CHAPTER VI.

ANOTHER MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE.

WHEN Lizzie's flight was discovered, her master went at once to tell her mother and father, and advised that Mr. Betts should go with him and inform the police of what had happened.

This was done, and by ten o'clock that Sunday morning, every policeman in the town had received instructions to look after a girl in a straw hat carrying a bundle.

But, as we know, Lizzie was not likely to be met with near any of the routes these policemen would traverse; and so Jack and her father, as well as her master and mistress, went in vain to the police-station for news of her, for no one had seen a girl answering such a description as was given, within reach of the town that day. From sheer inability to sit still and do nothing, Jack and his father had gone in search of her themselves.

Emma Russell was visited, and asked all sorts of questions; but beyond the fact that Lizzie did not like service, and wanted to go home and help her mother with the washing, she knew nothing. Certainly she had never heard her say anything about going away. She had not seen her for a week; for although they had arranged to meet and walk home together on Wednesday, and Emma had waited at the corner of the road for her, Lizzie never came, and she, Emma, had been obliged to run all the way home to make up for the time she had wasted in waiting.

Jack pondered over this; for, although there seemed nothing in it likely to lead to the solution of the mystery at first, taken in connection with another little bit of information that he learned during the day, it might have some important bearing in the case.

Lizzie had been out that Wednesday evening, he heard; for someone had seen her hurrying in the direction of Snowfields with her best hat on, and another friend had seen her leave the fair, talking to a stout woman dressed in a plaid shawl. The friend had not spoken to Lizzie, for he thought the woman might be a neighbour who had come to take care of her, as it was rather late for a girl like Lizzie to be out.

So Jack's next quest was for this woman, and he went home to ask his mother which of the neighbours wore a plaid shawl. And the garments usually worn by everybody they knew were discussed; but only about two had ever been seen in plaid shawls, and they were by no means stout individuals.

But still Jack went to make inquiries of them, for he was ready to catch at any straw that was likely to afford a clue to the heart of this mystery; but, of course, he met with blank disappointment. Neither of these people had seen Lizzie lately, nor had they been near Snowfields for some months.

So he had to turn homewards once more, with the dreary tale of failure written on his face. Lizzie's mistress, however, could give some confirmation of the fact about her being out late on Wednesday, and that she had given her notice to leave in consequence of her carelessness the next night, hoping that this might have the effect of making her more careful in future, which if it did, she had told her, she would look over the past and let her stay.

This confirmation of the fact that Lizzie had gone to the fair instead of going home, made Jack persistently cling to the idea that Lizzie's disappearance was somehow connected with the fair-folks. He had learned from the police that most of the vans that had stood here bore the name of Stanley, but beyond this he could learn nothing. They laughed at him when he suggested that they had run away with his sister. Girls of fifteen, able to talk and walk, could not be carried off against their will; and, besides:

"What could these gypsy folks do with a girl like her?" the policeman asked.

Jack shook his head. The question puzzled him, but still he held on to his notion. He knew the disappearance of his sister was somehow connected with these fair-folks, and he tried to find out where they were going next, that he might go after them.

But nobody could tell him this; for nobody had troubled themselves about these nomadic people, who came and went without exciting much notice or much remark. The steam roundabout and all the shows were in full swing on Saturday night, and they had entirely disappeared by seven o'clock on Sunday morning, leaving nothing but dirt and refuse behind.

"Yes, and it was early on Sunday morning that Lizzie went away," said Jack to the man who gave him this information. "Her mistress called her at half-past seven, but she was gone; and the back door and back gate were unfastened, so that she went early too."

The police, however, had formed quite another theory to account for the girl's disappearance. They did not condescend to tell anybody what this was; but it came out in a day or two, that her mistress had lost a silver fruit knife, which she was certain she had used a day or two before the girl went away, and left it in the sideboard drawer.

Of course, as this article had been missed, other articles might have been taken also; and when her poor mother heard of this, and that her only girl was branded as a thief, her grief and distress was increased tenfold. As for her father, it well-nigh killed him. The mental depression caused by want of employment had already begun to affect his health, and now he seemed to give up all hope and desire for life. So long as there was any chance of finding Lizzie in the town, he tramped on unweariedly; but when this failed, and the discovery was made that the silver fruit knife was missing, and must have been taken by Lizzie, the poor man uttered a groan of anguish and fell back in his chair like one demented. He made no further effort to find Lizzie. She was lost, he said—lost beyond recovery.

Her husband's failing health now imposed a double burden upon poor Mrs. Betts; for he was soon unable to move from his chair beside the fire, and had to be waited on like a confirmed invalid. Jack, however, was young and strong, and he was very angry at the charge of theft being brought against his sister. He loved her still in spite of appearances being so much against her. She was foolish, he admitted—all girls were; but Lizzie had never stolen that knife, he was sure, and he would go in search of her though he had to tramp all over England before he found her.

