"Miss" (it began),
"The undersigned, if handsomely remunerated, can give valuable information regarding the removal of the body of the late Richard Marlow from its dwelling in Heathton Churchyard.Verbum dat sapienti!Forward £100 to the undersigned at Dixon's Rents, Lambeth, and the information will be forthcoming. If the minions of the law are invoked the undersigned with vanish, and his information lost.
"Faithfully yours, Miss Sophia Marlow,
"Cicero Gramp."
As she comprehended the meaning of this extraordinary letter, Sophy became paler and paler. The intelligence that her father's body had been stolen was too much for her, and she fainted.
Thorold called loudly to Miss Vicky.
"Look after her," he said, stuffing the letter into his pocket. "I shall be back soon."
"But what--what----" began Miss Vicky.
She spoke to thin air. Alan was running at top speed along the parade in search of the fat man.
But all search was vain. Cicero, the astute, had vanished.
Heathton was only an hour's run by rail from Bournemouth, so that it was easy enough to get back on the same evening. On his return from his futile search for Cicero, Alan determined to go at once to the Moat House. He found Sophy recovered from her faint, and on hearing of his decision, she insisted upon accompanying him. She had told Miss Vicky the contents of the mysterious letter, and that lady agreed that they should leave as soon as their boxes could be packed.
"Don't talk to me, Alan!" cried Sophy, when her lover objected to this sudden move. "It would drive me mad to stay here doing nothing, with that on my mind."
"But, my dear girl, it may not be true."
"If it is not, why should that man have written? Did you see him?"
"No. He has left the parade, and no one seems to know anything about him. It is quite likely that when he saw us returning to the hotel he cleared out. By this time I dare say he is on his way to London."
"Did you see the police?" she asked anxiously.
"No," said Alan, taking out the letter which had caused all this trouble; "it would not be wise. Remember what he says here: If the police are called in he will vanish, and we shall lose the information he seems willing to supply."
"I don't think that, Mr. Thorold," said Miss Vicky. "This man evidently wants money, and is willing to tell the truth for the matter of a hundred pounds."
"On account," remarked Thorold grimly; "as plain a case of blackmail as I ever heard of. Well, I suppose it is best to wait until we can communicate with this--what does he call himself?--Cicero Gramp, at Dixon's Rents, Lambeth. He can be arrested there, if necessary. What I want to do now is to find out if his story is true. To do this I must go at once to Heathton, see the Rector, and get the coffin opened."
"I will come," insisted Sophy. "Oh, it is terrible to think that poor father was not allowed to rest quietly even in his grave."
"Of course, it may not be true," urged Alan again. "I don't see how this tramp could have got to know of it."
"Perhaps he helped to violate the secrets of the tomb?" suggested Miss Vicky.
"In that case he would hardly put himself within reach of the law," Alan said, after a pause. "Besides, if the vault had been broken into we should have heard of it from Joe."
"Why should it be broken into, Alan? The key----"
"I have one key, and the Rector has the other. My key is in my desk at the Abbey Farm, and no doubt Phelps has his safe enough."
"Your key may have been stolen."
"It might have been," admitted Alan. "That is one reason why I am so anxious to get back to-night. We must find out also if the coffin is empty."
"Yes, yes; let us go at once!" Sophy cried feverishly. "I shall never rest until I learn the truth. Come, Vicky, let us pack. When can we leave, Alan?"
Thorold glanced at his watch.
"In half an hour," he said. "We can catch the half-past six train. Can you be ready?"
"Yes, yes!" cried she, and rushed out of the room.
Miss Vicky was about to follow, but Alan detained her.
"Give her a sedative or something," he said, "or she will be ill."
"I will at once. Have a carriage at the door in a quarter of an hour, Mr. Thorold. We can be ready by then. I suppose it is best she should go?"
"Much better than to leave her here. We must set her mind at rest. At this rate she will work herself into a fever."
"But if this story should really be true?"
"I don't believe it for a moment," replied Alan. But he was evidently uneasy, and could not disguise the feeling. "Wait till we get to Heathton--wait," and he hastily left the room.
Miss Vicky was surprised at his agitation, for hitherto she had credited Alan with a will strong enough to conceal his emotions. The old lady hurried away to the packing, and shook her head as she went.
Shortly they were settled in a first-class carriage on the way to Heathton. Sophy was suffering acutely, but did all in her power to hide her feelings, and, contrary to Alan's expectations, hardly a word was spoken about the strange letter, and the greater part of the journey was passed in silence. At Heathton he put Sophy and Miss Vicky into a fly.
"Drive at once to the Moat House," he said. "To-morrow we shall consider what is to be done."
"And you, Alan?"
"I am going to see Mr. Phelps. He, if any one, will know what value to put upon that letter. Try and sleep, Sophy. I shall see you in the morning."
