by Libi Astaire
The pawnbroker knew perfectly well what the General was referring to, but he also played his part. “I may have some in the back. Would you care to come with me and see them? Mind your head, sir. The doorway is a bit low.”
When they were in the pawnbroker’s back room, the man’s manner made an abrupt change. “What’s this about, General? Who’s after the goods?”
“Calm down. It’s just a little private business. I need one of them back.”
“It’s lucky for you I haven’t yet sent them to be melted down,” said the pawnbroker, placing a strongbox on the table. “Which one is it?”
The General was about to reach into the box, when the pawnbroker stopped him. “You keep your fingers to yourself, General. Just point out the one you want.”
For the second time that day the General felt it was most unfair that people were still assuming the worst of him when for once he was trying to do good. But he brushed aside his hurt feelings and fixed his attention upon the shiny gold objects sitting in the iron box. “It’s that one, I think,” he said. “Show me the seal.”
The pawnbroker turned the fob upside down to reveal the insignia engraved into the carnelian agate stone. Above the family crest were a half moon and three stars.
“That’s the one,” said the General.
Before returning to his own home, Mr. Melamed stopped by the Krinkle home on Duke’s Street to make sure that Berel had not turned up in the meantime. One of the Earl’s boys had been posted there, and he assured Mr. Melamed that the child had not come home. As Mr. Melamed was descending the stairs, a door opened and an elderly woman looked out.
“What has happened, Mr. Melamed? Where are the Krinkle children?”
“I shall explain another time, Mrs. Hutner,” he replied, not wishing to enter into a lengthy conversation with the woman.
“I knew this would happen,” she called after him.
Mr. Melamed stopped and turned back to her. “You knew what would happen?”
“I saw the boy with General Well’ngone. I knew what would happen if those children were left to run wild. Which prison are they in?”
“None that I know of. Good day.”
When he did reach his home, General Well’ngone was waiting for him.
“I showed the General into the library,” said his butler. “I hope that was the right thing to do, sir.”
Mr. Melamed nodded his assent and then went to the library, where he found General Well’ngone studying a globe of the world.
“It is a big world, is it not?” he said to the General.
“We’re lucky we don’t have to go looking for Mr. Krinkle in Africa.”
“Yes, I suppose you are right. Did you find the fob?”
General Well’ngone handed over the fob seal. Mr. Melamed glanced at it for a moment, before putting it in his pocket.
“What is your opinion, General Well’ngone? Shall we find Berel Krinkle?”
“Between you and me, Mr. Melamed, it doesn’t look good. It’s not as though he is one of my boys and hiding from the law. A boy like that would know of a dozen places where he could safely hide for a few days.”
“Yet he must be somewhere. And since the Thames is frozen solid, at least we know he cannot be at the bottom of the river, thank God.”
“I don’t like to say it, but it looks like he must have been snatched away. I’ve heard tales about boys being snatched and then sold to people who don’t have any children of their own, or being sold to a chimney sweeper who needs a climbing boy. Though I suppose that happens usually to the younger boys. Mr. Krinkle is already too big to climb up a chimney.”
Mr. Melamed agreed, but this was cold comfort. A boy might also be sold to a shoemaker or taken out of London and sold as a farm laborer.
The entrance of his butler interrupted these unhappy thoughts.
“A Mr. Lennox wishes to see you, sir.”
Mr. Melamed was surprised, but not displeased. “Bring him in.”
“Shall I leave?” asked General Well’ngone.
“No, but stay by the globe. And do not say anything, unless I speak to you.”
Mr. Melamed was standing by the hearth when Mr. Lennox entered the library.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Melamed.”
“Not at all. May I offer you some refreshments?”
“I am afraid this is not a social visit. I am afraid …” Mr. Lennox glanced down at the small hatbox he was holding in his hands. “I am afraid I have rather bad news for you, sir.”
“Won’t you at least sit down?”
