 Part 1, Chapter 9 of Madame Midas. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Madame Midas by Fergus Hume. Part 1, Chapter 9. Loves Young Dream. Mr Mark Marchhurst was a very peculiar man. Brought up in the Presbyterian religion, he had early displayed his peculiarity by differing from the elders of the church he belonged to regarding their doctrine of eternal punishment. They, holding fast to the teachings of Knox and Kelvin, looked upon him in horror for daring to have an opinion of his own, and as he refused to repent and have blind belief in the teachings of those grim divines, he was turned out of the bosom of the church. Drifting to the opposite extreme, he became a convert to Catholicism. But after a trial of that ancient faith, found it would not suit him, so once more took up a neutral position. Therefore, as he did not find either religion perfectly in accordance with his own views, he took the law into his own hands, and constructed one which was a queer jumble of Presbyterianisms, Catholicism and Buddhism, of which last religion he was a great admirer. As anyone with strong views and a clever tongue will find followers, Mr Marchhurst soon gathered a number of people around him who professed a blind belief in the extraordinary doctrines he promulgated. Having thus founded a sect, he got sufficient money out of them to build a temple, for so he called the barn life edifice he erected, and christened this new society which he had called into existence the elect. About one hundred people were members of his church, and with their subscriptions and also having a little money of his own, he managed to live in a quiet manner in a cottage on the black hill near to his temple. Every Sunday he held forth morning and evening, expounding his views to his first congregation, and was looked upon by them as a kind of prophet. As a matter of fact, the man had that peculiar power of fascination, which seems to be inseparable from the prophetic character, and it was his intense enthusiasm and eloquent tongue that cast a spell over the simple-minded people who believed in him. But his doctrines were too shallow and unsatisfactory ever to take root, and it could be easily seen that when Marchhurst died the elect would die also. That is, as a sect, for it was not pervaded by that intense religious fervour which is the life and soul of a new doctrine. The fundamental principles of his religion were extremely simple. He saved his friends and damned his enemies, for so he styled those who were not of the same mind as himself. If you were a member of the elect, Mr. Marchhurst assured you that the Golden Gate was wide open for you, whereas if you belonged to any other denomination, you were lost forever. So according to this liberal belief, the hundred people who formed his congregation would all go straight to heaven, and all the rest of mankind would go to the devil. In spite of the selfishness of this theory, which condemned so many souls to perdition, Marchhurst was a kindly-natured man, and his religion was more of an hallucination than anything else. He was very clever at giving advice, and Madame Midas esteemed him highly on this account. Though Marchhurst had often tried to convert her, she refused to believe in the shallows of histories he set forth, and told him she had her own views on religion, which views she declined to impart to him, though frequently pressed to do so. The zealot regretted this obstinacy, as according to his creed she was a lost soul, but he liked her too well personally to quarrel with her on that account, consoling himself with the reflection that sooner or later she would seek the fold. He was more successful with Monsieur Vandaloup, who, having no religion, whatever, allowed Marchhurst to think he had converted him in order to see as much as he could of Kitty. He used to attend the Sunday services regularly, and frequently came in during the week, often simply, to talk to Marchhurst about the doctrines of the elect, but in reality to see the old man's daughter. On this bright afternoon, when everything was bathed in sunshine, Mr Marchhurst, instead of being outside and enjoying the beauties of nature, was mewed up in his dismal little study, with curtains closely drawn to exclude the light, a cup of strong tea, and the Bible open at the lamentations of Jeremiah. His room was lined with books, but they had not that friendly look, books generally have, but bound in dingy brown calf, looked as grim and uninviting as their contents, which were mostly sermons and cheerful anticipations of the bottomless pit. It was against Marchhurst's principles to gratify his senses by having nice things around him, and his whole house was furnished in the same dismal manner. So far did he carry this idea of mortifying the flesh through the eyes that he had tried to induce Kitty to wear sad coloured dresses and poked bonnets, but in his attempt he failed lamentably, as Kitty flatly refused to make a guy of herself, and always wore dresses of the lightest and gayest description. Marchhurst groaned over this display of vanity, but as he could do nothing with the obdurant Kitty he allowed her to have her own way, and made a virtue of necessity by calling her his thorn in the flesh. He was a tall, thin man of a bleached appearance, from staying so much in the dark, and so loosely put together that when he bowed he did not as much bend as tumbled down from a height. In fact he looked so carelessly fixed up that when he sat down he made the onlooker feel quite nervous, lest he should subside into a ruin, and scatter his legs, arms, and head promiscuously all over the place. He had a sad, pale, eager-looking face, with dreamy eyes, which always seemed to be looking into the spiritual world. He wore his brown hair long, as he always maintained a man's hair was as much as his glory as a woman's was hers, quoting Samson and Absalon in support of this opinion. His arms were long and thin, and when he gesticulated in the pulpit on Sundays, flew about like a couple of flails, which gave him a most unhappy resemblance to a windmill. The lamentations of Jeremiah are not the most cheerful of reading, and Mr. Marchhurst, imbued with the sadness of the Jewish prophet, drinking strong tea and sitting in a darkened room, was rapidly sinking into a very dismal frame of mind, which an outsider would have termed a fit of the blues. He sat in his straight-back chair, taking notes of such parts of the lamentations, as would tend to depress the spirits of the elect on Sunday, and teach them to regard life in a proper and thoroughly miserable manner. He was roused from his dismal musings by the quick opening at the door of his study, when Kitty, joyous and gay in her white dress, burst like a sunbeam into the room. I wish Catherine, said her father, in a severe voice, I wish she would not enter so noisily and disturb my meditations. You'll have to put your meditations aside for a bit, said Kitty, disrespectfully, crossing to the window and pulling aside the curtains. The matrimonious and monseul van der loop have come to see you. A flood of golden light streamed into the dusky room, and Marchhurst put his hand to his eyes for a moment, as they were dazzled by the sudden glare. They've got something to show you, Papa, said Kitty, going back to the door, a big nugget such a size as large as your head. Her father put his hand mechanically to his head to judge of the size, and was about to answer when matrimonious, calm, cool and handsome entered the room, followed by van der loop, carrying a wooden box containing the nugget. It was by no means light, and van der loop was quite thankful when he placed it on the table. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr. Marchhurst, said Madam, sitting down and casting a glance at the scattered papers, the cup of tea and the open Bible, but I couldn't help gratifying my vanity by bringing the new nugget for you to see. It's very kind of you, I'm sure, responded Mr. Marchhurst politely, giving way suddenly in the middle as if he had a hinge in his back, which was his idea of a vow. I hope this, laying his hand on the box, may be the forerunner of many such. Oh, it will, said van der loop cheerfully, if we can only find the devil's lead. An unholy name, grown Marchhurst sadly, shaken his head, why did you not call it something else? Simply because I didn't name it, replied Madam Midas bluntly, but if the lead is rich, the name doesn't matter much. Of course not, broken kitty, impatiently, being anxious to see the nugget. Do open the box, I'm dying to see it. Catherine, Catherine, said Marchhurst reprovingly, as van der loop opened the box, how you do exaggerate, ah, he broke off his exhortation suddenly, for the box was open, and the great mass of gold was glittering in its depths. Wonderful. What a size, cried kitty, clapping her hands as van der loop lifted it out and placed it on the table. How much is it worth? About twelve hundred pounds, said Madam quietly, though her heart throbbed with pride as she looked at her nugget, at weighs three hundred ounces. Wonderful, reiterated the old man, passing his thin hand lightly over the rough surface. Verily the Lord had hidden great treasure in the entrails of the earth, and the pactulus would seem to be a land of oath, when it yields such wealth as this. The nugget was duly admired by everyone, and then Brown and Jane, who formed the household of Marchhurst, were called in to look at it. They both expressed such astonishment and wonder, that Marchhurst felt himself compelled to admonish them against prizing the treasures of earth above those of heaven. Van der loop, afraid that they were in for a sermon, beckoned quietly to kitty, and they both stealthily left the room, while Marchhurst, with Brown, Jane and Madam, for an audience, and the nugget for a text, delivered a short discourse. Kitty put on a great straw hat, underneath which her frequent face flushed, and grew pink, beneath the fond gaze of her lover, as they left the house together, and strolled up to the black hill. Black Hill, no doubt at one time, deserved its name, being then covered with dark trees, and representing a black appearance at a distance. But at present, owing to the minds which have been worked there, the whole place is covered with dazzling white clay, or malloc, which now renders the title singularly inappropriate. On the top of the hill there is a kind of irregular gully, or pass, which extends from one side of the hill to the