Whether it was the charm of the girl's society based upon his new discovery, or the interest of the conversation from a detective's point of view, that detained Herrick with her for over two hours, it is impossible to say. Probably Dr. Jim could not have given a satisfactory answer himself. But as he hurried along the road to the Carr Arms he acknowledged that he had been dilatory, for in two hours Robin could have got away from Saxham. But Dr. Jim did not think he would go. Robin was a child in many ways, and was not quick in making plans. Besides, he would be bewildered by the sudden revelation of his rascality and for the moment he would not be able to think of his own safety. Or at least if he did think, he would be unable to make any plans. Also--and of this Herrick was certain--he had very little money to come and go on.
"No," thought the doctor, as he swung into the village green, "Robin knows better than to give me the slip. He would be afraid that I would show him no mercy when I caught him up. Probably he will make out some story and implore me for the sake of our past friendship to be silent. If he tells me the whole truth and if he did not actually kill Carr, I might--but then he insulted Bess, and tried to get her into danger." The doctor clenched his fist and frowned. "I'll give him a thrashing at all events. There is a bad time coming for you Robin my man."
The prognostications of Dr. Jim proved to be correct. Joyce had not attempted flight. He was waiting in his sitting-room for the coming of the doctor, and he looked horribly frightened. Herrick could have found it in his heart to be sorry for the wretched little creature with his white haggard face and staring eyes; but he remembered what was at stake, and made up his mind to be stern even to the verge of brutality. For all he knew this treacherous little scoundrel might have hinted to the outside world that Bess was involved in the murder of Carr. If he had done this, Herrick considered that nothing would be too bad for him. It was in a very stern frame of mind that Dr. Jim sat down opposite his former friend. Robin winced at the regard of those once kind eyes. He felt like a rabbit in the presence of a boa-constrictor. "Well!" said Jim grimly eying the miserable wretch, "and what have you to say for yourself?"
"Nothing!" returned Robin sullenly. "I am afraid I shall not be satisfied with that Joyce. You will have to tell me the whole of your doings, from first to last."
"I have done nothing so very wrong Jim--"
"One moment," interposed Herrick, "I think you had better call me by my last name. We are not friends now you know."
"Will, I call you Dr. Herrick," said Robin with a small sneer.
"I think it might be better--sir," drawled Herrick, and the contempt in his tone made the self-satisfied Joyce wince.
"If I had done anything wrong I should not have waited to see you."
"That's a lie," replied the plain-spoken Jim. "You know me better than that. Had you bolted I should have had the police on your track before night-fall. You know me, as I said before. Your only chance is to make a clean breast of this damnable business."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't bandy words with me Joyce. It won't do. You are in a cleft stick and no amount of wriggling will serve you. If you want a lead here is one. You told me at Southberry that you went up up see Frith and Frith."
"So I did.--"
"Oh, Lord!" cried Herrick in a tone of disgust "will you never be done with your petty falsehoods. I know that you have not seen the solicitors for some months--certainly not on the twenty-fourth of July. Frith told me how you tried to get your mother's annuity transferred to yourself. Come now! Don't play the fool with me. You did not sleep at the Hull hotel?"
"How do you know that?"
"Because I went there. And I know also that you alighted from the seven train at Heathcroft station, and rode on your bicycle to Saxham--'I don't know for what purpose, unless it was to kill the Colonel."
"No! No!" this time Joyce was really afraid. "I did not kill him!"
"That remains to be proved. What about that pistol you slipped into the drawer of Bess Endicotte's writing-table--now, you are about to lie again! It won't do;---it won't do. The truth, you rat of a man."
"Don't call names," muttered Joyce weakly.
"I beg your pardon. I will not call you any more names. Let us conduct this conversation calmly. But you have to tell me the whole truth, or---"
"Well," said Joyce defiantly, "and if I refuse? What then."
"I will hand you over to the Beorminster police."
"You have no evidence--"
"I have more than you think of. You ass," said Herrick in a cold rage, "for the sake of our past friendship I have been sparing you all these weeks. I got you down here in the hope that you would be man enough to come forward and confess your follies. I do not say crimes, for you have not pluck enough to commit the smallest. But you kept your own counsel, and thought you were pulling wool over my eyes. I have seen through all these weeks. And now you insult the woman I love, and--"
Robin jumped up in a childish rage. "You don't love her--you won't marry her," he panted. "I won't have it!"
"Sit down," commanded Herrick sternly, "you have nothing to say in the matter. Leave Miss Endicotte's name out of it. We have had enough of this nonsense. Confess what you have done."
"I won't," Joyce set his teeth.
"Very good. Then I shall send for the police."
"You dare not."
