"Shall I go alone?" said Josiah Barclay, as he stood upon his doorstep.
"No, it's wise to keep your own counsel sometimes, but at others it's
just as well to have witnesses. Who shall I take? Richard Linnell," he
said, after a pause. "He's the fellow. I'm afraid, though, it looks
worse for the old man than it did before. Dick Miggles is as honest as
the day as long as he is not smuggling; and he would no more think of
choking an old woman than flying. I shouldn't like to be the revenue
officer opposite to him in a row if Master Dick had a pistol in his
hand; but he would consider that to be a matter of business. Yes: it
looks worse for the old man after all."
Barclay walked sharply down to the Parade, and went up to the house
where Mrs Dean was seated at one of the windows, bemoaning the absence
of Cora, and murmuring at her sufferings, as she leaned back flushed,
and with her throbbing head in her hand.
For she was very ill, and very ill-tempered, consequent upon her
complaint--a weakness and succumbing of her fort, after a long and
combined attack made by veal cutlets, new bread, and port wine.
She saw Barclay come up, and declared that he should wait for his rent
this time if she died for it.
To her great disappointment, as she felt just in the humour, as she
termed it, "for a row," Barclay stopped below in Mellersh's room, where
Richard Linnell was seated with the Colonel.
"Business with me, Mr Barclay?" said Linnell, flushing. "Yes, I'll
come out with you. No, I have no secrets from Colonel Mellersh."
Barclay looked sharply at the Colonel, and the latter glanced at his
nails and smiled.
"Dick," he said, leaning back in his chair, "Mr Barclay is asking
himself whether Gamaliel is a scoundrel, and Paul is a young fool to
trust him."
"No, I wasn't, Colonel," said Barclay warmly. "You're a little too much
for me, sir, and though you shy the New Testament at me like that (and I
never read it), perhaps, money-lender as I am, I'm as honest a man, and
as true a friend as you."
"No doubt about it, my dear Barclay," said Mellersh with a sneer.
"I wasn't thinking about Gamaliel, or Paul either, sir; but, since you
will have it I was asking myself whether you--a clever card-player--"
"Say sharper, Barclay."
"By gad, I will, sir," cried Barclay, banging his fist upon the
table--"a clever sharper--were making believe to be this young
gentleman's friend for your own ends."
"Mr Barclay!" cried Richard indignantly.
"Let him be, Dick; I'm not offended. Barclay's only plain-spoken. The
same thing, Barclay, my dear fellow, only I put it more classically.
Here, I'll leave the room, Dick."
"No; stop," said Richard quickly. "Mr Barclay, I have told you that
Colonel Mellersh is my best friend. Please say what you have to say."
Barclay looked ruffled and bristly, but he mastered his anger, and said
sharply:
"I want you to go down with me, Mr Linnell, as far as Fisherman
Dick's."
Richard Linnell stared and looked grave, as he dreaded some fresh
trouble and complication.
"What for?" he said sharply.
"Because I believe you take an interest in Miss Claire Denville," said
Barclay; "and there's something fresh about that murder affair."
He went on and told what had occurred at his house.
"Plain enough," said Mellersh. "The man who did the murder found out
that the jewels were false, and he took them and threw them into the
sea."
"Yes," said Barclay drily, "I found all that out myself, Colonel. Hang
it, gentlemen, don't let's fence and be petty," he continued. "Colonel
Mellersh, I beg your pardon, sir, and I ask your help, both of you.
What's to be done? I bought those sham diamonds of Fisherman Dick, who
found them, I suppose, when he was shrimping, and took them to Miss
Dean--brought them here, you know."
Mellersh and Richard Linnell glanced sharply at each other.
"Thought, you see, that she lost them at the time of the accident.
Well, suppose I tell this, it may make the matter worse for poor old
Denville. What would you do?"
"See Fisherman Dick. Perhaps your surmise about the shrimping is wrong.
The smuggling rascal may know something more."
"Will you come along the cliff with me, then?"
Richard Linnell jumped up, and Mellersh remained--as he was going to
dine at the mess. A quarter of an hour later they were at the
fisherman's cottage, where Mrs Miggles raised her eyes sharply from the
potatoes she was peeling, while Dick was engaged in teaching their
little foster-child to walk between his knees.
