Johnny Ludlow Fourth Series Part 73

Pitt, who had undertaken to see him into them. He had the parlour and the bed-chamber behind it. Very nice rooms they were, the locality and street open and airy; and the landlady, Mrs. Long, was a comfortable, motherly woman. Where his old lodgings had been situated, he had never said even to me: the Squire's opinion was (communicated in confidence to Mr. Brandon), that he had played up "Old Gooseberry" in them, and was afraid to say.

I had meant to go to him on the Wednesday, to see that the bustle of removal had done him no harm; but Miss Deveen wanted me, so I could not.

On the Thursday I got a letter from the Squire, telling me to do some business for him at Westminster. It took me the whole of the day: that is, the actual business took about a quarter-of-an-hour, and waiting to see the people (lawyers) took the rest. This brought it, you perceive, to Friday.

On that morning I mounted to the roof of a city omnibus, which set me down not far off the house. Pa.s.sing the parlour-windows to knock at the door, I saw in one of them a card: "Apartments to let." It was odd, I thought, they should put it in a room that was occupied.

"Can I see Mr. Bevere?" I asked of the servant.

"Mr. Bevere's gone, sir."

"Gone where? Not to the hospital?" For he was not to attempt to go there until the following week.

"He is gone for good, sir," she answered. "He went away in a cab yesterday evening."

Not knowing what to make of this strange news, hardly believing it, I went into the parlour and asked to see the landlady--who came at once.

It was quite true: Bevere had left. Mrs. Long, who, though elderly, was plump and kindly, sat down to relate the particulars.

"Mr. Bevere went out yesterday morning, sir, after ordering his dinner--a roast fowl--for the same hour as the day before; two o'clock.

It was past three, though, before he came in: and when the girl brought the dinner-tray down, she said Mr. Bevere wanted to speak to me. I came up, and then he told me he was unexpectedly obliged to leave--that he might have to go into the country that night; he didn't yet know. Well, sir, I was a little put out: but what could I say? He paid me what was due and the rent up to the week's end, and began to collect his things together: Sarah saw him cramming them into his new portmanteau when she brought his tea up. And at the close of the evening, between the lights, he had a cab called and went away in it."

"Alone?"

"Quite alone, sir. On the Wednesday afternoon Dr. Pitt came to see him, and that same evening a young man called, who stayed some time; Scott, I think the name was; but n.o.body at all came yesterday."

"And you do not know where Mr. Bevere is?--where he went to?"

"Why no, sir; he didn't say. The cab might have taken him to one of the railway-stations, for all I can tell. I did not ask questions. Of course it is not pleasant for a lodger to leave you in that sudden manner, before he has well been three days in the house," added Mrs. Long, feelingly, "especially with the neighbours staring out on all sides, and I might have asked him for another week's rent in lieu of proper notice; but I couldn't be hard with a well-mannered, pleasant young gentleman like Mr. Bevere--and with his connections, too. I'm sure when her ladys.h.i.+p came here to fix on the rooms, she was that kind and affable with me I shall never forget it--and talked to me so lovingly about him--and put half-a-crown into Sarah's hand when she left! No, sir, I couldn't be hard upon young Mr. Bevere."

Mrs. Long had told all she knew, and I wished her good-day. Where to now? I deliberated, as I stood on the doorstep. This sudden flight looked as though Roger wanted to avoid people. If any one was in the secret of it, it would be Richard Scott, I thought; and I turned my steps to St. Bartholomew's Hospital.

I suppose I interrupted Scott at some critical performance, for he came to me with his coat-cuffs turned up and no wristbands on.

"Glad to see you, I'm sure," cried he; "thought it might be an out-patient. Bevere?--oh, do you want him?" he ran on, not giving himself time to understand me perfectly, or pretending at it. "Bevere is at his new lodgings near Russell Square. He will not be back here until next week."

"But he is not at his new lodgings," I said. "He has left them."

"Left!" cried Scott, staring.

"Left for good, bag and baggage. Gone altogether."

"Gone where?" asked Scott.

"That's what I have come to ask you. I expect you know."

Scott's face presented a puzzle. I wondered whether he was as innocent as he looked.

"Let us understand one another," said he. "Do you tell me that Bevere has left his _new_ lodgings?"

"He has. He left them last night. Ran away from them, as one may say."

"Why, he had only just got into them! Were the people sharks? I was with him on Wednesday night: he did not complain of anything then."

