Jonah's Luck

CHAPTER XV

A FRIEND IN NEED

Elspeth sprang forward to welcome her father. As she had confessed once or twice to Herries, she had no great love for him, since he had not treated her as he should have done. All the same he was her father, and the sole relation she had in the world, so, when she beheld him stagger into the caravan, looking more or less a wreck, all the woman's heart of her went out to the old reprobate. On his side also, Gowrie seemed glad to meet his deserted child, and patted her hand, as he sank into the chair vacated by Kind.

Neither the Cheap-jack, nor the girl thought of telling the new-corner that Herries was stretched at full length under his gouty feet, as they feared lest the greed of money should lead Mr. Gowrie into betraying the young man. Herries likewise, recognising the voice, and hearing Kind's boisterous welcome, knew that the long-sought-for witness was seated overhead, but he also declined to trust himself to so slippery a gentleman. He therefore lay still and stiff, listening to the conversation, anxious only to hear if his former tutor could throw light on the subject of the murder.

"Weel, weel," muttered Gowrie, while his daughter and Kind stared at him in silence, "it's a braw welcome ye've given the auld mon. Mae ain flesh an' bluid's kinder nor the warld I'm theenking. Aye, aye, and there'll be whusky aboot maybe."

Sweetlips, seeing that the old creature was more or less exhausted, poured him out a glass of Glenlivet, and while Gowrie smacked his lips over the unaccustomed luxury,--for that it was, since he appeared to be as poor as the proverbial church mouse,--Elspeth stared at the parent she was ordered to love, honour and obey. He did not seem to be the sort of father to whom the text applied. His hand shook, as he sipped the strong drink, and his white head quivered as though he had the palsy. The fringe of silvery hair round his bald head gave him a patriarchal appearance, and his beard was one Aaron might have envied, so long and venerable had it grown. His clothes were still dirty and disreputable, and his face was still inflamed with drink. On the whole the Rev. Michael Gowrie looked like a man with whom the world had gone badly, and Elspeth shuddered, when she reflected that this wreck had the right to call her his daughter. However, she was sorry for him, so old and weak did he look, and tended to him silently.

"Will you have some food?"

"Nae, nae, my lassie. It's the gude barley-bree that's needed. A bite an hoor or twa later, wud dae me nae hairm, I'm theenking, but we'll dae wi' the whusky at preesent. Aye, aye, this is a hoose o' refuge, Elspeth. Ye mauna turn yer puir auld faither oot into the confleect o' the elements. Ice, snaw, an' rain, all praisin' Providence, forebye, it's but rain, ye ken."

"Where do you come from?" asked Kind impatiently, as he had no patience with these maunderings.

"Ye may weel ask that. I've been walking up an' doon the arth like Satan in Holy Writ, but wi' less success, I'm theenking. Nae siller in ma pocket, and a price,--as ye may say,--on the heid o' me."

"You know that you are wanted then," said Elspeth with eagerness.

"Aye, but no for daeing wrang, dear. Losh me," he chuckled, being revived by the drink, "there's fame for ye, me being asked for in a' the papers o' the three kingdoms.

"How is it you never turned up before?" asked Kind.

"Weel!" said Gowrie, winking one eye and holding out his glass to be replenished, "I wisnae very sure it wud be wise tae gang tae those in authority. The reward wudnae gang into ma pockets. I lay low in Great Babylon, the which ye ken is London, and got ma bite an sup fra the few shullings I got----"

"From Mr. Herries' pockets," finished Elspeth. "Father, you acted shamefully, robbing Angus."

"Angus is it," snapped the old man, ignoring the accusation, "and for why dae ye, ma ain child, ca' him Angus?"

"That's my business," retorted the girl, flushing. Gowrie watched her cunningly.

"Aye, aye, young life and young luve, ma dearie. Weel, and shall nae a wumon depart fra her faither and be one wi' her husband an'----"

"I never said that!" cried the girl angrily.

"Hoots, lassie, I'm nae blind, foreby yon limmer at the inn tauld me ye'd taken a gait o' yer own. An' me," cried Gowrie, raising his voice in indignation, "coming tae the inn for a bite and a sup, wi' nae siller tae pay, believing my ain child wud wark off the bill."

"She's had enough of that," said Kind roughly, "she was quite right to leave. She is stopping with Armour the policeman, and goes with me when we leave this place."

"And wi' Herries?"

"We don't know where he is," said Kind smartly, seeing that Elspeth hesitated to tell the white fib.

"An' hoo, then, can ye luve him?" demanded Gowrie cunningly.

"I loved him when he slept at the inn," returned the girl, "he helped with the bucket; the first person who was ever kind to me."

