That night, Inspector Brown confided his disappointment in the ways of
Scotland Yard to the wife of his bosom. He was a conscientious man; and
it seemed to him that, in the face of Mr. Jacobs' obvious incapacity, it
behoved him, Mr. Brown, to follow the case with renewed energy. So far
as the worthy Inspector could see, Mr. Jacobs was doing absolutely
nothing, save eat his meals, smoke his cigar, and stroll about the
grounds and admire the scenery. Therefore, the Inspector enjoined his
men to keep a careful watch; and he himself, when not in Mr. Jacobs'
company, patrolled the woods and, following the clue Lord Heyton had
offered him, had visited the gipsy encampment and examined the members
of the tribe. He came upon nothing to rouse his suspicions of them;
indeed, he hit upon no clue whatever; but he still kept up a kind of
patrol and scrutinised every person who approached the Hall.
If Mr. Jacobs was aware of the Inspector's renewed vigilance, he made no
remark; and whenever they were together, and the Inspector wanted to
talk of the case, Mr. Jacobs politely and quite inoffensively--in fact,
he always listened most respectfully--led the conversation away from the
subject. Once or twice, the Inspector was absolutely on the point of
asking the famous detective why on earth he was lingering at the Hall;
but his courage always failed him; for, notwithstanding the detective's
boyish face and innocent-looking eyes, there was something about him
which inspired a kind of respect in Inspector Brown.
After that momentary glimpse of intelligence, and his interview with his
son, the Marquess had relapsed into unconsciousness; but the doctor, in
answer to Celia's anxious inquiries, had told her that there was a
chance, just a chance, of life.
As the great house settled into its nightly silence, Derrick's train was
speeding on its way. He had got through Donna Elvira's business
satisfactorily, and, moreover, following Reggie's instructions, obtained
his special licence; therefore, his heart was light as he sat and smoked
while the express tore through the silence of the night. He reached
Thexford at ten o'clock in the morning, and went straight to the inn.
Reggie, he was told, was out; and Derrick made a good breakfast and,
naturally enough, was drawn towards the wood. It was a hundred to one
chance that Celia should be there; but he decided to take the odds. The
morning was hot; it was not at all unlikely that, puzzled and perhaps
alarmed by his absence, she might go to the wood. On his way, it was
also natural that he should recall his sight of Heyton on the preceding
morning; and, having recalled that, it was also a corollary that he
should remember Heyton's mysterious proceedings.
When they occurred to Derrick, he was not very far from the spot where
Heyton had disappeared for a minute or two; and Derrick sauntered
towards the place and stood looking round him. He was keen-eyed, and in
some of his experiences in South America he had learnt a certain amount
of bush-craft; and he had no difficulty in finding the exact spot in
which he had lost sight, for a moment, of Heyton.
With a feeling that was scarcely one of curiosity, he examined the
ground in close proximity, and presently, he caught sight of a portion
of the fringe of a bathing-towel. He took it from the thorn on which it
hung, and fingered it absently; and while doing so, he noted the mark of
footsteps which had trodden down the bracken in front of a certain bush.
Almost at the same moment, he saw a little heap of dried leaves beneath
the bush, and, mechanically, he stirred them with his foot. To his
amazement, the displaced leaves revealed a box covered with morocco
leather. He stood and looked down at it with that sense of incredulity
which comes to all of us when we happen upon something absolutely
unexpected; then he knelt down and took up the box. It was heavy and,
when he shook it, it rattled softly.
He stood with the box in his hand, staring at it, and wondering whether
it was the thing Heyton had concealed, and what it contained. Also
another most important question was agitating him: What should he do
with it? Presumably, it was Heyton's property; and should be returned to
him at once. But why on earth should Heyton come out in the early
morning to conceal a morocco-covered box under a bush in Thexford Woods?
To say that Derrick was suspicious is to express inadequately the
feeling that suddenly assailed him. He knew that the man was a
scoundrel, and as unscrupulous as he was weak; a man who could forge a
cheque, and plant the blame on another, is capable of anything; and
Derrick scented a mystery, a base, ignoble one, with Heyton as its
centre. He sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree, the box in his hand,
and stared frowningly before him. He could find no answer to the enigma.
