Johnny Ludlow Sixth Series Part 34

"Sit down, then," said the Squire, "and make it as brief as you can.

Johnny, lad, tell Giles to drive the horses slowly about."

When I got back, after telling Giles, Tom Chandler had two letters in his hand; and was apologising to the Squire and to Tod for what he was obliged to enter upon. Then he added, in a few words, that the lost bank-note had come to light; it had been changed at Worcester, at the silversmith's in High Street, by, it was a.s.serted, young Mr. Todhetley.

"Why, what d'ye mean?" cried the Squire sharply.

To explain what he meant, Tom Chandler read aloud the two letters he held; the short one, which had been first addressed to Mr. Preen by the Old Bank, and then the longer one written by Mr. Corles.

"Edward Corles must be a fool to write that!" exclaimed the Squire in his hot fas.h.i.+on.

"Well, he is not that, you know," said Tom Chandler. "The question is, Squire, what the grounds can be upon which they so positively state it.

According to their a.s.sertion, young Mr. Todhetley changed the note at the silversmith's on the morning of Thursday, the seventeenth of June."

"Young Mr. Todhetley" in a general way was just as hot as his father, apt to fly out for nothing. I expected to see him do so now. Instead of which, he had a broad smile on his face, evidently regarding the accusation as a jest. He had perched himself on the arm of the sofa, and sat there grinning.

This struck Tom Chandler. "Did you do it for a joke?" he asked promptly.

"Do what?" rejoined Tod.

"Change the note."

"Not I."

"The only conclusion Mr. Paul and I could come to was, that--if you had done it--you did it to play a practical joke upon Preen, and were keeping it up still."

The Squire struck his hand in anger upon the table by which he sat.

"What is the meaning of this, Joe? A practical joke? Did you do the thing, or didn't you? Speak out seriously. Don't sit there, grinning like a Chinese image."

"Why of course I did not do it, father. How should Preen's bank-note get into my hands? Perhaps Johnny there got it and did it. He is sometimes honoured by being put down as your son, you know."

He was jesting still. The Squire was not in a mood for jesting; Tom Chandler either. A thought struck me.

"Did you say the note was changed on Thursday, the seventeenth of June?"

I asked him.

"They say so," answered Tom Chandler.

"Then that was the day of the picnic at Mrs. Cramp's. Neither I nor Tod left the house at all until we went there."

"Why bless me, so it was! the seventeenth," cried the Squire. "I can prove that they were at home till four o'clock: the Beeles were spending the day here from Pigeon Green. Now, Chandler, how has this false report arisen?"

"I am as much at sea as you can be, sir," said Tom Chandler. "Neither I nor Paul can, or do, believe it--or understand why the other people stick to it so positively. You are going into Worcester, Squire; make your own inquiries."

"That I will," said the Squire. "You had better drive in with us, Chandler, if you can. Giles can stay at home."

It was thus decided, and we started for Worcester, Chandler sitting beside the Squire. And the way the Squire touched up Bob and Blister, and the pace we flew along at, was a sight for the road to see.

III

Thursday morning, the seventeenth of June--for we have to go back to that day. High Street was basking in the rays of the hot sun; foot pa.s.sengers, meeting each other on the scorching pavement, lifted their hats for a moment's air, and said what a day it was going to be. The clean, bright shops faced each other from opposite sides. None of their wares looked more attractive than those displayed in the two windows of the silversmith.

Mr. Stephenson--a trustworthy, civil little man of thirty, with a plain face and sandy hair that stood upright on his head--was keeping guard over his master's goods, some of them being very valuable. The shop was a long one and he was far down in it, behind the left-hand counter.

Before him lay a tray of small articles of jewellery, some of which he was touching up with a piece of wash-leather. He did not expect to be busy that day; the previous day, Wednesday, had been a busy one, so many country people came into town for the market.

While thus engaged a gentleman, young, good looking, and well dressed, entered the shop. Mr. Stephenson went forward.

"I have called for Mrs. Todhetley's brooch," said the stranger. "Is it ready?"

"What brooch, sir?" returned Stephenson.

"The one she left with you to be mended."

The shopman felt a little puzzled. He said he did not remember that any brooch had been left by that lady to be mended.

"Mrs. Todhetley of Crabb Cot," explained the applicant, perhaps thinking the man was at fault that way.

"Oh, yes, sir, I know who you mean; I know Mrs. Todhetley. But she has not left any brooch here."

"Yes, she has; she left it to be mended. I was to call to-day and ask for it."

Stephenson turned to reach the book in which articles left to be mended were entered, with their owners' names. Perhaps his master might have taken in the brooch and omitted to tell him. But no such entry was recorded in it.

"I am afraid it is a mistake, sir," he said. "Had Mrs. Todhetley left a brooch, or anything else, for repair, it would be entered here. She may have taken it to some other shop."

"No, no; it is yours I was to call at. She bought it here a few months ago," added the young man. "She came in to ask you about the polis.h.i.+ng-up of an old silver cake-basket, and you showed her the brooches, some you had just had down from London, and she bought one of them and gave four guineas for it."

Stephenson remembered the transaction perfectly. He had stood by while his princ.i.p.al showed and sold the brooch to Mrs. Todhetley. Four only of these brooches had been sent to them on approval by their London agent, they were something quite new. Mrs. Todhetley admired them greatly; said she wanted to make a wedding present to a young lady about to be married, but had not meant to give as much as four guineas. However, the beauty of the brooch tempted her; she bought it, and took it home.

Stephenson's silence, while he was recalling this to his memory, caused the gentleman to think his word was doubted, and he entered into further particulars.

"It was last March, I think," he said. "The brooch is a rather large one; a white cornelian stone, or something of that sort, with a raised spray of flowers upon it, pink and gold; the whole surrounded by a border of gold filagree work. I never saw a nicer brooch."

"Yes, yes, sir, it was just as you say; I recollect it all quite well.

Mrs. Todhetley bought it to give away as a wedding present."

"And the wedding never came off," said the young man, with ease. "Before she had time to despatch the brooch, news came to her of the rupture.--So she had to keep it herself: and the best thing too, the Squire said. Well, it is that brooch I have come for."

"But I a.s.sure you it has not been left with us, Mr. Todhetley," said Stephenson, presuming he was speaking to the Squire's son.

"The little pink flower got broken off last week as Mrs. Todhetley was undoing her shawl; she brought it in at once to be mended," persisted the young man.

"But not here indeed, sir," reiterated Stephenson. "I'm sorry to hear it is broken."

"She wouldn't take it anywhere but to the place it was bought at, would she? I'm sure it was here I had to come for it."

Stephenson felt all abroad. He did not think it likely the brooch would be taken elsewhere, and began to wonder whether his master had taken it in, and forgotten all about it. Opening a shallow drawer or two in the counter, in one of which articles for repair were put, in the other the repaired articles when finished, he searched both, but could not see the brooch. This took him some little time, as most of the things were in paper and he had to undo it.