CHAPTER LXX.
The Jew and the Necklace.—Gray’s Troubles and Surmises.—An Adventure.
Sir Francis Hartleton found but very little difficulty in getting possession of Ada’s necklace from the Jew, who had made so capital a bargain with her. The wily Israelite made a practice of never purchasing an article unless he got it at a price which always implied that it was dishonestly come by, as was the case with Ada, of some party totally ignorant or the value of the commodity.
Another rule of his business was to keep his greatest bargains some years, if he thought it necessary so to do, before he brought them into the market, so that if the jewel or the gold were stolen, all the excitement concerning it had subsided, and the very person from whom the property had been filched had long since given it up as quite hopeless.
In this manner, he had acted with regard to Ada’s necklace, which was really worth a much larger sum than either Jacob Gray or the Jew imagined, for the former knew only from indirect sources the value of the article, and the latter rarely came across anything so pure and costly.
Moreover, Jacob Gray had a strong motive for preserving the necklace, because, as we know, he always looked forward to a day when it might be necessary or agreeable to him to declare Ada’s name, birth, and lineage; and thus how important might any corroborative evidence become upon the subject.
As for the Jew, he had been in a ceaseless wonder ever since he had purchased the valuable trinket of the young girl, and in vain he puzzled himself to account for her possession of it, and form some idea of who she could possibly be that was wandering about alone with such valuable property; and it is more than possible that his great bargain was as great a source of disquiet to him as it was of congratulation, for he reasoned with himself,—
“If sho be hash she had such a necklace, and didn’t know fot it wash worth, sho help me, she might have had something else petter still.”
This was a sore reflection to the Jew, and on the whole afforded a fine commentary upon such motives as his who rate their losses by their gains, in the same manner as the man who found half-a-guinea, and upon being told that two had been lost on the same spot sunk the fact of his good fortune in finding the one, and bemoaned to everybody his loss of the other.
It was a sore blow to the Jew, when Sir Francis Hartleton walked into his shop, and at once announcing himself as the much dreaded, because active and irreproachable, magistrate, demanded the necklace, giving a description of it, and of Ada, which rendered any kind of shuffling out of the matter of no possible use.
The necklace was therefore produced, and Sir Francis left the Jew fully impressed with a belief that he would immediately be prosecuted, although such a step was still far from the magistrate’s intentions, who, as we are aware, was taking every means he could to keep matters quiet, and awakening no public curiosity concerning Ada.
It was after another conversation with his beautiful young guest that he issued an order to find poor mad Maud, intending to make some permanent provision for her benefit, not at all expecting that she really possessed sufficient pieces of Jacob Gray’s confession to enable him to form a much nearer estimate of the merits and demerits of the whole affair, than he had hitherto been able to do.
From Ada’s description of Gray, he was now enabled to set a watch upon Learmont, who, from all the circumstances, he felt certain Gray visited to get money.
Sir Francis’ object now was to give Jacob Gray time to provide himself not only with means, but to fully again write out those papers he believed would unravel every mystery connected with the affair.
That Andrew Britton was assailable in the same way he never suspected, and he merely waited now until Gray should commit both Learmont and the savage smith in writing to take some active step in the business.
Jacob Gray little imagined that he was quite free in London to go whither his fancy might lead him, and that the man he most dreaded, namely, Sir Francis Hartleton, had taken a great deal of trouble to prevent his arrest.
Had he guessed he was being so angled with, his terror would have killed him; but as he sat on the step of the door near to Learmont’s, he concocted in his mind a line of proceeding, which, but for various circumstances he could not know of, might have been successfully carried out.
He would see Learmont in the morning, and affecting to be wearied of his present line of life, to offer for two thousand pounds to surrender to him the living object of his fears, as well as his, Jacob Gray’s, own confession, and leave England for ever. Learmont might see him on board a vessel even if he pleased. He might see him leave the shore, when he would give him any address purporting to be where he would find Ada; and then, at the first port he stopped at, he would send a letter to Sir Francis Hartleton, containing sufficient to destroy Britton and Learmont; but not sufficient to be of any service to the persecuted Ada.
