Part 7

"The barrister dropped into his chair and rubbed his hands together nervously.

"'Indeed--and she said nothing to me. You are probably aware that you have been investigating a mare's nest--my wife's jewellery is not missing.'

"'No, it is not missing now, because when you returned from the country you put a similar set in its place.'

"'Good heavens, madame!' exclaimed Mr. Charrington, leaping to his feet, 'what do you mean?'

"'Pray be calm, sir. I assure you that I have come here not to make a scandal but to avoid one. After you gave your wife the jewellery, you for some reason secretly abstracted it. The jewellery you abstracted passed into the possession of Mrs. Rinaldi, whose husband pawned two of the articles at Attenborough's. As your wife is quite aware that for many days her jewellery was missing, I am bound to make an explanation of some kind to her. I have come to you to know what I shall say. You cannot wish her to believe that your son took the jewellery?'

"'Of course Claude must be cleared--but what makes you believe that I put the jewellery back?'

"'On the night you did it you pricked your finger with the pin of the lizard. You left a small bloodstain on the linen that was in the drawer, and when you turned down the sheet to get back into bed again your finger was still bleeding, and left its mark as evidence against you. Come Mr. Charrington, explain the circumstances under which you committed this rob-- well, let us say, made this exchange, and I will do my best to find a means of explaining matters to your wife.'

"Mr. Charrington hesitated a moment, and then, having probably made up his mind that it was better to have me on his side than against him, told me his story.

"At the time that he kept up an irregular establishment he made the lady who is now Mrs. Rinaldi many valuable presents of jewellery. Among them were the articles which had resulted in my becoming temporarily a parlour-maid under his roof. When the lady married Rinaldi, he provided for her. But the man turned out a rascal, squandered and gambled away his wife's money, and forced her to pawn her jewellery for him. He then by threats compelled her to forward the tickets to her former protector, and implore him to redeem them for her as she was without ready money to do so herself. The dodge succeeded two or three times, but Mr. Charrington grew tired, and on the last occasion redeemed the jewellery and put it in a drawer in his desk, and replied that he could not return it, as it would only be pawned again. He would keep it until the Rinaldis sent the money to redeem it, and then they could have it.

"Then came his wife's birthday, and he wished to make her a present of some jewellery. He selected a bracelet and a pendant in diamonds and sapphires and a true-lovers'-knot brooch in diamonds, and ordered them to be sent to his chambers.

"He was busy when they came, and put them away for safety in a drawer immediately below the one in which he had some weeks previously placed the jewellery belonging to Mrs. Rinaldi. Mrs. Rinaldi's jewellery, each article in its case, he had wrapped up in brown paper and marked outside 'jewellery,' to distinguish it from other packets which he kept there, and which contained various articles belonging to his late wife.

"On the eve of his wife's birthday he found he would have to leave town for the day without going to his office. He had to appear in a case at Kingston-on-Thames, which had come on much sooner than he had expected. Knowing he would not be back till late at night, he sent a note and his keys to his clerk, telling him to open his desk, take out the jewellery which had recently been forwarded from Streeter's, and send it up to him at his house. He wished his wife many happy returns of the day, apologised for not having his present ready, but said it would be sent up, and she should have it that evening.

"The clerk went to the desk and opened the wrong drawer first. Seeing a neatly tied-up parcel labelled 'jewellery,' he jumped to the conclusion that it was the jewellery wanted. Not caring to trust it to a messenger, he went straight up to the house with it, and handed it to Mrs. Charrington herself, who concluded it was her husband's present. When she opened the parcel she noticed that the cases were not new, and supposed that her husband had bought the things privately. She was delighted with the jewellery--a bracelet and pendant in diamonds and rubies and a diamond lizard.

"When her husband returned to dinner he was horrified to find his wife wearing his former mistress's jewellery. But before he could say a word she kissed him and told him that these things were just what she wanted.

"He hesitated after that to say a mistake had been made, and thought that silence was best. The next day Mrs. Charrington received news of her brother's death, and had to go into deep mourning. The new jewellery was put away, as she would not be able to wear it for many months.

"That afternoon at Mr. Charrington's chambers Rinaldi called upon him. Desperately hard up, he had determined to try and bully Mr. Charrington out of the jewellery. He shouted and swore, and talked of an action at law and exposure, and was delighted to find that his victim was nervous. Mr. Charrington declared that he could not give him the jewellery back. Whereupon Mr. Rinaldi informed him that if by twelve o'clock the next day it was not in his possession he should summon him for detaining it.

"Mr. Charrington rushed off to his jewellers. How long would it take them to find the exact counterpart of certain jewellery if he brought them the things they had to match? And how long would they want the originals? The jewellers said if they had them for an hour and made a coloured drawing of them they could make up or find a set within ten days.