"Ah! You think so." Herrick rose and walked towards the bell. Joyce anticipated him and stood in his path with flashing eyes. Herrick laughed. "Are you about to measure your strength against mine?" he said.
Before he could speak further the little man had flung himself at his throat like a wild beast. Strong as Herrick was, the abnormal nerve force of Joyce made him no mean antagonist. But the contest was unequal, and at last Herrick lifted Joyce above his head, shook him' as a terrier does a rat, and pitched him headlong into a chair, where the creature, helpless, and overborne, sat gnashing his teeth and glaring. For the moment Herrick thought he was mad. "Have you had enough?" asked the doctor recovering his breath, "if not I am quite willing to administer the thrashing you so richly deserve."
Joyce still glared and stamped in impotent rage. Then he suddenly burst into tears and hid his face in his hands. "You great brute," he wailed, "you might spare me!"
"Spare you!" echoed Herrick contemptuously, "and did you think of sparing that poor girl, whom you were trying to blackmail into marriage! You may thank your stars Joyce that you have to deal with a man who knows you as I do. If it had been another man, they would have left you half dead on the floor. You shall have justice from me, never fear."
Robin still continued to sob, and huddled up in the big chair looked scarcely as large as a child. "I feel ill--ill--horribly ill."
"You'll feel much worse before I've done with you," said the relentless Herrick, "sit up and talk rationally. All this won't do with me. You have tried all your tricks, they are of no avail. Here are pen ink and paper. I intend to take down all you say, and you will sign the statement."
"I'll see you to the devil first," cried Joyce sitting up tear-stained and dishevelled but with an evil look in his eyes.
"You will do exactly as you are bid," replied Herrick selecting a pen, "now begin, and tell no lies. I have information of which you know nothing, and if I catch you tripping--well you know what to expect."
Joyce saw that he was helpless. He had tried defiance, force, tears, and was now at the end of his resources. Herrick pitilessly held to his point. Seeing that there was no help for it, the little scamp dried his eyes, arranged his coat and hardened himself into a reasonable frame of mind. "You have the whip hand," he said sullenly, "so I must give in."
"I think that is very wise of you. After all you might have known that such play-acting would not impose upon me. Now you are to tell me all you did at Saxham on that night and why you came down. I shall probably ask you a few questions to which I shall require truthful answers. And remember what I said. I know more about your doings than you give me credit for. I can tell if you speak the truth or not. Now go on."
Dr. Jim squared his elbows and settled himself to write. Joyce cast one look at the door as though he meditated flight. But he knew that such a dash for liberty would result in his incarceration in prison so he abandoned it and sullenly began to talk.
"I did come down to Saxham on the twenty-fourth," he confessed.
"I thought so. And your story of seeing Frith and Frith was a lie."
"Yes! I did not want you to know."
"Not only that, but you wished to make use of me. I was to prove your alibi, Eh? You chose this country for our walking tour on purpose?"
"I planned the whole thing," said Joyce shamelessly and with something of pleasure in his own cleverness. "You think yourself clever Herrick, but I, whom you have always despised, have made a tool of you."
"Up to a point you have no doubt. But there is a proverb about playing with edged tools, you seem to have forgotten. As to your saying that I despise you I never did so, until I found out--never mind how--that you had told me a lie about going to London from Southberry."
"It was my own business."
"And I was to be your tool, as you have just said. Go on."
Joyce thought for a moment. "As I have done nothing so very wrong," he said, "there is no reason why I should not tell you everything from the beginning. I suppose you will admit that."
"No reason at all. Go on."
"Very good. Well then until my mother died I had no idea of her position--nor," added Joyce, "have I any very clear idea now. She left a paper behind her which explained much, but not all. I will show it to you when you come up to London."
"Thank you; I will remind you of that promise."
Robin scowled and continued. "My mother said that between a certain Colonel Carr and herself there existed a business arrangement that she should receive five hundred a year for her life. The arrangement was made by my dead father for services rendered to Colonel Carr."
"What were those services?"
"That is one of the things I do not know. The paper said nothing about them. The five hundred a year was to be paid to my mother and when she died it was to stop. So you see that in place of having an income as I thought I was left a pauper. My mother had saved some money--about three hundred pounds. I am living on that now. I was in despair, and I went to the solicitors who pay the annuity to ask if Colonel Carr would continue it. They wrote to the Colonel and he refused.
"I know that," said Herrick smoothly, "Frith told me."
"You seem to have meddled a good deal in my business," sneered Joyce. "Well, I was again in despair, as I saw nothing before me but a life of hard work. I read over the paper again. My mother said in it that Carr was a dangerous man, but that he had enemies, who threatened to kill him. She advised me to see him, but to take all precautions against my visit being known to anyone.
