The Third Volume Read online

  CHAPTER XV.

  A POPULAR AUTHOR.

  BEARING in mind that the character of Hilliston had been rehabilitatedby Mrs. Bezel, it was natural that Claude should feel somewhat annoyedat the persistent mistrust manifested toward that gentleman by Tait.However, he had no time to explain or expostulate at the present moment;and moreover, as he knew that the little man was assisting him in thisdifficult case out of pure friendship, he did not deem it politic tocomment on what was assuredly an unfounded prejudice. Tait was singularin his judgments, stubborn in his opinions; so Claude, unwilling to riskthe loss of his coadjutor, wisely held his peace. His astute companionguessed these thoughts, for in place of further remarking on theinexplicable presence of Hilliston, he turned the conversation towardthe man they were about to see.

  "Queer thing, isn't it?" he said, as they ascended the stairs. "Lintonis the son of the vicar of Thorston."

  "Ah! That no doubt accounts for his intimate knowledge of the locality.Do you know him?"

  "Of course I do--as Frank Linton; but I had no idea that he was JohnParver."

  "Why did he assume a _nom de plume_?"

  Tait shrugged his shoulders. "Paternal prejudice, I believe," he saidcarelessly. "Mr. Linton does not approve of sensational novels, and,moreover, wishes his son to be a lawyer, not a literary man. Young Frankis in a solicitor's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and he employed hisevenings in writing 'A Whim of Fate.' He published it under the name of'John Parver,' so as to hoodwink his father, but now that he has scoreda success I have no doubt he will confess."

  "Do you think we will learn anything from him?"

  "We will learn all we wish to know as to where he obtained his material.The young man's head is turned, and by playing on his vanity we may findout the truth."

  "His vanity may lead him to conceal the fact that he took the plot fromreal life."

  "I don't think so. I know the boy well, and he is a great babbler. Noone is more astonished than I at learning that he is the celebrated JohnParver. I didn't think he had the brains to produce so clever a book."

  "It is clever!" assented Claude absently.

  "Of course it is; much cleverer than its author," retorted Tait dryly;"or rather, I should say, its supposed author, for I verily believedJenny Paynton helped him to write the book."

  "Who is Jenny Paynton?"

  "A very nice girl who lives at Thorston. She is twice as clever as thislad, and they are both great on literary matters. But I'll tell you allabout this later on, for here is Linton."

  The celebrated author was a light-haired, light-complexioned young manof six-and-twenty, with bowed shoulders, a self-satisfied smile, and apince nez, which he used at times to emphasize his remarks. He evidentlypossessed conceit sufficient to stock a dozen ordinary men, and lispedout the newest ideas of the day, as promulgated by his college, for hewas an Oxford man. Although he was still in his salad days, he hadsettled, to his own satisfaction, all the questions of life, andtherefore adopted a calm superiority which was peculiarly exasperating.Claude, liberal-minded but hot-blooded, had not been five minutes in hiscompany before he was seized with a wild desire to throw him out of thewindow. Frank Linton inspired that uncharitable feeling in many people.

  For the moment, Mr. Linton was alone, as his latest worshiper, araw-boned female of the cab-horse species, had just departed with a fatlittle painter in quest of refreshment. Therefore, when he turned togreet Claude, he was quite prepared to assume that fatiguedself-conscious air, with which he thought fit to welcome new votaries.

  "Linton, this is Mr. Larcher," said Tait abruptly. "Claude, you seebefore you the lion of the season."

  "It is very good of you to say so, Mr. Tait," simpered the lion, in nowise disclaiming the compliment. "I am pleased to make youracquaintance, Mr. Larcher."

  "And I yours, Mr. Linton, or shall I say Mr. Parver?"

  "Oh, either name will answer," said the author loftily, "though in townI am known as Parver only."

  "And in Thorston as Linton," interpolated Tait smartly. "Then yourfather does not yet know what a celebrated son he has?"

  "Not yet, Mr. Tait. I intend to tell him next week. I go down toThorston for that purpose."

  "Ah! My friend and I will no doubt meet you there. We also seek ruralfelicity for a month. But now that you have taken London by storm, Isuppose you intend to forsake the law for the profits."

  "Of course I do," replied Linton quickly. "I never cared for the law,and only went into it to please my father."

  "And now you go into literature to please Miss Paynton."

