by Fergus Hume
“A pauper!” cried Eustace and Treadle together.
“Listen!” said Hagar, and read out from the page: “When I returned to England I was thought wealthy, so that all my friends and relations fawned on me for the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table. But I had just enough money to rent the cottage for a term of years, and to purchase an annuity barely sufficient for the necessities of life. But, owing to the report of my wealth, the luxuries have been supplied by those who hoped for legacies. This is my legacy to one and all—these golden words, which I have proved true: ‘It is better to be thought rich than to be rich.’”
The paper fell from the hand of Eustace, and Treadle, with a howl of rage, threw himself on the grass, loading the memory of the deceased with opprobrious names. Seeing that all was over, that the expected fortune had vanished into thin air, Hagar left the disappointed grocer weeping with rage over the deceptive tin box, and led Eustace away. He followed her as in a dream, and all the time during their sad journey back to town he spoke hardly a word. What they did say—how Eustace bewailed his fate and Hagar comforted him—is not to the point. But on arriving at the door of the pawn-shop Hagar gave the copy of Dante to the young man. “I give this back to you,” she said, pressing his hand. “Sell it, and with the proceeds build up your own fortune.”
“But shall I not see you again?” he asked, piteously.
“Yes, Mr. Lorn; you shall see me when you bring back Goliath.”
Then she entered the pawn-shop and shut the door. Left alone in the deserted crescent, Eustace sighed and walked slowly away. Hugging to his breast the Florentine Dante, he went away to make his fortune, to find Goliath, and—although he did not know it at the time—to marry Hagar.
CHAPTER III. THE SECOND CUSTOMER AND THE AMBER BEADS.
AFTER the episode of the Florentine Dante, Hagar lost her high spirits. She had sent Eustace away to make his fortune, and to discover, if possible, the lost heir of Jacob Dix. By this act of self-denial, as it really was, she had deprived herself of all pleasure; she had robbed herself of what might have been a bright future; consequently she was less cheerful than of yore. Nevertheless, she felt convinced that Lorn loved her, and that he would earn her gratitude—possibly her hand—by returning with Goliath at his heels. When that event took place she would recover at once her spirits and her lover; but at present the business of the pawn-shop took up her undivided attention, and forced her to put away sad thoughts and melancholy considerations. Also, Providence provided distraction for her dismal humors by sending her a negress to pawn a necklace of amber beads. Although Hagar did not know it at the time, this was the beginning of a second and rather more serious adventure.
It was drawing to night one August evening when the woman made her appearance, and the atmosphere of the pawnshop was darker than usual. Still, it was sufficiently light for Hagar to see that her customer was a tall and bulky negress, arrayed in a gaudy yellow dress, neutralized by trimmings of black jet beading. As the evening was hot and close, she wore neither cloak nor jacket, but displayed her somewhat shapeless figure to the full in this decidedly startling costume. Her hat was a garden of roses—red, white and yellow; she wore a large silver brooch like a shield, an extensive necklace of silver coins, and many bangles of the same metal on her black wrists. As a contrast to these splendors she wore no gloves, nor did she hide her coal-black face with a veil. Altogether, this odd customer was the blackest and most fantastically-dressed negress that Hagar had ever seen, and in the dim light she looked a striking but rather alarming figure.
On Hagar coming to the counter this black woman produced out of a silver-clasped sealskin satchel a necklace, which she handed silently to Hagar for inspection. As the light was too imperfect to admit of a close examination, Hagar lighted the gas, but when it flamed up the negress, as though unwilling to be seen too clearly in the searching glare, stepped back hastily into the darkness. Hagar put this retrograde movement down to the natural timidity of a person unaccustomed to pawning, and took but little notice of it at the time. Afterwards she had cause to remember it.
The necklace was a string of magnificent amber beads threaded on a slender chain of gold. Each bead was as large as the egg of a sparrow, and round the middle of every single one there was a narrow belt of tiny diamonds. The clasp at the back was of fine gold, square in shape, and curiously wrought to the representation of a hideous Ethiopian face, with diamonds for eyes. This queer piece of jewelry was unique of its kind, and, as Hagar rapidly calculated, of considerable value. Nevertheless, she offered, according to custom, as low a sum as she well could.
