The Mystery of a Hansom Cab (5 page)

‘You know his personal appearance, of course,' observed Mr Gorby.

‘Oh, yes, I can tell you that,' said Moreland. ‘In fact, he's not at all unlike me, which I take to be rather a compliment, as he is said to be good-looking. He is tall, rather fair, talks in a bored sort of manner, and is altogether what one would call a heavy swell; but you must have seen him,' he went on, turning to Mrs Hableton, ‘he was here three or four weeks ago, Whyte told me.'

‘Oh, that was Mr Fitzgerald, was it?' said Mrs Hableton, in surprise. ‘Yes, he was rather like you; and so the lady they quarrelled over must have been Miss Frettlby.'

‘Very likely,' said Moreland rising. ‘Well, I'm off, here's my address,' putting a card into Gorby's hand. ‘I'm glad to be of any use to you in the matter, as Whyte was my dearest friend, and I'll do all in my power to help you to find out the murderer.'

‘I don't think that is a very difficult matter,' said Gorby slowly.

‘Oh, you have your suspicions?' said Moreland, looking at him.

‘I have.'

‘Then who do you think murdered Whyte?'

Mr Gorby paused a moment, and then said deliberately, ‘I have an idea—but I am not certain—when I am certain, I'll speak.'

‘You think Fitzgerald killed my friend,' said Moreland. ‘I see it in your face.'

Mr Gorby smiled. ‘Perhaps,' he said ambiguously.
‘Wait till I'm certain.'

CHAPTER SEVEN

A WOOL KING

The old Greek story of Midas, who turned everything he touched into gold, is truer than most people
suppose. Medieval superstition changed the human being who possessed such a power, into the philosophers' stone, after which so many alchemists went hunting in the dark ages, but we of the nineteenth century have given the miracle of changing everything into gold by the touch, back to its human possessor. We, however, do not ascribe it either to Greek deity or medieval superstition, but simply call it luck, and he who possesses luck is a happy man, or, at least, he ought to be. Wiseacres who may read this will, of course, repeat the stale proverb, that ‘Riches do not bring happiness,' but luck
means more than riches—it means happiness in everything which the fortunate possessor may choose to go in for. If he goes into a speculation, it turns out well; if he marries a wife, she is sure to be everything that can be desired; if he aspires to a position, social or political, he attains it with ease—worldly wealth, domestic happiness, and good position, all these belong to the men who have luck.

Mark Frettlby was one of these fortunate individuals, and his luck was proverbial throughout Australia. If there was any speculation for which Mark Frettlby went in, other men would be sure to follow, and in every case the result turned out as well, and in many cases even better than they expected. He had come out in the early days of the colony with comparatively little money, but his great perseverance and never-failing luck had soon changed his hundreds into thousands, and now at the age of fifty-five he did not himself know the extent of his income. He had large stations scattered all over the Colony of Victoria, which brought him in a splendid income. A charming country house, where at certain seasons of the year, he dispensed hospitality to his friends, like the lord of an English manor, and a magnificent town house down in St Kilda, which would not have been unworthy of Park Lane.

Nor were his domestic relations less happy—he had a charming wife, who was one of the best known and most popular ladies of Melbourne, and an equally
charming daughter, who, being both pretty and an heiress, naturally attracted crowds of suitors. But Madge Frettlby was capricious, and refused innumerable offers. Being an extremely independent young person with a mind of her own, as she had not yet seen anyone she could love, she decided to remain single, and with her mother continued to dispense the hospitality of the mansion at St Kilda. But the fairy prince comes to every woman, even if she has to wait a hundred years like the Sleeping Beauty, and in this case he arrived at the appointed time.

Ah! what a delightful prince he was, tall, handsome, and fair-haired, who came from Ireland, and answered to the name of Brian Fitzgerald. He had left behind him in the old country, a ruined castle and a few acres of barren land, inhabited by discontented tenants who refused to pay the rent, and talked darkly about the Land League, and other agreeable things. Under these circumstances with no rent coming in, and no prospect of doing anything in the future, Brian had left the castle of his forefathers to the rats and the family Banshee, and came out to Australia to make his fortune. He brought letters of introduction to Mark Frettlby, and that gentleman having taken a fancy to him, assisted him by every means in his power. Under Frettlby's advice Brian bought a station, and to his astonishment, in a few years found himself growing rich. The Fitzgeralds had always been more famous for spending than for saving, and it was an agreeable surprise to their latest
representative to find the money rolling in instead of out. He began to indulge in castles in the air concerning that other castle in Ireland, with the barren acres and discontented tenants. In his mind's eye he saw the old place rise up in all its pristine splendour out of its ruins; he saw the barren acres well cultivated, and the tenants happy and content—he was rather doubtful on this latter point, but with the rash confidence of eight and twenty, determined to do his best to perform even the impossible. Having built and furnished his castle in the air, Brian naturally thought of giving it a mistress, and this time actual appearance took the place of vision.

