Whatever might have been Neil Webster's intentions as to saving his mother by proving himself guilty, they were frustrated by a severe illness. His body could no longer bear the strain of constant worry and mental torture, and he was seized with an attack of brain fever. Then it was that Heron proved himself indeed a friend; he attended to the sick man and procured for him the very best advice. No brother could have done more for the poor fellow than did Geoffrey. Putting entirely aside his desire to be near Ruth and to prosecute his courtship, he devoted himself to restoring Neil to health.
Furthermore, at his friend's special request in the early stages of his illness, Geoffrey took all measures to prevent Mr. Cass hearing of the precarious state in which he lay. For Neil considered that the merchant had done quite enough for him and did not wish to give him any more trouble; so Geoffrey informed Mr. Cass that the young violinist had gone abroad for a rest by the advice of his doctor. Then he had him removed to Bognor and placed under the charge of Mrs. Jent, impressing upon her the necessity for secrecy. Thus it came about that for nearly two months he lay ill in bed at Bognor without any suspicion being aroused in Mr. Cass's mind.
To Ruth young Heron wrote and explained that Neil had given her up, but that he refused to say why he had done so. He added that he himself was going to Paris for a month or so, but that if she wanted him back he would return at the end of that time. Having thus sacrificed himself on the shrine of friendship, he went down to watch Neil through his dangerous illness. For he was quite determined that he should not die if human means could save him. So, with Mrs. Jent, he nursed his friend with the greatest tenderness.
Another friendly act he performed. He visited Mrs. Jenner and learned from her all the particulars of the case. At first she sternly refused to tell him anything, but when he informed her that her son was ill and that his only chance of recovery--this was a little embroidery of his own--lay in the hope of her innocence being established, she gave way. He had already succeeded in impressing upon her the fact that Neil could not have killed his father, notwithstanding all appearances to the contrary.
"From what you say, Mrs. Jenner," he remarked, "your husband was a strong man. Neil--I must still call him Neil--was a puny child. It is impossible that he could have struck such a blow. At best his strength could not have been equal to it, and Jenner could have brushed him aside as easily as he could a fly."
"That is true," said the woman, thoughtfully. "I found him with a knife in his hand standing beside the body."
"He might have entered the room and picked up the knife."
"But if this is go-and I begin to see things from your point of view--who killed my husband? I can swear that I did not, and if my child is innocent, who is guilty?"
"That is just what we must find out, both to release you from an unjust imprisonment and to set his mind at rest. Now tell me the whole story and especially the events of that night. Then I may be in a position to account for the crime."
Cheered somewhat by the view he took, Mrs. Jenner told him all she knew with full details. Two points struck Mr. Heron--one that the window had been open and that Mrs. Jenner had left her husband standing near it; the other that he had had in his possession a red pocket-book which had afterwards disappeared. Beyond this he gathered that her account of the boasts her husband had made on that night that he had had somebody in his power, somebody from whom he intended to extort money.
"And I quite believe that is true," finished the unhappy woman, bitterly. "He had the instincts of a blackmailer."
"Well, said Geoffrey, preparing to take his departure. I think the motive for the crime will be found in that pocket-book. Whoever took it murdered your husband. The window was open, the book, as you say, on the table, and near the window your husband was standing. Also," he added with emphasis, "you say the knife was lying beside the pocket-book. Now, if your son had used it he would have had to pass his father to get it and so would have put him on his guard, even if he had not been prevented from taking it. No, Mrs. Jenner, your son is innocent, as innocent as yourself. The assassin seized that knife through the open window and struck the blow in order to get possession of that pocket-book, which contained--of that I am sure--some document which would have been used as a lever to extort money. That is my theory, and I will make it my business to prove that it is the right one. Meanwhile, I must nurse Neil."
"You are a good man," said Mrs. Jenner shewing emotion for the first time, "and what you say seems feasible enough. Go, and do the best you can. Heaven will reward you. But my son, my darling boy--he may die!"
"Not if I can help it. I'll pull him round somehow. Keep up your spirits. You have had a long night, but I believe the dawn is at hand."
"Heaven bless you!" she said. Then Geoffrey took his leave, to return to the bedside of Neil Webster.
While all this was taking place Ruth had not been idle. She had been annoyed by Heron's letter, and much alarmed at his determination to stay away. She was beginning to find out that her feeling for him was stronger than anything the young violinist had inspired in her; but a streak of obstinacy, inherited from her Spanish grandmother, kept her, in a manner, true to the man for whom she cared least. Besides this she was possessed of more than her share of feminine curiosity, and never faltered in her determination to learn the real cause of Webster's mysterious departure. She was well aware that her love for him was not genuine, that it had been founded--as Jennie had very truly told her--on admiration for the artist, not on love for the man and she was equally certain that she would never marry him. But all the same she was resolved to learn his secret, and for many a weary week she plotted for the achievement of her ends. As far as she knew, both Neil and Geoffrey were abroad, so she had a fair field.
