“A CHARITABLE ACT.
“Mademoiselle Klosking, the great contralto, having won a large sum of money at the Kursaal, has given a thousand pounds to the poor of the place. The civic authorities hearing of this, and desirous to mark their sense of so noble a donation, have presented her with the freedom of the burgh, written on vellum and gold. Mademoiselle Klosking received the compliment with charming grace and courtesy; but her modesty is said to have been much distressed at the publicity hereby given to an act she wished to be known only to the persons relieved by her charity.”
Ina caught the culprit and showed him this. “A thousand pounds!” said she. “Are you not ashamed? Was ever a niggardly act so embellished and exaggerated? I feel my face very red, sir.”
“Oh, I'll explain that in a moment,” said Joseph, amicably. “Each nation has a coin it is always quoting. France counts in francs, Germany in thalers, America in dollars, England in pounds. When a thing costs a million francs in France, or a million dollars in the States, that is always called a million pounds in the English journals: otherwise it would convey no distinct idea at all to an Englishman. Turning thalers and francs into pounds—that is not exaggeration; it is only translation.”
Ina gave him such a look. He replied with an unabashed smile.
She shrugged her shoulders in silence this time, and, to the best of my belief, made no more serious attempts to un-Ashmead her Ashmead.
A month had now passed, and that was a little more than half the dreary time she had to wade through. She began to count the days, and that made her pine all the more. Time is like a kettle. Be blind to him, he flies; watch him, he lags. Her sweet temper was a little affected, and she even reproached Ashmead for holding her out false hopes that his advertisements of her gains would induce Severne to come to her, or even write. “No,” said she; “there must be some greater attraction. Karl says that Miss Vizard, who called upon me, was a beauty, and dark. Perhaps she was the lovely girl I saw at the opera. She has never been there since: and he is gone to England with people of that name.”
“Well, but that Miss Vizard called on you. She can't intend to steal him from you.”
“But she may not know; a woman may injure another without intending. He may deceive her; he has betrayed me. Her extraordinary beauty terrifies me. It enchanted me; and how much more a man?”
Joseph said he thought this was all fancy; and as for his advertisements, it was too early yet to pronounce on their effect.
The very day after this conversation he bounced into her room in great dudgeon. “There, madam! the advertisements have produced an effect; and not a pleasant one. Here's a detective on to us. He is feeling his way with Karl. I knew the man in a moment; calls himself Poikilus in print, and Smith to talk to; but he is Aaron at the bottom of it all, and can speak several languages. Confound their impudence! putting a detective on to us, when it is they that are keeping dark.”
“Who do you think has sent him?” asked Ina, intently.
“The party interested, I suppose.”
“Interested in what?”
“Why, in the money you won; for he was drawing Karl about that.”
“Then he sent the man!” And Ina began to pant and change color.
“Well, now you put it to me, I think so. Come to look at it, it is certain. Who else could it be? Here is a brace of sweeps. They wouldn't be the worse for a good kicking. You say the word, and Smith shall have one, at all events.”
“Alas! my friend,” said Ina, “for once you are slow. What! a messenger comes here direct from him; and are we so dull we can learn nothing from him who comes to question us? Let me think.”
She leaned her forehead on her white hand, and her face seemed slowly to fill with intellectual power.
“That man,” said she at last, “is the only link between him and me. I must speak to him.”
Then she thought again.
“No, not yet. He must be detained in the house. Letters may come to him, and their postmarks may give us some clew.”
“I'll recommend the house to him.”
“Oh, that is not necessary. He will lodge here of his own accord. Does he know you?”
“I think not.”
“Do not give him the least suspicion that you know he is a detective.”
“All right, I won't.”
“If he sounds you about the money, say nobody knows much about it, except Mademoiselle Klosking. If you can get the matter so far, come and tell me. But be you very reserved, for you are not clear.”
Ashmead received these instructions meekly, and went into the salle 'a manger and ordered dinner. Smith was there, and had evidently got some information from Karl, for he opened an easy conversation with Ashmead, and it ended in their dining together.
Smith played the open-handed country man to the life—stood champagne. Ashmead chattered, and seemed quite off his guard. Smith approached the subject cautiously. “Gamble here as much as ever?”
“All day, some of them.”
“Ladies and all?”
“Why, the ladies are the worst.”
“No; are they now? Ah, that reminds me. I heard there was a lady in this
very house won a pot o' money.”
“It is true. I am her agent.”
“I suppose she lost it all next day?”
“Well, not all, for she gave a thousand pounds to the poor.”
“The dressmakers collared the rest?”
“I cannot say. I have nothing to do except with her theatrical business. She will make more by that than she ever made at play.”
“What, is she tip-top?”
“The most rising singer in Europe.”
“I should like to see her.”
“That you can easily do. She sings tonight. I'll pass you in.”
“You are a good fellow. Have a bit of supper with me afterward. Bottle of fizz.”
These two might be compared to a couple of spiders, each taking the other for a fly. Smith was enchanted with Ina's singing, or pretended. Ashmead was delighted with him, or pretended.
“Introduce me to her,” said Smith.
“I dare not do that. You are not professional, are you?”
“No, but you can say I am, for a lark.”
Ashmead said he should like to; but it would not do, unless he was very wary.
“Oh, I'm fly,” said the other. “She won't get anything out of me. I've been behind the scenes often enough.”