"Sleep?" echoed the poor girl, in a tone of anguish. "I feel as though I should never sleep again!"
When they had driven away, Alan took the nearest way to the Rectory. It was some way from the station, but Alan was a vigorous walker, and soon covered the distance. He arrived at the door with a beating heart and dry lips, feeling, he knew not why, that he was about to hear bad news. The gray-haired butler ushered him into his master's presence, and immediately the young man felt that his fears were confirmed. Phelps looked worried.
He was a plump little man, neat in his dress and cheerful in manner. He was a bachelor, and somewhat of a cynic. Alan had known him all his life, and could have found no better adviser in the dilemma in which he now found himself. Phelps came forward with outstretched hands.
"My dear boy, I am indeed glad! What good fairy sent you here? A glass of port? You look pale. I am delighted to see you. If you had not come I should have had to send for you."
"What do you wish to see me about, sir? asked Alan.
"About the disappearance of these two people."
"What two people?" asked the young man, suddenly alert. "You forget that I have been away from Heathton for the last three days."
"Of course, of course. Well, one is Brown, the stranger who stayed with Mrs. Marry."
"The Quiet Gentleman?"
"Yes. I heard them call him so in the village. A very doubtful character. He never came to church," said the Rector sadly. "However, it seems he has disappeared. Two nights ago--in fact, upon the evening of the day upon which poor Marlow's funeral took place, he left his lodgings for a walk. Since then," added the Rector impressively, "he has not returned."
"In plain words, he has taken French leave," said Thorold, filling his glass.
"Oh, I should not say that, Alan. He paid his weekly account the day before he vanished. He left his baggage behind him. No, I don't think he intended to run away. Mrs. Marry says he was a good lodger, although she knew very little about him. However, he has gone, and his box remains. No one saw him after he left the village about eight o'clock. He was last seen by Giles Hale passing the church in the direction of the moor. To-day we searched the moor, but could find no trace of him. Most mysterious," finished the Rector, and took some port.
"Who is the other man?" asked Alan abruptly.
"Ah! Now you must be prepared for a shock, Alan. Dr. Warrender!"
Thorold bounded out of his seat.
"Is he lost too?"
"Strangely enough, he is," answered Phelps gravely. "On the night of the funeral he went out at nine o'clock in the evening to see a patient. He never came back."
"Who was the patient?"
"That is the strangest part of it. Brown, the Quiet Gentleman, was the patient. Mrs. Warrender, who, as you may guess, is quite distracted, says that her husband told her so. Mrs. Marry declares that the doctor called after nine, and found Brown was absent."
"What happened then?" demanded Alan, who had been listening eagerly to this tale.
"Dr. Warrender, according to Mrs. Marry, asked in what direction her lodger had gone. She could not tell him, so, saying he would call again in an hour or so, he went. And, of course, he never returned."
"Did Brown send for him?"
"Mrs. Marry could not say. Certainly no message was sent through her."
"Was Brown ill?"
"Not at all, according to his landlady. We have been searching for both Brown and Warrender, but have found no traces of either."
"Humph!" said Thorold, after a pause. "I wonder if they met and went away together?"
"My dear lad, where would they go to?" objected the Rector.
"I don't know; I can't say. The whole business is most mysterious." Alan stopped, and looked sharply at Mr. Phelps. "Have you the key of the Marlow vault in your possession?"
"Yes, of course, locked in my safe. Your question is most extraordinary."
The other smiled grimly.
"My explanation is more extraordinary still." He took out Mr. Gramp's letter and handed it to the Rector. "What do you think of that, sir?"
"Most elegant caligraphy," said the good man. "Why, bless me!" He read on hurriedly, and finally dropped the letter with a bewildered air. "Bless me, Alan!" he stammered. "What--what--what----"
Thorold picked it up and smoothed it out on the table.
"You see, this man says the body has been stolen. Do you know if the door of the vault has been broken open?"
"No, no, certainly not!" cried the Rector, rising fussily. "Come to my study, Alan; we must see if it is all right. It must be," he added emphatically. "The key of the safe is on my watch-chain. No one can open it. Oh dear! Bless me!"
He bustled out of the room, followed by Alan.
A search into the interior of the safe resulted in the production of the key.
"You see," cried Phelps, waving it triumphantly, "it is safe. The door could not have been opened with this. Now your key."
"My key is in my desk at the Abbey Farm--locked up also," said the young man hastily. "I'll see about it to-night. In the meantime, sir, bring that key with you, and we will go into the vault."
"What for?" demanded the Rector sharply. "Why should we go there?"
"Can't you understand?" said Alan impatiently. "I want to find out if this letter is true or false--if the body of Mr. Marlow has been removed."
