CHAPTER VII.
THE WOOL KING.
THE old Greek legend of Midas
turning everything he touched into gold, is truer than
most people imagine. Mediæval superstition
changed the human being who possessed such a power
into the philosopher's stone the stone which so
many alchemists sought in the dark ages. But we of the
nineteenth century have given back into human hands
this power of transformation.
But we do not ascribe it either to
Greek deity, or to superstition; we call it luck. And
he who possesses luck should be happy notwithstanding
the proverb which hints the contrary. Luck means more
than riches it means happiness in most of those
things, which the fortunate possessor of it may choose
to touch. Should he speculate, he is successful; if he
marry, his wife will surely prove everything to be
desired; should he aspire to a position, social or
political, he not only attains it, but does so with
comparative ease. Worldly wealth, domestic happiness,
high position, and complete success all these
things belong to the man who has 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 surely 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; and a magnificent town house down in
St. Kilda, which would have been not 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, she
decided to remain single, as she had not yet seen
anyone she could love, and with her mother continued
to dispense the hospitality of the mansion at St.
Kilda.
But the fairy prince comes at length
to every woman, and in this instance he came at his
appointed time, in the person of one Brian Fitzgerald,
a tall, handsome, fair-haired young man hailing from
Ireland.
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 had come out to Australia to make his
fortune.
He brought letters of introduction to
Mark Frettlby, and that gentleman, taking 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 he 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 from out 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
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.
He next proceeded to interview the
father, and had just screwed up his courage to the
awful ordeal, when something occurred which postponed
the interview indefinitely. Mrs. Frettlby was out
driving, and the horses took fright and bolted. The
coachman and groom both escaped unhurt, but Mrs.
Frettlby was thrown out and killed instantly.
This was the first really great
trouble which had fallen on Mark Frettlby, and he
seemed 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 rode home, and
resumed his old life. But he was never the same again.
His face, which had always been so genial and so
bright, became stern and sad. He seldom smiled, and
when he did, it was a faint wintry smile, which seemed
mechanical. His whole interest in life was centred in
his daughter. She became the sole mistress of the St.
Kilda mansion, and her father idolised her. She was
apparently the one thing left to him which gave him a
pleasure in existence. In truth, had it not been for
her bright presence, Mark Frettlby would fain have
been lying beside his dead wife in the quiet
graveyard.
After a time Brian again resolved to
ask Mr. Frettlby for the hand of his daughter. But for
the second time fate interposed. A rival suitor made
his appearance, and Brian's hot Irish temper rose in
anger at him.
Mr. Oliver Whyte had come out from
England a few months previously, bringing with him a
letter of introduction to Mr. Frettlby, who received
him hospitably, as was his custom. Taking advantage of
this, Whyte lost no time in making himself perfectly
at home in the St. Kilda mansion.
From the outset Brian took a dislike
to the new-comer. He was a student of Lavater, and
prided himself on his perspicuity in reading
character. His opinion of Whyte was anything but
flattering to that gentleman; while Madge shared his
repulsion towards the new-comer.
On his part Mr. Whyte was nothing if
not diplomatic. He affected not to notice the coldness
of Madge's reception of him. On the contrary he began
to pay her the most marked attentions, much to Brian's
disgust. At length he asked her to be his wife, and
notwithstanding her prompt refusal, spoke to her
father on the subject. Much to the astonishment of his
daughter, Mr. Frettlby not only consented to Whyte
paying his addresses to Madge, but gave that young
lady to understand that he wished her to consider his
proposals 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 had called on Whyte at his lodgings, and after a
violent quarrel he had left the house vowing to kill
him, should he marry Madge Frettlby.
The same night Fitzgerald had an
interview with Mr. Frettlby. 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, 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 were his words, 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
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 in the pale moonlight.
Brian was seated opposite to Madge, and every now and
then he caught a glimpse of her bright face from
behind the 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. His
stern features were somewhat relaxed, and he drank
more wine than usual.
The soup had just been removed when
some one, who was late, entered with apologies and
took his seat. Some one 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 pretensions in Melbourne, and was always
bright, happy, and full of news. For details of any
scandal you were safe in applying to Felix Rolleston.
