Hagar of the Pawn-Shop

by Fergus Hume

  “I have no doubt you wondered at receiving a letter from a pawn-shop,” she said, abruptly.

  “I confess I did,” he replied, quietly: “but because you mentioned that you had my casket I came. It is here, you say?”

  Hagar took the silver box off a near shelf, and placed it on the table before him. “It was pawned here two weeks ago,” she said, quietly. “I lent thirteen pounds; so, if you give me that sum and the month’s interest, you can have it.”

  Without a word Lord Averley counted out the thirteen pounds, but he had to ask her what the interest was. Hagar told him, and in a few moments the transaction was concluded. Then Averley spoke.

  “How did you know it was my casket?”

  “The man who pawned it told me so.”

  “That was strange.”

  “Not at all, my lord. I made him tell me.”

  “H’m! you look clever,” said Averley, looking at her with interest. “May I ask the name of the man who pawned this?”

  “Certainly. He was your valet, John Peters.”

  “Peters!” echoed her visitor. “Oh, you must be mistaken! Peters is an honest man!”

  “He is a scoundrel and a thief, Lord Averley; and but for me he would have been a blackmailer.”

  “A blackmailer?”

  “Yes. There were letters in that casket.”

  “Were letters!” said Averley, hurriedly, and drew the box towards him. “Do you know the secret?”

  “Yes; I found the secret recess and the letters. It was lucky for you that I did so. Your indiscreet speech to a friend informed Peters that compromising letters were hidden in the casket. He came here to find them; but I had already removed them.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “I gave them back to the married woman who wrote them.”

  “How did you know who wrote them?” asked Lord Averley, raising his eyebrows.

  “I read one of the letters, and then Peters told me the name of the lady. He proposed to me to blackmail her. I ostensibly agreed, and went to see the lady, to whom I gave back the letters. I asked you here to-night to return the casket; also to put you on your guard against John Peters. He is coming to see me to-morrow, to get—as he thinks— the money obtained by means of the letters. That is the whole story.”

  “It’s a queer one,” replied Averley, smiling. “I shall certainly discharge Peters, but I won’t prosecute him for thieving. He knows about the letters, and they are far too dangerous to be brought into court.”

  “They are not dangerous now, my lord. I have given them back to the woman who wrote them.”

  “That was very good of you,” said Averley, satirically. “May I ask the name of the lady?”

  “Surely you know! Mrs. Delamere.”

  Averley looked aghast for a moment, and then began to laugh quietly. “My dear young lady,” he said, as soon as he could bring his mirth within bounds, “would it not have been better to have consulted me before giving back those letters?”

  “No,” said Hagar, boldly, “for you might not have handed them over.”

  “Certainly I should not have handed them to Mrs. Delamere!” said Averley, with a fresh burst of laughter.

  “Why not?”

  “Because she never wrote them. My dear lady, I burnt all the letters I got from Mrs. Delamere, and I told her I had done so. The letters in this casket signed “Beatrice” were from a different lady altogether. I shall have to see Mrs. Delamere. She’ll never forgive me. Oh, what a comedy!” and he began laughing again.

  Hagar was annoyed. She had acted for the best, no doubt; but she had given the letters to the wrong woman. Shortly the humor of the mistake struck her also, and she laughed in concert with Lord Averley.

  “I’m sorry I made a mistake,” she said, at length.

  “You couldn’t help it,” replied Averley rising. “It was that scoundrel Peters who put you wrong. But I’ll discharge him to-morrow, and get those letters of Beatrice back from Mrs. Delamere.”

  “And you’ll leave that poor little woman alone,” said Hagar, as she escorted him to the door.

  “My dear lady, now that Mrs. Delamere has read those letters she’ll leave me alone—severely. She’ll never forgive me. Good-night. Oh, me, what a comedy!”

  Lord Averley went off, casket and all. Peters never came back to get his share of the blackmail, so Hagar supposed he had learnt from his master what she had done. As to Mrs. Delamere, Hagar often wondered what she said when she read those letters signed “Beatrice.” But only Lord Averley could have told her that and Hagar never saw him again; nor did she ever see Peters the blackmailer. Finally, she never set eyes again on the Cinque Cento Florentine casket which had contained the love-letters of—the wrong woman.