"Why?" asked Dr. Jim, "I see no reason."
"Nor did I," responded Robin with a shrug; he was now quite himself again and seemed to enjoy the telling of the story. "She hinted however that if Colonel Carr ever died by violence--and she was sure he would--I might be accused of the crime if I went to see him. She said that it was dangerous to be in his company for that reason."
"It seems to me a very ridiculous reason."
"I thought it was. All the same as she knew more about the matter than I did, I thought it best to adopt her suggestion. I wished to see Carr and ask him to continue the annuity. But I wished to see him secretly so that if he was murdered--as my mother hinted--I should not be dragged into the matter. For that reason I made the plans you blame.
"And were a fool to do so," said Dr. Jim vigorously, "why in the name of heaven did you not tell me all this? I should have come and seen Carr with you openly. I should not have been afraid of being implicated in a crime, though the man were murdered half a dozen times over. The secret means you took to avert suspicion falling on you, have only resulted in your being suspected--at least by me."
"I thought you did not suspect me?" said Joyce snappishly.
"Not of the crime, for I know what a coward you are. But you know something about it. Still, if the police knew all I do, you would find yourself in Queer Street. Again I say that in your desire to avert suspicion from yourself, you have brought it upon your head. However I think the reason given in the paper you speak of ridiculous. Go on. What of your plans? How were they carried out?"
"I first looked up a map of the country to see where Carr lived. Then as you had proposed a walking tour, I induced you to take the route which ran right across Carr's place. I thought if anything occurred you could prove that I was with you."
"But did you expect the man to be murdered while we were on our tour?"
"I did not know what might happen. As it was I knew the man was dead when I rejoined you at Southberry. But my idea was to see him, and then to pass afterwards with you through the village. When I set out on the walking tour I never thought he would be murdered."
"It was, to say the least, strange that Carr should meet with his death at so critical a moment to you," said Herrick doubtfully, "he had lived safely for ten years."
"It was chance I suppose. At all events I did not kill him as you seem to suppose. I simply wished to see him about the annuity. When I left you at Southberry and went to London on the plea of seeing Frith and Frith, I left my bag at the Hull Hotel to provide a second alibi. I intended to get down and see Carr, then be back and sleep at the Hull Hotel on that night. It was the murder that threw me out."
Herrick laughed. "And it was the murder against which you were taking all these precautions. How ironical! Well?"
"I went to my flat and got my bicycle, and I wrapped myself up in my great-coat. Then I went down to Saxham by the Heathcroft line. I alighted there at seven o'clock; had something to eat at the railway bar, and then rode on my bicycle to Saxham. I found the house from the map and waited in the pine woods before I could make up my mind to go in and seek for an interview."
"At what time did you hide in the Pine Woods?"
"Between eight and nine o'clock. While there I heard a single shot. It frightened me. But I did not think that it was murder. No," said Robin to himself with a shiver, "I did not think it was murder."
"That would be the death shot," said Herrick, "seeing that Miss Bess heard the other three."
"I heard them also. But that was after nine."
"And all this time you remained near the house?"
"No! I went on to the other side of the Pine wood keeping the tower in sight. I saw a girl with a lantern searching the wood. She passed near where I lay and I saw her plainly. That is how I recognised her."
"And why did you accuse her?"
"I thought she might have had something to do with the crime," said Joyce sullenly, "you must confess it was queer to see a girl in the woods at that hour. If she was innocent why should she have been about the house so late?"
"Don't you dare to hint that she is not innocent," cried Herrick violently. "She went to look for her brother Sidney. She heard the shots too. Did you see Frisco at the door of the house?"
"No! It was some time after I lost sight of Miss Bess that I heard the shots, I thought she might have fired them. I waited till ten o'clock, and then thought I would go and see what was the matter. I walked through the wood, and entered the house. It was all alight and quite deserted, just as we found it. As I had heard the shots in the tower I climbed up. At the top I saw what you and I saw--the dead body of the Colonel. He was quite dead. I was afraid, for the very thing I dreaded had come to pass. I saw how wise was my mother's advice, and being afraid lest someone should come and I should be arrested for the crime I went away. I got my bicycle which I had left in the Pine wood and rode back to Heathcroft. I found the last train gone, so I could not get back to the Hull Hotel. I feared to sleep in any inn lest the police, when the crime was discovered, should make search for strangers. I passed the night in a wood, then rode on at dawn to a station beyond Heathcroft, where I got a cup of coffee at the bar of the station. Then I took the train back to London, went to the Hull Hotel, and said that I had passed the night with a friend. Afterwards I caught the Southberry train and rejoined you. That is all."
"A very pretty story!" remarked Herrick grimly, "then you were anxious to push on across the moor that we might find the body together?"
