The Lost Heir

by G. A. Henty

"But he can be followed when he goes down again, Mr. Pettigrew?"

"Of course, my dear, that is what must be done, though there is no reason why we should not set about inquiries at once. But, you see, it is not so easy to follow a man about country roads as it is in the streets of London. No doubt he must drive or ride, unless, indeed, Walter is within two or three miles of the station, and you may be sure that if he sees a trap coming after him he will not go near the place where the child is. Possibly, again, he may not go near the place at all, but may meet someone who takes the money for the child's keep. It may be a bargeman who sails round to Harwich or somewhere along the south coast. It may be the steward of a steamer that goes regularly backwards and forwards to France.

"I don't want to dishearten you, my dear," he broke off, as he saw how Hilda's face fell as he went on, "but, you see, we have not common rogues to deal with; their whole proceedings have shown an exceptional amount of coolness and determination. Although I own that I can see nothing absolutely suspicious in the way that last will was drawn up and signed, still I have never been able to divest my mind of an idea that there is something radically wrong about it. But putting aside the strange death of your uncle, we have the cunning way in which the boy was stolen, the complete success with which our search was baffled, the daring attempt to prove his death by what we now know must have been the substitution of the body of some other child of the same age dressed in his clothes. All this shows how carefully every detail must have been thought out, and we must assume that equal care will be shown to prevent our recovering the boy. Were they to suspect that they had been traced to Tilbury, and were watched there, or that any inquiries were being made in the neighborhood, you may be sure that Walter would be at once removed some distance away, or possibly sent abroad, perhaps to Australia or the States. There could be no difficulty about that. There are hundreds of emigrants going out every week with their families, who would jump at the offer of a hundred pounds for adopting a child, and once away it would be next to impossible ever to come upon his traces. So, you see, we shall need to exercise the most extreme caution in our searches."

"I see, Mr. Pettigrew," Hilda said quietly, "that the difficulties are far greater than I ever dreamt of. It seemed to me that when we had found out that Walter was alive and well, and that Tilbury was, so to speak, the starting place of our search, it would be an easy matter to find him. Now I see that, except for the knowledge that he is alive, we are nearly as far off as ever."

"I think Mr. Pettigrew is rather making the worst of things, Miss Covington," Dr. Leeds said, speaking for the first time. "No doubt the difficulties are considerable, but I think we have good heads on our side too, as Miss Purcell has proved, and I feel confident that, now that we have learned as much as we have done, we shall be successful in the end."

"My opinion," Colonel Bulstrode said, "is that we ought to give these two fellows in custody as rogues, vagabonds, and kidnapers. Then the police will set to work to find out their antecedents, and at least while they are shut up they can do no harm. Gad, sir, we should make short work of them in India."

"I am afraid that that would hardly do, Colonel Bulstrode," Mr. Pettigrew said mildly. "We have practically nothing to go upon; we have no evidence that a magistrate would entertain for a moment. The men would be discharged at once, and we should no doubt be served the next morning with a writ for at least ten thousand pounds' damages, and, what is more, they would get them; and you may be very sure that you would never find the child."

"Then it is shameful that it should be so," the Colonel said warmly; "why, I served three years as a police officer in India, and when I got news that a dacoit, for instance, was hiding in a jungle near a village, down I would go, with a couple of dozen of men, surround the place, and make every man and woman a prisoner. Then the police would examine them, and let me tell you that they have pretty rough ways of finding out a secret. Of course I knew nothing about it, and asked no questions, but you may be sure that it was not long before they made someone open his mouth. Hanging up a man by his thumbs, for instance, freshens his memory wonderfully. You may say that this thorough way of getting at things is not according to modern ideas. I don't care a fig for modern ideas, and, as far as that goes, neither do the natives of India. My object is to find out the author of certain crimes; the villagers' object is to shield him. If they are obstinate, they bring it on themselves; the criminal is caught, and justice is satisfied. What is the use of police if they are not to catch criminals? I have no patience with the maudlin nonsense that prevails in this country, that a criminal should have every chance of escape. He is warned not to say anything that would incriminate himself, material evidence is not admitted, his wife mayn't be questioned. Why, it is downright sickening, sir. The so-called spirit of fairness is all on the side of the criminal, and it seems to me that our whole procedure, instead of being directed to punish criminals, is calculated to enable them to escape from punishment. The whole thing is wrong, sir—radically wrong." And Colonel Bulstrode wiped his heated forehead with a huge Indian silk handkerchief. Hilda laughed, Netta smiled, and Mr. Pettigrew's eyes twinkled.

"There is a good deal in what you say, Colonel Bulstrode, though I cannot go with you in the matter of hanging men up by their thumbs."

"Why, sir," broke in Colonel, "what is it? Their own native princes would have stretched them over a charcoal fire until they got the truth out of them."