CHAPTER V
HUE AND CRY
"Gone!" cried Trent, both enraged and amazed. "How did he escape?"
"By the window," replied Dr. Browne, who was not ill-pleased to find the room empty, and he struck a second match to make certain, "yes! by the window."
"Anyone can see that," retorted the officer, sorely annoyed, for the position of affairs reflected no credit on his brains. "Holl! Fairburn! What is the meaning of this?"
The two policemen protested that they were not in fault. Fairburn, on guard at the door of the death-chamber, exonerated himself by pointing out that the corpse, which he had been set to watch, was still in the room, while Holl vehemently stated that he had heard no sound likely to lead him to believe in an intended escape.
"I did not hear the window being opened," said Holl, decisively.
"Why didn't you station a policeman under the window?" asked Browne, while the Inspector fretted and fumed, and wondered inwardly what the authorities would say to his negligence.
"Two men--villagers, were posted there," he said angrily. "I'll see them at once."
He ran hastily down the stairs, and out of the front door into the side garden, where the two men had been stationed. Finding no one there, he returned to the tap-room, and discovered the watchers busy with pots of beer.
"Why are you not at your posts, men?" he asked in a loud domineering voice.
"We got tired," said one bovine agriculturalist, explaining on behalf of himself and his friend, "and the damp was giving we the blamed rheumatics."
"What the devil does that matter, you fools? You should have remained where I placed you."
"You bean't our master," grumbled the spokesman, "and there weren't no money given to we."
Trent stamped, but could not gainsay this speech. It was his own fault, as he recognised plainly enough, for it was his duty to have posted official guards.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Twenty minutes to half an hour," said the yokel, drawing his sleeve across his mouth, as he set down an empty pewter. "Bill, here, and me 'ull go back, if it be as you'll give we money."
"You can save yourself the trouble," retorted Trent sharply, swinging round on his heel, "the prisoner has escaped."
Immediately the tap-room was in commotion, and everyone rose in consternation. It was not pleasant to think that a murderer was at large and in the neighbourhood. Narby, from force of habit, felt for his revolver.
"Guess he can't hev gone far," said he, in his nasal American way, "th' fog 'ud stop him."
"The fog will save him, more like," said Dr. Browne, quickly. "He'll have time to get away before the mists lift. And I'm glad."
"Oh, you are, mister, and for why, may I ask?"
"Because the man is innocent."
"Innercent," shrieked Mrs. Narby shrilly, "an' me findin' the pocket-book, and Narby the razor an' key. Wot's yer torkin' of, anyhow?"
"Here!" cried Trent, impatiently, "while we chatter, the prisoner is escaping. Twenty pounds to the man who finds him."
The yokels needed no further incentive to action. They made a rush for the door, and in a few minutes the lands surrounding the village were dotted with lanterns, each carried by a man eager to earn the reward. Trent remained behind to ask questions.
"Did anyone see the prisoner?" he asked Holl.
The constable saluted sulkily.
"No, sir. You gave orders that no one was to disturb him, and locked the door yourself. That girl," he pointed to Elspeth, who was an attentive spectator, "came up to see him, and went on her knees at the very door itself, that I should let her in. I told her that I could not, and that even if I would, the door was locked."
"Did she speak through the door?"
"No, sir, but the prisoner must have heard her asking me to let her enter," returned Holl smartly; and having saluted was dismissed abruptly.
"Now then," said Trent, beckoning Elspeth to approach, "why did you wish to see the prisoner?"
The girl was quite ready with her reply.
"To tell him, that according to his wish I had sent a message to his friend in Tarhaven."
"Ah!" cried Browne, nodding his thanks, "that was me. _You_ sent the telegram."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Herries said that you would help him."
"I intend to do all I can, my girl, but matters look black against him. All the same he is innocent."
"You had no right to send the telegram without telling me," said Trent to Elspeth in angry tones.
"Mr. Herries was kind to me," she returned, steadily, "and I was quite right in returning his kindness!"
"And Herries was within his rights in asking to see me," said Browne sharply. "The poor devil needs a friend, seeing how you have already judged him."
"I do not judge him," said Trent, very irritated, "the jury will do that, Dr. Browne."
"You'll have to catch your hare first, Mr. Inspector."
Trent would have made an angry reply, and there is no knowing to what lengths the quarrel would have proceeded, only that Browne's attitude was so sturdy, and his blue eyes so unflinching in their gaze, that the Inspector thought it would be best to leave the fiery little doctor alone. He was as much in the right, as Trent himself was in the wrong. However, the Inspector was determined to vent his wrath on someone, and chose Elspeth, who remained in the room, with himself and Browne. Everyone else, even Mrs. Narby, was out hunting the miserable man, whom they insisted was guilty.
"What do you know of this?" asked Trent. "Tell the truth!"
"I never tell lies," replied the girl quietly. "I know nothing. I went up over an hour ago to inform Mr. Herries that I had sent the telegram, and the policeman, who has just gone out, would not allow me to see him. I then put on my cloak and hat, and came down to go with Sweetlips Kind to his caravan."
"Why did you go there?"
"To see his wife, who is dying. If you remember, Mr. Trent----"
"Yes, yes," snapped the Inspector rather ashamed of himself, and addressed Browne. "A Cheap-jack came here over an hour ago asking that a doctor should be sent to his wife. Your friend Herries is a medical man, but of course I could not let him go, and there was no one else."
"Is the woman very ill?" asked Browne, sharply.
"She was, but she is better now," replied Elspeth, "I looked after her. It is not a matter of life and death, now."
"In that case, I may as well see the corpse upstairs," said the doctor, briskly. "Will you come with me, Mr. Inspector?"
Trent agreed, readily enough, as there was nothing else left for him to do. His men and the villagers were out hunting the mists for the escaped criminal, and it was useless for him to join in, since his presence was required in the death-chamber. He went upstairs with the doctor, and Elspeth was left alone. She heaved a sigh of relief when they departed, and sat down before the fire to snatch a few moments of quiet before her tyrant returned, and to think over the position of affairs.
