ROBERT REDMAYNE IS HEARD
For some moments Mark stood motionless with his eyes on the moonlit
gate and the forest gloom behind it. There rhododendron and laurel
made dense evergreen cover beneath the pines and offered inviolable
shelter. To follow Robert Redmayne was vain and also dangerous, for
in such a spot it might easily happen that the hunter would lie at
the mercy of the hunted.
This sudden apparition bewildered Brendon, for it argued much beyond
itself. Surely it indicated treachery and falsehood among those he
had just left at "Crow's Nest," for it was a coincidence almost
inconceivable that on this day of his chance visit, the wanted man
should suddenly reappear in the neighbourhood of his brother's
house. Yet collusion seemed impossible, for Mark had given no notice
to Bendigo Redmayne of his coming.
Brendon asked himself if he had suffered a hallucination, but he
knew that his rational mind was not constituted to create ghosts
from within. Imagination he had, but therein was a source of
strength, not weakness, and no grain of superstition weakened his
mental endowment. He knew also that no one had been farther from his
thoughts than Robert Redmayne at the moment of his sudden
appearance. No, he had seen a living man and one who certainly would
not willingly have revealed himself.
He had not the least intention of ignoring his discovery and was
quite prepared to arrest Robert Redmayne, even under his brother's
roof if necessary; but he desired first to hear Jenny Pendean upon
the subject before seeking the assistance of the Dartmouth police.
He felt that she would not deceive him, or answer a direct appeal
with a lie. And then there flashed upon him the painful conviction
that she must already have lied to him; for if Redmayne were living
concealed at "Crow's Nest," all the household, including Doria and
the solitary woman servant, would assuredly be in the secret.
Supposing Jenny begged him to hold his hand and spare Robert
Redmayne, would he then be justified in keeping his discovery to
himself? Some men might have built up a personal hope upon this
possibility and seen themselves winning to the summit of their
ambition by bending to the widow's will; but Mark did not confound
the thoughts of duty and love nor did he even dream that success in
one might depend upon neglect of the other. He had only to raise the
question to answer it, and he swiftly determined that not Jenny, or
her Uncle Bendigo, or anybody on earth should prevent him from
securing Robert Redmayne on the following day if it came within his
power to do so. Indeed he felt little doubt that this would happen.
For that night there was no hurry. He slept well after an unusual
amount of exercise and emotion; and he rose late. He was dressing at
half past eight when there came a chambermaid to the door.
"There's a gentleman must see you this instant moment, please, sir,"
she said. "He's by the name of Mr. Doria and he comes from Captain
Redmayne out over at 'Crow's Nest.'"
Not sorry that his day's work might now be simplified, Mark bade the
girl summon his visitor, and in two minutes Giuseppe Doria appeared.
"I was clever to find you," he said, "for we only knew that you were
stopping in Dartmouth to-night, but we did not know where. Yet I
guessed you would choose the best hotel and I guessed rightly. I
will eat my breakfast with you, if you please, and tell you why I am
here. The thing was to catch you if we could before you went away. I
am glad that I was in time."
"So Robert Redmayne, the murderer of Michael Pendean, has turned
up?" asked Brendon, finishing his shaving; and Doria showed
astonishment.
"Corpo di Bacco! How did you know that?" he asked.
"I saw him on my way home," replied Mark. "I had already seen him,
before the tragedy on Dartmoor, and I remembered him. What is more,
I'm not sure that he didn't remember me."
"We are in fear," continued Doria. "He has not been yet to his
brother, but he is near."
"How can you tell that he is near, if he has not yet been to his
brother?"
"Thus we know it. I go every morning early to Strete Farm on the
hills above us for milk and butter. I go this morning and they have
an ugly story. Last night a man entered Strete Farm and took food
and drink. The farmer hears him and comes upon him sitting eating in
the kitchen--a big man with a red head and a red mustache and a red
waistcoat. The man, when he sees Mr. Brook--that is the farmer--he
bolts through the back kitchen by which he has come. Mr. Brook knows
nothing of the man and he tells me of his adventure, and then I go
home to tell padron mio--my master.
