Sawn Off: A Tale of a Family Tree

Volume Two—Chapter Twelve.

Private Inquiry.

Several weeks passed. Jessie seemed to have received a serious shock from the encounter that had taken place at her father’s house; and for days together she would be depressed, silent, and stand at the window watching, as if in expectation of some one coming. Then an interval of feverish gaiety would set in, during which, with brightened eye, she would chat and play and sing, showing so much excitement that Dick would shake his head to his wife and declare it was a bad sign.

“It’s all fretting, mother,” he would say. “She’s thinking of that scamp Fred.”

Whereupon Mrs Shingle would shake her head in turn, and declare tartly that he knew nothing at all about it, for she was sure it was Tom.

“You are very clever, no doubt, Dick, at keeping secrets and hiding things away from your wife—”

“That’s right,” said Dick. “Go it! I wish I was poor again.”

“But you know no more about that poor girl’s feelings than you do of Chinese.”

“Well, I don’t know much about Chinese, mother, certainly, but I’m sure it ain’t Tom. How can it be?”

“I don’t know how it can be,” said Mrs Shingle tartly, “or how it can’t be; but fretting after Tom Shingle she is, and it’s my belief he’s very fond of her.”

“There you go,” said Dick, who was warming himself, with his back to the fire, waiting for the object of their solicitude to come down to dinner—for she had been lying down the greater part of the day—“there you go, mother, a-showing yourself up and contradicting common-sense. I say it’s after Fred she’s fretting.”

“I know you do,” said Mrs Shingle, tightening her lips and giving her head a shake, which plainly said—“I’ll die before I’ll give in.”

“Let me have one word in, mother, if it’s only edgewise,” cried Dick.

“There, go on—I know what you are about to say.”

“No, you don’t, mother; so don’t aggravate. I say it’s Fred.”

“I know you do.”

“For this reason. He’s forbid the house, and I won’t have it; for I hear nothing but what’s bad spoken of him. I won’t have him here. He ain’t worthy of her. So he can’t come, and she, poor girl, frets about it; and if she don’t get better I shall have to give in. Now, you say it’s Tom.”

“Yes,” said Mrs Shingle, nodding her head.

“Well, then, why don’t he come? or why don’t she send for him and make it right? Can’t you see that if it were as you say, all would be right directly?”

Mrs Shingle shook her head.

“That’s right; be obstinate, mother, when you know there’s nothing to prevent his coming.”

Jessie came in directly, looking very pale and sweet in her sadness: her eyes were sunken with wakefulness, but she had a smile for both, and an affectionate kiss before taking her place at the table; where, after kicking himself in his misery, Dick set-to, pretending not to notice his child’s depression, though he felt a bitter pang at his heart as he was guilty of every bit of clowning in his efforts to bring a smile from the suffering girl’s eyes.

At times, though, he was very absent, and his tongue went on talking at random—of the last thing, perhaps, that he had seen—while his mind was far away. In fact, had his brother been present, with witnesses, he would have had strong grounds for saying that Dick’s brain was softening at the very least.

He began with grace, standing up, and very reverently said the customary formula, ending “truly thankful. Amen. Pure pickles, sauces, and jams,” he continued, for his eye had lighted upon the label of a bottle in the silver stand.

He started the next moment, and looked round, with one hand in his breast, to see if the string of his front was all right, for he occasionally put on one of those delusive articles of linen attire when he dressed for dinner, and always went in torture for the rest of the evening, on account of the treacherous nature of the garment—one which invariably seeks to betray the weakness of a man’s linen-closet by bursting off strings or creeping insidiously round under his arm. In fact, one of Richard Shingle’s, on a certain evening, deposited the bottom of the well-starched plaits in his soup, by making a dive out from within his vest as he leaned forward.

“Glass of wine, Jessie?” said Dick, as the dinner went on; and to oblige him the poor girl took a little, just as Mrs Shingle exclaimed—

“Bless me! I have no handkerchief. Did you take my handkerchief, Jessie?”

“Lor’! mother, don’t talk of your handkerchief as if it was a pill. You do roll ’em up pretty tight, but not quite so bad as that.”

