‘No; I don’t want my son to get it, and make that proud wench rich by guessing the riddle. Keep the key till I call for it. What! Are you going? Have a drink of milk?’
The offer was hospitably made, but Hagar declined it, as she had no desire to break bread with this malignant old man. Making a curt excuse, she took her leave, and within the hour she was on her way back to London, with a clue to the cypher in her brain. The sampler had revealed the secret; for without doubt it was from his wife’s needlework that the Parsons of sixty years before had got the idea of constructing his cryptogram. In the sampler the figures were placed thus:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26
and Parsons had simply substituted figures for letters. The thing was so plain that Hagar wondered why, with the key-sampler staring him in the face, the steward had not succeeded in reading the riddle.
When back in the shop, she applied her test to the figures on the key, and found out the meaning thereof. Then she considered what was the best course to pursue. Clearly it was not wise to tell Parsons, as he hated Miss Danetree, and if he found the picture through Hagar’s aid he might either hide it again or destroy it. Should she tell Miss Danetree herself, or Frank Parsons, the despised lover? After some consideration the girl wrote to the latter, asking him to call on her at the shop. She felt rather a sympathy with his plight after hearing his father’s story, and wished to judge for herself if he was an eligible suitor for Miss Danetree’s hand. If she liked him, and found him worthy, Hagar was resolved to tell him how to find the picture, and by doing so thus aid him to gain the hand of the disdainful beauty. If, on the other hand, she did not care for him, Hagar concluded to reveal her discovery to Miss Danetree herself. Her resolution thus being taken, she waited quietly for the arrival of the steward’s son.
When he presented himself, Hagar liked him very much indeed, for three reasons. In the first place, he was handsome – a sure passport to a woman’s favour; in the second, he had a fine frank nature, and a tolerably intelligent brain; in the third, he was deeply in love with Marion Danetree. This last reason influenced Hagar as much as anything, for she was at a romantic age, and took a deep interest in love and lovers.
‘It is most extraordinary that my father should have pawned the key,’ said Frank, when Hagar had told her story, less the explanation of the riddle.
‘It may be extraordinary, Mr Parsons, but it is very lucky – for you.’
‘I don’t see it,’ said Frank, raising his eyebrows. ‘Why?’
‘Why,’ replied Hagar, drawing the key out of her pocket, ‘because I have discovered the secret.’
‘What! Do you know what that line of figures means?’
‘Yes. When I paid my visit to your father, I saw an article in his room which gave me a clue. I worked out the cypher, and now I know where the picture is hidden.’
Young Parsons sprang to his feet with glowing eyes. ‘Where – oh, where?’ he almost shouted. ‘Tell me, quick!’
‘For you to tell Miss Danetree, no doubt,’ said Hagar, coolly.
At once his enthusiasm died away, and he sat down, with a frown on his face. ‘What do you know about Miss Danetree?’ he asked, sharply.
‘All that your father told me, Mr Parsons. You love her, but she does not love you; and for that your father hates her.’
‘I know he does,’ said the young man, sighing, ‘and very unjustly. I will be frank with you, Miss Stanley.’
‘I think it is best for you to be so, as I hold your fate in my hands.’
‘You hold – fate! What do you mean?’
Hagar shrugged her shoulders in pity at his obtuseness. ‘Why,’ she said, quietly, ‘this picture is worth thirty thousand pounds, and Miss Danetree is worth nothing except that ruined Hall. If I tell you where to find that picture, you will be able to restore her fortunes, and make her a comparatively rich woman. Now you cannot read the cypher; I can; and so – you see!’
Young Parsons laughed outright at her comprehensive view of the situation, although he blushed a little at the same time, and gave an indignant denial to the hinted motive which prompted Hagar’s speech. ‘I am not a fortune-hunter,’ he said, bluntly; ‘if I learn the whereabouts of Castagno’s Nativity, I shall certainly tell Mar – I mean Miss Danetree. But as for trading on that knowledge to make her marry me against her will, I’d rather die than act so basely!’
‘Ah, my dear young man, I am afraid you have no business instincts,’ said Hagar, dryly. ‘I thought you loved the lady.’
‘You are determined to get at the truth, I see. Yes; I do love her.’
‘And she loves you?’
Parsons hesitated, and blushed again at this downright questioning. ‘Yes; I think she does – a little,’ he said, at length.
‘H’m! That means she loves you a great deal.’
‘Well,’ said the young man, slyly, ‘you are a woman, and should be able to read a woman’s character. Don’t you think so?’
‘Perhaps. But you forget that I have not seen this particular woman – or rather angel, as I suppose you call her.’
‘You are a queer girl!’
‘And you – a lovesick young man!’ rejoined Hagar, mimicking his tone. ‘But time passes; tell me about your wooing.’
‘There is little to tell,’ rejoined Frank, dolefully. ‘My father is, as you know, the steward of the Danetree family; but as they were ruined by the Regency squire, his duties are now light enough. Miss Danetree is the last of the race, and all that remains to her is the Hall, the
