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Bid For Fortune; Or, Dr Nikola's Vendetta

<h2>PART II</h2><h2>CHAPTER I</h2> <h3>WE REACH AUSTRALIA, AND THE RESULT</h3> The Pescadore, if she was slow, was certainly sure, and so the thirty-sixth day after our departure from Port Said, as recorded in the previous chapter, she landed us safe and sound at Williamstown, which, as all the Australian world knows, is one of the principal railway termini, and within an hour's journey of Melbourne. Throughout the voyage nothing occurred worth chronicling, if I except the curious behaviour of Lord Beckenham, who, for the first week or so, seemed sunk in a deep lethargy, from which neither chaff nor sympathy could rouse him. From morning till night he mooned aimlessly about the decks, had visibly to pull himself together to answer such questions as might be addressed to him, and never by any chance sustained a conversation beyond a few odd sentences. To such a pitch did this depression at last bring him that, the day after we left Aden, I felt it my duty to take him to task and to try to bully or coax him out of it. "Come," I said, "I want to know what's the matter with you. You've been giving us all the miserables lately, and from the look of your face at the present moment I'm inclined to believe it's going to continue. Out with it! Are you homesick, or has the monotony of this voyage been too much for you?" He looked into my face rather anxiously, I thought, and then said: "Mr. Hatteras, I'm afraid you'll think me an awful idiot when I do tell you, but the truth is I've got Dr. Nikola's face on my brain, and do what I will I cannot rid myself of it. Those great, searching eyes, as we saw them in that terrible room, have got on my nerves, and I can think of nothing else. They haunt me night and day!" "Oh, that's all fancy!" I cried. "Why on earth should you be frightened of him? Nikola, in spite of his demoniacal cleverness, is only a man, and even then you may consider that we've seen the last of him. So cheer up, take as much exercise as you possibly can, and believe me, you'll soon forget all about him." But it was no use arguing with him. Nikola had had an effect upon the youth that was little short of marvellous, and it was not until we had well turned the Leuwin, and were safely in Australian waters, that he in any way recovered his former spirits. And here, lest you should give me credit for a bravery I did not possess, I must own that I was more than a little afraid of another meeting with Nikola, myself. I had had four opportunities afforded me of judging of his cleverness—once in the restaurant off Oxford Street, once in the Green Sailor public-house in the East India Dock Road, once in the West of England express, and lastly, in the house in Port Said. I had no desire, therefore, to come to close quarters with him again. Arriving in Melbourne we caught the afternoon express for Sydney, reaching that city the following morning a little after breakfast. By the time we had arrived at our destination we had held many consultations over our future, and the result was a decision to look for a quiet hotel on the outskirts of the city, and then to attempt to discover what the mystery, in which we had been so deeply involved, might mean. The merits of all the various suburbs were severally discussed, though I knew but little about them, and the Marquis less. Paramatta, Penrith, Woolahra, Balmain, and even many of the bays and harbours, received attention, until we decided on the last named as the most likely place to answer our purpose. This settled, we crossed Darling harbour, and, after a little hunting about, discovered a small but comfortable hotel situated in a side street, called the General Officer. Here we booked rooms, deposited our meagre baggage, and having installed ourselves, sat down and discussed the situation. "So this is Sydney," said Beckenham, stretching himself out comfortably upon the sofa as he spoke. "And now that we've got here, what's to be done first?" "Have lunch," I answered promptly. "And then?" he continued. "Hunt up the public library and take a glimpse of the Morning Herald's back numbers. They will tell us a good deal, though not all we want to know. Then we'll make a few inquiries. To-morrow morning I shall ask you to excuse me for a couple of hours. But in the afternoon we ought to have acquired sufficient information to enable us to make a definite start." "Then let's have lunch at once and be off. I'm all eagerness to get to work." We accordingly ordered lunch, and, when it was finished, set off in search of a public library. Having found it—and it was not a very difficult matter—we sought the reading room and made for a stand of Sydney Morning Heralds in the corner. Somehow I felt as certain of finding what I wanted there as any man could possibly be, and as it happened I was not disappointed. On the second page, beneath a heading in bold type, was a long report of a horse show, held the previous afternoon, at which it appeared a large vice-regal and fashionable party were present. The list included His Excellency the Governor and the Countess of Amberley, the Ladies Maud and Ermyntrude, their daughters, the Marquis of Beckenham, Captain Barrenden, an aide-de-camp, and Mr. Baxter. In a voice that I hardly recognized as my own, so shaken was it with excitement, I called Beckenham to my side and pointed out to him his name. He stared, looked