a day or two after i had witnessed what i must call carriston’s second seizure we were favored with a visit from the man whose services we had secured to trace madeline. since he had received his instructions we had heard nothing of his proceeding until he now called to report progress in person. carriston had not expressed the slightest curiosity as to where the man was or what he was about. probably he looked upon the employment of this private detective as nothing more useful than a salve to my conscience. that madeline was only to be found through the power which he professed to hold of seeing her in his visions was, i felt certain, becoming a rooted belief of his. whenever i expressed my surprise that our agent had brought or sent no information, carriston shrugged his shoulders, and assured me that from the first he knew the man’s researches would be fruitless. however, the fellow had called at last, and, i hoped, had brought us good news.
he was a glib-tongued man, who spoke in a confident, matter-of-fact way. when he saw us he rubbed his hands as one who had brought affairs to a successful issue, and now meant to reap praise and other rewards. his whole bearing told me he had made an important discovery; so i begged him to be seated, and give us his news.
carriston gave him a careless glance, and stood at some little distance from us. he looked as if he thought the impending communication scarcely worth the trouble of listening to. he might, indeed, from his looks, have been the most disinterested person of the three. he even left me to do the questioning.
“now, then, mr. sharpe,” i said, “let us hear if you have earned your money.”
“i think so, sir,” replied sharpe, looking curiously at carriston, who, strange to say, heard this answer with supreme indifference.
“i think i may say i have, sir,” continued the detective—“that is if the gentlemen can identify these articles as being the young lady’s property.”
thereupon he produced from a thick letter-case a ribbon in which was stuck a silver pin, mounted with scotch pebbles, an ornament that i remembered having seen madeline wear. mr. sharpe handed them to carriston. he examined them, and i saw his cheeks flush and his eyes grow bright.
“how did you come by this?” he cried, pointing to the silver ornament.
“i’ll tell you presently, sir. do you recognize it?”
“i gave it to miss rowan myself.”
“then we are on the right track,” i cried, joyfully. “go on, mr. sharpe.”
“yes, gentlemen, we are certainly on the right track; but after all, it isn’t my fault if the track don’t lead exactly[256] where you wish. you see, when i heard of this mysterious disappearance of the lady, i began to concoct my own theory. i said to myself, when a young and beautiful—”
“confound your theories!” cried carriston fiercely. “go on with your tale.”
the man gave his interrupter a spiteful glance. “well, sir,” he said, “as you gave me strict instructions to watch a certain gentleman closely, i obeyed those instructions, of course, although i knew i was on a fool’s errand.”
“will you go on?” cried carriston. “if you know where miss rowan is, say so; your money will be paid you the moment i find her.”
“i don’t say i exactly know where to find the lady, but i can soon know if you wish me to.”
“tell your tale your own way, but as shortly as possible,” i said, seeing that my excitable friend was preparing for another outburst.
“i found there was nothing to be gained by keeping watch on the gentleman you mentioned, sir, so i went to scotland and tried back from there. as soon as i worked on my own lay i found out all about it. the lady went from callendar to edinburgh, from edinburgh to london, from london to folkestone, and from folkestone to boulong.”
i glanced at carriston. all his calmness seemed to have returned. he was leaning against the mantelpiece, and appeared quite unmoved by mr. sharpe’s clear statement as to the route madeline had taken.
“of course,” continued mr. sharpe, “i was not quite certain i was tracking the right person, although her description corresponded with the likeness you[257] gave me. but as you are sure this article of jewelry belonged to the lady you want, the matter is beyond a doubt.”
“of course,” i said, seeing that carriston had no intention of speaking. “where did you find it?”
“it was left behind, in a bedroom of one of the principal hotels in folkestone. i did go over to boulong, but after that i thought i had learned all you would care to know.”
there was something in the man’s manner which made me dread what was coming. again i looked at carriston. his lips were curved with contempt, but he still kept silence.
“why not have pursued your inquiries past boulong?” i asked.