After much thought she concluded that her best plan was to make the attempt through Mrs. Jent, who had been her nurse, and who had always retained an affection, almost motherly, for her. And the old woman was a trustful soul, easy enough to manage by the exercise of a little diplomacy. Ruth's plan was to act as she had done with her father--to assume that she knew more than she would admit. In this way, taking into account the simplicity of Mrs. Jent, it was likely that the old woman would let something slip which would put her on the track. And Ruth considered that if she had succeeded with a man like her father she would certainly have no difficulty with a person of Mrs. Jent's calibre. So she made up her mind as to her best course of action.
To see Mrs. Jent without arousing suspicion it was necessary that she should go down to Bognor without her father's knowledge. He would think it odd that she should, at this juncture, wish to see one who was so closely connected with her former lover. To avert suspicion, the girl wrote to an old schoolfellow at Brighton asking her for an invitation. "I am tired of a dull country life," wrote Miss Cass, "and I should be so glad of a little amusement. Do ask me down for a week or so."
Mrs. Prosser fell into the trap. It seemed natural enough to her that Ruth should want a little gaiety, and she was glad to have a pretty girl in her house. The presence of beauty would attract a good many men and, being not averse to an occasional flirtation herself. Mrs. Prosser judged that she would share in the pleasure to be derived from the visit. So the desired invitation was promptly despatched, and Mr. Cass, quite unsuspicious, permitted his daughter's acceptance of it.
"Perhaps it will put this nonsense about Webster out of your head," he said as he bade her good-bye. To which remark he received no answer.
For quite a week Ruth enjoyed herself thoroughly. Mrs. Prosser's house was a bright one. She entertained a great deal, more especially now that she had such a charming friend to amuse and to amuse her. That young lady made amends for Neil's desertion of her, and for Geoffrey's absence, by flirting to her heart's content, and consigning many youths to various stages of despair at what they were pleased to call her fickleness. But she never lost sight of her main object, which was to drop down on Mrs. Jent without giving that old lady warning of her coming. She would take her entirely by surprise.
Accordingly, on the plea that she was going to see her old nurse, Ruth took the train to _Bognor_, and Mrs. Jent welcomed her visitor with open arms. Nor indeed--not having been warned--did she conceal the fact that Mr. Webster was ill in the house and that Geoffrey was nursing him.
"My dear, how pleased I am to see you!" she cried, settling her spectacles on her nose. "And quite the young lady, too! How good of you, my lovey, not to forget your old nurse."
"As if I ever could," Ruth said, graciously. "And tell me what you are doing with yourself?"
"Just living, my dear, just living. What with a boarder or two and the money your dear papa allows me I rub along."
"Have you any boarders now?" asked the girl, more for the sake of saying something than because she felt any interest in the subject.
"Well, not what you would call boarders, perhaps," said the old lady, rubbing one withered hand over the other. "At least, one of them isn't, he is my dear boy Neil."
"Neil!" with unbounded astonishment, "Neil Webster! Why, he is abroad."
"No such thing. He is here, my lovey, and has been for two months. Abroad? Why, the poor darling has been at death's door! Aye, and he would have entered it, too, if Mr. Heron had not----"
"Heron? Geoffrey Heron?"
"Yes, dear, that is him, Heaven bless him. Do you----"
"Geoffrey Heron here?" interrupted the girl rather to herself than to the old woman. "Why, he wrote to tell me that he was on the Continent. What does all this mean, I wonder?"
"It's not hard to tell the meaning," said Mrs. Jent. "My boy Neil fell ill, had brain fever, poor lad, and Mr. Heron brought him here from London that I might nurse him, and he stayed with me. He is almost as fond of my dear boy as I am."
"Is he?" said Ruth, blankly. Considering that the two men were, or had been, rivals for her hand, she could not quite take all this in.
"Of course he is," said the old woman, with great energy. "A better gentleman I never wish to see."
"And is Mr. Webster here?"
"In the next room, in the most beautiful sleep. I daresay you would like to see him, my dear, for he has often talked of you. But I daren't wake him, it would be dangerous. Mr. Heron has gone to Worthing. Will you wait till he comes back?"
"I might," replied Ruth, thinking that she would like to prove to Heron that she was no fool. "Has he also spoken of me?"
"Often and often, my dear. Why, he loves you; he has told me so a dozen times."
The girl stuck her pretty chin in the air and looked supercilious. "Well, he is nothing to me," she said, crossly. "I don't like deceitful people. Oh, now, don't defend him," she added, seeing that Mrs. Jent was about to deliver herself of an indignant speech. "I know more than you do. As to Mr. Webster, well, he was good enough to say that he cared for me too."
"I know. He has often spoken of you to me; but he has got over his fancy."
"Oh, indeed!" cried Ruth, more angry than ever. "He calls his love for me a fancy, does he? Just like a man." Then she suddenly recollected her errand and resolved to make the best use of her time before Geoffrey could come back and interfere. "Poor Mr. Webster! No doubt he is grieving for his parents."
The old lady started. "What do you know of them?" she asked, sternly.
"All that he could tell me," was the reply. "He was engaged to me, and he told me all about himself and his people."
"How foolish of him," Mrs. Jent said under her breath. "But I hope you don't think any the less of him, my dear. After all, he is not responsible for the wickedness of his father and mother."
