ALLEN AS A DETECTIVE
Mr. Hill left no message behind him with the groom. Jacobs
returned and said that his master had gone to London; he did not
state when he would return. Allen and his mother were much
perplexed by this disappearance. It looked very much like a flight
from justice, but Mrs. Hill could not be persuaded to think ill of the
man to whom she owed so much. Like many women she took too humble
an attitude on account of the obligation she had incurred. Yet
Mrs. Hill was not humble by nature.
"What will you do now, Allen?" she asked the next morning.
"I intend to learn why Cain sent that parcel to my father. If he can
explain I may find out why my father is afraid."
"I don't think he is afraid," insisted Mrs. Hill, much troubled.
"It looks very like it," commented her son; "however, you had
better tell the servants that father has gone to London on
business. I expect he will come back. He can't stop away
indefinitely."
"Of course he'll come back and explain everything. Allen, your
father is whimsical--I always admitted that, but he has a heart
of gold. All that is strange in his conduct he will explain on his
return."
"Even why he took my revolver to the Red Deeps?" said Allen grimly.
"Whatever he took it for, it was for no ill purpose," said Mrs. Hill.
"Perhaps he made an appointment to see Strode there. If so I don't
wonder, he went armed, for Strode was quite the kind of man who would
murder him."
"In that case Mr. Strode has fallen into his own trap. However, I'll
see what I can do."
"Be careful, Allen. Your father's good name must not suffer."
"That is why I am undertaking the investigation," replied the young
man, rising. "Well, mother, I am going to see Mrs. Merry and ask where
Cain is to be found. The circus may have left Colchester."
"You might take the brown paper that was round the box," suggested
Mrs. Hill. "Mrs. Merry may be able to say if the address is in her
son's writing."
"I don't think it is--the hand is a most illiterate one. Cain knows
how to write better. I have seen his letters to Eva."
"What!" cried Mrs. Hill, scandalised, "does she let a lad in that
position write to her?"
"Cain is Eva's foster-brother, mother," said Allen drily, "and she
is the only one who can manage him."
"He's a bad lot like his father was before him," muttered Mrs. Hill,
and then went to explain to the servants that Mr. Hill would be
absent for a few days.
Allen walked to Misery Castle, and arrived there just before mid-day.
For some time he had been strolling on the common wondering how to
conduct his campaign. He was new to the detective business and did
not very well know how to proceed. At first he had been inclined to
seek professional assistance; but on second thoughts he decided to
take no one into his confidence for the present. He dreaded what he
might learn concerning his father's connection with the crime, as
he by no means shared his mother's good opinion of Mr. Hill. Allen
and his father had never got on well together, as their natures
were diametrically opposed to each other. Allen had the steady good
sense of his mother, while the father was airy and light and
exasperatingly frivolous. Had not Mrs. Hill thought herself bound,
out of gratitude, to live with the man who had done so much for
her, and because of her son Allen, she certainly would not have put
up with such a trying husband for so many years. Allen was always
impatient of his father's ways; and absence only confirmed him in
the view he took of his evergreen sire. He could scarcely believe
that the man was his father, and always felt relieved when out of
his presence. However, he determined to do his best to get to the
bottom of the matter. He could not believe that Mr. Hill had fired
the fatal shot, but fancied the little man had some knowledge of
who had done so. And whether he was an accessory before or after
the fact was equally unpleasant.
On arriving at Mrs. Merry's abode he was greeted by that good lady
with the news that Eva had gone to spend the day with Mrs. Palmer.
"To get used to her, as you might say," said Mrs. Merry. "Oh, Mr.
Allen, dear," she spoke with the tears streaming down her withered
face, "oh, whatever shall I do without my deary?"
"You'll see her often," said Allen soothingly.
"It won't be the same," moaned Mrs. Merry. "It's like marrying a
daughter, not that I've got one, thank heaven--it's never the same."
"Well--well--don't cry, there's a good soul. I have come to see you
about Cain."
Mrs. Merry gave a screech. "He's in gaol! I see it in your eyes!
Oh, well I knew he'd get there!"
"He hasn't got there yet," said the young man impatiently; "come
into the drawing-room. I can explain."
"Is it murder or poaching or burglary?" asked Mrs. Merry, still bent
on believing Cain was in trouble, "or horse-stealing, seeing he's in a
circus?"