"When I describe this man, Mr. Redmayne and Madonna nearly have a
fit between them. They recognize him--he is the assassin! They think
instantly of you and bid me take my bicycle and ride here at my best
speed to catch you, if it may be done before you go. I succeed, but
I cannot stay with you; I must return to keep guard. I do not like
to feel there is nobody there. My old sea wolf is not frightened of
the sea, but I think he is a little frightened of his brother. And
Mrs. Jenny--she is very frightened indeed."
"Come to breakfast," said Mark, whose toilet was now completed.
"I'll get a motor in a quarter of an hour and run out as quick as
may be."
They swallowed a hasty meal and Giuseppe displayed growing
excitement. He begged Brendon to bring other policemen with him, but
this Mark declined to do.
"Plenty of time for that," he said. "We may catch him easy enough. I
shall do nothing until I have seen Mr. Bendigo at 'Crow's Nest' and
heard his views. If Robert Redmayne is breaking into houses for
food he must be at the end of his tether."
By nine o'clock the Italian had started homeward, and as soon as he
was gone, Brendon went to the police station, borrowed a revolver
and a pair of handcuffs, hinted at his business, and ordered a
police car to be ready as quickly as possible. A constable drove him
and before setting out he told the local chief of police, one
Inspector Damarell, to await a message over the telephone in the
course of the morning. He enjoined strictest secrecy for the
present.
Mark overtook and passed Doria on his way home. The storm had nearly
blown itself out and the morning was clear and cold. Beneath the
cliffs a big sea rolled, but it was fast going down.
Any suspicion that the inhabitants of Bendigo's home were seeking to
create false impressions left Brendon's mind, when he stood before
Jenny and her uncle. The former was nervous and the latter beyond
measure puzzled. There was now little doubt that Robert Redmayne
must be the man who broke into Strete Farm for food, since Mark's
experience of the previous night tended to confirm the fact. He had
seen Redmayne some hours before the fugitive alarmed the household
at Strete. Where was he now and why had he come hither? All
suspected that the unfortunate man had probably returned from France
or Spain, and now lay hid close at hand, waiting for a safe
opportunity to see the old sailor.
"Your brother has probably got his eye on the house," said Brendon,
"and is considering how to approach you, Mr. Redmayne, without
risking his own safety."
"There's only one he'll trust, I reckon, and that's me," declared
Bendigo. "If he knew that Jenny means him no harm, he might trust
her, too, but he may not believe that she's good Christian enough to
forgive him. And anyway I guess he don't know she's with me. I'm
talking as though he was sane, but I doubt it."
Mark, who had studied Mr. Redmayne's large government survey map of
the district, suggested an immediate search over the most likely
regions in the neighbourhood.
"I think of you and Mrs. Pendean," he explained. "You don't want hue
and cry again and all the past brought up once more. If we can get
to him without calling in the police, then so much the better. The
man must be in extreme want. His face, as I saw it, was harrowed and
tormented. He has probably reached a mental condition of tension and
torture in which he will not be sorry to find himself among friendly
and understanding fellow creatures. There are two districts which
especially suggest themselves to me to search in: the shore, where
there are many caves and crevices above sea level safe from
observation; and the dense woods into which he plunged when I came
suddenly upon him last night. I examined them on my way out this
morning. They appear to be very extensive, but they are traversed by
drives for sportsmen and you can look up and down these drives for
many hundred yards."
Mr. Redmayne summoned Doria who had now reached home again.
"Can the launch go to sea?" he asked. Giuseppe considered that she
might. Bendigo then submitted a proposition.
"I'm asking that you'll let this search go on quietly and privately
for another twenty-four hours," he said. "Then, if we fail to round
him up in a friendly way, so to say, you must, of course, turn the
constabulary out and hunt him down. To-day we can go over the places
you name and I reckon you've hit the most likely burrows for the
poor man. I dare say, if we sat tight and did nothing at all, we
might find him creeping here to me after dark pretty soon; but we'll
act as you advise and see if the shore or the woods show any sign.
"There's us three who know who he is--Jenny and me and you; and I'd
propose that my niece goes down the coast in the motor boat with
Giuseppe. They can cruise away to the west, where there's an easy
landing here and there at little coves, and they may sight my
brother poking about, or hid in some hole down that way. There are
caves with tunnels aft that give on the rough lands and coombs
behind. It's a pretty lone region and he couldn't hang on long there
or find food for his belly. They can try that for a few hours and
we'll go up aloft. Or else I'll take you in the boat and they can
hunt round Black Woods--whichever you like."
