Volume Ii Part 7 (2/2)

”By no manner of means, Mr. Runner,” replied the guardian of these unctuous treasures, with dignity. ”His Majesty himself would never be so mad as to ask such a thing. A written order from the governor himself would not permit you to do it.”

”Very good, sir; then we won't trouble the governor to write one,”

returned the detective, dryly. ”What I must know, however--permission or no permission--is this: by whose hand were these sweet-smelling and precious articles paid into the Bank of England?”

It would have been amusing, under less anxious circ.u.mstances, to have watched the demeanour of these two personages, each jealous of the dignity of those by whom he was employed, and neither in the least disposed to surrender one t.i.ttle of his delegated authority.

”That information will, no doubt, be supplied to you,” replied the official, stiffly, ”if it is thought right--and not otherwise. Follow me, gentlemen, if you please, and I will direct you to the office where such an application may be made.”

This we did; and I am bound to say, met with very great civility from the superintendent of the department in question. In spite of the admirable and systematic manner in which the huge establishment was carried on, it was not easy, and in many cases would have been impossible, to discover what individual had paid in any particular note; but every pains and trouble were taken in our behalf, to effect this. Out of the four notes, only one, No. 82979, could be identified as having been received from any particular person--one Mr. Worrall, a silk-merchant in the City. Having expressed our warmest thanks to the authorities, we immediately called a coach, and started off to this gentleman's warehouse. We were so fortunate as to find him in, although he was just upon the point of setting forth to his private residence.

Upon an examination of his books, we discovered no record of the bank-note about which we were concerned; still, he frankly owned to us that such memoranda were not kept with excessive accuracy. ”It is possible yet that the people at the Bank may have been correct,”

observed he. ”You had better return there; and since the matter is one of life and death, I do not mind confiding to you, that if that note has pa.s.sed through our hands at all, it will have the letter W, in red, upon the back of it; it is very small, but still can be deciphered without a magnifying-gla.s.s.”

”There was no mark,” observed I, ”upon any of the notes I saw.”

”There _was_ a mark,” remarked the Bow Street runner, reflectively; and I am pretty sure it was upon this very note.--”It is no wonder that you did not see it, young gentleman, since your livelihood does not depend, as mine does, upon keeping my eyes about me. The mark in question was also almost obliterated by the red ”Cancelled” which the Bank had placed upon the note; but as far as I could make it out, it was the letter O.”

”That is the private mark of the Metropolitan Oil Company,” exclaimed Mr. Worrall, without hesitation. ”Although, indeed, because I have told my own secrets, I am not sure that I am justified in revealing those of other people. Their offices are in the very next street to this.”

Off we started like hounds, who, after, a check, have once more struck the scent. Business in the City had by this time greatly diminished, and many of the shops were closed; but the Oil Company's emporium, as behoved it, was lighted up from cellar to garret, to give a.s.surance to the world that what they sold could turn night, and even London fog, into day. Notwithstanding the extreme luminosity of the premises, we found the accounts of the establishment, however, rather opaque and complicated; and although nothing could exceed the pains which the clerks put themselves to upon our account, it was several hours before No. 82979 could be identified, both as respected its incoming and outgoing. Finally, however, we gleaned the certain information that the note in question had been received only a day or two previously by the Oil Company from a Mr. Vanderseld, the skipper of a foreign vessel, then lying in the port of London, but which, he had informed them, was to sail immediately. He had bought a small quant.i.ty of oil for his cabin lamps, and taken it with him, but had ordered a large supply to be sent to his address in Hamburg, and with this address we were made acquainted.

”Well, Mr. Townshend,” quoth Mr. Harvey Gerard, as we rolled homewards in a hackney-coach, after seven hours of this man-hunting, ”what think you that this news portends? Is the game still afoot, or is it only dead game--quarry?”

”I can speak with no sort of certainty yet,” replied the Bow Street runner; ”but next to all the notes having been paid into the Bank on the 17th or so--which, as I told you, would have almost indicated Sir Ma.s.singberd's murder and robbery, without any doubt--I know of no worse tidings than this, of their having come from Hamburg. There's a regular agency abroad, and particularly in that town, for the sale of Bank of England notes dishonestly come by. If a thief cannot get to the Bank immediately, to turn his plunder into gold, he sends it across the water; and then it comes back to us at home, through honest hands enough. We must communicate, of course, with Vanderseld; but the probability is that he will be unable to give us any information. These sea-fellows take account of nothing except what concerns their own trade. He may remember the quarter that the wind was blowing from upon the day he had the note, to a nicety; but he won't have a notion, bless you, as to who paid it him. No--it's the worst sign yet, to my mind, that that 'ere note has come through foreign hands. But don't you be down-hearted, my young gentleman,” added the Bow Street runner, addressing himself to Marmaduke, who looked very f.a.gged and anxious; ”I'll find your respected uncle, mind you, let him be where he will; and if he's dead, why, you shall see his corpse, though I have to dig it up with my finger-nails.” With which comforting statement we had, for that evening, to be content.

CHAPTER XII.

A BENEVOLENT STRANGER.

Having written to Mr. Vanderseld of Hamburg, there was nothing, pending the reception of his reply, for even Mr. Townshend to do beyond his favourite occupation of keeping his eyes open. We advertised, however, in the ”Morning Chronicle” (a print that at that time was far from looking forward, to death from want of circulation, and the having its eyes closed by a penny piece), in the ”Times,” and in the ”Sun,” and offered a reward of one hundred guineas for tidings of the missing baronet; nor, in spite of the Bow Street Runner's depreciating remarks upon this point, were our efforts in that direction wholly thrown away.

A full description of Sir Ma.s.singberd had appeared in the above newspapers for ten successive days, and on the eleventh, the following information came of it. We were all breakfasting in Harley Street, Mr.

Long having come up from Fairburn the previous day, when the butler informed us that there was a man waiting in the hall, who wished to see ”H.G.,” who had put a certain advertis.e.m.e.nt into the ”Sun” newspaper.

”Show him in here at once, George,” quoth Mr. Gerard, rubbing his hands.

”How pleased I shall be if we learn what we wish to know, after all, without any help from Bow Street. I beg you will take a chair, sir.”

These last words were addressed to a very respectable-looking person, whom the servant had ushered in, and who bowed to us in a very decorous and una.s.suming fas.h.i.+on. He was attired in half-mourning, and carried a little black leather bag and an umbrella--the latter a less common companion in these days than a cane is now--as though he had just come off a journey.

”I have called, gentlemen,” said he, ”simply in consequence of seeing a notice respecting the disappearance of a certain individual of whose whereabouts I am in a position to inform you.”

”Is Sir Ma.s.singberd Heath alive, sir?” gasped Marmaduke.

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