After eighty years, halting Nemesis had at last caught up with Jarvis Alpenny. He had buried himself in seclusion; he had surrounded himself with bolts and bars and other precautions; but the order that his sordid career should end had come from the Powers that deal with evil-doers, and he was as dead as a door-nail. And very unpleasantly he had died too, for his wrinkled throat had been cut from ear to ear. Who had done it no one seemed to know.
Beatrice might have supplied a clue; but for reasons connected with the Paslow family she held her tongue, and feigned ignorance when the rural police came on the scene, which they did very speedily, owing to the zeal of Mrs. Snow. The sergeant of the district questioned and cross-questioned Miss Hedge, with very little success. She told him that, on the previous evening, she had gone for a walk in the woods round The Camp, but did not mention with what object. There, as she stated very truly, she had been caught in the storm, and at some unknown time had stumbled home wet and weary, and so tired that she had at once slipped into bed. The note from her stepfather was produced, and confiscated by the sergeant; the details of Mrs. Snow's curiosity leading to a discovery of a crime, were given; and then Beatrice professed that she could tell no more. The bucolic constable believed her readily enough, and informed his Inspector who came that Miss Hedge had told the truth and nothing but the truth. This might have been so, but she certainly had not told the whole truth, else might the sergeant have added to the note left by the dead man, a certain gentleman's handkerchief, marked with three initials--"V.R.P."
This piece of evidence Beatrice had picked up so near the body, that a corner of the handkerchief was soaked in the life-blood of the miser. Her quick eye had seen it almost the moment she had entered the dungeon at Durban's heels, and when falling on her knees by the dead she had mechanically picked it up, without lynx-eyed Mrs. Snow seeing the action. Durban would only allow the women to remain for two minutes in that place of death. Then he drove them out, and insisted that Beatrice should retire to her parlour. She did so while he reclosed the door of the counting-house, and while Mrs. Snow, almost too excited to speak, ran for the nearest constable, who in his turn summoned his sergeant.
Alone in the parlour, Beatrice, still mechanically grasping the handkerchief, suddenly remembered how she had found it, and at once examined the corners. It was with a gasp of terror that she realised to whom it belonged. "V.R.P." could only stand for Vivian Robert Paslow, and he--as she knew only too well--was the enemy of the deceased. Could it be that Vivian had killed the miser to settle the question of marriage, and secure his threatened property from getting into the cruel clutches of his victim? In that first moment of horror Beatrice was inclined to think so. Then, with a revulsion of feeling, she recoiled with horror from so base an idea. The man she loved was not a midnight assassin: however much he may have hated Alpenny, he certainly would not have put the old man to death in so barbarous a fashion. Finally, he had been with her under the Witches' Oak last night, and could not possibly be guilty.
Then, again, on further thought it occurred to her that such an alibi could scarcely serve in this case. The meeting at the haunted tree had taken place about seven o'clock, and had lasted, so far as she could reckon from confused recollection, for a quarter of an hour. Then had come the episode of the pursuit of the watcher by Paslow, her own flight through the woods, the breaking of the storm, and her fainting-fit. She might have been hours unconscious; she might have been hours getting home, for she had very little recollection of that mad passage through the furious wind and rain. Only she remembered reaching The Camp between the gates, and blindly falling into the arms of a lean, tall man with a black patch over his left eye. Had that man been Vivian? Was it truly her lover who, in the intervening time, had stolen to the deserted Camp, and using the key of the small gate (which she knew he possessed) had gained access to the dungeon, there to commit his crime? No! It was impossible. If she could only remember the time when she came back! This was hard to do, and yet it was done, for chance came to her aid.
Besides the cuckoo-clock which had awakened her, Beatrice possessed an old silver watch, given to her on some far-distant birthday by Durban. It stood on a small stand beside the bed, and she remembered that in slipping between the sheets, weary and half asleep, she had knocked this down between the table it stood on and the wall. Some instinct must have directed her to look for it at the moment. She thrust the incriminating handkerchief into her pocket, and ran to the bedroom carriage. There she found the watch--found also that it had stopped at the hour of nine o'clock. It was just possible that the stoppage had occurred when she had knocked it over. She certainly had wound it up as usual on the previous night, and twice before, when knocked off its stand, it had stopped dead.
"Yes," thought the girl, inspecting the yellow dial, "it must have been stopped by the fall, unless"--she shook it vigorously--"unless it has run down"; but a steady ticking told her that the main-spring was not yet fully unwound, and she replaced the watch on its stand, with a firm conviction that she had entered the bedroom at nine on the previous evening. Vivian had left her to follow the spy at a quarter past seven, so he could easily have committed the crime, so far as time and opportunity went, as one hour and three-quarters had been taken up by her in getting home. An alibi, therefore, was little good in this case, and on the evidence of the handkerchief he would assuredly be hanged.
"No! no! no!" murmured Beatrice with rising inflection, and speaking aloud in her agitation; "it is untrue. Vivian would never commit so cowardly a deed as to kill an old man of eighty, however much he may have hated him. I shall hide the handkerchief--but where? The police are sure to search the place, and--and----" A sudden thought struck her. "I'll keep it in my pocket," she decided, and thrust it, neatly folded up, to the very bottom of that receptacle. Later, she intended to cautiously question Paslow, and learn if he had been to The Camp on that night. But the conversation would be between their two selves. She would tell no one else of the handkerchief she had picked up, not even Durban, faithful servant though he was.