“I’ll give five pounds on it,” said she, returning to the counter.
Rather to her surprise, the negress accepted with a sharp nod, and then took out of her bag a scrap of paper. On this was written laboriously: “Rosa, Marylebone Road.” The name and address were so imperfect that Hagar hesitated before making out the pawn-ticket.
“Have you no other name but Rosa?” she asked, sharply.
The negress shook her head, and kept well in the shadow.
“And no more particular address than Marylebone Road?”
Again the black woman made a negative sign, whereat, annoyed by these gestures, Hagar grew angered.
“Can’t you speak?” she demanded, tartly. “Are you dumb?”
At once the negress nodded, and laid a finger on her lips. Hagar drew back. This woman was black, she was dumb, she gave half a name, half an address, and she wished to pawn a valuable and unique piece of jewelry. The whole affair was queer, and, as Hagar considered, might be rather dangerous. Perhaps this silent negress was disposing of stolen goods, as the necklace seemed too fine for her to possess. For the moment Hagar was inclined to refuse to do business; but a glance at the amber beads decided her to make the bargain. She could get it cheap; she was acting well within the legal limits of business; and if the police did appear in the matter, no blame could be attached to her for the transaction. Biased by these considerations, Hagar made out the ticket in the name Rosa, and took a clean new five-pound note out of the cash-box. As she was about to give ticket and money across the counter she paused. “I’ll take the number of this note,” she thought, going to the desk; “if this negress can’t be traced by name or address, the bank-note number will find her if it is necessary.”
Deeming this precaution judicious, Hagar hastily scribbled down the number of the five-pound note, and returning to the counter, gave it and the ticket to her queer customer. The negress stretched out her right hand for them; and then Hagar made a discovery which she noted mentally as a mark of identification if necessary. However, she said nothing, but tried to get a good look at the woman’s face. The customer, however, kept well in the shadow, and swept note and ticket into her bag hurriedly. Then she bowed and left the shop.
Six days later Hagar received a printed notice from New Scotland Yard, notifying to all pawn-brokers that the police were in search of a necklace of amber beads set with diamonds, and clasped with a negro’s face wrought in gold. Notice of its whereabouts was to be sent to the Detective Department without delay. Remembering her suspicions, and recalling the persistent way in which the negress had averted her face, Hagar was not much surprised by this communication. Curious to know the truth, and to learn what crime might be attached to the necklace, she wrote at once about the matter. Within four hours a stranger presented himself to see the amber beads, and to question her concerning the woman who had pawned the same. He was a fat little man, with a healthy red face and shrewd twinkling eyes. Introducing himself as Luke Horval, of the detective service, he asked Hagar to relate the circumstances of the pawning. This the girl did frankly enough, but without communicating her own suspicions. At the conclusion of her narrative she displayed the amber beads, which were carefully examined by Mr. Horval. Then he slapped his knee, and whistled in a thoughtful sort of way.
“I guessed as much,” said he, staring hard at Hagar. “The negress did it.”
/> “Did what?” asked the girl, curiously.
“Why,” said Horval, ‘murdered the old woman.”
Murder! The word had a gruesome and cruel sound, which caused Hagar’s cheek to pale when it rang in her ears. She had connected the amber beads with robbery, but scarcely with the taking of life. The idea that she had been in the company of a murderess gave Hagar a qualm; but, suppressing this as a weakness, she asked Horval to tell her the details of the crime and how it bore on the pawning of the amber beads.
“It’s just this way, miss,” explained the detective, easily. “This Rosa is the nigger girl of Mrs. Arryford ——”
“Is Rosa her real name?”
“Oh, yes; I s’pose she thought she might lose the beads if she gave a wrong one; but the address ain’t right. It’s the other end of London as Mrs. Arryford lives—or rather lived,” added Horval, correcting himself, “seeing she now occupies a Kensal Green grave—Campden Hill, miss; a sweet little house in Bedford Gardens, where she lived with Rosa and Miss Lyle.”
“And who is Miss Lyle?”
“The companion of Mrs. Arryford. A dry stick of a spinster, miss; not to be compared with a fine girl like you.”
