CHAPTER VIII
MISS MAUD TEDDER
Tarhaven, as everyone knows, is a town of recent origin. As it is within a reasonable distance of the metropolis, and the railway fares are not too high, trippers come down every bank-holiday to the number of thousands. Likewise, owing to the facilities for reaching London, many clerks and business men make their abode there, and the town, thanks to improved locomotion, may be called a suburb of the great city. And as the streets of Tarhaven are wide, and the houses comfortable, and there is always plenty of amusement, the place is invariably full of people. There is a floating, as well as a resident population, of no small number, consequently Tarhaven is able to rank as a seaside resort along with Brighton, Bournemouth, and Scarborough.
On the outskirts of the modern town, Sir Simon Tedder had built a palatial mansion, or rather he had added largely to the ancient manor-house, which he had purchased from a decayed family, who were lords of the place long before Tarhaven sprang into notoriety. The town itself grew out of the nucleus of a tiny fishing village below the cliffs, and now spread out far into the country, pushing back the woods, swallowing up the villages, and turning old highways into modern streets with smart shops. The "Moated Hall," Sir Simon kept to the ancient name, because there really was a moat, although the same was devoid of water, stood on a slight eminence, one mile from Tarhaven, in the middle of a well-wooded park, and was as shut in from the world as was the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. Restored and added to by an artist, the place maintained its old-world air, and resembled one of those delightful houses which appear in the middle pages of "Country Life." When Dr. Browne entered the grounds through the scrolled gilt iron gates, and proceeded up the ancient avenue between elms and oaks, and beech-trees and ash-trees, he emerged into the wide space in the centre of which, elevated on its mound, rose the antique fabric of warm-hued red brick. He acknowledged that it was hard on the owner of such magnificence to meet his death in an obscure inn. Sir Simon had sprung from nothing, and by his own unaided endeavours had attained to this splendour, only--as it would seem,--to finally depart this life, in the mire, out of which he had crawled.
"And who knows by what questionable means," mused Browne, as he mounted the shallow steps which led to the terrace, and strolled leisurely towards the huge iron-bound door. "There may be something in Kind's blackmailing idea after all. Pound added to pound in the orthodox way would not have bought this fairy palace. Who knows through what dark and miry ways Sir Simon walked to arrive at such a goal. Well," he pulled the bell, "if the mystery of his death is to be solved, we will have to grope in those same ways."
A stately footman, who looked like a disguised bishop, admitted the doctor into a large and lofty hall paved with black and white tiles, and surrounded with marble copies of celebrated statues. Directly before the visitor, on entering the door, rose the antique staircase, wide and with shallow steps, splendidly carpeted. On the first landing was a huge window of stained glass blazing with crests, resplendent,--to use Keats' gorgeous image,--as the wings of a tiger-moth. The light filtering through this made a kind of coloured ecclesiastical twilight, and accentuated the severe beauty of the architecture. But Browne did not linger here long as he knew the place well and was more anxious to see the daughter of the house than the house itself. The stately footman conducted him to the drawing-room, a long, wide, lofty apartment, crowded with expensive furniture, and here he remained, while the man went to tell his mistress that her visitor was waiting. As the servant was departing, Browne stopped him with a word.
"Parker," he said, looking directly at the man, "I suppose Miss Tedder knows of this terrible affair."
"Meaning Sir Simon's murder? Yes, sir, she does, sir, and has been taking on awful. I doubt if she'll see you, sir."
"Tell her that it is absolutely necessary that I should see her."
Parker bowed his powdered head in a Jovian manner, and made his exit, while Browne walked up and down the magnificent room, wondering how he could begin a very difficult conversation. He could scarcely put the theory of blackmail as crudely as Kind had done, and it was not probable that the girl herself would suggest such a motive for the murder. Maud Tedder, as Browne knew, was not a thoughtful young lady, and he was quite prepared for a scene. He half regretted that he had not asked to see Mrs. Mountford, the girl's former governess and present chaperon, who was a gloomy, self-possessed female given to pessimism, but always perfect mistress of her emotions. However, he had no time to consider what should be his first move in this,--so to speak,--game of chess, for almost at once, the door flew open impetuously, and Maud Tedder ran into the room with outstretched hands.
"Oh! doctor, doctor," she cried, emotionally, "I am so glad you have come. I do want someone to talk to about poor papa's death. If you hadn't come, I should have sent for you,--I should indeed but now that you are here," she dragged him to a Louis Quinze sofa, all carving and brocade, "we can talk over everything, freely."
"Hasn't Mrs. Mountford----?"
"No, Mrs. Mountford hasn't," interrupted the girl, producing a flimsy lace handkerchief, which was more for show than for use. "She does nothing but groan. Poor papa dead, oh," she shuddered, "isn't it too awful for words? Inspector Trent,--a horrid stiff thing, I think,--came last night and told me. I wondered that papa hadn't come home, and I fancied that something might have happened, but I never, never, never," she was emphatic, "never dreamt that anything so terrible as murder had taken place."
So she ran on, not allowing Browne to get a word in edgeways. He sat looking at her while she chattered, and acknowledged that although this feminine butterfly was extremely pretty, she was scarcely the girl to gain the love of a serious-minded young fellow such as he knew his old school-friend to be. Maud Tedder was slight and fair-haired and delicate, and resembled nothing so much as one of those Dresden-china shepherdess ornaments, which are dear to china-maniacs. Her complexion was pink and white, her features insignificant, her hair insipidly golden, and her eyes pale blue. A very pretty doll to come out of a bonbon box, but scarcely the daughter for stern-faced, grasping, bullying Sir Simon Tedder, who had won his wealth and knighthood by sheer brain-strength.
"What is to be done?" asked Browne, when she gave him a chance of asking a question.
"Oh, Mr. Trent said that the inquest would take place to-morrow at the 'Marsh Inn.' Then poor papa will be buried, and the lawyer--Mr. Ritson you know--will tell me what I am to do with the money. As soon as everything is settled, I shall go away to Switzerland with Mrs. Mountford, and stop there for a few months. I'm a foolish little thing and never know what to do, but it seems that I must act in this way. Poor papa," and she wiped her eyes with the flimsy handkerchief, and shivered.
Browne was surprised at the sensible way in which she talked, and the cut and dried programme she had sketched out. He would not have credited her with such foresight, as Miss Tedder decidedly took after her mother, a frail, brainless beauty of old descent, who had died three year previously. But perhaps she had more of her father's brains than he had believed, and now that she was in a position to use them, had summoned them to her aid. The programme was sufficiently reasonable, but Browne noted that she did not say a word about the accused man, and with him she had been supposed to be in love over two years ago, before he had taken to the sea. At once, Browne, who was nothing if not blunt, reminded her of this oversight in his gruff way.