It was at this moment, and as though in response to her mental mention of his name, that Durban appeared. He looked much shaken by the tragedy, and was green with scarcely concealed fright. Beatrice eyed him with astonishment, as she had never deemed him to be much attached to the old tyrant who had gone so violently to his long rest. Durban evaded her searching glance, which was perhaps fortunate, as the girl herself did not wish her own countenance to be too closely scrutinised.
"I've shut it up in the counting-house," said Durban, his eyes on the ground, and jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "The police will be here soon. Mrs. Snow will tell them; she'll be glad of the chance."
"Why? Did she know my--the late Mr. Alpenny?"
"That's right, missy." Durban raised his eyes with approval, and dropped them again. "Never call him your father."
"He was my stepfather," Beatrice reminded him.
"Ah--hum--yes," gurgled Durban. "Yes, missy, Mrs. Snow knew master before you were born--at Convent Grange."
"I heard her say that Colonel Hall's throat had also been cut."
Durban shuddered, and leaned against the door. "Yes," he whispered faintly, "that was so, missy."
"Mr. Alpenny's throat has been cut in the same way."
Durban half smiled, but his expression was wry and twisted. "There is only one way to cut a throat, missy."
"Ugh!" Beatrice turned pale, and threw up her hand. "Don't!"
"It is a nasty subject, missy. I--I'm sorry for the master. And yet," he added, half to himself; "if ever a man deserved what he got, master was that man."
"What do you mean?" asked Beatrice, taking a step towards him.
"Master had many enemies," went on Durban, again casting his eyes on the ground; "a money-lender always has."
"Then you know----"
"I know nothing," snapped the man angrily, and wiping his swarthy face with a duster. "Master sent me to London last night, as you knew, missy. I only came down by the morning train, and walked here, in time to find you with Mrs. Snow. What did she want?"
Beatrice smiled faintly in her turn. "Subscriptions for the church spire, which was blown down last night."
"Oh! That was the excuse?"
"Excuse for what, Durban?"
"To see you, missy, and learn---- But there!" Durban turned away. "She came here to make mischief between you and master. Thank Heaven he is dead, and you will get the money. Mrs. Snow can't harm you now."
"Why should she wish to harm me, Durban?"
"That's a long story, missy. Now that the master is dead, I can tell it to you. But first we must learn who killed----"
"I know," interrupted Beatrice quickly; "a tall man, with a black patch over his left eye."
Durban turned greener than ever. "How do you know that, missy?" he asked in a strangled voice.
"I saw him when the gates were open, about nine o'clock last night."
Durban looked at her sharply. "Then you did go for that walk, missy?"
"Yes, I had to. Mr. Paslow wished to see me. Durban"--she made a step forward, and clutched his arm tightly--"I'll tell you what I don't intend to tell any one else," and without giving the man time to make an observation, she related the whole story of her adventure, suppressing only the episode of the handkerchief. This she did, so as to avert any possible suspicion from Vivian, since Durban, knowing that Paslow had been with her, would not connect him with the crime--that is, if he was stupid enough not to calculate the time, and thus prove the futility of the alibi.
Durban listened quietly enough. "I am glad that Mr. Paslow will marry you, missy," he said at last, and removed her grasp from his arm. "You will inherit a lot of money from the dead master. It ought to be twenty thousand a year!"
"But, Durban, Mr. Alpenny told me very plainly that if he died, I would be a pauper."
"I don't believe it," burst out the half-caste; "he would not dare to--to----" Here he halted and stammered, "C--c--curse him!"
"Durban!" She stepped back a pace in sheer amazement at the savagery of the tone.
"Dead, or alive, curse him!" cried Durban, his voice gathering strength from the intensity of his hate. "He was a scoundrel--you don't know how great a scoundrel. Missy"--he grasped her arm in his turn--"you shall have the money, I swear it. Then marry Mr. Paslow, and go away for a few years, till all blows over."
"Till what blows over?" asked Beatrice anxiously.
"Hush!" Durban let go her arm, and controlled himself by a violent effort. "The police! Say as little as you can. You know nothing--I know nothing."
"Durban, are you afraid?"
"Of Mrs. Snow. Hush!"
The last words were scarcely out of his mouth when the two policemen, who had entered the gates left open by Mrs. Snow, came up to them with important airs. The sergeant was stout and short, the constable lean and tall.
"We take possession of this place, miss," said the stout man breathlessly.
"In the name of the King and the law," finished the lean person.
"And anything you say will be used in evidence against you," they both murmured in a breath, then stared sternly at the startled girl and the green-hued half-caste.
"Do what you like," said Beatrice, drawing herself up; "neither myself nor Durban know anything."
"But----" began the sergeant, snorting with excitement.
"I will answer all questions at the proper time, and at the proper place," said Miss Hedge, cutting the plethoric man short. Then she retired into her bedroom and shut the door.
