At the Rectory, dinner was always placed on the table at seven o'clock, it being a law of the Medes and Persians that everyone should be in time. Yet, much to Claudia's distress, Edwin did not put in an appearance until the meal was half over. His parents were speculating as to what could be delaying him when he entered, cool and calm, but somewhat pale. With an apology for his late arrival, and for not having changed his dress, he sat down to cool soup and lukewarm fish.
Mrs. Craver felt annoyed, and said that she was. "Why did Lady Wyke keep you such a long time?" she asked, indignantly. "It was most inconsiderate of her. But, there, you can't expect manners from a person of that class."
"She did not keep me, mother," answered, Edwin, without raising his eyes, "for I left Maranatha some time ago, and have been walking about ever since thinking things over in detail."
"What things?" asked the Rector, curiously, and Claudia's eyes mutely put the same question.
"Those concerned with the murder of her husband."
"Then she did wish to see you about that crime?" said Mrs. Craver, sharply.
Edwin nodded. "She to have a good opinion of my qualities as a detective and asked me to help her to discover the truth."
"Well, I'm sure! And what next? As if you were in a position to waste your time attending to that business."
"Well, mother, I nave promised to do so. After all, Lady Wyke is a widow, and has no one to help her. Also, on behalf of the firm, since she is a good customer, it is policy on my part to keep in with her."
"I don't see that, Edwin," observed the Rector, shrewdly. "After all, you are an engineer, and not a detective."
"Oh, I don't mean to say that I am going to give up the substance for the shadow," said Edwin, cheerfully; "that is, I don't intend to leave my business to start on what may prove to be a wild-goose chase. But, between times, and when I have an unoccupied minute or so, it is easy for me to look round. And I think you are rather hard on Lady Wyke, mother. She isn't at all a bad sort."
Mrs. Craver sniffed and straightened her spare figure. "I don't like the woman."
"Well," remarked Edwin, with the air of a man closing a discussion, "I have given her my promise to look into things, and I must keep it. For that reason, I have not changed my clothes, mother. I have to return to town to-night."
"Oh, Edwin!" cried Claudia, with dismay and with some reproach. "Can't you stay until Monday?"
"Not if I have to keep my promise to Lady Wyke."
"Well, Edwin"--Mrs. Craver stood up to go--"a promise is a promise, and you must not break your word."
After the dinner was finished, the young couple were left alone, and Edwin poured himself out a glass of port wine, which he felt sadly in need of. Claudia said nothing, but watched her lover carefully.
"I hate telling lies, in any case," said Craver, abruptly, "but it is particularly difficult with regard to my own parents. Yet I can do nothing else."
"You can tell the truth to me," suggested Claudia, quietly.
"I intend to. We won't be interrupted for at least fifteen minutes, so we can talk without arousing the suspicions of father and mother."
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you guess after what I have said, Claudia? I lulled my mother's suspicions regarding a possible flirtation of Lady Wyke with me by telling a lie; and I said that it was Christianity to help the poor widow--hang her!"
"Oh!" Claudia started and winced. "So she----"
"Exactly. Her flirtation is more serious than ever. She wants to marry me and asked me to tea so that she might put the case plainly."
"She can't force you to marry her, Edwin?"
"She'll try to; and there is no doubt that she has me on toast."
Claudia rose from her chair, and came round the table to sit beside him. "Do you mean to say that she can implicate my father in the crime, and demand your hand as a promise of silence?"
"No. I mean to say that she can drag me into the matter."
"Impossible!" Claudia stared aghast. "What have you to do with the death?"
"Nothing; and Lady Wyke knows as much. All the same, she can make things very unpleasant for me, and will, unless I give you up and marry her."
Claudia looked puzzled. "But how can she?"
"I'll toll you, dear." He took her hand and drew her to him. "Do you remember the letter which Hall, the postman, delivered that night?"
"Yes. My father told me something about it, although it was not mentioned at the inquest."
"Luckily for me it was not."
"Why? Oh, why?"
"Because I wrote it."
"You. And to Sir Hector?"
"Yes. Wyke wrote asking me to go down and see him at Maranatha privately. I replied, saying that I would, and fixed the time. But, owing to the lateness of the post, I arrived before my letter did. Hall brought it, and left it on the table in the hall. It disappeared, and Lady Wyke told me that Neddy Mellin took it when he came with the washing just after the crime was committed. What his object was, I can't say, although Lady Wyke hinted that he desired to get money. However, the boy read the letter, and knew that I was coming to the house. I can't say if he thought that I had already arrived, and was the man who escaped on the bicycle. Lady Wyke got that letter from Neddy, and made him promise to hold his tongue. She sent him to London so as to get him out of the way. She now holds my letter making the appointment, and threatens to show it to Sergeant Purse if I don't throw you over."