"What about your cousin?"
Maud gave a little scream, and flung herself back into an angle of the sofa to cover her eyes with the handkerchief.
"Angus, oh, don't talk about that wretch," she said sobbing, "that he should have killed poor papa; it's too terrible."
"He did not kill him," said Browne, rather disgusted by the speech. She seemed to judge him without evidence.
"But he is," said Maud sitting up, and flushing a violent red, "I'm sure I wish he wasn't, as he really was a nice boy, and I liked him very much two years ago. Inspector Trent told me that the razor----"
"I know all about that," interrupted the doctor quickly, "the evidence is against Herries. All the same he is innocent."
"I'm sure I hope so. It would be so horrid to have a cousin hanged for murder. I don't know that Bruce would marry me if that took place."
"Bruce! Who is Bruce?"
"I thought you had met him," said Miss Tedder, opening her pale blue eyes to their widest extent. "Captain Bruce Kyles, who was such a great friend of papa's."
"Oh yes," Browne suddenly remembered, "that was the fellow who commanded a war-ship belonging to one of those tin-pot South American Republics.
"He is an officer in the Indiana Navy, replied Maud, much offended.
"So I believe," rejoined Browne, not at all disturbed. "That shabby little Republic down Patagonia way. They've got about five second and third-rate ships, I believe, and the Germans propose to wipe them out, or annex them."
"I don't know why you should talk of the Indiana Republic as 'them,' doctor. It's an 'it' and the Germans won't annex it. Bruce has come home to get more war-ships, and papa intended to do business with him."
"Did papa intend you should marry him?" asked Browne shrewdly.
Miss Tedder drew up her small person to its full height, which was not much.
"I don't know why you should be so familiar, doctor. Of course I look on you as a friend, as papa did. All the same, we are not such friends as to warrant you----"
"I see, I see," broke in the medical man impatiently. "I am less a friend than a doctor: yet I thought that your greeting was a warm one, and so perhaps have trespassed unduly. I beg your pardon. Sir Simon," he emphasised the title, "approved of your marrying this--this--Captain Kyles?
"Oh yes. He saw that I loved him, and Bruce comes of a very old Scotch family,--quite as good as our own"--the doctor suppressed a smile. "Bruce has rank in Indiana, and some day he might become the President of the Republic. Papa intended to announce our engagement shortly, but now he is dead and----" she began to sob again.
"Humph! You love this man?"
"With all my heart, although I don't see why you should ask me."
"I beg your pardon once more," said Browne dryly, "but I am the most intimate friend of Angus Herries, who is in dire peril, and I understood that you loved him."
Miss Tedder let fall her handkerchief to accentuate her denial with hard, indignant eyes.
"I never, never did," she said almost shrilly. "Of course I met him in Edinburgh, and thought he was good-looking, over two years ago; then he was my cousin, and clever. But papa did not approve, and Angus was poor, so I----"
"Obeyed your father and threw him over. Eh?"
"It was only a girlish fancy, doctor. I love Bruce, and Bruce is the man I intend to marry."
"So as to be Madame la President, I suppose. Well, with your fifty thousand a year, I have no doubt that Captain Kyles will be able to buy your Republic right out. However, this is none of my business."
"I should think not," said Maud, who looked cross.
"But the peril of Herries is my business. He has escaped, but may be captured at any moment. What do you intend to do?"
"Offer one hundred pounds reward!"
Browne jumped up.
"For his capture?"
"Oh!" Maud stuck her fingers in her ears, "I wish you wouldn't shout when I'm in such grief. Inspector Trent advised me to offer----"
"One hundred pounds. I wonder he didn't suggest a thousand, as no doubt he hopes that the money will go into his pocket. But surely you don't want your cousin hanged?"
"No,--of course I don't. But if he is guilty----"
"He is not, I tell you."
"Then who killed papa?"
"A man with whom Sir Simon had an appointment at the 'Marsh Inn,' on the night of his death. Listen," and Browne detailed all that he had learned, suppressing certain facts that bore on the escape of Herries. Seeing that Maud believed her cousin guilty and was in close communication with Trent, it would not do to place the safety of Herries in her untrustworthy hands.
"Oh! I do hope that what you say is true, and that Angus is not a murderer," cried Maud clasping her hands.
"Would I tell a lie?" asked the doctor angrily.
"No. But then you are such a friend of my cousin's that you might colour the thing a little."
"And you, who loved the man, who are a relative of the man, ought to colour likewise. Instead of that, you offer a reward to hang him."
Terrified by the good doctor's vehemence, Maud broke down sobbing----
"I am sure I want to do what is right," she cried, from behind the flimsy handkerchief. "No one would be better pleased than I to think that Angus was guiltless."
"You ought to clear his character, and marry him."
"Marry him." Maud's handkerchief dropped in amazement.
"Yes. He is your cousin, and should share in this wealth, which is too much for you alone. And then he would make you a much better husband than this man Kyles, who comes from no one knows where, and is a rank adventurer, if ever I saw one."
"You had better not let Bruce hear you say that," threatened Maud. "He is in the house now, With Mrs. Mountford."
"Ah, where the carcass is, there the vultures gather. I would say to him what I say to you with the utmost confidence, Miss Tedder. I wish to be your friend, and as I am not a marrying man, you can see that I have no eye to your money. But you are a young girl and have no one to counsel you but Mrs. Mountford, who does not always give good advice. You should believe in the innocence of your cousin against all evidence, and clear his character, and----"
"And marry him," finished Miss Tedder, tapping her small foot. "No, I certainly will not. Anything I can do to save him from the consequence of his wickedness----"
"He is not wicked. He is innocent."
"Then let him prove his innocence," she rose with a dignified air as if to intimate that the interview was terminated. "But I must do what Inspector Trent says. Even though Angus is my cousin, my papa is,--rather was,--my papa, and I must offer a reward for the apprehension of the murderer."
"Who is Herries?"
"Inspector Trent says so."
"And you believe it. Well," Browne shrugged his shoulders, "if this is woman's love, give me man's hate. Did you know that your father had an appointment with anyone two nights ago?"
"No. Papa never said anything about it. He went away in the afternoon, and said he would return next day. I knew nothing of his whereabouts until Inspector Trent came and told me that Angus had killed papa."
Browne shrugged his shoulders again. It seemed impossible to impress this butterfly with the fact Herries was innocent. She seemed a heartless sort of creature. He took no further trouble to contradict her, but went on with his questions.
"Do you know why your father took so large a sum of money with him?"
"No. I did not know that he had taken any money. How much was it?"
"I can't say; but the landlady's son at the 'Marsh Inn' saw a considerable sum in gold and notes on the table. That has disappeared."
"Along with Angus," sneered Maud.