Hagar did not deign to notice the compliment, but sharply requested Mr. Horval to continue his story, which he did, in no wise abashed by her cold demeanor.
“It’s just this way, miss,” said he again; “the old lady, the old maid and the nigger wench lived together in Bedford Gardens, a kind of happy family, as one might say. Mrs. Arryford was the widder of a West Indian gent, and as rich as Solomon. She brought those amber beads from Jamaica, and Rosa was always wanting them.”
“Why? The necklace was very unsuitable to one of her condition.”
“‘Twasn’t exactly the cost of it as she thought about,” said Horval, nursing his chin, “but it seems that the necklace is a fetish, or charm, or lucky-penny, as you might say, to bring good fortune to the wearer. Mrs. Arryford was past wanting good luck, so hadn’t no need for the beads. Rosa asked her for them, just for the good luck of them, as you might say. The old girl wouldn’t part, as she was as superstitious as Rosa herself over that necklace; so in the end Rosa murdered her to get it.”
“How do you know she did?” asked Hagar, doubtfully.
“How do I know?” echoed the detective in surprise. “‘Cause I ain’t a fool, miss. Last week Mrs. Arryford was found in her bed with a carving knife in her heart, as dead as a door-nail, and the beads were missing. Miss Lyle, she didn’t know anything about it, and Rosa swore she hadn’t left her room, so, you see, we couldn’t quite hit on who finished off Mrs. Arryford. But now as I know Rosa pawned these beads, I’m sure she did the job.”
“What made you think that the beads might have been pawned?”
“Oh, that was Miss Lyle’s idea; a sharp old girl she is, miss. She was very fond of Mrs. Arryford, as she well might be, seeing as the old lady was rich and kept her like a princess. Often she heard Rosa ask for those beads, so when Mrs. Arryford was killed and the beads missing she told me as she was sure Rosa had done the trick.”
“But the pawning?”
“Well, miss,” said Horval, scratching his chin, “it was just this way. Miss Lyle said as how Rosa, to get rid of the necklace until the affair of the murder was blown over, might pawn it. I thought so too, so I sent a printed slip to all the pop-shops in London. You wrote that the beads were here, so it seems as Miss Lyle was right.”
“Evidently. By the way, who gets the money of Mrs. Arryford?”
“A Mr. Frederick Jevons; he’s a nephew of Miss Lyle’s.”
“A nephew of Miss Lyle’s!” echoed Hagar, in surprise. “And why did Mrs. Arryford leave her money to him instead of to her relatives?”
“Well, it’s just this way, miss,” said Horval, rising. “She hadn’t got no relatives; and as Mr. Jevons was a good-looking young chap, always at the house to see his aunt, she took a fancy to him and left the money his way.”
“You are sure that Miss Lyle is no relation to Mrs. Arryford?”
“Quite sure. She was only the old girl’s companion.”
“Was Mrs. Arryford weak in the head?”
“Not as I ever heard of,” said Mr. Horval, with a stare, “but you can find out, if you like, from Miss Lyle.”
“Miss Lyle! How am I to see her?”
“Why,” said the detective, clapping on his hat, “when you come to see if Rosa is the same nigger as pawned the amber beads. Just leave someone to look after the shop, miss, and come with me right away.”
With true feminine curiosity, Hagar agreed at once to accompany the detective to Campden Hill. The shop was delivered into the charge of Bolker, a misshapen imp of sixteen, who for some months had been the plague of Hagar’s life. He had a long body and long arms, short legs and a short temper, and also a most malignant eye, which indicated only too truly his spiteful nature. Having given a few instructions to this charming lad, Hagar departed with Horval in the omnibus, and arrived at Bedford Gardens early in the afternoon.
The house was a quaint, pretty cottage, which stood in a delightful garden—once the solace of poor dead Mrs. Arryford’s soul—and was divided from the road by a tall fence of iron railings closed in with wooden planks painted a dark green. The room into which the detective and gipsy were shown was a prim and rather cosy apartment, which bore the impress of Miss Lyle’s old-maidism in the disposition of the furniture. When they were seated here, and were waiting for Miss Lyle, who had been advised of their arrival, Hagar suddenly asked Horval a leading question.
“Is Rosa dumb?” she demanded.