"Morning, Dick," said Barclay, as the great fellow gave them a
comprehensive nod, and looked from one to the other suspiciously, Mrs
Miggles gouging out the eyes of a large potato with a vicious action,
while her heart beat fast from the effect of best French brandy.
Not from potations, for the sturdy, smuggling fisherman's wife revelled
in nothing stronger than tea; but there were four kegs in the great
cupboard, covered with old nets, and a stranger coming to the cottage
always seemed to bear a placard on his breast labelled "gaol," and made
her sigh and wish that smuggling were not such a profitable occupation.
"We want a few words with you, Miggles," said Barclay sharply.
"Right, sir. Fewer the better," said the fisherman surlily, for the
visit looked ominous.
"You brought some ornaments to me one day, and I bought them of you.
You remember--months ago?"
"To be sure I do. You said they was pastry."
"Paste, man, paste."
Fisherman Dick had a thought flash into his head, and he gave his knee
such a tremendous slap that the child began to cry.
"Here, missus, lay holt o' the little un," he cried, passing it to her,
as she gave her hands a rub on her apron--almost pitching it as if it
had been a little brandy keg. "Here, I know, gentlemen," he continued,
"them jools has turned out to be real, and you only give ten shillings."
"All they were worth, man. No; they've turned out to be what I told
you--sham."
"Oh!" said Fisherman Dick in a tone of disappointment. "Hear that,
missus? Only sham."
"But we want to hear how you found them."
"How I foun' 'em? Well, you've got 'em; that's enough for you, arn't
it?" he grumbled.
"No. You must speak out--to us mind--and let us know--in confidence--
all about it."
"I don't know nothing about 'em at all. I forgets."
"No, you don't. You dredged them up, you said, when you were shrimping
and searching for Miss Dean's bag--after the accident."
"How do you know?" growled the fisherman fiercely.
"You told Miss Dean so when you took them to her."
"And how do you know that?"
"You told her so when you took them to her, and she told me," said
Barclay.
"Then she told you wrong," said Fisherman Dick sulkily. "It warn't
then."
"Look here, my man," said Barclay. "You may not know it, but very
likely you will find yourself in an awkward position if you do not speak
out."
"Shall I?" growled the man defiantly.
"Yes; a very awkward position. You know that Mr Denville is lying
under sentence of death for the murder of Lady Teigne, and stealing her
jewels?"
"Oh, yes; I know all about that," growled the fisherman.
"Well, then, what will you say if I tell you that those ornaments you
sold me have been identified as Lady Teigne's jewels?"
Fisherman Dick's jaw dropped, and curious patches and blotches of white
appeared in his sun-browned face.
"Oh, Dick! Dick!" cried his wife, "why don't you tell the truth? No,
don't: it may get you into trouble."
"I ain't going to speak," growled Dick. "'Tain't likely."
"Hush, Barclay," whispered Linnell, taking off his hat as Claire
Denville came up hurriedly, leaning on her brother's arm.
She caught Barclay's hand quickly, and said in a hurried whisper:
"You are inquiring about that, Mr Barclay? Have you found out
anything?"
"No; the fellow will not speak," said Barclay pettishly.
"Then stop--pray stop!" said Claire. "Don't ask--don't ask him any
more."
"My dear Claire, this is madness," cried Morton excitedly. "We must
know the truth."
"No, no," said Claire faintly. "It is better not."
"I say it is better out. You foolish girl, it is our last chance for
him."
"Morton," whispered Claire; "suppose--"
"Better the truth than the doubt," cried Morton. "You Dick Miggles--"
"Stop!" cried Richard Linnell. "Mr Denville, your sister's wishes
should be respected."
Claire darted a grateful glance at him, and then her face contracted,
and she turned from him with a weary sigh.
"Mr Linnell," cried Morton, "I wish to spare my sister's feelings; but
it is my duty as my father's son to prove him innocent if I can, and
I'll have the truth out of this man."
"All right, Mr Mort'n," said Dick. "Don't be hard on a fellow. You
and me used to be good mates over many a fishing trip, when you used to
come down o' nights out o' the balc'ny."
