It was when the taxi was sweeping down a quiet street near the British Museum that Owain came to the third and minor reason, which concerned Spruce. The Nut, also, was much too curious about affairs which nothing to do with him in any way, and seemed to take a pleasure in meddling. He was just the kind of person to read other people's letters, give unasked advice and take a thousand liberties out of pretended good-nature. All the same, Hench firmly believed that all this interference was intended, in the end, to benefit Spruce himself. But Owain could not see how his old school-friend could in any way make capital out of him. Nevertheless, instinct warned him to avoid the man as something dangerous. By leaving Mrs. Tesk's establishment he had avoided him, and he was as unlikely to meet him again as he was to meet with Madame Alpenny. Taking everything into consideration, Hench alighted at his new abode with the conviction that he had escaped from some danger--he could not put a name to it--just in time.
Owing to some unexpected good fortune in connection with gold-mining shares, Hench possessed quite one hundred pounds, which was sufficient to keep him in comfort and even in luxury until he could call on Gilberry & Gilberry. That visit he expected would result in throwing light on his somewhat dark path, and perhaps would bring him wealth. Yet, being cautious, he husbanded his resources lest his expectations should be disappointed. Therefore the hotel he came to was a quiet and cheap hostel in Burney Street, Bloomsbury, chiefly patronized by country people. It was a much better class establishment than that of Mrs. Tesk, and Hench found it very comfortable. He had been there on a former occasion when in England, and found very little change. The manageress was the same, the staff had not been altered, and on the whole Owain felt that the place was more home-like than any he had been in. Also, having risen out of the submerged tenth, the young man brushed up his apparel, had his hair cut and his beard trimmed, and got out his scarcely-worn suit of dress clothes. For the next week he amused himself in a quiet way, generally sauntering in the Park, exploring the Museum, enjoying the theatres and music-halls, and taking what quiet inexpensive pleasures came in his way. All he wished to do was to pass the time pleasantly until his twenty-fifth birthday, when he intended to call on Gilberry & Gilberry. Then he would learn his fate, and his future career would be ordained by the contents of the papers.
But all the time Hench was haunted by an uneasy feeling regarding the advertisement brought to his notice by Madame Alpenny. Had he stayed at the boarding-house, he assuredly would not have obeyed the request for a meeting, as the woman would have become aware that he had done so. This he did not wish her to do, since he regarded her as dangerous, and did not know what the result of his errand to Cookley would be. But now that Madame Alpenny belonged to the past, Owain was inclined out of sheer curiosity to keep the appointment for the 1st of July, and learn why the word "Rhaiadr" had been used. Of course, as he had already recognized, the papers at Gilberry & Gilberry's might place him in possession of details which would enable him to deal more openly with the person who wished to meet him at the Gipsy Stile. But it wanted ten days to his birthday, and by brooding over the advertisement Hench became so curious that he finally decided to take the journey into Essex. There was a spice of adventure about the matter, which appealed to his pioneering spirit, and, moreover, as he had nothing to do, he thought that he might as well employ his mind and time in satisfying his curiosity. According to Dr. Watts, "Satan finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do," and never was the line so exemplified as by Hench's action. Although he did not know it, he was going out to seek trouble, when he left the hotel for Liverpool Street Station.
Besides being haunted by the advertisement, Hench during his week in Bloomsbury had been also haunted by a feeling that Madame Alpenny was somewhere in his vicinity. Twice or thrice he had fancied she was at his elbow, and had as many times made sure that he had caught a glimpse in the distance of her orange-spotted frock, her bead mantle and picture hat. As he walked to the railway station this feeling was insistently strong, and Hench found himself searching the crowds here, there and everywhere for the sinister face and red hair of the old woman. But he saw no one who resembled her, until he was descending the stairs after taking his ticket to Cookley. Then he was positive that in the throng moving below he recognized her shabby garb. Of course, he did not find her when he mingled with the mob, and laughed at the trick which his eyesight had played him. Why he should be so haunted by the woman--in his thoughts that is, as he did not believe that there was any ground for his suspicions--he could not say. But it was not until he was seated in a third-class smoking compartment that he shook off the feeling of her near presence. It was all a case of nerves, he assured himself, and by the time he was well on his journey he thoroughly convinced himself of this fact. At all events, as the train gradually left London behind, Owain quite got rid of his nightmare.
Cookley is slightly over thirty miles from the metropolis, so Hench, having left the latter at five o'clock, arrived at his destination somewhere about half-past six o'clock. The appointment at the Gipsy Stile was precisely at eight, So he had an hour and a half to wait. This time he employed in learning the whereabouts of the rendezvous, as he had not the least idea of the direction in which it lay. As there was no hurry, he took things easy and sauntered leisurely out of the local station and down the long road which led to the village. After a lengthy period spent in a smoky city, the pure air and rural sights of the country were exceedingly pleasant.
The village was not large, but decidedly picturesque, being one of those somnolent old-world hamlets beloved of artists and wondered at by tourists. Formerly no strangers came near it, but since the advent of the ubiquitous motor-car it had become quite a centre of interest. This was mainly owing to its squared-towered Norman church, a venerable and stately structure, which was much too large for so small a place. Also there was a Saxon cross on the village green and sundry Roman remains in an adjacent field. Archæologists and antiquarians, together with tourists, chiefly American, frequently came to inspect these objects of interest, and artists often took up their quarters in the Bull Inn to paint the church, the ancient cottages and the surrounding country. It was quite the nook which a student would have loved, but much too quiet for a restless young man such as Owain Hench assuredly was. The quicksilver in his veins never allowed him to remain long in one place, yet even he confessed to feeling the charm of Cookley.
No one took much notice of him, for which slight he was thankful. In his shabby suit of blue serge, his woollen shirt and ragged Panama hat, he looked like an ordinary tramp, and those gentry of the road were much too common in Cookley to be even glanced at. Also the night was closing in, and in the soft warm twilight the young man passed almost unheeded, a fact upon which he afterwards had reason to congratulate himself. After wandering through several crooked streets, he emerged into the gracious spaces of the village green and made for the Bull Inn--easily recognized by its gigantic sign--where he treated himself to a tankard of beer in the tap-room. Owain really did not require the drink, but ordered it so as to give some excuse for his questions. The ancients of the village were already gathered for their evening symposium, and the room was filled with the blue haze of tobacco-smoke. It was none too well lighted by a solitary oil lamp, and Hench sat down in a secluded corner to enjoy his briar and sip his ale. Also, when occasion served, he asked the buxom wench who attended to thirsty customers where the Gipsy Stile was to be found. She looked at him in surprise.
"Why, every one hereabouts knows where that be."
"I am a stranger here."
