Agatha's Quest

Front matter

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Chapter I. Off To Paris

" lf"R. SCHNEIDER in ? " asked an ill-dressed man, i-'-Istepping into the London office of The New York Informer one afternoon in January, 18S5. The office-boy looked up from his paper with a grin, scanned the visitor carefully, and shook his head. " Quite certain ? " asked the stranger, walking towards the inner-office, which was partitioned off from the general room. "Quite cert.ain," said the office-boy. " It's no use your going in there. Besides, I can't allow it." " Ah. But perhaps you'll tell me when Mr. Schneider is likely to be back. I wish to see him." " If it's for work, it's no use ; we are full up. If it's for a bill, 3"ou must send it by post. If it's a news item, you can give it to me. If it's for a loan, you have mnde a mistake in the number. The pawnshop is round the corner."

The stranger smiled. " But you haven't answered my question yet," he insisted. " When's Mr. Schneider likely to be back ? " " Oh, I don't know. He's breakfasting at Marlborough House. You know their hours better than I do." " Been in this office long ? " continued the gentleman, sitting down and eyeing the lad with an amused expression. " Yes, longer than I care for." "Ah. How's that?" " "Well, I've been here since three o'clock this morning, and I am beginning to want my dinner." "Well, run out and get it, my lad. You look as if you wanted it." "And leave the office to look after itself, I suppose. Yes, that would do famously, wouldn't it That shows what you know about newspaper business." " I'll look after the office in your absence." " You're very kind ; but as I happen to know nothing about you, I can't delegate my powers to you in that way.

Besides, there's a story lying on Mr. Schneider's desk ready to cable, which it really might; be worth your while to get a sight of." "Good boy. Good boy," said the stranger, approvingly. Then, after a pause, he asked, " Wasn't Mr. Schneider expecting Mr. Mundy's call to-day ? " " Yes, I believe so. Mr. Mundy is to be here at three." " Well, Mr. Mundy is here at two," said the visitor, glrmcing at the clock. " You," cried the office-boy in consternation. " You — you are the boss ? " " Yes, I'm Mr. John Mundy. There, now, don't look so frightened. You're all right. Don't spoil my impression of you by making excuses, but answer the question I put you at first." " He said he'd be here about two," said the lad. " He's at lunch in the Strand." " Well, I'll wait for him. What's your name ? " " Tom."

OFF TO PAUIS " Then, Tom, catch hold of this dollar, and go and get your dinner." " Excuse me," said the office-boy, hesitatingly. "You see I don't know you, all the same." Just then, Mr. Schneider returned, and set Tom's doubts at rest, by the respectful greeting he gave to the visitor. The appearance of the London correspondent-in-chief of the Informer presented a striking contrast to that of his employer, the millionaire editor and proprietor, whose modest demeanour and dress had deceived the experienced eye of the world-wise office boy himself. " Smart boy that Tom," said John Mundy, after they had taken seat in the inner office. " We ought to be able to make something out of him." Then, dismissing the subject, he took up some sheets of MS. which were lying on the table, and said, " This, I suppose, is the good story he spoke about.

What is it, Mr. Schneider ? " " Oh, about the Earl of Brookshire. Wilson, you know." " Wilson ? Ah, the mammoth landowner." " Yes, the Englishman who owns the biggest slice of U.S.A. territory of any foreigner. He has just been raised to the peerage ; at least, the announcement is to be gazetted Thursday." " And do you make 3,000 words out of that ? " cried the editor, turning over the written slips. " Expensive work, sir, by cable." " Well, you see, Wilson's well known in the States," pleaded the correspondent. " Besides, there's a capital story attaching to him, which is of special interest now that the Queen has conferred this distinction upon him. He has a son, or had a son." " Didn't know he was married," said the editor. " Nobody did. He's, a widower, and is generally supposed to be childless.

