Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 69

"A good deal about it," said the sergeant. "It was stolen from Mr.

Ashley."

"Stolen from Mr. Ashley!" echoed the butcher, staring at Sergeant Delves.

"Stolen out of his desk. And you stand a nice chance, White, of losing the money. You should be more cautious. Who was it brought it here?"

"A gentleman. A respectable man, at any rate. Who says it's stolen?"

"I do," replied the sergeant, sitting himself down on the meat-block--rather a damp seat from its just having been washed with hot water. Delves liked to make himself familiar with his old friends in Helstonleigh in a patronising manner; it was only lately he had been promoted to sergeant. "Now! let's have the particulars, White."

"I had just shut up my shop, all but the door, when in come a gentleman in a cloak and cap. 'Could you oblige the Messrs. Dunn with change for a cheque, Mr. White?' says he, handing a cheque to me. 'Yes, sir,' said I, 'I can; very happy to oblige 'em. Would you like it in gold?' Well, he said he would like it in gold, and I gave it to him. 'Thank ye,' said he; 'I'd have got it nearer if I could, for I'm troubled to death with tooth-ache; but people are shut up:' and I noticed that he had kept his white handkerchief up to his mouth and nose. He went out with the gold, and I put up the cheque. And that's all I know about it, Delves."

"Don't you know who it was?"

"No, I don't. He had a cap on, with the ears coming down his cheeks; and, what with that, and the peak over his eyes, and the white handkerchief held up to his nose, I didn't so much as get a sight of his face. The shop was pretty near dark, too, for the gas was out. There was only a candle at the pay window."

"If a man came in disguised like that, asking to have a cheque changed into gold, it might have occurred to some tradesmen there'd be something wrong about it," cried the sergeant.

"I didn't know he was disguised," objected the butcher. "I saw it was a good cheque of the Messrs. Dunn, and I never gave a thought to anything else. I've had their cheques before to-day. Mr. William Dunn has dealt here this twenty year. But now that it's put into my head, I begin to think he _was_ disguised," continued the butcher. "His voice was odd, thick and low, and he spoke as if he had plums in his mouth."

"Should you know him again?"

"Ay. That is if he came in dressed as he was then. I'd know the cloak out of a hundred. It was one of them old-fas.h.i.+oned plaid rockelows."

"Roquelaures," corrected the sergeant.

"Something of that. The collar was lined with red, with a little edge of fur on it. There's a few such shaped cloaks in the town now, made of blue serge or cloth."

"What time was it?" asked the sergeant.

"Just eleven. I was shutting up."

Sergeant Delves took possession of the cheque and proceeded to the office of Mr. Dare. A long conference ensued, and then they went out together towards Mr. Ashley's manufactory. On the road they happened to meet Cyril, and Mr. Dare drew him aside.

"Do you happen to know any one who wears an old-fas.h.i.+oned plaid cloak?"

he asked.

"Halliburton wears one," replied Cyril: "the greatest object of a thing you ever saw. I say," continued Cyril, "what's old Delves doing with you?"

"Not much," carelessly said Mr. Dare. "He has been looking after a little private business for me."

"Oh, is that all?" and Cyril, feeling rea.s.sured, tore off on the errand he was bound for. For reasons best known to himself, it would not have pleased him that Sergeant Delves should be pressed into the affair of the cheque. At least, Cyril would have preferred that the matter should be allowed to rest.

He executed his commission, one that he had been charged with by Samuel Lynn, turned back, pa.s.sed the manufactory, and took his way to Honey Fair on a little matter of his own. It was only the purchase of a dog--not to make a mystery of it. A dog that had taken Cyril's fancy, and for which he and the owner had not yet been able to come to terms.

So he was going up again to try his powers of persuasion.

As he walked rapidly through Honey Fair, he saw a little bit of by-play on the opposite side. A young woman in a tattered gown, and a dirty bonnet drawn over her face, was walking along as rapidly as he. Her bent head, her humble att.i.tude, her shrinking air, her haste to get out of sight of others, all betrayed that she, from some cause or other, was not in good odour with the world around. That she felt herself under a cloud, was only too apparent: it was a cloud of humiliation, for which she had only herself to thank. The women who met her hurried past with a toss of the head and then stood to peep after her as she disappeared in the distance.

