid of getting into that bed,
though I does take a header in the water every morning.
There are lockers on both sides too, and a basin. Who
ever heard of such a thing as a basin ? Why, miss, we
alius washes in the pail on deck."

"Well, I should think that it would be a good deal
more comfortable to wash down here in a basin on a
cold morning."

" Well, I suppose it might, miss ; it be sharp some-
times outside. Why, there is oilcloth all over the floor,

A NEW RARr.E

3^i

I boy said.
II."
don't mean

Jill was that
:ly. " Fancy
he had been
le one, there

bin, Joshua,
triable than

ated, as he
•ked round,
it is more
Tiost barges,
ough for a

)ld me that

stretch our-
n a blanket,
hy, I don't

that bed,
:ry morning,
asin. Who
\\y, miss, we

1 good deal
basin on a

iharp some-
er the floor,

I and a mat to wipe one's fbet at the bottom of the ladder

'lu '' '"n.n^ '^''' '^"^^ ''^ ^^'^ ^^^' - ^ "^^^•' did see such
thnigs. ji.lj must have gone clean off his chump. Well
1 am blessed ! " r •

"It is iMiss Covington who has given Hill the barge
and seen to its being fitted up." Netta said, "and she
has done hcT best to make your cabin as comfortable
as i^ossible, because you have been so kind to Walter"

"And I hope to do some more for you. Joshua, uhen
I can see my nay to do it. You will find two or three
suits of clothes for your work in those lockers I do
not know that they will quite fit, but I dare say if they
don t Mrs. N.bson can alter them for you, and you will
hnd shu-ts and warm underclothing and so on in that
cupboard."

Joshua sat down suddenly on a locker, completely
overpowered with what seemed to him the immensity
ot nis possessions. ^

There the girls left him, and they went up on deck

agam.

Gomg aft they sat down and talked for a few minutes
and were then joined by Nibson and his wife The
latter still bore traces of tears on her cheeks, and there
was a suspicious redness about Bill's eyes.

" We won't try to say what we would like to sav "
the man began, '' 'cause we could not say it, but we
feels ,t just the same. Here we are with everything
man or woman could wish for ready to hand "

"As I have said before, Nibson, please do not say
anything more about it. It has made me quite as
happy to get this barge for you, and to make it
comfortable, as ,t can do you both to receive it And
now we will go ashore."

In the house they found that tea was ready, save

3«4

THE LOST HEIR

[)ourinGj the water into the pot. A ham and a couple
ot cold chickens were on the table, and jam and honey
were specially provided for Walter. Joshua did not
make one of the j)arty. After recovering from the
contemplation of his own cabin he had j^one aft and
remained in almost awe-struck admiration at the com-
fort and conveniences there, until summoned by Bill t')
take his place and help to get the new boat into the
watei.and to row the ladies down to Hole Haven.

CHAPTER XXV.

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

n^HE case of the application by John Simcoe for
A an order for the trustees of the will of the late
General Mathieson to carry its provisions into effect
was on the list of cases for the clay. Tom Roberts was
walking up and down in Westminster Hall, waiting for
It to come on, when he saw a face he knew.

"Hullo, Sergeant Nichol, what brings you here?"
"Just curiosity, Roberts. I happened to see in the

r ,?f l."""^ ""^ ^"""^^ ^S^'"^t the trustees of

General Mathieson. ' What,' I said to myself, ' Simcoe?
That ,s the name of the chap who saved General
Mathieson s life.' I remember their being both brought
into cantonment, as well as if it were yesterday. I was
wih Paymaster -Sergeant Sanderson, the fellow who
bolted a short time afterwards with three hundred
pounds from the pay -chest and never was heard of
afterwards. We heard that Simcoe was drowned at
sea; and sorry we all were, for a braver fellow never
stepped m shoe leather, and there was not a man there
who did not feel that he owed him a debt of gratitude
for saving the brigadier's life. So when I saw the paper
I said to myself. ' Either the man was not drowned at
all or he must be some relation of his. I will so into
court and have a look at him.' "

• It is the same man, but I am sorrv to say that
«® 385

386

THE LOST HEIR

thougli he may be as brave as a Hon, he is a rogue.
But you can sec him without going into court. Thai
is him, talking with the man in a wig and gown and
that Httle man in black, who is, I suppose, his lawyer.
Me knows me, so I won't go near him ; but you can
walk as close as you like to him, and take a good look
at him."

Not content with looking once, Sergeant Nichol passed
him backwards and forwards three times. When he
rejoined Roberts the latter saw that he looked flushed
and e.xcited.