other, and was cut in the early days for mining purposes. Anything more extraordinary can hardly be imagined that this chasm for the sides, which tower up on either side to the height, of some fifty or sixty feet, are all pure white, and at the top break into all sorts of fantastic forms. The white surface of the rocks are all stained with colours, which alternate in shades of dark brown, bright red, and delicate pink. Great masses of rock have tumbled down on each side, often coming so close together as to almost block up the path. Here and there in the white walls can be seen the dark entrances of disused shafts, and one at the lowest level at the gully pierces through the hill and comes out on the other side. There is an old engine house near the end of the gully, with its red brick chimney standing up-gaunt and silent beside it, and the ugly tower at the winding gear adjacent. All the machinery in the engine house, with the huge wheels and intricate mechanism, is silent now, for many years have elapsed, since this old shaft was abandoned by the Blackhill Gold Mining Company. At the lower end of the pass there is an engine house in full working order, and a great plateau of slate coloured mullock runs out for some yards, and then there is a steep sloping bank formed by the falling earth. In the moonlight this wonderful white gully looks weird and bizarre, and even as Vanderloop and Kitty stood at the top looking down into its dusty depths in the bright sunshine, it looks fantastic and picturesque. Seated on the highest point of the hill, under the shadow of a great rock, the two lovers had a wonderful view of Ballarat. Here and there they could see the galvanised iron roofs of the houses gleaming like silver in the sunlight from amid the thick foliage of the trees, with which the city is studded. Indeed Ballarat might well be called the City of Trees, foreseen from the Blackhill, it looks more like a huge park, with a sprinkling of houses in it than anything else. The green foliage rolls over it like the waves of the ocean, and the houses rise up like isolated habitations. Now and then a red brick building, or the slender white spire of a church, gave a touch of colour to the landscape, and contrasted pleasantly with the blueish white roofs and green trees. Scattered all through the town were the huge mounds of earth, marking the mining shafts of various colours, from dark brown to pure white, and beside them, with the utmost regularity, were the skeleton towers of the poppet heads, the tall red chimneys, and the squat, low forms of the engine houses. On the right high up could be seen the blue waters of Lake Wendaree, flashing like a mirror in the sunlight. The city was completely encircled by the dark forests, which stretched far away, having a reddish tinge over their trees, ending in a sharply defined line against the clear sky. While on the left arose Mount Woranit, like an undiluting mound, and further along Mount Bunning Yong, with the same appearance. All this wonderful panorama, however, was so familiar to Kitty and her lover that they did not trouble themselves to look much at it, but the girls sat down under the big rock, and Vanderloop flung himself lazily at her feet. Bebe, said Vanderloop, who had given her this pet name, how long is this sort of life going to last? Kitty looked down at him with a vague feeling of terror at her heart. She had never known any life but the simple one she was now leading, and could not imagine it coming to an end. I'm getting tired of it, said Vanderloop, lying back on the grass and putting his hands under his head, stared idly at the blue sky. Unfortunately, human life is so short nowadays that we cannot afford to waste a moment of it. I am not suited for a lotus-eating existence, and I think I shall go to Melbourne. And lead me, cried Kitty in dismay, never having contemplated such a thing as likely to happen. That depends on yourself, Bebe, said her lover, quickly rolling over and looking steadily at her, with his chin resting on his hands. Will you come with me? As your wife, murmured Kitty, who is innocent, never dreamt of any other form of companionship, Vanderloop turned away his face to conceal the sneering smile that crept over it. His wife, indeed, as if he were going to encumber himself with marriage before he had made a fortune, and even then it was questionable as to whether he would surrender the freedom at bachelorhood for the ties of matrimony. Of course, he said, in a reassuring tone, still keeping his face turned away, we will get married in Melbourne as soon as we arrive. Why can't Papa marry us, powdered Kitty, in an aggrieved tone? My dear child, said the Frenchman, getting on his knees and coming close to her. In the first place, your father would not consent to the match, as I am poor and unknown, and not by any means the man he would choose for you. And in the second place, being a Catholic, here, Montreal, Vanderloop, look duly religious, I must be married by one of my own priests. Then why not in Ballarat, objected Kitty, still unconvinced? Because your father would never consent, he whispered, putting his arm round her waist. We must run away quietly, and when we are married, can ask his pardon, and with a sardonic sneer, his blessing. A delicious thrill passed through Kitty when she heard this, a real allotment with a handsome lover, just like the heroines in the story books. It was delightfully romantic, and yet there seemed to be something wrong about it. She was like a timid baby, longing to plunge into the water, yet hesitating through a vague fear. With a quick catching at the breath, she turned to Vanderloop, and saw him with his burning, scintillating eyes, fastened on her face. Don't look like that, she said, with a touch of virginal fear, pushing him away, you frighten me. Frightened you, baby, he said in a caressing tone, my heart's idle, you are cruel to speak like that, you must come with me, for I cannot and will not leave you behind. When do you go? asked Kitty, who was now trembling violently. Ah, Montseuel of Vanderloop was puzzled what to say, as he had no very decided plan of action. He had not sufficient money saved to justify him in leaving the patchless. Still there were always possibilities, and Fortune was fond of playing wild pranks. At the same time, there was nothing tangible in view likely to make him rich, so as these thoughts rapidly passed through his mind, he resolved to temporise. I can't tell you, baby, he said in a caressing tone, smoothing her curly hair. I want you to think over what I have said, and when I do go, perhaps in a month or so, you will be ready to come with me. No, he said, as Kitty was about to answer, I don't want you to reply now, take time to consider, little one. And with a smile on his lips, he bent over and kissed her tenderly. They sat silently together for some time, each intent on their own thoughts, and then Vanderloop suddenly looked up. Will Madam stay to dinner with you, baby? he asked. Kitty nodded. She always does, she replied. You will come too, Vanderloop shook his head. I am going down to Ballarat to the Wattle Tree Hotel to see my friend Pierre, he said, in a preoccupied manner, and will have something to eat there. Then I will come up again about eight o'clock, in time to see Madam off. Aren't you going back with her? asked Kitty, in surprise, as they rose to their feet. No, he replied, dusting his knees with his hand. I stay all night in Ballarat, with Madam's kind permission, to see the theatre. Now goodbye at present, baby, kissing her. I will be back at eight o'clock, so you can excuse me to Madam till then. He ran gaily down the hill, waving his hat, and Kitty stood looking after him, with pride in her heart. He was a lover any girl might have been proud of, but Kitty would not have been so satisfied with him had she known what his real thoughts were. Mary, he said to himself, with a laugh, as he walked gaily along, hardly. When we get to Melbourne, my sweet baby, I will find some way to keep you off that idea, and when we grow tired of one another, we can separate without the trouble or expense of a divorce. And this heartless, cynical man of the world was the keeper into whose hands innocent Kitty was about to commit the whole of her future life. After all, the fabled sirens had their equivalent in the male sex, and Homer's description symbolizes a cruel truth. End of Part 1 Chapter 9 Part 1 Chapter 10 of Madam Midas This Libra Box recording is in the public domain. Madam Midas by Fergus Hume. Part 1 Chapter 10. Friends in Council The Wattle Tree Hotel, to which Mr Macintosh had directed Pierre, was a quiet little public house in a quiet street. It was far away from the main thoroughfares of the city, and the stranger had to go up any number of quiet streets to get to it, and turn and twist round corners and down narrow lanes until it became a perfect miracle how he ever found the hotel at all. To a casual spectator it would seem that a tab and so difficult of access would not be very good for business. But Simon Twexby, the landlord, knew better. It had its regular customers, who came there day after day, and sat in the little bagpala and talked and chatted over their drinks. The Wattle Tree was such a quiet haven of rest, and kept such good liquor, that once a man discovered it, he always came back again. So Mr Twexby did a very comfortable trade. Rumor said he had made a lot of money out of gold mining, and that he kept the hotel more for amusement than anything else. But, however, this might be, the trade of the Wattle Tree brought him a very decent income, and Mr Twexby could afford to take things easy, which he certainly did. Anyone going into the bar could see old Simon, a stolid, fat man, with a sleepy-looking face, always in his shirt sleeves, and wearing a white apron, sitting in a chair at the end, while his daughter, a sharp, red-nosed angel, who was 35 years of age, and confessed to 22, served out the drinks. Mrs Twexby had long ago departed this life, leaving behind her the sharp, red-nosed angel to be her father's comfort. As a matter of fact, she was just the opposite, and Simon often wished that his daughter had departed to a better world in company with her mother. Then, tight-laced, with a shrill voice, and an assiduated temper, Mrs Twexby was still a spinster, and not even the fact of her being an heiress could tempt any of the Ballarat youth to lead her to the altar. Consequently, Mrs Twexby's temper was not a golden one, and