"One of them tramps, ain't you?" said the girl, tossing her head. "Well, you can't miss the Gipsy Stile. There's a path leading out of the churchyard, across the meadows, and that takes you into the heart of the wood, where you'll find it right in your way."
"Oh, it's in a wood, is it?" questioned Owain, secretly wondering again, as he had wondered before, why such a rendezvous had been chosen.
"Why, yes. Parley Wood, it is called, and lies long-side Squire Evans' old house. There's only a red brick wall divides the wood from the park."
"Thank you," said Hench politely, and attended to his beer and pipe, while the villagers talked politics and crops and local gossip, and he amused himself by listening to their crude views.
In the old days and before Cookley had been brought into near contact with the outer world, the stranger would have been more closely observed and the conversation would have been listened to. But so many tourists now came to the village that the inhabitants paid little attention to them. In his dark corner Owain sat for close upon an hour, wondering at the narrow limits of the Cookley intellect. Still, he was interested in the old-fashioned views of the labourers, and time passed quicker than he noticed. A glance at his watch showed him to his surprise that it was a few minutes to eight, so he rose hastily to seek his destination. As he had already paid for his beer, there was nothing to detain him, and he was speedily passing through the green on his way to the square tower of the church, which stood up blackly in the luminous twilight. So far as Owain could guess there was no danger of his losing his way.
A narrow lane, sloping slightly upward to the lychgate, conducted him to the churchyard, and he soon found himself surrounded by tombstones old and new, dotted irregularly amongst the long grass of the enclosure. Keeping to the gravelled path, he made a circuit of the vast church, and finally came to a stile set in the stone wall girdling the place. On climbing over this, he found his feet treading a well-defined path, which meandered across a wide meadow to enter into Parley Wood, which was visible some distance away. Owain, with the aid of a match, found that it was eight o'clock, and the chimes of the church again assured him of the fact. Fearing lest he should be late, he hurried quickly, and his long legs soon took him under the shade of ancient trees. Here it was somewhat dark, but Hench had eyes like a cat, and could very easily follow the path, which wound deviously through the woodland. Around him, in the fragrant dark, life was stirring, and he heard the piercing song of the nightingale, the occasional hoot of an owl, and became aware that sundry creatures were moving more or less noiselessly amongst the undergrowth. At times he moved across a dell where the light was stronger, and then again he would plunge into the gloom of the trees. The young man enjoyed the adventure apart from the reason which had led him to undertake it, as he had a great love of Nature, and enjoyed her beauty.
At length he emerged into a wide clearing across which ran a ragged fence of time-stained wood overgrown with woodbine and more or less buried in nettles, darnels, shrubs and young trees. In the centre of this there was an old-fashioned stile, which Owain took to be the place of meeting. Beyond the open ground stretched for some distance, and faintly in the warm twilight he could see a tall wall and beyond it the thick foliage of oaks, beeches and elms. This was undoubtedly the place, as he remembered how the girl at the Bull Inn had assured him that the wood lay long-side the park of the squire, and no great distance from a red brick wall. Therefore Owain walked briskly up to the stile, taking off his straw hat for the sake of coolness, and looked all round the place to see if the person who had advertised was waiting. He saw no one.
A glance at his watch after lighting a match showed him that he had been fifteen minutes walking from the church to the stile, so he wondered if the person had grown tired of waiting. But that was unlikely, since he was not so very much behind his time. The man--he presumed that it was a man--who had advertised would certainly wait longer when he had taken so much trouble to bring about the meeting. Hench therefore believed that something had detained the person in question, and sat down on the stile to wait. Already the moon was well up in the cloudless sky and her silver radiance flooded the whole solemn woodland. Owain admired the mingled beauty of light and shade, listened to the distant nightingale singing triumphantly, and stared every now and then round about to make sure that he would not miss his man, since he did not know from which quarter he would appear. Then came a surprise, and a highly unpleasant one.
In the course of his glancing here, there and everywhere, he became aware that in the long grass some distance beyond the stile, and some distance away from the meandering path, lay a dark object. At first Hench thought it was merely the trunk of a tree, but as the moonlight grew stronger and the outlines of the object more distinct, he began to believe that it was a man. Doubtless, as he concluded hastily, some tramp had thrown himself down to sleep in the safe cover of the wood, where no policeman would rouse him from his slumbers. But Hench knew that it was scarcely wise to sleep in the moonbeams, so clambered over the stile and walked towards the man with the intention of awakening him. Shortly he was bending over the presumably sleeping tramp, and then became aware with a shock of surprise that the man was clothed in evening-dress, over which a dark, loose cloak had been thrown. With a vivid feeling of fear Hench turned the man over--he was lying on his face--and started back with an ejaculation of horror. The stiff white shirt-front was red with blood, and in the man's heart was buried a knife with a horn handle. Owain struck a match to assure himself of the truth, although the moonlight was so strong that he scarcely needed to take such trouble. But while he held the match with shaking hand over the dead face, its wavering light showed him very plainly that he was right. The man was dead--the man had been murdered--and there he lay mysteriously done to death in the heart of a lonely wood.
Of course, Hench's first impulse, which was the impulse of an ordinary human being when brought face to face with crime, was to run back to Cookley village and give the alarm. But even as he turned to fly, he halted, struck with a sudden thought which made the blood freeze in his young veins. He had been lured to this place by means of the advertisement, and here he found the dead body of a man not long stabbed to the heart. Was it a trap? Had he been brought to this solitary spot to be entangled in a crime? It seemed very like it, and swiftly thinking over the matter, Hench did not see how he could exonerate himself should he give the alarm. With a feeling of absolute terror, he bent over the dead so as to make himself acquainted with the appearance of the poor creature. There was no doubt that the man was a gentleman, since he was in evening-dress and was wearing studs and sleeve-links of gold, together with a silk-lined overcoat, or rather cloak. His face was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and thin compressed lips, decidedly that of a handsome man. From his lined countenance and white hair, Owain took him to be about sixty years of age, although being dead there was an astonishing look of youth about him. Even as Hench stared, the lines on the old face seemed to fade away and leave it young and smooth. Yes, he was a gentleman, as was apparent from the well-bred, disdainful face. It did not need the evening-dress, the silk-lined cloak, the silk socks or the patent-leather shoes to show the man's station in the world. Here, as it occurred to Owain, was a gentleman, who had strolled into the wood after dinner, there to meet with a terrible death at the hands of some unknown person.