  CHAPTER XI. THE TENTH CUSTOMER AND THE PERSIAN RING.

  ONE of the last customers of any note who came to the Lambeth pawn-shop was a slender, wiry man with an Oriental face, not unlike that of Hagar herself. His countenance was oval, his nose aquiline in shape, and he possessed two dark sparkling eyes; also a long black beard, well trimmed and well kept. In fact, this beard was the neatest thing about him, as his dress—a European garb—was miserably poor, and the purple-hued cloth which he had twisted round his head for a turban was worn and soiled. He was nevertheless a striking figure when he presented himself before Hagar, and she examined him with particular interest. There was a gipsy look about the tenth customer, which seemed to stamp him as one of the gentle Romany. Even keen eyed Hagar was deceived.

  “Are you of our people?” she asked, abruptly, after looking at him for a moment or so.

  “I do not understand,” replied the man, in very good English, but with a foreign accent. “What people you speak of?”

  “The Romany—the gipsy tribes.”

  “No, lady; I no of dem. I know what they are—oh, yes, they in my own country as in dis.”

  “Where is your country?” demanded Hagar, vexed at her mistake.

  “Iran; wheat you call Persia,” replied the customer. “My name, lady, is Alee; I come from Ispahan dese two year. Oh, yes; a long time I do stop in dis town.”

  “A Persian!” said Hagar, looking at his swarthy face and delicate features. “I don’t think I ever saw a Persian before. You are very like one of the Romany; not at all like a Gentile.”

  “Lady, I no Gentile, I no Christian; I am follower ob de Prophet. May his name be blessed! But dis not what I do come to speak,” he added, with some impatience. “You give money on ring, eh!”

  “Let me see the ring first,” said Hagar, diplomatically.

  Alee, as he called himself, slipped the ring in question off one of his slender brown fingers, and handed it to her in silence. It was a band of dead gold, rather broad, and set in it was an oval turquoise of azure hue, marked with Arabic letters in gold. The ring had the look of a talisman or amulet, as the queer hieroglyphics on the stone seemed the words of some charm, stamped thereon to avert evil. Hagar examined the ring carefully, as she had never seen one like it before.

  “It is a queer stone,” she said, after looking through a magnifying glass at the turquoise. “What do you want on it?”

  “One pound?” replied Alee, promptly; “just for two—tree days. Eh, what! you give me dat?”

  “Oh, yes; I think the ring is worth five times as much. Here is the money; I’ll make out the ticket in your name of Alee. How do you spell it?”

  The Persian took the ticket from Hagar, and in very fair English letters wrote down his name and address. Then with a bow he turned to leave the shop; but before he reached the door she called him back.

  “I say. Alee, what do these gold marks on this stone mean?”

  “Dey Arabic letters, lady. Dey a spell against de Jinns. ‘In de name ob Allah de All-Merciful.’ Dat what dem letters say.”

  “They say a good deal with a word or two,” muttered Hagar. “Arabic must be something like shorthand. When do you want back the ring?” she asked, aloud.

  �
��In two—tree days,” replied the Persian. “Say dis week. Yes. Good night, lady; you keep dat ring all right. Yes. So.”

  Alee took himself out of the shop with another bow, and Hagar, after a further examination of the queer ring with its talismanic inscription, put it away on a tray with other jewels. She wondered very much if it had a story attached to it; and, having read the “Arabian Nights” of late, she compared it in her own mind to the ring of Aladdin. It looked like a jewel with a history, did that inscribed turquoise.

  In the afternoon of the next day another Persian arrived. Hagar recognized him as such from his resemblance to Alee; indeed, but for the difference in expression the two men might have passed for twins. Alee had a soft look in his eyes, a melancholy twist to his mouth; while this countryman of his had a hawk-like and dangerous fierceness stamped on his lean face. He was dressed similarly to Alee, but wore a yellow turban instead of a purple one, and gave his name to Hagar as Mohommed; also, he took out of his pocket the pawn-ticket, which he handed to the girl.