"I think not. You make out your cousin to be a thief as well as a murderer. He is neither. So you know nothing of the reason of your father's visit to the 'Marsh Inn?'"
"I didn't even know that he was going there."
"Good-day, then," and Browne turned on his heel. "Stop, doctor," Maud ran after him and laid a detaining hand on his arm. "I don't want you to think badly of me. I do hope that Angus is not guilty, indeed I do. If you know where he is----"
"How should I know?" asked Browne warily.
"Well, I thought you might, as you were at the inn."
"I went there in response to a telegram calling me. I arrived to find that Herries had escaped. But presuming that he did communicate with me," Browne put it this way to see what she would say, and at the same time, to guard Herries, "what do you wish me to tell him?"
"That I will give him a sum of money to leave England."
"And so confess that he is guilty. Thank you for nothing."
Maud clenched her hands and bit her lip.
"I don't mean what you mean," she declared angrily. "If I can prove his innocence I should be glad to do so, but I know nothing of my father's affairs or what led to his death. Mr. Ritson, the lawyer, may know. Ask him, and perhaps he will help you to prove my cousin's innocence. But things look black against Angus. Inspector Trent says so. It would be wiser if he went away."
"Why do you wish him to go away?"
Maud stamped her foot, "I don't want a cousin of mine to be hanged for the murder of my father," she said irritably. "Can't you see how unpleasant that would be for me? I am engaged to Bruce, but he is proud and haughty. If Angus was hanged, Bruce might refuse to become my husband."
"Not while you have fifty thousand a year," said Browne, grimly.
"You don't know Bruce----"
"Not well, as I have only met him once. But at the first glance I saw that he was an adventurer. He is the very model of those soldiers of fortune who abounded in Europe in the Middle Ages."
"And like them he may carve out a kingdom for himself."
"Doubtless, since money now-a-days is more necessary than a sword to procure such a kingdom," retorted Browne. "However, that is your affair. What sum will you give Herries, always presuming that he will communicate with me?"
"One thousand pounds."
"Did Inspector Trent advise that sum?"
"He advised nothing because he knows nothing. And he says," added the girl decisively, "that when the policeman is found, he may be able to prove my cousin's guilt."
"What policeman?"
"The constable called Armour, who looks after Desleigh and two other villages in the Marshes. He has disappeared."
"Humph! I heard something of that. Trent was expecting him every minute, but he never turned up. But I dare say he is on his rounds, as his beat is a wide one."
"No, doctor. The Inspector declares that Armour has to visit Desleigh village at least once a day. For two days he has been absent, so Mr. Trent thinks that----"
"That Herries murdered the policeman as well as your father," Browne laughed. "What a mare's nest he has found. Well, Miss Tedder, I wish you every joy as the wife of the future president of the Indiana Republic!" and he bowed good-day.
This time, the girl did not attempt to stop him, and Browne opened the door himself. However, she followed him into the hall.
"I really wish to help Angus," she repeated, "and I am sure Bruce will do his best for my sake."
"What has Captain Kyles got to do with the matter?"
"I have asked him to help me to find out who killed my father."
"That is, Captain Kyles is hunting for poor Herries."
"Oh, I don't mean that, but--why, here is Bruce," she turned towards the passage that ran beside the stairs, and smiled. "Bruce!"
In response, a tall dark man, with deep-set eyes and a reckless bearing, advanced into the hall. He held out a telegram to Miss Tedder.
"It has just come from the Inspector," he said, with a stealthy glance at the commonplace looks of Dr. Browne.
Maud ran her eye over the paper, and passed it to her visitor.
"That may help either to save or condemn my cousin," she said, quickly.
"Armour the policeman has been found, bound hand and foot, in a ditch near the river," read Browne. "Humph! What does that mean?"
"I take it to mean that Armour killed Sir Simon," said Kyles in a deep voice, and very composedly.
CHAPTER IX
THE SOLICITOR
Browne surveyed the buccaneer with some curiosity. He had met him twice or thrice, before Sir Simon joined the majority, but beyond a casual glance had not taken much notice of the man. Now that he learned of Maud Tedder's engagement, he was interested in the adventurer, who, by his marriage with the heiress, would become the possessor of immense wealth. Also, it would seem that Kyles had something to do with Herries' fate, since he could, to all appearances, influence that young lady in her judgment. After an exhaustive glance, Browne confessed to himself that the scamp--he believed him to be a scamp--was an extremely good-looking man, and romantic enough to win the heart of an even less sentimental girl than Miss Tedder.
Captain Kyles met the gaze of Dr. Browne serenely enough, and evidently guessed that he was being weighed in the balance of the little doctor's opinion. His personality was perplexing, as he appeared to be a cross between a sailor and a soldier, an amphibious animal of the "jolly" class. His slim figure was very erect and military, yet, when he walked, he had the rolling gait of the quarter-deck. His face was immobile, as though his features had been drilled into a set expression of perfect blankness; yet his gestures were free and easy, as though he possessed the open mind of a jack-tar. In looks and bearing he resembled one of those dare-devil filibusters who dominated the Spanish Main in far-off days, and in his swart complexion, not unlike that of a Spaniard, he proclaimed his Highland blood. With his graceful figure, his sparkling dark eyes, well-moulded features and drooping black moustache, he looked the beau-ideal of a Bow-Bells, Family-Herald hero. That Miss Tedder loved this handsome fellow dearly could be seen from the way in which her colour came and went and her bosom heaved at the mere sight of him. Tragic as had been the circumstances of her father's death--a father who had adored her--she appeared to think more of love than of her irreparable loss.
The doctor, not being a romantic school-miss, did not approve of Captain Kyles, in spite of his alluring exterior. In the smartly-dressed, suave, cool person before him, he saw the typical adventurer who would win Maud and her thousands a year by sheer cajolery mixed with scarcely concealed bullying, and then would probably neglect her when the babyish beauty of her looks was gone. At the same time, to do him justice, he was surprised and pleased to hear Captain Kyles defend the accused, as he was certainly doing in a manner, when he accused Armour.
"I should have thought," remarked the doctor, sarcastically, "that like everyone else, you would judge my friend Herries as guilty."
Kyles shrugged his square shoulders, and brushed some fluff from the breast of his blue serge coat.
"From what Inspector Trent says, it would seem that Herries--that is the name, isn't it?--is the criminal," he drawled, and his voice was not the least attractive thing about him, "but that makes me believe the man to be innocent. Had Herries killed Sir Simon, I fancy he would have arranged things better to secure his own safety."
"Perhaps he lost his head," suggested Maud maliciously. "Criminals do, you know, even the cleverest."
"Dear!" said Kyles, so grimly that the adjective was robbed of its value. "I have told you before, and I tell you again, that your cousin is innocent."
"Oh," said Browne quietly, "then you know that Herries is Miss Tedder's cousin?"
