Tunks settled down to his narrative. "I listened and heard all about the jewels and the death of Maxwell Faith and all about Miss Bella being his daughter. I saw by this time that Mr. Lister was not Mr. Cyril here, and I guessed from his likeness that he was Mr. Cyril's father. Mr. Lister wanted Captain Huxham to give up the jewels for some expedition, but the captain refused. They began to quarrel, and then the captain pulled out a big knife from a drawer of his desk and rushed on Mr. Lister. There was a struggle and Mr. Lister tried to pull out a revolver. At length Huxham got Mr. Lister down and cut his throat."
"Which would account for the quantity of blood found on the floor here when Huxham's body was found. I thought there was too much blood for one man's corpse to supply. Go on."
"Oh, it's terrible—horrible!" said Cyril, covering his face. "What did you do, Tunks? Why didn't you give the alarm?"
"What, and be run in for being an accomplice!" said Tunks disdainfully, "not me. But I was frightened, and when I saw that Captain Huxham had killed Mr. Lister—I knew his name by that time, having heard them talking—why, I ran away as hard as my legs could carry me."
"Where did you go?"
"Home to Granny, so that I might be able to supply an alibi if necessary. I didn't tell her anything, but she found out a lot when I was raving with the drink in me. But I couldn't rest, and when Granny was a-bed I stole out. It was after ten by this time. I went up to the Manor and to yonder window. Then I saw Mrs. Coppersley—as she was—and Mr. Vand, talking to the captain and telling him they were married. The knife, all bloody, was on the floor near the door, but they were all three so busy talking that they did not notice it. But I wonder the captain didn't cover it up.'
"Where was the body of my father?" asked Cyril impatiently.
"I don't know; the body was gone. I've never been able to find out where the captain put up the body. But, as I say, he turned out Mr. Vand and his wife, as I knew she was then, and cursed up and down. But he didn't pick up the knife; in place of doing so, which would have been more sensible, seeing that he had murdered the Lister cove with it, he went to his desk and pulled out a black bag. He emptied this of jewels, and my mouth watered."
"Ah, so you recognised the bag when you tried to steal it from Mrs. Vand in your mother's cottage?"
"Yes, I did," said Luke sullenly, "and very sorry I am that I didn't get clear off with it."
"You have quite enough to answer for as it is," said Inglis sharply. "Go on, as I have got everything down so far."
"Well, then while the captain was sitting at the desk gloating over the jewels Mr. Vand comes in softly like a cat. He saw the jewels and his eyes lighted up. Captain Huxham, being busy, didn't hear him, so he picks up the knife lying near the door, and before I could cry out he rushed at the old man. Huxham turned to meet him, and got the knife in his heart. Then Mr. Vand, as cool as you please, dropped the knife behind the desk, and taking the bag with the jewels, he put 'em back—went away."
"What did you do?"
"I went home and tried to sleep, but couldn't."
"Why didn't you warn the police?" asked Inglis.
"No, sir. I'm only a gipsy, and they'd have thought I'd something to do with the business. If I'd accused Mr. Vand him and his wife would have accused me, and it would be two to one. Besides," said Luke coolly, "I wasn't sorry to see old Huxham downed after killing the other gent. Serve him right, say I. So that's all."
"Humph," said Inglis, finishing his writing. "You made capital out of this?"
"Yes, I did," said Luke defiantly, and taking the pen which Inglis held out to him. "I told Mr. and Mrs. Vand what I'd seen. They were frightened—it was the next morning, you see—and paid me heaps of money to hold my tongue. Then, like a fool, I went on the bend, and talked so much that Granny got to know heaps, and so set the nigger brute on our tracks. There"—Luke signed his name—"you can't hang me for what I've told you."
Inglis and Lister both signed as witnesses, and the inspector put the paper into his pocket. He was about to ask further questions—to cross-examine Tunks in fact—when the door opened and a young constable appeared in a mighty state of excitement.
"Sir," he cried to his superior officer, "Mrs. Vand has escaped!"
"Escaped!" cried the inspector, in a voice of thunder.
"Yes, sir. Dutton is lying drugged in the hut, and the old woman has been stunned. Mrs. Vand and the gipsy girl are gone."
Next morning there was a great sensation in the village of Marshely, as in some way the events of the previous night leaked out. Certainly, the accounts of these were more or less garbled, and no one appeared to know who was responsible for them. But this much of the truth became public property, that Vand and the negro prince who had been stopping at "The Chequers" were dead, that Mrs. Vand had fled to escape arrest, and that the police were in possession of Bleacres. Later in the afternoon it became known that Vand had killed Captain Huxham for the sake of certain jewels.
But the villagers were greatly astonished when they heard—from what source was not known—that another man had been killed. No one, save Silas Pence, had seen Edwin Lister enter the Manor, and Pence himself had presumed, until informed, that the man was Cyril, so no one knew that any person was missing. Now it appeared that the man who was murdered by Vand had committed a crime himself previous to his own death. But what he had done with the body no one knew, and the police could find no traces of the same in spite of all their efforts.
Inspector Inglis called at Miss Anker's cottage in the morning and interviewed both Bella and her lover. From them he heard the whole tale, and was greatly astonished by the recital. Under the circumstances he was inclined to take the jewels into official custody, but Bella refused to give them up; and undoubtedly they were her property left to her by her father, Maxwell Faith. Inglis admitted this, so did not press the point.
