CHAPTER XXIXIN WHICH THE TABLES ARE TURNED MORE THAN ONCE
INMAN parted company with the policeman at Tom Morton’s door; but his business with the man was concluded in five minutes and he then took a direction which would probably have astonished the constable, for instead of returning to Mawm by the high road, he went down to the river, and following its course upstream to the point where the Gordale beck joined it, made a bee-line for the ravine.
In doing this he had neither overlooked his expressed determination to keep a watchful eye on the Drakes’ house, nor intentionally deceived Stalker; but had yielded to an imperative impulse which he did not stop to question. This was the more surprising because he was usually too logical and also too stubborn to be moved by those sudden mental thrusts to which many people yield so readily, and if he did so now it was because his mind was in a condition of excited eagerness that was not without a trace of panic.
Despite the coolness he had maintained in his wife’s presence after he had conquered the first almost uncontrollable impulse to render her incapable of doing him further mischief he was at heart afraid of Nancy. There had always been about her something he had not understood; a suggestion of strength held in reserve—of that super-strength which we call fortitude, and he began to fear that her resourcefulnessmight match his own. His thoughts were full of her as he strode along in the darkness, and of the relations that must exist between them in the future when the successful issue of his present enterprise should enable him to settle down to the only important business of life—that of making money and piling it up. Once let him get into his stride, and nothing should hinder him from pushing on; as for the Drakes, they might go to the dogs or the devil, or potter along to the end of their journey, patching up poor men’s fences and knocking together an occasional poor man’s coffin. Henceforward they were beneath his contempt—
He paused there, knowing it was a lie; that though he had married Nancy for her money and for the opportunities the alliance would bring him; though he had himself been unfaithful to her and was unrepentant, he was bitterly jealous of Jagger. The difficulty he had never yet surmounted was how to hurt his enemy in a vital spot and escape injury himself; but he never lost hope. His attempt to throw suspicion for the theft of the money on Jagger had influenced nobody except Stalker, who was a gullible fool. That, too, would have hit Nancy hard; would have wounded her pride as well as her heart, but prudence suggested that it would be best henceforth to imitate the police and let the matter drop. There would, however, be other openings. Life was long and full of snares, into which the wariest old bird might run. And he would be wealthy before many years had passed, and what was there money could not accomplish?
It was the one article in his short creed that he believed with all his soul, yet even as it crossed his mind he knew that it would never buy Nancy’s love; but the thought brought a smile to his face. He could very well do without love; in that market tinsel had all the attractiveness of pure gold, andtinsel was cheap. A smooth tongue and a kiss or two could purchase it.
So his thoughts raced along, but always in a circle, for they inevitably brought him back to the point where a vague uneasiness clouded his satisfaction, and the sense of anxiety was somehow connected with his wife. What if she were free again?—but that was impossible.
Once or twice he wondered if there was no possibility of patching up a peace; but he knew in his heart that she was too straight to tolerate his methods, and he told himself it was a pity. With a nature like hers, if only it had not been spoiled by this unprofitable conscientiousness, what an admirable helpmate she might have been!
When he reached the Gordale road and climbed the stile into the pasture he dismissed these reflections, and concentrated his thoughts on the task that had baffled him the previous night. All was very still, but the darkness was not dense, for the sky was bright with stars as if frost was in the air. Suddenly, as he raised his eyes to the cliff that was his goal, he saw a faint light that flickered for a moment and then went out. A second or two later another appeared and was carried along the surface of the rock until its life, too, was spent.
Inman stood still, but his pulse raced. Someone had anticipated him. Someone was searching the crevices which held his secret, and the result was inevitable. The overthrow of his schemes, so utterly unexpected, fell upon him with the force of a cataclysm, sweeping him from his feet and producing for a moment or two real physical dizziness.
He recovered himself quickly, and as another light glimmered on the rock he hastened along, finding cover in the shadows of the high walls, though he felt sure the searcher was too busily engaged to discover his approach. By the time the next matchwas struck he was cowering behind a rock at the entrance to the ravine; and there was murder in his heart when he recognised the familiar form of Jagger Drake.
He had dreaded it all along, though he had slighted and pushed aside the suggestion. His wife had tracked him only too well and had betrayed him to the enemy. In the moment of realisation he became desperate and thought only of vengeance, yet even so his mind set itself automatically and instantaneously to the work of counter-plotting. His fingers reached down and grasped a stone. There were few men whose aim was better than his; few whose right arm had more of weight and muscle in it. It was only necessary to stay there in hiding until the other’s feet should be on that treacherous slope of loose shingle when he would be powerless to defend himself, and one or two shots would bring him headlong to the foot of the cliff with a broken neck. If he should not be dead it would be no hard task to lend nature a hand—almost as easy as to take away the treasure-trove before any other eye should see it—and the man’s death would lie at his own door. Men would ask why the silly fool should have climbed the Scar at night. And it would be Nancy who had sent him to his fate!
