MRS. MERRY'S VISITORS
The visit to the den was certainly a fiasco. Those who had ventured
into those depths, had, on the face of it, gained nothing. What would
have happened had not Butsey raised the false alarm it is impossible
to say. According to the boy, Jerry would have turned disagreeable,
and probably there would have been a free fight. As it was, Allen and
Horace came back without having achieved their object. They were as
far as ever from the discovery of the truth.
"And yet, I don't know," said Allen hopefully, "somehow I feel
inclined to trust Butsey. He's got some scheme in his head."
"Huh," said Horace heavily, "y' can't trust a boy like that. He's got
his monkey up because the old man dropped on him, but like as not,
he'll change his tune and go back. Father Don 'ull make things square.
He can't afford to lose a promising young prig like Butsey."
"I believe the boy will come to Wargrove as he said," insisted Allen.
"In that case I guess we'd better go down too. Would you mind putting
me up for a few days?"
"I'll be glad, and I don't think my father will object. It is just as
well you should see him."
"That's why I want to come down," said Parkins cheerfully; "y'see,
Hill, the business has to be worked out somehow. I think your father's
got a crazy fit, and there isn't anything he's got to be afraid of.
But he's shivering about some one, and who that some one is, we must
learn. Better we should sift the matter ourselves than let the police
handle it."
Allen turned pale. "God forbid," said he; "I want the authorities kept
away."
So Allen wrote a letter to his father, asking if he could bring down
Parkins for a few days. The reply, strange to say, came from Mrs.
Hill, and the reading of it afforded Allen some thought.
"There is no need to ask your father anything," she wrote, "he has
given everything into my hands, even to the money. What the reason
is I can't say, as he refuses to speak. He seems very much afraid, and
remains in his own rooms--the Japanese apartments. Mr. Mask also
refused to speak, saying my husband would tell me himself if he felt
inclined, but I can learn nothing. I am glad you are coming back,
Allen, as I am seriously anxious. Of course you can bring Mr.
Parkins. The house is large and he will not need to go near your
father, though, it may be, the sight of a new face would do your
father good. At all events come down and let us talk over things."
So Allen and Horace went to Westhaven and drove over to Wargrove. On
the way Allen stopped the brougham, which was driven by Harry
Jacobs, and took Horace to the Red Deeps to see the spot where the
murder had been committed. When they got back--as the day was
wet--their boots were covered with the red mud of the place. Jacobs
saw this, and begged to speak to Allen before he got in.
"I say, Mr. Allen," he whispered, so that Parkins, now in the
brougham, should not hear, "do you remember when I drove you to Misery
Castle I said I'd tell you something?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Well, you know I clean the boots, sir? Well, master's boots were
covered with that red mud, on the day after----"
"I know all about that," interrupted Allen, feeling his blood run cold
as he thought what trouble might come through the boy's chatter; "my
father explained. You need not mention it."
"No, sir," said Jacobs obediently enough. He was devoted to Allen,
for a queer reason that Allen had once thrashed him for being
impertinent. There was no danger that he would say anything, but on
the way to Wargrove the groom wondered if his master had anything to
do with the commission of the crime. Only in the direction of the Red
Deeps could such mud be found, and Jacobs had no doubt but that Mr.
Hill senior had been to the place.
When they arrived at "The Arabian Nights" Mr. Hill at first refused
to see Allen, but consented to do so later. When the young man
entered the Japanese rooms, he was alarmed to see how ill his father
looked. The man was wasting to skin and bone, his face was as white
as death, and he started nervously at every noise.
"You must see Dr. Grace," said Allen.
"No," said Hill, "I won't--I shan't--I can't. How can you ask me to
see any one when I'm in such danger?"
"You're in no danger here," said his son soothingly.
"So your mother says, and I can trust her. Let me keep to my own
rooms, Allen, and leave me alone."
"You don't mind Parkins being in the house?"
"Why should I?--the house has nothing to do with me. I have given
everything over to your mother's care. Mask has drawn up my will--it
is signed and sealed, and he has it. Everything has been left to your
mother. I left nothing to you," he added maliciously.
