THE PREVALENT ATMOSPHERE
Until that afternoon Collingwood had never been in the village to which
he was now bending his steps; on that and his previous visits to the
Grange he had only passed the end of its one street. Now, descending
into it from the slopes of the park, he found it to be little more than
a hamlet--a church, a farmstead or two, a few cottages in their gardens,
all clustering about a narrow stream spanned by a high-arched bridge of
stone. The _Normandale Arms_, a roomy, old-fashioned place, stood at one
end of the bridge, and from the windows of the room into which
Collingwood was presently shown he could look out on the stream itself
and on the meadows beyond it. A peaceful, pretty, quiet place--but the
gloom which was heavy at the big house or the hill seemed to have spread
to everybody that he encountered.
"Bad job, this, sir!" said the landlord, an elderly, serious-faced man,
to whom Collingwood had made known his wants, and who had quickly formed
the opinion that his guest was of the legal profession. "And a queer
one, too! Odd thing, sir, that our old squire, and now the young one,
should both have met their deaths in what you might term violent
fashion."
"Accident--in both cases," remarked Collingwood.
The landlord nodded his head--and then shook it in a manner which seemed
to indicate that while he agreed with this proposition in one respect he
entertained some sort of doubt about it in others.
"Ay, well!" he answered. "Of course, a mill chimney falling, without
notice, as it were, and a bridge giving way--them's accidents, to be
sure. But it's a very strange thing about this foot-bridge, up yonder at
the Grange--very strange indeed! There's queer talk about it, already."
"What sort of talk?" asked Collingwood. Ever since the old woodman had
come up to him and Pratt, as they stood looking at the foot-bridge, he
had been aware of a curious sense of mystery, and the landlord's remark
tended to deepen it. "What are people talking about?"
"Nay--it's only one or two," replied the landlord. "There's been two men
in here since the affair happened that crossed that bridge Friday
afternoon--and both of 'em big, heavy men. According to what one can
learn that there bridge wasn't used much by the Grange people--it led to
nowhere in particular for them. But there is a right of way across that
part of the park, and these two men as I'm speaking of--they made use of
it on Friday--getting towards dark. I know 'em well--they'd both of 'em
weigh four times as much--together--as young Squire Mallathorpe, and yet
it didn't give way under them. And then--only a few hours later, as you
might say, down it goes with him!"
"I don't think you can form any opinion from that!" said Collingwood.
"These things, these old structures, often give way quite suddenly and
unexpectedly."
"Ay, well, they did admit, these men too, that it seemed a bit tottery,
like," remarked the landlord. "Talking it over, between themselves, in
here, they agreed, to be sure, that it felt to give a bit. All the same,
there's them as says that it's a queer thing it should ha' given
altogether when young squire walked on it."
Collingwood clinched matters with a straight question.
"You don't mean to say that people are suggesting that the foot-bridge
had been tampered with?" he asked.
"There is them about as wouldn't be slow to say as much," answered the
landlord. "Folks will talk! You see, sir--nobody saw what happened. And
when country folk doesn't see what takes place, with their own eyes,
then they----"
"Make mysteries out of it," interrupted Collingwood, a little
impatiently. "I don't think there's any mystery here, landlord--I
understood that this foot-bridge was in a very unsafe condition. No! I'm
afraid the whole affair was only too simple."
But he was conscious, as he said this, that he was not precisely voicing
his own sentiments. He himself was mystified. He was still wondering why
Pratt had been so pertinacious in asking the old woodman when,
precisely, he had told Mrs. Mallathorpe about the unsafe condition of
the bridge--still wondering about a certain expression which had come
into Pratt's face when the old man told them what he did--still
wondering at the queer look which Pratt had given the information as he
went off into the plantation. Was there, then, something--some secret
which was being kept back by--somebody?
He was still pondering over these things when he went back to the
Grange, later in the evening--but he was resolved not to say anything
about them to Nesta. And he saw Nesta only for a few minutes. Her
mother, she said, was very ill indeed--the doctor was with her then, and
she must go back to them. Since her son's death, Mrs. Mallathorpe had
scarcely spoken, and the doctor, knowing that her heart was not strong,
was somewhat afraid of a collapse.
"If there is anything that I can do,--or if you should want me, during
the night," said Collingwood, earnestly, "promise me that you'll send at
once to the inn!"
"Yes," answered Nesta. "I will. But--I don't think there will be any
need. We have two nurses here, and the doctor will stop. There is
something I should be glad if you would do tomorrow," she went on,
looking at him a little wistfully, "You know about--the inquest?"
"Yes," said Collingwood.
"They say we--that is I, because, of course, my mother couldn't--that I
need not be present," she continued. "Mr. Robson--our solicitor--says it
will be a very short, formal affair. He will be there, of
course,--but--would you mind being there, too!--so that you
can--afterwards--tell me all about it?"
"Will you tell me something--straight out?" answered Collingwood,
looking intently at her. "Have you any doubt of any description about
the accepted story of your brother's death? Be plain with me!"
Nesta hesitated for awhile before answering.