"Eh, Romeo and Juliet, o' Wully Shakespeare," chuckled Gowrie, "the bard wisnae sae far wrang in his gab o' luve at first sight. Wull yon lad marry ye, Elspeth, dae ye theenk?"

"What makes you think that we are engaged?" she asked evasively.

"My lassie," said the old man chuckling, "I ken the waiys o' wumon, none better. In the Patmos in the weelderness, where I wis hiding, I read the papers, and saw aboot yon escape. Thinks I, Elspeth hes mair to do wi' this nor meets the eye. Didnae I see the blink of yer een when Herries wis chatting in the tap-room. He couldnae ha' escaped by himsel. Nae, nae, where there's a mon, there a wumon, sae I joost pit twa and twa togither. Aye, he's yer mon, lassie."

Elspeth glanced at Kind, and he at her. The old man had guessed all that had taken place by shrewd observation, and they dreaded lest this preternatural cunning (for so it seemed) should lead him to guess that Herries was quaking under his feet. But his next observation reassured them in some measure.

"I'm ganging tae save the lad," said Gowrie, finishing his glass.

"What?" cried his daughter, and Herries suppressed a gasp with difficulty. The remark was like a gleam of light in a clouded heaven.

"Aye," pursued Gowrie, leisurely, "ye taunt me, yer ain faither, wi' taking a few bit shullings fra the laddie's pocket. It wis the best thing that happened tae him, that same, for by daeing what I did, I can save the lad. And who's he, my ain pupil, to grudge his auld tutor a bit of siller?"

Kind glanced nervously at the floor. He knew that Herries was overhearing every word the old reprobate uttered, and dreaded lest he should reveal himself prematurely. But Herries held his peace until he learned more of Mr. Gowrie's intentions. He did not trust him an inch until he could see how the old man proposed to benefit by saving him.

Elspeth, knowing her father of old, had similar thoughts in her brain, and spoke her mind pretty freely. What the reprobate had guessed she confessed, thinking, that if he knew Herries was her lover, he would be more inclined to save him. Sweetlips remained silent, as he was anxious to let Gowrie talk, so as to learn exactly what he had up his sleeve.

"Father," said the girl, laying her hands on Gowrie's shoulders, "can you really save Angus?"

"Yes," said the reverend gentleman, in his best English, "if he will be guided by me."

"And what do you expect to get out of this?"

"Ma ain child," said the patriarch, relapsing into Scotch, "dae ye nae theenk but what a mon micht dae good wi'out conseedering himsel'?"

"You wouldn't," rejoined Elspeth curtly.

Gowrie wiped a tear from his inflamed eye with a ragged handkerchief, and raised his face to heaven.

"Ma ain child," said he in a pathetic tone, "Aye, it's a Lear I am, nae less."

"Look here, father," said Elspeth, placing her hands on her hips and speaking almost as sourly as Mrs. Narby, whose favourite attitude this was. "It's no use your talking like this. You took me from that excellent school, where my godfather was educating me, and turned me into Mrs. Narby's drudge, just that you might have a place to go to, in the 'Marsh Inn,' without paying. I was a child when you last saw me, and did what I was told. But love, the love of a good man, has changed me into a woman. I have become engaged to Angus, and I helped him to escape. He's far away from here, and in a place where you won't find him. I have seen him several times since he got away from the inn, and we are engaged to be married."

"It warrums ma hairt tae hear ye say so, lassie," mumbled Gowrie, in a thankful voice. "Aye, aye, ye'll be able tae gie yer auld faither a warrum seat by the hearth."

"We haven't got a hearth," said Elspeth bluntly.

"Aye, but ye'll hae a braw ane, I doot not," said Gowrie cunningly, and watched the effect of his remark out of the corner of his wicked old eye.

It was Kind who replied, as he was beginning to have an inkling of why Mr. Gowrie had put in so opportune an appearance.

"I don't know if you guessed that Elspeth had a hand in Mr. Herries' escape," said he, looking steadily at his visitor, "but you came down here to see if you could force her to become engaged to Mr. Herries."

"There's nae force required," chuckled Gowrie.

"You didn't know that. God has brought these two unlucky people together, I verily believe, so that they may be happy in the long run. You guessed,--at least I can't think how you could know in any way,--you guessed that Elspeth saved Mr. Herries from immediate arrest, and probably, as you say, you saw, when Herries came to the inn that Elspeth liked him--"

"Luved him--luved him. Dinna use weak worrds."

"Well then, loved him. You thought to come here and see if Elspeth would marry him, and----"

"I went to the inn," cried Gowrie, speaking English, and in a most indignant manner. "Mrs. Narby promised to give me house-room always, so long as Elspeth worked for her. And I found that Elspeth had insulted that most excellent lady, and I was turned out of my Patmos,--my refuge in the wilderness. Mrs. Narby sent me here, to your house on wheels, saying she was here."

