CHAPTER XII.

THE DUKE OF RIBBLESDALE’S LETTER.

Ehrenbreitstein. _Tuesday._

MY DEAR MANWARING,

Hurrah! You are cleared of all suspicion, as I always knew you would be, and--just as I expected--our dear friend, “Young Guttles,” is convicted of the robbery. I am sorry I was prevented from writing yesterday, as I should like to have been the first to tell you the good news; but Lord Guttleborough, who has certainly behaved like a thorough gentleman in the matter, insisted on Dr. Massenger’s starting at once to see your father, and I believe wrote himself, so you will already have heard the good news. We have had quite an exciting time of it the last two or three days in this not over-and-above lively hole, which indeed, since your departure, has become duller than ditch water. First, dear old Eton, and then _your_ coming to Ehrenbreitstein, have made me feel how impossible it is to live a life worth living without a friend to love and confide in. But I must tell you how the affair came about, with all particulars, in proper order.

Well, then, a few days after you left, Mrs. Massenger went to dine with the Disneys at Pottlehampton, and wore on that solemn occasion the diamond brooch about which we used to laugh at her, because she was always boasting of it as the bequest of her Aunt Trickleback. When she came home at night, she replaced the brooch in her dressing-case, but, when she opened the latter two or three days afterwards, the brooch had disappeared, and along with it twenty sovereigns which the old lady (what a rage she would be in if she knew I called her _old_!) had hoarded up, “unbeknown” to her husband. _Madame_ was perfectly furious at her loss, and insisted on the matter being put into the hands of two detectives from Manchester. These worthies--Diggles and Breffit were their respective and respectable names--seem to have acted with great tact and discretion. It was evident that no violence had been used in opening the box; they therefore decided that it must have been opened by means of a false key--a wax impression having somehow been obtained from the original. They accordingly made inquiries at Ossington, and speedily ascertained that a short time before “a young gentleman” had brought the pattern of a key to a locksmith there, and had said he wanted a duplicate made for his desk. Locksmith could not remember what the “young gent” was like, but had an idea he had “carrotty” hair. Making further inquiries at Ossington, Diggles and Breffit discovered that “a young lady,” name unknown, had taken two diamonds to a jeweller in the High Street, and wanted to sell one of them, and to have the other made up into a ring. The stones, she said, had been left her by an aunt. The jeweller, who seems to have been a consummate rascal, gave the girl £8 for one of the diamonds, which was worth £20 at the least, and took the commission for the ring. Jeweller didn’t know the girl by sight, but his shopman “thought she was a larky one,” and followed her to the door for a bit of chat when she left the shop, and noticed that she went straight to the establishment of Messrs. Tackham and Gridray, the Drapers. Tackham and Gridray remembered the girl’s coming, and that they had sold her a hat--a red velvet hat, with a yellow feather in it, because she said she wanted one “fit for the wife of a lord.” Thereupon Messrs. Diggles and Breffit returned in triumph, and learned that Betsey Slocombe had appeared the previous Sunday in church in a marvellous hat, which exactly tallied with Messrs. Tackham and Gridray’s description. The appearance, in fact, of the young lady in question was so utterly absurd, that I myself saw lots of people burst out into fits of derisive laughter as she passed down the aisle. The detectives now had nothing to do but to get a warrant for Miss Betsey’s apprehension, which they effected within two hours of their return. The girl was terribly frightened, but, seeing how much the detectives knew, she acknowledged that she had had two of the missing diamonds in her possession, but declared that Cubleigh had put them into her hands, and that she had only disposed of them in accordance with his directions. The next thing was to test the truth of her accusation; and to this at length old Massenger consented, though with great reluctance, and only when _Madame_ positively insisted on its being done. The detectives effected their purpose in what you will agree with me in thinking an ingenious manner. To us--_i.e._, to “Young Guttles” and your humble servant--sitting grinding over our Tacitus, enters a respectable, middle-aged mechanic in shirt sleeves and a dirty apron, which had once been white (Diggles got up to his part to perfection), and begins to boggle over the lock of old Massenger’s writing-table.

“Bother this ’ere lock!” cries Diggles, “it’s got ’ampered, so as no key o’ mine will open on it. I on’y wish my mate ’ad the job i’stead o’ I, for I’m more used to bell’anging than to locksmithing, I am. I won’er whether one o’ you two young gents ’as got a key as ’ud fit, and ’ud be so werry good as to lend ’un for a minnit?”

Thus adjured, Cubleigh and I, with the innocence of sucking doves, handed over our bunches of keys to the pseudo-locksmith, who at once spots the false key amongst those belonging to Cubleigh.

“Why, I’ve the right key arter all on t’other bunch,” cries Diggles; “what a softy I is, to be sure; but thanks to you, gents, all the same;” and, so saying, he opened the drawer with a flourish, banged it to again, returned our keys with a merry twinkle in his eyes, and left the room to report what he had discovered.

“I believe that fellow’s a fool,” remarked Cubleigh, as the man went out; “did you notice his idiotic grin as he left the room?”

Upon this, Massenger sent off express to telegraph for Lord Guttleborough, and next morning the great man arrived soon after breakfast. He was closeted with the Doctor for more than an hour, and then the two came into the room where we were sitting. Cubleigh seemed utterly flabbergasted at the unlooked-for appearance of his father, but he put on a sickly smile as he went up to greet him.