Starting to his feet, the young man remembered how the girl at the inn had talked of Squire Evans' estate lying long-side the wood and divided therefrom by a brick wall. Here was the wood, yonder the wall in question; so it came strongly into Hench's mind that the dead man was Squire Evans. But who had killed him and why had he been killed? Hench looked round searchingly into the shadow of the trees, but could see no lurking form. Whosoever had struck the blow had done so shortly before Hench arrived, as the body was still warm and still supple. After all, the man was dead, sure enough, and it would be useless to run to the village for succour. In fact it would be dangerous, as Owain thought with fear knocking at his heart, for how could he prove his innocence of the crime. There was no motive for him to kill this unknown man, certainly; not even the motive of robbery, as the studs and sleeve-links had not been taken by the assassin. Hench wavered between a desire to consult his own safety by flight and a wish to rouse the village and hunt hot-footed for the murderer. For two long, long minutes he pondered over the horrible situation, then, without a backward glance, raced at top speed along the unknown path leading into the further recesses of the wood. And while he ran his heart beat tumultuously, the perspiration beaded his forehead, and his body shivered with cold, in spite of the warm night. Safety was what he made for, and he tore onward as if the officers of justice were already on his track. An innocent man--yes, he was an innocent man--yet the circumstantial evidence might hang him in spite of that same innocence.
Instinct led Hench to avoid returning to London by passing through the village and boarding the train at Cookley Station. Already--and he thought of the possibility with terror--his face and figure might be remembered by some keen-sighted yokel. There was the conversation with the girl in the tap-room. He had talked long enough with her to be remembered, even though the atmosphere, hazy with smoke, had only been illuminated by one dingy lamp. Then, again, he had spoken about the Gipsy Stile; he had asked where it was, and at the Gipsy Stile the murder had taken place. Then there was the advertisement; the police would be sure to find that out, and if there was any reward offered, Madame Alpenny might speak to the authorities about the same. Then he would be linked with the crime, and run the risk of arrest. When confronted with the girl at the inn, she would probably recognize him. Then what possible defence could he make to an accusation of murder?
These and many other thoughts buzzed like distracting bees through Owain's brain as he fled from that awful place. All his idea was to get away, to reach some other railway station, to hide in London, and remain quiet until he saw what the police would do. But on the face of it, he would be safe nowhere; yet with the instinct of self-preservation he plunged onward through the wood in the hope of escape. Hench was a brave man, and had faced many dangers, but to be hanged for a crime which he had not committed, to be entangled in circumstances over which he had no control, made him choose the least of two evils. Once or twice he halted in his headlong flight wondering if it would not be best to return and give himself up to the village policeman, as, after all, he had no motive to kill the man and moreover could produce the advertisement. But the resolution was momentary. He simply could not face the trouble, even though he did his best to screw up his courage to the sticking point. Wiping his forehead, he drew a long breath and strode onward. It was too late now to think of returning, as the body might already have been found. All he could do was to walk on and on and on, in the hope of leaving terror behind.
After leaving the wood, Hench found himself traversing other meadows similar to that near Cookley church, These bordered a narrow lane, into which a stile afforded him access. From this lane he gained the high-road, and from a sign-post learned that it would conduct him to London. At first Owain intended to walk on until he arrived at the nearest railway station, for there was yet time to catch a late train to town. But on reflection he decided to use his legs, as there would be less danger in solitary pedestrianism than in venturing to ask for a ticket at a local station, where his appearance might be observed. Also the night was warm, the moon gave her full light, and the journey to London would be more pleasurable on foot than it would be were he cooped up in a train. Besides, he was much too agitated by what he had gone through to sit quiet under the gaze of fellow-travellers. Innocent though he was, conscience made a coward of him, and he knew that every careless eye cast upon him would make him wince. He was safer to walk, so walk he did.
Owain never forgot that thirty odd miles tramp through the lovely summer night, when--as the saying goes--he saw a bird in every bush. Certainly he was guiltless of any crime, yet fate had connected him with one, and he felt like Cain, so strong was the power of his imagination. Again and again he asked himself if it would not have been wiser to dare the worst, trusting in God's justice and his own innocence. But again and again came the reply that innocent men have been hanged ere now on purely circumstantial evidence, and that he had done right to fly the danger of a judicial death. Hench cursed himself for not having waited until his twenty-fifth birthday. Had he taken no notice of the advertisement, as he originally intended to do, he would not now be in this plight. But it was too late to blame himself now. He had come to the rendezvous, he had found a dead body, he had fled like a true criminal from the spot, so it was no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever was in store for him he would have to face it. As he had sown, so would he have to reap.
CHAPTER VII
AN AMAZING DISCOVERY
Owain reached his hotel in the early hours of the morning, and finding no one about but the sleepy night-porter, who was just leaving, had no difficulty in getting to his bedroom almost unobserved. Once in that haven he drew a long breath of relief, and wearied by his long tramp, threw himself on his bed without undressing. Notwithstanding his anxiety, which had increased instead of lessening, he speedily fell fast asleep into a heavy dreamless slumber, which resembled lethargy rather than natural repose. It was high noon when he woke, feeling much refreshed and as hungry as the proverbial hunter. Considering the trouble in which he was involved, it was fortunate that travel had steadied his nerves to face the worst, if needs be. The result of his experience of danger led him to prepare for possibilities. He therefore took a cold bath to brace himself, dressed more carefully than usual with great deliberation, and went down to make an excellent breakfast. As yet the hue and cry was not out against him, so he had ample time to consider his position.
Over a pipe in the smoking-room, he glanced at several of the daily papers, but naturally found therein nothing about the murder in Parley Wood at Cookley. It was more than probable that the evening news would contain an account of the finding of the body, and--for all Hench knew--a description of himself as the criminal. Of this, however, he was uncertain, since he had not been noticed closely in the twilight, and his conversation with the girl of the Bull Inn had taken place in a darkish and smoky room, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp. Of course the girl would say that a man had asked her where the Gipsy Stile was to be found, and the person she had conversed with would be suspected. But the questioner assuredly could not be described, unless the serving-wench was sharper than Owain gave her credit for being. Only a very inquisitive and observant person would have examined him closely enough to give a fair word-picture of him to the authorities. And Owain's experience led him to believe that few people ever did observe with much degree of accuracy. So far as the girl at the inn and the inhabitants of Cookley were concerned he felt tolerably safe. But there was another person to consider in connection with his adventure, and that was Madame Alpenny. The Hungarian lady certainly knew that he was the man required to meet the advertiser at Cookley, as the use of the word "Rhaiadr" had enlightened her on that point. Therefore it was probable that, when the details of the murder were made public, she would inform the police about the matter. But the woman did not know that he had kept the appointment, as he had given her to understand very plainly that he did not intend to do so. Assuredly the feeling that she was at his elbow had haunted him when he had set forth on his errand, and he had fancied that she had been lurking about Liverpool Street Station. But even then he had set down the faint belief to imagination, so there was no reason why he should conclude that she actually had been spying on him. In fact he did not see how she possibly could have done so, since he had not given her his address. Only Bottles knew that, and Bottles--as Hench felt sure--was to be thoroughly trusted.