"But I--I--can't!" gasped the Rector. "I must apply to the bishop for----"
"Nonsense, sir! We are not going to exhume the body. It's not like digging up a grave. All that is necessary is to look at the coffin resting in its niche. We can tell from the screws and general appearance if it has been tampered with."
The clergyman sat down and wiped his bald head.
"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like it at all. Still, I don't suppose a look at the coffin can harm any one. We'll go, Alan, we'll go; but I must take Jarks."
"The sexton?"
"Yes. I want a witness--two witnesses; you are one, Jarks the other. It is a gruesome task that we have before us." He shuddered again. "I don't like it. Profanation!"
"If this letter is to be believed, the profanation has already been committed."
"Cicero Gramp," repeated Mr. Phelps as they went out. "Who is he?"
"A fat man--a tramp--a reciter. I saw him at Bournemouth. He delivered that letter at the hotel himself; the waiter described him, and as the creature is a perfect Falstaff, I recalled his face--I had seen him on the parade. I went at once to see if I could find him, but he was gone."
"A fat man," said the Rector. "Humph! He was at the Good Samaritan the other night. I'll tell you about him later."
The two trudged along in silence and knocked up Jarks, the sexton, on the way. They had no difficulty in rousing him. He came down at once with a lantern, and was much surprised to learn the errand of Rector and squire.
"Want to have a look at Muster Marlow's vault," said he in creaking tones. "Well, it ain't a bad night for a visit, I do say. But quiet comp'ny, Muster Phelps and Muster Thorold, very quiet. What do ye want to see Muster Marlow for?"
"We want to see if his body is in the vault," said Alan.
"Why, for sure it's there, sir. Muster Marlow don't go visiting."
"I had a letter at Bournemouth, Jarks, to say the body had been stolen."
Jarks stared.
"It ain't true!" he cried in a voice cracked with passion. "It's casting mud on my 'arning my bread. I've bin sexton here fifty year, man and boy--I never had no corp as was stolen. They all lies comfortable arter my tucking them in. Only Gabriel's trump will wake 'em."
By this time they were round the Lady Chapel, and within sight of the tomb. Phelps, too much agitated to speak, beckoned to Jarks to hold up the lantern, which he did, gram bling and muttering the while.
"I've buried hundreds of corps," he growled, "and not one of 'em's goed away. What 'ud they go for? I make 'em comfortable, I do."
"Hold the light steady, Jarks," said the Rector, whose own hand was just as unsteady. He could hardly get the key into the lock.
At last the door was open, and headed by Jarks with the lantern, they entered. The cold, earthy smell, the charnel-house feeling shook the nerves of both men. Jarks, accustomed as he was to the presence of the dead, hobbled along without showing any emotion other than wrath, and triumphantly swung the lantern towards a niche wherein reposed a coffin.
"Ain't he there quite comfortable?" wheezed he. "Don't I tell you they never goes from here! It's a lovely vault; no corp 'ud need a finer."
"Wait a bit!" said Alan, stepping forward. "Turn the light along the top of the coffin, Jarks. Hullo! the lid's loose!"
"An' unscrewed!" gasped the sexton. "He's bin getting out."
"Unscrewed--loose!" gasped the Rector in his turn. The poor man felt deadly sick. "There must be some mistake."
"No mistake," said Alan, slipping back the lid. "The body has been stolen."
"No 't'ain't!" cried Jarks, showering the light on the interior of the coffin. "There he is, quiet an'--why," the old man broke off with a cry, "the corp ain't in his winding-sheet!"
Phelps looked, Alan looked. The light shone on the face of the dead.
Phelps groaned.
"Merciful God!" he groaned, "it is Dr. Warrender's body!"
There was sensation enough and to spare in Heathton next morning. Jarks lost no time in spreading the news. He spent the greater part of the day in the taproom of the Good Samaritan, accepting tankards of beer and relating details of the discovery. Mrs. Timber kept him as long as she could; for Jarks, possessed of intelligence regarding the loss of Mr. Marlow's body, attracted customers. These, thirsty for news or drink, or both, flocked like sheep into the inn.
"To think that a corp of mine should be gone!" creaked he in his aged voice. "Man and boy, I niver heard tell of such things--niver! Why Muster Marlow should go beats me--ay, that it does!"
"It doesn't beat me," cried Mrs. Timber in her most acidulated voice. "I know who took the body."
"That you don't!" contradicted Jarks incoherently; "fur passon, he don't know, so I don't know as how you'd know, Mrs. Timber."
"It was that fat play-actor out of this very house," snapped the landlady.
"And how can you prove that, Mrs. Timber?" asked the sexton contemptuously.
"Why, he had no money for a bed, and he had to sleep in the open. I dare say he slept in the churchyard, and stole the body to sell it back again, it being well known as Miss Sophy's a Queen of Sheba for riches."
"All very well," said Slack the schoolmaster; "but if he took away Mr. Marlow's body, how did he put Dr. Warrender's in its place? And how could he without the key of the vault?"
"No," said the stonemason, "he couldn't get into that there vault without a key. I built him myself, me and my mates. If that fat man put the doctor there, he must have killed him. There's a hole in his heart as you could put your fist in. It's murder!" cried the man, dashing his hand on the table, "sacrilege and murder!"
It took a good many tankards of Mrs. Timber's strong ale to wash down the sinister word "murder." Every point of the matter was discussed, but no one could arrive at any decision. Slack voiced the general sentiment when he rose to go.
"We must wait for the police," said Slack.
But Alan Thorold was of the contrary opinion. He did not wish to wait for the police, or to have anything to do with the police. The difficulty was that he could not get the Rector to take this view, and the next morning Mr. Phelps sent the village constable for the inspector at Burchester, the big market town twenty miles away across the heath. Meantime, at an early hour, Alan presented himself at the Moat House. He broke the news as gently as he could. Both Sophy and Miss Vicky were horrified.
"To think of such things taking place in a Christian graveyard!" cried the little woman, wringing her hands. "Sacrilege and murder! It makes one believe in the existence of atheists and anarchists, and such-like dreadful people--it does, indeed!"
Contrary to Thorold's expectation, Sophy proved to be the more composed of the two. She neither wept nor fainted, but, very pale and very still, listened to all that he had to say. When he had finished, she had only one question to ask.
"Who did it?" she demanded in the calmest voice.
"I can't say--I don't know," stammered Alan, taken aback by her attitude generally. "We must find out. If your father had enemies--but even an enemy would have had no object in doing this."
"What about the man in Bournemouth?"
"Cicero Gramp? I intend to go up to London to-morrow and see him. If he can tell the truth, it will be well worth the money he demands."
"So I think, Alan. Can't you go to-day?"
He shook his head.
"There is so much to do here, Sophy. The Rector has gone to break the news of her husband's death to Mrs. Warrender. And he has sent over to Burchester for the police. The inspector--Blair is his name--will be here at noon. I did not want the police brought into the matter, but Mr. Phelps insisted."
"Why did you not want to consult the police?"
"I am afraid if this vagabond gets wind that the law has intervened he may give us the slip. However, I shall go up to Dixon's Rents first thing in the morning, before the case gets into the papers."
"Do you think this man Gramp has anything to do with the murder, and with the removing of poor father's body?"
"No, I don't," replied Alan promptly. "He would not dare to give evidence if he were. I hear that he was turned out of the Good Samaritan on the night of the funeral. It is likely enough that he saw the removal of the body, and possibly the murder. Naturally, such a creature as that wants to sell his information. He is a blackmailer, this man, but I don't credit him with murder or bodysnatching."
"Body-snatching!" cried Miss Vicky, who was dabbing her red eyes with eau-de-Cologne. "Oh, the terrible word!"
"Alan," said Sophy, after a pause, "do you believe the man who took my father's body killed Dr. Warrender?"
"I do. Warrender was out on that night, and might have come across the man carrying away the body, and the murder might have arisen out of that."
"How do you know Dr. Warrender was out?" cross-examined Sophy.
"Mrs. Warrender told the Rector so. Warrender went to see the Quiet Gentleman, but not finding him in, said that he would return. He never did, and now we know the reason."
"Why don't you make certain whether he saw the Quiet Gentleman?"
"Brown? That's impossible; he also has disappeared."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know," said Alan gloomily.
"Does any one know?"
"Not to my knowledge. Perhaps the police may find out. Sophy, what is the matter?"
For the girl was clapping her hands and laughing hysterically.
"It was Brown who took my father's body and killed the doctor!" she cried. "I am certain of it!"
"Why are you certain?"
"I feel it. I can't say why."
"But your father did not know this man. I never heard him allude to the Quiet Gentleman."
"I dare say not," returned Sophy doggedly; "but if the man had nothing to do with it, why should he disappear? And Dr. Warrender went to see him. Oh! I am sure he is the guilty person. He might be an enemy of father's."
"Sophia, your father did not know him," put in Miss Vicky, who was listening open-mouthed to all this.
"Oh, I am not so sure of that!" cried the girl impatiently. "If he did, Joe will know. Ring the bell for him."
"Did Joe know the Quiet Gentleman?" Alan asked when he had rung.
"I do not think that Joseph did," said Miss Vicky. "He told me that he tried several times to speak to him, but got no reply."
"I don't wonder at that," replied the young man dryly; "the man was dumb."
"Dumb!" echoed the ladies.