Mr. Lennox shook his head. “I prefer not to. What I have to say is … Well, let me just say it. As you may have noticed, my uncle is not quite right in the head. In fact, I was forced to have him put under lock and key this afternoon in a private lunatic asylum. That was the physician’s appointment I mentioned during your visit. Of course, my uncle did not know the true nature of the appointment. Otherwise, he would not have gone there willingly.”
“I am very sorry to hear this, Mr. Lennox. But …”
“But you do not yet understand what this has to do with you?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Mr. Melamed, I was not entirely honest with you this morning. I do remember the boy you referred to, and I do know … or at least I am quite certain I know what has happened to him.”
Mr. Melamed stared in amazement as Mr. Lennox placed the hatbox on a table and removed the cover. When Mr. Lennox took out a boy’s coat, General Well’ngone gave a gasp and rushed forward.
“Here, where did you get that? That belongs to Mr. Krinkle.”
“Are you sure?” asked Mr. Melamed.
General Well’ngone grabbed the coat and rifled through its pockets. He removed a slim volume from one of them and quickly opened it. There he saw Berel Krinkle’s handwriting, in pencil, on the page. The General handed the book to Mr. Melamed, who read over the message. There could be no mistake about the book. It therefore followed that the coat did, indeed, belong to the child.
“Where is the boy, Mr. Lennox?” asked Mr. Melamed.
“I am afraid he is dead.”
Mr. Melamed winced, too stunned to say a word. He had known there was a possibility that the child had come to harm, yet having his worst fears confirmed was almost too much for him to bear. He had to force himself to pay attention to Mr. Lennox, who had continued speaking.
“Most of the time my uncle is harmless. It is only when his madness overwhelms him that …” Mr. Lennox appeared to be overcome himself by what he felt must say.
“This has happened before?” asked Mr. Melamed, barely able to contain his sense of outrage.
“Not murder, you understand. But his condition has been deteriorating, and there was one incident where a tragedy was prevented only in the nick of time. I know I should have taken action sooner. And I shall never forgive myself for what has happened. But the physicians … they told me there was hope of a cure and … What can I say, sir, except that I am truly sorry.” He removed a pocketbook from his coat pocket and started to pull out a banknote. “If this will help … the family …”
“We have no need of your money, Mr. Lennox,” said Mr. Melamed. “Only tell me where the boy’s body is, so we may give him a proper Jewish burial.”
“I am afraid I cannot do that.”
“Why not?”
“The body is no longer in the house. I assume my uncle’s valet had it taken away sometime during the night, probably to some pauper’s grave. It was only a matter of chance that this coat was left behind.”
“And you knew nothing? You did not hear a struggle?”
“No, after I parted from my uncle at the Frost Fair, I went to dine with friends. I did not return to my uncle’s home until rather late at night. The … the event must have occurred while I was out.”
“The valet will not tell you?”
“The valet has been with the family since my uncle was a child. His first loyalty is to my uncle. H
e will not say a word about anything that happened yesterday—not to me, not to you and not to anyone else.”
Mr. Lennox left. Mr. Melamed stared silently into the fire for a very long while. It was only when he heard a choked sob coming from behind him that he recalled that General Well’ngone was still in the room.
The General had taken up the little book again and was staring down at the written page. His tears had blurred the penciled writing a little bit. He hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve when he noticed that Mr. Melamed was looking at him.
“Do not be ashamed of your tears, General. It only shows that you are human, and not a monster, and there is no shame in that.”
“What are we going to tell Miss Krinkle?”
“We must tell her the truth.”
Mr. Melamed picked up the coat and was about to fold it, when he noticed there was still something in an inside pocket. He removed the package and saw it was the document about the purchase of the elephant. A further search revealed a coin, and something else that slipped out and fell upon the floor.
The General’s quick eyes spotted gold and he reached for the object. “It’s another one of those fob seals,” he said, showing it to Mr. Melamed. “I wonder where he got it.”
“You did not show Berel any of the tricks of your trade, General?”
