CHAPTER VII
Arthur Shepperton held the position of managing clerk to the firm of solicitors Dalby & Co., Westsea. He was fully qualified in his profession, Mr. Dalby having some six years back given him his articles; and the future held bright prospects of a junior partnership.
He was a business-like young man, and had earned the confidence of his employer by industry and perseverance; added to which, he had, during the twenty-eight years of his existence, led a careful and regular life, if somewhat narrow and confined, and bided fair to become a highly respected and successful citizen.
From his point of view, life’s outlook was a rosy one, and but for unforeseen circumstances he would probably have lived the life of a respectable middle-class person until his death—unconsciously ground between the millstones of Capital and Labour, as most middle-class people are.
Now unforeseen circumstances have a nasty knack of upsetting the quiet trend of people’s lives, particularly those people who least want their lives interfered with. There is a certain section of the community—probably the mainstay of the country—which desires nothing more than to be able to work honestly and live respectably in peace; and yet it is frequently from this class that “Fate” draws individuals to play aggressive parts in the world.
The disappearance of Elsie Hobson (his fiancée) had been a great blow to Arthur Shepperton; indeed it seemed to completely daze him for a time. Outwardly he had sustained it well enough, but inwardly the effect was different. It seemed to have awakened some unfortunate trait in his character, long dormant, which would in all probability never have manifested under ordinary circumstances.
The humdrum everyday life of the average person does not tend to bring out true character—rather the reverse; nor does it help to make character. It is the exceptional and violent incidents in our lives that mould the real self; whether for good or evil, depends upon some law about which we know little or nothing; all we can say for certain is, that one of these exceptional occurrences may strike an evolutionary note in the individual, or, on the other hand, may develop an atavistic tendency.
In this particular case the violent incident, instead of encouraging the nobler tendencies, gave a fillip to the revengeful instinct; and after the first effects of the shock had passed away, Arthur Shepperton was left in a rather dangerous state of mind. He bitterly resented the fact that he should have to suffer as he did for no apparent reason, and he strongly desired to be revenged on someone or something, though he was not clear on whom or what. If he had stopped to reason, he would have seen the futility of such a course; but his mind was distorted and dominated by the primitive instinct referred to.
Mr. Dalby had shown him generous sympathy in his trouble, and had released him indefinitely from his business duties. Thus it happened that the morning after the interview between the Vicar and Brentwood, related in the last chapter, Arthur Shepperton found himself by the old priory, after a long and lonely walk.
He felt tired, and was much relieved to see an old rustic seat under a tree. Making his way to it, he sat down thankfully, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his hands.
He was depressed, in spite of the bright morning and cheerful sunshine, and stared at the ruined building before him with expressionless eyes.
The whole problem of Elsie’s disappearance baffled him completely; he had no clue whatever that might lead him to a solution. That was the worst of it, he was merely groping in the dark, with the faint hope that he would soon be able to drop on something which might lead to an explanation. What a relief it would be to his brain if he could only act, even with but the slightest idea that he was on the right track.
Almost mechanically he once more began to go over the few facts of the case which were known to him, but his mind would not act normally, and try as he would to control them, he could not get his thoughts to run in sequence.
Somehow or other he found himself wondering, in a dreamy sort of way, what the monks were like who used to inhabit the priory. He was not the least bit interested, it did not matter to him; but the idea would keep cropping up just when he was trying to connect one point with another.
Every now and then the question kept coming into his head, “What could have happened?” He wished he could get rid of that query. It had been hammered into his brain for the last fortnight and had become wearisome.
Once (and he laughed derisively as he thought of it) the idea had entered his head that the late Vicar and Elsie had prearranged it all and gone away together! Eloped!! Why should he think of such a thing? He should be the last to entertain a theory of that kind. He would have been ashamed to suggest it to anyone, and as a fact had discarded the idea as soon as it appeared. Yet he could not help feeling that it was possible, and he was uncomfortably aware that they had been great friends.
He sighed wearily; why could he not forget all about it? Why should he have all this trouble? His face sank into his hands, and he looked restfully into the blackness caused by the pressure of his fingers on his eyelids. Tired out, he half dozed, and again began to think about the monks. After all, it was a relief to let his mind play at random, after the last two weeks of mental storm and physical exertion.