So far the young man could see no cause for alarm, but an hour's reflection made him resolve to make things doubly sure against discovery. Thanks to the twilight and the dimly-lighted tap-room, Hench made sure that any description given of his appearance would be more or less vague, and was not likely to be recognized by any one in the hotel when it appeared in the newspapers. Nevertheless, so as to place the matter beyond all doubt, he paid his bill, packed his luggage and took his departure late in the afternoon for Victoria Station. Here he left his box and portmanteau in the cloak-room, and went down to South Kensington in search of quiet lodgings. But before venturing to inquire for the same, Owain sought out a barber's shop in Brampton Road and had his heavy brown beard removed. He would rather have shaved himself, so as to do away with the possibility of the barber noticing any description in the newspapers, even though the same was vague and inaccurate. But to do this was impossible. He could not change his appearance before leaving the Bloomsbury Hotel without exciting remark, and he did not wish to present himself at his new lodgings in any degree like his old self, as it was known to the paying guests of Mrs. Tesk's establishment. Therefore he was obliged to risk a barber's razor and a barber's curiosity.
One thing was certain, that when he emerged from the shop, no one would have recognized him for the man who had entered. The removal of his beard altered him wonderfully, making him look years younger, and improving his good looks in a marked degree. Owain sat in the barber's chair a bearded colonist of the type dear to penny fiction, he rose from it looking like the Hermes of the Vatican. Even the hairdresser exclaimed at the extraordinary transformation and complimented him on his improved appearance. Hench was rather annoyed that the man should take so much notice, and paying him hurriedly, departed as swiftly as he could without exciting suspicion. Then he walked down the Brompton Road and sought out a quiet side street in South Kensington, where he knew there were rooms to be let. The place was already known to him, during the last six months, as under the same roof lived an old school-friend, with whom Hench had kept up a correspondence. On returning to England he had looked up this friend, and they had renewed their acquaintanceship with uncommon fervour. Therefore Owain deemed it best to live near him, so that he might make use of him should any trouble ensue from his adventure. It may be remarked that the friend was a barrister, and as such--so Hench considered--would be able to attend to legal details if necessary.
The rooms in question were still to be had, as a voluble landlady assured Mr. Hench, so he engaged them for a month, paying the rent in advance. Then he left a message for his friend, and returned to get his luggage from the cloak-room in Victoria Station. By seven o'clock, Owain was installed in a tolerably comfortable bedroom and sitting-room, and was dawdling over a hurriedly provided meal. His friend, he was informed, was not expected back until nine o'clock, so Hench passed the time in reading the evening papers. These he had bought at the railway station when getting his luggage, and in two of them he found what he sought.
The account of the Parley Wood crime was necessarily meagre, as so short a time had elapsed since the discovery of the body that the police were not in possession of much information. It appeared, from the scanty details, that the dead man was--as Hench suspected--Squire Madoc Evans, the Lord of the Manor and the owner of Cookley Grange. He had gone for a stroll in the woods shortly after dinner, and not having returned, search had been made, with the result that the poor old gentleman was found stabbed to the heart near the Gipsy Stile. The weapon used to execute the murder was a common carving-knife with a horn handle, and the medical examination showed that Evans had met with his violent death about half-past seven. The account ended with the information that the police were making all inquiries in the hope of tracing the criminal, but as yet had been unsuccessful.
Owain breathed more freely, as there was no word of the girl at the Bull Inn or of her conversation with himself. Still, it was early days yet, and the young man felt very sure that shortly she would speak out. An account of the man who had inquired where the Gipsy Stile was to be found would assuredly appear in print; then it would depend entirely upon the memory and acuteness of the girl whether he would be traced. And, of course, if Madame Alpenny became suspicious--and Owain was positive that she would become so--her story to the police would certainly result in his arrest. Then, when confronted with the girl of the inn, there would be small chance of denying his identity with the tramp who had made those fatal inquiries. Hench felt extremely uncomfortable in spite of his innocence, and longed to have some one to whom he could talk freely. Later on in the evening, and while gloomily smoking in an armchair, the young man thought that he could trust his old school-friend. James Vane was quite a different man to Spruce, who also had been at the same school, and was as true as the Nut was false. After much reflection and some hesitation, Hench decided to unbosom himself to the barrister, since the dangers which environed him were so great that he could not deal with them unaided.
At nine o'clock precisely, a sharp knock came to the door of the sitting-room, and Hench sprang up to greet his visitor. Vane was a tall, slim man, with a lean, hatchet face, keen dark eyes, and thin dark hair, touched already with grey although he was only thirty years of age. He was perfectly dressed and perfectly well-groomed, quick in his movements and a trifle saturnine in his manner. Some people were rather afraid of him, as he was always cold and cautious. But Owain knew that this frigid exterior concealed a truly warm heart, and that--as the saying goes--Vane's bark was worse than his bite. To his old school-chum he showed himself as he really was, and few would have recognized the chilly barrister in the smiling friend. It was as though ice had melted on a mountain-top to reveal a green sward.
"Well, I am glad to see you again, Owain," said Vane, after shaking hands warmly; "it is quite six months since I set eyes on you. Where have you been all this time? What have you been doing with yourself? And where is that patriarchal beard which made you look like Abraham? H'm! You're in love."
Hench stared and made his friend comfortable in an armchair. "What on earth makes you say that?" he inquired with a puzzled look.
"No girl could possibly love a man with a beard which made him look one hundred and ten years old. You have met with a girl--with the girl--and are in love. Therefore have you shaved your chin, reduced your age, and made yourself look like a young Greek god."
"I don't feel like a Greek god, Jim," said Hench, taking a seat and glancing round to see that windows and doors were closed. "I'm worried."
"Poor old chap," said Vane with quick sympathy; "rely on me to help. We always were pals at school, you know. Is it money?"
"No. I have enough to keep me going. By the way, your mention of our being pals at school reminds me that I met another chap who was with us at Winchester ages ago."
"Don't make us out to be as old as the hills, Owain. We're young yet, and the wine of life still sparkles in the bowl. Who is this chap?"
"Spruce. He is----"
"Oh Lord!" Vane removed his cigarette from his thin lips with an air of disgust. "I know what he is; you needn't tell me anything about him. You don't mean to say that you look upon him as a pal?"
"No! He wanted me to but I couldn't stomach him and his dandified airs. If you want my opinion of him," continued Hench frankly, "he's a sickening little beast, as arrogant as they make them."