  Linton blushed at this home thrust, and being readier with the pen thanthe tongue, did not know what answer to make. Pitying his confusion, andanxious to arrive at the main object of the interview, Claudeinterpolated a remark bearing thereon.

  "Did you find it difficult to work out the plot of your novel, Mr.Linton?" he said, with assumed carelessness.

  "Oh, not at all! The construction of a plot is second nature with me."

  "I suppose you and Miss Paynton talked it over together," said Taitartfully.

  "Well, yes," answered Linton, again falling into confusion; "I found hera good listener."

  "I presume it was all new to her?"

  "I think so. Of course she gave me some hints."

  Evidently Linton was determined to admit nothing, so seeing that Tait'sattack was thus repulsed, Claude brought up his reserve forces.

  "I saw in a paper the other day that your book was an impossibleone--that nothing analogous to its story ever happened in real life."

  "Several critics have said that," replied Linton, growing angry, andthereby losing his caution, "but they are wrong, as I could prove did Ichoose to do so."

  "What!" said Claude, in feigned astonishment. "Did you take the incidentfrom real life?"

  "The tale is founded on an incident from real life," answered Linton,flushing. "That is, Miss Paynton told me of a certain crime which wasactually committed, and on her hint I worked out the story."

  "Oh, Miss Paynton told you," said Tait smoothly; "and where did she seethe account of this crime?"

  "Ah, that I cannot tell you," replied Linton frankly. "She related thehistory of this crime, and refused to let me know whence she obtainedit. I thought the idea a good one, and so wrote the novel."

  "Why don't you tell this to the world, and so confound the critics?"

  "I do! I have told several people. For instance, I told a gentlemanabout it this very evening, just because he made the same remark as Mr.Larcher did."

  Tait drew a long breath, and stole a look at Claude. That young man hadchanged color and gave utterance to the first idea that entered hismind.

  "Was it Mr. Hilliston who made the remark?"

  "Hilliston! Hilliston!" said Linton thoughtfully. "Yes, I believe thatwas the man. A tall old gentleman, very fresh-colored. He was greatlyinterested in my literary work."

  "Who could help being interested in so clever a book?" said Claude, in ameaning tone. "But Mr. Hilliston is a lawyer, and I suppose you do notlike members of that profession."

  "Now, why should you say that?" demanded Linton, rather taken aback bythis perspicacity.

  "Well, for one thing you admit a dislike for the law, and for anotheryou make Michael Dene, the solicitor, commit the crime in 'A Whim ofFate.'"

  "Oh, I only did that as he was the least likely person to be suspected,"said the author easily. "Jenny--that is, Miss Paynton--wanted me to makeMarkham commit the crime."

  "Markham is Jeringham," murmured Tait, under his breath. "Who committedthe crime in the actual case?" he added aloud.

  "No one knows," answered Linton, shrugging his shoulders. "The case asrelated to me was a mystery. I solved it after my own fashion."

  "In the third volume you trace the assassin by means of a breastpinbelonging to Michael Dene," said Claude, again in favor. "Is that factor fiction?"

  "Fiction! Miss Paynton invented th
e idea. She said that as the daggerinculpated the woman the breastpin found on the banks of the river wouldlead to the detection of the man. And, as I worked it out, the idea wasa good one."

  "Ah!" murmured Tait to himself, "I wonder if Mr. Hilliston had anythingto do with a breastpin."

  By this time Linton was growing rather restive under examination, as hewas by no means pleased at having to acknowledge his indebtedness to awoman's wit. Seeing this Tait abruptly closed the conversation, so as toavoid waking the suspicions of Linton.

  "A very interesting conversation," he said heartily. "I like to getbehind the scenes and see the working of a novelist's brain. We will saygood-by now. Linton, and I hope you will call at the Manor House nextweek, when we will all three be at Thorston."

  "Delighted, I'm sure," replied the author, and thereupon melted into thecrowd, leaving Claude and Tait looking at one another.

  "Well," said the former, after a pause, "we have not learned much."

  "On the contrary, I think we have learned a great deal," said Tait,raising his eyebrows. "We know that Linton got the whole story fromJenny Paynton, and that Mr. Hilliston is in possession of theknowledge."

  "What use can it be to him?"

  "He will try and frustrate us with Miss Paynton, as he did Mrs. Bezelwith you."

  "Do you still doubt him?" asked Claude angrily.

  "Yes," replied Tait coolly, "I still doubt him."