These thoughts flashed across his mind; were examined and rejected in a moment, for they were speedily followed by a second and better suggestion. Before another minute had passed he was making his way back, at first cautiously, then with increasing speed to the high road and the village.
He had been gone a half-hour before the whistling cry of a curlew was heard from the cliff side, and the two men in hiding lifted up their heads and listened. A moment later it was repeated, more loudly and this time not so successfully, for there was something less of the bird and more of the schoolboyin it—a note of triumph that is missing from the bird’s call.
“What is it?” the detective asked; and Maniwel replied with a similar reproduction of the moorbird’s music.
“He’s fun what he’s after,” he replied. “We might as well get down.”
It was in a recess well above his head that Jagger had found the object of his search. Behind a clump of yew that had secured root-hold in a narrow crevice of the cliff and spread its foliage before a shallow opening in the rock, his hand had encountered something softer than stone or wood; something that proved to be a small leather bag.
It was heavy—eight or nine pounds he judged—and he had a little difficulty in transferring it to his pocket, for the toes of his boots had not much grip upon the inch-wide ledge of rock from which he was stretching upwards, but by and by he found himself on the turf again with the screes immediately below. He was so eager to be down that he sent the loose stones clattering to the river bed like a miniature avalanche, and his father could not forbear a warning cry.
“Steady, lad, steady! You’ll hurt yourself if you fall to t’ bottom!”
“No fear o’ that,” replied Jagger, who was already on the edge of the lower cliff, making ready to descend. “By gen, father, we’ve dropped on it this time. It’s a job for t’ police, right enough—a bag-full o’ brass.”
He was too excited to moderate his voice, and when the old man bade him “Whisht!” he only laughed.
“I care for nobody,” he said. “He can come when he likes now. He’s a deep beggar, is Inman, but, by gen, he’s let himself in for’t this time! It’ll open Stalker’s eyes!”
“Don’t jaw so much!” an impatient and authoritativevoice broke in, “but get down and let us see what you’ve found. Time’s precious!”
Jagger nearly overbalanced himself in his surprise.
“Who’ve you got with you?” he inquired suspiciously as he began the descent. For just a moment he thought it must be Inman himself, for the voice was half familiar, but when the detective replied, “You’ll know me when you see me. We’ve met before,” enlightenment came.
“It’s Mr. Harker!” he said. “This licks all!”
The bag was secured with string and Jagger struck a match whilst the officer untied it. But the sight of the contents was not really necessary to confirm what was already certain—that the missing gold was in their hands; and Mr. Harker tied it up again and pushed it along the table of rock towards Jagger.
“Now, listen to me,” he said. “You found the swag and you’ve got to deal with it exactly as you would have done if we hadn’t been here. I want to tell you what’ll happen. Stalker’ll arrest you and you’ll have to go with him!”
“Arrest me!” It was too dark to see the astonishment that spread over Jagger’s face; but it revealed itself in his voice.
“We’ve seen what you haven’t,” the detective proceeded quickly. “You haven’t been the only star on the stage. Inman’s been and caught you at the game; and it’s easy to guess what he hurried away for.”
“But why should he arrest me?” pursued Jagger, who had not anticipated any such untoward result of the enterprise. “I should hand t’ bag straight over to Stalker!”
“He’ll arrest you for having stolen property in your possession,” returned the officer, “and you’ll have to go down to Keepton; but you needn’t worry; you’ll have a front seat for the play, that’s all.”
Something in the detective’s tone raised Jagger’s spirits and he inquired more cheerfully:
“Then I’m to get away by myself, am I? What about father?”
“Your father’ll keep with me. Otherwise Stalker would arrest you both, as it would be his duty to do. If you don’t meet him you must follow your own course; but let me see you stirring, or the other fellows will be here, if I’m not mistaken.”
A grim smile was on Jagger’s face now, and he moved away briskly, carrying the bag in his hand.
“He’s not likely to show fight under provocation, is he?” the detective asked Maniwel, as they followed slowly a minute or two later. “I should imagine he might be a bit of a bruiser, and it would be a pity to give Stalker an excuse for putting the bracelets on him.”
“Twelve months since I wouldn’t ha’ answered for him,” the father replied; “but he’ll keep himself in now, you’ll see. What’ll you do wi’ Inman?”
“Leave that to me!” was the significant answer.
