Robin woke calmer after his rest. The nervous excitement had passed away, but the reaction had left him as weak as a child. He looked shrivelled up and pale when Herrick saw him. At once the doctor sat down to feel the little man's pulse, which was slow and faint.
"You must stay in bed to-day," ordered the doctor replacing his watch. "I shall send you up some strong soup. Sleep as much as you can, that is the best thing to pull you round."
"Should I not get up to look after this business with you?"
"There is no need. The police have taken charge of the Case. Your evidence is exactly the same as mine, so I shall represent you at the Inquest."
"Is there to be an inquest?" asked Joyce with languid interest.
"Certainly! This afternoon at the house. From what Inspector Bridge told me it would seem that Colonel Carr was shot on Tuesday night."
"Is the dead man's name Colonel Carr?"
"Yes! Wicked Colonel Carr. From all accounts he was one of the worst."
"Why did he commit suicide?"
"He did not, if Bridge is to be believed. He insists that the man was shot--perhaps by his servant, who has vanished. However we shall hear all that is to be heard this afternoon."
A colour crept into the wan cheek of Joyce. "I should like to get up and hear all about it," said he, "there might be material for a story."
"You can hear details later on. At present you must stay in bed, until we return to Town."
"What about our walking tour?"
"I have decided to cut that short," replied the doctor, "this adventure has given me a distaste for the trip. In a day or so, when you are rested we will return to London. My practice is small but I must attend to it."
"And what about me Jim?"
"Well!" reflected Herrick, "you are now well enough off not to make work an imperative necessity. I think you should go abroad for a time, and do nothing, until you are quite yourself. Explore Italy or Spain, and don't do a stroke of work. Change of scene and company will make you your old self again in a short time."
"Never, never!" moaned Joyce. "I shall never get over her death."
"Nonsense! Don't give way Robin. You must be a man--"
"It was so sudden," pleaded Robin piteously.
"I know. Didn't I attend her! But apoplexy always ends suddenly. Your mother was a stout woman and took no exercise. That fit might have been expected; I warned her often. You know I am sorry for your loss Robin; but sorrow will not bring back the dead. You have your part to play in the world, so you must put this grief behind you. If I talk a little brutally, you must excuse me. To a man of your temperament, sympathy is the worst thing possible."
In Herrick's hands Joyce was more or less of a child, so he submitted--rather against his will--to remain in bed, while his friend went forth to hear the news. As might have been guessed Robin employed his solitude in gloating over his sorrow. This weakness he did not dare to reveal to Jim, fearing lest he should be lectured again. Still, he could not but acknowledge to himself that Herrick's advice was sensible.
Meantime the doctor made a tour of the village. The villagers, swarming like bees in the excitement of the moment, recognised a stranger, and guessed that this was one of the two gentlemen said to have discovered the body. Hence Herrick found himself the subject of considerable curiosity, but was not molested or accosted in any way, until he met with a clergyman. This was on the outskirts of the village, where a gorse-covered common stretched up to the pine wood surrounding the house of Colonel Carr. The parson seemed to have been wandering on the waste land, for he appeared suddenly at Herrick's elbow like a ghost. Probably he had seen the stranger coming and had just stepped out from behind a bush.
"You are Dr. Herrick?" he asked nervously.
Jim signified that he was. "I am, addressing the vicar?" he hazarded.
"The rector," corrected the other. "I am Mr. Pentland Corn. You will excuse my breaking in on your meditations," he continued, "but I guessed that you were the finder of the body of our late lamented friend."
"Humph! From all I have heard, there is very little lamentation over the Colonel's death."
"Scandal and evil tongues," replied Mr. Corn rather tautologically, "Carr had his good points."
"That is what Miss Endicotte says."
"Indeed! I was not aware that you knew Miss Endicotte?"
"She came to the inn this morning to see Inspector Bridge about this--"
"Wait!" said the Revd. Pentland in a hurry, "some mistake. Miss Bess is the journalist. Her elder sister Miss Ida is the head of the family. The nominal head I should say, since Miss Bess manages everything."
The rector smiled as he spoke, and Herrick on account of that smile took rather a fancy to him. The Revd. Pentland Corn--wonderful name--was something under forty; and looked more like a soldier than a parson. He had a smart soldierly figure, wore a moustache, and his hair cropped close. But for his clothes, Herrick would have taken him for a military man. He looked pale, there were dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed to be labouring under considerable stress of emotion. Perhaps the death of Carr had been too much for him. Yet after the first remark he shirked the subject and talked of the Endicottes.