she ruled the hotel and its inmates, her father included, with a rod of iron. Mr Villiers was a frequent customer at the Wattle Tree, and was in the back parlor, drinking brandy and water, and talking to old Twexby on the day that Pierre arrived. The dumb man came into the bar out of the dusty road, and, leaning over the counter, pushed a letter under Mrs Twexby's nose. Villiers queried that domes all sharply. Pierre, of course, did not answer, but touched his lips with his hand to indicate he was dumb. Mrs Twexby, however, read the action another way. You want a drink, she said, with the scornful toss of her head. Where's your money? Pierre pointed out the letter, and although it was directed to her father, Mrs Twexby, who managed everything, opened it and found it was from Macintosh, saying that the bearer, Pierre Lemaire, was to have a bed for the night, meals, drinks, and whatever else he required, and that he, Macintosh, would be responsible for the money. He furthermore added that the bearer was dumb. Oh, so you're dumb, are you? said Mrs Twexby, folding up the letter, and looking complacently at Pierre. I wish there were a few more men the same way, then perhaps we'd have less chat. This being undeniable, the fair Martha, for that was the name of the Twexby heiress, without waiting for any assent, walking into the back parlor, read the letter to her father, and waited instructions, for she always referred to Simon as the head of the house, though as a matter of fact, she never did what she was told, save when it tallied with her own wishes. It will be all right, Martha, I suppose, said Simon sliply. Martha asserted with decision that it would be all right, or she would know the reason why. Then marching out again to the bar, she drew a pot of beer for Pierre, without asking him what he would have, and ordered him to sit down and be quiet, which last remark was rather unnecessary, considering that the man was dumb. Then she sat down behind her bar, and resumed her perusal of a novel called The Duke's Duchesses, or The Melaner's Mystery, which contained a ducal hero with bigamistic proclupities, and a virtuous melaner whom the aforesaid Duke persecuted, all of which was very entertaining and improcable, and gave Miss Twexby much pleasure, judging from the sympathy he had. In fact, it was a very pathetic size she was heeding. Meanwhile, Phileas, having heard the name of Pierre Lemaire, and knowing he was engaged in the pactulus claim, came round to see him, and try to find out all about the nugget. Phileas felt he, at first, and sat drinking his beer sullenly, with his old black hat drawn down so far over his eyes, that only his bushy black beard was visible. But Mr. Phileas' swervity, together with the present, of half a crown, had a marked effect on him. As he was dumb, Mr. Phileas was somewhat perplexed how to carry on a conversation with him. But he ultimately drew forth a piece of paper, and sketched a rough presentation of a nugget thereon, which he showed to Pierre. The Frenchman, however, did not comprehend until Phileas produced a sovereign from his pocket, and pointed first to the gold, and then to the drawing, upon which Pierre nodded his head several times in order to show that he understood. Phileas then drew a picture of the pactulus claim, and asked Pierre in French if the nugget was still there, as he showed him the sketch. Pierre shook his head, and, taking the pencil in his hand, drew a rough representation of a horse and cart, and put a square box in the letter to show the nugget was on a journey. Hello, said Phileas, to himself. It's not at her own house, and she's driving somewhere with it. I wonder where to. Pierre, who not being able to write, was in the habit of drawing pictures to express his thoughts, nudged his elbow, and showed him a sketch of a man in a box waving his arms. Auctioneer, hazarded Mr. Phileas, looking at this keenly. Pierre stared at him blankly. His comprehension of English was none of the best, so he did not know what Auctioneer meant. However, he saw that Phileas did not understand, so he rapidly sketched an altar with the priest standing before it, blessing the people. Oh, a priest's day. A minister? said Phileas, nodding his head to show he understood. She's taken the nugget to show it to a minister. Wonder who it is? This was speedily answered by Pierre, who, throwing down the pencil and paper, dragged him outside onto the road, and pointed to the white top at the black hill. Mr. Phileas instantly comprehended. Marchers by God, he said in English, smitten his leg with his open hand, is madam there now? he added in French, turning to Pierre. The dumb man nodded, and slouched, slowly back into the hotel. Phileas stood out in the blazing sunshine, thinking. She's got the nugget with her in the trap, he said to himself, and she's taken it to show Marchers. Well, she's sure to stop there to tea, and won't start for home till about nine o'clock. It will be pretty dark by then. She'll be by herself. And if I hear, he stopped, and looked round cautiously, and then, without another word, set off down the street at a run. The fact was, Mr. Phileas had come to the conclusion that as his wife would not give him money willingly, the best thing to be done would be to take it by force, and accordingly he had made up his mind to rob her of the nugget that night if possible. Of course there was a risk, that he knew his wife was a determined woman. Still, while she was driving in the darkness down the hill, if he took her by surprise, he would be able to stun her with a blow, and get possession of the nugget. Then he could hide it in one of the old shafts of the Black Hill Company, until he required it. As to the possibility of his wife knowing him, there would be no chance of that in the darkness, so he could escape any unpleasant inquiries, then take the nugget to Melbourne, and get it melted down secretly. He would be able to make nearly twelve hundred pounds out of it, so the game would certainly be worth the candle. Full of this brilliant idea of making a good sum at one stroke, Mr. Phileas went home, had something to eat, and taking with him a good stout stick, the knob of which was loaded with lead. He started for the Black Hill with the intent of watching Marchhurst's house until his wife left there, and then following her down the hill, and possessing himself of the nugget. The afternoon wore drowsily along, and the great heat made everybody inclined to sleep. Pierre had demanded by signs to be shown his bedroom, and having been conducted there too by a crushed looking waiter who drifted endlessly before him, threw himself on the bed, and went fast asleep. Old Simon, in the dimly lit-backed power, was already snoring, and only Miss Twexvie amid the glitter of the glasses in the bar, and the glare of the sunshine through the open door, was wide awake. Customers came in for foaming tankards of beer, and sometimes a little girl with a jug hidden under her apron would appear with a request that it might be filled for mother, who was ironing. Indeed the number of women who were ironing that afternoon, and wanted to quench their thirst, was something wonderful, but Miss Twexvie seemed to know all about it, as she put a frothy head on each jug, and received the silver in exchange. At last, however, even Martha, the wide awake, was yielding to the somniferous heat of the day, when a young man entered the bar, and made her sit up with great alacrity, beaming all over her hard wooden face. This was none other than Monsue Vandaloup, who had come down to see Pierre, dressed in flannels with a blue scarf tied carelessly round his waist, a blue necktie knotted loosely round his throat, under the collar of his shirt, and wearing a straw hat on his fair head. He looked wonderfully cool and handsome, and as he leaned over the counter-composedly, smoking a cigarette, Miss Twexvie thought that the hero of her novel must have stepped bodily out of her book, gassed instead complacently at her, while he pulled at his fair mustache, and thought how horribly plain-looking she was, and what a contrast to his charming baby. I'll take something cool to drink, he said with a yawn, and also a chair, if you have no objection, suiting the action to the word. How warm it is! What would you like to drink, sir? asked the fair Martha, putting on her brightest smile, which seemed rather out of place on her features. Brandy and soda. Thank you, I'll have a lemon squash if you will kindly make me one, he said carelessly. And as Martha flew to obey his order, he added, you might put a little Caracow in it. It's very hot, ain't it? Observed Miss Twexvie a favorly. As she cut up the lemon, Pa's gone to sleep in the other room, jerking her head in the direction of the parlor. But Miss De Villiers went out in all the heat, and I don't no wonder if he gets a sunstroke. Oh, was Miss De Villiers here, asked Gaston idly, not that he cared much about the gentleman's movements, but merely for something to say. Law yes, sir, giggled Martha, he's one of our regulars, sir. I can understand that, mademoiselle, said Vanderloop, bowing as he took the drink from her hand. Miss Twexvie giggled again, and her nose grew a shade redder, at the pleasure of being banded by this handsome young man. You're a foreigner, she said shortly. I knew you were, she went on triumphantly as you nodded. You talk well enough, but there's something wrong about the way you pronounce your words. Vanderloop hardly thought Miss Twexvie a mistress of Queen's English, but he did not attempt to contradict her. I must get you to give me a few lessons, he replied gallantly, setting down the empty glass, and what has Miss De Villiers gone out into the heatfall? As Maureen or I can tell, said Martha emphatically, nodding her head, till the short curls dangling over her ears vibrated as if they were made of wire. He spoke to the dumb man and drew pictures for him, and then off he goes. The dumb man, Gaston pricked up his ears at this, and, wondering what Villiers wanted to talk to Pierre about, he determined to find out. That dumb man is one of our miners from the patchless, he said, writing another cigarette. I wish to speak to him. Has he gone out, also? No, he ain't. Return Miss Twexvie decisively. He's gone to lie down. Do you want to see him? I'll send for him, with a hand on the bell rope. No, thank you, said Vanderloop, stopping her. I'll go up to his room, if you will show me the way. Oh, I don't mind, said Martha, preparing