" What is it, sergeant ? "

'* I don't believe it is Simcoe at all," the sergeant
said. " It is that man Sanderson I was speaking about
just now. Several of us noticed how like he was to
Simcoe, but the expression of their faces was different.
Simcoe was five or six years younger, and had a
pleasant expression ; Sanderson had a hard face.
None of us liked him, he was a man one could never
get friendly with ; you might be in the same mess for
years and not know more about him at the end than
you did at the beginning. Of course, they would
both be changed a good deal by this time, but I don't
believe that Simcoe would have grown so as to be like
this man ; and I am sure that Sanderson would. He
had a mark on him that I should know him by. One
day when he was a recruit his musket went off, and the
ball went through his left forearm. It was only a flesh
wound, but it left a blackened scar, and I will bet all
that I am worth that if you turned up that fellow's
sleeve you would find it there." •

" That is very important, sergeant. I will go and tell
my young lady ; she is talking with her lawyers and
Colonel Bulstrode at the other end of the hall,"

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

387

Hilda clapped her hands.

" What do you say now, Mr. Pettigrew? I was right,
after all. Bring your friend up, Roberts, and let us hear
his story ourselves."

Sergeant Nichol was fetched, and repeated the story
that he had told to Roberts.

" Thank you very much, sergeant," the barrister said.
"Please remain here while we talk it over. What do
you think of this, Mr. Pcttigrevv?"

" It would seem to ex[)lain the whole matter that has
puzzcd us so. I did not tell you, because it was not in
my opinion at all necessary to the case, that Miss
Covington has always maintained that the man was
not Simcoe, and so positive was she that her friend
Miss Purcell went down to Stowmarket to make in-
quiries. It was certainly believed by his friends there
that he was Simcoe, and this to my mind was quite
conclusive. But I am bound to say that it did not
satisfy Miss Covington."

" May I ask, Miss Covington, why you took up that
opinion in the first place?"

" Because I was convinced that he was not the sort of
man who would have risked his life for another. After
Miss Purcell came back from Stowmarket we found out
that just before he called on my uncle he advertised for
relatives of the late John Simcoe, and that the advertise-
ment appeared not in the Suffolk papers only, but in
the London and provincial papers all over the country ;
and it was evident if this man was John Simcoe he
would not advertise all over England, instead of going
doivn to Stowmarket, where his family lived, and where
he himself had lived for years. He received a reply
from an old lady, an aunt of John Simcoe's living there,
went down and saluted her as his aunt, at once offered

388

THE LOST HEIR

to settle a pension of fifty pounds a year on her, and
after remaining for three days in her house, no doubt
listening to her gossip about all John Simcoe's friends,
went and introduced himself to them. There was
probably some resemblance in height and figure, and
an absence of twenty years would have effected a
change in his face, so that when it was found that his
aunt unhesitatingly accepted him the people there had
no doubt whatever that it was their old acquaintance.
Therefore, this in no way shook my belief that he was
not the man.

" It turns out now, you see, that there was another
man at Benares at the time who was remarkably like
him, and that this man was a scoundrel and a thief
When he deserted no doubt he would take another
name, and having doubtless hea-'d that John Simcoe
was dead, and remembering the remarks made as to
his likeness to him, he was as likely to take that name
as any other, though probably not with any idea of
making any special use of it. When in England he
may have heard General Mathieson's name mentioned,
and remembering that Simcoe had saved the life of
the General, may have thought that the name and
the likeness might enable him to personate the man.
He first set about establishing his identity by going
down to Stowmarket, and after that it was easy. I
have thought it all over so many times that although
it never struck me that there might have been at
Benares some man bearing a striking resemblance to
John Simcoe, all the rest is exactly as I had figured
it out to my mind. Now I will leave you, gentlemen,
to decide what use you will make of the discovery,
while I go and tell my friends of it."

The seats allotted to the general public were empty,

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

389

her, and
10 doubt
; friends,
lere was
;ure, and
[ifected a
that his
here had
laintance.
it he was

5 another
:ably like
i a thief.
; another
n Simcoe
ide as to
hat name
idea of
gland he
entioned,
e life of
lame and
the man.
|by going
easy. I
although
been at
Iblance to
Id figured
|entlemen,
liscovery,

re empty,

as a case of this sort offered but slight attraction even
to the loungers in the hall, but a large number of
barristers were present. It had been whispered about
that there were likely to be some unexpected develop-
ments in the case. The counsel engaged on both sides
were the leaders of the profession, who could hardly
have been expected to be retained in a mere case of
a formal application for an order for trustees to act
upon a will.