"That is the proper name of the family," said Corn hurriedly, "a very old family in these parts. But Miss Bess calls her collective brothers and sisters 'The Biff's.'"
Dr. Jim smiled. There seemed to be something fascinating about the name, something characteristic of the girl he had met at the inn. "The Biff's," he repeated laughing outright, "and how is that derived from the high sounding name of Endicotte?"
"It is not derived from that at all Dr. Herrick. It is simply the initials of the family. There are five of them. Bess, Ida, Frank, Flo, and Sidney."
"I see; Biff's! Ha! Ha, how amusing. Do they live near here?"
"A quarter of a mile away, at the back of my house. Sidney is my pupil and a strange boy he is. But I have no business to tell all these things to a stranger," added Corn in confusion.
"Anything you say to me is perfectly safe," replied Herrick pleasantly. "I think Miss Bess a clever young lady."
"And as good as she is clever."
"A great friend of the late Colonel's I believe," said Jim.
Pentland Corn moistened his dry lips. "He was kind to her," was his reply delivered in a faint voice. "You will excuse my emotion Dr. Herrick but I am rather shaken by this death. Usually we are free from crime, and for this to happen in my parish! It is terrible.
"You knew Colonel Carr well?"
"Very well. I tried to win him from his evil ways. But he was cut off in the midst of his sin. Oh, it is awful. Yet I liked him. He was a good friend to me on one occasion. The reason I stopped you, was to ask if you met anyone in the house last night."
"No one. Myself and my friend hunted all over it. The servant bolted, I have been told."
"Frisco has certainly disappeared," responded Corn looking at the ground, "but I do not think he is the guilty person. He was devoted to the Colonel."
"Then why did he run away?"
"Ah! who can say! There was a mystery in Colonel Carr's life Mr. Herrick, which I fear will never be cleared up. You will be at the Inquest?"
"Yes. It takes place at three this afternoon. And you sir?"
"No! I shall not be there. I cannot bear to--but that is neither here nor there," broke off Corn hurriedly, "tell me, was the house alight?"
"Every room was lighted. It blazed like a palace in the wood."
"Colonel Carr's whim. He surrounded himself with the most beautiful things and installed the electric light. Water power you know," added the rector rather inconsequently. "I expect the wheel was going constantly for the two days before the body was discovered."
Herrick recollected the murmur in the wood, and now guessed that it came from the waterfall, which turned the wheel for the dynamos. There was no doubt that Colonel Carr surrounded himself with every comfort. "Did he ever have guests to stay with him?" he asked.
The rector made a gesture of surprise. "If you had known Colonel Carr you would not ask such a question. He hated his fellow-mortals."
"Then why had he so many bedrooms?"
"I cannot tell you. But I am certain that he never had anyone to stay in the house. I have been in it once or twice myself, and Miss Bess has paid a visit. But no other person has ever entered."
"Humph! Quite a mystery. What about Marsh?"
"Ah I expect you heard of him from Miss Bess. He is a great friend of the Biffs. Stephen Marsh will inherit the Colonel's property I expect."
"What relation was he to Carr?"
"His nephew. But the two never spoke. They hated each other."
"Mrs. Marsh then is the Colonel's sister?"
"Oh, dear me no. The present Mrs. Marsh is only step-mother to Stephen. A violent terrible woman with Italian blood in her veins. It was she I think who put Stephen against his uncle."
"She is very ill I hear. Pneumonia."
"Dear me," said Corn startled, "why she was at my house on Tuesday! But it was raining when Stephen came for her. I expect she got a chill then."
"No doubt. At all events she is seriously ill now I understand."
"Ha!" said the rector and looked down again. "I wonder if any doctor will attend her. She has quarrelled with them all. Well, there is no more to be said Dr. Herrick. By the way, if I have talked freely, you must excuse me for doing so. I have a reason. Some day I hope to tell it to you. Are you stopping here for long?"
"A day or so. I am on a walking tour with my friend Mr. Joyce. We return shortly to London. Good-day Mr. Corn."
"Good-day," replied the rector raising his hat, and slipped away into the gorse bushes like a ghost.
Herrick walked on somewhat puzzled. What was the meaning of this frank speech, to a stranger. The parson looked smarter and more of a man of the world than many serious minded people would have approved of. Yet he had talked, to say the least of it, in a most indiscreet manner. Moreover he had promised (quite unnecessarily) to explain his reason for doing so to the doctor. What did it all mean? "Does he know something, as well as Miss Bess?" thought Herrick returning to the inn. "Both of them seem to have a better opinion of Colonel Carr, than the rest of the people. Humph! I seem to be surrounded by mysteries here. Well. We shall see what the inquest will do."
