Roger Ingleton, Minor Part 47

"You remember it!" exclaimed he, seizing the man's hand; "do you know, we have been a fortnight in Boulogne trying to find some one who did!"

"Would not _you_ remember it," replied the Frenchman, with a gesticulation, "if 'Amlet had put up at your inn and gone away without paying his bill?"

"Did one of the actors stay here, then?"

"One? There was twenty 'Amlets, and Miladi 'Amlets, and Mademoiselle 'Amlets. They all stay here, _en famille_. The house is full of 'Amlets. The stable is full. They bring with them a castle of 'Amlet, and a grave of 'Amlet. My poor house was all 'Amlet!"

"And," inquired Mr Armstrong, flushed with the sudden discovery, but as cool as ever, "you had a pa.s.s to see the play, of course?"

"_Mon dieu_! it was all the pay I got. 'Amlet come to my house with his twenty hungry mouth, and eat me up, flesh and bone. He sleep in my beds, he sleep on my roof, he sleep in my stable. The place is 'Amlet's. And all my pay is one piece of card bidding me see him play himself."

"And was it well played?" Asked Mr Armstrong.

"Well played? How do I know? But six persons came to see it--I one-- and in six minutes it is all done. Your English 'Amlet will not play to the empty bench. He call down the curtain, and bid us go where we please. Not even will he pay us back our money. Then, when he come to leave the hall himself, _voila_, he has no money to pay his rent. His baggage is seized, and 'Amlet fights. _Mon dieu_, there was _une emeute_ in Boulogne that night; and before day 'Amlet has vanish like his own ghost, and I am a robbed man; _voila_."

"Very rough on you," said the tutor. "So there was a ghost among the players?"

"Why no? It would not be _'Amlet_ without."

"Did the ghost stay here too?"

"_Helas_! yes. He eat, and drink, and sleep, and forgets to pay, like the rest."

"What did you lose by him?" asked Roger, with parched lips.

"Ah, monsieur, I was a Napoleon poorer for every 'Amlet in my house that night."

Roger put down two sovereigns on the table.

"That is to pay for the ghost," said he, flus.h.i.+ng. "He was my brother."

The landlord stared in blank amazement.

"Your brother! Monsieur le Ghost of _'Amlet_ was--_pardieu_!" exclaimed he, looking hard at his guest, "and he was like you. It was no fault of his _'Amlet_ did not take the favour, for he play in the first act and make us all laugh. If the other 'Amlets had been so amusing as him, the house would have been full--packed. Ha! now you say it, he was a gentleman, this poor Monsieur le Ghost. He held himself apart from the noisy company, and sulk in a corner, while they laugh, and drink, and sing the song. They were afraid of him, and, _mon dieu_! they might be--for once, when Monsieur Rosencrantz, as I remember, came and threw some absinthe--my absinthe, messieurs--in his face, Monsieur le Ghost he knocked him down with a blow that sounded--oh, like a clap of the thunder. And this pauvre ghost," added the man, "was monsieur's brother! _Helas_! he was come down very poor--his coat was rags, and his boots were open to the water of heaven. He eat little. Ah, monsieur, I have deceived you. He cost me not five franc; for, when I remember, he ate nothings--he starve himself."

"Was he ill?" asked Armstrong.

"Worse," said the landlord, lowering his voice; "he was in love. I could see it. She laugh and make the mock at him, and play coquet with the others before his face. It nearly killed him--this pauvre ghost.

He would have give his hand for a kind glance, but he got it never."

"Who was the girl?" asked Roger.

"But a child, the minx--fifteen, perhaps sixteen, years, no more. She played the part of a page-boy, and only so because monsieur, her father, was manage the play. He was Frenchman, this monsieur, but mademoiselle was English like her mother. _Helas_! monsieur, your brother was deep in love. But there was no hope for him. A fool could see that."

This was all the host could tell them. He had never heard since of any member of the ill-fated company. He could introduce them to no one who remembered their visit. A few there might be who when appealed to might have recalled the disturbance on the night of the performance, and the absconding of the players. But who they were and what became of them no one could say.

On their return to the hotel at Boulogne at midnight they found a telegram and a letter awaiting them.

The former was from Dr Brandram to Mr Armstrong--

"Come at once."

The letter was a missive addressed to Roger at Maxfield from London, and forwarded back to Boulogne. It was from Mr Fastnet.

"Dear Ingleton,--Oddly enough I stumbled yesterday across the very piece of paper I spoke to you of. Here it is for what it was worth."

Roger eagerly opened the yellow sheet. It announced a performance of _Hamlet_ at Folkestone by a celebrated company of stars under the direction of a Monsieur Callot. Among the actors was a Mr John Rogers, who took the part of the ghost in the first act. Further down was mentioned a Miss Callot, who acted the part of a page. And the bill announced that after the performance in Folkestone the company would perform for two nights only in Boulogne. More important, however, than any other particular was a footnote that Monsieur Callot was "happy to receive pupils for instruction in the dramatic art at his address, 2 Long Street, London, W. Terms moderate. Singing and dancing taught by Madame Callot."

Here at last seemed a clue. The pulses of the two friends quickened as they read and re-read the time-worn doc.u.ment.

"The boat sails in two hours," said Mr Armstrong, "I must leave you in town. Brandram would not telegraph for me like this unless he meant it."

"I suppose it means my bro-- Ratman, has turned up again. If so, Armstrong--"

"Well?" inquired the tutor, digging his gla.s.s deep into his eye.

Roger said nothing.

On the following afternoon Mr Armstrong had a pleasant game of a.s.sociation football with Tom on the Maxfield lawn, and Miss Jill, who volunteered as umpire, gave every point in favour of the tutor.

Just about the time when he kicked his final goal, Roger Ingleton, minor, in London arrived at the dreary conclusion, after an hour's painful study of directories and maps, that there was no such street as Long Street, London, W.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SHARKS BY LAND AND WATER.

Mr Brandram's abrupt summons to Mr Armstrong was not due to the reappearance on the scene of the mysterious Robert Ratman. It was, in fact, at the instance of Miss Rosalind Oliphant that the doctor sent his message.

That young lady had returned a week ago to find everything at Maxfield awry. Her father was gloomy, mysterious, and haggard. The rumour of Mr Ratman's extraordinary claims had become the common property of the village. Roger and his tutor were away, no one exactly knew where or on what errand.

On the day following her return she walked across from the Vicarage to visit her father.

He sat in the library, abstracted, pale, and limp. The jaunty, Anglo- Indian veneer had for the time being dropped off, unmasking the worried exterior of a chicken-hearted man.

At the sight of his daughter he pulled himself together, and crushed in his hand the letter which he had been reading.

"Why, my child," said he, with unusual cordiality, "this is a pleasant apparition. Cruel girl, to desert us for so long. We have hardly existed without you, Roger and his tutor are away in France holiday- making, while I remain here on duty with no one to cheer me up."

"Dear father," said Rosalind, kissing him, "how worried you look! What is the matter? Won't you tell me?"

The father's eyes dwelt for a moment on her fair earnest face--so like her mother's, so unlike a daughter of his--then they fell miserably.

"Worried?" said he. "Do I show it as plainly as all that? I flattered myself I kept it to myself."

"Any one can see you are unhappy, father. Why?"