Lizzie's dearest friend, Emma, applauded his resolution. She too was quite sure Lizzie would never steal the knife. And if she never came back, her character ought to be cleared, and her brother ought to do all he could, as nobody else was able to do much.

So after a week had passed away in fruitless searchings and inquiries, Jack shouldered his father's basket of tools and set off on tramp to look for work and look for his sister.

He was two years older than Lizzie; but, although little more than a lad himself, he had learned the trade of a whitesmith in all its branches, and was a skilful and steady workman. He could hang a bell, repair a lock, stop a leak in a water pipe, and do many other odd jobs. And after taking counsel with his mother, he set off on the Monday morning, determined to earn his bread at least by the use of his tools. His mother gave him a shilling or two—all she could spare, and bread enough to last him through the day.

She parted from him with tears, and many injunctions to be careful and write to her as soon as he had any news of Lizzie. And although some of their friends looked upon his plan as a harebrained scheme, still it was a comfort to the poor mother to think someone had gone in search of her foolish girl, and any day might bring tidings of her now Jack had fairly set off.

She tried to cheer her husband with hopes of Jack getting a good job of work while he was searching for Lizzie; for, though work was scarce here, it did not follow that it must be so everywhere. Her Jack was a steady lad, and a master would soon learn to know his value and be glad to employ him.

This was her constant theme when with her husband. For she wanted to draw his mind away from its continual brooding over Lizzie and the missing knife, for it was the only chance of saving him from sinking into hopeless melancholy, the doctor said—for a doctor had been called in to attend him since he had been so much worse.

The poor man would listen to his wife's cheery, hopeful words, and appear to dwell upon them for a few minutes, but, left to himself, he would soon relapse into his former hopeless despondency, and murmur half aloud, "Our girl is lost—quite lost now."

Meanwhile, Jack having ascertained by which route the fair-folks had left the town, took the same road in pursuit of them. He did not ask for work at all the first day, but was careful to inquire at the public-houses he passed whether they had seen some show and gypsy vans pass by that way about a week before.

Of course, in many instances people had forgotten all about this fact, even if they paid any attention to it at the time, and so it was not easy to glean any intelligence of them now. But by persistent inquiries, and explaining why he was so anxious to trace them, Jack learned enough to convince him that he was on their track, and now he must be careful not to lose the trail. A boy showed him where they had lighted a fire on the heath, and by noting this and other marks upon the grass, the lad thought he should be able to detect where they had been in other places.

By the time he reached the next town, he was tired out, and had eaten most of the bread and cheese his mother had tied up in a handkerchief for him. So he decided to look out for a job of work that would earn for him a supper and a night's lodging, and he was fortunate enough to find something he could do almost as soon as he entered the town.

An old man was struggling with a restive horse, and Jack, seeing he was in some danger, put his basket of tools down in a place of safety, and ran to his assistance.

It seemed that the lock of the stable door was broken, and the horse had kicked away the frail fastening the old man had put up to keep the door closed, and so had got out and had broken through a hedge into a neighbouring garden.

"I can mend the lock, perhaps," said Jack. "Let me look at it."

"I wish you could, my lad," said the man; "for it's a good strong lock, though it is old-fashioned."

"Well, we'll tie up the horse, and then I'll soon have the lock off, and see what's amiss with it."

The animal, finding it was no use to resist any further, gave up the struggle, and allowed himself to be led into the stable and secured there, while Jack fetched his basket of tools and set to work to take off the lock.

It was a large old-fashioned thing, very dirty and rusty, and the spring quite ruined.

"It will take me an hour or two to clean it, and I must get a new spring for it; but when that is done, the lock will be as good as ever," said Jack, rubbing off some of the rust with his finger as he spoke.

"How much will it cost to do it up? It's worth a dozen of any new-fangled sort I could buy now," added the man.

Jack turned it over and looked at it again. "I'll do the work for a shilling, if you'll buy the spring," he said. "It won't cost much; only twopence or threepence," he added.

"All right! You shall do it then; and I'll fetch a cup of tea and a bite of bread and butter for you that you may get it done before dark. You leave your tools here, and go and get the spring." And he told Jack where he would find a shop that was likely to supply it, and gave him sixpence to pay for it.

"You'll do no good with that old lock," said the ironmonger when he saw what Jack wanted the spring for.

"Oh, yes, I shall. It's clumsy, but it's a good lock, and worth taking some trouble over."

The man turned it about, and looked at it again. "I tell you what," he said, "if you can make that lock answer, I'll give you work to-morrow."

"Thank you, I'll be glad of a day's work; and when I've finished this job, I'll bring it to you to look at it," said Jack.

