Lady Maude's Mania

“I heerd one a-playin’ just before, sir, and then I see him a-leaning agin the hairy railings, and arter a bit he seemed to chuck somethin’ up agin the winder and then walks off.”

“Well, go on, my man,” said Tom, eagerly.

“Then I didn’t think no more on it, sir, till all at once I sees a hansom come up and stop at the corner, and this same chap gets out, and that made me feel wild-like and take notice, ’cause it seemed as if I ought to have looked out sharper, and got the job.”

“All right; go on,” cried Tom.

“Well, sir, then he goes away and the keb waits and he walks by this here house, and begins whistling this chune as I’ve often heerd them orgin grinders play.”

The man sucked in his cheeks, and whistled three or four bars of the prison song in Trovatore.

“Then, as I kep my hye on him, I sees the front door open quietly, and a lady come out in a long cloak; and she seemed as if she was a-goin’ to faint away, but he kitches her tight, and half runs her along to wheer the keb was a-standin’, and I was ready for him this time, holding my arm over the wheel so as to keep the lady’s dress outer the mud.”

“Yes, yes,” cried Tom, for the man, who had kept on polishing his hat, dropped it and picked it up hastily, to begin repolishing it.

“Well, sir, she was a-cryin’ like one o’clock – in highsteriks like – and he says something to her in a furren languidge, and then, as she gets in he says, ‘Take keer,’ he says, called her by her name, like.”

“Name? What name?” cried Tom, eagerly.

“Well, you see, gov’nor, it sounded like Bella Meer, or Mee-her. ‘Take keer; Bella Mee-her,’ he says just like that.”

“Bella mia,” muttered Tom.

“Yes, sir, that’s it, sir; that were the young lady’s name; and then he jumps in, and I shoves down the apron, and he pokes the trap-door open, and away they goes down the Place like one o’clock.”

“Well?” said Tom.

“That’s about all, gov’nor,” said the man, looking into his dilapidated hat, and then lifting and peeping inside the lining, as if he expected to find some more there.

“No, it ain’t,” said the constable, “come now. He give you something, didn’t he?”

“Well, s’pose he did,” said the man, sulkily; “that ain’t got nothing to do with it, ’ave it? The gent don’t want to rob a pore man of his ’ard earnin’s, do he?”

“What did he give you, my man?” said Tom, eagerly, “There, there, show me. Not that it matters.”

“Yes, sir, excuse me, but it does matter,” said the constable. “Now then, out with it.”

The man thrust his hand very unwillingly into his pocket, and brought out what looked like a small shilling, which was eagerly snatched by Tom.

“Vittoria Emanuele – Lira. Why, constable, it’s an Italian piece!”

“That’s so, sir,” said the constable.

“There, be off with you; there’s half a crown for you,” said Tom. “Constable,” he cried, as the latter closed the door on the walking rag-bag, “quick, not a moment to be lost. That cabman’s number, and as soon as you can.”

“Right, sir; that’s first job,” said the constable. “You’ll be here?”

“Yes, till you come back. Spare no expense to get that number.”

The constable was off almost before the words had left his lips, and as the door closed Tom turned to Sir Grantley, who still stood with his head leaning upon his hand.

“Now then,” he said, “what are you going to do?”

“Don’t know,” was the reply.

“It looks bad,” said Tom, “but I won’t believe it yet.”

“No – poor girl,” said the baronet, sadly – “I’m beginning to think she didn’t care for me, don’t you know.”

Tom stared at him wonderingly.

“Are you going to help me run them down?”

“Yas – no – I don’t know,” said the baronet. “I suppose I ought to shoot that fellow – Belgium or somewhere – if there is a fellow. But I don’t think there is.”

“You don’t?” said Tom.

“No,” said the baronet, slowly.

“But you heard? She must have gone off with somebody. You know what the people think. If it is so, she must be saved at all costs.”

“Yas – of course,” said the baronet, slowly; “but – don’t think it. Poor girl, she was a lady – she couldn’t stoop to it – no – couldn’t – she’d sooner have married me.”

“Wilters,” said Tom, holding out his hand and speaking huskily, “thank you for that. We never liked one another, and I’ve been a confounded cad to you sometimes; but – but – you – you’re a gentleman, Wilters, a true gentleman.”

They shook hands in silence, and then Tom said eagerly —

“You’ll come with me?”

“Yas – no,” said the baronet, quietly. “It’s best not. All been a mistake, poor girl. I’ve been thinking about it all, and it wasn’t likely she’d care for me. Lady Barmouth is very flattering and kind; but I’ve driven your sister away. – I think I’ll go home now.”

“Perhaps you are right,” said Tom, quietly.

“It’s very awkward,” continued the baronet, “things have gone so far. But I ought to have known better. Could you – a soda and brandy, Tom – this has shaken me a bit – I’m rather faint.”

The cellaret was open, stimulants having been fetched from it for her ladyship’s use, and Tom hastily poured out some spirit into one of the glasses on the sideboard, and handed it to the baronet.

“Thanks,” he said – “better now; I think I’ll go home;” and bowing quietly to Tom, he slowly left the house.

Chapter Twenty Five.

In Pursuit

“Poor old Wilters,” said Tom, as he heard the door close. “I didn’t think he was such a thorough gentleman. But this won’t do.”

He was so wound up by the excitement, and the feeling that everything now depended upon him that he seemed to forget that there was such a thing as fatigue.

“Now, gov’nor,” he said, hurrying into the library, where the old man had finished his port and cigar, and then laid his head upon his hand to sit and think of the little fair-haired girl who had played about his knees, and who had, as it were, been driven from him, to go – whither? who could tell?