CHAPTER XI.
Edgar and his transatlantic companion walked along Holborn in silence. The former was deeply immersed in thought; and the American, in spite of his forced gaiety, had not yet lost all trace of his late emotion. Presently, they quitted the busy street and turned into one of the narrow lanes leading to Queen Square. Arrived at the house, they were admitted by the grimy diminutive maid-of-all-work, and slowly ascended the maze of stairs leading to Edgar’s sitting-room. There were two persons who looked up as they entered—Eleanor and Jasper Felix. Edgar performed the ceremony of introduction, asking his companion if he had ever heard of the great novelist. He had.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Slimm impressively, ‘I believe that name has been mentioned in my hearing once, if not more.—Allow me to shake hands with you, sir. I ain’t given to worshipping everybody who writes a ream of nonsense and calls it a novel; but when I come across men like you, I want to remember it. We don’t have many of your stamp across the Atlantic, though Nathaniel Hawthorne runs you very close.’
‘Indeed, you are very complimentary,’ Felix replied; ‘and I take your word as flattering. I don’t like flattery as a rule, especially American flattery. It is rare, in a general way. I feel as if they always want something, you know.’
‘Well, I do calculate my countrymen don’t give much away for nothing. They like a quid pro quo; and if they can get the quid without the quo, so much the better are they pleased. But I didn’t come here to discuss the idiosyncrasies of my countrymen.’
Mr Slimm seemed to possess the happy knack of making his conversation suit his company. Edgar could not help contrasting him now with the typical Yankee of the gambling-house; they hardly seemed like the same men.
‘Have you got your uncle’s letter?’ Edgar asked his wife.
‘Why?’ she asked, without the slightest curiosity.
‘Why? I have almost come to your way of thinking,’ replied Edgar. ‘Do you know, a wonderful thing has happened this morning. To make a long story short, my good friend here was an old friend of your uncle’s. The story is a very sad one; but the gist of it is that the paper your uncle left so nearly resembles a tragic document which he and Mr Slimm once perused together—what is termed a cipher—that he is almost sure it is taken from the same. The coincidence is so strange, the two letters are so remarkably alike’——
‘Is this really so, Mr Slimm?’ Eleanor asked eagerly.
‘Yes, madam,’ he said quietly. ‘Some day I will tell you the tale, but not now, of how I came to be in receipt of that terrible document. Your uncle was with me; and from what I know of the circumstances, they must be the same. If you don’t mind me seeing it’——
Before he could finish his sentence, Eleanor was out of the room, and a silence, an uneasy silence of expectancy, fell on the group. No one spoke, and the few minutes she was away seemed like hours. Then she reappeared, and put the paper in his hands.
He merely glanced at it for a moment; indeed, he had not time to read it through before a smile began to ripple over his quaint-looking, weather-beaten face. The smile gradually grew into a laugh, and then he turned to view the anxious group with a face full of congratulation and triumph.
‘Have you found it? Is it so?’ burst from three people simultaneously.
He was provokingly slow in his reply, and his Yankee drawl was more painfully apparent than ever. ‘Young man,’ said he to Edgar, ‘what might have been the nominal value of your uncle’s estate—if he had any?’
‘About thirty or forty thousand pounds.’
‘And I promised, if you would let me see this paper, I would show you something worth ten thousand pounds. Well, you must pardon me for my little mistake. One can’t always guard against mistakes, and this paper is worth four times that amount.’
For a few moments every one was aghast at the value of the discovery.
Edgar was the first to recover himself. ‘You are not joking, Slimm?’ he exclaimed hoarsely.
‘Never a bit,’ he replied with a gaiety delicately intended to cover and arouse the emotion of the others. ‘There it is on the face of the paper, as plainly as possible—the fateful words staring me in the face. You could see them yourselves, if you only knew how.’
‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Felix. ‘And that simple paper contains a secret worth all that money?’
‘Why, certainly. Not only that, but where it is, and the exact spot in which it is concealed. Only to think—a starving, desperate woman dragging such a secret as that about London; and only to think of a single moment preventing it being buried in the Thames. Wonderful, wonderful!’
‘Perhaps you will disclose it to us,’ said Edgar, impatient at this philosophical tirade.
‘No!’ Eleanor put in resolutely—‘no, Edgar! I do not think it would be fair. Considering the time and trouble Mr Carver has given to the matter, it would only be right for him to know at the same time. The dear old gentleman has been so enthusiastic throughout, and so kind, that I should feel disappointed if he did not hear the secret disclosed when we are all together.’
‘How thoughtful you are, Mrs Seaton!’ remarked Felix with great admiration. ‘Of course you are right. The old fellow will be delighted beyond measure, and will fancy he has a hand in the matter himself.’
‘I do not see why we should wait for that,’ Edgar grumbled.
‘Impatient boy!’ said Eleanor with a charming smile. ‘Talk about curiosity in woman, indeed!’
‘All right,’ he replied laughingly, his brow clearing at one glance from his wife. ‘I suppose we must wait. I do not see, however, what is to prevent us starting to see him at once. Probably, you won’t be more than an hour putting on your bonnet, Nelly?’
‘I shall be with you in five minutes;’ and, singular to relate, she was.
‘Curiosity,’ remarked Edgar, ‘is a great stimulus, even to women.’
Arrived at Bedford Row, they found Mr Carver at his office, and fortunately disengaged. It did not take that astute gentleman long to perceive, from the faces of his visitors, that something very great and very fortunate had happened.