to leave the bar, but first ringing the bell so that the crushed-looking waiter might come and attend to possible customers. He's on the ground floor, and there ain't no stairs to climb. Now, what are you looking at, Sue, with another gratified giggle as she caught Vanderloop staring at her? But he was not looking at her some what mature charms, but at a bunch of pale blue flowers, among which were some white blossoms she wore in the front of her dress. What are these, he asked, touching the white blossoms lightly with his finger. I do declare it's that nasty hemlock, said Martha in surprise, pulling the white flowers out of the bunch. And I never knew it was there. And she threw the blossom down with a gesture of disgust, how they smell. Gaston picked up one of the flowers and crushed it between his fingers, upon which it gave out a peculiar mousey odor eminently disagreeable. It was hemlock sure enough, and he wondered how such a plant had come into Australia. Did it grow in your garden? He asked Martha. That damsel intimated it did and offered to show him the plant so that he could believe his own eyes. Vanderloop assented eagerly, and they were soon in the flower garden at the back of the house, which was blazing with vivid colors in the hot glare of the sunshine. There you are, said Miss Twexby, pointing to a corner of the garden near the fence, where the plant was growing. Pa brought a lot of seeds from home, and that beastly thing got mixed up with them. Pa keeps it growing though, because no one else has got it. It's quite a curiosity. Vanderloop bent down and examined the plant, with its large, round smooth, purple-spotted stem, its smooth, shining green leaves, and the tiny white flowers with their disagreeable odor. Yes, it is hemlock, he said, half to himself. I did not know it could be grown here. Someday, Madam Azell, he said, turning to Miss Twexby, and walking back to the house with her, I will ask you to let me have some of the roots of that plant to make an experiment with. As much as you like, said the fair Martha amably, it's a nasty-smelling thing. What are you going to make out of it? Nothing particular returned Vanderloop with a yawn, as they entered the house and stopped at the door at Pa's room. I'm a bit of a chemist, and amuse myself with these things. You are clever, observed Martha admiringly, but here's that man's room. We didn't give him the best, apologetically, as miners are so rough. Madam Azell said Vanderloop eagerly, as she turned to go. I see there are a few blossoms of hemlock left in your flower there, touching it with his finger. Will you give them to me? Martha Twexby stared. Surely this was the long-expected come at last. She had secured a lover, and such a lover, handsome, young, and gallant, the very hero of her dreams. She almost fainted in delighted surprise, and, unfastening the flowers with trembling fingers, gave them to Gaston. He placed them in a buttonhole of his flannel coat. Then, before she could scream or even draw back in time, this audacious young man put his arm round her and kissed her virginal lips. Miss Twexby was so taken by surprise that she could often know resistance, and by the time she had recovered herself, Gaston had disappeared into Pa's room and closed the door after him. Well, she said to herself, as she returned to the bar, if that isn't a case of love at first sight, my name ain't Martha Twexby, and she sat down in the bar with her nerves all over flutter, as she afterwards told a female friend who dropped in sometimes for a friendly cup of tea. Gaston closed the door after him, and found himself in a moderately large room, with one window looking on to the garden, and having a dressing table with a mirror in front of it. There were two beds, one on each side, and on the farthest of these, Pierre was sleeping heavily, not even Gaston's entrance having roused him. Going over to him, Vanderloot touched him slightly, and with a spring the dumb man sat up in bed, as if he expected to be arrested, and was all on the alert to escape. It's only I, my friend, said Gaston, in French, crossing over to the other bed and sticking on it. Come here, I wish to speak to you. Pierre rose from his sleeping place, and stumbling across the room stood before Gaston with downcast eyes, his shaggy hair all tossed and tumbled by the contact with the pillow. Gaston himself, Curly, relit his cigarette, which had gone out, threw his straw hat on the bed, and then, curling one leg inside the other, looked long and keenly at Pierre. You saw Madame's husband today, he said sharply, still eyeing the slouching figure before him, that seemed so restless under his steady gaze. Pierre nodded and shuffled his large feet. Did he want to know about his wife, another nod? I thought so, and about the new nugget also, I presume, still another nod. Thoughtfully, he'd like to get a share of it, I've no doubt. The dumb man nodded violently, then, crossing over to his own bed, he placed the pillow in the centre of it, and, falling on his knees, imitated the action of miners in working at the wash. Then he arose to his feet, and pointed to the pillow. I see, said Montsu or Vandaloupe, who had been watching this pantomime with considerable interest. That pillow is the nugget of which our friend wants to share. Pierre assented, then, snatching up the pillow, he ran withered to the end of the room. Oh, said Gaston, after a moment's thought, so he's going to run away with it. A very good idea, but how does he propose to get it? Pierre dropped his pillow and pointed in the direction of the black hill. Does he know it's up there? Asked Vandaloupe. You told him, I suppose. As Pierre nodded, I think I can see what Mr. Villiers intend to do. Robbed his wife as she goes home tonight. Pierre nodded in a half-doubtful manner. You're not quite sure, interrupted Montsu or Vandaloupe, but I am. He won't stop at anything to get money. You stay all night in town. The dumb man assented. So do I, replied Vandaloupe. It's a happy coincidence, because I see a chance of our getting that nugget. Pierre's dull eyes brightened, and he rubbed his hands together in a pleased manner. Sit down, said Vandaloupe, in a peremptory tone, pointing to the floor. I wish to tell you what I think. Pierre obediently dropped onto the floor, where he squatted like a huge mishap and toad. While Vandaloupe, after going to the door to see that it was closed, returned to the bed, sat down again, and having lighted another cigarette, began to speak. All this precaution was somewhat needless, as he was talking rapidly in French. But then Montsu or Vandaloupe knew that walls have ears, and possibly might understand foreign languages. I need hardly remind you, said Vandaloupe, in a pleasant voice, that when we landed in Australia, I told you that there was war between our souls and society. And that, at any cost, we must try to make money. So far we have only been able to earn an honest livelihood. A way of getting rich, which you must admit, is remarkably slow. Here, however, is a chance of making, if not a fortune, at least a good sum of money at one stroke. This Montsu or Villiers is going to rob his wife, and his plan will no doubt be this. He will lie in wait for her, and when she drives slowly down the hill, he will spring onto the trap, and perhaps attempt to kill her at all events. He will seize the box containing the nugget, and try to make off with it. How he intends to manage it, I cannot tell you. It must be left to the chapter of accidents. But in a lower voice, bending forward, when he does get the nugget, we must obtain it from him. Pierre looked up, and drew his hand across his throat. Not necessarily, returned Vandaloupe coolly. I know you're a dage. Dead men tell no tales. But it is a mistake. They do, and to kill him is dangerous. No, if we stun him, we can go off with the nugget, and then make our way to Melbourne, where we can rid of it quietly. As to Madam Midas, if her husband allows her to live, which I think is unlikely, I will make our excuse to her for leading the mine. Now, I'm going up to Monsuwa Marchers' house, so you can meet me at the top of the hill at eight o'clock tonight. Madam will probably start at half past eight or nine, so that will give us plenty of time to see what Monsuwa Villiers is going to do. They both rose to their feet. Then Vandaloupe put on his hat, and going to the glass arranged his tie in as cool and nonchalant a manner, as if he had been merely planning the details for a picnic, instead of a possible crime. While admiring himself in the glass, he caught sight of a bunch of flowers given to him by Miss Twexby, and taking them from his coat, he turned round to Pierre, who stood watching him in his usual silent manner. Do you see these, he asked, touching the white blossoms with the cigarette he held between his fingers. Pierre intimated that he did. From the plant of these, my friend, said Vandaloupe, looking at them critically, I can prepare a vegetable poison as deadly as any of Caesar's borgias. It is a powerful narcotic, and leaves hardly any trace. Having been a medical student, you know, he went on conversationally. I have quite a study of toxicology, and the juice of this plant, touching the white flower, has done me good service, although it was the cause of my exile to New Caledonia. Well, with the shrug of his shoulders, as he put the flowers back in his coat, it is always something to have in reserve. I did not know that I could get this plant here, my friend, but now that I have, I will prepare a little of this poison. It will always be useful in emergencies. Pierre looked steadily at the young man, and then slipping his hand behind his back, he drew forth from the waistband of his trousers a long, sharp, cruel-looking knife, which for safety had a leather sheet. Drawing this off, the dumb man ran his thumb along the keen edge, and held the knife out towards Vandaloupe, who refused it with a cynical smile. You don't believe in this, I can see, he said, touching the dainty bunch of flowers, as Pierre put the knife in its sheath again, and returned it to its hiding place. I'm afraid your ideas are still crude. You believe in the good old-fashioned style of bloodletting. Quite a mistake, I assure you. Poison is much more artistic and neat in its work, and to my mind involves less risk. You see, my Pierre, he continued, lazily watching the blue reefs of smoke from his cigarette curl round his head. Crime must improve with civilisation, and since