"Didn't you know? Ah, well, perhaps not. I didn't know myself until the Rector told me last night. Yes, he was dumb--that was why the village called him the Quiet Gentleman. Oh, here is Joe!"
"Joe," said Sophy, going directly to the point, "have you heard about----"
"Yes, miss," said Joe, interrupting to save her mentioning so painful a subject, "I know, and if I find the swab as did it, I'll kill him."
Joe said this in a quietly savage way, which made Miss Vicky shudder.
"Have you any idea who carried off the body, Joe?"
"No, sir, I have not--but," added the man grimly, "I'm going to look for him."
The old maid shuddered again at the expression in his bloodshot eyes.
"'Vengeance is mine. I will repay, saith the Lord,'" she put in severely.
"All werry good," said Mr. Brill, "but I guess the Lord needs an instrument to carry out that text." He spat on his hands and added slowly, "I'm that instrument!"
"Had my father any enemies that you know of, Joe?"
"No, miss, not that I knowed of. He had rows, as a man should, had the Cap'n, but I don't know any swab as 'ud have stolen his corpse."
"And murdered Dr. Warrender," said Alan, who was watching the man.
"As you say, sir," replied the sailor calmly, "and murdered Dr. Warrender. No, I can't rightly call any one to mind."
"Did you know the Quiet Gentleman, Joe?"
"I did not, miss. Brown he called hisself--leastways, Mrs. Marry told me so, for Brown had no tongue. I tried to pass the time o' day, meeting him friendly like on the road, but he only put his hand to his mouth and shook his white head. I don't know nothing about him."
"Do you know a tramp named Cicero Gramp?" asked Alan, after a pause.
"Well, I did in a way." Joe drew his huge hand across his mouth, and seemed to be considering his reply. "In this way, sir. He comed here to the kitchen and put 'em all wrong with his lies. I kicked him out--leastways, I giv 'im something to take 'imself orf."
"What did he come here for?"
Joe clenched his teeth and frowned dreadfully.
"I wish I knowed, I'd ha' broken his cocoanut!" said he. "He was a liar, miss, savin' your presence. Said 'e knowed your father, the Cap'n, which," said Joe slowly, "was a d----d lie--beggin' your pardon, miss."
"Said he knew my father?" echoed Sophy anxiously. "What did he know about him?"
"Nothin'," replied Joe firmly. "Make your mind easy, miss--nothin'."
It seemed to Alan as though the old sailor wished to intimate that there really was something in Marlow's past which might be known, but that the tramp was ignorant of it. He evidently wanted to reassure the girl, yet Alan was well aware that Sophy knew practically nothing of her father's life. He resolved to try the effect of a surprise.
"Joe," said he slowly, "it was this tramp who told me the body had been stolen."
Joe's hard, shiny hat, which he had been twisting nervously in his hands, fell to the ground. His face was a dark crimson when he stooped to pick it up, and he stammered:
"Hi, sir! that--that lubber. How did he know?"
"That I have to find out. He offers to sell the information for a hundred pounds."
Joe rubbed his hands and looked ferocious.
"What I want to know, sir, is, where is the swab?"
"In London. I'm going up to see him to-morrow."
"This afternoon," put in Sophy sharply. "You are going this afternoon, Alan."
"Certainly, my dear," Alan said promptly; "I'll go this afternoon--if the police don't want me."
"The police!" gasped Joe, shifting nervously from one leg to the other.
"Yes." Alan darted a keen glance at him. "Mr. Phelps has sent for the police to investigate this murder of Dr. Warrender."
"Well, I hope they'll find him, sir," said Joe, recovering his stolidity, "for I make no doubt that the swab as killed the doctor carried off the Cap'n's body."
"So I think, Joe, and I am going to London to find out from Cicero Gramp."
"You'll find he'll tell you that the Quiet Gentleman killed Dr. Warrender," put in Sophy.
The old sailor choked, and looked at her with absolute terror.
"How do you know that, miss?" he asked.
"I only think so. The Quiet Gentleman has disappeared. Probably he killed the doctor, and then took my father's body."
"It might be so, miss. If I find him----"
Joe repeated his former savage declaration, and Miss Vicky duly shuddered.
"Then you can't help us in any way, Joe?" said Alan, eying him thoughtfully.
"No, sir, I can't. I don't know who carried off the Cap'n, and I don't know who stabbed the doctor. If I did, I'd kill him. When you find him, sir, let me know."
After which speech the old sailor again pulled his forelock, scraped his foot, and rolled out of the room. He appeared somewhat relieved to get away.
