A DEADLOCK.
A few days later the train deposited Winslade at Solchester, one of
those third-rate provincial towns where it is next to impossible to
hide anything from one's neighbours, and where it seems to be the rule
for everybody to know everything, or to assume that they do, about
everybody else's business.
From this it followed that Phil experienced little difficulty in
finding plenty of people ready and willing tell him all there was to
tell about the early life and antecedents of the Denia Lidington who
later on became the wife of Mr. James Melray. The fact of her
husband's tragical fate and the mystery which still enshrouded his
death, had served to bring everything connected with her freshly to
people's minds; indeed, the good folk of Solchester had come to look
upon the Loudwater Tragedy as being a matter which concerned them
nearly, if not quite, as much as their Merehampton neighbours.
The one fresh fact pertinent to his inquiry elicited by Winslade was
that, while still little more than a school-girl, Miss Lidington had
had a very pronounced flirtation with a handsome, but impecunious,
ne'er-do-well, Evan Wildash by name, which had so alarmed the girl's
uncle that he had sought out the young fellow and had there and then
made him an offer of two hundred pounds on condition that he took
himself off for good and all to one or other of the colonies. This
Wildash had made no difficulty in doing, and, a couple of years later,
tidings, the authenticity of which nobody had seen reason to doubt,
had come to hand of his death by fever at the Cape. In any case, Evan
Wildash had never been seen in Solchester again.
The information thus obtained seemed to Robert Melray to supply strong
and convincing reason for accepting as an authentic record the MS.
which such a strange chance had put into the hands of Mr. Timmins. To
him it now appeared clearly manifest that Wildash had _not_ died
abroad as was reported, but had come back, had surreptitiously sought
out the Denia Lidington of former days, had had more than one meeting
with her, the last of which had been interrupted by the justly
indignant husband, and that in the quarrel which ensued the latter had
been foully murdered. Of all this Robert Melray was fully convinced in
his mind. Scarcely more difficult did he find it to believe that
Wildash himself was the writer of the MS. (although what his object
had been in penning such a document was by no means clear), as also
that he was the unknown man who was killed in the railway accident.
Winslade, while fully admitting the plausibility of the theory thus
advanced, was by no means inclined to allow his judgment to be
overridden by opinions so positive as those cherished by Mr. Melray.
That the latter's theory might prove to be in consonance with the
facts of the case, should those facts ever be brought to light, he was
quite open to allow; but, on the other hand, there was a possibility
that it might be at total variance with the truth. What he was willing
to grant was that, had such a thing been feasible, it might have been
advisable to reopen the case on the assumption that the statements
embodied in the manuscript might be based on certain circumstances
which all previous inquiries had failed to elicit.
But to have gone to the widow and challenged her with being cognisant
of the existence and return of Wildash, as also with being an
accessory after the event, if not a passive agent at the scene of her
husband's death, would have been a brutal thing to do in any case, and
infinitely more so in the event of the theory of her having had a
former lover who was implicated in the affair turning out to be
nothing more than a wild invention on the part of the writer of the
manuscript. Be the truth what it might, such an accusation would only
be met by an indignant denial, and one which there would be no means
whatever of refuting. Finally, the two men parted without having
arrived at a decision of any kind, to meet again by appointment a
couple of days later.
Then Mr. Melray said to Winslade, "It seems clear to me that I can do
nothing, that I am bound hand and foot. Unless some further evidence
bearing on my brother's fate, of which at present we have no
cognisance, should turn up from some unexpected quarter, the mystery
must rest where it does. It is a terribly unsatisfactory state of
affairs, but one which I am powerless to alter."
It was at Mr. Layland's house that the meeting took place; and now,
when Phil rose to take his leave, the merchant, who had been present
at the interview, pressed him so cordially to stay and dine that he
could not well have refused, even had he been wishful of doing so.
As they sat after dinner over their wine, Robert Melray said to his
friend: "You have helped me from time to time in more ways than I
could reckon up, and now I want you to help me once more. My mother
has given me orders to look out for a governess for my little boy. He
is just turned six, and I am told that his education is being
shamefully neglected. Now, if you and Miss Layland will put your heads
together and pick me out a likely person for the post in question, you
will oblige me more than I can say."
Phil pricked up his ears. Miss Mawby had died quite suddenly about
three weeks before, and Fanny Sudlow was already looking out for
another situation. After spending a few days at home she had gone to
stay for a time at the house of one of her old school friends who was
lately married. Her mother had not yet forgiven her for her refusal to
break off her engagement to Phil, and Fanny felt that, for the sake of
domestic peace and harmony, it was better that they should still
remain apart; besides which she had no inclination to again become a
burden on her father's resources, which were taxed to the utmost by
the necessity of having to provide for those younger than herself. All
these were matters within Phil's cognisance.
"There ought to be no difficulty in finding you the article you
require," said Mr. Layland. "I will get my sister to pick out a few
likely advertisements and see what can be done."
"I hope you won't think it presumptuous on my part," remarked Phil,
addressing himself to Mr. Melray, "but I may just mention that my
mother is acquainted with a young lady, the eldest daughter of the
Vicar of Iselford, who, from what I know and have heard of her, would,
I imagine, exactly suit your requirements."
"Nothing could be better. Let the young lady call upon Miss Layland,
and if _she_ is satisfied as to her qualifications, I am quite sure
that I shall be."
Thus it came to pass that within a fortnight from that date Miss
Sudlow entered upon her new duties at Loudwater House as governess to
Master Freddy Melray.