"Oh!" Claudia stared straight in front of her, pale and dismayed. "It is very terrible, and very complicated. Why did Sir Hector write to you?" Craver told her rapidly and without further preamble. Thus, Claudia learnt how the dead man intended to leave his money to Edwin, and how he hated his wife. "It was to prevent her finding out his intentions regarding the disposal of his property that he asked me to come secretly to Maranatha," finished Edwin, quietly. "I did so."
"No one saw you; no one recognised you?"
"No one. I was muffled up in a heavy top-coat when I got to Redleigh Station, and pulled my cap over my eyes so that the station-master and the porters should not recognise, me. They did not, and then I walked to Hedgerton to enter that accursed house, and--well you know the rest."
"But how did you escape?"
This also Craver told her, and shortly Claudia was in possession of the whole terrible story. Of course, she immediately saw in what peril her lover stood, and how easily Lady Wyke could have him arrested. "Oh, what is to be done?" she wailed, clasping her hands.
"The first thing to be done is for you and me to keep cool. The second is to prevent father and mother knowing anything that we know. For that reason I was obliged to tell lies, much as I dislike doing so. The third thing, to be done is for me to go to London to-night and see your father at Tenby Mansions the first thing in the morning."
"What good will that do?"
"Your father was in the house, and may know something of moment."
"You believe that he may be able to prove your innocence?"
"Yes, I think so. He was in the drawing-room sure enough; but I can't believe that a man of your father's restless disposition would stay quietly there. I believe that he came down the stairs and saw--saw----" Edwin hesitated.
"Saw what?" asked Claudia, faintly.
"Saw who murdered Wyke."
"But who could have done so. Surely you don't believe that dad is guilty?"
"No. Certainly I don't."
"And you are innocent also?"
"Absolutely."
"Then there was only Mrs. Vence in the house. Do you think that she----"
"No," said Craver, decisively. "She had every reason to keep him alive, and no reason at all to wish him dead. She didn't strike the blow. Who did I can't say. I'm going to find out. Now you see, Claudia, why I told my father and mother that I wished to assist Lady Wyke. I must assist her, as otherwise I shall be put in gaol on a charge of murder."
"She would never do that," exclaimed Claudia, flushing angrily.
"Oh, indeed she would. The woman is a perfect nuisance, and, although I was as rude as possible to her, she would not sheer off."
"If I gave you up would she let you have that letter and hold her tongue?"
"She says she would," was Edwin's cautions reply, as he rose and glanced at his watch. "Anyhow, I have a fortnight to think over things. In order to got the better of Lady Wyke and clear my character I'm off to-night to begin my search for the true assassin. Come to the gate and see me off, Claudia."
Neither the Rector nor his wife really learnt why Edwin took so abrupt a departure. He made his apologies anew, shook hands with his father and kissed his mother. Mrs. Craver accorded him a rather chilly forgiveness, and remarked that he could not be so very fond of Claudia, seeing that he preferred to leave her and go about Laura Bright's business. However, Edwin laughed her into a better humour, and then went off to Redleigh, on his motorcycle, to catch the nine o'clock train to town.
The Rectory was very dull after this untoward departure. Mrs. Craver being upset, retired early to bed, and insisted that her husband should come likewise. As he had to rise for early celebration next morning, he was not averse to doing what she asked, and the old couple were safely tucked in by ten o'clock. Claudia, left alone, read a book for a time, but was unable to fix her attention on the story, as she was actually living a much more exciting one. Then she saw that the servants were all in bed, and retired herself in the hope of getting to sleep. Only in that way could she forget her troubles. But she woo'd sleep in vain; she tossed and turned restlessly for quite thirty minutes. At the end of that time she took a sudden resolution, and rose to dress herself. It was not yet so late but what Lady Wyke might still be up and about, so Claudia decided to call and see her. Considering the primitive habits of Hedgerton, the project was rather a mad one. Still, strong diseases require strong remedies, and in a very short time Claudia, with the latch-key in her pocket, had slipped out of the dark Rectory, and was on her way to Maranatha.
It was a bright, star-lit night, although there was no moon, and the girl walked swiftly along the Esplanade towards Ladysmith Road. Luckily, she met no one, not even Jervis, the policeman, as his attentions on Saturday night were always given to the village in the hollow. Claudia boldly rang the bell, and when the footman appeared, sent in her card. The man seemed rather astonished at so late a visitor, but took up the card to his mistress, and shortly returned with the information that Lady Wyke would be pleased to see Miss Lemby.
Claudia followed the servant up the stairs; she was ushered into the drawing-room, and the door was shut behind her. So here she was in the lion's den, alone and unsupported.
