CHAPTER XI
LOVERS
Naturally enough, Elspeth could not understand the hurried explanation of the doctor, and could not guess what an important clue the little man was following up. For a moment or two, she watched him puffing and panting down the dreary road, and then, with a sigh, she entered the spongy meadow wherein the caravan was standing. It looked bright and gay in its coat of yellow paint, although a portion of it was covered with tarpaulin to preserve from rain various brooms and brushes and mats and baskets, which dangled on all four sides. The day was still fine, but already the sky was darkening with the coming night, and the vehicle looked rather lonely in that wide bleak meadow. The horse which usually drew the caravan seemed to know this, for it kept as close as possible to its perambulating home.
As Elspeth approached, she began to sing "Garryowen," since she was unable to whistle, so as to let Herries know that a friend was coming. Also when she climbed the steps, she gave the triple knock on the door, and waited with a beating heart for a sight of that dearly loved face. The door was cautiously opened, and she hastened to breathe her own name. Shortly she was within, and the door was again locked. Herries stepped across the gaping space of his cramped hiding-place, which was open. He usually kept it ready, so as to slip in and cover himself with the boards, which he could do by touching the spring, as speedily as possible. One never knew what stranger might come to the caravan, either in the way of business, or out of curiosity to see the sick woman. Rachel herself, looking much better and with a flush on her formerly pale cheeks, was sitting up. She received Elspeth with a rather knowing laugh, and held out a large hand, covered, gipsy-fashion, with silver rings.
"I am glad to see you, my dear," she said in a hearty tone. "I can talk now, as my throat is getting rapidly well, thanks to Dr. Herries."
"I am not exactly a doctor," said the young man, smiling, "you can call me Mr. Herries, the surgeon."
"Oh, you're a doctor right enough," said the proprietress of the caravan with a nod. "No one could have cured me so quickly as you have done. And Sweetlips will help you, doctor, as you have helped me. See if he doesn't. You'll walk a free man yet."
"What is the verdict, Elspeth?" asked Herries, anxiously, "but I need not ask," he added, smiling bitterly. "Wilful murder, eh, and Angus Herries the murderer? I thought so."
Elspeth nodded, and leaned against the wall of the vehicle, as her heart was too full to speak. Mrs. Kind strove to cheer the poor young fellow who was dreeing so hard a weird.
"Come, come," she cried, in a hearty, good-humoured voice, "you're no worse off than you were before."
"Ah, but I think he is," said Elspeth, clasping her thin hands. "There is now a reward of five hundred pounds offered."
Herries started and flushed and bit his lip.
"By whom?"
"Miss Tedder."
"My cousin, by the girl who said that she loved me. After that, after that--" he flung himself down on the broken chair, and gnawed his fingers.
"She never loved you," said Elspeth with a tremor in her voice, and a high colour in her cheeks.
"How do you know?"
"I have seen her. A doll, a soulless woman, a selfish girl. She could never love a man as a man ought to be loved. Do you think that I would have doubted you, that I----" here she became conscious that she was revealing her secret, and became violently red.
Mrs. Kind touched Herries' arm.
"I told you so," said she in an undertone. "What do you think now?"
Herries sat mute with loosely clasped hands, and stared at the shrinking girl. Elspeth was clinging to the caravan wall, utterly confused, and although her face was turned away, she felt that the eyes of the man she loved were upon her, striving, as it were, to read her very soul. And why should he not, since that soul was clean and pure, and ready to give itself to this man, who was under the ban of the law. As the knowledge of this came to her, she lifted her head proudly and sent a glance in the direction of Herries, which showed plainly all she thought, all she was trying to conceal.
"Good God," murmured Herries under his breath, and hid his face in his hands. "What have I done to deserve love like this?"
In a flash he comprehended the nobility of the girl, servant though she was. He recalled how she had aided him to escape, how she had searched out this place of refuge, how her eyes never left his face, and how she seemed to hang on his words. Hitherto he had been blind, but now in a hundred ways he knew that this poor, shabbily-clothed drudge loved him with surpassing strength. He raised his eyes to look at her delicate face, at her beautifully poised head, and into her wonderful eyes, pools of liquid light, irradiated by purity, and by a love half wifely, half maternal. She was Gowrie's daughter, according to Kind, but he could see nothing of Gowrie in her. In looks and nature and principles she was as far removed from that easy-going old sinner, as the earth was from the sun. All that was of her was beautiful and gracious. She needed but love and care and artistic surroundings to blossom out into a lovely, serene, radiant woman. He had been blind not to have seen this before. He had never dreamed that she loved him. But Mrs. Kind had opened his eyes to a certain extent, being woman enough to read Elspeth's secret. Now the single glance from the girl's soulful eyes revealed everything. She loved him, adored him, him the outcast, the accused murderer, the man on whom Fortune had turned a chilly back.
