Part 5

The clock of Notre-Dame struck eleven. Another long weary hour went slowly by, and then the clock struck midnight. I believe I had sunk into a sort of doze, when every faculty was suddenly roused by hearing a soft movement at the door, which was very gently opened. There was a pause, as if the new-comers were listening; the door was shut, and a lantern shed its narrow streak of light over the graves at their feet. One, two, three dark forms, two of whom carried between them what seemed to be a box. Sir Frederick gently nudged me—of course _that_ contained the jewels. They came quietly to the side of the mysterious tombstone, and, setting their burden down on another one close by, they set to work, and quickly moved it to one side. I then discovered, to my surprise, that the one that held the lantern was a woman. Their faces were deep in shadow; I did not once get a glimpse of their features. All their movements were quiet and free from haste; they evidently had not the smallest notion that discovery was possible. The two men carefully laid the box in the hole prepared for it, covered it with mould, and, after replacing the stone stretched themselves, and held the lantern aloft, the better to survey their handiwork. It seemed very satisfactory to their female companion, for I distinctly heard her breathe a sigh of unmistakable relief. They left the place as quietly as they had come to it, not having, as far as we knew, spoken a word to each other the whole time.

It was our turn now. As soon as we were quite sure that we again had this dismal solitude to ourselves, we emerged from our damp hiding-place and shook ourselves into shape, for naturally we both felt very stiff and numb after our long weird vigil. I opened my lantern, and we began eagerly to undo the work we had just seen so neatly accomplished. It did not take long to remove the stone and scatter the thin layer of mould. In a few minutes we had the box—a boy’s oblong deal play-box, clamped with iron—lying on a tombstone before us.

‘Open it, Blake,’ said Sir Frederick.

‘Locked,’ I answered as I shook the lid.

‘Take my knife,’ continued the baronet, as he drew from his pocket one of the formidable weapons at which his wife had laughed.

It was a common lock, and easily forced. As I threw back the lid, Sir Frederick held up the lantern. ‘Take them out, Blake, and see if they are all there; it will be a wonderful thing if none are missing.—What on earth is that?’

‘It looks to me like a dog-collar,’ I answered, as I shook out a black Cashmere shawl in which was wrapped a silver curb chain with a small silver bell attached to it.

‘Stolen from somebody else,’ cried Sir Frederick. ‘Get on with the rest.’

‘This beats everything,’ said I, and drew forth a small pale-blue garment fashioned like a horse’s body-cloth, with a monogram in gold thread at one side. ‘It is a dog’s coat.—And what the deuce is this?’

‘A dog!’ we exclaimed simultaneously.

Carefully folded in a piece of soft linen lay the body of a small silky white, long-haired terrier—to judge by all its surroundings, a lady’s cherished pet. For a few seconds, disgust and disappointment kept us silent; then Sir Frederick broke out into a series of execrations more amusing than effective.

We had been befooled by our own enthusiasm as amateur detectives, and at first were angry, but by-and-by came to see the situation in its more grotesque aspect. After giving vent to our feelings in a burst of suppressed laughter, we put the little pet back into his play-box coffin, being careful to see that everything was just as we had found it; and quickly shovelling the mould and pushing the tombstone over it, we crept out of the old cemetery. Our feelings were very different from those with which we had entered it. We were greatly cheered, however, on reaching the hotel to find a line from Aigunez, which had come during Sir Frederick’s absence; ‘I am on the right track.’

We heard no more for two days, when the detective reappeared with a captive, a valet whom Sir Frederick had dismissed before leaving England, who, knowing the great value of the jewels which Lady O’Connor was taking with her, had thought it worth his while to follow them, and being a clever hand at that sort of work, had succeeded as we have seen.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

THE WEST AUSTRALIAN GOLD-FIELDS.