" The facts of the case, my lord," the counsel who
led for John Simcoe commenced, " are simple, and we
are at a loss to understand how the trustees of the late
General Mathieson can offer any opposition to our ob-
taining the order asked for. Nothing can be more
straightforward than the facts. The late General
Mathieson, early in March, eighteen hundred and fifty
two, made a will, which was duly signed and witnessed,
bequeathing, among other legacies, the amount of ten
thousand pounds to Mr. John Simcoe, as a mark of his
gratitude for his having saved him from a tiger some
twenty years before in India. The act was one of
heroic braver)-, and Mr. Simcoe nearly lost his own
life in saving that of the General."

He then related with dramatic power the incidents
of the struggle.

" There is, then, no matter of surprise that this large
legacy should have been left to Mr. Simcoe by the
General, who was a man of considerable wealth. The
bulk of the property was left to his grandson, and in
the event of his dying before coming of age it was to
go to a niece, a Miss Covington, to whom only a small
legacy was left, she being herself mistress of an estate
and well provided for. Two months afterwards the
General, upon reflection, decided to enlarge his gift to

390

THE LOST HEIR

■it

Mr. Simcoe, and he therefore in another will named
him, in place of Miss Covington, who was amply pro-
vided for, his heir in the event of his grandson's death.
I may say that the second will was not drawn up by
the solicitors who had framed the first will. Probably,
as often happens, the General preferred that the change
he had effected should not be known until after his
death, even to his family solicitors. He therefore went
to a firm of equal respectability and standing, Messrs.-
Halstead and James, who have made an affidavit that
he interviewed them personally on the matter, and gave
them written instructions for drawing up his will, and
signed it in their presence.

" I may say that in all other respects, including the
legacy of ten thousand pounds, the wills were absolutely
identical. The trustees, after waiting until the last day
permitted by law, have, to our client's surprise, proved
the first of these two wills, ignoring the second ; on
what ground I am at a loss to understand. As my
client is entitled to ten thousand pounds under either
will it might be thought that the change would make
little difference to him ; but unhappily the circum-
stances have entirely changed by the fact that the
General's grandson was lost or stolen on the day before
his death, and in spite of the most active efforts of the
police, and the offer of large rewards — my client, who
was deeply affected by the loss of the child, himself
offering a thousand pounds for news of his whereabouts —
nothing was heard of him until two months after his
disappearance, when his body was found in the canal
at Paddington, and after hearing evidence of identifica-
tion, and examining the clothes, which all parties agreed
to be those of the missing child, the jury returned a
verdict that the body was that of Walter Rivington,

III

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

391

and that there was no proof of how he came by his
end.

"As the residence of General Mathieson was in Hyde
Park Gardens, no doubt the poor child strolled awa)-
from the care of a careless nurse, came to the canal,
and, walking near the bank, fell in and was drowned.
No one could have been more grieved than my client
at this, and although it practically put him into pos-
session of a large property, he would, I am sure, gladly
forfeit a large portion of it rather than come into
possession of it in so melancholy a manner. I have
not heard of ihe slightest reason why the last will of
General Mathieson should be put aside I believe that
no question could arise as to his state of mind at the
time that it was made. It may be that a plea of
undue influence may be raised, but this to those who
knew the General would appear absurd. He was a
man of active habits, and vigorous both in mind and
body. Here was no case of a man living in the house
and influencing an old gentleman approaciiing his
dotage. They met -only at clubs, and at dinners; and
although the General was rightly and naturally attached
to Simcoe, he was certainly not a man to be influenced
against his will I beg, therefore, to ask, m}- lord, that
you will pronounce in favour of this second will, and
issue an order to the trustees to carry out its provisions
forthwith."

* But upon the face of your appeal to the court, Si-
Henry, there is no question as to the validity of the will
you propound set up by the trustees ? "

*' No, my lord. In fact, at the time the case was put
down we were ignorant that there would be any attempt
on the part of the trustees to dispute the second will,
and that they should do so came upon us as a surprise.

392

THE LOST HEIR

However, at a consultation between my learned friend
and myself just before we came into court, it was agreed
that if your lordship would permit it we would take the
two matters at once. One of the trustees is a member
of the firm who are and have been the family lawyers
of General Mathieson, and of his father before him, for
a long period of years. They are gentlemen of well-
known honour, who are, I am sure, as anxious as we are
to obtain from your lordship a judicial deci'-ion on which
they can act."

" It is irregular," the judge said, "but as both parties
seemed agreed upon it, it will doubtless save much
expense to the estate if the whole matter can be settled
at once. I will permit the whole matter to be taken.
Now, brother Herbert, we will hear you on the other
side."