Brendon considered. He inclined to the belief that the hunted man
might sooner trust the woods than the coast. Moreover he knew
himself an indifferent sailor and perceived that the motor boat
could not promise a very even keel in the great swell that followed
the storm.
"If Mrs. Pendean doesn't mind the weather and there is no shadow of
danger to the launch, then I advise that your niece goes down the
coast and has a look into the caves as you propose," he said. "No
doubt Doria can be trusted to see sharply after her. Meantime we
will quarter the wood. If we could only get into touch with the man,
it might be possible to secure him without making any noise."
"There must be a noise if we catch him," declared Doria. "He is a
famous criminal and who ever runs him to his earth and pulls him out
will make a noise and receive great praise."
He prepared for the coming voyage of discovery and, within half an
hour, the motor boat danced out from beneath "Crow's Nest"; then she
held a course to the westward, rolling indeed, but not enough to
trouble Jenny who sat in the stern and kept a pair of strong Zeiss
glasses fixed upon the cliffs and shore. They were soon reduced to a
white speck under the misty weather; and after they had gone,
Bendigo, in a sailor's pea-jacket and cap, lighted a pipe, took a
big black-thorn stick, and set off beside Mark. The police car still
stood on the road and, both entering it, they soon reached the gate
beside which Robert Redmayne had appeared on the previous night.
There they left the motor and entered Black Woods together.
Bendigo still talked of his niece and continued to do so. It was a
subject on which the other proved very willing to listen.
"She's at the parting of the ways now," declared Jenny's uncle. "I
can see her mind working. I grant she loved her husband dearly
enough and he made a pretty deep mark on her character, for she's
different from what she was as a girl. But there's very little doubt
that Doria's growing awful fond of her--and when that sort loves a
woman he generally finds she's not unwilling to meet him halfway. I
believe now that my niece can't help caring for the man, but all the
time she's secretly ashamed of herself--yes, heartily ashamed--for
finding another in her mind only six months after the death of
Pendean."
Mark asked a question.
"When you say that her husband altered his wife's character, in what
way did he do so!"
"Well--he taught her sense I reckon. You'd never think now, would
you, that she was a red Redmayne--one of us--short of temper,
peppery, fiery? But she was, as a youngster. Her father had the
Redmayne qualities more developed than any of us and he handed 'em
down. She was a wilful thing--plucky and fond of mischief. Her
school fellows thought the world of her because she laughed at
discipline; and from one school she got expelled for some frolics.
That was the girl I remembered when Jenny came back to me a widow.
And so I see that Michael Pendean, what ever else he was, evidently
had the trick character to learn her a bit of sense and patience."
"It may be natural development of years and experience, combined
with the sudden, awful shock of her husband's death. These things
would unite to tone her down and perhaps break her spirit, if only
for a time."
"True. But she's not a sober-sided woman for all her calm. She was
too full of the joy of life for Pendean, or any man, to empty it all
out of her in four years. He may have been one of the Wesleyan sort,
like such a lot of the Cornish; he may have been a kill-joy, too;
but whether he was or not, he hadn't quite converted her in the
time, and what I'm seeing now, I judge, is the young woman slowly
coming back to herself under the influence of this Latin chap. He's
cunning, too. He knows how to tickle her vanity, for even she has
got a bit of womanly conceit in her, though less vain of her
wonderful face no woman could be. But Doria has taken good care to
hint his ambition is well lost for love; he's dropped it very
cleverly no doubt and already made her see which way he's steering.
He's put Jenny before the dollars and the dreams of the castle down
south. In a word, if I'm not a greenhorn, he'll ask her to marry him
as soon as a year is told and he can touch the subject decently."
"And you think she will accept him, Mr. Redmayne?"
"At present I'd take long odds about it; but he's a volatile devil
and may change by that time."
Then Bendigo in his turn asked a question.
"We found no will among my poor brother's papers, and of course he's
had no access to his money since this bad business. How he's lived
all the time only he himself knows. But suppose the worst happens
presently and he's found to be a lunatic, what becomes of his
stuff?"
