Books: Madame Midas
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Fergus Hume >> Madame Midas
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Vandeloup bent down and examined the plant, with its large, round,
smooth, purple-spotted stem--its smooth, shining green leaves, and
the tiny white flowers with their disagreeable odour.
'Yes, it is hemlock,' he said, half to himself; 'I did not know it
could be grown here. Some day, Mademoiselle,' he said, turning to
Miss Twexby and walking back to the house with her, 'I will ask you
to let me have some of the roots of that plant to make an experiment
with.'
'As much as you like,' said the fair Martha, amiably; 'it's a nasty
smelling thing. What are you going to make out of it?'
'Nothing particular,' returned Vandeloup, with a yawn, as they
entered the house and stopped at the door of Pierre's room. 'I'm a
bit of a chemist, and amuse myself with these things.'
'You are clever,' observed Martha, admiringly; 'but here's that
man's room--we didn't give him the best'--apologetically--'as miners
are so rough.'
'Mademoiselle,' said Vandeloup, eagerly, as she turned to go, 'I see
there are a few blossoms of hemlock left in your flower there,'
touching it with his finger; 'will you give them to me?'
Martha Twexby stared; surely this was the long-expected come at
last--she had secured a lover; and such a lover--handsome, young,
and gallant,--the very hero of her dreams. She almost fainted in
delighted surprise, and unfastening the flowers with trembling
fingers, gave them to Gaston. He placed them in a button-hole of his
flannel coat, then before she could scream, or even draw back in
time, this audacious young man put his arm round her and kissed her
virginal lips. Miss Twexby was so taken by surprise, that she could
offer no resistance, and by the time she had recovered herself,
Gaston had disappeared into Pierre's room and closed the door after
him.
'Well,' she said to herself, as she returned to the bar, 'if that
isn't a case of love at first sight, my name ain't Martha Twexby,'
and she sat down in the bar with her nerves all of a flutter, as she
afterwards told a female friend who dropped in sometimes for a
friendly cup of tea.
Gaston closed the door after him, and found himself in a moderately
large room, with one window looking on to the garden, and having a
dressing-table with a mirror in front of it. There were two beds,
one on each side, and on the farthest of these Pierre was sleeping
heavily, not even Gaston's entrance having roused him. Going over to
him, Vandeloup touched him slightly, and with a spring the dumb man
sat up in bed as if he expected to be arrested, and was all on the
alert to escape.
'It's only I, my friend,' said Gaston, in French, crossing over to
the other bed and sitting on it. 'Come here; I wish to speak to
you.'
Pierre rose from his sleeping place, and, stumbling across the room,
stood before Gaston with downcast eyes, his shaggy hair all tossed
and tumbled by the contact with the pillow. Gaston himself coolly
relit his cigarette, which had gone out, threw his straw hat on the
bed, and then, curling one leg inside the other, looked long and
keenly at Pierre.
'You saw Madame's husband to-day?' he said sharply, still eyeing the
slouching figure before him, that seemed so restless under his
steady gaze.
Pierre nodded and shuffled his large feet.
'Did he want to know about his wife?'
Another nod.
'I thought so; and about the new nugget also, I presume?'
Still another nod.
'Humph,' thoughtfully. 'He'd like to get a share of it, I've no
doubt.'
The dumb man nodded violently; then, crossing over to his own bed,
he placed the pillow in the centre of it, and falling on his knees,
imitated the action of miners in working at the wash. Then he arose
to his feet and pointed to the pillow.
'I see,' said M. Vandeloup, who had been watching this pantomime
with considerable interest; 'that pillow is the nugget of which our
friend wants a share.'
Pierre assented; then, snatching up the pillow, he ran with it to
the end of the room.
'Oh,' said Gaston, after a moment's thought, 'so he's going to run
away with it. A very good idea; but how does he propose to get it?'
Pierre dropped his pillow and pointed in the direction of the Black
Hill.