By this means he thought to gratify his revenge against them all; and, at least, secure to himself safety, and the means of living in comparative luxury in some cheap continental state.
If Learmont should refuse such a compromise, he could adopt some other course of action to be resolved upon after his next interview with him; but, upon the necessity of leaving England, and that quickly too, he was quite clear and decided.
One would have thought that Jacob Gray had met with sufficient disappointment in his various arrangements to dishearten him from attempting further to create circumstances, and philosophise upon their results; but it is a fixed principle in those natures which are fond to excess of plotting, that no experience will deter them from concocting the hairbreadth schemes and chances which would, combined, make up a satisfactory result, but which all possess the one alarming feature, that the whole fabric must topple down upon the displacement of a single brick.
He rose from the step of the door, and walked onwards, he knew not whither, for some time; but, at length, he found himself in Parliament-street, from the immediate vicinity of which he shrunk quickly, for he dreaded the glare of the lights, and feared that some one might recognise him as the fugitive of the Strand.
There were in his mind some strange and singular contradictions with regard to his present situation, which, as calm reflection came to his aid, he found it very difficult indeed to reconcile.
That Ada had sought refuge with Sir Francis Hartleton, he could scarcely permit himself to doubt for a moment; but then the consequences which she had always dreaded from such a step on her part had certainly not increased so rapidly if they were to occur at all, as he would have sworn they would. He anticipated so active, so persevering, so energetic a hunt from him throughout, not only the metropolis, but the whole kingdom, when once Ada should be in a condition to possess Sir Francis Hartleton of the events of the five years of her life with him, Gray, that safety and freedom for four and twenty hours was a thing not to be thought of; and yet here he was, without much disguise, without the means of taking that care to avoid suspicion which he would fain have done, free and unquestioned hitherto in the public streets.
His name seemed in no one’s mouth. There was no hue and cry—no bills of any particular moment concerning him, save the meagre one he had seen at Hampstead, and which had evidently not emanated from Sir Francis Hartleton. In fact, the affair did not at all present the alarming aspect to him he had ever expected it would.
Jacob Gray was, therefore, under those circumstances thrown back upon several suppositions—none of which, however, to his mind bore the stamp of much probability.
One was that Ada had not taken refuge with Sir Francis Hartleton, but by some means had fallen into other hands, who did not feel so interested in her story or had not the power or the inclination to act upon any of the surmises it must naturally call forth.
Another supposition, was, that from some lingering feeling of pity towards him, or from some dark and haunting suspicion in her mind that he might be related to her, she had, although with Sir Francis, abstained from committing him Gray sufficiently to induce a hot pursuit for him, on other grounds than the murder of Elias, and of Vaughan. Nay, he even thought it possible that Ada might have interceded for him to be left alone, or bargained in some way for his safety. But as often as these reflections began to shed some comforting influence on Gray, there came the reflection of how firmly and broadly she had denounced him as a murderer in the public streets, and he became lost again in a whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions.
He was slowly traversing a low, obscure street, leading from George-street, as these painful thoughts were passing through his mind, when he fancied he heard a footstep behind him, which seemed accommodating itself to his in a manner that excited at once his suspicion that he was watched. All Gray’s dreams of security immediately vanished, and a cold perspiration broke out upon him, as he fancied he was upon the point now of being arrested when his fate would be certain; for what account could he give of himself that would not at once strengthen and confirm suspicion. He still heard the footstep, but he feared to look behind him, and after a few moments of confused thought he resolved to try a simple experiment to ascertain if he were really followed, and he paused suddenly to see if the stranger behind him would pass on.
The whole mass of Jacob Gray’s blood appeared to him to curdle in his reins, as he felt sure, whoever it was behind him, had stopped likewise.