There could be no doubt that she loved this fugitive, for her heart ached to think of the peril he was in. The poor girl's life had been a hard one, and now at the age of twenty, there did not seem much chance of improvement. Overhearing somewhat of the story told by Herries to Gowrie, she thought that his bad luck was very much like her own. Since her cradle, she had been the victim of misfortune, and nothing had gone well with her. Yet, had Elspeth been better fed and better dressed, and loved as a girl of her age should be loved, she would undoubtedly have bloomed into a pretty damsel. But cares had aged her, and want of good food rendered her lean. If Herries was Jonah, she was Mrs. Jonah. As this quaint thought came into her mind, she smiled and blushed. Much as she would have liked to be Mrs. Jonah, there was small chance of her achieving her desire. The man she loved was a supposed criminal, flying from justice, and even had his case been less desperate, he could not marry her for lack of money. And again, even had he possessed money, he would not have made her his wife, as he was not in love with her, as she was with him. The future looked very dark to this poor Cinderella seated by the fire; and thinking of her sorrows, the tears ran down her cheeks, although she had plenty of pluck. But the most plucky person gives way at times.
She was aroused from her musings by the entrance of Pope in a state of excitement. He carried a lantern, and was covered with mud, his face was red, and his eyes flashed brightly. Elspeth started up in alarm fearing the worst.
"Have they caught him?" she asked, laying her hand on her breast to still the loud beating of her heart.
"Not yet, but they soon will," said the poet. "Everyone is searching the marshes all around, and the lanterns are dancing like will-o'-the-wisps in the foggy air. I have tried to find him, but I cannot. Oh, I hope mother or father will, and then I'll have the twenty pounds to publish my poems."
"Would you sell that poor man for twenty pounds, Pope?"
"Why not, Elspeth, if he is guilty?"
"But he is not," declared the girl, vehemently. "You and everyone else have made up your minds that Mr. Herries killed Sir Simon. I don't believe that he did, and I hope that he has escaped."
"Then if he is innocent, Mr. Gowrie must be guilty."
Elspeth rose angrily, and darting forward, shook the long shambling lad furiously.
"How dare you say that?" she cried. "Why should Mr. Gowrie kill Sir Simon?"
"Sir Simon had money," stuttered Pope, much ruffled, and backing before the small fury who faced him. "He slept in this room, and could easily have gone upstairs, when everyone was quiet, to kill Sir Simon.
"He did nothing of the sort, Pope. I know Mr. Gowrie better than you do, and he is incapable of such wickedness."
"It was Mr. Gowrie who brought you here, wasn't it, Elspeth?"
"Yes," said the girl listlessly, and all the light died out of her eyes, "a year ago."
"I was away at that time," chattered Pope setting down his lantern, and producing a cheap cigarette. "Mother placed me in an office; but I could not stand so sordid a life," he added with an affected shudder. "It was not the life for a poet, so I came back, and here I can write glorious verse."
"So you think," said Elspeth, who had read Pope's productions, and thought very little of them. "But you would be much better earning your own bread and butter, than living on your mother."
"They have brought a genius into the world, and it is their glorious duty to support him," said Pope grandiloquently. "When I am Poet Laureate, I'll make it up to them."
Elspeth shrugged her spare shoulders and went resignedly about her work. It was impossible to make Pope think himself any other but the most famous poet in the world, and his conceit amounted to a positive mania. Even as Elspeth moved away, the young man commenced to mouth one of his bombastic poems, devoid of grammar or sense, and Elspeth felt inclined to stop her ears, so vile was the rhythm. This she did not do, having a vivid recollection of having suffered at Pope's hands, when she had once betrayed disgust. The poet was mild enough usually, but when his vanity was touched he grew positively dangerous, and went--as the saying goes--baresark. Knowing his eccentricities, Elspeth, therefore, paid no attention to the verses, but worked on quietly, while Pope, fancying himself a Homer at the least, walked up and down declaiming turgid blank verse. Finally, finding that Elspeth did not applaud, he stopped and looked at her spitefully.
"Genius is wasted on you, Elspeth."
"Entirely," she answered coolly. "Why didn't you wipe your boots before you come in, Pope. They are covered with red mud. You have been to the creek at the back of the house."
"Why shouldn't I have gone there?" asked Pope, with a snarl, and his freckled face grew red.
"I don't think Mr. Herries would try to escape in that way."
Pope cooled down, and re-lighted his cheap cigarette.
"Well, he didn't go that way, although I hunted all along the banks," he said. "Have you any idea of where he has gone, Elspeth?"
"If I had, I shouldn't tell you, Pope."
"You must, you are only my mother's servant."
"That is not true, Pope," said the girl, but her eyes flashed angrily as she turned on him sharply. "Mr. Gowrie brought me here a year ago, and as he could not pay for his board and lodging he left me in pawn, so to speak, to your mother. I have been a drudge ever since."
"Well, and what is a drudge but a servant," snapped Pope, cowering over the fire to warm his lean hands. "Is Mr. Gowrie any relation to you, Elspeth?"
"Yes," she replied with an averted face, "don't ask questions."
"I want to know what your last name is?"
"Then you won't."
"Does my mother know?"
"She does not. She knows me as Elspeth, and that must content her, and you together. Why do you wish to know about me?"
Pope leered at her, and his eyes flashed.
"I thought that if you were washed that you might be pretty."
"Well," said Elspeth, unmoved.
"And that I might marry you."
The girl flushed.
"I would sooner kill myself," she cried in a spirited tone. "My life is hard enough, but marriage with you"--she shuddered and cast a look of loathing at this creature, who dared to present himself as her lover.
"Oh, very well, miss," said Pope shrilly, his voice invariably grew shrill when he became angry, "I'll tell mother about you, and she'll make it hot for you. You piggish drudge," he raged, stamping up and down the tap-room, "you ugly cat--you nasty beast, I wouldn't marry you, if you were set with diamonds like--like----" he stopped, abruptly.
"Like what?" inquired Elspeth sarcastically.
"Like the king's crown," ended the poet lamely, and then his wrath died down, as suddenly as it had arisen. "I say, Elspeth, I didn't mean what I said. Make me a cup of tea! Do! Do! Do!"
