FOUND!
The morning was just breaking as Slight and his companion left the
house. By the time that it was possible to see they began their
search. By this time too, Walters had more than an inkling of what was
wrong. They went first in the direction of the dower house and then
back again to the avenue. It was broad daylight now, and the sun was
climbing up over the hills behind the river. Nobody was to be seen
yet, nothing heard but the mad song of the birds welcoming the glory
of the morning. Presently Walters paused and pointed to a black
huddled object under one of the great oaks.
"What's that?" he whispered with a blanched face. "It looks like a man
sleeping there."
A cry half of anger, half despair, broke from Slight. He crossed the
drive and fell on his knees by the side of the limp figure. His tears
ran without restraint down the old man's withered face. He was beside
himself with grief.
"It's Master Ralph," he moaned. "I knew that I should find him like
this. But when he went off so early last night I felt that that
message had done those two ruffians. It made me feel easier in my
mind. If I'd told him of my suspicions he would only have laughed at
me. And to think that I should find him dead like this."
"Perhaps he isn't dead," Walters suggested in a whisper.
"Perhaps, not. You are a sensible young chap Walters. He isn't dead,
either. I can feel him breathing. Good job it was a warm night. Good
job, too, he lay under a tree so that the wet couldn't get at him.
There's blood all over the back of his head. A nice murderous crack he
got there. And here am I doddering like a silly old woman, whilst
there is work to be done. Go over to the corner of the wood yonder,
and pull up one of those gorsed hurdles there. Be sharp, boy."
Walters returned presently, dragging after him a hurdle which was
filled with gorse. And then on this, with their coats and vests under
his head, they laid their unconscious burden. A faint groan broke from
Ralph; he opened his eyes for a moment.
"It's concussion of the brain, that's what it is," Slight said, with
tears running down his face freely. "I've helped once or twice in the
hunting field before now. Just you get hold of the other end of the
hurdle, and start off on the left foot. We'll get Mr. Ralph as far as
the dower house and send for a doctor."
It was not far away to the dower house, the inmates of which were
speedily aroused. A little time later and one of the footmen was
riding for a doctor. They made Ralph as comfortable as possible. Lady
Dashwood came into the dining-room presently, where Slight was waiting
to see her.
"This is a very dreadful business, Slight," she said. "Mr. Ralph was
robbed and half murdered on his way from the Hall, they say. Strange
that you found him."
"Not so very strange, my lady," Slight replied, "seeing that I
set out early to look for him. I thought last night when your message
came----"
"What message do you mean? I sent no message to the Hall."
"Well, that's very strange! Mr. Mayfield is staying at the Hall. He
told Mr. Ralph that you wanted to see him very particularly last
night, and he left early in consequence. Call me an old fool if you
like, my lady, but I had a fancy that those two men meant mischief to
Mr. Ralph. I couldn't sleep for thinking of it. I came downstairs very
early this morning, and I found that Mayfield, not yet undressed,
helping himself to whiskey and soda. And there was mud on his dress
shoes. I couldn't stand it any longer, so I set out at daybreak to
look for I didn't quite know what. And I found Mr. Ralph. How those
fellows managed it, I can't say, but they did manage it. And it is no
fault of theirs that they're not a pair of cold-blooded murderers."
The doctor came presently. He was upstairs for a long time, but when
he came down again his face was not so grave as might be expected.
"A bad blow," he explained. "A bad concussion, but no brain injury as
far as I can judge. And the patient is going on as well as I could
expect. Oh, no, he isn't going to die. He has too good a constitution
for that, and he has taken good care of himself. I'll come back in the
course of an hour or so and report again."
There was nothing for it now but to wait and hope for the best and
keep the patient quiet. Well satisfied with his efforts, Slight
returned to the Hall. When he got back there he found that Mayfield
had already departed. Speed, restless and irritable, and giving the
impression that he had breakfasted on something potent, demanded to
know where Slight had been. Mr. Dashwood had not come down to
breakfast yet.
"Where have you been gallivanting to?" Speed demanded imperiously.
"I'll put a stop to this. Pack up your traps and go. You'll not serve
me any more."