Robin proved more fractious than Herrick expected. He was most anxious to be present at the inquest: but in the end over-ruled by the stronger will of his friend, he consented to remain where he was. The doctor walked by himself to the Pines, and was received by Inspector Bridge who introduced him to the Coroner, and to Dr. Tiler, who had examined the body. After some discussion, Bridge collected a jury of mixed villagers and Beorminster citizens. After these had inspected the body, the witnesses were called.
Herrick gave evidence of his discovery, of the position of the body, and of the condition of the house. He was followed by Tiler, who declared that in his opinion Carr had been shot on Tuesday night (going by the condition of the body). He flouted the idea of suicide.
"The shirt-front was neither blackened nor singed," said Tiler, "and it would have been had the deceased fired the revolver at so close a range. He was shot through the heart, and as I believe, by someone who stood at the door. It seems to me, that he was standing by the bed, and heard a footstep on the stairs. At once he turned, only to meet the levelled revolver. The shot passed through his heart and imbedded itself in the opposite wall. Again, there are three other shots in different parts of the body. One in the neck, another in the abdomen, and a third in the right leg. But the shot that killed the deceased was the the first that went through the heart."
"How do you know that such a shot was the first?" asked the Coroner.
"From an examination of the wounds," replied Tiler, "the remaining three shots were fired when the man was down.
"And dead!" said the Coroner aghast.
"Certainly. The deceased must have died almost instantaneously."
A thrill of horror passed through those present at the idea, that the assassin had fired three more shots at the dead body. There was something horrible about the wreaking of such vengeance. And vengeance it must have been, for Bridge proved that no robbery had taken place.
But the most interesting part of Bridge's evidence was yet to come. He produced the revolver found in the hand of the dead man. All six chambers proved to be loaded. Therefore it would not have been this weapon which had been used. The idea of suicide was out of the question.
"Also gentlemen," continued the Inspector, "the first shot was fired with a different weapon to that employed to fire the other three. The bullet which passed through the heart and embedded itself in the wall, has been extracted. Here it is. The other three shots were found in the body and in the floor. Here they are."
The pieces of evidence thus produced were placed before the jury. The first bullet was round--of the old-fashioned kind fired from a muzzle-loading pistol. The remaining three were conical in shape, and of the most modern manufacture. Plainly then two pistols had been used. One of an antique pattern to fire the first shot--the shot which killed the Colonel: and the other a revolver of the most modern type. And this latter had been merely employed to make a target of the dead body. "Finally," said Bridge after explaining all this, "the third pistol--or rather revolver found in the hand of the deceased, was not fired at all. The chambers are loaded--there is no smoke-stain on the barrels. It was simply put into the left hand of the dead to hint at suicide. The person who did so, knew that Colonel Carr was left-handed, but in his agitation forgot that the six chambers were loaded. In fact he defeated his own scheme."
This evidence was surprising enough. Why should the assassin use two pistols, when one would have sufficed? "And?" asked the Coroner, "why do you say 'he' Mr. Inspector? Do you then think that the guilty person is a man?"
"I don't think a woman would have committed so brutal a murder," said Bridge bluntly. "She would have been satisfied with killing the man, and not have proceeded to mutilate the body. Also the idea of putting a revolver into the hand of the dead would not occur to a woman."
"There I differ from you Mr. Inspector," contradicted the Coroner, "a woman might do such a thing, and it is more likely a woman would forget in her agitation that the revolver was loaded, than would a man in the like circumstances."
Inspector and Coroner argued out this point. At length Bridge losing his temper stated that he believed Frisco shot his master and called Napper as a witness.
The landlord stated that on Tuesday night at six o'clock Frisco had been drinking rum at the Carr Arms. He seemed to be angry with his master whom he alleged had treated him badly. As he left the inn, about seven o'clock, he said, "let him take care, or he won't live long." At the time Napper thought it was merely a drunken threat; but in the face of the death and Frisco's flight he thought that the man was guilty. Of course the Coroner, who had lost his temper with Bridge, told Napper that he did not want his opinion, but simply his evidence. There was further trouble about this remark, in which the Inspector got the worst of it.
A final witness was Stephen Marsh. He was a tall slight young man with bowed shoulders, and a pensive face. He stated that he had called on the evening of the murder for his mother at the rectory. She had been up at "The Pines" in the afternoon, and as she drove home told him, that Colonel Carr had expressed his intention of living for many a long day.
Coroner. "Why is Mrs. Marsh not here to give evidence?"
Marsh. "My mother is seriously ill in bed and could not come."