He had one son, though, by his wife, and this son left him, years ago, after a violent quarrel, and has never been heard of since. I have the whole story from a person, a Mrs. Hackett, who was in Wilson's service at the time, eleven ye.ars ago. That was before Wilson's fortune was what it is now, and before he was anybody. During all these eleven years the son has given no sign of life, nor has the father taken any steps to find him out. The quarrel was a terrible one, as you can see if you will read the story. Now one point is that the son, the heir to the title and this immense fortune, is known to be in the States, where he doubtless occupies some very humble position." " Ah, I see," said the editor ; " make a good head-line, " The Missing Heir," cfec. Still, 3,000 words at a shilling the word is a good deal, is it not ?

However, I will look at the story and pass on it before night. There's another thing I want to talk to you about," he continued, "and that shall be the last bit of business I shall do this trip. It's a trifling matter, it's true, but it struck me as a good thing. For try as I will, and as the doctor orders me, I can't keep the paper out of my head. Well, then, I have been thinking that we have been giving too much sensational stuff in the Informer of late." " Can one give too much sensational stuff ? " asked tho correspondent. " Perhaps not. But what I mean is we don't vary our menu quite enough. All politics, fires, and crimes, and next to nothing about art and letters." " Oh, .art and letters ! " cried the correspondent con temptuously. "Yes, yes. There's a large public, Mr. Schneider, for that stuff, and a little of it, occasionally, gives a paper a tone.

Well, what I want, in the first place, is to have the leading American artists in London, Paris, and Florence written up: their studies, their work, the pictures they are preparing for the Spring Exhibitions, and so on. As Paris is the most important art centre, we will begin with Paris. You've got to find me a man to send over for the job." " What are the requirements ?" " Well, he must know something about Paris, and be able to write intelligently about pictures." " There's Oaklands," muttered Schneider, " who does our Palis work whenever there is anything to be done, but he's gone to Berlin. I don't know whom to suggest." " I had thought of Agatha Ouseley," remarked Mr. Mundy. " She knows Paris and writes well." " We couldn't spare her," said Schneider. " You know she does the London society gossip and fashions.

Besides, I don't think she'd accept to go. Her husband's always ailing, and then she has her little girl to look after." " No, perhaps it would be as well to keep her here, especially as I may want her for something else. She's a clever woman— a clever woman. You can't imagine how her work takes in New York. I am waiting to give her a good chance — to put her on a big thing." " There's that fellow Forster," suggested Schneider. "Who's that? Forster? Forster?" " He is an Englishman who has done several jobs for me, and who works conscientiously and well. He has a good style in certain ways. I know he has lived in Paris some years. He would be glad of the commission, as he is considerably out at elbows just now. He was in here only yesterday asking for work." " Well, I think I had better see him.

Do you think you could find him to-day? I would like to get this fixed up at once." " You can see him in half-an-hour, if he's at home. He lives quite close, in Salisbury Street. I can send for him at once, if you like." " Yes, do. I'll talk to him here and now." "Or, as Tom's out, I'll walk round myself and fetch him." " Go ahead. I'll look over this story whilst you're gone," said the editor, taking up a blue pencil and drawing the MS. towards him. He had barely had time to read it through when Schneider returned, accompanied by a man, whom he introduced to the chief as Robert Forster, adding that he had happened to meet him in the Strand, " Has Mr. Schneider told you what I want to see you about?" asked the editor, motioning to Forster to sit down. " No, sir. He merely mentioned that Mr. Mundy wanted to speak to me."

" Mr. Schneider thinks you could do some work I require doing, and I want to have your ideas on the subject. You are wanting a job ? " "Yes, indeed. I should be very glad of one, especially in service of the Informer." " You know Paris ? " " Yes, well. I lived there three years. I left it five years ago." " Do you speak French ? " " Oh, yes, perfectly." " And know something about pictures ? Enough to describe them intelligibly ? " " Yes, I think so. I used to paint myself, at one time." " Very good. Well then, would you be ready to go on a journalistic commission to Paris ? " Forster started noticeably at this question. He had been looking down at the table whilst the editor was speak ing, and when he raised his head to reply it was seen that his face was very pale. " Have you any reason for not wishing to go to Paris ?