"He's all that and more--one of the Gadarene swine. Where did you meet him?"
"At a boarding-house in Bethnal Green."
"Oh! That's the fox's hole, is it. I thought he would go further afield."
"Has he any reason to go afield at all?" asked Hench, staring. "You bet he has, old fellow. Mr. Cuthbert Spruce has been a man on the market for quite a long time."
"What is a man on the market?"
"A chap who gets his living by his wits," explained the barrister leisurely, "and Spruce has been at that sort of game for ever so long. He started with a decent income but got rid of it at cards. Cards queered his pitch ultimately, as he was caught cheating and had to clear out. H'm! He's ruralizing at Bethnal Green, is he? I expect he will stay there until his little bad wind blows away. Then he'll try and return. But it's all of no use, Owain, as no one will have the little beast at any price."
"He told me quite a different story."
"Oh, he would, naturally. Spruce is very good at telling stories. He ought to be a novelist by rights."
"That's exactly what he claims to be," retorted Owain, opening his eyes widely. "He said that he had come to Bethnal Green to gather material for a yarn."
"Pretty thin," commented Vane, with a shrug, "considering he can't write a single paragraph of King's English without a dozen mistakes. I credited him with sufficient imagination to manufacture a better lie. However, it's useless for us to waste time over Spruce and his shady doings. Cheating at cards has finished him, and now he'll go under altogether. R.I.P. and be hanged to him. But what were you doing at Bethnal Green, old son?"
"I thought that a cheap boarding-house down there would suit my pocket."
"H'm! You explained that much before, even though I offered to share my pennies with you."
"Very good of you, Jim," said Hench hastily and colouring, "but I don't care about shoving my burden on to another man's shoulders. However, a gold mine I had a few shares in turned up trumps, and I have a hundred pounds more or less at my back."
"And for that reason you have come West?"
"Well, not exactly. If you don't mind being bored with my----"
"Nothing you tell me will ever bore me, Owain," interrupted Vane quickly. "It's a girl, I swear. Come, be honest."
"Well, there was a girl, but there isn't now," confessed Owain, and while Vane chuckled at his own perspicuity he related what had taken place at The Home of the Muses in connection with Zara, Bracken, Madame Alpenny and Spruce. Vane listened intently, and when Hench ended made his first remark in connection with the Nut, for whom he seemed to have no great love.
"The sordid little animal wished to make money out of you, Owain," he said in his shrewd way, "and for that reason made up to you and kept his eye on you."
"But he knew that I had no money," protested Hench, puzzled.
"These papers at the lawyers' may mean money," retorted the barrister. "I am inclined to agree with that old lady you mention so far. Well, it's only about nine days until your birthday, so you haven't long to wait. And now that you've cut the place--very wisely, I think--Spruce won't be able to line his pockets at your expense. As to the girl--you never did love her."
"Well, perhaps you are right. But I admired her."
"That's nothing. I admire scores of girls, but that doesn't mean matrimony, my son. You are at that age, Owain, when any woman could collar you. I'm glad that this Zara girl had enough sense to cotton to the other man. Madame Alpenny----"
Hench rose restlessly. "I'm afraid of her," he interrupted bluntly.
"Pooh! Why should you be? She can't force you to marry her daughter."
"No." Owain spoke slowly. "It's not that. But the advertisement----"
"Well, it had to do with you, certainly, going by the mention of the place where your father passed his youth. But you told her that you did not intend to keep the appointment."
"Yes. All the same, I did keep the appointment."
"The deuce!" Vane looked surprised. "Well?"
"I'm coming to my trouble now," said Hench, picking up one of the newspapers nervously; "read that paragraph."
Vane looked at his friend in surprise, and then swiftly made himself acquainted with the information about the Parley Wood murder. He started when he first grasped what the paragraph was about, but afterwards read on slowly to the end. When he knew all about the matter he threw aside the newspaper and looked inquiringly at Hench. "Well?"
"Well," repeated Owain, sitting down with his hands in his pockets, "can't you see, Jim? I went to the Gipsy Stile and----"
"And murdered this man," finished Vane derisively. "Do you expect me to believe that, you fool?"
"No. I'm not given to behaving in that way. But I kept the appointment and I found the corpse."
"Oh, the devil!" Vane sat up.
"So I said at the time," remarked Hench dryly.
"And when Madame Alpenny reads about the crime, she will put two and two together."
"They won't make four in her calculations," said Vane swiftly. "After all, you are innocent. She can't prove you to be guilty."
"Well, I don't know. The circumstantial evidence is rather strong."
"The circumstantial evidence!" Vane stared and reflected. "You had a beard when I saw you last, now----"
"I shaved to-day, so that there might be no chance of my being discovered by any description that girl at the Bull Inn might give."
"Girl at the Bull Inn? What do you mean?"
Hench lost no time but promptly gave a full account of his adventures from the time he left Liverpool Street Station to the moment that he sat down to dinner in the very room in which the two were speaking. Vane interrupted him frequently, and his face grew grave as he recognized that Hench was in a woeful plight. "Of course, I've acted like an ass," confessed Owain in a rueful manner; "but how would you have acted, Jim?"
"Sitting in this chair and being wise after the event, I should have faced the thing out," said Vane slowly. "But had I been in your shoes in that wood I should probably have run away as you did." He paused, shook his head, stared at the carpet. "Damn!" he muttered emphatically.
"I thought it best to speak to you," murmured Owain anxiously.
Vane nodded. "Quite right. What's the use of a pal if he doesn't rise to the occasion. After all, if Madame Alpenny does speak to the police she can't prove you to be guilty. You had no motive to murder this Evans. He was quite a stranger to you."
"Quite. All the same----"
"All the same, hold your confounded tongue!" insisted the barrister. "My advice to you is to sit tight and wait events."
"Madame Alpenny?"
"Exactly. If she is the old adventuress you think she is, and which from your description she certainly appears to be, I don't think you need have any fear for the moment."
"Why not?"
"Because she will wait until you are in possession of those papers on your twenty-fifth birthday. If they place you in possession of money she will be silent on condition that you marry her daughter."
"I won't. Nothing would induce me to marry a girl who loves another man."
"Oh, I don't say that you would marry her, but that Madame Alpenny would try and make you marry her. Until all hope fails in that direction she'll say nothing about the advertisement. Of course, if there is no money the old hag will split, especially if there is a reward. As this Squire Evans seems to be a landowner and a rich man, I expect there will be a reward."
"I see. Then the best thing for me to do is to wait."
"Exactly. I'll support you, and you can talk your heart out to me."