"Well then, I am here. What do you want?"

"Dae ye ken I'm yer faither?" demanded Gowrie wrathfully.

"Only too well," she replied bitterly, "had you not been my father, I should never have slaved for Mrs. Narby. But I agree with Sweetlips, you came here with some scheme in your head. What is it?"

"I know," said Sweetlips, interposing contemptuously. "He intended to get you to find Herries, and ask him to marry you out of gratitude."

"I should never have done that," cried the girl flushing.

"There is no need to, as things have turned out," retorted Kind bluntly, "but your father here wants you to marry Mr. Herries."

"Aye, aye," mumbled Gowrie, "I'm gey auld, and ma child,--weeckedly as she talks to her puir auld faither, must nae be left wi'oot a protector, when I'm in ma lang hame, the which is the grave."

"You have no idea of going to your long home for years," said Kind, coolly. "You lay low and did not come forward to save Mr. Herries until you saw that it would be to your advantage."

"As how?" asked Gowrie politely, but his face grew red.

"You saw in the newspapers that Herries inherited his uncle's money."

"On condeetions, mind ye," chuckled Gowrie.

"So that is why you have come?" asked Elspeth, angrily.

Gowrie rose to his full height, which was tall enough nearly to touch the roof of the caravan, and thrust one hand into the breast of his ragged frock-coat in quite a Napoleonic attitude.

"That," he said in his grand mellow voice, and now quite restored to his native impudence by the whisky, "that is my reason. Whether I guessed that you had assisted Herries to escape or not, matters little. I may have guessed from your betraying eyes at the inn that you had fallen in love with him at once, or I may not. Let that pass. But I am a good father, and it went to my heart to think that one of my blood should slave at a poor inn, when she should be occupying a lady's position, seeing that she,--I allude to you, Elspeth,--is a lady born and bred. I therefore said, when I saw that Herries was likely to become a millionaire, I said to myself that it would be as well to be his father-in-law. And I charge you, Elspeth, as you are my daughter, to marry this man, and keep your father in comfort in his old age. 'Honour thy father and thy mother' says the Book of books, and do not----"

This episode of the devil quoting scripture to gain his own ends was cut short by a choking laugh, which came from under Mr. Gowrie's feet. The old man jumped up, as though a bomb was about to explode, and Elspeth began to explain.

"It's the dog," she said in a hurried tone. "It's the----"

"No, no," cried Herries' voice from below, and Gowrie, whose nerves were weak with drink, jumped again. "Let me out. I'll trust him."

"Whaur the deil have ye pit the mon?" inquired Gowrie, affrightedly.

Kind shrugged his shoulders, and lifted the flooring, after he had swept Gowrie to one side. He did not think it was wise of Herries to reveal himself to so untrustworthy a personage; but the mischief had been done, and shortly Herries, red in the face from suppressed laughter, sat up in the gap, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I couldn't help it," he gasped looking from Elspeth to Kind, and from Kind to his old tutor, "to hear that fraud talk about the Bible was too much for me."

"Ma ain laddie," cried Gowrie, not at all taken aback, and recovering the colour of his shiny skin, which had vanished in his recent alarm, "here's one who will help you."

"I know that one is here who won't betray me," said Herries rising and taking a seat, "guard the door, Kind. Elspeth, don't look so alarmed; it's to your father's advantage to hold his tongue. I should not have revealed myself, else."

"Eh," said Gowrie lifting his eyes to heaven, "ma ain pupil taks me for a Judas."

"You're quite right," said Herries dryly, "you'd sell me within the hour, if you thought you'd make money. But I am of more value to you alive than dead, or the rope would be round my neck."

"If my father did that--" gasped Elspeth, clenching her fists.

"Pooh, pooh," interrupted Kind, seeing from the brightness of Herries' eye, and the resolution of his look, that he was quite master of the situation, "let the Guv'nor speak."

"The Governor?" queried Herries, smiling.

"Yes. I see you've made up your mind to act, so there's no chance of my guiding you any further. And I'm glad of it, Guv'nor," added the Cheap-jack, heartily, "you have plenty of resolution, and only need to exercise it. Now then, we're tiled in all right, so fire ahead and find out what this old----"

"I'm the Rev. Michael Gowrie, saving your presence," said that gentleman in an aggrieved tone.

"You are whatever pays you best," retorted Kind. "Here, have some more whisky, and answer the Guv'nor's questions straight, or I'll wring that blessed old neck of yours."

"Elspeth!"

"I agree with Sweetlips, father," said the girl with resolution. "If you don't act straightly, I'll accuse you myself of having murdered Sir Simon, even though you are my own father."

"I," gasped Gowrie turning pale, all but his nose, which everlastingly gleamed a bright crimson, "I murder----?"