"I know all the family history," replied Kyles lazily. "As I am to marry Miss Tedder, I considered it my duty to learn it.
"It was my place," boomed a heavy, gloomy voice coming from the back of the hall, "to inform Captain Kyles of the Tedder history."
The stout and stately female who approached in this dramatic way, was Mrs. Mountford, the _ci-devant_ governess who had improved Maud's young mind, and who now acted as her somewhat cheerless companion. She was of the fleshly type, with a firm jaw and a heavy jowl, and a pair of cold grey eyes. The face was that of a hanging judge, and she would have looked well in a wig and gown, seated on the Bench. Before that stony eye and impassive countenance the most hopeful prisoner would have collapsed at once. Invariably arrayed in deepest black, she glittered like a starry midnight with jet beads and jet trimmings, with bugles and chains and ornaments. She wore jet bracelets to match a jet brooch, and jet earrings of the Albert period; lengthy earrings, like the jet chain which was wound like a cable round her fat neck. Mrs. Mountford only needed a plume of feathers to resemble a hearse-horse, and her mere presence darkened the none too cheerful hall. Dr. Browne did not like this female mute, for in spite of his cynicism, he could be cheerful on occasions, which Mrs. Mountford, in mourning for her neighbours' faults, never was. How Maud Tedder, light-minded, frivolous and gay, could endure the wet-blanket society of this raven was more than the doctor could understand. And he prided himself on understanding the feminine character.
"I should have thought that Sir Simon could best have informed Captain Kyles of all that there was to be known," he said in reply to the gloomy lady, "that is," he added pointedly, "if Sir Simon approved of the engagement."
"Of course papa approved," broke in Maud smartly. "Though, as I have already said, I don't see what business it is of yours. Did you come here to make yourself disagreeable?"
"My child," croaked Mrs. Mountford, in her bass voice, "this is not the time or place to say such truths."
"Nor the time for Dr. Browne to make remarks about things which do not concern him," snapped the younger lady pertly.
"I beg your pardon," said the doctor ceremoniously, "I have no right to interfere----"
"I should think not," cried the irrepressible Maud, and was again frowned down by Mrs. Mountford, who seemed to be the mistress of all the proprieties.
"I merely came to assure Miss Tedder that her cousin is innocent," finished Dr. Browne, and moved towards the front door.
"So I think," observed the captain, who had taken no part in the war of words, "and anything I can do----"
"You can do nothing," cried Miss Tedder, who seemed anxious to place her cousin in the dock. "If Angus is to be hanged, he will have to be hanged, though it is hard that I should suffer from such a disgrace. But papa's murderer must be punished."
"I tell you Herries had nothing to do with the murder," said Dr. Browne, violently, and his face becoming suffused with blood. "I wonder at your persistence in accusing him."
"I go by what Inspector Trent says, and----"
"See here," remarked the sailor in his lazy drawl, "I don't like to see a fellow go to the wall, if I can help him. Miss Tedder," he bowed to Maud, "has consented to be my wife, but I do not think that either one of us would care to have a relative hanged for a capital offence. Besides, to my mind, the evidence is so clear that I believe Herries to be guiltless. I shall therefore go along with this gentleman, and learn what I can likely to help the poor fellow. Dr. Browne," he bowed to the medical man, and in a somewhat foreign fashion by clicking his heels together, "I understand, also wishes to prove Mr. Herries' innocence."
"I do," said the doctor doggedly, and wondering why the Captain was so anxious to assist, "and I intend to."
"In that case," Kyles extended a small and shapely hand, "we may as well work together."
Browne took the hand. Indeed, he could do nothing else.
"But I should like to know why you are so certain that Herries is innocent?"
"Are _you_ not certain?" inquired Kyles gravely. "Yes, but then I know Herries well, and although appearances are dead against him, I----"
"Hold on," remarked the sailor in a somewhat American fashion, "it is because appearances are dead against him that I assist. Both in the States out West and in Mexico, I was nearly lynched for horse-stealing. The evidence was plumb against me, and but that good-luck came my way at the eleventh hour, I should have been a goner. Can you wonder then that my sympathies are with Herries?"
"I see, you have a fellow feeling."
"You might put it that way."
"The hall," boomed Mrs. Mountford once more, "is scarcely the place to discuss these matters."
"I entirely agree with you," said the doctor, with emphasis, "so I take my leave. If you have any influence with Miss Tedder, ma'am, I advise you to induce her to be less bloodthirsty."
"Me," cried Maud, in a shrill and angry tone, like an infuriated mosquito, "me, bloodthirsty?"
"None the worse for that," said her lover genially. "We don't stock a cotton-wool civilisation in Indiana."
Browne laughed. He rather liked Kyles, and his abrupt way of dealing with Miss Tedder. When they were married, it was easy seen who would rule the house, for all Maud's airs and graces and feminine wiles seemed to make very little impression on the rover. No doubt, so good-looking a fellow had been much run after by the fair sex, and had learned how to govern women.
"Good-day, Captain," said the doctor heartily, "I am glad you can see further than your nose in this case. I presume I'll meet you at the inquest to-morrow?"
"Bruce will take me," said Maud hastily.
"And I," chimed in the mistress of the proprieties, with the toll of Big Ben, "will be there to chaperon Miss Tedder."
This being settled, Browne took his departure, and walked down the avenue wondering why Maud should be so vindictive towards the man to whom she had once been engaged, and that man her very own cousin. He could not understand, for there seemed to be no reason that she should desire Herries' death, which she certainly seemed to do. Browne asked himself whether she dreaded lest Herries should insist upon renewing the engagement, when Maud became possessed of her millions, or perhaps--as he again thought--the engagement had never been broken. In that latter case, since Maud desired to marry Kyles, she might think to cut the Gordian knot of an entanglement by sending her cousin to the scaffold. But even in such a case, it seemed incredible that she should behave so wickedly. Browne had always deemed Maud to be a butterfly; now it seemed that she was a tigress. He resolved to lay the case before Herries, when next he visited the caravan, and see what his opinion was of her behaviour.
The thought of the caravan brought up the image of Kind, who was sheltering the fugitive, and, as is often the case, scarcely had the name passed through Browne's brain, when he ran up against the man himself at the gates of the park. Kind, in his odd dress and chewing a blade of grass, was seated on a stone, with his hands in his pockets and a pondering expression on his shrewd face.
"Mornin'," he said, rising, as soon as the doctor emerged from the park, "beastly weather, ain't it?"
"Did you come here to tell me that?" asked Browne, looking up at the leaden-coloured sky in a humorous manner.
"No. I came to see you about this man, Armour, the policeman, who----"
"Yes," interrupted the doctor, strolling towards Tarhaven beside the Cheap-jack, "I know all about that."
