CHAPTER XX
AT THE "MARSH INN"
The Rev. Michael Gowrie was not averse to visiting the "Marsh Inn" again, as he was well known there, and posed as a fireside king. Certainly Mrs. Narby had refused to receive him again, after the desertion of Elspeth, but now that she knew Gowrie was the father-in-law of a wealthy man, she would probably change her tune. Moreover, the old tutor saw that it was necessary to discover the assassin of Sir Simon, if the money was to be fingered by himself. For if Herries did not fulfil the conditions of the will, and bring the murderer to justice, he could not inherit the fortune, in which case Mr. Gowrie would not reap the reward he hoped to gain, for letting Elspeth marry the man. The golden apple which Gowrie longed to pluck was yet beyond his reach.
Therefore he returned to the "Marsh Inn" the next day, and was sourly welcomed by the landlady. Indeed, she still showed a disposition to keep him out of doors, but Gowrie having five pounds in his purse,--he had procured the same from Browne for business purposes,--flashed his gold in her eyes, and spoke largely.
"Ye can gie me the best bedroom an' the parlour," said he, with the air of a millionaire. "And see that the cooking be gude, and the drink plentiful. The lean days are gane, and noo come in the fat years o' merry-making. An aboot time, I'm theenking."
Mrs. Narby was still sore that Elspeth should have defied her, and departed. Also she was not pleased that her former drudge should have married a man worth fifty thousand a year. Ritson, while informing the Press that Herries had got the money, had, for obvious reasons suppressed the fact that he had a duty to perform before getting the cash. Therefore Mrs. Narby was extremely jealous of Elspeth, and nothing would have given her greater pleasure than to have scratched her face, and pulled her hair. But Mrs. Herries was beyond the reach of her malice, and the father of Mrs. Herries had money galore. It was worth while to transfer that money from his pocket into hers. She therefore smoothed her sour face, and softened her raucous voice, which was as hoarse as the note of a starling. In her desire to propitiate Gowrie she even curtseyed.
"I am very glad t' see you, sir," croaked Mrs. Narby, with a greedy eye on the gold which Gowrie held in his hand, "jes like ole times, ain't it, you an' me? An' ow's yer daughter, me dear friend?"
"Revellin' in silks an' satins an jewels of price," replied Gowrie carelessly, "there's naethin' ower gude for the lassie."
"Ho!" yelped Mrs. Narby almost suffocated with rage, "it is a chainge, Mr. Gowrie, ain't it? I thought she'd be a gallows widder!"
"Ye're nae paid tae theenk," retorted Gowrie with his grand air, "gae spin, ye jade, and bring me th' flowin' bowl,--th' which Tommy Moore sang aboot."
"Y' must pay me a'ead."
"An' hoo muckle for the bedroom an' the' parlour?"
"There ain't no parlour. Capting Kyles 'as thet, and th' bedroom es the old gent wos a-murdered in. But y' kin 'ave the room es yer son-in-law slep' in. Boar' an' lodgin'," added Mrs. Narby glibly, "two quid a week, in advance."
"Hoots! Ye're demented, woman. Twa pun', says she, the deil tak her for a greedy glede. Nae, nae, ye'll nae pairt a Scotchmon frae his siller sae easily. I'll gie ye haulf-a-croon a nicht for ma room and pay ma victuals as I gang."
"Capting Kyles guy me three quid," said Mrs. Narby sullenly.
"The mair fule he. Weel, tak it or e'en leave it. I'm nae verra carein' tae stap in a butt an' a ben o' this sort. I joost cam' here tae show ye I wisnae prood or puffed up by mae prosperity, for th' sake o' auld lang syne, as ye micht pit it, and nae lee."
"You can stop at that price by the daiy," said Mrs. Narby, after some reflection, "but there's a lot of fellers come 'ere to stop 'cos of thet there murder. If I gets a better lodger, out y' goes."
This just suited Gowrie, as he knew that Mrs. Narby was bluffing. No one would stop at the "Marsh Inn" while the season was so wet, notwithstanding the attraction of the murder. What Captain Kyles was doing in such a damp locality he could not think, unless indeed the Captain was trying to hide his tracks in the affair of the murder, always supposing that he was guilty. Gowrie was not sure of this, in spite of Mrs. Mountford's accusation. Nor did he believe the rash statement of Herries that Mrs. Mountford herself had committed the crime. But if she was innocent and Kyles was not guilty, who had killed the old man? This was what Gowrie wished to learn, and he soon saw that he had set himself a very difficult task.
"Weel," said he, when Mrs. Narby gave her decision, "we'll close on those terrums. I'll tack ma room by the nicht an ma board by the day. There's haulf-a-croon in advaunce, an' dinna waste it. Where's yon gowk o' a Pope?"
"My son's in Londing, and I'll thenk y' not t' call 'im names," said Mrs. Narby hotly. "He's a genius, and 'ave gone to git 'is poetry inter print, so there."
"An' wha's gain' tae publish his doggrel?"
"'Imself!" snapped the landlady sulkily.
"An' where's the siller comin' frae?"
Mrs. Narby put her arms akimbo in her favourite attitude and stormed in her old style.
"I guve it 'im, d'y' see," she cried furiously, "y' think I carn't do wot I likes with m' own? Me an' Narby 'ave come in for a legacy, and we're a-goin' t' giv h'up th' inn an' go t' th' Staits, where Narby wos reared. Pope's comin' too, arter he 'as 'is verse brought h'out. So there, an' I don' want any of yer sauce, though yer are the father-in-lawr of thet cove es murdered Sir Simon, es I believe he did."
"Wumon!"
"Don't call me naimes, or I'll scretch th' h'eyes h'out o' yer 'ead; an' there's Allus callin' in the kitching," and Mrs. Narby hurried away, leaving Gowrie full of thought.