"I never thought of this," said Herries, raising himself with some difficulty, for his tumult of thoughts made him weak. "Elspeth!"
"No!" she flung out her hands, and her face flamed, "say nothing. I am--I am--your friend."
"You are the sole woman who has looked at me in such a way," said Herries hoarsely, and regardless of the patient, he bent forward across the narrow space of the caravan to catch impulsively at Elspeth's cold little hands. "I never guessed, I never dreamed of such joy, but now, I know, I feel that you love me, as I love you."
Mrs. Kind clapped her hands and laughed with glee.
"It's as good as medicine," she cried, with the ready tears in her eyes, "I was right, I was right. I saw--I knew--oh, these men, these men, how little they understand us women."
"But it's impossible," murmured Elspeth, snatching away her hands. "You cannot love, you--you know nothing about me, you----"
"I know your soul, I have seen it in your eyes. I know that it seems strange to you, it does to me," he drew his hand perplexedly across his forehead. "I never thought that Romeo and Juliet was true to nature; that sudden love, that passionate romance, seemed impossible, incredible. I could not believe that true love could be born of a single glance. But now I understand, and you have taught me to understand. It is the love of soul and soul that springs up thus rapidly, like Jonah's gourd, in a night. Jonah, ah, yes, for years I have compared myself with that unlucky prophet, for everything has gone awry with me, these many days. I looked forward to a miserable future similar to the miserable past. This accusation of murder seemed to be the climax of bad luck. But now I know that it is but one of those evils out of which comes infinite good. You love me: there is no more to be said."
"Tit, tit," cried the onlooker from the bed, "there is heaps to be said, doctor. Tell her how you love her, how pretty she is, and----"
"I am not pretty," interrupted Elspeth, vehemently, "no one can say that, Mrs. Kind."
"You are not pretty," assented Herries gravely, for he guessed that an overstrained compliment would make her think him shallow, "but you have the beauty of the soul, which shines through your face. It is that loveliness, which has caused me to recognize and return your love. Maud Tedder attracted me by her beauty, by her external beauty, and so the love I had for her--if it could be called love--was not lasting. But you, dear,--you," he exclaimed ardently, "it is your soul I worship and adore."
"You may be mistaken," stammered Elspeth, "it is so sudden----"
"No more sudden than is your love for me."
"Ah!" she smiled faintly, "but I am a woman and impulsive."
"Does that mean you may be mistaken."
"No. A thousand times no. I love you with all my heart, and nothing can lessen or do away with that love."
"Then you would not have me less fond, would you, dear? If I do not love you as you love me, then am I but a mere animal, unable to recognise the higher things of life. I did not recognise them until you looked at me,--until the veil fell from my eyes, and the warmth of your affection kindled a flame in my heart. But my soul has spoken to your soul, and if we had met and wooed for years, we could get no nearer the one to the other, than we are. Ours will be a marriage made in heaven,--the ideal heavenly marriage."
"Marriage!" she murmured, confused, "marriage."
"Yes, although I admit that I am a poor husband for you. I have no money,--I am under the ban of the law,--my life is full of misfortunes. Ah, dearest heart, think how deep must be my love, when I asked you to become my wife at this juncture."
"Bless me," cried Mrs. Kind, not following this reasoning, "I should think it was the other way about. A chap as loves a maid shouldn't drag her down to poverty."
"You are wrong,--you are wrong," said Elspeth, passing swiftly to the side of the bunk, "and Mr. Herries is right. Were we both rich, and careless of the deeper things of life, which poverty alone can teach, then we might marry without knowing each other's souls. But now, when we are in the depths, when Fate is doing her worst, when there is no earthly gain on either side, now is the time that we know our love is heavenly and lasting."
"Then you love me indeed," said Herries coming up to her.
She turned and put out her hands. All that was womanly in her, came to the surface in this hour, when both were at the nadir of their fortunes.
"I love you," said Elspeth simply, and there was no need to say more, as her eyes spoke far more eloquently than did her tongue. "I will be your wife, when and where you will."
Herries was not an emotional man, but the tears came into his eyes as he bent forward to kiss those virgin lips. This sudden love, so new, so wonderful, so heart-inspiring, was so simple in its genesis that for the moment he could scarcely think that it was actual fact.
