The Eustace Diamonds (61 page)

‘Do no such thing, Frederic.'

‘Why not? I must answer it, and what can I say?'

‘If you go there, that woman will be your wife, and you'll never have a happy day again as long as you live. The match is broken off, and she knows it. I shouldn't take the slightest notice of her, or of her cousin, or of any of them. If she chooses to bring an action against you, that is another thing.'

Lord Fawn paused for a few moments before he answered. ‘I think I ought to go,' he said.

‘And I'm sure that you ought not. It is not only about the diamonds – though that was quite enough to break off any engagement. Have you forgotten what I told you that the man saw at Portray?'

‘I don't know that the man spoke the truth.'

‘But he did.'

‘And I hate that kind of espionage. It is so very likely that mistakes should be made.'

‘When she was sitting in his arms – and kissing him! If you choose to do it, Frederic, of course you must. We can't prevent it. You are free to marry anyone you please.'

‘I'm not talking of marrying her.'

‘What do you suppose she wants you to go there for? As for political life, I am quite sure that it would be the death of you.
If I were you I wouldn't go near her. You have got out of the scrape, and I would remain out.'

‘But I haven't got out,' said Lord Fawn.

On the next day, Saturday, he did nothing in the matter. He went down, as was his custom, to Richmond, and did not once mention Lizzie's name. Lady Fawn and her daughters never spoke of her now – neither of her, nor, in his presence, of poor Lucy Morris. But on his return to London on the Sunday evening he found another note from Lizzie. ‘You will hardly have the hardihood to leave my note unanswered. Pray let me know when you will come to me.' Some answer must, as he felt, be made to her. For a moment he thought of asking his mother to call; – but he at once saw that by doing so he might lay himself open to terrible ridicule. Could he induce Lord Mount Thistle to be his Mercury? It would, he felt, be quite impossible to make Lord Mount Thistle understand all the facts of his position. His sister, Mrs Hittaway, might have gone, were it not that she herself was violently opposed to any visit. The more he thought of it the more convinced he became that, should it be known that he had received two such notes from a lady and that he had not answered or noticed them, the world would judge him to have behaved badly. So, at last, he wrote – on that Sunday evening – fixing a somewhat distant day for his visit to Hertford Street. His note was as follows :

‘Lord Fawn presents his compliments to Lady Eustace. In accordance with the wish expressed in Lady Eustace's two notes of the 23rd instant and this date, Lord Fawn will do himself the honour of waiting upon Lady Eustace on Saturday next, March 3rd, at 12, noon. Lord Fawn had thought that under circumstances as they now exist, no further personal interview could lead to the happiness of either party; but as Lady Eustace thinks otherwise, he feels himself constrained to comply with her desire.

‘Sunday evening, 25 February, 18—.'

‘I am going to see her in the course of this week,' he said, in answer to a further question from Lady Glencora, who, chancing to meet him in society, had again addressed him on the subject. He lacked the courage to tell Lady Glencora to mind her own
business and to allow him to do the same. Had she been a little less great than she was – either as regarded herself or her husband – he would have done so. But Lady Glencora was the social queen of the party to which he belonged, and Mr Palliser was Chancellor of the Exchequer, and would some day be Duke of Omnium.

‘As you are great, be merciful, Lord Fawn,' said Lady Glencora. ‘You men, I believe, never realize what it is that women feel when they love. It is my belief that she will die unless you are re-united to her. And then she is so beautiful!'

‘It is a subject that I cannot discuss, Lady Glencora.'

‘I daresay not. And I'm sure I am the last person to wish to give you pain. But you see – if the poor lady has done nothing to merit your anger, it does seem rather a strong measure to throw her off and give her no reason whatever. How would you defend yourself, suppose she published it all?' Lady Glencora's courage was very great – and perhaps we may say her impudence also. This last question Lord Fawn left unanswered, walking away in great dudgeon.

In the course of the week he told his sister of the interview which he had promised, and she endeavoured to induce him to postpone it till a certain man should arrive from Scotland. She had written for Mr Andrew Gowran – sending down funds for Mr Gowran's journey – so that her brother might hear Mr Gowran's evidence out of Mr Gowran's own mouth. Would not Frederic postpone the interview till he should have seen Mr Gowran? But to this request Frederic declined to accede. He had fixed a day and an hour. He had made an appointment; – of course he must keep it.