Alan did not quite know what to make of Joe. The man was so nervous that it seemed as though he knew something and was afraid of committing himself. On the other hand, this sailor was devoted to Sophy, and had been in Marlow's service for thirty years. It was only reasonable to conclude, therefore, that he would wish her to benefit by any knowledge he might possess. On the whole, Alan was perplexed, but he kept it to himself, determining, nevertheless, to keep an eye on Joe. When the door was closed, Sophy turned to Alan.
"Alan," she said slowly, "I love you dearly, as you know, and I wish to become your wife. But I swear by the memory of my father that until you find out who has done this wicked thing and bring the man to justice, I will not marry you!"
"Sophy!" cried Thorold entreatingly.
"I mean what I say," repeated the girl, in a low, fierce voice. "We must avenge my father. When the wretch is caught and hanged, then I'll marry you, Alan."
"Sophia, a marriage under such circumstances----"
"Miss Parsh," cried Sophy, turning on the meek old maid, "do you think I can sit down tamely under this insult to the dead? My father's body has been carried off. It must be found again before I marry--before I can think of marriage, Alan."
"Sophy is right," cried Thorold, drawing the girl to him and kissing her. "She is right, Miss Parsh. I swear also that I will devote my life to solving this mystery. Your father's body shall be brought back, Sophy, and the murderer of Dr. Warrender shall hang. Good-bye, dear. To-day I go to London. The first step towards the discovery of this crime will be to see Cicero Gramp. He may supply the clue."
"Yes, yes. Bribe him; pay him anything, so long as you get at the truth."
Alan kissed the girl again, and then left the room. Before he started, he intended to see the Rector and the local inspector of police. As he stepped out on to the road, he noticed Phelps coming along in the hot sunshine. The little parson was puffing and blowing and wiping his forehead.
"Alan! Alan!" he called out in short gasps as he came within speaking distance. "She's gone! She's gone to----"
"She! Gone! Who's gone? Where?"
"Why, Mrs. Warrender! She's disappeared. Oh, dear me; how terrible all this is! Whew!"
So excited was the little parson that Alan feared lest he should take a fit. The Good Samaritan was no great distance away, so thither he led him, into Mrs. Timber's private parlor.
"Now, sir," said Alan, when his old tutor seemed somewhat more composed, "tell me all about Mrs. Warrender."
But before Mr. Phelps could reply, the vixenish landlady made her appearance. She was highly honored at seeing the Rector within her doors, and curtsied a hint for orders. And, in truth, the little clergyman, undone with excitement, was quite ready to stimulate his jaded nerves.
"Eh, Mrs. Timber?" he said. "Yes; you might get us a little Cognac, I think. Old; the best you have, Mrs. Timber, and a jug of fresh-drawn water from the well, please. Alan?"
"I'll join you," said young Thorold promptly.
He, too, felt that he was in nowise beyond reach of a little stimulant.
Silent for once in her life, Mrs. Timber brought of her best, which, be it said, was passing good. Mr. Phelps lost no time in brewing his measure and drank it down with gusto.
"That's good, Alan, my boy; very good," said he, setting down the tumbler with a sigh of relief. "God forgive me, I fear to think what my good brethren would say did they see their Rector in a public-house! though to be sure the Good Samaritan is a most respectable hostelry. But, Alan, why did you bring me here?"
"Indeed, sir, I feared you would be ill out there in the blazing sun. I did only what I thought wise. But about Mrs. Warrender--you say she has disappeared?"
"Eh, yes." Mr. Phelps wiped his bald head vigorously. "I went to break the news to her after you had gone to see Sophy, and I found she had left for London."
"London? Why London?"
"That is just what I wanted to know, my dear Alan. It seems she received last night a letter which threw her into a state of great excitement. She was bad enough that way, as it was, the servant said; but this letter, it appears, drove her into a perfect frenzy."
"Do you know what was in the letter?"
"I asked that--oh, trust me, Alan, to be precise about details--but the servant said she did not know. Mrs. Warrender put it in her pocket. That spoke volumes from the servant's point of view. All night long, it appears, she was walking about the room using the most fearful language--God forgive her!--and this morning at eight o'clock she started off to catch the 9.30 express at the Junction."
"And is she coming back?"
"That I don't know, my boy."
Mr. Phelps looked round cautiously and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"She took her jewels with her."
"Her jewels?"
"Yes; she had a quantity of jewelry. She put all the money she could get from her husband into clothes and diamonds--a most extravagant woman, Alan. Well, she's gone, that's certain, jewels and all. She left no address, and said no word about returning. What do you think of it?"
"Upon my word, sir, I don't know what to think. The whole place has gone mad, it seems to me; the entire village is topsy-turvy. Marlow's body stolen, Warrender murdered, and his body placed in poor Marlow's coffin; and now here is Mrs. Warrender cleared out significantly with her jewels; and the Quiet Gentleman----"
"Brown, the dumb man? What about him? I know he, too, has vanished; but what else?"
