TWO HUNDRED POUNDS REWARD
"What do you think of my new secretary, Miss Cork?" asked Jarman next
morning, when his housekeeper was laying the table. He put the
question purposely to arrange matters for the disguise.
"I didn't see quite rightly, Mr. Jarman, my eyes being weak. Young?"
"And dark and Irish. His eyes are weak to the extent of blue glasses."
"I didn't see them, sir."
"No, poor chap. He broke them crossing the Common, left his baggage in
London, and got lost in our country."
"Oh, he'll know it soon, Mr. Jarman. I'm an Essex woman
myself--Billericay way--and the country is easy. What's the
gentleman's name, Sir?"
"Desmond," said Eustace, lying with an unmoved face. "Desmond O'Neil."
"I'll remember, sir."
"And, oh, Miss Cork, I shouldn't mention about his late arrival and
loss of baggage if I were you. The Irish are sensitive."
"As well I know from politics, Mr. Jarman. No, sir, I'll say nothing."
Miss Cork was a tall, lean woman with watery grey eyes and grey hair
screwed into a cast-iron knob behind. Her lips were thin, and her nose
red by reason of tight-lacing. Miss Cork had a good figure and
improved it, in her own opinion, by making her waist smaller. She
usually wore a grey dress with cloth slippers, and moved like a
shadow. For many years she had been with Eustace, who had produced her
from a London police-court where she was being charged with vagrancy.
But he never told anyone this, and Miss Cork bore a high character.
But she was not popular, as she never gossiped. And a woman who does
not gossip in a village is not fit companion for those who want to
know their neighbours' affairs. Eustace knew that she would hold her
tongue. Nevertheless, he was glad that her limited vision had not been
able to take in Frank Lancaster as he had been.
As it was, Mr. Desmond O'Neil appeared late at the breakfast, and Miss
Cork, bringing in the bacon and eggs, silently avowed the truth of her
master's description. The new secretary was brown-skinned, with dark
hair, and a clean-shaven face, shaded about the eyes with blue
spectacles. Miss Cork was rather doubtful about the clean-shaving.
From the glimpse she got of him on the previous night she fancied he
had worn a moustache, and this she mentioned to Jarman. "It was a
smear of clay," explained Eustace. "The poor chap was tumbling in the
mud all the time. Were you mired, O'Neil?" he asked, aloud.
"I was that!" responded the Irish gentleman, wondering why his host
kicked him under the table.
"The mud do splash high in Essex," said Miss Cork. "I'm a Billericay
woman myself, Mr. O'Neil." Then she left the room, and Jarman
explained. But Frank continued uneasy.
"I don't like the looks of that woman," he said. "Is she honest?"
"Oh, quite, except what she says about Billericay. She's invented the
idea of being a native of those parts, as the villagers here don't
like strangers. But she's been with me for three years. I picked her
up in London."
"Where?"
"Well, it isn't fair to give her away. She's had a past, although I
don't know the rights or wrongs of it. But she'll hold her tongue."
"Suppose a reward is offered, will she?"
"Sure. She owes me too much to play me false," said Jarman, pouring
out the coffee. "And where's the reward to come from?"
"The Government--"
"Pooh! Government won't offer much, even if it offers any, which isn't
likely. No one else will plank down the money. Miss Starth hasn't
much, and there are no relatives. Make your mind easy about the
reward. There won't be a cent offered for your apprehension."
"What's Miss Starth's name?" asked Frank, who made a fair breakfast.
"Mildred," responded Jarman, with a flush. "She's the sweetest girl
you ever met."
"I saw that from the glimpse I caught of her," said Lancaster, and
wondered why Jarman coloured through his tan. He scented a rival, but
could not be sure, and, of course, was unable to ask questions.
Besides, in spite of his newly-born passion, his position was so
dangerous, that he had but one thought, namely, how to escape being
hanged on circumstantial evidence.