The constables grumbled at her sharpness of speech, but went to work. They examined the body, searched every inch of The Camp, made plans, took notes, asked innumerable questions of Durban, and finally insisted that Beatrice should submit to an examination. This she did composedly enough, but said as little as she well could. It was her intention to reserve an account of what she had seen for the inquest. She did not even tell the Inspector, when he arrived to take charge of the case.
There was immense excitement in Hurstable. The quiet little Sussex village had never before been defiled by a crime of this brutal kind. Sparsely populated as the district was, a great number of agricultural labourers gathered in a remarkably short space of time. Their wives and children came also, and the police had much difficulty in keeping them out of the precincts of The Camp. Then by next day the news had reached Brighton, and crowds of tourists--it being the holiday season--poured into the Weald on foot, on bicycles, in motor cars and carriages, and by train. With them came the reporters from various newspapers, London and local, and the whole place buzzed like a hive at swarming-time.
Beatrice remained in The Camp under charge of Durban. Dinah Paslow came to offer her the hospitality of Convent Grange; but, much to the surprise of Beatrice, the man who had proposed to her on that fatal night never made his appearance. Without any embarrassment, Dinah told her friend that Vivian had gone to town as soon as he heard that Alpenny was dead.
Beatrice was both surprised and alarmed when she heard of Vivian's abrupt departure without seeing her. It argued that he was guilty, and feared to face her. Yet, try as she might, it was impossible for her to believe him to be a murderer.
"Why didn't he come to see me?" she asked Dinah.
"He wanted to," replied the freckled girl. "But then he said that he had important business to attend to, connected with you, and went up to town the day before yesterday. I have not heard from him since, and don't know when he is coming back."
"Business connected with me!" repeated Miss Hedge, much perplexed. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I, dear. But don't worry. Vivian loves you, and whatever he does will be for your benefit. I do wish you'd come to the Grange, Beatrice, and let Mrs. Lilly look after you--she knows about herbs and things, and you look so pale. And no wonder, seeing what a shock you have had. I wouldn't stop in this place for anything, seeing ghosts and spooks--ugh!" and Dinah ended her somewhat incoherent speech with a shudder.
"I cannot come until the inquest is over," said Beatrice, rapidly surveying the situation.
"And then?"
"Then, perhaps. It depends upon Mr. Paslow."
"Vivian, you mean," said Dinah quickly.
"I have no right to call him Vivian," replied Beatrice proudly.
"Yes, you have. Vivian told me that he had asked you to be his wife, and that you had accepted."
"Dinah"--Beatrice looked directly at the girl "did he tell you where he proposed?"
"Yes; under the----"
"Hush!" Miss Hedge sank her voice to a whisper as she saw a blue-coated constable moving heavily round the garden, and gradually drawing nearer. "Not a word. Hold your tongue about that meeting."
"But why?" asked the amazed Dinah.
"I'll tell you later," said Beatrice hurriedly; "that is, when I have seen Vivian. Have you his address?"
"No. He went away, and said he would be back soon. Oh dear!" cried Dinah fretfully; "there is such a lot of mystery about Vivian, and has been for ages and ages. Sometimes he's jolly, and then he's as dismal as a sick cow. I thought it was love, for Jerry often is the same--silly boy. But I don't believe it is love," concluded Dinah decidedly. "Vivian has something on his mind."
"What do you mean?"
"Something horrid. I don't know what it is, but I fear the worst."
"Don't be a fool, Dinah," said Beatrice impatiently, for she winced at hearing her own doubts put into speech. "It's money troubles that annoy him, and probably, now that Mr. Alpenny is dead, he has gone to see the executors, to know how his mortgage will stand."
"As if he couldn't ask you," cried Dinah, rising and throwing her riding-skirt over her arm. "You'll get the money, of course. It ought to be a lot, Beatrice, for Jerry, who has had dealings with money-lenders, says they make heaps and heaps."
"I know nothing until the will is read. Go away, dear, and come back after poor Mr. Alpenny is buried."
"Poor Mr. Alpenny!" mocked Dinah. "Well, you are forgiving, Beatrice. He was a nasty old man, and never did any good in his life. He is more useful to me and Jerry dead than alive."
"Dinah!"
"Oh, I know it's horrid of me," said Miss Paslow penitently, "but we must live--I mean Jerry and I must think about our marriage. His father won't allow him any money, and Mrs. Snow is a cat. Our only chance of getting married, and living in a tweeny-weeny house, with a general servant, is for Jerry to get a rise. Now, if Jerry writes something picturesque about this murder, he'll get the rise and----"
"Oh, go away," cried Beatrice, for this disconnected talk grated on her over-strung nerves, "and don't tell even Jerry that I met Vivian--I mean Mr. Paslow--under the Witches' Oak."
"I won't say anything," promised Dinah firmly; "and I suppose it was improper for you to meet Vivian so late without a chaperone. But you will marry Vivian, darling, won't you?" she went on coaxingly. "He is so poor, and loves you; and then Mr. Alpenny's money--I mean your money--can set up the family again, and----"
The patience of Beatrice was at an end. She took Dinah firmly by the arm and led her out of the gates past the sleepy policeman, who blinked in the sunshine like an over-fed cat. "Go and assist Jerry to write paragraphs," she said sharply; "you are a tiresome girl."
