RUN TO EARTH.
The vicar hesitated for a moment, and then looked his companion straight
in the face.
"That unhappy man, Gilbert Morris, was spared by the sea," he answered
in a low voice. "The ship was lost, as reported, but he and two of the
crew were picked up by a sailing vessel and carried to South America.
Months elapsed before they were heard of, and Diane had been gone for
a year when Gilbert Morris returned to Dunwold. The news was a terrible
shock to him, for he had loved his wife with all the depth of a fierce
and fiery nature. His affection seemed to turn to rage, and it was
thought best to keep him in ignorance of the fact that Diane had been
seen in Paris. Brain fever prostrated him, and when he recovered
physically from that his mind was affected--in other words, he was
a homicidal lunatic, with a fixed determination to find and kill his
wife."
"By heavens!" exclaimed Jimmie. "The scent is getting warm! What was
done with the man?"
"He was sent to a private madhouse in Surrey."
"And is he there still?"
"No, he is not," the vicar replied agitatedly. "He succeeded in making
his escape more than a week ago. The matter was hushed up, because it
was hoped that he would come back to Dunwold, and that he could be
quietly captured here. But, in spite of the utmost vigilance, he was
not found or traced; and this very morning I received a letter from
Doctor Bent, the proprietor of the madhouse, stating that he had
furnished the London police with a description of his missing patient."
"That settles it!" cried Jimmie, jumping up in excitement. "Gilbert
Morris is the man!"
"Yes, I fear he is the murderer," assented the vicar. "But, pray sit
down, Mr. Drexell, and we will talk further of the sad affair. Lunch
will be ready in a few minutes, and I shall be glad to have you--"
"Thanks, but I can't stop," Jimmie interrupted, as he put on his hat.
"I'm off to town to help the police to find the guilty man."
"But surely, my dear sir, this is a very hasty conclusion--"
"Can you doubt for one moment, in your heart, that Gilbert Morris killed
that unfortunate woman?"
"The circumstances all point that way," admitted Mr. Chalfont. "Yes, it
is a pretty clear case. It is distressing to think that the crime might
have been prevented, had the police been promptly informed of the
madman's escape. But only Doctor Bent and myself were aware of the
fact--excepting the attendants of the institution. As I told you, I knew
nothing of the murder until you informed me, and it was unlikely that
the doctor--though he must have read the papers--should have associated
the deed with Morris; he took charge of the place quite recently, and
could not have been well posted regarding the history of his patient."
"He ought to be arrested for criminal neglect," Jimmie said,
indignantly. "He is in a measure responsible for the murder. Gilbert
Morris might have been retaken almost at once had the police been
informed at the time of the escape."
"Just so!" the vicar agreed.
"I'm off now," continued Jimmie. "I can't thank you enough, Mr.
Chalfont, for the information you have given me. I shall never forget
it, nor will my friend."
"It was Providence that guided you here," replied the vicar. "His ways
are indeed marvelous. I wish you every success, Mr. Drexell. I trust
that your friend will speedily be at liberty, and if I can be of any
further service, count upon me."
"I'll do that, sir," Jimmie assured him.
The next minute he was striding away from the vicarage, and it was a
very perspiring and foam-flecked horse that pulled up outside the
Railway Arms at Pevensey half an hour later. Jimmie jumped out of the
trap, paid the account, and dashed over to the station. His arrival
was timely, for he learned that a through London train was due in ten
minutes. During the interval he found some vent for his impatience in
sending a wire to Sir Lucius Chesney, as follows:
"Success! Back in town at three o'clock."
Never had a railway journey seemed so long and tiresome to Jimmie as
that comparatively short one, in a fast train, from Pevensey to London.
He had a book and a newspaper, but he could not read; he smoked like a
furnace, and glared from the window at the flying landscape. He reached
Victoria station at five minutes past three, and just outside the gates
he met Sir Lucius.
"I barely got here--I was afraid I'd miss you," the latter exclaimed
breathlessly; his face was a more ruddy color than usual. "I have
something to tell you," he went on; "something that happened--"
"It's a jolly good thing, sir, that I went down to Pevensey," Jimmie
interrupted, as he drew his companion aside to a quieter spot. "You'll
scarcely believe what I have found out. The vicar told me a most amazing
story, and we spotted the murderer at once. He is Diane's real
husband--Jack was never legally married to her--and his name is Gilbert
Morris. He is an escaped lunatic--"
"Gad, sir, the man is arrested!" gasped Sir Lucius. "He is in custody!"
"Arrested?" cried Jimmie.
"Yes; the afternoon papers are full of it. The police, furnished with
a description of the man and other information, apprehended him this
morning early in a Lambeth lodging-house. There were blood-spots on his
clothing, and in his pocket they found a bloodstained knife. He became
violent the moment he was arrested, and raved about his wife Diane, who
had deserted him, and how he had killed her to avenge his honor."
"That's the man!" said Jimmie. "He's as mad as a March hare. Thank God,
they have got him!"
"We'll soon have Mr. Vernon out," Sir Lucius replied, cheerfully.