"That night Charrington abstracted the birthday present he had given his wife from her jewel-box. The next morning at ten o'clock it was in the hands of the jewellers, and at mid-day when Rinaldi called to make his final demand the jewellery was handed over to him.

"Then Mr. Charrington went out of town. On his return the new jewellery was ready and was delivered to him. In the dead of the night while his wife was asleep he put it back in the empty cases. And that," said Dorcas, "is--as Dr. Lynn, at the Egyptian Hall, used to say--'how it was done.'"

"And the wife?" asked Paul, turning his blind eyes towards Dorcas; "you did not make her unhappy by telling her the truth?"

"No, dear," said Dorcas. "I arranged the story with Mr. Charrington. He went home and asked his wife for her birthday present. She brought the jewels out nervously, wondering if he had heard or suspected anything. He took the bracelet and the pendant from the cases.

"'Very pretty, indeed, my dear,' he said. 'And so you've never noticed the difference?'

"'Difference?' she exclaimed. 'Why--why--what do you mean?'

"'Why, that I made a dreadful mistake when I bought them and only found it out afterwards. The first that I gave you, my dear, were imitation. I wouldn't confess to you that I had been done, so I took them without your knowing and had real ones made. The real ones I put back the other night while you were fast asleep.'

"Oh, Claude, Claude,' she cried, 'I am so glad. I did miss them, dear, and I was afraid there was a thief in the house, and I dared not tell you I'd lost them. And now--oh, how happy you've made me!'"

* * * * * * *

Two months later Dorcas told me that young Claude Charrington was engaged to Miss Dolamore with his father's consent, but he had insisted that she should leave Fitzroy Street at once, and acting on private information which Dorcas had given him, he assured Claude that diamond lizards were unlucky, and as he had seen Miss Dolamore with one on he begged to offer her as his first present to his son's intended a very beautiful diamond true-lovers'-knot in its place. At the same time he induced his wife to let him have her diamond lizard for a much more valuable diamond poodle with ruby eyes.

So those two lizards never met under Mrs. Charrington's roof, and perhaps, all things considered, it was just as well.

_VII. THE MYSTERIOUS MILLIONAIRE_

I had received an invitation to spend the evening at Oak Tree Road, but I had been detained by business, and it was past nine o'clock when my cabman, making a mistake in the number, pulled up at a house short of the Denes'. While I was feeling in all my pockets for the odd sixpence to make up the cabman's fare--as usual with the fraternity he had no change--the door opened, and an elegantly-dressed lady came hurriedly out.

She started back nervously as she saw me, and I at once jumped to the conclusion that it was a lady who was paying her first visit to a private detective, and was fearful that someone might see her and recognise her.

She seemed to hesitate for a moment, till she saw me hand the fare to the cabman, then she hailed him and got in, lifted the trap door, and said, "Drive to St. John's Wood Chapel."

"She'll tell him where to drive her when she gets to the chapel," I said to myself, as I stood and watched the cab out of sight.

The lady, in her agitation, had forgotten to pull the door to, so I entered without ringing, walked up the little garden path, and found Dorcas waiting for me in the hall with the house door wide open.

"You've been having a good look at my lady visitor, Mr. Saxon," she said with a smile. "Well, she will probably think you are another client."

"And pray how do you know that I have been having 'a good look,' as you call it, at your visitor?" I said laughingly.

"I heard your cab drive up just as I was letting her out; she left the door ajar, and you would have come in at once if you had not been otherwise engaged. You didn't even come in, you know, when the cab drove away, so I conclude that you looked after it for some time, probably making a mental note of the number."

"You have guessed exactly what passed in my mind. I saw you had an aristocratic visitor, and a nervous one, and I wondered if there was anything for me to do this time."

"I don't know yet," said Dorcas, "but come into the drawing-room. Mother is spending the evening with some friends of hers, and Paul has been alone for nearly an hour. My new client's first visit has been rather a long one."

Dorcas led the way to the drawing-room, where Paul was sitting on the sofa with Toddlekins, the bulldog, stretched out across his knees.

Paul put the dog gently down, and rising as I entered, held out his hand. "We expected you two hours ago," he said, "but better late than not at all. I thought Dorcas's visitor was going to stay for hours, and that you weren't coming, and that I should really begin to recognise the value of Mrs. Lester as a conversationalist in my solitary condition."

"I'm awfully sorry, dear," said Dorcas, taking her husband's arm, and drawing him gently down on the sofa beside her, "but it's always the way. Directly I've made up my mind to have a quiet evening with you, somebody is sure to call."

"Is it a case?" asked Paul.

