Mr. Marx's Secret by E. Phillips Oppenheim
CHAPTER XXVI. A LOST PHOTOGRAPH.
It was about five o'clock on as dreary an afternoon as I ever remember,when the slow train, which crawls always at a most miserable pace fromPeterborough across the eastern counties, deposited me at Little Drayton.Besides the station-master there were but two people on the wetplatform--one a porter, who made for my bags with almost wolflikealacrity after a moment's amazed stare, at me, presumably at the rareadvent of a passenger with luggage; the other was a thin, dark young man,clad in a light mackintosh with very large checks, and smoking a longcigar. Whilst I was collecting my things he came leisurely up andaccosted me.
"Your name Morton?" he inquired, without removing his cigar from histeeth.
I assented.
"Have you come down to meet me?" I asked.
"Yes; old Randall's gone out to dinner, so he asked Cis and me to comeand fetch you. Cart's outside; but we can't take all the luggage. Justlook out what you want, will you, and we'll send for the rest to-morrow."
I selected a portmanteau and followed him out of the station. A light,four-wheeled brown cart was waiting, drawn by a pair of small,clever-looking cobs, altogether a very smart turnout.
"Pitch that bag in behind, porter," ordered my new acquaintance. "Now,then, Mr. Morton, if you're ready we'll be off. Your train's half an hourlate, and Cis will be wondering what's become of us."
"Is Cis Mr. Ravenor's nephew, Silchester?" I asked, as I clambered upbeside him.
"Oh, yes! By the bye, I ought to have introduced myself, oughtn't I? Myname is de Cartienne--Leonard de Cartienne."
"And are you Dr. Randall's other pupil?" I inquired.
"Yes; I'm doing a grind there. Beastly slow it is, too. You'll be sorryyou've come, I can tell you, before very long."
Looking around me, I was inclined to think that that was not improbable.It was too dark to see far, but what I could see was anything butpromising. The country was perfectly flat, dreary, and barren, and theview was unbroken by tree, or hedge, or hill. By the side of the road wasa small canal, over the sullen waters of which, and across the road,brooded spectral-like clouds of mist. The rain still fell rapidly, andthe wheels of our cart ran noiselessly in the sandy, paste-like mud.
"Ghastly night, isn't it?" remarked my companion, breaking the silenceagain.
"Rather!" I assented vigorously. "What a flat, ugly country, too! I neversaw anything like it."
"Beastly country! beastly place altogether!" de Cartienne agreed. "I'mjolly sick of it, I can tell you! Steady, Brandy! steady, sir!" givingthe near animal a cut with the whip.
"What do you call your horses?" I asked curiously.
"Brandy and Soda. Jolly neat name for a pair. Don't you think so?"
"Uncommon, at any rate," I answered ambiguously. "Didn't you say that wewere to call for Silchester somewhere?"
"Mean Cis? Oh, yes; we've got to pick him up at the Rose and Crown."
"A hotel?"
"Well, hardly. Fact is," de Cartienne continued, dropping his voice alittle, and glancing behind to see whether the groom was listening--"factis, Cis is a bit inclined to make a fool of himself. There's a prettygirl at this place and he puts in an uncommon lot of time there. Awfullypretty girl she is, really," he added confidentially. "Won't stand anynonsense, either. The place is only a pub., after all, but everyone whogoes there has to behave himself. She won't have a lot of fellowsdangling about after her, though she might have the whole town if sheliked. Makes her all the more dangerous, I think."
"And Lord Silchester----"
"Hang the 'lord'!" interrupted my companion, whipping his horses.
"Well, Silchester, then! I suppose he admires her very much?"
"Admires her! I should think he does! He's awful spoons on her! It'squite sickening the way they go on sometimes. There's a regular stew onthere to-night, though, tremendous scene."
"What about?"
