Chapter 14

A PUBLIC CLUE

Jarman did not let the grass grow under his feet. With the sealed letter in his pocket-book he returned that same evening to London. He put up at a small hotel for a few hours, and, leaving his bag there, went to see White & Saon towards midday. Had he consulted his own inclinations he would have gone immediately to Wargrove, as he had a great curiosity to see Frank open the sealed envelope. But he thought it best to follow on the warpath as long as possible, on the chance of something new turning up. It didn't do to waste time with so active an enemy as Berry.

Near the Mansion House he met Dickey Baird, who was always prowling about the City in connection with mysterious stocks and shares. His friends declared that Dickey lost more money than he made--but Dickey always talked with the air of a Rothschild. He knew Jarman very well, and saluted him gaily. Eustace was not averse to talking with Baird, thinking Dickey the ubiquitous might have something to say of the Captain and his niece. After the exchange of a few words, Jarman introduced the subject of the murder as speedily as he dared without attracting attention.

"I say, Dickey, have you heard anything of Lancaster?"

"No, poor chap. He's cleared out. I daresay he's in America. In fact, I know a fellow who thought he saw him in Liverpool."

"No doubt," replied Eustace, thinking it was best to encourage this idea and put Berry on a wrong trail. "The most sensible thing he could do was to cut."

"But I say, Jarman, you don't believe that he's guilty?"

"Don't you?" asked Eustace, alertly.

"No. Or if I do," added Dickey, rather inconsequently, "it was an accident. I'll never believe that a good chap like Lancaster killed another in so brutal a way."

"What do you mean by an accident?"

"Well, you see, Frank rather admired Starth's sister--"

"Ha!" said Eustace with a start. "I remember, she was in a box."

"Rather looking the beauty of the world. Ripping girl, just the sort of Diana of the Chase I'd like to marry."

"Go on--go on!"

"Well, Frank thought she was a ripper, and wished to know her. Of course, Starth's rowdy manners prevented a proper introduction. Frank never intended to quarrel with Starth on that night. He was all for making it up and getting to know the beauty. But Starth was so insulting that Frank had to stand up for himself. He lost his temper did Frank, and made a lot of silly speeches which were used afterwards in evidence against him. Hang it!" added Dickey, in an injured tone, "that beastly Berry hauled me into the thing, and I had to tell the rot that Frank had been talking. I said he was a silly ass at the time. But he never meant any of it. It was all sheer rage at that pig Starth, and you know he was a pig, Jarman. I wonder you made a friend of him."

"He wasn't much of a friend."

"You introduced Frank to him, anyhow."

"Only in a casual way. Go on. Let's hear your theory."

"Well, the last thing Lancaster said to me on that night was that he was sorry he had such a row, and that he wished he could make it up. I guess he went to see Starth next day for that purpose. There was another row, and Frank shot him. He would carry that revolver of his, though I was always telling him what a fool he was. So if he did shoot Jarman he shot in a rage, same as when he called the names. I hope he'll save his neck."

"Do you think there's any chance he won't?"

"Not so far as the police are concerned. But the skipper swears he'll hunt him down. You know he offered a reward of two hundred?"

"Yes. Has anyone got it?"

Dickey shook his head. "No. And Berry's offering five hundred now. I can't think why he's so keen on catching Frank. He pretended to be a friend of his, and wasn't fond of Starth from all I saw, although they were as thick as thieves."

"Do you think Berry really means business?" asked Eustace after a time. "All this offering a reward might be an advertisement for Fan."

"It might. But if jaw goes for anything he's bent on collaring Frank. He swears he'll hunt him down, if it costs him a thousand. I say," he added, looking wise, "I believe Berry and Starth were in business as partners over something and the business has gone bang. That's what made Berry mad."

"What sort of business?"

"I can't say. But when Starth was drunk he used to jaw about a million pounds he hoped to make some day. Berry shut him up once pretty sharp when he burbled like that, so I think Berry was in it."

"If it's anything shady, you may be sure Berry has something to do with it," said Eustace. "Goodbye, Dickey, I must be off."

When on his way to Kirk Lane Jarman mused over the information. He was sure now that the invitation of Starth had been a trap into which the man himself had somehow fallen. The amount at stake was a million, which was large enough a sum in Berry's eyes to justify even the murder of one man and the hanging of another. No wonder Berry offered a reward for the apprehension of Frank, if in the capture lay his chance of securing so large a fortune. But what puzzled Eustace, and what had puzzled him all along, was why it should be necessary to hang Frank. Had Lancaster been entitled to the money it would have been sufficient to have killed him, and while lying drugged on the sofa he could easily have been despatched. Indeed, the drug itself might have been administered in a sufficient quantity to polish him off. "It's an infernal mystery," said Jarman, flogging his brains to arrive at some conclusion. "I can't see the pivot on which the thing turns. Perhaps these lawyers may supply a clue."

