Part 17 (1/2)

”I wrote it in the hurry and excitement of the moment; it was incorrect.”

”Why did you lie?” (_Pourquoi avez vous menti?_)

Maitland made an irritable movement

”You threaten Justice. Your att.i.tude is deplorable. You are consigned _au secret_, and will have an opportunity of revising your situation, and replying more fully to the inquiries of Justice.”

So ended Maitland's first and, happily, sole interview with a Juge d'Instruction. Lord Walter Brixton, his old St Gatien's pupil, returned from the country on the very day of Maitland's examination. An interview (during which Lord Walter laughed unfeelingly) with his old coach was not refused to the _attache_, and, in a few hours, after some formalities had been complied with, Maitland was a free man. His _pieces justificatives_, his letters, cards, and return ticket to Charing Cross, were returned to him intact.

But Maitland determined to sacrifice the privileges of the last-named doc.u.ment.

”I am going straight to Constantinople and the Greek Islands,” he wrote to Barton. ”Do you know, I don't like Paris. My attempt at an investigation has not been a success. I have endured considerable discomfort, and I fear my case will get into the _Figaro_, and there will be dozens of 'social leaders' and 'descriptive headers' about me in all the penny papers.”

Then Maitland gave his banker's address at Constantinople, relinquished the quest of Margaret, and for a while, as the Sagas say, ”is out of the story.”

CHAPTER XI.--The Night of Adventures.

A cold March wind whistled and yelled round the twisted chimneys of the _Hit or Miss_. The day had been a trial to every sense. First there would come a long-drawn distant moan, a sigh like that of a querulous woman; then the sigh grew nearer and became a shriek, as if the same woman were working herself up into a pa.s.sion; and finally a gust of rainy hail, mixed with dust and small stones, was dashed, like a parting insult, on the windows of the _Hit or Miss_.

Then the shriek died away again into a wail and a moan, and so _da capo_.

”Well, Eliza, what do you do now that the pantomime season is over?”

said Barton to Miss Gullick, who was busily dressing a doll, as she perched on the table in the parlor of the _Hit or Miss_.

Barton occasionally looked into the public-house, partly to see that Maitland's investment was properly managed, partly because the place was near the scene of his labors; not least, perhaps, because he had still an unacknowledged hope that light on the mystery of Margaret would come from the original centre of the troubles.

”I'm in no hurry to take an engagement,” answered the resolute Eliza, holding up and examining her doll. It was a fas.h.i.+onable doll, in a close-fitting tweed ulster, which covered a perfect panoply of other female furniture, all in the latest mode. As the child worked, she looked now and then at the ill.u.s.trations in a journal of the fas.h.i.+ons.

”There's two or three managers in treaty with me,” said Eliza. ”There's the _Follies and Frivolities_ down Norwood way, and the _Varieties_ in the 'Ammersmith Road. Thirty s.h.i.+llings a week and my dresses, that's what I ask for, and I'll get it too! Just now I'm taking a vacation, and making an honest penny with these things,” and she nodded at a little basket full of the wardrobe of dolls.

”Do you sell the dresses to the toy-shops, Eliza?” asked Barton.

”Yes,” said Eliza; ”I am doing well with them. I'm not sure I shan't need to take on some extra hands, by the job, to finish my Easter orders.”

”Pm glad you are successful,” answered Barton. ”I say, Eliza!”

”Yes, Doctor.”

”Would you mind showing me the room up-stairs where poor old s.h.i.+elds was sitting the night before he was found in the snow?”

It had suddenly occurred to Barton--it might have occurred to him before--that this room might be worth examining.

”We ain't using it now! Ill show you it,” said Eliza, leading the way up-stairs, and pointing to a door.

Barton took hold of the handle.

”Ladies first,” he said, making way for Eliza, with a bow.

”No,” came the child's voice, from half-way down the stairs; ”I won't come in! They say he walks, I've heard noises there at night.”