"It looks like it," put in Herries, who had been watching the old trickster, "you've run your head into the noose, Mr. Gowrie."

"I'm--I'm--innocent, damn ye."

"Very good. Then explain what took place on that night."

"I'll no dae that, until I see ye marrit tae my dochter, she-deil as she has been tae her auld faither."

"But how can I marry her in my present position?"

"Eh, ye can leave yon tae me, Angus. I'll ca ye Angus, seence ye're tae be bane o' ma bane and flesh o' ma flesh, as it micht be. When I can ca' my dochter Mistress Herries, and have the promise of the pair o' ye tae gie me enough tae leeve like gentry, I'll save the life o' ye,--aye, that I wull."

"And tell us who killed Sir Simon."

"Nae," said Gowrie with real regret, "I canna dae that, for I dinna ken wha committed the weecked deed."

"That's a lie," cried Kind.

"It's the truth, sir," said Gowrie in his best English. "For all I know Herries here may have killed the man."

"You said that you could save me."

"I did, and I can," said Gowrie, rather disconcerted, "but only if you marry Elspeth."

"I don't require your command to marry her," said Herries, taking the girl in his arms. "I love your daughter with all my heart and soul, as a good true woman. I'll marry whenever I am free."

"Ye'll mairry before that," said Gowrie sharply.

"Can't you trust me?" asked Herries angrily.

"I trust nae one."

"He judges all by himself," said Kind. "Well then, tell us how the marriage can take place. You know that Mr. Herries is being searched for, and if he gets the banns put up, or procures a special license, he will be arrested."

"I know that," snapped Gowrie with a leer, "and I want him to be arrested.

"What!" cried Elspeth, placing herself before her father with a look of dismay, "would you betray him?"

"No, no," said Herries, beginning to see the drift of the old man's plot, "Mr. Gowrie wants to earn the five hundred pounds reward from my cousin."

"Aye, I do that, and save you from being hanged also."

"I don't understand," said Elspeth in bewilderment.

"I do," said Kind, quickly, for he also saw what was meant. "I'll take Mr. Herries to some less dangerous neighbourhood, where he will not be arrested so immediately,--say to some midland town, where the news of the murder will scarcely have penetrated. Mr. Herries' name will not be so known there, and then I'll get a special license, and you can marry him, Elspeth."

"That's it--that's it," cried Gowrie exultingly. "Meanwhile I go to Miss Tedder and say that the marriage will take place on a certain day in a certain town. She'll tell the police, and you, Angus, will be arrested. I'll thus get the reward, which we'll employ to hunt down the true assassin, and place you in command of the fifty thousand a year," he smacked his lips.

"But Angus may be hanged," cried Elspeth terrified, and clinging to her lover.

"Lassie," said Gowrie solemnly, "not a hair of the head of him will be hurt. I can exonerate him entirely."

"But how. I don't see----"

"Neither do I," said Herries, looking hard at Gowrie. "All the same, I'll trust my future father-in-law, as I am quite sure that he has more use for fifty thousand a year than for five hundred all told." The reprobate rubbed his dirty hands together and chuckled.

"I'll hae some mair o' the Glenlivet," said he gaily. "Aye, ye neednae stint pouring oot the gude drink. This is a joyful occasion. I've gotten mae dochter a gude doonsettin', and wull save a desarving laddie fra the rope o' doom, deil tak' them as wove the same."

"Will you trust him?" asked Kind aside to Herries, while Gowrie sipped his whisky joyously.

"Yes," answered Herries, in the same tone. "He's a clever old sinner, and has some scheme in his head whereby to save me. The money I'll inherit will make it worth his while. Gowrie," he said, raising his voice, "if you pull me through I'll settle one thousand a year on you. Honour bright."

"I'll dae it--I'll dae it," the old gentleman smacked his leg. "Losh me, there's a power of drink in a thoosand a year. Lave it tae me, laddie, and I'll be a faither tae ye. Bless ye, mae bairns, hoo happy ye mak me auld hairt."

"Oh, take him away," cried Herries, disgusted with the man.

"No, no," said Kind imperatively, "when he goes it will be with Elspeth. If he's alone he may get drinking and let out that you are here."

"Nae when a thoosand a year's tae be got," said Gowrie joyously, and in his glee began to sing a Scotch ballad in a cracked voice--

"Aye, Robbie Burns, Robbie Burns, weel did ye ken the joys o' life."

CHAPTER XVI

MR. GOWRIE'S PLOTTING

"Have you found him; have you really, really found him?"

"Aye! He's rin tae earth like a tod, young leddy."

"Oh!" Maud Tedder clapped her hands, and a bright light came into her tired-looking eyes. "I'm so glad--I'm so delighted. Now he's caught the law will hang him for killing poor pa, and I'll--" she was about to add that she would inherit the money, but thought it wiser not to reveal her private business too minutely, and ended differently, "I'll have done my duty," said Maud Tedder virtuously.