He ran back with the spring he had bought, and very soon had the lock to pieces, and was busy cleaning the different parts of it. This sort of work he had often done for his father, and he did not mind the trouble of rubbing, and scrubbing, and scraping that was required to remove the rust. It took him a long time to clean the old thing thoroughly, and make it serviceable again; but the lock was a good one and worth the trouble, and when at last Jack had got it all fitted together again, he was delighted to find that it would work as easily as possible.

"Now, I want to show it to the man at the shop where I bought the spring," said Jack, as he looked at his work triumphantly. "He'll give me a job to-morrow, he says, if I make anything of this."

"All right! You shall show it to him; and you may tell him from me, he ain't got a lock in his shop like it," said the old man, who was very proud of his clumsy lock.

Jack carried it to the smith's, who was just putting up his shutters, and told Jack to wait in the shop until he had finished.

So Jack spread his arms on the counter, as he was in the habit of doing, and his eyes went roving round until they lighted on something he had not expected to see in a little smith's shop like this.

"I say, mister," called Jack, as soon as the man appeared, "where did you get that silver knife? It's a fruit knife, ain't it?"

"Yes, I believe it is. But what do you want to know about it for?"

Then Jack told of his sister's mysterious disappearance, and how she was accused of stealing a knife just like this one.

"Where did you get it?" he asked eagerly.

"Well, I bought it about a week ago, of a woman who brought it into the shop to ask if I could tell her whether it was silver. She had just picked it up as she came across the heath, she said."

"Was she a stout woman, wearing a plaid shawl?" said Jack.

Yet why he asked the question he could not tell, for would it not be a confirmation of Lizzie's guilt, if it could be proved that the woman she was seen leaving the fair with, and the one who sold this knife, were the same person?

The man looked at the lad's anxious face, and said cautiously: "I don't want no bother with the police. If you know anything about the knife, why, I'll let you have it for what I gave for it."

But Jack shook his head to this proposal. "I haven't got any money to spare," he said; "but I should like you to show it to the police, and tell them where you got it."

But the "bother" of having anything to do with the police almost frightened the man, and it was not until Jack had appealed to him, and told him about his father's illness and his mother's despair, that he would consent to lock it up in his desk, and keep it out of sight until he should hear more about the business from Jack by and by.

Then he looked at the lock, and offered Jack employment at once. But the lad explained how he had left home in search of his sister, and could not give up the quest until he had learned something about her. He would stay in the town through the following day, and do a few odd lobs that were ready, and make inquiries as to whether anyone had seen the gypsy vans passing through the town, and which route they had taken.

He went back to fasten the lock on the stable door, wondering at the chance or providence that had sent him to the shop where that knife was to be seen. He felt sure that it was the one that had been taken from Mrs. Spencer's house; but the fact that the woman who had sold it was the same one who was seen leaving the fair with his sister seemed to connect her directly with the theft.

Poor Jack pondered over this as he screwed on the lock securely, and afterwards, when he went in search of a cheap lodging for the night. He could think of nothing but the finding of this knife, which, simple as it was, seemed almost as mysterious, as he thought over it, as the disappearance of Lizzie herself.

He got a bed, but having had a good tea, he would not spend any of his money on supper to-night; for he did not know what he might want before Lizzie was found.

So he went to work the next morning as he had promised, but pushed his inquiries about the gypsy vans, and whether anyone had seen a stout woman dressed in a plaid shawl.

"Why, yes! And she had a red face, and a red rose in her bonnet," said one gossiping woman, who heard Jack's question about this.

"And was she with people who had gypsy vans?" asked Jack eagerly.

"To be sure she was—owns some of them herself, I believe," said his informant. "Leastways it was said she did when they put up here for one winter."

"These people stayed here all the winter?" said Jack, thinking the woman could surely tell him all about them, and where they were likely to be found now.

But no! It seemed this woman could give him just enough information to make him desirous of knowing more, but there she had to stop. They had stayed in this neighbourhood all the previous winter, but had gone away in the spring, and had not been seen since until the previous week, when they passed through the town again. But where they had gone now, she did not know, and probably they did not know themselves, she told Jack.

So the lad finished his work for that day, took his money at night, and started off early the next morning in pursuit of these people, who, he felt sure, knew something of his sister, if they had not actually carried her off with them.

About the middle of that day, he picked up a little strip of a print dress that struck him as being familiar, and he decided to send a little piece of it in a letter to his mother, and ask her if it was not a piece of Lizzie's frock.

He had found it on the side of a common, near a spot where a fire had evidently been lighted, and which bore other traces of being used as a camping-ground for a short time. He wished now he had followed them up sooner, but still he was thankful for this small proof that he was on the right track still.

And when he reached the village beyond, he got writing materials, and sent off a piece of the rag he had picked up, by way of cheering his mother, and giving her fresh hope that Lizzie might yet be found.