"This is a pleasant surprise, Miss Lemby," said Lady Wyke, moving forward with outstretched hands. "Do tell me why you have come to see me at this hour?" Claudia rejected the outstretched hands, and, folding her own, spoke sternly to the point. "I have come to give up Edwin to you," she said, calmly.
"Oh!" Lady Wyke laughed shrilly. "On what condition?"
"On condition that you save his life!"
"I accept!" said Lady Wyke. "His life is safe when he becomes my husband."
After the excitement of the evening and her swift walk in the keen air at so late an hour, Claudia felt faint. Nor did the languid atmosphere of the tropical drawing-room tend to restore her. The heat of the large fire, the brilliance of the many lights, the multiplicity of colours, and the odour of flowers mixed with the scent of the burning pastilles, all made her sense reel and her eye grow dim. With a violent effort she cleared her head of vapours, and became as composed as formerly she had been agitated. Lady Wyke was pleased.
"You are worth fighting, Miss Lemby." she said, approvingly.
"Thank you for the compliment," retorted Claudia, sitting bolt upright with a stern white face and steady eyes.
"Oh, it's no compliment," trilled Lady Wyke, like a bird, "it is the truth. If you were a namby-pamby of the weeping kind I should despise you. As it is, I respect you immensely. Few girls of your age would act so sensibly."
"I am acting sensibly, as you call it, because I see no other way in which to act. But although I have yielded for the moment, Lady Wyke, don't think that I have given up all hope of regaining Edwin. That Edwin will be my husband is a foregone conclusion. Aren't you ashamed to get a husband on such terms?"
"Not a bit," said Lady Wyke, coolly. "He doesn't love me now, but he will learn to love me. I suppose he is annoyed at you throwing him over."
"I haven't told him," retorted Claudia, curtly. "He has gone to town."
"Oh!" Lady Wyke started and looked suspiciously at her visitor. "I know that you can implicate Edwin in the murder by showing that letter to Sergeant Purse," said Claudia, steadily. "All the same you know that he is guiltless."
"Do I? Then who is guilty?"
"I can't say."
"Your father?" asked Lady Wyke, impertinently and with meaning.
"No!" Claudia started to her feet. "My father would never stab an old man."
"Oh, I think he would to get money," retorted the hostess, leaning back in her chair and smiling. "He is very much the man who would slay and stab in order to get money. And from all accounts he needs money very badly."
"Yes, I think he does," said Claudia, coolly, "else he would scarcely have thought of marrying you."
The shot told, and Lady Wyke grew angry. "Look here, Miss Lemby, I am scrupulously polite to you, and I expect politeness in return. If you have nothing more to say you had better go."
"Oh! I have ever so much more to say. I will go when it suits me."
"You defy me," cried Lady Wyke.
"I do. I have given in over one thing because I can't help myself. I am not going to give in over the question of staying or going. After we have had an explanation, it is just on the cards that I may rescind my surrender."
"Oh, indeed. Well, Miss Lemby, as it seems we are to have a talk, let me offer you some refreshment. There is wine on yonder table."
"No, thanks."
"Well; then, go on; what have you to say?"
"This. That Edwin is innocent."
"Prove it," said Lady Wyke. "Edwin has told me everything," pursued Claudia. "He came down here in answer to a letter from your husband inviting him to an interview."
"Quite correct. The letter I hold is written in answer to one sent by Sir Hector."
"Very good," remarked Miss Lemby, "we are agreed so far. Well, then, Edwin told you, I presume, why Sir Hector wished to see him?"
Lady Wyke nodded. "Yes. I appeared and spoilt Hector's plan to marry you. He knew that he had made a will years ago leaving his property to me, and, as he hated me like poison he wished to make another will. He would have done so after marriage, had you become his wife, since he could not make it before the ceremony. But as I prevented the marriage, and Hector did not wish to see me benefit in any way, he proposed to make Edwin his heir on condition that he married you."
"I take it, then, that the will was not made when Edwin came here."
"No. What are you getting at? Do you mean to say that there is a will, and that I have destroyed it?"
"Oh, no. But I merely point out that as no will was made Edwin had no reason to murder Sir Hector."
"He murdered him because he did not wish Hector to marry you."
"You forget," said Claudia, coolly. "Your reappearance prevented Sir Hector from making me his wife. Edwin had no reason to fear the prevention of his marriage with me from that quarter. And as Sir Hector wished to make a will in Edwin's favour, Edwin would scarcely have been such a fool as to murder the man and spoil the chance of his getting five thousand a year."
"I think you should have been a lawyer, Miss Lemby; you argue so well."
"Thank you. But I should like to know, what you think of the case as I have put it? You must see that Edwin had no reason to murder Sir Hector."
