CHAPTER XXVIIIIN WHICH MANIWEL AND JAGGER JOIN IN THE GAME
INMAN’S mind took holiday from the work on which his hands were employed that day, and busied itself in shaping a course of action that would meet the requirements of the moment. He was disturbed to find that the machinery was not adequate to its task, that it moved slowly and during long periods was entirely unproductive.
Nancy’s attitude puzzled him, but it did more: it gave him greater concern than the circumstances, as he construed them, warranted. Not for one moment would he allow himself to believe that she had followed him to Gordale, for he was of that number of men, themselves superior to superstitious fears and unafraid of the terror by night in its most gruesome forms or haunts, who assume that all women are cowards in the dark and the ready prey of silly fears; and hold them to be constitutionally incapable of adventuring alone in Erebus.
There were moments when he persuaded himself that her own simple explanation was the right one, and she had been merely restless, and then he cursed himself for having shown his hand. But his reason, as well as prejudice and apprehension, refused to entertain the thought long; her eyes had given the lie to her lips. He dismissed, too, though less quickly, the reflection that mere curiosity, the very natural desire of a wife to discover what takes her husband abroad at night, had led her to follow him. His lip curled with something like satisfaction as it occurred to him that she perhaps suspected another intrigue!
But the revolution of the machine always brought back his thoughts to Jagger. It was for her lover she was working—the lover whom he had injured but neither disheartened nor destroyed, and who no doubt found means of pouring his complaints into her sympathetic ears. It was intuition rather than reason that led him to the right conclusion, and told him that though he might throw dust in Stalker’s eyes and make that credulous fool drunk with flattery and greed, he could not deceive his wife. She knew both husband and lover too well to misjudge either.
It was characteristic of the man that in the course of his reflections it never once crossed his mind that his policy had been mistaken. Far-sighted as he thought himself, he was incapable of understanding how the loyalty of a woman like Nancy would have kept her from abusing her husband’s confidences, if they had been offered her, however distasteful his projects might have been to her judgment and heart. He was naturally secretive and distrustful; and like all men who scheme only for themselves, suspicious of everybody. His cleverness was cunning; there was always the danger that he might over-reach himself—in the common expression he was “too clever by half.” His greatest fault was precipitancy; he had to struggle hard against the temptation to stand beside the snares he set in order that he might see the prey enter. The Wise Man asserts that “he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be unpunished.” He might have added that the punishment was likely to be self-administered; a man cannot spur himself fiercely and constantly and escape wounds!
Inman’s success so far had been quick and gratifying, but he was not satisfied, and the greatest obstacles in the path of his contentment were the Drakes—father and son. The old man he disliked not because he was a competitor (for competitionwas in the nature of things and not to be avoided), but because of his air of cheerful assurance, because of his frank, fearless eye and the reproach of his unfailing goodwill. The younger he hated, and with just cause (as he thought) on account of his continued intimacy with Nancy. That a single kiss had been the extent of their illicit connection his prurient mind rejected as incredible; and he was like the rest of his kind in regarding as unpardonable in the wife what was venial in the husband.
His mind had been undecided, and therefore he had locked Nancy in her bedroom, just as he might have locked a dangerous weapon in a drawer—to keep her from doing any mischief until the opportunity should have passed.
There remained Keturah. Despite her tearful peevishness there was a grain of obstinacy in the woman’s nature which made her hardly manageable, and might prove awkward if Nancy should gain her ear and sympathies. His quick judgment decided that she must be got out of the way for a day or two; and when the morning post brought her a letter that opened the floodgates wide he became inwardly elated.
“This is what Maniwel would call an answer to prayer,” he said to himself. “My luck’s changed, I shall go on all right now.”
To Keturah he turned a gloomy face.
“Ill, is she? And what’s Nancy to do if you go traipsing off to nurse another woman?”