‘Well, good people,’ he said, cheerfully rubbing his head with considerable vigour, ‘what news? Not particularly bad, by the look of you.’
Edgar stated the case briefly, and at the beginning of his narrative it was plain to see that the worthy solicitor was somewhat disappointed; but when he learned they were nearly as much in the dark as he, he resumed his usual rubicund aspect.
‘Dear, dear! how fortunate. Wonderful, wonderful!’ he exclaimed, hopping about excitedly. ‘Never heard such a thing in my life—never, and thirty years in practice too. Quite a hero, Edgar.’
‘No, sir,’ Edgar put in modestly. ‘Mr Slimm is the hero. Had it not been for him, we could never have discovered the hidden mine. Talk about Aladdin’s lamp!’
‘And so you knew my poor client?’ broke in Mr Carver, addressing Slimm. ‘What a fine fellow he was in those days! I suppose you showed him the secret of the cipher?’
‘Wall, no, stranger,’ replied the American, the old Adam cropping out again strongly. ‘He guessed it by instinct, if it wasn’t something higher’n that. I did not know it myself, though it was sent to me by one very dear to me, to warn me of danger. You see, it might have come into the hands of an enemy who understood English, and it was just a desperate chance. It came a trifle late to save my peace of mind,’ he continued naturally and bitterly, ‘and I shall never forget it. The sight of that piece of paper in that lady’s hands,’ pointing to the important document, ‘gave me a touch of the old feeling when I first saw it.’
‘Poor fellow, poor fellow! Pray, don’t distress yourself upon our account. A mere explanation’——
‘I’d almost forgotten,’ replied Mr Slimm, taking the paper from Eleanor’s hands. ‘If you will be good enough to listen, I will explain it.’
They drew close round the table, and he proceeded to explain.
‘The paper I hold in my hand,’ said the American, ‘is filled with writing, commencing at the top of the paper, without anything of a margin, and ending in the same manner. The paper, you perceive, is ruled with dotted lines, which makes the task of deciphering the secret all the easier. It has five dotted perpendicular lines at equal distances; and four horizontal, not so equal in distance. These are guide-lines. Now, I will take the letter and fold it along the centre dotted line from top to bottom, with the writing inside—so. Then from the second dotted line, counting from the right-hand side, I fold it backwards, showing the writing—thus. Then I fold the fourth dotted line from the right hand over the writing. The first part is accomplished by turning the narrow slip of writing between the fifth line and the left-hand side back thus; and then you see this. The rest is simple. Fold the slip in two, keeping the writing inside; then turn the bottom portion back and fold it across the lower dotted line, and the puzzle is complete. Or there is yet a simpler way. In each corner of the paper there are a few words inclosed by the dotted lines. Begin at the top at the word “Darling,” then across the line to the words “Nelly, in.” Then the next line, which is all inclosed at the top in the corner squares. Read the same way at the bottom corner squares; and see the result. You are puzzled by the folding, I see; but try the other way. Here,’ he said, handing the paper to Nelly; ‘please read aloud what you can make of it.’
Following his instructions, Nelly made out the words thus:
| Darling | Nelly, in |
| the garden | under the |
| Niobe | you will |
| find my | money. |
The murder was out! The mystery which had puzzled every one was explained; and after all, it was so simple! The simplicity of the affair was its greatest safeguard. It was so simple, so particularly devoid of intricacy, that it had baffled them all. Something bewildering and elaborate they had expected, but nothing like this. Mr Carver, notwithstanding his joy, looked inexpressibly foolish. Edgar gave way to his emotion in mirth. ‘O shade of Edgar Allan Poe, what a climax!’ he exclaimed. ‘Was it for this our worthy friend waded through the abstruse philosophy of The Purloined Letter and the intricacies of The Gold Bug? Was it for this that The Murders in the Rue Morgue and The Mystery of Marie Roget were committed to memory?’
‘Be quiet, you young jackanapes!’ exclaimed Mr Carver testily; and then, seeing the ludicrous side of the matter, he joined in the younger man’s mirth with equal heartiness.
‘But why,’ said Eleanor, still serious, and dwelling upon the mystery—‘why did not uncle fold the letter in the way he wished it to be read?’
‘Well, madam,’ Mr Slimm explained, ‘you see in that case the letter would have adapted itself to the folds so readily, that, had it fallen into a stranger’s hand, he would have discovered the secret at once. Your uncle must have remembered the letter he founded his upon, and how easily he discovered that. By folding this paper in the ordinary way, improper curiosity was baffled.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Eleanor mused. ‘Anyway, thank heaven, we have solved the mystery, and we are free at last!’
‘Don’t look so serious, darling,’ Edgar said brightly. ‘It is all ours now, to do what we like with. How happy we shall be!’
‘Ahem!’ coughed Mr Bates ominously, the only remark which, by the way, he had made during the scene.
‘Bless me, Bates!’ ejaculated Mr Carver in his abrupt way. ‘Really, I had quite forgotten you.—Shake hands, Bates! Let me shake hands with my future partner.’
‘Begging your pardon, sir, I think not. You’—reproachfully—‘seem to have forgotten the will. Mr Morton’s last testament left this property to Miss Wakefield—this money is part of his estate.’
Mr Carver groaned and sank back in his chair. It was too true. Mr Morton’s last will devised his estate to Miss Wakefield, and this treasure was hers beyond the shadow of a doubt.