"I ask nothing further of Fortune now," said the young man, and his strong voice quavered. "I have gained the love of an angel."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Kind shifting uneasily on her pillow, "that's what all men say before marriage, but afterwards----"
"There will be no afterwards," cried Herries impetuously. "The beautiful present will be always with us.
"Beautiful present, doctor, and you being hunted down."
"I am not caught yet," said Herries gaily. "For the rest, I can afford to wait,--with Elspeth."
"But if you are captured?" she asked, her head resting unresistingly on his breast.
"I shall not be captured," said Herries forcibly, "though it may be that I shall give myself up."
"Mr. Herries----"
"Angus!"
"Well then, Angus, you would not give yourself up?"
The young man sat down again on the broken chair, and drew the slight form of his beloved to his knee.
"Dear," he said gravely, "I have thought over matters in my solitude, and I see how wrong I have been in not facing the worst. This flight of mine almost admits guilt. If I am innocent, people ask themselves, why should I fly?"
"Because appearances were against you," burst out Elspeth. "Because you were in the hands of Inspector Trent, who would not give you a fair trial. Innocent men have been hanged before, for crimes which they did not commit, and if you give yourself up to these policemen who are misled by false evidence, you may be hanged."
"No, dear, I will not be hanged. The God who has given me a pure woman's love in my hour of deep distress will not forsake me in my need. Your love, given unasked, marks the turn of my fortunes; so low as I have sunk, even so high will I rise, and you with me. And come what may, your heart can never prove false to me."
"Never! Never."
"My," said Mrs. Kind with a sigh, "don't he talk lovely. Sweetlips never pattered in this way to me. It's as good as a play, and play it is," she added, raising herself anxiously, "don't forget that you have to save your life, before you can marry."
"We can be married quietly," said Elspeth.
"It ain't so easy to get tied up," retorted Mrs. Kind, wisely. "That doctor now,--his name's in all the papers by this time, and if he wanted a licence, or went to put up the banns, he'd be nabbed as soon as looked at."
"Oh, Angus." Elspeth's eyes filled with tears.
He drew her tighter to his breast.
"Leave it to me, darling. What Mrs. Kind says is perfectly true, but there is a way out of the difficulty. Let me consult Browne and Sweetlips, and----"
"Oh," said Elspeth, starting, "Dr. Browne is here. I left him running after a motor car."
"What for?"
Elspeth explained the episode of the insult, and what the little doctor had said about the cigarette stump. Herries, knowing the theory of Kind, became quite excited, as he guessed that if this clue was followed up it might lead to serious developments, likely to secure his safety.
"But I don't see what a woman can have to do with the murder," he said perplexed.
"Leave it to Sweetlips," said Mrs. Kind, seriously. "He's the chap to find a needle in a haystack."
"Yes, but a woman of fashion----"
"Ho," snorted Rachel, rubbing her nose, "did you ever know a case where there wasn't a woman?" She glanced merrily at Elspeth. "There's two in this affair."
"Three," said Elspeth quickly, "you forget Miss Tedder. By offering this reward, Angus," she blushed as she shyly pronounced the name, "I can see that she wants to hang you. Well then, I will put my wits against hers and save her cousin."
"Save your husband that is to be," whispered Herries, fondly.
Elspeth took hold of the lapels of his poor jacket----
"Do you really mean it: do you really mean it?" she asked, earnestly. "Think of what I am, as Sweetlips told you,--the daughter of Michael Gowrie, who was left in pawn by him, to be a drudge at the 'Marsh Inn.'"
"You are a lady,--the lady of my love, and the sweetest woman in the wide world."
"Well," said Rachel, staring at Elspeth, while this was being whispered into her ears, "if she don't look reglar, slap up, pretty!"
It was true. A lovely pink blush was over-spreading the pale face of the girl, a smile of ecstasy parted her lips to show perfectly white teeth, and the whole worn weary body seemed to be suddenly rejuvenated by the power of the loving word. It was like the sun on a gloomy day emerging from behind a cloud,--a promise of that hidden loveliness which would reveal itself when she became the wife of the man she had dared so much to save.
Mrs. Kind beckoned to the lovers who wooed so boldly in her presence and smiled.
"Y' don't know that I'm a gipsy of sorts," she said, taking Herries' hand. "Let me read the lines, doctor. I've read Elspeth's before, ain't I, ducky? Lor, I read misery and sorrow, and folks as wished her harm,--all of 'em to skip when the man came."
"The man?" queried Angus, submitting his palm to the sibyl.
"You're the man. I knew it the moment I saw her blushing like a true maid. Aye, here's evil days behind you," she traced the lines with a lean brown finger, "evil folk too, and hardship by land and sea. See the crosses, deary, in the early part of life,--you've had 'em, oh my gentleman, what a time you've had!"
