A STRANGE LOSS
Wasp was a bulky little man with a great opinion of his own
importance. In early years he had been in the army, and there, had
imbibed stern ideas of duty. Shortly after joining the police force
he was sent to Wargrove, and, with an underling, looked after the
village and the surrounding district. Married while young, he now
possessed a family of ten, who dwelt with Mrs. Wasp in a
spick-and-span house on the verge of the common. Everything about
Wasp's house was spotless. The little policeman had drilled his
wife so thoroughly, that she performed her duties in quite a
military way, and thought Wasp the greatest of men mentally,
whatever he may have been physically. The ten children were also
drilled to perfection, and life in the small house was conducted on
garrison lines. The family woke early to the sound of the bugle,
and retired to bed when 'Lights out' was sounded. It was quite a
model household, especially as on Sunday, Wasp, a fervid churchman,
walked at the head of his olive-branches with Mrs. Wasp to St.
Peter's church.
The pay was not very large, but Wasp managed to make money in
many ways. Lately he had been earning stray crowns from Mr. Hill
by detailing any case which he thought likely to interest his
patron. Hitherto these had been concerned with thieving and
drunkenness and poaching--things which Mr. Hill did not care
about. But on this occasion Wasp came to 'The Arabian Nights'
swelling with importance, knowing that he had a most exciting
story to tell. He was therefore not at all pleased when Allen, so
to speak, took the words out of his official mouth. His red face
grew redder than ever, and he drew up his stiff little figure to
its full height, which was not much. "You seem to know all about
it, Mr. Allen," said Wasp tartly.
"It is certainly strange that Miss Strode should dream as she
did," said Hill, who had turned a trifle pale; "what do you think,
Saccharissa?"
Mrs. Hill quoted from her husband's favourite poet: "'There are
more things in heaven and earth----'"
"That's poetry, we want sense," said Hill interrupting testily;
"my music mood has been banished by this news. I now feel that I
am equal to being a Vidocq. Allen, henceforth I am a detective
until the murderer of my friend Strode is in the dock. Where is
the criminal," added Hill, turning to the policeman, "that I may
see him?"
"No one knows who did it, sir," said Wasp, eyeing Allen suspiciously.
"What are the circumstances?"
"Mr. Allen, your son here, seems to know all about them," said Wasp
stiffly.
Allen, who was resting his head on the white cloth of the table,
looked up slowly. His face seemed old and worn, and the dark
circles under his eyes were more marked than ever. "Didn't Miss
Strode tell you her dream, Wasp?" he asked.
The policeman snorted. "I've got too much to do in connection
with this case to think of them rubbishy things, sir," said he; "Mrs.
Merry did say something, now you mention it. But how's a man woke up
to dooty at one in the morning to listen to dreams."
"Were you woke at one o'clock, Wasp?" asked Mr. Hill, settling
himself luxuriously; "tell me the details, and then I will go with you
to see Miss Strode and the remains of one, whom I always regarded as
a friend, whatever his shortcomings might have been. Allen, I suppose
you will remain within and nurse your foot."
"No," said Allen rising painfully. "I must see Eva."
"Have you hurt your foot, sir?" asked Wasp, who was paying particular
attention to Allen.
"Yes; I sprained it last night," said Allen shortly.
"Where, may I ask, sir?"
"On Chilvers Common."
"Ho!" Wasp stroked a ferocious moustache he wore for the sake of
impressing evil-doers; "that's near the Red Deeps?"
"About a mile from the Red Deeps, I believe," said Allen, trying to
ease the pain of his foot by resting it.
"And what were you doing there, may I ask, sir?" This time it was
not Allen who replied, but his mother. The large, lean woman
suddenly flushed and her stolid face became alive with anger. She
turned on the little man--well named Wasp from his meddlesome
disposition and desire to sting when he could--and seemed like a
tigress protecting her cub. "Why do you ask?" she demanded; "do
you hint that my son has anything to do with this matter?"
"No, I don't, ma'am," replied Wasp stolidly, "but Mr. Allen
talked of the corp being found face downward in the mud. We did
find it so--leastways them as found the dead, saw it that way.
How did Mr. All----"
"The dream, my good Wasp," interposed Hill airily. "Miss Strode
dreamed a dream two nights ago, and thought she saw her father
dead in the Red Deeps, face downward. She also heard a laugh--but
that's a detail. My son told us of the dream before you came. It
is strange it should be verified so soon and so truly. I begin to
think that Miss Strode has imagination after all. Without
imagination," added the little man impressively, "no one can
dream. I speak on the authority of Coleridge, a poet," he smiled
pityingly on the three--"of whom you probably know nothing."
