"We shall leave the case, Mr. Townshend, entirely in your hands,"

observed Mr. Gerard; "and please to look to me for any expenses you may require."

"Very good, sir," replied the runner, rising as if to take his leave; "but since two or three heads are always better than one, in cases of this sort, and the present company has their wits about them--which is by no means the case with many as I have to do with--I should be glad of a little a.s.sistance from yourselves."

"Don't you think we ought to advertise the baronet as missing, and offer a reward?" suggested Mr. Clint.

"There will be no harm in that, of course," replied Mr. Townshend carelessly; "although I can't say as I have much confidence in advertis.e.m.e.nts; my own experience is, that parties who put them in derive some satisfaction from reading them over to themselves, but the advantage don't go much beyond that---except that it sometimes puts people upon their guard as one wants to be off it. I have got a little pressing business on hand to-morrow--in the forging line--and must now be off; but if one or two of you will be at the Bank to-morrow afternoon, at, let us say three o'clock, I shall be sure to be there to meet you."

[1] Every lad in my position, not yet turned twenty-one, was a "young gentleman" in these times; we were not so tenacious of our dignity as the young men of to-day.

CHAPTER XI.

THE BANK-NOTES.

It was arranged, to my infinite joy, before retiring to rest that night, that I was to make one of the Bank party. Marmaduke insisted on accompanying us, being above measure curious about the matter, and eager to know the worst (or the best) regarding it. Mr. Long had to return to Fairburn for his Sunday's duty, and Mr. Clint could not spare the time from his parchments; so Mr. Harvey Gerard and we two young men went forth upon the trail together. As the paper-chase is the most glorious pursuit undertaken by boys, as fox-hunting is the sport of sports for men, so man-hunting is the avocation fitted for heroes. I know nothing like it for interest and excitement--nothing. If I could only imbue my readers with one-tenth of the absorbing concern with which we, the subordinate actors in this drama of mystery, now began to be devoured, they would be sorry indeed when this narrative comes to a conclusion. We three were at the appointed spot some minutes before the hour which had been agreed upon for meeting the Bow Street runner; but before the chimes of the Old Exchange clock had ceased their "_Life let us cherish_"--the tune which they always played on Fridays--the Bow Street runner appeared.

Pa.s.sing through a great room within the Bank, in which, to my unaccustomed eye, were displayed the riches of Croesus, and where the golden showers seemed unceasingly to rain, we were conducted into a private apartment, where sat some grey-headed official, uncommunicative, calm, like one who has had his glut even of wealth, and to whom money, whether in bullion or paper, was no longer any object.

"Well, Mr. Townshend, what can I do for you?" inquired he, sedately. "I trust you are not come about any fresh wrongs against the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street. I never see your face but I think of an imitation bank-note, and diminution of the stock in our cellar."

"Thank you, sir," responded the runner, cheerfully; "I am afraid that I shall have to see you in a day or two respecting a matter of that very kind, but to-day I am come on a different business. A gentleman of high rank has been missing for three weeks, or more; and his absence has given the greatest anxiety to these, his friends. He was known to have in his possession certain one-pound Bank of England notes, twenty in all, of which the numbers are known. We wish to know whether they have been paid in hither in the meantime, and if so, by whom."

"Have you any order from the deputy-governor?"

"Why, no, sir," responded the runner, insinuatingly. "I thought that would not be necessary between you and me."

"Well, well, I suppose you must have your own way, Townshend. You're a dangerous man to cross." And the old gentleman wagged his head in a blandly humorous manner, and made a little golden music with his bunch of seals. "The numbers of the notes are here, are they? From 82961 to 80. Very good." Here he rang a silver bell, which presently produced an official personage, something between a gentleman-usher and a pew-opener. "You may show this party over the cancelled department, James; and let Mr. Townshend investigate anything he pleases."

With a not over-courteous nod, the old gentleman resumed his study of a certain enormous volume, that looked, said Marmaduke, like the quarto edition of Chaucer, but which, it is reasonable to conclude, was something else. We were straightway conducted through several vast and echoing chambers, into a s.p.a.cious fire-proof vault, where the notes that had been paid into the Bank awaited the periodical cremation.