Morton turned a horrified look upon Fisherman Dick, as the idea flashed
across his brain, that the man who knew so well how he came down, must
have known the way up. It was but a passing fancy, for there was that
in the rough fisherman's countenance that seemed to disarm suspicion.
"Well, what's the matter now, Master Mort'n?"
"I want you to speak out, Dick."
"Morton--brother!" whispered Claire appealingly.
"Be silent, Claire," he replied angrily. "Now, Dick, speak out. You,
Mrs Miggles, you are telling him to be silent. I will not have it.
Now, Dick, how did you get those jewels?"
"Shrimped 'em. Off the pier."
"And how came they there?"
"Chucked in, I s'pose," growled the fisherman. "How should I know?"
"Stop!" cried Morton suddenly. "Let me think--my head is all confused,
Mr Barclay--so much trouble lately, but I seem to recollect--yes. Dick
Miggles, you know; some one--that night we were fishing down among the
piles under the pier."
"Yes, I recklect oftens fishing along o' you there, Master Mort'n."
"Yes, but one night--when I stole down, soon after that terrible
business. Why, you recollect, Mr Linnell. You caught me."
"Yes, of course. I recollect," said Linnell eagerly.
"Dick Miggles and I were fishing that night under the pier, and a man
came and threw something in."
Claire turned ghastly pale, and Linnell stretched out his hand to catch
her, but she waved him off and stood firm.
"You recollect, Dick?"
"No," said the fisherman sulkily. "I don't recklect."
Claire uttered a low moan. It was horrible, and she suffered a
martyrdom as she stood there, helpless now to speak or resist, only
able, with her hearing terribly acute, to listen to her brother dragging
out from this man perhaps some fresh token of her father's guilt.
"You do recollect," cried Morton fiercely. "You got up and looked
between the planks, and you said he had thrown something into the sea."
"Oh--ah--yes--I recollect now: some one come and threw a stone in."
"Some one would not come down to the end of the pier to throw in a
stone," said Barclay drily.
"No," said Morton; "and Dick looked up and watched and saw who it was.
He pretended he couldn't see--"
Claire's heart sank lower and lower. It was too horrible.
"But I'm sure he could."
"No, Master Mort'n, I couldn't see."
"I noticed your manner then, Dick. I'm sure you did see, and that's why
you did not speak."
"What's why?" growled Dick, assuming a vacant air.
"You knew who it was, and that something was thrown in that you meant to
dredge for, and you did and found those jewels."
Fisherman Dick was posed, and he rubbed his boots together; but he
looked more vacant than ever.
"You don't want to be taken to prison and made to speak, Dick?"
"No!" shouted Mrs Miggles, "and he shan't go."
"Then speak out, Dick," cried Morton; but the rough fisherman only
frowned and tightened his lips.
"No; I don't 'member," he said, shaking his head.
"You do; and you saw who it was. Speak."
"Morton!" gasped Claire, staggering to him, and throwing herself on his
breast. "I cannot bear it. For God's sake, stop!"
"No," cried the lad; "for my father's sake I'll have the truth. You,
Dick Miggles, I order you to speak."
For the first time in his life, as Morton Denville stood there erect and
stern, he looked a man.
"Can't," said Dick Miggles. "Don't know."
"You do, you coward!" cried Morton. "You will not speak for fear of
getting into trouble. Look at the trouble we are in, and you might
clear us."
"Morton, dear Morton!" moaned Claire, with horror-stricken face.
"Silence, sister!" cried Morton, throwing her off. "He shall speak: if
it was my own father who threw those things into the sea that night.
But it was not. It was some man with a heavy tread; and he stopped and
did what my father never did in his life. He was smoking as he stood
above our heads, and he got a light and lit a fresh cigar."
"Oh!"
It was a low, piteous wail, full of relief from Claire. It could not
have been her father, then, and she leaned helpless on Barclay's arm.
Morton tried to help his sister, but she smiled at him sadly as she
endeavoured to rise, and he turned to Fisherman Dick.
"Come, Dick," he said, "we used to be good friends and fishermen
together."
"Ay, lad, ay, so we did," said the rough fellow, with a smile.