That he himself should march up to the Hall and restore the box to
Heyton, was impossible. After all, the affair was none of his, and,
perhaps, the best thing he could do would be to put the box back in its
hiding-place and leave things to work themselves out. He wanted to have
nothing more to do with Heyton, or any business of his. Yes; the easiest
and the safest plan would be to leave the box where he had found it and
have nothing more to do with it. With this more or less wise resolution,
he rose and had taken a step forward, when he heard a sound behind him,
felt a hand fall heavily on his shoulder, and, turning, met the stern
and agitated gaze of Inspector Brown.
"I arrest you for robbery and attempted murder!" said the Inspector.
His voice, for all its sternness, shook and his face was red and
working; for this was the most important moment of Inspector Brown's
life, and it was little wonder that he was agitated and strung up. While
the great detective from Scotland Yard was doing nothing, here had he,
the Inspector, actually discovered the criminal, caught him red-handed,
so to speak!
"It is no use your offering any resistance," he said, brusquely. "Three
or four constables are within call; you could not possibly escape. I've
had my eye upon you for some time, my man, and have taken precautions."
This assertion was not strictly true, but the Inspector almost felt it
was.
Derrick stared at the red face in a kind of stupefied amazement; at last
he said:
"You mean that you are charging me with stealing this thing?"
"I do," replied the Inspector; "and you may as well hand it over to me
without any fuss."
"I shall be delighted to do so," said Derrick, grimly.
He had not yet realized the full significance of the Inspector's first
formal words; for the moment Derrick's mind was engrossed by the
sardonic irony of Fate. Here it was again! There was something really
monotonous in the way in which this peculiar phase of misfortune dogged
him. Was he really going to be again charged with an offence he had not
committed? He opened his lips to speak; to say where he had found the
box; then he remembered the words "attempted murder," and instead of
giving information--which the Inspector would certainly have received
with incredulity--Derrick said quietly and with a sudden pallor,
"Did I understand you to charge me with attempted murder as well as
robbery?"
"I did," responded the Inspector, sternly. "The attempted murder of the
Marquess of Sutcombe."
Derrick did not start, made no exclamation, but the pallor of his face
increased and he gave a little nod. If this box had been stolen, the man
who had hidden it was, in all probability, the thief--and attempted
murderer. Percy--the Marquess's own son! Confused and bewildered as he
was, Derrick had sense enough left in him to feel that he must hold his
tongue.
"All right," he said, very gravely. "I should like to say----"
"If you'll take my advice, you'll say nothing," broke in the Inspector,
in an official manner. "You must know as well as I do that everything
you say----"
"Quite so," said Derrick. "Where are you going to take me?"
"To the lock-up at Fleckfield," replied the Inspector, much relieved in
his mind now that he saw his prisoner was not going to offer any
resistance, give any trouble. "You're quite right to take it quietly. As
I said, we're surrounded by my men. What's this?"
"This" was Celia, coming through the wood and hastening her steps at the
sound of Derrick's voice. She stopped dead short, at sight of the two
men, looking from one to the other in surprise, but no alarm; then she
advanced to Derrick with, "Sydney!" on her lips.
"Why, it's you, Miss Grant!" said the Inspector. "I'm glad you've come
up--though this is no place for you." He paused and looked at her in a
puzzled way. "But you know this man, you called him 'Sydney'?"
"What does he mean?" asked Celia, in a bewildered fashion, of Derrick.
"Why does he speak like that?--Oh, what does it mean!"
"It means that the Inspector here is making a mistake, Celia," said
Derrick gravely, but without any resentment. "It appears that there has
been a robbery at the Hall----"
"You've heard nothing about it!" exclaimed Celia.
"No," said Derrick, quietly. "I left for London yesterday morning early;
I returned this morning, saw no one, heard nothing of it."
"Oh, come now, you'd better keep silent," interrupted the Inspector.
