CHAPTER XVIII.

MR. AGAR’S COLONIAL CLIENT.

Lucius went straight to Mr. Agar’s office—a little wedge-shaped box of a place squeezed corner-wise off a larger shop, for space was precious in the Shadrack-road. In this small temple of industry, Mr. Agar professed himself ready to value property, survey estates, sell by auction, let lands, houses, or apartments, collect rents, and even at a push to undertake the conduct of genteel funerals.

Here Lucius found him—a busy little man, with a bald head, and an ear that had been pushed into high relief by having a pen continually stuck behind it.

‘Pray, what can I do for you, sir?’ he asked, with his fingers in his order-book, ready to write an order to view any species of property within a ten-mile radius of the Shadrack-road.

‘I want to ask you a few questions about a house in which I am interested.’

‘As an intending tenant, sir, or purchaser?’ inquired Mr. Agar, turning round upon his high stool, and nursing his leg, in an attitude which was at once easy and inviting to confidence.

‘Certainly not as a tenant, for the house is let.’

‘As a purchaser, then?’ exclaimed Mr. Agar, stimulated by the vision of five per cent. ‘Have we’—a very grand we—‘advertised the property?’

‘No, Mr. Agar; nor have I any reason to suppose that it is for sale.’

‘But you think that we might negotiate something—make a speculative offer—eh?’ inquired the agent briskly. ‘My dear sir, in any delicate little matter of that kind, you may rely upon my discretion—and I think I may venture to say, upon my diplomatic powers.’

‘I want you to answer two or three plain questions, Mr. Agar—that is all. Some years ago you let Cedar House to my friend and patient, Mr. Sivewright.’

‘Cedar House—dear me, that is really curious; not an attractive property, one would think—no frontage to speak of—house out of repair, and yet—’

‘And yet what, Mr. Agar?’

‘Let me answer your inquiries first, sir.’

‘In the first place, then, to whom does the house belong?’

‘To two old maiden ladies, who reside in Paris. Their grandfather was a great man in the City—a brassfounder, I believe—and lived at Cedar House in very grand style, but not within the memory of anybody now living. The house has degenerated since his day, but it is still a valuable property. As a public institution, now, it would offer great advantages; or it might be made the nucleus of a large fortune to a medical practitioner in the shape of a private lunatic asylum,’ added the agent, with a sharp glance at Lucius.

‘Mr. Agar, I am bound to inform you that I am not on the look-out for a house for the purpose you suggest. But I am very curious to know all about Cedar House. When you let it to Mr. Sivewright were you aware of a secret staircase, which ascends from an outbuilding at the back to the first floor?’

‘And to the attic floor,’ said the agent.

‘What, does it go higher than the first floor?’

‘It ascends to one of the rooms on the upper story, sir. A fact you might have discovered for yourself if you had taken the trouble to examine the staircase thoroughly; but it’s an abominably crooked and dangerous place, and I don’t wonder you left some portion of it unexplored.’

‘To which of the upper rooms does it ascend?’ asked Lucius eagerly.

‘To the north-east attic. There is a door at the back of the closet in that room—you’d hardly distinguish it from the rest of the panelling—communicating with that staircase.’

‘Did Mr. Sivewright know of the staircase when you let the house to him?’

Mr. Agar was silent for a few moments, and rubbed his bald head meditatively.

‘Well, no. I doubt if he heard of it; that is to say, I don’t remember mentioning it. You see, to the candid mind,’ continued the agent, taking a high moral tone, ‘there is something peculiarly repellent in secrecy; even a secret staircase is not a pleasant idea. And the house had acquired a queer reputation in the neighbourhood. Noises had been heard—strange cats, no doubt—silly people even pretended to having seen things; in short, the ignorant populace described the house as haunted. Idle boys chalked “Beware of the ghost” on the garden wall; and when a tenant came forward at last in the person of Mr. Sivewright—a somewhat eccentric old gentleman, as you are no doubt aware, but most upright and honourable in his dealings—I was glad to let him the old place at a ridiculously low rent.’

‘And you did not show him the staircase?’

‘No, I certainly didn’t show it to him.’

‘Nor tell him anything about it?’

‘I cannot recall having mentioned it.’

‘Then I think we may take it for granted that he knows nothing about it. By the way, how does the communication work with the room on the first floor—it’s a sliding panel, I suppose?’

‘Yes; there’s a bit of moulding on one of the panels that looks rather loose; press that inwards, and the panel slides behind the other part of the wainscot. I don’t suppose it works very easily, for it must be a long time since it was used.’

‘Do you know for what purpose this staircase was originally built?’