Afterwards the inspector examined Silas Pence, and heard from him much the same story as he had told Bella. The preacher was lying on a bed of sickness, as the blow on his head and the many worries he had been through of late nearly gave him brain fever. Of course—and Inglis told him as much—he should have reported at once the death of Huxham, as he had seen the body. But as Pence had not beheld the blow struck, the police could do nothing but admonish. Silas stated that in one point of his story when he confessed to Bella he had been wrong, which was after seeing Edwin Lister enter the Manor—or, as he thought then, Cyril—he had rushed away in the direction of the common in the vain attempt to rid himself of troublesome thoughts. When he returned Mr. and Mrs. Vand were in the kitchen, as Luke proved; and Pence was thus enabled to enter the house. Undoubtedly the guilty pair had left the front door open, so that blame might be cast upon some outsider—on a possible burglar, for instance. When they heard the noise of Pence's flight and found the money gone, they were quite determined to place the blame on a robber. Mrs. Vand confessed this later, although at the time of the robbery she had not dreamed the burglar was the talented young preacher whom she so greatly admired.
But the guilty woman was missing for some days. On inquiry being made it appeared that the Romany girl, bribed by Mrs. Vand to assist her flight, had made a cup of tea for the constable. As Dutton was wet and cold, he drank the tea only too willingly, never suspecting that it was drugged. But it turned out to be dosed with laudanum, and he fell into a deep sleep. Granny Tunks, as she stated on reviving, had attempted to stay the flight of Mrs. Vand and the Romany girl, but the latter had promptly knocked her down with the very chunk of wood with which Mrs. Tunks had struck the half-drowned woman. In this way Granny's sins came home to her.
Inglis found, on the detail of the motor-car being reported by Cyril, who had heard it from Mrs. Vand, that use had been made of the same. He advertised for such a car in such a neighbourhood, and speedily was called upon by a public chauffeur, who drove for hire. The man confessed very frankly that Vand had engaged his car to wait for himself and his wife on the high road to Pierside, and that thinking that nothing was wrong he had done so. Vand had paid him well, and the driver merely thought it was the eccentric whim of a rich man. Vand, it appeared, had engaged the car in London from the stand in Trafalgar Square. When Mrs. Vand left the hut the Romany girl had rowed her to the swamps in the boat she had brought for the removal of Luke to the caravan, and the woman had then crossed the marshy ground to the high road. Making some excuse for the non-appearance of her husband, she had been driven to London, and the driver, who had already received his money, dropped her in Piccadilly. That, as he confessed, was the last he saw of her.
Inspector Inglis was very angry with the man, and pointed out that he should have suspected that the couple were flying from justice from the fact of the large sum of money paid, and on account of the strange place where it was arranged that the car should wait. But the man exonerated himself completely, and in the end he was permitted to go free, as the police could not do anything. And after all the chauffeur, who did not look particularly intelligent, might have acted in all good faith.
However the point was that Mrs. Vand, dropped in Piccadilly, had vanished entirely. She had ample money, as it was proved that she had drawn fifty pounds in gold from her bank, and although she had fled from the hut with only the dripping dress she wore, there would be no difficulty in her obtaining a fresh disguise. The police advertised in the papers and with handbills, but nothing could be heard of the woman. She had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed her.
Strangely enough, it was from Mrs. Vand's solicitor that the first news came of her doings. Timson was the lawyer's name, and he came down to Pierside to see Inspector Inglis. On being shown into the inspector's office he broke out abruptly—
"Sir," said Timson, who was a mild-faced, spectacled, yellow-haired man, "I have a communication to make to you about my respected client, Mrs. Rosamund Vand, if you will hear it."
"Respectable, eh?" questioned the officer ironically. "Perhaps you don't know, Mr.—Mr."—he referred to the card—"Mr. Timson, that your respectable client is wanted for her complicity in the murder of her brother?"
"Sir," said Mr. Timson again and firmly, "my client—my respected client," he added with emphasis "assured me that she had nothing to do with the commission of that crime. She was in a dead faint in the kitchen when her husband, in a moment of passion, struck down Captain Huxham."
"So she says because it is to her benefit to say so, Mr. Timson. But the man who saw the murder committed swears that it was a most deliberate affair, and was only done for the sake of certain jewels, which——"
"Deliberate or not, Mr. Inspector," interrupted the meek little man, "my respected client had nothing to do with it. Afterwards she held her tongue for the sake of her husband, for his sake also paid blackmail to the man who saw the crime committed."
"We can argue that point," said Inglis drily, "when we see Mrs. Vand. You are doubtless aware of her whereabouts?"
"No," said Timson coolly, "I am not."
"But you said you had seen her—after the murder was committed, I fancy you hinted."
"I saw her," said Timson, quite calmly, "on the day following her flight from the hut on the marshes. She alighted in Piccadilly and walked about the streets for the rest of the night. Afterwards she went to a quiet hotel and had a brush and a wash up. She then called on me—"
"And you did not detain her when you knew——"
"I knew nothing. Had I known that she was flying from justice I certainly should have urged her to surrender. But the news of these terrible doings in Marshely had not reached London; it was not in the papers until the following day. You grant that?"
