June 9, 2025 • 31 mins
Delve into an enchanting world of romance and mystery with Late Tenant. This early masterpiece by esteemed British journalist and author Louis Tracy, penning as Gordon Holmes, is sure to captivate you. Known for his thrilling mysteries such as The Albert Gate Mystery and The Postmaster’s Daughter, Tracy dabbles in the romantic genre with a touch of the supernatural. The story weaves together two intense love narratives - one heart-wrenching, the other just beginning - amidst a puzzling mystery. Find a dash of classic British humor and a hint of the supernatural in this engaging tale. - Summary by Kirsten Wever.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirteen of The Late Tenant by Gordon Holmes. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. No More Violet.
There was little sleep for David Harcourt that night, after
his inn rush into the kitchen and his long amazement
to find it empty, he again searched the flat throughout
(00:24):
no one but he was in it, and no one
had gone out through the front door. For there stood
his barricade of table, chair and hat stand, just as
he had left it. This seemed surely to show that
he had to do with that which is beyond and
above natural. Yet there were points against that view too.
(00:48):
There was, first of all the spot of blood. For
in the passage between the servants room and the kitchen
he saw what seemed to be a spot of blood.
The carpet was a pattern on a pink ground, and
in one place the brown looked redder than elsewhere. That
was all. If it was blood, then the bullet shot
(01:10):
by him, which he now found embedded in the frame
of the kitchen door, may have passed through some part
of a man, But he could not assert to himself
that it was blood. There were, however, the pictures. Unless
he was dancing mat the fact was certain that he
had left only three of them with their backs undone,
(01:33):
and now there were five, and he refused to believe
that he was indeed moonstruck. So then a man had
been in the flat, since no ghost could materialize to
the extent of picking packs out of picture frames. And
if there had been a man, that man was Van
(01:54):
Hupfeldt and no other, Van Hupfeldt's motive would be clear enough.
Miss Lestrange had told Van Hupfeldt that the certificates had
fallen out of the back of a picture. David himself
had had the rashness in his rage at the loss
of the certificates to say over the door of Van
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Hupfeldt's landaut that there might be other things where the
certificates came from. Missus Grover had been seen that afternoon
talking to Van Hupfeldt's servant. She was evidently in process
of being bribed and won over to the enemy. She
may have told how David had had all the pictures
(02:35):
taken down and was at work on them, and how
he was to be out at an annual dinner that night.
She may possibly have handed over to Van Hupfeldt the
key of the flat, and Van Hupfeldt, in a crazy
terror lest anything should be found by David in the pictures,
(02:55):
may have come into the flat to search for himself.
All this seemed plausible enough. But then how had Van
Hupfeldt got away? Had he a flying machine? Was he
a griffin? Were there holes in the walls? But if,
as a matter of fact, he or someone had been
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in the flat and had some way got out other
than by the front door, here was a new thought
that Gwendolen Mordaunt may not, after all, have committed suicide.
Suicide had been assumed simply because of the locked and
bolted front door. But how if there existed some other
(03:39):
mysterious exit from the flat. In that case, she might
have been done to death by Strauss, by Van Hupfeldt.
If Van Hupfeldt was Strauss, David, no doubt, was all
too ready to think evil of this man. Nevertheless, the
question confronted him. Why, he asked himself, should Gwendolen have
(04:02):
committed suicide? She was a married woman. The certificate seen
by miss l Strange proved that true Gwendolen had received
some terrible letter four days before her death, as her
servant had told David, and she had said to the girl,
I am not married. You think that I am, but
(04:23):
I am not. Still a doubt arose now as to
her suicide. Her sister Violet did not believe in the suicide.
Nothing was certain. However, this new theory of the tragedy
put David upon writing to Violet the first thing in
the morning. Vague as was his doubt, it was set
off against his shame of defeat in the matter of
(04:46):
the certificates. It was something with which to face her.
He resolved to tell her at once all that was
in his mind, even his shocking suspicion that van Hupfeldt
was Strauss, And he wrote, mister David Harcourt has unfortunately
not been able to secure the certificates of which he
(05:09):
had the honor of speaking to Miss Mordaunt, but believes
that her fiancee, mister van Hupfeldt, may be in a
position to give her some information on the subject. However,
mister Harcourt has other matters of pressing importance to communicate
to Miss Mordaunt for her advantage, and in case she
(05:29):
lacks the leisure to be alone in the course of
the day, he will be pleased to be at her
sister's grave this evening about five, if she will write
him a line to that effect. He posted this before
eight in the morning, went off to seek his old
charwoman in Clerkenwell, breakfasted outside, came home and set to
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work afresh upon the pictures, and that proved a day
of days for him. For before noon, on opening the
back of a mezzo tint of the Fighting Temeoare, he
found a book, large, flat and ivory white. Its silver
clasp was locked. He could not see within. Yet he
(06:12):
understood that it was no printed book, but in manuscripts,
and that here was the diary of Gwendolen Mordaunt. He
was still exulting over it, searching now with fresh zeal
for more treasure, when he received a note Miss Mordaunt
hoped to lay some flowers on her sister's grave this
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evening about five. Her paper had the scent of violets,
and David, in putting it to his nostrils, allowed his
lips too, to steal a kiss or happy men do
sometimes kiss scented paper, and he was happy, thinking how
when he presented the diary to her he would see
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her glad and thankful at the very hour. However, when
he was thus rejoicing, Van Hupfeldt was going up the
stairs at sixty A Porchester Gardens. He was limping and
leaning on his valet, and his dark skin was now
so much paler than usual that on his entrance into
the drawing room, Missus Mordaunt cried out, why what is
(07:16):
the matter? Do not distress yourself at all? Said Van Hupfeldt,
limping on his stick toward her. Only a slight accident,
a fall off a stumbling horse in the park this morning.
