Gilmore reached the Little Manor to find Aunt Hannah ready to hurry out
and meet him, and he shrank from giving his tidings, fearing that it
would be a terrible shock.
But he could keep nothing back with those clear, trusting eyes fixed
upon him, and he gave his message.
"You would not deceive me, Mr Gilmore?" she said. "You are sure that
he is only badly hurt; the doctor--my husband--hasn't sent you on to
soften worse news to come?"
"Indeed no," cried Gilmore warmly. "Don't think that. He is very bad.
It is not worse."
Aunt Hannah closed her eyes, and he saw her lips move for a few moments.
He could not hear the words she spoke, but he took off his hat, and
bent his head till she laid her hand upon his arm.
"Thank God!" she said fervently. "I feared the worst. They are coming
on, you say?"
"Yes, but it will be quite an hour before they can get here. You will
excuse me, Mrs Lee, I want to get back to poor old Vane's side."
"Yes, go," she said cheerfully. "I shall be very busy getting ready for
him. The doctor did not say that you were to take anything back?"
"No," said Gilmore; and he hurried away, admiring the poor little lady's
fortitude, for he could see that she was suffering keenly, and only too
glad to be alone.
As he hurried back to the town he was conscious for the first time that
his lower garments were still saturated and patched with dust; that his
hands were torn and bleeding, and that his general aspect was about as
disordered as it could possibly be. In fact he felt that he looked as
if he had been spending the early morning trying to drag a pond, and
that every one who saw him would be ready to jeer.
On the contrary, though he met dozens of people all eager to question
him about Vane, no one appeared to take the slightest notice of his
clothes, and he could not help learning how popular his friend was among
the townsfolk, as he saw their faces assume an aspect of joy and relief.
"I wonder whether they would make so much fuss about me," he said to
himself; and, unable to arrive at a self-satisfying conclusion, he began
to think what a blank it would have made in their existence at the
rectory if Vane had been found dead. From that, as he hurried along, he
began to puzzle himself about the meaning of it all, and was as far off
from a satisfactory conclusion as when he began, on coming in sight of
the little procession with the doctor walking on one side of Vane, and
Macey upon the other.
He had not spoken, but lay perfectly unconscious, and there was not the
slightest change when, followed by nearly the whole of the inhabitants
of Greythorpe, he was borne in at the Little Manor Gate, the crowd
remaining out in the road waiting for such crumbs of news as Bruff
brought to them from time to time.
There was not much to hear, only that the doctor had carefully examined
Vane when he had been placed in bed, and found that his arms and
shoulders were horribly beaten and bruised, and that the insensibility
still lasted, while Doctor Lee had said something about fever as being a
thing to dread.
They were the words of wisdom, for before many hours had passed Vane was
delirious and fighting to get out of bed and defend himself against an
enemy always attacking him with a stick.
He did not speak, only shrank and cowered and then attacked in turn
fiercely, producing once more the whole scene so vividly that the doctor
and Aunt Hannah could picture everything save the enemy who had
committed the assault.
The next evening, while the rector sat thinking over the bad news he had
heard from the Little Manor half-an-hour before, Joseph tapped at the
door to announce a visitor, and the rector said that he might be shown
in.
Macey was at the Little Manor. Gilmore and Distin were in the grounds
when the visitor was seen entering the gate, and the latter looked
wildly round, as if seeking for the best way to escape; but mastering
himself directly, he stood listening to Gilmore, who exclaimed:
"Hallo! here's Mr PC. Let's go and ask him if he has any news about
the brute who nearly killed poor old Vane."
"No," said Distin, hoarsely; "let's wait till he comes out."
"All right," replied Gilmore; and he stood in the gloom beneath the
great walnut tree watching the constable go up to the porch, ring, and,
after due waiting, enter, his big head, being seen soon after, plainly
shown against the study shaded lamp.
"Well, constable," said the rector; "you have news for me?"
"Yes, sir."
"About the assailant of my poor pupil?"
"Yes, sir, and I should have been here before, only it was Magistrates'
day, and I had to go over to the town to attend a case."
"Well, what have you found out? Do you know who the person was that
assailed Mr Vane Lee?"
"Yes, sir: I'm pretty sure."
"Not some one in this town?"
"Yes, sir."
"Surely not. I cannot think that any one would be so cruel."
"Sorry to say it is so, sir, as far as I know; and I'm pretty sure now."
"But who? We have so few black sheep here, I am thankful to say. Not
Tompkins?"
"No, sir."
"Jevell?"
"No, sir, some one much nigher home than that, sir, I'm sorry to say."
"Well, speak, and put me out of my suspense."
"Some one here, sir," said the constable, after drawing a long breath.
"What!"
