Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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'And you look more charming than ever,' finished Vandeloup, as he
took his bedroom candle from her. 'I will see you in the morning. My
friend still asleep, I suppose?'
'I'm sure I don't know. I haven't seen him all the evening,' replied
Miss Twexby, tossing her head, 'now, go away. You're a naughty,
wicked, deceitful thing. I declare I'm quite afraid of you.'
'There's no need, I assure you,' replied Vandeloup, in a slightly
sarcastic voice, as he surveyed the plain-looking woman before him;
'you are quite safe from me.'
He left the bar, whistling an air, while the fair Martha returned to
her accounts, and wondered indignantly whether his last remark was a
compliment or otherwise.
The conclusion she came to was that it was otherwise, and she
retired to bed in a very wrathful frame of mind.
CHAPTER XIV
A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE
Madame Midas, as may be easily guessed, did not pass a very pleasant
night after the encounter with Villiers. Her head was very painful
with the blow he had given her, and added to this she was certain
she had killed him.
Though she hated the man who had ruined her life, and who had tried
to rob her, still she did not care about becoming his murderess, and
the thought was madness to her. Not that she was afraid of
punishment, for she had only acted in self-defence, and Villiers,
not she, was the aggressor.
Meanwhile she waited to hear if the body had been found, for ill
news travels fast; and as everyone knew Villiers was her husband,
she was satisfied that when the corpse was found she would be the
first to be told about it.
But the day wore on, and no news came, so she asked Archie to go
into Ballarar and see if the discovery had been made.
''Deed, mem,' said Archie, in a consoling tone, 'I'm thinkin' there's
na word at all. Maybe ye only stapped his pranks for a wee bit, and
he's a' richt.'
Madame shook her head.
'I gave him such a terrible blow,' she said, mournfully, 'and he
fell like a stone over the embankment.'
'He didna leave go the nugget, onyhow, ye ken,' said Archie, dryly;
'so he couldna hae been verra far gone, but I'll gang intil the toun
and see what I can hear.'
There was no need for this, however, for just as McIntosh got to the
door, Vandeloup, cool and complacent, sauntered in, but stopped
short at the sight of Mrs Villiers sitting in the arm-chair looking
so ill.
'My dear Madame,' he cried in dismay, going over to her, 'what is
the matter with you?'
'Matter enow,' growled McIntosh, with his hand on the door handle;
'that deil o' a' husband o' her's has robbed her o' the nugget.'
'Yes, and I killed him,' said Madame between her clenched teeth.
'The deuce you did,' said Vandeloup, in surprise, taking a seat,
'then he was the liveliest dead man I ever saw.'
'What do you mean?' asked Madame, leaning forward, with both hands
gripping the arms of her chair; 'is--is he alive?'
'Of course he is,' began Vandeloup; 'I--' but here he was stopped by
a cry from Selina, for her mistress had fallen back in her chair in
a dead faint.
Hastily waving for the men to go away, she applied remedies, and
Madame soon revived. Vandeloup had gone outside with McIntosh, and
was asking him about the robbery, and then told him in return about
Villiers' movements on that night. Selina called them in again, as
Madame wanted to hear all about her husband, and Vandeloup was just
entering when he turned to McIntosh.
'Oh, by the way,' he said, in a vexed tone, 'Pierre will not be at
work today.'
'What for no?' asked McIntosh, sharply.
'He's drunk,' replied Vandeloup, curtly, 'and he's likely to keep
the game up for a week.'
'We'll see about that,' said Mr McIntosh, wrathfully; 'I tauld yon
gowk o' a Twexby to give the mon food and drink, but I didna tell
him to mack the deil fu'.'
'It wasn't the landlord's fault,' said Vandeloup; 'I gave Pierre
money--if I had known what he wanted it for I wouldn't have done it-
-but it's too late now.'
McIntosh was about to answer sharply as to the folly of giving the
man money, when Madame's voice was heard calling them impatiently,
and they both had to go in at once.
