Detective Downey

TINÜKD SucTi was the man, a queer specimen Of a strange class, to whom ths elegantly dressed lody, on whoiu he waited at the appointed time, gave in agitated and not very clear account of lier loss of a valuable diamond star. He received theconimunication without comment, but made elabórate notes, and compiimented the perturbed lady on her foresight in bringing the four remaining stars for hiui to see, although, he added, one would have been sufficient for purposes of identification. Mr. Morrison was present at the interview, but took no part in tho narrative of the loss of the star, and on its conclusión locked up the jewel case in nis safe, at the suggestion of Downey, who' inclined to the belief that the robbery was a put up affair, and suggested that it would be well to inquire into the antecedents of Mrs. Morrison's maid. But this theory was itnpatiently routed by Mr. Morrison intervening to explain . that Louise had not known until she had to dress her mistress for the ball that Mrs. Morrison intended to wear her diamonds. Downey regretfully accepted the conclusión that the case was only one of common "grabbing" after all, for he dearly loved a coniplication, and was especially partial to affairs in which household treachery was a leading agent. He took his leave, having laid duo professional emphasis on the difñculties presented by the case, and went away wishing that the job were of a higher order, that, for instance, Mrs. Morrison - like so many ladies in fact and fiction - had stolen her own diamonds, from motives of which it would have been a joy to hini to discover and exposé. "La femme," in the character of a claimant in a case of legitímate grievance, interested Mr. Downey only moderately. In the course of that day Mr. Morrison's message of the previous morning was answered from Melbourne, but not by Mr. Barrington. An agen,t telegraphed, "Barrington sailed on first." This was startling news; the margin of safety was contracting. When Mr. Morrison left the bank that afternoon, after he had transacted som very important business, he wired to his wife that he should be detained in town, and betook him in a liansom to a Btreet of very modest pretensions in Pimlico. There he dismissed his cab, and carrying his inseparable black hand bag, he walked on to the far end of the street, knocked at the door of a house, bearing a small brass plate inscribed "Josephus," and was admitted. From that house Mr. Morrison came out only just in time to catch the latest train for Rirerside. "Josephus isn't a bad fellow at all," said Mr. Morrison to his wife, after he had run through the narrative of his proceedings subsequent to the receipt of the startling telegram; "for that sort of man, he's a very good fellow. Of course it has to be made worth his while, but then, it is so well worth ours, now that the push has come. The whole thing disposed of by private contract, the money paid down to-morrow, and nothing touched until all is safe. I really don"t see how we could have done better." "The things cost twice the money," said Mrs. Morrison ruefully. "More than that, my dear; but the question is who paid for them?" He smile and chuckled; with the smile and the eound his sly callousness came out, and the full vileness of the man somehow revealed itself. "Cheer up, and don't look so melancholy over your pretty things. You will just have as many 'in the land we're going to,' as the Irish emigrant so sweetly sings, provided wo get there." "What will happen here?" "I can't pretty well guess, but what need we care? We shall either do it or not do it. If we do it, I don't believe anything will ever be heard of the matter. The bank can stand the racket. It isn't a shaky affair, to be knocked over by a Farquharson; they'U settle it behind closed doors, among themselves, and square it witli Barrington and thoothers. If we don't do it," he paused, and his heavy brows contracted, "well, you and I know about that. We are partners in this game, Jane, but I have more to lose. You will be safe any way." His wife looked at him for a moment with something of terror and repulsión in her face; but the next she conquered the movement. After a brief silence he said briskly, "That ass, Downey, called today to say he thought he already had a clew. It would have been awkward if he had wanted a second look at the diamonds." "Lest he might have seen tho five stars in the box?" "No, no. I must be a niuff if I couldn't have hidden that from such a duffer as Downey! Because the empty case was in the safe, and the diamonds were securely packed for tra veling in this." He held up with a chuckle a small leather pouch with two loops, made for a belt to be passed through them, dropped it back into his breast pocket, and said with his evil smile: "What a lot of the ridiculous there always is in everythingl The 'U. and D.' would give Downey something handsome byandby for a clew to the history of the 'Walsh' diamonds - they were known by another name once." "You never told me that story." "No; but I will, if we pull this through." On the following day Mrs. Morrison applied herself to a number of household and social duties. The servants were informed that Mr. and Mrs. Morrison would go abroad for Mr. Morrison's time of leave, and Louise was instructed to pack Bundry trunks in advance, and label them for Paris. Mrs. Morrison proposed to replace her by a Frenchwoman. In the afternoon Mrs. Morrison made several