"It's your nerves," said Dinah, not at all annoyed by this abrupt dismissal. "I feel that way myself, when Jerry is irritating. He is such a---- Well, I'm going. There's Tommy Tibbs holding Fly-by-Night. Hi, Tommy, bring her here. Good-bye, darling: keep your spirits up. I'll come and see you later. You must come to the Grange, and----"
Beatrice closed the babbling lips with a kiss, and went inside, while Dinah argued with Tommy about the price of holding her horse for one long hour. The policeman opened his eyes and looked at the tall, slim young lady with approval as she went past him. He thought she was a trifle too pale, and she had black circles under her eyes; but otherwise he approved, and smiled graciously. Beatrice took no notice of him, but went to her parlour, to think over the strange conduct of Vivian Paslow.
Dinah was right He certainly had something on his mind, and did not seem to be a free agent. Something hampered him in every way. He had long desired to propose to her, and yet had only done so when some cause, which he declined to explain, had been removed. Again, he had gone up to town on hearing of Alpenny's murder, and without ascertaining whether she had reached home, or not, on that fearful night. He had not even left a message; and then in her pocket was his handkerchief, dyed with the life-blood of the miser. These things were strange and disquieting, and Beatrice resolved that before reaffirming her decision to marry him, he would have to explain what underhand causes were at work to make him behave so mysteriously.
No time was lost in holding the inquest on the body of Jarvis Alpenny. The weather was hot, and it was just as well to place the remains underground as speedily as possible. A doctor was summoned from Hurstable to examine the body, and pronounce if possible the hour when the murder had taken place. Then the corpse was conveyed to the solitary inn of Hurstable, a few miles away, and there the jury looked it over. Afterwards the Coroner summoned them into the inn parlour, and Inspector Grove related all that had been discovered by the police.
It was not much, and threw no light on the authorship of the crime. The deceased--so ran the official narrative--was a money-lender of great repute, and that none of the best. He possessed a small office in London--52 Trunk Street, Cheapside--but seldom went there, as he preferred the quiet of the country--probably on account of his age, which was considerable. Nevertheless, from habit apparently, Mr. Jarvis continued to do business up to the very hour of his death. He died in harness, as might be said; for on the table, whereunder he lay, were letters from people--who need not be mentioned--asking for loans of money. These he was apparently considering, when he was struck down.
"I understood, and I have seen," said the Coroner emphatically, "that the deceased's throat was cut."
Inspector Jones assented, but pointed out that the old man was first felled by a blow from behind, as was apparent from a wound at the back of the head. The assassin had evidently entered stealthily, and had taken his victim by surprise. The murder was very deliberate, as the criminal had first stunned the old man, and then had cut his throat in a most brutal and thorough fashion. Therefore, as the Inspector suggested, the motive of the crime was more than mere robbery. A robber, having stunned his victim, could have taken what he desired, and escaped before Mr. Jarvis regained consciousness. But the death had taken place from the throat-cutting, and not from the blow on the head.
"Has anything been taken from the room?" asked a juryman.
"You mean the railway carriage," corrected the Inspector, who was pedantic in speech, and particular as to facts. "Yes; the safe was opened with the keys of the deceased--probably taken by the assassin from the dead body--and all the papers have been taken away."
"What do you mean, exactly?" asked the Coroner.
Inspector Jones held up his right hand. "I mean," he declared emphatically, "that the safe was as bare as the palm of my hand. All papers were removed, the drawers were emptied, and nothing was left--absolutely nothing."
"The assassin must have carried quite a load?"
"As the safe is a large one, and probably was fairly filled, it is extremely likely," replied the Inspector. Then he went on to state that the fact of the death was discovered the next morning by Mrs. Snow, the vicar's wife, who was paying a visit to Miss Hedge. The police were called in, and everything had been done to discover the whereabouts of the assassin, but in vain. Villagers, labourers, railway officials, chance folk travelling in carts and motor-cars and on bicycles had been questioned, but no suspicious character had been observed. The assassin had stolen in upon the old man out of the night; and when his detestable task had been executed, he had again vanished into the night with his plunder, leaving not a footprint behind by which he could be traced.
"Yet the night was rainy," said the Coroner sapiently.
"And the grassy sward," retorted Jones, "runs right up to the railway carriage wherein the crime was executed. I have inquired at the Trunk Street office, and cannot learn from the confidential clerk there that Mr. Alpenny was threatened in any way, or feared for his life or property. The affair is a mystery."
"And is likely to remain so, with such an ass as you at the head of affairs," murmured the Coroner, as the Inspector, severely official, stepped down to give place to a rosy little man.--"Well, doctor," he asked aloud, "what do you know about this sad business?"
Dr. Herman knew very little, save from a medical standing-point He lived in Hurstable, some miles distant from the scene of the crime, and drove round all the surrounding district to see his patients. A constable stopped him on the day after the crime had been committed, and he had been asked to examine the corpse. He found that it was that of an old man. The body was badly nourished, but healthy enough for a man who certainly was over eighty. The blow on the head would not have killed a man with such vitality, old as he was. Death had ensued from the cutting of the throat. "Which was neatly done," said the doctor, with professional approval. "I should think a very sharp instrument was used, and a very dexterous hand had used it. No bungling about that affair," concluded Dr. Herman.