Mrs Villiers was ghastly pale, but there was a look of determination
about her which showed that she was anxious to hear all. Pointing to
a seat near herself she said to Vandeloup--
'Tell me everything that happened from the time I left you last
night.'
'My faith,' replied Vandeloup, carelessly taking the seat, 'there
isn't much to tell--I said goodbye to Monsieur Marchurst and
Mademoiselle Kitty and went down to Ballarar.'
'How was it you did not pass me on the way?' asked Madame, quickly
fixing her piercing eyes on him. 'I drove slowly.'
He bore her scrutiny without blenching or even changing colour.
'Easily enough,' he said, calmly, 'I went the other direction
instead of the usual way, as it was the shortest route to the place
I was stopping at.'
'The "Wattle Tree", ye ken, Madame,' interposed McIntosh.
'I had something to eat there,' pursued Vandeloup, 'and then went to
the theatre. Your husband came in towards the end of the performance
and sat next to me.'
'Was he all right?' asked Mrs Villiers, eagerly.
Vandeloup shrugged his shoulders.
'I didn't pay much attention to him,' he said, coolly; 'he seemed to
enjoy the play, and afterwards, when we went to supper with the
actors, he certainly ate very heartily for a dead man. I don't think
you need trouble yourself, Madame; your husband is quite well.'
'What time did you leave him?' she asked, after a pause.
'About twenty minutes to twelve, I think,' replied Vandeloup, 'at
least, I reached the "Wattle Tree" at about twelve o'clock, and I
think it did take twenty minutes to walk there. Monsieur Villiers
stopped behind with the theatre people to enjoy himself.'
Enjoying himself, and she, thinking him dead, was crying over his
miserable end; it was infamous! Was this man a monster who could
thus commit a crime one moment and go to an amusement the next? It
seemed like it, and Mrs Villiers felt intense disgust towards her
husband as she sat with tightly clenched hands and dry eyes
listening to Vandeloup's recital.
'Weel,' said Mr McIntosh at length, rubbing his scanty hair, 'the
deil looks after his ain, as we read in Screepture, and this child
of Belial is flourishing like a green bay tree by mony waters; but
we ma' cut it doon an' lay an axe at the root thereof.'
'And how do you propose to chop him down?' asked Vandeloup,
flippantly.
'Pit him intil the Tolbooth for rinnin' awa' wi' the nugget,'
retorted Mr McIntosh, vindictively.
'A very sensible suggestion,' said Gaston, approvingly, smoothing
his moustache. 'What do you say, Madame?'
She shook her head.
'Let him keep his ill-gotten gains,' she said, resignedly. 'Now that
he has obtained what he wanted, perhaps he'll leave me alone; I will
do nothing.'
'Dae naethin'!' echoed Archie, in great wrath. 'Will ye let that
freend o' Belzibub rin awa' wid a three hun'red ounces of gold an'
dae naethin'? Na, na, ye mauna dae it, I tell ye. Oh, aye, ye may
sit there, mem, and glower awa' like a boggle, but ye aren'a gangin'
to make yoursel' a martyr for yon. Keep the nugget? I'll see him
damned first.'
This was the first time that Archie had ever dared to cross Mrs
Villiers' wishes, and she stared in amazement at the unwonted
spectacle. This time, however, McIntosh found an unexpected ally in
Vandeloup, who urged that Villiers should be prosecuted.
'He is not only guilty of robbery, Madame,' said the young
Frenchman, 'but also of an attempt to murder you, and while he is
allowed to go free, your life is not safe.'
Selina also contributed her mite of wisdom in the form of a
proverb:--
'A stitch in time saves nine,' intimating thereby that Mr Villiers
should be locked up and never let out again, in case he tried the
same game on with the next big nugget found.