" I am sorry to say, my lord, that it will be impossible
for me to imitate my learned brother in the brevity with
which he opened the case. So far from the facts being
extremely simple, they are, I may say, of a very compli-
cated nature. We own that we have no explanation to
offer with regard to the second will. It was strange,
very strange, that General Mathieson, a man of method-
ical habits, having just drawn up his will, should go to
another firm of solicitors and draw up a fresh one, but
the fact that the whole of the minor bequests are the
same in the two wills is certainly a very strong proof, as
also is the fact that the instructions for drafting the will
were written by the General himself, or at any rate, by
someone intimately acquainted with the contents of that
will, which we admit was difficult to believe could be the
case, as the will, from the time it was signed by the
General, has not been out of Messrs. Farmer and Petti-
grevv's hands until it was taken for probate the other day.

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

393

led friend
vsLS agreed
d take the
a member
\y lawyers
e him, for
n of well-
as we are
I on which

th parties
ave much
be settled
be taken,
the other

mpossible

evity with

LCts being

y compli-

ination to

3 strange,

method-

uld go to

one, but

are the

proof, as

; the will

/ rate, by

ts of that

Id be the

d by the

nd Petti-

ther day.

" Now, my lord, I trust that you will allow me a
certain amount of licence while I go into this some-
what singular story. Twenty-three years ago, General
Mathieson's life was saved in India by Mr. John Simcoe.
Mr. Simcoe himself was seriously wounded, and when
he recovered somewhat he was recommended by the
surgeon who attended him to go down to Calcutta at
once and take a sea voyage. He did so, and embarked
upon the ship Nepanl, which was lost in a terrible gale
in the Bay of Bengal a few days later, with, as was
supposed, all hands. Twenty years passed, and then
to the surprise, and I may say to the delight of the
General, who had much grieved over the loss of his
preserver, Mr. Simcoe presented himself. For a moment
the General did not recognise him ; but it was not long
before he became convinced of his identity, for he knew
the officers who had been at the station at the time, and
was well up in the gossip of the place, and the General
at once hailed him as the man who had saved his life,
introduced him to many friends, got him put up at
a good club, and became, I may say, very fond of him.
Mr. Simcoe brought up a friend or two who had known
him at Stowmarket, where he had an aunt still living,
and the result of all this was that the General requested
Messrs. Farmer and Pettigrew to draw up a new will,
bequeathing to John Simcoe the sum of ten thousand
pounds.

" Then came the singular episode of the second will,
A fortnight later, when at dinner at his club, the General
was smitten with a strange kind of fit, from which he
recovered, but only lived for a few months a half-
paralysed invalid. He was attended during that time
by Dr. Leeds — a gentleman with a very high reputation,
and now practising in Harley Street as a consulting

394

THE LOST HEIR

physician. The General was brought up to town, but
broke down during the journey and died two days
later.

" Now we come to the second strange fact in this
strange case. A day before his death his grandson,
Walter Rivington, was missing. The efforts of the
police, aided by a number of private detectives, failed
to obtain any clue to the child until a body was found
in the canal at Faddington. That the bc^ly was dressed
in some of the clothes worn by the child when carried
off was unquestionable ; but the three persons who
knew Walter Rivington best, namely, Miss Covington,
a friend of hers named Miss Purcell, who had been
all the summer assisting her to nurse General Mathieson,
and the child's own nurse, all declared that the bod}-
was not that of the General's grandson. They were
unable to adduce anything in support of this belief
beyond the fact that the hair of the child found was
short and to some extent bristly, whereas that of
Walter Rivington was long and silky. The jury,
however, adopted the view of the coroner that hair,
however soft, when cut close to the skull will appear
more or less bristly, and gave a verdict to the effect
that the body was that of Walter Rivington. Miss
Covington and her friends refused to accept the verdict,
and continued their search for the child.

" Without occupying your attention by going into
details, my lord, I may briefly say that a close watch
was set on ^Ir. Simcoe, and it was found that he was
exceedingly intimate with a man of whom no one
seemed to know anything ; and before I go further I
will ask, my lord, that you will give orders that
Mr. Simcoe shall not leave the court until I have
tinished."

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

395

town, but
two days

act in this

grandson,
rts of the
ives, failed
was found
/as dressed
len carried
rsons who
Covington,

had been
Mathieson,
; the bod}'
rhey were
this behef
found was
is that of
The jury,

that hair,
v'ill appear

the effect
ton. Miss
;he verdict,

^oing into
lose watch
lat he was
m no one
) further I
rders that
til I have

" You are not asking without strong reason, I trust,
brother Herbert ? "

"Certainly not, my lord."
^ The order was therefore given. Simcoe grew very
white in the face, but otherwise maintained an .'lir of
stolid indifference.