calis, during which she talked of the approaching journey , and said she hardly feit equal to it, but could not allow a day of her lmsband's precious "leave" to be lost. lier appearance confirmed her words: she ras looldng ill. Mr. Morrison returned tu liijjh spirits, and before dinner his wife knew that so far all was well, and Mr. Josephus had been as good as his word. Wliile the solemn butler was in the room, Mrs. Morrison suggested to her husband that as au alleviation of the fatigue of the start they should go to the Grosvenor hotel for a day or two and set outroii) tlience. Mr. Morrison replied that slie could do so if she liked, although he did not see that she would gain mucli by it. So this plan was afreed apon and at noon the noxt day. Mr. Morrison having left home at the usual hour. Mrs. Morrison stepped into ber brougharu and was driven away from Quor Lodge for the last time. The repose of the pleasant villa remained ttnbrofcen for some days, but at laat a letter, hearing a London postmark, was received by the solemn butler and caused a commotion. The letter was written by Mr. Morrison, and it siuiply instructed the recipiënt to expoct the arrival of a Mr. Josephus, who would pay all the servants on a liberal scale, indicated by Mr. Morrison, and dismiss them, their servicos being no longer roquired, settle all local claims and take possession of the house, thenceforth his own property. It is sufïïcient to record here that all this took place. Mr. Joscphas shut up Quorn Lodge for awhile, with a policetaan in charge. But the villa did not long remain unoccupied. Mr. Josephus acquired an eligible tenant; the family, howevcr, is of the "scrious'' kind, and Quorn Lodge is now known as Gilead Grove. Mr. Trclierne duly returned to town and his directoral duties, but the bursting of the storm did not ensue immediately. The signal for that was given by the arrival of Mr. Barrington at the "U. and D." in splendid healtli and spirits, actuated by an eager desire to get through his business, and full of the happy colonial delusion, so painful by its dispelment, that what it wsre well should be done quickly is quickly to be done "at home." Into the details of thp discovery there is no need to enter. The "U. and D.," in its present corporate capacity, and in the easier going days when it was a private flrm, had cherished in its business and its bosom as finished a specimen of the "unrnitigated viper' kind as ever knew a bank, to the detriment of that institution. Morrison's f rauds had been as ingenious in the beginning of his career as his thefts were audacious at its close. He had enjoyed extraordinary luck, never failing to win at whatever game he played. And yet he must for years have been frequently within a hair's breadth of detection, up to the moment when the Barrington incident made it a certainty. "The coolness, too, of the really reckless scoundrel!" said Mr. Treherne, who always boasted and sometimes almost believed, he had never trusted Morrison - ("I have a remarkable faculty of reading character," he would say) - and could not quite ref rain from a kind of perverse admiration of the man who had done them all so thoroughly - all except him. How thoroughly the victims did not appreciate just at once, for when the first installment of the truth was discovered, it was fondly believed that Mr. Morrison might be caught by the simple expedient of silence on the part of all concerned. If nothing wero done, if nothing were said, to alarm him, was there not reason to believe that he would come back as usual, totally unsuspecting? As the bank authorities knew nothing about h3 telegram nor did Mr. Barrington, there was nothing to suggest to them thatanything had occurred tb startle Morrison, and he might therefore walk into the lion's den - otherwiso his own room in the "U. and D." - with fearless conlidence. This theory was so soothing (especially as there was every reason to believe that Morrison could bo made to disgorge freely, that thero would bo more than the mere punishment of the criminal to be attained) that Mr. Treherne began to talk about the "providentialness" of Mr. Barrington's not having arrived until Morrison had gono abroad. But this sanguine mood underwent a modification when, after cautious inquiry had been made by Downey at Riversdale and at Quorn Lodge, it becanie known that the house was not only shut up, but had changed ownership. Mr. Josephus was interviewed, and found to be completely en regie; he had purchased the villa and all its contents from Mr. Morrison; and the f act that the snug little place had been Morrison's f reehold property became known to his employers for the first time. Things now looked very serious, and the victims were only moderately -jstained by the representations of Downey, who, having been employed at first merely to "inquire," was now called into consultation at the special inStigation of Mr. Treherne. Unbounded, although carefully concealed, was the delight of Downey. Here was a really good case, and he was tho man to deal with it. Ho proposed to deal with it on the pessimist side; to take for granted that Morrison had some reason for believing that the game was up, and had absconded on the pretext of a trip to the continent. If this were so, then Downey could safely affirm that Morrison was the coolest hand he had ever met in the whole course of his business; for he had sent for him, Downey, and employed him ia a personal