"Humph!" said the Coroner doubtfully; "and what does that mean? Do you insinuate that a doctor cut the throat and used a surgical instrument to do so?"
"I insinuate nothing of the sort," said Herman hotly, for he did not like the sneer of the Coroner; "it might have been a butcher, who is quite as dexterous with a knife as a medical man, although not quite in the same way."
"Pooh! pooh! We're all animals, doctor," laughed the Coroner, "and you are all butchers, whether you are called so or not. Come, now, at what time did Mr. Jarvis Alpenny meet his death?"
"I cannot be sure of that--I cannot commit myself to an exact opinion," said the little doctor doubtfully. "I should say the crime was committed between eight and nine of the previous night But, as I say, I cannot be quite certain."
"Between eight and nine of the previous night," wrote the Coroner, and called the next witness.
This was Mrs. Snow, who gave her evidence with much volubility. She had called on Miss Hedge to ask for money in order to get the spire of Hurstable Church mended. Miss Hedge had stated that her stepfather was from home, but she--witness--had glanced into the railway carriage which was called the counting-house of Mr. Alpenny. There she had seen the deceased--dead, lying in a pool of blood. At once she gave the alarm, and Durban, the servant, burst open the door with a beam.
"The door of the carriage was locked, then?"
"Oh yes," assented Mrs. Snow. "I tried it myself. I expect the assassin killed poor Mr. Alpenny, and after robbing the safe, went out with his plunder, and locked the door after him. He had the keys."
"One moment," said Durban, rising in the body of the room. "My master carried the keys--all the keys, including that of the counting-house, on a single ring. The keys were in the safe, and----"
"We'll hear you later," said the Coroner sharply.--"Go on, Mrs. Snow."
"I have nothing further to say," said the vicar's wife, trying to convey a sympathetic look in her eyes, "save that I am sorry for Miss Hedge. And I may add," she continued, after a moment of hesitation, "that Colonel Hall was murdered at Convent Grange twenty-five years ago, in the same way."
"I remember the case," said the Coroner, who was an old resident of the neighbourhood. "And what do you infer?"
"That the assassin of Colonel Hall and the assassin of Mr. Alpenny are one and the same," said Mrs. Snow promptly.
"Why should you connect the two?" asked the Coroner coldly, and very much puzzled.
"Colonel Hall and Mr. Alpenny had much to do with one another," said Mrs. Snow, "and did some business together. That their two throats should be cut, is a coincidence."
"Only that and nothing more, Mrs. Snow. I cannot see what the old crime has to do with the new one."
"I am sure there is some connection," snapped the sour woman, and then stepped down from the witness-box with a triumphant glance in the direction of Beatrice. Why that glance, and one of such a nature, was sent, Beatrice could not guess. But then the conduct of Mrs. Snow was perplexing her more and more.
Durban's evidence was to the effect that he had been absent when the crime took place. Mr. Alpenny had sent him to town with a letter, and he had returned the next morning to find the old man dead. Mrs. Snow had first informed him of the fact. He had burst open the door with a beam, as it was locked, and then had discovered that Mr. Alpenny's throat was slit from ear to ear. "And I saw," added the witness quickly, "that the keys of the deceased, including the key of the counting-house, were on the ring which dangled from the key used to open the safe."
"Then you do not think that the assassin could have locked the door after him?"
"Certainly not, seeing that the key was left behind."
"Was there not another key?"
"No. My master had the only key of the counting-house; it was one of a most peculiar make, and there was no duplicate. Mr. Alpenny was always careful to lock up his papers, and to keep the door of the counting-house locked."
"Then there must be another way of getting into the counting-house."
Inspector Jones rose to assure the Coroner that the place had been thoroughly examined. "There is no way of entering the railway carriage which is called the counting-house, save by the door."
"But if the door was locked, and the key inside, the assassin must have got out by another way. What about the window?"
"It's so small and so barred that a child could not get through it."
The Coroner scratched his head, and looked at Durban. "You were the confidential servant of the deceased," he said helplessly; "perhaps you can explain?"
"I can explain nothing," said Durban promptly, and quite at his ease; "certainly I was Mr. Alpenny's servant, but he made no confidant of me. I took letters to the London office, but what was in them I never knew. I was cook and general servant--that is all."
"You were often in the counting-house?"
"I was never in the counting-house in my life, sir. Mr. Alpenny would not allow either Miss Hedge or myself to enter."
"Humph!" said the Coroner again; "the whole mystery seems to centre round the counting-house. Had Mr. Alpenny enemies?"
"The usual sort a money-lender is bound to have," said Durban, with a shrug. "People sometimes came and called him names; and he told me that many borrowers objected to the high interest he charged."
"Did the deceased ever give you to understand that his life was in danger?"
"Never. He appeared quite happy in his own way."
"Was he expecting any one on the night he was murdered?"
"I cannot say. He sent me to town with the letter, and I was to come back next morning--which," added the witness pointedly, "I did."
"Mr. Alpenny did not expect to be killed?"
"No. He would have taken some precautions had he thought that, as he feared death."
