Witness to the Deed Part 22

"No, sir, an alias. James Dale, whom we have wanted for months. Dodged us by keeping abroad. Couldn't run him to earth before--stayed on the Continent; and he was off abroad again, but we were just in time."

"I tell you," thundered Sir Mark, "it is a horrible mistake. Here, Guest--the carriage: we must follow them at once. Ladies, some of you-- oh, here is my sister. Rebecca, go up to Myra and keep her in her room.

A little mistake; Barron has been called away--a business mistake.

Tell her to be calm. Now, sir," he cried sternly to the officer, "you do not leave my side. Mr Guest, come with us."

"Where to, Sir Mark?" said the man quietly.

"To Scotland Yard."

"Excuse me, sir; it is no mistake. I'll go with you, of course, but you will thank me one of those days for being so prompt. You have been imposed upon by one of the cleverest scoundrels of his time. James Dale is--"

"Mr James Barron, man."

"No, Sir Mark; James Dale, charged with swindling the Russian government of a tremendous sum by the issuing of forged rouble notes."

"What?"

"And just off to Buenos Ayres."

"To the West Indies, man--to his estate."

"Yes, sir," said the man dryly; "he's going to his estate, but it isn't there."

Sir Mark looked wildly round at the crowd of friends who were drawing away, and without another word accompanied the officer to the carriage, where, as soon as they were started, the latter addressed himself to Guest, the admiral having sunk back in one corner, trying to collect his thoughts, but only to begin listening intently.

"No mistake, sir," said the officer. "I wish for the gentleman's sake there was. The prisoner has been carrying on the game for a long time with a copper-plate printer, a man named Henderson--Samuel Henderson.

We took him an hour ago, and it was through a letter we found in his pocket that we knew what was going on here, and arrived just in time for the young lady."

Guest glanced at Sir Mark and met his eyes.

"Quite the gentleman, our friend Dale," continued the officer.

"Schoolmaster once, I found. Speaks languages, plays, and sings. Great yachting man. Deceive anybody; but his game's up now. Couldn't live in England as it was. Where did he say he was going--West Indies, sir?"

Guest nodded.

"Well, he was going on farther south. He had taken tickets for the River Plate."

Sir Mark started violently.

There was silence for a few moments, and Guest's resentment against Myra died out as he thought of the poor girl in the power of a scoundrel thousands of miles from home.

"Lady has money, I suppose?" whispered the officer from behind his hand.

Guest gave a short, sharp nod, and then felt annoyed with himself, but the officer took no heed and went on:

"Of course she would have, sir. Well, my gentleman will not be able to touch that, and I suppose there will be no difficulty about getting a divorce."

At those words a flood of thought flashed through Guest's brain, and he recalled conversations held with Edie respecting the marriage, and the girl's boldly expressed belief that her cousin would gladly have drawn back but for her promise and her pride.

He would have hurried off to Benchers' Inn with the information, but he was bound to go on to the police office and see the matter through with Sir Mark; and in due time they reached Scotland Yard, to find Barron, or Dale, in a kind of desk, listening carelessly to the evidence given by the officers who had helped to execute the warrant.

But the man's whole aspect changed as he saw Sir Mark and Guest enter.

"Hah!" he cried; "at last. Now, Mr Inspector, or whatever you are, this is Admiral Sir Mark Jerrold, my father-in-law. The whole affair is one of mistaken ident.i.ty. For Heaven's sake, my dear sir, satisfy these people as to my responsibility, and act as bail for my reappearance. Of course there will be no Southampton to-day. How does Myra bear the shock?"

Sir Mark's opinion veered toward the speaker directly, and turning to the officer who had been his companion from the house, he found him smiling.

"There, sir, I told you it was all a mistake."

"Yes, Sir Mark, you did," said the man respectfully; and then to a couple of policemen: "Bring them in."

"The luggage?" cried Guest as he saw what was being borne in by the men.

"Yes, sir," said the officer. "I stepped back to give instructions to our men to bring on everything from the carriage, and the trunks sent on to Waterloo. They must be searched for incriminating evidence. The lady's luggage will be sent back to Bourne Square at once."

"The insolence of the scoundrels!" cried Barron. "My dear Sir Mark, pray get this wretched business finished."

"I can save the gentleman a good deal of trouble, Dale," said the inspector in charge.

"Are you addressing me, sir?" said the prisoner haughtily.

"Won't do, Dale; the game's up," said the inspector, smiling. Then to Sir Mark:

"I am sorry for you, sir, but this is no case for bail."

"But I will be his security for any amount," cried Sir Mark, who crushed down the belief that he had been deceived.

"Yes, of course, of course," cried the prisoner.

"No good, Mr Dale. You can renew the application to the magistrate,"

said the inspector.

He made a sign, and after a furious burst of protestations the prisoner gave up.

"Communicate with Garner of Ely Place at once for me, Sir Mark," he said at parting. "It will be all right. Comfort Myra, and tell her it's an absurd mistake," he continued as Guest was looking at a letter the detective officer held for his perusal; and then he turned indignantly as Barron held out his hand.

Sir Mark was about to take it when Guest struck the hand down.

"How dare you?" began the prisoner.

"Don't touch the scoundrel, Sir Mark," cried Guest fiercely. "It is all true."

"You cur!" roared the prisoner. "You turn against me? But I know the reason for that: our friend the rejected in Benchers' Inn."

"Come away, Sir Mark," cried Guest. "The man is an utter knave."

"I will not believe it," cried Sir Mark.

"Read that letter, then," said Guest quietly, "written on paper bearing your crest, from your own house, to his confederate Samuel Henderson, the printer of the forged Russian notes."