"Not exactly; I thought it would be already found when we arrived. However when I saw the house blazing I knew that nothing had been disturbed. We went in and--you know----"
"I know that you took a fit of hysteria," said Herrick. "I thought it was fatigue, but now I understand it was because you were playing a part. This is all very well, how do I know you did not kill the man?"
"I did not; I swear I did not," cried Joyce with a shiver.
"What about that pistol?"
"That has nothing to do with the murder."
"Was it not the weapon that was used?"
"Not that I know of."
"Where did you get it?"
Joyce hesitated and wriggled. "I do not see why you should ask me?"
"Don't you indeed," said Herrick grimly, "I see a very good reason. Carr was shot through the heart with a bullet that might very well fit that ancient weapon."
"How do you know that I put it into the drawer at 'The Grange?'"
"Are you going to lie about that? It won't do Joyce. I saw that pistol at your flat,--in your tobacco cabinet."
Joyce turned white. He had been quite prepared to lie, but this information showed him how futile that would be. "How did you find it in there?" he asked.
"Oh, I wasn't poking and prying. Manuel hunting for cigarettes showed it to me. He dropped across it by accident."
Joyce sprang to his feet. "The liar, oh, the liar!" he cried. "Manuel! why he knew it was in the cabinet."
"And he placed it there, Eh!"
"I never said so!" muttered Robin passing his tongue over his dry lips.
"Oh, but I can see it it your face. Evidently Manuel played upon you the same trick you intended to play upon Bess. A nice pair, upon my soul!" Herrick paused for a moment. "What has Manuel to do with this?"
"Nothing, that I know of," retorted Joyce sullenly. "He brought me the pistol, but refused to say where he got it. He knows something of this matter I think."
"I am very certain he does. However, I'll speak to him. Where is he?"
"He went over to Beorminster this afternoon.
"Very good I'll see him when he comes back. By the way, you told me a lie about him, Johnstone did not introduce you at the Apollo Club."
Joyce shrugged his shoulders. "Since you know so much you might as well know more," he said coolly. "I met Manuel at the Pimlico gambling club. We played together and became friends. Oddly enough, he knew all about Carr. That drew us together. We talked a good deal about the business, and I told him what I told you. But he is a scoundrel," said Joyce gritting his teeth, "he wants to make out that I shot Carr with that pistol, and showed it to you in my flat to inculpate me."
"Which was what you proposed to do with that girl!"
"I did," said Robin sullenly. "I wanted to marry her; and I made my plans so that she should not dare to refuse."
Herrick rose to his feet. "Joyce," said he calmly, "I had intended to give you a thrashing; but you are such a miserable wretch that if I man-handled you I should probably kill you. You can go free for me. But you shall leave this place by the five o'clock train from Beorminster. I'll see to it myself."
"I thought you would," sneered Joyce, "so I have packed my clothes. And what are you going to do next?"
"Keep an eye on you. Go back to your flat. If you try to run I'll have you arrested. Do not think because I send you to London that you will be beyond the reach of my arm. You and Manuel are plotting to get this money of Stephen Marsh."
"I am not, whatever Santiago may be doing. He got everything out of me and told me nothing in return. Save that he knew Carr and hated him I do not know anything. I don't believe that the pistol is the one used in the murder. Santiago probably read about an old-fashioned weapon being used, and knowing that I was down here on the night put that pistol----"
"Yes! Yes, I see all that. You see what a scoundrel you have taken up with! Upon my word Joyce, you had better have stuck to me."
"It is too late now," said Robin with something of a sob, "you'll never trust me again."
"Never," replied Herrick calmly, "I have not yet got to the bottom of this business. But I believe you are the tool rather than the accomplice of this Mexican. However I will deal with him. You go to London, and hold yourself in readiness for my orders."
"I'll be even with Santiago yet for his treachery," said Robin rising.
"That you can settle between yourselves. Hullo, don't go yet. Sign this paper. I have written down all you told me."
"I won't sign."
"You will, and at once. I will be the witness. If you don't I will not protect you in any way."
"You won't let me get into trouble?" said Joyce taking the pen.
"Not if what you have told me is true. Sign."
So Joyce signed and Herrick witnessed the document. The doctor placed it in his pocket and then ordered a trap from Napper. After Joyce had paid his bill, the doctor drove him to Beorminster. The five o'clock train was on the point of departure, but he just managed to catch it. As he flung himself into a carriage he held out his hand to Herrick.
"No," replied Jim coldly, "we have done with all that. And no tricks, or you'll get the worst of it."
"I'll go straight to my flat," said Joyce sulkily, and as the train steamed out of the station he cursed his former friend.
