punctually at half-past ten the next morning hewitt was at mrs. mallett’s house at fulham. it was a pretty little house, standing back from the road in a generous patch of garden, and had evidently stood there when fulham was an outlying village. hewitt entered the gate, and made his way to the front door, where two young females, evidently servants, stood. they were in a very disturbed state, and when he asked for mrs. mallett assured him that nobody knew where she was, and that she had not been seen since the previous afternoon.
“but,” said hewitt, “she was to stay at her sister’s last night, i believe.”
“yes, sir,” answered the more distressed of the two girls—she in a cap—“but she hasn’t been seen there. this is her sister’s servant, and she’s been sent over to know where she is, and why she hasn’t been there.”
this the other girl—in bonnet and shawl—corroborated. nothing had been seen of mrs. mallett at her sister’s since she had received the message the day before to the effect that the house had been broken into.
“and i’m so frightened,” the other girl said, whimperingly. “they’ve been in the place again last night.”
“who have?”
“the robbers. when i came in this morning——”
“but didn’t you sleep here?”
“i—i ought to ha’ done, sir, but—but after mrs. mallett went yesterday i got so frightened i went home at ten.” and the girl showed signs of tears, which she had apparently been already indulging in.
“and what about the old woman—the deaf woman; where was she?”
“she was in the house, sir. there was nowhere else for her to go, and she was deaf and didn’t know anything about what happened the night before, and confined to her room, and—and so i didn’t tell her.”
“i see,” hewitt said with a slight smile. “you left her here. she didn’t see or hear anything, did she?”
“no sir; she can’t hear, and she didn’t see nothing.”
“and how do you know thieves have been in the house?”
“everythink’s tumbled about worse than ever, sir, and all different from what it was yesterday; and there’s a box o’ papers in the attic broke open, and all sorts o’ things.”
“have you spoken to the police?”
“no, sir; i’m that frightened i don’t know what to do. and missis was going to see a gentleman about it yesterday, and——”
“very well, i am that gentleman—mr. martin hewitt. i have come down now to meet her by appointment. did she say she was going anywhere else as well as to my office and to her sister’s?”
“no, sir. and she—she’s got the snuff-box with her and all.” this latter circumstance seemed largely to augment the girl’s terrors for her mistress’s safety.
“very well,” hewitt said, “i think i’d better just look over the house now, and then consider what has become of mrs. mallett—if she isn’t heard of in the meantime.”
the girl found a great relief in hewitt’s presence in the house, the deaf old house-keeper, who seldom spoke and never heard, being, as she said, “worse than nobody.”
“have you been in all the rooms?” hewitt asked.
“no, sir; i was afraid. when i came in i went straight upstairs to my room, and as i was coming away i see the things upset in the other attic. i went into mrs. perk’s room, next to mine (she’s the deaf old woman), and she was there all right, but couldn’t hear anything. then i came down and only just peeped into two of the rooms and saw the state they were in, and then i came out into the garden, and presently this young woman came with the message from mrs. rudd.”
“very well, we’ll look at the rooms now,” hewitt said, and they proceeded to do so. all were in a state of intense confusion. drawers, taken from chests and bureaux, littered about the floor, with their contents scattered about them. carpets and rugs had been turned up and flung into corners, even pictures on the walls had been disturbed, and while some hung awry, others rested on the floor and on chairs. the things, however, appeared to have been fairly carefully handled, for nothing was damaged except one or two framed engravings, the brown paper on the backs of which had been cut round with a knife and the wooden slats shifted so as to leave the backs of the engravings bare. this, the girl told hewitt, had not been done on the night of the first burglary; the other articles also had not on that occasion been so much disturbed as they now were.
mrs. mallett’s bedroom was the first floor front. here the confusion was, if possible, greater than in the other rooms. the bed had been completely unmade and the clothes thrown separately on the floor, and everything else was displaced. it was here, indeed, that the most noticeable features of the disturbance were observed, for on the side of the looking-glass hung a very long, old-fashioned gold chain untouched, and on the dressing-table lay a purse with the money still in it. and on the looking-glass, stuck into the crack of the frame, was a half sheet of notepaper with this inscription scrawled in pencil:—
to mr. martin hewitt.
mrs. mallett is alright and in frends hands. she will return soon alright, if you keep quiet. but if you folloe her or take any steps the conseqinses will be very serious.