"Oh, I see that!" sneered Lady Wyke, crossly. "The question is, would a jury see it?"
"I think so. Absence of motive for the commission of a crime goes a long way towards proving the innocence or an accused person. And remember all the evidence is purely circumstantial."
"Circumstantial or not, I have the whip hand, and I mean to use the whip."
"And I mean to try and get my lover as you are trying to do."
"As I have done," gasped Lady Wyke with fury. "He is mine! He is mine!"
"Not yet! Oh, you thought I was in earnest when I surrendered him to you." Claudia laughed insultingly. "What a fool you are. I have been, bluffing you all along, you silly creature."
This series of insults made Lady Wyke lose her temper altogether, and she became the fisherman's daughter straight away. She rushed across the room to throw herself on Claudia and scratch her eyes out; but Miss Lemby was prepared for the onset, and immediately grabbed her hands so that she could not use them. Being much the stronger of the two, she forced Lady Wyke over to the chair she had risen from and made her sit down. Claudia was silent herself, but Lady Wyke screamed so loudly that it was a wonder the servants did not come up to see what was the matter. Lady Wyke bit and twisted; and cried and writhed; but Claudia held her down firmly in the chair until she was exhausted.
"I think you will be quiet now, said Claudia, suddenly, as Lady Wyke became weak, ceased to kick, and began to sob.
"I'd like to kill you," wept the beaten woman, crying her heart out.
"I daresay you would, if you had a knife or a pistol." jeered Claudia, who was panting with her exertions; "but as you have only your hands, and I am ever so much stronger than you are, it is just as well that you have given in."
"I haven't given in, you common, vulgar creature," snarled Lady Wyke. "I intend to marry Edwin in a month."
"You won't. He marries me."
"You have surrendered him to me to save his life."
"Oh no, I haven't. I have been bluffing you, as I said. Edwin's life is quite safe from you, Lady Wyke."
"Is it, when I have that letter?"
"I defy you to produce that letter." retorted Claudia, arranging the veil round her head, and looking in the mirror over the fireplace. "If you do, there will be trouble. Edwin has a good defence, as I have proved to you. No jury would convict him when no reason can be shown for the commission of the crime of which you accuse him."
"He ran away; he ran away," panted Lady Wyke, who felt her defeat sorely and physically.
"I daresay he did, because he lost his head for the moment. But he has found it now, remember."
"I shall see Sergeant Purse to-morrow and show him that letter," said the hostess, viciously, and stood up to smooth her ruffled plumes at the mirror as her rival had done.
"Well, do so. You won't get Edwin in that way?"
"We'll see."
"Yes. We'll see. Good-bye, Lady Wyke, you'd better go to bed. I shan't detain you any longer," and Claudia moved majestically towards the door.
"Wait, I won't show that letter."
"That's your affair, and not mine."
"But," said Lady Wyke, with an evil smile, "I shall make it my business to discover how your father murdered Hector."
"That will be difficult. He had no reason to murder him," so Claudia said, but she winced for all that at the threat.
Lady Wyke saw her wincing, and regained a little of her former dominance. "Yes, he had. Hector was going to leave the money to Edwin, and your father knows that Edwin wouldn't have given him a shilling."
"He would have given me a shilling, and I would have given it to father. I know you are trying hard to make me surrender, Lady Wyke, but it won't do. Edwin has gone to London to see my father and make things straight."
"He can't, he can't!"
"That remains to be seen. I defy you."
"I hear you," Lady Wyke burst out into a shrill laughter. "You defy me, do you. Well, then I shall hang your father and marry Edwin and see you ruined."
"Oh, so you admit that Edwin is innocent," cried Claudia, seizing this admission. "I admit nothing, I shall act."
"Act as soon as you please." Claudia opened the door. "Good-night, Lady Wyke."
Having, reduced her enemy to impotence, Claudia returned to the Rectory, and slept the sleep of the just. But her slumber was due rather to exhaustion than to placidity of mind; and on waking in the morning, she began to realise that she had acted rather rashly. Impulsively the girl had sought out her enemy, and impulsively, had carried the war into the same enemy's camp. But had she been wise in thus driving Lady Wyke into a corner? Sir Hector's widow was clever, persistent, and dangerous, so that Claudia had no mean antagonist to deal with. Enraged by an ignominious defeat, Lady Wyke might see Purse and ruin Edwin without further delay. It was possible, if not quite probable, that she would act in this way; and Claudia went, down to breakfast, wishing fervently that the record of the previous night could be obliterated. The girl recognised that she had been in too much of a hurry to right the wrong.
