Mr. Fletcher

“ Be you quiet, and pick that leg of a chicken; that is better than the knowledge that kills. There is not one of the magistrates would dare to touch a hair on Mr. Fletcher's head, no, for all that lies in the power of Brahma."
"But why do you keep the secret? 'The steps of a good woman are ordered by the Lord;' but does He order you to step to the Cradle?"
"I do it for good," said she, "because I can soften griefs that are unbearable; and cooks have something in their power. But if I were to say a word to Fletcher, I would be turned away, and another might treat the prisoner worse." ”

“ A look of contempt was on Ena’s face.
“Is it true, Mr. Fletcher? Are you really a detective?”
“It is quite true, Miss Sefton, though how your friend became acquainted with this, I do not know.” There was an unpleasant emphasis on the word “friend.” “I suppose you have no objection to detectives?”
“A man’s business is his own,” she replied with spirit, “but I do not like anyone who goes under false pretences.”
Fletcher’s usual self-control was deserting him. He saw the interest which this girl might have had in him gone for ever. ”

“ Perhaps, because we were both young, I made bold to smile at her—knowingly.
“You think I shall be—lost in the snow and found dead in the morning?” I suggested.
“That’s precisely what you will be if you try to reach Wooler to-night,” she answered, with some liveliness. “Such a thing’s impossible! even if you knew the way, and I think you don’t. Of course, you must stay here. My guardian, Mr. Parslewe, is out, but——”
“The master is not one for strangers, miss,” interrupted the old woman. ”

“ Fletcher's rage broke out afresh. He gnashed his teeth and foamed at the mouth. If he had had a weapon, it might have fared hard with his oppressor. But his anger was inarticulate,—too mighty, too tumultuous, for words. He left the office, his eyes glowing like a cat's, and his fringy moustache trembling over his white teeth.
Mr. Sandford was somewhat exhilarated, and rubbed his smooth hands with energy. "I think he'll come back," thought he. "Failure is inevitable. Let it come! We must bear it as we can. And for a ruined man I don't know of any consolation like a little ready money. ”

“ On their way home a downpour of rain had drawn Mr. Fletcher and his son Phineas to shelter in the covered alley that led to Sally's house. Mr. Fletcher pushed the little hand-carriage in which his weak and ailing son was seated into the alley. The ragged boy, who had also been sheltering there, lent a hand in bringing Phineas out of the rain, Mr. Fletcher saying to him kindly, after Sally's outburst, "Thee need not go into the wet. Keep close to the wall, and there will be shelter enough both for us and thee."
Mr. Fletcher was a wealthy tanner in Norton Bury. ”

“ Is she, by any chance, this chap's daughter?”
“Queenie Crood,” said Peppermore. “Pretty girl, too, that, Mr. Brent. No, sir—she's this chap's niece, and Simon's. She's the daughter of another Crood—Ben Crood. Ben's dead—died, I believe, as poor as a church mouse. Simon's the moneyed man of the Crood family. The old rascal rolls in brass, as they call it here. He took Queenie out of charity, and I'll bet my Sunday hat that he gets out of her at least the full equivalent of all that he gives her. Catch him giving anything for nothing!” ”

“ The voices continued. Violently again. They still continued. Tremendously a third time. They yet continued. From this he argued that they could not be very close to his door. Intently he listened, then located them—they came from the garden. He felt for the bell-push that carried to Mr. Fletcher's room; put his thumb upon it; steadily pressed.
Sleep toyed no tricks in Mr. Fletcher's bed. Like some wanton mistress discovered in the very act of betrayal, she at the first tearing clamour of the electric bell bounded from the sheets, scuttled from the room.
“Rapine!” cried Mr. Fletcher ”

“ I bowed, and he passed on and followed the Ambassador and Sir Adolphus into the brougham. Mr. Lazaroff and I turned back into the house again.
"That is capital!" said he, rubbing his hands. "In three days every daily newspaper in Europe will be ringing with the praises of my beautiful diamonds. Accepted by the Czar—worn by the lovely Czarina! Why, it is the most splendid of advertisements. But come, I have work in the laboratory. May I trouble you to go into the morning-room and bring me the package of papers you will see there on the mantelpiece? They are on the left-hand side." ”