Ruth nearly jumped out of her seat. So Neil's father and mother had been what this old woman called "wicked people." And, moreover, he was suffering for what they had done in not being allowed to marry her; that was the way she put it. But she said nothing, and Mrs. Jent went on talking in the firm belief that her listener knew all the facts of the case.
"Of course, it was a long time before he knew anything about his parents neither Mr. Cass nor I would tell him, you know. But last Christmas, when he was staying with you, my dear, he found it all out."
"It was at Christmas that he told me about them," put in Ruth.
But she did not add that it was of the American parents he had spoken. Indeed, she could not make out whether Mrs. Jent was alluding to them or to some other persons of whom she knew nothing. She felt confused.
"Ah, well," went on the old lady, with a sigh, "I suppose the discovery was too much for him and he had to tell someone. And why not you? But, my dear," she laid a withered hand on the girl's arm, "if he had loved you he would never have told you about that nasty Turnpike House murder. Did he tell you his name was Jenner, my dear?"
"No," said the girl, faintly. She knew the truth now. "Only that his parents--oh, I can't speak of it!"
"It is terrible." The old lady shook her head. "To think of his mother having murdered her husband and being in gaol."
"He never told me that!" shrieked Ruth, for she could play her part no longer. "Oh, great Heavens, what a horrible thing! No wonder my father would not let the marriage take place."
"The marriage!" stammered Mrs. Jent, rising with an expression of alarm on her face.
"Yes, I was engaged to him and suddenly he gave me up. My father said he would never allow me to marry him. I could not make out the reason. Now I know it, and, oh, how horrible it is!"
"Then you did not know the truth?"
"No, no. Neil told me about his American parents----"
"That was the story we made up to keep him quiet," put in the old woman. "Yes, Mr. Cass and I thought it best he should not know. He found out the truth for himself, and--now--I have told it to you."
"I am glad you have," said Ruth, taking her hand. "Dear nurse, I have behaved so badly. I wanted to find out why Neil had given me up, and as father would not tell me I came to you. But I have been punished for my curiosity. Still, I'm glad--I'm glad. I must give him up now."
"Indeed, miss," said Mrs. Jent, bristling with indignation. "I think you ought to stand by the poor boy more than ever. Oh, miss, how could you play me such a trick? I do hope you'll keep all this to yourself."
"Of course I will. All the effect it will have upon me is that I shall think no more of Neil."
"Ah!" Mrs. Jent shook her head. "I thought I better of you."
"Good gracious! How can you expect me to marry a man whose mother is in gaol?"
"That is not his fault. But take your own way, miss. I think you have behaved badly in tricking me into speaking secrets. I shall tell your father at once."
"I shall tell him myself; you shan't be blamed, nurse. I am a wicked girl to have done what I have done. There, don't cry, I'm not worth it. I'll go away and not bother you." And before Mrs. Jent could say another word Ruth was out of the house and walking swiftly along the parade.
Then the unexpected happened, for the first person she met was Geoffrey Heron!
Geoffrey Heron would as soon have expected to see the sea-serpent off shore as to meet Ruth Cass walking along the _Bognor_ Parade. However, there she was, and he had to meet her, to explain himself as best he could, and to put himself right in her eyes.
"Miss Cass!" he stammered, taking off his hat and exhibiting a very red face and confusion of manner usually absent from his demeanour. "I am astonished to meet you here."
"I daresay," replied the girl, her nose in the air. "There can be no doubt about that after all the stones you told me. But I am not astonished. I have been to see Mrs. Jent."
"What! Have you seen Webster?" I said Mrs. Jent. "No, Mr. Webster does not know that I am here. He was asleep, and Mrs. Jent refused to disturb him even for me. Now what have you to say for yourself?"
"It is a long story," he said uneasily.
"In that case we had better sit down."
"But I must go back to the cottage."
"In that case I'll go with you. We don't part, Mr. Heron until I have an explanation of all this. Part of it I understand already."
"What do you understand?" he asked, startled.
"For one thing I know now why Neil left me."
"Impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible to a woman who has set her heart on finding out what she wants to know. Neil refused to tell me, papa refused, you refused in the meanest manner. Well, I have found out--from Mrs. Jent."
"She never told you!" cried Heron, agitated.
"Not of her own free will. I got it out of her. But I know now what is the matter. Ah, I see you don't believe me; you are still incredulous. Just listen, then. Neil's real name is Jenner; his mother killed his father, and is now in gaol. Am I right?"
"Perfectly." He was relieved to find that she did not know the worst. "I congratulate you on your diplomacy."
"I thought you were going to use a nastier word. I am sure you were tempted to."
"No, believe me----"
"How can I believe you when you behave as you have done? Why are you here instead of in Paris?"
"Because when I saw Webster I found he was very ill. Someone had to look after him, and I seemed to be the right person just then. You would not have had me leave the poor fellow to die?"
"No." Ruth held out her hand, which he seized eagerly. "On the whole I think you are a very good man, Mr. Heron. But why did you tell me that you were in Paris, and that Neil also was abroad?"