"Yes, and I'm afraid it will be rather a difficult one; but it won't take me away from home altogether, thank goodness. At least, I hope not. But I'll tell you all about it, and see what you think. I haven't made up my mind yet how to start on my task."

"Oh, it isn't a pressing case, then?" I said. "I was hoping that I'd arrived just in the nick of time for an 'engagement.'"

"It isn't particularly pressing _now,_" replied Dorcas, looking at the clock on the mantelpiece, "but it will be at midnight, for at that hour I have to be under a lamp-post in Berkeley Square."

"Under a lamp-post in Berkeley Square at midnight! Then I'm sure Paul will agree with me that it _is_ a case for my assistance. I'm to be under that lamp-post with Dorcas, am I not, Paul?"

Paul smiled. "That's for Dorcas to say, old fellow. She knows her business better than we do. But we'll leave the lamp-post for further consideration. Let us have the case, Dorcas."

"It is simple so far," said the famous lady detective, "but none the less mysterious for that. The lady who has just left me is the wife of Mr. Judkins Barraclough."

"What--the mysterious millionaire, who three years ago fell apparently from the clouds and descended on London in a shower of gold?--the Crœsus who seems to have discovered the royal road to the perpetual paragraph?"

"The same."

"Then the lady I met at the gate was Lady Anna Barraclough. He married her about a year ago. She was a young widow. Her first husband ran through all his money on the turf and left her very badly off when he died at the age of seven-and-twenty of--let me see, what did they call it?--typhoid, I think."

"Quite right," said Dorcas, "your account agrees with the short sketch of her career Lady Anna Barraclough has already given me."

"What could she have married a man like Judkins Barraclough for?--his money, I suppose. He must be five-and-forty, and he has all the worst qualities of the ostentatious parvenu. Is it about him that she has come to you?"

"Yes, poor girl--for she is only five-and-twenty now--she made me feel quite sorry for her when she told me her story. She has had a terrible experience of marriage. Her first husband she loved, and he spent every shilling of her money as well as his own. When Mr. Judkins Barraclough met her she was dependent on a married brother, the Earl of Dashton, whose wife detested her. When the millionaire proposed to her, the poor girl, worried and embittered by the constant humiliation of her dependent position, accepted his offer in the recklessness of despair. She didn't expect to be happy with a man whom she felt it was impossible she could ever love, but at least she hoped for peace. And now--guess why she has come to me to-night."

"To get a divorce, I should think. It would be about the best thing you _could_ get for her, if all I hear of Mr. Judkins Barraclough's manners and habits is correct. I suppose he married her because he thought a wife who was a lady of title would be a good advertisement for him. _Is_ it to get a divorce she has come to you?"

"No, Lady Anna has a haunting suspicion that the man she married is not her legal husband--that he had a wife living when he married her."

"Then if she thinks that why doesn't she go to the police?"

Dorcas shook her head. "You forget the man is a millionaire living in Berkeley Square--the police would hardly take up a charge against him made by his wife merely because she _suspects._ 'If I am really this man's wife,' said Lady Anna, 'I have no right to go to the police, for he is my husband. I have come to you to find out everything for me first. Oh, if you can only tell me that I am a free woman, that I owe no further allegiance to this wretch whom I despise--whom I loathe--you will have done me the greatest service one woman can do for another!' Poor girl! It was a cry from the heart. I felt sorry for her, and I promised that I would do anything I could to ease her mind, or, at any rate, to put an end to the dreadful state of suspicion and uncertainty in which she is at present living. Oh!" said Dorcas, with a shudder, "how horrible it must be, to have to go about before the world with a smiling face bearing the name of a man you detest--to have to submit alike to the curses and the caresses of a man whom in your heart you believe to be the husband of another woman!"

"And what is your idea?" I said, looking scrutinisingly at Dorcas's face.

"To-night I shall start on my voyage of discovery. I shall see Mr. Judkins Barraclough, the famous millionaire, and then I shall begin to trace him back and back until I find out----"

"What?"

"Who he was before he arrived in London from South America and set up as a millionaire."

"But you say Lady Anna Barraclough suspects her husband of being a bigamist--what has put such an unpleasant idea into her head?"

"Something that has occurred lately. Mr. Judkins Barraclough, who has been coarse and cruel for some time past, has suddenly altered his demeanour. He has lost all his old over-bearing brutality. He is nervous, and has evidently something on his mind. One night her ladyship retired late to her own apartment, which is separated from her husband's by his dressing-room. At two in the morning she heard the front door close, and a few minutes later she heard her husband enter the dressing-room. It seemed to her that he must be in pain, for she distinctly heard him every now and then utter a low groan.