"Who told you?"
"Well, to be precise, I don't know everything. But while I was talking to Miss Tedder, a telegram came from Trent saying that Armour had been found, bound, in a ditch."
"Yes, Trent's there, and is making more mistakes than ever. He is still hunting for Mr. Herries," ended Kind, with a grin.
"He hasn't found him, I hope?" asked Browne hastily.
Kind turned the blade of grass in his mouth.
"Not much chance of that," said he contemptuously. "Mr. Herries' hiding-place is too easy found for Trent to find it. Were I in his place," added Kind, wagging his head until the ostrich feather shook in his bowler, "the first thing I should do, would be to search the caravan."
"Why?" asked Browne puzzled.
"Because it's a likely place. If a man bolted, and came across a caravan, he would ask its owner to hide him. But Trent doesn't believe that Mr. Herries would be fool enough to hide in so suspicious a place. It sounds rum, I know, doctor, but that's human nature."
"You argue something like Captain Bruce Kyles."
"And who may he be?"
"He is a Captain in the Indiana Navy, and that's a Republic in South America. I understand that he has come to England to arrange about buying new war-ships for the Republic, so in this way he was brought into contact with Sir Simon, who speculated in other things beside jam and pickles. Consequently, Captain Kyles, who is a romantic-looking scoundrel, has induced Miss Tedder to fall in love with him, and will undoubtedly become the master of her money."
"And he argued in the same way as I do, doctor?"
"Yes. He declares that the evidence is so plain against Herries that he believes the man to be guiltless."
"Oh." Kind gave a shrewd glance at his companion, and became meditative. "He argues in that way, does he? It does him credit: no fool, I should say. But why," asked Kind, wheeling round, "does he take the trouble to defend Mr. Herries?"
"That's what I have been asking myself," said the doctor, dryly.
"Does he know Mr. Herries?"
"No. He has never set eyes on him."
"Queer," murmured the Cheap-jack with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. "I must have a look at this Captain."
"You will see him at the inquest to-morrow, along with Miss Tedder and Mrs. Mountford, who is the young lady's companion."
Kind nodded absently, being still occupied with the problem of Kyles' unsolicited defence of the accused man.
"Where are you going now, doctor?" he asked, as they neared the town.
"To see Mr. Ritson, the solicitor of Sir Simon. I wish to ask him if he has any knowledge of what took Sir Simon to the inn."
"He won't know," rejoined Kind, shaking his head decisively. "If Sir Simon had intended to let Mr. Ritson know, he would have made the appointment at his office. The 'Marsh Inn,' and his giving no name, and carrying a large sum of money, and the kidnapping of Armour, all hint at blackmailing."
"The kidnapping of Armour," echoed Browne, stopping short, amazed.
"I forgot, you only know that Armour was found in the ditch," said Kind. "A railway porter on the way home this morning found him. He was taken to Desleigh where he lives, and Trent was sent for. But I know Mrs. Armour, who is an old friend of mine, and I saw Armour before the Inspector saw him. Then Trent arrived, and sent that telegram to Miss Tedder."
"And what explanation does Armour give?"
"He had gone his rounds and arrived at Desleigh about one in the morning. He rested on the bench outside the tap-room door until two o'clock, or rather between two and three. Then he says that some men,--he could not guess how many,--suddenly came out of the mist and gagged him and bound him and wrapped his head in a shawl. They carried him to a ditch some distance from the railway station and left him there. The poor chap was nearly stifled when he was found, as all the time his head was tied up in the shawl."
"But why was he kidnapped?"
"Ah, that is what I want to find out," Kind looked at Browne. "You have given me a clue."
"What is the clue?"
"I'll tell you after the inquest," said Kind, turning away: then when he was some distance off, he called back. "See Mr. Ritson, doctor, and come to the caravan after the inquest."
"But you wanted to see me about----"
"I have seen you," called back Kind, "and have said what I wanted to say about Armour."
Browne ran after the man, who still walked on.
"We have come to no conclusion," he panted, for the doctor was plethoric.
"I have," said the Cheap-jack. "You have given me a clue, I tell you, and I'll explain when we are together with Mr. Herries," and so saying, he walked off quickly. Browne, although anxious to question him further, had not the breath to follow him, and moreover, saw that Kind would answer no more questions at the moment. This being the case, he went to seek out Mr. Ritson, wondering greatly why Armour had been kidnapped, and wondering still more what clue Kind had obtained from him. Browne could recall nothing in his conversation likely to afford such a clue.
Mr. Ritson had an office in the High Street of Tarhaven, a most imposing office, next door to a bank. There was nothing of the pettifogging lawyer about Mr. Ritson's office, as it was all mahogany and brass plates and plate-glass windows. Ritson was well-known as the legal adviser of half the county, and was supposed to be extremely wealthy. He was a tall, thin, severe old gentleman, with silvery white hair, and a parchment-hued face, and a dry manner. As a rule, he was not given to speaking much, but usually waited to hear what his clients had to say, that they might commit themselves. But when Dr. Browne, who knew him very well, was admitted into the lofty, airy apartment, which was Mr. Ritson's sanctum, he was surprised by the warmth and volubility with which the usually silent lawyer greeted him.
"I am very glad to see you, doctor," said he, advancing with outstretched hands. "Had you not come, I should have sent for you."
"Humph!" said Browne, the cynic, "I seem to have become a person of importance. Miss Tedder greeted me in the same way."
"You have seen Miss Tedder?"
"Yes. I should have thought that you would have seen her also."
"About what?" asked Ritson quickly, and returning to his desk.
"About her father's death, and the will and----"
"The will," interrupted Ritson, vehemently, "that is exactly what I fear to see her about."
"You fear?"
"Yes, doctor," he caught Browne's button-hole, "some time ago, when we were talking of Sir Simon's wealth, you mentioned that you knew his nephew."
"Yes. Poor Herries, who is accused of the murder."
"Ah!" Ritson wiped his high bald forehead, although he was usually a cold-blooded man, "that's the difficulty. I must speak."
"Speak away," said Browne, more and more surprised.
"In confidence."
"Of course, in confidence," assented the other.
Ritson sat down suddenly, and began to fiddle with his papers, and Browne, straddling his legs with his hands behind him, watched. It was strange that so quiet a lawyer should be so moved. Certainly the death of Sir Simon was very terrible, and naturally Ritson, who had known him for years, was startled by the tragedy. But it seemed to the doctor that there was something more behind the mere fact of the murder,--something having to do with the dead man's will.
"Well?" he said impatiently, while Ritson kept shifting pens and sealing-wax, and paperweights, as though he were playing chess.
"Yes, yes," Ritson threw himself back, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. "I never speak of my clients' affairs to anyone."