"I did so at his request. He considered that he had given your father enough trouble, and knowing that in all probability he would have a long illness, he asked me to conceal his whereabouts, so that Mr. Cass should not come down."
"Oh, I understand. But about yourself, why did you hide?"
"In the first place I wanted to look after him. In the second, I did not wish to see you."
"Oh, thank you!" cried Ruth, highly indignant.
"Don t misunderstand me, he said, anxious Neil told me his story--the story you have got out of Mrs. Jent--and I did not feel justified in allowing anything so terrible to reach your ears. I knew that I was as wax in your hands, and that you would probably force me to tell; so I judged discretion to be the better part of valour, and kept away."
"I see. But I don't think your discretion will serve you in the long run. Here is a seat, and there are few people about. Now, Mr. Heron, sit down and tell me everything from the beginning."
"Oh, but----"
"I won't have any 'buts' about it," said Ruth, peremptorily. "I know the worst, but I know it only in fragments. I want to know the whole."
"Why?" asked Heron, taking his seat beside her.
"Can't you guess? Oh, you are stupid. Why, to help poor Neil, of course."
"Ah! You are still in love with him!" said Heron, with a jealous pang.
"No, I am not. I found out long since that I loved someone else better. Oh, I am not going to tell you his name. I have my secrets as well as you. But I still like and admire Neil in spite of his misfortunes, and I want to help him. You are doing that already, and I admire you for it. Well, we will work together."
"I should like nothing better. But," Geoffrey hesitated, "can I trust you? The secret isn't mine, you know."
"No, it is mine," said Miss Cass, very coolly. "I share it with you and Mrs. Jent. Whether I know all or not I am not prepared to say, but you are going to tell me all. Now then!"
He hesitated. "Very good," he said at length. "I will tell you all I know, and we will work together to get this poor woman restored to freedom."
"What? Is she innocent?"
"I am certain of that. Whosoever murdered Jenner, it was not his wife."
"But she was found guilty."
"She is not the first innocent person who has been found guilty. Wait till you have heard the whole story, then you shall judge."
"I certainly should not think of judging beforehand," she said, disdainfully. "You must not think me silly. Now go on from the very beginning."
Seated on the iron bench with his gaze fixed seaward, Heron employed the best part of an hour in telling the story. Ruth, for the most part, listened quietly, only now and again putting a question so much to the point as to amaze her companion. And as he neared the end, and these questions and comments became more frequent, Geoffrey congratulated himself on having taken her into his confidence.
"Poor Neil!" she sighed at last. "How he must have suffered!"
"And how he does suffer," Heron said, gloomily. "He loves his mother beyond any created being, and he will never be at peace until he sees her rescued from the fate to which she has been so unjustly condemned."
"That shall be our task," responded Ruth, with alacrity. "Neil is too weak a man to take this burden upon him. Now I know why I could never love him altogether, why I was never satisfied."
"What do you mean?" asked Heron, anxiously.
"Well, it is this way," said Miss Cass, drawing figures on the gravel with the tip of her umbrella. "I fell in love with him when I heard him play, he looked so handsome and so noble--so inspired; but when we were together something always seemed to be wanting. I know now what it was--strength, the strength of a man. I believe, Geoffrey," she went on without noticing that she was using his Christian name, that what a woman wants in a husband is a master. "I wonder if I shall ever get what I want? I don't know. Are there such men?" She looked sideways at Heron, not in a coquettish way, but rather wistfully.
Geoffrey felt that embarrassment which every honest man feels at the thought of having an egotistical speech forced upon him. He loved this girl, and he was sure that she loved him.
"Well, Geoffrey," she said, after waiting in vain for a reply, "I will be your wife."
"You will My dearest!"
"Hush! Don't take my hands; don't speak so loud. We are in a public place, remember, and many eyes are on us. Yes, I will marry you, for you are--a man!"
"But I can never be your master, dearest," he said, filled with delight; "for who would rule a dove?"
"Ah! but that is where you are mistaken. I am not a dove by any manner of means. I am a very self-willed girl; my presence here proves that. I know you won't be a tyrant and thwart me in little things; but when I am your wife I know that you, not I, will have the last word; and that is what I wish it to be."
"Well, perhaps there is some truth in what you say," he admitted, "but you shall have your own way, dear--always."
"Yes, always, that is when it fits in with your own ideas; but I am quite willing to take you on those terms. You are as strong as Neil, poor fellow! is weak; and that reminds me," she added, hastily, "that we must not waste time in talking about ourselves. I must get back to Brighton."
"Are you staying there? May I----"
"Yes, I am staying with an old schoolfellow." She gave him her address. "And you may come over when you can, but don't neglect poor Neil for me. We must settle this business first. Let us talk of it."
"I would rather talk of you," he said, ruefully. "However, duty before pleasure. What were you going to say?"
"This. I believe that Mrs. Jenner is not guilty. If she were, she would have asserted her innocence. The mere fact that she held her tongue is so wonderful for a woman that I am sure she did not kill her husband."
"Oh, she is innocent enough; let us accept that as a foregone conclusion," said Geoffrey, hastily. He would not reveal the real reason why Mrs. Jenner had not spoken lest Neil's secret should come to light; so he let Ruth make what she liked out of the woman's silence.
