A Bid for Fortune · Part II · Chapter 2 1 (2/2)

Half an hour later our lunch was ready, but still no sign came of the youth. Where could he have got to? I waited an hour and then fell to work. Three o’clock arrived and still no sign⁠—four, five, and even six. By this time I was in a fever of anxiety. I remembered the existence of the man who had followed us from Melbourne, and Beckenham’s trusting good nature. Then and there I resolved, if he did not return before half-past seven, to set off for the nearest police station and have a search made for him. Slowly the large hand of the clock went round, and when, at the time stated, he had not appeared, I donned my hat and, enquiring the way, set off for the home of the law.

On arriving there and stating my business I was immediately conducted to the inspector in charge, who questioned me very closely as to Beckenham’s appearance, age, profession, etc. Having done this, he said:

“But what reason have you, sir, for supposing that the young man has been done away with? He has only been absent from his abode, according to your statement, about eight or nine hours.”

“Simply because,” I answered, “I have the best of reasons for knowing that ever since his arrival in Australia he has been shadowed. This morning he said he would only go for a short stroll before lunch, and I am positively certain, knowing my anxiety about him, he would not have remained away so long of his own accord without communicating with me.”

“Is there any motive you can assign for this shadowing?”

“My friend is heir to an enormous property in England. Perhaps that may assist you in discovering one?”

“Very possibly. But still I am inclined to think you are a little hasty in coming to so terrible a conclusion, Mr.⁠—?”

“Hatteras is my name, and I am staying at the ‘General Officer’ Hotel in Palgrave Street.”

“Well, Mr. Hatteras, if I were you I would go back to your hotel. You will probably find your friend there eating his dinner and thinking about instituting a search for you. If, however, he has not turned up, and does not do so by tomorrow morning, call here again and report the matter, and I will give you every assistance in my power.”

Thanking him for his courtesy I left the station and walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping to find Beckenham safely returned and at his dinner. But when the landlady met me in the verandah, and asked if I had any news of my friend, I realized that a disappointment was in store for me. By this time the excitement and worry were getting too much for me. What with Nikola, the spy, Beckenham, Phyllis, the unknown lover, and old Mr. Wetherell, I had more than enough to keep my brain occupied. I sat down on a chair on the verandah with a sigh and reviewed the whole case. Nine o’clock struck by the time my reverie was finished. Just as I did so a newspaper boy came down the street lustily crying his wares. To divert my mind from its unpleasant thoughts, I called him up and bought an Evening Mercury. Haying done so I passed into my sitting-room to read it. The first, second, and third pages held nothing of much interest to me, but on the fourth was an item which was astonishing enough to almost make my hair stand on end. It ran as follows:

We have it on the very best authority that an engagement will shortly be announced between a certain illustrious young nobleman, now a visitor in our city, and the beautiful daughter of one of Sydney’s most prominent politicians, who has lately returned from a visit to England. The Evening Mercury tenders the young couple their sincerest congratulations.

Could this be the solution of the whole mystery? Could it be that the engagement of Baxter, the telegram, the idea of travel, the drugging, the imprisonment in Port Said, the substitution of the false marquis were all means to this end? Was it possible that this man, who was masquerading as a man of title, was to marry Phyllis (for there could be no possible doubt as to the persons to whom that paragraph referred)? The very thought of such a thing was not to be endured.

There must be no delay now, I told myself, in revealing all I knew. The villains must be unmasked this very night. Wetherell should know all as soon as I could tell him.

As I came to this conclusion I crushed my paper into my pocket and set off, without a moment’s delay, for Potts Point. The night was dark, and now a thick drizzle was falling.

Though it really did not take me very long, it seemed an eternity before I reached the house and rang the bell. The butler opened the door, and was evidently surprised to see me.

“Is Mr. Wetherell at home?” I asked. For a moment he looked doubtful as to what he should say, then compromising matters, answered that he would see.

“I know what that means,” I said in reply. “Mr. Wetherell is in, but you don’t think he’ll see me. But he must! I have news for him of the very utmost importance. Will you tell him that?”

He left me and went along the hall and upstairs. Presently he returned, shaking his head.

“I’m very sorry, sir, but Mr. Wetherell’s answer is, if you have anything to tell him you must put it in writing; he cannot see you.”

“But he must! In this case I can accept no refusal. Tell him, will you, that the matter upon which I wish to speak to him has nothing whatsoever to do with the request I made to him this morning. I pledge him my word on that.”

Again the butler departed, and once more I was left to cool my heels in the portico. When he returned it was with a smile upon his face.

“Mr. Wetherell will be glad if you will step this way, sir.” I followed him along the hall and up the massive stone staircase. Arriving at the top he opened a door on the left-hand side and announced “Mr. Hatteras.”

I found Mr. Wetherell seated in a low chair opposite the fire, and from the fact that his right foot was resting on a sort of small trestle, I argued that he was suffering from an attack of his old enemy the gout.

“Be good enough to take a chair, Mr. Hatteras,” he said, when the door had been closed. “I must own I am quite at a loss to understand what you can have to tell me of so much importance as to bring you to my house at this time of night.”