"Yes, yes! But——"
"No 'buts' at all, Mr. Inspector," said Timson, who seemed firm enough in spite of his meek aspect. "My client confessed to me that her husband had been drowned, and that he had murdered her brother in a fit of passion because Captain Huxham intended to turn his sister out of doors and alter his will on account of her secret marriage."
"That motive may have had some weight," said Inglis quietly, "but I fancy the sight of the jewels made Vand murder his brother-in-law. Did Mrs. Vand call to tell you this?"
"No!" snapped Timson, whose meekness was giving way. "She called to make her will."
"Make her will—in whose favour?"
"I see no reason why I should not tell you," said the lawyer, "although I never reveal professional secrets. But I will tell, so that you may see how you have misjudged my client. She made a will in favour of Miss Isabella Faith——"
"Faith? Ah! she knew, then, that the girl was not her niece."
"Yes. But she did not tell me that, nor did I inquire. All she did was to make me, or, rather instruct me, to draw up a will leaving the Bleacres property and the five hundred a year she inherited from the late Captain Huxham, to Miss Faith, as some token of repentance for having misjudged her. And now," cried Timson, rising wrathfully, "my respected client is misjudged herself. I come to clear her character."
"I don't see how that will clears her character," said Inglis coolly, "and from the mere fact that she made it I daresay she has committed suicide."
"Impossible! Impossible!"
"I think it is very probable, indeed, Mr. Timson, Mrs. Vand cannot get out of England, as all the ports and railway stations are watched, and there is a full description of her appearance posted everywhere. Unless she wants to get a long sentence for complicity in this most brutal murder, she will have to commit suicide."
"I tell you she is innocent."
"Can you tell me that she is not an accomplice after the fact?"
"A wife is not bound to give evidence against her husband."
Inspector Inglis rose with a fatigued air. "I am not here to argue on points of law with you, Mr. Timson. All I ask is, if you know where your respected client is?" he laid a sneering emphasis on his last words.
"No, I do not," said Timson, taking up his hat, "and I bid you good day."
What the lawyer said was evidently correct, for although his office and himself were watched by the police, it could not be proved that he was in communication with the missing woman. The whereabouts of Mrs. Vand became more of a mystery than ever. Inglis told Bella of her good fortune, but of course until Mrs. Vand was dead she could not benefit. And there seemed to be no chance of proving the woman's death, even though the inspector firmly held to the opinion that she had committed suicide.
Meantime Timson went on to Marshely to look after his client's property, and seeing that the corn was ripe, he arranged with a number of labourers, under an overseer whom he could trust, that it should be reaped immediately. Thus it happened that four days after Mrs. Vand's disappearance, when Cyril came to tell Bella about the inquest, she was able to inform him that the Solitary Farm lands were about to be reaped.
"And we might go there in the evening to look," said Bella.
"My dear, I should think that the Manor was hateful to you."
"Well, it is. Even if I do inherit it from Mrs. Vand, I can never live there, Cyril. But I want you to come with me this evening, as I have a kind of idea that the body of Mrs. Vand"—she grew pale and shuddered—"may be found amidst the corn."
Cyril started back, astonished. "My dear girl, you must be mad!"
"No, I am not, Cyril. Think of how she is being hunted, and how her person is described everywhere, while all the ports and stations are watched. I believe that she, poor woman! went to see her lawyer, so as to prove her sorrow for having misjudged me, by making me her heiress, and that she then returned to die amidst the corn."
"Do you think she is dead there?"
"Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Granny Tunks is still in the hut, and she is very avaricious. Mrs. Vand had money. She may have bribed Granny to bring her food while she lay hid among the corn."
"But such a hiding-place!" said Lister, who nevertheless was much struck with what Bella was saying.
"A very good one and a place where no one would think of looking. Think how thick the corn is growing! No one ever enters it, and that scarlet coated scarecrow stands sentinel over it. Believe me, Cyril, Mrs. Vand has been hiding there. I wish you to come with me this evening. They have started to reap the corn by order of Mr. Timson. If Mrs. Vand is there, she will in the end be discovered. Let us find her, and save her, and get her out of the kingdom."
"That will bring us within reach of the law."
"I don't care," said Bella, quite recklessly; "after all, she had nothing to do with the crime, and only kept silent to shield her husband. I want to help the poor thing, and you must aid me to do so."
"But Bella, she never liked you."
"What has that got to do with it?" cried the girl passionately. "Our natures did not suit one another, and perhaps I behaved rather harshly towards her. She meant well. And remember, Cyril, she has made amends by leaving me all that would have been mine had I really been Captain Huxham's daughter."
Cyril nodded. "I admit that she has done her best to repent," he said after a pause, "and we should not judge her too harshly. I'll come."
"And help her to escape?"
"Yes. It won't be easy; but I'll do my best."
"That's my own dear boy," said the girl, kissing him, "and now what about the inquest?"
"A verdict of death by drowning has been brought in," said Cyril quickly. "I think if we can get Mrs. Vand away, everything concerning the Huxham mystery will be at an end."
"They won't put the whole story in the papers, Cyril?"