'Does he know it's up there?' asked Vandeloup; 'you told him, I
suppose?' As Pierre nodded, 'Humph! I think I can see what Mr
Villiers intends to do--rob his wife as she goes home tonight.'
Pierre nodded in a half doubtful manner.
'You're not quite sure,' interrupted M. Vandeloup, 'but I am. He
won't stop at anything to get money. You stay all night in town?'
The dumb man assented.
'So do I,' replied Vandeloup; 'it's a happy coincidence, because I
see a chance of our getting that nugget.' Pierre's dull eyes
brightened, and he rubbed his hands together in a pleased manner.
'Sit down,' said Vandeloup, in a peremptory tone, pointing to the
floor. 'I wish to tell you what I think.'
Pierre obediently dropped on to the floor, where he squatted like a
huge misshapen toad, while Vandeloup, after going to the door to see
that it was closed, returned to the bed, sat down again, and, having
lighted another cigarette, began to speak. All this precaution was
somewhat needless, as he was talking rapidly in French, but then M.
Vandeloup knew that walls have ears and possibly might understand
foreign languages.
'I need hardly remind you,' said Vandeloup, in a pleasant voice,
'that when we landed in Australia I told you that there was war
between ourselves and society, and that, at any cost, we must try to
make money; so far, we have only been able to earn an honest
livelihood--a way of getting rich which you must admit is remarkably
slow. Here, however, is a chance of making, if not a fortune, at
least a good sum of money at one stroke. This M. Villiers is going
to rob his wife, and his plan will no doubt be this: he will lie in
wait for her, and when she drives slowly down the hill, he will
spring on to the trap and perhaps attempt to kill her; at all
events, he will seize the box containing the nugget, and try to make
off with it. How he intends to manage it I cannot tell you--it must
be left to the chapter of accidents; but,' in a lower voice, bending
forward, 'when he does get the nugget we must obtain it from him.'
Pierre looked up and drew his hand across his throat.
'Not necessarily,' returned Vandeloup, coolly; 'I know your adage,
"dead men tell no tales," but it is a mistake--they do, and to kill
him is dangerous. No, if we stun him we can go off with the nugget,
and then make our way to Melbourne, where we can get rid of it
quietly. As to Madame Midas, if her husband allows her to live--
which I think is unlikely--I will make our excuses to her for
leaving the mine. Now, I'm going up to M. Marchurst's house, so you
can meet me at the top of the hill, at eight o'clock tonight. Madame
will probably start at half-past eight or nine, so that will give us
plenty of time to see what M. Villiers is going to do.'
They both rose to their feet. Then Vandeloup put on his hat, and,
going to the glass, arranged his tie in as cool and nonchalant a
manner as if he had been merely planning the details for a picnic
instead of a possible crime. While admiring himself in the glass he
caught sight of the bunch of flowers given to him by Miss Twexby,
and, taking them from his coat, he turned round to Pierre, who stood
watching him in his usual sullen manner.
'Do you see these?' he asked, touching the white blossoms with the
cigarette he held between his fingers.
Pierre intimated that he did.
'From the plant of these, my friend,' said Vandeloup, looking at
them critically, 'I can prepare a vegetable poison as deadly as any
of Caesar Borgia's. It is a powerful narcotic, and leaves hardly any
trace. Having been a medical student, you know,' he went on,
conversationally, 'I made quite a study of toxicology, and the juice
of this plant,' touching the white flower, 'has done me good
service, although it was the cause of my exile to New Caledonia.
Well,' with a shrug of the shoulders as he put the flowers back in
his coat, 'it is always something to have in reserve; I did not know
that I could get this plant here, my friend. But now that I have I
will prepare a little of this poison,--it will always be useful in
emergencies.'
Pierre looked steadily at the young man, and then slipping his hand
behind his back he drew forth from the waistband of his trousers a
long, sharp, cruel-looking knife, which for safety had a leather
sheath. Drawing this off, the dumb man ran his thumb along the keen
edge, and held the knife out towards Vandeloup, who refused it with
a cynical smile.