the cane enabled epic, we have refined the art of murder in a most wonderful manner. Decidedly, we are becoming more civilised, and now, my friend, in a kind tone, laying his slender white hand on the shoulder of the dumb man. You must really take a little rest, for I have no doubt, but what you will need all your strength tonight, should Monsour Villiers prove obstinate. Of course, with a shrug, if he does not succeed in getting the nugget, our time will be simply wasted, and then, with a gay smile, touching the flowers, I will see what I can do in the artistic line. Pierre lay down again on the bed, and turning his face to the wall fell fast asleep. Wellman Sewel van der Loet, humming a merry tune, walked gaily out of the room to the bar, and asked Miss Twexby for another drink. Brandy and Soda this time, please, he said, lazily lighting another cigarette. This heat is so innovating, and I'm going to walk up to Blackhill. By the way, Madam Sewel, he went on, as she opened the soda water. As I see there are two beds in my friend's room, I will stay here all night. You shall have the best room, said Martha decisively, as she handed him the brandy and soda. You are too kind, replied Monsour van der Loet, coolly, as he took the drink from her. But I prefer to stay with my silent friend. He was one of the sailors in the ship when I was wrecked, as you have no doubt heard, and looks upon me as a sort of fetish. Miss Twexby knew all about the wreck, and thought it was beautiful that he should condescend to be so friendly with a common sailor. Van der Loet received all those features with a polite smile, then sat down his empty glass and prepared to leave. Madam Sewel, he said, touching the flowers. You see, I still have them. They will remind me of you. And raising his hat, he strolled idly out of the hotel, and went off in the direction of the Blackhill. Miss Twexby ran to the door, and shading her eyes with her hands from the blinding glare of the sun, she watched him lounging along the street, tall, slender, and handsome. He's just lovely, she said to herself, as she returned to the bar. But his eyes are so wicked, I don't think he's a good young man. What would she have said if she had heard the conversation in the bedroom? End of Part 1, Chapter 10 Part 1, Chapter 11 of Madam Midas This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Madam Midas by Fergus Hume Part 1, Chapter 11 Theodore Wapples, Edgar Mr. Villiers walked in a leisurely manner along the lower part of the town, with the intent of going up to his destination through the old mining gully. He took this route for two reasons. First, because the afternoon was hot, and it was easier climbing up that way than going by the ordinary road. And second, on his journey through the chasm, he would be able to mark some place where he could hide the nugget. With his stick under his arm, Mr. Villiers trudged merrily along in a happy humour, as if he was bent on pleasure instead of robbery. And after all, as he said to himself, it could not be called a genuine robbery, as everything belonging to his wife was his by right at the marriage service, and he was only going to have his own again. With this comfortable thought, he climbed slowly up the broken torturous path, which led to the Black Hill, and every now and then would pause to rest and admire the view. It was now nearly six o'clock, and the sun was sinking amid a blaze of splendour. The whole of the western sky was a sea of shimmering gold, and this intensified near the horizon to almost blinding brightness. Faded off towards the zenith of the sky into a delicate green, and thence melted imperceptibly into a cold blue. Villiers, however, being the earth earthy, could not be troubled looking very long at such a commonplace sight as a sunset. The same thing occurred every evening, and he had more important things to do than to waste his time gratifying his artistic eye. Arriving on the plateau of earth, just in front of the gully, he was soon entering the narrow gorge, and cramped steadily along in deep thought with bent head and wrinkled brows. The way being narrow, and Villiers being preoccupied, it was not surprising that as a man was coming down in the opposite direction, also preoccupied, they should run against one another. When this took place, it gave Mr. Villiers rather a start, as it suggested a possible witness to the deed he contemplated, a thing for which he was by no means anxious. Really, sir, said the stranger, in a rich rolling voice, and in a dignified tone, I think you might look where you are going. From what I saw of you, your eyes were not fixed on the stars, and thus to cause your unwatched feet to stumble. In fact, said the speaker, looking up to the sky, I see no stars whereon you could fix your gaze. This somewhat strange mode of remonstrance was delivered in a solemn manner, with appropriate gestures, and tickled Mr. Villiers so much that he leaned up against a great rock abutting on the path, and laughed long and loudly. That is right, sir, said the stranger approvingly, laughter is to the soul what food is to the body. I think, sir, in a Donsonian manner, the thought is a happy one. Villiers assented with a nod, and examined the speaker attentively. He was a man of medium height, rather portly than otherwise, with a clean shaved face, clearly cut features, and two merry grey eyes, which twinkled like stars as they rested on Villiers. His hair was greyish and inclined to cool, but could not follow its natural inclination owing to the unsparing use of the barber's shears. He wore a coat and trousers, a white flannel, but no waistcoat, canned the shoes were on his feet, and a juvenile straw hat was perched on his iron grey hair, the rim of which encircled his head like a halo of glory. He had small, well-shaped hands, one of which grasped a light cane, and the other a white silk pocket handkerchief, with which he frequently wiped his brow. He seemed very hot, and leaning on the opposite side of the path against the rock, fanned himself first with his handkerchief, and then with his hat, all the time looking at Mr. Villiers with a beaming smile. At last he took a silver-mounted flask from his pocket, and offered it to Villiers with a pleasant bow. It's very hot, you know, he said in his rich voice, as Villiers accepted the flask. What's this? asked Villiers, indicating the flask, as he slowly unscrewed the top. No, the day, my boy, the day, ha ha ha, said the lively stranger, going off into fits of laughter, which vibrated like small thunder amid the high rocks surrounding them. Good line for a comedy, I think, ha ha, gah, I'll make a note of it, and diving into one of the pockets of his coat, he produced therefrom an old letter, on the back of which he inscribed the wittacism with the stump of a pencil. Meanwhile, Villiers, thinking the flask contained brandy, or at least whiskey, took a long drink of it, but found to his horror it was merely a weak solution of sherry and water. Oh, my poor stomach, he gasped, taking the flask from his lips. Colic inquired the stranger with a pleasant smile, as he put back the letter and pencil. Hot water, fomentations, are what you need, wonderful cure. We'll bring you to life again, though you were at your last gasp. Ha, struck with a sudden idea, his last gasp, good title for a melodrama, mustn't forget that, and out came the letter and the pencil again. Mr. Villiers explained in a somewhat gruff tone that it was not colic, but that his medical attendant allowed him to drink nothing but whiskey. To thee taken twenty times a day, I presume, observed the stranger with a wink. No offence meant, sir, as Villiers showed a disposition to resent this, merely a repertoire. Good for a comedy, I fancy, what do you think? I think, said Mr. Villiers, handing him back the flask, that you're very eccentric. Eccentric, replied the other, in an airy tone, not at all, sir. I'm merely a civilised dean with the veneer off. I am not hidden under an artificial coat of menor. No, I laugh, ha, ha, I skip, ha, ha, with a light trip on one foot. I cry in a dismal tone. In fact, I am a man in his natural state, civilised sufficiently, but not over civilised. What's your name? asked Mr. Villiers, wondering whether the portly gentleman was mad. For reply the stranger dived into another pocket, and bringing to light a long bill poster, held it up before Mr. Villiers. Read, mark, an inwardly digest, he said, in a muffled tone, behind the bill. This document set forth in red, black, and blue letters, that the celebrated Waffles family, consisting of twelve star artistes, were now in Ballarat, and would that night appear at the Academy of Music in their new and original farcical comedy, called The Crew at Stand, Act One, Pepper, Act Two, Mustard, Act Three, Vinegar. You then, said Villiers, after he had perused this document. Are Mr. Waffles? Theodore Waffles, at your service, said that gentleman, rolling up the bill, then putting it into his pocket. He produced therefrom a batch of tickets. One of these, handing a ticket to Villiers, will admit you to the stalls tonight, where you will see myself and the children in The Crew at Stand. Rather a peculiar title, isn't it? said Villiers, taking the ticket. The play is still more peculiar, sir, replied Mr. Waffles, restoring the bulky packet of tickets to his pocket, dealing, as it does, with the adventures of a youth who hides his father's will in a Crew at Stand, which is, afterwards, an ex-biacomic bailiff. But isn't it rather a curious thing to hide a will in a Crew at Stand, asked Villiers, smiling at the oddity of the idea? Therein, sir, lies the peculiarity of the play, said Mr. Waffles grandly. Of course, the characters find out, in Act One, that the will is in the Crew at Stand. In Act Two, while pursuing it, they get mixed up with the bailiff's mother-in-law. And in Act Three, finished Mr. Waffles exultingly, they run it to Earth in a pawn shop. Oh, I assure you, it is a most original play. Ferry assented the other dryly. The author must be a man of genius who wrote it. It's a translation from the German, sir, said Mr. Waffles, taking a drink of sherry and water, and was originally produced in London as the Pickle bottle, the will being hidden with the family onions. In Melbourne, it was the success of the year under the same title. I, with an air of genius, called it the Crew at Stand. Then how did you get a hold of it, us filliers? My wife, sir, said the actor, rolling out the words in his deep