“I wouldn’t ha’ cared,” wailed Keturah, “if there’d been anyone near-hand to do for her; but to be on her back and not a soul i’ t’ house if her girds come on——! It caps me what’s ta’en Nancy. She was right enough when she went to bed.”
“I suppose we should be able to manage,” he conceded with lessened gruffness. “Get upstairs and put your things on, and see you don’t disturb Nancy. You’ll not be more than two or three days, I reckon?”
“But I’d best just have a word with her before I go?” she protested.
“You’d best do as I tell you,” he snapped, “or you won’t go at all!”
It was not much better than prison fare that Inman took upstairs during the day, and he was content with simple meals himself. When night fell he set an inch or two of candle on the dressing table, with the curt recommendation to get to bed and make up for the previous night’s loss of sleep, to which she made no reply.
No sooner had the sound of his footsteps on the stairs ceased than a change came over her. She rose with alacrity, drew down the blind and lit the candle, after which she went up to the door and secured it on the inside with the bolt Inman had fixed as a measure of precaution when he had brought home Nancy’s money. A smile was in her eyes but her mouth was determined. “What a clever fool he is!” she said to herself; “and how thoughtful of him to send Keturah away. Every plan he makes fails!”
The recess beside the fireplace had been made into a closet which served the purpose of a wardrobe, and was filled with Nancy’s clothes. A shelf ran across the upper portion, filled with hat boxes and the like, and the various skirts and coats which concealed the background were themselves screened by similar garments that were suspended from hooks affixed to the shelf.
This outer layer of everyday apparel Nancy proceeded to remove, together with one or two others from the row behind. It was then possible to see that the back of the recess was composed of a door of plain boards and ancient workmanship which had at one time afforded a means of communication with the next apartment.
Treading cautiously, she crossed the strip of carpet and stepped out on to the landing. Her husbandwas still in the house, for she could hear his voice below in conversation with another, which she recognised as Stalker’s, and she had to wait awhile before the two men came out and stood in the passage.
“I shall be back i’ t’ village by twelve at t’ latest,” the policeman was saying. “I reckon t’ sergeant’ll meet me down Kirkby way somewhere about eleven. I’ll be back afore Drake gets stirring—if he stirs at all.”
“Then you think he’s given the job up?” Inman asked.
“He knows I’ve my eye on him,” the other replied. “Whether he’s stalled or no time’ll tell.”
“I’ve to see Tom Horton at Kirkby,” Inman remarked. “He sits up late, does Tom, and if I walk down with you we can talk things over as we go along. When I get back I’ll keep an eye on the Drakes’ house for a bit.”
The outer door closed, and from the window Nancy saw their shadowy forms disappear round the corner of the road. Without a moment’s hesitation she went downstairs and unbarring the kitchen window, climbed out, and having closed the sash behind her sped towards the beck and across the green to the Drakes’ house. The retreating forms of her husband and his companion could just be discerned in the faint moonlight far down the road as she knocked at the door.
“Is Jagger in?” she whispered when Hannah came. “Tell him I want him—at once—and come you with him.”
“Come where?” asked Hannah, in astonishment.
“Here!” said Nancy impatiently. “Bring him out and shut the door. There’s no time to lose!”
She had one eye on the road as she spoke, and she kept it there when Hannah and Jagger joined her; but however apprehensive she may have been of her husband’s return, she told her story clearly and concisely.
“What’ll you do?” she asked when Jagger made no immediate comment. “I can’t make head or tail of it.”
“I’ll go see what I can make on’t,” he said, “before he gets a chance to get there. It’s a rum do!”
“And if he finds you there?” she asked.
“If he finds me there, there’ll happen be trouble,” he replied; “but I’ve t’ same right to be i’ Gordel that he has. Anyway, I’m going.”
“Will you take Jack with you?” she asked anxiously. “James’ll do you a mischief if he can.”
“Aye, take Jack,” said Hannah. “It’s as well to be on t’ safe side.”
