THE FALSE SCENT.
I am now drawing near the end of this strange eventful narrative, and my
readers will learn in a chapter or two what has in reality become of
Lost Sir Massingberd: whether he lies dead in Fairburn Chase,
notwithstanding that strict search of ours, or somewhere else, conveyed
by foemen's hands; or if, alive, he keeps in hiding nigh, for some evil
end, or has even left British soil for a time, to return, according to
his threat, on a day when he is least expected. If his real whereabouts
and true position have been guessed, then is he who hit upon it a wiser
man, not only than I was at that time (which might easily be), but
wiser than that genius of Bow Street, whose eye was reported to see
further into very millstones than any man alive of his time. He arrived
at Fairburn with his handcuffs and his suspicions, and would, I verily
believe, have made me his stalking-horse whereby to come down upon the
guileless Farmer Arabel, and extract what might be tantamount to a
confession.
"You know him, Mr. Meredith," he had observed to me in his frankest
tone, as we walked out together after breakfast, on the morning after
our arrival; "and I look to you to make the matter easy. We will step
over to the farm at once, if you please, and have a glass of home-brewed
with the good man, when, I dare say, he will tell us what we want to
know, and exculpate himself at the same time."
"Mr. Townshend," I replied, gravely, "I have been made a catspaw of
already, within a few weeks, and until the remembrance of that event has
worn off very considerably, I shall not act that part again."
"Very good, sir," responded the Runner, cheerfully. "I only thought,
that being a well-wisher to the person in question, you might have made
the thing less unpleasant for him. If you went with me, introducing me
as a gentleman from London, anxious to see good farming, for
instance--that 'ud tickle him--I could bring the subject of the note
into conversation; then, if he explained to my satisfaction, as he will
doubtless be able to do, how he got possession of it, it will not be
necessary to inquire further. He need never know as a police-officer had
been down here with darbies in his pocket, upon the chance of having to
fit them on his wrists upon the charge of Wilful Murder."
"There is certainly something in that," said I, musingly.
"There is everything in it," returned Mr. Townshend, stepping carelessly
over the style, on the other side of which ran the pathway to Mr.
Arabel's residence. "The idea of this man's guilt being, as you say,
quite preposterous, it would only be a kindness on your part to spare
his feelings. That's a fine stout old fellow looking at those men at
work in yonder field, a sort of man that carries his years better than
one sees people do in London: I should say, now, that might be the
farmer himself."
"Really," said I, stopping short, "I think you had better do this
business of yours alone, Mr. Townshend. I have eaten and drunk in Mr.
Arabel's house, and to be concerned in any such errand as this seems but
a poor return for his hospitality."
"Ah, it _is_ him, is it? Very good, sir. Well, you may just please
yourself as to accompanying me now. When I have once set eyes on my man
it is not my habit to lose sight of him. Still, you might have made it
easier--for _him_, that is. It is no matter to me whether the thing is
done soft or hard." And the Bow Street runner stepped along as he spoke,
like a diligent man who sees his work cut out before him.
After a moment's indecision, I followed upon Mr. Townshend's heels.
"That's right, young gentleman," observed he, approvingly, but without
even turning his head. "Those is turnips, I suppose, and very good they
are with capers and a leg of mutton; as to wheat, I am not acquainted
with it, at least, so as to know it from oats and barley, unless when
it's in ear. Agriculture is one of them things to which I have not yet
given my attention; but I means to do so, and I have come here for
wrinkles concerning it, remember that, if you please."
"Very well," said I, sheepishly, for I was obliged to confess to myself
that Mr. Townshend had got the better of me; and in a few more strides
we had got within earshot of the farmer. This was not indeed very near,
but Mr. Arabel had excellent lungs, and bade me welcome as soon as he
had recognized me.
"Glad to see you, as likewise any friend of yours, Master Meredith. So
the rector is back, I hear; and the wise folks in London can tell no
more what has become of Sir Massingberd than we poor folks."
"No, Mr. Arabel, they cannot; on the contrary," said I, determined that
there should be no hypocrisy upon my part at least, "here is one of
them, who is come down to Fairburn for information, and relies upon you
to give it to him too."
"I should like to know when you saw Sir Massingberd last," observed the
Bow Street runner quietly, "and under what circumstances?"
"That is soon told," returned the farmer simply; "but perhaps you would
rather step in out of the cold, and take a drop of something while you
hear it."
"No, I thank you," said I, firmly, determined that the laws of
hospitality should not be thus infringed with my consent, "I must return
to the Rectory at once."
"Then I will walk with you," observed the farmer civilly, "and tell you
all I know in a few words. The fact is, the squire and I had not been on
good terms for a length of time before his disappearance. He was a bad
landlord, and did not know how to behave to a tenant as would have done
his duty by him. He wanted his own rent paid to the day, and never had
to ask it from me, for that matter; but when he owed a little money
himself, it was dreadful hard to get it out of him. There happened to be
something due from him to me--it was a small matter, made up of little
things--corn for that horse he bought for Master Marmaduke, among
others, but the thing had been owing for a year or more. I had not
deducted it from the rent, and therefore he ought to have been the
readier to pay it; but he was not; and at last I cut up rough about it,
and went to the Hall myself on the 15th of last month, and then we
rather fell out together, the Squire and me."
"You quarrelled, did you?" remarked Mr. Townshend, carelessly.
"Well, yes, we did quarrel; leastways, _I_ did. Sir Massingberd always
quarrelled with whoever asked him for payment, so that was nothing. I
said that I would not leave the house without the money; but at last I
did leave upon his solemn promise to pay me the next day, that was the
very day of his disappearance, and he did pay me, with as many oaths as
one-pound notes into the bargain."
"He paid you these on the 15th of November, then," observed the
detective.
"On the 16th," replied the farmer. "I've got a memorandum of it in my
pocket-book; here it is, and the number of the notes 82977 to 80; there
was four in all."
"And those notes you sent to your London agent along with more, and you
got some foreign stuff back from Hamburg in exchange for them."
"And how the deuce come you to know that?" exclaimed the farmer in
extreme astonishment.
"Well, it is my business to know a good many things," returned the Bow
Street runner, getting over the stile rather sulkily, for he was well
aware by this time that there would be no employment for his favourite
bracelets.
"Well, that may be your friend's business," quoth Mr. Arabel, looking
after his retreating form, "but I'm gormed if he looks like it. I should
have said he was an individual in the same line as myself, only fatter,
and though I say it as shouldn't say it, a sight more foolish."
"Nay," said I, "he is not a foolish man, Mr. Arabel, far from it;
although I think he has come down to Fairburn upon a fool's errand."