voice. A wonderful woman, sir, paid a visit to Melbourne, and there, sir, seated at the back of the pit between a coal heaver and an apple woman, she copied the whole thing down. But isn't that rather mean? Certainly not, retorted Waffles, haughtily. The opulent Melbourne managers refused to let me have their new pieces, so I have to take the law into my own hands. I'll get all the latest London successes in the same way. We play ours under the title of The Hero's Return or The Soldier's Bride. We have done The Silver King as The Living Dead, which was an immense success. Villiers thought that under such a contradictory title, it would rather peak the curiosity of the public. Tomorrow night pursued Mr. Waffles. We act called Black, but it is filled as The Blind Detective. Thus said the actor, with virtuous scorn, do we evade the grasping avarice of the Melbourne managers, who would make us pay these for them? By the way, said Mr. Waffles, breaking off suddenly in a light and airy manner, as I came down here I saw a lovely girl, a veritable fairy, sir, with golden hair, and a bright smile that haunts me still. I exchanged a few remarks with her regarding the beauty of the day, and thus allegorically referred to the beauty of herself, a charming flight of fancy, I think, sir. It must have been Kitty Marchhurst, said Villiers, not attending to the latter portion of Mr. Waffles' remarks. Ah, indeed, said Mr. Waffles slightly, how beautiful is the name of Kitty. It suggests poetry immediately. For instance, Kitty are Kitty, you are so pretty, charming and witty. That twir of pity I sung not this ditty in praise of my Kitty. On the spur of the moment, sir, I assure you, does it not remind you of Herrick? Mr. Villiers bluntly said it did not. Ah, perhaps it's more like Shakespeare, observed the actor, quite unabashed, you think so? Mr. Villiers was doubtful and displayed such anxiety to get away that Mr. Waffles held out his hand to say goodbye. You'll excuse me, I know, said Mr. Waffles, in an apologetic tone, but the show commences at eight, and it is now half past six. I trust I shall see you tonight. It's very kind of you to give me this ticket, said Villiers, in whom the gentlemanly instinct still survived. Not at all, not at all, retorted Mr. Waffles with a wink. Business, my boy, business. Always have a good house first night, so must go into the highways and byways for an audience. Ha, biblical illustration you see, and with a gracious wave of his hand, he skipped lightly down the path and disappeared from sight. It was now getting dark, so Mr. Villiers went on his way, and having selected a mining shaft where he could hide the nugget, he climbed up to the top of the hill, and lying down under the shadow of a rock where he could get a good view of Marchhurst's house, he waited patiently till such time as his wife would start for home. I'll pay you out for all you've done, he muttered to himself, as he lay curled up in the black shadow, like a noisome reptile. Tick for tat, my lady, tick for tat. End of Part 1, Chapter 11, Part 1, Chapter 12 of Madame Midas. This Libber Vox recording is in the public domain. Madame Midas by Fergus Hume. Part 1, Chapter 12, Highway Rubbery. Dinner at Mr. Marchhurst's house was not a particularly exhilarating affair, as a matter of fact, though dignified with the name of dinner, it was nothing more than one of those mixed meals, known as high tea. Fanderloop knew this, and having a strong aversion to the miscellaneous collection of victuals, which appeared on Mr. Marchhurst's table, he dined at Craig's Hotel, where he had a nice little dinner, and drunk a pint bottle of champagne in order to thoroughly enjoy himself. Madame Midas also had a dislike to tea dinners, but being a guest, of course, had to take what was going, and she, Kitty, and Mr. Marchhurst were the only people present at the festive board. At last Mr. Marchhurst finished, and delivered a long address of thanks to heaven, for the good food they had enjoyed, which good food, being heavy and badly cooked, was warranted to give them all indigestion and turn their praying to cursing. In fact, what with strong tea, hurried meals, and no exercise, Mr. Marchhurst used to pass an awful time with the nightmare, and although he was accustomed to look upon nightmares as visions, they were due more to dyspepsia than inspiration. After dinner, Madame sat and talked with Marchhurst, but Kitty went outside into the warm darkness of the summer night, and tried to pierce the gloom to see if her lover was coming. She was rewarded. The Montreal Vandaloupe came up, about half past eight o'clock, having met Pierre as arranged. Pierre had found out Villiers in his hiding place, and was watching him while Villiers watched the house. Being therefore quite easy in his mind that things were going smoothly, Vandaloupe came up to the porch where Kitty was eagerly waiting for him, and taking her in his arms, kissed her tenderly. Then, after assuring himself that Madame was safe with Marchhurst, he put his arm round Kitty's waist, and they walked up and down the path with the warm wind blowing in their faces, and the perfume of the wattle blossoms permitting the drowsy air. And yet while he was walking up and down, talking lover-like nonsense to the pretty girl by his side, Vandaloupe knew that Villiers was watching the house far off with evil eyes, and he also knew that Pierre was watching Villiers with all the insatiable desire of the wild beast for blood. The moon rose a great shield of silver, and all the ground was drawn with the aerial shadows of the trees. The wind sighed through the branches of the waffles, and made their golden blossoms tremble in the moonlight, while hand in hand the lovers strolled down the path, or over the short dry grass. Far away in the distance they heard a woman singing, and the high sweet voice floated softly towards them through the clear air. Suddenly they heard the noise of a chair being pushed back inside the house, and knew that Madame was getting ready to go. They moved simultaneously towards the door, but in the porch Gaston paused for a moment, and caught Kitty by the arm. Bebe, he whispered softly, When Madame is gone, I am going down the hill to Ballarat, so you will walk with me a little way, will you not? Of course, Kitty was only too delighted at being us to do so, and readily consented, then ran quickly into the house, followed by Vandaloupe. You here cried Madame in surprise, pausing for a moment in the act of putting on her bonnet. Why are you not at the theatre? I am going, Madame, replied Gaston calmly, but I thought I would come in order to assist you to put the nuggets in the trap. Oh, Mr. Marchest would have done that, said Madame, much gratified at Vandaloupe's attention. I am sorry you should miss your evening's pleasure for that. Ah, Madame, I do but exchange a lesser pleasure for a greater one, said the gallant Frenchman, with a pleasant smile, but are you sure you will not want me to drive you home? Not at all, said Madame, as they all went outside. I am quite safe. Still, with this, said Mr. Marchest, bringing up the rear, with the nugget now safely placed in its wooden box. You might be robbed. Not I, replied Mrs. Philly as brightly, as the horse and trap were brought round to the gate by Brown. No one knows I've got it in the trap, and besides, no one can catch up with Rory when he once starts. Marchest put the nugget under the seat of the trap, but Madame was afraid it might slip out by some chance, so she put the box containing it in the front, and then her feet on the box, so that it was absolutely impossible that it could get lost without her knowing. Then saying goodbye to every one, and telling Monsueva Vandaloupe to be out at the patchless before noon the next day, she gathered up the reins and drove slowly down the hill, much to the delight of Mr. Philly's, who was getting tired of waiting. Kitty and Vandaloupe strolled off in the moonlight, while Marchest went back to the house. Philly's arose from his hiding place, and looked up savagely at the serene moon, which was giving far too much light for his scheme to succeed. Fortunately, however, he saw a great black cloud rapidly advancing, which threatened to hide the moon, so he set off down the hill at a run, in order to catch his wife at a nasty part of the road, some distance down, where she would be compelled to go slowly, and thus give him a chance to spring on the trap and take her by surprise. But quick as he was, Pierre was quicker, and both Vandaloupe and Kitty could see the two black figures running rapidly along in the moonlight. Who were those? asked Kitty, with a sudden start. Are they going after Madam? Little Goose whispered her lover with a laugh. If they are, they will never catch up to that horse. It's all right, baby, with a reassuring smile, seeing that Kitty still looked somewhat alarmed. They are only some miners out on a drunken frolic. Thus pacified, Kitty laughed gaily, and they wandered along in the moonlight, talking all the fond and foolish nonsense they could think of. Meanwhile, the great black cloud had completely hidden the moon, and the whole landscape was quite dark. This annoyed Madam, as depending on the moonlight the lamps of the trap were not lighted, and she could not see in the darkness how to drive down a very awkward bit of road that she was now on. It was very steep, and there was a high bank on one side, while on the other there was a fall of about ten feet. She felt annoyed at the darkness, but on looking up saw that the cloud would soon pass. So drove on slowly quite content. Unluckily, she did not see the figure on the high bank, which ran along stealthily beside her, and while turning a corner, Mr. Biliers, for it was he, dropped suddenly from the bank onto the trap, and caught her by the throat. My God! cried the unfortunate woman, taken by surprise, and involuntarily tightening the reins. The horse stopped. Who are you? Biliers never said a word, but tightened his grasp on her throat and shortened his stick to give her a blow on the head. Fortunately Madam Midas saw his intention and managed to wrench herself free, so the blow aimed at her, only slightly touched her, otherwise it would have killed her. As it was, however, she fell forward half-stunned, and Biliers, hurriedly dropping his stick, bent down and seized the box which he felt under his feet, and intuitively guessed contained the nugget. With a cry of triumph he hurled it out onto the road, and