Madame thought for a few moments, and, seeing that they were all
unanimous, she agreed to the proposal that Villiers should be
prosecuted, with the stipulation, however, that he should be first
written to and asked to give up the nugget. If he did, and promised
to leave the district, no further steps would be taken; but if he
declined to do so, his wife would prosecute him with the uttermost
rigour of the law. Then Madame dismissed them, as she was anxious to
get a little sleep, and Vandeloup went to the office to write the
letter, accompanied by McIntosh, who wanted to assist in its
composition.
Meanwhile there was another individual in Ballarat who was much
interested in Villiers, and this kind-hearted gentleman was none
other than Slivers. Villiers was accustomed to come and sit in his
office every morning, and talk to him about things in general, and
the Pactolus claim in particular. On this morning, however, he did
not arrive, and Slivers was much annoyed thereat. He determined to
give Villiers a piece of his mind when he did see him. He went about
his business at 'The Corner', bought some shares, sold others, and
swindled as many people as he was able, then came back to his office
and waited in all the afternoon for his friend, who, however, did
not come.
Slivers was just going out to seek him when the door of his office
was violently flung open, and a tall, raw-boned female entered in a
very excited manner. Dressed in a dusty black gown, with a crape
bonnet placed askew on her rough hair, this lady banged on Slivers'
table a huge umbrella and demanded where Villiers was.
'I don't know,' snapped Slivers, viciously; 'how the devil should
I?'
'Don't swear at me, you wooden-legged little monster,' cried the
virago, with another bang of the umbrella, which raised such a cloud
of dust that it nearly made Slivers sneeze his head off. 'He ain't
been home all night, and you've been leading him into bad habits,
you cork-armed libertine.'
'Hasn't been home all night, eh?' said Slivers, sitting up quickly,
while Billy, who had been considerably alarmed at the gaunt female,
retired to the fireplace, and tried to conceal himself up the
chimney. 'May I ask who you are?'
'You may,' said the angry lady, folding her arms and holding the
umbrella in such an awkward manner that she nearly poked Slivers'
remaining eye out.
'Well, who are you?' snapped Slivers, crossly, after waiting a
reasonable time for an answer and getting none.
'I'm his landlady,' retorted the other, with a defiant snort.
'Matilda Cheedle is my name, and I don't care who knows it.'
'It's not a pretty name,' snarled Slivers, prodding the ground with
his wooden leg, as he always did when angry. 'Neither are you. What
do you mean by banging into my office like an insane giraffe?'--this
in allusion to Mrs Cheedle's height.
'Oh, go on! go on!' said that lady defiantly; 'I've heard it all
before; I'm used to it; but here I sit until you tell me where my
lodger is;' and suiting the action to the word, Mrs Cheedle sat down
in a chair with such a bang that Billy gave a screech of alarm and
said, 'Pickles!'
'Pickles, you little bag of bones!' cried Mrs Cheedle, who thought
that the word had proceeded from Slivers, 'don't you call me
"Pickles"--but I'm used to it. I'm a lonely woman since Cheedle went
to the cemetery, and I'm always being insulted. Oh, my nerves are
shattered under such treatment'--this last because she saw the
whisky bottle on the table, and thought she might get some.
Slivers took the hint, and filling a glass with whisky and water
passed it to her, and Mrs Cheedle, with many protestations that she
never touched spirits, drank it to the last drop.
'Was Villiers always in the habit of coming home?' he asked.
'Always,' replied Mrs Cheedle; 'he's bin with me eighteen months and
never stopped out one night; if he had,' grimly, 'I'd have known the
reason of his rampagin'.'
'Strange,' said Slivers, thoughtfully, fixing Mrs Cheedle with his
one eye; 'when did you see him last?'
'About three o'clock yesterday,' said Mrs Cheedle, looking sadly at
a hole in one of her cotton gloves; 'his conduct was most
extraordinary; he came home at that unusual hour, changed his linen
clothes for a dark suit, and, after he had eaten something, put on
another hat, and walked off with a stick under his arm.'
'And you've never seen him since?'