My knee. It is better now. Oh, I am so sorry,
but you should not have come. You are evidently still
(07:37):
in pain, so distressing. Sit here Let me no, really,
said he. It is nearly all right now, dear Missus Mordall.
I have so much to say, and so little time
to say it. In Where is Violet? She is in
her bedroom, will soon be down. Let me place this cushion.
(07:58):
She is well, I hope, yes, a little strange and
restless to day. Perhaps what is it now, oh, some
little fall of the spiritual barometer. I suppose she has
not mentioned anything specific to me. You received my telegram
of this morning, saying that you would come at half
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past one. Yes, well, I am lucky to have found
you alone, for in what I have now to suggest
to you, I do not wish my influence to appear.
Let it seemed to be done entirely on your own impulse.
But I have to beseech you, missus Mordaunt, to return
to Brigsworth this very day to day to Brigsworth. But
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there are still a host of things to be seen
to before the wedding. I know, I know, even at
the cost of putting off the wedding for a week,
if you will do all that is to be done
from Rigsworth instead of in London, you will profoundly oblige me.
I had hoped that you would do this for me
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without requiring my reason, but I see that I must
give it, and without any beating about the bush. Only
give me first your assurance that you will breathe not
one word to Violet of what I am forced to
tell you. Good gracious, what has happened? Promise me this well,
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I shall be discreet. Then I have to tell you
that Violet has made an undesirable acquaintance in London, one
whom it is of supreme importance if our married life
is to be a success, that she should see not
once again it is a man. No, don't be unduly alarmed.
(09:49):
I don't for a moment suspect that their intimacy has
proceeded far. But it has proceeded too far and must
go no farther. I maye tell you that it is
my belief that letters or notes have passed between them,
and to my knowledge they have met at least once
by appointment in kensal Green Cemetery. For I have actually
(10:13):
surprised them there. Now, pray, don't be distressed. Don't now,
or I shall regret having told you. Certainly it is
a serious matter, but don't think it more serious than
it is, Violet breathed Missus Mordaunt with a long face.
The facts are as I have stated them, proceeded van Hupfeldt,
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and when the knowledge of them came, I was at
some pains to make inquiries into the personality of the
man in question. He turns out to be a man
named Harcourt. Oh, you mean mister Harcourt, the occupier of
the flat in Eddystone Mansions. Why he was here yesterday?
Violet herself told me here yesterday Van Hupfeldt turned suddenly greenish.
(11:02):
But why so? What did the man say? Violet did
not seem to wish to be explicit, answered Missus Mordaunt.
But I understood from her that he is interested in
Gwendolen's fate. He by what right does he dare? Is
he interested in Violet? That is whom the man is
(11:23):
interested in, Missus Mordaunt. I tell you, and do you
know what this man is? I have been at the
pains to discover a scribbler of books, a man of
notoriously bad character, who has had to fly from America.
How awful. But mister Dibbon, the agent had references. References
(11:46):
are quite useless. It is as I say, and I
am not guessing when I assert to you that Violet
has a pension for this man, a most dangerous pension
which can lead to nothing but disaster if it be
not now scotched in the bud. I demand it as
my right, and I beseech it as a friend, that
(12:09):
she never see him again. Yet it is all most strange.
I think you exaggerate. Violet's fancies are not errant? Well
say that I exaggerate, But you will at least sympathize
Missus mordaunt with my sense of the acute danger of
your further stay in London at present, I think you
(12:30):
make a mountain of a mole hill, mister van Hupfeldt,
said Missus Mordaunt, with some dryness. And I am sorry
now that I have promised not to speak with Violet
on the subject. Of course, I recognize your right to
have your say and your way, but as for leaving
London to day at a moment's notice, really that can't
(12:52):
be done. Not to oblige me, not to please me,
said he, grasping the old lady's hand with a nervous
intensity of gesture that almost startled her. We might go tomorrow,
she admitted, But if they correspond or meet to night,
well you are a lover, of course, but you shouldn't
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start at shadows. Here is Violet herself. Leave us a little,
will you, whispered Van Hupfeldt, rising to meet the girl
in his impulsive foreigner's way, but forgetting his wounded leg,
he had to stop short with a face of pain.
Are you ill? Asked Violet, and a certain aloofness of
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manner did not escape him. A small accident. He told
over again the history of his fall from a horse
which had never borne him. Missus Mordaunt went out. Violet
stood at a table, turning over the leaves of a book,
while Van Hupfelt searched her face under his anxious eyes,
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and there was a silence betwre between them until Violet,
taking from her pocket David's first unsigned note to her,
held it out, saying it was you who sent me this.
I have told you so, answered Van Hupfeldt, graat to
the lips. Why do you ask again? Because I am puzzled,
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she answered, I have this morning received a note in
this same handwriting, unless I am very much mistaken a
note from a certain mister, yes Harcourt, Christian name David,
quite so, David Harcourt. I can't say it, she answered quietly.
