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The Bag of Diamonds, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 17. A Jar Wrongly Labelled |
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_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A JAR WRONGLY LABELLED. James Poynter blustered and threatened; but the only proceedings he took were the sending of threatening letters to Hendon--letters which Mark advised him to throw into the fire. "Wait," said the latter one evening, "and let him develop his attack; we should only weaken ourselves by going out to meet him." "But if he really has claims on my father, and seizes this place?" "Then, my lad, you and I must set to, and see if it is not possible for us to join hands and get together another home for your father and sister--one, perhaps, that, if small, might be made happy till I came back." "Came back?" said Janet, who had accompanied her brother to the doctor's that evening. "Yes, dear," said Mark. "I have not said a word to a soul; but I'm going back to the Cape by the next boat." "To try your luck again?" said Hendon quickly. "To try my luck again," replied Mark; and he glanced at Rich, who was seated at work with Janet, while the doctor looked on, and smiled placidly at both in turn. Rich turned very pale; but she did not speak. "I have no prospects here," continued Mark; "and out yonder I have faith in making some progress. I shall tempt my fate again." "And if I could only feel sure that those we left behind would be safe," cried Hendon, "I'd go with you." Janet's eyes lit up, and it was a look more of encouragement than blame which she directed at her lover. "You, Hendon?" said Mark, smiling. "Yes; I want to get away, and begin differently. I'm--there, look here, Mark Heath; with a strong-minded chap like you, I know I could get on, doctoring or diamond-digging, or something of that kind. Hallo, what is it?" "Letter, sir." "Letter? Why didn't the boy bring it up?" "He's a-dusting the surgery, sir," replied the maid, who seemed to have been engaged upon some cleansing business in which she had been worsted. "For you, Hendon," said Rich, who had taken the letter. "Is it from the hospital?" "No, it isn't from the hospital," said Hendon quietly, as he knit his brow over the correctly-written formal letter, in which a firm of solicitors respectfully informed him that unless certain sums due on dishonoured bills were paid to them in a specified time, they were instructed by their client, Mr James Poynter, to take immediate proceedings for the recovery of the debt. "Mark, old chap, the attack has begun;" and Hendon handed the letter to the former, who read it through. "Let's go down-stairs," he said. "I want to talk to you." "Is anything wrong?" said Janet anxiously. "Nothing fresh, my dear," replied Mark: "Hendon and I are going to chat over matters. We shall be up again soon." "But is the news very bad?" said Rich. "No: on the whole good," replied Mark; and he and Hendon went down-stairs, and were going into the dining-room, but the gas was lit in the surgery, and they went there, to find Bob going over the bottles, and, after a careful polish, putting them back. "Be off for a bit, my boy," said Hendon; "or--no; go on with your work." He took a match from a box on a shelf, and lit the consulting-room lamp. "Here," he said, "room's chilly; we may as well have a pipe over it." Mark nodded, and they smoked for a few minutes in silence. "Why did you say that was good news?" said Hendon at last. "Because the enemy shows his hand." "Shows his hand? How?" "If he had any claim upon your father, he would have attacked him first. He has no claim. It was an empty boast." "So much the better," cried Hendon. "Well, that settles it. I shall go off with you." Mark smoked in silence. "If you'll have me. But I say, old fellow, do you quite give up the diamonds?" "Quite." "You said you had been to the police again, yesterday." "Yes, and they say they think they can lay their hands upon the men when they try to sell." "Well, then, there is hope." "Not a bit. They are cooling down. I don't think they have much faith in my story; and, besides, the matter is growing stale. They have a dozen more things on the way. Hendon, my lad, you love my sister?" "On my--" "That will do. I believe it; but neither you nor I can marry for years to come. You shall go with me, and we will come back well enough off to make those two our wives." "But Poynter's debt? He'll have me arrested before I can leave the country." "His debt shall be paid." "Paid?" "Not in full, but as much as is honestly due to him. I shall set a sensible solicitor to work to make a compromise." "But the money? No, no; he will not give up. This is putting on the screw so as to move my sister." "Whom he will not move," said Mark, smiling with content. "I suppose you are not likely to take up your father's invention?" "Good gracious, no! Millington, our big swell, told me, when I mentioned it, that it was a craze, and that it was contrary to nature. You can't arrest ordinary decay." "No, of course not; life must go on till it reaches its highest pitch, and then decline." "Of course." "Well, look here, Hendon, Janet and I have a little money between us in Consols, and, as we are going to make a fresh start together, we'll do so clearly, and your debt shall be paid." "What, with Janet's money? Hang it, no!" cried Hendon fiercely; "I'm not such a cad as that." "You are going to be my brother," said Mark, smiling as he slapped him on the shoulder, "my younger brother, and you'll do exactly what I bid you." "Yes, but--" "That will do. I see my way clearly now, so let's go up-stairs and have a chat with the girls." Hendon put down his pipe very slowly, and glanced up at a shelf, upon which some of the apparatus connected with his father's dreams was standing; but it offered him no solution of his difficulties, and he followed Mark Heath into the surgery just as Janet and Rich, who were unable longer to bear the suspense, came down to press for an explanation. "Here, I say," saluted the party, from Bob, "who's been a-meddlin' with these here preparations?" "What preparations?" said Hendon sharply. "These here," cried Bob, who had just taken down a large glass jar to dust. "The doctor will be in a way. He don't like no one to meddle with them." The jar was labelled, like the row from which it had been taken, with a gummed-on slip of letter paper, the contents being written in the doctor's own bold hand, the ink now yellow with age, and the gummed-on label beginning to peel off. "Put the horrible thing away!" cried Hendon angrily. "But some 'un's been a-stuffing something else in here as don't belong," cried the boy. "I knows 'em all by heart. Look here!" He thrust his hand into the glass jar, after removing the great stopper. "What are you doing, boy?" cried Hendon, stepping forward to arrest the lad's action, as he drew out, all dripping with the spirit, a disgusting-looking swollen object, evidently a portion of the digestive viscera of a calf or sheep; but before he could reach him, Mark uttered a wild cry, thrust him aside; and, as he snatched the hideous-looking object from Bob's hand, the glass jar fell upon the surgery floor, was smashed to atoms, and a strong odour of methylated spirit filled the place. "You've done it now!" cried the boy piteously; and then he stared as Mark dragged from his pocket a knife, and cut the string of what, in place of an anatomical preparation, was a soaked and swollen wash-leather bag. "Look, Rich, look!" cried Mark, dropping the knife, his hands trembling with excitement, and his voice so husky and changed that it was hardly recognisable. As he spoke, he thrust Rich back upon the settee, and, with one quick motion, poured a couple of handfuls of rough diamonds into her lap. "Mark!" she cried, as he sank upon his knees before her, and clasped her hands; while, in his excitement, Hendon caught Janet in his arms, from which she might have extricated herself a little more quickly than she did. "Now just look at that!" said Bob, picking up the bag, which had fallen upon the floor. "Why, it's just like one o' them things as the doctor's got saved up. I say," he continued excitedly, "lookye here, sir, there's another one inside." He drew out of the swollen leather bag a stone as big as a small marble, and held it out. "Yes; and that's yours, my boy," cried Mark excitedly; "whatever it fetches shall be for you." "What! my own?" cried Bob. "Yes--yes!" "To do what I like with, sir?" "Well, it shall be applied for your benefit, my lad." "Then I wants some on it now!" cried the boy excitedly. "What for?" said Rich. "To get my old ooman home." "And I want one, Mark," cried Hendon. "Yes," said Mark; "to pay James Poynter's debt." _ |
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