“ The room in which Miss Lister and Anthony sat was hot—the winter landscape looked cool and inviting. Miss Lister, from her side of the big fire, looked at Anthony, sprawling in an easy-chair on his.
"How I should like to see it!—her, I mean," she said. "Couldn't we—would Mr. Poskitt mind if we went to look at her?"
"Not he!" said Anthony. "Here, come on, I'll take you over to the stable. I'll wager aught you like there isn't a man in Yorkshire can show you the points of a horse as well as I can. Horseflesh is my particular hobby." ”

“ From dinner, which was a spiritual meal as well as a natural one, until tea-time, our time was chiefly spent in prayer or singing After singing the covenant hymn Mr. Fletcher went to Mrs. Fletcher and said to her, ’Well, my dearest friend, will you unite with me in joining ourselves in a perpetual covenant to the Lord? Will you with me serve Him in His members? Will you help me to bring souls to the Blessed Redeemer? ”

“ Here's one man to be dismissed already, and there'll be others, and one of them will be the favoured man. That man will have to be told! And—so will she, then. And—my God! she doesn't see, and mustn't see, that I'm madly in love with her myself! She's no idea of it—and she shan't have; I must—must continue to be—only the guardian!”
He laughed a little cynically as he laid his letters down on his desk and proceeded to open them—in which occupation he was presently interrupted by the opening of the side-door and the entrance of Mr. Pemberton Bryce. ”

“ Brixey pulled out a card and laid it on the table.
"That's who I am," he said. "Now, that message which the man sent off from here was to me—I have the copy of it in my pocket. And I want to find out who he was. There's a great deal depends on it, Mr. Marrows. I gather from what your waitress says that he was a stranger here?"
"Absolute, mister! Never saw the man in my life before," declared the landlord. "And I've been in this house five-and-twenty years. I've a good memory for faces, too." ”

“ Only once during that period of suspense did any of us speak; that was when the inspector, happening to catch my eye, gave me a quiet whisper.
“Queer business, Mr. Craye!” he said. “Odd!”
“Very,” said I.
He smiled and looked round at his man. But the man was one of those stolid-faced individuals who seem as if nothing could move them; also, he appeared to be relishing Parslewe’s cigar. With this in one corner of his lips he sat immovable, watching the door through which Parslewe and Pawley had vanished. I think he never took his eyes off it ”

“ Here is your part, madame.
Bel. (to HOLDER) Do you know this bouquet?
Hol. The one I purchased this morning.
Bel. (to CONSTANCE) Proof positive!
Con. Well, if Mr. Fletcher did send the flowers, what then?
Hol. It was not Mr. Fletcher who commissioned me to purchase this bouquet.
Bel. Who then?
Hol. Eh! Who?
Bel. Yes—no humbug!
Hol. (confused and hesitating) Oh! it was—hum!
Con. (aside) Can Fletcher have divined?
Bel. (to HOLDER) Well—go on—Ah! Fletcher is not a man to put his light under a bushel. Fletcher is a man of imagination—a dramatic author—an original genius ”

“ "Get out o' Mr. Fletcher's road, ye idle, lounging, little—"
"Vagabond," I think the woman (Sally Watkins, once my nurse) , was going to say, but she changed her mind. ”

“ It stops—by the pavement. Two men—they get out. Him first. Then another. They pay the driver—then they walk on a little—just a few steps. They go into a house. The other man—he lets them into that house. With a latch-key. The door opens—shuts. They are inside. Then I go to Zillah and tell her what I see. So!"
The three young men exchanged glances, and Purdie turned to the informant.
"Mrs. Goldmark," he said, "did you know the man who opened the door?"
"Not from another!" replied Mrs. Goldmark. "A stranger to me!"
"Do you know Mr. Levendale—by sight?" asked Purdie. ”

“ An ascetic-looking, clean-shaven man, with a big, well-shaped nose, and firm thin lips, which, in unison with a pair of keen, observant eyes, could, as I found out later, assume various expressions, changing from intense disagreeableness to peculiar sweetness. Just then eyes and lips were quite agreeable—in fact, their owner laughed gently.
“All right, young master!” he said, in a voice as sweet and mellow as his smile. “Fall to your sleep again—I only just wanted to see what strange bird we’d got in our roost.”
He laughed again and made for the door. I found my voice.
“Mr. Parslewe?” ”