"You're a good fellow, Jim. Why, I half believed you would think me----"
"Don't talk bosh!" Vane jumped up irritably. "Why, you're the whitest man I know, and my old school-pal. I'd as soon believe myself guilty as you. Now I'm off to bed; go thou and do likewise and don't worry." After which speech he shook hands with Hench and the two parted for the night.
For the next nine days they had many such talks, and kept themselves well informed of the progress which the case was making so far as they could learn in print. Of course, the girl at the Bull Inn did tell the police about the interview in the tap-room, and of course great capital was made out of this. But as Owain had suspected, the girl being inobservant, and not having seen him very clearly in the smoky dimly-lighted atmosphere, gave a most incoherent account of his appearance. All she could say was that the questioner was a rough-looking tramp with a bushy black beard, who spoke civilly enough, but who was not a gentleman. Vane chuckled when he read this unflattering description, which was sufficiently wrong and vague to preserve Hench from suspicions. And, indeed, if the girl had been confronted with Hench she would never have recognized in this handsome clean-shaven young gentleman, fashionably dressed, the rough tramp who had drank his beer in the tap-room. It was Vane who made Owain dress fashionably, so as to make him look as unlike his old bearded self as possible. He took him to his tailor, to his haberdasher, to his bootmaker, and to various other tradesmen, with the result that Owain's new wardrobe did full justice to his handsome looks. Hench, being of the pioneering legion, rather kicked against being thus civilized, but he recognized that Vane was right to insist upon the transformation.
Whatever Madame Alpenny might have thought she did not put her thoughts into action, for nothing appeared in the papers likely to show that Hench was suspected by the police. The inquest on Squire Madoc Evans' body was duly held, and the verdict was brought in of "Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," although every one was pretty certain that the shabby tramp who had inquired the way to the Gipsy Stile was the culprit. But he had vanished, and--thanks to Madame Alpenny's silence--no word came to the police suggesting his identity with Owain Hench. The funeral took place in due time, and it gave Owain a thrill when he read that the body had been taken to Rhaiadr in Wales for burial. It was said that Evans came from that place, and that all his ancestors were buried there. Incidentally, it was mentioned that the dead man had left a daughter who inherited Cookley Grange, and by her father's death became the Lady of the Manor.
"I think it's all right now," said Vane when matters reached this pitch. "After the nine days' wonder the excitement will gradually die away. And, by Jupiter!" cried the barrister, "it is exactly nine days. Owain, old son, this is your birthday. Off with you and call on Gilberry & Gilberry."
"Won't you come also, Jim?"
"No, I won't. You can't get into trouble in a respectable legal office, and you are so changed that no one is likely to spot you as the man who is wanted for Squire Madoc Evans' death."
Owain was content to go alone, although he felt slightly nervous. His strongest card, should anything come out, was that he had not known Evans, and therefore had no reason to kill him. And by this time he was growing used to the situation, since Madame Alpenny was holding her tongue. Why she acted in this kind way he could not understand, but accepted the explanation provided by Vane. However, if he came into money she probably would find him out and move in the matter. Therefore it was with some reluctance that Hench went to Gilberry & Gilberry's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He wanted to let sleeping dogs lie, and was unwilling to become rich, as by doing so he would certainly bring Madame Alpenny down on his head. All the same, Hench felt very curious when he faced the white-headed old gentleman who was the head of the firm, and was rather astonished by the warmth of the greeting he received.
"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gilberry heartily. "You come in the nick of time, my dear young friend."
"To do what, sir?"
"To inherit ten thousand a year."
"What?" Owain became pale with amazement.
Gilberry chuckled. "Oh yes. It is as I say, Mr. Evans."
"What?" cried Owain again, and this time louder, with a quavering voice.
"Of course; of course," the old man chuckled once more. "You think that your name is Hench. Not so; not so. You are Owain Evans of Rhaiadr, the heir of Squire Madoc Evans, of Cookley Grange, in Essex."
"And--and--what relation am I to--to--to----"
"Oh, yes. You don't know. Why, my dear sir, Madoc Evans was your uncle."
Owain gasped, and turned as white as the corpse he had seen in Parley Wood.
CHAPTER VIII
FAMILY HISTORY
Like M. Jourdain in Moliere's comedy, Vane was only surprised when he found virtue in unexpected places, but he certainly was astonished in another direction when Hench stumbled into his chambers white-faced, wild-eyed and trembling. The barrister hastily arose and supported his friend to a chair, and as hastily produced a glass of brandy to hold to his lips.
"Drink this, Owain," he commanded, wondering what had happened to put his visitor in such a state. "Don't say a word until you feel better."
Hench drank the whole glassful of fiery liquor, and the colour began to return to his wan cheeks. He did not speak, as requested, but sat in the chair with a broken-down look, which startled Vane more than he showed. Looking anxiously at his friend he came to the sole conclusion he could come to, seeing what he knew in connection with Hench's adventure. "Madame Alpenny has found you out?"
Hench shook his head. "It's worse than that," he muttered faintly.
"Then the worse it is the better you should brace yourself up to face it," was Vane's irritable retort. "Have another glass of brandy, although I don't approve of Dutch courage myself."
"No. No more brandy. Wait a bit. I'll soon pull round."
Vane nodded approvingly, and turned his back so as to give the man time to recover himself. He went to the window and looked at the busy traffic of Chancery Lane, in which thoroughfare his chambers were situated. The same were directly opposite that gateway which leads into Lincoln's Inn Fields, through the highways and byeways of pleasant grounds sacred to the goddess Themis. Hench had evidently come straight in this way from the offices of Gilberry & Gilberry. Vane wondered how he had managed to arrive without attracting observation and being stopped, so wild had been his looks when he entered the chambers. The journey was very short, truly, but the appearance of the man was sufficient to warrant interference. Evidently the unexpected had happened to throw Hench into this abnormal state, and with a shrug of his shoulders Vane turned to see how he was getting on. Hench smiled faintly as he met the inquiring gaze of the barrister and wiped his forehead, which was wet with perspiration. Then he essayed to speak and apologize, succeeding after one or two desperate attempts.
"Sorry, Jim, but I couldn't help myself."
"Seems like it," snapped Vane, trying to bully him into calmness. He had never before seen Hench so upset, as the man was usually very quiet and self-controlled. Something very bad must have happened to unnerve him in this way. "I should like to know what is the meaning of all this," went on Vane crossly. "Upon my Sam, Owain, if I didn't know you were a sober chap I should have believed that you were drunk when you came in. I wonder some policeman didn't run you in between here and Lincoln's Inn Fields."
"I did see people staring at me," replied Hench in a stronger voice, as the brandy had done its work and he was rapidly recovering his balance. "Perhaps if I had come by a longer way I might have got into trouble. But you see, Jim, the distance----"
"Yes! Yes!" Vane dropped into his own favourite chair. "I know all about that, old son. Come to the point. What's up?"