The creature was like a naughty child, and Elspeth made every allowance for his nerves. Quarrels of this sort were frequent between them, yet Pope in his own half-mad way was in love with Elspeth, and when things went awry with him, would always come to be comforted by her. This did not make her position any the more easy with Mrs. Narby, who was like a tigress with her cub, when Pope was in the question. Mean as was the inn, and lowly as was the position of herself and her husband, Mrs. Narby would have gone out of her mind with rage at the idea of her darling marrying Elspeth. That the girl was indubitably a lady, Mrs. Narby never recognised. She looked on Elspeth as a drudge, and would have broken her neck sooner than call her daughter-in-law.
To keep Pope quiet, Elspeth made some tea, and the poet retired to his favourite settle, there to compose poetry. In a few moments Trent came down with Browne, and they went into the parlour. When the poet was busy with his verses, and abstractedly sipping the tea, Elspeth crept to the door of the parlour, and listened. She blushed at the idea of eavesdropping, but in the cause of Herries, she would have dared to do a deal more. Unlucky as the hunted man was, he had at least two friends, Dr. Browne, and Elspeth, who had no surname.
"Until I make a proper examination I cannot be quite certain," she heard the doctor say, "but I think the old man was killed somewhere about twelve o'clock last night. Was no cry heard?"
"None," replied Trent. "At least the landlady told me so. And, as the bed is covered with blood, I expect that he was attacked when he was asleep."
"Probable enough," mused the doctor. "Well, Mr. Inspector, you had better get your doctor from Tarhaven, and have the body officially examined. I suppose the inquest will take place here?"
"I think it will be best, doctor. I'll send to Sir Simon's house, and break the news to his daughter."
"Let me go," urged Browne, "I know her well, and will be able to tell her the tragedy in a more gentle way than you would."
"I am not exactly wanting in tact," said Trent annoyed, "and----"
He stopped at hearing a shout outside the inn, and Elspeth had only time to glide away from the door and back to the tap-room, before the alert Inspector was at the front door. Just as he was about to open it, Mrs. Narby entered with a rush, hugging in her arms a bundle of cloth.
"I've got it--I've got it," she shouted.
"Got Herries?" asked Trent sharply.
"The fur coat," shouted Mrs. Narby, who was red and perspiring, and threw down the coat on the floor. "See--the fur coat--sables, as I'm a living woman. That cove es parsed out wore it."
"Sir Simon's coat," said Trent. "What do you think of this, doctor?"
"Much the same as I did before," replied Browne, tartly. "The assassin wore this coat to facilitate his escape, and flung it away to prevent discovery!"
CHAPTER VI
THE CARAVAN
All search for the escaped criminal proved vain. Herries had vanished as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up, after the fashion of Korah, Dathan and Abiram. Apparently, he had noted the departure of the amateur guards from their post below the window, and had seized the chance of getting away unobserved. Certainly he did not know the neighbourhood and, in that treacherous marsh-land, ran every chance of missing his way in the fogs, to fall into some water-hole. But it was better--at least the accused man appeared to have thought so--to risk even so stifling a death, rather than face the more judicial and merciful one of the gallows. Herries had chosen to fall into the hands of God, who knew his innocence, rather than into the hands of man, who judged him guilty before trial.
But be this as it may, it was certain that he was gone, for although every square inch of land in and around Desleigh village was minutely examined, nothing could be found likely to afford a clue to his hiding-place--perhaps to his grave. Many of the rustics returned to the "Marsh Inn" swearing that the man must be dead.
"In them fogs, and with them dratted water-holes, and him knawing nothing," said the yokels, each and severally, "he be dead, surely."
Trent did not agree with popular opinion.
"Herries was half a sailor, and accustomed to fogs," he argued to Browne, "in some way he could take care of his skin, and would not run away to meet death."
"He ran away to escape death," replied Browne dryly. "However, should he come to me, I shall certainly persuade him to surrender."
"The man would be doubly a fool to come to you, and then give himself up," said the Inspector energetically.
"Not if he is innocent."
"His flight looks like innocence."
Browne shrugged his shoulders.
"Herries evidently lost his head for the moment. When he thinks over things he will return to prove that he has nothing to do with the crime."
"I doubt his being such a fool," said Trent gloomily. "You have no idea of his whereabouts, I suppose?" he ended anxiously.
The irascible little man clenched his ready fists, and answered in a voice choked with anger.
"I have been with you all the time, and I told you that I had not seen Herries for two years. How then can you ask me, of all people, where he has gone? Inspector Trent, are you a clever man, or a----?"
"There! There!" interrupted the other, before the odious word could be pronounced. "I made a slight mistake."
"Your mistakes, as you call them, may send Herries to the gallows."
"We have to catch him first," retorted Trent snappishly, and the conversation ended for the time being.
Decidedly the Inspector was in the wrong, and no amount of raging or arguing on his part would prove him to be right. He had failed to take proper precautions to guard the prisoner, and the bird had escaped the snare. Thinking again of the social importance of the victim, Trent cursed himself for having missed such a chance of improving his position. He knew well that the authorities would take no excuse, and at the moment, he could do nothing to repair his error. Herries was missing, and the whole police force would not be able to find him. Of course there might be a chance when the mists lifted, but the question was, when would they lift? Not for days perhaps, if the weather-wise rustics were to be believed, and thus Herries would have ample time to make his way to Pierside, or even into the jaws of the lion at Tarhaven, and get on board some outward-bound tramp. Once out of England, and Trent's chance of making a sensation, and of getting a rise in his salary, would be gone.
He did the best that he could under the circumstances--that is, he left a policeman in charge of the cage whence the bird had flown, and stationed several in the village itself. The local constable, Armour, had not yet shown his face, and Trent was puzzled, as the man was bound, during the day, to come to Desleigh. But Armour was not visible, so the Inspector did what he could with the men he had brought from Tarhaven, judiciously disposing them about the place. It might be, he hopefully thought, that one of them might chance upon Herries wandering lost and miserable in the fogs. Then he placed the written depositions of Mrs. Narby and other witnesses in his pocket and started for Tarhaven. Before leaving the inn, however, he inquired if Browne was coming also.
"No," said that gentleman shortly. "I shall stop here, and see that poor woman in the caravan."
