A STRANGE THING HAPPENS.
THE next morning Claude received a second letter from Hilliston, stating
that as his wife was ill he would be unable to come over to Thorston,
but directing the young man to go to Rose Cottage at noon, when Mr.
Paynton would be ready to receive him. Tait regretted that he had not
been included in the invitation, and carefully instructed Claude how to
act during the interview.
"I believe Paynton can settle the matter," were his parting words, "so
put love out of your head for the time being, and do your best to
extract the truth."
Anxious to oblige one who took so much interest in his private affairs,
Larcher promised to do what he could, and shortly after eleven started
for Rose Cottage. As a matter of fact, he need not have gone so soon,
but he did so in the hope of meeting with Jenny. Well acquainted as he
was with her movements, his surmise proved correct, for he met the young
lady at the end of Nightingale Lane. She blushed, and expressed surprise
at the meeting. But such feigning is part of love's comedy.
"I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Larcher," she said, after the
first greetings had passed between them. "Where are you going?"
"I am about to call on your father."
"Really!" said Jenny, with some perplexity and more doubt. "I am afraid
you go on a useless errand. My father sees no one."
"He will see me," replied Claude quietly. "I come by appointment. Mr.
Hilliston spoke to your father, with the result that he has agreed to
see me."
"Has your visit anything to do with--with that novel?"
"It has everything to do with it. I wish to ask Mr. Paynton some
questions in connection with my father's death."
"But he knows nothing--nothing!" cried Jenny vehemently; "he can tell
you nothing! It is worse than useless for you to speak to him on the
subject. You will only make him ill."
"But I have to speak to him on another subject," said Claude artfully.
Jenny looked up inquiringly, remarked the passion in his gaze, and
turned away her face with a blush. Much as she would have liked to, she
found it impossible to appear ignorant of his meaning.
"It seems to me that I am the person to be first consulted," she said,
with a pout.
"Jenny, I----"
"Hush! Here is Kerry. See my father first, and then see me. Till then
good-by."
She flitted rapidly away, and turned the corner of the lane as Kerry,
more crabbed-looking than ever, came up to where Claude was standing. It
was then that Larcher saw that the old servant was suffering under some
strong emotion. His eyes were brighter than usual, his lips quivered,
and he was so nervous that he could keep neither limbs nor body at rest.
Rightly connecting this agitation with his visit, Claude wisely held his
peace, and waited to hear what Kerry had to say.
"You'll be after seeing the master, sir," said Kerry, in breathless
anxiety. "He is waiting for you, sir, in the garden."
"I was just on my way there, Kerry, and stopped to speak for a few
minutes to Miss Jenny. I am very glad that Mr. Paynton has consented to
see me."
"And you may well be glad, Master Claude."
"Master Claude!" echoed the young man, stopping short.
"Oh, blazes! 'twas a slip of the tongue, sir," cried Kerry anxiously.
"Don't notice it, sir. Sure, it's old I am, and my mind wanders."
"Then you deny that you are Denis Bantry?"
"Say nothing of that, sir. Let the master speak his own mind to you.
You'll know soon enough who I am, and that's a fact, anyhow."
"I am convinced in my own mind that you are my father's old servant,"
said Larcher, as he resumed his walk, "but who your master is I am not
so clear."
Kerry shook his head, and pursed up his lips, as though determined to
let no information escape him. They walked along in silence, and it was
only when he unlocked the gate in the red brick wall that Kerry again
opened his mouth.
"Keep silent, sir, if you love me," he said, in a low tone. "Don't
agitate the master. He'll do the speaking, and tell ye all ye wish to
know. Begad, and more too."
Larcher nodded, and passed into the garden. The morning was warm and
sunny, and the colors of the flowers were dazzling in the warm glow,
against the white walls of the cottage. With his hands clasped behind
his back, Paynton paced meditatively up and down the path before the
house, but stopped as he caught sight of his visitor. Taking off his hat
in tribute to the venerable looks of the old gentleman, Claude bowed,
and waited to be addressed. For some moments Paynton looked at him in
silence, with much emotion, then controlling himself with some
difficulty held out his hand.
"I am glad to see you, Mr.--Mr.----"
"Larcher," suggested Claude, seeing his host at a loss for the name.
"Larcher!" gasped Paynton, with an effort, "yes--yes! My friend, Mr.
Hilliston, advised me of your coming. Let us enter the house. We will
have more privacy there."
As Claude knew no one was about in that walled place but Kerry and the
deaf old housekeeper, he wondered what further privacy was necessary;
but considering that Paynton had doubtless good reason for his action,
he bowed silently and followed him within, as requested.