"I've had a shock."
"Oh Lord! as if the most stupid person--which I am not--couldn't see as much. I can only conclude that Madame Alpenny has told the police and you are in danger of arrest. Yet you deny that such is the case."
"I do. Madame Alpenny has nothing to do with this particular matter. Yes, I have had a shock, but I'm all right now." Hench shook himself like a dog coming out of a pond and drew a long breath, then continued to talk calmly. His first remark was a question. "If I did get arrested, Jim, I suppose my best line of defence would be to say that, not knowing the dead man, I had no motive to kill him."
"That is my opinion," admitted the barrister. "Well?"
"Well, there is no chance of my taking up that line of defence."
"Why not? You told me that you did not know Squire Evans."
"I did. I don't contradict my admission."
"Then why can't you defend yourself, if necessary, on that score?"
"I'll answer that question by asking you another? Who am I?"
Vane stared and looked wholly bewildered. "Owain Hench!"
"So I thought. Now I learn from Gilberry & Gilberry that I am Owain Evans."
"What?" Vane uttered the ejaculation in as astonished a tone as Hench had done in the solicitor's office. "Are you a relative of the dead man?"
"Yes. I am his nephew."
"Well, the unexpected is always happening," commented Vane, after a pause of sheer surprise. "But even so, as you did not know your uncle and never met him, you can still say, if necessary, that you had no motive to murder him."
"I can't." Owain rose and began to pace the room. "I can't; and that's the worst of it, Jim. As you say, I did not know him and I never met him, but evil tongues might give me the lie, seeing what I stood to gain."
"What did you stand to gain?"
"Ten thousand a year."
"Ten thousand a year!" Vane echoed the words with a gasp of astonishment. "I say, Owain, those mysterious papers left by your father did mean a fortune after all, as Madame Alpenny suspected?"
Hench nodded, and sat down again with a disconsolate air. "It is a dangerous position that I am in. Owain Evans of Rhaiadr with ten thousand a year, which comes to me now that Uncle Madoc is dead----that is who I am."
"But you knew nothing about such an inheritance?"
"Who will believe that?" asked Owain derisively. "Already, as the tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, I am accused of the crime. Should the truth of my keeping that appointment become known, the motive of gaining ten thousand a year will be imputed to me as an excuse for committing the deed."
"Don't go too fast, Owain," said Vane sharply; "remember only Gilberry & Gilberry had this information. They can prove that you knew nothing about the same on the first of July when the man was murdered."
"True enough. All the same I kept the appointment," persisted Hench stubbornly. "Who is to prove that I did not have a long interview with my uncle in Parley Wood; who is to declare that he did not admit I was his heir and that his death would place me in possession of so large an income? And, remember, Jim, that I am poor. A man would do much to gain ten thousand a year."
"A man like you, Owain, would do nothing mean or dishonourable or cruel to gain double the sum," said Vane sharply. "Don't be a fool."
"Am I a fool? You know me, Jim, but other people don't. Supposing Madame Alpenny tells what she knows to the police and sets them on my track----"
"She doesn't know your address. You told me so."
"I told you truly. She doesn't. But seeing that I have given my usual name both at the hotel I stayed at and to the landlady of my lodgings in South Kensington, there won't be much difficulty in the police finding me. People will talk, you know. I have shaved off my beard too, and that might be quoted against me as a sign of my guilt."
"It might," assented Vane restlessly, for he recognized that the position was a dangerous one. "But it all depends upon Madame Alpenny. So far she has made no move, and now that you really are rich she will hold her tongue."
"Provided I marry her daughter, I suppose?" inquired Owain dryly.
"Of course. The woman is an adventuress, as you say, and means to make money out of you. Marry her daughter and supply her with funds, and you will place yourself in the power of a possible blackmailer."
Hench's face became dour and obstinate in its looks. "Even if Madame Alpenny placed me in the dock at the New Bailey, I won't marry Zara, or give the old woman a single penny."
"I'm with you, old son." Vane leaned forward and shook his friend's hand. "You can depend upon me to do all I can to pull you through."
"You're a good sort, Jim, to stand by me," said Hench, much moved.
"Pooh! Pooh! Pooh! I take a right view of friendship, that's all," said Vane cheerfully. "Come, old man, let us discuss the situation. We have ample time, as Madame Alpenny will hold her tongue until you openly refuse the demands she is sure to make. Who gains time, gains everything, and lots of things may happen before she can place your neck in a noose."
"I am in a dangerous position."
"You are. I don't wish to minimize the risk, or undervalue Madame Alpenny as an enemy. But remember, Owain, that she is not your enemy until you give her cause to be so by declining to marry the girl and pension Madame. Thus the police will learn nothing for many a long day, and meantime we can act."
"In what way?"
"Why, in trying to learn who really did murder your uncle." Vane drew a long breath. "By Jupiter, old son, I don't wonder you were knocked all of a heap by the information that you had a new relative and ten thousand a year."
"Oh, it wasn't that which upset me," explained Hench with a shrug, "but the knowledge that my uncle was the dead man I found in Parley Wood."
"Gilberry & Gilberry don't know that, I suppose?"
"Of course not. I kept that information to myself. They didn't even, so far as I could gather, know anything about the advertisement, or they would have spoken about it. I said nothing."
"Very wise of you. I wonder," mused the barrister, "why your uncle put in that advertisement?"
"To make you understand, Jim, it will be necessary to repeat my family history as Mr. Gilberry told it to me."
"That is what I have been wishing you to do for the last fifteen minutes, old boy. Here, take a cigarette and make yourself comfortable. When I am in possession of facts I shall be in a better position to advise you."
"I need advice," sighed Hench, lighting up.
"Well, don't shed tears over it, sonny. Fire away."
Vane's banter and anxious desire to cheer him up did Hench good, and he produced a large blue envelope out of his pocket which contained several papers. The young man glanced at these doubtfully, then laid them on the table. "You can examine them at your leisure," he said, leaning back comfortably in his chair. "I'll tell you the story instead of reading it."
"That will be best," assented Vane brightly. "Begin, Scheherazade."
"My grandfather," said Hench conversationally, "lived at Rhaiadr in South Wales, where his family had resided for centuries. They were minor princes, I believe, before the first Edward conquered the country, but dwindled in importance as the centuries went by. When the family estates came to my grandfather, all he had was considerable property in Rhaiadr and a tumbledown family seat. He was called Mynydd Evans----"
"Curious Christian name," commented Vane, lighting a fresh cigarette.