"You never spoke a truer word than that," Slight said coolly. "I
sha'n't serve you any more, for the very good reason that you won't be
here to serve. If you raise a hand to me I'll break your head with
this hot water jug, old man as I am. I was out early this morning
looking for a murderer's work, and I found it. It was I who found the
body of Mr. Ralph, and took it to the dower house. And he is not dead;
and what is more to the point he isn't going to die, you cold-blooded
assassin."
Speed's face turned a ghastly grey. His bluster had left him.
"I know now how it was done," Slight went on. "I guessed it all as
soon as I heard that Lady Dashwood sent no message as to wanting to
see Mr. Ralph last night. The dodge was to get him to leave the house
and pass along the verandah. You shammed being ill, and pretended that
the light was too strong for you. That enabled you to lie and wait
till Mr. Ralph came along. Then you hit him with a loaded stick, the
one that used to hang in the gun room. James missed that stick just
now and told me so. And there poor Mr. Ralph lay till everybody had
gone to bed. Then you stole out and carried him as far as the big oak
tree, and left him there with his pockets all turned out as if robbery
had been the motive. But one thing gave you away. Mr. Ralph left the
house when it was raining. He walked under the balcony out of the rain
till he was struck down by you, so that he lay sheltered.
"If he had walked from the house to the oak tree, under which we found
him, his clothes would have been all wet. Whereas they were perfectly
dry. Therefore, his body must have been carried to the old oak after
the murderous assault had been committed. Probably you threw some kind
of wrap over the body in case you met anybody--rabbit poachers or the
like. Oh, you are very clever, sir, but you didn't work your plans
quite so secure as you might. You have so arranged it that you can
call Mr. Dashwood as a witness to prove that you had not been outside
the house after Mr. Ralph left; but there are other things. I came
down early this morning to find Mr. Mayfield here at the whisky and
soda. His dress shoes were covered with mud. I've got those dress
shoes, for I sent Walters home to get them."
Speed started again. He recollected now that Mayfield had made a fuss
before starting over the loss of his evening slippers.
"And I've got yours," Slight went on. "I've got proof that you were
both out in the rain last night, after everybody had gone to bed. And
Mr. Ralph isn't dead. And before very long I shall have the pleasure
of giving evidence against you both, and seeing that you don't either
of you do any harm to society for some years to come. And I don't
altogether absolve Mr. Ralph from blame. If he had spoken out in the
first place, all this trouble would have been saved. If he had said
openly, 'I am Sir Ralph Dashwood,' why----"
"He isn't," Speed said feebly. "I am Sir Vincent----"
"Vincent fiddlestick," Slight cried shrilly. "Just as if I didn't know
who you were after seeing Sir Ralph for the first time after his
return. I was a blind old fool not to have guessed from the start. I
might have known where you learned all the family secrets. And when
Sir Ralph came home my eyes were opened. He would not let me say
anything, for he had his own reasons for concealing the truth for the
present. But I knew who you were when I spotted who your mother was,
Mr. Vincent Speed."
The wretched listener made no response. It was hopeless to continue
the fight in the face of such evidence as this. Slight still held the
hot water jug in his hand, ready for anything in the shape of an
assault, but he need not have been alarmed.
"You are not so clever by half as you think you are," Slight went on.
"You have only been the cat's paw of Mayfield all along. _He_ knew all
about Sir Ralph, though he may not have known my young master's
reasons for concealing his identity. If this murder had been
successful, and you had not been found out, what would have happened?
Mayfield would have had you betrayed and kicked out of the house, and
Mr. Dashwood, as Sir George, would have come into the title and
estates again. And Mayfield would have married Miss Mary. _That_ was
Mayfield's little game as far as I can see it. I may be an old man,
but I'm not quite devoid of wit for all that. And that's why I am no
longer in your service, and so you can make the best of it."
Slight marched out of the room, feeling that he had vindicated his
position and his manhood. Speed stood there gnawing his nails, sick at
heart, fearsome of every sound. He was a fugitive now, ready to fly,
eager to be away, but with no settled plan of action. His one idea was
to be off to London now and see Mayfield.