" asked the editor, noticing his trouble. " I — I — I," stammered Forster, turning a deep red. " No, sir, no." " You seemed embarrassed by my question, " No, indeed. I was pleased, that is all, very pleased." " Good. Then listen to me." The editor then proceeded to describe the work which he wanted doing, giving the minutest instructions as to how it was to be done, the time that it was to be done in, the amount of matter to be collected, and the expenses that might be incurred in collecting it. " Besides these," he concluded, " you will be paid ten dollars a column for all you send in. If you do well, I'll send you on to Florence on a similar assignment. I trust you will merit the good recommendation Mr. Schneider gave me in speaking about you. Do you think you can do the work properly ? " " Yes, sir," answered Forster, who had completely re gained his composure, " I think so.

It's just in sympathy with my tastes." " And do the terms suit you ? " " Yes. I presume you will allow me some advance on my expenses. I have very little money at my disposal." , Mundy glanced at Schneider, who nodded approvingly. " Well," said the editor, " we'll advance you ten pounds. ■u When will you be ready to go ? I'd like the work done as soon as possible. We are at the end of January now, and so all the artists will have their salon or academy pictures in preparation. It would be newsy to get a description of these in advance." " I can go to-night, if you wish. There is nothing to keep me in London, and I would like to get about the work as soon as possible." " Very good. Then you can go now and make your preparations, and call in in the afternoon to settle details with Mr. Schneider."

" Say, at five," added the correspondent. "I will be here at five punctually," answered Forster, 1 lowing himself out. " Did you notice how he started and how he changed colour when I spoke of sending him to Paris ? " remarked the editor, whilst Forster was going down the stairs. " Yes, indeed," answered Schneider. " It was noticeable enough." " What can it mean, do you think ? " " Well, perhaps he had a bad time of it over there, and you reminded him of it. Perhaps he has debts there. I don't know. I believe him to be a respectable fellow, and I know he Ls intelligent." " And that is all we want, after all," said the editor. " I must say I like his look. Well, I hope he will distin guish himself." This was precisely the same wish that Forster was making as he Wfilked down the Strand towards home.

He had not been so happy for years and years. Fortune was at last smiling on him, and had given him a chance ; the chance he had prayed for in viiin so long. If he could only satisfy Mr. Mundy, his future would be assured, and once on the right road what v.ould prevent him from achieving great things ? " If only I distinguish myself ! If only I distinguish myself ! " he repeated, as he let himself into his lodgings. His preparations did not take him very long. His first care was to change the suit he was wearing, and which was his best, for one bettor suited for the night-travel. He finally decided upon an old tweed suit, which was lying at the bottom of his trunk, but before putting it on he took it to the window, and examined each piece carefully. Seeing some stains on the waistcoat, he appeared to hesi tate, but the next minute he smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

He then proceeded to dress, and afterwrards packed his valise. When this was done, he noticed that the top button on his jacket was missing, and called up the servant girl to sew on another. He then carried his valise down-stairs, and before leaving the house told the landlady that he was leaving and settled his account. He next walked to a hair-dresser's and had his hair and beard, which had been rather neglected for some time, trimmed and tidied. From the hair-dresser's he went to a pawn shop in the Strand, and as soon as he was attended to, produced a frayed and dirty ticket, which he handed to the assistant, with the words, " I suppose it's no use making any enquiries about that, is it ? " The clerk took the ticket, and after a rapid glance at the number printed on it, exclaimed, " No, I am afraid not.

It's two years since that was issued, and it has not been renewed." " I know," said Forster ; " but then you don't always dispose of your unredeemed pledges, do you ? If that brooch is still in the shop, I am quite ready to buy it back at a fair price. Do please look for it. I am really most b anxious to have it back. It's a matter of conscience," he added gaily. Meanwhile the assistant had been referring to a big foiio register. He looked up at Forster's last remark, and stared at him. Then, after again referring to the book, he handed back the ticket and said, " No, we haven't that pledge in the shop. It was sold nearly a year ago." " You don't know to whom, I suppose? " asked Forster. " No, very difficult to say. Should have to consult Mr. Atter. If you would call in again, you might ask him about it.