"No," nodded Browne, "everyone is aware that you are trustworthy."
"Then you will be surprised that I am about to betray--no, that is not the word,--that I am about to forestall the reading of the will made last week by the late Sir Simon Tedder."
"Is it necessary?"
"To ease my mind, it is."
"What do you mean?"
"Why should Sir Simon make such a will?" said Ritson, almost to himself. "I thought that it was strange at the time, but now, when this nephew has murdered him, and----"
"Herries did not," cried Browne growing red. "Yes, he did," said Ritson determinedly, "and to get the money."
"The money?" Browne leaned forward his hands on the desk, and stared into the agitated face of the solicitor.
"The money. Sir Simon has disinherited his daughter in favour of Angus Herries, who now has fifty thousand a year."
CHAPTER X
THE INQUEST
"You must be mistaken," stammered the doctor, staring, as well he might, considering the astounding news which he had heard.
"I don't make mistakes either in or out of business," replied Mr. Ritson haughtily. "Last week I drew up Sir Simon's will, which was short and to the point. In it he disinherited Maud Tedder and left all his money and property to his nephew, Angus Herries."
"Good Lord." Browne collapsed into a chair near the desk. He found it difficult to believe that Herries the outcast was now Herries the millionaire. "Fifty thousand a year," gasped the doctor, his red hair almost standing on end. "What will he do with it?"
"Buy his freedom, I expect," said Ritson grimly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," the lawyer took up a quill pen, and began to play with it. "Mr. Herries is certainly entitled to fifty thousand a year, but he has to do something to earn it."
"Do what?" asked Browne more and more perplexed.
Ritson bent forward.
"He has to find out who killed Sir Simon, and thereby earn his freedom, and the money."
"I am still in the dark. Will you explain?"
"I have told you enough."
"You will have to tell me more," said Browne, determinedly.
"My duty to my dead client----"
"See here," the little doctor jumped up, and slapped his hand down on the desk, "there was no need for you to have told me anything, so it is too late to talk of your duty to your dead client; but as you have told me so much, you must tell me everything."
"Yes," Ritson nodded his silvery-white head, "you are right. I have committed a breach of legal etiquette. Miss Tedder should have been the first to hear the will, which has to be read after the funeral at 'The Moated Hall.' But then Mr. Herries, who inherits, should also be present, and he is accused of the crime."
"He has escaped the immediate consequences," said Browne, meaningly.
"Do you know where he is?"
"Good Lord, how should I know?" cried Browne explosively. He was not quite sure as to the truth of Ritson's statement, and thought that it might be a trap to lure Herries from his hiding-place.
"You are a friend of Mr. Herries, and you went to Desleigh, as Inspector Trent told me."
"Quite so. But I was with Inspector Trent at the time Herries escaped out of the window of his bedroom."
"Then you do not know where he is?"
"No!" said the doctor, lying manfully.
Ritson looked depressed.
"That is a pity," he muttered, "for unless I can see him, I don't know how to put things right."
"Explain them to me."
The lawyer turned on his visitor in the twinkling of an eye.
"You do not know where he is?"
Browne was not at all disconcerted, having had one moment in which to think of a plausible answer.
"If Herries communicates with anyone it will be with me," he said, quietly, "as he knows that I am his firm friend, and believe in his innocence."
"You do,--you really do?"
"Certainly. Herries did not even know that his uncle was in the inn, and certainly could not have known that he was the heir."
"No, No," Ritson rapped his teeth with the feathered end of the quill-pen, "yet the evidence is dead against him."
"I am with you there. All the same," here Browne shamelessly pilfered Kyles' ideas, "the evidence is so clear that I believe my friend to be innocent."
"Hum! Hum! Hum!" Ritson cleared his throat, and settled his old-fashioned black satin scarf, "quite so,--quite so. Then you think, doctor," he leaned forward, confidentially, "that this very clear evidence was got together to implicate Mr. Herries in a crime of which he has no knowledge?"
"I am sure of it. Inspector Trent has given his version, which is coloured by the belief that Herries is guilty. Let me tell you the other side, Mr. Ritson."
"I am all attention," said the lawyer, placing the tips of his fingers together, and looking up at the ceiling. Browne thereupon detailed all that he had heard, and seen at the inn. But he did not yet trust Ritson so far as to relate how Herries had found a refuge in Kind's caravan, nor did he state that Kind himself was an ex-detective, sworn to assist the accused man, out of gratitude.
Ritson listened in profound silence, and when the recital was finished he did not commit himself to a statement. On the contrary, he again began his game of chess with the sealing-wax, pens and paperweights, and asked an irrelevant question.
"And you saw Miss Tedder?"
"Yes. She believes, on Trent's authority, that her cousin is guilty."
"Consequently, she is much disturbed," suggested the lawyer.
Browne smiled cynically.
"You place too much faith in human nature, Mr. Ritson. Miss Tedder seems most anxious to get her cousin hanged."
"Hey, hey," Ritson sat bolt-upright with his hands on the arms of his chair, "say that again, my good sir."
Browne did say it again, and said more. He gave a detailed version of the interview, of the coming of the telegram announcing the finding of Armour in the ditch, and of the opinion of Captain Bruce Kyles, which was so much at variance with Miss Tedder's. Ritson stared hard at the little doctor, as he told his tale dramatically, and when it was ended he rose and went to look out of the window.
"This is very remarkable," said Ritson, turning from looking at the busy High Street to look at Dr. Browne.
"Very!" assented the medical man, saying as little as he could.
"And what is your opinion?" asked Ritson, returning to his seat.
"I have none, save that Herries is innocent."
"Then you don't think," said the lawyer, again playing chess, "that Miss Tedder in some way has heard of the will which disinherits her, and is anxious to have her cousin hanged so that she may get back the money."
"Will she get back the money if he is hanged?" asked Browne artfully.
"Why, yes. I pleaded for the girl. It seems that Maud--I have known her from a baby, so I can call her by her Christian name--well then, it seems that Maud insisted on marrying Captain Kyles, a man of whom Sir Simon did not approve."
"I don't wonder at that; the man is an adventurer."
"So Sir Simon thought. However, his looks--the scamp is certainly handsome--captured the affections of Miss Maud, and she declared that she would marry him. Sir Simon told her that if she did, he would disinherit her. He carried out his threat by leaving all his money to the nephew whom he treated so badly. But I pointed out that Maud ought to have enough to live on. Sir Simon disagreed, and said that Maud should have everything or nothing. Finally, he yielded,--in a way!"
"In what way?"
"He left the money to Herries for life and afterward to Maud. Meantime she gets one thousand a year."
"I see. Then you think that Maud wishes to see her cousin hanged so that she may inherit the money at once."
Ritson did not reply at once to this question.