sprung out after it, but the cry woke his wife from the semi-stupor in which she had fallen. Her head felt dizzy and heavy from the blow, but still she had her senses about her, and the moon bursting out from behind a cloud rendered the night as clear as day. Biliers had picked up the box and were standing on the edge of the bank, just about to leave. The unhappy woman recognized her husband, and uttered a cry. You, you, she shrieked wildly, cowered, dastard. Give me back that nugget, leaning out of the trap in her eagerness. I'll see you damned first, retorted Biliers, who now that he was recognized was utterly reckless as to the result. Where quits now, my lady, and he turned to go. Maddened with anger and disgust, his wife snatched up the stick he had dropped, and struck him on the head as he took a step forward. With a stifled cry he staggered and fell over the embankment, still clutching the box in his arms. Maddened let the stick fall, and fell back fainting on the seat of the trap, while the horse, startled by the noise, tore down the road at a mad gallop. Madden Midas lay in a dead faint for some time, and when she came to herself, she was still in the trap, and Rory was calmly trotting along the road home. At the foot of the hill, the horse, knowing every inch of the way, had settled down into his steady trot for the pectulus. But when Madame grasped the situation, she marbled to herself how she had escaped being dashed to pieces in that mad gallop down the black hill. Her head felt painful from the effects of the blows she had received, but her one thought was to get home to Archie and Selena, so gathering up the reins she sent Rory along as quickly as she could. When she drove up to the gate, Archie and Selena were both out to receive her, and when the former went to lift her off the trap, he gave a cry of horror at seeing her disheveled appearance and the blood on her face. God save us, he cried, lifting her down. What's come to you, and where's the nugget, seeing it was not in the trap? Lost, she said, in a stupor, feeling her head swimming, but theirs worse. Worse echoed Selena and Archie, who were both standing looking terrified at one another. Yes, said Mrs Villiers, in a hollow whisper, leaning forward and grasping Archie's coat. I've killed my husband, and without another word, she fell fainting to the ground. At the same time Vanderloop and Pierre walked into the bar at the Wattletree Hotel, and each had a glass of brandy, after which Pierre went to his bed, and Vanderloop, humming a gay song, turned on his heel and went to the theatre. End of Part 1, Chapter 12, Part 1, Chapter 13, of Madame Midas. This LibraVox recording is in the public domain. Madame Midas, by Fergus Hume, Part 1, Chapter 13, a glimpse at Bohemia. Ah, says Thackeray, pathetically, Prage is a pleasant city, but we all lose our way to it late in life. The Wapples family were true Bohemians, and had not yet lost their way to the pleasant city. They accepted good and bad fortune with wonderful equanimity. And if their pockets were empty one day, there was always a possibility of there being full the next. When this was the case, they generally celebrated the event by a little supper. And as their present season in Ballarat did fare to be a successful one, Mr Theodore Wapples determined to have a convivial evening after the performance was over. That the Wapples family were favourites with the Ballarat folk was amply seen by the crowded house which assembled to see the crew at stand. The audience were very impatient for the curtain to rise, as they did not appreciate the overture, which consisted of heirs from Lama Scott, adapted for the violin and piano by Mr Handel Wapples, who was the musical genius of the family, and sat in the conductor's seat, playing the violin and conducting the orchestra of one, which on this occasion was Mr Mima Wapples, who presided at the piano. The Wapples family consisted of 12 star artistes, beginning with Mr Theodore Wapples, age 50, and ending with Master Sherrod and Wapples, age 10, who did the servants characters, delivered letters, formed the background in the tableau, and made himself generally useful. As the cast of the comedy was only eight, two of the family acted as the orchestra, and the remaining two took money at the door. When their duties in this respect were over for the night, they went into the pit to lead the applause. At last the orchestra finished, and the curtain drew up, displaying an ancient house belonging to a decayed family. The young squire, present head of the decayed family, Mr Cybert Wapples, is fighting with his dishonest steward, admirably acted by Mr Dogbury Wapples, whose daughter he wants to marry. The dishonest steward, during Act I, without any apparent reason, is struck with remorse, and making his will in favour of the squire, departs to America, but afterwards appears in the last act as someone else. Leaving his will on the drawing room table, as he naturally would, it is seized by an eaten boy, Master Sherrod and Wapples, who hides it for some unexplained reason in the cruel stand, being the last piece of family plate remaining to the decayed family. This is seized by a comic bailiff, Mr Theodore Wapples, who takes her to his home, and the decayed family, finding out about the will, start to chase the bailiff and recover the stolen property from him. This brought the play onto Act II, which consisted mainly of situations arising out of the indiscriminate use of doors and windows for entrances and exits. The bailiff's mother-in-law, Mrs Wapples, appears in this act, and being in want of a new dress, takes the crew at stand to her uncle and pawns it. So Act II ends with a general onslaught at the decayed family on Mrs Wapples. Then the orchestra played the Wapples' Wolves, dedicated to Mr Theodore Wapples by Mr Handel Wapples, and during the performance of this, Mr Villiers walked into the theatre. He was a little pale, as was only natural after such an adventure, as he had been engaged in, but otherwise seemed all right. He walked up to the first row of the stalls, and took his seat beside a young man of about twenty-five, who was evidently much amused at the performance. Hello Villiers, said the young gentleman, turning round to the new arrival. What do you think of the play? Only just got in, returned Mr Villiers sulkingly, looking at his program. Any good in a more amiable tone? Well, not bad, returned the other, pulling up his collar. I've seen it in Melbourne. You know, the original, I mean. This is a very second-hand affair. Mr Villiers nodded and became absorbed in his program, so seeing he was disinclined for more conversation, the young gentleman turned his attention to the Wapples' Wolves, which was now being played fast and furiously by the indefatigal orchestra of two. Bartholomew Japa, generally called Barty by his friends, was a bank clerk, and had come up to Ballarat on a visit. He was well-known in Melbourne society, and looked upon himself quite as a leader of fashion. He went everywhere, danced divinely. So the ladies said, sung two or three little songs, and played the same accompaniment to each of them. He was seen constantly at the theatres, plunged a little at the races, and was altogether an extremely gay dog. It is, then, little to be wondered at that. Satuated as he was with Melbourne Gayety, he should be vastly critical of the humble efforts of the Wapples' family to please him. He had met Villiers at his hotel, when both of them, being inebriated, thanks for eternal friendship. Mr Villiers, however, was very sulky on this particular night, for his head still paint him. So Barty stared round the house, in a supercilious manner, and sucked the knob of his cane for refreshment between the acts. Just as the orchestra were making their final plunge into the finale of the Wapples' Wolves, Montseuel Vandaloupe, cool and calm as usual, strolled into the theatre, and, seeing as they concede, beside Villiers, walked over and took it. Good evening, my friend, he said, touching Villiers on the shoulder, enjoying the play, eh? Villiers angrily pushed away the Frenchman's hand, and glared vindictively at him. Ah, you still bear malice for that little episode of the ditch, said Vandaloupe, with a gay laugh. Come now, this is a mistake. Let us be friends. Go to the devil, growled Villiers crossly. All right, my friend, said Montseuel Vandaloupe, serenely crossing his legs. We'll all end up by paying a visit to that gentleman, but while we are on earth, we may as well be pleasant, seeing your wife lately. This apparently careless inquiry caused Mr. Villiers to jump suddenly out of his seat, much to the astonishment of Barty, who did not know for what reason he was standing up. Ah, you want to look at the house, I suppose, remarked Montseuel Vandaloupe lazily. The building is extremely ugly, but there are some redeeming features in it. I refer, of course, to the number of pretty girls, and Gaston turned round and looked steadily at a red-haired domesall behind him, who blushed and giggled, thinking he was referring to her. Villiers resumed his seat with a sigh, and seeing that it was quite useless to quarrel with Vandaloupe, owing to that young man's coolness, resolved to make the best of a bad job, and held out his hand with a view to reconciliation. At Snowy's fighting with you, he said, with a lunacy laugh, as the other took his hand. You are so juiced, amiable. I am, replied Gaston, calmly examining his program. I practice all Christian virtues. Here Barty, on whom the Frenchman's appearance and conversation had produced an impression, requested Villiers in a stage whisper to introduce him, which was done. Vandaloupe looked at the young man coolly up and down, and eventually decided that Mr Barty Jarpa was a cad for whatever his morals might be. The Frenchman was a thorough gentleman. However, as he was always diplomatic, he did not give utterance to his idea, but taking a seat next to Barty's, he talked glibly to him until the orchestra finished with a few final bangs, and the curtain drew up on Act III. The scene was the interior of a pawn shop, where the pawnbroker, a gentleman of hebraic descent, Mr Buckstone Wapples, sells the crewit to the dishonest steward, who has come back from America disguised as a sailor. The decayed family all rush in to buy the crewit's stand, but on finding it gone, overwhelmed the pawnbroker with reproaches, so that to quiet them he hides them all over the shop, on the chance that the