"Very good; we have decided that she is innocent. Now we must find out who is guilty. I agree with you, Geoffrey, that the murder was committed by some stranger. Jenner was near the window, and the crime was committed in order to get possession of that red pocket-book which had the materials for blackmailing in it. Now, what we have to learn is what manner of life he led in the past; find out with whom he associated, and who there was he would have been likely to blackmail--then we shall know who killed him. Now, how are we to obtain all that information? From Mrs. Jenner. I will see her again. She told me all about the murder, but nothing relating to her past life."
"There is another person who can tell," Ruth said, thoughtfully. "My father. Oh, I know--I found out--how, it doesn't matter--that Jenner was a clerk in papa's office, that Mrs. Jenner was my sister Amy's governess. I'll ask her. She may know something about Mrs. Jenner and her husband likely to throw light on all this. And I must go to the Turnpike House, for there I may find some evidence--I don't know what--but something." Ruth sighed. "I will go to the Turnpike House if only out of curiosity. Now, this is what we have to do: You must see Mrs. Jenner, and find out all you can, setting it down in writing. I will question papa and Amy, and write down all that they tell me. And I will go to the Turnpike House, then we will meet and compare notes. Is it agreed?"
She rose to her feet.
"Yes, it is agreed. But do not go yet."
"I must, or I shall not catch my train, and, besides, I am hungry and thirsty. I want to go back to Mrs. Jent's and get a cup of tea. Come."
"Will you see Neil?" he asked as they walked towards the cottage.
She shook her head. "I think not; the sight of me will only agitate him. You need not say anything about my having been until he is quite better.
"It is odd that you should have spoken of your sister," Heron said, abruptly, "for Neil has been worrying about her, or, at least, about her eldest boy, George."
"Ah, George is a great friend of his and adores him; but what is he worrying about George for?"
"Well, he got it into his head some little time ago that he was going to die, and he wanted to leave George some gift or another."
"Why didn't he do that in his will?"
"Well, I expect because it was hardly worth setting down in a legal document, for the gift is only a toy horse, a brown animal of but little beauty. Neil has had it all his life, and has an extraordinary affection for it. Nothing would do but that I should take it to George. So now, as you will no doubt be going up to your sister's in town, you might save me the journey by taking it for me. Will you, dear? It is wrapped up and all ready to go."
Ruth laughed. "Oh, I will take it with pleasure, and I'm quite sure George will be delighted. He is five now, and just the age for such a toy. By the way, I suppose you know that Amy has engaged Jennie Brawn to teach him?"
"Has she really? And what may she be going to teach him--how to write poetry?"
"Geoffrey, I really can't have you making fun of Jennie, for she is the dearest girl in all the world. Now, I know what you are going to say, and you may just save yourself the trouble. It was I who asked Amy to engage her. Her family are all so poor, and she makes next to nothing out of her poetry besides, her sister is old enough to look after the house. Amy is paying her very well, too. I will say that for Amy, she is not shabby over money."
Geoffrey laughed and held open the gate. Ruth was received by her old nurse with some stiffness, for Mrs. Jent had not yet forgiven the trick which had been played upon her. But the girl apologised so charmingly that the heart of the old dame was softened, and when she heard from Mr. Heron that Miss Cass was going to help him prove Mrs. Jenner's innocence and so restore Neil's peace of mind she became quite herself again.
"Though I don't see, sir, how you are going to help Mrs. Jenner," she said. "She killed him sure enough; she killed him."
"No, she didn't," Ruth said, decidedly. "I am certain she is innocent."
"If she was, why didn't she say so?" Mrs. Jent asked.
"That Mr. Heron is going to find out from her."
"I shall ask her, of course," Heron said, in some confusion.
Ruth's eyes were on him like a flash, and Ruth's eyes saw more than they were intended to see.
"You know why she did not speak, Geoffrey?"
"Yes, I do," he confessed, "but I cannot tell you why. Don't ask me."
"Has it to do with Neil?"
"Don't ask me," he repeated, with a frown. "I decline to tell you."
Meanwhile Mrs. Jent had prepared the table, observing betweenwhiles that Neil still slept. Geoffrey had already been to see him, having seized the opportunity while Ruth and her old nurse were making up their tiff; and he reported that the invalid looked much better for the rest. He had brought with him a paper parcel.
"Here is the horse, Ruth," he said.
"The horse!" cried Mrs. Jent, who was pouring out the tea. "Is that my dear boy's horse--the one he wants to give to little Master Chisel?"
"Yes, I should have sent it long ago, but now Miss Ruth will take it."
"Don't you, miss, don't you!" said the old woman. "It will bring no good luck to the child. That was the toy with which my dear boy was playing when his father was murdered!"
"Ugh!" exclaimed the girl, dropping the parcel with horror.
"Ah, you may well say that." And Mrs. Jent nodded her head. "I don't know what possesses Mr. Neil to give it to Master George. It is true my dear boy loves it. But think of the history! He has forgotten it. He carried that toy with him when his poor mother ran away into the night. All through his illness he held to it, and when we took it away he cried so much that we had to give it back. The nasty thing!" finished Mrs. Jent with energy. "Throw it into the fire."
