Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 25

"What was the meaning of that letter you brought to me, purporting to come from Dr. Dale? Answer that, Stephen Radcliffe."

"I didn't bring you a letter from Dr. Dale. 'Twas from Pitt; Dr. Dale's head man. You read it yourself. When I found that Frank was getting unmanageable at the lodgings, I sent to Pitt, asking if he'd be good enough to come and see to him--I knew no other doctor up there; and Pitt was the best I could have, as he understood his case. Pitt came and took the charge; and I left Frank under him. I couldn't afford to stay up there, with my gra.s.s waiting to be cut, and all the fine weather wasting itself away. Pitt stayed with him; and he died in Pitt's arms; and it was Pitt that wrote the letter to tell me of it. You should ha' gone up with me, Squire," added Stephen, with a kind of sneer, "and then you'd have seen where he was for yourself, and known as much as I did."

"It was an infamous deceit to put upon me, Stephen Radcliffe."

"It did no harm. The deceit only lay in letting you think he died in the mad-house instead of out of it. If I'd not thought he was well enough to come out, I shouldn't have moved him. 'Twas his fault," sullenly added Stephen. "He prayed me to take him away from the place; not to go away without him."

"And where was it that he did die?"

"At my lodgings."

"What lodgings?"

"The lodgings I stayed at while I was s.h.i.+pping off the things to Tom. I took Frank there, intending to bring him down home with me when I came, and surprise you all. Before I could come he was drinking, and as mad again as a March hare. Pitt had to strap him down to his bed."

"Are you sure you did not s.h.i.+p him off to Tom also, while you were s.h.i.+pping the things?" demanded the Squire. "I believe you are crafty enough for it, Stephen Radcliffe--and unbrotherly enough."

"If I'd s.h.i.+pped him off, he could have s.h.i.+pped himself back again, I take it," returned Stephen, coolly.

"Where are these lodgings that he died at?"

"In London."

"Whereabouts in London? I didn't suppose they were in New York."

"'Twas near Cow Cross."

"Cow Cross! Where in the name of wonder is Cow Cross?"

"Up towards Smithfield. Islington way."

"You give me the address, Stephen Radcliffe. I insist upon knowing it.

Johnny, you can see--take it down. If I don't verify this matter to my satisfaction, Mr. Radcliffe, I'll have you up publicly to answer for it."

Stephen took an old pocket-book out of his coat, went to the window to catch what little light came in, and ran his finger down the leaves.

"Gibraltar Terrace, Islington district," read he. "That was all the address I ever knew it by."

"Gibraltar Terrace, Islington district," repeated the pater. "Take it down, Johnny--here's the back of an old letter. And now, Mr. Radcliffe, will you go with me to London?"

"No. I'll be hanged if I do."

"I mean to come to the bottom of this, I can tell you. You shan't play these tricks on honest people with impunity."

"Why, what do you suspect?" roared Stephen. "Do you think I murdered him?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you did," retorted the pater. "Find out a man in one lie, and you may suspect him of others. What was the name of the people, at these lodgings?"

Stephen Radcliffe, sitting down again, put his hands on his knees, apparently considering; but I saw him take an outward glance at the Squire from under his grey eyebrows--very grey and bushy they were now.

He could see that for once in his life the pater was resolute.

"Her name was Mapping," he said. "A widow. Mrs. Mapping."

"Put that down, Johnny. 'Mrs. Mapping, Gibraltar Terrace, Islington district.' And now, Mr. Radcliffe, where is Pitt to be found? He has left Dale House."

"In the moon, for aught I can tell," was the insolent answer. "I paid him for his attendance when we came back from the funeral--and precious high his charges were!--and I know nothing of him since."

We said good-night to Stephen Radcliffe with as much civility as could be called up under the circ.u.mstances, and went home in the fly. The next day we steamed up to London again to make inquiries at Gibraltar Terrace. It was not that the Squire exactly doubted Stephen's word, or for a moment thought that he had dealt unfairly by Frank: nothing of that sort: but he was in a state of explosion at the deceit Stephen Radcliffe had practised on him; and needed to throw the anger off. Don't we all know how unbearable inaction is in such a frame of mind?

Well. Up one street, down another, went we, in what Stephen had called the Islington district, but no Gibraltar Terrace could we see or hear of. The terrace might have been in Gibraltar itself, for all the sign there was of it.

"I'll go down to-morrow, and issue a warrant against Ste Radcliffe,"

cried the Squire, when we got in, tired and heated, to the Castle and Falcon--at which inn, being convenient to the search, he had put up. "I will, Johnny, as I'm a living man. It is infamous to send us up here on a wild-goose chase, to a place that has no name, and no existence. I don't like the aspect of things at all; and he shall be made to explain them."

"But I suppose we have not looked in all parts of Islington," I said.

"It seems a large place. And--don't you think, sir--that it might be as well to ascertain where Pitt is? I dare say Dr. Dale knows."

"Perhaps it, would, Johnny."

"Pitt would be able to testify to the truth of what Stephen Radcliffe says. We might hear it all from him."

"And need not bother further about this confounded Gibraltar Terrace.

The thought did not strike me before, Johnny. We'll go up to Dale's the first thing after breakfast."

The Squire chartered a cab: he was in too much of a fever to look out for an omnibus: and by ten o'clock Dr. Dale's was reached. The doctor was not at home, but we saw some one that the servant called Mr.

Lichfield.

"Pitt?" said Mr. Lichfield--who was a tall, strong young man in a tweed suit of clothes, and had black hair parted down the middle--"Oh, he was my predecessor here. He has left."

"Where's he gone?" asked the Squire.

"I don't know, I'm sure. Dr. Dale does not know; for I have once or twice heard him wonder what had become of Pitt. Pitt grew rather irregular in his habits, I fancy, and the doctor discharged him."

"How long ago?"

"About a year, I think. I have not the least idea where Pitt is now: would be happy to tell you if I knew."

So, there we were again--baffled. The Squire went back in the cab to the Castle and Falcon, rubbing his face furiously, and giving things in general a few hard words.

Up to Islington again, and searching up and down the streets and roads.

A bright thought took the pater. He got a policeman to show him to the district sorting-house, went in, and inquired whether such a place as Gibraltar Terrace existed, or whether it did not.

Yes. There was one. But it was not in Islington; only on the borders of it.

Away we went, after getting the right direction, and found it. A terrace of poor houses, in a quiet side-street. In nearly every other window hung a card with "Lodgings" on it, or "Apartments." Children played in the road: two men with a truck were crying mackerel.

"I say, Johnny, these houses all look alike. What is the number we want?"

"Stephen Radcliffe did not give any number."