He would have cursed him still more if he had seen what he did next. The doctor went to the telegraph office, and wrote out a wire describing Joyce's face, clothes, figure, and all: also set down the train by which he would arrive at Paddington. This he sent to a firm of private detectives with whom he had already done business. "There," said Herrick with a grim smile when the wire was despatched, "Joyce will be watched from the moment he gets to town. Any tricks, and--" the doctor laughed.
Apparently he did not yet trust the little man in spite of his confession.
In this way Saxham was purged of one undesirable person. Herrick was pleased that he had acted with such promptitude. Bess would no longer be vexed by the odious attentions of the little scamp who had tormented her. Dr. Jim smiled to think how much of the jealous rival there was about his dealings with his quondam friend. He now recognised that Bess was the woman he desired for his wife. Nor did he think she would refuse to become Mrs. Herrick when he could give her a home worthy of her. Had she disliked his attentions, she would not have permitted even the strange hour's wooing, which was all they had of love, since Jim had found his heart. He laughed at the recollection.
"To talk of love between intervals of detective analysis," he thought as he walked back to Saxham, having sent on Napper's cart by the groom, "is a strange way of wooing one's wife, and the last kind I expected to indulge in. But Bess enjoyed it I fancy. I must recompense myself in a more leisurely way, when this business is at an end."
On arriving at Saxham, the doctor called in at the Carr Arms to see Don Manuel. He wanted to hear from the man himself if he had really given the pistol to Joyce, and if so how it had come into his possession. It might be that he had bought it in order to incriminate Robin--although at present Herrick could see no very good reason for such incrimination--on the other hand the pistol might be the veritable weapon used to shoot Carr. But that could be proved only by the test of the bullet, and he would have to wait until Bess saw Bridge about that. In some way Herrick felt convinced that Santiago was connected with the crime. He had known and hated Carr; he was far too intimate with Joyce for mere friendship, and he showed too great a desire to remain in the parish. That he should have in some way gained possession of the real pistol was not unlikely. "And it might be that he used it himself," said Dr. Jim as he entered the inn, "although I should think he would have used a more modern weapon for choice?"
"On speaking to Napper about the Mexican a shock awaited him. The landlord expressed the broadest surprise that Mr. Joyce had not told Dr. Herrick of Santiago's departure. The Mexican had gone to London by an early train. Herrick swore beneath his breath, feeling that he had been outwitted.
"When Mr. Joyce came back here this afternoon did he see Don Manuel?"
"Aye sir, that he did. The foreigner was waiting for him, and they talked for an hour. After that Don Manuel came down with his trunk--he had but one, doctor, and drove in to catch an earlier train."
"To Beorminster?" asked Herrick.
"No sir. To Heathcroft. He paid his bill alright though. But I was astonished Mr. Joyce left us so suddenly. There is nothing wrong I hope."
"By no means," replied Herrick with a carelessness he was far from feeling. "I believe Don Manuel had to go up on business, and asked Mr. Joyce to join him later."
"Will they be coming here again sir?" asked Napper, and on receiving a reply in the negative expressed his regret. "They didn't pay much, but they was sure," said the worthy landlord.
"Did you hear Señor Santiago say _where_ he was going?" asked Herrick. But this the landlord could not tell him.
Dr. Jim walked away annoyed that he had been taken in. He felt that Robin had been tutored to play his part by the cleverer scoundrel. No doubt Robin had told the Mexican of his intrusion into the case, and Santiago had taken alarm. He knew well enough that Dr. Jim would recognise the pistol, and that he would force Robin to say where he had obtained it. Evidently Don Manuel thought it would be better for him to disappear than to face an examination. Yet he could have told Joyce to make up some story about the pistol so that he might not be brought into it. The whole business was part of the conspiracy. Don Manuel was in it, Robin also, and Herrick felt that the firm of Joyce and Santiago had been one too many for him.
All the same he remembered that he had set a watch on Joyce. If the scamp tried to hide, or went to any place to meet Manuel, he would be followed. "I shall go up to Town to-morrow," said Herrick on his way to 'The Pines.' "Wherever Joyce has gone, there Manuel will be. I shall run both to earth and learn what all this means by questioning them in each other's company. They won't trick me a second time! Well, I have done enough detective work for the day. I'll think of something else."
Stephen was now so far on the road to recovery, that he was able to leave his room. He had seen little of Jim lately, but he did not miss him, thanks to the constant attendance of Ida. Marsh-Carr was as devoted a friend as ever to Herrick, he still believed him the cleverest and best of men, but now his whole heart was filled with the image of Ida. The two were constantly together, and the girl had had no small share in nursing back her promised husband to health. The wound in the head had mended and the blow had left no effect behind it beyond an occasional head-ache.
