The Master of the Ceremonies Part 125

"And he thought they were mine," said Cora. "He brought them with the carriage clock and my bag, but, of course, they were not mine."

Fisherman d.i.c.k--her brother--dredged up off the end of the pier! It was no elucidation of the mystery, Claire felt, as she stood there trembling.

"Lady Teigne's jewels?" said Barclay, turning them over, and speaking in his blunt way. "Then whoever killed the poor old woman found out that these things were good for nothing, and threw them into the sea."

"Oh, my dear, my dear!" sighed Mrs Barclay. "Don't, pray don't faint."

Poor Claire did not hear her, for as she realised that here was perhaps a fresh link of evidence against her father, a link whose fitting she did not see, her brain reeled and she would have fallen had not Cora been close at hand.

"Can I do anything?" said Barclay in his abrupt way.

"Yes," cried Mrs Barclay sharply. "Go. Can't you see we must cut her laces?"

"Humph!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Barclay thoughtfully; "Lady Teigne's jewels! I never thought of that. No wonder. It was diamonds missing--not paste thrown off the pier."

He shook his head as he reached the door, and stood with the handle in his hand.

"Fisherman d.i.c.k, eh? Well, I'll go and see what he has to say."

Volume Three, Chapter XXV.

THE TOUGH WITNESS.

"Shall I go alone?" said Josiah Barclay, as he stood upon his doorstep.

"No, it's wise to keep your own counsel sometimes, but at others it's just as well to have witnesses. Who shall I take? Richard Linnell," he said, after a pause. "He's the fellow. I'm afraid, though, it looks worse for the old man than it did before. d.i.c.k Miggles is as honest as the day as long as he is not smuggling; and he would no more think of choking an old woman than flying. I shouldn't like to be the revenue officer opposite to him in a row if Master d.i.c.k had a pistol in his hand; but he would consider that to be a matter of business. Yes: it looks worse for the old man after all."

Barclay walked sharply down to the Parade, and went up to the house where Mrs Dean was seated at one of the windows, bemoaning the absence of Cora, and murmuring at her sufferings, as she leaned back flushed, and with her throbbing head in her hand.

For she was very ill, and very ill-tempered, consequent upon her complaint--a weakness and succ.u.mbing of her fort, after a long and combined attack made by veal cutlets, new bread, and port wine.

She saw Barclay come up, and declared that he should wait for his rent this time if she died for it.

To her great disappointment, as she felt just in the humour, as she termed it, "for a row," Barclay stopped below in Mellersh's room, where Richard Linnell was seated with the Colonel.

"Business with me, Mr Barclay?" said Linnell, flus.h.i.+ng. "Yes, I'll come out with you. No, I have no secrets from Colonel Mellersh."

Barclay looked sharply at the Colonel, and the latter glanced at his nails and smiled.

"d.i.c.k," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Mr Barclay is asking himself whether Gamaliel is a scoundrel, and Paul is a young fool to trust him."

"No, I wasn't, Colonel," said Barclay warmly. "You're a little too much for me, sir, and though you shy the New Testament at me like that (and I never read it), perhaps, money-lender as I am, I'm as honest a man, and as true a friend as you."

"No doubt about it, my dear Barclay," said Mellersh with a sneer.

"I wasn't thinking about Gamaliel, or Paul either, sir; but, since you will have it I was asking myself whether you--a clever card-player--"

"Say sharper, Barclay."

"By gad, I will, sir," cried Barclay, banging his fist upon the table--"a clever sharper--were making believe to be this young gentleman's friend for your own ends."

"Mr Barclay!" cried Richard indignantly.

"Let him be, d.i.c.k; I'm not offended. Barclay's only plain-spoken. The same thing, Barclay, my dear fellow, only I put it more cla.s.sically.

Here, I'll leave the room, d.i.c.k."

"No; stop," said Richard quickly. "Mr Barclay, I have told you that Colonel Mellersh is my best friend. Please say what you have to say."

Barclay looked ruffled and bristly, but he mastered his anger, and said sharply:

"I want you to go down with me, Mr Linnell, as far as Fisherman d.i.c.k's."

Richard Linnell stared and looked grave, as he dreaded some fresh trouble and complication.

"What for?" he said sharply.

"Because I believe you take an interest in Miss Claire Denville," said Barclay; "and there's something fresh about that murder affair."

He went on and told what had occurred at his house.

"Plain enough," said Mellersh. "The man who did the murder found out that the jewels were false, and he took them and threw them into the sea."

"Yes," said Barclay drily, "I found all that out myself, Colonel. Hang it, gentlemen, don't let's fence and be petty," he continued. "Colonel Mellersh, I beg your pardon, sir, and I ask your help, both of you.

What's to be done? I bought those sham diamonds of Fisherman d.i.c.k, who found them, I suppose, when he was shrimping, and took them to Miss Dean--brought them here, you know."

Mellersh and Richard Linnell glanced sharply at each other.

"Thought, you see, that she lost them at the time of the accident.

Well, suppose I tell this, it may make the matter worse for poor old Denville. What would you do?"

"See Fisherman d.i.c.k. Perhaps your surmise about the shrimping is wrong.

The smuggling rascal may know something more."

"Will you come along the cliff with me, then?"

Richard Linnell jumped up, and Mellersh remained--as he was going to dine at the mess. A quarter of an hour later they were at the fisherman's cottage, where Mrs Miggles raised her eyes sharply from the potatoes she was peeling, while d.i.c.k was engaged in teaching their little foster-child to walk between his knees.

"Morning, d.i.c.k," said Barclay, as the great fellow gave them a comprehensive nod, and looked from one to the other suspiciously, Mrs Miggles gouging out the eyes of a large potato with a vicious action, while her heart beat fast from the effect of best French brandy.

Not from potations, for the st.u.r.dy, smuggling fisherman's wife revelled in nothing stronger than tea; but there were four kegs in the great cupboard, covered with old nets, and a stranger coming to the cottage always seemed to bear a placard on his breast labelled "gaol," and made her sigh and wish that smuggling were not such a profitable occupation.

"We want a few words with you, Miggles," said Barclay sharply.

"Right, sir. Fewer the better," said the fisherman surlily, for the visit looked ominous.

"You brought some ornaments to me one day, and I bought them of you.

You remember--months ago?"

"To be sure I do. You said they was pastry."