Coroner. "Her evidence must be taken. Did she say how the conversation came about to induce the deceased to make such a speech."
Marsh. "Yes! My mother wanted the Colonel to lend her some money. He refused. She said that he might as well, as when he died the estate would come to me. It was then that my uncle expressed his determination to live for many a long day. I merely give this evidence to show that my uncle had no thought of committing suicide."
Coroner. "Have you seen your uncle lately?"
Marsh. "No! Not for six months. We were not on good terms."
Coroner. "How was it then that Mrs. Marsh called to see him on the afternoon of the murder?"
Marsh. "She was determined to go. I asked her not to, but she insisted."
At this reply there came a smile upon the faces of those of the jury who lived at Beorminster. Afterwards Herrick learned that Mrs. Marsh was well known as possessed of a violent temper, and there was no doubt (as some one remarked) that she had given the Colonel a good talking to.
However the evidence of Marsh did not point to who had killed Carr. At the time there was no more available evidence. Bridge insisted that Frisco was guilty. He had left the house in the clothes he stood up in, evidently driven forth in a panic. He had made inquiries, and had heard from the police at Southberry, that Frisco--or a person answering to the description of Frisco--had gone to London by the morning train. At this moment Herrick asked to be allowed to give further evidence. He had just recollected that he had seen such a man as was described.
"I was stopping at Southberry," said Herrick, "waiting for my friend Mr. Joyce who had gone to London. He went up on Tuesday morning. I was stopping at an inn near the railway station. I got up early--about seven--to send a wire to my house in London. I had to go to the telegraph office at the station. On the platform I saw a stout man with a soft hat pulled over his face. He was dressed in a blue serge suit with a red tie, and looked like a sailor. I waited until the London train went, and saw him get into a third class carriage."
Coroner. "How is it Dr. Herrick that you recollect this only now?"
"Because I never thought of the matter before. Since Inspector Bridge has given a description of the dress and especially the red tie. I am sure the man was Frisco. I did not see his face."
The Coroner was displeased with this evidence, and said so. In fact he was a disagreeable man, with a strong animus against Bridge. As there was no more evidence, he summed up, trying to prove that Frisco could have had nothing to do with the murder. However the jury were of a different opinion and more sensible, so they brought in a verdict of wilful murder against Frisco. This made the Coroner ill-tempered again and he left "The Pines" in a great rage. However the verdict was given, the inquest was at an end, and the jury left the house.
Stephen Marsh as the nearest relative of the dead man, asked Bridge to allow the three policeman to remain in the house, as he had to return to his mother. Bridge consented, and then Marsh went up to Herrick who was standing in the hall.
"Doctor," said he, "will you come with me to Beorminster? I want you to attend my mother."
Herrick stared. "She has a doctor already has she not Mr. Marsh?"
Marsh shook his head. "No," he replied in a low voice "no Beorminster doctor will attend her. Please come sir. She is so ill."
Although he was partly prepared for this explanation, Herrick could not help staring. What had Mrs. Marsh done that the medical fraternity at Beorminster should boycott her in this way? "You are quite sure that no one will attend her?" he asked incredulously.
"Perfectly. She has quarrelled with all the doctors. I am very lucky to find you Dr. Herrick, or I should be obliged to send to London or to Southberry. And we are so poor, that the expense would be too much for us. You will come I hope."
Jim liked the young man's face. It was soft and mild, but remarkably handsome in a dark way. He could quite understand from such a face that a woman of imperious temper such as Mrs. Marsh appeared to be, could dominate and bully her step-son. If fact Stephen gave Herrick the impression of being crushed. It seemed to be Herrick's fate to meet with people who needed to be bolstered up,--witness Robin Joyce. Also he had a shrewd suspicion that the Revd. Pentland Corn was of the weak type. The proverb says that some men come into the world booted and spurred others saddled and bridled. Herrick was of the former type, and these three weaklings of the latter. However, in spite of his strong will, and dominating character, Jim had a kind heart. He therefore consented to do Marsh the favour he asked.
"But I must go first to the inn," he said, "my friend is there, and I must see after him."
"I'll wait for you," said Stephen, "but pray do not be long. I think my mother is dying."
"Nonsense," said Dr. Jim cheerily, "I'll pull her round. Never give way."
Marsh put out his hand and shook Jim's. "I have wanted a friend for many a long day," he said. "I believe I have found one in you."
"That's all right Marsh," and so Jim took a second burden on his shoulder.
On their way to the inn, Herrick and his companion, met Bess Endicotte. She looked angry and her eyes sparkled as she advanced towards the two men.
"Isn't it a shame?" she said rapidly, "that verdict I mean. I don't believe that Frisco killed the Colonel."
"If he did not there was no reason why he should have run away," replied Marsh.
"Well!" cried Miss Endicotte indignantly, "I did not expect to hear, you say that Stephen. You know as well as I do that the Colonel always said that Frisco was in the same danger as he was himself."
"What danger was that?" asked Herrick sharply.
Bess hesitated, and seemed to regret that she had let her tongue wag so freely, but Marsh answered for her. "We do not know what it was," he said simply, "but my uncle always hinted that he had enemies. Frisco knew his secrets; we did not."
"And if that is the case why should Frisco kill him?" retorted Bess. "However what is done can't be undone. I suppose Frisco will be arrested!"
"They'll have to catch him first," said Dr. Jim a trifle grimly, "and as the man has got away so rapidly, and is now lost in the wilderness of London, I expect they will have some difficulty in doing that."
"You are sure it was Frisco you saw at Southberry?"
"Well I did not see his face. But the clothes of the man at the station were the same in all respects as those described by Napper."
"I've put everything down," said Miss Endicotte, "and now I am going home to Biffstead to put the article into shape. But I do not believe that Frisco is guilty. Who is, I do not pretend to know; but I intend to find out."
"What the police fail to do, you cannot Bess," said Stephen wagging his head, "but we must not wait. Dr. Herrick is coming with me to Beorminster."
"I'm so glad," cried the girl. "It is a shame none of the doctors seeing your mother! How lucky that Dr. Herrick is here. I shall see you again doctor shan't I! I have much to say to you."
"I shall call on you with pleasure," said Jim gravely shaking hands. "At Biffstead I suppose?"
Both Stephen and Bess laughed. "Oh, that is only my joke," said she, "I call our family the Biffs and the house Biffstead. The Grange is where we live. Anyone will point out the place. Come when you can."
As the two men resumed their walk, Herrick could not forbear expressing himself about Bess. "What a clever girl she is," said he, "those eyes of hers twinkle like stars when she grows excited. You know the family do you not Marsh?"
"I have known them all my life. We played together as children. Ida is my greatest friend."
Herrick glanced a little jealously at the young man. "I saw her by chance at Southberry," he said carelessly, "she is very beautiful."
"Very, but not so clever as Bess. Bess is the head and tail and middle of the family. Were it not for her, it would go to pieces. But here we are at the inn. I'll wait for you here Herrick."
"I won't be long," said the doctor, and ran up the stairs.
As might be guessed Robin the selfish was by no means pleased to be left alone. He did not want Jim to go to Beorminster, not even although the call was so imperative. "What shall I do without you?" he asked.
"You will go to sleep," replied Herrick calmly, "now no nonsense Joyce. I have promised to see Mrs. Marsh and I must keep my word."
"How long will you be?"
"It all depends upon the state in which I find Mrs. Marsh. If she is very ill I may stay all night. Good-bye Robin."
"Good-bye," returned the little man a trifle sulkily, "there is far too much of the good Samaritan about you Jim."
"You never think of that in relation to yourself," said Herrick with a laugh. "I hope to be back this evening. Make yourself comfortable."
As he ran down to rejoin Marsh, he could not help contrasting the two natures of Stephen and Robin. It is true that he had not had much experience of Marsh; but from what he had seen of him, he judged that he was of a grateful, kindly disposition. Joyce on the other hand, although he looked upon Jim as his best friend, was selfish to the core. Herrick from long association, and because he had plucked him back on one occasion from the grave, was attached to him. But he oftentimes acknowledged that were not Robin an interesting "case" from a medical point of view, as he undoubtedly was, he could not stand much of him. Still he had been so long the little man's friend, that he could not tear himself away from old associations. Nevertheless Robin's yoke was beginning to gall, and Herrick was glad to get a day away from his society. Friendship is a tender plant, and nothing kills it sooner than selfishness. But Robin in his peevish self-satisfaction had not the sense to see that.
"Do you mind going by the bus?" asked Marsh with a flush. "I am not rich enough to afford a cart of any sort."
"I am quite used to public conveyances," said Herrick gaily, "and as to your being poor, the dark days are over now."
"I suppose so," replied Marsh thankfully, "at least my uncle always told me that I was to be his heir, although we quarrelled so much. I have to take the name of Carr, and fulfil certain duties. I do not know what they are, but I shall do them if only to get the money. I do so want to be rich. Ah here is the bus."
"What about the will?" asked Herrick as they climbed up to the roof of the clumsy conveyance, "pardon me, perhaps I should not ask you."
"I do not mind in the least," said Stephen, "indeed I am glad to find that you take an interest in me. I have had a lonely life. The Biffs are my only friends. By the way who told you about the Biffs?"
Herrick described his meeting with Pentland Corn, and the conversation that had ensued. "He was remarkably confidential," said Herrick.
"That is strange," said Marsh thoughtfully. "He usually keeps his mouth very much closed. However," he added in a lighter tone, "we can talk of him again. At present, we will speak of the will. I have written to my uncle's solicitors informing them of his terrible death. I expect to hear from them to-morrow or the next day--perhaps later."
"Who are your uncle's lawyers--or rather I should say yours?"
"Frith and Frith!"
"Of Steel Lane. Cheapside?" asked Herrick in a tone of surprise.
"Yes! Do you know them?"
"I know of them. They are the solicitors of my friend Joyce!"
"That is strange," said Marsh gaily, "the world is very small after all is it not. But I am forgetting my mother," he added sadly.
"I was told that Mrs. Marsh was your step-mother."
"So she is; but we get on very well together. She is devoted to me. I expect you have heard of her violent temper."
"Well I have," said Herrick hesitating, "it seems to be well known, if you will excuse my saying so."
"Oh, it's Town talk," replied Stephen with a vexed flush, "but she is really a good dear woman, and her own worst enemy. Since my father's death five years ago she has been my best friend. Once she nursed me through a most serious illness. There are worse women in the world than my step-mother Herrick, as you will find. She is a noble-looking woman, and I am glad to be rich if only for her sake. She is fond of luxury, but for my sake has borne poverty. And we have been very, very poor," finished Stephen with a sigh.
Every word the young man uttered revealed his good heart. Jim was pleased to find such an unsophisticated youth for once in his life. The young men he knew were usually old before their time, and took a pride in being so. But Marsh talked with such candour, that Herrick saw he was as simple as the day. "You are a good fellow Marsh," said Jim. "I am glad to have met you."
"I echo your compliment," said the other, "but here we are at Beorminster. I hope my mother is no worse."
The vehicle stopped at the foot of the hill upon which the cathedral was built. Herrick followed his companion up a winding street, as steep as those at Malta, and after a breathless climb found himself in the great square. The vast fabric of the cathedral rose black against a saffron sky, and the bells were ringing for the evening service. Stephen led the way towards a far corner of the square, and turned into a dingy side street sloping down the other side of the hill. Stopping at a tall narrow house three doors down, he admitted himself by means of his latch-key and conducted his companion into a dark passage. A woman with a candle held high above her head appeared at the end. She was very old, with white hair and fierce black eyes, a foreigner, as Herrick guessed.
"How is my mother, Petronella?" asked Stephen hurriedly.
"Eh Gran' Dio, bad, very bad Signor," replied the old Italian, "she die if no doctor come!"
"I have brought one, Petronella."
"Thanks be to the saints!" cried Petronella. "This way Signor Dottore. My signora is up the stair. Piano! Piano. She is bad so bad. Piano!"
Herrick suppressed a laugh. The "Piano! Piano" of Petronella reminded him of the opening chorus in the Barber of Seville. However he recovered his grave air when introduced into the bedroom of Mrs. Marsh. A few minutes examination convinced him that she was extremely ill. Her pulse was rapid, she was in a high fever, and her face looked scarlet. Still she was conscious, and when the doctor had finished with her for the time being she beckoned to her step-son.
"The death--the examination?" she asked hoarsely.
"The jury have brought in a verdict of wilful murder against Frisco."
In spite of the pain she was suffering Mrs. Marsh sank back on her pillow with a smile. "I always thought that man would kill Carr some day" she muttered. "Who is the doctor Stephen?"
Marsh detailed all he knew about Herrick while that gentleman was giving directions to Petronella. His step-mother listened attentively, and nodded when he finished. "I am glad he had the decency to come," she said. "These wretches here should be punished by the law. I don't want to die now there is a chance of being comfortable for the rest of my life."
"You must not talk Mrs. Marsh," said Herrick coming to her bedside, "and I think your son had better go downstairs."
"Am I very ill?" asked the woman.
"Oh, you are not so bad as you might be," replied Jim cheerfully, "do not excite yourself, obey my directions, and you will be all right shortly."
"I suffer such pains," moaned Mrs. Marsh, "I can get no sleep. Chloral."
"What's that?" asked Herrick sharply.
"Chloral or morphia. Give me something to soothe the pain."