Frank wished to talk of the matter the moment breakfast was over, but
this Eustace would not allow. "You'll have enough of it before you win
free," he said. "We must wait until we hear what the newspapers have
to say. I daresay there's nothing in the morning lot; but this
afternoon we may read something. Then, again, I expect to see
Mildred--I mean Miss Starth. She's sure to be wired for."
Frank noticed the slip, and became convinced that Eustace admired the
girl more than a little. However, his brain was too filled with his
own danger to think of anything else, and he accompanied Jarman on an
exploring tour round the village. The idea was that his arrival and
appearance and position as secretary should be made as public as
possible, so that he might become an accepted fact. After the first
few days the villagers would accept him as part of the Shanty
household, and cease to discuss him. The subsequent indifference would
be another element of safety.
So round the village that afternoon the two went, arm-in-arm.
Jarman took his new secretary into several shops, and then to the
post-office, which was conducted by a fat woman, who read all the
letters and made all the mischief she could. Early as it was, she had
a piece of news.
"Oh! Mr. Jarman," said she, puffing, for the day was hot and muggy
after the rain, "whatever's come to Miss Starth? I saw her driving
like a mad thing to catch the two train. And she only keeps a donkey
too--leastways, it's Mrs. Perth who does."
"I suppose she was going to town, Mrs. Baker."
"Then I hope it isn't to a funeral, Mr. Jarman, for her face was as
white as a winding sheet. Ah, well, it ain't none of our business."
"No!" said Eustace, emphatically; "it certainly is not."
"That's what I say," replied Mrs. Baker, not seeing the intended
rebuke. "As I always says to Baker, if people managed their own
affairs without being talked about, people wouldn't be so bothered.
And how do you like the country, sir?" This last was to Frank.
"It is extremely pretty," replied Lancaster, cautiously.
"Ah, when you're here long enough, you'll say so, sir. But I suppose
you've just come?"
"He came last night, Mrs. Baker, from Ireland?"
"Dear me! I get butter from there. And will you be staying long, sir?"
"I hope so," answered Lancaster, seeing why Jarman had brought him
into the company of this inquiring lady. "I am Mr. Jarman's
secretary."
"Well, I'm glad you've a companion at last, Mr. Jarman, though a wife
would be more to a single gentleman's mind. And I always thought--"
"Good-morning!" interposed Eustace, hastily, and left the shop,
tucking a bundle of newspapers and letters under his arm. When they
got some distance along the road he laughed.
"What do you think of Mrs. Baker?" he asked.
"She seems to be a kind of gazette. I suppose you took me in so that
she could talk of my personal appearance, and my engagement as a
secretary, and all the rest of it."
"Precisely. The wider you are known the safer you will be. Mrs. Baker
will describe your appearance, and detail how you came from Ireland
where she gets her butter. We'll send a few letters through her hands,
addressed to Desmond O'Neil, and then she'll drop talking. So even if
you are traced by any chance, Frank, there will be no danger of a
detective connecting you with the man who is wanted."
Lancaster shuddered. "It's like a nightmare," he said. "Yesterday I
was a free man, with a career before me; now I'm an outlaw, with a
price set on my head."
"It's unpleasant. But wait--wait. Time works wonders. The real
criminal may be discovered. Let us hear what news has come to Rose
Cottage."
"Is that where Miss Starth lives?"
"Yes. She and Mrs. Perth share the place. Their united incomes are
just enough to keep them in comfort."
"Is Miss Starth engaged?" asked Lancaster, with a side glance.
"No," said the other, with unnecessary fierceness. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, she's so pretty that I thought--"
"Oh, bother your thinking!" broke in Eustace, testily. "Mildred isn't
the girl to get engaged in a hurry."
"You seem to know her well, calling her by her name."
"I've known her for some years, and as she is something of a poetess I
help her to get her poems into print. She looks on me as a kind of--of
father," added Jarman, colouring.
Frank nodded. He guessed the truth, but was too languid to argue it.
But he couldn't help asking what Mrs. Baker had been about to observe
when Eustace left the shop. "Was she speaking of Miss Starth?"