He fancied he saw several of them walking slowly along, chanting some mournful air. The prior, a tall gaunt man with raven black curly hair, brought up the rear of the procession. His hands were crossed on his breast and he seemed deeply engrossed in some weighty problem. Walking in double file, they approached a door in the wall, through which they gradually disappeared. He counted them as they went through, and was just wondering whether the prior would shut the door after him, when he was aware that that individual had suddenly turned round and was looking at him with a pair of fierce dark eyes, that flamed like fire. Just for a moment and then the vision vanished, and he started into wakefulness, instinctively sure that he had heard someone cough! He looked up at the priory, the direction from which the sound came, and listened. Who could be there at that time of the day? It was barely seven o’clock. Quietly rising, he stepped noiselessly across the grass to the doorway in the wall, the one by which he fancied he saw the monks disappear, and looked through. Seeing no one, he walked cautiously on until, rounding a corner of a ruined wall, his eyes came in contact with something which brought him to a halt.... Seated upon the floor of what once used to be the chapel was a man writing or drawing something upon the stone flags. So deeply was he engrossed, that evidently he had not heard anyone approach. Shepperton eyed him curiously, and his interest all at once increased as he recognised who it was.
His first thought was to make known his presence; but something—probably his legal training—caused him to alter his mind. For one thing, although he knew Mr. Brentwood, the latter did not know him. Besides, the situation rather appealed to the detective in his nature, and there was something so out of the ordinary, that Shepperton was curious to know what was going to happen.
He watched for about a minute, and then withdrawing carefully, silently retraced his footsteps to the door in the wall; but instead of passing through to the left, he went on along the path for about six yards and turned sharply round the chapel wall to the right. Here he would wait until the gentleman had finished his early mass! When he had gone, it would be very interesting to go and inspect his handiwork.
If it did occur to Shepperton that it was not quite the thing to spy upon someone else, that was outweighed by his resentment towards this man, who, ever since he came to live in the neighbourhood, had shown quite plainly that he wished to be left alone. That of itself was sufficient to cause resentment in a nature like Shepperton’s. He judged the man to be selfish; moreover, he was conscious of the fact that Brentwood had remained silent all through the little storm caused by Elsie’s disappearance—apparently unmoved by the tragedy. Yes, it would be interesting to find out what did have any attraction for this very reserved person.
He must have stood there quite ten minutes before he heard Brentwood moving about. Just after, his approaching footsteps resounded on the hard path; and Shepperton’s heart jumped a little, as it all at once occurred to him that Brentwood might possibly come to where he was standing. It would not be pleasant to be found thus; at the very least it would require some explanation. He breathed more freely as he heard the door in the wall close, and when the sound of the receding footsteps had almost died away, he quickly made his way to the chapel.
To his surprise and disappointment he did not discover anything. That was very strange; surely the man was doing something there, his eyes did not deceive him about that. Very carefully, he scrutinised the flagstones round about where Brentwood had been sitting, but could not make anything of them. It was annoying, for he certainly was drawing or writing when Shepperton saw him. He was about to go away unsatisfied, when his eyes alighted on something white, lying on the floor. Picking it up, he discovered it to be a plain manilla envelope, neither sealed nor addressed. There was, however, something inside, which on examination proved to be a photograph. Not an ordinary one by any means, for it represented what was evidently a human hand, and the impression of a bird’s foot, but the latter was more than five times as large as the former! The great difference in the relative sizes was so apparent, that he could not help at once noticing it. Shepperton looked at it intently for a minute, then carefully putting it back in the envelope, slipped it into his breast pocket. He stood for a short space, thinking earnestly, then, turning sharply round, made his way home as quickly as he could.
On reaching his apartments he went straight to his sitting-room, and after locking the door—he was very cautious in some things—took out the photograph and thoroughly examined it. Having satisfied himself that there was no name or mark on it, except the initials “H. A. B.,” he got an inch rule and accurately measured the impression of the foot, which he found to be nearly four inches long, whereas the hand was barely one inch! He thought of all the big birds he had heard of, but could not call to mind one that would have a foot anything like that. It was a queer sort of thing. The photograph of the hand had evidently been taken to show the size of the foot; but what the latter represented was an enigma. He would very much like to know, particularly as there could be little doubt about it having fallen out of Brentwood’s pocket.
“Yes,” he thought, “still waters run deep,” and perhaps Brentwood had excellent reasons for not wishing to associate with ordinary human beings.
Now what could he have been up to in the priory? It certainly looked as if he were engaged on something out of the way, at least. The more Shepperton thought it over, the more he became anxious to know what had happened; and the more he thought of Brentwood, the more his dislike of him seemed to grow. From his own point of view, he had cause to know that he was cold, callous, and selfish, and he also felt that a man who secluded himself from his fellow-beings must have a reason for it; that, he argued, was not likely to be a good one. Yes, he would watch the gentleman; it might be that he would find something out very, very interesting. Meanwhile, the photograph would not come to any harm in his possession. He went and carefully locked it up in his desk, and as he turned the key, it struck him that perhaps the Vicar could enlighten him a little about Mr. Brentwood? Yes, he would go and see him.