He fell in love with Madge Frettlby, and having decided in his own mind that she and none other was fitted to grace the visionary halls of his renovated castle, he watched his opportunity, and declared himself. She, woman-like, coquetted with him for some time, but at last, unable to withstand the impetuosity of her Irish lover, confessed in a low voice, with a pretty smile on her face, that she could not live without him. Whereupon—well—lovers being of a conservative turn of mind, and accustomed to observe the traditional forms of wooing, the result can easily be guessed. Brian hunted all over the jewellers' shops in Melbourne with lover-like assiduity, and having obtained a ring wherein were set these turquoise stones as blue as his own eyes, he placed it on her slender finger, and at last felt that his engagement was an accomplished fact. This being satisfactorily arranged, he next proceeded to interview
the father, and had just screwed his courage up to the awful ordeal, when something occurred which postponed the interview indefinitely.

Mrs Frettlby was out driving, when the horses took fright and bolted. The coachman and groom both escaped unhurt, but Mrs Frettlby was thrown out and killed instantaneously. This was the first really great trouble which had fallen on Mark Frettlby, and he seemed to be stunned by it. Shutting himself up in his room he refused to see anyone, even his daughter, and appeared at the funeral with a white and haggard face, which shocked everyone. When everything was over, and the body of the late Mrs Frettlby was consigned to the earth, with all the pomp and ceremony which money could give, the bereaved husband drove home, and resumed his old life. But he was never the same again. His face which had always been so genial and bright, became stern and sad—he seldom smiled, and when he did, it was a faint wintry smile which seemed mechanical. His whole heart seemed centred in his daughter, she became the sole mistress of the St Kilda mansion, and her father idolised her. She seemed to be the one thing left to him which gave him an interest in life, and had it not been for her bright presence constantly near him, Mark Frettlby would have wished himself lying beside his dead wife in the quiet grave yard, wherein there is no trouble or care.

After a time had elapsed, Brian again resolved to ask Mr Frettlby for the hand of his daughter, when for the second time fate interposed. This time it was a rival suitor who made his appearance, and Brian's hot Irish temper rose when he saw another Richmond in the field. The gentleman in question was a Mr Oliver Whyte, who had come out from England a few months previously, and brought a letter of introduction to Mr Frettlby, who received him hospitably as was his custom, and Whyte soon made himself perfectly at home in the St Kilda mansion.

Brian took a dislike to the newcomer the first time he saw him, for Mr Fitzgerald was a student of Lavater, and prided himself on his reading of character. His opinion of Whyte was anything but flattering to that gentleman, for in spite of his handsome face and suave manners, both Brian and Madge felt the same repulsion towards him, as they would have to a snake.

Mr Whyte, however, with true diplomacy, affected not to notice the cold way in which Madge received him, and began to pay marked attention to her, much to Brian's disgust. At last he asked her to be his wife, and notwithstanding her prompt refusal, spoke to Mr Frettlby on the subject. Much to the daughter's astonishment, that gentleman consented to Whyte's paying his addresses to Madge, and told her that he wished her to consider the young man's proposal favourably. In spite of all Madge could say, he refused to alter
his decision, and Whyte feeling himself safe, began to treat Brian with an insolence which was highly galling to Fitzgerald's proud nature. He called on Whyte at his lodgings, and after a violent quarrel with him had left the house, vowing to kill Whyte, should he marry Madge Frettlby.

Fitzgerald went along to Mr Frettlby that same night, and had an interview with him. He confessed that he loved Madge, and that his love was returned, so when Madge added her entreaties to Brian's, Mr Frettlby found himself unable to withstand the combined forces and gave his consent to their engagement. Whyte was absent in the country for the next few days after his stormy interview with Brian, and it was only on his return that he learnt that Madge was engaged to his rival. He saw Mr Frettlby on the subject, and having learnt from his own lips that such was the case, he left the house at once, and swore that he would never enter it again. He little knew how prophetic his words were, for on that same night he met his death in the hansom cab. He had passed out of the life of both the lovers, and they, glad that he troubled them no more, never suspected for a moment that the body of the unknown man found in Royston's cab was that of Oliver Whyte.