_She_ hurried--hurried past them--glad, it seemed, to be away from their stern looks and condemning eyes. Had you seen her, you would never have recognised her. In the dim eye, darker than of yore, the white cheek, the wasted form, no likeness remained of the once-blooming Caroline Mason.

Just as she pa.s.sed opposite to Cyril, Eliza Tyrrett came out of a house and met her; and Eliza, picking up her skirts, lest they should become contaminated, swept past with a sidelong glance of reproach and a scornful gesture. Caroline's head only bent the lower as she glided away from her old companion.

It had been just as well that Charlotte East had not sent back that bundle, years ago, to surprise Anthony Dare. It was years now since Charlotte herself had come to the same conclusion.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS.

Leaning back against the corner of the mantel-piece by the side of the blazing fire in his private room, calmly surveying those ranged before him, and listening to their tale with an impa.s.sive face, was Thomas Ashley. Sergeant Delves and Mr. Dare were giving him the account of the changing of the cheque, obtained from White the butcher. Samuel Lynn stood near the master's desk, his brow knit in perplexity, his countenance keen and anxious. The description of the cloak, tallying so exactly with the one worn by William Halliburton, led Mr. Dare to the conclusion, nay, to the positive conviction that the butcher's visitor could have been no other than William. The sergeant held the same view; but the sergeant adopted it with difficulty.

"It's an odd thing for _him_ to turn thief," said he, reflectively. "I'd have trusted that young fellow, sir, with untold gold," he added, to Mr.

Ashley. "Here's another proof how we may be deceived."

"I told you," said Mr. Dare, turning to Mr. Ashley, "that it could be no other than Halliburton."

"Thee will permit me to say, friend Dare, that I do not agree with thy deductions," interposed the Quaker, before Mr. Ashley could answer.

"Why, what would you have?" returned Mr. Dare. "Nothing can be plainer.

Ask Sergeant Delves if he thinks further proof can be needed."

"Many a man has been hanged upon less," was the oracular answer of Sergeant Delves.

"What part of my deductions do you object to?" inquired Mr. Dare of the Quaker.

"Thee art a.s.suming--if I understand thee correctly--that there is no other cloak in the city so similar to William's as to be mistaken for it."

"Just so."

"Then, friend, I tell thee that there is."

Mr. Dare opened his eyes. "Who wears it?" he asked.

"That is another question," said Samuel Lynn. "I should be glad to find out myself, for curiosity's sake."

Then Mr. Lynn told the story of his having observed a man, whom he had taken for William, walking at the back of his house, apparently waiting for something. "I saw him on two evenings," he observed, "at some considerable interval of time. The figure bore a perfect resemblance to William Halliburton; the height, the cloak, the cap--all appeared to be his. I taxed him with it. He denied it _in toto_, said he had not been walking there at all, and I believed he was attempting, for the first time since I have known him, to deceive me. I----"

"Are you sure he was not?" put in Mr. Dare.

"Thee should allow me to finish, friend. Last night I was home somewhat earlier than usual--thee can recollect why," the Quaker added, looking at Mr. Ashley. "I was up in my room, and I saw the same figure pacing about in precisely the same manner. William's denial had staggered me, otherwise I could have been ready to affirm that it was himself and no other. The moon was not up; but it was a very light night, and I marked every point in the cloak--it was as like William's as two peas are like each other. What he could want, pacing at the back of my house and of his, puzzled me much. I----"

"What time was this, Mr. Lynn?" interrupted the sergeant.

"Past eight o'clock. Later than the hour at which I had seen him on the two previous occasions. 'It is William Halliburton, of a surety,' I said to myself; and I thought I would pounce upon him, and so convict him of the falsehood he had told. I left my house by the front door, went down the road, past the houses, and entered the gate admitting into the field. I walked up quietly, keeping under the hedge as much as possible, and approached William--as I deemed him to be. He was then standing still, and gazing at the upper windows of my house. In spite of my caution, he heard me, and turned round. Whether he knew me or not, I cannot say; but he clipped the cloak around him with a hasty movement, and made off right across the field. I would not be balked if I could help it. I opened friend Jane Halliburton's back gate, and proceeded through the garden and house to the parlour, which I entered without ceremony. There sat William at his books."