"Fact, sir. Some one as lives here at the rectory."
"In the name of common sense, man," cried the rector, angrily, "whom do
you mean--me?"
"No, sir, that would be too bad," said the constable.
"Whom, then?"
"Your pupil, sir, Mr Distin."
Had a good solid Japanese earthquake suddenly shaken down all the walls
of the rectory and left the Reverend Morton Syme seated in his easy
chair unhurt and surrounded by debris and clouds of dust, he could not
have looked more astonished. He stared at the constable, who stood
before him, very stiff, much buttoned up and perfectly unmoved, as a man
would stand who feels his position unassailable.
Then quietly and calmly taking out his gold-rimmed spring eye-glasses,
the rector drew a white pocket-handkerchief from his breast, carefully
polished each glass, put them on and stared frowningly at his visitor,
who returned the look for a time, and then feeling his position irksome
and that it called for a response, he coughed, saluted in military
fashion and settled his neck inside his coat collar.
"You seem to be perfectly sober, Bates," said the rector at last.
"Sober, sir?" said the man quickly. "Well, I think so, sir."
"Then, my good man, you must be mad."
The constable smiled.
"Beg pardon, sir. That's just what criminals make a point of saying
when you charge 'em. Not as I mean, sir," he added hastily, "that you
are a criminal, far from it."
"Thank you, my man, I hope not. But what in the name of common sense
has put it into your head that my pupil, Mr Distin, could be guilty of
such a terrible deed? Oh, it's absurd--I mean monstrous."
The constable looked at him stolidly, and then said slowly:
"Suckumstarnces, sir, and facks."
"But, really, my good man, I--Stop! You said you had been over to the
town and met your chief officer. Surely you have not started this
shocking theory there."
"Oh, yes, sir. In dooty bound. I told him my suspicions."
"Well, what did he say?"
The constable hesitated, coughed, and pulled himself tightly together.
"I asked you what your chief officer said, sir."
"Well, sir, if I must speak I must. He said I was a fool."
"Ah, exactly," cried the rector, eagerly. Then, checking himself, he
said with a deprecating smile: "No, no, Bates, I do not endorse that,
for I have always found you a very respectable, intelligent officer, who
has most efficiently done his duty in Greythorpe; and unless it were for
your benefit, I should be very sorry to hear of your being removed."
"Thankye, sir; thankye kindly," said the constable.
"But in this case, through excess of zeal, I am afraid you have gone
much too far. Mr Lance Distin is a gentleman, a student, and of very
excellent family. A young man of excellent attainments, and about as
likely to commit such a brutal assault as you speak of, as--as, well,
for want of a better simile, Bates, as I am."
The constable shook his head and looked very serious.
"Now, tell me your reasons for making such a charge."
The explanations followed.
"Flimsy in the extreme, Bates," said the rector triumphantly, and as if
relieved of a load. "And you show no more common sense than to charge a
gentleman with such a crime solely because you happened to see him
walking in that direction."
"Said he wasn't out, sir."
"Well, a slip--a piece of forgetfulness. We might either of us have
done the same. But tell me, why have you come here?"
"Orders was to investigate, and if I found other facts, sir, to
communicate with the chief constable."
"Of course. Now, you see, my good man, that what I say is correct--that
through excess of zeal you are ready to charge my pupil--a gentleman
entrusted to my charge by his father in the West Indies--a pupil to
whom, during his stay in England, I act _in loco parentis_--and over
whose career I shall have to watch during his collegiate curriculum--
with a crime that must have been committed by some tramp. You
understand me?"
"Yes, sir, all except the French and the cricklum, but I daresay all
that's right."
The rector smiled.
"Now, are you satisfied that you have made a mistake?"
"No, sir, not a bit of it," said the constable stolidly.
The rector made a deprecating gesture with his hand, rose and rang the
bell. Then he returned to his seat, sat back and waited till the bell
was answered.
"Have the goodness, Joseph, to ask Mr Distin to step here."
"If I might make so bold, sir," interposed the constable, "I should like
you to have 'em all in."
"One of my pupils, Mr Macey, is at the manor."
"Macey? That's the funny one," said the constable. "Perhaps you'd have
in them as is at home."
"Ask Mr Gilmore to step in too."
Joseph withdrew, and after a painful silence, steps were heard in the
porch.
"By the way, Bates," said the rector, hastily, "have you spread this
charge?"
"No, sir; of course not."
"Does not Doctor Lee know?"
"Not yet, sir. Thought it my dooty to come fust to you."
"I thank you, Bates. It was very considerate of you. Hush!"
Distin's voice was heard saying something outside in a loud, laughing
way, and the next moment he tapped and entered.