"She rose and went quietly into the dressing-room and found Mr. Judkins Barraclough washing a wound in his right arm with Condy. Lady Anna Barraclough saw at once that the wound looked like a bite--the marks of teeth were distinctly visible.

"Mr. Judkins Barraclough stammered out an explanation. A savage dog had attacked him as he was coming through a back street on his way home. He had raised his umbrella to beat it off, and it had flown at him and fastened its teeth in his arm. Then, somewhat angrily, he told his wife to go back to her own room; he was all right.

"Instantly Lady Anna Barraclough's suspicions were aroused. If a dog had bitten him her husband would have gone to a doctor's at once and had the wound dressed. Why should he come home and attend to it himself? There was only one solution--that the bite had been received under circumstances which he would be unable to explain satisfactorily."

"Ah," said Paul, "it is a woman who bites as a rule, not a man."

"Yes," replied Dorcas, "that was her ladyship's idea. Her husband had been bitten by a woman, and a woman only bites when she is mad with rage and her hands are being held.

"Since that night Mr. Judkins Barraclough had been out nearly all day and has not returned till late. But he has not ordered his carriage to take or fetch him on one single occasion. These circumstances aroused her ladyship's suspicions that something was wrong, and that there was trouble in which a woman was concerned. Her husband had evidently quarrelled with one who had attacked him.

"The attack--and what else could the bitten arm suggest?--would hardly be that of a mistress. A millionaire is not so shabbily treated in his gallantries, because a millionaire of the Judkins Barraclough type is only attractive on account of his wealth, and to bite a millionaire's arm is not exactly the way to retain his good graces. The man's altered demeanour, his evident fear of _something,_ the bitten arm, the long absences from home, and the non-employment of the carriages and horses all point, in Lady Anna's idea, to one thing--the power of some woman to interfere with him, perhaps to ruin him. Supposing in the old days, before he became wealthy, this man had a wife whom he had left in poverty, and she had discovered him, a wealthy bigamist, that would account for everything. But," said Dorcas, quietly, "supper's ready, and after supper I must be off."

Paul lifted his sightless eyes to his wife's face.

"There's a little invitation I should like you to give our guest to-night," he said, "I'm sure he'd like it, and I'm sure he deserves it."

"And what is that, dear?"

"Mrs. Dorcas Dene requests the pleasure of Mr. Saxon's company at 11.45 for midnight, underneath the lamp-post immediately opposite the residence of Mr. Judkins Barraclough, in Berkeley Square."

Dorcas laughed quite a ringing little laugh.

"Of course, if _you_ wish it, dear," she said.

Then turning to me with a quick resumption of her former seriousness of expression, she added:

"Honestly I shall be glad of your company. From what her ladyship has told me I don't think this South American millionaire is exactly the sort of wild animal for a woman to hunt alone."

* * * * * * *

It was half-past twelve when a hansom drove up to the door of No. --, Berkeley Square, and a gentleman with a long, loose summer overcoat got out and paid the cabman and ran up the steps.

Dorcas had told me that Mr. Barraclough would probably arrive in a cab, as for several nights recently he had not ordered the carriage to meet him anywhere, so Lady Anna had informed her.

Mr. Barraclough had let himself in with the latchkey before the cabman had pocketed his fare and picked up his reins to drive away.

"Now," said Dorcas, "we must find out where that man took Mr. Barraclough up. It is somewhere he doesn't want known. That is the reason he doesn't order his carriage to fetch him. It may be only a street corner. But wherever it is, it is the first step backwards towards the goal that lies far away in the past."

"But we can't tell the cabman to take us to where he picked his fare up, can we?" I said, hesitatingly.

"Leave that to me," replied Dorcas. "You call the cabman."

I obeyed, and the cabman turned his horse round and drew up to the kerb. Dorcas got half way in and then got out again and looked at the horse.

"You've been driving too fast, cabman," she said; "why, your poor horse is breathing quite hard."

"Lor' bless you, ma'am!" said the cabman, "that's nothing--that's his natural breathing! Why, he only come out of the yard half an hour ago, and I've only had one fare."

"One fare? It must have been a good journey by the look of the horse."

Then turning to me, she said:

"Don't let us take this cab--we'll get another--the horse is done up."

"Well, I'm blowed!" exclaimed the cabman. "That's a good one. Why, how far do you think the horse has come?"

"Oh," said Dorcas, "perhaps from Hampstead or Brixton."

"Hampstead or Brixton!" exclaimed the driver, wrathfully. "This here horse came out of the yard in St. Pancras just afore twelve o'clock, and a gent hailed me as was coming out of a house in Burton Crescent, and I drove him here, and that's all the work my horse has done to-night."

"Oh, very well," said Dorcas. Then turning to me, she said: