The Squire was relieved when he turned Carrington out of his house, as he felt how impossible it was to live under the same roof with such a scoundrel. He was still more relieved on hearing that the man had gone to London by an early train, and hoped that prudence would keep him at a safe distance from Barship. As yet he knew nothing of his late friend's interview with Mallien, nor did Mallien appear at The Big House to report the conversation. But Hendle had an uneasy feeling that the barrister would not hold his tongue, unless well paid to do so; and undoubtedly he knew many things, the revelation of which would prove highly unpleasant. If Carrington went to Inspector Lawson with his story, Mallien might be arrested and the disgrace would break Dorinda's heart. Therefore, for the girl's sake, it was necessary to make some move, but what action could be taken Rupert did not very clearly see. He passed an uncomfortable morning turning things over in his mind, and rather regretted the impetuosity which had led him to deal so sharply with a dangerous man. However, he consoled himself with the proverb that what was done could not be undone.
Of one thing Hendle was sure, that Carrington would only tell the police what he knew, when all chance of getting money to hold his tongue was at an end. He would certainly wait until Mallien was placed in possession of the property before taking any steps, and this being the case, Rupert felt convinced that no sudden scandal would disturb the present position of affairs. The man who gains time gains everything, and Rupert, mindful of the saying, determined to make the best use of his time. He was in no hurry, and began to think of what could be done to adjust matters. At first--as he had told Carrington--he intended to see the family solicitors about the will; but, on second thoughts, he decided to interview Mallien beforehand. The moment that John Hendle's will was placed in other hands to be dealt with, a certain amount of publicity would assuredly ensue. In that case, Mallien might find himself in an awkward position, although Rupert could not bring himself to believe that his cousin was guilty of so brutal a murder. Nevertheless, the circumstantial evidence was undeniably strong. On the whole the Squire decided that it would be wise to interview Mallien before handing the document to the lawyers, and, unless the man could exonerate himself fully, it seemed dangerous to hand it over at all. There would be little sense in Mallien gaining a fortune, if the necessary steps to place him in possession of it could only be taken at the risk of liberty and perhaps of life. The position was extremely difficult, unpleasant and puzzling, and Hendle scarcely knew what was best to be done. Finally he concluded to give the matter careful consideration for twenty-four hours before acting.
So far, Hendle's intentions were sensible, considering the awkward position in which he was placed. But he was no diplomatist, and, having stirred up Carrington to hostility, proceeded indiscreetly to deal in a somewhat abrupt manner with Mrs. Beatson. Having got rid of one shady person he wished to get rid of the other. Already he had stated that he would send her away, but Mrs. Beatson had never believed that he would act immediately on his determination. She was, therefore, greatly dismayed when he summoned her into the library after luncheon, and intimated that she was to go.
"Why should I go?" demanded the woman with the air of a martyr. "My duties----?"
"I say nothing about your duties. But I can't have a person under my roof who listens to conversations not meant for her ears."
"Then you shouldn't have secrets!" cried Mrs. Beatson furiously. "And I didn't listen intentionally. You know that."
"You shouldn't have listened at all," said Rupert coldly, and bracing himself to meet trouble, which she had every intention of making.
"What, not to protect myself when you thought of turning me out?"
"There was no protection needed on that score," said the Squire politely. "I had no intention of turning you out."
"Then why am I turned out now?" demanded the housekeeper in a most exasperatingly illogical way.
"Because of your behavior, and I don't think that there is any need to explain further. To-day is Saturday; you must leave on Monday."
"Oh, very well, sir. With a year's wages, mind."
"Oh, no. I shall give you three months' wages, and you may consider yourself lucky that I give you any at all."
"I shall go to law."
Rupert shook his head reprovingly. "I shouldn't if I were you. Your dealings with that will won't bear looking into."
"I have done nothing wrong," said Mrs. Beatson, becoming tearful.
"Ah! your ideas of morality differ from mine. I am not going to argue the point," said Rupert, pointing to the door. "You can go now."
"I shall tell all I know about the will," threatened the woman desperately.
"As you please. But in two days the will goes to my lawyers, and if Mr. Mallien inherits, he will become the owner of this place. You have no hold over me there, Mrs. Beatson."
"I believe you murdered Mr. Leigh yourself."
"The wish is father to the thought," replied Hendle dryly.
"Well then, if you didn't, that horrid Mr. Carrington did."
"Why do you say that?"
"Why did you turn him out of the place yesterday?" retorted the housekeeper.
"For a very good and sufficient reason, which doesn't concern you."
Baffled by her master's calmness, the woman walked defiantly toward the door, anxious to hurt him, yet unable to do so. "When Mr. Mallien gets the money he will never allow you to marry his daughter," she said spitefully.
Rupert raised his eyebrows, but made no reply. He was unwilling to take her by the shoulders and thrust her out of the room, so all he could do was to remain silent until her venom exhausted itself. As is usually the case when a man deals with a woman, the weakness of Mrs. Beatson was her strength.