" I will now go back for a moment, my lord. General
Mathieson was attended by three of the leading
physicians in London at the time of his seizure. The
symptoms were so peculiar that in all their exi)erience
they had not met a similiar case. Dr. Leeds, howexer,
differed from them, but being their junior could not
press his opinion; but he told them that his opinion
was that the fit was due to the administration of some
drug unknown to the IJritish Pharmacopceia, as the
effects were precisely similar to those in cases that
he had read of in Africa and among other savage
people, where a poison of this kind was used by the
native fetish men or wizards. That opinion was con-
firmed rather than diminished by the subsequent pro-
gress of the malady and the final death of his patient.
The one man who could benefit by the General's death
was sitting next to him at dinner at the time of his
seizure, and that man, according to nis own statement,
had been for many years knocking about among the
savages of the South Sea Islands and the islands of
the Malay Archipelago.

" I do not accuse John Simcoe of this crime, but I
need hardly say that the mere possibility of such a
thing heightened the strong feeling entertained by
Miss Covington that Simcoe was the author of the
abduction of Walter Rivington. She and her devoted
friend, Miss Purcell, pursued their i ivestigations with
unflagging energy. They suspected that the man,

396

THE LOST HEIR

who was very intimate with Simcoe, had acted as his
agent in the matter, and a casual remark which was
overheard in a singular manner, which will he explained
when the case goes into another court, that this man
was going to Tilbury, gave them a clue. Then, in a
manner which many persons might find it very hard
to believe, Miss Covington learned from a conversation
between the two men, when together in a box at Her
Majesty's Theatre, tliat the lad was in charge of a
bargeman living near the little village of Pitsea, in
Essex. From that place, my lord, he was brought
last week, and Miss Covington will produce him in
court, if your lordship wishes to see him. Thus, then,
it is immaterial to us whether your lordship pronounces
for the first or second will.

" But, my lord, I have not yet finished my story.
Under neither of the wills does that man take a farthing.
The money was left to John Simcoe ; and John Simcoe
was drowned over twenty years ago. The man standing
over there is one William Sanderson, a sergeant in the
paymaster's staff at Benares when the real John Simcoe
was there. There happened to be a resemblance
between this man and him, so strong that it was
generally remarked upon by his comrades. This man
Sanderson deserted soon after Simcoe was drowned,
taking with him three hundred pounds of the pay-
master's money. There was a sharp hue and cry
after him, but he managed to make his escape. All
this is a certainty, but we may assume without
much difficulty that the man changed his name as
soon as he got to Calcutta, and nothing was more
likely than that he should take the name of John
Simcoe, whom he had been told that he so strongly
resembled.

A CRUSHING EXPOSURE

397

cted as his
which was
i explained
t this man
Then, in n

very hard
Dnversation
)ox at Her
liarge of a

Pitsea, in
IS brought
ice him in
Thus, then,
pronounces

my story.
t a farthing.
>hn Simcoe
n standing
jant in the
hn Simcoe
isemblance
at it was

This man

drowned,

the pay-

; and cry

cape. All

without

> name as

was more
; of John
o strongly

" For twenty years we hear nothing further of William
.'^anderson, nor do we hear when he returned to London.
Probably he in some way or other came across the
name of General Mathicson, and remembering what
John Simcoe had done for the General, he, on the
strength of his personal likeness, and the fact that
he had for twenty years gone by that name, determined
to introduce himself to him, with the result you know.
He was clever enough to know that he must answer
(]uestions as to his history before he left England, and
it was desirable to obtain witnesses who would, if
necessary, certify to him. But he knew nothing of
Simcoe's birthplace or history ; so he inserted advertise-
ments in a great number of London and provincial
newspapers, saying that the relations of the John
Simcoe, who was supposed to have been drowned in
the Bay of Bengal in the year 1832, would hear of
something to their advantage at the address given. A
maiden aunt living at Stowmarket did reply. He went
down there at once, rushed into her arms and called
her aunt, and told her that it was his intention to
make her comfortable for life by allowing her fifty
pounds per annum. He stayed with her for three
days, and during that time obtained from her gossip
full details of his boyhood and youth, his friends and
their occupation, and he then went out and called
upon John Simoe's old companions, all of whom took
him on his own word and his knowledge of the past
and his recognition by his aunt.

