Detective and mystery stories, English; Police -- Fiction; Short stories
"If it _should_ be he!" thought I, as I emerged into the street. The
bare suspicion had sent the blood through my veins with furious
violence. "If this Sandford be, as I suspect, that villain Cardon,
success will indeed be triumph--victory! Lady Everton need not in that
case seek to animate my zeal by promises of money recompense. A blighted
existence, a young and gentle wife by his means cast down from opulence
to sordid penury, would stimulate the dullest craven that ever crawled
the earth to energy and action. Pray Heaven my suspicion prove correct;
and then, oh mine enemy, look well to yourself, for the avenger is at
your heels!"
Sandford, I had been instructed was usually present at the Italian
Opera during the ballet: the box he generally occupied was designated in
the memoranda of the police: and as I saw by the bills that a very
successful piece was to be performed that evening, I determined on being
present.
I entered the house a few minutes past ten o'clock, just after the
commencement of the ballet, and looked eagerly round. The box in which I
was instructed to seek my man was empty. The momentary disappointment
was soon repaid. Five minutes had not elapsed when Cardon, looking more
insolently-triumphant than ever, entered arm-in-arm with a pale
aristocratic-looking young man, whom I had no difficulty, from his
striking resemblance to a portrait in Lady Everton's drawing-room, in
deciding to be Mr. Merton. My course of action was at once determined
on. Pausing only to master the emotion which the sight of the glittering
reptile in whose poisonous folds I had been involved and crushed
inspired, I passed to the opposite side of the house, and boldly entered
the box. Cardon's back was towards me, and I tapped him lightly on the
shoulder. He turned quickly round; and if a basilisk had confronted him,
he could scarcely have exhibited greater terror and surprise. My aspect,
nevertheless, was studiously bland and conciliating, and my
out-stretched hand seemed to invite a renewal of our old friendship.
"Waters!" he at last stammered, feebly accepting my proffered
grasp--"who would have thought of meeting you here?"
"Not you, certainly, since you stare at an old friend as if he were some
frightful goblin about to swallow you. Really"----
"Hush! Let us speak together in the lobby. An old friend," he added in
answer to Mr. Merton's surprised stare. "We will return in an instant."
"Why, what is all this, Waters?" said Cardon, recovering his wonted
_sang-froid_ the instant we were alone. "I understood you had retired
from amongst us; were in fact--what shall I say?"----
"Ruined--done up! Nobody should know that better than you."
"My good fellow, you do not imagine"----
"I imagine nothing, my dear Cardon. I was very thoroughly done--done
_brown_, as it is written in the vulgar tongue. But fortunately my kind
old uncle"----
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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