"An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," boomed Mrs. Mountford.

The three, two ladies and one gentleman, were seated in the drawing-room of "Moated Hall," enjoying a most interesting conversation. Until Herries fulfilled the conditions of the will, and came forward to claim his inheritance, Mr. Ritson, as the executor, permitted Miss Tedder to dwell in her old home. She had only lately returned from London, in company with Mrs. Mountford, and her jaded looks may be accounted for by the fact that it had been found impossible to upset the will of the late knight. Also there was another reason for Maud's drawn face and lack of colour, but this she did not impart to Mr. Michael Gowrie.

The old reprobate sat comfortably in the most comfortable chair which his eagle eye could have chosen when he entered the room, and he was here with the intention of carrying out the little plot entered into between himself and Kind and Herries. Ritson was also cognisant of the scheme to have Herries arrested after the marriage ceremony, as Kind and Gowrie had called to inform him that Herries was ready to give himself up.

At that interview with the lawyer, a long conversation had taken place, and Ritson had been made acquainted with all that had happened from the time that Angus had set foot in the "Marsh Inn." He could throw no light on the darkness of the case, even after hearing the facts, but approved of Herries surrendering himself to the law, as, until he stood his trial, or at least until he appeared before the magistrate, nothing, in Mr. Ritson's opinion, could be done. He had therefore supplied Gowrie with a trifle of money to procure some new clothes, and pay a proper visit to the disinherited heiress. In the meantime, Herries, still hiding in the caravan, had departed with Kind and Elspeth, chaperoned by Rachel, to a quiet midland town, whereto the details of the crime had not yet penetrated with sufficient publicity to make the name of Herries notorious. Thus all chance of immediate arrest was avoided.

And not only had Ritson, in the interests of his client, the accused man, financed Gowrie, but he had provided the money to procure a special license for the solemnisation of the marriage. It must be confessed that there was some difficulty over the procuring of this latter, or at all events, after it had been procured. The clerk had given the license readily enough, as he never thought that a hunted man would seek to marry. But afterwards it crossed his mind that Angus Herries was wanted by the police in connection with the "Marsh Inn" murder, and he had forthwith informed Scotland Yard. But a description of the man who had procured the license--it was Kind--led to nothing, and as the license was given, it was probable that the marriage would take place. The only thing to do was to keep a look-out throughout England for the church where the ceremony was likely to be performed. Inspector Trent was communicated with, and came up to London to make personal enquiries, but he could learn nothing likely to trace the man who had taken out the license. This was the more difficult, as Kind had disguised himself to procure the same, But the fact remained that Angus Herries, who stood in the shadow of the gallows, was so little impressed by his terrible position that he intended to marry. Trent, who was wanting in imagination, could not understand.

Gowrie had also interviewed Trent at Tarhaven, while Kind was getting the license, and told a very straightforward story. He had been asleep in the tap-room, he said, and had departed at seven in the morning according to his intention, as told to the landlady on the previous night. He had heard nothing, and had seen nothing, and would have come forward before only he had been travelling in the midlands for the last few weeks, and had not seen any paper likely to inform him that he was being asked for. Having told all he knew, that is, all he chose to appear to know, Mr. Gowrie left the Tarhaven police-office stating that he would hold himself at the disposition of the police, and would be found at any time at the "Marsh Inn," where he had again induced Mrs. Narby to take him in. In the face of this plausible story, Inspector Trent, whose intellect was none of the brightest, did not see how he could arrest Gowrie, and the old reprobate won clear of a rather difficult position.

So here he was, in the very citadel of the enemy, arrayed in a brand-new broad-cloth suit, with a new tall hat, and a pair of new black gloves, to say nothing of highly polished boots, looking as neat as a new pin, and enjoying himself immensely; and no wonder, since he was telling lies by the yard. Gowrie should certainly have been a novelist, as he had a most lavish imagination, and should have put into print what he uttered by tongue. At the present moment, in his endeavours to entrap Maud Tedder into parting with five hundred pounds, he was wasting marketable stuff in a most prodigal fashion. At the same time, he was keeping a look-out for Captain Kyles, but as yet that buccaneer had not appeared on the scene. The reason of this non-appearance, Gowrie learned later.

"Aye, young leddy, he'll hang as high as Haman, I doot not. And wit ye say, me'em," this to Mrs. Mountford, "is tae be fund in Deuteronomy or the Beuk o' Leviticus, I no mind the which."

"I am glad to see, sir, that you read your Bible."