dishonest steward will come back. The dishonest steward does so, and having found the wheel tears it up on the stage, upon which he is assaulted by the decayed family, who rush out from all parts. Ultimately he reveals himself and hands back the crewit's stand, and nears states to the decayed family, after which a general marrying all round took place, which proceeding was very gratifying to the boys in the gallery, who gave their opinions very freely, and the curtain fell amid thunders of applause. All together the crewit's stand was a success, and would have a steady run of three nights at least. So Mr Wapples said, and as a manager of long standing, he was thoroughly well up in the subject. Villiers Vanderloop and Barty went out and had a drink, and as none of them felt inclined to go to bed, Villiers told them he knew Mr Theodore Wapples, and proposed that they should go behind the scenes and see him. This was unanimously carried, and after some difficulty with the doorkeeper, a crusty old man with a red face and white hair, that stood straight up in a tuft, and made him look like an infuriated cockatoo. They obtained access to the mysterious regions of the stage, and there found Master Sheridan Wapples practising a breakdown while waiting for the rest of the family to get ready. This charming youth, who was small, bright up and wonderfully sharp, volunteered to guide them to his father's dressing room, and on knocking at the door, Mr Wapples, voice boomed out, come in in such an unexpected manner that it made them all jump. On entering the room, they found Mr Wapples, dressed in a light tweed suit, and just putting on his coat. It was a small room, with a flaring gas jet, under which there was a dressing table littered over with grease, paints, powder, Vaseline and weebs, and upon it stood a small looking glass. A great basket box with the lid wide open stood at the end of the room, with a lot of clothes piled up on it, and numerous other garments were hung up upon the walls. A wash stand with a basin full of soapy water stood under a curtainless window, and there was only one chair to be seen, which Mr Wapples politely offered to his visitor. Mr Billiers, however, told him he had brought two gentlemen to introduce to him, at which Mr Wapples was delighted, and on the introduction taking place assured both Vanderloop and Barty that it was one of the proudest moments of his life, a stock phrase he always used when introduced to visitors. He was soon ready, and proceeded the party out of the room, when he stopped, struck with a sudden idea. I have left the gas burning in my dressing room, he said, in his rolling voice, and if you will permit me, gentlemen, I will go back and turn it off. This was rather difficult to manage, inasmuch as the stairs were narrow, and three people, being between, Mr Wapples and his dressing room, he could not squeeze past. Finally the difficulty was settled by Billiers, who was last, and who went back and turned out the gas. When he came down he found Mr Wapples waiting for him. I thank you, sir, he said grandly, and will feel honoured, if you will give me the pleasure of your company, at a modest supper, consisting principally of cold beef and pickles. Of course they all expressed themselves delighted, and as the entire Wapples family had already gone to their hotel, Mr Wapples, with his three guests, went out at the theatre and winded their way towards the same place, only dropping into two or three bars on the way to have drinks at Barty's expense. They soon arrived at the hotel, and having entered, Mr Wapples pushed open the door of a room from whence the sound of laughter proceeded, and introduced the three strangers to his family. The whole ten, together with Mrs Wapples, were present, and were seated around a large table, plentifully laden with cold beef and pickles, salads, bottles of beer, and other things too numerous to mention. Mr Wapples presented them first to his wife, a faded, washed-out-looking lady, with a perpetual simper on her face, and clad in a lavender muslin gown with ribbons of the same description. She looked wonderfully light and airy. In fact, she had a sketchy appearance as if she required to be touched up here and there, to make her appear solid, which was of great service to her in her theatrical career, as it enabled her to paint on the background of herself, any character she wished to represent. This, said Mr Wapples, in his deep voice, holding his wife's hand as if he were afraid she would float upward through the ceiling, like a bubble, and not unlikely thing seeing how remarkably ethereal she looked. This is my flatterer. Why he called her his flatterer no one ever knew, unless it was because her ribbons were incessantly flattering. But had he called her his shadow, the name would have been more appropriate. Mrs Wapples flattered down to the ground in a bow, and then flattered up again. Gentlemen, she said, in a thin, clear voice, you are welcome. Did you enjoy the performance? Madam, returned Vandaloupe with a smile. Need you ask that? A shadowy smile floated over Mrs Wapples in distinct features, and then her husband introduced the rest of the family in a bunch. Gentlemen, he said, waving his hand to the expectant ten, who stood in a line of five male and five female, the celebrated Wapples family. The ten all simultaneously vowed at this as if they were worked by machinery, and then everyone sat down to supper, Mr Theodore Wapples taking the head of the table. All the family seemed to admire him immensely, and kept their eyes fastened on his face with affectionate regard. Pa, whispered Mrs Sidden's Wapples to Villiers, who sat next to her, is the most wonderful man, observed his facial expression. Villiers observed it, and admitted also in a whisper that it was truly marvellous. Cold beef formed the staple viand on the table, and everyone did full justice to it, as also to beer and porter, of which Mr Wapples was very generous. I prefer to give my friends good beer instead of bad champagne, he said pompously, ha ha! The antithesis, I think, is good. The Wapples family unanimously agreed that it was excellent, and Mr Handel Wapples observed to Barty that his father often made jokes worthy of Tom Hood, to which Barty agreed hastily, as he did not know who Tom Hood was, and besides was flirting in a mild manner with Miss Fanny Wapples, a pretty girl who did the burlesque business. And are all these big boys and girls yours, madam? asked Vanda Loop, who was rather astonished at the number of the family, and thought some of them might have been hired for theatrical purposes. Mrs Wapples nodded affirmatively, with a gratified flutter, and her husband endorsed it. They are four dead, he said, in a solemn voice. Rest their souls. All the ten faces round the board reflected the gloom on the parental countenance, and for a few moments no one spoke. This, said Mr Wapples, looking round with a smile, at which all the other faces lighted up, this is not calculated to make our supper enjoyable, children. I may tell you that, in consequence of the great success at the crew at stand, we play it again tomorrow night. Ah, said Mr Buckstone Wapples, with his mouth full, I knew it would knock him, that business of yours, Father, with the writ is simply wonderful. All the family chorused, yes, and Mr Wapples admitted, with a modest smile, that it was wonderful. Practice, said Mr Wapples, waving a fork with a piece of cold beef at the end of it, makes perfect. My dear Vanderloop, if you will permit me to call you so, my son Buckstone is truly a wonderful critic. Vanderloop smiled at this, and came to the conclusion that the Wapples family was a mutual admiration society. However, as it was now nearly twelve o'clock, he rose to take his leave. Oh, you're not going yet, said Mr Wapples, upon which all the family echoed, surely not yet, in a most hospitable manner. I must, said Vanderloop, with a smile, I know Madam will excuse me, with a bow to Mrs Wapples, who thereupon fluttered nervously, but I have to be up very early in the morning. In that case, said Mr Wapples, rising, I will not detain you, early to bed and early to rise, you know, not that I believe in it much myself, but I understand it is practiced with good results by some people. Vanderloop shook hands with Mr and Mrs Wapples, but feeling unequal to taking leave of the ten-star artisties in the same way, he bowed in a comprehensive manner, whereupon the whole ten arose from their chairs and bowed unanimously in return. Good night, Monsuers, Villiers and Jarpa, said Vanderloop, going out at the door. I will see you tomorrow. And we also, I hope, said Mr Wapples ungrammatically. Come and see the crew at stand again. I'll put your name on the free list. Monsuers Vanderloop thanked the actor warmly for this kind offer and took himself off. As he passed along the street, he heard a burst of laughter from the Wapples family, no doubt caused by some witticism at the head of the cane. He walked slowly home to the hotel, smoking a cigarette and thinking deeply. When he arrived at the wattle tree, he saw a light still burning in the bar, and on knocking at the door was admitted by Ms Twexby, who had been making up accounts and whose virgin head was adorned with curled papers. Myers said this dames all, when she saw him, you are a nice young man coming home at this hour, twelve o'clock. See? And, as a proof of her assertion, she pointed to the clock. Were you waiting up for me, dear? asked Vanderloop audaciously. Not I, retorted Ms Twexby, tossing her curled papers. I've been attending to Pa's business, but oh gracious, with the sudden recollection of her headgear, you've seen me in undress. And you look more charming than ever, finished Vanderloop, as he took his bedroom candle from her. I will see you in the morning. My friend's still asleep, I suppose. I'm sure I don't know. I haven't seen him all the evening, replied Ms Twexby, tossing her head. Now, go away. You're a naughty, wicked, deceitful thing. I declare I'm quite afraid of you. There's no need, I assure you, replied Vanderloop, in a slightly sarcastic voice, as he surveyed the plain-looking woman before him. You are quite safe from me. He left the bar whistling an air, while the fair Martha returned to her accounts, and wondered indignantly whether his last remark was a compliment or otherwise. The conclusion she came to was that it was otherwise, and she retired to bed in a very wrathful frame of mind. End of Part 1 Chapter 13