this paper was not only curious in itself, and curious as being addressed to hewitt, but it was plainly in the same handwriting as were the most of the anonymous letters which mrs. mallett had produced the day before in hewitt’s office. hewitt studied it attentively for a few moments, and then thrust it in his pocket and proceeded to inspect the rest of the rooms. all were the same—simply well-furnished rooms turned upside down. the top floor consisted of three comfortable attics, one used as a lumber room and the others used respectively as bedrooms for the servant and the deaf old woman. none of these rooms appeared to have been entered, the girl said, on the first night, but now the lumber-room was almost as confused as the rooms downstairs. two or three boxes were opened and their contents turned out. one of these was what is called a steel trunk—a small one—which had held old papers; the others were filled chiefly with old clothes.
the servant’s room next this was quite undisturbed and untouched; and then hewitt was admitted to the room of mrs. mallett’s deaf old pensioner. the old woman sat propped up in her bed, and looked with half-blind eyes at the peak in the bedclothes made by her bent knees. the servant screamed in her ear, but she neither moved nor spoke.
hewitt laid his hand on her shoulder and said, in the slow and distinct tones he had found best for reaching the senses of deaf people, “i hope you are well. did anything disturb you in the night?”
but she only turned her head half toward him and mumbled peevishly, “i wish you’d bring my tea. you’re late enough this morning.”
nothing seemed likely to be got from her, and hewitt asked the servant, “is she altogether bedridden?”
“no,” the girl answered; “leastways she needn’t be. she stops in bed most of the time, but she can get up when she likes—i’ve seen her. but missis humours her and lets her do as she likes—and she gives plenty of trouble. i don’t believe she’s as deaf as she makes out.”
“indeed?” hewitt answered. “deafness is convenient sometimes, i know. now i want you to stay here while i make some inquiries. perhaps you’d better keep mrs. rudd’s servant with you if you want company. i don’t expect to be very long gone, and in any case it wouldn’t do for her to go to her mistress and say that mrs. mallett is missing, or it might upset her seriously.”
hewitt left the house and walked till he found a public-house where a post-office directory was kept. he took a glass of whisky and water, most of which he left on the counter, and borrowed the directory. he found “greengrocers” in the “trade” section and ran his finger down the column till he came on this address:—
“penner, reuben, 8, little marsh row, hammersmith, w.”
then he returned the directory and found the best cab he could to take him to hammersmith.
little marsh row was not a vastly prosperous sort of place, and the only shops were three—all small. two were chandlers’, and the third was a sort of semi-shed of the greengrocery and coal persuasion, with the name “penner” on a board over the door.
the shutters were all up, though the door was open, and the only person visible was a very smudgy boy, who was in the act of wheeling out a sack of coals. to the smudgy boy hewitt applied himself. “i don’t see mr. penner about,” he said; “will he be back soon?”
the boy stared hard at hewitt. “no,” he said, “he won’t. ’e’s guv’ up the shop. ’e paid ’is next week’s rent this mornin’ and retired.”
6-5
“the boy stared hard at hewitt.”
“oh!” hewitt answered sharply. “retired, has he? and what’s become of the stock, eh! where are the cabbages and potatoes?”
“’e told me to give ’em to the pore, an’ i did. there’s lots o’ pore lives round ’ere. my mother’s one; an’ these ’ere coals is for ’er, an’ i’m goin’ to ’ave the trolley for myself.”
“dear me!” hewitt answered, regarding the boy with amused interest. “you’re a very business-like almoner. and what will the tabernacle do without mr. penner?”
“i dunno,” the boy answered, closing the door behind him. “i dunno nothin’ about the tabernacle—only where it is.”
“ah, and where is it? i might find him there, perhaps.”
“ward lane—fust on left, second on right. it’s a shop wot’s bin shut up; next door to a stableyard.” and the smudgy boy started off with his trolley.
the tabernacle was soon found. at some very remote period it had been an unlucky small shop, but now it was permanently shuttered, and the interior was lighted by holes cut in the upper panels of the shutters. hewitt took a good look at the shuttered window and the door beside it, and then entered the stable-yard at the side. to the left of the passage giving entrance to the yard there was a door, which plainly was another entrance to the house, and a still damp mud-mark on the step proved it to have been lately used. hewitt rapped sharply at the door with his knuckles.
presently a female voice from within could be heard speaking through the key-hole in a very loud whisper. “who is it?” asked the voice.
hewitt stooped to the key-hole and whispered back, “is mr. penner here now?”
