The Victorian Villains Megapack

by Arthur Morrison

  “Pardon my intrusion at so late an hour,” Pringle apologized in his most insinuating tones; “but will you allow me to consult an Encyclopaedia?”

  The doctor courteously referred Pringle to a revolving bookcase and watched him curiously, as with the volume open at a plate of Lacertilia, he sat glancing from it every now and again to something in his hand, which he examined through a Coddington magnifier.

  “I feel,” said Pringle at length as he returned the volume to its place, “that I owe you an apology for making use of you in this very unceremonious fashion, especially when I tell you that I come here under false pretences.”

  “False pretences! I hardly follow you, Mr. Coatbridge,” said the doctor stiffly.

  “To make a long story short, I am not Mr. Coatbridge, although I am told I resemble him greatly. My real name is Pringle—here is my card, and I am a literary agent in London.” He did not think it necessary to add the information that his agency was a sinecure!

  The doctor rose abruptly, dropping the conversation-tube in his agitation. Pringle sprang forward to recover it, but was majestically motioned away by the old gentleman, and the two stood facing one another.

  “I don’t know, sir,” began the doctor very slowly and deliberately, “on what ethical grounds you can justify your extraordinary conduct; under a false name, and assuming a false interest in an unfortunate man, you have succeeded in involving me in a very serious breach of professional etiquette.”

  “Excuse me,” said Pringle, seizing the free end of the tube as the doctor paused in his somewhat pompous admonition; “I never assumed any name! I was not responsible for the innkeeper’s mistake. I tried to explain to you this morning that I knew nothing of what you were talking about, but could not make you understand, and I have come now partly to explain matters, and partly to tell you that I have just left Mr. Windrush.”

  “Mr. Windrush! What your motives may be, sir, I cannot imagine, but if I may judge them from your mode of procedure they are of a nature that will scarcely bear investigation.”

  “I am painfully aware,” said Pringle, “that my conduct must appear liable to misconstruction, but all I ask is that you bear with me for a moment. A mere accident has led me to think that Mr. Windrush has been the victim of a conspiracy to declare him insane, and this appears to me to be the work of the chief person to benefit by its success Percy Windrush!”

  “May I ask where you acquired this information, which appears to seriously affect my professional character?”

  “After you left this morning, I went for a sail on the Broad. The landlord’s son said he had been in Mr. Windrush’s service, and in the course of conversation he made statements—”

  “And do you mean to tell me, sir, that you are relying on the chatter of an ignorant bumpkin like that!”

  “He only suggested a line of thought, and the more I speculated upon it, the stronger grew my suspicions.”

  “I really am not prepared to go into the matter with you,” returned the doctor icily; “but what I should like to know is how you gained access to Mr. Windrush? I may tell you that as legal difficulties arose in connection with the management of the estate, there was an ‘inquisition’ or inquiry before a Master in Lunacy with a jury, and by them Mr. Windrush was declared insane, and irresponsible. He then became the ward of the Lord Chancellor, and any interference with him is likely to be severely dealt with!”

  “To confirm my theory of the case,” said Pringle, “it was absolutely necessary that I should have an interview with him. As I appear to be so like his friend Coatbridge, it occurred to me that I would, just for that single occasion, assume his name. I was thus admitted to see him, and, as a result, I have now no doubt whatever that Percy was in the habit of introducing snakes and other animals which he had coated with luminous paint and so on, into John’s bed-room. That explains his solicitude for his brother, shown by his sleeping in the next room, and the boy said that John only became queer after Percy’s arrival.”

  “But how do you account for the visions still appearing?” inquired the doctor cautiously.

  “Of course they do!” cried Pringle. “And they’ll continue to appear so long as he remains under Dr. Fernhurst’s care.”

  “What! Do you say that Dr. Fernhurst is concerned in the plot as well?”

  “I know it! When I got to Axford this morning he was out—very luckily, as it happened! I gained Windrush’s confidence after a little explanation; especially when he saw that I didn’t ridicule his having seen some fiery animal last night, and then I got him to take me to the theatre of the apparitions, I managed to get rid of the attendant, and so had a good look round. As I anticipated, the room communicates with the doctor’s own room, and under the bed I found this trace of the fiery object he saw.” Pringle laid on the table his book of cigarette-papers, and carefully placing in his palm a morsel of what appeared to be one of the leaves, handed Toddington the magnifier, and motioned him to inspect the object through it.