“for this reason, sir. i had learned enough. the theory i had concocted was the right one after all. the lady went to edinburgh alone, right enough: but she didn’t leave edinburgh alone, nor she didn’t leave london alone, nor she didn’t stay at folkestone—where i found the pin—alone, nor she didn’t go to boulong alone. she was accompanied by a young gentleman who called himself mr. smith; and what’s more, she called herself mrs. smith. perhaps she was; as they lived like man and wife.”
whether the fellow was right or mistaken, this explanation of madeline’s disappearance seemed to give me what i can only compare to a smack in the face. i stared at the speaker in speechless astonishment. if the tale he told so glibly and circumstantially was true, farewell, so far as i was concerned, to belief in the love or purity of women. madeline rowan, that creature of a poet’s dream, on the eve of her marriage with[258] charles carriston to fly, whether wed or unwed mattered little, with another man! and yet, she was but a woman. carriston—or carr, as she only knew him—was in her eyes poor. the companion of her flight might have won her with gold. such things have been. still—
my rapid and wrongful meditations were cut short in an unexpected way. suddenly i saw mr. sharpe dragged bodily out of his chair and thrown on the floor, while carriston, standing over him, thrashed the man vigorously with his own ash stick—a convenient weapon, so convenient that i felt mr. sharpe could not have selected a stick more appropriate for his own chastisement. so carriston seemed to think, for he laid on cheerfully some eight or ten good cutting strokes.
nevertheless, being a respectable doctor and a man of peace, i was compelled to interfere. i held carriston’s arm while mr. sharpe struggled to his feet, and after collecting his hat and his pocket-book, stood glaring vengefully at his assailant, and rubbing the while such of the weals on his back as he could reach. annoyed as i felt at the unprofessional fracas, i could scarcely help laughing at the man’s appearance. i doubt the possibility of any one looking heroic after such a thrashing.
“i’ll have the law for this,” he growled. “i ain’t paid to be beaten by a madman.”
“you’re paid to do my work, not another’s,” said carriston. “go to the man who has over-bribed you and sent you to tell me your lies. go to him, tell him that once more he has failed. out of my sight.”
as carriston showed signs of recommencing hostile[259] operations, the man flew as far as the door-way. there, being in comparative safety, he turned with a malignant look.
“you’ll smart for this,” he said; “when they lock you up as a raving lunatic i’ll try and get a post as keeper.”
i was glad to see that carriston paid no attention to this parting shaft. he turned his back scornfully, and the fellow left the room and the house.
“now are you convinced?” asked carriston, turning to me.
“convinced of what? that his tale is untrue, or that he has been misled, i am quite certain.”
“tush! that is not worth consideration. don’t you see that ralph has done all this? i set that man to watch him; he found out the espionage; suborned my agent, or your agent, i should say; sent him here with a trumped-up tale. oh, yes; i was to believe that madeline had deserted me—that was to drive me out of my senses. my cousin is a fool after all!”
“without further proof i cannot believe that your suspicions are correct,” i said; but i must own i spoke with some hesitation.
“proof! a clever man like you ought to see ample proof in the fact of that wretch having twice called me a madman. i have seen him but once before—you know if i then gave him any grounds for making such an assertion. tell me, from whom could he have learned the word except from ralph carriston?”
i was bound, if only to save my own reputation for sagacity, to confess that the point noted by carriston had raised certain doubts in my mind. but if ralph carriston really was trying by some finely-wrought scheme to bring about what he desired, there was all the more reason for great caution to be exercised.
“i am sorry you beat him,” i said. “he will now swear right and left that you are not in your senses.”
“of course he will. what do i care?”
“only remember this. it is easier to get put into an asylum than to get out of it.”
“it is not so very easy for a sane man like myself to be put in, especially when he is on his guard. i have looked up the law. there must be a certificate signed by two doctors, surgeons—or, i believe, apothecaries will do—who have seen the supposed lunatic alone and together. i’ll take very good care i speak to no doctor save yourself, and keep out of the way of surgeons and apothecaries.”
it quite cheered me to hear him speaking so sensibly and collectedly about himself, but i again impressed upon him the need of great caution. although i could not believe that his cousin had taken madeline away, i was inclined to think, after the affair with the spy, that, as carriston averred, he aimed at getting him, sane or insane, into a mad-house.
but after all these days we were not a step nearer to the discovery of madeline’s whereabouts. carriston made no sign of doing anything to facilitate that discovery. again i urged him to intrust the whole affair to the police. again he refused to do so, adding that he was not quite ready. ready for what, i wondered!