"Jonah's luck," said Herries with a sigh, and to comfort him Elspeth raised his disengaged hand to her lips.
"Aye! But luck of that sort is too bad to last. Hard rain don't last long, my pretty ones. Bad luck to Elspeth, and bad luck to you, my gentleman. Deary," she caught Elspeth's hand, and examined it turn and turn about with Herries' palm, "why, here's the coupling, the cross of marriage."
"Do you call it a cross?" asked Herries laughingly.
"It's the sign I speak of," said Mrs. Kind, simply. "Here, in your hand and her's, on the verge of the criss-cross lines, and all plain sailing before!" she dropped their hands and clapped her own. "Dearie both, the worst is over. You'll win free, my gentleman, and have money galore, and marry the pretty one who held to you in tribulation, as she will in wealth. Good health, good luck, and good hearts, and may the dear Lord have you both in His keeping."
"Amen to that," said Herries solemnly, "but how can you tell that I am to have good fortune?"
"Two 'no's' make a 'yes,' my gentleman. Your bad fortune and hers make one good one past believing, when you marry. Duvel!" Mrs. Kind became more gipsy-like than ever, as she plied the trade peculiar to the gentle Romany. "It's a true dukkeripen, brother," said she, and sank back exhausted with the effort.
"Now, you must not talk more," said Herries, covering her up. "As your doctor, I should not have allowed you to chatter, when your throat is still weak. Elspeth," he turned to the girl, when Mrs. Kind was quiet, "go to the inn, and tell Sweetlips to come to me, along with Browne, if he is there. I want to hear everything up-to-date and arrange my plans."
"Angus," she whispered, imploringly, "you will not give yourself up?"
"Not unless Browne and Sweetlips advise. I place myself in their hands. Good-bye, dear."
"Good-bye!"
Elspeth was just receiving his kiss, when a thundering knock came rattling at the door. The sick woman raised herself, much startled and the lovers sprang apart. "Garryowen" had not been whistled or sang, and the triple signal had not been given. This was some stranger,--perhaps some enemy. Gathering her wits together, Elspeth pointed mutely to the still gaping hiding-place, and Herries lay down without a single word. In a twinkling, she had touched the spring and the flooring hid him from sight. The knock came again.
CHAPTER XII
THE STRANGE WORD
As soon as the noise of the second knock died away sufficiently to permit speech, Elspeth raised her voice crossly, with a glance round to see that nothing telltale was about.
"All right! All right," she said in angry tones, and opening the door. "Who is there? What do you want? Mrs. Kind is ill; don't disturb her."
"It's only me," said Pope Narby, who was standing, long and lean and chilly, on the steps. "I've come for you, Elspeth, as mother wants you, and she says she'll have the hair out of your head if you don't come up sharply. And I want writing-paper for myself. There's none at home, or in the shop, so I thought I'd get it here."
"You might have knocked a little more gently," said Elspeth, relieved to see that Pope had no suspicions. "Poor Mrs. Kind is so ill."
"You startled me rarely, lad," said the sick woman, taking her cue. "And why do you want Elspeth? I can't be left by myself."
"Your husband's at home," explained Pope. "That he isn't," said Mrs. Kind grimly.
"I mean he's at my home, drinking, and talking about the inquest."
"Oh! he is," cried the sick woman, with pretended wrath, "then just you tell him that I'm all alone, and that if he doesn't come back, I'll clip him over the head."
"All right. Come along, Elspeth. Oh wait--the paper?"
Mrs. Kind pointed to a shelf over her head.
"The box is up there, my dearie; the best writing-paper and dirt cheap."
Elspeth reached down the box, and spread out the contents, but Mrs. Kind, delighted to be in her old element, did the bargaining herself. Not that it was much pleasure, as Pope was a fool over money, and gave her what she asked. Of course Mrs. Kind was glad enough to despoil the fool of his cash, but she would have preferred a hard bargainer. However, that pleasure was denied her, and she handed over the paper and took the money. Meantime Elspeth, with her shawl over her head, waited impatiently for Pope, thinking meanwhile of her poor hunted lover, who was being stifled under her feet. She could have knelt and kissed the flooring above his head.
"Come along--come along," she said impatiently. Pope shambled ungraciously out of the caravan, while she closed the door after them both.
"You won't be in such a hurry to get home when you know the tantrum mother's in," he grinned.