And now, will you please excuse me ? there is a customer in the next box." "It doesn't matter, after all," thought Forster as he issued into the street. " There's no danger, and what's done can't be helped." With these words he thrust the pawn-ticket into his side-pocket, and set out for the Informer office. Mr. Schneider was expecting him, and after a few words, modelled both in tone and phraseology on what the chief had said that morning, he gave Forster his letter of credentials, and ten sovereigns. " Don't ask for another remittance until you have sent in at least the equivalent of that," he said, whilst the receipt was being signed. " And by the way, if you come across anything interesting in the general news way, send it along. This art notion is all very well, but, personally, I'd prefer a good murder story.

I say, Forster, you're a very nervous fellow. You start like a girl." " Did I start ?" asked Forster, without looking up from the table. It's true I am rather nervous." " Well, give me that receipt, and don't trouble about those papers on the table. They are quite private. Ah, there is a story, if you like," cried the correspondent with pride, as he picked up the MSS. " Something to attract attention, that is." "I hope my work will, attract attention also' Forster, with a smile. "Yes, so do I," said Schneider doubtfully. "Well, good evening. Try to distinguish yourself in Paris." " I will," cried Forster, turning round in the doorway. " I will indeed,"

Chapter II. The Arrest

THE tide having been unfavourable, it was broad daylight before the steamer from Newhaven came alongside the quay in Dieppe harbour, where the Paris train was in waiting. Forster, who had crossed that night, took his seat in a third-class carriage. Though he had been sadly knocked about during the crossing, he was looking and feeling in very high spirits. In the first place, he was going to see Paris again, and Paris had an extraordinary attraction for him, and then it was now in his power to earn money and distinction, which he coveted far more. Shortly after they left Dieppe he went to sleep in his corner, and did not wake again until just as the train was steaming out of Rouen station. He had barely had the time to notice that there was only one other occupant of the carriage besides himself, and that this person was staring pretty hard at him, when the train entered the long tunnel on the " up " side of Rouen, and plunged him into darkness.

He was closing his eyes preparatory to going to sleep again, when suddenly he heard a voice just in front of him pronounce the words — " Pierre Lafargue ! Pierre Lafargue I" At the same time a vesta was struck, and by its light he saw that his travelling companion was staring straight into his face. Bewildered and confused, it was some seconds before Forster could find words to express his surprise at this conduct, and to remonstrate with the stranger for startling him in that manner. " Oh, I beg your pardon," said the other, dropping the match; "I thought I recognised a friend of mine." This was spoken in a peculiar tone of voice, and with a pronounced southern French accent. " I did startle you, apparently — very much, didn't I ? " " Yes, indeed," answered Forster ; " and I hope you won't do it again."

" No ; I know all I want to know," said the voice in the dark. " No need to do it again. I see that you are not the man I fancied — Pierre Lafargue." So saying, he struck another vesta, but apparently only for the purpose of lighting his cigar. At the same time the train issued out into the open, giving the men leisure to examine each other with greater ease. Forster's companion was a tall, elderly man, with small, close-set, black eyes, a florid complexion, a thick black moustache, and curly black hair. He was dressed in a somewhat shabby greatcoat of peculiar cut, and wore a high hat of the worst style. In one hand he held a massive stick, through the top end of which a leather loop and tassle were passed. " You're from Marseilles, I see," said Forster, with a laugh. " And fond of a joke."

" No, seriously," answered the stranger, " I took you for a friend of mine." " Come, do I look like a Pierre this, or a Jacques that ? Anybody can see that I'm an Englishman." " Yes, now that you speak, I recognise that. Not that you speak French badly. I fancy you must have lived in France before. That's so, is it not ? " " Yes," said Forster, plunging his hands into his side pockets to warm them. "Yes, I lived in Paris three year, but I left it in 1880— in the beginning of 1880. So you see my Parisian accent has had time to grow rusty." The man made no answer, but after nodding his head in an absent-minded way, took a newspaper from his pocket and began to read. Forster, who had no wish whatever to continue the conversation with a man, whose appearance was as offensive as his manners, hugged himself together, and was not long in falling asleep in his corner.