away, then stared again, hardly able to believe his eyes. "What does it mean?" he whispered, just as he had done in Port Said. "What does it mean?" I led him out of the building before I answered, and then clapped him on the shoulder. "It means, my boy," I said, "that there's been a hitch in their arrangements, and that we're not too late to circumvent them after all." "But where do you think they are staying—these two scoundrels?" "At Government House, to be sure. Didn't you see that the report said, 'The Earl and Countess of Amberley and a distinguished party from Government House, including the Marquis of Beckenham,' etc.?" "Then let us go to Government House at once and unmask them. That is our bounden duty to society." "Then all I can say is, if it is our duty to society, society will have to wait. No, no! We must find out first what their little game is. That once decided, the unmasking will fall in as a natural consequence. Don't you understand?" "I am afraid I don't quite. However, I expect you're right." By this time we were back again at the ferry. It was not time for the boat to start, so while we waited we amused ourselves staring at the placards pasted about on the wharf hoardings. Then a large theatrical poster caught my eye and drew me towards it. It announced a grand vice-regal "command" night at one of the principal theatres for that very evening, and further set forth the fact that the most noble the Marquis of Beckenham would be amongst the distinguished company. "Here we are," I called to my companion, who was at a little distance. "We'll certainly go to this. The Marquis of Beckenham shall honour it with his patronage and presence after all." We went back to our hotel for dinner, and as soon as it was eaten returned to the city to seek the theatre. When we entered it the building was crowded, and the arrival of the Government House party was momentarily expected. Presently the Governor and a brilliant party entered the vice-regal box. You may be sure of all that vast concourse of people there were none who stared harder then Beckenham and myself. And it was certainly enough to make any man stare, for there, sitting on her ladyship's right hand, faultlessly dressed, was the exact image of the young man by my side. The likeness was so extraordinary that for a moment I could hardly believe that Beckenham had not left me to go up and take his seat there. And if I was struck by the resemblance, you may be sure that he was a dozen times more so. Indeed, his bewilderment was most comical, and must have struck those people round us, who were watching, as something altogether extraordinary. I looked again, and could just discern behind the front row the smug, self-satisfied face of the tutor Baxter. Then the play commenced, and we were compelled to turn and give it our attention. Here I must stop to chronicle one circumstance that throughout the day had struck me as peculiar. When our vessel arrived at Williamstown, it so happened that we had travelled up in the train to Melbourne with a tall, handsome, well-dressed man of about thirty years of age. Whether he, like ourselves, was a new arrival in the Colony, and only passing through Melbourne, I cannot say; at any rate he went on to Sydney in the mail train with us. Then we lost sight of him, only to find him standing near the public library when we had emerged from it that afternoon, and now here he was sitting in the stalls of the theatre not half a dozen chairs from us. Whether this continual companionship was designed or only accidental, I could not of course say, but I must own that I did not like the look of it. Could it be possible, I asked myself, that Nikola, learning our departure for Australia in the Pescadore, had cabled from Port Said to this man to watch us? The performance over, we left the theatre, and set off for the ferry, only reaching it just as the boat was casting off. As it was I had to jump for it, and on reaching the deck should have fallen in a heap but for a helping hand that was stretched out to me. I looked up to tender my thanks, when to my surprise I discovered that my benefactor was none other than the man to whom I have just been referring. His surprise was even greater than mine, and muttering something about "a close shave," he turned and walked quickly aft. My mind was now made up, and I accordingly reported my discovery to Beckenham, pointing out the man and warning him to watch for him when he was abroad without me. This he promised to do. Next morning I donned my best attire (my luggage having safely arrived), and shortly before eleven o'clock bade Beckenham good-bye and betook myself to Potts Point to call upon the Wetherells. It would be impossible for me to say with what varied emotions I trod that well-remembered street, crossed the garden, and approached the ponderous front door, which somehow had always seemed to me so typical of Mr. Wetherell himself. The same butler who had opened the door to me on the previous occasion opened it now, and when I asked if Miss Wetherell were at home, he gravely answered, "Yes, sir," and invited me to enter. I was shown into the drawing-room—a large double chamber beautifully furnished and possessing an elegantly painted ceiling—while the butler went in search of his mistress. A few moments later I heard a light footstep outside, a hand was placed upon the handle of the door, and before I could have counted ten, Phyllis—my Phyllis!