Elspeth did not vouchsafe a reply, but walked swiftly across the splashy meadow, and out on to the muddy road. She was determined in her own heart to bear no further insults from Mrs. Narby. The woman who was engaged to marry Angus Herries must not submit again to outrage. And the knowledge that she had won this wonderful love made her feel brave. She was no longer the ill-used drudge, but a self-contained, resolute woman, who could fight the whole world for the sake of her man; aye, fight the Universe itself.
"I say," babbled Pope, as he shambled homeward beside her, "I wish I could get this five hundred pounds, Elspeth."
"Blood money never did anyone good, Pope."
"Yes, but this man is guilty."
"No!" she stopped and pressed her hands against her loudly beating heart, "that, I'll never believe."
"But the verdict of the jury."
"It is a mistaken one. And his own cousin, who should defend him, is the one to offer that iniquitous reward."
"I say," Pope looked at her curiously through the gathering gloom, "you do talk first-rate at times, Elspeth."
"I have been to a good school," she answered shortly.
"You might help me with my poetry," suggested the poet.
"Well, I will, if you'll promise to give up trying to get this reward."
"No, I shan't," snarled the uncouth creature. "If I can get that money I'll be able to publish my poetry. You don't know how my genius longs to spread its wings."
"I know that your genius, as you call it, is perfectly capable of hanging an innocent man to get blood-money," she flamed out.
"Everyone has to look after himself," returned Pope sulkily, "and if this Mr. Herries is not guilty, who is?"
"That man who escaped in Sir Simon's fur coat."
"Mother's got the coat, and intends to keep it from the police if she can," observed Pope complacently. "Dr. Browne just asked to see it before I came to fetch you."
"Is Dr. Browne at the inn?"
"Yes. He came in a quarter of an hour ago, all puffing and blowing and covered with mud. Now he's talking to Sweetlips Kind, who wants to earn the reward. But he shan't, he shan't," cried Pope, clenching his lean, hard fist, "I'll get it. I'm going out to-morrow with some bread and cheese in my pocket, and will not come back until I find the man who killed Sir Simon."
"Then find the man in the fur coat."
"No, it's that Mr. Herries, and I'll ask Armour if he saw him. You know Armour's ill in bed, Elspeth. Inspector Trent went to see him before he left for Tarhaven. Armour sticks to his story of being carried away by men; they were sailors."
"Sailors," echoed Elspeth, stopping short in front of the inn, "how does Armour know that?"
"He saw, just for one moment before they muffled his head, that one had on a pea-jacket with brass buttons. I heard Inspector Trent say to Sweetlips Kind, that he expected they were sailors from Pierside, and that he is going over there to-morrow."
"I don't see what sailors have to do with the matter," said Elspeth half to herself, and now standing directly before the door.
She must have raised her voice unconsciously, for Mrs. Narby heard her words, and flung open the door, with a volley of bad language.
"Come in, come in," yelped the gross landlady. "'Ow do y' do, me fine Duchess, stravaging abaut win there's work t' do. I'll pull th' bloomin' 'air out of yer 'orrid 'ead."
She made as to do it, but Elspeth slipped under her extended arm, and flew into the tap-room.
"Stop," she said in a commanding voice, which drew every eye to her, as the infuriated Mrs. Narby flung forward to enjoy her favourite pastime. "If you lay a finger on me, I'll give you in charge to the policeman who is watching the dead body upstairs."
The landlady was so amazed at the turning of the worm, that she fell back against the wall and gasped. Dr. Browne, who was talking in undertones to Kind in a corner, looked approvingly at the girl, who was thus defying her bully. Narby turned and stared in surprise, as he was handing a pewter of beer to a yokel, and every man in the tap-room--and it was quite full--waited with bated breath to see what the redoubtable landlady would do. She gasped like a cod-fish and opened her mouth to speak twice and thrice, only to be quelled by the calm gaze of the girl she had tortured for so long.
"I had your permission," went on Elspeth, oblivious of her startled audience, "to visit Mrs. Kind, who is seriously ill, and you did not mention any time for me to return. I have been your slave and your drudge long enough, and to-morrow I intend to leave, if you drive me to it, I'll leave to-night."
"You--you--slut," shouted Mrs. Narby, almost too furious to speak.
"Stop calling me names. Mr. Narby, while I remain here, I appeal to you for protection."
"She doesn't mean it," said the landlord uneasily. He did not like this sudden revolt, and these outspoken speeches, which would damage the none-too-good reputation of the inn.
"Ho! Don't she," screamed Mrs. Narby, and darting forward, gave Elspeth a swinging slap on the cheek, "an' she means thet too, y' hussy. Git back to yer kennel, y'----"
What she would have said, what she would have done, it is impossible to say, as she had quite lost her head; but while Elspeth, sick with pain and shame, leaned against the wall, Sweetlips Kind caught the virago's arm, and swung her round. She scratched his face with a volley of bad language, and Narby saw that it was time to interfere.