"I don't want anything, so long as my mother is safe."
"She is safe," said his father gloomily, "but am I? They'll find me
out and kill me----"
"Who will?" asked Allen sharply.
"Don't speak like that--your voice goes through my head. Go away and
amuse your friend. Your mother is mistress here--I am nothing, I
only want my bite and sup--leave me alone--oh, how weary I am!"
So the miserable man maundered on. He had quite lost his
affectations and looked worn out. He mostly lay on the sofa all
day, and for the rest of the time he paced the room ceaselessly.
Seeing him in this state Allen sought his mother.
"Something must be done," he said.
"What can be done?" said Mrs. Hill, who looked firmer than ever.
"He seems to be afraid of something. What it is I don't know--the
illness is mental, and you can't minister to a mind diseased.
Perhaps you can tell me what this all means, Allen."
"I'll tell you what I know," said Allen wearily, for the anxiety was
wearing out his nerves, and he thereupon related all that had taken
place since he left Wargrove. Mrs. Hill listened in silence.
"Of course, unless your father speaks we can do nothing," she said at
last; "do you think he is in his right mind, Allen?"
"No. He has always been eccentric," said the son, "and now, as he is
growing old he is becoming irresponsible. I am glad he has given
everything over to you, mother, and has made his will."
"Mr. Mask induced him to do that," said Mrs. Hill thankfully; "if he
had remained obstinately fixed about the money I don't know what I
should have done. But now that everything is in my hands I can manage
him better. Let him stay in his rooms and amuse himself, Allen. If it
is necessary that he should see the doctor I shall insist on his doing
so. But at present I think it is best to leave him alone."
"Well, mother, perhaps you are right. And in any case Parkins and I
will not trouble him or you much. I'll introduce him to Mrs. Palmer,
and she'll take him off our hands."
"Of course she will," said Mrs. Hill rather scornfully; "the woman's
a born flirt. So you don't know yet who killed Eva's father, Allen?"
"No," said he, shaking his head. "I must see Eva and tell her of my
bad fortune."
No more was said at the time, and life went on fairly well in the
house. Under Mrs. Hill's firm sway the management of domestic affairs
was much improved, and the servants were satisfied, which they had
never been, when Lawrence Hill was sole master. Parkins was much
liked by Mrs. Hill, and easily understood that Mr. Hill, being an
invalid, could not see him. She put it this way to save her husband's
credit. She was always attending to him, and he clung to her like a
frightened child to its mother. There was no doubt that the fright
over the parcel had weakened a mind never very strong.
Allen and Parkins walked, rode, golfed on the Shanton Links, and
paid frequent visits to Mrs. Palmer's place. Allen took the
American there within a couple of days of his return, and the
widow forthwith admired Parkins. "A charming giant," she described
him, and Horace reciprocated. "I like her no end," he confided to
Allen; "she's a clipper. Just the wife for me."
Eva laughed when Allen told her this, and remarked that if things went
on as they were doing there was every chance that Mrs. Palmer would
lose her heart.
"But that's ridiculous, Eva," said Allen, "they have known each other
only five days."
"Well, we fell in love in five minutes," said Eva, smiling, which
provocative remark led to an exchange of kisses.
The two were seated in the drawing-room of the villa. They had
enjoyed a very good dinner, and had now split into couples. Allen
and Eva remained in the drawing-room near the fire, while Parkins
and Mrs. Palmer played billiards. It was a chill, raw evening, but
the room looked bright and cheerful. The lovers were very happy
being together again, and especially at having an hour to
themselves. Mrs. Palmer was rather exacting, and rarely let Eva out
of her sight.
"But she is really kind," said Eva, turning her calm face to Allen;
"no one could be kinder."
"Except me, I hope," said Allen, crossing the hearth-rug and seating
himself by her side. "I want to speak seriously, Eva."
"Oh dear," she said in dismay; "is it about our marriage?"
"Yes. I have arranged the money business with Horace Parkins, and it
is necessary I should go to South America as soon as possible. If I
don't, the mine may be sold to some one else."
"But can't Mr. Mark Parkins buy it?"