"No. Inglis will edit all that is to be given to the reporters and journalists. He will say as little as possible about the matter. It is known that Huxham was murdered by Vand, and in the absence of my father's body no cognisance can be taken of that alleged murder."
"Don't you believe that your father has been murdered?"
"I don't know; I can't tell. Tunks says so, and I don't suppose he would tell such a story against himself unless it were true. But no body has been found, and until the body of the missing man is found, it is presumed in law that he is alive. But"—Cyril shrugged his shoulders—"who can tell the truth?"
"It will be made manifest in time," said Bella firmly; "your father, or your father's body, will be found. Where are Durgo and Henry to be buried?"
"In Marshely churchyard to-morrow. I shall go to the funeral. I am sorry for Durgo. In spite of his skin he was a real white man. And when he is under the earth, Bella, I think we had better sell the jewels and marry, and take a trip round the world in order to forget all this terrible business. I am quite glad it is over."
"It is not over yet," insisted Bella, "your father has to be found, and Mrs. Vand must be discovered."
"Or their bodies," said Cyril significantly, and turned away.
It must not be thought that young Lister was callous. His father had never been one to him, and, moreover, his son had seen so little of him, that he was as strange to the young man as he had been to the boy. Cyril deeply regretted the gulf that was between them, as he was of a truly affectionate nature, but his father always had repelled the least sign of tenderness. He only looked on Cyril as one to be made use of, and borrowed from him on every occasion. Had he succeeded in getting the jewels and had aided Durgo to regain his chiefdom, he would have remained in Nigeria as a kind of savage prime minister, without casting a thought to his son. And whether his father was dead or alive, Cyril knew that he would have to repay the one thousand pounds which he had borrowed to cover his father's delinquency in respect of the forged cheque. How could such a son as Cyril Lister respect or love such a parent as Edwin of the same name?
Nevertheless, Cyril, although he said little to Bella, was very anxious to ascertain the fate of his father. It seemed very certain that Tunks had seen him murdered by the evil-hearted old sailor, but what that scoundrel had done with the body could not be discovered. In vain the police dug in the cellars of the Manor-house, tapped the walls, ripped up the floors, and dragged the boundary channel. The body of Edwin Lister could not be found, and as no one had seen him save Tunks, and Pence, and Bella, who had all mistaken him for Cyril, the police began to believe that Edwin, the father, was a myth. And Cyril could not make Inglis see otherwise for all his urging and confession.
"If the man is alive, why doesn't he turn up?" asked Inglis; "and if dead, why can't we find his body?"
There was no answer to this, and Cyril gave up his father's fate as a riddle, when he walked in the cool of the evening towards the Solitary Farm. The immediate object of his visit was to find if Mrs. Vand, dead or alive, was concealed in the thickly standing corn. Bella strolled by his side. But the lovers had taken no one into this particular confidence, not even Dora, and walked towards the well-known house, and up the corn-path, anxiously looking right and left. Then Cyril uttered an exclamation of annoyance. "What a bother!" he said, much vexed: "see, Bella, there are labourers still reaping—yonder, near the scarecrow."
"I suppose Mr. Timson wants the fields reaped quickly," said Bella, also much vexed. "I thought everyone would have been gone by this time. We must wait until the labourers depart, Cyril. It will never do to find Mrs. Vand while they are about. They would tell the police, and she would be arrested. That would be dangerous!"
"So it will be—if she is alive," said the young man, who was very doubtful on this point himself.
The setting sun cast a rosy glow over the fields of golden grain. The old house seemed to be buried in a treasure meadow. All round rolled the radiant waves, and the scarlet-coated scarecrow's task was nearly done. The corn was ripe for the harvest, and soon the acres of the Solitary Farm would consist of nothing but stubble.
As the lovers drew near the house, they saw a labourer approach the scarecrow. The corn had been reaped for some distance all round it, and now a man had cut a path direct to it in order to pull it down. Its task was over, and it was no longer needed to keep off the birds. Suddenly the man laid his hand on the quaint figure, which had been so familiar to every one for months, and uttered a loud cry of astonishment. Cyril saw him beckoning to other labourers, and shortly there was a crowd round the scarlet coat.
"What is the matter?" asked Bella, and the lovers hurried to join the group.
One of the labourers heard the question, and turned excitedly. "Master! Missus!" he said, in horrified tone, "it's a corpse."
He pulled the tattered gray felt hat from the scarecrow, and Cyril recoiled with a loud cry of surprise. "Bella! Bella!"
"What is it? what is it?" she said, startled by the discovery.
"It is my father. It is Edwin Lister."
All present knew of the tragedy, and of the hunt made for Edwin Lister. And now the missing man had been discovered. One of the labourers, mindful of public house gossip, touched the drooping neck of the figure, and shuddered. "Take missy away," he said softly to Cyril, and with a grey face, "this ain't no sight for her. His throat has been cut."
But it was not the man who led the girl away. Bella saw the labourer's face, guessed, with a shudder, what he had said, and, catching Cyril's arm, dragged him away from that awful spot. The young fellow, with a blanched face and tottering limbs, stumbled blindly along as she pulled him forward. In all his expectations, he had never counted upon such a terrible dramatic discovery as this. His father, the missing man, the murdered man, who had been hunted for alive and dead for many weeks, had been used by Captain Huxham as a scarecrow to frighten the birds. No wonder they had kept away from those sinister fields.