"Poets ain't in the case," said Wasp, "and touching Mr. Allen----"
The young engineer stood up for himself. "My story is short," he
said, "and you may not believe it, Wasp."
"Why shouldn't I?" demanded the policeman very suspiciously.
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "You have not imagination enough,"
he answered, copying his father; "it seems to me that you believe
I am concerned in this matter."
"There ain't no need to incriminate yourself, sir."
"Spare me the warning. I am not going to do so. If you want to
know the truth it is this: Miss Strode dreamed the other night
that her father was lying dead in the Red Deeps. After vainly
endeavouring to laugh her out of the belief that the dream was true,
I went last night to the Red Deeps to convince her that all was well.
I struck across the moor from the high-road, and catching my foot in
some bramble bushes I twisted my ankle. I could not move, and my
ankle grew very painful. For hours I waited, on the chance that some
one might come past, but Chilvers Common being lonely, as you know, I
could not get help. Therefore, shortly before midnight--though I can
hardly tell the exact time, my watch having been stopped when I
fell--I managed to crawl home. I arrived about two o'clock, and my
mother was waiting up for me. She bathed my ankle and I went to bed."
"It couldn't have been very bad, sir, if you're down now," said Wasp
bluntly, and only half satisfied with Allen's explanation.
"I forced myself to come down, as my father does not like any one to
be absent from meals," was the reply.
"Right, Mr. Wasp--right," said Hill briskly, "you need not go on
suspecting my son. He has nothing to do with this matter, the more so
as he is engaged to Miss Strode."
"And I certainly should end all my chances of marrying Miss Strode by
killing her father," said Allen sharply; "I think you take too much
upon yourself, Wasp."
The policeman excused himself on the plea of zeal, but saw that he had
gone too far, and offered an apology. "But it was your knowing the
position of the body that made me doubtful," he said.
"That is the dream," said Mrs. Hill quietly; "but you can now tell us
all that has taken place."
Hill looked astonished at his wife and a trifle annoyed. She was not
usually given to putting herself forward--as he called it--but waited
to take her tune from him. He would have interposed and asked the
question himself, so as to recover the lead in his own house, but that
Wasp, anxious to atone for his late error, replied at once, and
addressed himself exclusively to Mrs. Hill.
"Well, ma'am, it's this way," he said, drawing himself up stiffly and
saluting apologetically. "I was wakened about one o'clock by a message
that I was wanted at Misery Castle,--a queer name as you know,
ma'am----"
"We all know about Mrs. Merry and her eccentricities," said Mrs.
Hill, who, having an eccentric person in the house, was lenient
towards the failings of others; "go on."
"Well, ma'am, Jackson, who is under me, was at the other end of the
village before midnight, but coming past Misery Castle on his rounds
he saw Mrs. Merry waiting at the gate. She said that Mr. Strode had
been brought home dead by three men--labourers. They, under the
direction of Miss Eva, took the body in and laid it on a bed. Then
Miss Eva sent them away with money. That was just about twelve
o'clock. The men should have come to report to me, or have seen
Jackson, but they went back to their own homes beyond the common,
Westhaven way. I'm going to ask them what they mean by doing that and
not reporting to the police," said Wasp sourly. "Well then, ma'am,
Jackson saw the body and reported to me at one in the morning. I put
on my uniform and went to Misery Castle. I examined the remains and
called up Jackson. We made a report of the condition of the body,
and sent it by messenger to Westhaven. The inspector came this
morning and is now at Misery Castle. Being allowed to go away
for a spell, having been on duty all night over the body, I came
here to tell Mr. Hill, knowing he'd like to hear of the murder."
"I'm glad you came," said Hill, rubbing his hands, "a fine
murder; though," his face fell, "I had rather it had been any
one but my old friend. I suppose you don't know how he came by
his death?"
"He was shot, sir."
"Shot?" echoed Allen, looking up, "and by whom?"
"I can't say, nor can any one, Mr. Allen. From what Mrs. Merry
says, and she asked questions of those who brought the body home,
the corp was found lying face downward in the mud near the Red
Deeps spring. Why he should have gone there--the dead man, I mean,
sir--I can't say. I hear he was coming from London, and no doubt
he'd drive in a fly to Wargrove. But we'll have to make inquiries
at the office of the railway station, and get to facts. Some one
must hang for it."