matter a few days before he left London. Downey had alsö been with liim the very day before, to arrange for cotnmunicating with Mrs. Morrison on the subject of the stolen diamond star. The address, up to a certain date not yet expired, was to be Lucerne; and, Mr. Downey argued, why should she not have gone there, even supposing Morrison to have pushed on to a safer place? From his experience of women, Mr. Downey argued that if you calculated upon one of them sticking through almost any amount of difficulty and danger to her diamonds or the ghost of them, as he might cali tho chance of getting any stolen ones back, you'll find you've started right any how. "Wherever he is, she'sat Lucerne," repeated Mr. Downey; "and a very good thing it is that I can identify her." "Providontial, quite!'' murmured Mr. Treherne. "The soonsr I start the better, gentlemen," procecded the detective. "There's just tlie chance - though tho sale of the villa's dead against it - that he may be there quite unsuspectingly, and tliere's also the chance that she's keeping him hanging on, like a fooi, waiting for news of the star. She hasn"t much head, I should say, judging f rom the way she told the story of how she'd been robbed - stuttering and stammering and crying and contradicting herself - she'll want the diamonds at any price. It's so much the better for this job, but if I was an absconding criminal of any description I should not like a woman with a head like Mrs. Morrison's to abscond along with me." "But," said Mr. Treherne, "if you found Mrs. Morrison alone at Lucerne what would you do then?" ■Watch lier. If he knows lie's found out, and yet is sach a fooi af to stop where I'vo got his address, I'll catch him; but up to the present his record has not got any foily in it - very much the othei way. If he's waiting for her anywhere, she will join hun." The vietims in cotincil eoncurred In Downey'8 views, with onc exception - a mild director, who was disposed to regard an address given to a detective by ai intending fugitive with despondency rather than confidence. He was, however, pu down by Mr. Treherne, and than Downey was dismissed to make certain inquirios at tho Grosvenor hotel. He was to report the result to the conclave at 3 p. m., and to receive final instructions. "Gentlemen," said tho detective, on his rcappearance at the appointed hour, "I have to teil you Üiat I have been wrong, quite wrong." It was not agreeable to Downey to make this admission, nevertheless there was a subdued elation about the man. "There will be no cali for me to go to Lucerne to watch Mrs. Morrison ; it is to be done easier and cheaper than that." "What! what do you mean?'' asked Mr. Treherne excitedly. "Do let him teil his story hisown way," expostulated the mild director. "Thank you, sir; it is best in general. Wel], gentlemen, you are prepared by what I have said to hear that Mrs. Morrison is uot at Lucerne. (The mild director's whole form silently proclaimed: I told you so!) But you will be surprised to hear that she did not leave London with Mr. Morrison, and that to the best of my belief she is in England still! I acquired this valuable information in the following manner," here Downey dropped into his professional tone and produced his note book: "On inquiry at the Grosvenor hotel I found that Mr. and Mrs. Morrison had stayed there fortwodaysandnights, and that during that time Mrs. Morrisou liad complained of illness. On the second night she told the chambermaid in attendance that although there was nothing serious the matter she really could not face foreign parts, but had made up her mind to go to a quiet English sea place during Mr. Morrison's absence. The girl remembered this well, because, as she acknowledged, 'Mrs. Morrison gave her something handsome on leaving the hotel, which she did with Mr. Morrison. In less than half an hour she came to the hotel door in a cab, and asked if she could see the chambermaid. The girl liad only that moment given notice that a handbag had been left in a drawer in the room which Mrs. Morrison had occupied. This was a lucky accident; for Mrs. Morrison's return to the hotel to get her bag proves that she did not leave England with Mr. Morrison. I assumed a troubled air, and said it was very annoying - I had occasion to communicate with Mrs. Morrison, and how was I to get her address? Of course, nobody knew and nobody cared, and I was turning away, when the young chambermaid said: 'Perhaps this may help you,' and handed me a card. 'It was stuck in the looking glass to tighten it,' she added; 'I saw Mrs. Morrison put it there, and I'm suro I don't know how I came to put it in my pocket, but I did.' Thafs the card, gentlemen. It is evidently a lodging house address - '100 Marine terrace, Broadstairs' - and there I shall find Mrs. Morrison." "Very likely," said the mild director; "but what then?" "This," answered Mr. Downey, who had been reserving his effect; "I don't believe he's gone eitherl From inquiries I havo made I am satisfied that no one in the least resembling Mr. Morrison crossed to Calais that morning; and every passenger on board, of anything like his age, had a lady with him. He isn't gone; and he will come or write - communicate with her somehow; only give him time and we shall get him." "I can't imagine any motive that could lead him to rernain in England, having a fair chanco of getting away," said tho mild director, "but as there's nothing to be done until we've