He obtained a glass of whisky from Alice, the miserable maid-of-all-work, who had stepped into Elspeth's place, and sat down on the tap-room settle to smoke and think. Outside the rain was falling heavily, and there was the usual grey mist over the marshes. But the room was warm, and the fire burned brightly. Mr. Gowrie approved of the whisky, and the pipe soothed his nerves, which had been rather upset by Mrs. Narby's sudden wrath. With his glass in his gouty old hand, and his pipe in his mouth, he sat staring at the driftwood fire, thinking a lot, after the fashion of the celebrated parrot.
Two things struck him as strange. First, that Mrs. Narby should have so suddenly lost her temper with a man whom she apparently desired to propitiate; and second, that she--or Narby--should have so unexpectedly inherited a legacy. If she really had money it was quite natural that she should have let Pope go to London to publish his poetry, for the virago adored her son, even though she did not understand his writing. But where had Mrs. Narby got that money? Gowrie, in his frequent visits, had learned a lot about Narby's past life in the States; but he had never heard that the Anglo-American expected a legacy. Indeed, Mrs. Narby, on one occasion, had said that neither herself nor her husband were bothered with relatives. It was queer that the money should come to them so suddenly, and from an unknown source. Equally queer that the pair should decide to seek America and give up the inn. Certainly the inn had been doing better business than ever, since the murder, owing to the morbid curiosity of visitors, so it was odd, to say the least of it, that at such a moment, a money-making concern should be given up.
"Aye!" meditated Gowrie, sipping his drink, "I mind now. Th' auld mon hed siller wi' him, es yon lawyer body tauld Kind. Twa thoosand. Aye! A couple o' hundreds in gold, an' one thoosand eight hundred in notes, Bank o' England, nae doot. Hoots! they wudnae gang wi' only twa hundred in gold, an' they darenae cash the notes. Aye! The ways o' transgressors are haird."
These thoughts revealed plainly that Mr. Gowrie suspected Mrs. Narby of having killed Sir Simon, either with or without the connivance of her husband, in order to get the money. The gold she had used to send Pope to London, and doubtless had supplied him with a sum to publish his verse; but the notes, owing to the warning of the numbers being kept having been given in the newspapers, had not been presented. The desire to go at once to the States was thus explained. Mrs. Narby, and possibly her husband, were flying from justice. Gowrie was certain that she had killed the old man, as he remembered the swish of a woman's dress which he had heard in the darkness. There was a sound about that which a keen-eared man like himself could not mistake.
"And then she knew that Herries was drugged," thought Gowrie, "and so implicated him in the crime by placing the razor on his quilt and smearing his sleeve with blood. Then she found the pocket-book under the bed, where no doubt she placed it. Those who hide, find. I see now that she is guilty--the money carried by Sir Simon was too tempting for her. She must have hidden the notes somewhere. If I could only find them, I would soon have her in charge."
This being Gowrie's belief, he made up his mind to stop at the inn until he could unearth the notes, and meanwhile he kept a jealous watch on Mrs. Narby's every action. She became aware of his scrutiny, and--strange to say in so masculine a woman--became panic-struck. It was with the greatest difficulty that she preserved her composure towards him. During the afternoon, and when it was growing dark, she broke down entirely.
"Why do you 'ave yer h'eye on me?" she inquired angrily, "I ain't got 'orns a-growin' h'out of me 'ead, 'ave I?"
"Nae, nae, but ye mind me of a sister o' mine, lang syne deid. She wos a sweet lassie."
"Rats," retorted Mrs. Narby, going about her duties as usual, but she bridled all the same, being open to a compliment in spite of her resemblance to the witches in Macbeth. But after she had shown that she knew his eye was on her, Gowrie became much more circumspect, and several times later when Mrs. Narby looked, she found that he was not staring in her direction. Consequently she recovered her spirits and nerve. But Gowrie was on her trail, as she had, to his mind, given herself entirely away.
Gowrie sat, genial and warm in the tap-room, talking to anyone who came in, and enjoying himself thoroughly. Alice, the maid, served the yokels with beer, and Mrs. Narby tore in and out of the room, to keep an eye on what was doing. But for the most part she remained in the back parts of the house, and Gowrie noticed that her dress was wet, and her boots muddy as though she had been out in the rain. More, he noted that the mud she left on the tap-room floor was red, and remembered that there was earth of this peculiar hue down by the creek which ran past the bottom of the back garden attached to the "Marsh Inn." Wondering what could take her down there, and suspecting from her uneasy glances that she had something to conceal, Gowrie resolved to take the first opportunity to spy on her footsteps. But she gave him no chance for quite a long time, and then, when the opportunity did occur, he was momentarily withdrawn from his purpose by the entrance of Captain Bruce Kyles, who strode bluffly into the tap-room, looking more like a buccaneer than ever.
"Aye, Captain," said Gowrie genially, "it's you, is it?"
Kyles stared at the fiery-faced old man with narrowing eyes.
"I don't think I've met you before," he remarked. "Maybe, but there's mair knows Tom Fool, nor Tom Fool knows, ye ken."
Kyles shrugged his shoulders and was passing on to the parlour, when the next remark of Gowrie arrested his steps.
"Aye, ye'll be a freend o' Miss Tedder,--Maud they ca' her, like the bonny wench in Tennyson's poem, th' which canna compare wi' Robbie Burns."
The Captain wheeled round sharply, and brought his heels together with a click. Plainly he was startled by this speech, and not pleased, as was evident from the flaming glance he sent in Gowrie's direction.
"I _have_ seen you before," he said abruptly.
"Aye," said Gowrie placidly, but making a shot in the dark, "at mirk midnicht, when the fiends o' gory bluid were abroad in this very inn nae sae lang ago."
"What the devil do you mean? I never stopped at this inn before."
"Then where did ye see me, sir?"
"In the Court during the trial of young Herries."
"Eh, then ye were there?"
"I was,--though I don't see what it is to you."
"Weel, weel, I wis leukin' for ye, but didnae see ye."
"What did you want with me?" asked Kyles, fiercely.
"Joost tae hae a crack."
"What about?"
"Hoots, it's a lang story, and I'm gey dry."
This was an intimation that the Captain should replenish Mr. Gowrie's empty glass, but Kyles did not take the hint. Instead of answering, he stared gloomily at the old man, and seemed to be thinking deeply. Presently his face cleared, and he stopped pulling his long black moustache.