All Sunday Claudia was worried and anxious, both in church and out of church, before meals, during meals, and after meals. Of course, since the Rector and his wife were to be kept in the dark, she had to feign a cheerfulness which she was a long way from feeling. Even sharp Mrs. Craver noticed nothing in the girl's manner likely to suggest questions, and privately thought that if Claudia was quieter than usual it was because Edwin had gone back to London so abruptly. Lady Wyke did not come either to the morning or evening service, and the Rector's wife speculated as to why she was absent.
In the afternoon, Claudia found it impossible to remain at home, so she went for a brisk walk along the cliffs. Emerging from the Rectory grounds she passed through a small wood, which sheltered the house from the sea breezes, and took the meandering path along the verge of the cliffs. On arriving at the coastguard station she paused for a quarter of an hour to remove her hat and let the air breathe its cool kiss on her locks. She had a headache, caused by her perplexity and the peace around did it good, soothing the lingering pain and finally taking it away altogether. Claudia set out on her return journey feeling much better, and began to think that she was making a mountain out of a molehill. But before she quite made up her mind to this course she suddenly came across Neddy Mellin.
The boy was descending the zig-zag path which led to the beach immediately below the Rectory, and, not being far distant, Claudia recognised him at once. She then remembered, how Neddy had stolen the fatal letter which implicated Edwin in the crime, and forthwith resolved to ask questions. It required some diplomacy to ask the right ones, so as to get right answers, for Master Mellin was a clever brat, extraordinary sharp and suspicious. However, Claudia thought that she could manage him, and, to attract his attention, raised her voice in the Australian "Cooee!" Neddy turned his head and halted when he saw her coming down the path. He liked Miss Lemby, as she was a "very scrumptious gal"--his own words--and, moreover, had given him a packet of cigarettes, which was wrong of Claudia, considering the boy's tender years. Neddy looked uncommonly smart in an Eton suit, which suited his slim, well-knit figure perfectly. Decidedly, he was a handsome lad, so angelic in appearance, that she wondered how he managed to keep his shady character out of his face. Neddy was an unscrupulous little wretch, he stopped at nothing to get his own way and his own enjoyment, thereby greatly resembling his elders.
"You do look smart, Neddy," said Claudia, when she reached the boy. "Why are you not in London?"
"I came down to see mother," said Neddy, whose diction, as the listener noted, was much improved, even in the short time he had been under tuition. "She always wants to see me every week, so that she may know that I am safe. Coming down on to the beach, miss?"
"Yes. I am out for a walk. I have not been down this way before."
"It's just as well, miss," said Neddy, sagely, and led the way down to the sands. "This place here is dangerous."
"Dangerous!" Claudia looked, at the billowy sand-mounds.
"Yes. See," and Neddy pointed to a distant patch of glistening sand, which looked oozy and damp and treacherous. "Quicksands, miss."
Claudia stared and shivered. "What a nasty-looking place."
"Aye, and it is nasty, too, miss. Folks have told me again and again how other folk have, been swallowed up yonder."
"There should be a sign that it is dangerous."
"There was a sign," chuckled Neddy, "but it was swallowed up also, if you or me got in there," he added, fixing his innocent blue eyes on the gleaming expanse, "we'd go down to hell."
"Don't talk like that, you horrid little boy."
"I'm not little, though I may be horrid, miss. I'm grown up, I am, and next week I sing at the Tit-Bits, Music-Hall. 'Sally in our Alley's' what I'm going to sing. The chap as teaches me says I'll make a hit. It's good pay, too, miss, I do say. But there"--Neddy's face fell--"I've got to hand over the dibs to my blessed mother."
"Why do you speak of your mother in that way?"
"Well, I can't call her my cussed mother, can I miss?"
Claudia laughed, and then became grave to rebuke him. "You are a wicked boy to talk of your mother in that way. It is just as well that she should get your salary. You are too young to know the value of money."
"Oh, am I? Well, that's a good one. May I smoke?"
Claudia laughed again at this politeness, and sat down on a convenient boulder. "You shouldn't smoke at your age."
"Who gave me cigarettes?" asked Neddy, shyly.
"I was very wrong to encourage you. I don't think," added Claudia, with a view to arriving at the point she aimed at, "that your aunt would give you tobacco."
Neddy sat down and lighted up with the impudent air of a robin. "I take it," he remarked, coolly, "she smokes herself, and I sneak what I want. Aunt Laura ain't bad. A dashing sort of woman, ain't she?"
"She'd box your ears if she heard you say that, Neddy."
"She wouldn't. Aunt Laura daren't lay a finger on me."
"Why not?" Claudia became aware that there was a threat hidden here.
"Because I know----" Neddy hesitated, and stole a cunning glance at his companion. "Well, I know what I know."
"Lady Wyke has been very kind to you, Neddy."
