The Lawyer's Secret

Front matter

Uniform with this Volume in style and price. By FERGUS HUME TRACKED BY A TATTOO THE CARBUNCLE CLUE " Of the many detective stories that have been written in recent years by distinguished authors," says The Liverpool Mercury, " those of Mr. Hume have occupied a high place. The Mystery of a Hansom Cab, The Carbuncle Clue, and others, have interested thousands of readers, and kept their attention on the stretch until the close. In Tracked by a Tattoo we have another ' mystery,' namely, The Tragedy of Tooley's Alley, which, if we are not greatly mistaken, will equal, if not exceed in popularity, any of its predecessors. Mr. Fanks is again the man whose ingenuity is taxed to find out who it was, among half-a-dozen likely persons, that executed the fatal tattoo. With remarkable skill the author directs suspicion against first one, then another, of the curious collection of people connected with Sir Gregory Fellender, but always with a reservation, only denouncing the real culprit in the closing pages.

Those who like an exciting story may purchase Mr. Fergus Hume's story without fear of disappointment." LY JOHN K. LEYS AUTHOR OF "THE LINDSAYS," fcTC. LONDON FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. AND NEW YORK 1897 [All rights reserved} Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Kungay. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE I. PARTED I II. ADELAIDE CARRIES OUT HER RESOLVE ... 12 III. LADY BOLDON SPEAKS HER MIND ... 27 IV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING ... ... 39 V. WHAT MATTHEW FANE OVERHEARD ... 49 VI. ROBY CHASE IS LEFT WITHOUT A MASTER 65 VII. SOME VULGAR GOSSIP ... ... ... 75 VIII. TEMPTED ... ... ... ... ... 82 IX. LADY BOLDON MAKES UP HER MIND ... 92 X. HUGH THESIGER GOES TO ROBY CHASE... 102 XI. THERE IS A SHADOW ON MY LIFE ... 115 XII. MR. FREDERICK BOLDON COMES TO ROBY AGAIN ... ... ... ... ... 128 XIII. FOUND DEAD 144 XIV. THE INQUEST ... 153 XV.

UNDER ARREST ... ... 164 XVI. IN THE PRISONER'S CELL ... ... 1 73 XVII. PERPLEXED ... ... ... ... 183 XVIII. A BLANK DENIAL CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE XIX. MR. TEMPEST'S ADVICE ... ... ... 201 XX. A CONFESSION ... 213 XXI. A DISCOVERY ... ... ... ... 2 18 XXII. THE TRIAL ... ... ... ... 223 XXIII. THE VERDICT ... ... ... ... 235 XXIV. A GLEAM OF LIGHT 244 XXV. TERENCE O'NEIL COMES TO THE FRONT 255 XXVI. THE CONFIDENTIAL AGENT 264 XXVII. THE TRUTH COMES OUT... ... ... 273 XXVIII. IN THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY ... ... 286 XXIX. A SURPRISE FOR MR. FREDERICK BOLDON 296 XXX. CONCLUSION ... ...

Chapter I Parted Backwards

and forwards Hugh Thesiger tramped for the best part of an hour, as if he had been on sentry ; and always, as he passed the stile, he threw a wistful glance up the field-path which lay beyond. Yet no one came ; and the red winter sun was already touching the horizon. A tall, strong fellow he was, with bright, dark eyes, a short, black beard, and a resolute step — such a man as any woman might be proud to have for a lover. After pacing to and fro for a long time, he stopped, pulled out a silver hunting-watch, looked at it hastily, and closed the lid with an exclamation of despair. It was more than an hour after the appointed time. But small as the remaining chance was, Hugh would not forego it. He sat down on the stile and gazed over the snow-clad landscape — white fields and fallows, black woods, and a few clustering cottages — without seeing them.

The level sunbeams glanced full on the battlements of a fine old house called Roby Chase, the residence of Sir Richard Boldon, which stood among its sheltering trees about two miles away. As the young man's eyes fell there, a frown gathered on his face ; then the frown passed away, and he sank into a reverie. The sun's last rays trembled on the topmost branches of the wood, and vanished, leaving them brown, bare, and cold ; but Thesiger did not move. It was almost twilight when he started and looked round. His ears had not deceived him. Light as the girl's tread had been on the soft new-fallen snow, he heard, and as he turned, he blushed like a girl. Yes, it was she, her dainty figure, strong and supple, drawing swiftly nearer. In a second, Hugh had crossed the stile and was running to meet her.

