Having engaged comfortable quarters at the Bell and Horns, Nutford, we had a tea-dinner, and started to walk to Sheldon. It was a fine night, and Sophy distinguished herself as a pedestrian; the four-mile walk was accomplished in an hour and twenty minutes by the watch. The one narrow street of which the village could boast was still and quiet; not a soul was to be seen in it.
"After seven o'clock at night," said Bob, "place like a churchyard. Sleepy Hollow a paradise compared to it."
There was something inexpressibly depressing in the aspect of the street; the two or three poor shops were closed, and neither in them nor in the cottages was there a sign of life. The suggestion of a grave came to my mind.
"Remember Eden?" asked Bob, who was in the best of spirits. "Mark Tapley would have grown fat here."
At the end of the street we crossed a common, and then traversed an avenue of mournful trees, bounded by a stone wall.
"The outskirts of Tylney House," said Bob, with the air of a professional guide. "House can't be seen from this point. Nor from any point in particular. Lies in a valley. Observe the jagged glass at top of wall. Just here there's a bare spot. Think you could climb over it, Sophy, otherwise Maria?"
"Git over it like a bird," said Sophy. The conversation was carried on in low tones, Sophy's voice being sepulchral, in view of the part of the dumb patient she was presently to enact.
"Good girl. Prove yourself. There's a tree. Show us a climb."
It was a branchless tree, with scarce a knob on its straight trunk, and with nothing to hold on by, but Sophy tackled it unhesitatingly, and was a dozen feet above our heads in a twinkling. There she perched, peering over the wall into the grounds of Tylney House. Presently she scrambled down, and nudging Bob, said,
"Will that do?"
"You've got the heart of a lion," said Bob, admiringly. "I've no fears for you. Can you read?"
"No."
"Write?"
"No."
"Tell the time?"
"Oh, I can do that."
"That's a blessing. Here's a silver watch. A stem-winder. When we get back to Nutford I'll show you how to wind it up. What's the time now?"
"'Arf past eight."
"Correct. That tree is thirty feet high. Or thereabouts."
"What of that?"
"I should say it could be seen by anybody inside that stone wall. By you, when you're inside them. Now, Sophy, otherwise Maria, you have peculiarities. One, that you're dumb."
"Inside them walls," said Sophy, "I am. Dumb as a fish."
"Another, that you've an unconquerable habit of shying stones."
"I'm a dab at that," said Sophy.
"As a friendly patient," continued Bob, "you must be indulged. When you get it into your head to shy stones you're to be let alone. That's one of the conditions of your becoming a friendly patient."
"I twig. I'm to shy stones at that tree."
"You are. At certain times of the day. At twelve o'clock by the silver watch. At four o'clock by the same."
"Crikey!" exclaimed Sophy. "Yer don't mean to say I'm to have the ticker?"
"I do. Bought it for the special purpose. And it's not to be taken from you. When you shy stones at hours already stated I shall be outside. You don't shy many. Three, or four, or five. One of the stones is made of lead. I supply you with them. Here they are." He produced the pellets. "I give you some paper that you'll keep in your pocket. Lead stone wrapped in white paper means that you're quite comfortable. Lead stone wrapped in blue paper means you want to be taken away. Things not as they ought to be. That provides for your safety. We'll see you're not hurt, Sophy, otherwise Maria. I shall understand signals. An idea. Can you whistle?"
"Rather."
"Another of your peculiarities. As a friendly patient you're to be allowed to whistle. At twelve o'clock and at four I shall be in this neighborhood. I hear you whistle. I see the stones you shy, and the bit of lead wrapped in white paper. She's safe, I say to myself. Sophy, otherwise Maria, is quite comfortable with her weather eye open. Do you take all this in? Or shall I go over it again?"
"I know it by 'eart," replied Sophy. "It's a reg'lar game, that's what it is."
Here I thought it necessary to say a word.
"Suppose no stones at all are thrown, Bob?"
"In that case," said Bob, "without one minute's delay I ring the bell. I insist upon seeing my stepdaughter, Sophy, otherwise Maria. Leave it to me. I'll undertake that she comes to no harm. Time to get back to Nutford."