"Not of the actual circumstances," she replied at last,--"none at all of
what you call the accepted story. The fact is, I'm not a good hand at
explaining anything, and perhaps I can't convey to you what I mean. But
I've a feeling--an impression--that there is--or was some mystery on
Saturday which might have--and might not have--oh, I can't make it
clear, even to myself.
"If you would be at the inquest tomorrow, and listen carefully to
everything--and then tell me afterwards--do you understand?"
"I understand," answered Collingwood. "Leave it to me."
Whether he expected to hear anything unusual at the inquest, whether he
thought any stray word, hint, or suggestion would come up during the
proceedings, Collingwood was no more aware than Nesta was certain of her
vague ideas. But he was very soon assured that there was going to be
nothing beyond brevity and formality. He had never previously been
present at an inquest--his legal mind was somewhat astonished at the way
in which things were done. It was quickly evident to him that the twelve
good men and true of the jury--most of them cottagers and labourers
living on the estate--were quite content to abide by the directions of
the coroner, a Barford solicitor, whose one idea seemed to be to get
through the proceedings as rapidly and smoothly as possible. And
Collingwood felt bound to admit that, taking the evidence as it was
brought forward, no simpler or more straightforward cause of
investigation could be adduced. It was all very simple indeed--as it
appeared there and then.
The butler, a solemn-faced, respectable type of the old family
serving-man, spoke as to his identification of the dead master's body,
and gave his evidence in a few sentences. Mr. Mallathorpe, he said, had
gone out of the front door of the Grange at half-past two on Saturday
afternoon, carrying a gun, and had turned into the road leading towards
the South Shrubbery. At about three o'clock Mr. Pratt had come running
up the drive to the house, and told him and Miss Mallathorpe that he had
just found Mr. Mallathorpe lying dead in the sunken cut between the
South and North Shrubbery. Nobody had any question to ask the butler.
Nor were any questions asked of Pratt--the one really important witness.
Pratt gave his evidence tersely and admirably. On Saturday morning he
had seen an advertisement in the Barford newspapers which stated that a
steward and agent was wanted for the Normandale Estate, and all
applications were to be made to Mrs. Mallathorpe. Desirous of applying
for the post, he had written out a formal letter during Saturday
morning, had obtained a testimonial from his present employers, Messrs.
Eldrick & Pascoe, and, anxious to present his application as soon as
possible, had decided to take it to Normandale Grange himself, that
afternoon. He had left Barford by the two o'clock train, which arrived
at Normandale at two-thirty-five. Knowing the district well, he had
taken the path through the plantations. Arrived at the foot-bridge, he
had at once noticed that part of it had fallen in. Looking into the
cutting, he had seen a man lying in the roadway beneath--motionless. He
had scrambled down the side of the cutting, discovered that the man was
Mr. Harper Mallathorpe, and that he was dead, and had immediately
hurried up the road to the house, where he had informed the last witness
and Miss Mallathorpe.
A quite plain story, evidently thought everybody--no questions needed.
Nor were there any questions needed in the case of the only other
witnesses--the estate carpenter who said that the foot-bridge was very
old, but that he had not been aware that it was in quite so bad a
condition, and who gave it as his opinion that the recent heavy rains
had had something to do with the matter; and the doctor who testified
that the victim had suffered injuries which would produce absolutely
instantaneous death. A clear case--nothing could be clearer, said the
coroner to his obedient jury, who presently returned the only
verdict--one of accidental death--which, on the evidence, was possible.
Collingwood heard no comments on the inquest from those who were
present. But that evening, as he sat in his parlour at the _Normandale
Arms_, the landlord, coming in on pretence of attending to the fire,
approached him with an air of mystery and jerked his thumb in the
direction of the regions which he had just quitted.
"You remember what we were talking of this afternoon when you come in,
sir?" he whispered. "There's some of 'em--regular nightly customers,
village folk, you understand--talking of the same thing now, and of this
here inquest. And if you'd like to hear a bit of what you may call local
opinion--and especially one man's--I'll put you where you can hear it,
without being seen. It's worth hearing, anyway."
Collingwood, curious to know what the village wiseacres had to say,
rose, and followed the landlord into a small room at the back of the
bar-parlour.
An open hatchment in the wall, covered by a thin curtain, allowed him to
hear every word which came from what appeared to be a full company. But
it was quickly evident that in that company there was one man who either
was, or wished to be dictator and artifex--a man of loud voice and
domineering tone, who was laying down the law to the accompaniment of
vigorous thumpings of the table at which he sat. "What I say is--and I
say it agen---I reckon nowt at all o' crowners' quests!" he was
affirming, as Collingwood and his guide drew near the curtained opening.
"What is a crowner's quest, anyway? It's nowt but formality--all form
and show--it means nowt. All them 'at sits on t' jury does and says just
what t' crowner tells 'em to say and do. They nivver ax no questions out
o' their own mouths--they're as dumb as sheep--that's what yon jury wor
this mornin'--now then!"