"Miss Grant, I met this gentleman"--he hesitated on the word--"with
this"--he tapped the box--"in his possession. I know, from the
description, that it is the missing jewel-case, and I have arrested him
on the charge of robbery and attempted murder. How you seem to know
him--I don't understand----"
Celia stood as if turned to stone for a moment or two; her eyes
wandering from the faces of the two men to the jewel-case; then she
broke out,
"Sydney, why don't you explain?--It's a mistake, Inspector, a terrible
mistake! I know this gentleman; I--I am engaged to him, I am going to be
his wife. It's--absurd to suspect him!--Sydney, where did you find the
thing?"
"Now, Miss Grant," said the Inspector soothingly, before Derrick could
reply. "Let me advise you, as I have already advised the prisoner, not
to say another word. I am sorry, truly sorry that a young lady of
your--position should be so intimately acquainted, should be----Dear,
dear, this is very sad, Miss Grant! I think you'd better go back to the
Hall. But please don't say anything to Mr. Jacobs; I will come back to
him directly I have seen the prisoner locked up."
Celia was calm now; her momentary terror had given place to grief and
pity for the man she loved. Not for a second did any doubt of his
innocence assail her. With that almost divine intuition of true love,
she knew, not only that he was innocent, but that this crime was in some
way or other connected with the former one, that of the forged cheque.
"Yes, I will go back to the Hall," she said; "but you will let me speak
to Mr. Green before I go?"
"Of course, I can't prevent you," said the Inspector; "but you must say
what you have to say in my hearing, and, of course, I shall take note of
every word."
Celia went to Derrick, put her arm round his neck and kissed him.
"I can wait, dearest," she said. "You will not let this--this weigh upon
you, trouble you?"
He was silent for a moment, his lips working; but the kiss she had
impressed upon him strengthened and nerved him.
"God bless you, Celia!" he murmured, very quietly. "Go now! One
moment--is the Marquess dying?"
"No," she said, with a dry little sob. "He is very bad, has been
dreadfully injured, but he may recover."
"Thank God!" said Derrick. "That is all I will say. Go back, now,
dearest. I will write to you--if they will let me."
The two men moved on; but she stood, her hand pressed against the tree,
as if for support, as if she were unable to move, her eyes following the
two figures; and as she watched them, in an agony, she saw a third
figure coming through the gate. For a moment she did not recognize it,
then she saw that it was Mr. Clendon. She saw him stop in front of the
other two men and she ran forward, calling his name, and, in another
instant, she was clinging to him. The old man murmured her name
soothingly, and she tried to control herself; but her voice was broken
by sobs, as she said:
"Oh, Mr. Clendon, I am in great trouble. They have arrested him--the man
I am going to marry----" She could get no further.
Mr. Clendon looked steadily, piercingly at Derrick; and Derrick, as if
answering the look, shook his head slightly and shrugged his shoulders.
"Who is this?" demanded the Inspector, impatiently; for, naturally, he
was anxious to get his prisoner under lock and key.
"I am a friend of Miss Grant's and this gentleman," said Mr. Clendon.
"You need not explain, I have heard of the robbery. I am on my way to
the Hall. The Marquess is--a friend of mine, an old friend. One moment,"
he added to the Inspector, "I want to tell this gentleman you have
arrested--under a mistake, I am convinced--that I am assured of his
innocence, and that I charge myself with his defence."
He held out his hand to Derrick as he spoke; the two men exchanged grips
and looked into each other's eyes; and again Derrick was conscious of
that peculiar thrill which he had felt when he first touched Mr.
Clendon's hand.
"Thank you, sir," he said, quietly. "Will you please take care of Miss
Grant--Celia? I should like you to take her away now."
"Come, my dear," said Mr. Clendon; and looking over her shoulder till
Derrick had disappeared, Celia went with Mr. Clendon, her hand in his.
"Do you think you can tell me all you know about this terrible
business?" he said, when she had yielded to the relief of tears and was
calmer and more composed.
Celia told him all she knew, and Mr. Clendon listened with attention and
in silence.
"Of course, he is innocent," she wound up. "Oh, Mr. Clendon, I'm so glad
you've come; it is as if--as if you had been sent to me. A moment or two
ago I felt as--as I saw him taken away--that I was left alone in the
world; but I feel now that I have a friend----"
"I trust that you have, my child," he said. "Don't cry any more. Tears
cost so much; and I am convinced that you need not weep for fear of your
lover's safety. He has been wrongfully accused; I do not doubt that for
a moment."