"Well, he could, but Horace wants to go out, so as to be on the
spot, and I must go with him. It's my one chance of making a
fortune, for the mine is sure to turn out a great success. As I want
to marry you, Eva, I must make money. There's no chance, so far as I
can see, of your getting that forty thousand pounds Lord Saltars
spoke of."
"Then you really think, Allen, that there is money?"
"I am certain of it--in the form of diamonds. But we'll talk of that
later. Meantime I want to say that, as you wish it, we'll put off
our marriage for a year. You can stay here with Mrs. Palmer, and
I'll go next month to South America with Horace Parkins."
"But what about my father's death?"
"I hope that we'll learn the truth within the next three weeks,"
said Allen. "Everything turns on this boy Butsey. He knows the
truth."
"But will he tell it?"
"I think he will. The lad is clever but venomous. The way in which
he has been treated by his father and Don has made him bitter
against them. Also, after the false alarm he gave the other night to
get Parkins and me out of the mess, he can't very well go back to that
place. The old man would murder him; and I don't fancy the poor little
wretch would receive much sympathy from his father."
"What do you think of him, Allen?"
"My dear, I don't know enough about him to speak freely. From
what the philanthropist in Whitechapel says, I think the boy is
very clever, and that his talents might be made use of. He is
abominably treated by the brutes he lives with--why, his eye was put
out by his father. But the boy has turned on the gang. He burnt
his boats when he raised that alarm, and I am quite sure in his
own time, he will come down here and turn King's evidence."
"About what?"
"About the murder. The boy knows the truth. It's my opinion that Red
Jerry killed your father, Eva."
"How do you make that out?" she asked anxiously.
"Well, Red Jerry knew of your father in Africa and knew that he
was buying diamonds." Allen suppressed the fact of Strode's being
an I. D. B. "He followed him home in the _Dunoon Castle_, and then
went to tell Foxy and Father Don at Whitechapel. They came down to
Westhaven and tracked your father to the Red Deeps, and there shot
him. I can't understand why they did not take the wooden hand
then, though."
"Who did take the hand?" asked Eva.
"My father. Yes," said Allen sadly, "you may look astonished and
horrified, Eva, but it was my unhappy father. He is not in his
right mind, Eva, for that is the only way to account for his strange
behaviour;" and then Allen rapidly told Eva details.
"Oh," said the girl when he finished, "he must be mad, Allen. I don't
see why he should act in that way if he was not. Your father has
always been an excitable, eccentric man, and this trouble of my
father's death has been too much for him. I quite believe he intended
to kill my father, and thank God he did not--that would have parted us
for ever. But the excitement has driven your father mad, so he is not
so much to blame as you think."
"I am glad to hear you say so, darling," said the poor young fellow,
"for it's been like a nightmare, to think that my father should
behave in such a manner. I dreaded telling you, but I thought it was
best to do so."
"I am very glad you did," she replied, putting her arms round him;
"oh, don't worry, Allen. Leave my father's murder alone. Go out to
Bolivia, buy this mine, and when you have made your fortune come back
for me. I'll be waiting for you here, faithful and true."
"But you want to know who killed Mr. Strode?"
"I've changed my mind," she answered quickly, "the affair seems
to be so mysterious that I think it will never be solved. Still I
fancy you are right: Red Jerry killed my father for the sake of
the diamonds."
"He did not get them if he did," said Allen, "else he and Father Don
would not have gone to see Mask and thus have risked arrest. No, my
dear Eva, the whole secret is known to Butsey. He can tell the
truth. If he keeps his promise, and comes here we shall know all: if
he does not, we'll let the matter alone. I'll go to Bolivia about
this business, and return to marry you."
"And then we'll bury the bad old past," said Eva, "and begin a new
life, darling. But, Allen, do you think Miss Lorry knows anything?"
"What, that circus woman? I can't say. It was certainly queer she
should have been in that den. What a woman for your cousin to marry."
"I don't know if he will marry after all," said Eva.
"I believe old Lady Ipsen will stop the marriage."
"How do you know?"