"Well, it seems that Milly's father--he's the landlord of the place, youknow--left home about a month ago, saying he was going up to London onsome business. He was expected back in a fortnight or three weeks; buthe's never turned up and he hasn't written. So at last Milly sent up tothe place where he always stops in town and also to some friends whom hewas going to see. This morning a reply comes from both of them. Nothinghas been seen or heard of him at all. Of course, Milly imagines the worstat once, goes off into hysterics, and, when we called this evening on ourway down, was half out of her mind."
"And so Silchester stopped with her to console her?"
"Exactly," assented de Cartienne, with a queer smile. "Shouldn't wonderif he succeeded, either!"
We entered the street of an old-fashioned, straggling town, theglimmering lights of which had been in sight for some time. De Cartienne,sitting forward a little, devoted his whole attention to the horses, forthe stones were wet and slippery, and Brandy seemed to shy at everythingand anything which presented itself, from the little pools of waterglistening in the lamplight, which lay in the hollows of the road, downto his own shadow. I looked round curiously. The old-fashionedmarket-place, the quaintly built houses, the dimly lit shops, and littleknots of gaping rustics, whom our rapid approach scattered right andleft, were, at any rate, more interesting and pleasanter to look uponthan the damp, miserable country outside. Suddenly we pulled up with ajerk outside a small, but clean-looking inn, and the groom leaped downfrom behind and made his way to the horses' heads.
"Take them up the street a little, John," said de Cartienne, as hedescended. "No need to advertise Cis's folly to the whole town," headded, in a lower tone. "Come on, Morton, we'll go and rout him out."
I stepped across the wet pavement after him and, stooping low down,crossed the threshold of the "Rose and Crown." We passed by a room inwhich several labouring men were drinking mugs of beer, and entered thebar, in which a rosy-cheeked country damsel was exchanging noisy and nottoo choice badinage with one or two young men who hung about her. Fromhere another door led into an inner room and at this de Cartiennesomewhat ostentatiously knocked. There was a second's pause; then aclear, pleasant voice sang out "Come in!" and we entered.
It was a small, cosy room, not ill-furnished, and with a cheerful fireburning in the grate. Leaning against the mantelpiece, with his facetowards us, was Cis, whose likeness to Lady Beatrice was so remarkablethat I liked him heartily before we had exchanged a word. Standing by hisside, with her head suspiciously near his shoulder, was a very fair girl,with nice figure and complexion and large blue eyes. Her face wascertainly pretty, but it was not of a very high type of prettiness. Thefeatures, although regular of their sort, were not in any way refined or_spirituelle_, nor was there anything in her expression to redeem herfrom the mediocrity of good looks.
Still, she was undoubtedly a nice-looking girl, quite pretty enough to bethe belle of a country place, and, on the whole, I was rather relieved tofind her attractions of so ordinary a kind. There could scarcely beanything dangerous, I thought, in this good-humoured doll's face; she didnot appear to have the daring or character to lead her boyish admirerover the borders of a spooning sentimentality. At any rate, that was notwritten in her face. A blunt physiognomist would probably have declaredthat there was not enough of the devil in her to fire the blood even ofan impetuous, generous boy and urge him on to recklessness. It seemed soto me and I was glad of it.
Just at present there were traces of tears in her face and a generallywoe-begone expression. Her companion, too, looked upset and sympathetic;but he glanced up with a bright smile when we entered.
"You're Philip Morton, I suppose?" he exclaimed, holding out his hand."Glad to see you! Heard of you from my uncle, you know!" I shook handswith him and he introduced me formally to the young woman at his side,calling her Miss Hart. Then he turned to me again.
"I quite meant to have been at the station to meet you," he said; "but wecalled here first and I--I was detained."
"It's of no consequence at all," I assured him. "
"And Mr. de Cartienne having had to wait half an hour in the rain at thatinfernal old shed they call a station, requires a little refreshment,"chimed in the person named. "Will the fair Millicent condescend, or shallI ring?"
She rose and, crossing the room, opened the door into the bar.
"Brandy-and-soda for me," ordered de Cartienne. "Cis is drinking whisky,I see, so he'll have another one, and we'll have a large bottle ofApollinaris between us. Morton, what'll you have?"