"No, no," cried Geoffrey, picking it up. "Neil would never forgive us if we did that. I'll keep it here and not give it to George at all."
"Give it to me," and Ruth took the parcel from him. "I won't let George have it, but I'll take it down with me to Hollyoaks."
"What for?" asked Geoffrey, uneasily. "It has disagreeable associations."
"For that very reason," said Ruth. "There is a clairvoyant near our place, a lady I know very well. If you put a thing into her hands she can tell you all about it."
"Nonsense!" cried Geoffrey, laughing, while Mrs. Jent held up her hands and muttered something about the Witch of Endor.
"It is not nonsense," Ruth said, energetically. "Mrs. Garvey tells the most wonderful things. At all events I'll try her with this. Who knows but she may see in her vision--which this will bring to her"--said Ruth in parenthesis--"the face of the murderer looking through the window."
"I don't believe a word of it," laughed Geoffrey, with the scepticism of a man of the world. "It is ridiculous. However, if you like you can try, but don't ask me to be present at your hanky-panky."
"I won't," laughed Ruth. "But I'll make a convert of convert of you by getting Mrs. Garvey to say who killed Neil's father."
"Hush!" murmured Mrs. Jent, glancing nervously at the inner door. "He will hear, Make no mistake, Miss, Mrs. Jenner did it."
"I am certain she did not. However, I trust Mrs. Garvey to put us on the right track. I take the horse down with me." And take it she did, with results quite unexpected to herself, to Heron, and to Mrs. Jent.
Then she had a cup of tea and was escorted by Geoffrey to the station. Needless to say she teased him the whole way.
In another week Ruth took leave of the delights of Brighton, much to the regret of Mrs. Presser. A letter from Hollyoaks had advised her that Mrs. Chisel and her three children were down on a visit, and that Jennie Brawn, in the capacity of governess, was with them. Mr. Cass, it appeared, had gone to Bordeaux on business, so Ruth was wanted to represent him at the paternal mansion. And anxious to start hunting for evidence likely to reveal the truth about the Jenner case, she willingly returned.
Mrs. Chisel was a tall and somewhat stout woman of the Junoesque type, with a high opinion of herself, her children, her position, her money, and, indeed, of everything which belonged to her, with the one exception of her husband. When Mrs. Marshall heard that Amy Chisel was at Hollyoaks she sent word that she would not enter her brother's house until it was purged of the presence of his elder daughter. In reply to this amiable message Mrs. Chisel hoped her aunt Inez would not spoil her visit by coming over. Upon which Mrs. Marshall made a point of calling every other day and remarking openly and unfavourably upon her niece's management of her children.
These comments were really quite undeserved; for the three children whom Mrs. Chisel--on sufficiently obvious authority--called "her jewels" were nice little people, pretty and well-behaved. The two girls, aged respectively seven and ten, were demure and even a trifle prim. They were always smartly dressed and never made a mess of their clothes. And, moreover, they stood in great awe of their mother, who, as she frequently told them, was a woman in a thousand. It was as well, perhaps, for the peace of the world that such was the case.
Needless to say, Ruth did not present Neil's gift to her little nephew. Mrs. Garvey must see it; and meanwhile she kept it stowed away; for had her sister known that it was intended for George, she would have had it out of her at all costs.
It was on the morning after her arrival that Ruth and Amy had their first little encounter; the subject of it being Mr. Geoffrey Heron.
"What a fool you have made of yourself falling in love with that violin creature!" cried Mrs. Chisel in her high rasping voice. "He is no fit husband for you!"
"He would, after all, make a more sensible husband than Julian," retorted Ruth, who shared her sister's opinion of the unhappy Chisel. "And, thank you, Amy, I have a right to choose a husband for myself.
"You are not fit to do so," remarked Mrs. Chisel, with her customary tact. "If you were a sensible girl you would marry Geoffrey Heron, and take a good position in the county."
"I would not marry Mr. Heron if there were not another man in the world" cried the girl, mendaciously. "Why are you so disagreeable, Amy?"
"Disagreeable?" echoed the matron. "I am the most agreeable woman in existence when I am properly treated. No one but my own family thinks me disagreeable."
"Ah! they know you so well," said Ruth.
"That's just it; you none of you know me. If I were like Aunt Inez, now, you might talk; she is disagreeable, if you like."
"Well, Amy," said Ruth, who had more important things to discuss, "do not let us quarrel."
"Do I ever quarrel? I ask you that!"
"No; you never do," replied the girl, knowing well what answer was expected. "But do leave my marriage prospects alone, my dear!"
"I'm the last person in the world to interfere," cried Mrs. Chisel. "I think a girl should settle those things for herself. But I must say I should be happy if I saw you married to Geoffrey Heron."
"In that case you'll live for many a long day yet." And Ruth made a hurried exit.