Then Ashmead said he would go and ask her if he might present a London manager to her.
He soon brought back the answer. “She is too tired to-night: but I pressed her, and she says she will be charmed if you will breakfast with her to-morrow at eleven.” He did not say that he was to be with her at half-past ten for special instructions. They were very simple. “My friend,” said she, “I mean to tell this man something which he will think it his duty to telegraph or write to him immediately. It was for this I would not have the man to supper, being after post-time. This morning he shall either write or telegraph, and then, if you are as clever in this as you are in some things, you will watch him, and find out the address he sends to.”
Ashmead listened very attentively, and fell into a brown study.
“Madam,” said he at last, “this is a first-rate combination. You make him communicate with England, and I will do the rest. If he telegraphs, I'll be at his heels. If he goes to the post, I know a way. If he posts in the house, he makes it too easy.”
At eleven Ashmead introduced his friend “Sharpus, manager of Drury Lane Theater,” and watched the fencing match with some anxiety, Ina being little versed in guile. But she had tact and self-possession; and she was not an angel, after all, but a woman whose wits were sharpened by love and suffering.
Sharpus, alias Smith, played his assumed character to perfection. He gave the Klosking many incidents of business and professional anecdotes, and was excellent company. The Klosking was gracious, and more bonne enfant than Ashmead had ever seen her. It was a fine match between her and the detective. At last he made his approaches.
“And I hear we are to congratulate you on success at rouge et noir as well as opera. Is it true that you broke the bank?”
“Perfectly,” was the frank reply.
“And won a million?”
“More or less,” said the Klosking, with an open smile.
“I hope it was a good lump, for our countrymen leave hundreds of thousands here every season.”
“It was four thousand nine hundred pounds, sir.”
“Phew! Well, I wish it had been double. You are not so close as our friend here, madam.”
“No, sir; and shall I tell you why?”
“If you like, madam,” said Smith, with assumed indifference.
“Mr. Ashmead is a model agent; he never allows himself to see anybody's interests but mine. Now the truth is, another person has an interest in my famous winnings. A gentleman handed 25 pounds to Mr. Ashmead to play with. He did not do so; but I came in and joined 25 pounds of my own to that 25 pounds, and won an enormous sum. Of course, if the gentleman chooses to be chivalrous and abandon his claim, he can; but that is not the way of the world, you know. I feel sure he will come to me for his share some day; and the sooner the better, for money burns the pocket.”
Sharpus, alias Smith, said this was really a curious story. “Now suppose,” said he, “some fine day a letter was to come asking you to remit that gentleman his half, what should you do?”
“I should decline; it might be an escroc. No. Mr. Ashmead here knows the gentleman. Do you not?”
“I'll swear to him anywhere.”
“Then to receive his money he must face the eye of Ashmead. Ha! ha!”
The detective turned the conversation, and never came back to the subject; but shortly he pleaded an engagement, and took his leave.
Ashmead lingered behind, but Ina hurried him off, with an emphatic command not to leave this man out of his sight a moment.
He violated this order, for in five minutes he ran back to tell her, in an agitated whisper, that Smith was, at that moment, writing a letter in the salle 'a manger.
“Oh, pray don't come here!” cried Ina, in despair. “Do not lose sight of him for a moment.”
“Give me that letter to post, then,” said Ashmead, and snatched one up Ina had directed overnight.
He went to the hotel door, and lighted a cigar; out came Smith with a letter in his very hand. Ashmead peered with all his eyes; but Smith held the letter vertically in his hand and the address inward. The letter was sealed.
Ashmead watched him, and saw he was going to the General Post. He knew a shorter cut, ran, and took it, and lay in wait. As Smith approached the box, letter in hand, he bustled up in a furious hurry, and posted his own letter so as to stop Smith's hand at the very aperture before he could insert his letter. He saw, apologized, and drew back. Smith laughed, and said, “All right, old man. That is to your sweetheart, or you wouldn't be in such a hurry.”
“No; it was to my grandmother,” said Ashmead.
“Go on,” said Smith, and poked the ribs of Joseph. They went home jocular; but the detective was no sooner out of the way than Ashmead stole up to Ina Klosking, and put his finger to his lips; for Karl was clearing away, and in no hurry.
They sat on tenter-hooks and thought he never would go. He did go at last, and then the Klosking and Ashmead came together like two magnets.
“Well?”
“All right! Letter to post. Saw address quite plain—Edward Severne, Esq.”
“Yes.”
“Vizard Court.”
“Ah!”
“Taddington—Barfordshire—England.”
Ina, who was standing all on fire, now sat down and interlaced her hands. “Vizard!” said she, gloomily.
“Yes; Vizard Court,” said Ashmead, triumphantly; “that means he is a large landed proprietor, and you will easily find him if he is there in a month.”
“He will be there,” said Ina. “She is very beautiful. She is dark, too, and he loves change. Oh, if to all I have suffered he adds that—”
“Then you will forgive him that,” said Ashmead, shaking his head.
“Never. Look at me, Joseph Ashmead.”
He looked at her with some awe, for she seemed transformed, and her Danish eye gleamed strangely.
“You who have seen my torments and my fidelity, mark what I say: If he is false to me with another woman, I shall kill him—or else I shall hate him.”
She took her desk and wrote, at Ashmead's dictation,
“Vizard Court, Taddington, Barfordshire.”