"Not your friend Herries then," asked Trent artfully.
"If Herries returns, I'll send a wire to you at once."
"I can't believe you."
"That is both rude and unnecessary," retorted Browne, the veins swelling in his high forehead. "But I quite see that you cannot grasp my meaning. It is useless to explain. Good-day," and Browne turned on his heel sharply, leaving Trent furious at being thus addressed. The hide of your Jack-in-Office is extremely thin.
Left behind, Dr. Browne turned his attention to a meal, after which he decided to visit the sick woman in the caravan. In spite of Mrs. Narby's masculine exterior, she was feminine enough to have an attack of nerves, owing to recent events. Dr. Browne won her gratitude, as much as she was able to spare, by prescribing for her, and as he announced his intention of stopping at the inn for the night, on the chance of meeting again with Herries, the landlady, before retiring to bed, gave him the stuffy parlour to eat in, the bedroom of Herries to sleep in, and ordered Elspeth to attend on him. Consequently Dr. Browne found himself devouring a badly cooked meal in the parlour somewhere about six o'clock, and within half an hour of Trent's departure.
Elspeth waited on him, and cast furtive glances at him, as she was aware that he was her hero's friend, and indeed had heard the doctor champion the accused man. Browne, sensitive as a woman to occult influences, became aware that she wanted to speak to him, but feared to do so, by reason, as he thought, of shyness.
"Well," he said abruptly, when she brought him a cup of coffee.
"Yes, sir," said Elspeth, with a start.
"You wish to speak to me."
"I don't know why you----"
"But I know. You have been watching me closely. You sent the telegram, and know that I am Herries' friend. You are his friend likewise, why I don't know, and you wish to speak about him."
"I am his friend," said the girl steadily, "because he is the first human being who has been kind to me. There is nothing I would not do for him."
"Save his life then," said Browne caustically.
"I intend to," retorted Elspeth quickly.
The doctor turned in his chair and looked at her keenly. She was not exactly pretty, but there was a delicate and fascinating air about her, which meant more than mere physical beauty. Elspeth had "a way with her," as the saying goes, and Browne, sensitive, as has been said, felt her influence at once.
"Are you a lady masquerading as a servant?" he asked, bending his shaggy brows.
"I am a drudge left in pawn by a relation," said the girl, simply.
"What do you mean?"
"A year ago, I came here with a relative. He had not enough to pay for his bed and board, and moreover, wanting to get to London, he did not wish to be encumbered with a girl. To settle his bill and get rid of me, he left me behind to be Mrs. Narby's servant. She pays me nothing, and I do all the work."
"And how long is this slavery to last?"
Elspeth made a gesture of despair.
"I do not know. Until my relative makes sufficient money to take me away. I cannot go myself, as I have no money, and only these clothes I wear now. Here, at least, I have a bed and food, hard though the situation is, so I have made up my mind to stay."
"Who is your relative?"
"I decline to say, just now."
"What is your name?"
"Elspeth!"
"A Scotch name. Elspeth what?"
"I cannot tell you at present," said the girl haughtily.
"Humph!" said Browne, quite puzzled, and also fascinated by this odd creature, who was a kind of Titania in domestic service. "You are a mystery. Well, it's none of my business. I have always kept clear of women, thank God, as they complicate life too much for a plain-thinking man. But Herries--what about him?"
"He is innocent."
"I know that, but how do you propose to prove his innocence?"
"Sweetlips Kind can do that--so he says."
"And who is Sweetlips Kind?"
"A Cheap-jack, whom I know very well. He was a----" here Elspeth paused and looked hard at the red-faced doctor.
"Go on. I am Herries' friend."
"Well then, Sweetlips Kind was a detective, and says that he will try and find the real murderer."
"Why should he take this trouble over Herries?"
"For my sake, because I have been waiting on Mrs. Kind--poor Rachel."
"And why should _you_ take the trouble?"
Elspeth flushed.
"Mr. Herries was kind to me," and she related the incident of the bucket.
Browne hemmed and hawed.
"I shall never understand the reason why women exaggerate," said he with a shrug, and finishing his coffee. "Herries only did what any man would do for a woman."
"So far as this woman is concerned, no man ever did as much," said Elspeth dryly.
"Hum! Hum. I say; you are educated."
"Yes. I was at a very good girls' school eighteen months ago."
"What is your age?"
"Nineteen."
"You might be fifty by the way you talk. Well then, you want to help Herries, and so do I. Between us, we may best that fool, Trent."
"Sweetlips Kind will do that."
"Where is he?"
"In the caravan, attending to Rachel."
Browne rose quickly.
"By the way, I nearly forgot that woman, and she needed immediate attention, judging from what you said. I----" he made as to move to the door. Elspeth intercepted him.
"Not just now," she said hurriedly, "Rachel is better, and is now asleep. I attended to her."
"Pooh, you are not a medical man. I must go, if only out of charity."
What Elspeth would have said must remain a mystery, but she apparently was not anxious for the doctor to go on his errand of mercy. At all events she did not move away from the door. Just as she was about to speak, the door opened slightly, and a head topped by an ostrich-feather-trimmed bowler hat was thrust cautiously in.
"Elspeth!"
She turned at the cautious whisper, and opened the door wide.
"Come in, Sweetlips. Dr. Browne was just thinking of seeing your wife."
"Dr. Browne," repeated the Cheap-Jack, with a shrewd glance, "and who may he be?"
"I am Mr. Herries' friend," explained Browne, rather taken with the man's lean, clever face. "He wanted me to come and help him."
"He needs help," muttered Kind, rubbing his bristly chin. "He's in a hole if ever a man was."
"Can you get him out of it?"
"I," the Cheap-Jack feigned surprise, "pore cove like me?"
"I told him you were a detective," put in Elspeth.
"Oh my gal, and arter wot I said to----"
"Pooh, pooh," broke in the little doctor good-humouredly, "what is the use of doing things by halves? We three want to help an innocent man, so it is just as well we should understand one another."
"You are Mr. Herries' friend?" asked Kind, cautiously.
"I'm sure he is," said Elspeth fervently.