After this several jurymen asked questions, and the Coroner cross-examined the half-caste. But he could tell nothing likely to lead to a discovery of the assassin. He simply declared that he was not in his late master's confidence, and knew nothing: that he had gone to town on the night of the murder, and had only learned of it through Mrs. Snow. The Coroner and, incidentally, Inspector Jones were annoyed; they had quite counted on a solution of the mystery when Durban was examined. But he could tell nothing, and they saw no reason to doubt his evidence.
Beatrice was called as the final witness, and told very much the same story as she had related to the sergeant. Only on this occasion she stated the time when she had returned. The Coroner asked her how she knew that she had entered at nine, whereupon she detailed the episode of the fallen watch. "I am sure that when I knocked it down, it stopped at nine," she said; "at that hour I returned."
"Why did you not go in and see Mr. Alpenny?"
"In the first place, I was worn out," said the witness; "in the second, there was no light in the window of the counting-house; and in the third, I found the note left by Mr. Alpenny, which I handed to the sergeant. And in the fourth place," added Beatrice, before the Coroner could make an observation, which he seemed inclined to do, "I saw the assassin!"
Everyone was startled, and a confused murmur filled the room. "You saw the assassin?" said the Coroner, aghast.
"When I entered the gates of The Camp at nine o'clock. He is a tall man, with a black patch over the left eye."
"A black patch!" cried Mrs. Snow, rising, much excited. "Colonel Hall was also murdered by a man with a black patch. I swear it."
The words rang piercingly through a dead silence. Beatrice, startled by persistent introduction of a bygone crime, stared at the lean-faced woman who made the outcry. The Coroner blinked furiously, and nursed his chin in his hand, considering what to say and what to do. Finally, he made up his mind to rebuke Mrs. Snow. "You have given your evidence," said he, frowning a trifle, "and now you must be silent."
"You should note what I have told you," said Mrs. Snow calmly, but her bosom heaved impatiently; "the one crime may help the other."
"As how?" asked the Coroner politely.
"Because you may strike down two birds with one stone."
"I should rather put it, if what you say is true, Mrs. Snow, that we may strike down one bird with two stones. I understand that you say the man who murdered Colonel Hall--I remember him well--also murdered Mr. Alpenny?"
"You heard what Miss Hedge said about the black patch, Dr. Arne: and you know that Colonel Hall's throat was also cut.
"There was some stealing also," said Dr. Arne musingly, "which makes the parallel more complete."
"There was a diamond necklace stolen," said Mrs. Snow quietly; "at least I remember that. I was not married then, and Mrs. Hall was my dear friend."
"I never saw her," said the Coroner coldly, and a trifle rudely. "All this is not to the point--Miss Hedge, will you go on?"
"What would you have me tell you?" asked the witness, who had been listening eagerly to Mrs. Snow's account of the earlier crime.
"How could you see this man, seeing that the night was dark and very stormy?"
"I saw his face in a flash of lightning," explained Beatrice, and then related the momentary meeting. But she suppressed the fact that on the same night she had met Vivian under the Witches' Oak. It was not pertinent to the case, she thought. Moreover, with the knowledge of whose handkerchief was in her pocket, she thought it best to keep Paslow's name out of the matter.
"The gates were open?" asked the Coroner, when she ended.
"Wide open."
"Mr. Alpenny had the key, I believe?"
"Yes; but that key was not on the ring to which the others were attached. It hung on the wall."
"Along with the key of the smaller gate," put in Durban.
Then Inspector Jones spoke. "The key of the large gate," said he, "I found in the lock the next morning, where it had been left."
"The man with the black patch closed the large gate after him, as he ran out," said Beatrice.
"Ah! then, probably he opened the gate from the inside, and when he met you he was too startled to take it out of the lock.--And the smaller key--that belonging to the little gate, Mr. Inspector?"
"It is hanging on the wall of the counting-house now."
Beatrice started, and grasped the chair near which she stood to keep herself from falling. Vivian had picked up the key when she dropped it under the Witches' Oak. He must have replaced it in the counting-house himself, when he was inside. He had also left the handkerchief which she had in her pocket. Surely he was guilty, and yet--and yet--oh! it was too terrible. A word from the Coroner recalled her.
"You look pale, Miss Hedge?" he remarked suspiciously.
"And no wonder," said the girl faintly; "the whole affair is so very terrible."
"Well, well!" said Arne, relenting, and believing this excuse, which was feasible enough. "I shan't keep you much longer. Why did you not see Mr. Alpenny on that night?"
"I have told you: the note----"
"Ah! yes. I was about to remark on that when you spoke last--Mr. Inspector, why has not this note been put in evidence?"
Inspector Jones, with profuse apologies, laid the note on the table.
"I quite forgot," he said, looking ashamed, "but here it is. As you will see, Mr. Alpenny says that he is going away for three days."
"Where did you find the note, Miss Hedge?"
"Beside my bed on that night. I naturally thought that, as the light was out in the counting-house, and the note explained, that Mr. Alpenny had gone away as he intended."
"Quite right--very natural--hum--hum. When you found the body"--he spoke to Durban--"what clothes was it dressed in?"
"Mr. Alpenny always wore one suit," and Durban explained the old-fashioned dress; "but when I found the body, it was clothed in a loose cloak which he used to wear in rough weather."