" Thank you so much for coming, Adelaide ! " he cried. " I was beginning to fear that some thing had detained you, and that I should have to go back to London without seeing you." " I am sorry to be so late ; but really it was impossible for me to get away sooner. And now it is nearly dark ! I shall not be able to go to the Moat with you, after all." Her words and tone were cold ; but a keen observer would have noticed a flush on her cheek, which, slight as it was, betrayed her real feeling. Hugh Thesiger, how ever, had his eyes on the ground at his feet, and when he looked up, the blush had vanished. PARTED 3 " Never mind the Moat ; that was only an excuse," he answered almost roughly. " I felt as if I must see you alone — as if I could not endure silence any longer. I have wanted to speak to you for years, Adelaide, and you know why I have waited.

I have longed to tell you " " Hush, Hugh ; don't tell me ! I know what you are going to say ; but I cannot listen to you." " Cannot listen to me ! Why ? " " I mean, it would only give needless pain to us both. Why spoil the pleasant friendship that has — united us so long, ever since we can remember ? Why risk putting an end to it for ever ? Why not go on as we have always done ? " " You do not love me, then," said Hugh sadly. " You cannot feel for me one spark of what I feel for you, or you could not " He caught sight of a look in her face, though it was turned partly away from him, a look which contradicted her words. "Oh, Adelaide!" he cried, "have I mistaken you? Do you really care for me? Is it only that you think we ought to wait ? " " No, no, no ! " she exclaimed, turning and facing him.

"Why do you pretend to misunder stand me ? I said that I cannot listen to you, and I beg you to say no more." They walked on a little way in silence. " Shall we go back to the Rectory now ? It is getting almost dark," said the young man quietly. They turned and walked back to the stile that they had quitted. "Adelaide, I cannot understand you," he con tinued. " I have never concealed from you that I love you, and have loved you for years ; and I thought — perhaps I was altogether wrong — but I thought you had a little of the same feeling for me. You know why I have been so long silent ; but now that work is beginning to come in, now that there is a fair prospect of my being able to make a home for you, I must speak. I must say, ' Ade laide, will you marry me?'" He stopped, and held out his hand.

She brushed it lightly aside and went on. " Now, Hugh, do be reasonable," she said. " Why harrow your feelings and mine by saying all that over again ? I have told you that it can't be. You must go back to town and busy yourself over your law-books, and forget this little scene." " Adelaide, do you mean that ? " " Of course I do." " Then you cannot really love me ? " The girl was silent. " And yet I cannot believe that you are in different to my love. It is not that you are afraid of poverty, or of a few years of waiting, surely? You are not a coward, Adelaide ? " " Since you choose to call it cowardice, I am a coward ! " The words flashed out in a burst of temper, which the girl wilfully indulged herself in. It was at least a release from the deeper and keener feelings which were torturing her.

" I am a coward," she repeated ; " and why ? Because I am PARTED 5 not willing to spend the best years of my life in waiting for the good fortune that may knock at your door — or may not. You must forgive my plain speaking, Hugh. You are poor, almost as poor as we are at the Rectory. I shall not tell you how badly off we are — never mind. If I were to marry a poor man, I should be miserable, and I should make my husband miserable. If I were to marry otherwise, I should lighten the load that is crushing my father into his grave, bring a little brightness into my mother's eyes, and probably change the whole future for my brothers." "And you mean that ?" " Stop ! Hear me out. It is the popular notion — an idea sprung from reading many novels — that the first and noblest duty a girl has is to marry as it pleases her fancy — marry the man she thinks herself in love with.

If she does not do this, more especially if she marries any one else, she is ' false to her womanhood.' That is the modern cant. It is cant, and nothing else. It is a low and false conception of a woman's duty ; certainly it is not my conception of it." " So you would marry me, then, Adelaide, if I were a wealthy man?" asked Hugh Thesiger slowly, searching the girl's handsome features with his eyes as he spoke. " I do not see how that affects the question," she answered, as the rich blush rose to her cheek. " But would you ? " " It is possible." " Whether you loved me or not ? " The girl was silent. " Your question is a wanton insult," she said at last. " I wanted to test you, Adelaide — to see whether you would admit that you would act up to your theory of a woman's duty. I don't believe you would.

But forgive me if I have pained you. Don't let us quarrel when we must part at least for some months. I wanted to say this, Adelaide — If you like, or rather, if you would consent to wait for one year, I will give up my profession, and take to some quicker method of earning a living. I have friends. I will get work in an office, or on the press. Or, we could emigrate. Even if we were poor, we would be happy. Oh, Adelaide, you have no idea how I love you ! " "You think so now — you think we could be happy in poverty ; but it is not so. Love in a cottage might be tolerable ; but what poor married folks have now-a-days is not a cottage, half hidden, as a cottage should be, in honeysuckle and roses but a small, ugly, workman's dwelling, one of a row. Married life for us would mean food that we couldn't eat, clothes that we should be ashamed to wear, a thousand petty meannesses.

