The Greatest Murder Mysteries - G.A. Henty Edition. G. A. Henty
such sum had been paid; and that he, therefore, at Miss Harmer's request, forwarded a cheque for £500, being, she stated, certainly not too large a sum for the constant attendance furnished by him during that time.
Papa did not refuse to accept this money, as indeed he had not, from the time that Mr. Harmer declared his intentions respecting us, ever sent in any account to him. Papa determined to spend the money in making a grand tour for the benefit of my health; and accordingly, in another fortnight—having arranged with some one to take his practice during his absence—he, Polly, and I started for a four months' tour. For that time we wandered through Switzerland, Germany, and the old cities of Belgium; and very greatly we enjoyed it. My health improved with the change of scene, and when we returned to our old home, at the end of November, I was really myself again, and was able to look forward cheerfully to the future, and to take my part again in what was going on round me.
Chapter X.
Allies From Alsatia.
And so things went on with the Gregorys through the summer months, and on into the autumn. Still the firm of Gregory and Fielding flourished, and still Sophy wrote their letters for them. Robert remained moody and sullen, staying at home of an evening, but saddening Sophy by his continued indulgence in the bottle, and by his moody sullen temper, which, however, was hardly ever turned against herself. Robert Gregory still tried hard to keep to the resolve he had made. This little girl who loved him so fondly, who had ruined herself for his sake, and who bore so patiently with his faults, he was determined should in addition to her other troubles, have at any rate no unkindness to bear from him; he strove hard for that; he would at least in that respect not be a bad husband to her. He did not love her with the passionate love which he might have given to some women; his feelings towards her were a mixture of love and compassion, mingled with admiration at the unflinching courage and equanimity with which she endured the great change which had befallen her.
Late in the autumn the good fortune which had so steadily accompanied the operations of the firm seemed all at once to desert them, and on the Cambridgeshire and the Cesarewitch, the two last great races of the season, they lost very heavily. For the one, relying upon information they had received from a lad in the stable, they had continued to lay heavily against the favourite, who, when the day came, not only won, but won in a canter. The other, an outsider against whom they had several times laid fifty to one—believing his chance to be worth nothing—won by a neck, defeating a horse on whom they stood to win heavily. These two races were a very severe blow to them, but still they held up their heads. Their previous winnings had been so large that they were able to draw from their bankers sufficient to meet their creditors on settling day, and still to have two hundred pounds remaining in the bank. Heavy as their loss was, it had one good effect—it gave them the best possible name, and, as Fielding said, it secured them a certainty of increased connection and business in the ensuing year.
Throughout the season they had never been a day behind in their payments, nor once asked for time; and their character as straight-forward honest men stood so high, that Fielding was resolved during the winter to enter as a member of Tattersall's, which would secure them a larger business, and give them a better position and increased opportunity for managing the commission part of their business.
On Robert Gregory, however, the loss had one good effect, that of making him determine more than ever that he would give up the business and start for Australia in the spring, unless in the meantime he could find the will; and to this point all his thoughts now turned. He would sit of an evening musing over it for hours, and hardly speaking a word. Sophy, too, was now less able to endeavour to cheer or rouse him, for she, too, had her anxieties—she was expecting very shortly to be confined. One evening after sitting thus for an unusually long time, he rose, and saying that his head ached, and that he should go out for an hour or so for a walk, he got up and went out. He did not walk far, only to the corner of the street, and stood there for some little time smoking his pipe and looking out on the busy road. Then he turned round, and came slowly back to the house, walking in the road so that his tread on the pavement might not be heard. When he came opposite his own door, he paused, then went in at the gate and into the little patch of garden, and knocked at the kitchen door under the steps. Mr. Billow who was dozing at the fire woke up and opened the door, and was astonished into a state more approaching perfect wakefulness than he had been for many a month before, on seeing his lodger from upstairs applying for admission at this door.
"It is all right, Mr. Billow," Robert said, entering and shutting the door behind him. "Just fasten the other door, will you; I don't wish my wife, and therefore I don't wish yours, to know that I am here. I want half an hour's chat with you."
Mr. Billow fastened the kitchen door in silence, and then sat down again, motioning to Robert, whom he was regarding with great suspicion, to do the same.
"What are you drinking?" Robert asked, taking up a black bottle which was standing on the table, and smelling the contents. "Ah, whisky; that will do;" so saying he took down a glass from the shelf, poured some spirits into it from the bottle, and some hot water from a kettle on the fire, and then putting in a lump of sugar from a basin on the table, took his seat. Mr. Billow imitated his guest's proceedings as far as mixing himself a strong glass of spirits and water, and then waited for Robert to commence the conversation. He had seen so many unexpected things in his trade, that it took a good deal to surprise him. Robert lit his pipe again, swallowed half the contents of his tumbler, and then began.
"My wife, Mr. Billow, as you may suppose by what you have heard, and by what you may remember of her pony carriage and piano which came up when we first came here fifteen months ago, was brought up a lady, and not accustomed to live in such a miserable little den as this."
Mr. Billow here interrupted, "that if it was not good enough for them, why did they stop there?"
"You hold your tongue," Robert said, savagely, "and don't interrupt me, if you value that miserable old neck of yours. She was brought up a lady," he continued, "and was to have come into a large fortune. The person who had left her the fortune died, and the will has been hidden away by his sisters,—two old women who live in a lonely house in the country. Of course, there are servants, and that sort of thing; but they sleep in a distant part of the building, and would not be likely to hear anything that went on. There is no other house within call. One of these women, I understand, is as hard as a rock; there would be no getting her to say a word she did not want to say, if it was to save her life. The other one is made of different stuff. Now I want to get hold of a couple of determined fellows, accustomed to that sort of business, to make an entrance there with me at night—to get hold of this old woman, and to frighten her into telling us where this will is hidden. If I can get it, I am safe, because the house is part of the property; and besides, I should have them under my thumb for hiding the will. If it had not been my own house I was going to break into, I would rather do the job by myself than take any one with me, to give them the opportunity of living on me all the rest of my life. As it is, I am safe both from the law and from extortion. If we are interrupted, and things go wrong, we can get off easily enough, so that there is no great risk either for me or the men who go with me. What do you think, Mr. Billow—this is all in your line? Could you put your hand on a couple of such men as I want?"
"There are such men to be found in London, no doubt," Mr. Billow said, cautiously. "The question is, would it be worth any one's while to find them, and would it be worth their while to go?"
"If from any bad luck we should fail," Robert Gregory answered, "I could only afford to pay a ten-pound note each; if I succeed, I will give them a couple of hundred apiece, which would make it the best night's work they have done for a long time, and I will give you the same I do them."
"I can find the men," Mr. Billow said readily; "they shall be here—let me see, by this time the day after to-morrow."
"No, no," Robert said hastily; "not here. You take me to some place you may appoint to meet them; and your part of the agreement is that you on no account tell them my name, or anything about me. If the plan succeeds, I don't care,