"A week later, and we might not have been in time," remarked the Bow Street runner, "since every bank-note is burned within a month of its having found its way home again. If Sir Ma.s.singberd has come to a violent end, and been robbed of his money, we shall probably find it all here, as those who despoiled him would be anxious to get the notes changed at once." Our guide led the way to a certain department of the chamber, with the same accuracy which a student would evince with respect to a shelf in his own library, and took up in his hand a bundle of one-pound notes; they were for the most part very dirty and greasy, but he separated one from the other with a surprising ease and celerity, reading out the numbers as he did so. "82900, 1, 2, 3--now we are getting near it," observed the official. "Let us see, 951, is it not?"

"82961," gasped I, "and the next nineteen." I could scarcely frame the words, so great was my excitement. Marmaduke's eyes gleamed with anxiety and impatience; and even Mr. Gerard held his breath, while the clerk continued, in a dry, mechanical tone:

"51, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 wanting--7, 8, 9 all wanting. 82960---here you have it; 61 wanting; 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. There are none of them here.

Stop a bit. 82977--that's one, isn't it?"

"Yes," cried I, "that's one. Pray, let me look at it."

"Certainly not, sir," responded the official, severely. "With regard to Mr. Townshend, I have my orders, but as respects him only."

"Perfectly right," remarked the Bow Street runner, approvingly. "Then please to give it to me, my man. Are there any more?"

"Yes, there are--78, 79, 80."

"Good. That is four in all, then." The detective took them up, and showed them to me: of course, I could not identify them; but still I felt some awe to think what hands--hands imbued with blood, perchance--those notes might have pa.s.sed through since I had seen Sir Ma.s.singberd thrust them into his pocket.

"I cannot carry these away with me, my good friend, I suppose?" inquired Mr. Townshend, persuasively.

"By no manner of means, Mr. Runner," replied the guardian of these unctuous treasures, with dignity. "His Majesty himself would never be so mad as to ask such a thing. A written order from the governor himself would not permit you to do it."

"Very good, sir; then we won't trouble the governor to write one,"

returned the detective, dryly. "What I must know, however--permission or no permission--is this: by whose hand were these sweet-smelling and precious articles paid into the Bank of England?"

It would have been amusing, under less anxious circ.u.mstances, to have watched the demeanour of these two personages, each jealous of the dignity of those by whom he was employed, and neither in the least disposed to surrender one t.i.ttle of his delegated authority.

"That information will, no doubt, be supplied to you," replied the official, stiffly, "if it is thought right--and not otherwise. Follow me, gentlemen, if you please, and I will direct you to the office where such an application may be made."

This we did; and I am bound to say, met with very great civility from the superintendent of the department in question. In spite of the admirable and systematic manner in which the huge establishment was carried on, it was not easy, and in many cases would have been impossible, to discover what individual had paid in any particular note; but every pains and trouble were taken in our behalf, to effect this. Out of the four notes, only one, No. 82979, could be identified as having been received from any particular person--one Mr. Worrall, a silk-merchant in the City. Having expressed our warmest thanks to the authorities, we immediately called a coach, and started off to this gentleman's warehouse. We were so fortunate as to find him in, although he was just upon the point of setting forth to his private residence.

Upon an examination of his books, we discovered no record of the bank-note about which we were concerned; still, he frankly owned to us that such memoranda were not kept with excessive accuracy. "It is possible yet that the people at the Bank may have been correct,"

observed he. "You had better return there; and since the matter is one of life and death, I do not mind confiding to you, that if that note has pa.s.sed through our hands at all, it will have the letter W, in red, upon the back of it; it is very small, but still can be deciphered without a magnifying-gla.s.s."

"There was no mark," observed I, "upon any of the notes I saw."

"There _was_ a mark," remarked the Bow Street runner, reflectively; and I am pretty sure it was upon this very note.--"It is no wonder that you did not see it, young gentleman, since your livelihood does not depend, as mine does, upon keeping my eyes about me. The mark in question was also almost obliterated by the red "Cancelled" which the Bank had placed upon the note; but as far as I could make it out, it was the letter O."

"That is the private mark of the Metropolitan Oil Company," exclaimed Mr. Worrall, without hesitation. "Although, indeed, because I have told my own secrets, I am not sure that I am justified in revealing those of other people. Their offices are in the very next street to this."