“I think I shall be able to satisfy you on that score, Mr. Wetherell,” I replied, taking the Evening Mercury from my pocket and smoothing it out. “In the first place will you be good enough to tell me if there is any truth in the inference contained in that paragraph?”

I handed the paper to him and pointed to the lines in question. Having put on his glasses he examined it carefully.

“I am sorry they should have made it public so soon, I must admit,” he said. “But I don’t deny that there is a considerable amount of truth in what that paragraph reports.”

“You mean by that that you intend to try and marry Phyllis⁠—Miss Wetherell⁠—to the Marquis of Beckenham?”

“The young man has paid her a very considerable amount of attention ever since he arrived in the colony, and only last week he did me the honour of confiding his views to me. You see I am candid with you.”

“I thank you for it. I, too, will be candid with you. Mr. Wetherell, you may set your mind at rest at once, this marriage will never take place!”

“And pray be so good as to tell me your reason for such a statement!”

“If you want it bluntly, because the young man now staying at Government House is no more the Marquis of Beckenham than I am. He is a fraud, an impostor, a cheat of the first water, put up to play his part by one of the cleverest scoundrels unhung.”

“Mr. Hatteras, this is really going too far. I can quite understand your being jealous of his lordship, but I cannot understand your having the audacity to bring such a foolish charge against him. I, for one, must decline to listen to it. If he had been the fraud you make him out, how would his tutor have got those letters from his Grace the Duke of Glenbarth? Do you imagine his Excellency the Governor, who has known the family all his life, would not have discovered him ere this? No, no, sir! It won’t do! If you think so, who has schooled him so cleverly? Who has pulled the strings so wonderfully?”

“Why, Nikola to be sure!”

Had I clapped a revolver to the old gentleman’s head, or had the walls opened and Nikola himself stepped into the room, a greater effect of terror and consternation could not have been produced in the old gentleman’s face than did those five simple words. He fell back in his chair gasping for breath, his complexion became ashen in its pallor, and for a moment his whole nervous system seemed unstrung. I sprang to his assistance, thinking he was going to have a fit, but he waved me off, and when he had recovered himself sufficiently to speak, said hoarsely:

“What do you know of Dr. Nikola? Tell me for God’s sake!⁠—what do you know of him? Quick, quick!”

Thereupon I set to work and told him my story, from the day of my arrival in Sydney from Thursday Island up to the moment of my reaching his house, described my meeting and acquaintance with the real Beckenham, and all the events consequent upon it. He listened, with an awful terror growing in his face, and when I had finished my narrative with the disappearance of my friend he nearly choked. “Mr. Hatteras,” he gasped, “will you swear this is the truth you are telling me?”

“I solemnly swear it,” I answered. “And will do so in public when and where you please.”

“Then before I do anything else I will beg your pardon for my conduct to you. You have taken a noble revenge. I cannot thank you sufficiently. But there is not a moment to lose. My daughter is at a ball at Government House at the present moment. I should have accompanied her, but my gout would not permit me. Will you oblige me by ringing that bell?”

I rang the bell as requested, and then asked what he intended doing.

“Going off to his Excellency at once, gout or no gout, and telling him what you have told me. If it is as you have said, we must catch these scoundrels and rescue your friend without an instant’s delay!”

Here the butler appeared at the door.

“Tell Jenkins to put the grey mare in my brougham and bring her round at once.”

Half an hour later we were at Government House waiting in his Excellency’s study for an interview. The music of the orchestra in the ballroom came faintly in to us, and when Lord Amberley entered the room he seemed surprised, as well he might be, to see us. But as soon as he had heard what we had to tell him his expression changed. “Mr. Wetherell, this is a very terrible charge you bring against my guest. Do you think it can possibly be true?”

“I sadly fear so,” said Mr. Wetherell. “But perhaps Mr. Hatteras will tell you the story exactly as he told it to me.”

I did so, and, when I had finished, the Governor went to the door and called a servant.

“Find Lord Beckenham, Johnson, at once, and ask him to be so good as to come to me here. Stay⁠—on second thoughts I’ll go and look for him myself.”

He went off, leaving us alone again to listen to the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece, and to wonder what was going to happen next. Five minutes went by and then ten, but still he did not return. When he did do so it was with a still more serious countenance.

“You are evidently right, gentlemen. Neither the spurious marquis, nor his tutor, Mr. Baxter, can be found anywhere. I have discovered, too, that all their valuables and light luggage have been smuggled out of the house tonight without the knowledge of my servants. This is a very terrible business. But I have given instructions, and the police will be communicated with at once. Now we must do our best to find the real Beckenham.”

“Lord Amberley,” said Wetherell, in a choking voice, “do you think one of your servants could tell my daughter to come to me at once; I am not feeling very well.”

The Governor hesitated a moment, and then said:

“I am sorry to say, Mr. Wetherell, your daughter left the House an hour ago. A message was brought to her that you had been suddenly taken ill and needed her. She went off at once.”

Wetherell anxiety was piteous to see.

“My God!” he cried in despair. “If that is so, I am ruined. This is Nikola’s revenge.”

Then he uttered a curious little sigh, moved a step forward, and fell in a dead faint upon the floor.