Stephen never gave his assailant a thought. He quite forgot Carr's tragic death, and all the strange circumstances which had brought about his change of fortune. At times he even ceased to remember his step-mother, much as he had loved her. All his thoughts were for Ida, and with her he passed hours planning their future. They never talked of the past, and noticing this, Herrick forebore to tell his friend that he was still working to discover the murderer of Colonel Carr, and striving to baffle a possible conspiracy that had for its aim, the loss to Stephen not only of the Carr fortune, but possibly also of his life. Jim felt quite competent to deal with the matter himself, and did not think it necessary to spoil Marsh-Carr's love-making with such common-place things. Therefore he remained in ignorance of Herrick's doings.
"How late you are," said Stephen who was already dressed for dinner. "I have been anxiously expecting you this last hour!"
"I had to go into Beorminster," said Herrick carelessly. "Joyce has been called up to town and I went to see the last of him."
"I am glad he has gone," Stephen said gravely. "I don't like him. I think he is false. As for the Mexican---" he shrugged his shoulders.
Herrick, who was pouring himself a glass of sherry as an appetizer turned with a laugh. "The Mexican is a bad lot sure enough," he said. "As to Joyce he is more of a fool than a knave."
"I forgot that he was your friend."
"You do quite right to use the past tense Steve. He _was_ my friend, but he is so no longer." Herrick laughed again and sipped his sherry. "I have taken you for a change."
"You know well that I will never fail you," said Stephen warmly. "No. I suppose we shall remain good friends till you marry. Then you will forget me, and think only of your wife."
"You know better than that Jim. Besides Ida is fond of you."
"I know. I was fond of Ida too at one time--that was before she was engaged to you. But I have not played you false Steve."
"You are telling me old news," replied Marsh-Carr smiling. "I saw that you were in love with Ida."
"No. I was never in love. I thought I was, but my love was a snare and a delusion. But you thought so did you? Were you not jealous?"
"Not at all. I knew that Ida was mine, and I trusted her--you too."
"Wonderful man!" said Herrick looking into the fire. "Well you did right to trust us both. We are merely friends now. Indeed I know we never were anything else. I was blind; but she was not. However I am glad that you two are engaged. You will be happy."
"And when am I to congratulate you?"
"At this very minute if you like. Is it Bess you are talking of?"
Stephen sat up on the sofa looking astonished. "Yes," he said, "Ida saw that she was in love with you--"
"Ida is a clever woman. She prophesied my love would come suddenly. Bess has not yet formally consented to be my wife; but I think it will be all right."
"I am more than delighted. We shall be brothers-in-law. And you will always stay here Jim?"
"Living on you my dear fellow? No, I shall start practice again in Town, when I have got together sufficient money. Then when I am doing fairly well Bess shall come to me and supplement my income by writing novels in the intervals of looking after the house."
"Herrick you must not go away. You promised."
"Until you were married. But be of good cheer Steve, I won't leave you until everything is right." Dr. Jim said these last words with a significance which was lost on his listener.
"I thought that your friend Joyce--"
"Oh! he never had a chance. I was a fool to let him hang after Bess. However I found out to-day what she was to me, so it is all right now."
"Bess and Ida are coming over this evening with Frank."
"All the better. I can make my proposal in due form. By the way Steve I am going up Town to-morrow if you can spare me."
"Certainly. But it is not to make arrangements to leave me is it?"
"I should think not! I shall never go till you tell me Steve. No, I am going to see about some business of my own. Well I must dress. I hope you have a good dinner for me. I am very hungry."
"You think of nothing but eating," said Stephen with a laugh.
The dinner gave every satisfaction even to Herrick who was somewhat fastidious. But Ida had seen that a good cook was engaged, and the two men had nothing to complain of. Dinner over, Herrick supported Stephen into the library, and placed him on the sofa. Then he sat beside him and they smoked over their coffee and cognac. "But you must go to bed at half past ten," said Herrick sternly.
"What a tyrant you are Jim. Hark, there are the girls."
They came in looking charming, and in the best of spirits. It needed but a glance for Dr. Jim to see that Bess had said nothing about Joyce to her brother or sister. What a wise little woman she was! When Ida and Frank had seated themselves beside Stephen, Jim drew her into a remote corner of the room.
"You said nothing about our adventure of to-day," he whispered.
"No," she replied in the same tone, "I thought it best not to. And Mr. Joyce?"
"You will not be troubled with him again. He has gone to town. I do not think he will come back. Santiago has gone also."
"What about his threat against me?"
"That is alright. I have his confession in my pocket."
"Did he kill Colonel Carr?"