"Yes! Gilberry, who seems to know something of the Welsh language, told me that it means 'Great.' So my grandfather was really Great Evans, so called because he was the chief person in Rhaiadr, and because he was a stout, bulky man, over six feet three in height. He was discontented with his lot, as he wanted money and power and position, and the deuce knows what."
"Rather a grabber, Owain, considering that he was the Lord of Rhaiadr--and that's another queer name."
"It means water tumbling over a rock--a waterfall, in fact," said Hench, with a nod. "My father mentioned the word to Madame Alpenny and gave her the translation. Well, to continue. Mynydd Evans collected what money he could and came to London. There he set up as a merchant, and being clever, in a wonderfully short space of time he made a large fortune."
"He must have done so considering he could leave your uncle ten thousand a year," said Vane emphatically. "But why didn't he return to Rhaiadr?"
"Mr. Gilberry couldn't explain that. I expect the old man found the Welsh parish of his ancestors too narrow for his ambition, and perhaps too far from London and his place of business. He bought the Lordship of the Manor of Cookley, in Essex, and took up his abode in the old Grange. There he died."
"And your Uncle Madoc, as the eldest son, became the heir?"
"Now, that is exactly what did not happen. Mynydd Evans had two sons--my father, Owain, and Madoc--and my father was the elder of the two. He was"--Hench wriggled uneasily--"he was a rotter, and I'm breaking the fifth commandment in saying so, Jim."
"Well," said the barrister coolly, "from what you told me of your father when we met six months ago, I rather think he was a bad lot."
"Unfortunately, yes," said Hench hastily. "But he is dead, so let us say as little about him as possible. Anyhow, he contrived so mortally to offend my grandfather with his doings that he was cut out of the will."
"What did he do particularly shady?"
"I can't tell you," said Hench, with a shrug. "From what Gilberry said I gathered that it wasn't one shady deed, but the culmination of many that induced Mynydd Evans to give the estate to my Uncle Madoc. He was the good boy of the family, and Mynydd Evans knew that his hard-earned fortune would not be dissipated in his hands. My father was allowed five or six hundred a year, and told to keep away from England. He did so and afterwards married abroad--an English governess, my mother. She died in due time and I was sent to England to board with strangers. Then I went to a private school, afterwards to Winchester, where we met, Jim."
"Yes, I know all that. Afterwards your father sent for you and ultimately died in Paris. You told me about your life since, when you came back six months ago. But why didn't your father relate your family history to you? Why did he keep you in the dark?"
"Really, Jim, I can't say, unless it was that he felt ashamed of his doings. He would have had to tell me that he was not straight, to account for his being cut out of the will, you know. Anyhow, he saw Gilberry & Gilberry and left with them those papers, which include my birth certificate and my baptismal one--things which are necessary to prove my identity, you know. Gilberry & Gilberry were my father's lawyers and the lawyers of my uncle and grandfather. They saw that my school fees were paid and kept an eye on me while my father was in exile. So I had no difficulty in proving who I was. In fact old Gilberry knew me from my likeness to my father the moment I entered the office. It's all right so far."
"But if the money was left to your uncle, how do you inherit?"
"Well, it seems that Mynydd Evans always had some qualms about cutting off the direct line, and, I suppose, hoped that the third generation would be better than the second, as represented by my father. Anyhow, he made a will excluding my father, save for the five or six hundred a year allowance, and left the whole eleven thousand pounds per annum he was worth to Uncle Madoc."
"You said it was ten thousand."
"Yes. But of the extra thousand, five hundred went to my father during his life and the remaining five hundred--or it might be four with six to my father, as I'm not quite clear about the exact amounts--to Gwen Evans, my first cousin, Uncle Madoc's daughter."
"Oh! There's a girl, then?"
"Yes, and if old Gilberry is to be believed, she is a very pretty girl. I understand that she is about twenty years of age. We can talk of her later, Jim. Anyhow, you must understand that Uncle Madoc only had the income and the Grange for life. Afterwards it was to go to the offspring of my father, who was the true heir. I am the sole offspring, so I inherit."
"I see," pondered Vane. "Well, all that seems clear and reasonable enough. Only I should like to know why your uncle didn't find you out and treat you as his heir. He could have done so through Gilberry & Gilberry, who--as you say--kept their eye on you all the time."
"According to Mr. Gilberry, my uncle hated my father fervently, and did not at all approve of Mynydd Evans' will, which left the property to the son of the brother he detested. He made no inquiries, I understand, and was quite content to enjoy the property and let the deluge in the shape of myself come after him. Of course he would rather, as Mr. Gilberry said, have had Gwen get the property, but he could not, as the will of my grandfather was too clear."
"Well, I can understand that the brothers did not love one another," said Vane, after a pause; "family feuds are unfortunately too common. But what made the old man put in that advertisement?"
"As I didn't mention the advertisement to Mr. Gilberry for obvious reasons, I could obtain no information on that point," explained Owain, looking somewhat perplexed. "And why he sought me out in that peculiar way at the eleventh hour, I can't say. He might as well have done the thing straight through the family lawyers. Anyhow, I suppose he thought that the mention of the name Rhaiadr would show me that I was wanted, although I can't understand why he worded the advertisement so obscurely. But that my father mentioned the place of his family to me, I wouldn't have bothered about the matter. Let alone the fact," concluded Hench after a pause, "that I wouldn't have seen the advertisement at all but for Madame Alpenny. It was queer, wasn't it, Jim, that the advertisement should have appeared with the name Rhaiadr just after she remembered meeting my father over twenty years ago?"
"So queer," said Vane dryly, "that I wonder if Madame Alpenny had anything to do with the insertion of the advertisement."
"Oh, that's rubbish, Jim. She never met my uncle, and couldn't have put in the advertisement on her own, as she didn't know the ropes. My uncle put it in sure enough, or he would not have been in the wood to meet me. But why the deuce he should choose out-of-doors as a meeting place instead of asking me into his own house, I can't understand."
"He was evidently an original," said the barrister, with a shrug. "By the way, if you died, or if you had never been born, who would inherit the estate?"
"Gwen, my cousin, of course. The will left the property to the offspring of the eldest son, and failing such offspring, to the children of the second son. Why do you ask that, Jim?"
"Well, it occurs to me that the cautiously worded advertisement and the appointment of so lonely a place to meet in, suggests foul play on the part of your beloved uncle."
"Foul play?" Hench stared. "What the deuce do you mean?"
"Madoc might have intended to murder you so that his daughter might inherit."
"Oh, rot!"
"Not at all. We must look at all possibilities. Madoc hated your father and doubtless hated you also as the son of your father. If he could have done you out of the inheritance by murdering you, I don't see why he should have held his hand."