“No, sir,” cried my Lord, in a terrible voice, “don’t attempt to speak to me; I’ll bandy no words with you; but come up into your bedroom at once. And you,” he added, turning to me, “having, as I understand, been present at another search for stolen goods, I have thought it right to ask Dr. Massenger’s permission to request your Grace to come upstairs a second time for a similar purpose.”

All I could do, though I confess I was dying of curiosity, was to bow assent, and then up we all went into Cubleigh’s room. Lord Guttleborough seemed in no mood to spare his son. He compelled him to rummage out even the smallest articles. Once, in a sudden fit of fury, he tore down a photograph from the wall, and crushed it, frame and all, under his feet. At length we came to Cubleigh’s desk.

“Open that,” said my Lord, sternly.

Cubleigh obeyed, and ostentatiously threw out all the contents upon the table. “I don’t know what you expect to find,” said he; “but I hope you are satisfied now.”

Lord Guttleborough gave a sigh, as if of relief. Dr. Massenger looked puzzled.

“I suppose I may put these things back now?” said Cubleigh; and as he spoke I noticed a look of exultation upon his pale countenance. As no one answered, he moved the desk, when, as he did so, a rattling sound was heard, and the hand that held it trembled visibly.

“Ha! what’s that?” cried Lord Guttleborough. “Give that desk to me.”

The son obeyed, trembling more and more as he did so.

“Secret drawers!” almost screamed my Lord, and as he shook the desk violently, the rattling increased, and then a secret drawer fell out, and disclosed a number of diamonds picked out of their setting, the gold setting in a paper by itself, and--what do you think, Manwaring?--why, no less than forty-nine gold coins, the very number wanting to make up the tale of those stolen from Mr. Wilmot. There was a dead silence for a few moments, and then Dr. Massenger ejaculated the word, “Kleptomania!”

“Confound your Kleptomania,” gasped out my Lord, turning on the Doctor so fiercely that he started as if he were shot; “can’t you call a spade a spade, man? It’s a clear case of robbery, and my only son is the thief! And he made another suffer for his crime! There, let me sit down--I feel faint;” and, so saying, the old lord let the desk fall from his hands, and would himself have fallen to the ground if I had not stepped forward and guided him to a sofa. It was a dreadful sight, Manwaring; the old father with his face buried in his hands, sobbing aloud, and the son with his green eyes moving furtively here and there, looking like some trapped beast of prey.

After what seemed a long interval, my Lord looked up, and then I was shocked to observe that he looked years older than when we entered the room--quite old, I thought, and broken--but presently he spoke with a firm, though feeble voice: “Dr. Massenger, there is much to be done; I think Mr. Wilmot ought at once to be informed of the discovery of his stolen property, and if you think fit to hand that cowering thief yonder over to the detectives who are in the house, I shall not say one word to save him, and if he leaves you now, he will be at your or Mr. Wilmot’s disposal. I, too, must write at once to the poor father of this unfortunate young man, whom you expelled from your house upon evidence upon which I would not have hung a dog.” [You should only have seen how Massenger winced when my Lord said this!] “I think the least you can do is to start and go yourself to Mr. Manwaring. There are other things, too, to do and settle; the case of this wretched girl will have to be investigated and considered, so I must ask you to put me up for the night. I can occupy this room,” continued my Lord, as he glanced around him sadly, “if you allow the thief to depart; the carriage which brought me here must take him away from an honest household” (here he indicated his son by a movement of his hand); “I would not have him pollute it with his presence a moment more than is needful, and pray remember he will be forthcoming when he is wanted.”

“My Lord, I’m sure we shall be gratified and honoured and delighted,” cried Mrs. Massenger (who must have been listening at the door), as she bustled into the room; “that is, if your Lordship will excuse such poor accommodation as we can offer. I am sure I am extremely sorry for what has occurred, but I am sure your Lordship will excuse me if I am glad to recover my diamonds, which were a legacy from my Aunt, Miss Trickleback--one of the Tricklebacks of Stockport; one must think of one’s family relics, mustn’t one, my Lord? and I hope, my Lord, you will use your Lordship’s influence to get back the two diamonds which that brazen huzzy----”

“Depend upon it, Madam,” interposed Lord Guttleborough, haughtily, “I will see justice done to all. Augustus,” he added, looking a moment at his son, and then turning his head away, “you will prepare to leave at once;” and, so saying, he tottered out of the room.

Now, my dear fellow, confess that I am a brick for having spun this long yarn. I thought you would like and _ought_ to know everything as it occurred, and you know I don’t often err on the score of too great prolixity in my letters. Believe me, I am glad from the bottom of my heart that you are righted, and believe, also, that if ever you want or wish for anything that I can do for you, you may always command your grateful and affectionate friend,

RIBBLESDALE.

_P.S._--How I wish I wasn’t a Duke, and had to consider the proprieties, for I should _so_ like to go and kick young Guttles before he goes. I wonder what will become of the young beast.

_P.P.S._--_Wednesday Morning._ There are fresh troubles this morning. It appears that Betsey Slocombe is expecting her confinement, and her father threatens to sue young Guttles for seduction, and even talks about an action for breach of promise of marriage. So much for æsthetics and peacock fans! I shall go in more than ever for athletics. I shall depend on your coming to the Castle at Christmas, or rather after it; only you and I and another fellow, Carisbrooke, whom you will remember at Eton. My dear mother won’t leave Hampton Court, but we shall be very jolly together, I am sure.

R.