He was soon ready, and preceded 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 Wopples and his dressing- room, he could not squeeze past.

Finally the difficulty was settled by Villiers, who was last, and who went back and turned out the gas.

When he came down he found Mr Wopples 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 Wopples family had already gone to their hotel, Mr Wopples with his three guests went out of the theatre and wended 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 Wopples 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 Wopples, 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 Wopples 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 Wopples in his deep voice, holding his wife’s hand as if he were afraid she would float upward thro’ the ceiling like a bubble—a not unlikely thing seeing how remarkably ethereal she looked; ‘this is my flutterer.’

Why he called her his flutterer no one ever knew, unless it was because her ribbons were incessantly fluttering; but, had he called her his shadow, the name would have been more appropriate.

Mrs Wopples fluttered down to the ground in a bow, and then fluttered up again.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said, in a thin, clear voice, ‘you are welcome. Did you enjoy the performance?’

‘Madame,’ returned Vandeloup, with a smile, ‘need you ask that?’

A shadowy smile floated over Mrs Wopples’ indistinct 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 Wopples family.’

The ten all simultaneously bowed at this as if they were worked by machinery, and then everyone sat down to supper, Mr Theodore Wopples 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 Miss Siddons Wopples to Villiers, who sat next to her, ‘is a most wonderful man. Observe 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 Wopples 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 Wopples family unanimously agreed that it was excellent, and Mr Handel Wopples 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 Wopples, a pretty girl, who did the burlesque business.

‘And are all these big boys and girls yours, Madame?’ asked Vandeloup, who was rather astonished at the number of the family, and thought some of them might have been hired for theatrical purposes. Mrs Wopples nodded affirmatively with a gratified flutter, and her husband endorsed it.

‘There 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 Wopples, 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 of “The Cruet Stand”, we play it again to-morrow night.’

‘Ah!’ said Mr Buckstone Wopples, with his mouth full, ‘I knew it would knock ‘em; that business of yours, father, with the writ is simply wonderful.’

All the family chorused ‘Yes,’ and Mr Wopples admitted, with a modest smile, that it was wonderful.

‘Practise,’ said Mr Wopples, waving a fork with a piece of cold beef at the end of it, ‘makes perfect. My dear Vandeloup, if you will permit me to call you so, my son Buckstone is truly a wonderful critic.’

Vandeloup smiled at this, and came to the conclusion that the Wopples 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 Wopples, upon which all the family echoed, ‘Surely, not yet,’ in a most hospitable manner.

‘I must,’ said Vandeloup, with a smile. ‘I know Madame will excuse me,’ with a bow to Mrs Wopples, who thereupon fluttered nervously; ‘but I have to be up very early in the morning.’

‘In that case,’ said Mr Wopples, 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 practised with good results by some people.’

Vandeloup shook hands with Mr and Mrs Wopples, but feeling unequal to taking leave of the ten star artistes 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, Messrs Villiers and Jarper,’ said Vandeloup, going out of the door, ‘I will see you to-morrow.’

‘And we also, I hope,’ said Mr Wopples, ungrammatically. ‘Come and see “The Cruet Stand” again. I’ll put your name on the free list.’

M. Vandeloup 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 Wopples family, no doubt caused by some witticism of the head of the clan.

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 Miss Twexby, who had been making up accounts, and whose virgin head was adorned with curl-papers.

‘My!’ said this damsel, 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 Vandeloup, audaciously.

‘Not I,’ retorted Miss Twexby, tossing her curl-papers; ‘I’ve been attending to par’s business; but, oh, gracious!’ with a sudden recollection of her head-gear, ‘you’ve seen me in undress.’

‘And you look more charming than ever,’ finished Vandeloup, as he took his bedroom candle from her. ‘I will see you in the morning. My friend still asleep, I suppose?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all the evening,’ replied Miss 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 Vandeloup, 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.


CHAPTER XIV. A MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE


Madame Midas, as may be easily guessed, did not pass a very pleasant night after the encounter with Villiers. Her head was very painful with the blow he had given her, and added to this she was certain she had killed him.

Though she hated the man who had ruined her life, and who had tried to rob her, still she did not care about becoming his murderess, and the thought was madness to her. Not that she was afraid of punishment, for she had only acted in self-defence, and Villiers, not she, was the aggressor.

Meanwhile she waited to hear if the body had been found, for ill news travels fast; and as everyone knew Villiers was her husband, she was satisfied that when the corpse was found she would be the first to be told about it.

But the day wore on, and no news came, so she asked Archie to go into Ballarar and see if the discovery had been made.

”Deed, mem,’ said Archie, in a consoling tone, ‘I’m thinkin’ there’s na word at all. Maybe ye only stapped his pranks for a wee bit, and he’s a’ richt.’

Madame shook her head.

‘I gave him such a terrible blow,’ she said, mournfully, ‘and he fell like a stone over the embankment.’

‘He didna leave go the nugget, onyhow, ye ken,’ said Archie, dryly; ‘so he couldna hae been verra far gone, but I’ll gang intil the toun and see what I can hear.’

There was no need for this, however, for just as McIntosh got to the door, Vandeloup, cool and complacent, sauntered in, but stopped short at the sight of Mrs Villiers sitting in the arm-chair looking so ill.

‘My dear Madame,’ he cried in dismay, going over to her, ‘what is the matter with you?’

‘Matter enow,’ growled McIntosh, with his hand on the door handle; ‘that deil o’ a’ husband o’ her’s has robbed her o’ the nugget.’

‘Yes, and I killed him,’ said Madame between her clenched teeth.

‘The deuce you did,’ said Vandeloup, in surprise, taking a seat, ‘then he was the liveliest dead man I ever saw.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Madame, leaning forward, with both hands gripping the arms of her chair; ‘is—is he alive?’

‘Of course he is,’ began Vandeloup; ‘I—’ but here he was stopped by a cry from Selina, for her mistress had fallen back in her chair in a dead faint.

Hastily waving for the men to go away, she applied remedies, and Madame soon revived. Vandeloup had gone outside with McIntosh, and was asking him about the robbery, and then told him in return about Villiers’ movements on that night. Selina called them in again, as Madame wanted to hear all about her husband, and Vandeloup was just entering when he turned to McIntosh.

‘Oh, by the way,’ he said, in a vexed tone, ‘Pierre will not be at work today.’

‘What for no?’ asked McIntosh, sharply.

‘He’s drunk,’ replied Vandeloup, curtly, ‘and he’s likely to keep the game up for a week.’

‘We’ll see about that,’ said Mr McIntosh, wrathfully; ‘I tauld yon gowk o’ a Twexby to give the mon food and drink, but I didna tell him to mack the deil fu’.’

‘It wasn’t the landlord’s fault,’ said Vandeloup; ‘I gave Pierre money—if I had known what he wanted it for I wouldn’t have done it- -but it’s too late now.’

McIntosh was about to answer sharply as to the folly of giving the man money, when Madame’s voice was heard calling them impatiently, and they both had to go in at once.

Mrs Villiers was ghastly pale, but there was a look of determination about her which showed that she was anxious to hear all.