"You will be a pauper without a penny," railed the housekeeper.
Rupert still said nothing, but turned toward the fireplace to pick up his pipe. Mrs. Beatson, finding that he supplied no fuel for her anger, had no more to say, and retired fuming with temper. Her master lighted his pipe and sat down to consider once more how he could best deal with the situation. He was faintly nervous, as it occurred to him that perhaps it would have been better to deal less boldly with the housekeeper and the barrister. But on second thoughts he decided that he was acting straightforwardly, and that it had been just as well to take the bull by the horns.
Mrs. Beatson went to her room, put on her best clothes and sallied forth bent upon the Samson-like intention of pulling the roof down on her own head. She was in such a rage that she did not mind being hurt personally so long as Rupert suffered. Doubtless when her doings recoiled on herself she would be sorry that she had acted like a fool; but at the present moment she did not consider the consequence. All she wanted was to hurt some one and to make things unpleasant all round. Rupert she hated for discharging her. Carrington she loathed because he had brought--as she considered--her shady doings to light, and Dorinda, because she was engaged to Hendle. She even hated Mallien, although he had never harmed her, but did not contemplate hurting him, since she hoped to receive the annuity. How she intended to make things uncomfortable she did not very well know, but she commenced operations by walking toward her son's lodgings in the village. She would tell him everything, and leave him to deal with her insulted honor. That Kit might agree with the Squire in reprobating her eavesdropping never struck her for a single moment. She was in much too great a rage to be reasonable.
Kit was not at home, and his landlady said that he had gone to luncheon at Dr. Tollart's. Mrs. Beatson snorted when she heard this, as she did not wish Kit to marry the girl, and objected to his keeping company with her. Still bent upon relieving her mind of its burden, she made for the doctor's house, which was at the far end of the village, and speedily arrived at the front door. The servants informed her that Dr. Tollart was absent on his rounds, but would be back soon. Meanwhile, Miss Tollart was within along with Mr. Christopher Beatson. The servant, having a feminine sympathy with the lovers, did not ask this marplot to step in; but Mrs. Beatson brushed her aside like a fly and stalked into the drawing-room, where she heard gay voices.
"I went to your lodgings and learned that you were here, Kit," said Mrs. Beatson, grimly, "philandering as usual, instead of earning your livelihood."
The young couple rose in dismay at the sight of this uncomfortable woman, who was always like a stormy petrel. Sophy was the first to recover herself, and immediately took up arms on behalf of Kit. "It's Saturday," she said coolly, "and if Kit works all the week, he has a right to one holiday, I suppose, during the seven days."
Mrs. Beatson sat down and glared. "How do you expect me to welcome you as a daughter-in-law when you behave toward me in this impertinent manner?"
"I don't mean to be impertinent," said Sophy, sorry for the agonized expression on her lover's face; "but you are so unreasonable."
"Unreasonable!" shrieked the visitor. "It is other people who are unreasonable, if you only knew all."
"Knew all what?" asked Kit nervously.
"I've been insulted and discharged. Me, a lady born and bred and----"
"Discharged!" echoed Sophy, interrupting. "Do you mean to say that you have left The Big House?"
"I leave on Monday," said Mrs. Beatson, getting out her handkerchief and beginning to sob. "Oh, the insults that I have received! Mr. Hendle must be thrashed, and I have come to ask my son to thrash him."
"Me!" Kit bounced out of his seat in dismay. "Why, Mr. Hendle is my best friend, and I owe everything to him."
"That's right. Go against your mother," wailed Mrs. Beatson. "You are just like your father, who was always a coward and a bully."
"Kit is neither," said Sophy indignantly. "Little as I think of men who won't give us the vote, I think a great deal of Kit."
"Bother your votes!" cried Mrs. Beatson, suddenly recovering her composure, as it was evident that tears did not help her. "All your goings-on are silly."
"Silly! Well, I like that, when we are trying to vindicate the cause of----"
"Oh, Sophy, don't make a row!" interrupted Kit, who saw how the two glared at one another. "Let us hear what mother has to say."
"I have a great deal to say," said Mrs. Beatson savagely, "and if you young people will only hold your tongues, as young people should in the presence of older and wiser----"
"Older certainly, but not wiser," pertly said Miss Tollart.
"For my sake, Sophy," implored Kit, seeing that his mother was stiffening for a royal row. "I want to hear why Mr. Hendle has discharged----"
The word was enough to recall Mrs. Beatson to a memory of her wrongs and she proceeded volubly to discourse about the same. Yet even as she began it occurred to her that it would be as well to bind the young couple to secrecy for the present, as Hendle's hint about the law lingered uncomfortably in her mind. After all, a judge and jury might be silly enough to condemn her behavior. "What I have to tell you both, you must keep to yourselves," she said solemnly, and looked to see if the door was closed. "It's a matter of life and death."