"Then will you not help me now I am in such trouble?"
"Ay, lad, I'd like to; but I don't see how I can."
"Dick Miggles, you're a coward," cried Morton. "When I was a boy--"
"Nay, nay, Master Mort'n, take that back again. No coward."
"Yes: a coward," cried Morton angrily. "When I was a lad, how many
times did I know about cargoes being run, and your house being crammed
with spirits and tobacco and lace and silk?"
"How many times, my lad?"
"Yes, how many times? Wasn't I always true to you as a mate I fished
with?"
"Yes; that you was, Master Mort'n: that you was."
"And now you see my poor old father condemned for a crime he did not
commit, and that must have been done by the wretch who threw those
jewels into the water. You know who did it. You saw him that night,
and you will not speak."
"Dursn't, my lad, dursn't," growled Miggles.
"You did see him, then?"
Dick Miggles looked in all directions to avoid his questioner's eye, but
in vain: Morton went up close to him, and took him by the thick blue
woollen jersey he wore, and held him.
"You did see him?"
"Well, all right, then; all right, then, Master Mort'n. I did see him,"
growled Miggles, "but I won't say another word."
"You shall, if I tear it out of you," cried Morton. "Now then: who was
it?"
"Dunno!" growled Miggles.
"You do know, sir. Speak out."
"I can't, Master Mort'n, sir. I dursn't. It would get me into no end
of trouble," said Miggles desperately. "I can't tell ye. I won't,
there!"
He threw Morton off and folded his arms upon his breast, looking at all
defiantly.
"I suppose you know, my man," said Barclay sternly, "that you will be
summoned as a witness before the judge, and forced to speak?"
"No judge won't make me speak unless I like," said Miggles defiantly.
"I tell you all I won't say another word and get myself into trouble, so
there!"
Just then Claire took a step or two forward, laid her hands upon Dick
Miggles' broad breast, and looked up in his great bronzed, bearded face.
The fisherman winced, and his wife hugged the child to her, and uttered
a low sob.
"My poor dear father is lying in prison under sentence of death--my poor
grey-haired old father," she said softly. "Perhaps a word from you will
save his life--will save mine, for--for my heart is breaking. I could
not live if--if--I cannot say it," she sobbed in a choking voice, as she
sank upon her knees and raised her clasped hands to the great fellow.
"Pray, pray, speak."
Fisherman Dick's face worked; he stared round him and out to sea; and
then, with a low, hoarse sob, he roared out:
"Don't, Miss Claire, don't; I can't abear it. I will speak. It was
that big orficer as fought the dool with Mr Linnell here."
"Rockley!" cried Morton wildly.
"Ay! Him. Master Mort'n. I see him plain."
No one spoke, but Linnell involuntarily took off his hat, and Barclay
did the same, while Morton stood for a few moments looking down at the
rapt countenance of his sister, as with eyes closed and face upturned to
heaven she knelt there, apparently unconscious of the presence of
others, her lips moving and slowly repeating the thanksgiving flowing
mutely from her heart.
No one moved as they stood there in the broad sunshine at the edge of
the chalk cliff, with the clear blue sky above their heads, the green
down behind, and the far-spreading glistening sea at their feet. Then
Morton Denville softly bent his knee by his sister's side, and to
Richard Linnell the silence seemed that of some grand cathedral where a
prayer of thanksgiving was being offered up to God.
"And may I be forgiven, too," he muttered, as he looked down on that
worn upturned face with the blue veins netting the temples, and the
closed eyes, "forgiven all my cruel doubts--all my weak suspicions of
you, my darling! for I love you with all my heart."
Claire rose slowly from her knees, taking her brother's hand, and a
slight flush came into her cheeks as she saw the reverent attitude of
all around.
She looked her thanks, and then turned to Miggles, catching his broad
rough hand in both of hers, and kissing it again and again.
"May God bless you!" she whispered. "You have saved my father's life."
She let fall the hand, which Miggles raised and thrust in his breast, in
a strange, bashful way. Then, turning quickly to Morton, she took his
arm and looked at Barclay.
"Mr Barclay, will you do what is necessary at once? My brother and I
are going over to the gaol."
Volume Three, Chapter XXVI.