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But how then comes it that your note and his
are in the same handwriting. Van Hupfeldt's lips opened and shut,
his eyes shifted, and yet he chuckled with the uneasy
mirth of a ghoul. The solution of that puzzle doesn't
seem difficult to me. You mean that you got mister
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Harcourt to write your note for you asked Violet, you
are shrewdness itself, answered van Hupfeldt. I did not know
that you even knew him. Ah, I know him well. Well,
then have you brought the certificates? She asked, keenly, which certificates?
(15:27):
Which you ask that? Surely, surely you know that a
certificate of marriage and one of birth were found in
the flat by a Miss Lestrange. No, I didn't know.
How could I know? But am I in a dream?
I have made sure that it was upon some knowledge
(15:49):
of them that you relied when you wrote in the
unsigned note. It is now a pretty certain thing that
your sister was a duly wedded wife. And she looked
at David's letter again. No, I had other grounds. I
needn't tell you what, since they are not yet certain.
(16:10):
Other grounds I have not heard yet of any certificates. Well,
God help me, then she murmured, half crying. What then
does mister Harcourt mean? He says in the note of
this morning, mister Harcourt has not been able to secure
the certificates, but believes that Miss Mordel's fiance, mister Van Hupfelt,
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may be in a position to give her some information
on the subject. What does that mean when you never
even heard of the certificates? Van Hupfelt, looking squarely now
at her, said it means nothing at all. You may
take it from me that no certificates have been found.
(16:56):
Violet flushed angrily. Some one is unt true, she cried out.
I fear that that is so, murmured Van Hupfeldt, dropping
his eyes from her crimsoned face. There was a silence
for a while. With What object did this Harcourt come
to you yesterday? Violet asked Van Hupfeldt. He wished to
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obtain my mother's authorization for him to spend one hundred
pounds in buying the certificates from Miss Lestrange's servant. Ah,
that was what he said was his object, But his
real object was slightly different. I'm afraid I know this man.
You see, he is poor and not honest. Not honest, No,
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not honest. You say such a thing, But what is
it to you? Why do you care? Why are you pale? Yes?
I say it again, not honest. The miserable Ruffian, if
he heard you, I think he might resent it with
some vigor. She said quietly. Why do you speak so strangely?
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What is it do you doubt what I tell you,
asked Van Hupfeldt. I neither doubt nor believe. What is
it to me? I only feel ashamed to live in
the same world with such people. If it was not
to obtain my authorization to spend the one hundred pounds
for the certificates, why did he come There were no certificates,
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cried Van Hupfeldt vehemently. The certificates were an invention. What
he really wanted was not your authorization but the one
hundred itself. He hoped that when he asked you for
your authorization, you, in your eagerness to have the certificates,
would produce the one hundred pounds, which to a man
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in his position is quite a large sum. Whereupon he
would have decamped and you would have heard no more
either of him or of your one hundred pounds. But
as you did not hand him the money, he now
very naturally writes to say that he can't get the certificates.
I know the fellow very well, I have long known him.
(19:18):
He comes from America, where he has played such ingenious
pranks once too often, Violet sighed with misery, like one
who hears the unfavorable verdict of a doctor. Oh don't,
she murmured. I am sorry to offend your ears, said
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Van Holpfeldt, looking with interest at his nails, for they
had nearly dug into the palms of his hands a
few minutes earlier. But it was necessary to tell you this.
This is not the sort of man who ought ever
to have entered your presence. How, by the way did
you come to know him? I met him by chance
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at my sister's grave. He told me that he is
the tenant of the flat. He seemed good. I don't
know what to do. She let herself fall into a chair,
leaned her head on her hand, and stared miserably into vacancy,
while Van hupfelt limping nearer, said over her, you ought
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to promise me, Violet, never again to allow yourself to
hold any sort of communication with this person. You will
hardly indeed be able to see him again. For missus
Mordaunt has just been telling me of her sudden resolve
to go down to Rigsworth to morrow morning. To morrow,
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so she says, And perhaps on the whole it is best,
don't you think? Violet shrugged hopeless shoulders. I don't care
one bit either, way, she said, So then that is
agreed between us. You won't ever write to him again.
I don't undertake anything of that kind, she retorted. I
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must have time to think. Are you quite sure that
all this infamy is the God's truth? It is as
if you said that mountain streams ran ink. The man
told me that there were certificates. They fell out of
a picture frame. He said, He looked true, he seemed
good and honest. He is a young man with dark
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blue eyes. He is a beast. I don't know that yet.
I have no certain proof. I was to see him
this evening, to see him. Ah, but never again, never again?
And would you now after hearing I am not sure.
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I must have time to think. I must have proof.
I have no proof. It is hard on me, after all?
What is hard on you? Demanded Van Hupfeldt. And had
not the girl been so distraught, she would have seen
that he had the semblance more of a murderer than
of a lover. What proofs do you want beyond my word?
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That man said that there were certificates? Did he not? Well?
Let him produce them? The fact that he can't is
a proof that there were none? Not quite no there
is a doubt. He should have the benefit of the doubt.
A man should not be condemned before he has tried.
(22:34):
After all, if miss le Strange was to say that
there were no certificates, that would be proof. You must
know her address. Give it to me and let me
go straight to her. Certainly I have her address, said
van Hupfeldt, his eyes winking a little with crafty thought,
but not of course in my head. You shall have
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it in a day or two. You can then write
and question her from Reeksworth, and she will tell you
that no certificate ever fell out of any picture. He
thought to himself, For I shall see that she tells
you what I wish if she has any love of money.
But couldn't you give me the address to day, asked Violet.