This was one of many tiffs they had. In spite of Ruth's diplomacy, Amy would make trouble; so, in despair, Miss Cass asked Aunt Inez to come as often as possible--and the amiable lady, knowing Amy did not want her, took good care to come. So Ruth was left in peace; for when the battles were raging, she generally took refuge with Jennie.
One of the first things she did on meeting Miss Brawn was to tell her all about Neil's troubles; that she had promised Geoffrey to say nothing about them did not matter to her. For she was a woman, and found it difficult enough to keep a secret; besides which, she knew that Jennie could be trusted, being a girl who could hold her tongue when necessary. And Ruth wanted someone with whom she could discuss the case, and any new facts which came to light. So there and then she told Jennie everything.
"Isn't it terrible, dear?" she said when Miss Brawn was in possession of the whole sad story. "What do you think of it?"
"I think Mrs. Jenner would be the last person in the world to kill her husband, from what you say of her. But, oh, the poor Master! How he must suffer! Ruth, was it because of this you gave him up?" And she looked volumes of reproach.
"No, my dear, it was not. If I had really loved him this would only have made me cling closer; but I merely admired him--as you said. And I find that I like Geoffrey Heron better."
"But you told your sister----"
"I know what I told her!" snapped Ruth. "I am not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she has biassed my judgment in any way. You must keep my secret, Jennie, until I have told my father. When he has consented, which I know he will do very willingly, Geoffrey and I can arrange our future. But I do not want our engagement to be known until this mystery has been cleared up.
"It may never be cleared up."
"Oh yes, it will. I have taken the matter in hand," said the girl, grandly. "If the truth is to be found out, I shall be the one to find it. And I am going to the Turnpike House to make a search."
"What do you expect to find?"
"I don't know," she said, vaguely. "I may discover something--I don't exactly know what; but, at all events," she broke off, "it will do no harm to make a search on the very scene of the tragedy. As to Neil--now that he won't marry me--you can make love to him, Jennie dear!"
Miss Brawn coloured. "I shall do nothing of the sort," she declared. "I love him, it is true; but I am not going to hunt after him, or after any man, for that matter."
"My dear," Ruth said, and there was a world of pity in her voice, "you can't live with Amy all your life--she will wear you out!"
Jennie laughed in her quiet way. "I am not so easily worn out," she said; "and, indeed, I am very comfortable with Mrs. Chisel; she is most kind. I daresay some people would think her trying, but, after all, her heart is in the right place."
"Ah, that is always said about people who have nothing else to recommend them," Ruth said, with a grimace. "Well, I am going out now to make my grand discovery at the Turnpike House--and you, Jennie?"
"Oh, I have my teaching. Mildred and Ethel must have their lessons."
"It is not as nice as writing poetry."
"No, of course not. But we can't have all we want in this world."
"You shall have Neil, if I can get him for you."
"Don't--don't! I should die of shame it you said a word to him. Now, promise me, Ruth, that you will not interfere."
"Not without telling you. Oh, you stupid dear, there are ways of managing a man without speaking. But have no fear," she added, "Neil is far enough away just now, and won't be well, poor fellow, for many a long day. You are safe from my match-making for a time, Jennie."
"I'm glad of that. You are so impetuous, you know."
Miss Cass laughed, and, with a nod, took her departure. Mrs. Chisel saw her from the drawing-room window and frowned. "There she goes all alone, to walk by herself," she said, tautologically. "It is positively indecent to see a young girl without a chaperon. But, then, Ruth is so headstrong." And Mrs. Chisel sighed to think how foolish the girl was not to take her for a model.
But Ruth's beauty was well protected by Ruth's temper; and she would have travelled through Thibet as fearlessly as she now walked through the lonely country towards the old Turnpike House.
With her usual perversity Miss Cass did not keep to the high road as an ordinary young lady should and would have done; she made a bee-line for her destination right across country, She passed through fields, and clambered over hedges; she slipped along by paths, until in a remarkably short space of time she saw the dilapidated house nested in its green jungle. It looked haggard and evil even in the cheerful light of the morning sun.
"Well, here I am!" she said, tempting Fate with her usual bold speech. "What is going to happen next?"
As if in answer to her call, a face suddenly appeared at the window--the very window, as she believed through which the assassin had struck at his unhappy victim. It was a swarthy, cunning face with coal-black eyes, having over them the kind of film which veils the eyes of birds. The tangled black hair crowned a sallow, lean, Oriental countenance; and the un-English look of the man--for it was a man--was accentuated by a red scarf twisted round a sinewy throat. It was not his foreign appearance that startled Ruth, but the look of death on the face. He was far gone in consumption. Seeing a pretty girl he leered, and cast a sly glance of admiration at her.
"Duvel! My beauty," he croaked, hoarsely. "What's to do here?"
"Nothing that can possibly matter to you," retorted Miss Cass, who was not to be daunted by a gypsy. "Are you living here?"
"I live here at times," said the man, evidently surprised at the boldness of her address, "but mostly I'm on the road and in the tent of the Romany. I'm no Gorgio to care for a roof-tree; but it's cruel work in this England."
"I see the climate is killing you," replied Ruth, for she was sorry to see so fine a man suffering from an incurable disease. "You should get a doctor to see you."