  “Alee, my countryman, he send dis,” said he, in broken but very fair English; “he want de ring which he leave here.”

  “Why doesn’t he come for it himself?” asked Hagar, suspiciously.

  “Alee ill; him bery bad; he ask me to get de ring. But if you no gib me—why, I tell Alee; he come himself den.”

  “Oh, there is no necessity for him to do so,” replied Hagar, getting the ring. “You would not have the ticket with you if everything was not square. Here is Alee’s property. One pound and interest. Thank you, Mr. Mohommed. By the way, you are a friend of Alee?”

  “Yis; I come to dis place when he come,” replied Mohommed, passively, “him very great frien’ of me. Two year we in dis land.”

  “Both of you speak English very well.”

  “Tank you, yes; we learn our Inglees in Persia for long time; and when we here we spike always—always. Goot-tay; I do take dis to Alee.”

  “I say,” called out Hagar, “has that ring a story?”

  “What, dis? I no know. Him charm against de Jinn; but dat’s all. Goot-day; I go queek to Alee. Goot-day.”

  He went away with the ring on his finger, leaving Hagar disappointed that the strange jewel with its golden letters had not some wild tale attached to it. However, the ring was gone, and she never expected to hear anything more of it, or of the two Persians. A week passed, and no Alee made his appearance; so Hagar concluded that everything was right, and that he had really sent Mohommed to redeem the ring. On the eighth day of its redemption she was undeceived, for Alee himself made his appearance in the shop. Hagar was surprised to see him.

  The poor man looked ill, and his brown face was terribly lean and worn in its looks. An expression of anxiety lurked in his soft black eyes, and he could hardly command his voice as he asked her to give him the ring. The request was so unexpected that Hagar could only stare at him in silence. It was a moment or so before she could find words.

  “The ring!” she said, in tones of astonishment. “Why, you have it! Did not your friend Mohommed give it ——”

  “Mohommed!” cried Alee, clenching his hands; and the next moment he had fallen insensible on the outer floor of the shop. The single mention of the name Mohommed in connection with the ring had stricken the poor Persian to the heart. His entrance, his behavior, his fainting — all three were unexpected and inexplicable.

  Recovering from her first surprise, Hagar ran to the assistance of the fallen man. He was soon revived by the application of cold water, and when he could rise Hagar, like the Good Samaritan she was, conducted him into the back parlor and made him lie down on the sofa. But more than ordinary weakness was the matter with the man; he was suffering from want of food, and told Hagar faintly that he had eaten nothing for two days. At once the girl set victuals before him, and warmed some soup to nourish him. Alee ate sparingly but well; and although he refused to touch wine, as a follower of the Prophet, he soon became stronger and more cheerful. His gratitude to Hagar knew no bounds.

  “You are as charitable as Fatima, the daughter ob our Lord Mohommed,” said he, gratefully, “and your good deed, it will be talked ob by de angel Gabriel on de Las’ Day.”

  “How is it you are so poor?” asked Hagar, restive under this praise.

  “Ah, lady, dat is one big long story.”

  “Connected with the ring?”

  “Yes, yes; dat ring would haf mate me reech,” replied the Persian, with a sigh; “but now dat weeked one vill git my moneys. Aha!” said Alee, furiously, “dat Mohommed is de son ob a burnt fazzer!”

  “He is a scoundrel certainly! How did he get the pawn-ticket?”

  “He took it away when I ill.”

  “Why did he want the ring?”

  Alee reflected for a moment, and then he evidently made up his mind what course to pursue. “I weel tell you, lady,” he said, looking with thankful eyes at Hagar. “You haf been good to me. I weel tell you de story ob my life—ob de ring.”

  “I knew that ring had some story connected with it,” said Hagar, complacently. “Go on, Alee; I am all attention.”

  The Persian obeyed forthwith; but, as his English was imperfect at times, it will be as well to set forth the story in the vernacular. Being still weak, it took Alee some time to tell the whole tale; but Hagar heard him patiently to the end. His narrative was not without interest.