  “This,” said Pringle, “appears to be a flake of cuticle such as lizards are periodically casting, and the lines on it correspond to those found on the head of the common green lizard. Now the Encyclopaedia, which I just consulted in case my memory was misleading me, gives this marking as a means of differentiating the species; therefore I know it was a common green lizard which Windrush saw in his room last night!”

  “But I thought you said he told you it was fiery?”

  “Turn down the light, please, while I reverse the scale. Thanks! Now look over here.” Without the lamp the room was quite dark, and, as the doctor looked, a faint shimmering glow from the direction of Pringle’s hand gradually dawned on his gaze.

  “Will that satisfy you?” asked Pringle exultingly.

  “Wonderful!” exclaimed the other in admiration; “you must really allow me to apologize for anything I may have said to hurt your feelings. But you will understand, if you put yourself in my place, how particularly unpleasant it was to find I had been discussing the private affairs of a patient and a friend with a stranger.”

  “I quite understand,” said Pringle cordially. “But the question now is, how we can help Windrush?”

  “I am afraid the others are too strong for us. Percy Windrush is his brother’s committee, the person appointed to manage his affairs, and the other member of the committee with whom the charge of his person rests is Dr. Fernhurst. They have got it all their own way, I fear. As you say, he is never likely to recover as long as he remains in their hands. It would be no use calling the attention of the Lord Chancellor to your discoveries, and to help him to escape would be a criminal offence.”

  “That’s no good at all,” decided Pringle. “Percy is playing a very deep game, and this Fernhurst must be as thorough-paced a scoundrel as he, and no doubt gets well paid for his share of the work. No; the only thing to do is to take the bull by the horns, and frighten the pair of them out of the country! Then the ‘hallucinations’ will disappear, and Windrush can be officially declared of sound mind.”

  “I don’t much like the idea,” Toddington objected.

  “There’s nothing else to be done. Where’s your evidence? Moral proof is not legal proof. Suppose you took proceedings and failed, as you would, for want of evidence, you’d be confronted with any amount of actions for libel and what not. No, no! You let me have all the documents in the case and any letters of Fernhurst’s you have, and I’ll see if I can’t work on their terrors.”

  And when Pringle departed, his pockets bulged with a miscellaneous collection of documents.

  A day or two after, as Mr. Percy Windrush was sitting in his chambers, he was informed that a messenger from Dr. Fernhurst was waiting to see him.

  “What does he want?” he asked.

  “He wouldn’t tell me, sir,” replied the servant. “He says his message is for you only, and very important.”

 
“Bring him up then,” and Percy began to bite his nails. As managing his brother’s estate he had let Thorpe Stanlowe, himself retiring to chambers in Piccadilly, where he lived as much a Sybarite as his somewhat gross ideals permitted.

  “What’s the matter?” he snapped, as the messenger, a spruce young man with side-whiskers, entered the room.

  “Dr. Fernhurst told me to give you this letter, sir, and await your reply,” he said with a respectful bow.

  Percy opened the letter in some trepidation, and read:—

  Axford, July 25.

  Dear Percy,

  I send this by my chief attendant (Bonting), as I must have an answer this afternoon. Jenkinson, the attendant I selected for John, as not being too ’cute, came home drunk last night, and when I reprimanded him, got very cheeky before some of the others, so I sacked him on the spot. This morning he asked to see me privately concerning John, and then told me he knew all about it! He said he didn’t mind leaving, as he wanted to join his brother at the new gold-fields of Adansi; but, unless I would give him £500 down, he would split to the L.C.’s visitor. I can’t think how he got to know, but he said enough to show he does know, so there seems no help for it. Fortunately he agrees to go by the mail which leaves in a couple of days, and I hear most people leave their bodies at Adansi—even if their spirits return! Bonting will see him safely off. Please give Bonting the cash in small notes. A cheque will only lead to delay and possible complications.