"Well then," Kind rolled his hat round and round in his large hands. "'Spose we get to business. If you mean well by the cove as is under suspicion, take me up to see the corpse's bedroom."
"Why?" asked Browne, somewhat startled by this blunt request.
"I want to have a look at the room, before the peelers disarrange things. If the cove in the fur-coat killed Sir Simon, he might have left some evidence behind him, which the police overlooked. Now," added Kind, measuring Browne with a keen glance, "you've seen the corpse, I've heard, and can get into that room again, by saying as you want to do some doctor's work with me to assist. Once let me get in, and I'll look round."
Browne made a cup of his hand for his chin, and pondered.
"I can do it," he said at last in a brisk manner, "but will we not go and see your wife first?"
"Not just now, Rachel's asleep."
"Alone?"
"In course," said Kind stolidly, "only me and she lives in the cart."
"I'll go and see after her, while you search the bedroom," said Elspeth about to leave the room.
"But your missus, my gal?"
"She's in bed, and won't know. Pope will attend to the customers, and I'm too useful to him to be betrayed to his mother."
This plan was agreed upon, and Elspeth with a shawl over her head slipped out of the inn, with a hasty excuse to Pope. Browne sought out the constable left in charge, who had the key of the death-chamber and madetapta his request. The man,--Fairburn it was,--knowing that Browne was in the confidence of his Inspector, as he thought, made no objection, and readily accompanied the two to the room. But he allowed them to enter alone, and thought that he was doing his duty by yawning at the door, looking up and down the dark passage in a listless manner. Kind carried the sole candle which the officer allowed to be taken into the room.
The corpse lay quiet and rigid under the sheet, and the feeble candle light made the room look quite funereal. To keep up appearances, as Fairburn was casting occasional glances from the doorway, Browne turned back the sheet and examined the corpse, telling Kind to bring water, and towels, and various other things, so as to give him a chance of moving unsuspected round the chamber. In this way, Sweetlips, by using the keen eyesight with which Nature had endowed him, to say nothing of his clever brain, saw a great deal.
"I'll open the window," he said aloud, and went to the dressing-table which was immediately before the casement. Here he remained for a little time, examining the position of the glass, and the table, both of which he noted had been moved. Then he moved round the room, apparently still under the doctor's orders to quell the suspicions of Fairburn, and when the constable was not looking, stooped to pick something off the floor. Near the bed was a small table covered with a red cloth, and on this were writing materials, which Kind also examined. Finally, he came to the bed, and looked at the corpse, at the crimsoned pillow and sheets, and at the heavy rep-curtain which draped the couch. A nudge told Browne that Sweetlips had seen all that he wished to see, and the two departed.
"It's all right, constable," said Browne, giving the key to the man, who yawned on receiving it. "The regular doctor will come to-morrow, and you can tell him, if I am not here, that I have seen the corpse twice."
"Yes, sir," said Fairburn saluting, and tramped down the passage after locking the door, still yawning. Kind was perfectly satisfied that the inattentive policeman had guessed nothing of the real reason for the visit to the death-chamber. He turned to Browne, who was holding the candle.
"What of the room Herries slept in?" he asked in a low voice, and with more of the detective's peremptory manner than the Cheap-jack's careless ease.
"It is mine to-night," replied the doctor, and opened the door of the adjacent room. "Why do you wish to----?"
"I might find something here also. Wait!"
Taking the candle, he entered the room, and Browne, marvelling at the sudden assumption of authority by the man, waited in the passage. He was impressed by Kind's resolution, and careful handling of the situation, and began to think that here indeed was an ally worth having. Even the Cheap-jack's language had changed, and he spoke a tongue considerably removed from the slang vernacular which he affected as the proprietor of the caravan. When he came out, Browne, on fire with curiosity, asked him what discoveries he had made.
"I've found much, but much remains to be found," said Kind, shaking his head. "When we reach the caravan, I'll tell you what I think. That is----?" he hesitated, looked anxiously at Browne's open face, and then abruptly descended the stairs. Elspeth was already in the tap-room, and apparently had just returned. On seeing Kind she glided up to him, and said something in a low voice. He nodded.
"Rachel is awake," he remarked aloud, turning to the doctor, "'praps you'll come along and see her."
"Willingly," answered Browne, starting with alacrity for the door, "so long as you'll help my friend, I'll do anything."
"That's all right," said Kind meditatively, and refused to speak further. Nor did the doctor worry him with questions. The man seemed to be sunk in deep thought, and tramped along the muddy village street, apparently turning over his late discoveries,--whatever they might be--in his own mind.
It was still misty, and the stars were veiled by the thick white fog, so that the night was as dark as the pit. But Kind seemed to know his way as well as a swallow flying south, and unhesitatingly steered the doctor down the street, and into the outskirts of the village. Here, in a sloppy meadow, stood the caravan,--at least Kind by a gesture intimated that it was there, for in the pitchy darkness Browne could see nothing. The Cheap-jack kept well alongside the fence, and began to whistle "Garryowen" in a lively manner. This was evidently a signal to warn his wife that he was approaching, so that she might not be scared by footsteps. Suddenly Kind turned abruptly away from the fence, and Browne, following close at his heels, almost ran his nose against the vehicle, which which was Kind's migratory home. It loomed up unexpectedly, blacker than the blackness, if that were possible, out of the fogs, and the doctor stumbled up the steps, which could be discerned by the thread of light which formed a brilliantly bright line at the foot of the door. When the door itself opened, which it did in response to a triple knock by the Cheap-jack, such a flood of light poured out into the foggy gloom, that Browne was dazzled for the moment. When he entered, blinking his eyes, and the door was closed, he glanced round the interior of the caravan, and his gaze rested first on the sick woman, who was lying in a narrow bed at one end. Then Browne looked at the person who had opened the door, and beheld--Angus Herries.
CHAPTER VII
KIND'S OPINIONS
"You!" cried the doctor, staggering back, and scarcely able to believe his eyes. "Good Lord, Herries!"
"Yes! Herries," said the accused man, with a swift glance at the door to see that it was well-closed. "But don't speak too loud, my dear fellow, we never know what ears may be about."