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That would settle everything at once to day? I am
afraid it is out of the question, answered Van Hupfeldt.
I have it put away in some drawer of some bureau.
It may take a day or two, but find it
I will, and meantime is it much to expect that
my angel will believe in her one best and eternal friend.
(23:44):
Assure me now that you will not see this undesirable
person this evening. I do not mean to at this moment,
but I do not decide. I said that I would.
He pretends he has something to say to me. He
has nothing. He is merely impudent. Where were you to
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see him at the grave? I think at the grave?
Violet blushed and made no answer. Missus Mordaunt came in,
so mother said Violet to her, we go home tomorrow.
I have thought that it might be well, dear, answered
her mother, in which case we shall have enough to
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do between now and then. But why the sudden decision.
We are not at all moments our own master's and mistress's, dear.
This at present seems the indicated course, and we must
follow it. May I have the pleasure to come with you,
if only for a day or two, asked Van Hupfeldt.
(24:48):
Of course, we are always glad of your company, mister
van Hupfeldt, answered Missus Mordaunt. But it is such a
trying journey, and it may affect your injury. Not trying
to me when Violet is there, said Van Hupfeldt. Violet
should be a happy girl to have so much devotion
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lavished upon her, I'm sure, said missus Mordaunt with a
fond smile at her daughter. I do hope that she's
duly grateful to you and to the giver of all
our good Violet said nothing in her gloomy eyes. If
one had looked, dwelt a rather hunted look. She presently
(25:32):
left Van Hupfeldt and her mother, and in her own
room lay on a couch, thinking out her problem. To
go to the grave or not to go? She had promised,
But how if David Harcourt was truly the thing which
he was said to be, Her maiden mind shrank and shuddered.
(25:54):
It was possibly false, But then it was possibly true.
All men seemed to be liars. She had better wait
and first hear the truth from miss Lestrange. If miss
Lestrange proved him false, she Violet would give herself one luxury,
the writing to him of one note, such a note stinging, crushing, killing,
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after which she would forget once and forever that such
a being had ever lived and seemed nice and been detestable. Meantime,
it would be too unmaidenly rash to see him. It
could not be done, however, but she drew her with
his strong magnetism. She should not. She would not. Why
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could he not have been good and grand and high
and everything that is noble and wonderful as a man
should be in that case. Ah, Then, as it was,
how could she? It was his own fault, and she
hates him. Still, she had promised, and one should keep
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one's word unless the keeping becomes impossible. Moreover, since she
was to leave London on the morrow, she should dearly
like to see the grave once more. The new wreath
must already be on its way from the florists. She
would like to go dearly, dearly, if only it were
(27:24):
not for the lack of dignity and reserve thinking such thoughts.
She lay so long that van Hupfelt went away without
seeing her again. But he had no intention of leaving
it to chance whether she saw David that evening or not,
Certain that the rendezvous was at the grave, if cautious
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mind proceeded to take due precautions, and by three o'clock
the eyes of his spy, a young woman rather overdressed,
were upon the grave in kensal Green Cemetery, while Van
Hupfelt himself was sitting patient in the smoking room of
a near hotel, ready to be called the moment a
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sign of violence should be seen. Violet, however, did not
go to the grave. About four o'clock one of the
servants of sixty A Porchester Gardens arrived at the cemetery
in a cab, went to the grave, put the new
wreath on it, and on the wreath put an envelope
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directed to David Harcourt Esquire, and went away. The moment
she was gone, Van Hupfeldt's spy had the envelope and
with it hurried to him in the hotel. Breaking it
open without hesitation, he read the words Miss Mordaunt regrets
that she is unable to visit her sister's grave to
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day as she hoped, and from tomorrow morning she will
be in the country. But if mister Harcourt really has
anything of importance to commune to her, he may write
and she will reply. Her address is dale Manor Rigsworth,
near Kenilworth, Warwickshire. What do you think of this handwriting?
(29:13):
Van Hupfeldt asked of his she attendant, showing her the note.
Do you think you could imitate it? It is big
and bold enough. It doesn't look difficult to imitate. Was
the critical estimate? Just have a try and let me
see your skill right. He dictated to her the words
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Miss Mordaut has duly received from her fiance, mister van Hupfeldt,
the certificates of which mister Harcourt spoke to her, so
that all necessity for any communication between mister Harcourt and
Miss Mordaut is now at an end. Miss Mordaunt leaves
London to day. The scribe, after several rewritings, at last
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shaped the note into something really like Violet's writing. It
was then directed to David Harcourt. The young woman took
it to the grave, and it was placed on the
wreath of violence, where the purloined note had lain. Twenty
minutes later, David, full of anticipation and hope the diary
(30:23):
in his hand, drew near Kensal Green for some time.
He did not go quite to the grave, but stood
at the bend of the path, whence he should be
able to see her feet coming, and the blooming beneath
them of the march daisies in the turf. But she
did not come. The minutes went dragging by. Strolling presently
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nearer the grave, he noticed the fresh wreath and the
letter laid on it. He stood a long while by
the isle across over the violets, while the dusk deepened
to a gloom like that of his mind. How empty
seemed London now, and all life, how scantless and stale
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now without the purple and perfume of her, For she
was gone, and all necessity for any communication between her
and him was now at an end. He went away
from the cemetery, whistling a tune with a jaunty step,
in order to persuade himself that his heart was not
(31:30):
hollow nor his mind black with care. End of Chapter thirteen,
Chapter thirteen of The Late Tenant by Gordon Holmes. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. No More Violet.
