CAPTAIN JACOB
Tera's funeral was a function of importance. Well-nigh the entire
population of Grimleigh crowded into the little cemetery above the
town. Some of them were drawn there in true compassion for the
terrible fate of the poor girl, others from sheer morbidness. But
perhaps the greater part of the people were attracted by the
expectation of a riot. It was vaguely understood that, in some
inexplicable way, Johnson was responsible for Tera's death. It was
rumoured that if he had not killed her himself--and no one was bold
enough to make that assertion--he was at least the means of driving
her to destruction. Consequently public feeling ran high against the
minister, and it was generally thought that if he read the service
over his victim there would be trouble. Chard himself believed this,
and accordingly attended the funeral in person with a posse of
constabulary.
However, these precautions proved unnecessary, for Johnson was wise
enough not to put in an appearance, much less take an active part in
the ceremony. Whether deterred by the advice of Brand, or by the
threats of the townspeople, he remained absent, and Tera was buried by
a minister from Poldew, who nearly created a riot on his own account
by his sensational references to the death. Farmer Carwell and his
daughter, Herbert Mayne and Miss Arnott, were all of them present, and
it was with feelings of shame and indignation that they saw the
ceremony presided over by a strange divine. When the crowd had
dispersed, Carwell looked at the newly-made grave for some moments in
ominous silence. Then he turned to Korah Brand, who stood by his side.
His pride as an elder of Bethgamul was hurt.
"If our pastor cannot clear his character," said he, sternly, "he must
be removed from the conduct of the congregation. Our Bethgamul cannot
be shadowed thus by shame."
"But surely you don't believe that the pastor is guilty, father?"
urged Rachel, before Brand could speak.
"I do not say that he is guilty; neither do I uphold his innocence,"
rejoined Carwell; "but he is suspected, and he knows it. It is for him
to deny such an accusation. His absence to-day only gives colour to
the charge. Therefore, I say, until he refutes his accusers he must be
out off from the congregation of the just."
"So say I, Brother Carwell," cried Brand. "'An eye for an eye, a tooth
for a tooth.' Still, we must give him every chance. Let us then call a
meeting of our brethren, and demand that he disprove the charge or
confess. If he be guiltless, the Lord will protect his own."
"I don't believe Mr. Johnson killed Bethiah," said Rachel. "Nor does
Herbert."
"Oh, I am quite neutral," interposed Mayne, hastily. "I am neither for
nor against our pastor; though I grant you it was strange that I
should have met him where I did on the very night of the girl's
disappearance."
"No more strange than that you should have been there yourself,
surely?"
"Well, really; I suppose you don't mean to infer that I had anything
to do with the girl's disappearance? I hardly knew her. Any converse I
had with her was in your presence."
"Rachel is not accusing you, Mr. Mayne," said Brand, coldly. "But she
is zealous in support of her pastor, which does her nothing but
credit: I trust her zeal may not prove to be misplaced. We must hope
for the best."
"Do you believe in Mr. Johnson's guilt?" asked Rachel, sharply.
"I neither believe nor disbelieve," replied Korah, after a pause. "I
know certain facts which are suspicious, and with these I will tax him
when he is before us on his trial."
"I will see the elders at once," said Farmer Carwell. "No time shall
be lost in giving Mr. Johnson an opportunity of clearing himself. Let
us hope that God in His mercy will avert disgrace from our Fold."
"Amen to that!" cried Brand. "Surely the Lord will judge in all
righteousness. He knoweth the sheep from the goats."
"Mr. Johnson is not a goat," said Rachel, in all seriousness.
Meanwhile, Jeremiah Slade, relieved for the time being from official
duty, had gone home to his mid-day meal. Now that Brand had told him
how Johnson confessed to the fact of his debts being paid, he was
quite confident as to his guilt. The girl had been murdered near
Carwell's field, and her body hidden in it. Near that field Johnson
had on the night of the girl's death, been met, much agitated. The
pearls had been stolen from the dead, and the minister's debts had
been paid since that time. Finally, there was the cord used to
strangle the wretched girl, which had clearly been taken from the
pastor's study. All this pointed conclusively to Johnson's guilt, and
Slade had almost made up his mind to arrest him. In the hope, however,
of discovering some final and absolutely irrefutable piece of
evidence, he decided to wait until he should have made a careful
examination of the spot where the body was found. He could then, but
only then, move with certainty as to the result.
He felt confident of success, and it was with a rosy vision of himself
as a full-blown inspector at Poldew that Slade entered his home.
Seated by the kitchen fire, he found his wife in tears. At sight of
her husband, these gave way to rage. Furious with passion, she jumped
up to meet him. Apparently something serious had occurred.