*       *       *       

Bunfit and Gager had both been driven to recast their theories as to the great Carlisle affair by the circumstances of the later affair in Hertford Street. They both thought that Lord George had been concerned in the robbery; – that, indeed, had now become the general opinion of the world at large. He was a man of doubtful character, with large expenses, and with no recognized means of living. He had formed a great intimacy with Lady Eustace at a period in which she was known to be carrying these diamonds about with her, had been staying with her at Portray Castle when the diamonds were there, and had been her companion on the journey during which the diamonds were stolen. The only men in London supposed to be capable of dealing advantageously with such a property, were Harter and Benjamin – as to whom it was known that they were conversant with the existence of the diamonds, and known, also, that they were in the habit of having dealings with Lord George. It was, moreover, known that Lord George had been closeted with Mr Benjamin on the morning after his arrival in London. These things put together made it almost a certainty that Lord George had been concerned in the matter. Bunfit had always been sure of it. Gager, though differing much from Bunfit as to details, had never been unwilling to suspect Lord George. But the facts known could not be got to dovetail themselves pleasantly. If Lord George had possessed himself of the diamonds at Carlisle – or with Lizzie's connivance before they reached Carlisle – then, why had there been a second robbery? Bunfit, who was very profound in his theory, suggested that the second robbery was an additional plant, got up with the view of throwing more dust into the eyes of the police. Patience Crabstick had, of course, been one of the gang throughout, and she had now been allowed to go off with her mistress's money and lesser trinkets – so that the world of Scotland Yard might be thrown more and more into the mire of ignorance and darkness of doubt. To this view Gager was altogether opposed. He was inclined to think that Lord George had taken the diamonds at Carlisle with Lizzie's connivance; – that he had restored them in
London to her keeping, finding the suspicion against him too heavy to admit of his dealing with them – and that now he had stolen them a second time, again with Lizzie's connivance; but in this latter point, Gager did not pretend to the assurance of any conviction.

But Gager at the present moment had achieved a triumph in the matter which he was not at all disposed to share with his elder officer. Perhaps, on the whole, more power is lost than gained by habits of secrecy. To be discreet is a fine thing – especially for a policeman; but when discretion is carried to such a length in the direction of self-confidence as to produce a belief that no aid is wanted for the achievement of great results, it will often militate against all achievement. Had Scotland Yard been less discreet and more confidential, the mystery might, perhaps, have been sooner unravelled. Gager at this very moment had reason to believe that a man whom he knew could – and would, if operated upon duly – communicate to him, Gager, the secret of the present whereabouts of Patience Crabstick! That belief was a great possession, and much too important, as Gager thought, to be shared lightly with such an one as Mr Bunfit – a thickheaded sort of man, in Gager's opinion, although, no doubt, he had by means of industry been successful in some difficult cases.

‘Is lordship ain't stirred,' said Bunfit.

‘How do you mean – stirred, Mr Bunfit?'

‘Ain't moved nowheres out of London.'

‘What should he move out of London for? What could he get by cutting? There ain't nothing so bad when anything's up against one as letting on that one wants to bolt. He knows all that. He'll stand his ground. He won't bolt.'

‘I don't suppose as he will, Gager. It's a rum go; ain't it? – the rummest as I ever see.' This remark had been made so often by Mr Bunfit, that Gager had become almost weary of hearing it.

‘Oh – rum; rum be b—
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What's the use of all that? From what the governor told me this morning, there isn't a shadow of doubt where the diamonds are.'

‘In Paris – of course,' said Bunfit.

‘They never went to Paris. They were taken from here to
Hamburg in a commercial man's kit – a fellow as travels in knives and scissors. Then they was recut. They say the cutting was the quickest bit of work ever done by one man in Hamburg. And now they're in New York. That's what has come of the diamonds.'

‘Benjamin, in course,' said Bunfit, in a low whisper, just taking the pipe from between his lips.

‘Well; – yes. No doubt it was Benjamin. But how did Benjamin get 'em?'

‘Lord George – in course' said Bunfit.

‘And how did he get 'em?'

‘Well; – that's where it is; isn't it?' Then there was a pause, during which Bunfit continued to smoke.

