CHAPTER XII.
“WHAT THE MOON SAW.”
“The amount is too large,” said the Countess; “too large, I am sure, even if I asked his lordship to assist me.”
“I must have it, and you must get it,” said Richard Tallant.
“Indeed!” said the Countess; “you are very peremptory.”
“As peremptory as Fate,” said the other.
They had walked along the terrace, past the modern mansion and beneath the ruin of the old castle, Amy thinking it best that they should be out of danger of being overheard by servants who might be near any of the upper windows above the terrace.
Lionel Hammerton, who had ridden in from an opposite direction, saw the two figures, and, leaving his horse in the stable, walked round the back of the house to the ruin. The speakers had not noticed him; and as he approached behind an angle of the ruin he was startled by Amy speaking in an angry voice, and her brother answering with threats. He crept within the shadowy wall, beneath a clump of ivy, and listened. Perhaps Amy might require his help.
“By whatever means you may deem best you must help me out of this difficulty,” said the brother.
“It would certainly be more becoming to speak respectfully, and leave musts and threats out of the question until I have time for consideration.”
“There is no need for consideration. Yes or No: it is easily said.”
“Suppose I say, No?”
“Then I go straight to that fool, your husband——”
“Sir!” said Amy, “this is an outrage!”
“Call it what you please—I go straight to Lord Verner, and tell him of your love for his brother.”
“But what will that avail you now? It is an old story, and I am married.”
“Lord Verner does not know that you were madly in love with his brother; that he cast you off.”
“No, no—how despicable!” said Amy.
“He cast you off, I say; that will be my story to Lord Verner. I shall tell him as a matter of duty. And something more too. Why is Mr. Hammerton here?”
“Because he is Earl Verner’s brother, of course, and this is his home when he is in England,” said the Countess.
“Because he is Lord Verner’s brother, poor fool! Because he is your lover, my sister!—your lover!”
An exclamation of pain escaped from Amy’s lips at the baseness of the insinuation conveyed in these words, and Lionel had almost rushed out to strangle her maligner on the spot; but discretion prompted him to remain where he stood.
“Oh, yes, it is very fine to assume an injured tone, but I saw him kiss you this morning—I saw him through the window. You cannot deny it. What will Lord Verner think of that? Eh, ma bonne sœur?”
“And this will be your story to Lord Verner,” said Amy, trembling with indignation, “if I do not find the money you ask for?”
“It will most assuredly,” said Richard.
“Then tell your story, sir—tell your story at once; I will rather throw myself upon Lord Verner’s love, the consciousness of my own innocence, and the honour of Lionel Hammerton, than buy your silence any longer, you miserable unscrupulous man,” said Amy; and then it seemed as if she hurried away, or as if they had passed within the old court-yard of the ruined castle.
Just then the moon shone forth brightly for a moment, and Lionel heard voices again in the direction of the court-yard; but the intervening walls were too thick for him to hear distinctly anything that was said.
As he came forth to reconnoitre a pistol was fired, and then a terrible cry broke upon the still evening air—a shriek that echoed through the broken old corridors, startling the bats and the owls. Hurrying to the spot, Lionel found Richard Tallant stretched upon the turf. And now the moon shone forth in all its autumnal glory, sending a pale gleam through the court-yard and athwart the figure of the dying man.
Hastily raising the body up, Lionel found that the man had been shot through the right temple. The ball must have penetrated the brain, for he was quite dead, and the blood was streaming down his pale cheek.
One of the castle servants had heard the report of the pistol and the cry that followed it, and he had hurried to the ruin too, and found Lionel supporting the dead body. Mr. Hammerton bade him alarm the household, and in a short time Richard Tallant was lying dead in the room to which his luggage had been carried.
What a terrible night it was—that night of the murder! The police came from Brazencrook, and made all sorts of inquiries. They found a pistol lying near the spot where the body was found. A case of suicide was the first suggestion; but it seemed that a breast-pocket in the gentleman’s coat was turned inside out, and torn as if something had been violently removed from it, and there was a bruise on the back of the right hand as if the deceased had attempted for a moment to defend himself after he had fallen, and been struck with a stick or with the butt-end of the pistol.
“Where is her ladyship?” Lionel asked of the maid.
“In her room, and very unwell indeed,” was the reply.
Who could have committed this terrible deed? The thought flashed through Lionel’s mind, and with it just the whisper of a terrible suspicion. What an awful weight of anxiety and misery it was!
The superintendent of the Brazencrook police intimated that he would like to put a few questions to Mr. Hammerton and the groom in his lordship’s presence, and also to Lord Verner himself. His lordship, therefore, invited the officer to go into the library with himself and the Brazencrook vicar, and here the policeman finished his inquiry for that day in the following manner:
First he obtained from Lord Verner the particulars of Mr. Tallant’s arrival, and having brought the story up to the point where Mr. Tallant went out upon the terrace with his sister, the policeman desired to see Lady Verner, that she might continue the narrative; whereupon Lord Verner rebuked him as an insolent fellow, and reminded him that he was in the presence of the Lord-Lieutenant of the county.