In a few minutes they were in the bookroom. Paynton seated himself in
such a position as to place his back to the strong light shining through
the window, and asked Claude to be seated in a chair which lacked this
advantage. In this way Paynton could observe every change in the face of
his visitor, while his own, being in the shadow, was more difficult to
read. Larcher saw the maneuver, but did not think it necessary to make
any objection. In his place Tait would have acted differently.
"I am greatly obliged that you have consented to see me," said Claude,
breaking the silence, "for I am informed that you live a very secluded
life."
"That is true. I accord you this interview at the request of my friend,
Mr. Hilliston, but at the same time I may tell you that I have my own
reasons for granting it."
"I think I can guess your reasons, Mr. Paynton."
"No doubt," replied Paynton, touching a book on the table; "they are not
unconnected with this novel. You know, of course, that my daughter--that
Jenny supplied young Linton with the material for his plot."
"I do. She found the report of my father's murder in some old newspapers
in this house."
"Did you not think it strange that I should be in possession of such a
report?"
"Naturally I did," answered Claude, replying to this direct question
with marked embarrassment, "and it is on that account that I ask you to
help me."
"Do you think I can do so?"
"I am sure of it."
"Why?" asked Paynton, in an unsteady voice.
"Because you know about the matter. You retained the report of the
trial. Denis Bantry is in your service under the name of Kerry, and----"
"How do you know that?"
"Why, in the third volume of that book there is an episode of a scarfpin
which is not mentioned in the report of the trial, but which was told to
Miss Paynton by the man you call Kerry. Now, only two persons knew that
a scarfpin was picked up in the grounds of The Laurels after the murder.
One was Hilliston, the other Denis Bantry. You must see, Mr. Paynton,
that I can only come to one conclusion."
"I presume you got this information from Hilliston," said Paynton, in an
altered voice.
"Mr. Hilliston spoke of it," replied Claude cautiously.
He did not intend to reveal that he had heard it from his mother, or
indeed to reveal the existence of Mrs. Larcher until he was sure of his
ground, and positive of Paynton's identity. Accepting his diplomatic
answer in the affirmative, Paynton nodded, and went on with his
questioning.
"You spoke to Kerry on the subject?"
"I did. But, as you may guess, I failed."
"Naturally. Kerry is a faithful servant. I owe more to him than I can
ever repay. But here we are talking about the murder," added Paynton
irrelevantly, "when you wish to speak about Jenny, at least so Hilliston
informed me."
"I do wish to speak of your daughter later on," said Claude, with a
flushed cheek; "but in the meantime I am anxious to come to an
understanding about this crime."
"Why?" said Paynton, rather disconcerted at his failure to turn the
conversation.
"Because I have sworn to avenge the death of my father."
"That is what a good son should do," said Paynton thoughtfully. "But
after twenty-five years the chances are small. You wish to find the
murderer--so do I."
"You!"
"Yes. I am more deeply interested in this matter than you suppose. Who
do you think I am?" he asked.
"I cannot say, unless you are Jeringham."
"Jeringham?" said Paynton in a faltering tone. "No, I am not Jeringham,
poor soul! Do you think him guilty of the crime?"
"I do and I don't. Sometimes it seems so, at others I fancy Hilliston to
be guilty."
"Hilliston guilty!" said Paynton, rising. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, it is only a theory," said Claude hastily. "But my friend Tait, who
was at Horriston a few days ago, found out all kinds of things which
implicated one person and another. He found----"
"Don't tell me--don't tell me," said Paynton hastily. "I cannot talk to
you longer or else I shall be ill. This interview has already tried me
too much. Here," he added, unlocking a drawer in his desk, "take these
papers. You will find in them a full account of all I know of the
matter."
"You were, then, an eye-witness?" said Claude, joyfully slipping the
roll of manuscript into his pocket. He had been more successful than he
had hoped to be.
Paynton pressed his hands together, and looked eagerly at Claude. "I can
bear it no longer," he said impatiently, laying his hands on the
shoulders of the astonished young man. "Boy--boy, can you not guess who
I am?"
"No," replied Larcher, rising to his feet in some wonder, "I do not know
who you can be, unless you are Jeringham."
"I am not Jeringham. He is dead."
"Dead!"
"Aye, murdered. Can you not see--can you not guess? Claude, the man who
was killed at Horriston was not George Larcher, it was Mark Jeringham!"
"But you--you----"
"I am your father!"