Messrs. White & Saon were most respectable solicitors. They occupied a dingy, dark office at the top of Kirk Lane at the end furthest from Cheapside. The senior partner was engaged, but Jarman was told that he could see Saon. He had with him a letter of introduction from Miss Dorothy Drake, and sent this in with the clerk. After some delay he was conducted into a kind of dust-hole with a grimy skylight, packed with books and boxes and law papers. In the centre of this sat a spick-and-span gentleman of over fifty, with a heavy face and a smiling, easy-going mouth. He held the open letter of Miss Drake, and welcomed Jarman politely. "We are very glad to see any friend of our esteemed client," said Mr. Saon. "And what can I do for you Mr.--Mr.--"--he consulted the letter--"Mr. Jarman?"

"I want to know something about Mr. Lancaster?" said Eustace.

The smiling face grew serious. "I don't quite understand," said Mr. Saon, stiffly. "We have no knowledge of the whereabouts of that unfortunate young gentleman. Had he placed himself in our hands we should have done our best at his trial, As it is, we are in darkness."

"I see you are unwilling to speak openly," said Jarman.

Mr. Saon placed the tips of his fat fingers together. "Why," said he, "it's a delicate position--a very delicate position. You come to us armed with a letter from an esteemed client who asks us to tell you all you may ask. But the client in question, Mr. Jarman, happens to be a lady, and ladies--if you will pardon me--rarely have any idea of business."

"I have, however," replied Jarman, drily--although he could not blame the lawyer for his caution--"and when I tell you that I am the most intimate friend Mr. Lancaster has, perhaps you will not object to tell me something about his father."

Mr. Saon sprang from his seat in sheer surprise. "His father!" he repeated. "Dear me? Mr. Jarman, I understood you to inquire about the son--our unfortunate client."

"Oh!"--Eustace passed over the point of the remark--"then you admit that Frank Lancaster is your client?"

"You allude to the son, I presume?"

"Of course. I said Frank."

"The father's name is also Frank," replied Saon. "If you don't mind, we will talk of father and son, as more explicit. May I ask why you make these inquiries?"

"I wish to prove the innocence of the son."

"Oh! then you believe him to be innocent?"

"Certainly I do. What do you say?"

Mr. Saon coughed delicately. "I say nothing. The facts are not before me. I sincerely hope that the son is innocent. But if he had been well advised he would have placed his case in our hands."

"And then would have been hanged for his pains!" said Eustace, roughly, for he saw that this dignified gentleman was bent solely on making money; and whether Frank had been proved innocent or guilty, would have been equally pleased, provided the bill of costs was discharged. "As a matter of fact, I advised the son to lie low!"

"Ah! then I understand that you have seen him since his misfortune?"

"I have. I was the first person he came to."

Saon's face showed great interest. "Are you aware that there is a reward offered for his apprehension by a friend of the deceased?"

Eustace nodded grimly. "I know the amount of the reward and the friend also. Do you wish me to earn it?"

"No, no; certainly not! You shock me--you inexpressibly shock me, Mr. Jarman. But if you really know the whereabouts of our unfortunate client, tell him to come to us, and--"

"I'll do nothing of the sort," interrupted Jarman, "the evidence is too strong against him."

"But if he is innocent?"

"Innocent men have been hanged before now, Mr. Saon. No, sir, you let me manage the matter in my own way. When I have in my hands sufficient evidence to save Lancaster--the son, of course--from being hanged out of hand, you will step in."

"Well"--Saon scratched his chin--"I am not prepared to say but what that may not be the wiser course. And you wish to get some information from us to bring about this state of things?"

"I do. You receive a sum of money monthly from 'Frisco."

"From San Francisco," corrected the heavy man. "We do."

"Does Mr. Lancaster the father send it?"

"That I can't tell you. Our agents there are very respectable, as you may guess, and for many years they have sent us this sum monthly. We pay it to Miss Drake--our esteemed client--at the request of that unfortunate young gentleman. But it is understood that the money really goes to him."

"Is Mr. Lancaster the father alive?"

"We cannot say."

"Have you ever asked your respectable San Francisco firm?"

"No, certainly not. There is no need to. We receive the money and we pay it over. That is all that concerns us."

"Do you know anything about the father?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. Twenty-three years ago he sent home the son to Miss Drake--our esteemed client--and arranged with our San Francisco agents to pay a monthly sum of twenty pounds for the child's keep. The child is now the unfortunate young man in question, but the money is still paid. I know nothing more."

"Would you mind making inquiries of your agents?"

Saon shook his stupid head. "I don't think it would do, Mr. Jarman; no, I really don't think it would do. So long as the money arrives, we have no right to pry into private business."

"But to save Frank Lancaster?"