"Later on you can come to my parlour and have a talk," he said, brightly, "just now I have to see to something before I sit down to my dinner."
"Aye," murmured the old scamp to himself, when Kyles vanished once more into the night. "It's a guilty conscience I'm theenking. I wunner noo, if the mon wis in the inn, as Mistress Mountford says. She's got a liar's eye, has yon limmer, and yet yon hint o' a meetin' at midnicht seemed tae startle the black-avised laddie. Will ye walk intae mae parlour, says he. Maybe I will, but ye'll nae devour me, ye spider. Dods, but there's mair in this nor talk I'm of opeenion. Hech, but I'll pit mae best fut foremaist, and get on the windy side o' the man. He's nae gangin' tae get the upper hand o' Michael Gowrie, Maister o' Arts. I'll joost bide ma time."
This he did, and while waiting for the return of the buccaneer he partook largely of whisky, so that in an hour he was in a gloriously talkative mood. Kyles did not return, and Gowrie fancied that the buccaneer, conscience-stricken, had levanted. This being his belief, he waited for another hour, and then, when it was close upon seven o'clock, he rose and stretched himself.
"I'll joost tak a dander roond," he informed the casual guests, who had dropped in to drink and talk.
"Aye, there's nae mair fervid admirer o' the warks of Nature nor me. But I doot if ye puir tillers o' the soil wud unnerstan' the grand thochts which come tae me when gazing at the glorious firmament. There's a Wully Shakespeare spoiled in me, I doot. Aye, the drink, the drink. Auld Nick's broth tae catch unwary mortals."
With this final speech, which was Greek to the staring countrymen, he strolled forth by the front door into the street to look at the glorious firmament of which he had spoken. But the same was veiled by mists, and the night was extremely dark. No one was about the wet roads, not even Armour, the policeman; so Gowrie had every opportunity of doing that which he intended to do, which was to stroll down to the Red Creek, and see, if possible, what Mrs. Narby had been doing there.
It may seem strange that Gowrie should have been so suspicious of the landlady, for she had given him little reason to doubt her. But after his chat with Herries, and her mention of the legacy, and her panic in dodging his eye, he really thought that she had something to conceal. Then again the red mud on her boots perplexed him and aroused his curiosity. How he proposed to see anything in the dark, it was hard to say, as he certainly could not trace the footsteps of the landlady, when the night was so gloomy. However, he climbed over the low fence, which parted the garden into which Herries had dropped, from the road and walked round to the back of the house. The luck held good, for the first thing he saw was a lantern dancing like a will-o'-the-wisp at the lower ends of the grounds, and just where the creek was, as he knew very well.
"It's the wumon hersel'," murmured the spy, feeling his wicked old heart beating loudly, "and what's she digging like a ghoul for?"
He saw that she was digging, for on creeping nearer, the feeble light of the lantern showed Mrs. Narby delving with a spade on the near shore of the creek. So absorbed was she in her work, that she did not hear the ponderous footsteps of Gowrie. He dropped to the earth near the hedge, and watched, while the rain fell upon him and made him shiver despite the whisky he had been drinking. Here he heard the lapping of the water, and also, strange to say, a muffled beating, some distance away in the fog, which sounded like a giant heart throbbing. Mrs. Narby appeared to hear a noise also, for suddenly, it would seem, she was stricken again with a panic fear, and flinging down her spade, she hurried back to the inn, leaving the lantern on the ground. But at the back door she hesitated; then returned hastily and removed the light, blowing it out as she went towards the house. Gowrie wondered at these strange and guilty proceedings.
"Aye, she's the guilty limmer wha did the deed o' darkness," said he, heaving up his huge body from the mud. "Noo, I wonner what's she's hiding in the bosom of the univarsal mother. It surely canna be her ain son that she's murdered," he shivered at the thought, then dismissed it. "Nae, nae, it's her ill-gotten gains, the notes, I'm of opeenion. We'll hae a leuk."
The throbbing had stopped, the door of the inn was closed, and there was no sign of anyone lurking in the darkness. Gowrie stole forward, trying to find the place where Mrs. Narby had been digging. Suddenly he stumbled over a pile of fresh-turned earth, and came down on his hands. If the notes were hereabouts they would certainly be in a box, and with this idea in his head, he groped with his hands in the hole. For some time he was unsuccessful, and his hands became caked with mud. Again and again he raked the earth, but could feel nothing but the red, moist clay. The rain still continued to fall, and he was soaked to the skin. All the same, he continued searching, breathing heavily, and occasionally muttering to himself in words which certainly did not invoke blessings on Mrs. Narby's head.
Unexpectedly a thin beam of electric light shot over his head, and, as he started in terror, it was lowered, until he knelt in a stream of radiance. It came, as he could dimly see, from a boat on the low waters of the creek, which was moving inshore. From the deck he certainly could be seen easily, and as he was about to rise and fly, he heard an exclamation of surprise and a fierce oath. All at once, a man, followed by two others, sprang from the boat, and made for the shore. Unnerved with whisky and by this strange experience, Gowrie rose to make for the inn, but stumbled and fell again. The next moment he was in the grasp of strong rough hands, and in his terror--natural enough under the circumstances--he fainted.
CHAPTER XXI
ON BOARD THE YACHT
Being old and enfeebled by incessant doses of whisky, Gowrie remained unconscious for a long time. How many hours had passed since he had been seized in the back garden of the "Marsh Inn," he did not know, but when he opened his eyes and came to himself he found that he was in a luxuriously furnished room. Later, when his brain became clearer, and he was better able to take in his surroundings, he perceived, by the decorations of the place, and from a certain heaving sensation that he was in the state room of a vessel. From the ornate decorations and costly furniture, it looked more like a boudoir than a cabin. Then he remembered what Kind had reported concerning the splendours of the "Tarabacca," and realised, with some dismay, that he was on board that very boat. This belief was confirmed, when he beheld seated before him Captain Bruce Kyles in a gold-laced uniform.