The boy, who was waiting at table, exploded in a burst of laughter, which he tried to hide by rattling the glasses on the sideboard, and then turning uncomfortable as his master gave him a severe frown.

“What’s the pudden, my dear?” said Dick at last.

“It’s a new kind,” said Mrs Shingle. “You’ll have some? I told the cook how to make it.”

“That I will, and so will Jessie. I always like your puddens, mother, they make one feel so good while one’s eating them—they’re so innocent.”

“You’ve not seen any more of your brother, I suppose?” said Mrs Shingle just then, inadvertently.

“Well, I have seen him,” said Dick,—“twice. He’s up to some little game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why, that he’s got a man always watching me. He follows me like my shadow. He wants to find out my business, or else he’s going to try on his little dodge again. But I’m not afraid. Jessie, my gal, what is it?”

“Nothing, father—nothing,” she said, trying to smile as she rose from the table. “The room is too hot. I think I’ll go upstairs.”

“I’ll go with you, my darling,” exclaimed Mrs Shingle; but Jessie insisted on her staying, and she had her own way, going up to sit at her window, as was her wont, to watch wistfully along the darkened road for the relief that seemed as if it would never come.

She had been there about an hour, when suddenly she started up, and gazed down excitedly into the garden, where she could plainly make out the figure of a man; and as she looked he raised his hands to her and sharply beckoned her to come down.

“At last!” she cried, with a look of joy flashing from her eyes; and, going to the door, she listened for a few moments, hesitated, and then went below to the breakfast-room, which opened with French casements on to the garden, unfastened one, and in the dim light a figure passed in rapidly and closed the window.

There were two men standing in the shadow of a gate on the other side, one of whom scribbled something quickly on a page of a note-book, and gave it to the other, with the words—

“Run—first cab! Don’t lose a moment.”

A quarter of an hour later, just as Dick and his wife were about to leave the dining-room, there was a sharp knock at the door, followed by the trampling of feet in the hall, and Union Jack’s voice heard in protestation—

“I tell you he’s at dinner, and won’t be disturbed. Master always gives strict orders that—”

“Tell your master that Mr Maximilian Shingle insists upon seeing him on business.”

“Does he?” said Dick sharply. And he stood at the door, looking at his brother, and flourishing a dinner napkin about, as his eyes lighted upon his two companions; while a nervous feeling akin to alarm came upon him, for he saw that they were two well-dressed, keen-looking men.

“They’re mad doctors—both of ’em,” thought Dick, “and they’re going to listen to what I say, sign certificates, and have me dragged away. They’ll have a tough job of it if they do, though,” he muttered. “Yes, and there’s the carriage just come up that’s to take me off,” he continued, as there was the noise of wheels stopping at the door. “Don’t open that door, John,” he cried aloud.

But he was too late; for the boy had opened the door on the instant, and before he could shut it, Hopper, closely followed by Tom, entered the hall.

“Oh, it’s you, is it?” said Dick, nodding, and feeling relieved.

“Hey? Yes, it’s me,” said Hopper quietly. “We thought we’d just drop in.”

“Well, then, Mr Max Shingle, perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what you want, disturbing me at my dinner?” said Dick sharply.

“Well, the fact is,” said Max, smiling maliciously, but rubbing his hands and trying to look smooth the while, “these gentlemen and I—”

“Let’s see,” said Dick coolly; for he felt now that he was well backed up. “But, stop a moment. John, my lad, fetch a policeman.”

“By all means,” said Max eagerly. “Get one, my boy.” The lad, who had been staring with open eyes, unfastened the door, to find one close at hand, beating his gloves together, probably attracted by the scent of something going on.

“Here’s one outside, sir,” cried the boy eagerly.

“That’s right,” said Dick. “Here, you Number something, come in. You’re to see fair over this, my man.”

He nodded to Tom and Hopper, who were both singularly silent, and then turned to Max, as the front door was closed; and Mrs Shingle stood half in the dining-room, a wondering spectator of the proceedings.

“Now, Mr Max, if you please,” said Dick quietly, “proceed. You say these gentlemen—who I know again: they’ve been watching me, I suppose, to make up a case, ever since that little brotherly quarrel of ours; and now, I suppose, they’ve found it all out.”

