Part 6 (1/2)
Sir Tancred brightened to the rest of his breakfast; he had little doubt that he was on the track of some roguery or other, and he promised himself a hunt through the paper till he found it. When the Biggleswades, having finished their breakfast, went down to the beach, he lighted a cigar, took his folding-chair and his pile of newspapers, and settled down sixty yards away from them. As he had expected, their first act was to discuss the newspaper with great animation, handing it backwards and forwards to one another. And he took _The Daily Telegraph_ from his pile, and set about seeking the source of their excitement. He pa.s.sed over the first advertis.e.m.e.nt in the agony column, the offer of a reward for the recovery of the stolen child of Kernaby, the Marmalade Millionaire, merely noting that it had been raised to 4000 pounds, and came to the conclusion that the second advertis.e.m.e.nt was genuine, while the third, which set forth at great length the woes of a young woman parted from a young man, seemed to him to read like thieves communicating. He had begun to eliminate the superfluous words, when Tinker, with Blazer, his bull-terrier, came suddenly up to him from behind, and bade him good-morning.
Tinker had breakfasted some three hours earlier, probably in the hotel kitchen, for, as was his invariable custom, he was on the best of terms with the servants; and for all that he had spent the intervening hours on the uncovered slimy rocks, was in his usual state of spotless cleanliness. He is the one living boy to whom dirt does not cling.
”How have you been amusing yourself?” said his father, his stern face lighting up with a delightful smile.
”I'm still teaching Blazer to be a bloodhound. He's slow--very slow.”
Blazer c.o.c.ked an apologetic ear and sniffed.
”It must be tiring work.”
”Yes,” said Tinker sadly, and his eyes wandered slowly along the sh.o.r.e.
Sir Tancred flipped the ash off his cigar.
”Those Biggleswades are beasts!” Tinker broke out suddenly when his eyes fell on them. ”They treat that little girl of theirs shamefully!
When I went to bed last night she was crying again. She always is. I don't believe she's their little girl at all. I believe they've stolen her.”
”The deuce!” cried Sir Tancred, and catching up his _Daily Telegraph_, he read again the Marmalade Millionaire's advertis.e.m.e.nt. It ran:
4000 POUND REWARD. 4000 POUND REWARD. 4000 POUND REWARD.
The above sum will be paid to any person giving information leading to the recovery of Elizabeth E. Kernaby, aged seven years. She strayed or was stolen in Kensington Gardens between the hours of 10 and 11 a. m., on the 19th ultimo. She is fair with blue eyes, and long flaxen hair, speaks with a lisp, and answers to the name of Bessie. Any person bringing information to Messrs. Datchett & Hobb's, 127, Lincoln's Inn Fields, or to Mr. Joseph W. Kernaby, 11a, Cadogan Square, will receive:
4000 POUND REWARD. 4000 POUND REWARD. 4000 POUND REWARD.
He laid the paper on his knee, and began to consider the facts of the kidnapping, as he remembered them from the newspaper reports. Her nurse had taken her to Kensington Gardens, where she had foregathered with the little daughters of Sir William Uglow. The children's play had little by little drawn them away from their gossipping nurses, right out of their sight; and when their nurses went to look for them they found only the little Uglows; Elizabeth Kernaby had gone. The children said that a tall gentleman had come to them and, telling her that her mamma had sent him for her, had taken her away in a cab. The nurse had thought it strange, but suspected nothing wrong till she reached home and found that Elizabeth had not returned. She did not return; and since that day, in spite of all the efforts of Scotland Yard and the private-detective agencies, nothing had been seen or heard of her. The reward offered for her recovery had risen from 1000 pounds to 4000 pounds.
It had been a crime of a masterly simplicity, and Sir Tancred had been sure that the child would not be forthcoming till the reward satisfied the cupidity of the child-stealers. He had reason to believe that the present reward did satisfy the cupidity of the child-stealers; and after a thoughtful glance at the Biggleswades, he turned to Tinker.
Tinker could be of help to him.
He turned to him and said:
”Do you remember my telling you of a little girl, Elizabeth Kernaby, who was stolen a week or two ago?”
”Elizabeth Kernaby, aged seven, blue eyes, long flaxen hair, speaks with a lisp, and answers to the name of Bessie,” said Tinker glibly, in the manner of one reciting a lesson.
”Quite right,” said Sir Tancred approvingly; ”you'll be another Sherlock Holmes some day. Well, I have reason to believe that the little girl with the Biggleswades is Elizabeth Kernaby.”
Tinker's face brightened. ”Her eyes are blue, but her hair is black, and it's not very long.”
”Hair can be dyed.”
”Yes; and it doesn't match her face.”
”It doesn't, doesn't it? Well, I want to know if she lisps, and if she answers to the name of Bessie. You will find out?”
”Yes, I'll find out. But Mrs. Biggleswade never lets her speak to anyone. I must think it out.”
With that Tinker sat down; set his elbows on his knees, his chin on his hands; and plunged into deep thought. His father sat equally thoughtful; and their similar employment brought out extraordinarily their strong likeness, for all that Tinker was a fair, angel child, and his father's face as dark and proud and stern as Lucifer's.