"Oh, great God!" moaned Cyril, sick and faint, "let this be the end."
The quiet village of Marshely, in Essex, was getting to be as well-known through the length and breadth of England as Westminster Abbey. The murder of Captain Huxham had caused a sensation, the death of Durgo and Vand had created another one, but the discovery of the ghastly scarecrow which had warned the birds from the corn-fields of Bleacres, startled everyone greatly. The news flew like wild fire through the village, and in less than an hour the inhabitants were surveying the terrible object.
Shortly the constable of the village who had superseded Dutton—in disgrace for his share in the escape of Mrs. Vand—appeared, and, armed with the authority of the law and assisted by willing hands, removed the poor relic of humanity from the pole whereupon it had hung for so long. The explanation of its being there was easy. Undoubtedly Captain Huxham, after he had committed the crime, and while Tunks and Pence were away, the one through horror and the other through sheer worry, had carried out the dead body to fasten it to the pole. He undressed the straw-stuffed figure, with which everyone was familiar, and having destroyed it arrayed the corpse of Edwin Lister in its military clothes. Then he pulled the tattered grey felt cap well over the face so that it should not be suspected as being that of a human being, and bound the dead to the pole. Of course, no one, not even the Vands, suspected that the figure was other than what it had always been, and it said much for the cruel ingenuity of Captain Jabez Huxham that he had selected so clever a mode of disposing of the body. Had he thrown it into the boundary channel it might have been fished out; had he concealed it in the house, it would probably have been discovered; and had he buried it in the garden near the house, it might have been dug up. But no one ever dreamed that the scarlet-coated scarecrow was the man who was wanted. Huxham had been struck down almost immediately after he had put his scheme into execution, and it was doubtful if he had intended to leave the body there. Probably he did, as it was isolated by the corn, and when the field was reaped he doubtless intended to get rid of the corpse in some equally ingenious way. The removal of the scarecrow would have excited no comment when the fields were reaped, as its career of usefulness would then be at an end. The dead man's clothes still clothed his corpse under the scarecrow's ragged garments.
One result of the discovery was that everyone decided not to buy the corn which had flourished under so terrible a guardian. Far and wide the newspapers spread the report of the discovery, and Timson became aware that a prejudice existed against making bread of the wheat grown on the Bleacres ground. Not wishing to spend more money, since he would have to account for everything he did to Mrs. Vand, he withdrew the labourers. The Solitary Farm now became solitary indeed, for no one would go near it, especially after night-fall. The golden fields of wheat spread round it like a sea, and the ancient house stood up greyly and lonely like a thing accursed. And indeed it was looked upon as damned by the villagers.
An inquest was held, and, going by the evidence of Luke Tunks, it was decided that Edwin Lister came by his end at the hands of Jabez Huxham. Cyril was compelled to attend and give evidence, but said as little as he could, not wishing to make his father's shady career too public. He simply stated that his father was a trader in Nigeria, and being the friend of Durgo, the dispossessed chief of a friendly tribe in the far Hinterland, had come home to see Huxham and get from him certain jewels. Of course he could not suppress the fact that these jewels had been given by Kawal to Maxwell Faith, and had been stolen from the dead body of the man by his murderer, Captain Huxham: nor could he fail to state that Bella was the daughter of Maxwell Faith, since had he not done so the jewels might have been taken from her. But Cyril spoke as clearly and carefully as he could, quite aware of the delicate position he occupied. There was no doubt that Huxham, dreading lest the murder of Faith should be brought home to him, and anxious to retain the jewels which were the price of blood, had murdered Lister; afterwards he had disposed of the body in the ingenious manner explained. But Lister was dead; Huxham was dead; Vand and Durgo were dead, so the papers suggested that there should be an end to the succession of terrible events which made Marshely so notorious.
"And I think this is the last," said Cyril, when he returned to Miss Ankers' cottage from his father's funeral. "Bella, we can't stay here."
"I'm sure I don't want to," replied the harassed girl, who looked worn and thin. "The place is getting on my nerves. I'll marry you as soon as you like, dear, and then we can go away. But this morning"—she hesitated—"I received a letter from my father's relatives. They ask me to come to them."
"What will you do?" asked Cyril gravely.
"Write and say that I am marrying you and intend to go abroad."
"But, Bella, if you reside with your relatives you may be able to make a much better match."
"Yes," said Bella with a grimace. "I might marry a Quaker. No, dear, I intend to stay with you and marry you. I have done without my relatives for all this time, and I hope to continue doing without them."
"Bella! Bella! I have nothing to offer you."
"Yourself, dear. That is all I want."
"A stupid gift on my part," said Cyril, looking ruefully in a near mirror at his face, which was now lean and haggard. "You have the money, and also the sympathy of the public. I can offer you nothing but a dishonoured name."
"Oh, nonsense!" she said vigorously. "I won't have you talk in that way. Why, one of the newspapers referred to your father as a pioneer of Empire."
Sad as he was Cyril could not help smiling. "That is just like my father's good luck," he exclaimed; "alive or dead, everything comes to him. I expect his shady doings will be overlooked, and——"
"No one knows of his shady doings, dear."