  Yours in haste,

  Arthur Fernhurst.

  Having read this letter, Windrush scanned it closely, as if hoping to read into it another meaning than that which appeared on the surface.

  “The doctor was rather in a hurry when he wrote this?” he remarked at length.

  “I didn’t see him write it, sir, but I know that he was rather upset this morning.”

  Windrush hastily scribbled a note, and enclosing a cheque in it, rang the bell. “James,” to the servant, “take this round to the Bank, and bring me back the answer as soon as possible.”

  “What had upset the doctor then?” he continued.

  “Why, sir, I’m sorry to say that Mr. Windrush’s attendant got drunk, and was very insolent to the doctor yesterday, so he dismissed him. But as he wants to go out to Africa, the doctor has very kindly helped him to a passage.”

  “Ah, very kind of the doctor, to be sure!” remarked Percy dryly. “I don’t remember your face; have you been long with Dr. Fernhurst?”

  “Not a great while, sir.”

  Percy again took up his pen. He was not a very ready correspondent, and sucked the holder for a minute or so between each sentence, so that it was only as the servant returned from the Bank that he finished his letter. Taking the packet, he enclosed it with the letter in a stout envelope, and handed it to Dr. Fernhurst’s messenger.

  “Be as quick as you can back,” he said. “The doctor wants this as soon as possible, but be careful; its contents are valuable.”

  Pringle, for it was he, retired with a sense of having satisfactorily played the first hand in his game of bluff. He congratulated himself that his powers of penmanship had not deteriorated. True, Percy had detected a change in what purported to be Fernhurst’s writing, but then that was explained by his presumed agitation at the time. Ah, they would both, in sober truth, be agitated before they were much older! Lucky he had secured some stamped paper when he was at the Asylum! Matters wouldn’t have been quite so simple if old Toddington had refused to part with the correspondence. And as he passed eastward on an omnibus, Pringle opened Percy’s letter, and having carefully pocketed the bank-notes, read with much satisfaction—

  Dear Fernhurst,

  I enclose fifty tenners as you ask, but you must distinctly understand this sort of thing can’t go on. If you had only been careful, the brute could never have blackmailed me like this, I shall have to knock it off your next few cheques, as my balance will be nearly gone. Look out whom you choose to mind John, in future. Better come and see me as soon as you have got rid of Jenkinson and matters have shaken down a bit.

  Yours, Percy.

  Arrived at his chambers at Furnival’s Inn, Mr. Pringle’s first care was to dispense with his whiskers and resume his official port-wine mark. Then he devoted the rest of the day to the concoction of two letters which would fire the train he had just laid. This was the first:—

  Axford.

  Dear Windrush,

  I packed Jenkinson off with his five hundred pounds the day but one after Bonting saw you. When he had gone I took a look round his room, and found some tom-up paper which I had the curiosity to piece together. The skunk seems to have been playing a double game. So far as I could make out he has told old Toddington, and there was something about payment for making a statutory declaration for a warrant for conspiracy! Whatever this means, I think it better to take a holiday at your expense. Join me at Grand Hotel, Paris.

  In haste, yours,

  Arthur Fernhurst.

  And this the second:

  Dear Fernhurst,

  Communicate with me through “Standard,” col. 2. I leave for the Continent at once, and should advise you to ditto. Just discovered that old Toddington has got wind of everything, and employed a detective who saw John the other day when you were out. T. intends to apply for warrant for conspiracy You can join me in Paris in a few days, when we can see how matters are going.

  Yours,

  Percy.

  * * * *

  “The flowers are beautiful,” commented Pringle. “It was certainly very kind of Mr. Windrush to send them all this way. Is this your first visit to London?”

  “Farst time, sir; an’ beggin’ yar pardon, it bates me how people live here. Fared’s ef I couldn’t brathe in them streets.”

  “So you’re back in Mr. Windrush’s service?” said Pringle, as he finished his note of thanks.

  “O—o, I were rale glad to get back agin to th’ oo’d place! I could ha’ jumped outer my skin when master asked me to come back’s head-gardener. I felt that horrud shut in th’ bar all day, an’ fawther were a-gettin’ tired o’ doin’ nothin’ and thought he’d like te work for a yare or tew more.”