"It is difficult to say," he observed, at length. "I cannot make up my own mind, and that is why I have consulted you,--why I have violated the confidence of my client. It is enough to get me struck off the Rolls, and very rightly too."
"Anything you say is safe with me," said Browne, sympathising with the lawyer's desire to act rightly.
"You see," continued Ritson, still defending himself, "as the circumstances of the case are so dreadful, time is of every value, therefore, I thought it best to anticipate, in confidence, of course, the reading of the will. What do you advise?"
"Ah, I don't know all the circumstances of the case," said Browne cautiously. "What, for example, do you mean by saying that Herries would have to buy his freedom with his money?"
"Well," said Ritson, nursing his chin, "if he is guilty----"
"He is not!"
"We will presume for the sake of argument that he is," pursued the solicitor. "Well, then, if Mr. Herries is guilty, he will have to use his money to get the best lawyer in England to defend him, or else----" Ritson hesitated. "I am aware that I am suggesting the compounding of a felony," he said nervously, "but Mr. Herries might employ this money to escape,--that is, he might bribe people to hold their tongues until he is beyond pursuit."
"I don't think Herries would do that," said Browne vigorously; "he knows that he is innocent, and will prove his innocence in some way. He is not the man to lie idle under such a stigma."
"He is unlucky."
"Very unlucky,--a perfect Jonah, as he is fond of calling himself."
"Well, his luck has turned, seeing he has inherited the money."
"I don't agree with you, Mr. Ritson. He has to remain in hiding, because he is accused wrongfully of murder, and again, you told me that he does not get the money until he has found out who killed his miserable uncle."
"Quite so, but if he does, he will at once prove his entire innocence, and gain a fortune. That is good luck."
"Luck which is yet to come. Why did Sir Simon make it a proviso that Herries should seek for his assassin? Did he then expect to be murdered?"
"Yes, and for that reason, along with the other--Maud's love for Captain Kyles--he made the will."
"Did he tell you whom he expected would kill him?"
"No! I asked him, as the proviso was so strange: but he told me as little as possible."
"You gained no clue to a possible assassin."
"I did not."
"Is there anything in his past life which made you guess that----?"
Ritson interrupted.
"There is nothing. So far as I know Sir Simon was perfectly safe, and there was no reason to think that his life was threatened by anyone. Apparently it was, however, since he made such a will. And it is stranger still," added the lawyer meditating, "that he should have made me write a letter setting forth the fact that he had left the money to Herries."
Browne jumped up so quickly that he overturned the chair.
"What?"
"It is as I told you," said Ritson, composedly. "When the will was signed and witnessed, he asked me to write a letter."
"Have you a copy?"
"Certainly. I insisted on keeping a copy, although Sir Simon was none too pleased. But I refused to sign my name to a letter unless I had a copy, especially," added Ritson slowly, "as I did not know to whom the letter was written."
"You should not have written it then," snapped Browne, annoyed at seeing his hopes of clearing Herries dashed to the ground.
Ritson touched the bell, and when the clerk appeared gave him instructions to bring in the letter book. While the boy was absent he turned again to Browne.
"You don't know how determined Sir Simon was," he said quietly, "and moreover, when you read the letter you will see that there is no reason why I should not have written it. He asked for an envelope, and addressed the letter himself. My clerk copied it, and brought it in. Sir Simon slipped it into an envelope--the one he had directed secretly--and went away. That was several days ago, and I have never seen Sir Simon since. I never even heard of him until Inspector Trent, knowing that I was his lawyer, called to inform me of his lamented death, and to invite me, as the late knight's legal adviser, to attend the inquest."
"You did not see the address?"
"No. I caught sight of one word however,--quite by accident."
"What was the word?"
"Well," hesitated Ritson fidgetting, "it certainly might throw some light on the mystery of his death, although I scarcely think so. But to betray a client's business relations is----"
"The affair is too serious to admit of a tender conscience," said Browne, imperiously. "Herries is in danger of his life, and I believe Maud Tedder knows much more than she chooses to tell. Seeing what her attitude is, I am determined to save Herries and prevent her getting the money."
"Surely you don't think that Maud knows who killed her father, and is deliberately sacrificing her cousin?"
"I don't know what to think," answered Browne impatiently. "We can talk of that later. Tell me what word you saw."
"Tarabacca!"
"What does that mean?" asked Browne puzzled.
"I can't tell you. But the word I saw was certainly something like that. I can't be sure of the spelling, but it conveyed something like tobacco to my mind. Tarabacca," repeated the lawyer, as his clerk entered with the letter-book, "it was certainly a name like that."
"Perhaps the name of a town. It sounds like a foreign name."
"It certainly is not the name of any English town," retorted Ritson opening the book. "Here you are,--a short letter as you can see."
The little doctor advanced to the desk, and ran his eye over the few blotted lines almost illegible on the tissue paper used for copying.
"Dear Sir," he read aloud, "this is to inform you that my client Sir Simon Tedder has left all he possesses to his nephew Angus Herries, and that he has formally disinherited his daughter Maud Tedder of everything save one thousand a year.--Yours obediently, J. Ritson."
"Well," said Ritson, when Browne closed the book. The doctor shook his head.
"I cannot understand," he said, helplessly.
"Nor I. What is to be done?"
"There is nothing to be done save to wait. My advice to you, Mr. Ritson, is to be silent until the inquest is over. When Herries hears of his good fortune, he may give himself up."
"You advise him to do that?" asked Ritson anxiously.
"I certainly do. Good-day. We will meet at the inquest," and Browne, in a state of great perplexity left the office.
He certainly was perplexed, as he had never before had such mystery to deal with. Browne was a straightforward man, and liked everything to be done openly. But the underhand dealings connected with this death puzzled him sorely. He could not see his way to any solution, and went home to pass a restless night. Again and again did he ask himself whether Maud Tedder had anything to do with the crime, and again and again did he mutter to himself the strange word "Tarabacca." But to neither question did he obtain any answer. When he rose next morning to go to Desleigh he looked very weary and red-eyed.
But Browne was not fated to be present at the inquest, for just as he was starting he received a message from a very wealthy patient saying that she was dangerously ill, and insisting that he should come to her at once. The patient was too rich to lose, and moreover was extremely irascible, so Browne went to her house, and as she proved really to be dangerously ill, he was forced to remain there for the greater part of the day. It was quite three o'clock when he found himself leaving the Desleigh station to walk along the straight, muddy road which led to the now celebrated village.