"It's none of the three," said Allen, sitting down and taking the
brown paper wrapping out of his pocket. "Jane Wasp saw him in
Colchester, and he's quite well."
"And what's she been calling on my son there, I'd like to know?" asked
Mrs. Merry, bridling. "He shan't marry her, though he says he loves
her, which I don't believe. To be united with that meddlesome Wasp
policeman. No, Mr. Allen, never, whatever you may say."
"You can settle that yourself. All I wish to know is this," he spread
out the paper. "Do you know whose writing this is?"
Mrs. Merry, rather surprised, bent over the paper, and began to spell
out the address with one finger. "Lawrence Hill," she said, "ah, they
used to call your father that in the old days. I never hear him called
so now."
"Never mind. What of the writing?"
Mrs. Merry looked at it at a distance, held it close to her nose,
and then tilted it sideways. All the time her face grew paler and
paler. Then she took an envelope out of her pocket and glanced from
the brown paper to the address. Suddenly she gave a cry, and threw
her apron over her head. "Oh, Giles--Giles--whatever have you bin up
to!"
"What do you mean?" asked Allen, feeling inclined to shake her.
"It's Giles's writing," sobbed Mrs. Merry, still invisible;
"whatever you may say, it's his own writing, he never having been
to school and writing pothooks and hangers awful." She tore the
apron from her face and pointed, "Look at this Lawrence, and at
this, my name on the envelope. He wrote, saying he's coming here to
worry me, and I expect he's sent to your pa saying the same. They
was thick in the old days, the wicked old days," said Mrs. Merry
with emphasis, "I mean your pa and him as is dead and my brute of a
Giles."
"So Giles Merry wrote this?" said Allen thoughtfully, looking at
the brown paper writing. "I wonder if the cross is a sign between my
father and him, which has called my father to London?"
"Have you seen Giles, sir?" asked Mrs. Merry dolefully, "if so, tell
him I'll bolt and bar the house and have a gun ready. I won't be
struck and bullied and badgered out of my own home."
"I haven't seen your husband," explained Allen, rising, "this
parcel was sent to my father by your son through Jane Wasp."
Mrs. Merry gave another cry. "He's got hold of Cain--oh, and Cain said
he hadn't set eyes on him. He's ruined!" Mrs. Merry flopped into a
chair. "My son's ruined--oh, and he was my pride! But that wicked
father of his would make Heaven the other place, he would."
"I suppose Cain must have got the parcel from his father?" said Allen.
"He must have. It's in Giles's writing. What was in the parcel,
sir?"
"A cross made of two sticks tied with a piece of grass. Do you
know what that means?"
"No, I don't, but if it comes from Giles Merry, it means some
wicked thing, you may be sure, Mr. Allen, whatever you may say."
"Well, my father was much upset when he got this parcel and he has
gone to London."
"To see Giles?" asked Mrs. Merry.
"I don't know. The parcel came from Colchester."
"Then Giles is there, and with my poor boy," cried Mrs. Merry,
trembling. "Oh, when will my cup of misery be full? I always
expected this."
"Don't be foolish, Mrs. Merry. If your husband comes you can show him
the door."
"He'd show me his boot," retorted Mrs. Merry. "I've a good
mind to sell up, and clear out. If 'twasn't for Miss Eva, I
would. And there, I've had to part from her on account of Giles.
If he came and made the house, what he do make it, which is the
pit of Tophet, a nice thing it would be for Miss Eva."
"I'll break his head if he worries Eva," said Allen grimly; "I've
dealt before with that sort of ruffian. But I want you to tell me
where Cain is to be heard of. I expect the circus has left
Colchester by this time."
"Cain never writes to me, he being a bad boy," wailed Mrs. Merry,
"an' now as his father's got hold of him he'll be worse nor ever.
But you can see in the papers where the playactors go, sir."
"To be sure," said Allen, "how stupid I am. Well, good-day, Mrs.
Merry, and don't tell Miss Eva anything of this."
"Not if I was tortured into slices," said Mrs. Merry, walking to the
door with Allen, "ah, it's a queer world. I hope I'll go to my long
home soon, sir, and then I'll be where Merry will never come. You
may be sure they won't let him in."