"And a hat?"
"The hat was on the desk, sir."
"Humph!" said Dr. Arne thoughtfully; "then it would seem that he was struck down, just as he was going up to town. Could Mr. Alpenny have caught a train so late?"
"Yes, sir, if he left The Camp at nine o'clock. There was a train at half-past ten to Brighton; and he could have caught a late one on the main line, or he could have stopped at Brighton all night. He sometimes did."
"It is nearly three miles to our local station," said Dr. Arne. "Could an old man like Mr. Alpenny walk that distance?"
"He often did," declared Durban emphatically; "he had a wonderful constitution, had the master."
"Marvellous vitality," cried Dr. Herman from his seat, and was rebuked by his enemy the Coroner.
Arne asked a few more questions, and then addressed the jury. He pointed out that, on the evidence before them, they could not arrive at any conclusion as to who was the actual murderer.
"The man who murdered Colonel Hall," cried Mrs. Snow.
"Quite so," said the Coroner smoothly; "but that man escaped, and was never discovered. If it is the same man--and certainly, Mrs. Snow, it seems as though your surmise is right--he may escape again. Mr. Alpenny apparently was about to start on his journey, after leaving the note for Miss Hedge, and probably was turning over some necessary papers, when he was struck down. Regarding the locked door, I can offer no explanation: nor have the police been able to find this masked man, who assuredly must be the assassin. The case is full of mystery, and I do not see what can be done, save that the jury should return an open verdict."
He made a few more observations, but what he said was not very much to the point. The jury--what else could be done?--returned a verdict of murder against a person or persons unknown, with an observation to the effect that the police should hunt down the man with the black patch. This last remark was rather irregular; but, to say the truth, everyone was so puzzled over the aspect of the case that no one had any very clear idea of what to say or do. However, the verdict--such as it was--resolved itself into the terms above stated, and the jury betook themselves severally to their homes, there to puzzle over the matter. Beatrice went back to The Camp with Durban, and both felt glad that the corpse was still left in an outhouse of the hotel. Neither wished that gruesome relic of mortality to remain in The Camp.
"That is all right, missy," said Durban, when the two were walking along the lane towards The Camp; "master will be buried to-morrow, and we won't think of him any more."
"I'll never get the sight of that body out of my head," said Beatrice, with a shudder. "Durban, who could have killed him?"
"I cannot say, missy," said the half-caste stolidly; "you heard what evidence I gave."
"Yes. But did you speak truly?"
"I spoke what I spoke," said Durban sullenly; "the least said, the soonest mended."
Beatrice felt a qualm of terror at the memory of the replaced key and the handkerchief in her pocket. "Then you have some idea who killed Mr. Alpenny?"
"No, I have not, missy--that is, I cannot lay my finger on the man."
"Then it was a man?"
"It might have been two men or three, missy. Master had dealings with very strange and dangerous people: I don't wonder he was killed. And," cried the half-caste, stopping to emphasise his words, "if I knew who killed him, I would shake that man's hand."
"Durban! Why, in Heaven's name?"
"Because--because--missy," he broke off abruptly, "let the past alone, my dear young lady. Mr. Alpenny was a bad man, and came to a deserved end. I did not kill him, you did not kill him, so we had better think no more of him. When he is buried, you will have the money, and then you can marry Mr. Paslow and be happy."
"I shall never marry Mr. Paslow--never, never," cried Beatrice bitterly, and lifted a wan face to the mocking blue sky.
"But he loves you."
"And I love him. All the same--Durban," she broke off in her turn, "I want to hear all you know about Mr. Paslow.
"I know nothing, missy," said Durban, looking profoundly surprised; "he is poor but good-hearted, and I like him."
"You don't think that he--he would commit a crime?" asked Miss Hedge faintly, and clinging to the servant.
"No!" cried Durban, with great assurance. "What makes you think that?"
"Mr. Alpenny said----"
Durban did not give her time to finish. "Master would accuse any one of anything, to gain his ends," he said quietly. "He did not wish you to marry Mr. Paslow, because it was to his interest that you should marry Major Ruck."
"So he said. Do you know this Major?"
"Yes," said Durban, with some hesitation, "and a wicked man he is. If he comes to marry you, missy, tell Mr. Paslow, and he'll settle him."
"I don't expect that I shall see Major Ruck."
"I don't know," muttered the servant doubtfully; "the Major won't let you slip through his fingers if he can help it."
"Durban, you seem to know much that you will not tell me?"
"I do know a lot; but it is useless to tell you, missy."
"Not even about Colonel Hall's death, Durban?"
The half-caste turned green, and winced. "Not even about that, missy," he said coldly. "Get the money, marry Mr. Paslow, and go away from this place."
"Do you think Mrs. Snow is right?" persisted Beatrice, wondering at his nervous looks. "Did the man who killed Colonel Hall, kill Mr.----"
"I don't know--I can't say," interrupted Durban, gloomily; "it might have been another one of them."
"Are there then two men who wear black patches over the----"
Durban clenched his long, nervous hand. "You'll drive me mad with these questions," he said fiercely, and with less of his usual respect. "I tell you, missy, I know much, and yet I know nothing which it would do any good for you to hear. I have watched over you in the past, and I shall watch over you in the future. You have been surrounded by devils. Master was the worst; but now that he is dead, all danger is at an end. You have the money, and you can go away."