There was little sleep for David Harcourt that night, after
his inn rush into the kitchen and his long amazement
to find it empty, he again searched the flat throughout
(00:24):
no one but he was in it, and no one
had gone out through the front door. For there stood
his barricade of table, chair and hat stand, just as
he had left it. This seemed surely to show that
he had to do with that which is beyond and
above natural. Yet there were points against that view too.
(00:48):
There was, first of all the spot of blood. For
in the passage between the servants room and the kitchen
he saw what seemed to be a spot of blood.
The carpet was a pattern on a pink ground, and
in one place the brown looked redder than elsewhere. That
was all. If it was blood, then the bullet shot
(01:10):
by him, which he now found embedded in the frame
of the kitchen door, may have passed through some part
of a man, But he could not assert to himself
that it was blood. There were, however, the pictures. Unless
he was dancing mat the fact was certain that he
had left only three of them with their backs undone,
(01:33):
and now there were five, and he refused to believe
that he was indeed moonstruck. So then a man had
been in the flat, since no ghost could materialize to
the extent of picking packs out of picture frames. And
if there had been a man, that man was Van
(01:54):
Hupfeldt and no other, Van Hupfeldt's motive would be clear enough.
Miss Lestrange had told Van Hupfeldt that the certificates had
fallen out of the back of a picture. David himself
had had the rashness in his rage at the loss
of the certificates to say over the door of Van
(02:14):
Hupfeldt's landaut that there might be other things where the
certificates came from. Missus Grover had been seen that afternoon
talking to Van Hupfeldt's servant. She was evidently in process
of being bribed and won over to the enemy. She
may have told how David had had all the pictures
(02:35):
taken down and was at work on them, and how
he was to be out at an annual dinner that night.
She may possibly have handed over to Van Hupfeldt the
key of the flat, and Van Hupfeldt, in a crazy
terror lest anything should be found by David in the pictures,
(02:55):
may have come into the flat to search for himself.
All this seemed plausible enough. But then how had Van
Hupfeldt got away? Had he a flying machine? Was he
a griffin? Were there holes in the walls? But if,
as a matter of fact, he or someone had been
(03:17):
in the flat and had some way got out other
than by the front door, here was a new thought
that Gwendolen Mordaunt may not, after all, have committed suicide.
Suicide had been assumed simply because of the locked and
bolted front door. But how if there existed some other
(03:39):
mysterious exit from the flat. In that case, she might
have been done to death by Strauss, by Van Hupfeldt.
If Van Hupfeldt was Strauss, David, no doubt, was all
too ready to think evil of this man. Nevertheless, the
question confronted him. Why, he asked himself, should Gwendolen have
(04:02):
committed suicide? She was a married woman. The certificate seen
by miss l Strange proved that true Gwendolen had received
some terrible letter four days before her death, as her
servant had told David, and she had said to the girl,
I am not married. You think that I am, but
(04:23):
I am not. Still a doubt arose now as to
her suicide. Her sister Violet did not believe in the suicide.
Nothing was certain. However, this new theory of the tragedy
put David upon writing to Violet the first thing in
the morning. Vague as was his doubt, it was set
off against his shame of defeat in the matter of
(04:46):
the certificates. It was something with which to face her.
He resolved to tell her at once all that was
in his mind, even his shocking suspicion that van Hupfeldt
was Strauss, And he wrote, mister David Harcourt has unfortunately
not been able to secure the certificates of which he
(05:09):
had the honor of speaking to Miss Mordaunt, but believes
that her fiancee, mister van Hupfeldt, may be in a
position to give her some information on the subject. However,
mister Harcourt has other matters of pressing importance to communicate
to Miss Mordaunt for her advantage, and in case she
(05:29):
lacks the leisure to be alone in the course of
the day, he will be pleased to be at her
sister's grave this evening about five, if she will write
him a line to that effect. He posted this before
eight in the morning, went off to seek his old
charwoman in Clerkenwell, breakfasted outside, came home and set to
(05:50):
work afresh upon the pictures, and that proved a day
of days for him. For before noon, on opening the
back of a mezzo tint of the Fighting Temeoare, he
found a book, large, flat and ivory white. Its silver
clasp was locked. He could not see within. Yet he
(06:12):
understood that it was no printed book, but in manuscripts,
and that here was the diary of Gwendolen Mordaunt. He
was still exulting over it, searching now with fresh zeal
for more treasure, when he received a note Miss Mordaunt
hoped to lay some flowers on her sister's grave this
(06:32):
evening about five. Her paper had the scent of violets,
and David, in putting it to his nostrils, allowed his
lips too, to steal a kiss or happy men do
sometimes kiss scented paper, and he was happy, thinking how
when he presented the diary to her he would see
(06:52):
her glad and thankful at the very hour. However, when
he was thus rejoicing, Van Hupfeldt was going up the
stairs at sixty A Porchester Gardens. He was limping and
leaning on his valet, and his dark skin was now
so much paler than usual that on his entrance into
the drawing room, Missus Mordaunt cried out, why what is
(07:16):
the matter? Do not distress yourself at all? Said Van Hupfeldt,
limping on his stick toward her. Only a slight accident,
a fall off a stumbling horse in the park this morning.
My knee. It is better now. Oh, I am so sorry,
but you should not have come. You are evidently still
(07:37):
in pain, so distressing. Sit here Let me no, really,
said he. It is nearly all right now, dear Missus Mordall.