"Well, then, he will be looked upon as a hero. It's just as well he is buried in Marshely churchyard, for some fanatic might propose to bury him in Westminster Abbey."
"You will be congratulated on having such a father."
"No!" cried Cyril violently. "I won't stand that, Bella. We shall go to London next week and get married in a registry office. Miss Ankers can come with you to play propriety."
Bella laughed. "I rather think Dora is so busy nursing poor Mr. Pence back to health that she has no time."
"Why, you don't mean to say that she loves Pence?"
"Yes and no. I won't say what may happen. She pities him for his weakness, and pity, as you know, is akin to love. Besides, only ourselves and Inspector Inglis know of the temptation to which Mr. Pence was submitted."
"Why, Bella, everyone knows he saw the corpse of Huxham and held his tongue."
"Yes, but everyone doesn't know that he took the one hundred pounds which he restored to me. He is looked upon as somewhat weak for not having informed the police of the crime, but on the whole people are sorry for him."
"I shall be sorry, too, if a nice little woman like Miss Ankers marries such a backboneless creature."
"Cyril! Cyril! have not our late troubles shown you that we must judge no one? After what we have undergone I shall never, never give an opinion about anyone again. I am sorry now that I did not behave better to poor Mrs. Vand. When my supposed father was alive I did treat her haughtily. No wonder she disliked me."
"My dear," said Lister, taking her hand, "don't be too hard on yourself. You and your so-called aunt would never have got on well together."
"But I might have been kinder," said Bella, almost crying; "now that she is dead and gone I feel that I might have been kinder."
"How do you know that she is dead and gone?" asked Cyril, in so strange a tone that Bella, dashing the tears from her eyes, looked at him inquiringly. "She is alive," he replied to that mute interrogation.
"Oh, Cyril, I am so glad! Tell me all about it."
"I don't know that I am glad, poor soul," said Lister sadly. "The police are on her track. I didn't want to tell you, Bella, but for the last two days the papers have been full of the hunt after Mrs. Vand."
"Why didn't Dora tell me?"
"I asked her not to. You have had quite enough to bear."
"Well, now that you have told me some, tell me all."
"There isn't much to tell. Some too clever landlady in Bloomsbury suspected a quiet lady lodger. It certainly was Mrs. Vand, but she became suspicious of her landlady and cleared out. Then she was seen at Putney, and afterwards someone noticed her in Hampstead. The papers having been taunting the police about the matter, they'll catch her in the end."
"Poor Mrs. Vand! poor Mrs. Vand!" The girl's eyes again filled with tears.
"We can't help her, Bella. I wish Timson could get hold of her and induce her to stand her trial. I don't think either judge or jury would be hard on her; more, I fancy that her brain must be turned with all this misery."
"And she has lost her husband, too," sighed Bella; "she loved him so. Oh, dear Cyril, what should I do if I lost you?"
Before Lister could reply with the usual lover-like attentions there was a noise in the road, and looking through the window they saw many people hurrying along. Dora came in at the moment from the other room, whither she always discreetly withdrew when not nursing Pence.
"It is only some policeman they are running after. He declares that Mrs. Vand is in the neighbourhood. If she is I hope she will escape."
"By Jove! I must go out and see," said Cyril, seizing his hat.
"I shall come also," cried Bella, and in a few minutes the two were on the road. But by this time the people were not tearing along as they had been, and one villager told Lister that it had been a false alarm.
"The old vixen won't come back to her first hole," said the villager with a coarse laugh, and Bella frowned at him for his inhumanity.
As there really was nothing to hurry for the lovers strolled easily along the road talking of their future. "Bella, you haven't many boxes?" asked Cyril.
"Only two. Why do you ask?"
"Will you be ready to come with me to London to-morrow?"
"Yes; I shall be glad to get out of Marshely, where I have been so miserable. Only I wish I knew where Mrs. Vand is, poor soul."
Cyril passed over the reference to Mrs. Vand, as he was weary of discussing that unfortunate woman. "There's a chum of mine got a motor," said the young man. "I wrote and asked him for the loan of it. He brought it down last night, and it is safely bestowed in the stables of 'The Chequers.' To-morrow at nine o'clock let us start off with your boxes——"
"And Dora?"
"No," said Cyril, very decidedly. "Dora can remain with Pence, whom she probably will marry. We will go to London and get married at a registry office in the afternoon, and then cross to Paris for our honeymoon. I haven't much money, Miss Rothschild, but I have enough for that. In our own happiness let us forget all our troubles."
"I'll come," said Bella with a sigh. "After all, we can do nothing. By the way, Cyril, what about Durgo's things?"
"Well it's odd you should mention that. He evidently thought that something might happen to him on that night, for he left a note behind him saying that if he did not return they were to be given to me. So I have shifted them long since to my lodgings. There they lie packed up, and ready to be taken away in our motor to-morrow."
"Cyril, you have been arranging this for some time?"
"Well, I have. It's the only way of getting you to leave this place, and you will always be miserable while you remain here."
"I only stayed in the hope that poor Mrs. Vand might return, and then I would be able to comfort her. Oh! how I wish Durgo with his occult powers was here to help us."
"I don't; Durgo's occult powers brought him little happiness, and didn't solve the mystery of my father's death. One would have thought that Granny Tunks, in her trances, would have told Durgo that the scarecrow which he saw daily was his dearly-beloved master's dead body."
