"No. Leave me your name and address. I will send you the cipher, interpreted, at eight o'clock."
Mrs. Westerfield laid one of her visiting cards on his desk, and left him.
8.--The Diamonds.
The new week was essentially a week of events.
On the Monday morning, Mrs. Westerfield and her faithful James had their first quarrel. She took the liberty of reminding him that it was time to give notice of the marriage at the church, and to secure berths in the steamer for herself and her son.
Instead of answering one way or another, James asked how the Expert was getting on.
"Has your old man found out where the diamonds are?"
"Not yet."
"Then we'll wait till he does."
"Do you believe my word?" Mrs. Westerfield asked curtly.
James Bellbridge answered, with Roman brevity, "No."
This was an insult; Mrs. Westerfield expressed her sense of it.
She rose, and pointed to the door. "Go back to America, as soon as you please," she said; "and find the money you want--if you can."
As a proof that she was in earnest she took her copy of the cipher out of the bosom of her dress, and threw it into the fire.
"The original is safe in my old man's keeping," she added. "Leave the room."
James rose with suspicious docility, and walked out, having his own private ends in view.
Half an hour later, Mrs. Westerfield's old man was interrupted over his work by a person of bulky and blackguard appearance, whom he had never seen before.
The stranger introduced himself as a gentleman who was engaged to marry Mrs. Westerfield: he requested (not at all politely) to be permitted to look at the cipher. He was asked if he had brought a written order to that effect, signed by the lady herself. Mr. Bellbridge, resting his fists on the writing-table, answered that he had come to look at the cipher on his own sole responsibility, and that he insisted on seeing it immediately. "Allow me to show you something else first," was the reply he received to this assertion of his will and pleasure. "Do you know a loaded pistol, sir, when you see it?" The barrel of the pistol approached within three inches of the barman's big head as he leaned over the writing-table. For once in his life he was taken by surprise. It had never occurred to him that a professed interpreter of ciphers might sometimes be trusted with secrets which placed him in a position of danger, and might therefore have wisely taken measures to protect himself. No power of persuasion is comparable to the power possessed by a loaded pistol. James left the room; and expressed his sentiments in language which has not yet found its way into any English Dictionary.
But he had two merits, when his temper was in a state of repose.
He knew when he was beaten; and he thoroughly appreciated the value of the diamonds. When Mrs. Westerfield saw him again, on the next day, he appeared with undeniable claims on her mercy.
Notice of the marriage had been received at the church; and a cabin had been secured for her on board the steamer.
Her prospects being thus settled, to her own satisfaction, Mrs.
Westerfield was at liberty to make her arrangements for the desertion of poor little Syd.
The person on whose assistance she could rely was an unmarried elder sister, distinguished as proprietor of a cheap girls' school in one of the suburbs of London. This lady--known to local fame as Miss Wigger--had already proposed to take Syd into training as a pupil teacher. "I'll force the child on," Miss Wigger promised, "till she can earn her board and lodging by taking my lowest class. When she gets older she will replace my regular governess, and I shall save the salary."
With this proposal waiting for a reply, Mrs. Westerfield had only to inform her sister that it was accepted. "Come here," she wrote, "on Friday next, at any time before two o'clock, and Syd shall be ready for you. P.S.--I am to be married again on Thursday, and start for America with my husband and my boy by next Saturday's steamer."
The letter was posted; and the mother's anxious mind was, to use her own phrase, relieved of another worry.
As the hour of eight drew near on Wednesday evening, Mrs.
Westerfield's anxiety forced her to find relief in action of some kind. She opened the door of her sitting-room and listened on the stairs. It still wanted for a few minutes to eight o'clock, when there was a ring at the house-bell. She ran down to open the door. The servant happened to be in the hall, and answered the bell. The next moment, the door was suddenly closed again.
"Anybody there?" Mrs. Westerfield asked.
"No, ma'am."
This seemed strange. Had the old wretch deceived her, after all?
"Look in the letter-box," she called out. The servant obeyed, and found a letter. Mrs. Westerfield tore it open, standing on the stairs. It contained half a sheet of common note-paper. The interpretation of the c ipher was written on it in these words:
"Remember Number 12, Purbeck Road, St. John's Wood. Go to the summer-house in the back garden. Count to the fourth plank in the floor, reckoning from the side wall on the right as you enter the summer-house. Prize up the plank. Look under the mould and rubbish. Find the diamonds."
Not a word of explanation accompanied these lines. Neither had the original cipher been returned. The strange old man had earned his money, and had not attended to receive it--had not even sent word where or how it might be paid! Had he delivered his letter himself? He (or his messenger) had gone before the house-door could be opened!
A sudden suspicion of him turned her cold. Had he stolen the diamonds? She was on the point of sending for a cab, and driving it to his lodgings, when James came in, eager to know if the interpretation had arrived.
Keeping her suspicions to herself, she merely informed him that the interpretation was in her hands. He at once asked to see it.
She refused to show it to him until he had made her his wife.