“no.”
“then i must come in and wait for him. open the door.”
a bolt was pulled back and the door cautiously opened a few inches. hewitt’s foot was instantly in the jamb, and he forced the door back and entered. “come,” he said in a loud voice, “i’ve come to find out where mr. penner is, and to see whoever is in here.”
immediately there was an assault of fists on the inside of a door at the end of the passage, and a loud voice said, “do you hear? whoever you are, i’ll give you five pounds if you’ll bring mr. martin hewitt here. his office is 25, portsmouth street, strand. or the same if you’ll bring the police.” and the voice was that of mrs. mallett.
hewitt turned to the woman who had opened the door, and who now stood, much frightened, in the corner beside him. “come,” he said, “your keys, quick, and don’t offer to stir, or i’ll have you brought back and taken to the station.”
the woman gave him a bunch of keys, without a word. hewitt opened the door at the end of the passage, and once more mrs. mallett stood before him, prim and rigid as ever, except that her bonnet was sadly out of shape and her mantle was torn. “thank you, mr. hewitt,” she said. “i thought you’d come, though where i am i know no more than adam. somebody shall smart severely for this. why, and that woman—that woman,” she pointed contemptuously at the woman in the corner, who was about two-thirds her height, “was going to search me—me! why——” mrs. mallett, blazing with suddenly revived indignation, took a step forward, and the woman vanished through the outer door.
“come,” hewitt said, “no doubt you’ve been shamefully treated; but we must be quiet for a little. first i will make quite sure that nobody else is here, and then we’ll get to your house.”
nobody was there. the rooms were dreary and mostly empty. the front room, which was lighted by the holes in the shutters, had a rough reading-desk and a table, with half a dozen wooden chairs. “this,” said hewitt, “is no doubt the tabernacle proper, and there is very little to see in it. come back now, mrs. mallett, to your house, and we’ll see if some explanation of these things is not possible. i hope your snuff-box is quite safe?”
mrs. mallett drew it from her pocket and exhibited it triumphantly. “i told them they should never get it,” she said, “and they saw i meant it, and left off trying.”
she had straightened her bonnet and concealed the rent in her mantle as best she could. as they emerged in the street she said, “the first thing, of course, is to bring the police into this place.”
“no, i think we won’t do that yet,” hewitt said. “in the first place, the case is one of assault and detention, and your remedy is by summons or action; and then there are other things to speak of. we shall get a cab in the high street, and you shall tell me what has happened to you.”
mrs. mallett’s story was simple. the cab in which she left hewitt’s office had travelled west, and was apparently making for the locality of her sister’s house; but the evening was dark, the fog increased greatly, and she shut the windows and took no particular notice of the streets through which she was passing. indeed, with such a fog that would have been impossible. she had a sort of undefined notion that some of the streets were rather narrow and dirty, but she thought nothing of it, since all cabmen are given to selecting unexpected routes. after a time, however, the cab slowed, made a sharp turn, and pulled up. the door was opened, and “here you are, mum,” said the cabby. she did not understand the sharp turn, and had a general feeling that the place could not be her sister’s, but as she alighted she found she had stepped directly upon the threshold of a narrow door, into which she was immediately pulled by two persons inside. this, she was sure, must have been the side-door in the stable-yard, through which hewitt himself had lately obtained entrance to the tabernacle. before she had recovered from her surprise the door was shut behind her. she struggled stoutly, and screamed, but the place she was in was absolutely dark; she was taken by surprise, and she found resistance useless. they were men who held her, and the voice of the only one who spoke she did not know. he demanded in firm and distinct tones that the “sacred thing” should be given up, and that mrs. mallett should sign a paper agreeing to prosecute nobody before she was allowed to go. she, however, as she asserted with her customary emphasis, was not the sort of woman to give in to that. she resolutely declined to do anything of the sort, and promised her captors, whoever they were, a full and legal return for their behaviour. then she became conscious that a woman was somewhere present, and the man threatened that this woman should search her. this threat mrs. mallett met as boldly as the others. she should like to meet the woman who would dare attempt to search her, she said. she defied anybody to attempt it. as for her uncle joseph’s snuff-box, no matter where it was, it was where they would not be able to get it. that they should never have, but sooner or later they should have something very unpleasant for their attempts to steal it. this declaration had an immediate effect. they importuned her no more, and she was left in an inner room and the key was turned on her. there she sat, dozing occasionally, the whole night, her indomitable spirit remaining proof through all those doubtful hours of darkness. once or twice she heard people enter and move about, and each time she called aloud to offer, as hewitt had heard, a reward to anybody who should bring the police or communicate her situation to hewitt. day broke and still she waited, sleepless and unfed, till hewitt at last arrived and released her.