“ Monke-Royal.”
“All roads lead to Rome, Mr. Flack,” said the young man lightly, with a very forced smile.
Mr. Flack shook his head.
“That, sir,” he said, “is a statement which I cannot admit. It appears to me, sir, that your own particular road leads to those cities which my daughter and I propose to visit. In my country a young man of your age would find roads which led him to industry and to wealth.”
The Honourable Robert scarcely knew what to reply to this, and he dug the point of his cane into a crevice of the pavement. ”

“ Weech, after your journey? A whisky-and-soda, now?”
“Well, thank you,” he answered, readily, with a glance at the sideboard. “It wouldn’t come amiss, Mr. Craye; I hired a push-bicycle at Wooler, but, my word! it wasn’t half a job shoving the old thing over your roads—some part of the way, at any rate! Cruel!”
I gave him a good stiff mixture and put a box of biscuits at the side of his glass. Then I got Madrasia’s attention once more, and, holding The Times in my hand, turned to the door.
“Just excuse Miss Durham and myself for a few minutes, Mr. Weech,” I said. “We’ll not keep you long.” ”

“ Or do I make Christ my sole support, casting the burden of a feeble body into the arms of His mercy?”
CHAPTER XV. Sanctified Letter-Writing.
Fletcher’s correspondence was an unusually heavy one; his letters make quite as spiritual reading as his sermons, yet he gave the choicest of reasons for not writing to one man who expected a letter: “Tell Mr. Keen,” he wrote to Whitefield, “I am a letter in his debt, and postpone writing it till I have had such a sight of Christ as to breathe His love through every line.” ”

“ The Rev Henry Venn met Fletcher at the house of Mr. Ireland, where they stayed together for six weeks Referring to this visit some years later, Mr. Venn remarked to another clergyman:—­
“Sir, Mr. Fletcher was a luminary—­a luminary, did I say? He was a sun! I have known all the great men for these fifty years, but I have known none like him I was intimately acquainted with him... I never heard him say a single word which was not proper to be spoken, and which had not a tendency to minister grace to the hearers... Never did I hear Mr. ”

“ We’re in an absolute muddle here—mentally, I mean—and now you’ll clear everything up for us! The sight of you is as good as sunshine after storm. Come in!—old Edie shall take your horse. This gentleman is Mr. Alvery Craye, a famous artist, and he’s nearly as much out of his wits as I am!”
“Then I find myself in queer and possibly dangerous company!” remarked Mr. Murthwaite, with another half wink at me. “However, I hope you’re sane enough to give me some tea, Miss Durham? Good!—then I’ll come in.” He handed his horse over to old Muir and followed Madrasia up the stair, I coming behind. ”

“ He was a tall, lank old gentleman, clad in rusty black clothes, with a pointed collar sticking up on both sides of his fringe of grey whisker and a voluminous black neckcloth folded several times round his neck, and by the expression of his countenance was inclined to look on life severely. “Nobody been in yet?” asked Mr. Kaye. “No, but here’s Mr. Lummis and Mr. Skene,” replied the barmaid.
Two more old gentlemen entered the bar-parlour. Of these, one was a little, dapper-figured man, clad in clothes of an eminently sporting cut, and of very loud pattern ”

“ We had a real first-class murder in this town last night—the mayor! Heard about it?”
“I've heard,” said Brent. “How long have you been at that job?”
“Twelve months,” replied the boy. “I was in the law before that—six months; but the law didn't suit me. Slow! There's some go in this—bit too much now and then. What we want is another reporter. Comes hard on me and Mr. Peppermore, at times. Last Saturday I did two cricket matches, a fire, a lost child, and a drowning case.”
“Good!” said Brent. “Know any shorthand?”
“I can do a fair bit,” answered the man of all work. “Learning. Can you?” ”

“ Of the Kings second comming to his Court,
The Bookes creepe from the Presse to Life, not Action,
Crying unto the World, that no protraction
May hinder Sacred Majesty to give
Fletcher, in them, leave on the Stage to live.
Others may more in lofty Verses move;
I onely, thus, expresse my Truth and Love.
RIC. BROME. Upon the Printing of Mr. JOHN FLETCHERS workes.
What meanes this numerous Guard? or do we come
To file our Names or Verse upon the Tombe
Of Fletcher, and by boldly making knowne
His Wit, betray the Nothing of our Owne? ”