"They are back again, you wretch!" shrieked the little woman; "I have
seen them myself. How dare you look me in the face?"
"Are you crazy, Jemima?" growled Slade, angry and astonished; "what's
come to you, woman?"
"This has come to me, that I know all about it; oh yes, and your
Zara!"
"Ho, ho! so it's them confounded gipsies again, is it?"
"Yes, it is. They are back--she is back!"
The constable sat down heavily. He looked anything but comfortable.
"What?" he said, nervously; "you don't tell me that Pharaoh Lee's
tribe's come back?"
"As if you didn't know, you villain! I went on to the common myself
after the funeral. I heard as they were there; and sure enough I saw
them; yes, she's come after you."
"Nonsense! Don't I tell you I care nothing for the Zara girl? Ain't I
your lawful husband? Ain't I tryin' to get you to Poldew? What's Zara
Lovell to me?"
"That's just what I'd like to know. Perhaps Mr. Mayne can tell me
something about that. Any way, I'll ask him."
"Better ask the girl herself," sneered Slade. "Wonder you didn't."
"I didn't see her."
"You didn't see her!" repeated Slade, with a sense of relief; "ah,
perhaps she ain't there."
"Whether she's there or whether she ain't, you come 'ome straight from
your business every night, or I'll know the reason why, Jeremiah."
"Oh, I'll come straight home. Like all women, you're making a row
about nothing. How am I going to find out all about this murder if you
worry me this way?"
"Anything fresh?" asked Mrs. Slade, her curiosity getting the better
of her temper.
"Nothing since the cord, Jemima; but I'm going to examine the place
where the body was hidden. Maybe there's something there that's been
overlooked."
"Near Pharaoh Lee's camp, ain't it, Jeremiah?"
"Oh, confound it, Jemima, you've got that girl on the brain!"
"I only hope you haven't," said Mrs. Slade, screwing up her mouth;
"you deceive me, Jeremiah, and I'll tell Chard all that you've found
out."
"Spoil my case, will you, you----"
"I don't care."
"You'll never get to Poldew."
"Then I'll stay here," snapped Jemima, with all the recklessness of a
woman prepared to sacrifice anything and everything to gain her end.
"If I see you speaking to that slut, Zara, I'll go straight to Chard.
So now you know."
Slade did know, as he also knew that even though it were to ruin them
both, she would carry out her threat. He spent the best part of his
dinner-hour trying to explain his position, and to pacify the
perturbed Jemima. He succeeded only in rendering her more unreasonable
and jealous than ever. Mrs. Slade was nothing if not feminine, and her
argumentative tactics were strikingly so. So soon as one position she
took up was assailed and destroyed, she retreated to another, until
beaten on that, she returned to her initial standpoint. Fearful lest
she should drive him through sheer exasperation to use physical
violence, Slade left the house. When he banged the door, Jemima sat
down victorious, and proceeded to twist up her hair, which had broken
loose in her excitement.
"Zara, indeed!" she went on viciously to herself. "I'll tear the eyes
out of her if I catch her as much as looking at my 'usband."
And in this strain the good lady continued until she was tired.
Meanwhile, Jeremiah, chafing with anger at his wife, and at women in
general, went on his beat, which for the day happened to be on the
beach road. He noticed a new vessel anchored in the harbour--a
graceful schooner of some 600 tons. She was a rakish-looking craft,
smart and workmanlike in appearance; and Slade, giving way to his
curiosity for the moment, strolled down to the jetty on the chance of
hearing something about her. But before he got that far, a boat with
two or three men in her put off from the schooner. She reached the
pier about the same time as the policeman. To his surprise, he saw
that one of the men in the boat was Finland. The young mate sprang
lightly up the steps, followed more soberly by a small, sallow-faced
man.
"Hullo, messmate!" said Jack, greeting Slade, whom he knew; "here I am
again, and yonder is my new ship--the _Dayspring_, ain't she a
clipper?"
"Pretty enough," said Slade, who was grudging of his praise; "but a
bit too slight in the build for my taste."
"Stuff! What does a lubber like you know of a craft? Why, she's going
round the Horn anyhow, on her way to the South Seas. I just dropped in
here to say good-bye to my uncle. I'm first mate this trip, and here's
my skipper, Captain Shackel."
Slade eyed the small yellow-looking man thoughtfully. He had some
skill in reading a face, and he concluded that the skipper was about
the last man he would care to trust. In truth, Jacob Shackel was not
prepossessing. He had a mean, rat-like little face, as brown and
wrinkled as a walnut-shell, and hardly larger. His body was shrivelled
up in a suit of blue serge, apparently several sizes too large for
him. His voice was screechy and effeminate. He extended a claw in
greeting to Slade.