on mrs. mallett’s arrival at her house mrs. rudd’s servant was at once despatched with reassuring news, and hewitt once more addressed himself to the question of the burglary. “first, mrs. mallett,” he said, “did you ever conceal anything—anything at all, mind—in the frame of an engraving?”
“no, never.”
“were any of your engravings framed before you had them?”
“not one that i can remember. they were mostly uncle joseph’s, and he kept them with a lot of others in drawers. he was rather a collector, you know.”
“very well. now come up to the attic. something has been opened there that was not touched at the first attempt.”
mrs. mallett’s indignation at the second burglary was something to see. but there was triumph in her manner; she still had the snuff-box.
“see now,” said hewitt, when the attic was reached, “here is a box full of papers. do you know everything that was in it?”
“no, i don’t,” mrs. mallett replied. “there were a lot of my uncle’s manuscript plays. here, you see, ‘the dead bridegroom, or the drum of fortune,’ and so on; and there were a lot of autographs. i took no interest in them, although some were rather valuable, i believe.”
“now bring your recollection to bear as strongly as you can,” hewitt said. “do you ever remember seeing in this box a paper bearing nothing whatever upon it but a wax seal?”
“oh yes, i remember that well enough. i’ve noticed it each time i’ve turned the box over—which is very seldom. it was a plain slip of vellum paper with a red seal, cracked and rather worn—some celebrated person’s seal, i suppose. what about it?”
hewitt was turning the papers over one at a time. “it doesn’t seem to be here now,” he said. “do you see it?”
“no,” mrs. mallett returned, examining the papers herself, “it isn’t. it appears to be the only thing missing. but why should they take it?”
“i think we are at the bottom of all this mystery now,” hewitt answered quietly. “it is the seal of the woman.”
“the what? i don’t understand.”
“the fact is, mrs. mallett, that these people have never wanted your uncle joseph’s snuff-box at all, but that seal.”
“not wanted the snuff-box? nonsense! why, didn’t i tell you penner asked for it—wanted to buy it?”
“yes, you did, but so far as i can remember you never spoke of a single instance of penner mentioning the snuff-box by name. he spoke of a sacred relic, and you, of course, very naturally assumed he spoke of the box. none of the anonymous letters mentioned the box, you know, and once or twice they actually did mention a seal, though usually the thing was spoken of in a roundabout and figurative way, as is the manner of many people of strange beliefs in speaking of anything they particularly venerate. moreover, remember that when they had entrapped you last night, the moment you mentioned the snuff-box specifically by name they ceased troubling you, and contented themselves with shutting you up. all along, these people—reuben penner and the others—have been after the seal, and you have been defending the snuff-box.”
“but why the seal?”
“did you never hear of joanna southcott?”
“oh yes, of course; she was an ignorant visionary who set up as prophetess eighty or ninety years ago or more.”