Kit looked scared at this exordium, and even Sophy, bold as she was, began to feel nervous. She knew what a reckless person her future mother-in-law was, and wondered what she had been doing to justify so grave a request.
"Neither Kit nor I will say anything," she promised, catching at her lover's hand for comfort. "I hope it's nothing very serious."
"It isn't," said Mrs. Beatson, ironically, "unless you consider the death of Mr. Leigh serious."
"What?" Kit jumped up with his face as white as chalk.
"Don't," said his mother irritably, "you get on my nerves, and they're bad enough as it is." She paused, then continued, rather pleased with the sensation she was making. "I know a great deal about the murder."
"Oh!" Miss Tollart's eyes grew large and round, and became filled with curiosity. "Have you any idea as to who murdered Mr. Leigh?"
"I have. But what I am about to tell you, keep to yourselves."
"We have promised that," snapped Sophy, for all this mysterious talk was irritating her greatly. "What is it you know?"
"I must begin at the beginning," said Mrs. Beatson solemnly, and taking every advantage of the situation; "and when my son knows all, I shall expect my son to defend my honor."
"Against Mr. Hendle?" asked Kit nervously.
"He has behaved like a brute!" cried Mrs. Beatson, flaming up. "But bad as he is, he is not so bad as that nasty Mr. Carrington."
"The lawyer," said Sophy, curiously. "What has he to do with it."
"If you will only let me speak, I shall explain," said Mrs. Beatson, in a dignified manner.
"Go on, mother," said her son impatiently. "Don't keep us on tenterhooks."
Mrs. Beatson frowned severely, but, not seeing her way to an answer, began to relate her grievance. It was characteristic of her profound belief in her own rectitude that she told everything, plainly and baldly, never thinking that her listeners would condemn what she had done. From the moment when the Squire had informed her of his intention to marry Miss Mallien forthwith, down to the interview which had just taken place, the housekeeper detailed all that had happened, concealing nothing, but exaggerating a great deal. Naturally she made herself out to be a martyr, and was greatly annoyed when she brought her story to an end, to see disgust written on Sophy's face and dismay on the face of her son. "What do you both mean by glaring at me in that way?" she demanded, after waiting for comments, which were not made as speedily as she expected.
"I don't think that you have behaved at all well," said Sophy bluntly, seeing that Kit was speechless.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Mrs. Beatson bristling. "Impertinence."
"Mother," struck in the young man quietly, and recovering his speech, "if this matter is to be discussed we may as well discuss it reasonably."
"I ask for nothing better. Haven't I been disgracefully treated?"
"No," said Kit, pulling himself together and becoming both manly and heroic; "you had no business to listen to Mr. Hendle and Mr. Leigh; you had no business to tell Mr. Mallien what you overheard; and you had no business to meddle with that will."
"Hear! Hear!" said Sophy, clapping her hands. "I agree with Kit. And, as you have behaved so badly to Mr. Hendle, I don't see what he could do but send you away."
After a speechless pause Mrs. Beatson appealed to her son. "Kit, will you sit there and hear me insulted?"
"Sophy doesn't mean to insult you, mother," said Kit quietly, and looking as white as he was determined. "You must be reasonable."
"I am reasonable!" cried his mother violently. "There never was such an unreasonable person as you are. My own son turns against me," wailed the exasperating woman, again taking out her handkerchief to sob--"my own son, and I nursed him as a baby."
Kit and Sophy looked at each other helplessly, wholly undecided how to deal with this impossible woman. Mrs. Beatson only saw things in her own way and expected everyone else to see them as she concluded they should be seen. She had no common sense; she had no logic, she had no control over her temper, and when anyone disagreed with her, she made herself objectionable in every way. Miss Tollart, face to face with this unreasonable feminine nature, heaved a sigh.
"Well, I don't wonder that we don't get the vote," she mourned. "We aren't in the least ready for it."
"Hush, Sophy!" said Kit, touching her hand. "We must understand more about the matter. It can't be allowed to rest here."
"You promised to hold your tongue!" shrieked Mrs. Beatson, rather scared by the look on her son's face.
"I shall do so, so far as is consistent with my honor," retorted Kit bluntly; "and I'm not going to allow Mr. Hendle to get into trouble. He has been a good friend to you, mother, and a good friend to me. If you had a spark of gratitude toward him, you would never have behaved as you have done."
"How dare you speak to me in that way?"
"Because the time is past when you could play the tyrant."
"Tyrant! Tyrant! This to your mother, who bore you."
"I don't wish to be disrespectful, mother, but you are so unreasonable that you compel me to be so. It is all very well so far as things are between ourselves; but in this story which you have told serious matters are concerned. Your share in them is not honorable."
"I can do what I like," said Mrs. Beatson in a more subdued tone, for the attitude taken up by her son impressed her unpleasantly. He was no longer a boy to be bullied, but a man to be conciliated.
"No, you can't do what you like when your doings bring you into trouble with the law," insisted Kit, and Sophy nodded her approbation, which was odd considering how she dared authority as a suffragist. But in her own way she was as unreasonable as Mrs. Beatson, although she would never have admitted as much, and would have been indignant at the mere suggestion.
"I won't get into trouble with the law," said Mrs. Beatson rather nervously.
"That all depends upon what steps the police take."
"The police know nothing," said the housekeeper hastily.
"But the police will know, mother. I don't think so honorable a gentleman as Mr. Hendle will allow things to remain as they are. He is innocent----"
"Is he? He had every reason to kill Mr. Leigh because of the will, which is likely to leave him a pauper."
"I say he is innocent!" shouted Kit, stamping, and the expression on his face was such as to reduce his mother to frightened silence. "Nothing will ever make me believe that Mr. Hendle would act in such a wicked way."
"Then it's Mr. Mallien," whimpered Mrs. Beatson.
"No," said Sophy quickly, "Mr. Mallien knows well enough that Mr. Hendle will act honorably about the will. He would not risk his neck to get a document which he knew Mr. Hendle would not dispute if it is legal."
"Well," said the housekeeper, still bent upon accusing someone, "I shouldn't be surprised if that nasty Mr. Carrington is guilty. Mr. Hendle went up the very next day after the conversation with Mr. Leigh to consult him. Mr. Carrington might have killed Mr. Leigh to get the will, so that he could make Mr. Hendle give him money for it."
"I quite believe that Mr. Carrington did try to get money," said Kit, after a pause, "as he had a quarrel with Mr. Hendle yesterday."
"How do you know that?"
"Someone told Mrs. Pansey that angry words passed between Mr. Hendle and Mr. Carrington at the gate of the Park. And Mr. Carrington slept last night at the inn before going to London this morning."
"They did have a quarrel," admitted the housekeeper, "at least, I suppose so, as Mr. Carrington did not stay at The Big House last night. But we don't know if the quarrel was over money as the price of the will. Mr. Carrington was in Town on the night Mr. Leigh was murdered, so he can have nothing to do with it."
Sophy jumped up and clapped hands. "He was not in Town on that night," she cried, with her eyes blazing with excitement. "Father came down by the eight o'clock train on that night and Mr. Carrington came also. Father saw him on the Liverpool Street station and afterward on the Barship platform."
Kit turned on the girl sharply. "Sophy, are you certain?"
"Yes, I am. You can ask father yourself."
"But Dr. Tollart doesn't know Mr. Carrington," remarked Mrs. Beatson anxiously.
"Yes, he does. When Mr. Carrington came down here first he called to see father about an aching tooth. He came to this very house. Father did not take much notice of Mr. Carrington on that night, as he thought he was just coming down to see Mr. Hendle. He never connected Mr. Carrington with the murder. But now, now,"--Sophy clapped her hands again, so excited did she feel--"from what you say, Mrs. Beatson, I shouldn't be at all surprised to hear that Mr. Carrington was guilty."
"We can't be certain of that," said Kit quickly.
"I am certain," said Mrs. Beatson, rising, "and I'll tell Inspector Lawson what you have told me, just to pay that Carrington out for his poking and prying."
"I shouldn't if I were you, mother," remarked Kit dryly. "If you can make things hot for Mr. Carrington, he can make things disagreeable for you. Better let Mr. Hendle know first, and allow him to attend to the matter. After all, mother," said Kit, with a shrug, "we are assuming a great deal. Mr. Carrington may be quite innocent, and his quarrel with Mr. Hendle may have nothing to do with the will."
"I believe he is guilty," said Mrs. Beatson viciously, and said it because she wished to think so.
"So do I," put in Sophy, earnestly. "Still, Mrs. Beatson, I wouldn't go to see Inspector Lawson if I were you. You might be arrested as an accessory after the fact, you know."
"Me!" Mrs. Beatson grew white and tottered. "I have nothing to do with--oh, Kit, Kit, do you think--do you think----"
"I think you are quite safe, so long as you hold your tongue and allow Mr. Hendle to look into things."
"Oh, I shall not say a word!" groaned Mrs. Beatson, now thoroughly frightened for her own skin, "and you and Sophy will keep silent for my sake."
"I shall tell Mr. Hendle," said Kit, firmly. "I must."
"And I shall tell Dorinda," chimed in Miss Tollart. "She is engaged to Mr. Hendle, and they can talk it over together. Union is strength, as I know from our votes for women troubles, and if Mr. Carrington intends to accuse Mr. Mallien, or Mr. Hendle, he will find himself in the wrong box. They can call father as a witness if the case comes into court."
"A new witness," declared Kit eagerly, "and one who will put the saddle on the right horse. The mere presence of Mr. Carrington in Barship on that night shows that he has something to do with the matter."