"Not even for that. We have our own high position to think of." Jarman could have thrown a book at the head of this dignified ass, who would have let a man die to preserve what he called his position. But it was no use getting angry, lest the man should refuse to say more, therefore Jarman swallowed his temper and continued his questions.

"Do you think the father is still alive?"

Saon did not reply for a moment. Then he looked up. "I said just now that I did not know," he said in a more reasonable tone; "but the fact is I do. Do you think that such information would really be of service to the son?"

"I am sure of it."

"Then I can tell you that Mr. Lancaster, senior, is dead."

"Dead! And when did he die?"

"That I can't say. It was a negro who told us."

"A negro!" Jarman looked astonished, and wondered what was coming.

"You may well look surprised, Mr. Jarman. But a negro came to see us--a grey-haired negro, possessed of great muscular strength although he was but small. He inquired about Mr. Lancaster the son, as he had information to impart to him about the death of Mr. Lancaster the father. He refused to tell us anything beyond what I have said."

"Why didn't you send him to the son?" asked Jarman, testily.

"Because we did not know where the son was to be found."

"Oh! the negro came after the murder of Starth?"

"Yes; a week later. We told him that our unfortunate client had been accused of the crime and had escaped justice. The negro then departed, although we offered to do all we could towards proving the will."

Jarman pricked up his ears. "Is there a will?"

"I suspect there is, Mr. Jarman, and I suspect that the negro is the bearer of it. Had Mr. Lancaster the father made his will in San Francisco he would have executed it in the office of our esteemed agents. As it is, we have not heard from them. But, strange to say," added Saon, "the twenty pounds has been paid this month as usual. I really don't know what to make of it."

"Nor I. I suppose there must be a will?"

"I think so, since the late Mr. Lancaster is dead and was a man of means. If you can find this negro--"

"What is his name?" interrupted Eustace.

"We cannot tell you that. He refused to inform us. In fact," added Mr. Saon, drawing himself up, "for an African he was impertinent."

"Why didn't you kick him?" said Eustace, rising. "H'm! Is this all you can tell me?"

"All. And if you will let us know where Mr. Lancaster the son is to be found, we shall have much pleasure in proving the will."

"The will has to be found first, and the negro," said Eustace, coolly; "and also Frank Lancaster has to get his neck out of the noose before he can let himself be arrested."

"Quite so. I admire your caution, Mr. Jarman. Still, if Mr. Lancaster the son will only place himself in our hands--"

Jarman's patience with this old ass was exhausted. "He would be hanged within the month. Good-day." And he hurried away, leaving Saon a frozen statue of indignation.

But he was not so indignant as Eustace returning to his hotel. "Silly fools!" he said, wrathfully, to himself. "They'd juggle with a man's life just to get their costs. Frank sha'n't show up, to be slaughtered by them, if I can help it. That negro! H'm! And Balkis is a negress. I wonder if the man was a spy of Berry's trying to find out the whereabouts of Frank? I must think this over. Upon my word!" lamented Eustace, hailing a hansom, "the more I go into this case the more mysterious it seems. Well, there's one comfort, the sealed letter may give us a clue to the mystery. I'll go down by the six train, and may know all about it before retiring to rest."

At his hotel he alighted and went in. Then he suddenly recollected that he had not sent a wire to Frank. To be on the safe side, although he was sending it to O'Neil, he went to the telegraph-office himself. On his way hither he, knowing the neighbourhood well, took a short cut through some by-streets. As he was turning a corner he heard a fresh young voice singing some song, the burden of which was "Tamaroo! Tamaroo!" Hardly believing his ears, Eustace dashed round the corner to hear who was repeating the last word which poor murdered Anchor had uttered. He came nearly on top of a ragged urchin, a true guttersnipe, who was dancing gaily in the gutter to the music of his own minstrelsy:

"Oh, he gits a 'eavy screw,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!
An' 'is father is a Jew,
Tamaroo! Tamaroo!"

"Where did you hear that song?" interrupted Eustace, seizing the boy.

"Garn away with y'. It's m'own words an' music. 'Ow Tamaroo!'"

"Where did you hear the word?"

"That's my business. Tie it up, cocky," said the brat.

"See here, my lad, you tell me where you got the word Tamaroo and I'll give you a shilling."

"Wot! a whole bob? Right y'are, gov'ner. 'Twas 'Melia told it me. 'Melia kin read an' she got it orf a wall a hour ago. It 'ull be all over Londing soon. 'Ow Tamaroo! Tamaroo!' Ain't it a prime word?"

"Show me where Amelia got it?" Eustace saw that the melody of the word had caught the boy's ear, but he could not understand what he meant.

The boy conducted him down one street and up another, till he brought him up against a huge hoarding before some houses in the course of erection. There appeared the huge placard of a Scarlet Bat with outspread wings, as on Frank's arm. Beneath, was printed in gigantic red letters the mysterious word "Tamaroo!"