"Don't, Wasp; you're making my mother ill," said Allen quickly.
And indeed Mrs. Hill looked very white. But she rallied herself
and smiled quietly in her old manner. "I knew Mr. Strode," she
said, "and I feel his sad end keenly, especially as he has left a
daughter behind him. Poor Eva," she added, turning to Allen, "she
is now an orphan."
"All the more reason that I should make her my wife and cherish
her," said Allen quickly. "I'll go to the cottage," he looked at his
father; "may I take the pony chaise?--my foot----"
"I was thinking of going myself," said Hill hesitating, "but as
you are engaged to the girl, it is right you should go. I'll drive
you." Allen looked dubious. Mr. Hill thought he could drive in the
same way that he fancied he could do all things: but he was not a
good whip, and Allen did not want another accident to happen.
However, he resolved to risk the journey, and, thanking his
father, went out of the room. While the chaise was getting ready,
Allen, looking out of the window, saw his father leave the grounds
in the company of Wasp. Apparently both were going to Misery
Castle. He turned to his mother who was in the room. "What about
my father driving?" he asked. "I see he has left the house."
"Probably he has forgotten," said Mrs. Hill soothingly; "you know
how forgetful and whimsical he is."
"Do I not?" said Allen with a sigh, "and don't you?" he added,
smiling at the dark face of his mother. "Well, I can drive
myself. Will you come also, mother, and comfort Eva?"
"Not just now. I think that is your task. She is fond of me, but
at present you can do her more good. And I think, Allen," said
Mrs. Hill, "that you might bring her back. It is terrible that a
young girl should be left alone in that small cottage with so
dismal a woman as Mrs. Merry. Bring her back."
"But my father?"
"I'll make it right with him," said Mrs. Hill determinedly.
Allen looked at her anxiously. His mother had a firm,
dark face, with quiet eyes steady and unwavering in their
gaze. It had often struck him as wonderful, how so strong a
woman--apparently--should allow his shallow father to rule the
house. On several occasions, as he knew, Mrs. Hill had asserted
herself firmly, and then Hill, after much outward anger, had given
way. There was a mystery about this, and on any other occasion Allen
would have asked his mother why she held so subordinate a position,
when, evidently, she had all the strength of mind to rule the house
and her husband and the whole neighbourhood if necessary. But at
present he was too much taken up with the strange fulfilment of Eva's
dream, and with the thought of her sorrow, to trouble about so petty
a thing. He therefore remained silent and only spoke when the chaise
came to the door in charge of a smart groom.
"I'll tell you everything when I return," he said, and hastily kissing
his mother he moved slowly out of the room. Mrs. Hill stood smiling
and nodding at the window as he drove away, and then returned to her
needlework. She was always at needlework, and usually wrought
incessantly, like a modern Penelope, without displaying any emotion.
But to-day, as she worked in the solitude of her own room, her tears
fell occasionally. Yet, as she did not like Strode, the tears could
not have been for his untimely death. A strange, firm, self-reliant
woman was Mrs. Hill; and although she took no active part in the
management of the house, the servants secretly looked on her as the
real ruler. Mr. Hill, in spite of his bluster, they regarded as merely
the figurehead.
On the way to Misery Castle, Allen chatted with Jacobs, a
smart-looking lad, who had been transformed from a yokel into a
groom by Mr. Hill. Jacobs had heard very little of the affair, but
admitted that he knew the crime had been committed. "My brother was
one of them as brought the corp home, sir," he said, nodding.
"Why did your brother and the others not report to Wasp?"
Jacobs grinned. "Mr. Wasp have himself to thank for that, sir," said
he, "they were all frightened as he'd say they did it, and don't
intend to come forward unless they have to."
"All zeal on Mr. Wasp's part, Jacobs," said Allen, smiling faintly, "I
can quite understand the hesitation, however. How did your brother
find the body?"
"Well, sir," Jacobs scratched his head, "him and Arnold and Wake was
coming across Chilvers Common last night after they'd been to see the
circus at Westhaven, and they got a thirst on them. There being no
beer handy they went to the spring at the Red Deeps to get water.
There they found Mr. Strode's body lying in the mud. His face was down
and his hands were stretched. They first saw the corpse by the white
glove, sir, on the right hand."
"The wooden hand," said Allen absently.
"What, sir? Is it a wooden hand?" asked Jacobs eagerly.
"Yes. Didn't you know?--no----" Allen checked himself, "of course you
wouldn't know. You can't remember Mr. Strode when he was here last."