"We can't be sure," murmured Mrs. Beatson weakly, for by this time she was becoming dreadfully nervous about her share in the proceedings.
"We'll soon make sure when Mr. Hendle questions Mr. Carrington as to his doings in Barship on that night," said Kit decidedly. "Now go, mother, and hold your tongue. It's dangerous to speak."
"I'll hold my tongue," promised Mrs. Beatson, and tottered away weakly.
Kit owed a great deal to Hendle, and was never backward in admitting that the Squire was his benefactor. When Mrs. Beatson first took service at The Big House, the boy was at school, but she explained to her employer that she could no longer pay fees for his education. Rupert, approving of the bright, intelligent lad, thereupon arranged for the rounding off of his scholastic career, and afterwards paid for his training as an engineer. It was due to the Squire that Kit occupied the excellent position he did in the exploitation and sale of motors. Also it must be stated that young Beatson took every advantage of his opportunities, earning the esteem and approval of all with whom he came into contact. With the Squire's aid and his own brains there was every chance that Kit would succeed in life more than most.
Naturally the boy was deeply grateful to Hendle for his consistent kindness; but he also adored him as an athlete, who possessed all those out-of-door qualities which youths most admire in their seniors. It therefore distressed him greatly when his mother came with her tale of woe. Kit, loyal to the core, would not admit for one instant that his benefactor was in the wrong, especially as he knew only too well what a trying woman the Squire had to deal with. As a parent, Kit had always found Mrs. Beatson uncomfortable, since she invariably used her authority to force him into agreement with herself, however unreasonable her ideas might be. Like many another mother, Mrs. Beatson would not recognize that her son was grown up and had a right to have his own opinions. He was to obey her in all things and do what he was told. Kit thought otherwise, and, as the views of the two clashed, there was always a certain amount of friction between them. Having regard to his mother's aggressive personality, it was extremely hard for young Beatson to obey the fifth commandment.
Rupert knew the boy's difficulties in the adjustment of his filial duties and greatly sympathized with him. Therefore he was by no means surprised when Kit made his appearance at The Big House early on Sunday afternoon. It was to be expected that Mrs. Beatson would tell her son about her dismissal, but when Hendle heard what his visitor had to say he was surprised to hear that the woman had been so frank in her explanation. He made Kit sit down and repeat his story of the interview, then walked up and down the library much perplexed, for the boy, being the son of the woman who had been discharged, it was by no means easy to talk to him. And Rupert was so kind-hearted that it was a positive pain for him to say a word against anyone. Yet what could he say in condonation of Mrs. Beatson's extraordinary behavior? Kit saw the worried look on his hero's face and felt worried himself in consequence. Therefore did he try to smooth matters.
"Of course, sir, I know that my mother is rather unreasonable," he remarked, in a low voice, twisting and turning his straw hat. "I don't quite agree with her views, you know."
Rupert gave the boy an approving glance, as he quite understood how unpleasant was his position. "Your mother has had much trouble in her life, and perhaps her nature is rather warped. What would you like me to do?"
Kit reflected, then spoke up straightly with a flush on his face. "I think it would be better for you to allow mother to go away for a holiday instead of dismissing her at once. While she is away, she can give you notice and can look for another place. In this way her pride will be saved."
"Why should her pride be saved?" asked the Squire hastily and bluntly.
"How can I answer that question, Mr. Hendle?"
"Of course not. I beg your pardon, Kit. I should not have asked it. What you say is very reasonable, and I have every wish to make things easy for your mother. She shall take a holiday, and can leave when she has found a better place."
Kit shook his young head. "She'll never find a better place, sir, or a better friend," he said sadly. "You have been good to her, and more than good to me. I wish mother could see things as I see them, but--but----"
"There! there!" Rupert clapped him on the back. "I know how you feel and what you wish to say. Even if your mother does leave me, Kit, that need make no difference to our friendship."
"It certainly will not," said the young fellow emphatically. "I don't think mother has acted well; nor does Sophy."
"Your mother certainly was very explicit, Kit. I wonder she did not make out a better case for herself."
"Well, you see, Mr. Hendle, mother never thinks that she does wrong. It is a very difficult thing for me to say, since I am her son, but I quite understand why you want her to go. I suggest that she should take a holiday, and that she should give you notice on the plea of finding another place, both to save her pride and to shut people's mouths."
"You think they will gossip--that your mother will talk?"
"I don't think that mother will talk, Mr. Hendle: she is much too frightened to do so, as she knows that she has not acted well. Sophy and I told her so, and gradually she came to see that she had made a mistake. But if you send her away people will ask the reason."
Rupert nodded and straddling on the hearth-rug put his hands behind his back. "And I can't give any reason other than the true one. It is impossible to give that, since it involves danger to other people. I am glad that you persuaded your mother to hold her tongue, Kit, and it is a great relief for me to know that you and Miss Tollart are acting so discreetly."
