Within the Maze: A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Poor Lucy! poor wife!" she murmured, pityingly. "May Heaven look down and shield her!"

Karl's errand in London was to find out what he could about Philip Salter. On the Saturday night, patiently searching the file of newspapers--the "Times"--he at length came upon the case. One Philip Salter had been manager to a financial firm in London, and for some years managed it honestly and very successfully. But he got speculating on his own account, lost and lost, and continued to lose, all the while using the funds, that were not his, to prop him up, and prevent exposure. To do this, unsuspected, he was forced to resort to forgery: to fabricate false bonds; to become, in short, one of the worst of felons. The day of discovery came; but Mr. Salter had not waited for it. He was off, and left no trace, as he thought, behind him. Some clue, however, fancied or real, was obtained by a clever ordinary police officer. He went down to Liverpool, seized Philip Salter on board an American vessel just about to steam out of port, and started with him for London at once by the night train, disguised as he was. Midway on the road, Salter did what only a desperate man, fighting for very life, would have dared to do--he jumped from the carriage and made his escape.

So much Karl read: but, though he searched onwards, he could see nothing else. Some of the newspapers were missing; had not been filed; and, it might be, that they were the very papers that spoke further. He then resolved to seek information elsewhere.

All day on the Sunday it had been floating through his mind. His wife's ankle was better. He walked to church with her as usual, sitting by her side in their conspicuous pew--placed sideways to the pulpit and exposed to the eyes of all the congregation. Throughout the service, throughout the sermon, Karl's mind was dwelling on the suspicion connecting Philip Smith with Philip Salter. Lucy thought him very still: as still and sad as herself. The only other conspicuous pew was opposite; it belonged to the vicarage. Margaret Sumnor was in it alone, in the half-reclining seat that had been made for her. Mrs. Sumnor rarely went to church in the morning: the younger daughters were of course at St. Jerome's.

"I will go to London to-morrow," decided Karl in his own mind that night. "Could Smith be got away from his post of espionage it might be Adam's salvation." And that's what brought him taking the eleven o'clock train on Monday morning.

His hansom cab conveyed him to Plunkett and Plunkett's. That he must conduct this inquiry in the most cautiously delicate manner, he knew well; or he might only make bad worse, and bring the hornet's nest, that he was always dreading, about his brother's head. Once let
Smith--if he were really Salter--suspect that inquiries were being made about himself, and he might in revenge denounce Sir Adam.

Mr. Plunkett, with whom Karl as well as the rest of the family had always transacted business, was not in town. Mr. George Plunkett saw him, but he was to Karl comparatively a stranger. Even this seemed to fetter him and make him feel more uneasily, but without reason, the necessity of caution. In a decidedly hesitating way, he said that he had a reason for wishing to learn some particulars about a man who had cheated the community a year or two ago and had made his escape, one Philip Salter: he wanted to know whether he had been re-caught; or, if not, where he was now supposed to be. Mr. George Plunkett immediately asked--not supposing there was any reason why he should not be
told--for what purpose Sir Karl wished for the information. Was it that any of his friends had been sufferers and were hoping to get back what they had lost? And Karl contrived, without any distinct assertion, to leave this impression on the lawyer's mind. Mr. Plunkett, however, could give him no information about Salter, beyond the fact--or rather, opinion, for he was not sure--that he had never been retaken. The matter was not one they had any interest in, he observed; and he recommended Sir Karl to go to Scotland Yard.

"I will write a note of introduction for you to one of the head officers there, Sir Karl," he said. "It will insure you attention."

But Karl declined this. "If I went to Scotland Yard at all," he said, "it would be as an unknown, private individual, not as Sir Karl Andinnian. I don't much care to go to Scotland Yard."

"But why?" exclaimed Mr. George Plunkett. And then, all in a moment an idea flashed across him. He fancied that Sir Karl was shy of presenting himself there as the brother of the unfortunate man who had stood his trial for murder.