'You don't believe in this, I can see,' he said, touching the dainty
bunch of flowers as Pierre put the knife in its sheath again and
returned it to its hiding-place. 'I'm afraid your ideas are still
crude--you believe in the good old-fashioned style of blood-letting.
Quite a mistake, I assure you; poison is much more artistic and neat
in its work, and to my mind involves less risk. You see, my Pierre,'
he continued, lazily watching the blue wreaths of smoke from his
cigarette curl round his head, 'crime must improve with
civilization; and since the Cain and Abel epoch we have refined the
art of murder in a most wonderful manner--decidedly we are becoming
more civilized; and now, my friend,' in a kind tone, laying his
slender white hand on the shoulder of the dumb man, 'you must really
take a little rest, for I have no doubt but what you will need all
your strength tonight should M. Villiers prove obstinate. Of
course,' with a shrug, 'if he does not succeed in getting the
nugget, our time will be simply wasted, and then,' with a gay smile,
touching the flowers, 'I will see what I can do in the artistic
line.'
Pierre lay down again on the bed, and turning his face to the wall
fell fast asleep, while M. Vandeloup, humming a merry tune, walked
gaily out of the room to the bar, and asked Miss Twexby for another
drink.
'Brandy and soda this time, please,' he said, lazily lighting
another cigarette; 'this heat is so enervating, and I'm going to
walk up to Black Hill. By the way, Mademoiselle,' he went on, as she
opened the soda water, 'as I see there are two beds in my friend's
room I will stay here all night.'
'You shall have the best room,' said Martha, decisively, as she
handed him the brandy and soda.
'You are too kind,' replied M. Vandeloup, coolly, as he took the
drink from her, 'but I prefer to stay with my silent friend. He was
one of the sailors in the ship when I was wrecked, as you have no
doubt heard, and looks upon me as a sort of fetish.'
Miss Twexby knew all about the wreck, and thought it was beautiful
that he should condescend to be so friendly with a common sailor.
Vandeloup received all her speeches with a polite smile, then set
down his empty glass and prepared to leave.
'Mademoiselle,' he said, touching the flowers, 'you see I still have
them--they will remind me of you,' and raising his hat he strolled
idly out of the hotel, and went off in the direction of the Black
Hill.
Miss Twexby ran to the door, and shading her eyes with her hands
from the blinding glare of the sun, she watched him lounging along
the street, tall, slender, and handsome.
'He's just lovely,' she said to herself, as she returned to the bar
'but his eyes are so wicked; I don't think he's a good young man.'
What would she have said if she had heard the conversation in the
bedroom?
CHAPTER XI
THEODORE WOPPLES, ACTOR
Mr Villiers walked in a leisurely manner along the lower part of the
town, with the intent of going up to his destination through the old
mining gully. He took this route for two reasons--first, because the
afternoon was hot, and it was easier climbing up that way than going
by the ordinary road; and, second, on his journey through the chasm
he would be able to mark some place where he could hide the nugget.
With his stick under his arm, Mr Villiers trudged merrily along in a
happy humour, as if he was bent on pleasure instead of robbery. And
after all, as he said to himself, it could not be called a genuine
robbery, as everything belonging to his wife was his by right of the
marriage service, and he was only going to have his own again. With
this comfortable thought he climbed slowly up the broken tortuous
path which led to the Black Hill, and every now and then would pause
to rest, and admire the view.
It was now nearly six o'clock, and the sun was sinking amid a blaze
of splendour. The whole of the western sky was a sea of shimmering
gold, and this, intensified near the horizon to almost blinding
brightness, faded off towards the zenith of the sky into a delicate
green, and thence melted imperceptibly into a cold blue.