"It would ultimately go to you and your brother."
They tramped the wood and fell in with a gamekeeper, who greeted the
trespassers none too amiably. But on learning their errand and
receiving a description of the fugitive, he bade them go where they
pleased and himself promised to keep a sharp watch. He had two mates
and would warn them; and he understood the importance of preserving
strict silence concerning the fugitive until more should be known.
But it was not to Brendon and Robert Redmayne's brother that any
information came. Their hunt produced neither sign nor clue of the
man they sought, and after three hours of steady tramping, which
covered all the ground and exhausted Bendigo, they returned in the
motor car to "Crow's Nest."
News of direct importance awaited them, and Bendigo proved correct
in his suspicion that the wanted man might have chosen the coast.
Jenny had not only seen Robert Redmayne but had reached him; and she
returned very distressed and somewhat hysterical, while Doria,
having done great things in the matter, was prepared to brag about
them. But he begged Mrs. Pendean, as the heroine of a strange
adventure, to tell her story.
She was deeply moved and her voice failed on two or three occasions
during the narrative; but the interest of the tale was such that
Bendigo lost sight of Jenny in the picture she now painted of his
unfortunate brother. They had sighted Robert Redmayne suddenly from
the motor boat.
"We saw him," said Jenny, "about two miles down the coast, sitting
not fifty yards from the sea, and he, of course, saw us; but he had
no glasses and could not recognize me, as we were more than half a
mile from shore. Then Giuseppe suggested landing and so approaching
him. The thing was to let me reach him, if possible. I felt no fear
of him--excepting the fear that, knowing how he had ruined my life,
he might shrink from facing me.
"We ran by, as though we had not observed him; then, getting round a
little bluff, so that we were hidden, we went ashore, made fast the
boat, and regularly stalked him. There was no mistake. I had, of
course, recognized Uncle Robert through the glasses; and now Doria
went first and crept along, with me behind him, until we had reached
to within twenty-five yards. The poor wretch saw us then and leaped
up, but it was too late and Giuseppe reached him in a moment and
explained that I came as a friend. Doria was prepared to detain him
if he endeavoured to escape, but he did not. Robert Redmayne is worn
out. He has been through terrible times. He shrank at first and
nearly collapsed when I came to him. He went on his knees to me. But
I was patient and made him understand that I had not come as an
enemy."
"Is he sane?" asked Bendigo.
"He appears to be sane," she answered. "He made no mention of the
past and neither spoke of his crime nor of what he has been doing
since; but he has altered. He seems a ghost of his former self; his
voice has changed from a boom into a whisper; his eyes are haunted.
He is thin and full of terror. He made me send Doria out of earshot
and then told me that he had only come here to see you. He has been
here some days, hidden in one of the caves down the coast westward.
He wouldn't tell me where, but no doubt it is near where we found
him. He is ragged and wounded. One of his hands ought to be attended
to."
"And still you say he behaved like a sane man, Mrs. Pendean?" asked
Brendon.
"Yes--except for what seemed an insane fear. And yet fear was
natural enough under the circumstances. He feels, poor creature,
that he has reached the end of his tether; and even if he is insane
and will escape the extreme penalty, he doesn't know that himself. I
implored him to come with me in the boat and see Uncle Bendigo and
trust to the mercy of his fellow men. I didn't feel a traitor in
asking him to do this; for I imagine, though seemingly sane now, he
must in reality be mad, since only madness could explain the past,
and he will be judged accordingly. But he is very suspicious. He
thanked me and grovelled horribly to me; but he would not trust
either me or Doria, or think of entering the boat. He is all nerves
and soon began to fear we were planning an ambush, or otherwise
endangering his freedom.
"I asked him, then, to tell me what he wished and how I could help
him. He considered and said that if Uncle Bendigo would see him
quite alone and swear, before God, not to hinder his departure in
any way after they had met, he would come to 'Crow's Nest' to-night
after the household was asleep.