"'Liza 'Liza! stop," he said in a low, firm voice.
"Lemme go, lemme git at thet--thet----" rage choked her.
"Elspeth will come this night with me to the caravan, said Kind, and the girl started, half with joy, half with fear. She would have liked to join the vagrant life of the Kinds, which would be better than the dog's existence she was leading at the inn; but then Herries was there, and Kind did not know that now she was engaged to Herries.
"No, no, it's very good of you, but----"
"She sha'n't go," shouted Mrs. Narby, only restrained by her husband's strong arm from falling bodily on Elspeth. "She's mine. Her father lef' her in my charge. She daren't go."
"Daren't," echoed the girl, raising her head dauntlessly. "If that is what you say, Mrs. Narby, I go now. My father left me here to pay off by my work, a miserable week's lodging. I have slaved for an entire year, and now I am free to leave." She walked to the door.
"Stop her! Stop her!" cried the landlady, thinking--and very rightly--that never again would she get so obedient and willing a slave.
"No one dare stop me," said Elspeth, turning at the door, "I leave your service at this moment."
"Where are you going on this wet night?" asked Narby gruffly.
"That is my business. And when next you get a servant, I advise you to stop your wife from ill-treating her as she has ill-treated me."
"That's hactionable," cried the landlady savagely.
"Make it so, and take me into court. My evidence would do you no good, Mrs. Narby."
The virago saw that she had gone too far, and that the sympathies of the room were with the frail girl, who thus faced her so boldly. She fell back on whimpering. "And arter wot I've done fur 'er. Whoy, 'er mother couldn't 'ave----"
She got no further. With a disdainful look, Elspeth pushed open the door and went out into the rain, which was now falling fast. Mrs. Narby would have followed, but her husband held her back.
"You've done quite enough mischief with your tongue and fist," he said in her ear. "Get into the kitchen, or else I'll choke the life out of you, you she-demon."
Mrs. Narby stared at him, and then went off into a fit of crying and kicking, and grovelling on the floor. Narby lost no time in arguing the point, but picked up the struggling, squealing woman, and half carried, half dragged her into the back parts of the inn. And all this time Pope stared open-mouthed, as much at the daring of Elspeth as at the downfall of his hitherto redoubtable mother. And his feelings were shared by the company in the tap-room, who had long looked on Mrs. Narby as a model virago, who ought to be brought to her bearings.
"I'd best see after that girl," said Sweetlips in a low voice to the doctor. "She can't be left to wander about these marshes all night."
"What can you do for her?" questioned Browne, following the Cheap-jack to the door.
"She can come with me in the caravan to Colchester. I'm starting for that place to-morrow."
"What, will you give up----?"
"Hush. Don't speak so loud. Of course I'm still on the job; but I want to place a certain person in safety before moving further in the matter."
"I think it would be best for him to give himself up, and stand his trial," said Browne quickly, "especially as he has inherited this huge fortune."
"He hasn't got it yet," replied Sweetlips, grimly, "nor will he, until he clears his character and hangs the assassin of his uncle. Come along," they were hurrying up the village street, through the drizzling rain, in the direction of the caravan, "we'll lose that girl."
"She'll go straight to your wife."
"I daresay she--no, there she is." Kind pointed to a slim, girlish figure, which was gliding slowly before them. "I say, Elspeth, Elspeth!"
The figure stopped and when the two came up, she paused under a villainously bad oil lamp, which cast but a feeble gleam, so dusky was the atmosphere with the rain and swiftly coming night.
"I knew you would come," she panted, not having yet got over her encounter with Mrs. Narby, "and so I went towards the caravan."
"But ain't y' going there, my girl?" questioned Kind, startled.
"No. I can't stop in the caravan, thank you all the same, Sweetlips, you forget that Mr. Herries is there."
"What difference does that make? My missus can play society."
Elspeth drooped her head under the shawl.
"I am engaged to Mr. Herries."
"What?" shouted Browne, catching her by the arm.
"Speak lower," urged Kind, glancing uneasily around, "you never know who may be eavesdropping.
"But it's impossible," said the little doctor, sinking his voice. "You have only known him for a day or so."
"All the same, he loves me, and I love him."
"Don't be foolish, girl. How can he," Brown was careful not to mention Herries' name, "how can he support you, when he hasn't got a penny? It's sheer madness."
"You forget the fortune," whispered Sweetlips in the doctor's ear.
"You forget your own words. He has to earn that yet."