"You speak in riddles."
"Let them remain riddles if you have any love for me," said Durban moodily; and Beatrice, although anxious to hear more, held her peace.
After all, she had her own cross to bear. In some way Vivian was mixed up with this horrible crime. He could not possibly be guilty of it, in spite of the evidence. Moreover, Mrs. Snow said that the assassin was the same as he who had killed Colonel Hall, which would put Vivian's innocence beyond a doubt. In spite of her desire to obey Durban to whom she owed so much, Beatrice had to insist on an answer to this question. "I won't ask you anything more," she said to the sullen man--and hewassullen--"only this: Is the assassin of Colonel Hall the assassin of Mr. Alpenny?"
"I think so," muttered the man, "but I cannot be sure."
"You must be sure, for my peace of mind, Durban."
"Your peace of mind, missy?" he asked, surprised.
"Yes. I must tell you, as I know you will hold your tongue. But I think--I believe--no, I don't: but I fancy, that is. Durban"--she caught the man's shoulders and shook him in the roadway--"did Vivian Paslow murder Mr. Alpenny?"
"Missy!" Durban looked startled, but his eyes sparkled. "No! no! One thousand times no! What makes you think that?"
"The handkerchief--the key," and Beatrice, producing the handkerchief, told Durban the whole of what had happened. "And I am thankful that Mrs. Snow did not see me pick it up," she finished.
"Wait till we get to The Camp, missy," said the old servant kindly, and led her along the short distance that intervened between where they had stopped and The Camp itself. Once there, Durban took her to the parlour-carriage and went away. He returned with some orange-blossom water, which is a good nerve tonic, and made her take it. When the girl was more composed, he stood before her with raised finger.
"Missy," he said gravely, "I have been, and I am, a good friend to you."
"Yes--yes, I know you are," she said, with a sigh.
"The reason of my fidelity you shall know some day," he went on, "and a good reason it is. But you must ask me no more questions until I voluntarily tell you all that it is needful you should know. With regard to Mr. Paslow, you can set your mind at rest. He is quite innocent. The handkerchief you found was left behind by him on the day he had that quarrel with Mr. Alpenny."
"Are you sure?"
"I am absolutely certain. I saw it on master's desk when I went in to get that letter which I was to take to town. As to the key, I got it from Mr. Paslow himself."
"When did you see him?"
"Later on in the day--on that day when we found out the murder," explained Durban fluently. "I went outside, and found that Mr. Paslow was coming in, to see if you had got home safely. He told me that he possessed the key of the small gate, which you had dropped, and gave it to me. I replaced it on the nail in the counting-house, where the Inspector found it. Mr. Paslow went to London whenever he heard of the crime, and at my request."
"But why, Durban?" asked Beatrice, relieved to find that Vivian had not been so callous or neglectful as she had thought.
"I wanted him to see Mr. Alpenny's lawyer, and look after the will," said Durban steadily. "He wanted to see you; I would not allow that, as you were quite worried enough."
"But the sight of Vivian would have done me good," protested the poor girl faintly, for she was quite worn out.
"I can see that now," said Durban regretfully, "but I thought at the time that it was wiser to keep you quiet. If I had thought that you suspected him, I should have spoken before: but you never mentioned his name, so I deemed it best to be silent. But he is perfectly innocent, and, when he comes back, will be able to tell you where he went after he left you on that night. Meanwhile he is seeing after the will."
"Is there any need?"
"Every need. I tell you, missy, that even though Mr. Alpenny is dead, you are surrounded by scoundrels. But if you get the money--and master swore to me that he would leave you the fortune--you will be absolutely safe."
"From what, Durban?"
"From the wicked schemes of these people. Major Ruck----" Here Durban checked himself and spoke softly and soothingly. "There! there, missy, ask no more questions. Some day your foolish, old, silly Durban will make things plain. Just now, think only that you will be rich, that you will marry Mr. Paslow, and that everything will go well with you."
Beatrice raised her arms, and dropped them with a helpless air. She seemed to be more than ever surrounded by mysteries, and Durban, who was able to explain, insisted upon holding his tongue. At all events, her mind was set at rest regarding the honesty of Vivian; and she thought it best to take the old servant's advice, and possess her soul in patience until such time as he chose to tell her the truth, whatever that might be. But it was all very puzzling, and her head ached with the effort to think matters out. After a time Durban persuaded her to lie down, which she did very willingly, being quite prostrate after the terrors of the past few days.
She fell into an uneasy doze, and was awakened by the sound of a much-loved voice. At once she put on her dressing-gown and opened the door. Vivian, looking weary and dispirited, was talking to Durban near at hand, where she could overhear plainly.
"Yes," he was saying, "Beatrice gets nothing. All the money--quite twenty thousand a year--has been left by Alpenny to Lady Watson."
"Lady Watson!" cried Beatrice, opening the door; "my mother's friend?"
Vivian turned away. Durban changed to his usual green pallor, and seemed deeply agitated.
"Yes," said Durban, "your mother's friend." He paused, and then spat on the ground. "Curse her!" said Durban fiercely.