"It is strange," said Bella thoughtfully; "but then, as Durgo said about something else, perhaps it was not permitted. What's become of Granny Tunks, Cyril? Is she still at the hut?"
"Yes; but I heard to-day that she is going on the road again with her old tribe of the Lovels. I daresay Granny will be at all the fairs and race meetings, swindling people for many a long day."
"And her son Luke?"
"He'll get off with a light sentence. He certainly had no hand in the murders, and there is no one to prosecute him for blackmail. Granny and Luke will soon be together again. I hope never to hear more of them, for my part. Bella! Bella! don't let us talk of such things. We have had enough of these tragedies. Let us be selfish for once in our lives and consider ourselves. Hullo, what's this?"
The question was provoked by the sight of Inglis with three constables, who whirled past in a fly which they had evidently obtained from the station. As they dashed onward in a cloud of dust the inspector, recognising the two, shouted out something indistinctly, with his hand to his mouth.
"What does he say, Cyril?" asked Bella anxiously.
"Something about fire. I wonder where they are going? Oh!"—Cyril suddenly stopped short—"I wonder if they are after poor Mrs. Vand. Come, Bella, let us see where they go to."
"But where are you going?" asked Bella, as he rushed along the road dragging her after him swiftly. "Oh!" she cried out with horror, "look!"
At the far end of the village and in the direction of the Solitary Farm, a vast cloud of smoke was mounting menacingly into the soft radiance of the twilight sky. "No wonder Inglis said fire!" cried Lister excitedly, "I believe, Bella, that the Manor-house is blazing."
"No," cried Bella in reply, "it is impossible."
But it was not. As they rounded the corner of the crooked village street in the midst of a crowd of people who had sprung as by magic from nowhere, they saw the great bulk of the Manor-house enveloped in thick black smoke, and even at the distance they were could catch sight of fiery tongues of flame. The sky was rapidly darkening to night, and the smoke-cloud, laced with red serpents, looked lurid and livid and sinister.
"Come, Bella, come!" cried Cyril to the panting girl, and took her arm within his own, "we must see who set it on fire."
Bella got her second wind and ran like Atalanta. They speedily outstripped the crowd, and were almost the first to cross the planks over the boundary channel. Inglis and his policemen were already running up the corn-path. Why they should run, or why the villagers should run, Cyril did not know, as there was no water and no fire brigade, hose, or engine, and no chance of saving the ancient mansion. He and Bella ran because they wished to see the last of the old home.
"Who can have set it on fire?" Cyril kept asking.
"Perhaps a tramp," suggested Bella breathlessly, but in her heart she felt that something more serious was in the wind. A strange dread gripped her heart, and the name of Mrs. Vand was on the tip of her tongue, although she never uttered it.
As the weather was warm and the ground dry—for there had been no rain since the electric storm which raged when Vand and Durgo had gone down into the muddy waters of the boundary channel—the old house flamed furiously. The dry wood caught like tinder, and when Cyril and the girl arrived the whole place was hidden weirdly by dense black smoke, amidst which flashed sinister points of fire. Inglis and his men attempted to enter the house, but were driven back by the fierce flames which burst from the cracking windows; also the great door was closed and could not be forced open. They were forced to retreat, and the inspector nearly tumbled over Miss Faith, as Bella was now called.
"Can't you get her out?" asked Inglis breathlessly.
"Get her out!" cried the girl, terrified, and half grasping his meaning.
"Mrs. Vand; she is in there," and he pointed to the furnace of flame.
Bella screamed and Cyril turned pale. "You must be mistaken," he said.
"No, no," replied the inspector, who was greatly agitated, for even his official phlegm was not proof against the terror of the position. "The London police wired to me at Pierside that Mrs. Vand had gone down to Marshely. We waited at the station to arrest her, but she got off at a previous station and was seen by your village policeman to run across the marshes. He wired to my Pierside office, and the wire was repeated to the station we waited at. We got a fly and hurried here only to see the smoke. I cried out 'Fire!' to you as we passed. Great heavens, what a blaze!"
"Can't you get her out?" cried Bella, who was white with despair. Little as she had liked Mrs. Vand, the position was a dreadful one to contemplate.
"What can we do?" said the officer, with a gesture of despair. "There is no water and no buckets: and if there were, what bucket of water would put out that conflagration. You might as well try and extinguish hell with a squirt."
Bella paid no attention to the vehemence of his expression, but turned to Cyril. "What can we do?" she wailed. "Oh, what can we do?"
"Nothing, nothing. Look at the police, look at the villagers. We can do nothing. If Mrs. Vand is in that blazing house God help her."
There was now a great crowd of men, women and children all gathered some distance away from the burning mansion, trampling down the tall corn in their efforts to see. Bella, with the police and her lover, stood the nearest to the house. "Please God she is not there!" breathed the girl, clasping her hands in agony.
At that moment, as if to give the lie to her kindly prayer, a window on the first storey was flung open and Mrs. Vand's head was poked out. Even at this distance Bella could see that her hair was in disorder, her face haggard, and her whole mien wild. Breaking away desperately from Cyril she rushed right up almost under the window, despite the fierce heat.