"Then allow Elspeth to help him to earn it. She's a sharp girl, and already has done him a service. Let the engagement stand until the chap gets out of this hobble. Then you can talk."
"All right," grumbled the doctor, "but it's ridiculous."
Meantime Elspeth, feeling that it was impossible to explain her changed circumstances to the pair, had turned on her heel, and was walking in the opposite direction.
"Where are you going?" asked Kind, gaining on her rapidly with his long stride.
"To Armour, the policeman's," she answered in a fatigued tone. "His wife is my good friend, and will take me in."
"Hum," murmured the Cheap-jack, "perhaps that will be best--for the present at all events. And I want to see Armour myself. Come along, doctor. There's work to be done."
Browne followed at once, as he also was anxious to see the kidnapped policeman, and learn from his own lips exactly what had taken place. But he was not pleased at this fresh entanglement of Herries, since, as he thought, the girl would only hamper a man already in difficulties. However, he guessed that what Elspeth had said was true enough, and that she really was engaged. It is creditable to the doctor's understanding that he comprehended how this change in the girl's circumstances had enabled her to face the "Marsh Inn" bully. "Extraordinary creatures, women," thought this philosopher.
Shortly Elspeth came to a small red-brick cottage standing some little distance from the village street and within a tidy garden, well cultivated. A light burned in the left-hand window, which showed that Armour and his wife were still sitting up. Certainly it was yet early, but Browne had thought that the policeman would have been in bed. However, the whispered information of Elspeth conveyed to his ear that the light shone through the sitting-room window.
"Who is there?" asked Mrs. Armour, opening the door an inch or so.
"I am here," said Elspeth, in a soft voice, "I have had a quarrel with Mrs. Narby, and she has turned me out of the inn, or rather I have given up my situation. Can you put me up for the night?"
"Surely, surely, oh, my poor girl," said the comely woman, taking the shivering, bedraggled girl by the arm, "and who's with ye, Elspeth?"
"Dr. Browne, from Tarhaven, and Sweetlips Kind. They came to see me safely here. Good night, doctor. Good night, Sweetlips."
"No, no," said the Cheap-jack, "I'm coming in to see Armour."
"What about?" asked the wife sharply.
"I'll tell him when I get in."
Mrs. Armour hesitated.
"If it's a doctor you have with you," she said at length, opening the door wide enough for the trio to enter, "perhaps he'll give my man some medicine."
"Certainly," answered Browne briskly, and she led the three into a small sitting-room, crowded with old-fashioned furniture. On the horse-hair sofa lay Armour in plain clothes, a heavy, sullen-looking man, whose head was bound up.
"What's up now?" he asked with the groan of a rebellious Titan.
"Elspeth from the 'Marsh Inn' has come to stop here the night," explained his wife, "and a doctor's here to see you."
"I feel very bad," grumbled the policeman, "my head's aching, where them there villains gave me a clump."
"Let me see it," said the doctor, and having moved the lamp, he began to undo the bandages with deft fingers.
"Come, Elspeth, me and you'll go to the kitchen. You'll be wanting your supper, poor lass. I'm glad ye've come here. Augh, that woman at the inn, I'm fair glad you've left her."
"Good night, Sweetlips," said Elspeth again, and in an utterly worn-out tone, "you'll see me to-morrow."
"Yes. Come along to the caravan and speak with my missus. She's a rare one for managing, is my Rachel."
Mrs. Armour bore off the weary girl, and when the pair were out of the room, Kind turned his attention to the policeman, who had stopped his groans. Browne had bound up his head, and he confessed that the wound felt easier.
"My missus is a good soul," said Armour, "but her fingers is all thumbs, drat her."
He looked as though he expected his visitors to take their leave, but when Browne sat down and Sweetlips followed suit, the policeman half rose from the sofa in astonishment.
"You'll be wanting to see me, gentlemen?"
"Yes," said Kind, making a sign to the doctor to hold his tongue, "I want to ask you about this kidnapping."
"What for?" asked Armour, suspiciously.
"This gentleman," Kind indicated the doctor, "is a friend of Mr. Herries, who is accused falsely of having killed his uncle, Sir Simon. He has asked me to see into the matter."
"But what can a Cheap-jack do?"
"I was not always a Cheap-jack, Armour. Formerly I was in the London detective force."
"Were ye now?" Armour's face relaxed. "Then maybe ye could put me on to earning this bit of money by telling me where the man we want is hanging out."
"I'd rather earn it for myself," said Sweetlips coolly, "but if you'll tell me all about this kidnapping, I may be able to make it worth your while."
"But I don't see what this, has to do with that?"