Jimmie told the rest of the story in the privacy of a cab, which drove
the two rapidly from Victoria station to Bedford street, Strand. They
found Mr. Tenby in his office, and had a long interview with him. The
solicitor had read the papers, and when he was put in possession of
the further important facts bearing on the case, he promised to secure
Jack's release as soon as the necessary legal formalities could be
complied with. Moreover, he promised to go to Holloway within the course
of an hour or two, and communicate the good news to the prisoner. Jimmie
was anxious to go with him, but he reluctantly abandoned the project
when the solicitor assured him that it would be most difficult to
arrange.
"Be patient, gentlemen, and leave the matter in my hands," said Mr.
Tenby. "I think we shall have Mr. Vernon out of Holloway to-morrow, and
without a stain on his character."
Sir Lucius and Jimmie walked to Morley's and separated. The former went
into the hotel, half resolved to pack up his luggage and take an early
train in the morning to Priory Court; he was tired of London and the
recent excitement he had passed through, and longed for his country
home. But, on second thought, he altered his mind, and concluded to wait
until Jack Vernon was a free man again; he was strangely interested in
the unfortunate young artist, and was as anxious as ever to have a talk
with him on matters of a private nature.
Jimmie went to his chambers in the Albany, where he removed the dust of
travel and changed his clothes. He did not at once go out to dinner,
though he was exceedingly hungry. He was impulsive and impatient, and he
had conceived a plan whereby he might punish Victor Nevill's perfidy
without a public exposure, and at the same time, he fondly hoped, do
Jack a good turn.
"It will hardly be safe to wait longer," he reflected, "for all I know
to the contrary, the girl may be married to-morrow. She will be glad to
have her eyes opened--I can't believe that she is in love with that
blackguard. As for Sir Lucius, I would rather face a battery of guns
than tell the dear old chap the shameful story to his face. But it must
be told somehow."
Jimmie proceeded to carry out his plans. He took Diane's last letter
from its hiding-place, and sitting down to his desk he made two copies
of it, prefacing each with a brief explanation of how the statement had
come into his hands. It was a laborious task, and it kept him busy for
two hours. At nine o'clock he went out to dinner, and on the way to the
Cafe Royal he dropped two bulky letters into a street-box. One was
addressed to "Miss Madge Foster, Strand-on-the-Green, Chiswick, W." The
other to "Sir Lucius Chesney, Morley's Hotel."
* * * * *
It was ten o'clock in the morning, and the phenomenal November weather
showed no signs of breaking up. The sun shone brightly in Trafalgar
Square, and the people and busses, the hoary old Nelson Column and its
guardian lions, made a picture more Continental than English in its
coloring.
But to Sir Lucius Chesney the world looked as black as midnight. He
paced the floor of his room, purple of countenance and savage of eye,
letting slip an occasional oath as he glanced at the sheets of Jimmie's
letter scattered over the table. The blow had hit him hard; it had
wounded him in his most tender spot--his family honor. His first
paroxysm of rage had passed, but he could not think calmly. His brain
was on fire with pent-up emotions--shame and indignation, bitter grief
and despair, a sense of everlasting disgrace. One moment he doubted;
the next the damning truth overwhelmed him and defied denial.
"I can't believe it!" he muttered hoarsely. "It is too terrible! How
blindly I trusted that boy! I heard rumors about him, and turned a deaf
ear to them. I knew he was inclined to be dissolute and extravagant, but
I never dreamed of this! To drag the name of Chesney in the dirt! My
nephew a liar and a traitor, a scoundrel of the blackest dye to a
confiding friend, a seducer, a tout for money-lenders, a consort of
blood-sucking Jews! By heavens, I will confront him and hear the truth
from his own lips! How do I know that this letter is not a forgery?
Perhaps young Drexell never saw it."
It was a slim ray of hope, but Sir Lucius took some comfort from it. He
put on his hat, took his stick, and marched down stairs. As he passed
through the office, a clerk handed him a letter that had just been
brought in. He waited until he was outside to open it, and with the
utmost amazement he read the contents:
"Pentonville Prison.
"My Dear Sir Lucius--I see by the papers that you are in town
temporarily, so I address you at Morley's instead of Priory Court. A very
curious thing has happened. A few days ago a prisoner who was arrested
for a breach of the police-supervision rules, but who was really wanted
for a much more serious affair, was put in my charge. This man, Noah
Hawker by name, sent for me and made a secret communication. He stated
that in his room in Kentish Town, where he was arrested, he had hidden
some papers of the greatest importance to yourself. He told me how to
find them, and yesterday I got them and brought them here. They are in a
sealed parcel, and the prisoner begs that they shall not be opened except
in your presence, as he wishes to tell you the whole story. So I thought
it best to send for you, and if convenient I should like to see you about
noon to-day. I am posting this early in the morning, and hope you will
receive it in good time.
"Sincerely your old friend,
"Major Hugh Wyatt."
"I don't understand it," thought Sir Lucius. "It is certainly most
perplexing. What can it mean? I haven't seen Wyatt for years, but I
remember now that he was appointed Governor of Pentonville some time
ago. But who the deuce is the man Hawker? I never heard the name. Papers
of importance to me? What could they be, and how did the fellow get
them? There must be some mistake. And yet--"
He read the letter a second time, and it turned his curiosity into a
desire to probe the mystery. He concluded to put off the interview with
his nephew, and see him later in the day. He hailed a cab, and told the
driver to take him to Pentonville.