“You shall hear what they’ve found out directly,” said Max, rubbing his hands.

“My secret, I suppose,” said Dick, laughing. “Well, I don’t mind that.”

“It will be a lesson to a disobedient son, too,” said Max, turning and darting a withering look at Tom. “One who fortunately happens to be here.”

“Well, when you’ve got through the introductory matter, or described the symptoms,” said Dick, laughing, “perhaps you’ll administer the pill. Your friends are mad doctors, I suppose?”

Max laughed derisively; and the taller of the two men—a curious-looking fellow, whose ears stood out at either side of his head so that you could look into them—in a sharp, businesslike way took out his pocket-book, and presented a card.

“That is my name and address, sir,” he said—“E. Gilderoy, private inquiry agent. This is one of my assistants.”

“Thankye,” said Dick, smiling. “There now, let’s have an inquiry in private.”

Max hesitated for a moment, and then went on.

“The fact is, Mr Richard Shingle, I have employed these gentlemen to—”

“I know—watch me,” said Dick sharply. “There, you needn’t shrink, Max; I was quite satisfied with the thrashing I gave you before, and if I want you turned out I shall set X Number something to work.”

“I am accustomed to your insults,” said Max, “so say what you like. I say, I employed these gentlemen in the interest of your wife and child as much as in that of the family, since you are so imbecile that you cannot take care of yourself.”

“All right: go on,” said Dick, coolly picking his teeth.

“I don’t care; say what you like—I deserve something for that kicking I gave you.”

“And these gentlemen have reported to me that for many nights past your house has had a man lurking about it, evidently for no good purpose.”

“One of these two, I suppose?” said Dick contemptuously.

“Your interruptions are most uncalled for,” said Max.

“Besides us, sir,” said Mr Gilderoy, nodding at his assistant.

“Yes, sir, besides us,” said that worthy.

“This evening the matter culminated in the man gaining entrance to your house,” said Max, with a malignant look in his eyes.

“Nonsense!” cried Dick.

“Oh no,” said Max, with a sneer, “it’s truth.”

“I don’t believe it,” cried Dick. “I’ll question the servants.”

“There is no need,” said Max maliciously; “you had better search the house, for he is here still.”

“It’s a lie—an invention!” cried Dick indignantly.

“You’d better ask Miss Jessie if it is,” said Max, laughing. “Ask—ask Jessie?” cried Dick, looking from one to the other. “What do you mean? To—Oh, I won’t have it. Who dares to say anything of the kind?”

“Fact, sir,” said the private inquirer sharply. “Young lady, sitting at window on first-floor, sits there every evening watching along the road.”

“Yes,” said Dick, in a bewildered way; “she does—but—”

“To-night, at seven fifty-six, tall gent in dark coat came up, jumped the railing, crossed the flower-bed, and made signs.”

There was a pause, and Tom sighed.

“Dark gent, with big beard—something like this gent, sir,” said the private inquirer, pointing to Tom.

“Was it you, Tom?” said Dick, with his old puzzled look growing more distinct upon his lined brow.

“No, uncle,” said Tom hoarsely; and then to himself—“Would to God it had been!”

“Oh no, sir, not this gent,” said the private inquirer, referring to his note-book—“something like him, but not him. He signals to the lady at the window. Lady comes down. Lady opens breakfast-room window.”

“How the devil do you know which is the breakfast-room?” cried Dick savagely.

“My duty to know, sir,” said the man, in the most unruffled way. “That’s the breakfast-room door, sir. Gent goes in through window—shuts it after him; and he didn’t come out.”

“How do you know?” cried Dick.

“Men watching back and front, sir,” said the private inquirer imperturbably.

“Well, Max, and if some one did, what then?” said Dick. “Suppose a policeman or some one comes to see one of the maids?”

“You had better turn him out,” said Max. “I should search the room.”

“That’s soon done,” said Dick, throwing open the door. “Here, John—a lighter.”

The boy took a taper to the hall lamp, and a couple of the burners in the breakfast-room being lit, they entered, to discover nothing.

“There,” said Dick, wiping the perspiration from his face, “you see there is no one here. I won’t have any more of your poll-prying about. You pay men to see things, Max, and they see them.”

“That’s an aspersion on my word, sir,” said the private inquirer sharply.