"That's James Stringer, the blacksmith," whispered the landlord, coming
close to Collingwood's elbow. "He thinks he knows everything!"
"And pray, what would you ha' done, Mestur Stringer, if you'd been on
yon jury?" inquired a milder voice. "I suppose ye'd ha' wanted to know a
bit more, what?" "Mestur Stringer 'ud ha' wanted to know a deal more,"
observed another voice. "He would do!"
"There's a many things I want to know," continued the blacksmith, with a
stout thump of the table. "They all tak' it for granted 'at young squire
walked on to yon bridge, an' 'at it theer and then fell to pieces. Who
see'd it fall to pieces? Who was theer to see what did happen?"
"What else did happen or could happen nor what were testified to?" asked
a new voice. "Theer wor what they call circumstantial evidence to show
how all t' affair happened!"
"Circumstantial evidence be blowed!" sneered the blacksmith heartily. "I
reckon nowt o' circumstantial evidence! Look ye here! How do you
know--how does anybody know 'at t' young squire worn't thrown off that
bridge, and 'at t' bridge collapsed when he wor thrown? He might ha' met
somebody on t' bridge, and quarrelled wi' 'em, and whoivver it wor might
ha' been t' strongest man, and flung him into t' road beneath!"
"Aye, but i' that case t' other feller--t' assailant--'ud ha' fallen wi'
him," objected somebody.
"Nowt o' t' sort!" retorted the blacksmith. "He'd be safe on t' sound
part o' t' bridge--it's only a piece on 't that gave way. I say that
theer idea wants in-quirin' into. An' theer's another thing--what wor
that lawyer-clerk chap fro' Barford--Pratt--doin' about theer? What
reight had he to be prowlin' round t' neighbourhood o' that bridge, and
at that time? Come, now!--theer's a tickler for somebody."
"He telled that," exclaimed several voices. "He had business i' t'
place. He had some papers to 'liver."
"Then why didn't he go t' nearest way to t' house t' 'liver 'em?"
demanded Stringer. "T' shortest way to t' house fro' t' railway station
is straight up t' carriage drive--not through them plantations. I ax
agen--what wor that feller doin' theer? It's important."
"Why, ye don't suspect him of owt, do yer, Mestur Stringer?" asked
somebody. "A respectable young feller like that theer--come!"
"I'm sayin' nowt about suspectin' nobody!" vociferated the blacksmith.
"I'm doin' nowt but puttin' a case, as t' lawyers 'ud term it. I say 'at
theer's a lot o' things 'at owt to ha' comed out. I'll tell ye one on
'em--how is it 'at nowt--not a single word--wor said at yon inquest
about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t' affair? Not one word!"
A sudden silence fell on the company, and the landlord tapped
Collingwood's arm and took the liberty of winking at him.
"Why," inquired somebody, at last, "what about Mrs. Mallathorpe and t'
affair? What had she to do wi' t' affair?"
The blacksmith's voice became judicial in its solemnity.
"Ye listen to me!" he said with emphasis. "I know what I'm talking
about. Ye know what came out at t' inquest. When this here Pratt ran to
tell t' news at t' house he returned to what they term t' fatal spot i'
company wi' t' butler, and a couple of footmen, and Dan Scholes, one o'
t' grooms. Now theer worn't a word said at t' inquest about what that
lot--five on em, mind yer--found when they reached t' dead corpse--not
one word! But I know--Dan Scholes tell'd me!"
"What did they find, then, Mestur Stringer?" asked an eager member of
the assemblage. "What wor it?"
The blacksmith's voice sank to a mysterious whisper.
"I'll tell yer!" he replied. "They found Mrs. Mallathorpe, lyin' i' a
dead faint--close by! And they say 'at she's nivver done nowt but go out
o' one faint into another, ivver since. So, of course, she's nivver been
able to tell if she saw owt or knew owt! And what I say is," he
concluded, with a heavy thump of the table, "that theer crowner's quest
owt to ha' been what they term adjourned, until Mrs. Mallathorpe could
tell if she did see owt, or if she knew owt, or heer'd owt! She mun ha'
been close by--or else they wo'dn't ha' found her lyin' theer aside o'
t' corpse. What did she see? What did she hear? Does she know owt? I
tell ye 'at theer's questions 'at wants answerin'--and theer's trouble
ahead for somebody if they aren't answered--now then!"
Collingwood went away from his retreat, beckoning the landlord to
follow. In the parlour he turned to him.
"Have you heard anything of what Stringer said just now?" he asked. "I
mean--about Mrs. Mallathorpe?"
"Heard just the same--and from the same chap, Scholes, the groom, sir,"
replied the landlord. "Oh, yes! Of course, people will wonder why they
didn't get some evidence from Mrs. Mallathorpe--just as Stringer says."
Collingwood sat a long time that night, thinking over the things he had
heard. He came to the conclusion that the domineering blacksmith was
right in one of his dogmatic assertions--there was trouble ahead. And
next morning, before going up to the Grange, he went to the nearest
telegraph office, and sent Sir John Standridge a lengthy message in
which he resigned the appointment that would have taken him to India.