"For the moment he wants food and a lamp to light his hiding-place
after dark. But before all else, he begs you, Uncle Ben, to let him
come and see you quite alone. Then he told us to be gone if we were
honest friends. It is left in this way. If you will see him, he will
come any hour you mention after midnight. But first you must give
your written oath before God that you will have nobody with you, and
that you will neither set a trap for him nor seek to detain him. His
hope is that you will give him means and clothes, so that he may
leave England safely and get to Uncle Albert in Italy. He made us
swear not to say where we had found him, and then he indicated a
spot where I was to bring your answer in writing before dark. I am
to leave a letter at that spot as soon as I can, and go away at
once, and he will come and find your directions."
Mr. Redmayne nodded.
"And at the same time you had better take the poor wretch some food
and drink and the lamp. How he has lived for the last six months I
cannot understand."
"He has been in France--so he says."
Bendigo did not take long to determine a course of action and
Brendon approved his decisions.
"In the first place," declared Robert Redmayne's brother, "the man
must be mad, whatever appears to the contrary. This story points to
that, and seeing he is still free and has succeeded in existing and
avoiding the police in two countries, one can only say that with his
madness he has developed amazing cunning too. But, as Jenny reports,
he's on his beam ends at last. He knows this house and he knows the
way to it. So I'll do this.
"I'll agree to see him to-night--or rather to-morrow morning. I'll
bid him come at one o'clock, and he shall find the door open and a
light in the hall. He can walk straight in and mount up to me in the
tower, and I'll swear the needful oath that he shall see nobody else
and be free to go again when he pleases. That will calm him down and
give me a chance to study him and try and see where we stand. We
might trap him, of course, but I can't lie even to a lunatic."
"There's no reason why you should," said Brendon. "If you feel no
personal fear of the man, then you can see him as you suggest. You
understand, however, there must be no question of helping him to
evade the law, as he wishes?"
Bendigo nodded.
"I suppose not. I can't turn him on to my brother, Albert, anyway.
Albert's a weak, nervous sort of man and he'd have a fit if he
thought Robert was coming to seek asylum with him."
"The State must provide his asylum," said Mark. "His future is no
longer any question for his relations. The best that we can hope is
that he may soon be in a position of security, both for himself and
other people. You will do well to see him, give him succour, and
hear what he has to say. After that, Mr. Redmayne, if I may advise,
you will leave the rest to me."
Bendigo lost no time in writing the desired letter inviting Robert
Redmayne to meet him in secret at one o'clock during the coming
night and promising the fugitive, on oath, that he should be safe
and free to depart again when he desired to do so. But, none the
less, he expressed an earnest hope that his brother would stop at
"Crow's Nest," and be advised as to his future actions. Some
provisions were put into the launch and, with the letter in her
pocket, Jenny again set out. She was prepared to go alone, for she
could handle the boat as cleverly as Doria himself; but this her
uncle would not permit.
It was already growing dusk before she left and Giuseppe drove the
little vessel to its limit of speed.
Then Brendon was much surprised. He had been standing under the
flagstaff with the master of "Crow's Nest," watching the launch, and
when she had vanished westward into a grey, still evening, Bendigo
challenged the detective with a proposition altogether unexpected.
"See here," he said. "I've got a damned, uneasy feeling about
meeting my brother single-handed to-night. I can't tell you what it
is. I'm not a coward and never shirked duty yet; but frankly I don't
much like facing him for this reason. A madman's a madman, and we
can't expect a madman to be any too reasonable if we oppose him,
however tactfully. I should be powerless if he got off his head, or
resented the advice I should have to give him, or went for
me--powerless, I mean, to do anything but stop him with a bullet.
But if he's got to be stopped that way, I don't want to be the one
to do it.
"I've promised to meet him alone and I shan't be telling the poor
man a lie, because, if all's straight and he shows no violence, he
needn't know anybody else is there. But if I was put into danger, I
might tackle him mercifully with somebody to help, whereas if I was
alone and he threatened to do me harm, it would very likely mean
something I'd rather not think about."
Brendon saw the force of this observation.
"A very reasonable thing indeed," he answered, "and in a case like
this, you couldn't blame yourself even if you didn't keep the letter
of your promise."
"In the spirit I shall keep it, however. I've sworn to let him come
and go again free, and that oath I must keep if he does nothing that
forces me to break it."
"You are wise and I quite agree with you," said Mark. "No doubt
Doria is a man you can rely upon in every way and he is powerful
too."
But Bendigo shook his head.