"Joseph said you wished to see me, sir." Then, with an affected start
as he saw the constable standing there, "Have you caught them?"
"Be good enough to sit down, Distin. Gilmore, take a chair." Then,
after a pause:
"You are here, Gilmore, at the constable's request, but the matter does
not affect you. My dear Distin, it does affect you, and I want you to
help me convince this zealous but wrong-headed personage that he is
labouring under a delusion."
"Certainly, sir," replied Distin, cheerfully. "What is the delusion?"
"In plain, simple English, my dear boy, he believes that you committed
that cruel assault upon poor Vane Lee."
"Oh," exclaimed Distin, springing up and gazing excited at the
constable, his eyes full of reproach--a look which changed to one of
indignation, and with a stamp of the foot like one that might be given
by an angry girl, he cried: "How dare he!"
"Ah, yes! How dare he," said the rector. "But pray do not be angry, my
dear boy. There is no need. Bates is a very good, quiet, sensible man
who comes here in pursuance of what he believes to be his duty, and I am
quite convinced that as soon as he realises the fact that he has made a
great mistake he will apologise, and there will be an end of it."
The constable did not move a muscle, but stood gazing fixedly at Distin,
who uttered a contemptuous laugh.
"Well, Mr Syme," he said, "what am I to do? Pray give me your advice."
"Certainly, and it is my duty to act as your counsel; so pray forgive me
for asking you questions which you may deem unnecessary--for I grant
that they are as far as I am concerned, but they are to satisfy this
man."
"Pray ask me anything you like, sir," cried Distin with a
half-contemptuous laugh.
"Then tell me this, on your honour as a gentleman: did you assault Vane
Lee?"
"No!" cried Distin.
"Did you meet him in the wood the day before yesterday?"
"No."
"Did you encounter him anywhere near there, quarrel with and strike
him?"
"No, no, no," cried Distin, "and I swear--"
"There is no need to swear, Mr Distin. You are on your honour, sir,"
said the rector.
"Well, sir, on my honour I did not see Vane Lee from the time he left
this study the day before yesterday till I found him lying below the
chalk-bank by that stream."
"Thank you, Distin. I am much obliged for your frank disclaimer," said
the rector, gravely. "As I intimated to you all this was not necessary
to convince me, but to clear away the scales from this man's eyes. Now,
Bates," he continued, turning rather sternly to the constable, "are you
satisfied?"
"No, sir," said the man bluntly, "not a bit."
"Why, you insolent--"
"Silence, Mr Distin," said the rector firmly.
"But, really, sir, this man's--"
"I said silence, Mr Distin. Pray contain yourself. Recollect what you
are. I will say anything more that I consider necessary."
He cleared his throat, sat back for a few moments, and then turned to
the constable.
"Now, my good fellow, you have heard Mr Distin's indignant repudiation
of this charge, and you are obstinately determined all the same."
"Don't know about obstinate, sir," replied the constable, "I am only
doing my duty, sir."
"What you conceive to be your duty, Bates. But you are wrong, my man,
quite wrong. You are upon the wrong scent. Now I beg of you try to
look at this in a sensible light and make a fresh start to run down the
offender. You see you have made a mistake. Own to it frankly, and I am
sure that Mr Distin will be quite ready to look over what has been
said."
Just then there was a tap at the door.
"May I come in, sir?"
"Yes, come in, my dear boy. You have just arrived from the Manor?"
"Yes, sir," said Macey.
"How is Vane?"
Macey tried to answer, but something seemed to rise in his throat, and
when he did force out his words they sounded low and husky.
"Awfully bad, sir. The doctor took me up, but he doesn't know anybody.
Keeps going on about fighting."
"Poor lad," said the rector, with a sigh. "But, look here, Macey, you
must hear this. The constable here--Bates--has come to announce to me
his belief that the assault was committed by your fellow-pupil."
"Distin?" cried Macey, sharply, and as he turned to him the Creole's jaw
dropped.
"Yes, but it is of course a mistake, and has been disproved. I was
pointing out to Bates here the folly of an obstinate persistence in such
an idea, when you entered." Then turning once more to the constable,
"Come, my man, you see now that you are in the wrong."
"No, sir," said the constable, "I didn't see it before, but I feel surer
now that I'm right."
"What?"
"That young gent thinks so too."
"Mr Macey? Absurd!"
"See how he jumped to it directly, sir."
"Nonsense, man! Nonsense," cried the rector. "Here, Macey, my dear
boy, I suppose, as a man of peace, I must strive to convince this
wrong-headed personage. Tell him that he is half mad."
"For thinking Distin did it, sir?" replied Macey, slowly.
"Exactly--yes."
"It wouldn't be quite fair, sir, because I'm afraid I thought so, too."