“Two ’ud happen bungle it,” he said. “I’m a match for Jim Inman any day. I’ll go now, before either of ’em gets back.”
Nancy returned home, and the gloom of Gordel settled on her spirits as she bolted herself into her prison-house again. The candle had set fire to its paper packing and burnt itself out; but when she drew up the blind a gleam of light entered from the sky and she had no difficulty in replacing the garments on their hooks. When the work was finished she did not undress. A sense of weariness and hopelessness crushed her. Her husband would know that she had tricked him and would make her pay the penalty. What would it be? How long would this sort of thing continue? The long vista of the road she was destined to travel with a husband who hated her and whom she despised spread itself before her. She was afraid, too, for Jagger, and a hundred times over upbraided herself for having sent him into danger, without adequate cause; a hundred times over lamented the curiosity that had moved her to do it. Once or twice it crossed her mind that it would have been better to have seen Maniwel instead of Jagger; he was so sane and strong and dependable—so safe, too; for Nancy shared the prevalent belief or superstition that no real harm could befall Maniwel Drake; but another inward counsellor brushed the suggestion aside.
“He’d say, ‘What business is it of ours? Let him go his own gait; and get you up to bed!’ ”
Troubled as she was, Nancy smiled, for the voice told her that curiosity was stronger than reason, and that at heart it pleased her to know that Jagger would not shirk the adventure. A moment later a shiver ran through her, and her heart beat painfully as she pictured a struggle between two strong men in that lonely ravine. A bank of clouds quenched the light of the young moon, and with her imagination quickened by the darkness that wrapped her round, the vision became so real that she almost screamed, and the sound in her throat roused her.
“You silly fool!” she said aloud. “You’re getting hysterical. Stir yourself!”
She went over to the window and endeavoured to look out, but there was little to be seen except a few faint stars and the black outline of earth that touched the sky.
“I’ll have it out with him,” she determined. “I’ll tell him we’d better separate. He’s got most of the money, and that’s all he cares about. It’ll be a relief to us both!”
The decision steadied her.
“I may as well go to bed,” she continued, “but I’ll keep the bolt on the door. He’ll be fit to choke me when he comes home if he’s happened across Jagger!”
Meantime Jagger, having taken rapid counsel with himself and Hannah, had determined to consult his father, who had already gone upstairs and was ready for bed.
“I thought I heard voices beneath t’ window,” he remarked when Jagger had told his story. “And what do you reckon to make out o’ t’ job?”
“I make naught out,” he replied firmly, “but I’ll go and see what’s to be made out on t’ spot.”
“Then you’ve no theory?” Maniwel was drawingon his trousers as he spoke; and instead of answering Jagger inquired what his father was dressing for.
“ ’Cause I’m going wi’ you,” he replied; “and it’s as Nancy says, there’s no time to lose.”
“Yougoing?” Jagger asked in amazement. “What call is there for you to go? You don’t think I’m afraid o’ t’ chap, do you? I shall be easier i’ my mind if you’re safe i’ bed.”
“I’m going wi’ you,” his father repeated. “There’s things to be said ’at it’ll save time to say on t’ road.”
“But——” began Jagger. He was uneasy at the thought of leaving his father below whilst he climbed the rocks.
“There’s no ‘buts’ about it, lad. You ought to know by this time ’at your father’s bad to shift when he’s made his mind up. You’ll maybe none be sorry ’at t’ old man went wi’ you before t’ night’s out!”
Jagger made no further remonstrance, and a few minutes later the two men left the house, after instructing Hannah to keep a light in the kitchen for another half hour and then go to bed. The door-key Maniwel put in his pocket.
“Then you can’t fairly reckon t’ job up?” he asked again when the last house on the Gordel Road had been left behind.
“Can you?” Jagger replied.