I have so much to say, and so little time
to say it. In Where is Violet? She is in
her bedroom, will soon be down. Let me place this cushion.
(07:58):
She is well, I hope, yes, a little strange and
restless to day. Perhaps what is it now, oh, some
little fall of the spiritual barometer. I suppose she has
not mentioned anything specific to me. You received my telegram
of this morning, saying that you would come at half
(08:19):
past one. Yes, well, I am lucky to have found
you alone, for in what I have now to suggest
to you, I do not wish my influence to appear.
Let it seemed to be done entirely on your own impulse.
But I have to beseech you, missus Mordaunt, to return
to Brigsworth this very day to day to Brigsworth. But
(08:44):
there are still a host of things to be seen
to before the wedding. I know, I know, even at
the cost of putting off the wedding for a week,
if you will do all that is to be done
from Rigsworth instead of in London, you will profoundly oblige me.
I had hoped that you would do this for me
(09:05):
without requiring my reason, but I see that I must
give it, and without any beating about the bush. Only
give me first your assurance that you will breathe not
one word to Violet of what I am forced to
tell you. Good gracious, what has happened? Promise me this well,
(09:26):
I shall be discreet. Then I have to tell you
that Violet has made an undesirable acquaintance in London, one
whom it is of supreme importance if our married life
is to be a success, that she should see not
once again it is a man. No, don't be unduly alarmed.
(09:49):
I don't for a moment suspect that their intimacy has
proceeded far. But it has proceeded too far and must
go no farther. I maye tell you that it is
my belief that letters or notes have passed between them,
and to my knowledge they have met at least once
by appointment in kensal Green Cemetery. For I have actually
(10:13):
surprised them there. Now, pray, don't be distressed. Don't now,
or I shall regret having told you. Certainly it is
a serious matter, but don't think it more serious than
it is, Violet breathed Missus Mordaunt with a long face.
The facts are as I have stated them, proceeded van Hupfeldt,
(10:35):
and when the knowledge of them came, I was at
some pains to make inquiries into the personality of the
man in question. He turns out to be a man
named Harcourt. Oh, you mean mister Harcourt, the occupier of
the flat in Eddystone Mansions. Why he was here yesterday?
Violet herself told me here yesterday Van Hupfeldt turned suddenly greenish.
(11:02):
But why so? What did the man say? Violet did
not seem to wish to be explicit, answered Missus Mordaunt.
But I understood from her that he is interested in
Gwendolen's fate. He by what right does he dare? Is
he interested in Violet? That is whom the man is
(11:23):
interested in, Missus Mordaunt. I tell you, and do you
know what this man is? I have been at the
pains to discover a scribbler of books, a man of
notoriously bad character, who has had to fly from America.
How awful. But mister Dibbon, the agent had references. References
(11:46):
are quite useless. It is as I say, and I
am not guessing when I assert to you that Violet
has a pension for this man, a most dangerous pension
which can lead to nothing but disaster if it be
not now scotched in the bud. I demand it as
my right, and I beseech it as a friend, that
(12:09):
she never see him again. Yet it is all most strange.
I think you exaggerate. Violet's fancies are not errant? Well
say that I exaggerate, But you will at least sympathize
Missus mordaunt with my sense of the acute danger of
your further stay in London at present, I think you
(12:30):
make a mountain of a mole hill, mister van Hupfeldt,
said Missus Mordaunt, with some dryness. And I am sorry
now that I have promised not to speak with Violet
on the subject. Of course, I recognize your right to
have your say and your way, but as for leaving
London to day at a moment's notice, really that can't
(12:52):
be done. Not to oblige me, not to please me,
said he, grasping the old lady's hand with a nervous
intensity of gesture that almost startled her. We might go tomorrow,
she admitted, But if they correspond or meet to night,
well you are a lover, of course, but you shouldn't
(13:15):
start at shadows. Here is Violet herself. Leave us a little,
will you, whispered Van Hupfeldt, rising to meet the girl
in his impulsive foreigner's way, but forgetting his wounded leg,
he had to stop short with a face of pain.
Are you ill? Asked Violet, and a certain aloofness of
(13:37):
manner did not escape him. A small accident. He told
over again the history of his fall from a horse
which had never borne him. Missus Mordaunt went out. Violet
stood at a table, turning over the leaves of a book,
while Van Hupfelt searched her face under his anxious eyes,
(13:58):
and there was a silence betwre between them until Violet,
taking from her pocket David's first unsigned note to her,
held it out, saying it was you who sent me this.
I have told you so, answered Van Hupfeldt, graat to
the lips. Why do you ask again? Because I am puzzled,
(14:21):
she answered, I have this morning received a note in
this same handwriting, unless I am very much mistaken a
note from a certain mister, yes Harcourt, Christian name David,
quite so, David Harcourt. I can't say it, she answered quietly.
(14:42):
But how then comes it that your note and his
are in the same handwriting. Van Hupfeldt's lips opened and shut,
his eyes shifted, and yet he chuckled with the uneasy
mirth of a ghoul. The solution of that puzzle doesn't
seem difficult to me. You mean that you got mister
(15:04):
Harcourt to write your note for you asked Violet, you
are shrewdness itself, answered van Hupfeldt. I did not know
that you even knew him. Ah, I know him well. Well,
then have you brought the certificates? She asked, keenly, which certificates?