"No," he answered. "I've left this question until Doria and my niece
were out of the way, for a very good reason. I don't want them in
this thing more than they are already; and I don't want them, or
anybody, to know that I've got a friend hid along with me in the
tower when Robert comes. They understand that I am to see him alone;
and I've bade them keep out of the way and not show themselves for
an instant. What I want up there is you and only you."
Brendon considered.
"I confess the idea occurred to me as soon as we had your brother's
offer; but seeing the terms, I couldn't press for it," he said. "Now
I agree and, what's more, I think it would be very desirable if
nobody--not even the household--knew I was here."
"That can be done. If you send your car away and say you'll report
to-morrow, then the police won't trouble us any more till we see
what next. You can go up to the tower and get into the big case I
keep my flags and odds and ends in. There are holes bored for
ventilation at the height of a man's head from the ground, and if
you're packed in there, you can see and hear everything and pop out
in five seconds if my life is threatened."
Brendon nodded.
"That's all right," he said. "I'm considering what follows. Your
brother goes free presently; and no doubt Mrs. Pendean will only
wait until he is off to come up to you. I can't stop all night in
the cupboard."
"It don't matter a button after he's gone," answered Bendigo. "If
you tell your car to go, that's all that signifies for the minute.
And all anybody but ourselves will believe is that you've gone back
to Dartmouth, and won't be here again until to-morrow morning."
Mark fell in with this plan. He dismissed the car and directed that
Inspector Damarell should be told to do nothing more until further
information reached him. Then, with the old sailor, he climbed to
the tower room, inspected the great cupboard, and found that he
could follow the course of events very comfortably from within.
Holes of the size of a half-penny piece were bored in each door of
this erection and, with a three-inch support under his feet, Brendon
found his eyes and ears at the needful level.
"The point is to know how I get clear afterward," considered
Brendon, returning to the sequel. "As soon as your brother has left
the house, it is certain that Mrs. Pendean, probably Doria also,
will hasten to know what has happened and what you have determined."
"Afterward nothing matters," repeated Bendigo. "I'll go down to the
door with Robert and you can follow me and slip out as soon as he
has got clear. Or else you can appear when he has gone and reveal
yourself and tell Jenny that it was your own wish to stop without
letting anybody know it but myself. That'll be the best way; and as
soon as she finds you are here, she'll see that you have comfortable
quarters for the rest of the night."
Brendon approved of this plan and when the launch returned, her
uncle informed Jenny that the detective had left, to make certain
inquiries, but would return early on the following morning. She
expressed surprise that he had gone but declared that it would in
any case have been necessary for him to do so before the fugitive
arrived.
"We left the letter, the lamp, and the food and drink exactly where
he indicated," she said, "on a forlorn spot, above that ancient,
raised beach, where the great boulders are."
Thus the matter was settled. Mark had already taken up his position
in the chamber aloft and Bendigo looked to it that he should not be
interfered with. It was Mr. Redmayne's custom to keep the tower room
locked when not himself in it, and he did so now until the night
should come. He supped with Jenny and the Italian, having already
provided Brendon with food in his hiding-place. It was understood
that the sailor would ascend to his den about eleven o'clock, by
which time Mark undertook to be safely hidden in the cupboard.
At the agreed time Doria and his master came up together, the former
carrying a light. Jenny also joined them for a short while, but she
stayed only ten minutes and then departed to bed. The weather had
turned stormy and wet. A shouting wind from the west shook the
lantern of the tower room and flung rain heavily against the glass,
while Bendigo moved restlessly about and bent his brows to look out
into the blackness of the night.
"The poor devil will be drowned, or break his neck climbing up from
the sea in this darkness," he declared.
Giuseppe had brought up a jug of water, a bottle of spirits, a
little keg of tobacco, and two or three clay pipes, for the old sea
captain never smoked till after supper and then puffed steadily
until he went to bed.
He turned now and asked Doria a question.
"You've cast your peepers over the poor chap to-day," he said, "and
you're a clever man and know a bit of human nature. What did you
make of my brother?"
"I looked closely and listened also," answered the servant; "and
this I think--the man is very sick."
"Not likely to break out again and cut another throat?"
"Never again. I say this. When he killed Madonna's husband, he was
mad; now he is not mad--not more mad than anybody else. He craves
only one thing--peace."