"Oh, my gorgeous angel, what things you say!" whined the man. "Where am I to get the tizzy to pay? Give me a shilling, Miss."
The girl took a half-crown from her pocket and gave it to him. He disappeared from the window and came outside. Man and girl surveyed each other in silence.
"What is your name?" Ruth asked coolly.
"Job," he said. "I belong to the Lovels, I do. And I'm a Sapengro, I am."
"What's that?"
Job slipped his hand into his breast and brought out a small viper with gleaming eyes, and a yellow body which glittered like gold. "This is a sap," he said, and held the reptile towards Ruth.
"Oh, I see. You are the master of the snake."
"Duvel!" The gypsy stared at her in astonishment, and the film seemed to peel off his eyes. "Do you know the black language?"
"I know that 'engro' means a 'master,'" the girl said, carelessly, "and you tell me that 'sap' is 'snake' so I put the two together. Master of the Snake, Job Lovel--that's what you are."
"Hang me if I ever heard a Gentile lady so bold!" cried the man, with another stare, slipping the hissing viper back into his breast. "But I say, lady, have you more coin--a mere sovereign now?"
"I have not; and if I had, you would not get it."
"But if I were to make you!" Job took a step forward.
"I would run this through you!" And the gypsy found a shining steel weapon at his breast. He started back with an oath. Ruth laughed; and there was a merciless ring in her mirth which did more to terrify the man than the sight of the weapon itself. "You are a brave Sapengro, brother, to try and terrify a woman!" she said, in the Romany tongue.
"Duvel!" cried Job again, and his expression changed to one of friendliness and admiration. "Why didn't you say you were a Romany?"
"Because I am a Gentile, brother," Ruth said, still in the calo jib. "I took a fancy to learn your tongue, and I learnt it from a gypsy. I knew Lurien, Dukkeripen, Hakkeripen, and all the rest. Well, can I put up my dagger?"
"You are a sacred sister to me," said Job, with deep respect; and she saw from his manner that she had nothing further to fear. Indeed, he offered her the half-a-crown which she had already given him. "Take it, sister," he said. "You are a true gypsy to me, and I take nothing from you."
She laughed, and slipped her dagger into its sheath. "Keep it, Job," she said, reverting to the English tongue. "I see you are poor and ill."
"I am dying," replied the man in a sombre tone, still looking at her. "Ah, soon I shall be in the earth with my sap--my only friend."
"You had better go to Hollyoaks and get some food.
"Hollyoaks?" he repeated, fixing his shining eyes on this--to him--very extraordinary Gentile lady. "Do you live there? Is your name Cass?"
"Yes; I am the daughter of Mr. Cass, of Hollyoaks."
"Duvel! and you come here!" he said, under his breath, and casting a glance at the cottage behind him.
"Why shouldn't I come here?" she asked, sharply. She fancied she saw an uneasy look on his face.
"Oh, nothing, my sister--nothing. You have an aunt--she is not Romany?"
"Mrs. Marshall? No. She knows nothing of the calo jib. Why do you ask?"
Job burst out laughing, and nodded. "I go to her house for food sometimes. She won't see me die for want of a crust. But you are her niece," there was a puzzled look in his eyes. "Can I help you?"
"No. I only came to look at the place. There was a murder committed here."
"Yes; but that was before I came into this part of the country. Well, sister, what of that?"
"Nothing. You can go; I want to look round here for a time.
"I go, sister," he said, significantly. He held out the viper. "Will you take the sap, my gorgeous Gentile lady?"
"Ugh! No." She recoiled with a shriek from the wriggling reptile. "Take the nasty thing away!"
He stared and thrust it again into his bosom.
"Ho!" he said. "You are a queer Gentile, you--like a man for boldness; yet you fear a sap! Oh, rare." And he slapped his knee with a chuckle.
"Go away," repeated Ruth. "Go to Hollyoaks and get some food."
"Duvel!" he cried, quickly. "I'm for the road. My hunger is great. Farewell, sister, I shall see you again," and he swung off with a hacking cough tearing him, and smiling his careless smile.
His tall form passed into the sunlight and vanished round a curve of the road. Ruth watched him till he was out of sight, then took her cane and began poking about the rubbish under the window where, as Geoffrey surmised, the murderer had stood watching his intended victim. On bending down to examine the ground more carefully, she saw something glittering dimly. Almost without thinking she picked it up, and found to her surprise and joy that it was an oval piece of gold with a champagne bottle enamelled thereon with exquisite art. On the other side was a catch which proved that the oval had formed part of a cuff-link. Holding it in her small pink palm, Ruth looked now on this treasure with the greatest delight.
"This was dropped by the murderer," she said to herself. "It was torn from his shirt cuff as he struck the blow, or there might have been a quick struggle. Fancying my finding it after all these years! The rain from the eaves has laid it bare. Ah! then the assassin was a gentleman. Well, I ought to be satisfied with my day's work, but I shall come again. What good fortune to have found this the very first time."
She was so excited that she almost danced along the road as she took her way home. But after a while she sobered down somewhat and glanced suspiciously around for there had come upon her an undefinable feeling of being watched.