We left Sheldon without having been observed, I a little doubtful now that the adventure was to be seriously commenced, Bob very confident, and Sophy very bright. Before we went to bed we had a great deal of conversation, and Sophy convinced us that she perfectly understood Bob's instructions; then the silver watch was delivered to her as a prospective gift in the event of her success, and we retired to rest. Bob and I had each brought a Gladstone bag down with us, and Bob gave me another instance of his thoughtfulness by producing from his a small handbag, furnished with certain necessaries for a girl of Sophy's age, which he had purchased in London.
"You have really no fears for her, Bob?" I said as we undressed. He and I occupied a double-bedded room.
"Not the least," replied Bob. "She's a gem. Of the first water. Wash and comb her regularly--dress her decently--teach her to read and write--give her two or three years to grow up in--and there's no telling what she may become. Much obliged for the introduction. Much obliged also for the business in hand." He said this with perfect sincerity. Bob Tucker was in his element.
On the following morning he and Sophy set off for Tylney House. By Bob's advice I remained behind in Nutford. It would be best, he said, that Dr. Peterssen should not see me.
I waited in great anxiety for his return, and at three o'clock in the afternoon he was with me again.
"All arranged," he said. "Sophy is now a friendly patient in Tylney House. Did not tell you, did I, that I telegraphed to Peterssen from London yesterday afternoon?"
"No," I replied, "I was not aware of it. You lay your plans well, Bob."
"No use undertaking a job unless you do. I sent him telegram--'Coming to your establishment to-morrow with young patient. SILAS NETTLEFOLD.' We arrive in a fly--ring the bell--man appears. I ask, 'Dr. Peterssen at home?' 'Name?' inquires the man. 'Silas Nettlefold,' I answer. 'Dr. Peterssen is at home,' says man. 'Walk in.' I do. Sophy slouches by my side--good actress, that girl. Man eyes her. She doesn't notice him apparently. All the same she sees him--and reckons him up. In the grounds she picks up stone--looks at it--turns it over in her hand--shies it over the wall. 'A way she's got,' I say to man. Slip two half-crowns into his hand. He grins, and leads the way. Peterssen--damned scoundrel--receives us. I introduce myself--and my stepdaughter Maria. He shakes hands with me--no suspicion in his manner. I was looking out for that. Puts his thumb under my step-daughter's chin--raises her face. She gives a silly laugh, and turns away. I explain matters, saying first, 'Can I speak plainly to you?' 'I am a man of the world,' he says. 'So am I,' I respond. I give him a sly look; he gives me one. I motion Sophy, otherwise Maria, out of the room. He rings for man to take her into the grounds. 'Not my daughter,' I say; 'my first wife's. Widow when I married her. Now, dead. Six weeks ago I married again. Second wife wants her out of the house. So do I. More comfortable for all parties. Dumb from her birth; quite silly, but has, or will have when she's of age, property. Meanwhile I am her guardian. Willing to pay well to have her well taken care of. Must not be ill-treated. Am a Christian--so are you.' Peterssen smiles; I smile. I continue: 'It is to my interest that she shall be happy. I wish her to live a long life--in such an establishment as yours--at so much a year, paid in advance. I should like her to get fat. The longer she lives, the better for me. If she died her property would pass out of my control.' And so on, and so on. Peterssen comprehends--grasps the situation. Promises everything I ask. Shall be treated as friendly patient, but of course the charge will be proportionate. 'Quite so,' I say. Everything then is arranged. She will have perfect liberty inside the stone walls. Will be kindly treated. Will be allowed to walk freely about the grounds, and to indulge her harmless habit of occasional stone-throwing. So far, all plain sailing. Then comes question of terms. 'Two hundred a year,' says Peterssen, rather stiff. 'We'll not haggle,' I say. Peterssen much relieved. He's devilish hard up. Saw it with half an eye. His hand stretched out to clutch the money. Took advantage of his eagerness. Gave him twenty pounds on account of first quarter. Promise to pay the other thirty in a month. After that, regular quarterly payments in advance. Peterssen made lame attempts to hold out for larger sum down on the nail. I stood my ground. Peterssen gave way. If he'd been flush of money would have seen me further first. Interview terminated. We go out to Sophy, otherwise Maria. Girl very happy, playing with two stones. 'Let her have her way,' I say, 'won't give you a bit of trouble.' I wish her good-by. She takes not the slightest notice of me. Begins to whistle. Clever girl, Sophy. Gives me a silly look, that's all. I speak to man, otherwise keeper, aside. 'Don't bother her,' I say, 'and she won't bother you. Treat her kindly, and you get a crown a week. Here's first fortnight in advance.' Keeper promises to be good to her, and not to interfere with her. A crown a week buys him body and soul. Sophy all right. Shake hands with Peterssen, pat Sophy on the head, and make my way here. Not in a straight line. Hired fly some distance off in another direction. Leave Bob Tucker alone for putting people off the scent."