'Not a blessed sight of him,' replied Mrs Cheedle; 'you don't think
any harm's come to him, sir? Not as I care much for him--the drunken
wretch--but still he's a lodger and owes me rent, so I don't know
but what he might be off to Melbourne without paying, and leaving
his boxes full of bricks behind.'
'I'll have a look round, and if I see him I'll send him home,' said
Slivers, rising to intimate the interview was at end.
'Very well, mind you do,' said the widow, rising and putting the
empty glass on the table, 'send him home at once and I'll speak to
him. And perhaps,' with a bashful glance, 'you wouldn't mind seeing
me up the street a short way, as I'm alone and unprotected.'
'Stuff!' retorted Slivers, ungraciously, 'there's plenty of light,
and you are big enough to look after yourself.'
At this Mrs Cheedle snorted loudly like a war-horse, and flounced
out of the office in a rage, after informing Slivers in a loud voice
that he was a selfish, cork-eyed little viper, from which confusion
of words it will easily be seen that the whisky had taken effect on
the good lady.
When she had gone Slivers locked up his office, and sallied forth to
find the missing Villiers, but though he went all over town to that
gentleman's favourite haunts, mostly bars, yet he could see nothing
of him; and on making inquiries heard that he had not been seen in
Ballarat all day. This was so contrary to Villiers' general habits
that Slivers became suspicious, and as he walked home thinking over
the subject he came to the conclusion there was something up.
'If,' said Slivers, pausing on the pavement and addressing a street
lamp, 'he doesn't turn up to-morrow I'll have a look for him again.
If that don't do I'll tell the police, and I shouldn't wonder,' went
on Slivers, musingly, 'I shouldn't wonder if they called on Madame
Midas.'
CHAPTER XV
SLIVERS IN SEARCH OF EVIDENCE
Slivers was puzzled over Villiers' disappearance, so he determined
to go in search of evidence against Madame Midas, though for what
reason he wanted evidence against her no one but himself--and
perhaps Billy--knew. But then Slivers always was an enigma regarding
his reasons for doing things, and even the Sphinx would have found
him a difficult riddle to solve.
The reasons he had for turning detective were simply these: It soon
became known that Madame Midas had been robbed by her husband of the
famous nugget, and great was the indignation of everyone against Mr
Villiers. That gentleman would have fared very badly if he had made
his appearance, but for some reason or another he did not venture
forth. In fact, he had completely disappeared, and where he was no
one knew. The last person who saw him was Barty Jarper, who left him
at the corner of Lydiard and Sturt Streets, when Mr Villiers had
announced his intention of going home. Mrs Cheedle, however,
asserted positively that she had never set eyes on him since the
time she stated to Slivers, and as it was now nearly two weeks since
he had disappeared things were beginning to look serious. The
generally received explanation was that he had bolted with the
nugget, but as he could hardly dispose of such a large mass of gold
without suspicion, and as the police both in Ballarat and Melbourne
had made inquiries, which proved futile, this theory began to lose
ground.
It was at this period that Slivers asserted himself--coming forward,
he hinted in an ambiguous sort of way that Villiers had met with
foul play, and that some people had their reasons for wishing to get
rid of him. This was clearly an insinuation against Madame Midas,
but everyone refused to believe such an impossible story, so Slivers
determined to make good his words, and went in search of evidence.
The Wopples Family having left Ballarat, Slivers was unable to see
Mr Theodore Wopples, who had been in Villiers' company on the night
of his disappearance.
Mr Barty Jarper, however, had not yet departed, so Slivers waylaid
him, and asked him in a casual way to drop into his office and have
a drink, with a view of finding out from him all the events of that
night.
Barty was on his way to a lawn tennis party, and was arrayed in a
flannel suit of many colours, with his small, white face nearly
hidden under a large straw hat. Being of a social turn of mind, he
did not refuse Slivers' invitation, but walked into the dusty office
and assisted himself liberally to the whisky.
'Here's fun, old cock!' he said, in a free and easy manner, raising
his glass to his lips; 'may your shadow never be less.'