—was in the room and in my arms! Over the next five minutes, gentle reader, we will draw a curtain with your kind permission. If you have ever met your sweetheart after an absence of several months, you will readily understand why! When we had become rational again I led her to a sofa, and, seating myself beside her, asked if her father had in any way relented. At this she looked very unhappy, and for a moment I thought was going to burst into tears. "Why! What is the matter, Phyllis, my darling?" I cried in sincere alarm. "What is troubling you?" "Oh, I am so unhappy," she replied. "Dick, there is a gentleman in Sydney now to whom papa has taken an enormous fancy, and he is exerting all his influence over me to induce me to marry him." "The deuce he is, and pray who may——" but I got no farther in my inquiries, for at that moment I caught the sound of a footstep in the hall, and next moment Mr. Wetherell opened the door. He remained for a brief period looking from one to the other of us without speaking, then he advanced, saying, "Mr. Hatteras, please be so good as to tell me when this persecution will cease? Am I not even to be free of you in my own house. Flesh and blood won't stand it, I tell you, sir—won't stand it! You pursued my daughter to England in a most ungentlemanly fashion, and now you have followed her out here again." "Just as I shall continue to follow her all my life, Mr. Wetherell," I replied warmly, "wherever you may take her. I told you on board the Orizaba, months ago, that I loved her: well, I love her ten thousand times more now. She loves me—won't you hear her tell you so? Why then should you endeavour to keep us apart?" "Because an alliance with you, sir, is distasteful to me in every possible way. I have other views for my daughter, you must learn." Here Phyllis could keep silence no longer, and broke in with—"If you mean by that that you will force me into this hateful marriage with a man I despise, papa, you are mistaken. I will marry no one but Mr. Hatteras, and so I warn you." "Silence, Miss! How dare you adopt that tone with me! You will do as I wish in this and all other matters, and so we'll have no more talk about it. Now, Mr. Hatteras, you have heard what I have to say, and I warn you that, if you persist in this conduct, I'll see if something can't be found in the law to put a stop to it. Meanwhile, if you show yourself in my grounds again, I'll have my servants throw you out into the street! Good-day." Unjust as his conduct was to me, there was nothing for it but to submit, so picking up my hat I bade poor little frightened Phyllis farewell, and went towards the door. But before taking my departure I was determined to have one final shot at her irascible parent, so I said, "Mr. Wetherell, I have warned you before, and I do so again: your daughter loves me, and, come what may, I will make her my wife. She is her own mistress, and you cannot force her into marrying any one against her will. Neither can you prevent her marrying me if she wishes it. You will be sorry some day that you have behaved like this to me." But the only answer he vouchsafed was a stormy one. "Leave my house this instant," he said. "Not another word, sir, or I'll call my servants to my assistance!" The stately old butler opened the front door for me, and assuming as dignified an air as was possible, I went down the drive and passed out into the street. When I reached home again Beckenham was out, for which I was not sorry, as I wanted to have a good quiet think by myself. So lighting a cigar, I pulled a chair into the verandah and fell to work. But I could make nothing of the situation, save that, by my interview this morning, my position with the father was, if possible, rendered even more hopeless than before. Who was this more fortunate suitor? Would it be any use my going to him and—but no, that was clearly impossible. Could I induce Phyllis to run away with me? That was possible, of course, but I rather doubted if she would care to take such an extreme step until every other means had proved unsuccessful. Then what was to be done? I began to wish that Beckenham would return in order that we might consult together. Half an hour later our lunch was ready, but still no sign came of the youth. Where could he have got to? I waited an hour and then fell to work. Three o'clock arrived and still no sign—four, five, and even six. By this time I was in a fever of anxiety. I remembered the existence of the man who had followed us from Melbourne, and Beckenham's trusting good nature. Then and there I resolved, if he did not return before half-past seven, to set off for the nearest police-station and have a search made for him. Slowly the large hand of the clock went round, and when, at the time stated, he had not appeared, I donned my hat and, inquiring the way, set off for the home of the law. On arriving there and stating my business I was immediately conducted to the inspector in charge, who questioned me very closely as to Beckenham's appearance, age, profession, etc. Having done this, he said:— "But what reason have you, sir, for supposing that the young man has been done away with? He has only been absent from his abode, according to your statement, about eight or nine hours." "Simply because," I answered, "I have the best of reasons for knowing that ever since his arrival in Australia he has been shadowed. This morning he said he would only go for a short stroll before