"So things might have remained. This man, after
undergoing what punishment might be awarded to him
for his abduction of Walter Rivington, could have
claimed the ten thousand pounds left him by General
Mathieson, had it not been that, by what I cannot but

398

THE LOST HEIR

consider a dispensation of Providence, an old comrade
of his, Staff-Seri^eant Nichol, was attracted to tin*
hall this morninf^ by seeing the name of Simcoc and
that of General Mathieson coupled in the cause list.
This man was in the hall talking to his professional
.idvisers, and Nichol, walking close to him to see if
he could recognise the man whom he had last seen
carried wounded into Benares, at once recognised in
the supposed John Simcoe the deserter and thief,
Sergeant Sanderson. He ))assed him two or three
times to assure himself that he was not mistaken.
Happily, the deserter had a mark that was ineffaceable ;
he had, as a recruit, let off his rifle, and the ball had
passed through the fleshy part of the forearm, leaving
there, as Sergeant Nichol has informed me, an inefface-
able scar blackened by powder. If this man is not
Sergeant Sanderson, and is the long-lost John Simcoe,
he has but to pull up the sleeve of his left arm and
show that it is without scar."

The man did not move ; he was half stunned by
the sudden and terrible exposure of the whole of his
plans. As he did not rise the counsel said —

" My lord, I must ask that you give an order for the
arrest of this man, William Sanderson, as a deserter and
a thief; also upon the charge of conspiring, with others,
the abduction of Walter Rivington."

" Certainly, brother Herbert," the judge said, as he
.saw that the accused made no motion to answer the
challenge of the counsel. " Tipstaff, take that man into
custody on the charge of aiding in the abduction of
Walter Rivington. As to the other charge I shall com-
municate with the authorities of the India Office, and
leave it to them to prosecute if they choose to do so.
After this lapse of years they may not think it worth

A CRUSHING' EXPOSURE

399

ilfl comrade
ted to till-
Simcoe and

cause list,
professional
n to sec if
rl last seen
:ognised in

and thief,
o or three
: mistak'en.
leffaceable ;
le ball had
rm, leavint^
an inefface-
Tian is not
hn Simcoe,
ft arm and

itunned by
hole of his

•der for the
eserter and
,vith others,

while to do so, especially as the m^vn is in custody on a
still graver charge "

The tipstaff moved towards the man, who roused
himself with a great effort, snatched a small glass ball
from a pocket inside his waistcoat, thrust it between
his teeth, and bit it into fragments, and as the officer
laid his hand upon him fell down in a fit. Dr. Leeds,
who had come in just as the trial began, rose to his
feet.

"I am a doctor, my lord. My name is Leeds, and
the opinioti I held of the cause of General Mathiesoji's
death is now proved to be correct. The sym[noms of
this fit are precisely similar to those of General Mathie-
son's seizure, and this man has taken some of the very
poison with which he murdered the General. '

For a minute Sanderson struggled in violent convul-
sions, then as Dr. Leeds bent over him his head fell
back suddenly. Dr. Leeds felt his pulse and then rose
to his feet.

" My lord," he said, " the case is finally closed. He
has gone to a higher judgment seat."

said, as he
answer the
it man into
)duction of
shall com-
Office, and
e to do so.
ik it worth

CHAPTER XXVI.

A LETTER FROM ABROAD

THREE days later, when Hilda returned from a
drive, she found that Dr. Leeds was in the draw-
ing-room with Miss Purcell and Netta, whose face at
once told what had happened.

" I have asked the question at last, Miss Covington,"
Dr. Leeds said, coming forward to shake hands, "and
Netta has consented to be my wife."

" I am hieartily glad. That you would ask her I
knew from what you told me ; and although I knew
nothing of her thoughts in the matter, I felt sure that
she would hardly say no. Netta, darling, I am glad.
Long ago I thought and hoped that this would come
about. It seemed to me that it would be such a happy
thing."

"Auntie said just the same thing," Netta said, smiling
through her tears, as Hilda embraced her. "As you
both knew, you ought to have given me some little
hint, then I should not have been taken quite by sur-
prise. I might have pretended that I did not quite
know my own mind, and ask for time to think it over,
instead of surrendering at once."

" But you did make a condition, Netta," Dr. Leeds
laughed.

" Not a condition — a request, if vou like, but certainly
not a condition."

A LETTER FROM ABROAD

401

;d from a

the draw-

se face at

ovington,"
.nds, "and

ask her I
[h I knew
sure that
am glad.
Duld come
h a happy

id, smiling
"As you

lome little

te by sur-
not quite

ik it over,

Dr. Leeds
t certainly

•

" Nctta said that her heart was greatly set on the
work she had always looked forward to, and she hoped
that I should let her do something in that way still.
Of course I have heard you both talk over that institute
a score of times, and I was as much impressed as your-
selves with the enormous boon that it would be. I
should be sorry indeed that the plan should be given
up. I need hardly say that in the half-hour we have
had together we did not go deeply into it, but we will
have a general council about it, as soon as we can get
down to plain matter of fact. Netta can talk it over
with you, and I can talk it over with her"; and then we
can hold a meeting, with Miss Purcell as president of
the committee."