"It's bread an' life to me," said the sage, lifting his eyes; that is, he lifted one in appeal to heaven and kept the other on Maud, who was pacing the long room in a state of high excitement. She already saw the fortune within her grasp, and was quite prepared to hang her cousin, so that she might secure her rightful inheritance.

"And then he'll come back,--he'll come back," she murmured aloud.

"Eh, what's yon?" inquired Gowrie. "Wha wull come back, young leddy?"

"Captain----," she began unthinkingly, then, warned by an ostentatious cough from the watchful Mrs. Mountford, she stopped short. "I was talking to myself," she said haughtily.

"Hoots, I ken that, but we tell tae oorsel's muckle that we wudna tell tae ithers, ye ken."

"Language," groaned Mrs. Mountford, who looked more like an undertaker's lady than ever, "was given us to conceal our thoughts."

"Aye, aye, me'em. Ye'll have been takin' a wee bit look at the end o' the Dictionary. Jameson's for me," cried the enthusiastic Scotchman, "and nane o' yer Johnson's an' Webster's."

Maud shook her head impatiently and came to sit by the old man for the purpose of gaining information.

"You have merely told us that you have found Mr. Herries," she said, looking at him with her pale blue eyes, and in an inquisitive manner. "Where is he?"

"Aye, yen's a lang story," replied Gowrie folding his hands and settling himself comfortably, "an' maybe a glass of sherry wine wud help me to tell it mair lifelike."

Anxious only to hear the truth, Maud crossed to the bell, and touched the ivory button, but Mrs. Mountford groaned.

"What did Lemuel's mother say to him concerning strong drink?" she inquired.

But Gowrie, for business purposes, knew his Bible as well as she did, if not better.

"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts," he quoted.

"Likewise, 'It is not for kings to drink strong wine,'" she snapped.

"Aye, but I'm nae king ye ken, me'em," retorted the old scamp, then added under his breath, "Deil tak' the wurnon, she a parfect Lamentations o' Jeremy the prophet."

Mrs. Mountford worked no more in the cause of temperance, but sat glooming like a thunderstorm in her corner, while Gowrie tasted with approval the hot yellow wine, which had been brought almost immediately. When he had finished two glasses, he began to relate a perfectly mythical story, but none the less interesting, because it was invented out of his own clever head.

"I'm a mon o' letters," he began.

"Would you mind talking English?" interrupted Maud.

"Nae, nae, young leddy, ye canna get the pow'r in English that ye can in homely Scotch. An' I'm like an Eastern story-teller, aboot tae babble o' strange maitters."

"I'll hear them in English, which I know you can speak," said Maud, who was as obstinate as Gowrie himself, "or I won't listen at all."

"Then ye'll nae find the mon ye want."

"Oh yes. I'll tell Inspector Trent that you know where he is."

Gowrie did not relish this speech, as Trent entertained some suspicions of his honesty, notwithstanding the plausible story he had related. Also, he might lose the reward. Therefore he made a virtue of necessity, and turned his glib tongue to English.

"I am a man of letters, Miss Tedder," he said smoothly, "and have fallen on evil days. To be precise, I have not earned that reputation which my talents deserve, consequently my emoluments are not large. At one time I was tutor to Angus Herries, your unfortunate cousin, but evil-speaking people drove me from the metropolis of the North to wander on the earth."

"Proceed," said Mrs. Mountford heavily, and thinking, from the looks of the narrator, that strong drink had much to do with his wandering on the face of the earth.

"I have wandered far and wide," said this modern Ulysses, "and the records of my travels may be found in various journals. I have been but badly paid for the same," said the sage sighing, "and it behoves me to gain money in some other way," he cast a cunning look at Miss Tedder. "I hear there is a reward offered for the man who can find Angus Herries?"

"Yes! I am not rich," said Maud coolly, "but I'll willingly pay five hundred pounds, which I can do through Mr. Ritson, the lawyer, as soon as Mr. Herries is in gaol."

"Aye," murmured Gowrie, maintaining a bland face, "a sprat tae catch a mack'ril."

"What's that?" asked Maud, hearing indistinctly.

"Naething--a blessing--a blessing. But to continue," he added, reverting to English, "I chanced upon the 'Marsh Inn' while I wandered, and there I have stopped frequently. Indeed, my daughter, Elspeth, remained at the inn, as a companion to the landlady."

"I was told about her," said Miss Tedder abruptly, "she was a servant, I believe."

"Nae, nae, a companion, young leddy. But that's neither here nor there, ye ken. Weel--I mean, well, young lady, I stopped at the inn on the night your father was murdered, and----"

"We know all about that, sir," boomed Mrs. Mountford, "Inspector Trent informed us of what you had told him. In the interests of justice, he is keeping Miss Tedder advised of all matters likely to lead to a detection of her father's murderer."