"We want to help you, sir."
"I don't see how either of you can do that, Kit."
"Why not? We know the story of----"
"From your mother's point of view you know the story," interrupted the Squire hastily, "but she does not know all."
"There is a will, which may disinherit you, I suppose, Mr. Hendle?"
"Oh, yes. The will of John Hendle, leaving everything to the elder branch of the family, represented by Mr. Mallien. I intend to take it to my lawyers to-morrow, after I have seen my cousin."
"Why not surrender the property to your cousin, sir, without taking the will to the lawyers?" questioned Kit shrewdly.
Rupert shook his head. "I wish everything to be done openly."
"But seeing what is involved, Mr. Hendle, isn't there some danger of a scandal if any public statement is made?"
"There is. All the same, if I gave up the property and sneaked away, people would talk, and the truth might come out in a crooked way. I wish it to come out in a straight way, and so intend to act as I say."
"Will you lose everything, sir?"
"I think so, if the will is proved to be legal. Then, Kit, I shall have to come to ask you to get me a situation in that factory of yours."
The boy was greatly distressed. "Oh, Mr. Hendle, don't talk like that. It is wicked to think that a kind-hearted man like you should lose your property. I don't think Mr. Mallien will make such a good use of the money."
"That is his affair, Kit," replied Hendle, with a sigh. "But you may be sure that I shall do all I can do to keep the property. There is a certain Statute of Limitations which may help me. Perhaps Mr. Mallien and I can arrange to divide the money. But what is the use of talking?" Rupert threw himself despondently into a chair. "You can't help me."
"Not so far as regards the property, Mr. Hendle," said Kit earnestly; "but I may be able to help you to clear up the mystery of the murder."
Rupert sat up and stared. "What?"
"Oh, I don't say that I know anything for certain, sir, but I have my suspicions, you know."
"Oh, have you? Who is it you suspect?"
"I shall tell you when you relate to me all details unknown to my mother." Hendle rose again restlessly, and walking up and down, thought deeply. When he paused again before Kit, he had made up his mind to be frank. "I know you are my friend," he said earnestly, "and I know that you are honest and true."
"I am all that," rejoined Beatson emphatically, "especially when there is anything to be done for you, sir. I shall never forget your kindness to me. Anything you say will go no further than Sophy."
"Why Sophy?" asked Rupert suspiciously.
"Because she knows so much that she may as well know all. And her suspicions point in the direction that mine do. She is now with Miss Mallien----"
Rupert uttered an ejaculation. "Not reporting the conversation with your mother, I hope," he said hastily.
"Yes," answered Kit bluntly; "it is better for Sophy to speak to Miss Mallien than to Mr. Mallien."
"Does she--do you--suspect my cousin?"
"No! But Sophy will explain when she brings Miss Mallien here. We arranged to meet here shortly, Mr. Hendle"; and Kit glanced at his watch. "I dare say the two ladies will be here in an hour."
"I didn't want Miss Mallien to know anything," said Hendle, frowning.
"It is absolutely necessary that she should know," said Beatson calmly; "and as she loves you, sir, and is going to marry you, she should know all. I'm always in the habit of telling Sophy my troubles, and she gives me the best of advice. Every woman is not so unreasonable as my mother, Mr. Hendle."
Anxious as he was, Rupert could not help smiling.
"I trust not," he said at length, and sat down quietly. "Well, Kit, you are more shrewd than I gave you credit for being. Perhaps you can help me, after all. Let us take advantage of the hour before the ladies arrive to go into the matter."
"You must be quite frank with me, sir, you know."
"That is only fair. Yes. I shall be quite frank. Take a cigarette, Kit, and listen carefully to what I have to say."
Shortly Rupert had his pipe and Kit a cigarette. The door and windows being closed, Hendle felt quite secure, as it was unlikely that Mrs. Beatson would indulge in eavesdropping again, seeing what a severe lesson she had received. Hendle related slowly all that had happened, and supplied details missing in the story of Mrs. Beatson. He ended with a short sketch of his present position, and the difficulty he found in deciding what action to take. Kit was so interested in what was said that he allowed his cigarette to go out, and when the story was ended stared tongue-tied at the Squire. Rupert laughed at the expression on the boy's face.
"You seem as perplexed as I am," he remarked with a shrug.
"I don't think that I am perplexed," said Kit slowly and relighting his cigarette; "only I am astonished that you have not spotted the right man who murdered the vicar."
"Things are too muddled for me to spot anyone," replied Hendle dryly. "My cousin accuses me; Mr. Carrington accuses your mother."
"It is ridiculous for you or my mother to be accused," said Kit quietly. "My mother hasn't the pluck to kill a fly in spite of her tempers, and you----"
Kit laughed. "What bosh! I'd as soon believe Sophy was guilty."
"Well, only your mother and I and my cousin knew about the will before----"
"Mr. Carrington knew."