It would mean that we could not have even fresh air, or clean things to put on, or books, or the society of our friends. You would like it, Hugh, just as little as I should." " I will risk it, Adie, gladly." " But I won't." PARTED 7 "You don't think much of the Milly Barton type of womanhood, it appears," said Thesiger, rather bitterly. " You are quite mistaken," answered the girl, with some emphasis. " I think Milly Barton is one of the most lovely characters in fiction, certainly the sweetest George Eliot ever conceived. She was a hundred thousand times too good for poor Amos, of course. — But I never pretended to be a Milly Barton, Hugh. Did I ? " No," he replied. That, at least, was true. Adelaide Bruce had never laid claim to the more saintly of the feminine virtues, but she was at least no hypocrite.

If she gave up anything for a friend, as she sometimes did, it was always with a struggle. She never pretended that she did not care for the good things of this life ; and, as a rule, she took care that she had her fair share of them — not more than her fair share, but the full portion of goods that fell to her. Just then, Hugh Thesiger remembered a little scene of which, some years before, he had been an involuntary spectator— a scene that illustrated Adelaide's character pretty well. He had gone up to the Rectory to escort the girls, Adelaide and her younger sister Marjorie, to a boating party. As it happened, Marjorie had a headache. " If you were an unselfish girl," said Mrs. Bruce in a complaining tone, " and really cared for your sister, you would give up the party, and read to Marjorie," " Spend this lovely afternoon in a dark room ?

" cried Adelaide. " Indeed, mamma, I couldn't do such a thing. If I loved Marjorie ever so much more than myself, I might do it ; but I don't ; and I don't know why I should. And if she were a horribly selfish girl, she might allow me to do it, but not otherwise." " I have known girls who would have done it," said her mother. " I dare say ; but my goodness doesn't go so far," coolly returned Adelaide. " If it were possible to change places with her, I might do that for half an hour ; or even, perhaps, for an hour, if I wasn't enjoying myself very much ; and I wouldn't mind taking the headache for that time ; but I really couldn't give up the whole afternoon, you know." And Hugh remembered very well, that although he had been somewhat shocked by Adelaide's frank renouncing of the higher path, he had thought, even at the time, that there was something to be said for her view of the matter.

But the two young people had now got close to the church. Only one field, and that a narrow one, lay between them and the Rectory gate. "Now we will forget this conversation, won't we ? " asked the girl brightly. " I can never do that." " Well, we can agree not to think of it, and never to speak of it. We will simply go on being friends, as we have always been." It is very good of you to say that we may," PARTED 9 murmured Hugh. He was thinking that perhaps, many years after this, when the golden days of youth had all run out, and passion had grown cold, they might be able to marry. Suddenly he turned, and there was a look on his face such as the girl had never seen there before. " Adelaide," he said, " I heard a rumour yesterday, a very absurd rumour, and one I should not have dreamt of mentioning to you, but that ■" He had meant to say that some things she had said within the last half-hour had seemed to confirm the report ; but fearing to displease her, he substituted : " I should go back to London with an easier mind, if I heard you deny that it was true.

The rumour was, that you were going to marry Sir Richard Boldon." It had come at last — the accusation Adelaide had been dreading all through the interview ; and though her heart beat fast and her limbs trembled, she schooled her face and her voice, that she might be able to answer her lover calmly. " Of course, I know it's absurd to couple your name with that of a man almost old enough to be your grandfather, an uneducated, purse-proud boor into the bargain, but It's not true, is it, Adelaide ? " " Sir Richard has never asked me to marry him," she said. "But if he did, what answer would you give him?" "Oh, really, Hugh, this is too much ! You are B abusing your privileges. How can I tell what I should do under imaginary circumstances ? Let us talk of something practical. When are we to see you down at Woodhurst again ?

" "So you intend to marry that old man, that mean, common man, with his years, and his temper — and his money." " You say so, not I. — Good-bye, Hugh." " Don't, Adie ! Don't ! I love you ; and in your heart I believe you love me. Marry me. Wait a year or two, till I can earn enough to live upon, and marry me. After all, ' the life is more than meat, and the body than raiment' Don't sell yourself to a man you can't respect." A second time Adelaide was glad of an excuse for being angry. "You seem not to care how grossly insulting your words are, so long as you can give me pain," she said ; " but as we shall not meet again for some time, it would be a pity to quarrel ; so I shall not resent them. It will be time enough to consider Sir Richard's proposals if he makes any. In any case, you have no right But I didn't mean to say anything to wound you.