This view of the case appeared to afford Mrs. Merry much
satisfaction, and she chuckled as Allen walked away. He went along
the road wondering at the situation. His father was not a good
husband to his mother--at least Allen did not think so. Giles
was a brute to his wife, and the late Mr. Strode from all accounts
had been a neglectful spouse. "And they were all three boon
companions," said Allen to himself; "I wonder what I'll find out
about the three? Perhaps Giles has a hand in the death of Strode. At
all events the death has been caused by some trouble of the past. God
forgive me for doubting my father, but I dread to think of what I
may learn if I go on with the case. But for my mother's sake I
_must_ go on."
Allen now directed his steps to Wasp's abode, as he knew at this hour
the little policeman would be at home. It struck Allen that it would
be just as well to see the bullet which had pierced the heart of
Mr. Strode. If it was one from his own revolver--and Allen knew
the shape of its bullets well--there would be no doubt as to his
father's guilt. But Allen fancied, that from the feeble nature of
the wound on the arm, it was just the kind of shaky aim which would
be taken by a timid man like his father. Perhaps (this was Allen's
theory) the three companions of old met at the Red Deeps--Mr. Strode,
Giles, and his father. Mr. Hill, in a fit of rage, might have fired
the shot which ripped the arm, but Giles must have been the one who
shot Strode through the heart. Of course Allen had no grounds to
think in this way, and it all depended on the sight of the bullet in
the possession of Wasp as to the truth of the theory. Allen intended
to get Wasp out of the room on some pretext and then fit the bullet
into his weapon. He had it in his pocket for the purpose. This was
the only way in which he could think of solving the question as to
his father's guilt or innocence.
Wasp was at home partaking of a substantial dinner. Some of the
children sat round, and Mrs. Wasp, a grenadier of a woman, was at the
head of the table. But three children sat out with weekly journals on
their laps, and paper and pencil in hand. They all three looked
worried. After greeting Allen, Wasp explained.
"There's a prize for guessing the names of European capitals," he
said; "it's given in the _Weekly Star_, and I've set them to work to
win the prize. They're working at it now, and don't get food till
each gets at least two capitals. They must earn money somehow, sir."
"And they've been all the morning without getting one, sir,"
said Mrs. Wasp plaintively. Apparently her heart yearned over
her three children, who looked very hungry. "Don't you think they
might eat now in honour of the gentleman's visit?"
"Silence," cried Wasp, "sit down. No talking in the ranks.
Wellington, Kitchener, and Boadicea"--these were the names of the
unhappy children--"must do their duty. Named after generals, sir,"
added Wasp with pride.
"Was Boadicea a general?" asked Allen, sorry for the unfortunate trio,
who were very eagerly searching for the capitals in a school atlas.
"A very good one for a woman, sir, as I'm informed by Marlborough,
my eldest, sir, as is at a board school. Boadicea, if you don't
know the capital of Bulgaria you get no dinner."
Boadicea whimpered, and Allen went over to the three, his kind heart
aching for their hungry looks. "Sofia is the capital. Put it down."
"Right, sir," said Wasp in a military fashion, "put down Sofia."
"What capital are you trying to find, Wellington?" asked Allen.
"Spain, sir, and Kitchener is looking for Victoria."
"The Australian country, sir, not Her late Majesty," said Wasp
smartly.
"Madrid is the capital of Spain, and Melbourne that of Victoria."
The children put these down hastily and simply leaped for the table.
"Silence," cried the policeman, horrified at this hurry; "say grace."
The three stood up and recited grace like a drill sergeant shouting
the standing orders for the day. Shortly, their jaws were at work.
Wasp surveyed the family grimly, saw they were orderly, and then
turned to his visitor.
"Now, Mr. Allen, sir, I am at your disposal. Come into the
parlour."
He led the way with a military step, and chuckles broke out amongst
the family relieved of his presence. When in the small room and the
door closed, Allen came artfully to the subject of his call. It
would not do to let Wasp suspect his errand. Certainly the
policeman had overcome his suspicion that Allen was concerned in
the matter, but a pointed request for the bullet might reawaken
them. Wasp was one of those hasty people who jump to conclusions,
unsupported by facts.
"Wasp," said Allen, sitting down under a portrait of Lord Roberts,
"Miss Strode and myself are engaged, as you know."
"Yes, sir." Wasp standing stiffly saluted. "I give you joy."