As Gowrie struggled into a sitting position,--he had been dropped unconscious on the divan running round the cabin,--Kyles, whose brilliant black eyes were fixed mockingly on him, laughed in a provoking manner. He pointed to a bottle of whisky and a glass, which stood on the table.
"Take a drink, Mr. Gowrie," said the Captain, encouragingly, "and don't look so terrified. I mean to do you no harm."
"Nae harrum," quavered the old man, trying to steady his shaken nerves, "are ye nae ashamed tae treat me sae? What the deil dae ye mean?"
"Many things, Mr. Gowrie, and I would point out to you that blustering will not improve the situation. You are in my power."
"Aye, but this is a law-abiding country, and----"
"Oh," Captain Kyles shrugged his shoulders, "the law has no power on board this craft. I am the law."
"Ye're a Scotchmon, and thereby a subject o' His Mawjesty Edward First o' Scotland, for never wull I ca' him Seeventh o' yon kingdom. And as a subject o' Edward o' Scotland aforesaid, I command ye tae pit me ashore, and pay me siller for moral damages."
"Like old Kruger. Eh?" said Kyles, pleasantly, "you're an old rip, Mr. Gowrie, and I'm going to bring you to book."
"In the name of your King----"
"I haven't got one. I'm Scotch by birth and name, cosmopolitan by choice. I was the admiral of the Indiana navy, but since the revolution, I am a wanderer on the face of the earth."
"Aye," Gowrie unconsciously stretched for the drink, and filled himself a full glass, "we're beginning tae unnerstan the seetuation, my mon. Yer a gipsy o' sorts."
"A gipsy of the sea."
"An' a black-hearted villain at that."
"You'll find me so if you don't keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr. Gowrie. Permit me to remind you that you are drinking my whisky, and therefore cannot afford to vilify your host."
"I'm here against ma wull."
"Yes. And here you will stop until you give me certain information regarding the murder of Sir Simon Tedder."
"I ken naethin'," said the old man sullenly.
"Aye, but ye ken muckle," mocked Kyles, "I can talk the Scottice tongue as well as you, sir. You said at the 'Marsh Inn' that you wanted to have a crack, so I brought you here to have it."
"Then ye kidnapped me wi' intention?"
Captain Kyles nodded carelessly, produced a cigarette and swung back in his chair as he lighted it.
"From what you hinted at the inn, I saw that you were poking your nose into matters which do not concern you."
"Aye, but ma son-in-law----"
"Quite so, Mr. Gowrie. You are playing his hand, and I am swinging on my own hook. When I left the tap-room on business promising to return, I intended to bring the motor-launch up the creek, and collar you. She was lying in the river on the other side of the station, having brought me from this ship."
"And am I at Pierside near the wharf?" asked Gowrie, thinking he could escape if he was in touch with Mother Earth.
"No. You are on board my yacht, and she is swinging at anchor off Tarhaven. If you go on deck you'll be able to see the lights of the town a quarter of a mile away."
"I'll gie the alarrum," and Gowrie rose unsteadily. Kyles made a long arm and pushed him back on to the divan.
"Sit tight," said Kyles, "and drink your whisky. You'll need it before I've done with you."
"Ye mean tae do an auld mon harrum?"
"Not unless the old man is obstinate. See here," Kyles flung away the cigarette and placing his arms on the table talked coldly and slowly, "after the hint you gave me at the inn, I intended to kidnap you. Failing anything else I would have rushed the inn, but you saved me the trouble by coming to dig in the garden. Now then, Mr. Gowrie, from what I have gathered at the inquest and the trial, and from sources which you need not be told about, I always thought you were a proper old scoundrel. When we spoke in the inn I knew you at once although it suited my book to pretend ignorance. I have long wanted to get a hold of you to hear exactly what you saw and heard in the tap-room on the night of Sir Simon's murder. But," added the Captain with emphasis, "I did not think to find in you the assassin of that old man."
Gowrie's remaining gray hairs rose straight on end, and he gasped.
"Me! Mel Is it o' me ye talk?"
"Of you,--of your very own self, as the children say," retorted Kyles coolly. "Look over there."
Gowrie, quite bewildered with the accusation brought against him, glanced towards the end of the cabin, which was in semi-darkness. Kyles leaning back, switched on an electric, and then the prisoner, as he truly was, saw a black tin box of no great size, covered with moist red earth.
"You were digging that up," said the Captain. "After your crime you buried it on the shore of the Red Creek, and returned to the inn, when you thought that all was safe, so as to get the notes."
"Notes!" screeched Gowrie rising in great excitement.
"As if you didn't know," replied the Captain contemptuously. "Yes, the notes to the value of one thousand eight hundred pounds, which you thieved from the pocket-book of Sir Simon, after you had cut his throat."
"That's a lee,--a lee. I'll hae ye in court for libel, nae less."
"Pooh! If you didn't hide the notes, how came you to be digging them up? After you fainted I had you bundled on board the launch, and then searched for myself. I found that box very speedily, and on opening it on the way back here, I discovered the notes. But the gold is gone."
"The gold."
"Two hundred pounds worth. What have you done with it?"
"Naething. I hadnae one shullin' o' they sovereigns."
Kyles rose, and stood over the shrinking old man menacing and dark; and with a fierce expression on his swart face.
"Mr. Gowrie," he said very distinctly, "no one knows that you have been kidnapped, as no one saw the launch come up the creek. And I dare swear that you didn't tell anyone, when you came to look up your cache. You are here, in my power, and there's nothing whatever to prevent me from dropping you overboard, with a shot at your heels."
Gowrie, now truly frightened, grovelled with a cry of alarm.
"Nae, nae, dinna dae that. I ken naethin' aboot the siller. I never saw yon box until the noo, and I have nae set eyes on they notes."
"You liar."
"It's the truth. Ye ca' me a murderer. What then dae ye ca' Mistress Narby, wha acted the pairt o' Jael."
"Mrs. Narby?" ejaculated Kyles, with a start and a frown.