"No! I have not yet solved that problem. But do not let us talk of these unpleasant things any more Bess. To-morrow you shall know all. In the meantime make yourself agreeable to me and tell me how much you love me. Come now. After this afternoon you cannot deny----"
"I neither deny nor affirm," said Bess her face one glow of scarlet--but that might have been the fire---"you were not in earnest to-day."
"Indeed I was. Can't you see that I love you with my whole heart and soul! I never knew until to-day how much I did love you."
"I thought it was Ida?" faltered Bess.
"I thought so too for a period of madness. But I know now that I was mistaken. We are the best of friends as you can see. But you have not replied to my question."
"What do you want me to say?"
"That I am the dearest man in the world, and that you have loved me for ever so long. Come now?"
"It is true," said Bess sinking her voice. "I have loved you. I do love you and I am thankful to be your wife."
"I am a poor doctor remember."
"I love you for yourself, not for any money you may have."
"Faith," said Herrick, "that is lucky for me! Come here. Behind this screen--there now."
"Oh! Dr. Jim--No--Very well. Jim, without the doctor. Do not go on like this. We are not alone."
"Will you come into another room?" teased Jim.
"Certainly not. Jim what are you doing?"
"Leading you into the world," said Herrick laughing. Bess laughed also and blushed when Jim led her before the three astonished people who looked at them in amazement. "Lady and gentlemen," said Dr. Jim, "do you know who this is?"
"Bess I suppose," said the stupid brother.
"And more than that," cried Ida rising to take her sister in her arms, "oh! Bess darling, I am so glad."
"Hurrah!" cried Stephen and pinched Frank's arm.
That youth was still dense, although the truth was staring him in the face. He looked at the two girls almost weeping with pleasure in one another's arms; at the laughing faces of Herrick and Stephen. Still he did not understand, not having yet experienced the love of woman.
"You are stupid Frank," cried Ida, "can't you see?"
"Can't you see," said Herrick gripping Frank's arm. "What a blind brother-in-law I shall have."
"Oh!" Frank's eyes opened wide. "Are you to marry Bess?" Herrick nodded. "And Stephen takes Ida?" the engaged couple laughed. "Well," said Frank, "that is two of them gone, and who is to look after Biffstead?"
"Flo of course," said Stephen.
"As if she could! Bess is the top, tail, and bottom of the house."
"That she is," cried Ida hugging her sister, "and I am jealous of Jim taking her away from us!" Then she gave Herrick a roguish glance. "Was I not right?" she asked.
"Perfectly right," he replied, and drew Bess down on the seat beside him. Ida went as by instinct to Stephen. Only the miserable Frank was left out in the cold, and said so. The quartette laughed heartlessly.
There was not a happier party in the whole three kingdoms than that seated before the fire in the house of wicked Colonel Carr. If the shade of the old man had been present in the room, he must--or rather _It_ must have sighed enviously at the sight of such happiness. Not during his reign had such truth and honour and clean delight prevailed in the old house. It was a merry evening. "Memory of the Golden Age," said Jim.
The next morning Dr. Herrick re-entered the work-a-day world. He walked over to Biffstead and found Bess just setting out for Beorminster on her bicycle. "You can leave that," he said after a kiss had been exchanged, "I will drive you over to Beorminster in the cart. I told the groom to put in the horse and bring it round here."
"You are going to Town?" asked Bess.
"Yes! On the track of those two scamps. You are going to see Bridge about that bullet?"
"Yes! I have the pistol in my pocket," she replied showing it.
"Very good. Can you drive the cart back?"
"Of course I can. Drive? Who ever heard of asking a country girl such a question. You do not know my accomplishments Jim."
"I know that you are the dearest and sweetest and most sensible girl in the whole wide world. But I say we won't take the groom. In the first place I want you all to myself. In the second, I must tell you all that took place when I interviewed Joyce yesterday."
Bess, needless to say thought this a capital plan, so when the groom brought round the cart he was sent away. He saw the pair drive towards the village and there was a broad grin on his face. He knew very well what they were to one another. In some mysterious way the news had got to the servants' hall and had been well discussed that very morning. The lovers drove into Beorminster and talked in the most matter of fact way about the conspiracy. Their heads were so close together that one would have thought they were exchanging the tenderest confidences. In place of that the detective fever was raging in both their breasts, and they were like a couple of Scotland Yard officials.
Then Herrick took a last farewell, promised to return in the course of a few days, and caught the express. When the train disappeared round the curve Bess went back to the cart and drove it to some stables where she put it up. Afterwards she went into the lower part of Beorminster where Mr. Inspector Bridge had his office. He happened to be in and brightened up when he saw her. Bridge had a great opinion of the younger Miss Endicotte.
"What good wind brings you here Miss?" he asked.
"Ah!" said Bess solemnly, "that requires some telling Mr. Inspector. It is about this pistol?" and she produced it from her pocket.