He knew all that was going on, both at home and
abroad. And his knowledge, if not very accurate, was
at least extensive, while his conversation was
piquant, and at times witty. Calton, one of the
leading lawyers of the city, remarked that "Rolleston
put him in mind of what Beaconsfield said of one of
the personages in
Lothair, 'He wasn't an intellectual Crsus, but
his pockets were always full of sixpences.'" Be it
said in his favour that Felix was free with his
sixpences.
The conversation, which had shown
signs of languishing before his arrival, now
brightened up.
"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 something
else," 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?"
Rolleston felt he held sensation in
his hands. There was nothing he liked better.
"Well, do you know," he said, gravely
fixing in his eyeglass, "they have found out the name
of the fellow who was murdered in the hansom cab."
"Never!" cried every one 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 meet Whyte constantly, and
as I have not seen him for the last two weeks, I
thought he might be the victim."
"How did they find out?" 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 men,
however, when the cloth was 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, wrapped in a brown study.
"What I can't make out," observed
Rolleston, who was amusing himself with cracking nuts,
"is why 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 at which he visited."
"And look here, Rolleston," said
Calton, who was sitting
near him, "if you were to find a man dead in a hansom
cab, dressed in evening clothes which nine men
out of ten are in the habit of wearing in the evening
no cards in his pockets, and no name on his
linen, I rather think you would find it hard to
discover who he was. I consider it reflects great
credit on the police for finding out so quickly."
"Puts one in mind of 'The Leavenworth
Case,' and all that sort of thing," said Felix, whose
reading was of the lightest description. "Awfully
exciting, like putting a Chinese puzzle together. Gad,
I wouldn't mind being a detective myself."
"I'm afraid if that were the case,"
said Mr. Frettlby, with an amused smile, "criminals
would be pretty safe."
"Oh, I don't know so much about that,"
answered Felix, shrewdly; "some fellows are like
trifle at a party, froth on top, but something better
underneath."
"What a greedy simile," said Calton,
sipping his wine; "but I'm afraid the police will have
a more difficult task in discovering the man who
committed the crime. In my opinion he's a deuced
clever fellow."
"Then you don't think he will be
discovered?" asked Brian, rousing himself out of his
brown study.
"Well, I don't go as far as that,"
rejoined Calton; "but he has certainly left no trace
behind him, and even the Red Indian, in whom instinct
for tracking is so highly developed, needs some sort
of a trail to enable him to find out his enemies.
Depend upon it," went on Calton, warming to his
subject, "the man who murdered Whyte is no ordinary
criminal; the place he chose for the committal of the
crime was such a safe one."
"Do you think so?" said Rolleston.
"Why, I should think that a hansom cab in a public
street would be very unsafe."
"It is that very fact that makes it
safer," replied Mr. Calton, epigrammatically. "You
read De Quincey's account of the Marr murders in
London, and you will see that the more public the
place the less risk there is of detection. There was
nothing about the gentleman in the light coat who
murdered Whyte to excite Royston's suspicions. He
entered the cab with Whyte; no noise or anything
likely to attract attention was heard, and then he
alighted. Naturally enough, Royston drove to St.
Kilda, and never suspected Whyte was dead till he
looked inside and touched him. As to the man in the
light coat, he doesn't live in Powlett Street
no nor in East Melbourne either."
"Why not?" asked Frettlby.
"Because he wouldn't have been such a
fool as to leave a trail to his own door; he did what
the fox often does he doubled. My opinion is
that he went either right through East Melbourne to
Fitzroy, or he walked back through the Fitzroy Gardens
into town. There was no one about at that time of the
morning, and he could return to his lodgings, hotel,
or wherever he is staying, with impunity. Of course,
this is a theory that may be wrong; but from what
insight into human nature my profession has given me,
I think that my idea is a correct one."
All present agreed with Mr. Calton's
idea, as it really did seem the most natural thing
that would be done by a man desirous of escaping
detection.
"Tell you what," said Felix to Brian,
as they were on their way to the drawing-room, "if the
fellow that committed the crime, is found out, by gad,
he ought to get Calton to defend him."