  “I was born in Ispahan,” said the Persian, in his grave voice, “and I am a Mirza—what you call here a prince—in my own country. My father was an officer of the Shah’s household, and very wealthy. When he died I, as his only son, inherited his wealth. I was young, rich, and not at all bad-looking, so I expected to lead a pleasant life. The Shah, who had protected my father, continued the sun of his favor to me; and I accompanied him to the Court at Teheran, where I speedily became high in his favor. But alas!” added Alee, in the flowery language of his country, “soon did I cover the face of pleasure with the veil of mourning, and ride the horse of folly into the country of sorrow.” He paused, and then added, with a sigh: “Her name was Ayesha.”

  “Ah!” said Hagar, the cynic. “I was waiting to hear the name of the woman. She ruined you, I suppose?”

  “She and another,” sighed Alee, stroking his beard. “I melted like wax in the flame of her beauty, and my heart turned to water at the glance of her eyes. She was Georgian, and fairer than the chief wife of Sulieman bin Daoud. But alas! alas! what saith Sa’adi; ‘Wed a charmer and wed sorrow!’”

  “Well,” said Hagar, rather patiently, “I know all about her looks. Go on with the story.”

  “On my head be it!” said Alee. “I purchased this Georgian in Ispahan, and made her my third wife; but so lovely and clever she was, that I speedily raised her to the rank of the first. I adored her beauty, and marveled at her wit. She sang like a bulbul, and danced like a Peri.”

  “She seems to have been a wonder, Alee! Go on.”

  “There was a man called Achmet, who hated me very much,” continued Alee, his eyes lighting up fiercely at the mention of the name. “He saw that I was rich, and favored by the King of Kings, so he set his wits to work to ruin me. Having heard of my beautiful wife Ayesha, he told the Shah of her loveliness, which was that of a houri in Paradise. Fired by the description, my Sovereign visited at my house, and I received him with due splendor. He saw all my treasures—among others, my wife.”

  “I thought you Turks never presented your wives to strangers?”

  “We are Persians, not Turks,” corrected Alee, quietly, “and the Shah is no stranger in the houses of his subjects. Also, he has the right to pass the forbidden door to the Abode of Felicity.”

  “What is the Abode of Felicity?”

  “The harem, lady. But to tell you the story of my ruin.

  “The Shah saw my beautiful Ayesha, and her burning glances were as arrows of delight in his heart. He returned to his palace with a desire to possess my treasure. Achmet, who had right of access to the person of the Shah,
strengthened this desire, and declared that I was unhappy with Ayesha.”

  “And were you?”

  Alee sighed. “After the coming of the King of Kings I was,” he confessed. “My wife wished to enter the royal harem, and warm herself in the glory of the royal sun. She was silent and melancholy, or cross and fierce. I did what I could to console her, but she refused to listen to me, treated me as dirt beneath her feet, and sometimes she even smote me on the mouth with her pearl-embroidered slipper. Tales of our constant quarrels were carried to the Shah by the perfidious Achmet who declared that I ill-treated my beautiful Georgian. At last Achmet told the King that I had wished I were rid of the woman, if only for the meanest jewel worn by his august self.”

  “Did you say that?”

  “In a fit of rage one day I said something like it,” said Alee, darkly; “but I never intended my foolish speech to be taken seriously. However these idle words were reported to the Shah, and he sent for me. ‘Alee,’ said he, ‘it has been said that thou deemest the meanest thing worn by us of more value than your wife Ayesha. If that be so, take this ring, which we give thee freely, and surrender thy lightly-valued wife to dwell in the shadow of our throne. Thou hast my leave to go.’ Lady, I bowed myself to the ground, I took the ring you know of, and I went.”

  “Did you not say that you wished to keep Ayesha?”

  “No; the word of the Shah is law. Had I expressed such a wish I should have lost my head; as it was, I lost my wife. Returning home, I made known the Shah’s desire, and urged her to fly with me beyond his power. Desirous of entering the royal serail, however, she refused, and so I carried her off by force. I drugged her one night, placed her on a camel, and set out for the nearest seaport disguised as a merchant.”