The Master of the Ceremonies Part 126

"Paste, man, paste."

Fisherman d.i.c.k had a thought flash into his head, and he gave his knee such a tremendous slap that the child began to cry.

"Here, missus, lay holt o' the little un," he cried, pa.s.sing it to her, as she gave her hands a rub on her ap.r.o.n--almost pitching it as if it had been a little brandy keg. "Here, I know, gentlemen," he continued, "them jools has turned out to be real, and you only give ten s.h.i.+llings."

"All they were worth, man. No; they've turned out to be what I told you--sham."

"Oh!" said Fisherman d.i.c.k in a tone of disappointment. "Hear that, missus? Only sham."

"But we want to hear how you found them."

"How I foun' 'em? Well, you've got 'em; that's enough for you, arn't it?" he grumbled.

"No. You must speak out--to us mind--and let us know--in confidence-- all about it."

"I don't know nothing about 'em at all. I forgets."

"No, you don't. You dredged them up, you said, when you were shrimping and searching for Miss Dean's bag--after the accident."

"How do you know?" growled the fisherman fiercely.

"You told Miss Dean so when you took them to her."

"And how do you know that?"

"You told her so when you took them to her, and she told me," said Barclay.

"Then she told you wrong," said Fisherman d.i.c.k sulkily. "It warn't then."

"Look here, my man," said Barclay. "You may not know it, but very likely you will find yourself in an awkward position if you do not speak out."

"Shall I?" growled the man defiantly.

"Yes; a very awkward position. You know that Mr Denville is lying under sentence of death for the murder of Lady Teigne, and stealing her jewels?"

"Oh, yes; I know all about that," growled the fisherman.

"Well, then, what will you say if I tell you that those ornaments you sold me have been identified as Lady Teigne's jewels?"

Fisherman d.i.c.k's jaw dropped, and curious patches and blotches of white appeared in his sun-browned face.

"Oh, d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k!" cried his wife, "why don't you tell the truth? No, don't: it may get you into trouble."

"I ain't going to speak," growled d.i.c.k. "'Tain't likely."

"Hush, Barclay," whispered Linnell, taking off his hat as Claire Denville came up hurriedly, leaning on her brother's arm.

She caught Barclay's hand quickly, and said in a hurried whisper:

"You are inquiring about that, Mr Barclay? Have you found out anything?"

"No; the fellow will not speak," said Barclay pettishly.

"Then stop--pray stop!" said Claire. "Don't ask--don't ask him any more."

"My dear Claire, this is madness," cried Morton excitedly. "We must know the truth."

"No, no," said Claire faintly. "It is better not."

"I say it is better out. You foolish girl, it is our last chance for him."

"Morton," whispered Claire; "suppose--"

"Better the truth than the doubt," cried Morton. "You d.i.c.k Miggles--"

"Stop!" cried Richard Linnell. "Mr Denville, your sister's wishes should be respected."

Claire darted a grateful glance at him, and then her face contracted, and she turned from him with a weary sigh.

"Mr Linnell," cried Morton, "I wish to spare my sister's feelings; but it is my duty as my father's son to prove him innocent if I can, and I'll have the truth out of this man."

"All right, Mr Mort'n," said d.i.c.k. "Don't be hard on a fellow. You and me used to be good mates over many a fis.h.i.+ng trip, when you used to come down o' nights out o' the balc'ny."

Morton turned a horrified look upon Fisherman d.i.c.k, as the idea flashed across his brain, that the man who knew so well how he came down, must have known the way up. It was but a pa.s.sing fancy, for there was that in the rough fisherman's countenance that seemed to disarm suspicion.

"Well, what's the matter now, Master Mort'n?"

"I want you to speak out, d.i.c.k."

"Morton--brother!" whispered Claire appealingly.

"Be silent, Claire," he replied angrily. "Now, d.i.c.k, speak out. You, Mrs Miggles, you are telling him to be silent. I will not have it.

Now, d.i.c.k, how did you get those jewels?"

"Shrimped 'em. Off the pier."

"And how came they there?"

"Chucked in, I s'pose," growled the fisherman. "How should I know?"

"Stop!" cried Morton suddenly. "Let me think--my head is all confused, Mr Barclay--so much trouble lately, but I seem to recollect--yes. d.i.c.k Miggles, you know; some one--that night we were fis.h.i.+ng down among the piles under the pier."

"Yes, I recklect oftens fis.h.i.+ng along o' you there, Master Mort'n."

"Yes, but one night--when I stole down, soon after that terrible business. Why, you recollect, Mr Linnell. You caught me."

"Yes, of course. I recollect," said Linnell eagerly.