"Then I need not go over the same ground again," said Gowrie readily, and laughing in his sleeve at the way in which he was deceiving these women, who doubtless thought themselves extremely clever, "sufficient it is to say, that I was asleep all the night, and departed early in the morning ignorant that a crime had been committed. When I returned many days later, I found that my daughter, whom I had left in the charge of Mrs. Narby----"

"As a servant," interpolated Maud spitefully.

"As a companion," persisted Gowrie obstinately. "I found that she had fled with Angus Herries!"

"With my cousin," Maud rose excitedly, "did she know where he was?"

"No," lied the reprobate skilfully, "she saw him at the inn, and then he escaped. Afterwards she received a letter from him, written from a Buckinghamshire village, asking her to join him."

"And why?" asked Mrs. Mountford curiously.

"Because, it seems, the two loved one another."

"Absurd," cried Maud, her small face working with anger, "why, she only saw him once."

"Quite long enough to enable her to love him, and he to love her," said Gowrie, rather pleased to witness this disgust.

"But it's impossible, Angus loved me," she insisted, and a look of wounded pride passed over her face.

"So he told me," responded Gowrie dryly, "but that was two years ago. He said that he never really loved until he met Elspeth."

"Oh, did he?" cried Miss Tedder in disgust. "Then she won't have him for long. He'll be in gaol before many hours pass."

"I hope so," said Gowrie, playing his part extremely well. "I do not want my child to become the bride of a criminal."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I say, Miss Tedder. When I found that my daughter had fled to Herries in Buckinghamshire----"

"How did you know she was there?"

"I found a letter waiting for me at a London address, telling me that she was going to marry Herries."

"Why was not the letter waiting at the inn?"

It was not, for the simple reason that Gowrie was too clever to give himself away. Mrs. Narby certainly would not depose that such a letter was waiting at the inn, therefore he placed the address at a safe distance where the police could not find it.

"I have a home in London, to which my child always writes," said he evasively, "and she wrote to me there, after I had found the inn empty of my jewel."

"Oh, go on," said Maud, impatient of this high-flown language.

"I then went to Buckinghamshire----"

"To what village do you say?"

"I'll not tell you that until I have your promise in writing to pay me the five hundred."

"You shall have it before you leave this room. But you will only get the money if Herries, I mean my cousin, is arrested."

"I ask no more," said Gowrie rubbing his hands and chuckling. "If Inspector Trent will come with me we can interrupt the marriage ceremony, which takes place to-morrow in the village church."

"So soon. And the village?"

"Wait till I have your handwriting," said Gowrie, smartly, "but to proceed with the epic. I went to this village, and saw Herries, and my daughter. He told me that he was innocent, and that he had procured a special license to marry my child. I objected, as I wanted him first to clear his name. He says he cannot do that----"

"And no wonder," said Miss Tedder scornfully, "seeing that he is guilty of the crime."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do. Would I want him hanged if I did not believe him guilty?"

"Weel," said Gowrie scratching his head, and applying himself again to a now nearly empty decanter, "wumen are kittle cattle."

"Not Miss Tedder," chimed in Mrs. Mountford, "she is not one to bear false witness."

"Well, then, to make a long story short," said Gowrie beginning to feel weary, and finding there was no chance of further strong drink, "my pride objected to my daughter wedding a criminal, and I came to ask you, Miss Tedder, to pay me the reward and come with me to Inspector Trent. To-morrow we can go to this village, and arrest this man. And heaven grant," added Gowrie piously, "that we may be in time to prevent the marriage."

"Whether Angus is married or not matters very little," said his amiable cousin. "I want him tried by jury."

"Weel," chuckled Gowrie becoming Scotch again, now that his story was ended. "Ye canna have him tried ony ither way, ye ken. But are ye sure that the mon is guilty?"

"Certain. He was at the inn, and so was my father."

"I wis there also, yet I'm innocent," said Gowrie, dryly.

"You had no reason to kill my father, Angus had."

"And what may that be?"

"He knew that he would inherit the money if my father died."

"How did he know that?"

"Captain Kyles told me that he knew."

"An' hoo did Captain Kyles ken?"

"You had better ask him," snapped Maud, who seemed to regret having admitted as much, and who had been frowned upon by Mrs. Mountford.

"Is he in the hoose?"

"No. He is in London."

"Nae, nae," chuckled the old man, prepared to throw a bombshell, "I ken weel where he is; a chield ca'd Sweetlips Kind tauld me, having been to the bit ship of him."

"To the 'Tarabacca?'"

"Aye,--at Pierside. The Captain's on board her, wi' the leddy he's gaun tae marry."

Maud jumped up wrathfully.

"He's engaged to me," she cried, and her baby face became convulsed with anger.