‘No, sir; that end of the house belongs, I believe, to Henry the Eighth’s time. That staircase is built in what was once a great square chimney—the chimney of the old banqueting-hall, in fact; for there was a banqueting-hall in Cedar House in Henry the Eighth’s time, though there’s nothing left of it now; that end is clean gone, except the said chimney. I got an architect to look over the place once for the Miss Chadwicks, my clients, with a view to reparation; but the reparations mounted up so, that when the elder Miss Chadwick got the specification she wrote and told me she and her sister would sooner have the place pulled down at once, and sold for building materials, than lay out such a lot of money; for they are rather close, are the Miss Chadwicks. The architect didn’t seem to think that old chimney over safe either, on account of their having pulled down the hall, and took away its supports, in a measure. “But it’ll last our time, I daresay,” says he; “and if it falls it’s bound to fall outwards, where it can’t hurt anybody.” For, as I daresay you are aware, there’s only a bit of waste ground—a cat-walk, as you may say—on that side of the house.’

‘Rather a hazardous condition though for a house to be left in,’ said Lucius, thinking that this would give him a new incentive to find a better home for Lucille speedily. ‘Then you don’t know why that staircase was built, nor who built it?’

‘Well, no, sir; I can’t say I do. I’ve often wondered about it. You see, the staircase may not have been a secret one in the first instance, but may have been converted to a means of escape in the troublesome times that came later. There is no allusion to it in any of the deeds belonging to the house.’

‘You spoke just now of my inquiry being curious,’ said Lucius after a pause; ‘why was that?’

‘I thought it rather strange that you should make an inquiry about Cedar House, because some six weeks ago I had another gentleman here who made the same inquiry.’

‘About the staircase?’

‘No, he didn’t inquire about the staircase. I told him about that afterwards, in the course of conversation, and he seemed struck by the fact. We had a good bit of talk together, first and last, for he was a very free and open kind of a gentleman, and had just come from Australia, or America, I really forget which, and he insisted on standing a bottle of champagne—a thing I shouldn’t have cared to partake of in the middle of the day, if he hadn’t been so pressing.’

‘What kind of man was he?’ asked Lucius, burning with impatience.

‘Well, a good-looking fellow enough, but rather peculiar-looking with it. Tall and thin, with a sallow complexion, and the blackest eyes and hair I ever saw in a European. The hair grew in a little peak on his forehead, such as I’ve heard some facetious folks call a widower’s peak. It was rather noticeable.’

‘The very man!’ muttered Lucius.

‘Do you know the gentleman, sir?’

‘Yes, I think he is a person I know. And pray what inquiries did he make about the house?’

‘More than I can remember,’ answered the agent; ‘there never was such a gentleman for asking questions, and so business-like too. He made me take a sheet of paper and sketch him out a plan of the house in pencil—how all the rooms lay, and the passages and stairs, and so on. That’s how we came to speak of the private staircase. He seemed quite taken aback by the notion. It might be handy, he said, and work into something that he wanted.’

‘What motive did he state for these inquiries?’

‘They were made with a view to making an offer for the property, which I had reason to think my clients, the Miss Chadwicks, would be not unwilling to part with. The gentleman is trying to get a patent for an invention of his, which will make his fortune when carried out, he says, and he wants good roomy premises within an easy distance of the docks. A thorough man of business, I can assure you, though only just returned from abroad,’ added Mr. Agar, as if England were the only country in which business was properly understood.

‘Has this gentleman made any attempt to forward the transaction?’ asked Lucius. ‘Have you ever seen him since the day when he treated you to champagne?’

‘Treated is hardly the word, sir!’ said Mr. Agar with dignity. ‘The gentleman _stood_ a bottle of Peerer Jewitt. It was as much for his pleasure as for mine.’

‘I have no doubt of that, Mr. Agar. But have you seen any more of this agreeable gentleman?’

‘No, sir, he hasn’t been in here since. I fancy there’s some difficulty about the patent. It isn’t easy to hurry things where you’ve got to deal with Government offices. But I expect to hear from him before very long. He was quite the gentleman.’

‘I doubt if you will ever see him again, Mr. Agar, gentleman or not; if he be the man I take him for.’

‘Indeed, sir. Do you know anything to the gentleman’s disadvantage?’

‘Only that he is a most consummate villain.’

‘Good gracious me, sir. That’s a sweeping charge.’

‘It is, Mr. Agar; and I am unable just now to substantiate it. I can only thank you for the information you have kindly given me, and wish you good-morning.’

He left the little office, glad to be in the open air again to have room to breathe, and to be able to contemplate this new aspect of affairs alone.

‘He is here then, and henceforward it must be a hand-to-hand fight between us two.’