'Very,' said Manston. 'Well, I suppose we had better step along a little quicker, Mr. Springrove; the parson's bell has just begun.'
'Number forty-nine,' he murmured.
4. MARCH THE TWELFTH
Edward received Owen's letter in due time, but on account of his daily engagements he could not attend to any request till the clock had struck five in the afternoon. Rushing then from his office in Westminster, he called a hansom and proceeded to Hoxton. A few minutes later he knocked at the door of number forty-one, Charles Square, the old lodging of Mrs. Manston.
A tall man who would have looked extremely handsome had he not been clumsily and closely wrapped up in garments that were much too elderly in style for his years, stood at the corner of the quiet square at the same instant, having, too, alighted from a cab, that had been driven along Old Street in Edward's rear. He smiled confidently when Springrove knocked.
Nobody came to the door. Springrove knocked again.
This brought out two people--one at the door he had been knocking upon, the other from the next on the right.
'Is Mr. Brown at home?' said Springrove.
'No, sir.'
'When will he be in?'
'Quite uncertain.'
'Can you tell me where I may find him?'
'No. O, here he is coming, sir. That's Mr. Brown.'
Edward looked down the pavement in the direction pointed out by the woman, and saw a man approaching. He proceeded a few steps to meet him.
Edward was impatient, and to a certain extent still a countryman, who had not, after the manner of city men, subdued the natural impulse to speak out the ruling thought without preface. He said in a quiet tone to the stranger, 'One word with you--do you remember a lady lodger of yours of the name of Mrs. Manston?'
Mr. Brown half closed his eyes at Springrove, somewhat as if he were looking into a telescope at the wrong end.
'I have never let lodgings in my life,' he said, after his survey.
'Didn't you attend an inquest a year and a half ago, at Carriford?'
'Never knew there was such a place in the world, sir; and as to lodgings, I have taken acres first and last during the last thirty years, but I have never let an inch.'
'I suppose there is some mistake,' Edward murmured, and turned away.
He and Mr. Brown were now opposite the door next to the one he had knocked at. The woman who was still standing there had heard the inquiry and the result of it.
'I expect it is the other Mr. Brown, who used to live there, that you want, sir,' she said. 'The Mr. Brown that was inquired for the other day?'
'Very likely that is the man,' said Edward, his interest reawakening.
'He couldn't make a do of lodging-letting here, and at last he went to Cornwall, where he came from, and where his brother still lived, who had often asked him to come home again. But there was little luck in the change; for after London they say he couldn't stand the rainy west winds they get there, and he died in the December following. Will you step into the passage?'
'That's unfortunate,' said Edward, going in. 'But perhaps you remember a Mrs. Manston living next door to you?'
'O yes,' said the landlady, closing the door. 'The lady who was supposed to have met with such a horrible fate, and was alive all the time. I saw her the other day.'
'Since the fire at Carriford?'
'Yes. Her husband came to ask if Mr. Brown was still living here--just as you might. He seemed anxious about it; and then one evening, a week or fortnight afterwards, when he came again to make further inquiries, she was with him. But I did not speak to her--she stood back, as if she were shy. I was interested, however, for old Mr. Brown had told me all about her when he came back from the inquest.'
'Did you know Mrs. Manston before she called the other day?'
'No. You see she was only Mr. Brown's lodger for two or three weeks, and I didn't know she was living there till she was near upon leaving again--we don't notice next-door people much here in London.
I much regretted I had not known her when I heard what had happened.
It led me and Mr. Brown to talk about her a great deal afterwards.
I little thought I should see her alive after all.'
'And when do you say they came here together?'
'I don't exactly remember the day--though I remember a very beautiful dream I had that same night--ah, I shall never forget it!
Shoals of lodgers coming along the square with angels' wings and bright golden sovereigns in their hands wanting apartments at West End prices. They would not give any less; no, not if you--'
'Yes. Did Mrs. Manston leave anything, such as papers, when she left these lodgings originally?' said Edward, though his heart sank as he asked. He felt that he was outwitted. Manston and his wife had been there before him, clearing the ground of all traces.
'I have always said "No" hitherto,' replied the woman, 'considering I could say no more if put upon my oath, as I expected to be. But speaking in a common everyday way now the occurrence is past, I believe a few things of some kind (though I doubt if they were papers) were left in a workbox she had, because she talked about it to Mr. Brown, and was rather angry at what occurred--you see, she had a temper by all account, and so I didn't like to remind the lady of this workbox when she came the other day with her husband.'
'And about the workbox?'
'Well, from what was casually dropped, I think Mrs. Manston had a few articles of furniture she didn't want, and when she was leaving they were put in a sale just by. Amongst her things were two workboxes very much alike. One of these she intended to sell, the other she didn't, and Mr. Brown, who collected the things together, took the wrong one to the sale.'
'What was in it?'
'O, nothing in particular, or of any value--some accounts, and her usual sewing materials I think--nothing more. She didn't take much trouble to get it back--she said the bills were worth nothing to her or anybody else, but that she should have liked to keep the box because her husband gave it her when they were first married, and if he found she had parted with it, he would be vexed.'