‘As sure as your name's Gager, he get ‘em at Carlisle.'

‘And what took Smiler down to Carlisle?'

‘Just to put a face on it' said Bunfit.

‘And who cut the door?'

‘Billy Cann did', said Bunfit.

‘And who forced the box?'

Them two did,' said Bunfit.

‘And all to put a face on it?'

‘Yes; – just that. And an uncommon good face they did put on it between 'em; – the best as I ever see.'

‘All right' said Gager. ‘So far, so good. I don't agree with you, Mr Bunfit; because the thing, when it was done, wouldn't be worth the money. Lord love you, what would all that have cost? And what was to prevent the lady and Lord George together taking the diamonds to Benjamin and getting their price. It never does to be too clever, Mr Bunfit. And when that was all done, why did the lady go and get herself robbed again? No; – I don't say but what you're a clever man, in your way, Mr Bunfit; but you've not got a hold of the thing here. Why was Smiler going about like a mad dog – only that he found himself took in?'

‘Maybe he expected something else in the box – more than the necklace – as was to come to him,' suggested Bunfit.

‘Gammon.'

‘I don't see why you say Gammon, Gager. It ain't polite.'

‘It is gammon – running away with ideas like them, just as if
you was one of the public. When they two opened that box at Carlisle, which they did as certain as you sit there, they believed as the diamonds were there. They were not there.'

‘I don't think as they was,' said Bunfit.

‘Very well; – where were they? Just walk up to it, Mr Bunfit, making your ground good as you go. They two men cut the door, and took the box, and opened it – and when they'd opened it, they didn't get the swag. Where was the swag?'

‘Lord Georee,' said Bunfit again.

‘Very well – Lord George. Like enough. But it comes to this. Benjamin, and they two men of his, had laid themselves out for the robbery. Now, Mr Bunfit, whether Lord George and Benjamin were together in that first affair, or whether they weren't, I can't see my way just at present, and I don't know as you can see yours; – not saying but what you're as quick as most men, Mr Bunfit. If he was – and I rayther think that's about it – then he and Benjamin must have had a few words, and he must have got the jewels from the lady over night.'

‘Of course he did – and Smiler and Billy Cann knew as they weren't there.'

‘There you are, all back again, Mr Bunfit, not making your ground good as you go. Smiler and Cann did their job according to order – and precious sore hearts they had when they'd got the box open. Those fellows at Carlisle – just like all the provincials – went to work open mouthed, and before the party had left Carlisle it was known that Lord George was suspected.'

‘You can't trust them fellows any way,' said Mr Bunfit.

‘Well; – what happens next? Lord George, he goes to Benjamin, but he isn't goin' to take the diamonds with him. He has had words with Benjamin or he has not. Anyways he isn't goin' to take the necklace with him on that morning. He hasn't been goin' to keep the diamonds about him, not since what was up at Carlisle. So he gives the diamonds back to the lady.'

‘And she had ‘em all along?'

‘I don't say it was so – but I can see my way upon that hypothesis.'

‘There was something as she had to conceal, Gager. I'll said
that all through. I knew it in a moment when I see'd her faint.'

‘She's had a deal to conceal, I don't doubt. Well, there they are – with her still – and the box is gone, and the people as is bringing the lawsuit, Mr Camperdown and the rest of ‘em, is off their tack. What's she to do with 'em?'

‘Take ‘em to Benjamin,' said Bunfit, with confidence.

‘That's all very well, Mr Bunfit. But there's a quarrel up already with Benjamin. Benjamin was to have had ‘em before. Benjamin has spent a goodish bit of money, and has been thrown over rather. I daresay Benjamin was as bad as Smiler, or worse. No doubt Benjamin led on to Smiler, and thought as Smiler was too many for him. I daresay there was a few words between him and Smiler. I wouldn't wonder if Smiler didn't threaten to punch Benjamin's head – which well he could do it – and if there wasn't a few. playful remarks between 'em about penal servitude for life. You see, Mr Bunfit, it couldn't have been pleasant for any of 'em.'

‘They'd 've split,' said Bunfit.

