‘Well, go on.’
‘She called me and asked me if I would give Miss Bessie Elliot a note from Mr Archie Hopeton, with the offer of half-a-crown for the job, and I said yes; so she gave me the note and the money without leaving the boat. After telling me not to fail as it was urgent, she pulled down past the bend.
‘And you delivered it?’
‘I went up the garden boldly, as I had now some business to be on the premises, and just as I got near the house, Miss Elliot came out on the verandah and stood leaning over the rails looking up at the moon. I went up and handed her the note.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘Only ‘thank you,’ and went inside, shutting the window after her, and I went round the back to pitch some gravel at the kitchen-window to get Ann out. Now, might a chap ask what all this is about?’ he added, seeing I was disposed to be silent.
‘Miss Elliot has disappeared from her home, and if it is true about that note being delivered to her, it was, in all probability, the cause of her leaving home. She must have left last night, as her bed was never disturbed.’
‘Wasn’t Mr Archie Hopeton her sweetheart?’
‘They were engaged.’
He laughed coarsely. ‘Then I think it is no mystery where she has gone.’
‘See here, Mr - a – Sprague. Mr Hopeton sent no communication to Miss Elliot last night, so there must be some deception. At first I thought you and Dempsey had something to do with it, but I don’t now. If you can throw any light on this, do it – it will be something in your favour. Would you know that woman in the boat again?’
‘I don’t think it – I never saw her face – but something has just come into my head. I didn’t leave Elliot’s garden until near twelve o’clock, and as I was getting through the hedge lower down the river I saw a boat again, passing up under the shadow of the trees. I was in a hurry to get away, thinking the hotel would be shut, but something struck me that the same woman was in the boat as it passed me, only I thought it must be nonsense at that hour of the night. The boat passed so close to the bushes, that the cloak, or whatever was round the person sculling, caught, so that it tore and left a piece stuck right under my nose as I stooped to crawl through, and I dragged it off and put it in my pocket, for I saw it was cloth that might do for a patch. Here it is.’
He handed me a piece of blue waterproof cloth about seven inches by four, and when I had examined it and put it in my pocket, I said ‘So long’ to my friend Sprague, and returned to get my telegraphic reply from town, which I knew would have reached the office by that time. It had, and its results you will read presently.
An hour after my short interview I was at Riverdale, awaiting in the parlour the arrival of Mrs Thorne, to whom I had sent a message by the servant. She came, shortly, looking, ah!, so white and frightened, and well I guess the awful cause.
‘You wished to see me, Mr Sinclair. I am sorry I had to keep you waiting, but my poor child is very ill this morning – indeed, I am very uneasy regarding her.’
‘I cannot wonder at that, dear madam,’ I returned very seriously.
‘What? I hardly understood you, sir,’ she stammered. ‘Why should you not wonder? Ah, perhaps you are aware of her imprudence in exposing herself to the night air last evening? My poor Hester is very headstrong.’
‘Mrs Thorne, my wish to see you concerned Miss Thorne. A terrible duty has fallen to my lot, but I am Archie’s friend, and if I am to befriend you for his sake, there must be neither concealment or deception between you and I.’
She stared at me with such dreadful, growing, and wild terror in her eyes, that I was nearly unmanned for the duty before me. At last she managed to articulate feebly and with trembling white lips -
‘What dreadful thing has happened? For mercy’s sake, tell me at once! It cannot be of her, she is safe at home! Oh, tell me!’
‘It is of Miss Thorne. Prepare yourself, dear Mrs Thorne, for sad tidings. If I tell you who and what I am, will it help you to understand? I am a member of the Melbourne Detective Police Force.’
‘And you know? You have found out?’ Oh, the horror, the despair, the fear pictured in that poor, pale face!
‘I know all. I know that you are not a widow, that Hester’s father is not dead – that he is mad. Not very long ago, duty called me into one of the violent cells at the Yarra Bend Lunatic Asylum, and in one of his worst paroxysms I saw John Thorne, without once suspecting his relationship to my friend Archie. As soon, however, as I saw your daughter, I recognised the strong likeness and suspected.’
‘Suspected what?’ The wretched mother could hardly speak. I pitied her from my very heart, knowing what I did know.
‘My dear Mrs Thorne, I can say nothing to comfort you. I can only try to soften my bitter intelligence.’
‘Don’t soften it!’ she interrupted hurriedly. ‘If you don’t want to see me die here under your eyes, tell me at once! Quick!’
‘Knowing how your unhappy husband’s lunacy first evinced itself, I suspected as soon as I saw Miss Thorne’s stranged and determined gaze at the running water. I trembled for her even then.’
‘But now! Don’t wait! Tell me the worst. I have trembled for bitter years, and dared not cross her slightest humour, lest one of those fearful outbreaks should culminate in the worst. Tell me all! Tell me all!’
Wringing her hands and writhing as one in terrible bodily agony, she thus went on as I paused – wishing, hard as I was, that the task had not fallen to my lot.
‘You know how your poor husband’s madness culminated? I need not remind you of that?’
She gasped but could not speak.
‘He grew insanely jealous of you, his wife, and one night stole upon you in your sleep and tried to murder you. You remember all this?’
‘It is not – my God, it is not that!’ she cried, starting up and stretching her hands above her wildly. ‘If you hope for mercy, do not say it is that!’
‘I fear it is. Ah! dear madam, what can I say! Bessie Elliot is missing. Miss Thorne is known to have inveigled her from her home by a pretended note from Archie. What has become of that poor girl we must ask your unfortunate daughter.’
‘Are you alluding to me?’ asked a sharp voice at the open, long window, and as the mother’s shriek rang in my ears, I saw Hester Thorne standing on the verandah. To say it as gently as possible, there was something actually develish in the girl’s face as her fierce, black eyes blazed at me, and for a moment I was really and truly afraid; but remembering my strength, and my always ready handcuffs, I recovered my self-possession, and seeing that poor Mrs Thorne had mercifully fainted in her chair, I rose and went out the window, steadily meeting the maniac’s eyes as I did so.
‘I ask again if you were alluding to me? Am I the person you designated as your unfortunate daughter?’
‘You are,’ I replied, firmly.
‘And in doing so you are only exposing your own ignorance; but I have previously had occasion to remark the contemptible ignorance and folly of men – especially young men. So far from being unfortunate, I am one of the most fortunate girls in the whole world! Where is Archie?’
‘There,’ I said, pointing down towards the Loddon. ‘I see him coming along the bank. Shall we join him?’
‘Certainly. I should like to go and meet him, and I cannot very well go alone.’
‘Will you tell me why you consider yourself so fortunate?’ I asked as we walked down the garden path – she with her eyes fixed on the man she had loved to distraction, and a strange jubilant expression in her pale face.
‘If you found in your way an insuperable obstacle to your happiness, and if that obstacle were suddenly (ay, and effectually) should not you consider yourself fortunate and happy?’ she cried, turning her wild, gleaming eyes full upon me.