For some years, the government of Western Australia has offered a reward of five thousand pounds for the discovery of a payable gold-field within three hundred miles of a declared port. From recent news from Perth, it would almost appear that a profitable gold-field has at last been discovered. We learn that Messrs Malet and M‘Ewen, who were sent by the government to explore the Kimberley District, in the extreme north of the colony, have returned, after an expedition which nearly proved disastrous to the explorers. They lost their horses; and having consumed all their provisions, only escaped starvation by coming unexpectedly to a settler’s hut, where they obtained assistance. The party arrived barefooted, their boots having fallen to pieces on the tramp of one hundred miles. Mr M‘Ewen nearly succumbed to the hardships of the journey. A quantity of the new gold has already found its way to England. According to advices from Derby, the port of the country—named after the present Lord Derby, and situated at the head of King’s Sound—large numbers of people, who were totally unfitted for the work, were starting for the Kimberley gold-fields. As the roads are rough, and provisions scarce and dear, with an absence of water, it goes without saying that no one need venture in search of wealth without being supplied with plenty of money and an ample supply of provisions. The country is described as closely resembling the Peak Down District in Queensland. The gold is much scattered, but the gullies are numerous. It is expected that so soon as the alluvial gold is worked out, productive reefs will be laid bare. The Kimberley District, contrary to what many have supposed, is a country about four and a half times the size of Scotland, with splendid rivers, and with millions of acres of pastoral and agricultural land. The climate has been commended by Captain Grey and other explorers as one of the finest and healthiest in the tropics. Last year, the population numbered only about one hundred white men; the blacks, who are not numerous, are tractable. Sheep, cattle, and horses thrive well, so that, whether or not the gold-fields fulfil the expectations of those who seek their fortune at the gold-fields, there is a fine country to develop. Derby, the capital of this district, at the mouth of the Fitzroy River, consisted lately of but a few huts and tents, and is the station of a government resident. Should the ‘rush’ to the gold-fields continue, doubtless all this will soon be changed.

ROYAL VETERINARY COLLEGE.

The horse fills so large a place in human affairs, that a few words descriptive of an institution devoted to its welfare must interest more or less every one. The Royal Veterinary College—situated in Great College Street, Camden Town, London, N.W.—discharges the twofold function of a hospital and a school; that is to say, it is there the sick or maimed horse—or for the matter of that, the sick or maimed sheep, ox, dog, &c.—is taken to be doctored; and it is there the young man goes for the education and diploma which are to qualify him for the vocation of a veterinary surgeon. The scope of the present series of papers, however, only justifies our considering the institution in its curative capacity. Horse-owners, then, come, in relation to the College, under two heads—subscribers and non-subscribers. If elected by the Governing Body, or General Purposes Committee, a person becomes a yearly subscriber by paying two guineas per annum; or a life subscriber either by paying twenty guineas in one sum, or sixteen guineas after making the annual payment for not less than two consecutive years—certain exceptional conditions applying to firms and companies. The privileges of a subscriber are—(1) To have the gratuitous opinion of the professors as to the treatment to be applied to any animal of his brought for the purpose to the College, but which he may desire to retain in his own keeping. (2) To have admitted into the infirmary, for medical and surgical treatment, any number of his own horses and other animals for which there may be room, at a charge only for their ‘keep.’ (3) To have in the course of any year five horses, his actually or prospective property, examined gratuitously as to soundness, either before or after purchase; and to have any further number examined at a fee of ten shillings and sixpence per head. (4) To be supplied with medicines for animals at a fixed charge. (5) To have, at a fixed rate, a chemical analysis made by the Professor of Chemistry at the College of any water, provender, oilcake, or other feeding-matter, and of the viscera of any animal suspected of being poisoned. (6) In cases of extensive or serious outbreaks of disease, to have an investigation made into its nature and causes, on payment of the fixed charges. And (7) To have a post-mortem examination of any animal, or parts of an animal, sent to the College, and receive an opinion of the probable cause of death, on payment of a fixed charge. As regards outsiders or non-subscribers, the treatment and examination of their animals by the staff of the College are subject to a higher tariff of charges. Another disability under which they labour is that their animals may not be received into the infirmary for treatment. ‘Accidents’ and other urgent cases are received into the institution at all times of the day and night, special vehicles being kept at hand for their transportation.

A singular by-law of the College is the following: ‘Credit will be given for all animals which may die in the infirmary according to the amount received for the carcase; but all diseased parts shall be considered to be the property of the College.’ Such ‘diseased parts’ are useful vehicles in the dissecting-room for conveying knowledge to the minds of the students.

A SONG OF REST.

O weary Hands! that, all the day, Were set to labour hard and long, Now softly fall the shadows gray, The bells are rung for evensong. An hour ago, the golden sun Sank slowly down into the west; Poor, weary Hands, your toil is done; ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

O weary Feet! that many a mile Have trudged along a stony way, At last ye reach the trysting stile; No longer fear to go astray. The gently bending, rustling trees Rock the young birds within the nest, And softly sings the quiet breeze: ‘’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!’

O weary Eyes! from which the tears Fell many a time like thunder-rain— O weary Heart! that through the years Beat with such bitter, restless pain, To-night forget the stormy strife, And know, what Heaven shall send is best; Lay down the tangled web of life; ’Tis time for rest!—’tis time for rest!

FLORENCE TYLEE.

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