A minute or two later the stranger laid down his paper, and bending forward scrutinized the face, figure, and dress of the sleeper, with an air of intense anxiety and interest, but with a puzzled expression withal. After a while he moved to the further end of his bench, and observed him from this new point of view. He then took out a bulky pocket-book, and selecting a telegraph form from the papers it contained, wrote out a brief despatch, which he marked " Urgent." He had just signed it, when Forster moved in his sleep. The stranger looked up and saw him pull his hand out of his left side pocket, bringing with it a piece of dirty white card which fell on to the seat by his side. The big man flushed up, and sat motionless, holding his breath and keeping his eyes on the scrap of pasteboard.

Then, having convinced himself that the motion had been purely and simply unconscious, he moved gently and gradually along the bench until he was nearly opposite the sleeper. He then put out his hand with a cat-like motion and picked up the card. He spent fully five minutes in examining it, as if the printed and written matter puzzled him. The result, however, seemed to satisfy him, for he gradually broke into a smile of triumph, and after casting one or two curious glances at the sleeper, set to work to re-write his despatch. When this was done he placed the pawn-ticket in his pocket-book, and stowed it away in his great-coat. A .few minutes later the train stopped at Vernon, and here the stranger noiselessly opened the door and darted off to the telegraph office, where he handed in his telegram.

" See that it goes at once," he said to the employe, in a command ing tone. " It's of vital importance." Then, as if a sudden thought had struck him, he darted back to his carriage. He found Forster awake and looking out of the window. He noticed that a look of disappointment crossed the Englishman's face when their eyes met. He answered this with a smile, and as he took his seat again, he remarked, " It's bitterly cold this morning, isn't it ? " " I don't find it so," said the Englishman, curtly. " You see I travel without a greatcoat." " You have blood in you," said the stranger, with a significant smile. " I am not going to talk to that cud any longer," thought Forster, turning away his head. " He looks like Borne comic singer down on his luck, or a betting-tout." " We Marseilles people," continued the other, " are a chilly lot.

But, hullo !" he cried, looking out of the window, " what's that ? There's quite a stir at the end of the platform. What's the matter, my good woman ?" " It's the executioner," answered the peasant woman whom he had addressed, speaking in a low voice. " It's Mr. Minger returning to Paris after this morning's work at Vernon." " Ah, yes ; the Romorin affair. But what's the fuss about?" " There is not an empty compartment in the train, and people object to travel with him. A man just threatened to break his head if he got into his carriage. I must say I should not mind his company. His trade is as much a trade as any other." " But tell him to come in here ; I should be delighted. The executioner's," cried the stranger, drawing his head in and addressing Forster, " a capital fellow, I assure you.

Full of anecdotes. You have no objection, I'm sure." " Most certainly I have," cried Forster, irritably. " I wouldn't travel with him at any price. Just think what he comes from. If you bring him in here I'll pitch him out of the window, I give you my word." " Oh," cried the peasant woman, as she entered the com partment, " there's no danger of his coming here. He travels at Government expense, and rides first-class. Besides, he's got seated at last." The rest of the journey passed without further incidents. Forster was very pleased when they got inside the Paris fortifications, for the conversation of the stranger and the peasant woman, which was exclusively about the morning's execution and kindred topics, had both annoyed and disgusted him. He had refused to take any part in it, though the Southerner made frequent attempts to engage him in the discussion.

" Paris, at last," ho cried, as the train stopped alongside the Gare St. Lazcare platform. " And not too early, either, for I'm sure if I had had to put up with this much longer I should have knocked .hat fellow's head off. I am quite positive he's been intending to annoy me all the time." With these words he took up his valise, and made for the door. The peasant woman had already disappeared, but the Marseilles gentleman was standing on the platform in company of a little old man, as shabbily dressed as him self. Both stared hard at the Englishman as he passed, and in so offensive a manner that he halted for an instant, and looked as if he was going to ask them for an explanation of their rudeness. It was for an instant only. The next he shrugged his shoulders, and muttering " What can one expect of such cads ?