Think of me at the best, Hugh. — Good-bye. Give me your hand — I will have it Oh ! " She got more than she bargained for ; for Hugh, carried away by his passionate love of her, seized her in his arms, strained her to his breast, and covered her face with mad, passionate kisses. " How dare you ! For shame, Hugh ! Let me go, or I shall scream." PARTED 11 He let her go at last. " There ; I couldn't help it, Adie. I hope you will forgive me one day — when we are married." " That day will be never ! " cried the girl defiantly. " Oh yes, it will. You have given me fresh hope, somehow. I can hardly tell how. I think we shall be married yet — one day." " You " The tears would no longer be kept back ; and Adelaide would not for the world let her lover know that she was on the verge of crying. She slipped inside the little wicket-gate, near which they had been standing, and ran up to the house, waving a farewell with her hand kerchief.

Hardly had she reached the shelter of her bed room, when the storm of sobs and tears broke forth. She had borne up well, and had said what she meant so say ; but that mad embrace, so sweet to remember, so unexpected, had upset all her calculations. She could not, if it had been to save her life, simulate the indignation which, if she had not loved Hugh, she would have naturally felt. There could be no doubt that he knew now that in her heart she loved him ; and that being so, it meant, she feared, that he would soon cease to respect her. For Adelaide knew very well that Sir Richard Boldon meant to propose to her ; and she had made up her mind to marry him.

Chapter II Adelaide Carries Out Her Resolve

Hugh Thesiger went back to London with a heart full of hope. He knew Adelaide well ; he had hardly expected that she would accept his love at the first offer. When he had been so far carried away by his passion as to embrace her without any right to do so, he had expected an outburst of anger. It came indeed ; but some thing told him that she was not so angry as he had feared she would be. Surely, he thought, her heart must be his, in spite of what she said. All the greater, therefore, was the shock to him when he heard, as a fact, about a month after his return to town, that the girl he loved was about to become the wife of Sir Richard Boldon. In his grief and indignation, he set off at once for Hampshire. Thesiger, it may be mentioned here, was an orphan, and he had been brought up by his uncle, a retired naval officer of small means, who lived in a cottage near Chalfont village, about two miles from Wood hurst.

Lieutenant Thesiger was married ; but he had only had one child, who had died in infancy, and his wife had acted as a true mother to her husband's nephew. Hugh arrived at his uncle's cottage late that night ; and before he went to rest, he ascertained from his aunt that the rumour he had heard about Adelaide Bruce's engagement was founded on fact. " Oh yes," said the old lady, " it's true enough. They are to be married in six weeks. I forced myself to go to the Rectory and congratulate Adelaide. Poor girl, she is to be pitied rather than congratulated." " It's her own doing, I suppose ? " said Hugh coldly. " Of course it is. Nobody forced her to it. But I believe she is sacrificing herself for the sake of her family. Poor Mrs. Bruce has a hard struggle at the best of times ; and naturally Adelaide will be able to do something for them now."

Hugh could have blessed his kind-hearted aunt for her charitable view of the girl's conduct ; for already pity was taking the place of anger in his heart. He changed his mind, and went off to London again next day without making any attempt to see Adelaide. He told himself over and over again that she had done him no wrong, that she was herself the mistress of her destinies, and that perhaps it was more for her family's sake than for her own that she was about to do this thing. But it was all cold comfort, cold as the sleety shower that battered against the carriage windows as the train sped on its way. He would go on living as usual, treading the tiresome round of a briefless barrister's existence ; but the future held for him no promise of happiness. The one woman he desired was not to be his ; and for all the other good things in the world he cared nothing.

Mrs. Thesiger had said no more than the truth when she told her nephew that no one had forced this marriage upon Adelaide Bruce. The Rector, indeed, had even advised her against the match. But it was too evident that what he had spoken had been said purely from a desire to pacify his conscience. There was a look in his pale, watery eyes, a weary, wistful look, and a tremor in his voice, which belied his words. The girl knew very well that he would bless her in his heart for the comfort, and, above all, the freedom from anxiety, which she was about to bring him in his old age. The man whom Adelaide was about to marry was not, in the ordinary acceptation of the phrase, a self-made man. His father, Joseph Boldon, had been in his youth a day-labourer ; but while still a young man, he had entered a soap-boiling establishment, where he had risen to be foreman, manager, and finally a partner in the firm.

