A PAIR OF BOOTS
Who, indeed? That King's Evidence was beginning to prove itself against
still another member of this unhappy household--or, to be more literal,
a would-be member--was clearly to be seen. What if the Captain's story
of shielding someone else were a mere "blind," as he had thought once
before? What if he was in league with Lady Paula herself, and using a
pretended affection for Maud Duggan as a wedge to get into the graces of
the household? Who knew? Stranger things had happened. But if he was
scoundrel enough to steal the heart of a good woman, such as Miss Duggan
undoubtedly was, a good, honest, straight woman, then he were a
blackguard indeed!
Cleek had come across just such things in his varied experience in Yard
matters, and found his faith in human nature apt to be shaken by the
least wind that blew upon it. And for the will to disappear--after Sir
Andrew had declared that he would disinherit Ross and substitute the
name of his sister instead--and not that name which Lady Paula had hoped
he would substitute, the name of Cyril Duggan, as all her imaginings
had led her to believe--what if, on the strength of this fact, the
murder had been committed to get the old man out of the way, and then to
snatch the will itself, and--see what the Law would do for the widow and
the progeny? Who knew anything of Lady Paula but that she was the
daughter of a famous criminal who had paid the last penalty for his
crime? And a graceless but fascinating woman at that. The whole thing
might be a gigantic plot to wrest more from the estates than that will
of Sir Andrew's was likely to leave to her and her immediate family.
Captain Macdonald and the good lady might share things between them, and
then make off together when things had righted themselves and start
again in another country. It seemed incredible after what Maud Duggan
had said of him, and yet.... Love blinds a woman's eyes even more than
it blinds a man's, and the good Captain was a handsome devil, to say the
least of him.
The web of his imaginings spun itself on and on during that brief walk
back to the house alone, with the parcel containing those tell-tale
hunting-boots under his arm, Dollops having been left on the outskirts
of the wood to "keep his eyes open and see what he could see." It was
remarkable how one thing led to another, tightening the chain all the
time. Here was possible motive, surely, and what if that note had been
written by the worthy Captain? H'm. That certainly was possible. And
the initials were the same. Gad! it gave one to think, as the French
say. It did indeed! For the Law gave a widow a third share of
everything--and in the case of no will her son had an equal share with
the other children of the first family. And Maud Duggan had told him
that Sir Andrew had left her enough to live upon for herself and
Cyril.... But all these estates in Scotland, that were not part of the
entail, well, a third would certainly bring them more than _that_.
He didn't trust Lady Paula. He'd met her kind too often before to take
her upon face value. But the Duggans themselves came of far different
stock. H'm. That might be it. And the air-pistol stunt simply used to
throw the blame upon Ross. Gad! it grew more credible as one went on
thinking about it. But there were loop-holes to be filled up before one
could be even sure. The condition of Captain Macdonald's affairs would
assist considerably. Maud Duggan had said he was poor. Another link. He
might even be in debt. Possibly was. Well, that must be looked into,
too.
But if the thing had actually gone so far as murder, why had there been
two of 'em--when one would have done? And Lady Paula had stood upon her
liege-lord's _right_ hand, and not upon his left. And it was through the
heart that that little poignard had pierced. And Catherine Dowd stood
there. And it was she who had brought him the poignard in the first
place! It was the devil's own doing, any way you looked at it. And not
only Catherine Dowd, but Miss Debenham and Johanna McCall as well.
He reached the house at last, and stepping in through the French window
that led to the great drawing-room by the back way, rang a bell there
and waited for the maid who answered to come and speak to him.
"I want Miss Duggan, please."
The maid withdrew with a discreet, "Yessir," and it was not many seconds
later when Maud Duggan herself appeared, looking pale and distraite and
exceedingly unhappy.
"You wanted me, Mr. Deland?"
"I did. Just for a moment," replied Cleek gently, noting her dark-ringed
eyes, and in the present state of his mental peregrinations feeling more
than a little sorry for her. "I've something to show you. And I want you
to tell me exactly to whom they belong and how you think they got where
my boy discovered them."
Then he pulled the wrappings from his bulky parcel and set the
hunting-boots in front of her upon a little marquetrie table.
She gave a sudden start, went pale as death, and shut her hands against
her heart as though to stop its unruly beating. Her pale lips trembled.
"Angus's!" she exclaimed in a wrung voice. "Where--did you find them?"
