Part 62 (2/2)

Then the Lamotte carriage came into view. Mr. Lamotte placed the note in the hand of his son, who stood close beside him, and descended the steps, a stern look on his face.

”My friend, come down off that box,” he said to the self-satisfied subst.i.tute procured him by his coachman.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”My friend, come down off that.”]

The man on the box stared down at him in amazement.

”But, sir,” he began.

”I want no words from you, sir; you can't drive my horses. Come down instantly.”

The discomfited Belknap writhed in his seat, and looked about him helplessly.

Before were the pall-bearers, looking back from their open vehicle, and noting the scene; on the steps, and within easy hearing distance, were gathered the small knot of gentlemen, who, for courtesy's sake, or for policy's sake, had gathered to do honor to Mr. Lamotte, rather than to the poor rosewood shrouded thing that had never a mourner.

He could not explain; he could not make himself known.

”I will have you thrown off that box, sir; if you hesitate ten seconds longer,” exclaimed Mr. Lamotte, impatiently, at the same time moving away and beckoning to the driver of the next carriage.

Fate was against him, and muttering curses, ”not loud but deep,” Jerry Belknap began to clamber reluctantly down.

Seeing this, Mr. Lamotte turned toward the bearer of the mischievous note, who had withdrawn a few paces from the group near the carriage, and beckoned him to approach.

He came forward promptly.

”Can you drive, my man?”

”Yes, sir,” respectfully.

”Then do me the favor to mount that box and drive my horses this afternoon.”

”And you, sir,” turning to poor Belknap, ”get off my premises and keep off.”

And so it came about that Jerry Belknap, private detective, found himself once more outwitted, and ”Mr. Smith, the book-peddler,” drove the carriage containing John Burrill's chief mourners.

”Pardon this little scene, gentlemen,” said Mr. Lamotte, turning to his friends, ”but I happen to know that the man I dismissed is drunk.”

Half an hour later a servant tapped softly at the door where Constance kept watch, and said:

”There's a boy below, Miss Wardour, who says he has an important message for you, and must deliver it in person.”

Constance went immediately down to find our old friend George, the image boy, in the hall below.

She smiled at sight of him, hoping to obtain some news of Bathurst. But he only bowed, as if to a queen, placed in her hand a small, sealed envelope; and before she could utter a word, she was standing alone in the c.r.a.pe-hung hall, while the boy's steps could be heard ringing on the stones outside.

Standing there, Constance hastily opened the envelope. It contained a letter and a sc.r.a.p of paper. Glancing first at the sc.r.a.p, she read these words:

MISS WARDOUR--

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