His son, afterwards Sir Richard Boldon, had thus started in life a rich man ; and by dint of ex tending his business and advertising his soap in every newspaper and at every railway station in the three kingdoms, he had become a very wealthy man. His knighthood was the reward which a grateful Premier had bestowed on him for money freely spent in advancing the interests of his party. Sir Richard had married rather late in life, and he had not been blessed with children. The first Lady Boldon had now been dead more than a year ; and it was not to be wondered at that Sir Richard should think of marrying a second time. He had looked about him for a suitable person to fill the vacant place ; and his choice had fallen on the Rector's handsome daughter. The preparations for the wedding were on a very modest scale, partly because Mr. Bruce could ill spare the money even for the plainest of trousseaus and the simplest of wedding-feasts, partly because Adelaide could not bear the idea of any unnecessary display.

She was, in fact, very far from happy. She well knew that while some would envy her, and some, even, might be found to commend her, none would, in their hearts, respect her the more for what she was doing. Of her inward repugnance to the match she said not a word to any one. She bore her burden without flinching. But her mother and sister could not help noticing a certain hardness in the girl's manner, and even in the expression of her face — a hardness which augured ill for her future happi ness. She turned from the diamonds and the exotics which her septuagenarian lover sent to her, with unconcealed aversion. She could hardly bring herself to treat the dull, common-looking old man with a decent show of affection. But none the less was she determined to marry him. A marriage settlement was to be prepared as a matter of course ; and Sir Richard wrote to his London solicitor, a Mr. Felix, asking him to come down to Roby Chase one evening, stay overnight, and go to the Rectory with him next morning.

There the terms of the settlement would be arranged ; and Sir Richard added that he would at the same time dictate to him the terms of a fresh will, which could be prepared along with the settlement, and which he proposed to execute shortly after the marriage ceremony. This arrangement was duly carried out ; and one evening in March, Mr. Felix arrived at the Chase. He was an elderly man, with a smooth shaven face, hair apparently just turning grey, and an extremely quiet and agreeable manner. So well preserved was he, that it would have been difficult to guess correctly at his age ; in reality he was considerably older than he looked. He had never married. On the morning after his arrival, Mr. Felix accompanied his host for a promenade on the terrace under the drawing-room windows. " This is really a magnificent place, Sir Richard," said Mr. Felix, glancing from the stately pile beside him to the avenues of noble trees which seemed to stretch from the further side of the lawn for an infinite distance beyond.

The owner was pleased with the compliment ; he was never tired of hearing what a splendid house and estate he owned ; and if a man may without absurdity feel proud of his possessions, Sir Richard was justified in feeling proud of Roby Chase. True, he had neither planned nor built it — the Robys had disappeared half a century before — he had only bought it. Yet a man who buys anything worthy of admiration, whether it be a house, or a picture, or a yacht, or a wife, generally feels as proud of it as if he had created it, and Sir Richard Boldon was no exception to the rule. " Yes, it's a fine house," he rejoined ; " and the estate is a large one. Of course, I hope that I shall have a son to inherit the place after me. That will be the first point in the settlement you have to draw up. Roby goes to my eldest son ; and his eldest son ; failing him, my second son — and so on, you know, in tail."

"Just so. And failing sons? It's as well to make provision, you know." "Failing sons, for my daughters," said Sir Richard, a little stiffly. " And — hem ! — in case of your surviving — in short, if that limitation should fail ? " " I don't see that the settlement need go any further," said the knight, after a short pause. "There might be a small annuity, say three hundred a year, for my widow. But I mean to leave Roby to her for her life, by my will." " Leave Roby to her ! " echoed the lawyer, standing still for a moment in his surprise. " The estate, do you mean?" " Certainly, the estate ; that is, if there are no children to come after me. Why shouldn't I leave it to her? It's my own, I suppose, as I've bought and paid for it ? " " To be sure it is. " Well, I choose to leave it to my wife for her life (failing an heir).

But I shan't settle it, and so put it beyond my own power." The solicitor murmured something which im plied approval of this policy, adding : " You have told Mr. Frederick Boldon of your intention, I presume ? " " My intention to marry ? " " I mean— about the estate." " No ; I haven't," answered the old man angrily. " What business has my nephew to count on my estate coming to him, if I leave no children of my own ? Eh ? " " None of course. Only, he may have been looking forward to it, perhaps ; that's all." " If he has, he's a fool, in addition to being a stuck-up, good-for-nothing, dandified prig. He's my half-brother's son, to be sure. His mother called him after me, to — — Well, it's an old story. They tell me the young man has brains, and of course I shall leave him something. But that has nothing to do with Roby.