Before Inman found Stalker he had so rehearsed and perfected his story that all apprehension of evil to himself had been dismissed from his mind, which was possessed with a fierce joy. It was worth the loss of the money to have Jagger shut up in prison and branded as a thief; it was a price he would willingly have pledged himself to pay at any time. From the moment he had set foot in the village on his return from Hull he had done his best to throw suspicion on his rival, and in all his consultations with Stalker he had taken care to keep the suggestion alive. The oil of flattery, applied with featherlike delicacy of touch, had made the slow-moving constable quick to discover guilt in actions and circumstances that could have had no relation to the crime apart from Inman’s cunning inventiveness; and he hadallowed himself to be persuaded that time and patience would give him his prisoner. The only cloud on his satisfaction, therefore, when Inman found him and hurried him along the Gordale Road was that the glory of having tracked the criminal should belong not to him but to his patron.
“I’ll bet a hundred pounds to a penny he’s hidden the plunder there,” Inman said, as he tried to quicken the policeman’s heavy pace. “My only fear is that he’ll slip us, and perhaps hide it again nearer home. He was striking a match to look for it when I came away, and you took the deuce of a lot of finding.”
The grumbling tone passed unnoticed by the policeman, who was thinking to himself that it was well for him that he was accompanied by a man of such strong determination and powerful physique, for Jagger’s fame as a fighting man was proverbial in the hill-country, and he was not likely to “take his sops” without a struggle.
“Was he by himself?” he inquired.
“Yes,” replied Inman, with a note of confidence.
The thought that Nancy might have guided her lover there had occurred to him on his way back, but that fear (or hope, for he hardly knew in which light he regarded it) had been removed when he called at his home and satisfied himself by his wife’s deep breathing that she was asleep in her room, with the door secured.
“A leather bag, did you say?” Stalker continued.
“Unless he’s changed it,” Inman replied impatiently. “You’ll search him, I suppose? It isn’t likely he’ll be wearing it in his button-hole like a posy!”
They had reached the stile and were about to pass over when the policeman became aware that someone was approaching from the direction of the Scar, and he whispered an instruction to his companion to secrete himself on the farther side. When Jagger was descending into the road, Stalker steppedforward and swept the light of his bull’s-eye upon him.
“I see you’ve getten it with you, my lad!” he said. “I’ve waited a long time; but there’s an end to t’ longest road. I suppose you’ll come along quietly?”
The suddenness of the encounter and the flash of the lamp startled Jagger; and his voice was not as steady as he had meant it to be when he replied:
“I’ve got it, right enough, and you’d have got it if you’d waited. I was on my way to find you; but I suppose those who hid it away picked it out ’at their game was up, and set you on my track to keep your nose off o’ their trail.”
“It wor very thoughtful on you,” Stalker answered with pleasant sarcasm; “an’ as you was to ha’ left it wi’ me I may as well take it. By gen, it’s no light weight! Happen you’ll take charge on’t, Mr. Inman, while we get to t’ village, and leave me my two hands free?”
Inman stepped forward and Jagger observed him for the first time.
“So you’re there, are you?” he remarked. “I thought by this time you’d have put five miles o’ moor between you and Mawm.Youknow who hid t’ bag on t’ Scar side, choose who you got to steal it.”
“You are quite right,” he answered with no emotion of any kind. “I’ve known all along both who stole it and who hid it; but the trouble was I didn’t know where until I followed you. Stalker knows that I knew.”
“That’s all right, sir,” said the constable, “and we needn’t stop here i’ t’ lane arguing about it. We’ll be stepping forrad, and t’ least said’ll be t’ soonest mended, for it’s my duty to warn you ’at aught you say may be used in evidence again’ you.”
Jagger made no reply, and walked between histwo captors thinking his own thoughts. At intervals his companions exchanged a brief sentence, but for the most part the journey was continued in silence, so that when the outskirts of the village had been reached the sound of footsteps in the rear was clearly heard.
The constable gripped Jagger’s sleeve. “If it’s a rescue you’re thinking on,” he said, “I shall have to put cuffs o’ your wrists.”
Jagger laughed, and his indifference surprised the constable and disturbed Inman.
Whoever was approaching was making good progress, and in a few moments a firm voice rang out the question:
“Is that you, Stalker, in front?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the constable, who thought the sergeant must be again in the neighbourhood, and experienced a sense of relief at this unexpected lightening of his responsibilities.
He halted as he spoke, and Mr. Harker and Maniwel came up. At sight of them Inman’s face dropped.
“I’ve arrested this man, sir,” Stalker explained, “wi’ the money ’at was stolen from Briggs in his possession on information laid by Mr. Inman.”
“I know,” the detective replied curtly; “and I’ve a warrant for the arrest of James Inman on the same charge. You can leave Drake to me, Stalker, and give your attention to the other prisoner. I’ve my car in a shed a hundred yards away, and we’ll get down there at once and make our way to Keepton.”