"Aye," mumbled Gowrie, "she brocht forth butter in a lordly dish, an gie him milk tae drink, foreby it wis a chop an' beer. Then the limmer, for want o' a hammer an' a nail, cut the auld mon's windpipe."
"Is this true?" Kyles seized Gowrie by the throat fiercely.
"Augh, augh," choked the tutor, grasping at the hands which clutched him, "ask her yersel!"
Captain Kyles loosened his grip, and walked up and down the long cabin, while Gowrie drank more liquor to restore his courage. And truly he needed all the courage he possessed, for the position he was in, terrified him not a little. Kyles was evidently a lawless man, and as no one knew that he, Gowrie, had been kidnapped, he could be put away in the manner described by the Captain, very easily. Fondling the glass, and looking as dismal as a sick monkey, Gowrie shivered and quailed at every glance of the Captain's fierce eyes. Finally after a short silence Kyles returned to the side of the table opposite to Gowrie.
"See here," said he, striking the table with his closed fist, "these notes, and that gold belong to me."
"Aye. I ken you wis expected by Sir Simon on that nicht."
"How do you know that?"
"The lawyer body told Sweetlips Kind how Sir Simon had written a letter to you on the 'Tarabacca,' the which is this boat."
"But how did Ritson know that the letter was addressed to me?"
"It's a lang story."
"Then you tell it, or by Heaven, over the side you go. I have too much at stake to waste time on your babbling, Mr. Gowrie. I am aware that Herries is free, as he deserved to be, for he is innocent. But he and that Cheap-jack, and the lawyer, and the doctor, all think that I am guilty, and should they discover certain things, I may be arrested."
"Then ye are guilty?" asked Gowrie, shrinking.
"No. Would I have accused you were I guilty? Would the notes have been buried in that back garden were I guilty? Use a little common-sense, man, and tell me what Herries and Co. are doing. I'm not going to be laid by the heels if I can help it, and I want that money," he pointed to the box.
"Ye have it,--ye have it."
"And much good it will do me. If it was in gold I would put you in a boat and steam away south at once, but those are notes, Mr. Gowrie, and the number of every note is in the possession of the police. Did I present those notes, I would be----"
"But ye can defend yourself."
"I'm not so sure of that. There are certain circumstances----"
"Then ye were in the inn on that night?"
"Are you here to question me?" said Kyles fiercely. "Just you tell me what is doing in this case, so that I know where I stand, or prepare to be thrown overboard."
"If I tell ye all, will ye let me go?"
"I might or I might not. But if you speak the truth your life is safe. Until I leave these dangerous coasts I may have to keep you prisoner, but you will be well treated. Come now," Kyles rapped on the table, "tell me all."
Thus compelled, Gowrie, shivering with dread, related all that he knew concerning the case, from the time of Herries' arrest, down to his digging in the garden in search of what Mrs. Narby had hidden. The Captain kept his sinister eyes on the wrinkled old face before him, and made sure that the tutor was speaking the truth. Gowrie never considered that he might be betraying Herries to the enemy. All he wanted was to save his life, and escape from the gaze of those eyes which probed into his guilty old soul. When he ended the Captain flung himself back in the chair and laughed.
"You old villain," said he sneeringly, "no wonder I intend to keep you a prisoner."
"What?" cried Gowrie in dismay.
"For the time being. You have been so ready to betray your son-in-law, that you would have no hesitation in betraying me. You will stop here."
"For how long, Captain Kyles?"
"Until the murderer of Sir Simon is arrested."
"Mistress Narby?"
"Perhaps. It looks as though the woman was guilty, and yet----" his brows wrinkled themselves perplexedly, and he shook his head, "I do not quite see how to----" here he fell into a brown study.
"See to do what?" ventured Gowrie.
Kyles turned and smiled.
"That is my business. Do you think Mr. Herries would come and see me on board this boat, if I asked him?"
"I'll tack the message ma ain sel," said Gowrie eagerly.
"I dare say you would," replied the Captain dryly, "But it doesn't suit my book to let you go on shore; you might make capital out of this kidnapping."
"I swear----"
"I wouldn't were I you. It will do no good. Answer me a few questions, Mr. Gowrie. Where is Mrs. Narby?"
"At the inn."
"And her husband,--her son?"
"Pope's in London getting his poetry published, but I don't know where the husband is."
"Humph. I notice, Mr. Gowrie, that you waver between Scotch and English according to the state of your feelings. I assure you that now I know what I know, you are quite safe. Take another drink."
Kyles pushed the bottle in the old man's direction.
"And what's more, if I get this money," he glanced towards the box, "I'll pay you well for the fright that you have had."
"But hoo can ye get the siller?" asked Gowrie reassured, and again filling his glass.
"Herries will give me the equivalent of those notes."
"He canna, Captain."
"What, with fifty thousand a year?"
"He does nae come in for the siller until he finds the murderer o' his uncle."
"Well," said Kyles, coolly, "I may be able to help him there."
"Eh mon, dive ye ken wha killed the auld mon?"
"I do," said Kyles, nodding decisively.
"And who?"--Gowrie was devoured by curiosity.
"No, no, Mr. Gowrie. It is not yet the time to play my hand. You are of opinion that Mrs. Narby is guilty. Perhaps I struck the blow----"
"You," Gowrie almost shrieked, "and ye own it."
"I would if I wanted to," rejoined Kyles calmly, "only let me get the two thousand, which Sir Simon was about to pay me, and which by an accursed accident slipped through my fingers, and I don't mind confessing anything."
"But the police----?"
"They can't arrest me on board this boat, and when once steam is up, the 'Tarabacca' will show a clean pair of heels, until she drops anchor in South American waters."
"But there may be an extradition treaty between Indiana Republic and Great Britain."
"There is. But I'm not going back to Indiana. The President Señor Guzman, who was my friend, has been kicked out, and his enemy is in power. Of all his wealth and mine, this yacht only remains. I came to England to get money."
"And nae tae purchase war-ships."
