Caught in a Trap Part 30

After one half-stupefied thought as to where she was, she recollected all, and nerved herself up to the determination of following Markworth to the death! The blood was still trickling down her face from the dastardly blow she had received: it animated her with additional strength and fresh courage; and she seemed like a tigress, and snarled, as it were, at the sight of her own blood!

Rising to her feet, she nearly stumbled at first from stiffness and faintness, but by force of will she quickly recovered her strength, and in a few moments felt better, and able to walk.

She had marked the spot where Susan had disappeared; thither she bent her steps, and gazed down into the deep descent, hidden now, and black with the dark veil of night.

Turning round, and retracing her steps down the winding path, she proceeded to search below. As she projected round an abrupt turn of the road she jostled against a _sergent de ville_--mutual astonishment-- explanations.

Speaking rapidly to him in his native tongue, with which she was even better conversant than Markworth, and knew almost as well as a genuine Parisienne, she represented matters to the guardian of the peace. "A murder and an a.s.sault has been committed," she said, eagerly gesticulating in her emotion.

"I saw the villain throw a girl over that precipice above, and she or her body must be here! Let us search for her; help me to arrest the murderer! Have you heard no cries, seen no one?"

No, the _sergent de ville_ had seen no one: he had only just come up the road: the officer whom he had relieved had reported no disturbance.

"Had madame cried out? _Mon Dieu_! really? He had heard no cries, in faith! It was very late for madame to be out--did she know what time it was?"

"I suppose it is nearly ten o'clock," replied Miss Kingscott.

"_Ma foi_! Why it is close on morning. Madame cannot be well"--he meant that the lady, who certainly looked very bedraggled and disorderly, was something infinitely worse.

"I tell you, officer," exclaimed the governess, stamping her foot, and speaking angrily, "I am not mad or drunk; and, no matter what time it is--night or morning--I am telling you the truth! I know the man that has done this; his name is Markworth, and an Englishman; and I saw him shove the girl over the precipice, for I was close behind him at the time! I tried to stop him. He struck me; here is the cut on my forehead; you can see for yourself that I don't lie. The blow made me faint, and I must have been insensible much longer than I supposed, but it is not too late! We may catch the villain yet. It is your duty to aid me! But let us first search for the girl; her body must be here!"

Although strongly inclined to believe that the lady who addressed him was under the influence of absinthe or eau de vie, and that she had lost her way amongst the heights, and tumbling down had hurt herself, thus accounting for her blood-stained face and wild appearance, the _sergent de ville_ was somewhat thrown off his first-formed opinion by her enthusiasm and the coherency of her story. He accordingly adjusted his lantern, and they looked about together in silence for some time.

However, when no body of any murdered person was to be found, no traces of a sanguinary struggle to be seen, and everything looked as usual about the place, the _sergent de ville_ returned to his original opinion.

"I said Madame was not well!" he observed, in an aggrieved tone. "She had better go home to bed, and not be talking of any fabulous murders!

Where does Madame reside?"

"I tell you I saw the thing with my own eyes! He must have carried the body away and hidden it!"

"Hush! _ma pet.i.te_," said the man, soothingly. "Go home: it will be all right to-morrow!"

"I won't go home. I am quite in my senses, and it will be your fault if that man escapes. You ought to do your duty and arrest him. I shall complain to the Maire! Where does he live? I must see him! Take me there at once."

"_C'est impossible_!" replied the officer, coldly; "but Madame will find that I will do my duty," he added, meaningly.

"I must see the Maire! The murderer will escape!" went on the governess, hysterically.

The _sergent de ville_ placed her arm firmly within his own.

"Madame will come with me," he said, and he led her away.

He was not going to wake up the Maire or Juge de Paix at that late hour of the night, or rather early hour of the morning, with such a c.o.c.k and a bull story from a drunken woman. Why, he might lose his promotion should he disturb the slumbers of his superiors!

Finding, therefore, that his entreaties for her to go home were treated only as deaf words, and that she would neither go herself nor tell where she lived, the astute officer conducted her carefully to the guard-house, under the plea of showing her where the Maire lived in order to get her along quietly, and had her comfortably locked up.