“Well, I don’t hardly know whether I’ve got t’ right pig by t’ ear,” said his father slowly; “but I’ve a sort of a notion. Happen there’s naught in it, but that’s to be tried for. Did you ever climb t’ shingle at t’ spot Nancy tells about?”
“I can’t say ’at I ever did,” he replied. “I don’t know ’at I’ve taken much notice of t’ place.”
“Me and Baldwin’s been up many a time when we were lads. It isn’t easy, but there’s ways o’ getting up ’at isn’tthathard, and a chap might light o’ one by chance and think it was a soft job, thent’ next time he tried he might find his-self bested. If Inman’s aiming to get up it’s ’cause he’s been there before, you mark my words, and he’s desp’rate anxious to get there again.”
“But what can he want up t’ cliff side?” inquired Jagger; “it’s that ’at puzzles me. A man doesn’t go bird-nesting in t’ dark.”
“That depends, my lad, on what sort o’ eggs there may happen to be i’ t’ nest. Suppose, now, he’s made a nest of his own i’ one o’ t’ hidey-holes aboon t’ shingle, and wants t’ eggs in his pocket! It’s nobbut a notion I’ve getten in my noddle, lad, but I’m going to tell you how to scram’le up, and where to look.”
“Something o’ t’ same sort was at t’ back o’ my mind,” said Jagger, “but it licks me what he could want to hide up there.”
“I’m saying naught,” returned his father, “ ’cause I’ve naught but a notion to go by. I’m same as I’ve fun a lock that’s short of a key. You’ll see what you make out, lad, but it wouldn’t cap me if you were to find summat ’at’ll make your eyes bulge.”
He refused to say any more, and they crossed the fields to the ravine in silence until Jagger laid his hand on his father’s arm.
“I could ha’ thought there was somebody i’ front of us,” he said. “Hark you!”
They were at the very entrance to the chasm and at the foot of the rocks with the screes above them. Both men listened intently, but there was no sound except the flapping of a bird’s wings high above.
“It’s been one o’ t’ daws you heard,” said Maniwel.
“I didn’t hear it exactly,” replied Jagger; “I sensed it.”
“You’re nervy, lad,” said his father. “It’s as well I came wi’ you. Now just take a bit o’ notice while I tell you which way to go.”
His voice sounded loud and Jagger remonstrated with him in a low voice, but Maniwel was unmoved.
“We’er doing naught to be ashamed on, lad, and there’s no ’casion to muffle t’ clappers. If you find aught ’at we’ve no concern wi’ you’ll leave it where it is; and if you chance across summat ’at doesn’t belong either to Inman or us you’ll bring it down and we’ll let t’ police have it. Put this box o’ matches i’ your pocket. You’ll mebbe want a light before you’ve finished, and I don’t know ’at it matters if anybody sees you.”
“I’m down about your being by yourself if Inman comes,” said Jagger.
“You’ve no ’casion to fret yourself,” replied his father. “I’ll cross t’ beck and get under t’ rock. We’re a bit ahead o’ his time, I reckon; but, anyway, I’ve a good stick i’ my hand. Now up wi’ you, lad, and think on o’ what I’ve tell’d you!”
Jagger was soon at the foot of the screes, and his father crossed the noisy stream and made his way to the densely-black shadows of the high cliff that overhung his head. The gloom of the ravine had no terrors for him, and he deliberately sought its darkest corner behind a projecting limb of the rock.
“It’ll be as snug a cubby-hole as a man need want,” he muttered, “and I can keep an eye both on Jagger and t’ field-path.”
Jagger was half-way up the screes by this time, and the shingle was giving away the secret of the ascent as it clattered down into the beck.
“He’s framing all right,” thought Maniwel, “but t’ job’s only just begun, and he’ll happen be there when t’other fellow comes. I’ll stand here and wait to see what turns up.”
He moved forward, and the same moment a hand was placed over his mouth, while a man’s low, firm voice said:
“Keep quite still! I shall do you no harm. My name is Harker and I’m a police officer!”