Villiers, however, being of the earth, earthy, could not be troubled
looking very long at such a common-place sight as a sunset; the same
thing occurred every evening, and he had more important things to do
than to waste his time gratifying his artistic eye. Arriving on the
plateau of earth just in front of the gully, he was soon entering
the narrow gorge, and tramped steadily along in deep thought, with
bent head and wrinkled brows. The way being narrow, and Villiers
being preoccupied, it was not surprising that as a man was coming
down in the opposite direction, also preoccupied, they should run
against one another. When this took place it gave Mr Villiers rather
a start, as it suggested a possible witness to the deed he
contemplated, a thing for which he was by no means anxious.
'Really, sir,' said the stranger, in a rich, rolling voice, and in a
dignified tone, 'I think you might look where you are going. From
what I saw of you, your eyes were not fixed on the stars, and thus
to cause your unwatched feet to stumble; in fact,' said the speaker,
looking up to the sky, 'I see no stars whereon you could fix your
gaze.'
This somewhat strange mode of remonstrance was delivered in a solemn
manner, with appropriate gestures, and tickled Mr Villiers so much
that he leaned up against a great rock abutting on the path, and
laughed long and loudly.
'That is right, sir,' said the stranger, approvingly; 'laughter is
to the soul what food is to the body. I think, sir,' in a Johnsonian
manner, 'the thought is a happy one.'
Villiers assented with a nod, and examined the speaker attentively.
He was a man of medium height, rather portly than otherwise, with a
clean-shaved face, clearly-cut features, and two merry grey eyes,
which twinkled like stars as they rested on Villiers. His hair was
greyish, and inclined to curl, but could not follow its natural
inclination owing to the unsparing use of the barber's shears. He
wore a coat and trousers of white flannel, but no waistcoat; canvas
shoes were on his feet, and a juvenile straw hat was perched on his
iron-grey hair, the rim of which encircled his head like a halo of
glory. He had small, well-shaped hands, one of which grasped a light
cane, and the other a white silk pocket handkerchief, with which he
frequently wiped his brow. He seemed very hot, and, leaning on the
opposite side of the path against a rock, fanned himself first with
his handkerchief and then with his hat, all the time looking at Mr
Villiers with a beaming smile. At last he took a silver-mounted
flask from his pocket and offered it to Villiers, with a pleasant
bow.
'It's very hot, you know,' he said, in his rich voice, as Villiers
accepted the flask.
'What, this?' asked Villiers, indicating the flask, as he slowly
unscrewed the top.
'No; the day, my boy, the day. Ha! ha! ha!' said the lively
stranger, going off into fits of laughter, which vibrated like small
thunder amid the high rocks surrounding them. 'Good line for a
comedy, I think. Ha! ha!--gad, I'll make a note of it,' and diving
into one of the pockets of his coat, he produced therefrom an old
letter, on the back of which he inscribed the witticism with the
stump of a pencil.
Meanwhile Villiers, thinking the flask contained brandy, or at least
whisky, took a long drink of it, but found to his horror it was
merely a weak solution of sherry and water.
'Oh, my poor stomach,' he gasped, taking the flask from his lips.
'Colic?' inquired the stranger with a pleasant smile, as he put back
the letter and pencil, 'hot water fomentations are what you need.
Wonderful cure. Will bring you to life again though you were at your
last gasp. Ha!' struck with a sudden idea, '"His Last Gasp", good
title for a melodrama--mustn't forget that,' and out came the letter
and the pencil again.
Mr Villiers explained in a somewhat gruff tone that it was not
colic, but that his medical attendant allowed him to drink nothing
but whisky.
'To be taken twenty times a day, I presume,' observed the stranger,
with a wink; 'no offence meant, sir,' as Villiers showed a
disposition to resent this, 'merely a repartee. Good for a comedy, I
fancy; what do you think?'
'I think,' said Mr Villiers, handing him back the flask, 'that
you're very eccentric.'
'Eccentric?' replied the other, in an airy tone, 'not at all, sir.
I'm merely a civilized being with the veneer off. I am not hidden
under an artificial coat of manner. No, I laugh--ha! ha! I skip, ha!
ha!' with a light trip on one foot. 'I cry,' in a dismal tone. 'In
fact, I am a man in his natural state--civilized sufficiently, but
not over civilized.'