"Kind? Oh, yes, very kind," Neddy sneered, and then smiled blandly.
"You're a wicked little boy, you know, to steal letters."
Master Mellin dropped his cigarette and looked startled. "She told you?"
Claudia nodded. "Yes. She wants----"
"You needn't talk." Neddy waved his hand grandly. "I know. Aunt Laura wants to marry the nut you're sweet on. I twigged that ages ago. She didn't know how to manage to nab him, so I helped her."
"By giving her that letter?"
Neddy nodded in his turn. "I read it, you know miss," and he leered so significantly that Claudia looked upon him as the leading pupil in Mr. Fagin's evil Academy. "I'm rather sorry I did," went on Neddy, "as the nut belongs to you, but only in that way could I make the old gal help me."
"You unscrupulous little animal!" burst out Claudia, positively afraid of the lad's shrewdness. "You have made a lot of mischief."
"I could have made more, miss. 'Spose I'd given that letter to old Purse?"
Claudia shivered, and saw the necessity of propitiating him. "You didn't do that, I am glad to say."
"No. 'Cause I like Mr. Craver. He's a good sort, and has promised to give me a ride in his aeroplane."
"Why did you steal the letter at all?" asked Claudia, nervously.
"Well, you see, I arrived just when that old cove was slaughtered. Old Mrs. Vence, she wouldn't let me see the corpse as much as I wanted to, so I nicked the letter lying on the hall table just to punish her. You see, if the letter was missing I guessed she'd get beans. When she did I intended to bring the letter back."
"But she didn't get beans as you call it."
"No. Rum thing, as nothing was about that letter, miss. Well, then, when I saw that nothing was asked at the inquest, I opened the letter and read it. I'm fly enough to know as it meant Mr. Craver was in the house when the old cove died, seeing the letter said as he was coming. But I didn't go for to say a thing, knowing Mr. Craver ain't at all a bad sort, nor his pa and ma either. I stowed away the letter, telling no one, not even mother, and only showed it to Aunt Laura when she was sweet on Mr. Craver."
"You might have thought of me, Neddy."
"Didn't know you then, though it was Hedgerton talk as you were going to marry Mr. Craver. Aunt Laura she got the letter before you came down. When you came and were nice to me and gave me cigarettes. I was sorry. But don't you be afeared, miss. Mr. Craver didn't do it."
"How do you know?" asked Claudia, eagerly.
"Ah, that's tellings." Master Mellin winked.
"I shall ask Sergeant Purse to make you say what you mean!" cried Claudia.
Neddy laughed. "Then all about the letter will come out, and Mr. Craver will be put in chokey. There ain't no sense, in that."
"Do you know the truth?"
"No." Neddy looked innocently surprised. "How should I know the truth? I only come to Maranatha just after the old cove had been murdered. But I'm uncommonly certain as Mr. Craver hadn't no hand in the business."
"Can you help me to prove that?" pleaded Claudia, who saw very well that the boy was a valuable witness if dealt with diplomatically.
"I can give you a tip," said Neddy, after a pause.
"Give it to me, then."
"Go and ask Sergeant Purse to show you the knife as was used."
"What good will that do?"
"Well," said Master Mellin, shrewdly, "it seems to me, though, I'm only a boy, as Sergeant Purse ought to hunt for the cove as owns that knife. It was sticking in the heart of the old cove you know, and the sergeant has it. I saw it at the inquest, and it don't seem to be the kind of knife Mr. Craver would use, nohow. Mr. Craver, he cut on Hall's bike; but the cove as did the trick, miss, cleared out in another way."
Claudia asked further questions, and received evasive answers. Master Mellin evidently had said all that he intended to say at the moment, so there was little use in prolonging the conversation. Along with the boy, Claudia climbed up the path again, and left Neddy again at the Rectory gate. In a most polite way, he lifted his straw hat in farewell; but she detained him for a few minutes, in the hope of getting him to say more. He smiled like an angel, shook his head like an old man, and resolutely refused to open his mouth. There was nothing for it but to let him go, which Claudia did.
All the same, his hint about the knife dwelt in her memory. It was indeed, strange, that the police authorities had not followed up this important clue. Without doubt, if the knife was a peculiar one, which Neddy hinted, its owner might be discovered; and once he was found, then the truth would become known. Miss Lemby retired to bed on that night resolved to see Sergeant Purse on the morrow and learn what she could. Having been engaged to Sir Hector, there was ample excuse for her to ask questions. In the anxiety and interest caused by Neddy's conversation Claudia quite forgot her tussle with Lady Wyke, and passed a better night in consequence.