"I don't know. Mrs. Baker is by way of being a matchmaker, and always
couples names. There was a rumour that I was engaged to Mildred."
"It wasn't true?"
"No. I've had enough of women. Seven years ago in 'Frisco--" Jarman
checked himself impatiently. "What's the use of raking up old tales.
You seem very interested in Miss Starth?"
"Naturally," said Lancaster, sadly, "seeing what I am supposed to have
done. If she knew, she would denounce me."
"Not on the evidence you have placed before me," said Jarman. "She's a
sensible girl. And the death of her brother will add to her income."
"What an unpleasant speech!" said Frank, in vexed tones.
"We live in a world of facts, my boy. Besides, that beauty is no
loss."
By this time they had arrived at the Common. Here Jarman turned down a
shady lane, and passed through an arcade of chestnut trees. At the end
of this was an open space surrounded by trees, and amidst these a
thatched cottage that might have come out of a fairy-tale from the
quaint look of it. The walls were whitewashed, the windows of lattice
work, and in front of it flourished a garden filled with old-fashioned
flowers, evidently the delight of those who had planted them. A white
paling fence separated it from the lane, and over the gate of this
leant an elderly lady. Frank recognised Mrs. Perth.
She was a delicate old dame, with an ivory-hued face, smooth white
hair, and dressed severely in black from head to foot, even to a black
straw hat. She beckoned to Eustace. He knew well enough why she was in
mourning, but for obvious reasons asked questions.
"Why are you in black, Mrs. Perth? No bad news, I hope?"
"I don't know if you call it bad or good," she replied, with some
asperity. "Walter has been murdered."
Frank, in the background, winced, and dug his cane into the turf. But
Eustace took the intelligence with well-feigned surprise. "Murdered!
Mrs. Perth! How terrible. Who murdered him?"
"Ah! that's what has to be discovered. Mildred received a letter this
morning, telling her that Walter had been found last night shot
through the head in his rooms in Sand Lane. Also he was stabbed in the
breast--right through the heart."
"Stabbed also," began Frank, incautiously, when Jarman interposed.
"My new secretary, Mrs. Perth--Mr. Desmond O'Neil. He comes from
Ireland."
"I am happy to meet you, Mr. O'Neil," said the old lady in a most
stately manner. "What was it you said?"
"I was--was--only expressing--my--my surprise," stammered Frank.
"That the man should be stabbed as well as shot," put in Jarman, ever
watchful. "I don't wonder at it. Wasn't one mode of death enough?"
"Apparently not. The shot must have killed him, too, as it was under
the right eye!"
"The _right_ eye," objected Frank, and it was on the tip of his tongue
to correct the speech, but he swallowed his words. "How horrible!"
"You may well say that. We don't know all the details yet," said Mrs.
Perth, addressing Eustace, "and Mildred has gone up to town to hear
what she can. The police are in possession of the house. Let us hope
the assassin will be found."
"Let us hope so," muttered Frank, and then aimlessly strolled away to
a little distance to overcome a qualmish feeling.
"He's rather a nervous chap," explained Jarman to Mrs. Perth; "bad
health and weak eyes."
"He does indeed look pale, Mr. Jarman. I fear I'm not looking well
myself this morning."
"No wonder," said Eustace. "The shock--"
"Well, it was a shock to us both," interrupted Mrs. Perth, speaking
low. "But to tell you the truth, Mr. Jarman, Mildred is more grieved
than I am. I never liked Walter. Heaven forgive me for speaking ill of
the dead, but--well, Mr. Jarman, you know what a bad man he was."
"We'll bury his reputation with him, poor wretch."
But this Mrs. Perth did not seem inclined to do. "He led Mildred a
truly awful life," she continued. "But for my influence she would have
parted with her income to him. Moreover, he wished her to marry one of
his disreputable friends."
"I never knew that!" cried Eustace, and looked displeased now that he
had acquired the knowledge. "Who is it?"
"Mr. Denham. You met him here when Walter brought him down."