'What's your name?' asked Mr Villiers, wondering whether the portly
gentleman was mad.
For reply the stranger dived into another pocket, and, bringing to
light a long bill-poster, held it up before Mr Villiers.
'Read! mark! and inwardly digest!' he said in a muffled tone behind
the bill.
This document set forth in red, black, and blue letters, that the
celebrated Wopples Family, consisting of twelve star artistes, were
now in Ballarat, and would that night appear at the Academy of Music
in their new and original farcical comedy, called 'The Cruet-Stand'.
Act I: Pepper! Act II: Mustard! Act III: Vinegar.
'You, then,' said Villiers, after he had perused this document, 'are
Mr Wopples?'
'Theodore Wopples, at your service,' said that gentleman, rolling up
the bill, then putting it into his pocket, he produced therefrom a
batch of tickets. 'One of these,' handing a ticket to Villiers,
'will admit you to the stalls tonight, where you will see myself and
the children in "The Cruet-Stand".'
'Rather a peculiar title, isn't it?' said Villiers, taking the
ticket.
'The play is still more peculiar, sir,' replied Mr Wopples,
restoring the bulky packet of tickets to his pocket, 'dealing as it
does with the adventures of a youth who hides his father's will in a
cruet stand, which is afterwards annexed by a comic bailiff.'
'But isn't it rather a curious thing to hide a will in a cruet
stand?' asked Villiers, smiling at the oddity of the idea.
'Therein, sir, lies the peculiarity of the play,' said Mr Wopples,
grandly. 'Of course the characters find out in Act I that the will
is in the cruet stand; in Act II, while pursuing it, they get mixed
up with the bailiff's mother-in-law; and in Act III,' finished Mr
Wopples, exultingly, 'they run it to earth in a pawnshop. Oh, I
assure you it is a most original play.'
'Very,' assented the other, dryly; 'the author must be a man of
genius--who wrote it?'
'Its a translation from the German, sir,' said Mr Wopples, taking a
drink of sherry and water, 'and was originally produced in London as
"The Pickle Bottle", the will being hidden with the family onions.
In Melbourne it was the success of the year under the same title.
I,' with an air of genius, 'called it "The Cruet Stand".'
'Then how did you get a hold of it,' asked Villiers.
'My wife, sir,' said the actor, rolling out the words in his deep
voice. 'A wonderful woman, sir; paid a visit to Melbourne, and
there, sir, seated at the back of the pit between a coal-heaver and
an apple-woman, she copied the whole thing down.'
'But isn't that rather mean?'
'Certainly not,' retorted Wopples, haughtily; 'the opulent Melbourne
managers refuse to let me have their new pieces, so I have to take
the law into my own hands. I'll get all the latest London successes
in the same way. We play "Ours" under the title of "The Hero's
Return, or the Soldier's Bride": we have done the "Silver King" as
"The Living Dead", which was an immense success.'
Villiers thought that under such a contradictory title it would
rather pique the curiosity of the public.
'To-morrow night,' pursued Mr Wopples, 'we act "Called Back", but it
is billed as "The Blind Detective"; thus,' said the actor, with
virtuous scorn, 'do we evade the grasping avarice of the Melbourne
managers, who would make us pay fees for them.'
'By the way,' said Mr Wopples, breaking off suddenly in a light and
airy manner, 'as I came down here I saw a lovely girl--a veritable
fairy, sir--with golden hair, and a bright smile that haunts me
still. I exchanged a few remarks with her regarding the beauty of
the day, and thus allegorically referred to the beauty of herself--a
charming flight of fancy, I think, sir.'
'It must have been Kitty Marchurst,' said Villiers, not attending to
the latter portion of Mr Wopples' remarks.
'Ah, indeed,' said Mr Wopples, lightly, 'how beautiful is the name
of Kitty; it suggests poetry immediately--for instance:
Kitty, ah Kitty, You are so pretty, Charming and witty, That 'twere
a pity I sung not this ditty In praise of my Kitty.