But matters were not finally settled until the ladies
were established at Holmwood with Walter, and Dr.
Leeds came down for a short holiday of two or three
days. Then the arrangements were m^^de to the satis-
faction of all parties. A large house standing in
grounds of considerable extent was to be taken in the
suburbs of London, Netta was to be lady superintendent,
her aunt assisting in the domestic arrangements. Miss
Purcell insisted that her savings should be used for
furnishing the house. Hilda was to put in as a loan,
for the others would receive it in no other way, five
thousand pounds for working capital. She determined
to take a house near the institute, so that she could run
in and out and assist Netta in teaching. Dr. Leeds
was to drive up every morning to Harley Street, where
his work was over by two o'clock, except when he had
to attend consultations. No arrangements would be
necessary about the house, as this was the residence of
his partner, and he only had his own set of rooms there.
He was steadily making his way, and to his surprise
2 C

402

THE LOST HEIR

already found that the report in the papers of his
successful diagnosis of the cause of General Mathieson's
death had resulted in a considerable addition to his
practice, as a number of people consulted him on
obscure, and in many cases fanciful, maladies, in which
they had come to entertain the idea that they were
suffering from the effects of poison.

Now that she was going to assist at the institution
and had no intention of entering Society again in
London, Hilda had no longer any objection to the
power she had acquired being known, and when
questioned on the subject of the trial, made no secret of
the manner in which she had made the discovery at the
opera, and mentioned that she was going to assist in
an institution that was about to be established for
teaching the system, by which she had benefited, to deaf
children.

The matter excited considerable interest in medical
circles, and by the time that the institution was ready
the number of applicants was greater than could be
entertained. By this time Dr. Leeds and Netta were
married. The engagement was a short one, and the
wedding took place within two months of their going
down into the country with Hilda. Being anxious that
as many as possible should participate in the benefits of
the system, the doors of the institute were at once
opened to outdoor pupils, who were boarded in the
neighbourhood. Six of Netta's pupils in Hanover were
brought over as teachers, and a few weeks from its
being opened the institution was in full swing. As Dr.
Leeds wished that no profit whatevei hould be made
by the undertaking, in which desire he was cordially
joined by his wife and Hilda, the charges were ex-
tremely low, except in the case of children of wealthy

A LETTER FROM ABROAD

403

s of his
ithieson's
in to his
him on
in which
licy were

istitution
again in
1 to the
id when

secret of
iry at the

assist in
ished for
d, to deaf

medical
as ready
could be
tta were
and the
ir going
ious that
enefits of
at once
in the
)ver were
from its
As Dr.
be made
cordially
ivere ex-
wealthy

parents, the surplus in their case being devoted to
taking in, free of payment, children of the poor.

Before Netta's marriage the interest in the Mathieson
case was revived by the appearance of a letter in the
principal London papers. All search for the man who
had assisted Sanderson in the abduction of the child
had been fruitless. He had probably taken steps to
receive information of how matters were going on in
court, and long before an officer arrived at Rose Cottage
with a warrant for his arrest he had left, and the police
had failed to find any trace of his subsequent move-
ments. The letter bore the simple heading, " United
States," and ran as follows : —

" To the Editor,

" Sir, — I scarcely know why I write this letter, but I
suppose even an habitual criminal does not care to
remain under an unjust suspicion. I acknowledge
that I come under that category, and that my life
has been spent in crime, although never once has
suspicion attached to me, until I became mixed up
in the Simcoe- Mathieson affair. I wish to state
solemnly that I was absolutely ignorant that the name
John Simcoe was an assumed one. That was the name
he gave me when I first knew him, and I believed that
he was, as he represented, the man who had saved
General Mathieson's life from a tiger. That he had
subsequently lived a rough life in the South Seas I was
aware, for he came to me with a message, sent by a
brother of mine when at the point of death. The man
had been a chum of his out there, and had gallantly
carried him off when he had received the wound from
which he subsequently died, in a fight with a large
body of natives. 1 have absolute assurance that this

404

THE LOST HEIR

was true, for my brother would never have sent anyone
to me except under altogether extraordinary circum-
stances. The man called on me when he first returned
to England, but I saw little of him for the first two
years, and then he came to me and said that he had
looked up General Malhieson, and that the General had
taken to him, and put him down in his will for ten
thousand pounds. He said that General Mathieson
was worth a hundred thousand, and that he had
planned to get the whole. Not being in any way
squeamish, I agreed at once to help him in any way in
my power.