(15:27):
Which you ask that? Surely, surely you know that a
certificate of marriage and one of birth were found in
the flat by a Miss Lestrange. No, I didn't know.
How could I know? But am I in a dream?
I have made sure that it was upon some knowledge
(15:49):
of them that you relied when you wrote in the
unsigned note. It is now a pretty certain thing that
your sister was a duly wedded wife. And she looked
at David's letter again. No, I had other grounds. I
needn't tell you what, since they are not yet certain.
(16:10):
Other grounds I have not heard yet of any certificates. Well,
God help me, then she murmured, half crying. What then
does mister Harcourt mean? He says in the note of
this morning, mister Harcourt has not been able to secure
the certificates, but believes that Miss Mordel's fiance, mister Van Hupfelt,
(16:34):
may be in a position to give her some information
on the subject. What does that mean when you never
even heard of the certificates? Van Hupfelt, looking squarely now
at her, said it means nothing at all. You may
take it from me that no certificates have been found.
(16:56):
Violet flushed angrily. Some one is unt true, she cried out.
I fear that that is so, murmured Van Hupfeldt, dropping
his eyes from her crimsoned face. There was a silence
for a while. With What object did this Harcourt come
to you yesterday? Violet asked Van Hupfeldt. He wished to
(17:20):
obtain my mother's authorization for him to spend one hundred
pounds in buying the certificates from Miss Lestrange's servant. Ah,
that was what he said was his object, But his
real object was slightly different. I'm afraid I know this man.
You see, he is poor and not honest. Not honest, No,
(17:45):
not honest. You say such a thing, But what is
it to you? Why do you care? Why are you pale? Yes?
I say it again, not honest. The miserable Ruffian, if
he heard you, I think he might resent it with
some vigor. She said quietly. Why do you speak so strangely?
(18:07):
What is it do you doubt what I tell you,
asked Van Hupfeldt. I neither doubt nor believe. What is
it to me? I only feel ashamed to live in
the same world with such people. If it was not
to obtain my authorization to spend the one hundred pounds
for the certificates, why did he come There were no certificates,
(18:32):
cried Van Hupfeldt vehemently. The certificates were an invention. What
he really wanted was not your authorization but the one
hundred itself. He hoped that when he asked you for
your authorization, you, in your eagerness to have the certificates,
would produce the one hundred pounds, which to a man
(18:55):
in his position is quite a large sum. Whereupon he
would have decamped and you would have heard no more
either of him or of your one hundred pounds. But
as you did not hand him the money, he now
very naturally writes to say that he can't get the certificates.
I know the fellow very well, I have long known him.
(19:18):
He comes from America, where he has played such ingenious
pranks once too often, Violet sighed with misery, like one
who hears the unfavorable verdict of a doctor. Oh don't,
she murmured. I am sorry to offend your ears, said
(19:38):
Van Holpfeldt, looking with interest at his nails, for they
had nearly dug into the palms of his hands a
few minutes earlier. But it was necessary to tell you this.
This is not the sort of man who ought ever
to have entered your presence. How, by the way did
you come to know him? I met him by chance
(19:59):
at my sister's grave. He told me that he is
the tenant of the flat. He seemed good. I don't
know what to do. She let herself fall into a chair,
leaned her head on her hand, and stared miserably into vacancy,
while Van hupfelt limping nearer, said over her, you ought
(20:22):
to promise me, Violet, never again to allow yourself to
hold any sort of communication with this person. You will
hardly indeed be able to see him again. For missus
Mordaunt has just been telling me of her sudden resolve
to go down to Rigsworth to morrow morning. To morrow,
(20:42):
so she says, And perhaps on the whole it is best,
don't you think? Violet shrugged hopeless shoulders. I don't care
one bit either, way, she said, So then that is
agreed between us. You won't ever write to him again.
I don't undertake anything of that kind, she retorted. I
(21:04):
must have time to think. Are you quite sure that
all this infamy is the God's truth? It is as
if you said that mountain streams ran ink. The man
told me that there were certificates. They fell out of
a picture frame. He said, He looked true, he seemed
good and honest. He is a young man with dark
(21:28):
blue eyes. He is a beast. I don't know that yet.
I have no certain proof. I was to see him
this evening, to see him. Ah, but never again, never again?
And would you now after hearing I am not sure.
(21:49):
I must have time to think. I must have proof.
I have no proof. It is hard on me, after all?
What is hard on you? Demanded Van Hupfeldt. And had
not the girl been so distraught, she would have seen
that he had the semblance more of a murderer than
of a lover. What proofs do you want beyond my word?
(22:14):
That man said that there were certificates? Did he not? Well?
Let him produce them? The fact that he can't is
a proof that there were none? Not quite no there
is a doubt. He should have the benefit of the doubt.
A man should not be condemned before he has tried.
(22:34):
After all, if miss le Strange was to say that
there were no certificates, that would be proof. You must
know her address. Give it to me and let me
go straight to her. Certainly I have her address, said
van Hupfeldt, his eyes winking a little with crafty thought,
but not of course in my head. You shall have
(22:57):
it in a day or two. You can then write
and question her from Reeksworth, and she will tell you
that no certificate ever fell out of any picture. He
thought to himself, For I shall see that she tells
you what I wish if she has any love of money.
But couldn't you give me the address to day, asked Violet.
(23:20):
That would settle everything at once to day? I am
afraid it is out of the question, answered Van Hupfeldt.
I have it put away in some drawer of some bureau.