"Oh, we're safe enough here," remarked Kind, who was bending over his wife. "What with the mists, and the rain, and the cold, no one will venture out this night into so dismal a meadow. That peeler at the inn was half asleep when we came away."
"You speak quite different to what you did," said Browne, puzzled.
"I'm a detective for the time being," rejoined Kind, coolly, "and recall some of my decent lingo. When I'm a Cheap-jack again, I'll slip back into the Whitechapel vernacular. I've been an actor in my time, and know how to suit my language to my _rôle_ for the time being," and again he bent over his sleeping wife.
"You here," muttered Browne taking Herries' hand, and devouring his thin, haggard face with his eyes, "I am glad, and yet----" he shook his head in a doubtful way, recalling his promise to Trent.
"You think that I should not have run away?"
"It looks like guilt, Herries."
"What! Do you believe----?"
"Would I take your hand, if I believed that you were guilty?" interrupted the doctor sharply. "That I am here, should show you that I have the most implicit confidence in your innocence."
"Ah!" said Herries, rather sadly, "but you came to see Mrs. Kind."
"And you wouldn't have come," put in Sweetlips over his shoulder, "if Elspeth had not whispered when we came out that Mr. Herries wanted to see you."
"You can trust me," said Browne, rather huffily, "and in any case, I presume you would not have sacrificed your wife's life to save Herries' neck."
"He has saved her," said Kind, looking at the young man with his heart in his honest eyes.
"What do you mean?" asked Browne, coming to the bed-side and stooping over the woman, who seemed to be in a sound sleep.
"Mr. Herries is a doctor. He came here, and sucked the stuff from her throat in the nick of time. But for his bravery, my poor Rachel would have been dead." Kind wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, and again looked at Herries. "I'll give my life up to finding the man who killed your uncle, so that you may be saved."
"Can you do that?" asked Herries sadly. "It seems to me that the evidence is so strong----"
"So it is,--so it is. But I have been searching the death-chamber and your room at the inn. I have found other evidence which may be of value."
"Oh!" Herries clenched his hands, eagerly, "what is it?"
"One moment," interposed Browne, in a low voice, so as not to disturb the patient. "Let us do things in order. What about Mrs. Kind?"
"She's all right, and will be much better when she wakes up," said Herries. "The stuff is out of her throat; it's a diphtheritic case."
"What have you done?"
Herries in an undertone rapidly gave details of his treatment, and the other doctor approved with nods.
"She would have been dead, but for you," he said, emphatically. "But how did you manage to escape?"
"Elspeth!" said Herries, and would have explained, but that Kind beckoned them to the far end of the caravan, near the door, and pointed to a couple of stools.
"Let us talk low," murmured the ex-detective. "For after all, there may be spies about, and besides, I don't want Rachel disturbed."
"Fancy telling that to medical men," laughed Browne, softly.
Kind, relieved in his mind that Rachel's life was safe, smiled also, and placed two stools and an old chair close together. When the doctors were seated, he got out glasses, and a bottle of whisky, and the three had drinks, which, under the circumstances, they very much needed. While Kind was preparing his hospitality, Browne glanced round the narrow space of the caravan.
It was oblong, with a high roof, and excellently fitted up, something after the style of a cabin at sea, that is, with a due regard to economy of space. The arched roof and deal walls were painted yellow. From the former dangled various articles of merchandise, such as Kind sold, and the latter were decorated with pictures cut from various papers, and pasted on the wood in every available corner. At one end was a door divided into two pieces, so that the upper or lower half could be opened at will. Facing this, and placed sideways was the bed, or rather the bunk, in which Rachel was sleeping. It was comfortable enough, and gay with red curtains. Against one wall was the leaf of a table fastened with iron rods, and the other wall supported a cupboard in which food was stored. Two hooks immediately above the heads of the trio, and near the door, showed that Kind slung a hammock for his own sleeping accommodation. The whole place was clean and neat, and Browne thought that many people were worse housed than these imitation gipsies. They followed the example of the Tartar tribes, and in their wheeled dwelling moved about from place to place, at home everywhere, and picking up their living in all quarters.
"But," said Browne, thoughtfully sipping his whisky, "if anyone enters the caravan, Herries will be discovered."
"We can hide him," said Kind, cunningly.
"Where?" asked the doctor, staring round the confined space. "I don't see any hiding-place."
"Nor does anyone else, or it wouldn't be a hiding-place. But we can trust you, doctor, and----" Kind stooped and gave a hard twist to one of the iron rods which supported the side table. At once the floor of the vehicle parted in the middle, and displayed an oblong, shallow space where a man, with some discomfort, could lie at full length. "I had that made," added the Cheap-jack, "after my own design. I haven't been in the detective force for nothing, and thought that it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a place where I could hide things from thieves. All my best goods were stowed there, but I shifted them when Mr. Herries came. While he was being hunted for, far and wide, he was lying there as snug as a pig."
"Very ingenious," said Browne, while Kind closed the hiding-place in the same manner in which he had opened it, "but I don't know how Herries did come here?"
"Elspeth saved me, bless her," said the young man, his blue eyes lighting up. "When she heard how ill Mrs. Kind was, and Trent refused to let me see her, even under escort, she came out and interviewed my friend here," he indicated the Cheap-jack, "and said that she would bring me. Then she returned to the inn, and went up to my room to----"
"She didn't see you," interposed Browne, recalling the policeman's account of Elspeth weeping at his feet for admission.
"No. That would have given her design away. She pretended to weep and knelt down to ask the policeman guarding the door to let her in. Then she slipped a note under the door, and went away without suspicion. The note said that the two rustics on guard under the window would be taken away in half an hour--that I was to drop from the window, and go to the fence. There Kind would be waiting to guide me to a hiding-place. I expect Elspeth got the two watchers to go into the tap-room by promising them drink. When the coast was clear, I opened the window softly and dropped. Kind was at the fence, and grasping my hand hurried me away in the mist to this place. Here, I first attended to Mrs. Kind, and----"
"And saved her life," said the Cheap-jack bursting with gratitude. "He sucked the stuff from her throat, doctor. Then I hid him under the floor, having first shifted the goods. He came out to see that Rachel was getting along all right, and I whistled 'Garryowen' to let him know I was coming with you."