"Nae, nae, young leddy, Kind tell't me, he wis tae be the joe o' a Mexican lady,---o'----"

"Of Donna Maria Guzman," said Miss Tedder angrily; "that is untrue, Captain Kyles is to be my husband. Donna Maria is simply the daughter of the ex-President of Indiana, and came in the yacht to Pierside to do business with my father, and----"

"Maud, Maud," warned Mrs. Mountford, rising quickly, "do not say more than is wise."

"I shall say what I think,--that is,--no matter. But it's a lie, a lie, Mr. Gowrie. Captain Kyles is engaged to me."

"Aye," said Gowrie presumably to himself, "Angus Herries wull be glad. He wantit tae see ye marrit an' oot o' his way."

Maud uttered a cry of anger, which was precisely what Gowrie wanted her to do, since his object in making the speech was to inflame her against her cousin, as perhaps, as he thought, in her rage she might let out what she knew of the crime. But Mrs. Mountford laid her hand on the girl's arm as she was about to burst forth into furious speech, and after a moment's struggle with herself Miss Tedder rushed from the room followed by her governess.

Left alone, Gowrie rang the bell, and ordered another decanter of sherry, which was brought, since the servant fancied that Miss Tedder must have left instructions. It never struck the man that Gowrie would have the impudence to give an order on his own authority. But then he did not know the sage. Gowrie sipped the sherry, and chuckled over the success of his plot. But he was puzzled to think why Maud should be so angered against Angus Herries.

"A wumon scorned, I'm theenking," said Gowrie, meditatively, "she's wants tae marry the Captain, and yet hae her cousin deeing for her luve. But ye canna hae yer cake and eat it, young madam; nae, nae, I ken fine ye canna. I doot this Captain's playing the deil wi' ye, as ye played the jade wi' Herries. Weel, Herries wull marry my child, and the Captain his Mexican fly-away, and ye'll be left greeting, the which is nae mair nor ye deserve."

His meditations were interrupted by the return of Mrs. Mountford with a sheet of note-paper. On this Miss Tedder had written a promise that she would pay Michael Gowrie five hundred pounds when Herries was safe in gaol.

"I'm obleeged tae ye, me'em," said the sage, folding up the precious document, "awa' wi' this tae the poleece station, and invite yon Jack-in-office tae gang wi' me tae the salubrious village o' Anderfield in Bucks."

"Is that the name of the village, sir?"

"Aye. That's the name. Noo I hae the promise o' the siller, ye may ken the place where the marriage wull tak place. An' noo," he caught up his brand new silk hat, "I mau' be ganging ma ways."

"One moment," said Mrs. Mountford, laying her hand on his arm, "are you sure that Captain Kyles is engaged to this Mexican lady?"

"I am as sure as sure, me'em."

"Then he's a villain," cried Mrs. Mountford heavily, "for he told Miss Tedder that he loved her alone. But he had better take care, for Maud can--she can--"

"Can what?" asked Gowrie, struck by the significance of her tone.

"She can ruin him," said Mrs. Mountford coldly.

"The deil she can."

"If Captain Kyles marries this Donna Maria," said Mrs. Mountford in a quiet and deadly tone, "you tell Mr. Herries that I can save him."

Gowrie was so astonished by this speech that he would have asked for further information. But Mrs. Mountford, conscious perhaps that she had said too much, pushed him out of the room, and shortly he was hurrying towards the police-station as fast as his wicked old legs could carry him, sorely puzzled as to her meaning.

"Maybe the Captain killed the auld mon," thought Gowrie, "but for why? Hoots! there's a deal o' deevilry in this case. Yon lassie wi' the bairn's face kens mair aboot the death o' her faither nor she'll say. But if this Don Giovanny--and that Kyles is, no less--plays her false, a' the fat wull be on the fire. Weel, the mair necessity for me tae hurry up wi' the arrest, and get the siller."

Meanwhile, Maud Tedder was shut up in her room, lying on her bed and raging as only a woman scorned can rage. Of late she had noted, and especially since the death of her father, that Kyles was not so attentive as he had been. Now she learned that he was engaged to Donna Maria Guzman, when he had explicitly stated to her that he did not care for that lady. Apparently it was the money he was after, and this thought made the jealous heart of Maud burn within her. She loved Kyles, and would have sacrificed a thousand cousins to make him her husband. That could be done, she thought, if she recovered her fortune by getting Herries hanged. And if he was arrested he certainly would be hanged, therefore she was quite willing to give half a year's income to bring about this result.

All that day and the next she lay in bed, denying herself to everyone, longing for news. Late in the afternoon of the day following Gowrie's visit, she received a wire from Anderfield, sent by the old man.

"Herries arrested," ran the wire, "he was already married."

"Married," said Maud to herself, smiling cruelly, "his honeymoon will be spent in gaol, and will end on the gallows."