About two weeks after Whyte's disappearance Mr Frettlby gave a dinner party in honour of his daughter's birthday. It was a delightful evening, and the wide french windows which led on to the verandah were open, letting in a gentle breeze, blowing with a fresh
salt odour, from the ocean. Outside, there was a kind of screen of tropical plants, and through the tangle of the boughs, the guests, seated at the table, could just see the waters of the bay glittering like silver in the pale moonlight. Brian was seated opposite to Madge, and every now and then he caught a glimpse of her bright face behind the great silver epergne, filled with fruit and flowers, which stood in the centre of the table. Mark Frettlby was at the head of the table, and appeared in very good spirits, for his stern features were somewhat relaxed, and he drank more wine than usual.

The soup had just been removed when someone who was late, entered with apologies and took his seat. Someone in this case was Mr Felix Rolleston, one of the best known young men in Melbourne. He had an income of his own, scribbled a little for the papers, was to be seen at every house of any pretentions to fashion in Melbourne, and was always bright, happy, and full of news. Whenever any scandal occurred, Felix Rolleston was sure to know it first, and could tell more about it than anyone else. He knew everything that was going on, both at home and abroad. His knowledge, if not very accurate, was at least extensive, and his conversation was piquant and witty. As Calton, one of the leading lawyers of the city, said: ‘Rolleston put him in mind of what Beaconsfield said of one of his characters in Lothair, “He wasn't an intellectual Croesis, but his pockets were always full of sixpences.”' There was a
good deal of truth in Calton's remark, and Felix always distributed his sixpences freely. The conversation had been dull for the last few minutes at the Frettlby dinner table, consequently, when Felix arrived, everybody brightened up, as they felt certain now that the conversation would be amusing.

‘So awfully sorry, don't you know,' said Felix, as he slipped into a seat by Madge, ‘but a fellow like me has got to be careful of his time—so many calls on it.'

‘So many calls in it, you mean,' retorted Madge, with a disbelieving smile. ‘Confess, now, you have been paying a round of visits.'

‘Well, yes,' assented Mr Rolleston, ‘that's the disadvantage of having a large circle of acquaintances. They give you weak tea and thin bread and butter, whereas—'

‘You would rather have a B. and S. and some devilled kidneys,' finished Brian.

There was a laugh at this, but Mr Rolleston disdained to notice the interruption.

‘The only advantage of five o'clock tea,' he went on, ‘is, that it brings people together, and one hears what's going on.

‘Ah, yes, Rolleston,' said Mr Frettlby, who was looking at him with an amused smile. ‘What news have you?'

‘Good news, bad news, and such news as you have never heard of,' quoted Rolleston gravely. ‘Yes, I have a bit of news—haven't you heard it?'

As no one knew what the news was they could not
very well say that they had, so Rolleston was happy, having found out that he could make a sensation.

‘Well, do you know,' he said, gravely fixing in his eyeglass, ‘they have found out the name of the fellow that was murdered in the hansom cab.'

‘Never!' cried everyone eagerly.

‘Yes,' went on Rolleston, ‘and what's more, you all know him.'

‘It's never Whyte,' said Brian, in a horrified tone.

‘Hang it, how did you know?' said Rolleston, rather annoyed at being forestalled. ‘Why, I just heard it at the St Kilda station.'

‘Oh, easily enough,' said Brian, rather confused. ‘I used to see Whyte constantly, and as I had not set eyes on him for the last two weeks, I thought it might be him.'

‘How did they find out who it was,' asked Mr Frettlby, idly toying with his wine glass.

‘Oh, one of those detective fellows, you know,' answered Felix. ‘They know everything.'

‘I'm sorry to hear it,' said Frettlby, referring to the fact that Whyte was murdered. ‘He had a letter of introduction to me, and seemed a clever, pushing, young fellow.'

‘A confounded cad,' muttered Felix, under his breath; and Brian, who overheard him, seemed inclined to assent.

For the rest of the meal nothing was talked about
but the murder, and the mystery in which it was shrouded. When the ladies retired they chatted about it in the drawing room, but finally dropped it for more agreeable subjects. The gentlemen, however, when the cloth had been removed, filled their glasses and continued the discussion with unabated vigour. Brian, alone, did not take part in the conversation. He sat moodily staring at his untasted wine, and wrapped in a brown study.

‘What I can't make out,' observed Rolleston, who was amusing himself with cracking nuts, ‘is how they did not find out who he was before.'

‘That is not hard to answer,' said Frettlby, filling his glass, ‘he was comparatively little known here, as he had been out from England such a short time, and I fancy that this was the only house he visited at.'