"I'll see to it," said the doctor cheerfully, and looked at the handsome face of his patient. He saw that she was a highly-strung woman, and from the word she had used he guessed that she was in the habit of taking chloral to induce sleep. Mrs. Marsh was the kind of person who would end her days in a mad-house, if not soothed by artificial means. From the passionate expression in her eyes, the wrinkles on her face, her impatient gestures, Herrick saw that she had absolutely no control over her temper. Perhaps the rumours he had heard of her influenced such a judgment; but afterwards he found that he was absolutely right. The outbursts of rage to which Mrs. Marsh was subject were little removed from madness. The only person who could deal with her was Petronella, who (as Herrick learned) had been her nurse, and knew how to manage and humour her.
"I shall stay here all night," he said to the Italian, after certain remedies had been applied. "Make up a bed for me somewhere and send out to the chemist for this prescription to be made up."
It was late when Jim descended. He found Stephen waiting for him at the foot of the stairs, and was conducted by him into a small bare room, sparsely furnished with two arm chairs, a few 'books and a table covered with writing materials. Herrick rather tired, threw himself into one of the chairs, and informed Stephen that he would stay the night.
"Is my mother so ill?" asked the young man anxiously.
"Pretty bad, but I have seen worse cases. Don't you trouble yourself Marsh. I'll do the best I can to save her life."
"Save her life," echoed Stephen sadly. "Ah, what a terrible thing it will be if she dies now, when wealth is coming. She always wanted to be rich and now--life is very cruel."
"That depends upon the way you look at it," said Jim. "Give me some supper Marsh, and a whisky. I feel rather played out."
The meal was waiting in a poverty-stricken looking dining-room. Jim saw that the pauperism of the Marshes was no fiction. They were evidently terribly poor. Certainly the Colonel had done nothing to alleviate their distress. "He would not give us a penny," said Stephen after supper, and when they were smoking in the small room which proved to be the young man's special sanctum. "All the time he kept telling me that I was his heir, but refused to help my mother and me. I do not want to speak evil of the dead" added Stephen, "but Colonel Carr--" he shook his head.
By this time Herrick had seen his patient sinking into a sleep, and leaving Petronella to call him should anything go wrong, was prepared for a little conversation. He utilised the time by asking Marsh about himself and his uncle. The young man answered him with the utmost frankness, and indeed seemed glad to have a friend in whom he could confide.
"My father was a gentleman farmer," he said, "but he attended more to pleasure than to business. While out hunting, he saved the life of Miss Carr the Colonel's sister. Afterwards she married him. I was their only child, for my mother died when I was born. My father lost all his money from reckless living, and went abroad for economy. In Italy he met my step-mother, who is the daughter of an English consul by an Italian mother. He met her in a little town on the Adriatic coast. Her father was dead and she was alone save for Petronella. It was her intention to become a singer; but she fell in love with my father. He brought her home to Beorminster, along with Petronella, who would not leave her. With what remained of his money, my father bought this house. Five years ago he died, leaving my mother two hundred a year. With this freehold and that income we have managed to scrape along. I was educated at Bedford, and afterwards went to Oxford. My father said that though he could give me no money, he could at least afford me a decent education. I believe he pinched himself to do so. Mrs. Marsh helped me; for she has always been good to me. I was twenty-one years old when my father died, and after the funeral I wanted to go to London and become a journalist. Mrs. Marsh however would not hear of this. She insisted that I was the Colonel's heir and that I should wait till he died.----"
"Ah!" interrupted Herrick shaking his head, "bad thing waiting for dead men's shoes."
"Do you think it was my wish to do so?" protested Stephen passionately. "I should much have preferred to earn my own living, and fight my way in London. I have some talent as a poet and a writer, and I was prepared to battle with the world like other people. But Mrs. Marsh made me stop with her. I am twenty-six years of age now, and I have done nothing. I write poetry and send it to the American magazines, also a few prose articles. These keep me supplied with pocket-money. It was Bess who put me on to the New York papers. There, the editors are more open to new talent."
"And the Colonel refused to help you?"
"Always. But I never asked him. I hated that man," said Marsh between his teeth. "I never went near his house. At times my mother called to see him. She always fought viciously with him, and I think he liked her for that. Most people were afraid of him, and he admired her for standing up to him. Colonel Carr thought me a fool and a weakling because I stayed with Mrs. Marsh instead of going out into the world. But I ask you Herrick, what else could I have done? Mrs. Marsh had always been good to me; she sacrificed much so that I might be well educated, so the least I could do was to stop with her. Again and again I wanted her to come with me to London; but she always refused."
"I understand," said Jim, filling his pipe, "she wished to keep an eye on the Colonel."
"I think so. Carr always said that I was to be his heir. He has no relative but me, and he was reported to be wealthy."