Off we started like hounds, who, after, a check, have once more struck the scent. Business in the City had by this time greatly diminished, and many of the shops were closed; but the Oil Company's emporium, as behoved it, was lighted up from cellar to garret, to give a.s.surance to the world that what they sold could turn night, and even London fog, into day. Notwithstanding the extreme luminosity of the premises, we found the accounts of the establishment, however, rather opaque and complicated; and although nothing could exceed the pains which the clerks put themselves to upon our account, it was several hours before No. 82979 could be identified, both as respected its incoming and outgoing. Finally, however, we gleaned the certain information that the note in question had been received only a day or two previously by the Oil Company from a Mr. Vanderseld, the skipper of a foreign vessel, then lying in the port of London, but which, he had informed them, was to sail immediately. He had bought a small quant.i.ty of oil for his cabin lamps, and taken it with him, but had ordered a large supply to be sent to his address in Hamburg, and with this address we were made acquainted.

"Well, Mr. Townshend," quoth Mr. Harvey Gerard, as we rolled homewards in a hackney-coach, after seven hours of this man-hunting, "what think you that this news portends? Is the game still afoot, or is it only dead game--quarry?"

"I can speak with no sort of certainty yet," replied the Bow Street runner; "but next to all the notes having been paid into the Bank on the 17th or so--which, as I told you, would have almost indicated Sir Ma.s.singberd's murder and robbery, without any doubt--I know of no worse tidings than this, of their having come from Hamburg. There's a regular agency abroad, and particularly in that town, for the sale of Bank of England notes dishonestly come by. If a thief cannot get to the Bank immediately, to turn his plunder into gold, he sends it across the water; and then it comes back to us at home, through honest hands enough. We must communicate, of course, with Vanderseld; but the probability is that he will be unable to give us any information. These sea-fellows take account of nothing except what concerns their own trade. He may remember the quarter that the wind was blowing from upon the day he had the note, to a nicety; but he won't have a notion, bless you, as to who paid it him. No--it's the worst sign yet, to my mind, that that 'ere note has come through foreign hands. But don't you be down-hearted, my young gentleman," added the Bow Street runner, addressing himself to Marmaduke, who looked very f.a.gged and anxious; "I'll find your respected uncle, mind you, let him be where he will; and if he's dead, why, you shall see his corpse, though I have to dig it up with my finger-nails." With which comforting statement we had, for that evening, to be content.

CHAPTER XII.

A BENEVOLENT STRANGER.

Having written to Mr. Vanderseld of Hamburg, there was nothing, pending the reception of his reply, for even Mr. Townshend to do beyond his favourite occupation of keeping his eyes open. We advertised, however, in the "Morning Chronicle" (a print that at that time was far from looking forward, to death from want of circulation, and the having its eyes closed by a penny piece), in the "Times," and in the "Sun," and offered a reward of one hundred guineas for tidings of the missing baronet; nor, in spite of the Bow Street Runner's depreciating remarks upon this point, were our efforts in that direction wholly thrown away.

A full description of Sir Ma.s.singberd had appeared in the above newspapers for ten successive days, and on the eleventh, the following information came of it. We were all breakfasting in Harley Street, Mr.

Long having come up from Fairburn the previous day, when the butler informed us that there was a man waiting in the hall, who wished to see "H.G.," who had put a certain advertis.e.m.e.nt into the "Sun" newspaper.

"Show him in here at once, George," quoth Mr. Gerard, rubbing his hands.

"How pleased I shall be if we learn what we wish to know, after all, without any help from Bow Street. I beg you will take a chair, sir."

These last words were addressed to a very respectable-looking person, whom the servant had ushered in, and who bowed to us in a very decorous and una.s.suming fashion. He was attired in half-mourning, and carried a little black leather bag and an umbrella--the latter a less common companion in these days than a cane is now--as though he had just come off a journey.

"I have called, gentlemen," said he, "simply in consequence of seeing a notice respecting the disappearance of a certain individual of whose whereabouts I am in a position to inform you."

"Is Sir Ma.s.singberd Heath alive, sir?" gasped Marmaduke.