"Yes, I'm Captain Jacob, I am," said he, winking his one eye, for he
was possessed of only a single optic, and that red as any ferret's.
"Well known on the high seas I am. Finland's friends is mine."
"Includin' 'is sweet'art, I suppose," said Jeremiah.
"What the devil d'ye mean?" asked Jack, with a frown.
"Only that if that's so, your skipper will be as sorry to hear the
news as you will."
"News? What? About Tera? Has she not been found?"
"Oh yes, she's been found right enough--found dead."
Jack started. "Dead? Tera dead?"
"Dead as a door nail. In your uncle's field we found her--strangled.
Her funeral was this morning."
"Hold up, mate," said Shackel, not unkindly, as Jack staggered;
"you'll fall in."
"Tera dead?" gasped Finland, in horror. "Who killed her?"
"That's just what we're after findin' out."
"Was it Johnson?"
Slade looked suspiciously at the sailor from under his red eyebrows.
"I can't answer no questions," said he.
"By gum, it was Johnson!" shouted Jack; "I see it in your face. The
hound, I'll see him! I'll----" Without waiting to finish his sentence
he ran up the pier like a greyhound.
"Guess I'd better go too, or there'll be more murder," said Jacob.
"Jack Finland ain't the chap to stick at no trifles when he's on the
bust to kill;" and with an activity wonderful for a man of his years,
he followed sharp on the track of his first mate.
Slade looked after the pair thoughtfully. "He can't 'ave killed the
girl," said he to himself. "But he seems to think Johnson did. Perhaps
I'd better follow in case there's trouble. Hold on, though, I can't go
off my beat. Well, I'll just have to trust to that captain; he won't
lose his mate through lettin' him commit murder."
Events fully justified Mr. Slade's reasoning. Captain Jacob caught up
with Finland, just as the latter was forced to slacken his pace to
climb the hill. With much difficulty he persuaded him to abandon his
intention.
"But I will have it out with him," said Finland, fiercely.
"You'll only get yourself into a mess," said Jacob, soothingly;
"better let the old man see the job through. I know Johnson well--none
better. He came home in my ship with the girl from Koiau, so if any
one can straighten him out, Jacob Shackel's the man. 'Sides, we want
money, you fool!"
"You'll not get it from Johnson. He's as poor as a rat."
"You lie low and dry up, sonny. I guess I can engineer this job
without you sticking your oar in. Go and see your uncle and get all
you can out of him. Your father's in charge this trip."
"Get along, then," grumbled Jack, ungraciously; "but that Johnson's a
hound. I'll hammer him black and blue if I catch him, the
psalm-singing hypocrite!"
"Go slow, sonny. I don't want to lose my mate. You've shipped for
Koiau, you know. Get yourself into trouble here, and I'll up anchor
without you, I guess your papa's as smart as most men."
Finland shrugged his shoulders and turned away with a sullen
resignation, while his skipper continued his way up the hill to
Johnson's house. Shackel knew it almost as well as did its occupant.
He had run down repeatedly to see Tera at Grimleigh. As he climbed the
hill he smiled to himself in a sour sort of way. He was evidently well
pleased with his thoughts.
"Who'd a guessed it?" he chuckled; "and a parson of all things! I
guess he'll have to light out for kingdom come if he don't trade my
way. Lord! Here's an A1 chance of victualing the barky."
All day long Johnson had remained in his study, in the deepest
despondency. He was astonished and in no wise pleased when Captain
Jacob entered. He knew Shackel to have the worst of reputations, and
he disliked the man. However, he managed to swallow his repugnance,
and greeted the little sailor with as much good-will as he could
muster. Shackel evidently did not intend to waste words. He came
straight to the point.
"So that Kanaka girl's gone," he said, smiling largely.
"Tera? Yes, poor soul, she is dead and buried," sighed Johnson, sadly.
"Murdered, wasn't she?"
"Foully murdered, Shackel."
"What did you do it for, then?" inquired the captain, dryly.
Johnson jumped up so suddenly as to overturn the chair on which he had
been seated. "Oh! heavens, do you accuse me, too?" he cried in
distress.
"'Course I do. Why!" Jacob fastened his evil eye on his victim, "I
know you killed the Kanaka for them pearls."
"You liar, I did not! I swear----"
"Don't swear," said the captain, coolly; "'tain't no good with me. If
ye didn't kill the girl, how did ye get the pearls?"
"I haven't got the pearls," said Johnson, in a frenzy.
"Yah! that won't do for me," jeered Shackel. "I want a share of the
money."
"Man, I tell you I have not got the pearls."
"Well," said Shackel, "you are a square liar, there's no mistake about
that. I saw you myself taking 'em to a London Jew dealer's! Now, then,
Ananias!"