Part 19 (1/2)

”I fear not; and yet it is the only conjecture that bears a semblance of likelihood. However, we can run over to Clayborough to-morrow, and see if anything is to be learned. By the way, Prendergast tells me you picked up his cigar-case.”

”I did--and here it is.”

Jelf took the cigar-case, examined it, and said at once that it was beyond doubt Mr. Dwerrihouse's property, and that he remembered to have seen him use it.

”Here, too, is his monogram on the side,” he added. ”A big J transfixing a capital D. He used to carry the same on his note paper.”

”It proves, at all events, that I was not dreaming.”

”Ay; but it is time you were asleep and dreaming now. I am ashamed to have kept you so long. Good night.”

”Good night, and remember that I am more than ready to go with you to Clayborough, or Blackwater, or London, or anywhere, if I can be of the least service.”

”Thanks! I know you mean it, old friend, and it may be that I shall put you to the test. Once more, good night.”

So we parted for that night, and met again in the breakfast-room at half-past eight next morning. It was a hurried, silent, uncomfortable meal. None of us had slept well, and all were thinking of the same subject. Mrs. Jelf had evidently been crying; Jelf was impatient to be off; and both Captain Prendergast and myself felt ourselves to be in the painful position of outsiders, who are involuntarily brought into a domestic trouble. Within twenty minutes after we had left the breakfast-table, the dog-cart was brought round, and my friend and I were on the road to Clayborough.

”Tell you what it is, Langford,” he said, as we sped along between the wintry hedges, ”I do not much fancy bringing up Dwerrihouse's name at Clayborough. All the officials know that he is my wife's relation, and the subject just now is hardly a pleasant one. If you don't much mind, we will take the 11.10 train to Blackwater. It's an important station, and we shall stand a far better chance of picking up information there than at Clayborough.”

So we took the 11.10, which happened to be an express, and, arriving at Blackwater about a quarter before twelve, proceeded at once to prosecute our inquiry.

We began by asking for the station-master--a big, blunt, business-like person, who at once averred that he knew Mr. John Dwerrihouse perfectly well, and that there was no director on the line whom he had seen and spoken to so frequently.

”He used to be down here two or three times a-week, about three months ago,” said he, ”when the new line was first set afoot; but since then, you know, gentlemen----”

He paused, significantly.

Jelf flushed scarlet.

”Yes, yes,” he said hurriedly, ”we know all about that. The point now to be ascertained is whether anything has been seen or heard of him lately.”

”Not to my knowledge,” replied the station-master.

”He is not known to have been down the line any time yesterday, for instance?”

The station-master shook his head.

”The East Anglian, sir,” said he, ”is about the last place where he would dare to show himself. Why, there isn't a station-master, there isn't a guard, there isn't a porter, who doesn't know Mr. Dwerrihouse by sight as well as he knows his own face in the looking-gla.s.s; or who wouldn't telegraph for the police as soon as he had set eyes on him at any point along the line. Bless you, sir! there's been a standing order out against him ever since the twenty-fifth of September last.”

”And yet,” pursued my friend, ”a gentleman who travelled down yesterday from London to Clayborough by the afternoon express, testifies that he saw Mr. Dwerrihouse in the train, and that Mr. Dwerrihouse alighted at Blackwater station.”

”Quite impossible, sir,” replied the station-master, promptly.

”Why impossible?”

”Because there is no station along the line where he is so well known, or where he would run so great a risk. It would be just running his head into the lion's mouth. He would have been mad to come nigh Blackwater station; and if he had come, he would have been arrested before he left the platform.”

”Can you tell me who took the Blackwater tickets of that train?”

”I can, sir. It was the guard--Benjamin Somers.”