“Who has only a duty to perform, like myself,” said the officer.
“You cannot see Lady Verner,” said his lordship; “and your desire to do so is an impertinence. If you choose to conduct your inquiries respectfully you may continue them; if not, were you twenty times a policeman I would have you bundled out of this room, sir. There!”
“I bow to your superior authority, your lordship,” said the officer, calmly. “May I ask you one more question before I proceed to put one or two to your servants?”
“You may,” said Earl Verner.
“Did this gentleman come here on business?”
“I think he had some little business with his sister, the Countess.”
“Thank you, my lord,” said the officer.
“What is your name?” asked the officer, turning to the groom.
“Jones—Peter Jones,” said the man.
“Tell me all you know about this affair,” said the officer, “and how you found the deceased.”
“I had suppered up Hector after Captain Hammerton had returned from Brazencrook, and I was just leaving the stable when I heard a gun or pistol fired off, and somebody shout. I went in the direction of the sounds, and there saw Mr. Tallant dead, and Captain Hammerton holding his head up.”
“Very good,” said the officer.
“Will you kindly explain what you know about it, Captain?”
“I heard the report of fire-arms,” said the Captain, “and hurrying to the spot, found the poor gentleman dying. He was not quite dead when I raised him up.”
“How far were you away from the spot, sir?”
“A hundred yards, perhaps.”
“You were near the ruin, then?”
“Yes; by the keep.”
“Had you been there long?”
“Only a short time.”
“Were you with the deceased?”
“No.”
“May I ask what brought you near the ruin?”
“Seeing some one walking there, I had gone in that direction when I gave my horse to Jones.”
“Did you see one or two persons?”
“I thought I saw two.”
“Did you hear voices?”
“I believe I did.”
“Did any one leave the ruin whilst you were there?”
“I cannot say.”
“Did Lady Verner? Her ladyship had been walking on the terrace with her brother.”
“I don’t know,” said the Captain, his heart beating wildly with a burning suspicion that haunted him like a ghost.
“You were going towards the figures when you heard the pistol,” said the officer. “Did you go straight in the direction of the persons you thought you saw?”
“Not quite.”
“You put the keep and that corner of the ruin to the right between them and you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, Captain Hammerton. There will be an inquest to-morrow on the body. I suppose we may rely upon your attendance.”
“Certainly,” said Lionel.
“Shall we remove the body for the inquest, your lordship?”
“It is not necessary,” said the Earl.
“Good-night, my lord—good-night, gentlemen,” said the officer, leaving the room.
When he was clear of the castle gates the police superintendent despatched the policeman who was with him to Brazencrook for three more officers, who were to meet him near the ruins as quickly as possible. When they came he posted them at various distant points commanding the castle, and bade them take any person into custody who might attempt to leave it during the night, the vicar of Brazencrook alone excepted.
In the castle that night two persons gave themselves up, during the still hours, to their wakeful thoughts. When the Countess heard the whole story, a terrible solution of the mystery suggested itself to her mind. Lionel Hammerton had overheard her brother’s threats, and had shot him in his fear and passion; for he knew how much the Earl’s happiness was bound up in the love of his wife. It was a terrible thought, but came again and again into Amy’s troubled mind; and all the time, think whatever he might, it seemed as if the devil whispered in Lionel’s ear, “She killed him.” He knew that it was a miserable morbid thought arising out of excitement, and overhearing the dead man’s threats, and his violent taking off occurring at so important a moment for Amy’s peace. And so these two fought with the ghosts of fancy, whilst the policeman half suspected Lionel, who had blood upon his coat, which, however easily accounted for, was still blood for all that.
What a blessing it would have been for them all if they could have seen that dark, halting shadow, which had flitted about amongst the ivy, and in out-of-the-way nooks and corners of the old ruin all the day long; that same figure which had haunted Richard Tallant in the Great City; that same figure which, on the night before, had slept beneath a tree in Kensington Palace Gardens, near Mr. Tallant’s house; that same figure which had glided behind his carriage in the early morning, and perched upon the springs behind; that same figure which had travelled by the same train, and disappearing amongst the passengers at Brazencrook, had haunted Richard Tallant far away in the distance, through the harvest fields, and along the white highway; that same figure which had leaped upon him with a hissing taunt, and pressed the cold weapon to his head that the work of destruction might be certain. Oh, if the police could but have met that creeping, stealthy figure, as it hugged that pocket-book, and crept away towards the woods for shelter, until the rain, which had been threatening to fall, should come down, and obscure the moonlight. In less than an hour great clouds rolled before the moon, and the rain fell in big splashing drops upon the trees, carrying now and then to the ground the first brown leaves of autumn.