“Bless you, no!” answered Horval. “It’s true as she don’t talk much, but she can use her tongue in nigger fashion. Why do you ask?”
“She said she was dumb when she pawned the beads.”
“Oh, that was ‘cause she was too ‘cute to let her voice betray her,” replied Horval, smiling. He had humor enough to note Hagar’s uncon- scious bull; but as she was likely to be useful to him in the conduct of the case, he did not wish to anger her by remarking on it.
When Miss Lyle made her appearance, Hagar, after the manner of women, took immediate note of her looks and manner. The old maid was tall and lean and yellow, with cold gray eyes, and a thin-lipped, hard-tempered mouth, turned down at the curves. Her iron-gray hair was drawn tightly off her narrow forehead and screwed into a hard-looking knob behind. She wore a black stuff gown, somber and lusterless; collar and cuffs of white linen, and cloth slippers, in which she glided noiselessly. Altogether an unpromising, hard woman, acidulated and narrow-minded, who looked disapprovingly on the rich beauty of Hagar, and remarked her graces with a jaundiced eye and a vinegary look. The cough with which she ended her inspection showed that she con- demned the girl at first sight.
“Is this young person necessary to your conduct of the case?” said Miss Lyle, addressing herself to Horval, and ignoring Hagar altogether.
“Why, yes, miss,” replied Horval, on whom the antagonistic attitude of the two women was not lost. “She keeps the pawn-shop at which Rosa pawned the beads!”
Miss Lyle gave a start of virtuous horror, and her thin lips wreathed in a viperous smile. “The wretch did kill my poor friend, then,” she said in a soft and fluty voice. “I knew it!”
“She pawned the amber beads, Miss Lyle, but ——”
“Now, don’t say the wretch didn’t kill my martyred friend,” snapped Miss Lyle, going to the bell-rope; ” but we’ll have her in, and perhaps this young person will recognize her as the viper who pawned the beads.”
“It is to be hoped so,” said Hagar, very dryly, not approving of being spoken at in the third person; “but the regress kept her face turned away, and I might not ——”
“It is your duty to recognize her,” exclaimed Miss Lyle, addressing herself to the girl for once. “I am convinced that Rosa is a dangerous criminal. Here she is—the black Jezebel!”
As the last word fell from her mouth the
door opened, and Rosa entered the room, whereat Hagar uttered an exclamation of surprise. This regress was rather short, and more than a trifle stout. It is true that she wore a yellow dress trimmed with black jet beading; that silver ornaments were on her neck and wrists; also that she was without the wonderful hat. Still, Hagar was surprised, and explained her ejaculation forthwith.
“That is not the woman who pawned the beads!” she declared, rising.
“Not the woman?” echoed Miss Lyle, virulently. “She must be! This is Rosa!”
“Yis, yis! I Rosa,” said the negress, beginning to weep, “but I no kill my poo’ dear missy. Dat one big lie.”
“Are you sure, miss, that this is not the woman?” asked Horval, rather dismayed.
Hagar stepped forward, and looked sharply at the sobbing negress up and down. Then she glanced at the woman’s hands and shook her head.
“I am prepared to swear in a court of law that this is not the woman,” she said, quietly.
“Rubbish, rubbish!” cried Miss Lyle, flushing. “Rosa coveted the necklace, as it was connected with some debased African superstition, and ——”
“It one ole fetish!” interrupted Rosa, her eyes sparkling fire at the old maid, “and ole missy she did wish to gib it me, but you no let her.”
“Certainly not!” said Miss Lyle, with dignity. “The necklace was not fit for you to wear. And because I persuaded Mrs. Arryford not to give it to you, you murdered her, you wretch! Down on your knees, woman, and confess!”
“I no ‘fess!” exclaimed the terrified negress. “I no kill my missy! I no gib dose amber beads for money. If dose beads mine, I keep dem; dey a mighty big fetish, for sure!”
“One moment,” said Horval, as Miss Lyle was about to speak again, “let us conduct this inquiry calmly, and give the accused every chance Miss,” he said, turning to Hagar, “on what day, at what time, was it that the beads were pawned?”
Hagar calculated rapidly, and answered promptly: “On the evening of the 23d of August, between six and seven o’clock.”