By three o'clock next day she found herself standing with her bicycle before the door of the Redleigh Police-office, and entered to ask for the sergeant. Luck stood her friend, for the sergeant, usually out on his rounds, happened to be in and disengaged. Claudia was admitted into the sanctum of the official, and was amiably received by the foxy-faced little man. As usual, he was as dry as a mummy in his looks, and his eyes were more than ever like those of a rat. He was uncommonly polite to Miss Lemby, since he knew her story, and was sorry for her.
"I hope you've got over it, miss," said the sergeant, placing a chair for his visitor. "It was a hot time for you, that same murder."
"I am getting over it," Claudia assured him with a faint smile. "And it was a very painful time as I respected Sir Hector."
"I don't think he behaved very well, Miss Lemby."
"Oh, I think he did. After all, sergeant, he did not know that his wife was alive, you know. It was all a mistake. But I have called to ask if you have a clue to the assassin?"
"No, Miss Lemby. I quite understand why you should come and ask, as naturally, you'd like to see the villain hanged. Lady Wyke would like to see it also. I can't catch him, however. He went off on that bicycle, and vanished into thin air, like those witches in the play."
"Well, Mr. Purse. I have been thinking over the matter," said Claudia, with diplomatic frankness, "and it occurred to me that you should follow the clue of the knife. You have it, I believe?"
"Oh, yes," Sergeant Purse rose and went to a shelf at the further end of his office to fumble there, "but I don't see, how we can follow that clue."
"Why not? Someone told me that the knife was a peculiar one. Can't you trace it to the shop where it was bought?"
"It's an idea certainly, Miss Lemby," said Purse, returning with a parcel in his hand. "Look at the knife yourself. It is a peculiar one."
He untied a string and unrolled several sheets of paper. Then Claudia saw a sailors clasp-knife with a handle of black bone decorated with three broad stripes of inlaid silver. "This is the knife, Miss Lemby." said the officer. Claudia gasped and felt herself grow faint. The knife belonged to her father.
How Claudia managed to leave the office of Sergeant Purse and reach homo she never clearly knew. In some extraordinary way she contrived to keep from fainting and maintain her composure, so that the officer suspected nothing. After a time she complained that the room was close, and she felt that the fresh air would do her good. Purse, quite ignorant of the true cause of this unexpected nervousness, accompanied her outside and helped her to mount her bicycle in a most amiable way. As she rode off he thanked her for the suggestion she had made, and declared his intention of following the clue of the knife. All the way to Hedgerton Claudia thought over what she had done, and reached the Rectory in quite a fainting condition. Little Mrs. Craver met her at the door and ascribed her pale looks and nerveless limbs to the long ride. Claudia gladly accepted the excuse and the scolding and the order that she should lie down, as she wished to avert suspicion, and also to be alone to think over matters. Never in after years did the girl forget that next hour.
Lying on her bed, with her face pressed against the pillow, Claudia kept assuring herself that she was mistaken. It was sinful of her to suspect her father of such wickedness, and she deserved to be punished for even thinking of such a thing. But the question which agonised her was: What did this particular knife mean in relation to Wyke's death? There was only one answer to the question. The knife had been found sticking in Wyke's heart, and the man who thrust it into that same heart was the criminal. Her father was the man--her father was the criminal. Claudia remained all that evening in bed, and again Mrs. Craver ascribed the weakness to the exhausting ride on the bicycle to Redleigh.
All the long night she pondered and thought and reasoned, and cried out against her reason. When the dawn came she rose and took a cold bath, which refreshed her. There was no excuse for her to remain in bed for the day, so Claudia, wan and haggard, went down to breakfast. There she heard news which cheered her up.
"Edwin is coming here to-day in his aeroplane, my dear," said Mr. Craver, who was reading his letters. "He will be here at two o'clock this afternoon. What excitement this will cause in Hedgerton."
"I only hope Edwin won't break his neck," cried Mrs. Craver, wrathfully. "Oh, how foolish the rising generation is! There's nothing to hold on by in one of these airships, and if he falls he will be killed."
Naturally, the Rector, wishing to give the villagers pleasure, did not keep the news to himself. He told his wife to tell the servants, and the servants told everyone that came on that morning to the Rectory. By noon the whole of Hedgerton knew that Master Edwin was arriving in an airship, and great was the excitement. From what the young man had said in his letter it was known that he would alight on the cliffs, where there were vast spaces along which the aeroplane could run when it settled down like a bird. Consequently, long before two o'clock the coastguard station was surrounded by crowds people. In their anxiety to see the latest invention of science and to witness the conquest of the air by man, the whole population of the little village assembled on the cliffs. Claudia came also with the Rector and Mrs. Craver, who were both very anxious and very proud of the coming event. The girl glanced round to see if Lady Wyke was present, but could not see her. She did not even catch a glimpse of Neddy, and learnt later from his mother that the boy had returned to town on the previous day. Claudia drew a deep breath of relief at the news. She knew very well that Neddy could be trusted to be silent; yet it was a comfort to know that he was absent. Miss Lemby could not explain to herself why it was a comfort; but somehow she felt more at ease without this Puck in an Eton suit hovering round. And, as Lady Wyke was also conspicuous by her absence, Claudia abandoned herself to the general excitement of the coming arrival of Edwin from the skies.
