PROFESSOR NORRIS had not long to wait in the Golden Bar before an habitué was found who gave him directions how to find Soft Sam.
“You go in the Domain—now’s just about his time—and on a seat near the cricket-ground you will find a white-haired old man acting the goat with a lot of kids. That’s him.”
The directions impressed the Professor as somewhat singular, but such as they were he followed them, and, sure enough, he found just the group that had been described. He paused in astonishment for a few minutes to watch the old gentleman, who was apparently instructing two juveniles in knickerbockers the preliminaries in the noble art of self-defence.
“That is surprising,” said the Professor to himself, “the finest bump of benevolence I ever saw and teaching boys to fight!”
“I have come,” said the Professor, introducing himself, “on behalf of Mrs. Booth, the widow of a late friend of yours. She wishes you to help her in her present difficulty, that you have no doubt heard of.”
“Oh, yes, I heard about it,” nodded Sam.
“She wishes you to help her discover the author of the crime.”
“Then she has sent to the wrong party. As pretty a job as ever I heard of! A real artist that man, whoever he was; and I’m not the one to give him away. Not me! Go to the detectives, the men who are paid for that kind of work.”
“I should have told you that with Mrs. Booth money is simply no object in this case. She would willingly give a thousand pounds to have the truth discovered. Why, she’s committed for trial for the crime herself!”
“I don’t want her money—a great deal of good may it do her, or any one else! If I help her it will be to get her out of a mess, not to get somebody else in.”
“Do as you will; only, if you can, come to the help of the poor girl. She says that her late husband always used to speak of your ability in the most enthusiastic way.”
“And it’s a pity for him he had not thought well enough of it to follow my advice, and he would be alive and well at this moment. I told him time after time that running after this woman would bring him no luck; but, like all the young ’uns, he would not listen—would have his own way, go his own road, and now all my trouble on him is thrown away. It’s enough to make a man disgusted with human nature. In a couple of years I would have made him king of the Australian turf.
“I made him what he was—out of mud, as you may say—but he must go like all the rest. Thought he was clever enough to hold his own bat. Now, as to this affair, tell me all you know about it first. But wait a minute, have you got sixpence on you?” said Soft Sam, after vainly searching all his pockets.
The Professor quickly produced a shilling, which Soft Sam, handing to one of the children who still hung about, said—
“Now, the first of you that gets to the gate is to spend it.”
With a shout and a scuffle the whole mob disappeared.
The Professor then related at length all the particulars of the crime known to him.
“And on the strength of that evidence,” said the old man, when Mr. Norris had finished, “they arrested Mrs. Booth—the Queen of Sydney they used to call her at the bar. The dunderheads! Why, I would not trust them to catch a rat for me. You say the room of the crime remains untouched, just as it was? Let us go over and see it.”
An hour later, under the guidance of Police-Constable Hobbs, who had the key and charge of the room, the two gentlemen entered the home of Mrs. Delfosse.
Mr. Hobbs eyed the newcomer curiously. Who was he, and why had he come under the guidance of the Professor? Perhaps some expert detective brought from Melbourne or one of the other colonies.
To a casual observer, Soft Sam would have seemed to pass into the house, up the stairs, and into the fatal room without so much as a glance about him. But Mr. Hobbs was not deceived in this way. He noted the quick eyes of the old man, saw, examined, took in everything. Only a moment he paused at the door of the room, and then passed in as though it was of no further interest. This surprised the policeman, who had examined and wondered at that door for hours as the seat of the hidden mystery.
The old man crossed to the fire-place, gave a pressure with his hand to the register grate, then stepped to the window, looked out, glanced at the catch, and said almost impulsively—
“It’s as plain as kiss your hand.”
“What is?” interjected P.-C. Hobbs imprudently.
“That the police force are a lot of mokes,” continued the old man, turning about; and in another tone, “We may as well go back, Professor.”
“What, already? You have hardly seen the place!”
“I’ve seen enough. Come along!”
Soft Sam would say no more till they were out of the house and seated in the ferry, on the way to Sydney.
“You say the bedstead has not been shifted?”
“No; nothing has been moved.”
“Then your mystery is so simple, a child could see through it! Any one but a regular detective or a duffer should be able to find it out in five minutes. He was only a clever amateur after all who did the job.”
“How do you know?”
“Then how was it done?”
“That I do not feel at liberty to tell you—at least, just yet. I must see Mrs. Booth and have an understanding with her. She is a girl of sense, as far as girls go. For, mind you, as I said at first, I am not going to be dragged in to give evidence in any police-court proceedings. None of their tomfoolery for me! If I tell Mrs. Booth how she can clear herself, I expect her only to act when, and as I tell her.”
* * * * *
At Darlinghurst Soft Sam expressed the wish to speak privately with Bertha, and the Professor had to wait impatiently till the interview was over.
Coming out, Soft Sam only nodded to him on his way to the gate, and any one who had noted the old man’s face as he walked down Oxford Street would have seen his usual serene smile was gone—he was troubled.
Crossing Hyde Park he hailed a man on an adjoining footway.
“Heigh, there, Huey!”
Huey Gosper, for that was the gentleman called, seeing who it was addressed him, came forward at once over the turf.
“Is it a fiver you want, Sam?” he said, putting his hand to his pocket, and remembering the old gentleman’s peculiar way.
“No, boy; I wish that was all the trouble. The fact is, I was just going to hunt you up. I have something of importance to tell you. Now, mind this, don’t laugh, and think it’s not serious.”
“Well, what’s the matter?” said Huey, easily.
“The matter, my boy, is this—that the climate of Sydney for the next year or two is likely to be very unhealthy for you. You have got a complaint that nothing can cure but the air of South America, and the medicine must be taken at once.”
“But what are you driving at, Sam?” said Huey, turning pale. “Yours is a big order.”
“Now, don’t act the goat with me, Huey. You have always found me your friend, and if you have made a mess it’s because you would not take my advice. And when I tell you that after breathing the air of North Shore at three in the morning, it is necessary for your health to try Valparaiso, you should understand I mean what I say.”
And, saying no more, the old man moved on, gloomy and thoughtful.
“Both of them mugs! All the world are mugs. I am a fool to try and train any of them,” he said to himself.
When the Professor entered Bertha’s cell after her interview with Soft Sam he found her quite radiant.
“I know all about it now, Pro; or rather, I know how it was done; for Sam will not tell me who it was, though I believe he knows.”
“And how was it done? I am just dying to know!”
“You must wait a little bit yet, Pro. Sam made me swear not to tell a soul till he gave me leave, or he would have told me nothing. So, of course, I must keep my word. But be assured, Professor, my troubles now are nearly over. In a few days at most I go out a free woman. Did I not tell you that Soft Sam was a clever old man?”
“Clever at villainy, it seems, Bertha! All the same, we must be thankful to him.”