"It's not that, sir," began Jacobs thoughtfully, "but here we are at
the gate. I'll tell you another time, Mr. Allen."
"Tell me what?" asked Allen, as he alighted painfully.
"No matter, sir. It ain't much," replied the lad, and gathering up the
reins he jumped into the trap. "When will I come back?"
"In an hour, and then you can tell me whatever it is."
"Nothing--nothing," said the groom, and drove off, looking thoughtful.
It seemed to Allen that the lad had something to say to him relating
to the wooden hand, but, thinking he would learn about the matter
during the homeward drive, he dismissed the affair from his mind and
walked up the path.
He found the front door closed, and knocked in vain. Finding that no
one came, he strolled round to the back, and discovered Mrs. Merry
talking to a ragged, shock-headed, one-eyed boy of about thirteen.
"Just you say that again," Mrs. Merry was remarking to this urchin.
The boy spoke in a shrill voice and with a cockney accent. "Cain sez
to me, as he'll come over and see you to-morrer!"
"And who are you to come like this?" asked Mrs. Merry.
"I'm Butsey, and now you've as you've heard twice what Cain hes
t'saiy, you can swear, without me waiting," and after this insult the
urchin bolted without waiting for the box on the ear, with which Mrs.
Merry was prepared to favour him. Allen, quick in his judgments, saw
that this was a true specimen of a London gamin, and wondered how
such a brat had drifted to Wargrove. As a rule the London guttersnipe
sticks to town as religiously as does the London sparrow.
"If I had a child like that," gasped Mrs. Merry as the boy darted
round the corner of the cottage, "I'd put him in a corner and keep
him on bread and water till the sin was drove out of him. Ah, Mr.
Allen, that's you. I'm glad you've come to the house of mourning,
and well may I call this place Misery Castle, containing a corp as
it do. But I said the dream would come true, and true it came. Five
knocks at the door, and the corp with three men bearing it. Your
pa's inside, looking at the body, and Miss Eva weeping in the
doring-room."
Allen brushed past the garrulous woman, but halted on the doorstep,
to ask why she had not come to the front door. Mrs. Merry was ready
at once with her explanation. "That door don't open till the corp go
out," she said, wiping her hands on her apron. "Oh, I know as you may
call it superstition whatever you may say, Mr. Allen, but when a corp
enter at one door nothing should come between its entering and its
going out. If anything do, that thing goes with the corp to the
grave," said Mrs. Merry impressively; "police and doctor and your pa
and all, I haven't let in by the front, lest any one of them should
die. Not as I'd mind that Wasp man going to his long home, drat him
with his nasty ways, frightening Miss Eva."
Waiting to hear no more, Hill went through the kitchen and entered
the tiny drawing-room. The blinds were down and on the sofa he saw
Eva seated, dressed in black. She sprang to her feet when she saw
him. "Oh, Allen, I am so glad you have come. Your father said you
could not, because of your foot."
"I sprained it, Eva, last night when----"
"Yes. Your father told me all. I wondered why you did not come back,
Allen, to relieve my anxiety. Of course you did not go to the Red
Deeps?"
"No," said Allen sitting down, her hand within his own, "I never got
so far, dearest. So your dream came true?"
"Yes. Truer than you think--truer than you can imagine," said Eva in
a tone of awe. "Oh, Allen, I never believed in such things; but that
such a strange experience should come to me,"--she covered her face
and wept, shaken to the core of her soul; Allen soothed her gently,
and she laid her head on his breast, glad to have such kind arms
around her. "Yes, my father is dead," she went on, "and do you know,
Allen, wicked girl that I am, I do not feel so filled with sorrow as
I ought to be? In fact"--she hesitated, then burst out, "Allen, I _am_
wicked, but I feel relieved----"
"Relieved, Eva?"
"Yes! had my father come home alive everything would have gone wrong.
You and I would have been parted, and--and--oh, I can't say what
would have happened. Yet he is my father after all, though he treated
my mother so badly, and I knew so little about him. I wish--oh, I
wish that I could feel sorry, but I don't--I don't."
"Hush, hush! dearest," said Allen softly, "you knew little of your
father, and it's natural under the circumstances you should not
feel the loss very keenly. He was almost a stranger to you,
and----"
While Allen was thus consoling her, the door opened abruptly and
Hill entered rather excited. "Eva," he said quickly, "you never told
me that your father's wooden hand had been removed."
"It has not been," said Eva; "it was on when we laid out his body."
"It's gone now, then," said Hill quietly, and looking very pale;
"gone."