"Pooh, that was a blind. However, to make a long story short, Señor Guzman is waiting for me and his daughter in a certain spot in South America which does not concern you. From that place we start out to find the treasure of Manco Capac. But to do so, I wanted money, and two thousand is the least I can do with. Indeed," said Kyles biting his fingers, "I fancy I'll ask Herries to double the sum. He can easily spare it out of fifty thousand a year."
"When he gets the siller."
"He'll get it right enough, after an interview with me," said Kyles carelessly, "and now we'll retire, Mr. Gowrie, and I'll inform you of my plans to bring Herries on board to-morrow."
"But I thocht he wis on board," said Gowrie perplexed. "When he sent me tae spy oot the land at the 'Marsh Inn,' he wis ganging tae Pierside to see Señora Guzman. Miss Tedder accuses her o' the crime."
"The devil she does. Then I can tell you it's a lie," cried Kyles, his dark face flushing, "Señora Guzman has nothing to do with these things. As to Herries,--I daresay he went to Pierside, but this boat left there early this morning. However, that makes things easier. Señora Guzman will invite him on board, and explain that she is entirely innocent."
"And will you confess your guilt, Captain?"
"I never said that I was guilty," retorted Kyles dryly, "don't jump to conclusions, Gowrie. Miss Tedder accuses Señora Guzman."
"Aye, and Mistress Mountford accuses you."
"Indeed. And you accuse Mrs. Narby. There's a devilish lot of females in this case. Well, Mr. Gowrie, and which person do you think guilty?"
"Mrs. Narby."
"Then you exonerate me."
"Weel," said Gowrie perplexedly, "ye speak sae queerly----"
"Quite so," said Kyles, cutting him short, "you evidently know nothing, Mr. Gowrie."
"I tauld ye sae," said the sage triumphantly.
"Did you see anything, when you slept in the tap-room?"
"Naething," said Gowrie in a brazen manner.
"And when you went upstairs, as you confessed at the trial?"
"I didnae confess that. I said that I drugged Herries' drink tae give him a sleep."
"Humph. I should scarcely think that you were so philanthropic. But you were up the stairs."
"Hoo d'y' ken?" asked Gowrie swiftly.
"Ah, that's my secret. I know more about your movements on that night than you think."
"Then you were at the inn; ye climbed in at the window."
"Perhaps," Kyles thought for a moment and then laughed. "Did you hear anything?"
"Weel, I heard the swish o' a wumon's dress in the darkness o' the stairs. It sounded as going doon."
"Ah. So you _were_ up the stairs and in Herries' room. Robbing him of his few shillings."
"Hoo d'y' ken?" asked Gowrie once more. "I believe that you are the guilty person."
"Don't put all your money on that, Mr. Gowrie, you might lose. However, you'll know all in good time, say when I get that four thousand pounds, by exchanging those notes with Herries."
"There's no two thoosand yonder."
"No, I intend to have double as I said. Come now, you write a note to Herries asking him to come to-morrow evening to the 'Marsh Inn.' I'll meet him there and arrange matters."
"But he'll nae come."
"He will if you write the letter to trap him. Come now."
And Mr. Michael Gowrie had to do what he was told.
"But ye'll gang tae the Pit of Tophet for this," said Mr. Gowrie viciously.
CHAPTER XXII
ANOTHER MYSTERY
As guessed by Captain Kyles, Herries' visit to Pierside had been unproductive of result. On arriving there, he found that the yacht had left for an unknown destination, and returned to Tarhaven quite certain that Señora Guzman, and the buccaneer had left England for good. This was a great disappointment to the young man, as he did not see how the mystery of Sir Simon's death was to be explained without getting the evidence of the Mexican lady. He came back to tell Browne and to consult with Sweetlips Kind.
The doctor recommended patience, and a visit to the "Marsh Inn," so as to see what Gowrie was doing. Browne quite believed that the pair connected with the "Tarabacca" knew much; but he felt certain that Gowrie knew more than he chose to tell. Herries and Browne argued over the matter until a late hour, and resumed their talk, when they met at breakfast. Then Browne departed to see his patients and Herries went to look for Kind.
But the Cheap-jack was not at the humble little place where he and his wife had put up during the trial since they had left the caravan at Anderfield in Buckinghamshire, and Herries thought that they also had gone, leaving him to his own devices. Perhaps they thought that they had done enough in return for his saving of Mrs. Kind's life, and he could not blame them for looking after their own affairs. For some time Herries contemplated walking to the "Moated Hall," and see what Maud had to say, but, on reflection, he decided to wait for the return of Gowrie from the inn. It might be that something important was transpiring there.
Elspeth met him at the door of the doctor's house when he came back to luncheon, having practically wasted a morning.
"Angus," she said eagerly, "here are two letters,--one is in papa's writing and the other has been written by Sweetlips."
Herries went into the drawing-room and opened the letters. The one from Kind was merely a short intimation that he had met Captain Kyles early that very morning, and from certain facts which he had learned from him, he had gone to London on business. "I'll be back in a couple of days," ended the note, "and then will call and tell you all about it."
"Good," said Herries, throwing this aside, "then Kyles is still in England."
"And in Tarhaven," said Elspeth, who had been reading over his shoulder, "I should not be at all surprised, Angus, if he had anchored the 'Tarabacca' in this port."
"Nor should I. However we can easily ascertain that fact. Meanwhile let us see what your father has been doing," and he opened the second letter. While he read it, his wife glanced at the envelope, "I see that your father asks me to come to the 'Marsh Inn' this afternoon," said the young man, rapidly reading the few lines, "he has,--so he says,--discovered something important."
"Strange," murmured Elspeth to herself, and taking no notice.
"What is strange?"
"This envelope has not the Desleigh post-mark on it."
Herries examined the envelope in his turn.
"It must have been posted in Tarhaven,--it has that post-mark on it at all events. I expect your father sent it here by hand to be posted."
"No, there is a stamp on the envelope. If papa intended to send it to you by hand, he would not have wasted a stamp."
They both thought this strange, and tried to puzzle out the reason but could arrive at no conclusion.
"I'll ask your father what it means when I see him," said Herries, placing both letters in his pocket. "What train can I catch, Elspeth?"