Slivers hoped devoutly that his shadow never would be less, as that
would involve the loss of several other limbs, which he could ill
spare; so he honoured Mr Jarper's toast with a rasping little laugh,
and prepared to talk.
'It's very kind of you to come and talk to an old chap like me,'
said Slivers, in as amiable a tone as he could command, which was
not much. 'You're such a gay young fellow!'
Mr Jarper acknowledged modestly that he was gay, but that he owed
certain duties to society, and had to be mildly social.
'And so handsome!' croaked Slivers, winking with his one eye at
Billy, who sat on the table. 'Oh, he's all there, ain't he, Billy?'
Billy, however, did not agree to this, and merely observed
'Pickles,' in a disbelieving manner.
Mr Jarper felt rather overcome by this praise, and blushed in a
modest way, but felt that he could not return the compliment with
any degree of truth, as Slivers was not handsome, neither was he all
there.
He, however, decided that Slivers was an unusually discerning
person, and worthy to talk to, so prepared to make himself
agreeable.
Slivers, who had thus gained the goodwill of the young man by
flattery, plunged into the subject of Villiers' disappearance.
'I wonder what's become of Villiers,' he said, artfully pushing the
whisky bottle toward Barty.
'I'm sure I don't know,' said Barty in a languid, used-up sort of
voice, pouring himself out some more whisky, 'I haven't seen him
since last Monday week.'
'Where did you leave him on that night?' asked Slivers.
'At the corner of Sturt and Lydiard Streets.'
'Early in the morning, I suppose?'
'Yes--pretty early--about two o'clock, I think.'
'And you never saw him after that?'
'Not a sight of him,' replied Barty; 'but, I say, why all this
thusness?'
'I'll tell you after you have answered my questions,' retorted
Slivers, rudely, 'but I'm not asking out of curiosity--its
business.'
Barty thought that Slivers was very peculiar, but determined to
humour him, and to take his leave as early as possible.
'Well, go on,' he said, drinking his whisky, 'I'll answer.'
'Who else was with you and Villiers on that night?' asked Slivers in
a magisterial kind of manner.
'A French fellow called Vandeloup.'
'Vandeloup!' echoed Slivers in surprise; 'oh, indeed! what the devil
was he doing?'
'Enjoying himself,' replied Barty, coolly; 'he came into the theatre
and Villiers introduced him to me; then Mr Wopples asked us all to
supper.'
'You went, of course?'
'Rather, old chap; what do you take us for?'--this from Barty, with
a knowing wink.
'What time did Vandeloup leave?' asked Slivers, not paying any
attention to Barty's pantomime.
'About twenty minutes to twelve.'
'Oh! I suppose that was because he had to drive out to the
Pactolus?'
'Not such a fool, dear boy; he stayed all night in town.'
'Oh!' ejaculated Slivers, in an excited manner, drumming on the
table with his fingers, 'where did he stay?'
'At the Wattle Tree Hotel.'
Slivers mentally made a note of this, and determined to go there and
find out at what time Vandeloup had come home on the night in
question, for this suspicious old man had now got it into his head
that Vandeloup was in some way responsible for Villiers'
disappearance.
'Where did Villiers say he was going when he left you?' he asked.
'Straight home.'
'Humph! Well, he didn't go home at all.'
'Didn't he?' echoed Barty, in some astonishment. 'Then what's become
of him? Men don't disappear in this mysterious way without some
reason.'
'Ah, but there is a reason,' replied Slivers, bending across the
table and clawing at the papers thereon with the lean fingers of his
one hand.
'Why! what do you think is the reason?' faltered Barty, letting his
eye-glass drop out of his eye, and edging his chair further away
from this terrible old man.
'Murder!' hissed the other through his thin lips. 'He's been
murdered!'
'Lord!' ejaculated Barty, jumping up from his chair in alarm;
'you're going too far, old chap.'