"I'm going to tell you, sir. The key of the vault----"
"Not your key, Alan?"
"Yes, my key, Mr. Phelps; the Quiet Gentleman has it!"
"God bless me--that is, God forgive me, Alan, are you mad too?"
"No, sir, not yet; though I admit I'm fairly on the way, with all this. Tell me, do you know who this so-called Quiet Gentleman really is?"
"No, Alan, I don't. I spoke to him, but found he was dumb. Now he too is gone."
"Yes, with Marlow's body on his hands, and Warrender's death on his soul!"
"You don't mean that! Are you sure?"
Mr. Phelps was greatly agitated.
"I go only by circumstantial evidence, it is true. You know, of course, the funeral of Mr. Marlow took place in the morning?"
"Yes, yes; and at two o'clock you took Sophy and Miss Parsh to Bournemouth."
"I did. Well, about five o'clock, Brown--we'll call him that instead of the Quiet Gentleman, though I don't believe it really is his name--well, about that time Brown walked over to Abbey Farm. He brought a letter purporting to come from me to my housekeeper, Mrs. Hester."
"From you, Alan?"
"Yes, the letter was forged," said Alan with emphasis. "It directed Mrs. Hester to allow Brown to remain at the farm until I returned. It was in my handwriting, and signed with my name. She knew nothing about Brown, save that he was staying at Mrs. Marry's, and she thought it somewhat strange he should come to stop at the farm during my absence. But as the instructions in the letter were quite plain, and she knew my handwriting well--that shows how expert the forgery was--she gave Brown the run of the place. In the meantime she wrote to me at Bournemouth asking me if all was right, and inclosed the forged letter. Here it is!"
As he saw the handwriting, Mr. Phelps started.
"Upon my word, Alan, I don't wonder Mrs. Hester was deceived, especially when you consider her sight is not good! Why, I myself with my eyes should certainly take it for yours." (Mr. Phelps wore pince-nez, but nevertheless resented any aspersion on his optical powers.) "But why on earth didn't she telegraph to you?"
"Well, you know how old-fashioned and conservative she is, sir. She makes out through the Scriptures--how, I cannot tell you--that the telegraph is a sinful institution. Therefore it is not to be wondered at that she trusted to the post. I got her letter only this morn as, of course, it followed me on from Bournemouth. Nevertheless, I knew about the loss of the key last night."
"Ah! the loss of the key. Yes, go Alan."
"Very well. Brown, being allowed to remain in my house, proceeded to make him quite at home in the library. Mrs. Hester writing her letter--no easy task for her--took no further heed of him. He was in the room for quite an hour, and amused himself, appears, in breaking open my desk. Having forced several of the drawers, he found at last the one he wanted--the one containing the key of the vault. Then he made all things beautifully smooth, so that Mrs. Hester should not see they had been tampered with, and leaving a message that he would return to dinner, went out ostensibly for a walk. He returned, appears, to his lodging, and left there again about nine o'clock in the evening. Since then nothing has been seen or heard of him."
"God bless me, Alan! are you sure he has the key?"
"Positive. I looked in my desk last night and it was not there. But everything was done so nicely that I am strongly of the opinion that Mr. Brown has served his apprenticeship as a cracksman, and that under a pretty good master too. No one but he could have stolen that key. Besides, the forged letter shows plainly that he came to the farm with no honest intentions. But what I can't understand," continued Alan, biting his mustache, "is how the man came to know where the key was."
"Extraordinary--yes, that is extraordinary. Undoubtedly he it was who stole the body and gained access to the vault with your key. But the murder of Dr. Warrender----"
"He committed that too; I am convinced of it. Warrender called to see him, found he was out, and I have no doubt followed him. He probably saw Brown remove the body, and of course interfered, upon which the villain made short work of him. That is my theory, sir."
"And a very sound one, too, in many respects," said the Rector. "But Brown could not have removed the body alone. He must have had an accomplice."
"True; and it is for that very reason I am going to town this afternoon. Cicero Gramp may be able to supply some information on that point. It is quite possible he slept in the churchyard and saw the whole business--murder and all."
"Alan! Alan!" cried Mr. Phelps, horrified. "Do you believe this murder was committed on the sacred soil of the churchyard, in God's own acre, Alan? No one, surely, could be so vile!"
"I do, sir; and at the door of the vault. Brown, as you say yourself, cleverly concealed the body in Marlow's coffin. He had no time to screw it down again, apparently. He must have had a pretty tough job to cut through that lead. He had to trust to chance, of course, that the vault would not be visited until he had got a safe distance away with his booty. And, indeed, but for Gramp's letter, no one would ever have thought of going there. In fact, this Brown is a most ingenious and dangerous criminal."