"Ugh!" Jarman looked disgusted. "An effeminate little dandy. But I
don't think there was any harm in him, Mrs. Perth. He was an ass, pure
and simple."
"And disreputable," insisted Mrs. Perth. "He came from the United
States, and neither his manners nor his principles are English. I
believe he had money, and for that reason Walter desired to bring
about the marriage."
Eustace fidgeted. "I oughtn't to ask, of course," said he, "but did
this--did Denham propose?"
"Certainly not," said the old lady, promptly, "I saw to that. No, Mr.
Jarman, say what you will, Walter is better out of the world than in
it. Had he lived he would certainly have ended in gaol. Think what
such a disgrace would have meant to Mildred!"
"Oh, I think Starth would always have kept on the safe side," said
Jarman. "He had a great notion of looking after his own skin, had
Starth. Have you--has his sister any idea as to who killed him?"
"No. Walter's life was distinctly apart from ours. I never allowed him
to come to Rose Cottage more often than was necessary, as he worried
Mildred, and, indeed, myself. He knew a bad lot of people, and most
probably met his death at the hands of one of them. But I must say,"
added Mrs. Perth, frankly, "that it was kind of this Mr. Berry to
inform us of the tragedy."
"Berry?" cried Lancaster, who had again strolled within earshot.
"Yes! Mr. Banjo Berry--a most peculiar name. Do you know him?"
Jarman answered for obvious reasons. "I was speaking about him this
morning," said he, hastily. "I suppose the mention of the name in
connection with this case recalled it to your mind, O'Neil?"
"Yes," said Frank, taking his cue. "Banjo Berry is not an ordinary
name. Did you ever meet him, Mrs. Perth?"
"No. Mr. Starth's friends were not mine," replied the old dame,
stiffly; "but this Mr. Berry must have been most intimate with Walter,
as he says in his letter to Mildred" (she was again addressing Jarman)
"that he intends to offer a reward of two hundred pounds for the
detection of the assassin."
Lancaster dropped his stick in sheer amazement and to prevent any
betrayal, Eustace took his arm with a significant pressure. "Well,
Mrs. Perth, anything I can do shall be done," he said cheerily. "You
will let me know when Miss Starth returns?"
"Certainly. We shall both be thankful for your aid."
Mrs. Perth retired into the cottage, and the two friends went on their
way, Frank in a state of bewilderment. "What does Berry mean by
offering a reward?" he gasped.
"He means to hang you," said Jarman, promptly.
"But he's my friend."
"H'm! He--as you told me--has said that so often that I begin to think
he is your enemy."
"Why? I have given him no cause to hate me."
"H'm! Who knows? He was a friend of Starth's."
"That didn't matter," said Lancaster. "Starth himself hinted that
Berry wished me to marry his niece. If I was undesirable as her
husband before, I am still more undesirable as an outlaw."
Jarman thought, then asked questions. "How did you meet Berry?"
"He called to ask me to write some songs for Fairy Fan, having seen my
poetry in the magazines."
"I see. Observe, Frank. Berry sought your acquaintance--you did not
seek his. He brought you and Starth together again?"
"Well, he did. I dropped Starth's acquaintance, as you know, because
we didn't get on well. He came to know Fairy Fan somehow, and I was
constantly meeting him there."
"And this woman made running with you both?"
"Well, she was capricious. Some days she would snub me and flirt with
Starth; on other days she would give him the go-by and stick to me."
"Quite so. She divided her favours to arouse jealousy between you."
Frank coloured and looked uneasy. "If you put it that way, she did."
"What was Berry's attitude"
"I can hardly say, save that whenever he was present Starth and I
always had a row."
"H'm! A kind of male Ate," said Jarman, musingly. "Berry was speaking
to Starth last night, before Starth insulted you?"
"Yes. But what has that got to do with it."
"Everything! Frank, I tell you this man Berry is at the bottom of the
whole mystery. He got you into the trouble, now he means to hang you!"
Lancaster stared. "But his reason?" he asked.
Jarman made an extraordinary reply. "Because of the Scarlet Bat."