'I'm going further,' retorted Slivers, rising from his chair and
stumping up and down the room; 'I'm going to find out who did it,
and then I'll grind her to powder; I'll twist her neck off, curse
her.'
'Is it a woman?' asked Barty, who now began to think of making a
retreat, for Slivers, with his one eye blazing, and his cork arm
swinging rapidly to and fro, was not a pleasant object to
contemplate.
This unguarded remark recalled Slivers to himself.
That's what I want to find out,' he replied, sulkily, going back to
his chair. 'Have some more whisky?'
'No, thanks,' answered Barty, going to the door, 'I'm late as it is
for my engagement; ta, ta, old chap, I hope you'll drop on the he or
she you're looking for; but you're quite wrong, Villiers has bolted
with the nugget, and that's a fact, sir,' and with an airy wave of
his hand Barty went out, leaving Slivers in anything but a pleasant
temper.
'Bah! you peacock,' cried this wicked old man, banging his wooden
leg against the table, 'you eye-glass idiot--you brainless puppy--
I'm wrong, am I? we'll see about that, you rag-shop.' This last in
allusion to Barty's picturesque garb. 'I've found out all I want
from you, and I'll track her down, and put her in gaol, and hang
her--hang her till she's as dead as a door nail.'
Having given vent to this pleasant sentiment, Slivers put on his
hat, and, taking his stick, walked out of his office, but not before
Billy saw his intention and had climbed up to his accustomed place
on the old man's shoulder. So Slivers stumped along the street, with
the cockatoo on his shoulder, looking like a depraved Robinson
Crusoe, and took his way to the Wattle Tree Hotel.
'If,' argued Slivers to himself, as he pegged bravely along, 'if
Villiers wanted to get rid of the nugget he'd have come to me, for
he knew I'd keep quiet and tell no tales. Well, he didn't come to
me, and there's no one else he could go to. They've been looking for
him all over the shop, and they can't find him; he can't be hiding
or he'd have let me know; there's only one explanation--he's been
murdered--but not for the gold--oh, dear no--for nobody knew he had
it. Who wanted him out of the way?--his wife. Would she stick at
anything?--I'm damned if she would. So it's her work. The only
question is did she do it personally or by deputy. I say deputy,
'cause she'd be too squeamish to do it herself. Who would she select
as deputy?--Vandeloup! Why?--'cause he'd like to marry her for her
money. Yes, I'm sure it's him. Things look black against him: he
stayed in town all night, a thing he never did before--leaves the
supper at a quarter to twelve, so as to avoid suspicion; waits till
Villiers comes out at two in the morning and kills him. Aha! my
handsome jackadandy,' cried Slivers, viciously, suddenly stopping
and shaking his stick at an imaginary Vandeloup; 'I've got you under
my thumb, and I'll crush the life out of you--and of her also, if I
can;' and with this amiable resolution Slivers resumed his way.
Slivers' argument was plausible, but there were plenty of flaws in
it, which, however, he did not stop to consider, so carried away was
he by his anger against Madame Midas. He stumped along doggedly,
revolving the whole affair in his mind, and by the time he arrived
at the Wattle Tree Hotel he had firmly persuaded himself that
Villiers was dead, and that Vandeloup had committed the crime at the
instigation of Mrs Villiers.
He found Miss Twexby seated in the bar, with a decidedly cross face,
which argued ill for anyone who held converse with her that day; but
as Slivers was quite as crabbed as she was, and, moreover, feared
neither God nor man--much less a woman--he tackled her at once.
'Where's your father?' he asked, abruptly, leaning on his stick and
looking intently at the fair Martha's vinegary countenance.
'Asleep!' snapped that damsel, jerking her head in the direction of
the parlour; 'what do you want?'--very disdainfully.
'A little civility in the first place,' retorted Slivers, rudely,
sitting down on a bench that ran along the wall, and thereby causing
his wooden leg to stick straight out, which, being perceived by
Billy, he descended from the old man's shoulder and turned the leg
into a perch, where he sat and swore at Martha.
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