"He is; indeed he is. But what could he possibly want the body for?"
"Ha! that's just it! I fancy this is a case of blackmail. If you remember, a millionaire's body was stolen in America some few years ago, and only restored to the family on payment by them of a very large sum of money."
"Oh, that is what you think he is after?"
"Yes, I do. It is highly probable, I think, that in a few weeks, or perhaps even in less time, we shall receive a letter demanding some thousands for the return of the body."
"But surely the police----"
"Oh, Mr. Brown will look after all that. You may depend upon it he'll make himself quite safe before he goes that far. So talented a gentleman as he would not be likely to omit all necessary precautions of that kind."
"Humph!" muttered Mr. Phelps, considering, "and of Mrs. Warrender's suspicious flight, what think you?"
"I confess I don't know quite what to make of that. I have no great opinion of her as a woman; still, I should hardly credit her with being in league with this ruffian."
"No, indeed; for that, she must needs be the worst of women," said Mr. Phelps with warmth. "Why, Alan, poor Warrender was simply crazy about her. He worked day and night to provide her with the finery she craved for. Besides, she seemed really fond of him."
"Who was she?" asked Alan bluntly.
"Well, I shouldn't like to say it to every one, Alan, but Mrs. Warrender had been an actress."
"An actress! Under what name?"
"That I cannot tell you. I called there one day and I heard her reciting Shakespeare. Her elocution seemed to me so fine that I complimented her upon it. Then she told me that she had been on the stage, and had retired when she married Warrender."
"That's very strange! I always thought she had somewhat of a professional manner about her."
"And her hair, Alan!Flava coma--yellow hair; not that I mean, for one moment, she was what the Romans referred to by these words. Well, my boy, what is to be done now?"
"I am going up to London in an hour's time."
Alan glanced at his watch while speaking.
"But you'll miss seeing Blair, the inspector," remonstrated Mr. Phelps.
"I'll see him when I return: you can explain the case as well as I, sir. I shall bring Gramp back with me if I can manage it."
"And Mrs. Warrender--shall I tell Blair about her?"
"I fear you must. But let him be circumspect. It is not necessary to take any steps against her until we are tolerably sure of the reason for her sudden flight. When do they hold the inquest on Warrender?"
"To-morrow."
"Well, I'll be back to-night and tell you what I've done." And Alan rose to go.
"One moment, my dear boy. What about Sophy?"
"I've seen her, and, of course, I was judicious in what I told her. She knows nothing about the loss of the key and my suspicions of Brown, although, funnily enough, she herself suspects him."
"Bless me! on what grounds can she do that?"
"Oh, on the purely feminine grounds that she suspects him. She declares she will not marry me until her father's body is discovered."
"Very right; very proper. I quite agree with her. You should start your married life with an absolutely clean sheet, Alan."
The young man nodded, and as he left the inn he delivered himself of one warning.
"Whatever you do, keep your eye on Joe Brill," he said significantly.
"Why--why? What for?"
"Because I fancy he knows a good deal more than he is inclined to tell," replied Alan.
Then, without further comment, he drove off, leaving the Rector considerably bewildered at this abrupt interpolation of a fresh name into the persons of the drama.
Meanwhile, Alan caught his train, and in due time, or a very fair approach to it, arrived in London. He took a hasty lunch at Waterloo, and drove to Westminster Bridge. Here he dismissed his cab, and set about inquiring for Dixon's Rents. The slum--its name was highly suggestive of its being such--appeared to be well known. The first constable he asked was both familiar with and communicative about it.
"It's within easy distance of Lambeth Palace, sir," he said. "A bit rough by night, but you'll be all right there in the daytime. Ask any constable near by the Palace, sir, and he'll put you right. Thank you, sir."
Alan left the officer of the law well pleased with his unlooked-for half-crown, and walked on towards the Palace. The second constable could not leave his beat, but the bestowal of another half-crown elicited from him the practical suggestion that a certain young shoeblack of repute should act as guide. The shoeblack was quite near at hand, and very shortly was enrolled as guide for the occasion. Together he and Alan started off, leaving the constable well content, though withal a trifle mystified, not to say curious.
The shoeblack led the way, and Alan followed closely. They turned away from the river into a mass of houses, where the streets became more and more squalid, and the population more and more ragged and unkempt. At length, after many twistings and turnings, they arrived at the entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac, and he was informed that this was his destination. He rewarded and dismissed the shoeblack, and proceeded down the dirty lane. Almost the first person he saw was a tall woman standing at the entrance of the court, closely veiled. She seemed to be hesitating whether she would come on or not. Then, suddenly, she threw up her veil. As she did so Alan uttered an exclamation of surprise.
It was Mrs. Warrender!