"Pistol!" echoed Bridge puzzled, "ah! it is the pistol of the Carr case?"
"That is what I want to find out," said Miss Endicotte who had her story all ready to tell, and had discussed its details with Dr. Jim during the drive. "I found this the other day in the Pine wood near Colonel Carr's house. It is a clumsy old-fashioned thing; but I remembered what was said about the bullet being old-fashioned also. Now I want you to see if the bullet fits the muzzle of this."
"H'm!" said Bridge with his most important air and looking down the muzzle, "so you found this pistol in the grass--and near the house? Perhaps--I say perhaps mind you Miss Bess-this might be the weapon we have been looking for so long. Is there a name on the butt?"
"No," said Bess promptly, "you only find that in novels. There is not so much as a scratch on the handle."
"An old weapon," observed Bridge wagging his head ponderously and irritating Bess to a frenzy with his platitudes. "Well, we must see if the bullet--Ha! yes, the bullet. Now where is it?"
Bridge went hunting over some shelves, and then he took to excavating in drawers--opened a safe, dug under dusty piles of papers, and suddenly produced (Bess never saw from where) a small box in which something rattled. When he opened this there were three conical bullets and one fat round one. "Ah," cried Bess, "there it is. Try! please try Mr. Inspector."
"All in good time Miss," said the aggravating Bridge, and dropped the bullet into the muzzle. It disappeared, and he nodded solemnly. "It is the pistol," he said, "you have made a valuable discovery Miss. If there was only a name or initials on the handle," he sighed.
Bess was not attending to him. She took the pistol and dropped out the bullet; then rammed it home again, and nodded in her turn. "There is no doubt of it," she said, "this the pistol that shot Colonel Carr."
"Will you leave it with me Miss?" asked Bridge, "I might find out something likely to lead to the detection of the assassin."
Bess laughed delightedly. From that last phrase she knew that Inspector Bridge had been reading detective fiction of the worst. She knew also that the pistol would afford no clue to the truth until it was in capable hands. Therefore as she thought it would be safer in the Beorminster police office than in the untidy house of Biffstead where everybody was always turning over everybody else's drawers she consented that Bridge should take charge of it. The Inspector with an important air put away the pistol in his safe. He was about to replace the box, when he noticed that Bess had the round bullet in her hand.
"Come Miss give it back?" he said. "Belongs to the Crown that does."
"A queer bullet," murmured Bess, "made in a mould. Here is the seam. I do not believe it is lead. It is too hard for lead. Have you a pen-knife Mr. Inspector? Ah," she seized one lying on the desk, "this will do. I don't believe this is lead."
"Nonsense," said Bridge crossly, "all bullets are made of lead."
"This is not," cried Bess who was scratching away vigorously. "See how hard it is. And the scratches shine. Inspector Bridge," she said in a solemn tone, "I believe this is silver."
"It can't be." The Inspector took it up and examined it in his turn. What Bess said was true. The bullet was hard, not soft as lead should be, and moreover it was hard to scratch, and the little scraping she had given it glittered in parts just like silver. "It might be," murmured Bridge.
"There is a silversmith just round the corner," said Bess in great excitement. "Do come and let him see it. I want to know for certain that it is silver."
"I do not know what good that will do Miss Bess. If it is silver that will not help us to catch Frisco any the sooner."
"No! but you can't think what discoveries you might make if you knew it was silver for certain. I know how you can put things together, and a piece of evidence like this--oh I am sure you could do a lot with it."
Bridge in his own heart did not very well see what he could do. But he was not proof against flattery as the artful Bess well knew, so he went round the corner with her to a convenient jeweller's and offered him the bullet. "Will you please to tell me what this is?" he said in his most official tone. "Do not destroy it Mr. Blinks, or deform it in any way. It is the property of the Crown. All the Crown wants to know is the metal of which this is formed."
Mr. Blinks was much impressed with this speech. Promising to be careful he took the bullet into the next room--into his workshop and there performed some trick of the trade. When he returned he handed the bullet to Bridge very little altered. "It is of silver, Mr. Bridge," he said.
"All of silver?" asked Bridge while Bess tried to suppress her excitement.
"All of silver Mr. Bridge. It has been cast in a mould. Probably a cup or a silver plate has been melted down. What is it Mr. Inspector?"
"The property of the Crown," replied Bridge solemnly and departed. When in the office he locked up the bullet and looked at Bess. "I really do not see how this discovery can help me," he said.
"Think over it Mr. Inspector. You will be certain to hit upon some link."
But Bess herself was as far away from the truth as the Inspector. As she drove back to Saxham, she wondered how it came about that the bullet which had killed Carr was cast in silver, and to this she could find no answer.