It may take a day or two, but find it
I will, and meantime is it much to expect that
my angel will believe in her one best and eternal friend.
(23:44):
Assure me now that you will not see this undesirable
person this evening. I do not mean to at this moment,
but I do not decide. I said that I would.
He pretends he has something to say to me. He
has nothing. He is merely impudent. Where were you to
(24:04):
see him at the grave? I think at the grave?
Violet blushed and made no answer. Missus Mordaunt came in,
so mother said Violet to her, we go home tomorrow.
I have thought that it might be well, dear, answered
her mother, in which case we shall have enough to
(24:26):
do between now and then. But why the sudden decision.
We are not at all moments our own master's and mistress's, dear.
This at present seems the indicated course, and we must
follow it. May I have the pleasure to come with you,
if only for a day or two, asked Van Hupfeldt.
(24:48):
Of course, we are always glad of your company, mister
van Hupfeldt, answered Missus Mordaunt. But it is such a
trying journey, and it may affect your injury. Not trying
to me when Violet is there, said Van Hupfeldt. Violet
should be a happy girl to have so much devotion
(25:09):
lavished upon her, I'm sure, said missus Mordaunt with a
fond smile at her daughter. I do hope that she's
duly grateful to you and to the giver of all
our good Violet said nothing in her gloomy eyes. If
one had looked, dwelt a rather hunted look. She presently
(25:32):
left Van Hupfeldt and her mother, and in her own
room lay on a couch, thinking out her problem. To
go to the grave or not to go? She had promised,
But how if David Harcourt was truly the thing which
he was said to be, Her maiden mind shrank and shuddered.
(25:54):
It was possibly false, But then it was possibly true.
All men seemed to be liars. She had better wait
and first hear the truth from miss Lestrange. If miss
Lestrange proved him false, she Violet would give herself one luxury,
the writing to him of one note, such a note stinging, crushing, killing,
(26:21):
after which she would forget once and forever that such
a being had ever lived and seemed nice and been detestable. Meantime,
it would be too unmaidenly rash to see him. It
could not be done, however, but she drew her with
his strong magnetism. She should not. She would not. Why
(26:44):
could he not have been good and grand and high
and everything that is noble and wonderful as a man
should be in that case. Ah, Then, as it was,
how could she? It was his own fault, and she
hates him. Still, she had promised, and one should keep
(27:04):
one's word unless the keeping becomes impossible. Moreover, since she
was to leave London on the morrow, she should dearly
like to see the grave once more. The new wreath
must already be on its way from the florists. She
would like to go dearly, dearly, if only it were
(27:24):
not for the lack of dignity and reserve thinking such thoughts.
She lay so long that van Hupfelt went away without
seeing her again. But he had no intention of leaving
it to chance whether she saw David that evening or not,
Certain that the rendezvous was at the grave, if cautious
(27:46):
mind proceeded to take due precautions, and by three o'clock
the eyes of his spy, a young woman rather overdressed,
were upon the grave in kensal Green Cemetery, while Van
Hupfelt himself was sitting patient in the smoking room of
a near hotel, ready to be called the moment a
(28:07):
sign of violence should be seen. Violet, however, did not
go to the grave. About four o'clock one of the
servants of sixty A Porchester Gardens arrived at the cemetery
in a cab, went to the grave, put the new
wreath on it, and on the wreath put an envelope
(28:28):
directed to David Harcourt Esquire, and went away. The moment
she was gone, Van Hupfeldt's spy had the envelope and
with it hurried to him in the hotel. Breaking it
open without hesitation, he read the words Miss Mordaunt regrets
that she is unable to visit her sister's grave to
(28:50):
day as she hoped, and from tomorrow morning she will
be in the country. But if mister Harcourt really has
anything of importance to commune to her, he may write
and she will reply. Her address is dale Manor Rigsworth,
near Kenilworth, Warwickshire. What do you think of this handwriting?
(29:13):
Van Hupfeldt asked of his she attendant, showing her the note.
Do you think you could imitate it? It is big
and bold enough. It doesn't look difficult to imitate. Was
the critical estimate? Just have a try and let me
see your skill right. He dictated to her the words
(29:38):
Miss Mordaut has duly received from her fiance, mister van Hupfeldt,
the certificates of which mister Harcourt spoke to her, so
that all necessity for any communication between mister Harcourt and
Miss Mordaut is now at an end. Miss Mordaunt leaves
London to day. The scribe, after several rewritings, at last
(30:02):
shaped the note into something really like Violet's writing. It
was then directed to David Harcourt. The young woman took
it to the grave, and it was placed on the
wreath of violence, where the purloined note had lain. Twenty
minutes later, David, full of anticipation and hope the diary
(30:23):
in his hand, drew near Kensal Green for some time.
He did not go quite to the grave, but stood
at the bend of the path, whence he should be
able to see her feet coming, and the blooming beneath
them of the march daisies in the turf. But she
did not come. The minutes went dragging by. Strolling presently
(30:48):
nearer the grave, he noticed the fresh wreath and the
letter laid on it. He stood a long while by
the isle across over the violets, while the dusk deepened
to a gloom like that of his mind. How empty
seemed London now, and all life, how scantless and stale
(31:09):
now without the purple and perfume of her, For she
was gone, and all necessity for any communication between her
and him was now at an end. He went away
from the cemetery, whistling a tune with a jaunty step,
in order to persuade himself that his heart was not
(31:30):
hollow nor his mind black with care. End of Chapter thirteen,
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