"Because she wrote to say she was coming to see me. She says she will
come unexpectedly, as she has something to tell me."
Allen coloured. He hoped to avoid old Lady Ipsen as he did not
forget that she had accused his mother of stealing the Delham
heirloom. However, he merely nodded and Eva went on: "Of course I am
willing to be civil to her and shall see her. But she's a horrid old
woman, Allen, and has behaved very badly to me. I am her
granddaughter, and she should have looked after me. I won't let her
do so now. Well, Allen, that's one piece of news I had to tell you.
The next is about Giles Merry."
"What about him?"
"I received a letter from Shanton written by Miss Lorry. That was when
you were away. She sent it over by Butsey."
"What! Was that boy here?"
"Yes. When you were away. He delivered it at the door and went. I
only knew it was Butsey from the description, and by that time the
boy was gone. Had I seen him I should have asked Wasp to keep him
here, till you came back."
"I understand," said Allen thoughtfully. "Miss Lorry sent for Butsey.
He was told to return to Perry Street, Whitechapel, within a certain
time and did not. For that, Father Don shut him up in the attic and
fed him on bread and water. The treatment made Butsey rebellious. But
what had Miss Lorry to say?"
"She wrote that if Giles Merry worried me I was to let her know and
she'd stop him doing so."
Allen looked astonished. "Why should Giles worry you?" he asked
indignantly.
"I can't say. He hasn't come to see me yet, and if he does, of
course I would rather you dealt with him than Miss Lorry. I want to
have nothing to do with her."
"Still, she's not a bad sort," said Allen after a pause, "she saved
our lives on that night by sending Butsey to get us out of the den.
Humph! If she met Butsey on that night I wonder if she asked him to
return what he'd stolen?"
"What was that?" asked Eva.
"I don't know. Horace Parkins and I overheard her complaining, that
Butsey, when down seeing her, had stolen something. She refused to say
what it was and then bolted when she saw me. But what has Giles Merry
to do with her?"
"Cain told me that Giles was the 'strong man' of Stag's Circus."
"Oh, and Miss Lorry knows him as a fellow artiste. Humph! I daresay
she is aware of something queer about him. From the sending of that
parcel, I believe Giles is mixed up with Father Don's lot, and by
Jove, Eva, I think Miss Lorry must have something to do with them
also! We've got to do with a nice lot, I must say. And they're all
after the diamonds. I shouldn't wonder if Butsey had them, after all.
He's just the kind of young scamp who would get the better of the
elder ruffians. Perhaps he has the diamonds safely hidden, and is
leaving the gang, so as to turn respectable. He said he wanted to cut
his old life. Yes"--Allen slapped his knee--"Eva, I believe Butsey
has the diamonds. For all I know he may have shot your father."
"Oh, Allen," said Eva, turning pale, "that lad."
"A boy can kill with a pistol as surely as if he were a man, and
Butsey has no moral scruples. However, we'll wait till he comes and
then learn what we can. Once I get hold of him he shan't get away
until I know everything. As to Merry, if he comes, you let me know and
I'll break his confounded neck."
"I believe Nanny would thank you if you did," said Eva; the poor
woman is in a terrible fright. "He wrote saying he was coming to
see her."
"She needn't have anything to do with him."
"I told her so. But she looks on the man as her husband, bad as he is,
and has old-fashioned notions about obeying him. If he wasn't her
husband she wouldn't mind, but as it is----" Eva shrugged her
shoulders.
They heard the sound of footsteps approaching the door. Shortly the
footman entered. "There's a woman to see you, miss," he said to Eva,
holding the door open. "Mrs. Merry, miss."
"What!" cried Eva; "show her in."
"She won't come, miss. She's in the hall."
"Come, Allen," said the girl, and they went out into the hall, where
Mrs. Merry with a scared face was sitting. She rose and came forward
in tears, and with sopping clothes, owing to her walk through the
heavy rain.
"I ran all the way", Miss Eva. "I'm in such sorrow. Giles has come."
"What, your husband?" said Allen.
"Yes, and worse. I found this on the doorstep." She drew from under
her shawl the wooden hand!