I decided upon claret and hot water, never having tasted spirits. DeCartienne made a wry face, but ordered it without remark.
"I say, Morton, I don't know what you'll think of us shacking about in apublic-house like this, and bringing you here, your first night, too!"exclaimed Silchester, dragging his chair up to mine. "Bad form, isn't it?But it is so dull in the evenings and Milly's no end of a nice girl. Noone could help liking her. Besides, she's in dreadful trouble just now,"he continued, dropping his voice. "Her father has disappeared suddenly.Awfully mysterious affair and no mistake. We can't make head or tail ofit."
"It is uncommonly queer," admitted de Cartienne, who was lounging againstthe wall beside us. "I should have said that he'd gone off on the spreesomewhere, but he couldn't have kept it up so long as this."
"Besides, he'd only a few pounds with him," Cecil remarked.
"Seems almost as though he'd come to grief in some way," I said.
"I daren't tell Milly, but I don't know what else to think," Cecilacknowledged.
A wild idea flashed for a moment into my mind, only to die away againalmost as rapidly. It was too utterly improbable. Nevertheless, I askedCecil a question with some curiosity:
"What sort of looking man was he?"
Cecil and de Cartienne both began to describe him at once, and, as deCartienne modified or contradicted everything Cecil said, I was soon in astate of complete bewilderment as to the personality of the missing man.It seemed that he was short, and of medium height; that he was fair, andinclined to be dark, stout and thin, pale and ruddy. Milly put in a wordor two now and then; and, what with de Cartienne dissenting fromeverything she said, and Cecil, a little perplexed, siding first with oneand then with the other, the description naturally failed to carry to mymind the slightest impression of Mr. Hart's appearance. At last, ratherimpatiently, I stopped them.
"I'm afraid I am guilty of a somewhat unreasonable curiosity," I said,"for I haven't any real reason for asking; but haven't you a photographof your father, Miss Hart? I can't follow the description at all."
I happened to be looking towards de Cartienne while I made my request,and suddenly, from no apparent cause, I saw him start, and a strange lookcame into his face. At first I thought he must be ill; but, seeing myeyes fixed upon him, he seemed to recover himself instantly, though hewas still deadly pale.
"Why, what the mischief are you staring at, Morton?" asked Cecil.
"Oh, nothing!" I answered. "I thought that de Cartienne was ill, that'sall."
Cecil glanced at him curiously.
"By George! he does look rather white about the gills, doesn't he? Say,old chap, are you ill?"
De Cartienne shook his head.
"Oh, it's nothing!" he said carelessly. "Don't all stare at me as thoughI were some sort of natural curiosity, please. I feel a bit queer, butit's passing off. I think, if Miss Milly will allow me, I'll go and sitdown in the other room by myself for a few minutes."
"I'll come with you!" exclaimed Cecil, springing up. "Poor old chap!"
"No, don't, please!" protested de Cartienne. "I would rather be alone; Iwould indeed. I shall be all right directly."
He quitted the room by another door, and we three were left alone. Ceciland Miss Milly began a conversation in a low tone, and I, feelingsomewhat _de trop_, took up a local newspaper and affected to be engagedin its contents. After a few minutes, however, Cecil remembered myexistence.
"By the bye, Milly," he said, "Morton was asking you whether you had nota photograph of your father. There's one in the sitting-room, isn'tthere?"
She nodded.
"Well, we'll go and look at it and see how Leonard is. He lookeduncommonly seedy, didn't he? Come along, Morton."
We crossed a narrow passage and entered a small parlour. Miss Hart walkedup to the mantelpiece and Cecil and I remained looking round.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed. "Leonard isn't here; I wonder where----"
He was interrupted by a cry of blank surprise from Miss Hart.
"What's the matter now? How you startled me, Milly!" he exclaimed,hurrying to her side. "What is it?"
"Why, the photograph!"
"What about it?"
"It's gone!"