The tables were turned with a vengeance! Markworth had got off scot free; and here was Clara Kingscott locked up in a police-station for the night as a disorderly character! Some allowance must be made, however, for the _sergent de ville_. Her story was so improbable, and she looked so strange and talked so excitedly, that the mistake might have been made even by one of our very bright and intelligent guardians of the peace, who never make such mistakes as, say, locking up a dying man perhaps on the charge of inebriety!

Be that as it may, however, there was Clara Kingscott incarcerated in a cell, and powerless of action. There are strange things happen sometimes in fiction; but stranger things often occur in real life.

Volume 3, Chapter II.

"MISHTER SHOLOMONSHON" PREPARES TO ACT: MUCH HE GAINS BY IT!

Matters seem somewhat forestalled, and a brief retrospect is needed.

How came she there--his Nemesis? Politely bowed out, after she had avowed her share in Markworth's conspiracy to Mr Trump, Clara Kingscott walked away from the lawyers' offices in a perfect frenzy. She was ever tasting the cup of revenge, which she would have so gladly drunk to the dregs, and yet as she raised it to her lips it was ever being dashed away.

It was maddening to her now to think that when she had planned to ruin Markworth at the eleventh hour, just when he was confident of success, by her appearance against instead of for him in the suit, that circ.u.mstances should so occur to defeat his ends without her aid being required. She had intended all along that her hand should deal him the blow, and that he should know it.

True it was that all his hopes for getting Susan Hartshorne's fortune were all pa.s.sed away like last winter's snow; that was some satisfaction for her to know, but then Markworth's ill-luck was not caused by her; there was where the shoe pinched, and she felt foiled.

What should she do now? She could not remain inactive. Reflecting a moment, she turned and walked hurriedly onward across Holborn, and down Chancery Lane, until she came to the offices of Solomonson and Isaacs.

It was late now; so the place was closed up, and the children of Israel were gone home: After ringing in vain for some time, she had to give up her project until the morrow, and depart in peace.

"He'll escape me yet," she muttered, "but I will be here early, and make a.s.surance doubly sure."

And she turned on her heel and went away. Before she went home to her lodgings, however, she took the trouble to go round to the hotel where she had learnt that Markworth was staying, to ask whether he was there still. She was so afraid of his getting off before her vengeance could be felt. The porter told her that he was out, but that he had not left the hotel yet: he was expecting him in every minute, for a messenger had just brought a letter for him.

"A messenger to see him?"

She pondered a moment, and then she recollected that it must be the lawyers' clerk, sent by Mr Trump to appoint the interview for the next day, when Markworth would hear the worst. She gave a sigh of satisfaction, and went to her lodgings contentedly.

Messrs. Solomonson and Isaacs came to their offices the next day at their usual time, about half-past ten o'clock, and proceeded to set about their introductory business. Letters had to be opened, doc.u.ments arranged, the list of bankrupts in the papers looked to and compared with another list of their own of the men indebted to them; in fact, all the minutiae of their daily routine had to be seen to before setting actually to work and "interviewing" their clients, or more properly speaking, customers or borrowers, for they did more in usury than law, although the appellation "solicitors" was on their door plate. The term indeed was better suited to the clients than the firm.

Mister Isaacs was at the moment engaged upon comparing the bankrupt lists, when a sudden exclamation from his partner Solomonson, who was opening the letters and glancing at their contents, startled him.

"Father Abrahamsh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed that worthy. "Gott in Himmell! how about der monish?"

"Vat's der matter, my tearsh?" enquired Isaacs, in anxious suspense.

"Noting's wrongsh mit der bank?"

"No, mine Isaacs, it is not ter banksh! Mein Gott, der monish! der monish! It is all oop wit Markevorts; der shoot is ruined!"

"Sholomonshon, ma tearsh, vat you mean? The suit lost! Vy it ain't tried yet."

"No mein sohn, it is not trite and perhaps never vills!"

And then he explained the purport of the letter.

"It's a svindel!" said Isaacs. "Ow butch did he get from you, Solomonshon?" he asked, although he well knew.

"Eleving hundert! And we vos to get tree tousand--tree tousand pounds!"

He told Isaacs a lie, and Isaacs knew it.

"And now ve can't get himsh? Is he got no monish?"