AN EVIL END TO AN EVIL LIFE
They say that, as a rule, the most grotesquely unimportant trifles flash
into the mind and engage the last thoughts of a drowning man. Regarding
this in the light of an analogy, something of the same sort was now
happening to Helen Thurwell.
With her mind steeped in the horror of the last few hours, she yet found
that she was able afterwards to recall every slight particular with
regard to this man's appearance, and even his dress. She remembered the
firm evenness of his movements, swift, yet free from all ungraceful
haste; the extreme shabbiness of his coat, his ill-arranged neck-tie,
escaped from all restraint of collar and waistcoat, and flying loosely
behind him; his trousers very much turned up, and very much frayed, and
the almost singular height of his loose angular figure. His face,
too--she remembered that better than anything--with its pale hollow
cheeks and delicate outline, deep-set dark blue eyes, black eyebrows,
and long, unkempt hair, which would have looked very much the better for
a little trimming. A man utterly regardless of his appearance, untidy,
almost slovenly in his attire, yet with something about him different
from other men.
He was within a few yards of her when she saw a sudden change flash into
his face as their eyes met. He hesitated and a faint color came into his
cheeks, only to fade away again immediately, leaving them whiter than
ever. There was something in his intense gaze which at that time she had
no means of understanding. But it was over in a moment. He advanced
rapidly, and stood by her side.
She still watched him. She could see that his whole frame was vibrating
with strong internal emotion as he looked downward on the glazed eyes
and motionless form of the murdered man. His lips were pallid, and his
hands were tightly clasped together. There was one thing which seemed to
her very strange. He had not started, or exhibited the least sign of
surprise at the dreadful sight. It was almost as though he had known all
about it.
"This is a terrible thing," she said in a low tone, breaking the silence
between them for the first time. "You have heard of it, I suppose?"
He dropped down on one knee, and bent close over the dead man, feeling
his heart and pulse. In that position his face was hidden from her.
"No; I knew nothing. He has been killed--like this?"
"Yes."
"Did anyone see it? Is the man caught?"
"We know nothing," she answered. "We found him like this. There was no
one in sight."
He rose deliberately to his feet. Her heart was beating fast now, and
she looked searchingly into his face. It told her little. He was grave,
but perfectly composed.
"How is it that you are alone here?" he asked. "Does no one else know of
this?"
She moved her head in assent.
"Yes; but they have all gone to hunt for the murderer. If only you had
been looking from your window, you would have seen it all!"
He did not look as though he shared her regret. He was standing on the
other side of the dead man, with his arms folded and his eyes fixed
steadily upon the cold white face. He seemed to have forgotten her
presence.
"An evil end to an evil life," he said slowly to himself, and then he
added something which she did not hear.
"You knew him, then?"
He looked at her for a moment fixedly, and then down again into the dead
man's face.
"I have heard of him abroad," he said. "Sir Geoffrey Kynaston was a man
with a reputation."
"You will remember that he is dead," she said slowly, for the scorn in
his words troubled her.
He bowed his head, and was silent. Watching him closely, she could see
that he was far more deeply moved than appeared on the surface. His
teeth were set together, and there was a curious faint flush of color in
his livid cheeks. She followed his eyes, wondering. They were fixed, not
upon the dead man's face, but on the dagger which lay buried in his
heart, and the handle of which was still visible.
"That should be a clue," he remarked, breaking a short silence.
"Yes. I hope to God that they will find the wretch!" she answered
passionately.
She looked up at him as she spoke. His eyes were traveling over the
moor, and his hand was shading them.
"There is some one coming," he said. "We shall know very soon."
She followed his rapt gaze, and saw three men coming toward them. One
was her father, another the underkeeper, and the third was a stranger.