"Thank you. We have been talking over the death of her father,
and she is anxious to learn who killed him."
"Natural enough," said the policeman, scratching his chin, "but it is
not easy to do that, especially"--Wasp looked sly--"as there is no
reward."
"Miss Strode is not in a position to offer a reward," replied
Allen, "so, for her sake, I am undertaking the search. I may want
your assistance, Wasp, and I am prepared to pay you for the same.
I am not rich, but if ten pounds would be of any use----"
"If you'd a family of ten, sir, you'd know as it would," said
Wasp, looking gratified. "I'm not a haggler, Mr. Allen, but with bread
so dear, and my children being large eaters, I'm willing to give you
information for twenty pounds."
"I can't afford that," said Allen decidedly.
"I can tell you something about Butsey," said Wasp eagerly.
"Ten pounds will pay you for your trouble," replied Allen, "and
remember, Wasp, if you don't accept the offer and find the culprit
on your own, there will be no money coming from the Government."
"There will be promotion, though, Mr. Allen," said Wasp, drawing
himself up, "and that means a larger salary. Let us say fifteen."
"Very good, though you drive a hard bargain. When the murderer is
laid by the heels I'll pay you fifteen pounds. No, Wasp," he added,
seeing what the policeman was about to say, "I can't give you
anything on account. Well, is it a bargain?"
"It must be, as you won't do otherwise," said Wasp ruefully. "What do
you want to know?"
"Tell me about this boy."
"Butsey?" Wasp produced a large note-book. "I went to Westhaven to
see if there was truth in that Sunday school business he told me
about when I met him. Mr. Allen, there's no Sunday school; but
there was a treat arranged for children from London."
"Something of the Fresh Air Fund business?"
"That's it, sir. This was a private business, from some folk as
do kindnesses in Whitechapel. A lot of children came down on
Wednesday----"
Allen interrupted. "That was the day Mr. Strode came down?"
"Yes, sir, and on that night he was shot at the Red Deeps. Well,
sir, Butsey must have been with the ragged children as he looks
like that style of urchin. But I can't be sure of this. The
children slept at Westhaven and went back on Thursday night."
"And Butsey saw Mrs. Merry in the morning of Thursday?"
"He did, sir, and me later. Butsey I fancy didn't go back till
Saturday. But I can't be sure of this."
"You don't seem to be sure of anything," said Allen tartly.
"Well, I can't say your information is worth much, Wasp."
"Hold on, sir. I've got the address of the folk in Whitechapel
who brought the children down. If you look them up, they may know
something of Butsey."
"True enough. Give me the address."
Wasp consented, and wrote it out in a stiff military hand, while
Allen went on artfully, "Was any weapon found at the Red Deeps?"
"No, sir," said Wasp, handing his visitor the address of the
Whitechapel Mission, which Allen put in his pocket-book. "I wish
the revolver had been found, then we'd see if the bullet fitted."
"Only one bullet was found."
"Only one, sir. Dr. Grace got it out of the body. It is the bullet
which caused the death, and I got Inspector Garrit to leave it with
me. Perhaps you'd like to see it, sir?"
"Oh, don't trouble," said Allen carelessly. "I can't say anything
about it, Wasp."
"Being a gentleman as has travelled you might know something, Mr.
Allen," said Wasp, and went to a large tin box, which was inscribed
with his name and the number of his former regiment, in white
letters. From this he took out a packet, and opening it,
extracted a small twist of paper. Then he placed the bullet in
Allen's hand.
"I should think it came from a Derringer," said Wasp.
Allen's heart leaped, for his revolver was not a Derringer. He
turned the bullet in his hand carelessly. "It might," he said
with a shrug. "Pity the other bullet wasn't found."
"The one as ripped the arm, sir? It's buried in some tree trunk,
I guess, Mr. Allen. But it would be the same size as this. Both
were fired from the same barrel. First shot missed, but the
second did the business. Hold on, sir, I've got a drawing of the
Red Deeps, and I'll show you where we found the corpse," and Wasp
left the room.
Allen waited till the door was closed, then hastily took the
revolver from his breast-pocket. He tried the bullet, but it proved
to be much too large for the revolving barrel, and could not have
been fired therefrom. "Thank heaven," said Allen, with a sigh of
relief, "my father is innocent."