"Oh, yes. But he was in town on the night Leigh was killed, so----"
"He was not in town," interrupted Kit sharply. "He was in Barship."
Hendle dropped his pipe and stared. "Are you sure of what you are saying?"
"You can ask Dr. Tollart if you doubt me."
"Dr. Tollart!" echoed Hendle, much surprised. "What does he know?"
"He came down on the evening when the vicar was murdered, and saw Mr. Carrington both on the Liverpool Street platform and on the Barship platform."
"Did he speak to him?"
"No. He told Sophy that Mr. Carrington had come down, but that he had traveled in another carriage. After all," went on Beatson thoughtfully, "there was no reason why the doctor should speak. He had only seen Mr. Carrington once when he called on him to get a cure for his toothache."
"Yes. I remember he went to see the doctor when he first came," replied Rupert mechanically. "I was in the church with Miss Mallien, and Carrington, on his way back to The Big House, looked in about his tooth on Tollart." He paused, then continued: "What train was it?"
"The one which leaves Liverpool Street at eight."
"That arrives here at a quarter past nine," said Hendle meditatively.
"Yes, and as the vicar was murdered at eleven, Mr. Carrington had plenty of time to make his plans."
"I can't believe that Carrington is the assassin," muttered Hendle, in dismay, for he dreaded lest he should prove the accusation to be true. "Did Dr. Tollart connect Carrington with the murder?"
"No. If he had, he would have spoken out. He took little notice of Mr. Carrington, thinking he was coming down on a visit to you. And as Mr. Carrington was with you the next day, of course the doctor believed that it was as he had thought."
"Yes, I see. But Carrington did not come on that night. He came by the midday train next day."
"The doctor didn't know that," said Kit, nodding; "in fact, he thought no more about the matter after he told Sophy, and he only told her as a piece of gossip, you understand."
"Yes! yes! I see that, as Carrington was with me the next day, his presence in the eight o'clock train on the previous night would arouse no suspicion in Tollart's mind. Still, his being at Barship on that night doesn't mean that he killed the vicar."
"Well," said Kit, with a wisdom beyond his years, "I rather think that it is very good evidence against him. You had told him about the will, and he knew what it meant to you. What he said when you kicked him out the other day shows that he wants a large sum of money. He intended perhaps to stun the vicar and get the will, so as to make his terms with you; but the vicar, having heart disease, died straightway. For that reason Mr. Carrington buried the will, and sent an anonymous letter to my mother."
"But Mr. Carrington did not know where the sundial was. How, then, could he find it in the nighttime, hidden as it was among the bushes?"
"Oh, I can't explain everything," said Beatson frankly; "but you must admit, sir, that it is odd Mr. Carrington should have been in Barship on the night of the murder, without saying a word to you. If his intentions had been innocent, he would have come for the night to you."
"True enough, Kit. I wonder where he did spend the night?"
Kit shrugged his shoulders. "You will have to ask him that. I really believe that he is the guilty person."
"But what about that opal in the matrix which belongs to my cousin? It was found by me on the verge of the hole where the will was buried."
"Did you find it?"
"Well, no. It was Carrington who pointed it out glittering among the grasses. I merely picked it up."
"Well," said Kit, with a judicial air, "the person who loses generally manages to find. How do you know that Mr. Carrington didn't drop the opal there when your back was turned?"
"You are very rapidly weaving a rope for the man's neck," observed Hendle dryly. "After all, we are taking a great deal for granted."
"Well, sir, all you have to do is to ask Mr. Carrington to explain."
"Humph! That will be awkward, considering we are declared enemies. However, we shall see. I think it will be best to speak to my cousin first."
Kit agreed with this suggestion and then held his tongue. He had said all that he could say, and having placed the Squire on his guard, there was nothing more to be done. Rupert himself did not pursue the conversation further, but walked up and down, musing over what he had heard. For quite five minutes there was silence, and then Dorinda made her appearance, followed by Miss Tollart. The girl looked very pale and anxious.
"What does all this mean, Rupert?" she asked nervously.
"All what?"
"Sophy has told me a strange story," said Dorinda, taking a seat, "and I suppose Kit has told it to you also."
Hendle nodded. "Yes. I know that Carrington was in Barship on the night when Leigh was murdered--unless, of course, Dr. Tollart has made a mistake."
"My father made no mistake," struck in Sophy, flushing, for she guessed that the Squire was hinting at the doctor's infirmity. "He was quite sober when he came home on that night. I was waiting up for him. He mentioned in quite a casual way that Mr. Carrington had traveled down by the same train, and neither of us thought anything more about the matter, even when we heard next morning about the murder. We thought that Mr. Carrington had come down to see you, Squire, and he certainly was with you the next day."
"He was," admitted Rupert quietly, "and his being with me made you believe that what you thought was true. Is it not so?"