  “But I thought the place was let.”

  “They went oof end o’ las month. Master wouldn’t ’new th’ lease, as he were a-livin’ ’long o’ Dr. Toddington till they went.”

  “Then things are just as they were before?”

  “Same ivery way, sir—’ceptin’ won!” The youth grinned knowingly.

  “What’s that?”

  “Mr. Percy! Thorpe Stanlowe’ll see him noo more. I hard he’d gone abroad fur fear they’d put him in Norwich Castle fur makin’ tew free with th’ money while master were ’way. Guilty conscience most-like!”

  “Very probably!” agreed Pringle. “Then I shan’t find you at the inn if I come down for any more yachting.”

  “Oo, fawther’ll be glad to see yew an’ len’ yew th’ cutter. Thank yew kindly, sir—my best respec’s te yew, sir!”

  Romney Pringle in THE PASTE DIAMONDS

  Mr. Romney Pringle was hunting through a portfolio of engravings in the afternoon.

  One of the old prints which lightened the warm distemper of the sitting-room walls had just been summarily displaced. The cord breaking, it had reached the floor a complete wreck, a flower-bowl overturned in the descent having poured its cascade across the broken glass to the utter ruin of the print beneath. A substitute was required, and finding a worthy successor in a ‘Diogenes’ of Salvator Rosa, engraved in laborious but beautiful line, Pringle was about to replace the portfolio when there came a knock at the outer door. Rising, he admitted a tall, slightly-stooping, grey-haired gentleman of spare habit, who seized his unresisting hand and shook it warmly.

  “Why, surely you haven’t forgotten me!” exclaimed the stranger, desisting as he observed
a stony expression to gather over the face of his host. Pringle started, while his features relaxed into the winning smile which so ably seconded the magnetism of his address.

  “What! Can it be Mr. Windrush?”

  “Why, of course it is! But how stupid of me!—I ought to have remembered that you’ve only met me once before, and at that time I looked rather different from what I am now.”

  “Not so very different,” was Pringle’s tactful reply. “You certainly bore up manfully under a strain which would have crushed most people.”

  “Ah, that miserable Asylum! I shall never forget it, nor the way I was made to appear insane. And above all, I shall never forget the noble manner in which you worked for my release after you discovered the villainy of my brother and his accomplice.”

  “You have already thanked me beyond my deserts. Pray let us talk of something else. How kind of you to come and visit me!”

  “Well, you’ve never come and seen me all this time, so I came to see if you were still alive!”

  “You see my time is so much occupied with my work as a literary agent that my visits to any friends are necessarily angelic,” and Pringle, with calm mendacity, waved his hands towards the empty bureau.

  “Well, I’ve come now to ask your advice, and, if you can suggest it, your help.”

  “If you think my advice worth having, I shall be only too pleased to give it to you, but I’m afraid you rather over-rate my powers.”

  “Ah, I see you’ve all the modesty of true genius. But I won’t waste time with compliments. Well now, a cousin of mine lives near me; her husband is head of one of the oldest families in our county, and I have always been on very affectionate terms with her. Well, I’m sorry to say she has lately got in with a rather fast set, and being in pressing need of about a thousand pounds, she took a very fine diamond star, which is a sort of family heirloom, to some West-end jewellers who do that sort of thing, and got an advance, and as she didn’t want her husband to know anything about it, she got these people to make her a facsimile in paste. About a week or two ago, she found the central stone had dropped out. The jewellers said they couldn’t replace it in under a week, and she was at her wit’s end, for they were entertaining a party of friends, and her husband would have wondered if she had never worn the diamonds all the time. Well, the jewellers suggested letting her have the real star, on hire for fifty pounds, until the sham stone was replaced, but they insisted on her giving them a cheque for the thousand they had lent her with interest, they agreeing to hold it over and return it to her when she returned the real diamonds. So she wore the star once or twice for the look of the thing, and then put it away. After the party broke up yesterday, she found to her horror the jewel-case was empty. She says it had been opened at the hinges.”