"You don't; I know you don't! But why?" said Celia. "The jewel-case--I
know it was the jewel-case, because the bank has telegraphed to say that
poor Lord Sutcombe took it from the bank, and he must have brought it
here--it was in the safe, was stolen from it. And the Inspector said
that he had found it in Sydney's possession. That looks so black against
him. And yet--you are as convinced of his innocence as I am!"
"Yes," said Mr. Clendon, quietly, "I am convinced. I could not tell you
why; let us say that it is because your lover's face is not that of a
guilty man. Besides," he added, with the ghost of a smile, "a man does
not walk about a wood with a stolen jewel-case under his arm--if he
himself is the thief."
"Of course!" cried Celia, stopping short, her face lighting up. "No one
would be such a fool--least of all Sydney," she added, more to herself
than to him, "who is so clever."
"Exactly," said Mr. Clendon. "So you see, my child, you have nothing to
be alarmed about. Here is the Hall!" He looked up at the noble façade
with a curious expression in his face. "It is years since I have been
here," he added, musingly.
"You have been here before, you know the Marquess?" said Celia. "Yes,
you said so. How strange! Why, Mr. Clendon," she broke off, turning upon
him, with a flush of gratitude, "I see now, I see now! It was _you_ who
got me the place here. And I never guessed it! Oh, how good you have
been to me! And you hid it." Her hand pressed his.
The old man frowned slightly. "You have caught me, my dear," he said.
"It was a great pleasure to me to be of assistance to you. But we have
other things to think of," he added, as they passed up the steps into
the hall.
The butler met them, suppressing the astonishment he felt at sight of
the poorly-dressed old man in Miss Grant's company, suppressing it not
only from the instincts of a well-trained servant, but because he knew,
at a glance, that shabby as the bent figure was, the stranger was a
gentleman.
"My name is Clendon," said Mr. Clendon. "I am an old friend of Lord
Sutcombe's; and I have come down to inquire after him, to see him if it
is possible."
"Certainly, sir," said the butler; and he led the way to the
drawing-room. But Celia drew Mr. Clendon into the library.
"Stay with me here," she begged him. "I will go up to the Marquess's
room and see if he is well enough to be told that you are here. I fear
that you will not be able to see him. And you must have something to
eat," she said, with womanly consideration.
"Thank you, my dear, I need nothing," he said.
As he spoke, the door was opened, none too gently, and Heyton stood on
the threshold. He looked from Celia to the old man with what was
intended to be a stare of haughty surprise; but was, in reality, a kind
of sullen insolence.
"Oh? Who is this?" he demanded.
"A friend of your father's, Lord Heyton," said Mr. Clendon, before Celia
could speak. "So old and so dear a friend that he is warranted in
intruding, even at such a moment."
"Well, you are intruding, right enough, though you may be an old
friend," said Heyton, thickly. "My father is very ill, dangerously ill,
as you may have heard. This is no time for--for visitors."
"Forgive me," said Mr. Clendon gently, but with a calmness and dignity
that impressed even the only half-sober Heyton, "but my intrusion is
justified, as Lord Sutcombe will bear me out, when he knows I am here."
"Oh, well," said Heyton, with an insolent shrug of his shoulders. "I
can't speak any more plainly. If you can't take a hint--but it doesn't
matter; I'm quite certain that you can't see my father, even if he can
be told that you are here."
"We will see," said Mr. Clendon.
Heyton looked at him for a moment, angrily and a trifle suspiciously;
then he swung on his heel and went out.
"You must not mind," said Celia. "Lord Heyton is, naturally, very much
upset. I should think he scarcely knows what he is saying to you."
"Very likely," assented Mr. Clendon gravely, and without any sign of
resentment.
"I will go up now," said Celia; "and I will come down again to you
directly."
"One moment," he said, staying her with a gesture. "Will you give me a
sheet of paper and a pen and ink?"
Celia did so. Mr. Clendon wrote the letter "W" on the paper, folded it
and handed it to her.
"Will you give him this, my dear? If he cannot read it, you may open it
and tell him what is written on it."