On the spur of the moment, sir, I assure you; does it not remind you
of Herrick?'
Mr Villiers bluntly said it did not.
'Ah! perhaps it's more like Shakespeare?' observed the actor, quite
unabashed. 'You think so?'
Mr Villiers was doubtful, and displayed such anxiety to get away
that Mr Wopples held out his hand to say goodbye.
'You'll excuse me, I know,' said Mr Wopples, in an apologetic tone,
'but the show commences at eight, and it is now half-past six. I
trust I shall see you tonight.'
'It's very kind of you to give me this ticket,' said Villiers, in
whom the gentlemanly instinct still survived.
'Not at all; not at all,' retorted Mr Wopples, with a wink.
'Business, my boy, business. Always have a good house first night,
so must go into the highways and byways for an audience. Ha!
Biblical illustration, you see;' and with a gracious wave of his
hand he skipped lightly down the path and disappeared from sight.
It was now getting dark; so Mr Villiers went on his own way, and
having selected a mining shaft where he could hide the nugget, he
climbed up to the top of the hill, and lying down under the shadow
of a rock where he could get a good view of Marchurst's house, he
waited patiently till such time as his wife would start for home.
'I'll pay you out for all you've done,' he muttered to himself, as
he lay curled up in the black shadow like a noisome reptile. 'Tit
for tat, my lady!-tit for tat!'
CHAPTER XII
HIGHWAY ROBBERY
Dinner at Mr Marchurst's house was not a particularly exhilarating
affair. As a matter of fact, though dignified with the name of
dinner, it was nothing more than one of those mixed meals known as
high tea. Vandeloup knew this, and, having a strong aversion to the
miscellaneous collection of victuals which appeared on Mr
Marchurst's table, he dined at Craig's Hotel, where he had a nice
little dinner, and drank a pint bottle of champagne in order to
thoroughly enjoy himself. Madame Midas also had a dislike to tea-
dinners, but, being a guest, of course had to take what was going;
and she, Kitty, and Mr Marchurst, were the only people present at
the festive board. At last Mr Marchurst finished and delivered a
long address of thanks to Heaven for the good food they had enjoyed,
which good food, being heavy and badly cooked, was warranted to give
them all indigestion and turn their praying to cursing. In fact,
what with strong tea, hurried meals, and no exercise, Mr Marchurst
used to pass an awful time with the nightmare, and although he was
accustomed to look upon nightmares as visions, they were due more to
dyspepsia than inspiration.
After dinner Madame sat and talked with Marchurst, but Kitty went
outside into the warm darkness of the summer night, and tried to
pierce the gloom to see if her lover was coming. She was rewarded,
for M. Vandeloup came up about half-past eight o'clock, having met
Pierre as arranged. Pierre had found out Villiers in his hiding-
place, and was watching him while Villiers watched the house. Being,
therefore, quite easy in his mind that things were going smoothly,
Vandeloup came up to the porch where Kitty was eagerly waiting for
him, and taking her in his arms kissed her tenderly. Then, after
assuring himself that Madame was safe with Marchurst, he put his arm
round Kitty's waist, and they walked up and down the path with the
warm wind blowing in their faces, and the perfume of the wattle
blossoms permeating the drowsy air. And yet while he was walking up
and down, talking lover-like nonsense to the pretty girl by his
side, Vandeloup knew that Villiers was watching the house far off,
with evil eyes, and he also knew that Pierre was watching Villiers
with all the insatiable desire of a wild beast for blood. The moon
rose, a great shield of silver, and all the ground was strewn with
the aerial shadows of the trees. The wind sighed through the
branches of the wattles, and made their golden blossoms tremble in
the moonlight, while hand in hand the lovers strolled down the path
or over the short dry grass. Far away in the distance they heard a
woman singing, and the high sweet voice floated softly towards them
through the clear air.
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