"How did you know that I was coming?" Browne asked Herries.
"Elspeth came here to ask me if I would like to see you," explained the young man. "Of course I did, as I knew that I could trust you. Then she went back, and told Kind, and----"
"Oh, that was what she whispered to you in the tap-room," said the doctor, glancing at the Cheap-jack. "H'm! Well, I suppose you may trust me, Herries. All the same, I told Trent that if I chanced on you I would persuade you to give yourself up and send a wire telling him that you had done so."
"Browne, would you betray me?"
"No, of course I wouldn't," snapped the doctor, savagely. "All the same, this running away will not do you any good."
"Browne," said Herries, much agitated, "if I had stopped, I would have been condemned on the evidence which Trent discovered. That man will never let me have a fair trial. He is dead against me."
"Because he can't see further than his nose," retorted the doctor. "He is sorry for you in a way, but he seems to have made up his mind that you are guilty."
"And that being the case, how can I hope to get free?"
"You can prove----"
"I can prove nothing," interrupted Herries despairingly. "I was in the next room, and my uncle was murdered. The razor, the pocket-book and the key of Sir Simon's bedroom were in my possession, and stains of blood were on my shirt sleeve. In the face of such evidence, how can I prove my innocence? I have nothing but my bare word."
"But cannot anyone give evidence in your favour?"
"Michael Gowrie might."
"Humph. I hear that the old scoundrel was at the 'Marsh Inn.' Trent told me. I remember him in Edinburgh ages ago. I wonder if he----"
"No," said Herries, emphatically, "Gowrie is an old scamp, but he would not commit a crime."
"Well, I don't know. It seems that Sir Simon brought some money with him in gold and notes. Gowrie was always a money-grubber."
"Yes, but even he would not have the nerve to cut a man's throat and then incriminate me, who had done him no harm."
"A man will do much to get money and to save himself," said the doctor sententiously. "What do you think Mr. Kind?"
The Cheap-jack who had been in a brown study, woke up at the direct question.
"I have never met the man you call Gowrie," he said, after a thoughtful pause, "but he is as innocent as Mr. Herries here."
"How can you be sure of that?"
"Because, from what I discovered in the death-room, I am sure that Sir Simon was murdered by the man who passed out in his fur coat, and who masqueraded as him to get away."
"What did you discover?" asked Herries, quickly.
"Several things. The window was open----"
"Mrs. Narby might have done that, to air the room," said Herries.
"People don't generally air the room, with a dead body within it," said Kind dryly, "and certainly a close-fisted woman like Mrs. Narby would not risk her furniture being spoilt by the incoming mist. No! that window was opened by the man who climbed up to murder Sir Simon, and as the dressing-table was before it, no one looked until I did."
"How do you know that a man climbed up?"
"How else did the man who escaped in the fur coat--the true assassin--enter?" questioned Kind, sharply.
"Sir Simon expected him. He might have gone down to the front door of the inn, and let him enter, after all were in bed."
"No. Sir Simon had his own reasons for keeping the appointment with this man dark, and knew also that this man Gowrie--as I learned from Trent--slept in the tap-room. To have admitted his friend in that way, would have aroused the suspicions of Gowrie, and there might have been trouble."
"Gowrie might have seen the admission of the stranger, and have been bribed to go away," suggested the doctor, who still held to the belief that his old tutor was implicated in some way.
"No," said Kind again, "and I'll tell you why. I found a red silk handkerchief pinned across the window of Sir Simon's bedroom."
"As a sort of signal. Eh?"
"Yes. From what I have gathered, this is what happened. Sir Simon came to the 'Marsh Inn' from Tarhaven to meet someone, who was blackmailing him."
"But, Kind," said Herries, quickly, "I knew very little of my uncle and did not get on well with him, but he was an honest man, and not the kind of person to be blackmailed."
"And I, who knew Sir Simon intimately, as his doctor," added Browne, "can add my protest to that assumption. Sir Simon was a straightforward man, if a trifle close-fisted. He certainly would not lay himself open to blackmail."
"Sir Simon was a millionaire," said Kind in his driest manner, "and those sort of people do not invariably make their money honestly."
"My uncle was perfectly honest," insisted Herries resolutely.
"I admire you for sticking up for him," said Kind, sarcastically, "especially as he was so hard on you, Mr. Herries. All the same, if it was not a case of blackmail, why didn't Sir Simon see this man at his own house? Why should he come to a lonely little inn with a large sum of money? Why should he be so anxious to see this stranger, that having retired he placed a red handkerchief in the window, and put a candle behind it by way of a signal? Answer me these questions."
"It _does_ seem strange," muttered Browne, thoughtfully.
"So strange that there can only be one explanation," retorted the Cheap-jack decisively. "This man, whomsoever he was, could not get to the inn at the appointed time, which was eight o'clock. He came very late, before twelve in fact----"
"Why not after twelve?" asked Herries.
"Because, as Dr. Browne here will tell you, the millionaire was murdered somewhere about midnight."
"I cannot be quite sure," put in Browne hastily. "I made only a superficial examination of the body."
"Well, we'll say midnight, as you cannot be very far out of your reckoning."
"I certainly think that either at midnight, or shortly afterwards, Sir Simon was killed."
"Then that fixes the time. The stranger must have arrived before midnight, as the pair might have had a talk before the murder."
"No," said Browne, quickly, "Sir Simon was, I think, from the orderly way in which the bedclothes were placed, murdered in his sleep."
"Good," said Kind quite unruffled, "let us say that. The man climbed up to the window, which was left open by Sir Simon with the signal of the red handkerchief, and killed the millionaire."
"There is no difficulty about climbing," said Herries thoughtfully, "for when Mrs. Narby found that the door was locked she insisted that Elspeth should climb up the trellis-work."
"Ah," said Kind with satisfaction, "that makes the mode of entry more certain. I have not seen the trellis-work, as I have not visited the inn for more than nine months. Mrs. Narby must have had it put up later. But the man must have been a light, active fellow to climb up so slight a ladder. He got in at the window, for the table was moved aside, as if to let him enter,--perhaps by Sir Simon, unless he was asleep."