" His plan briefly was that he should obtain a fresh
will, appointing him sole heir to the General's estate in
the event of a boy of six or seven years old dying
before he came of age. He had somehow obtained a
copy of the General's will, and had notes in the General's
handwriting. There were two things to be done, first
that he should get instructions for the draft of the will
drawn up in precise imitation of the General's hand-
writing, containing all the provisions of the former
will, except that he was made heir in place of Miss
Covington in the event of his grandson's death. There
are a dozen men in London who can imitate hand-
writing so as to defy detection, and I introduced him
to one of them, who drew up the instructions. Then
I introduced him to a man who is the cleverest I
know — and I know most of them — at getting up
disguises.

" He had already ascertained that the General had
on one occasion been for a minute or two in the offices
of Messrs. Halstead and James. They would, therefore,
have a vague, and only a vague, remembrance of him.
He had obtained a photograph of the General, who was

... .-<• .-«"•

A LETTER FROM ABROAD

405

anyone
circum-
■eturned
irst two

he had
eral had

for ten
ithieson
he had
ay way

way in

a fresh
jstate in

1 dying
ained a
eneral's
ne, first
the will
5 hand-
former

of Miss
There
i hand-
;ed him
Then
merest I
ing up

ral had

2 offices
lerefore,
of him.
/ho was

about his own height and figure, and although there
was no facial resemblance, the man, by the aid of this
photograph, converted him into a likeness of the
General that would pass with anyone who had seen him
but once casually. So disguised, he went to the offices
of these solicitors, told a plausible story, and gave them
the written instructions. In the meantime he had been
practising the General's signature, and being a good
penman had got to imitate it so accurately that I doubt
if any expert would have suspected the forgery. The
lawyers were completely deceived, and he had only to
go there again three days later in the same disguise
and sign the will.

" So much for that. Then came the General's seizure.
I most solemnly declare that I had no shadow of sus-
picion that it was not a natural fit, and that if I had
had such a suspicion I should have chucked the whole
thing over at once, for though, as I have said, an
habitual criminal, that is to say, one who plans and
directs what may be called sensational robberies, I have
always insisted that the men who have worked under
me should go unprovided with arms of any kind, and
in no case in which I have been concerned has a drop
of blood been shed. As to tlic carrying off of the boy,
it was entirely managed by me. I had agents, men on
whom I could rely, as a word of mine would have
sent them to penal servitude for life. We knew that
suspicion would fall upon Simcoe, and that it was
important that he should be able to account for every
hour of his time. Therefore, on the day the child was
carried away he went down to Stowmarket, while I
managed the affair and took the child down to the
place where he was hidden in the Essex marshes. It
was I also who made the arrangements by which the

4o6

THE LOST HEIR

body of a child about the same age, who had died
in- the workhouse, was placed in the canal in some of
the clothes the missing heir had worn when taken
away. I owe it to myseif to say that in all this there
was . no question of payment between this man and
myself I am well off, and I acted simply to oblige
a man who had stood by the side of my brother to
death. Whether his name was Simcoe or Sanderson
mattered nothing to me ; I should have aided him just
the same. But I did believe that it was Simcoe, and that
having risked his life to save that of General Mathieson
he had as good a right as another to his inheritance.
He never hinted to me that it would be a good thing
if the child was got rid of altogether. He knew well
enough that if he had done so I would not only have
had nothing to do with it, but that I would have taken
steps to have put a stop to his game altogether. Now
I have only to add that having fairly stated the part
that I bore in this affair, I have nothing more to say
except that I have now retired from business altogether,
and that this is the last that the world will hear of
William Sanderson's accomplice."

For four or five years Hilda Covington devoted much
of her time to assisting Netta Leeds in her work, but
at the end of that time she married. Her husband was
a widower, whose wife had died in her first confinement.
His name was Desmond. He sold out of the army,
and Hilda never had reason to regret that she had
played the part of a gipsy woman at Laciy Moulton's
fete.

Walter grew up strong and healthy, and is one of the
most popular men of his county. His early love for
the water developed, and he served his time as a mid-

y ;

A LETTER FROM ABROAD

407

lad died
some of
:n taken
his there
nan and
:o obh'ge
•other to
anderson
him just
and that
athieson
eritance.
od thing
lew well
nly have
ve taken
:r. Now
the part
e to say
together,
hear of

shipman in one of Her Majesty's ships, and passed as
a lieutenant. He then retired from the service and
bought a fine yacht, which he himself commanded.
His friends were never able to understand why he
allowed his nominal skipper, William Nibson, to take
his wife on board, and gave up two cabins for their
accommodation. The barge Walter passed into the
hands of Joshua, who for many years sailed her most
successfully. He is now an elderly man, and his four
sons are skippers of as many fine barges, all iiis own
property.

THE ENH.

ed much
^ork, but
)and was
finement.
lie army,
she had
/loulton's

ne of the

love for

IS a mid-

^ J