"I should think so Marsh. That house is filled with treasure! Did he inherit his money?"
Stephen looked up alertly. "Ah, now you are touching on the secret of Carr's life," he said with some excitement. "His father died ruined, and left him nothing but 'The Pines' with a few acres of farm, and corn-land. Do you know how old Colonel Carr was, doctor?"
"No! I saw him only after his death. Not very old I should say."
"Just sixty," replied Stephen, "and into his life he crammed enough wickedness to fill a century. He was twenty when his father died, and in the army. By gambling and speculating he supported himself, and left his sister, my mother, in that old ruined house. Afterwards he left the army--cashiered for cheating at cards, and led a hand to mouth existence. But he would never sell 'The Pines,' however hard up he was. He stopped there on occasions, and played the devil all round. I can't tell you how bad he was. It is the common-talk of the countryside. He was called Mad Carr, and Wicked Carr."
"Colonel Carr?" put in Herrick.
"No! he was only a captain when he left the army at the age of thirty. I believe he called himself Colonel when he returned ten years ago."
"From what quarter of the world?"
Marsh shook his head. "I cannot tell you," said he slowly, "for twenty years Carr vanished from England. My mother was left behind in the old house, and afterwards married my father. She should have made a better match, but she had little money, and the reputation of her brother did her no good. However she married my father, and afterwards died when I was born. That was the end of her. The Colonel left his lawyers to look after the property, and remained away. I always heard that it was in South America he picked up his money. At all events he returned here ten years ago with plenty of cash. The first thing he did was to put the house in order, and fill it with splendid furniture. He engaged a staff of servants, and wanted to entertain. At first the people were disposed to be friendly, but he went on worse than ever, and everybody cut him. In a rage he sent away all the servants and only kept Frisco."
"Did Frisco come back with him from South America?"
"Yes! But whether it was South America or North I cannot say. Frisco could hold his tongue when he chose. However Carr turned his back on the country people, and went on worse than ever. He was said to be mad but I think it was mere devilment myself. One queer thing he did--no! Two queer things."
"The building of the tower was one," said Herrick shrewdly.
Marsh nodded. "And the other mad act was the throwing down of the walls and fences round the Pines."
Dr. Jim looked puzzled. "Humph," said he, "I noticed that the house had no fences round it. One came upon it suddenly, as if it had been dropped from the skies. Carr threw down the walls, to show that he was not afraid. On the other hand he must have built that tower to show that he was."
"I do not understand what you mean?"
"Why? It is not difficult if you remember what you said to me when we met that girl. You hinted that Carr was afraid of something in which Frisco was concerned. Well then; evidently his first attitude was one of defiance towards this fear. Afterwards he thought better of it and built the tower. A man would not leave that splendid house to sleep in a bare room at the top of a tower unless he was afraid."
"I think you are right," said Stephen musingly, "but I don't know what he was afraid of. It was the third year after he returned that he built the tower, and he was in such a hurry to get it done, that he had the men working at it by night. You know he has a magnificent system of electricity round about 'The Pines.' Well, the lights were on night after night until the tower was finished, and relays of workmen replaced one another. The whole county wondered at the way Carr went on."
"He gave no explanation?"
"No! He saw no one, but shut himself up like a hermit. Frisco attended to the house, and cooked the Colonel's meals. But I think Carr often cooked for himself. He was fond of cooking. For eight years he never went outside that house."
"Humph! That accounts for the gymnasium, the bowling alley, and the shooting gallery. What about his business?"
"He did it all my means of letter. Frith and Frith sent down a clerk occasionally. Carr was a clever man of business, and invested his money in good securities. So my mother said. She used to beard him in his den."
"And the clergyman, Corn?"
"Yes! He called also to try and reform the Colonel, but he did not succeed. A good fellow Corn, but weak. Can hold his tongue though."
"On the contrary he talked a good deal to me."
"So you said," muttered Stephen. "I wonder what he meant by that?"
"Did he know the secret of Carr's life?"
"Not that I know of. Corn always kept his mouth shut as I said. Why he should have talked openly to you I can't say?"
"It seems to me that there are mysteries on all sides," said Herrick with a shrug. "Miss Bess used to visit Carr you say?"
"She did once or twice; but I shall leave her to tell you of her visits and her opinion of her host."
"Marsh!" said Dr. Jim after a pause. "Have you any idea who murdered Carr?"
"No! Not the remotest. Unless it was Frisco."
"On the face of it, one would think so. Why did Frisco run away?"
Stephen rubbed his chin. "I think we must ask Bess," said he thoughtfully, "if anyone knows what is at the back of all this it is Bess Endicotte."