Cleek turned his head away, not to see her evident distress. It hurt him
miserably to hurt her. It was like whipping a faithful dog that trusted
you.
"I thought so. The name, you see, is inside. My man found them hidden in
the shrubbery, just near the gates, and brought them along to me at
once. Do you know anything about how they got there, Miss Duggan?"
She shook her head vigorously.
"No. Not a single idea of it, Mr. Deland. That I swear," she returned
with emphasis. "Those boots are undoubtedly Captain Macdonald's, of that
I am sure. And see, as you say, there is the name inside. But they have
not been used by him for a long, long time. It was nearly six months
ago, I think, that he left them here, after a meet in our grounds, and
before Father had found out anything about our--our caring for each
other. He stayed the night, Mr. Deland, and Ross lent him some sleeping
things, and then one of the men-servants carried his hunting togs over
to his place the next day."
"And these boots?"
"Were left behind by mistake. He called for them, but I asked him not to
take them away. You see, I--liked to have them here, for silly,
sentimental reasons, no doubt. But I told him I loved to see them with
the other men's boots--Ross's and Father's and Cyril's and Mr.
Tavish's--in our harnessing-room, where the groom, Jarvis, always takes
care of them and keeps them oiled, when not in use, to prevent them
cracking. And so Angus laughed at me, and said they might stay, as he'd
another pair at home--and teased me terribly over my babyishness. It may
sound silly to you, Mr. Deland, but it meant a lot to me to see those
boots there--_belonging_--where I belonged. It was like--a peep into the
future.... And when the trouble with Father came, I wanted them there
more than ever, to keep my heart up. To my knowledge they have never
been moved."
"And yet my man Dollops found them under the shrubbery and in this
condition this morning--after last night's terrible affair, Miss
Duggan," put in Cleek quietly, keen eyes upon her face.
"It certainly looks black for Angus, Mr. Deland," she replied in a
frightened voice. "But I'll swear he never used them. I'll swear it in
court, if need be."
"How do you know?"
She stopped a moment and sucked in her breath, and then a sudden look of
determination came over her face.
"Because," she said steadily, "he was coming to meet _me_ in the grounds
last night, as he had come often enough before. We could never see each
other in daylight, as Father had forbidden him the house and so we
stole our meetings at night, under the old oak tree at the bottom of the
first lawn. You can't see it from the house, as that hedge of yew hides
it entirely."
"And you saw him last night? You'll swear upon that?"
"I--I--that is--_yes_, I saw him last night," she replied, with flaming
cheeks and upthrown chin. "First Ross, and now Angus! You're cruel, Mr.
Deland, cruel as detectives can so often be! I thought you were going to
help me--truly--and, instead, you cast suspicions upon the two people I
love most dearly in the world! How can I possibly put you upon other
clues? _Anything_ to lead you away from such a false and utterly
unworthy scent!"
Cleek laid a hand upon her arm, and bending his head, looked down at
her, a great sadness upon his face.
"Justice is so often cruel, Miss Duggan," he said quietly, "and to men
in my profession we have so often to be cruel to be kind. I wouldn't
hurt you for the world, believe me. But I must do my duty to the Law
that employs me at all costs. I am not indicting your fiance--truly--and
there may be still another way out. Men have borrowed each other's boots
before now. And if you can tell me the size of the feet of the men in
this household, it will be a considerable help."
She lifted her eyes and looked at him, filled with a sudden hope.
"I can tell you Ross's this minute," she said quickly. "He takes eights.
He has a small foot, like poor old Father had. And Cyril's, of course,
is just a boy's foot--sevens, I think."
"Any one else?"
"The butler, Jarvis. Our groom, Batchett, and the old gardener,
McGubbins--and Mr. Tavish; but he's a huge man, and would take elevens,
I should imagine--if not bigger. Anyhow, I'll make inquiries, and be
back with you in ten minutes, if that will do."
"Make it twenty minutes, _here_--for I've other things to attend to,"
returned Cleek with a smile. "And don't worry more than you can help.
Things will right themselves in time, you know; and there are lots of
blind alleys in the pursuit of Justice which we often imagine to be the
royal road to Rome. In twenty minutes, then. By the way, who attends to
your laundry, may I ask? The sorting and counting of it I mean."