lunch, and I am positively certain, knowing my anxiety about him, he would not have remained away so long of his own accord without communicating with me." "Is there any motive you can assign for this shadowing?" "My friend is heir to an enormous property in England. Perhaps that may assist you in discovering one?" "Very possibly. But still I am inclined to think you are a little hasty in coming to so terrible a conclusion, Mr. ——?" "Hatteras is my name, and I am staying at the General Officer Hotel in Palgrave Street." "Well, Mr. Hatteras, if I were you I would go back to your hotel. You will probably find your friend there eating his dinner and thinking about instituting a search for you. If, however, he has not turned up, and does not do so by to-morrow morning, call here again and report the matter, and I will give you every assistance." Thanking him for his courtesy I left the station and walked quickly back to the hotel, hoping to find Beckenham safely returned and at his dinner. But when the landlady met me in the verandah, and asked if I had any news of my friend, I realized that a disappointment was in store for me. By this time the excitement and worry were getting too much for me. What with Nikola, the spy, Beckenham, Phyllis, the unknown lover, and old Mr. Wetherell, I had more than enough to keep my brain occupied. I sat down on a chair on the verandah with a sigh and reviewed the whole case. Nine o'clock struck by the time my reverie was finished. Just as I did so a newspaper boy came down the street lustily crying his wares. To divert my mind from its unpleasant thoughts, I called him up and bought an Evening Mercury. Having done so I passed into my sitting-room to read it. The first, second, and third pages held nothing of much interest to me, but on the fourth was an item which was astonishing enough to almost make my hair stand on end. It ran as follows: <div class="blockquot">IMPORTANT ENGAGEMENT IN HIGH LIFE. We have it on the very best authority that an engagement will shortly be announced between a certain illustrious young nobleman, now a visitor in our city, and the beautiful daughter of one of Sydney's most prominent politicians, who has lately returned from a visit to England. The Evening Mercury tenders the young couple their sincerest congratulations. </div> Could this be the solution of the whole mystery? Could it be that the engagement of Baxter, the telegram, the idea of travel, the drugging, the imprisonment in Port Said, the substitution of the false marquis, were all means to this end? Was is possible that this man, who was masquerading as a man of title, was to marry Phyllis (for there could be no possible doubt as to the person to whom that paragraph referred)? The very thought of such a thing was not to be endured. There must be no delay now, I told myself, in revealing all I knew. The villains must be unmasked this very night. Wetherell should know all as soon as I could tell him. As I came to this conclusion I crushed my paper into my pocket and set off, without a moment's delay, for Potts Point. The night was dark, and now a thick drizzle was falling. Though it really did not take me very long, it seemed an eternity before I reached the house and rang the bell. The butler opened the door, and was evidently surprised to see me. "Is Mr. Wetherell at home?" I asked. For a moment he looked doubtful as to what he should say, then compromising matters, answered that he would see. "I know what that means," I said in reply. "Mr. Wetherell is in, but you don't think he'll see me. But he must! I have news for him of the very utmost importance. Will you tell him that?" He left me and went along the hall and upstairs. Presently he returned, shaking his head. "I am very sorry, sir, but Mr. Wetherell's answer is, if you have anything to tell him you must put it in writing; he cannot see you." "But he must! In this case I can accept no refusal. Tell him, will you, that the matter upon which I wish to speak to him has nothing whatsoever to do with the request I made to him this morning. I pledge him my word on that." Again the butler departed, and once more I was left to cool my heels in the portico. When he returned it was with a smile upon his face. "Mr. Wetherell will be glad if you will step this way, sir." I followed him along the hall and up the massive stone staircase. Arriving at the top he opened a door on the left-hand side and announced "Mr. Hatteras." I found Mr. Wetherell seated in a low chair opposite the fire, and from the fact that his right foot was resting on a sort of small trestle, I argued that he was suffering from an attack of his old enemy the gout. "Be good enough to take a chair, Mr. Hatteras," he said, when the door had been closed. "I must own I am quite at a loss to understand what you can have to tell me of so much importance as to bring you to my house at this time of night." "I think I shall be able to satisfy you on that score, Mr. Wetherell," I replied, taking the Evening Mercury from my pocket and smoothing it out. "In the first place, will you be good enough to tell me if there is any truth in the inference contained in that paragraph." I handed the paper to him and pointed to the lines in question. Having put on his glasses he examined it carefully. "I am sorry they should have made it public so soon, I must admit," he said. "But I don't deny that there is a considerable amount of truth in what that paragraph reports." "You