"I do wish Edwin would come," said Mrs. Craver again and again as the hour drew near. "Do you think he has met with an accident, George?"
"Let us hope he hasn't, my dear," answered the Rector, who was likewise anxious. "But he is not due yet, so we have no reason to think that anything sad has happened!"
"There he is! There he is!" shouted a keen-sighted coastguard, who had a spyglass at his eye. "Yonder he comes."
"Where? Where? Where?" shouted everyone, much excited, and looked north, south, east and west without seeing anything.
The coastguard ran with his spyglass to the Rector. "Look, sir! Over yonder--over yonder!" and he pointed seaward.
With a trembling hand, the Rector adjusted the glass, then uttered' and ejaculation of thankfulness. "Yes. The aeroplane is coming along like a great bird. Emma----"
"Don't ask me to look, George. I am trembling all over."
But Claudia looked and saw a black speck glowing larger as it came nearer. In a few minutes the hum of the aeroplane was distinctly heard, and with the naked eye everyone could see the machine swinging towards the cliffs high in the blue. The excitement was intense. Mrs. Craver had to be supported by Claudia, so weak did she feel at her son soaring in space. Nearer and nearer came the black dot, louder and louder became the burr of the aeroplane, and finally, like a great dragonfly it swept in huge circles over the land, and settled like a feather, running along the ground swiftly in its impetus until willing hands laid hold of it to bring it to a standstill. Then the crowd rushed to gather round, to cheer, to ask questions, and to examine the first aeroplane which had ever been in this out-of-the-way parish.
Mr. Craver, with his wife on his arm, pushed his way to the front, with his usually dreamy eyes alight with excitement. "I congratulate you, my son."
"Oh, Edwin! Edwin!" sobbed the usually unemotional mother, and clasped him in her arms as he alighted from the machine. "It's wonderful, but horrid. I know you'll be killed."
"I'm safe enough now, anyhow, mother," said Edwin, cheerfully.
"Where's Claudia?"
"Here," said the girl in a low voice, for she felt faint now that the strain was over, and all her old fears began to reassert themselves.
"Why, darling, what is the matter?" asked her lover, hastily.
"Nothing--nothing--that is, I'll tell you when you come home."
It was not easy for the hero to reach home. He had to submit to incessant handshaking; he had to get his aeroplane under shelter; and it had to be attended to in other ways connected with the engine and wide-spread wings. There was an old barn on the cliffs which Edwin had arranged to use for his machine long ago, so it was run into this, and the doors were closed, much to the regret of the crowd anxious to contemplate the wonder. Edwin promised to give an exhibition on the morrow, and then walked home with his parents and Claudia.
As Mr. and Mrs. Craver were both asking questions concerning his flight from Hendon all the way, Claudia had no opportunity of speaking to her lover. But on arrival at the Rectory the watchful mother gave the girl the opportunity of having a quiet moment with Edwin. Mrs. Craver drew her husband away, saying that it was best to leave the young people to themselves, and so the couple found themselves in the drawing-room. Edwin at once demanded why Claudia looked so ill, and she explained how she had bearded Lady Wyke, how Neddy had advised her to search for the owner of the knife, and how the sight of the knife in the Redleigh Police-office had informed her that the owner was none other than her own father.
"Isn't it dreadful," Edwin? sobbed flic girl, when she had finished her breathless narrative; "but father can't have murdered that poor old man."
"Of course he didn't," said Edwin, cheerfully, although he was more startled by the news than Claudia guessed. "We shall ask for an explanation. I am sure he will give one."
"You don't think he is guilty, Edwin?"
"No, I don't, dear. Appearances are rather against him, as they are against me. But I am innocent, and so is your father."
"Did you see him in London? You went up to see him, remember."
"No, I did not. He was absent when I called at Tenby Mansions."
"Oh we must see him! We must see him!" cried Claudia, wringing her hands.
"We shall see him together," said Craver, soothing her gently. Don't worry, my darling. I feel sure that everything will come out right.
"But Lady Wyke?"
"She won't do anything. She is not sure of her ground. All the same, Claudia, it was a risk going."
"Yes, I know. But I wanted to hear what she knew."
"There is another person who knows more. We must see her, Claudia. If anyone knows the truth of this crime, it is Mrs. Vence."