traced him, and your plan offers a chanco of doing so, I see no objection to it." The others assented more readily, and the council of victirns again separated. Mr. Morrison would have been amused could he have known how very near to its fulfillrnent was his predlction of the conduct of the "U. and D." Mr. Downey had been on the watch at Broadstairs for a full month before he had anything to report to his employers, beyond the fact that Mrs. Morrison was living at No. 100 Marine terrace, Broadstairs, under the name of Spears; that the house was a respectable boarding house, at present tenanted by ladieaonly; but that he fully expected Mr. Morrison to appear in the character of a gentleman boarder. He was as far as ever from being able to account for the proceedings of either the man or his wife, but his belief in his own maxim, "Keep the woman under your eye and you'll get the man if he's above ground," remained intact. Mrs. Morrison was in bad health; -she had not been out of doors, to the best of his belief, since his arrival at Broadstairs, and an ingenuous servant girl, judiciously questioned, had given him many particulars of the malady of Mrs. Spears. He was, therefore, not a little surprised, when taking his usual stroll on the beach in front of Marine terrace, to behold Mrs. Morrison, just as lic had seen her in tho manager'a room at the 'U. and D.," but without her disootnpoDure. come forth from No. 100 and cross the road to the beach in such a fashion as to come up with him and confront him at once. She wal the Dicture of health, and her bright, dark eyes shot a bold, derisive glance at the dumfounded detective, as she accosted him: "How do you do, Mr. Downey? How do you like Broadstairs? You must flnd it rather dull, I fancy, but I Fuppose the pay atones. Fin sorry to cut off your supplies, but I really cannot keep on dodging you when I want a walk any longer, and it takes up my clever housemaid's time to watch you go off and como on your beat; besides, it isa't necessary now, and even though it is a bank that jmys, one ought not to waste their monpy, you know. Eh, Mr. Downey?" "Madam! Mrs. Mornson! "Mrs. Morrison? What do you mean by calling me out of ruy name?" "Do y ou mean to teil me you are not Mrs. Morrison?" "Certainly I do." "Not the - not the person who lost a diamond star and employed tne to iind it? Why, Mr. Morrison narned you to me as liis wife." "Mr. Morrison did nothing of tho kind. He nauied you to me. and you. with your wonderful cleverness, you know, took the other thing for granted." "You naean to teil me you personated" "I personated nobody, Mr. Detective Downey. I merely possess a little talent for acting, and - pray, have you found my star, or tho thief who stole it? No! Never mind, you can keep that twentypound note 'on account' uutil you do. But I really don't think you ought to hang on here any longer." Downey was hardly able to get out the words: "Explain, woman, don't jeer like that. Who are you? You must be Mrs. Morrison; you were seen at the bank; you must have been; you passed as Mrs. Morrison at the Grosvenor hotel." She laughed in his face. "I was seen at the bant, but the persons who saw me would swear I am Mrs. Morrison as readily as you. I did not pass at the Grosvenor hotel as Mrs. Morrison; I never was inside tho hotel in my life. I stopped in a cab at the door and I asked for Mrs. Morrison's bag. My name, I repeat, isSpears, MarthaSpears; I am the wife of a sea captain, at present on his way to Calcutta; I have kept the boarding house in which you take so deep an interest for ten years; the invalid for whom you inquire of Susan so tenderly is old Mrs. Spears, my motherin-law. I see you're still puzzled and so I will put you out of your pain. I am Mrs. Morrison's twin sister, and reniarkably liko her." Downey started. "I am very fond of her, and of him, too, and so I ought to be, for he set me up in No. 100 when he married my sister Jane." "Oh, ho!" said Downey, "so that's how it was worked, was it?" "That's how it was worked; though, mind, I don't commit myself to saying what 'it' means, either in your mouth or mine. You've got nothing against me, you know, and you'll get nothing out of me if you were all the detectives who never find anything but mares' nests rolled into one, for the excellent reason that there's nothing to get." She paused in her voluble talk and laughed again - a long laugh, full of fun and enjoyment. "Where are they?" He had grasped her arm voluntarily, and she shook off his hold with good humored contempt. "Come," she said, "you're not quite a fooi, though you're not far off one. Do you imagino I know - do you think I'm such a fooi as to want to know? Drop it, my good man, and do go back to all the 'cases' you will never make anything of by the very next train, for you are a nuisance as well as a ninny, I assure you." With another laugh she left him, tripped across the road as lightly as a girl, and let herself into her house witU her latchkey, turning for an instant before she shut the door to wave him an ironical salute. Downey went back to town by the flrst train and reported himself at the "U. and D." No minutes of that interview exist among his papers. He was much depressed for a time, but he gradually consoled himself by the reflection that he had been right after all. He had looked for tho woman at the bottom of this Morrison case and he had found her - only there were two and they were twins. THE END.