‘But they didn't – not downright. Well – there we are. The diamonds is with the lady. Lord George has done it all. Lord George and Lady Eustace – they're keeping company, no doubt, after their own fashion. He's a robbing of her, and she has to do pretty much as she's bid. The diamonds is with the lady, and Lord George is pretty well afraid to look at 'em. After all that's being done, there isn't much to wonder at in that. Then comes the second robbery.'

‘And Lord George planned that too?' asked Bunfit.

‘I don't pretend to say I know, but just put it this way, Mr Bunfit. Of course the thieves were let in by the woman Crahstick.'

‘Not a doubt.'

‘Of course they was Smiler and Billy Cann.'

‘I suppose they was.'

‘She was always about the lady – a doing for her in everything. Say she goes to Benjamin and tells him as how her lady still has the necklace – and then he puts up the second robbery. Then you'd have it all round.'

‘And Lord George would have lost 'em. It can't be. Lord George and he are thick as thieves up to this day.'

‘Very well. I don't say anything against that. Lord George knows as she has 'em; – indeed he'd given 'em back to her to keep. We've got as far as that, Mr Bunfit.'

‘I think she did 'ave 'em.'

‘Very well. What does Lord George do then? He can't make money of 'em. They're too hot for his fingers, and so he finds when he thinks of taking 'em into the market. So he puts Benjamin up to the second robbery.'

‘Who's drawing it fine, now, Gager; – eh?'

‘Mr Bunfit, I'm not saying as I'll got the truth beyond this – that Benjamin and his two men were clean done at Carlisle, that Lord George and his lady brought the jewels up to town between 'em, and that the party who didn't get 'em at Carlisle tried their hand again and did get 'em in Hertford Street' In all of which the ingenious Gager would have been right, if he could have kept his mind clear from the alluring conviction that a lord had been the chief of the thieves.

‘We shall never make a case of it now,' said Bunfit despondently.

‘I mean to try it on all the same. There's Smiler about town as bold as brass, and dressed to the nines. He had the cheek to tell me he was going down to the Newmarket Spring to look after a horse he's got a share in.'

‘I was talking to Billy only yesterday,' added Bunfit. Tve got it on my mind that they didn't treat Billy quite on the square. He didn't let on anything about Benjamin; but he told me out plain, as how he was very much disgusted. “Mr Bunfit,” said he, “there's that roguery about, that a plain man like me can't touch it. There's them as'd pick my eyes out while I was sleeping, and then swear it against my very self.” Them were his words, and I knew as how Benjamin hadn't been on the square with him.'

‘You didn't let on anything, Mr Bunfit?'

‘Well – I just reminded him as how there was five hundred pounds going a-begging from Mr Camperdown.'

‘And what did he say to that, Mr Bunfit?'

‘Well he said a good deal He's a sharp little fellow, is Billy, as
has read a good deal. you've heard of ‘Umpty Dumpty, Gager? ‘Umpty Dumpty was a hegg.'

‘All right.'

‘As had a fall, and was smashed – and there's a little poem about him.'

‘I know.'

‘Well: – Billy says to me: “Mr Camperdown don't want no hinformation; he wants the diamonds. Them diamonds is like 'Umpty Dumpty, Mr Bunfit. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put 'Umpty Dumpty up again.” '

‘Billy was about right there' said the younger officer rising from his seat.

Late on the afternoon of the same day, when London had already been given over to the gaslights, Mr Gager, having dressed himself especially for the occasion of the friendly visit which he intended to make, sauntered into a small public-house at the corner of Meek Street and Pineapple Court, which locality – as all men well versed with London are aware – lies within one minute's walk of the top of Gray's Inn Lane. Gager, during his conference with his colleague Bunfit, had been dressed in plain black clothes; but in spite of his plain clothes he looked every inch a policeman. There was a stiffness about his limbs, and, at the same time, a sharpness in his eyes, which, in the conjunction with the locality in which he was placed, declared his profession beyond the possibility of mistake. Nor, in that locality, would he have desired to be taken for anything else. But as he entered the ‘Rising Sun' in Meek Street,
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there was nothing of the policeman about him. He might probably have been taken for a betting man, with whom the world had latterly gone well enough to enable him to maintain that sleek, easy, greasy appearance, which seems to be the beau-ideal of a betting man's personal ambition. ‘Well, Mr Howard,' said the lady at the bar, ‘a sight of you is good for sore eyes.'