"But why couldn't Sir Simon go to the downstairs front door?"
"I told you," said the Cheap-jack with a gesture of impatience. "He wanted to keep the man's visit dark, and knew that Gowrie was in the tap-room. Of course all this is theory, but to-morrow I'll examine the trellis-work, and if I find it broken, for the lightest and most active man might break parts of it, I'll be certain that my theory is absolutely true."
"We'll take it as true," said Browne, "well?"
"Well," echoed Kind, reflectively, "the stranger enters, and finds, as you say, Sir Simon asleep. He sees the money on the table, or perhaps guesses that it is in the pocket-book."
"How do you know that?"
"I found a table with writing materials near the bed," said Kind, "and several sheets of paper had been used, as some were torn up. Sir Simon had been making calculations. I know that, because some of the torn pieces had figures on them. Sir Simon evidently was trying to calculate how much or how little he could give his blackmailing friend. The man, however, saw the gold, and at once made for it. Sir Simon woke, and would have made an outcry. But the stranger seeing him awake does not give him time to cry out, but cuts his throat at once."
"How could the stranger see in the dark?" asked Browne, sarcastically.
"You forget," said Kind gravely, "that the candle was on the dressing-table. Sir Simon left it there, lighted, to shine through the red handkerchief, else what was the use of the handkerchief at all?"
"Yes, yes, I see that," said Herries, eagerly, "go on."
"The deed being done, the stranger waits in the room until daybreak, and then, knowing how Sir Simon was to leave the inn, put on the dead man's fur coat and boldly walked out with his plunder."
"Why didn't he escape again by the window?"
"Ah, that is one of the things which I wish to find out."
"And what about the incrimination of Herries?" asked the doctor, sceptically.
"Do you smoke cigarettes?" asked the Cheap-jack, turning suddenly on Herries.
"Yes,--sometimes."
"Did you smoke one at the inn?"
"No. I haven't had a cigarette in my lips for quite three months. I hadn't the money to buy them, and so took to a pipe. Why?"
"Then the man who murdered Sir Simon entered the room--your room--to incriminate you. After emptying the pocket-book, he took that and the razor into your room. You were sound asleep, worn out, as I was told by Elspeth----"
"That's quite true, and old Gowrie gave me a glass of toddy to make me sleep the sounder."
"Oh," said Kind in a peculiar tone, and considered; after a time he went on, but did not say why he had made the exclamation. "Well, then, the murderer smeared your shirt sleeve, and left the razor on the bed, and the pocket-book under it. Then he retired to the death-room and waited till dawn. When ready to go, he locked the door of the room in which the dead man lay, and put the key in your room."
"But how do you know that he was in my room at all?" asked Herries, somewhat annoyed by all this theory.
Kind asked another question.
"Did Sir Simon smoke?"
"No," said Browne, "he never smoked in his life."
"In that case," Kind fished out the stump of a cigarette, "what do you make of that? I found it in your room, Mr. Herries."
The young man took the cigarette, which was burnt down half way, and examined it carefully. Then he smelt it.
"Periquette tobacco?" said he thoughtfully, "comes from France,--from Algiers,--from----"
"Tangiers," interposed Kind, taking the cigarette, "see,--this cigarette is marked 'Tangerian.' I have never seen one like that in England. It might have come from France, or from Algiers or Tangiers, but one thing we can be certain of, that the murderer came from foreign parts only a short time ago. A man doesn't keep cigarettes for months, unless he has a large quantity. The murderer may have had a quantity, but the chances are that he hadn't. In fact," Kind leaned back with the air of a man, who has made up his mind, "I believe that the man came from a ship and was a sailor, else why should he have displayed such activity in climbing up to a window."
"It's all theory," said Browne, shaking his head disconsolately.
"The cigarette isn't."
"No. All the same, I don't see how you are going to find this man."
"That must be your task, doctor."
"Mine?" Browne jumped up.
"Yes. Mr. Herries must stop here for the present. Later, when I have found the man, he can give himself up. You, doctor, know Miss Maud Tedder, the daughter of the deceased?"
"Yes."
"Then go and see her at Tarhaven. Ask her questions, for in Sir Simon's past life will be found the reason for his murder."
"But if it was blackmail, and I am bound to say that it looks like it,--and if the meeting was kept secret, I don't see what Miss Tedder will know."
"Ah, I must leave the hunting of the man to your cleverness," said Kind. "You have the entry of the house at Tarhaven and can prosecute your enquiries without suspicion. I can't do that, but while you are working at Tarhaven, I'll search round here, and I daresay I'll learn something worth knowing."
Browne nodded.
"I'll do my best," he said. "I'll call and see Miss Tedder to-morrow, and question her."
"And tell her," said Herries in a low voice, "that the man who loved her is in danger."
"I daresay she'll know that to-night from Trent," said Browne calmly. "Do you love her now, Herries?"
"No. She treated me very badly."
"Just what a girl like that would do. She has no heart; she is a penny doll, full of whims and fancies, with a passion for rank and fine clothes. Humph! She'll be able to indulge now, as she will undoubtedly have something like fifty thousand a year. But perhaps, for the sake of auld lang syne," he added clapping his friend on the shoulder, "she may spend some of the money in saving you."
"I'll do that," said Kind sharply, and with a glance in the direction of his still sleeping wife. "Nothing I can do is too much for the man who gave me back my Rachel."
"You will stay here, of course?" Browne asked Herries, looking at the floor, where the hiding-place was concealed.
"Yes. I am guided by Kind, who thinks it best."
"Meantime, I do," said the Cheap-jack, "later, when we are sure of our ground, you can give yourself up. But to surrender now, would be to put a rope round your neck. Trent is a blundering ass."
"I quite agree with you," said Browne heartily. "Well, good-bye, Herries, I must return to the inn, and to-morrow, I'll see Miss Tedder at Tarhaven. And Gowrie?"
"I'll find him," said Kind, quickly, "he certainly may be able to help, and he will too. Elspeth will make him!"
"How do you know?"
"Elspeth said that she was Gowrie's daughter," said Kind briefly. "The man is unknown to me, but Elspeth will find him."