The weather was much better, for although the sky was still grey and sunless, the mists had vanished. Browne, walking smartly towards his goal, cast a musing eye on the dismal flats and wide marshy lands which environed the village. He wondered how anyone could live in such a place, and wondered still more why Sir Simon had come to so dreary a locality to meet with his terrible death. As he drew near Desleigh, he met an outcoming throng of human beings, of motor cars and bicycles, and carts and horses coming towards the station. Apparently the inquest was over, and the reporters, and those morbid people attracted towards the inn by curiosity, were returning to the railway, that they might be taken to their various destinations. A close carriage, with the arms of Sir Simon on the panels, drove past at full speed, and Browne had no doubt that Maud and her chaperon, along with Captain Kyles, were within. He felt sorry that the blinds were down, as he wanted to see how Maud looked, and whether her expression was one of triumph. He guessed that it was, as he felt pretty certain that the verdict of the jury had ticketed Angus Herries as a criminal of the worst type. Strange to say, he was so sure of what the verdict was, that he did not stop any of the hurrying people to ask questions.
At the entrance to the village, he perceived the sloppy meadow wherein stood the gaily coloured caravan of Sweetlips Kind, and he smiled to himself to think of what would be said did anyone know that the accused man was snugly ensconced under the flooring of the vehicle. He then recognised how true it was what Kind had said regarding the safety of the hiding-place. No one, much less Trent, suspicious as he was, would credit Herries with being such a fool as to remain so near the scene of his supposed crime. And therein lay the man's safety. As Browne sent a second stealthy glance in the direction of that refuge for innocence, he stumbled against a woman who was coming swiftly along the road with her shawl up to her eyes. In her blindness, she had run up against him.
"Where are you going?--oh it's you, Elspeth."
It was indeed Elspeth. She had run out of the inn, with a shawl over her head, and a fringe of this was pressed to her tearful eyes. As the doctor spoke, she let the shawl drop, and he saw that her eyes were red with weeping, and that her small white face looked smaller and whiter than ever.
"Yes, it's me," she said nervously, glancing at the many men and women who were hurrying past to the station. "I am going to see Rachel, who is still ill. She is alone," this with a meaning glance at the doctor, and apparently uttered for the benefit of the public. "Sweetlips is drinking at the inn."
"What is the verdict?" asked Browne eagerly, although he knew very well what answer he would get.
"The only one that could be given," said Elspeth, leaning against a barbed wire fence on the side of the road. "The jury say that Mr. Herries murdered Sir Simon. There is a reward offered."
"By Miss Tedder?"
"Yes. She offers five hundred pounds."
"Oh," said Browne, biting his nether lip. He saw in this increase of the reward a fresh proof of Maud's vindictive feelings towards her cousin. Apparently she was determined to leave him no chance of escape, and again Browne wondered, as he had wondered through the long night, if Maud Tedder was cognizant of the assassination of her father.
"Inspector Trent has been congratulated on the evidence he has collected," sobbed Elspeth, "and also he has been blamed for letting Mr. Herries escape."
"I don't wonder at it," said Browne, "the wonder is that he should have been congratulated at all. I never knew of such a bungling piece of work. Herries has not been caught yet?"
"No," neither of them looked toward the caravan as they spoke, "but many people intend to stop here, and search the district. There are three detectives,--one of them knew Sweetlips."
"Do these detectives believe Herries to be guilty?"
"Oh yes, and they each intend to search for Mr. Herries."
"What do they think of Kind's opinion?"
"He told them that he thought Mr. Herries was guilty," said Elspeth, in a meaning tone.
Browne quite understood her. Sweetlips was posing as an enemy to Herries, so as to save his life.
"And Kind is also going to try for the reward," said Elspeth with a glimmering smile on her lips.
The doctor rubbed his hands and laughed. There was a suggestion of comedy in Sweetlips Kind's attitude, notwithstanding that he was playing with the issues of life and death. However, he had learned all that he wished to learn, since he now knew that the verdict had been given adverse to Herries, that the reward had been increased, and that the accused man himself was still safe in his hiding-place.
The stream of people and vehicles grew thinner, and it would seem that very shortly the village would again be left to its desolation, now that the sensation was at an end. Elspeth supplied the doctor with more information.
"Sir Simon's body is to be taken to Tarhaven to-night," she said, "and he is to be buried in three days. Miss Tedder agrees to give one hundred pounds to Mrs. Narby, for the damage done to the inn by the murder having been committed there."
The doctor smiled inwardly, thinking of his interview with Ritson, and of the small chance Maud Tedder had of paying six hundred pounds. However, he did not wish to complicate matters further, by explaining the disappointment awaiting the presumed heiress, and merely answered the question in the same vein.
"I should think that the crime had increased the popularity of the 'Marsh Inn,'" said he with some grimness. "Probably Mrs. Narby has never had such good customers since she took up the trade. It's an ill wind that blows no one any good, Elspeth."
"She has sold out nearly all her liquor," the girl informed him. "And as there was scarcely anything to do, she allowed me to come away and visit Mrs. Kind. I wish you would come also, doctor. Rachel is still weak."
"I'll come," replied Browne, mechanically, as he was keeping his eye on a tri-car--Lagonda make--which was slowly surging past them. The next minute he swore loudly, for, although there was ample room, the chauffeur insisted on crushing both himself and Elspeth against the barbed wire fence, with painful results. "Here, confound you," cried the doctor irritably. "Look out where you are going."
The occupant--the sole one besides the chauffeur--was a dark-complexioned woman in the prime of life, with a haughty face, and quite an aristocratic air. She was richly and fashionably dressed in some lustreless black material, which she wore with infinite grace. From her large, melting, dark eyes, and her olive complexion, together with the strange fact that she was smoking a cigarette in public, Browne thought that she was a Spaniard--a foreigner at least. But she appeared to understand English, for on hearing his none too gentle language, she turned her proud face in his direction, and taking the cigarette from between her full red lips, flung it fairly in his face. Then at a word from her--a foreign word--the car shot forward down the road, leaving a vile smell behind. In another minute, the Lagonda was speeding towards the station, so rapidly that Browne was unable to follow, much as he wanted to. However, he shook his fist, and picked up the stump of the cigarette, which had fallen at his feet.
"I wish I had caught sight of the number of that beastly machine," snapped the irascible little man. "I'd bring that woman into court and have her fined. Good Lord, to think that this--this," he shook the cigarette stump in Elspeth's face,--"should be thrown at me. I wish I could,--hullo!" he stopped and examined the cigarette earnestly. "Tangerian! Tangerian, as I'm a sinner."
"What do you mean?" asked Elspeth, astonished at his expression.
"Mean!" bellowed the doctor, seeing that no one was within earshot, "why, I mean that this is a foreign cigarette, unknown in England."
"Well?"
"Well! Kind picked up a similarly marked cigarette stump in Herries' bedroom, and it was dropped there by the murderer. That woman is,--she is,--I say,--stop,--stop!" and Dr. Browne, brandishing his umbrella, ran in a wild manner after the vanishing tri-car, shouting like a Red Indian on the warpath.