mean by that that you intend to try and marry Phyllis to the Marquis of Beckenham?" "The young man has paid her a very considerable amount of attention ever since he arrived in the colony, and only last week he did me the honour of confiding his views to me. You see I am candid with you." "I thank you for it. I, too, will be candid with you. Mr. Wetherell, you may set your mind at rest at once, this marriage will never take place!" "And pray be so good as to tell me your reason for such a statement?" "If you want it bluntly, because the young man now staying at Government House is no more the Marquis of Beckenham than I am. He is a fraud, an impostor, a cheat of the first water, put up to play his part by one of the cleverest scoundrels unhung." "Mr. Hatteras, this is really going too far. I can quite understand your being jealous of his lordship, but I cannot understand your having the audacity to bring such a foolish charge against him. I, for one, must decline to listen to it. If he had been the fraud you make him out, how would his tutor have got those letters from his Grace the Duke of Glenbarth? Do you imagine his Excellency the Governor, who has known the family all his life, would not have discovered him ere this? No, no, sir! It won't do! If you think so, who has schooled him so cleverly? Who has pulled the strings so wonderfully?" "Why, Nikola, to be sure!" Had I clapped a revolver to the old gentleman's head, or had the walls opened and Nikola himself stepped into the room, a greater effect of terror and consternation could not have been produced in the old gentleman's face than did those five simple words. He fell back in his chair gasping for breath, his complexion became ashen in its pallor, and for a moment his whole nervous system seemed unstrung. I sprang to his assistance, thinking he was going to have a fit, but he waived me off, and when he had recovered himself sufficiently to speak, said hoarsely—"What do you know of Dr. Nikola? Tell me, for God's sake!—what do you know of him? Quick, quick!" Thereupon I set to work and told him my story, from the day of my arrival in Sydney from Thursday Island up to the moment of my reaching his house, described my meeting and acquaintance with the real Beckenham, and all the events consequent upon it. He listened, with an awful terror growing in his face, and when I had finished my narrative with the disappearance of my friend he nearly choked. "Mr. Hatteras," he gasped, "will you swear this is the truth you are telling me?" "I solemnly swear it," I answered. "And will do so in public when and where you please." "Then before I do anything else I will beg your pardon for my conduct to you. You have taken a noble revenge. I cannot thank you sufficiently. But there is not a moment to lose. My daughter is at a ball at Government House at the present moment. I should have accompanied her, but my gout would not permit me. Will you oblige me by ringing that bell?" I rang the bell as requested, and then asked what he intended doing. "Going off to his Excellency at once, gout or no gout, and telling him what you have told me. If it is as you have said, we must catch these scoundrels and rescue your friend without an instant's delay!" Half an hour later we were at Government House waiting in his Excellency's study for an interview. The music of the orchestra in the ball-room came faintly in to us, and when Lord Amberley entered the room he seemed surprised, as well he might be, to see us. But as soon as he had heard what we had to tell him his expression changed. "Mr. Wetherell, this is a very terrible charge you bring against my guest. Do you think it can possibly be true?" "I sadly fear so," said Mr. Wetherell. "But perhaps Mr. Hatteras will tell you the story as he told it to me." I did so, and, when I had finished, the Governor went to the door and called a servant. "Find Lord Beckenham, Johnson, at once, and ask him to be so good as to come to me here. Stay—on second thoughts I'll go and look for him myself." He went off, leaving us alone again to listen to the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece, and to wonder what was going to happen next. Five minutes went by and then ten, but still he did not return. When he did so it was with a still more serious countenance. "You are evidently right, gentlemen. Neither the spurious marquis, nor his tutor, Mr. Baxter, can be found anywhere. I have discovered, too, that all their valuables and light luggage have been smuggled out of the house to-night without the knowledge of my servants. This is a terrible business. But I have given instructions, and the police will be communicated with at once. Now we must do our best to find the real Beckenham." "Lord Amberley," said Wetherell, in a choking voice, "do you think one of your servants could tell my daughter to come to me at once? I am not feeling very well." The Governor hesitated a moment, and then said— "I am sorry to say, Mr. Wetherell, your daughter left the House an hour ago. A message was brought to her that you had been suddenly taken ill and needed her. She went off at once." Wetherell's anxiety was piteous to see. "My God!" he cried in despair. "If that is so, I am ruined. This is Nikola's revenge." Then he uttered a curious little sigh, moved a step forward, and fell in a dead faint upon the floor. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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