“Honest, Mr. Melamed. Besides, there wasn’t time. We never let a new boy try taking a fob seal. There’s an art to cutting a chain and see here …” The General pointed to a few chain links that were still attached to the fob. “This looks like it was yanked off the chain. Anyone can see that it’s not a professional job.”
Mr. Melamed was listening, but he was also looking at the seal. Unlike the fob that had belonged to Lord Liverwood, this seal was much simpler. There was no heraldic crest, just a monogram that read ABC.
“Do you suppose Mr. Krinkle yanked it off when he was struggling with Lord Liverwood?” asked the General.
“They are the wrong initials. But you may be correct about how this got into Berel’s possession. If he was struggling with someone, he might have torn off the end of that person’s pocket watch chain. Then I suppose this fob could have fallen into his pocket.”
“But Mr. Lennox said …” An idea came to the General, but he quickly discarded it. “It’s the same problem, isn’t it? Mr. Lennox can’t be ABC either.”
Mr. Melamed thrust the fob into his pocket. “General, how quickly can you and a dozen of your boys meet me in Mayfair?”
“We’re already halfway there!”
VIII.
If the butler was surprised to see Mr. Arthur Powell return so quickly to the residence of Lord Liverwood, his expression did not show it. He merely said, “Lord Liverwood is not at home, sir.”
Mr. Powell took out one of his calling cards and replied, “My compliments to Mr. Lennox.”
A few minutes later the butler returned and escorted Mr. Powell into the drawing room.
“You wished to see me, sir?”
“Yes, I happened to find a fob seal that I believe belongs to you or your uncle.” Mr. Powell noted that Mr. Lennox’s face had gone a bit pale.
“A fob seal?”
Mr. Powell handed him the object. Mr. Lennox looked at the seal and his face relaxed.
“Yes, this does belong to my uncle. It must have fallen off his chain without his noticing it. Thank you for returning it.”
There was a ring of the front door’s bell.
“I’ll get that,” said Mr. Powell, to the other man’s astonishment.
Mr. Powell rushed to the front door, arriving there ahead of the butler, and opened the door wide for General Well’ngone and his boys. Mr. Melamed entered after them. While the General’s boys divided themselves into two groups—half racing up the stairs to the attic and the other half racing down to the cellar—Mr. Melamed followed Mr. Powell back into the drawing room.
They were not terribly surprised to discover that Mr. Lennox was no longer in the room.
“We’ve found him!”
General Well’ngone raced over to a cupboard that was standing in a corner of the attic. Sitting all in a heap was the bound body of Berel Krinkle, who was dazed by the commotion and the sudden appearance of the light of a candle being thrust near his eyes, but still very much alive.
The General shook his head sadly and said, “Berel Krinkle, are you going to get a scolding when you get home.”
In truth, it was not such a terrible scolding. When Berel and Mr. Melamed appeared in the doorway of the Lyon family’s drawing room, Miss Krinkle threw aside her embroidery and rushed to embrace her brother. It did occur to her to also include a few stern words of admonishment, for all the bother he had caused by running off to the Frost Fair without permission. But no sooner had she said a harsh word than she was so overcome by relief and happiness that she had to kiss his pale cheeks again and give him yet another hug—and so Berel was able to accept his sister’s “scolding” like a man, meaning that he tried to wipe away those kisses with his sleeve while insisting that there was no need to make such a fuss.
Then Berel was shown upstairs to a second guest room, which was quickly called into service. After receiving a warm bath and eating a bowl of nourishing broth, the physician who had been summoned, Mr. Gabriel Taylor, gave the child a sleeping draught, so he could sleep peacefully through the night.
“By tomorrow he will be himself again, God willing,” Mr. Taylor assured Miss Krinkle. “You must rest, too, since you have also been through an ordeal.”
After Mr. Melamed had delivered the boy into the care of his sister and the Lyon family, he directed his steps to the business establishment of Mr. Horace Barnstock, solicitor.