There was nothing to find fault with in Bobgs description; all that I had wished for had been cleverly carried out, and everything seemed now to depend upon whether the desk of Indian wood was in Dr. Peterssen's establishment and whether Sophy would be able to obtain possession of it. But it was not without an uneasy feeling that I thought of Sophy being at the mercy of such a man as the master of Tylney House. Bob did his best to dispel my uneasiness. He was positive that Sophy was quite safe. Dr. Peterssen was seldom in the house, his inclinations and pleasures lying elsewhere, and the management of the establishment was left almost entirely in the hands of the keeper who Bob said he had bought for five shillings a week.
"Doesn't get a tip once in a blue moon," said Bob. "That was evident from his manner of accepting mine. It was such a novelty that it almost knocked him over. Doesn't get too well paid, either. There's a tumbledown air about Tylney House which made me think of a man on his last legs. One thing is certain. Peterssen's heart is not in it. Mind occupied by matters more engrossing. Generally savage look upon his face. The fellow's ripe."
"For what, Bob?"
"For any kind of villainy, from pitch and toss to manslaughter. Wouldn't stop short of manslaughter. Oh, I know my customer."
"Did you see any of the other patients?" I asked.
"No," answered Bob. "Kept out of the way, most likely. Looked about for harmless patient green-grocer's boy spoke of. Didn't catch a glimpse of him."
We left Nettlefold that evening, and went to another village on the other side of Sheldon. This was done to enable Bob to assume a different disguise, in which he was to pay his daily visits to the tree outside the stone walls of Tylney House, which was to serve as a target for Sophy's stones twice a day; and he told me that he had given Sophy explicit instructions how to reach us at our new address. It seems that he had the removal in view when we were at Nettlefold, and had let Sophy into the secret; and I commended and admired his thoughtfulness.
The change of quarters safely made, I had nothing to do but to await the course of events. I considered it expedient to keep Bob company, so as to be on the spot in case Sophy should make an unexpected appearance. Bob's proceedings and methods afforded me some amusement. At a quarter to eleven every morning he started for Sheldon, returning at a quarter to two. An hour afterward he started again for the same place, returning at a quarter to six. He was punctuality itself, and his movements resembled those of a well-regulated clock. Every time he returned he said, "Sophy quite safe. Three stones, and a pellet wrapped in white paper. Whistling like a bird. Sophy getting fine markswoman. Two of the stones hit tree. Capital exercise for muscles this stone-throwing. Pity Sophy can't write. She would be able to tell us news." He kept an exact record of all his proceedings, and devoted a separate page, more than one, if necessary, to each entry. "In matters like this," he said, "avoid confusion. Be precise. My diary saves a world of trouble in deciding absolutely what was done at such an hour on such a day." The time, I must confess, hung heavily on my hands, and I would much rather have been an active worker in the task upon which we were engaged. However, I had no choice. I wrote regularly to my people at home and to Emilia, who thus became acquainted with my country address, and it was to Emilia's knowledge of my whereabouts which led to unforeseen diversions in the plans I had so carefully mapped out.