"In a way. But the real truth is that neither my father nor myself thought anything at all about the matter. Only Mrs. Beatson's hint that Mr. Carrington might possibly be guilty made me remember."
"Do you think that the man is guilty?" asked Rupert quickly.
Sophy bent her dark brows in a frown and reflected. "I couldn't go into a witness box and swear that he committed the murder," she observed; "but he came down to Barship on that night, and if he did not stay with you, Mr. Hendle, he must have had some strong reason to keep his visit a secret."
"Your father can swear to this visit?"
"Yes. I asked him again if he remembered Mr. Carrington coming down, and he said that he could. Of course," added Sophy significantly, "I had to ask the question in a way not likely to arouse my father's suspicions as to why it was asked. It is no use letting him know too much, as he might talk. But if necessary he can prove what he told me."
Dorinda shivered. "I never liked Mr. Carrington," she observed. "All the same, I can't believe that he murdered Mr. Leigh."
"Some one must have murdered him," said Kit, a trifle dryly; "and why not Mr. Carrington, rather than your father, or the Squire? For my part, going by what Mr. Hendle has told me, I believe Mr. Carrington is guilty."
"How are we going to prove him to be guilty?"
"Well," said Rupert doubtfully, "I see no way save asking him to explain why he came down to Barship on that night. Unless he gives a reasonable excuse, he will be in danger of being arrested."
"But, Rupert, in that case my father will be in danger."
"How so?"
"Don't you know that Mr. Carrington sent for my father the other day, and had an interview with him atThe Hendle Arms?"
"No. What did he wish to see your father about?"
"He threatened to accuse him of committing the crime, so as to gain possession of the will. I don't know exactly what passed," went on Dorinda anxiously, "as my father told me little. All he really said was that he was in danger of being arrested, because Mr. Carrington could give evidence against him, which would be difficult to disprove."
"But your father surely did not admit that he was guilty, Dorinda?"
"Certainly not," cried the girl, flushing indignantly. "How can you suggest such a thing? But as Mr. Carrington wants money he is ready to say anything or do anything likely to force my father into paying him to hold his tongue."
Rupert smiled grimly. "Carrington knows that your father has not sufficient money to pay him what he wants."
"What does he want?" asked Sophy, looking up.
"Five thousand pounds was the price he demanded from me," said Hendle, "and I don't think he'll take a penny less from Mr. Mallien. But in order to get the money Carrington will have to wait until my cousin is in possession of my property. Until then you can be sure, Dorinda, that he will take no steps to make things uncomfortable."
"No, I think you are right," murmured Miss Mallien, greatly relieved. "But what is best to be done?"
"I have already made up my mind. In the first place I shall see your father and learn exactly what took place at this interview. Afterwards we can have a talk with Carrington. Then he will----"
"Oh, let the will alone until we learn the truth about this murder," urged Dorinda anxiously. "To clear my father from all chance of being accused is the first thing to be done. See my father, Rupert; perhaps he will be more frank with you than he was with me."
"He must be frank if he wants to save himself," said Sophy bluntly. "Don't worry, Dorinda. My opinion is that we should give Mr. Carrington plenty of rope with which to hang himself. When he is fully committed, then we can turn the tables on him by saying what we know of his presence in Barship on the night of the murder. There's nothing to be afraid of."
"I'm not exactly afraid," said Dorinda slowly, "but the suspense is very trying, with Mr. Carrington working in the dark."
"We'll force him to come out into the open, Miss Mallien," said Kit resolutely; "then he will have to defend himself, and won't have time to accuse other people. He shan't have everything his own way, anyhow."
"Hear! hear!" cried Sophy, clapping her hands. "You're a brick, Kit. For my part I believe that Mr. Carrington has only to be faced boldly to bring him to his knees."
Rupert shook his head. "He can do some damage before he is forced to take up that position."
"What does it matter, so long as the damage won't be lasting?" said Dorinda impatiently. "I am certain that my father is innocent."
"And so am I," finished Hendle with a shrug; "so there only remains Carrington as the possible criminal. Well, we shall see. Anyhow, as he won't move until my cousin is in possession of the property, we have ample time to arrange what is best to be done. Meantime let us keep what we know to ourselves."
"But what about Mrs. Beatson?" hesitated Sophy, glancing at Kit.
"Mrs. Beatson," said Rupert, grimly polite, "is going away for a holiday, and if she hears of a better situation she will not return here."
"I'm glad of that, Squire!" and Sophy, guessing the plan which was to save the housekeeper's pride, felt greatly relieved. Little as she liked her future mother-in-law, she did not wish to see her disgraced. "And now I think Kit had better take me home."
"But I have more to say," began Kit anxiously, only to be silenced by Sophy.
"No, you haven't," she declared imperiously, and marched him to the door. "You have given the Squire quite enough to think about"; then she sank her voice to scold: "Don't be a fool. They want to be alone!"
"Oh!" murmured Kit, "I see"; and he submitted to be led away.