“joanna southcott, as you may see by any suitable book of reference, gave herself out as a prophetess in 1790. she was an ignorant woman, and no doubt deceived herself, and really believed in the extravagant claims she put forward. she was to be the mother of the messiah, she said, and she was the woman driven into the wilderness, as foretold in the twelfth chapter of the book of revelation. she died at the end of 1814, when her followers numbered more than 100,000, all fanatic believers, though, of course, mostly ignorant people. she had made rather a good thing in her lifetime by the sale of seals, each of which was to secure the eternal salvation of the holder. at her death, of course, many of the believers fell away, but others held on as faithfully as ever, asserting that ‘the holy joanna’ would rise again and fulfil all the prophecies. these poor people dwindled in numbers gradually, and although they attempted to bring up their children in their own faith, the whole belief has been practically extinct for years now. you will remember that you told me of penner’s mother being a superstitious fanatic of some sort, and that your uncle joseph had checked her extravagances. the thing seems pretty plain now. your uncle joseph possessed himself of joanna southcott’s seal by way of removing from poor old mrs. penner an object of a sort of idolatry, and kept it as a curiosity. reuben penner grew up strong in his mother’s delusions, and to him and the few believers he had gathered round him at his tabernacle the seal was an object worth risking anything to get. i should think that probably it is the only one remaining in existence at the present moment. you see, he tried every way of getting at it. first, he tried to convert you to his belief. then he tried to buy it; and you will remember his mentioning that it had been his mother’s—a suggestion which you, thinking of the snuff-box, naturally resented. after that he and his friends tried anonymous letters, and at last, grown desperate, they resorted to watching you, burglary, and kidnapping. their first night’s raid was unsuccessful, so last night they tried kidnapping you by the aid of a cabman—possibly one of themselves. when they had got you, and you had at last given them to understand that it was your uncle joseph’s snuff-box you were defending, they tried the house again, and this time were successful. on the occasion of their first burglary they avoided the top floor, because of the servant sleeping there. this time she went home—they probably saw her go—and they got at the box in the attic. i guessed they had succeeded then, from a simple circumstance. they had begun to cut out the backs of framed engravings for purposes of search, but only some of the engravings were so treated. that meant either that the article wanted was found behind one of them, or that the intruders broke off in their picture-examination to search somewhere else, and were then successful, and so under no necessity of opening the other engravings. you assured me that nothing could have been concealed in any of the engravings, so i at once assumed that they had found what they were after in the only place wherein they had not searched the night before—the attic—and probably among the papers in the trunk.”
“but then if they found it there, why didn’t they return and let me go?”
“because you would have found where they had brought you. they probably intended to keep you there till the dark of the next evening, and then take you away in a cab again and leave you some distance off. to prevent my following and possibly finding you they left here on your looking-glass this note” (hewitt produced it), “threatening all sorts of vague consequences if you were not left to them. they knew you had come to me, of course, having followed you to my office. and now penner feels himself anything but safe. he has relinquished his greengrocery and dispensed his stock in charity, and probably, having got the seal—the only thing he coveted in the world—he has taken himself off. not so much perhaps from fear of punishment as for fear the seal may be taken from him, and with it the salvation his odd belief teaches him it will confer.” and then hewitt related the circumstance of the smudgy boy and his sack of coals.
mrs. mallett sat silently for a little while, and then said in a rather softened voice, “mr. hewitt, i am not what is called a woman of sentiment, as you may have observed, and i have been most shamefully treated over this wretched seal—if that was really what penner wanted. but if all you tell me has been actually what has happened, i have a sort of perverse inclination to forgive the man in spite of myself. the thing probably had been his mother’s—or, at any rate, he believed so—and his giving up his little all to attain the object of his ridiculous faith, and distributing his goods among the poor people and all that—really it’s worthy of an old martyr, if only it were done in the cause of a faith a little less stupid—though, of course, he thinks his is the only religion, as others do of theirs. but then”—mrs. mallett stiffened again—“there’s not much to prove your theories, is there?”
hewitt smiled. “perhaps not,” he said, “except that, to my mind, at any rate, everything points to my explanation being the only possible one. the thing presented itself to you, from the beginning, as an attempt on the snuff-box you value so highly, and the possibility of the seal being the object aimed at never entered your mind. i saw it whole from the outside, and on thinking the thing over after our first interview, i remembered joanna southcott. i think you will find i am right.”
“well, if you are, as i said, i half believe i shall forgive the man. we will advertise, if you like, telling him he has nothing to fear if he can give an explanation of his conduct consistent with what he calls his religious belief, absurd as it may be.”
that night fell darker and foggier than the last. the advertisement went into the daily papers, but reuben penner never saw it. late the next day a bargeman passing old swan pier struck some large object with his boat-hook and brought it to the surface. it was the body of a drowned man, and it was afterwards identified as that of reuben penner, late greengrocer, of hammersmith. how he came into the water there was nothing to show. others have been drowned by accident on those foggy nights; but then there have also been suicides in the river thames on nights just as foggy. nobody knew there was no money nor any valuables found on the body, and there was a story of a large, heavy-faced man who had given a poor woman—a perfect stranger—a watch and chain and a handful of money down near tower hill on that foggy evening. but this again was only a story, not definitely authenticated. what was certain was that, tied securely round the dead man’s neck with a cord, and gripped and crumpled tightly in his right hand, was a soddened piece of vellum paper, blank, but carrying an old red seal, of which the device was almost entirely rubbed and cracked away. nobody at the inquest quite understood this.