“Serve you right!” cried Dick fiercely. “What do you come watching for? No one else saw, I’ll swear. You saw nobody come in, did you, Hopper?—nor you, Tom?”

Neither answered, and Dick grew more and more excited.

“I won’t have it!” he cried. “I’ll have the house cleared.”

“Without clearing your daughter’s name?” said Max, with a sneer.

“Clear my daughter’s name? It wants no clearing,” cried Dick angrily; and now his nervous, weak manner was thrown off, and he stood up proud and defiant. “Here, stop! You, Tom Fraser, and you, Hopper! I won’t have you go, if it comes to that.”

“I would rather go,” said Tom sadly, from the hall.

“But I say you shall not go.”

“Uncle,” said Tom—and he spoke in a low whisper—“let me go, for Heaven’s sake: I cannot bear it.”

“No,” said Dick sternly; “you shall not go till this has been set right. Do you, too, believe ill of my girl?”

“God forbid, uncle! I only wanted to know that my case was hopeless; and I have heard.”

“Heard what?” whispered Dick.

“What these men told you,” said Tom bitterly.

“Do you dare to say—”

“I say nothing, uncle—only that what those men have said is true.”

“Here!” cried Dick furiously, “mother, quick!—tell Jessie to come here. Oh, you are there,” he cried, as, hearing a door close on the landing, he looked up and saw Jessie.

“Uncle, for Heaven’s sake think of what you are doing,” cried Tom, catching his arm.

“I am thinking, sir, of clearing her name. My girl would not be guilty of—”

He stopped short; for he recalled the little incident in the old home.

“I don’t care,” he cried passionately. “I’m driven to it, and it shall be sifted to the bottom.”

As he spoke, he ran up the stairs, closely followed by Max and his private inquirers.

“Mr Hopper,” cried Tom passionately, “this is your doing, to bring me in here. Come away. It is too cruel to her.”

“Hey? cruel?—I don’t care,” said Hopper sturdily. “I’ll see it out; for look here, Tom, and you too, Mrs Richard,—I say, as I’ve said before, she’ll come out of it clear as day. Now, come up.”

He stumped hastily upstairs, Tom feeling compelled to follow, but hating himself for the part he was playing, the result of hanging about the house time after time, for the sake of catching a glimpse of Jessie, and then telling Hopper that evening what he had seen.

The old man had been astounded when, half-frantic, Tom had met him on his way to Richard Shingle’s; and then insisted upon his coming to have the matter cleared up, vowing that there was a mistake.

As the party reached the large landing, Jessie stood in front of the door of her room, the policeman being the last to complete the half-circle that surrounded her; and then Dick spoke.

“Jessie, my darling,” he said, tenderly, “I know this will upset you; but, my girl, when cruel conspiracies are hatched against us by scoundrels, we must meet them boldly.”

“Yes, father,” said Jessie, who did not shrink, but darted a reproachful look at Tom that went to his heart.

“Your uncle, to stab your fair fame, my dear, has brought these men to swear that they saw you let in some one to-night by the breakfast-room window; and they say he has not gone out. Speak out, my dear, and tell them it’s a lie.”

There was no reply, and Mrs Shingle caught at her husband’s arm; but he flushed up with passion and shook her off.

“Jessie,” he cried in a choking voice, “speak out quick!—is any one in that room of yours?”

Jessie looked wildly from face to face, her glance resting longest on those of Max and Tom.

“I say, is any one in that room?” thundered Dick, catching her by the wrist, which she snatched away, and, spreading her hands from side to side, as she stood back against the door, she cried out, wildly—

“No, father, no!”

As she spoke there was a sharp creaking noise from within, as of a sash being thrown up; and Dick once more caught her by the wrist.

“No, no!” she cried, struggling with him frantically. “Tom, dear Tom, for pity’s sake save me from this disgrace!”

Tom dashed forward, and caught her in his arms, more in sorrow than in anger; for Dick had swung her round with a savage oath, throwing open the door, and dashing in with the private inquiry men, to return dragging out a man with a strong resemblance to Tom, till Gilderoy gave his beard a twitch, and pulled it off, revealing the sallow, frightened countenance of Fred.