An examination of the time table showed that he could not get a train to Desleigh for an hour, so meanwhile, Angus ate some luncheon and possessed his soul in patience.
"I don't like your going to the 'Marsh Inn,' after what has occurred, Angus," said Elspeth, uneasily, "Mrs. Narby will make herself disagreeable."
Herries laughed scornfully.
"What does that matter? I am not afraid of Mrs. Narby, or of a dozen like her. Besides, I have an idea of how to tame that virago."
"In what way?"
"I'll tell her that I intend to bring an action against her for telling lies about me."
"But can you?"
"Perhaps I cannot, but the threat will serve to keep Mrs. Narby's tongue quiet. By the way, Elspeth, I must look up Armour, while I am at Desleigh, and ask if he has moved in the matter of his kidnapping by the Tarabacca sailors."
"Oh," said Elspeth suddenly, "I knew that I had something to tell you, Angus. Dr. Browne's housekeeper has lived in Tarhaven for the last twenty years and knows everyone."
"Really, dear," the young man laughed, "that information doesn't give me any pleasure."
"No, but listen. She was a servant at your uncle's place for some time, and says that Mrs. Armour was a servant there also."
Herries shrugged his shoulders.
"That is quite possible. All the same, I don't think that it matters much. What do you mean?"
"Well," said Mrs. Herries thoughtfully, "Mrs. Armour knows Maud very well,--she was her nurse for some time, I believe. I wonder if Armour was kidnapped because his wife had been Maud's nurse."
"My dear," Herries took her in his arms, "you see a bird in every bush, as this case has got on your nerves. I don't see the least connection between Armour's kidnapping, and Mrs. Armour's early employment. I agree with Señora Guzman, and believe that the kidnapping was a political affair."
"In what way?"
"Well, you see, Señora Guzman is the daughter of the ex-President of Indiana, and with Kyles, as the commander of their tin-pot navy, she came home to get war-ships, so as to regain possession of the Republic if possible. Naturally the new President not wanting a civil war, must have sent emissaries to thwart this scheme. Sir Simon was mixed up in it, and possibly these emissaries would keep an eye on him. One might have followed him to the 'Marsh Inn,' and Kyles, who was no doubt going to meet Sir Simon there on political business, must have told his sailors to get rid of any suspicious-looking person from Indiana. Consequently, Armour, by taking up his position near the inn, laid himself open to suspicion, and was promptly removed."
"It might be so, but then you know the meeting was to bribe Captain Kyles to leave Maud."
"Kyles would not give his sailors the true reason," replied Herries, leaving the table. "Good-bye, Elspeth, I'm off."
"Do take care of yourself, darling," she pleaded. "Of course," he kissed her, "but you need have no fear; the luck has changed since our marriage."
Elspeth felt that this was so, as she stood watching him from the window. Assuredly, her heart was light enough, and she had no premonition of evil. Perhaps after all, their separate bad lucks had combined to form one good one, as Herries fancifully imagined. Yet she dreaded to think that anything should happen to destroy the new and wonderful life which was now hers, and went to her room to pray earnestly that Angus might be successful in his mission.
But what was his mission? Angus did not know very well himself as the train steamed towards Desleigh. It seemed to him that he could do very little towards elucidating the mystery of his uncle's death. He was ignorant of all things, since he had been asleep during the commission of the crime. But Gowrie might have learned something, and Herries privately suspected that Gowrie had been wide awake all that eventful night. Also, since he had been wandering over the house, he might have chanced on some suspicious circumstances. At all events, the old man had evidently found out something, when he sent so peremptory a note. It was, therefore, with great surprise that Herries, on arriving at the inn, was met with the news that Gowrie was not within.
"Where is he?" he asked the new maid, Alice, who gave him this information in the well-known tap-room.
"I can't tell you, sir," she replied, timidly. "He went out last night just before dinner, and never came back."
"Strange," Herries recalled the omitted Desleigh post-mark, and felt uneasy. "Can I see Mrs. Narby?"
"Missus have gone to London to see her son."
"And the landlord?"
"He's in London, too, seeing about selling the inn," said Alice, glibly.
"Selling the inn?"
"Yes, sir. Master and Missus are going to America."
"The deuce they are," murmured Herries rather perplexed, "Now what does that mean? I wish I could find Gowrie. I wonder if he has been kidnapped also," he added smiling, and little knew how near he was to the truth. "Well, I'd better utilize the time at my disposal and call on Armour," and he turned away.
The next words of Alice arrested him.
"Please, sir, won't you see the lady, sir? She's in the parlour waiting for you."
"A lady. Who is she?"
"Oh, the most beautiful lady you ever set eyes on. She came here an hour ago, and said that she wanted to see you, sir."
"Mr. Herries?"
"Yes, sir, and I know you're Mr. Herries, 'cos I saw you when you was arrested for----"
"There--there," interrupted the young man wincing, for he did not like to be reminded of that ugly episode. "Take me to the lady. I expect it's Señora Guzman, or Maud."
The stuffy parlour looked a duller apartment than ever as Herries opened the door and stepped in. He half expected to see Maud, but instead faced a tall lady with the look of a queen, who rose and smiled as he entered. From the description given by Kind, Angus had no doubt but what this was the daughter of the Indiana ex-president.
"How do you do, Mr. Herries?" she said in excellent English. "You are surprised to meet me here, instead of your father-in-law."
"What, you know----?"
"I know that Mr. Gowrie wrote you a letter asking you to come to this place," said Señora Guzman composedly.
"Then you know where he is?"
"I do."
"Can you tell me----?"
"Not at present," she interrupted, "but later you shall know everything, Mr. Herries."
"About the murder?" he asked looking at her in a penetrating manner, and trying to read her thoughts.
"Certainly. The time is coming, when all that is mysterious will be made plain to you. But," added Donna Maria with emphasis, "you will have to pay for your knowledge."
"Ah!" Herries was quite cool, "I thought the element of money would come into the matter. And how much?"
"Say, four thousand pounds."
Herries laughed.
"My dear lady, I don't possess as many pence."