"Aunt, oh aunt," she cried, stretching up her hands, "come down and save yourself!"
"No! No. They shall not catch me! I shall not be hanged! I am innocent! I am innocent!" shrieked Mrs. Vand, and Bella could almost see the mad flash in her eyes.
"Bella! Bella! come back," shouted Cyril, and dashing forward he caught the girl in his arms and carried her away as the front door fell outward. A long tongue of flame shot out and licked the grass where Bella had stood a moment since.
By this time the house was blazing furiously, and every window save that out of which Mrs. Vand's head was thrust, vomited flame. The sky was now very dark, and the vivid redness of the flame in the gloom made a terrible and lovely spectacle. Bella, in her despair, would have rushed again to implore her aunt to escape, but that Cyril and Inglis held her firmly. "It is useless," they said, and the girl could not but admit that they were right.
Mrs. Vand apparently was quite mad. She kept flinging up her arms, and shouting out taunts to the police for having failed to catch her. Then she was seized with a fit of frenzy and began to throw things out of the window. Chairs, and looking-glasses, and rugs, and table ornaments did she fling out. Suddenly a devilish thought occurred to her crazed brain. She noted that a tongue of uncut corn stretched from the main body of wheat almost under the window. Darting back she plucked a flaming brand from the crackling door, and, regardless how it burnt the flesh of her hand, she ran to the window. "Off! off! off with you!" cried Mrs. Vand, and carefully dropping the brand on to the tongue of corn.
In one moment, as it seemed, the thread of fire ran along to the main body of the corn, and in an inconceivably short space of time, the acres of golden grain were a sheet of flame. The villagers, the police, both Cyril and Bella, ran for their lives, and it took them all their speed to escape the eager flames which licked their very heels. Pell-mell down to the boundary channel ran everyone. The plank bridge was broken, and many tumbled into the muddy water. Mrs. Vand stood at the window yelling, and clapping her hands like a fiend, and the whole vast fields of wheat flared like a gigantic bonfire.
Half swimming, half holding on to the broken bridge planks, Cyril, with Bella on his other arm, managed to scramble through that muddy ditch. Beside him shrieked women and cursed men and screamed children. The police having safely reached the other side stretched out arms to those in the water. Cyril and Bella were soon on dry land, and shortly everyone else was saved. Not a single life was lost, either by fire or water. And when safe on the hither side of this Jordan, the excited, smoke-begrimed throng looked at the flaming fields and the roaring furnace of the Manor house. The smoke and flame of the burning ascended to heaven and reddened the evening sky. Mrs. Vand, in setting fire to her last refuge, had indeed provided herself with a noble pyre and a dramatic end. Before those who watched could draw breath after their last exertions, the roof of the mansion fell in with a crash. Mrs. Vand gave one wild cry and fell backward. Then fierce, red flames enwrapped the whole structure, while far and wide the raging fire swept over the fields of the Solitary Farm.
"May God have mercy on her soul!" said Cyril removing his cap.
"Ah!" said Inglis, "if I had caught her, I wonder if the judge would have said as much."
"No," replied Bella, "she is dead, and she was innocent. God help her poor soul!" and everyone around echoed the wish.
Bella and Cyril did not go to London the next morning as they had arranged, but three days later. In the meanwhile search had been made amongst the ruins of the Manor-house for the body of Mrs. Vand. But nothing could be found. In that fierce furnace of flame she had been burnt to a cinder, and not even calcined bones could be gathered together. In a whirlwind of flame the unhappy woman had vanished, and her end affected Bella deeply. Indeed, Cyril feared lest the much-tried girl should fall ill, and on the third day he brought round the motor-car to Miss Ankers' cottage, to insist that she should come with him to London.
"But if we marry so soon it seems like a disrespect to Mrs. Vand," argued Bella, "and she has left me her money, remember."
"My dear, don't be morbid," advised Dora; "you will be ill if you stay. Get married, and go to Paris, and try to forget all these terrible things."
"What do you say, Pence?" asked Cyril, who in the meantime had carried out Bella's boxes.
Pence, looking lean and haggard after his recent illness, but with a much calmer light in his eyes, nodded. "I say, go, Miss Faith, and get married as soon as you can."
"You wouldn't have given that advice once," said Bella, with a faint smile, as Dora assisted her to adjust her cloak.
"No. But I have grown wiser."
"What a compliment!"
"You have forgiven me, have you not?"
"Yes, I have." She held out her hand, "and the best thing I can wish you is the best wife in the world."
As if by chance, her eyes rested on Dora, who blushed, and then on Pence, who grew red. Afterwards, with half a smile and half a sigh, she got into the car beside Cyril. Dora hopped like a bird on to the step to kiss her.
Lister raised his cap, and the car went humming down the road on the way to peace and happiness.
"That's the end of her solitary life," said Pence, thankfully.
"On the Solitary Farm," rejoined Dora; "come and have some breakfast."
The Mystery of a Hansom Cab
The Sealed Message
The Sacred Herb
Claude Duval of Ninety-five
The Rainbow Feather
The Pagan's Cup
A Coin of Edward VII
The Yellow Holly
The Red Window
The Mandarin's Fan
The Secret Passage
The Opal Serpent
Lady Jim of Curzon Street