"You amazing man! What on earth do you want to know that for? Why, the
laundry-maid, supervised by Miss McCall. One of her endless stream of
duties."
"Thanks.... One more question. What do you know of Miss Catherine Dowd?"
She shook her head.
"Only that she is Cynthia's cousin," she returned uncertainly, "and
that she has been staying down here on and off all through the spring.
She--she's rather fond of Ross, I believe, Mr. Deland--though for
mercy's sake don't whisper it aloud! We call her 'La Gioconda,' you
know. She's so odd and inscrutable."
"Exactly. I nicknamed her that myself. And I'll tell you another secret,
too. She brought me this morning the stiletto which so obviously stabbed
your father. She says she found it sticking in the curtains. Have you
ever discovered that the young lady lies, Miss Duggan?"
She gave a quick, uneasy laugh, and shrugged her shoulders.
"Ross always says he wouldn't trust her on sight," she paraphrased, with
a nervous gesture. "We've tripped her up--on purpose--lots of times, you
know, as girls do to one another. But to men, it seems a mean trick, I
expect, Mr. Deland. Only, she elaborates so frightfully, you know. About
her family and their money, and all the rest of it. And that's such
frightfully bad form. If people really 'belong,' they don't have to
advertise the fact, do they? And Catherine advertises it rather too
much. But I don't know anything actually against her."
"Thanks. And what of this Johanna McCall? Where did she originally come
from? Do you know?"
Her face softened visibly. You could see that Miss McCall held a warm
place in her heart.
"Yes. I can tell you at once. Her foster-father used to be a bailiff
of my father's in the good old days when money wasn't so hard to get,
and even land seemed to yield a richer harvest. The old man died at
his work, and as he was a widower, with this little adopted daughter
living with him, he begged Father to see that she came to no harm.
And Father promised. And when she grew old enough, he gave her work
in the house. Sort of secretary--Mother's help, you know. But when he
remarried, Paula changed all that, and took her for her own sort of
companion-lady's-maid. I believe she would have left us before now,
after the treatment she has had, if it hadn't been for Father being her
guardian, so to speak. But none of us can ever forgive Paula for the way
she has treated her. It's disgraceful."
"And yet your father never complained?"
"My father never _saw_. But the girl has been made a pack-horse from the
minute Paula set her foot in this house. She seemed to have marked her
down for her own, and Johanna has had to suffer in consequence. Such a
nice little thing, too! It's common knowledge that she is engaged to Mr.
Tavish--though we've heard nothing definitely. But it will be an
excellent match. More in her own station of life; and they're both such
dears.... Anything else, Mr. Deland?"
"Nothing else, thanks."
"Then I'll be off. And back again in twenty minutes. And in the
meantime, Mr. Deland, you won't--you won't think too hard of my Angus
will you? Even if he had done such a terrible thing whatever reason
would he have had to do it?"
"Has he any debts, Miss Duggan?"
She laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders. "Heavens, yes! Heaps of
them. That was what Father had against him. Father used to say that a
poor man should own nothing, because there was little chance of paying
it back. But so have I, for the matter of that. Over a hundred
pounds--and bridge debts. But it's my only recreation, Mr. Deland, and I
can easily pay it back, so that it's nobody else's business, is it? But
I wouldn't have Paula know for worlds! She'd make my life misery."
"As she'd make any one's--who stood in her way," thought Cleek, as the
girl left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. "So the worthy
Captain is a debtor, is he? H'm. A very uncomfortable state of affairs,
I imagine. And that poor girl has only thrown fuel upon the smouldering
fire, and helped to bank it up. For a man who is dogged by debts would
stoop to a good deal, and if he is already in correspondence with her
stepmother, by way of this little clandestine note, why shouldn't he do
other things? There's a good haul, at any rate, bigger than that for
which many a worse crime has been committed. And, besides, he must have
hated the old man for forbidding him the house. So he might have worked
off a bit of that, too. And yet--gad, it's a puzzler! I'll nip after Mr.
Narkom and have a little talk with _him_! And--no!--I'll see the
laundry-maid first. Perhaps by now she will have remembered something
with regard to that missing handkerchief."
Acting upon that impulse, he rang the bell once more, summoned the maid
to him, and had a little talk with her there in the shaded drawing-room,
and elicited a few facts which surprised him not a little in the
puzzling mesh of conflicting clues which seemed to surround him upon all
sides.