"He must have left, I fancy, for some private reason of his own. Don't you _know_ where he is gone, Scott? You are generally in his confidence."

"Don't know any more than the dead."

To dispute the declaration was not in my power. Scott seemed utterly surprised, and said he should go to Mrs. Long's the first leisure moment he had, to see if any note or message had been left for him. But I had already put that question to the landlady, and she answered that neither note nor message of any kind had been left for anybody. So there we were, nonplussed, Scott standing with his hands in his pockets. Make the best of it we would, it resolved itself into nothing more than this: Bevere had vanished, leaving no clue.

From thence I made my way to Mr. Pitt's little surgery near Gibraltar Terrace. The doctor was alone in it, and stood compounding pills behind the counter.

"Bevere run away!" he exclaimed at my first words. "Why, what's the meaning of that? _I_ don't know anything about it. I was going to see him this afternoon."

With my arms on the counter, my head bending towards him, I recounted to Pitt the particulars Mrs. Long had given me, and Scott's denial of having any finger in the pie. The doctor gave his head a twist.

"Says he knows no more than the dead, does he! That may be the case; or it may _not_. Master Richard Scott's a.s.sertions go for what they are worth with me where Bevere's concerned: the two are as thick as thieves.

I'll find him, if I can. What do you say?--that Bevere would not conceal himself from me? Look here, Johnny Ludlow," continued Pitt rapidly, bringing forward his face till it nearly touched mine, and dropping his voice to a low tone, "that young man must have got into some dangerous trouble, and has to hide himself from the light of day."

Leaving Pitt to make his patients' physic, I went out into the world, not knowing whether to seek for Bevere in this quarter or in that. But, unless I found him, how could I carry out my promise of writing to Lady Bevere?

I told Miss Deveen of my dilemma. She could not help me. No one could help, that I was able to see. There was nothing for it but to wait until the next week, when Bevere might perhaps make his appearance at the hospital. I dropped a note to Scott, asking him to let me know of it if he did.

But of course the chances were that Bevere would not appear at the hospital: with need to keep his head en cachette, he would be no more safe there than in Mrs. Long's rooms: and I might have been hunting for him yet, for aught I can tell, but for coming across Charley Lightfoot.

It was on the following Monday. He was turning out of the railway-station near Miss Deveen's, his uncle, Dr. Lightfoot, being in practice close by. Telling him of Roger Bevere's flight, which he appeared not to have heard of, I asked if he could form any idea where he was likely to have got to.

"Oh, back to the old neighbourhood that he lived in before his accident, most likely," carelessly surmised Lightfoot, who did not seem to think much of the matter.

"And where is that?"

"A goodish distance from here. It is near the Bell-and-Clapper Station on the underground line."

"The Bell-and-Clapper Station!"

Lightfoot laughed. "Ironically called so," he said, "from a bell at the new church close by, that claps away pretty well all day and all night in the public ears."

"Not one of our churches?"

"Calls itself so, I believe. I wouldn't answer for it that its clergy have been licensed by a bishop. Bevere lived somewhere about there; I never was at his place; but you'll easily find it out."

"How? By knocking at people's doors and inquiring for him?"

Lightfoot put on his considering-cap. "If you go to the refreshment-room of the Bell-and-Clapper Station and ask his address of the girls there,"

said he, "I dare say they can give it you. Bevere used to be uncommonly fond of frequenting their company, I believe."

Running down to the train at once I took a ticket for the Bell-and-Clapper Station, and soon reached it. It was well named: the bell was clanging away with a loud and furious tongue, enough to drive a sick man mad. What a dreadful infliction for the houses near it!

Behind the counter in the refreshment-room stood two damsels, exchanging amenities with a young man who sat smoking a cigar, his legs stretched out at ease. Before I had time to speak, the sound of an up-train was heard; he drank up the contents of a gla.s.s that stood at his elbow, and went swiftly out.

It was a pretty looking place: with coloured decanters on its shelves and an array of sparkling gla.s.s. The young women wore neat black gowns, and might have looked neat enough altogether but for their monstrous heads of hair. That of one in particular was a sight to be seen, and must have been copied from some extravagant fas.h.i.+on plate. She was dark and handsome, with a high colour and a loud voice, evidently a strong-minded young woman, perfectly able to take care of herself. The other girl was fair, smaller and slighter, with a somewhat delicate face, and a quiet manner.