"Ah, you can't see far, that's a fact," rejoined the Cheap-jack scathingly. "But it's this way. Your kidnapping has to do with the murder. The man who killed Sir Simon climbed in at the window somewhere about midnight."
"I wasn't there then," said Armour swiftly.
"I know that, or you would have seen him getting in. But he had not left by the time you came, and when you sat down on the bench, you prevented his escape."
"But, Kind," broke in the doctor, "the assassin departed through the tap-room next morning, disguised as his victim."
"That's true enough, but the men who kidnapped Armour may not have known that. Probably they were set to keep the coast clear, and when Armour blocked the way of escape, they rushed him."
"Aye, that they did," said Armour, forgetting all caution in his desire to tell his woes. "I was sitting there with a pipe, quiet-like and they came up,--I can't say how many,--with a dash. One thumped me in the head, and threw a shawl over me, and--"
"Have you the shawl?" asked Kind.
"Here it be." Armour fished under the sofa and drew forth a yellow shawl striped glaringly with scarlet. While Kind examined this, he went on with his story. "They carried I away, where, I nivir knowed, being half insensible-like. When I come to my senses quite I was lying in a muddy ditch, with the shawl still over my head, and bound hand and foot like a parcel of goods. Hours and hours passed and then the porter come and got me free. And I ask you," cried the policeman, "if there was anything in that, as showed I hadn't done my dooty?"
"No," said Browne, to whom the policeman appealed, for Kind was turning over every inch of the shawl. "You were the victim of circumstances. See here, you needn't say that you have told us anything, as I want to assist my friend secretly. Hold your tongue, and I'll give you twenty pounds.
"Well, sir," Armour scratched his head, "seems to me, as I may be chucked the Force, if my superior officer, Inspector Trent, don't cool down. So be it as you'll ask me nothing which will be against my dooty----"
Kind rose, threw down the shawl and interrupted. His eyes sparkled and Browne was sure that he had made a discovery.
"We ask you nothing more," he said, putting on his hat, "but whether you leave the Force or not, you'll get the money. And more, you will be doing a kind thing in helping Dr. Browne to clear his friend's character."
"But my superior officer ses as this Herries is guilty."
"Your superior officer is several kinds of ass."
"That he be," assented Armour vigorously, "he swore as I'd not kept my eyes open. And I ask you, what more could a man do, as was rushed by sailors?"
"You are sure they were sailors."
"Well, one of 'em wore a pea-jacket with brass buttons, as I've seen sailors wear."
"Were they foreigners?" asked Browne quickly.
"They might ha' bin, but I nivir had no time to see their faces, and they nivir did talk to me nohow."
"That's all; good-night," said Sweetlips, walking to the door.
"And you'll bear in mind the twenty pounds," said Armour, letting them out into the tidy garden.
"Yes, yes, come some day to Tarhaven. Any one will tell you where Dr. James Browne lives. I'll give you the money; only hold your confounded tongue."
"Nivir fear, nivir fear," said Armour, and shut the door with a chuckle. They left quite a different man behind to the grumbling, suspicious creature they had found nursing his wounds on the horse-hair sofa.
"Well?" asked Browne, when he and Kind were well on their way to the caravan. "What have you found?"
"Do you remember that name 'Tarabacca,' which the lawyer spied on the envelope directed by Sir Simon in the office."
"Yes. What of that?"
"It's on the shawl."
"On the shawl?"
"Yes. That's a foreign shawl, and a woman's shawl. Comes from Italy or Egypt or Tangiers maybe."
"Kind, you don't think----?"
"Aye, but I do. We're bringing home the crime to that lady in the motor car who insulted you. That insult will cost her dear. She smoked the same kind of cigarette as I found in Mr. Herries' bedroom, and this shawl evidently belongs to her. And the name is the same as that on the envelope addressed secretly by Sir Simon Tedder. We're getting on, doctor. That woman must be found."
"But you don't think that she killed Sir Simon?"
"Why not? I said that a light, nimble person could have climbed the trellis. Why not this lady? However, we'll have a talk to Mr. Herries, and tell him all we have found out. He may know if his uncle was acquainted with this dark lady."
But Herries did not know. They approached the caravan whistling "Garryowen" and gave the signal. Herries was seated by Mrs. Kind's bed, and was more than glad to see his friend. Browne related what he had discovered, and then Kind followed with the story of the policeman's kidnapping. When he mentioned the name on the shawl, the doctor harked back, and explained the episode in Ritson's office, which he had forgotten to tell in detail. Then it was that the accused man started.
"Tarabacca!" he cried, much excited. "Why, that's the name of the steam yacht lying alongside my boat at Pierside."