As always, Mr. Barnstock’s desk was cluttered with legal papers, but he did not deny Mr. Melamed an interview.
“Do you recognize this seal?” Mr. Melamed showed the solicitor the fob seal that had the initials ABC engraved upon it.
“Where did you get this?”
“You will receive an answer to your question after you have answered mine.”
“This belongs to my son, if I am not mistaken.”
“The C stands for?”
“Charles. Arthur Charles Barnstock.” Mr. Barnstock cast his sternest eye upon Mr. Melamed. “What is the meaning of this, sir?”
“Please ask your son to join us.”
Mr. Barnstock still kept a wary eye upon his visitor, but he went to the door and ordered his son to come into the room.
“Is this not the seal I gave you for your twentieth birthday, Arthur?”
The young clerk seemed to freeze into a block of ice at the sight of the seal, for at first he could neither speak nor move. When he did recover his senses, he glanced wildly from the seal to Mr. Melamed.
“Where did you find this?” he snarled.
“Your plot to have Lord Liverwood declared a lunatic and put away, so Mr. Lennox can inherit the title and the fortune, has been discovered, sir. Mr. Lennox has run away, leaving you to face the gallows alone.”
“Gallows?” exclaimed the elder Mr. Barnstock. “I am astonished by your accusation, yet I do not see why this plot against Lord Liverwood is a capital offense.”
“The capital offense involves the kidnapping and murder of the boy Berel Krinkle.”
Mr. Barnstock was now even more astonished. “What?”
“I didn’t do it!” Arthur Barnstock shouted. “The boy’s not dead! He was alive, I tell you, the last time I saw him. Go to the attic, go to Lord Liverwood’s home, you’ll find the boy in a cupboard.” The young clerk searched through his pockets with trembling hands until he extracted a key, which he flung at Mr. Melamed. “There’s the key to the cupboard. Take it! Why don’t you go?”
“I already know that Berel Krinkle is alive. I also know that he has been safely removed from Lord Liverwood’s home. I only wished to hear the confession from your own lips.” Mr. Melamed then turned to the solicitor and said, “I hope you will assist your cli
ent, Mr. Barnstock. Lord Liverwood may be childish, but he is not the dangerous member of the family. He deserves better treatment than what he has received at the hands of his nephew and your son.”
When Mr. Melamed returned to Devonshire Square, he found the family seated in the drawing room. Miss Krinkle was there, as well. Although she had tried to insist that she must remain beside her brother’s bed all night, she had finally agreed to take turns with the other members of the Lyon household.
“As I suspected, Mr. Lennox did not wish to wait until his uncle passed away to inherit the family title and fortune,” Mr. Melamed explained to the others.
“I cannot say I entirely blame him,” said Mr. Lyon. “An elephant would be quite an expensive curio to keep, I should think. It must have pained Mr. Lennox to see his uncle squander his money on such things.”
“That may be, but it was no excuse to have Lord Liverwood declared a lunatic and locked away for the rest of his life.”
“But where does the child come in to all this, Mr. Melamed?” asked Mrs. Lyon. “Why did Mr. Lennox need to kidnap him?”
“One does need some reason to put away a relative, especially when he is a member of the aristocracy,” replied Mr. Melamed. “If Mr. Lennox could prove that his uncle was a murderer, I doubt anyone would object to his removing his uncle from society. And he certainly had me convinced that his story was true, when he brought me the boy’s coat.”
“Thank God, you found that fob seal,” said Mr. Lyon.
“But why did the solicitor’s son become involved in all of this?” asked Mrs. Lyon, still trying to puzzle out the mystery. “What did he hope to gain?”
“I believe he expected to be paid handsomely for his part in the kidnapping and helping to keep watch over the boy. He seems to be too enamored of betting on horse races and boxing matches for his own good.”
“What did they intend to do with Berel, Mr. Melamed?” asked Miss Krinkle, speaking for the first time.