The constable gave his leg a slap.
"You--you dare to think that," cried Distin.
"Hush! hush! hush!" said the rector, firmly. "Macey, my dear boy, what
cause have you for thinking such a thing."
"Distin hates him."
The constable drew a long breath, and he had hard work to preserve his
equanimity in good official style.
"My dear Macey," cried the rector reproachfully, "surely you are not
going, on account of a few boyish disagreements, to think that your
fellow-pupil would make such a murderous attack. Come, you don't surely
believe that?"
"No," said Macey slowly, "I don't now: I can't believe that he would be
such a wretch."
"There!" cried the rector, triumphantly. "Now, constable, there is no
more to say, except that I beg you will not expose me and mine to
painful trouble, and yourself to ridicule by going on with this baseless
charge."
"Can't say, sir, I'm sure," replied the constable. "I want to do my
dooty, and I want to show respect to you, Mr Syme, sir, as has always
been a good, kind gentleman to me; but we're taught as no friendly or
personal feelings is to stand in the way when we want to catch
criminals. So, with all doo respect to you, I can't make no promises."
"I shall not ask you, my man," replied the rector; "what I do say is go
home and think it over. In a day or two I hope and trust that my pupil
Vane Lee will be well enough to enlighten us as to who were his
assailants."
"I hope so, sir. But suppose he dies?"
"Heaven forbid! my man. There, do as I say: go back and think over this
meeting seriously, and believe me I shall be very glad to see you come
to me to-morrow and say frankly, from man to man--I have been in the
wrong. Don't shrink from doing so. It is an honour to anyone to avow
that he was under a misapprehension."
"Thankye, sir, and good-night," said the constable, as the rector rang
for Joseph to show him out; and the next minute all sat listening to his
departing steps on the gravel, followed by the _click click click click_
of the swing-gate.
The rector looked round as if he were about to speak, but he altered his
mind, and the three pupils left the room, Distin going up to his chamber
without a word, while attracted by the darkness Gilmore and Macey
strolled out through the open porch into the grounds.
"Suppose he dies?" said Macey, almost unconsciously repeating the
constable's words.
"Oh, I say, don't talk like that," cried Gilmore. "It isn't likely, and
you shouldn't have turned against poor old Distie as you did."
"I couldn't help it," said Macey, sadly. "You'd have thought the same
if the doctor had let you go up to see poor old Weathercock. It was
horrid. His face is dreadful, and his arms are black and blue from the
wrist to the shoulder."
"But Dis declared that he hadn't seen him," cried Gilmore.
"I hope he hadn't, for it's too horrid to think a fellow you mix with
could be such a wretch."
Gilmore turned sharply round to his companion, but it was too dark to
see his face. There was something, however, in his tone of voice which
struck him as being peculiar. It did not sound confident of Distin's
innocence. There was a want of conviction in his words too, and this
set Gilmore thinking as to the possibility of Distin having in a fit of
rage and dislike quarrelled with and then beaten Vane till the stick was
broken and his victim senseless.
The idea grew rapidly as he stood there beside Macey in the darkness,
and he recalled scores of little incidents all displaying Distin's
dislike of his fellow-pupil; and as Gilmore thought on, a conscious
feeling of horror, almost terror, crept over him till his common sense
began to react and argue the matter out so triumphantly that in a voice
full of elation he suddenly and involuntarily exclaimed:
"It's absurd! He couldn't."
"What's absurd? Who couldn't," cried Macey, starting from a reverie.
"Did I say that aloud?" said Gilmore, wonderingly.
"Why, you shouted it."
"I was thinking about whether it was possible that the constable was
right."
"That's queer," said Macey; "I was thinking just the same."
"And that Distie had done it?"
"Yes."
"Well, don't you see that it is impossible?"
"No, I wish I could," said Macey sadly; "can you?"
"Why, of course. Vane's as strong as Distie, isn't he?"
"Yes, quite."
"And he can use his fists."
"I should rather think he can. I put on the gloves with him one day and
he sent me flying. But what has that got to do with it?"
"Everything. Do you think Distie could have pitched into Vane with a
stick and not got something back?"
"Why, of course he couldn't."
"Well, there you are, then. He hasn't got a scratch."
"Hist! What's that," said Macey, softly.
"Sounded like a window squeaking."
"Come away," whispered Macey taking his companion by the arm, and
leading him over the turf before he stopped some distance now from the
house.
"What is it?" said Gilmore then.
"That noise; it was old Distie at his window. I could just make him
out. He had been listening to what we said."
"Listeners never hear--" began Gilmore.
"Any good of themselves," said Macey, finishing the old saying.
"Well, I don't mind."
"More don't I."
And the two lads went in.