"Not at present, but you will, when certain information is given to you. I have read the papers, Mr. Herries, and I know that you inherit fifty thousand a year, on certain conditions."
"Ah, but those conditions were not mentioned in the newspapers."
"Quite so," rejoined Señora Guzman, resuming her seat, "but we learned the conditions from another person."
"We?"
"Myself and Captain Kyles."
"I have no wish," said Herries slowly, "to ask impertinent questions, madame, but I should like to know if you and Captain Kyles are in partnership?"
Señora Guzman laughed in her turn.
"You might put it that way," she said, resting her elbow on the shaky round table, and her chin on the back of her locked fingers. "Captain Kyles and myself intend to make our fortunes, and then marry."
"But Maud----"
"Maud," she interrupted fiercely, "don't talk to me of that wicked girl, or I shall lose my temper. I only hope I won't tell her some painful truths, when I see her."
"Are you going to see her?"
"To-day and here," Señora Guzman glanced at a bracelet watch, "in a quarter of an hour. I wrote and asked her to come here."
"Why here?"
"Because I want to see her in your presence."
"But you don't mean to say that Maud knows anything of----"
"On the contrary she knows a very great deal, and has acted towards you, Mr. Herries, in a most cruel manner."
"Oh, I know that myself. Certainly there are some excuses, seeing that she has lost a fortune."
"It was in her power to retain it," replied the Mexican lady coolly, "but she _would_ hover round a flame."
"Is the flame Captain Kyles?"
"Why should you think so?"
"Because Maud was engaged to him, and----"
Donna Maria seemed determined to give Herries no chance of finishing a single sentence.
"She _was_ engaged, for certain reasons, but Captain Kyles will marry no one but me."
"Then don't you think that he has acted very badly towards Maud?"
"What do you think yourself?" she asked, irrelevantly.
Herries thought for a few moments.
"I know that my cousin has not acted well," he said hesitatingly, "all the same, this unfortunate engagement with Captain Kyles, and one which you admit, Señora, he never intended to fulfil, may have driven her into courses, which in more unemotional moments she would not have entered into."
"I must say, Mr. Herries, that for a wronged man, you are generous."
"I have had much trouble in my life," said Angus simply, "and it has taught me to judge no one."
"I think you are a good man," said Señora Guzman, looking at him in a softened manner. "All the better. Captain Kyles and myself will have all the more pleasure in placing you in possession of your property."
"Then you know who killed my uncle?"
"I do not, nor indeed does Captain Kyles. Still we can place certain evidence at your disposal which will go far towards solving the riddle. But the price----"
"I am willing to pay the price."
"Four thousand pounds."
"Five if you wish it," said Herries frankly, "it is a small sum out of fifty thousand a year."
Donna Maria looked at him in silence for a moment. Then her proud lip quivered, and she burst into tears. Herries was quite distressed when she laid her head down on her arms and wept as though her heart would break.
"My dear lady----"
"I feel so ashamed," she sobbed, "making it a condition that you should pay for what ought to be done without money. You must think that I am an adventuress and a bad woman."
"I think nothing," said Herries rather coldly, for he did not know what this scene might mean, "because I know nothing."
"Mr. Herries," she said raising her head and wiping her eyes with a dainty lace handkerchief, "you must not judge me too hardly. I am the daughter of a man who held great power in Indiana, although I am a Mexican by birth. I was brought up to riches and honour, and for years had everything I could wish for. But an enemy of my father's intrigued against him, and in a night he was driven from the Presidential palace. My mother was shot during the revolution, and my father and myself escaped only with our lives, thanks to the bravery of Captain Kyles. We lived in exile for some time, and fortunately escaped in the yacht, which had belonged to the Government."
"The 'Tarabacca?'"
"Yes. It is a splendid yacht. It is all that remains of my father's wealth, for the new Government confiscated everything. But my father learned from an Indian of the whereabouts of a certain treasure in Peru, which had been hidden--according to tradition--by Manco Capac, who first civilised the Peruvian Indians. To get that treasure entails a long and toilsome journey and much money. Leaving my father concealed at Lima, Captain Kyles and myself came to this country to try and raise some money on Indiana bonds. We wanted the sum of two thousand or four thousand pounds, so as to fit out an expedition and get this money,--this treasure. Unfortunately the new Indiana Government had been beforehand, and we found that the bonds were useless. Then an accident introduced us to Sir Simon Tedder, and there was a chance that he might assist us."
"But I understood that you came to buy war-ships?"
"That was the excuse we gave out, and for that reason, we have been haunted by Indiana emissaries, who would take our lives, if it was needful. But we promised Sir Simon a share of the----"
Scarcely had she got this far, when they heard the shrill scream of a woman in the tap-room. Herries sprang from his chair, and opened the door hurriedly. When he and Señora Guzman walked hastily into the tap-room, they found Maud Tedder in the grasp of Armour the policeman, who was in plain clothes. Herries flung himself forward, and threw the bulky man to one side.
"How dare you touch a lady?" he said, indignantly.
"A lady," said Armour, who had evidently been drinking, "if she's a lady, let her pay me for having lost my position in the Force through her visit."
"Don't listen to him,--don't listen to him," whispered Maud, pale and trembling and clinging to Herries.
"I've been dismissed the Force," complained Armour in a maundering tone, "and all on account of that there blamed murder. And she," he pointed a stumpy finger at Miss Tedder, "she knows summat about it, she does."
"It's a lie," gasped Maud, shaking from head to foot, while the eyes of Señora Guzman lighted up and she took an eager step forward.
"Oh," raved the ex-policeman, while Alice lost her head and flew out of doors shouting for help, "is it a lie that she," he pointed again towards Maud, "that she came to my house, when I was on my rounds and made my wife betray me? On the very night of the murder, she was at my house, and----"
"I came to see my old nurse," gasped Maud.
"Then what were you doing wandering about Desleigh at midnight. I got it out of my missus, I did. And you put them sailors on to me.
"No! No!"
"You did. And I believe," cried Armour, "that you murdered your father your very own self."