Sir Gilbert Hawkesby was, on the whole, a good-tempered man; but he was
liable to sudden outbursts of anger of a violent kind. Lady Hawkesby
knew this, and always bowed meekly to the storm. His butler knew it,
and felt no resentment when he was called an incompetent fool. The
barristers who practised their art in his court knew it, and always
gave up pressing objectionable points on his notice when they
recognised the early signs of approaching indignation. The butler and
the barristers, not Lady Hawkesby, admitted that the judge's anger was
invariably justified. He never lost control of himself without some
good excuse. Therefore they suffered patiently, knowing that they
suffered justly, and knowing also that they would not suffer long; for
the judge's outbursts were as brief as they were fierce, and he bore no
malice afterwards. Doyle unfortunately did not know Sir Gilbert's
peculiarities, and so he was depressed and unhappy. Sabina Gallagher
did not know them either, and the judge had not spared her. He had no
hesitation, as Lady Hawkesby, the butler, and the barristers knew, in
attacking the most defenceless people when the mood was on him, and he
had used exceptionally strong language to Sabina Gallagher. It took
him on this occasion longer than usual to recover his self-possession.
He gave no kiss in response to his niece's affectionate salutation. He
ate the really excellent luncheon which she had prepared for him in
gloomy silence and without a sign of appreciation. The gilly, who
accompanied him up the river in the afternoon, came in for the last
gusts of the expiring storm.
At about four o'clock Sir Gilbert hooked a fine salmon and landed him
successfully. The gilly, who was a man of tact, greatly over-estimated
the weight of the fish, and paid a rich compliment to the judge's
skill. Miss King said all the most appropriate things in tones of warm
conviction. Sir Gilbert began to feel that life was not altogether an
intolerable affliction. An hour later, in a pool strongly recommended
by the gilly, another fish was caught. It was inferior to the first in
size, but it was a very satisfactory creature to look at. The judge's
temper was quite normal when he sat down at dinner. When, at Miss
King's request, he lit his cigar in the drawing-room afterwards, he
began to take a humorous view of the misfortunes of the morning.
"I ought to have accepted your invitation at once, Milly, and not
attempted to live at the local hotel. I never came across such a place
in my life, though I have knocked about a good deal and am pretty well
accustomed to roughing it. My bedroom reeked of abominable
disinfectants. The floor was half an inch deep in chloride of lime.
The sheets were soaked with-- By the way, what is the name of the
local parson?"
"I don't know," said Miss King. "He's an old man, and, I fancy,
delicate. I've never seen him. He wasn't in church last Sunday."
"Has he a curate?"
"Yes; I believe so. But the curate is away on his holiday.
Somebody--I forget who; very likely Callaghan the gardener--told me so.
At all events, I've not seen anything of him. But what do you want
with the local clergy?"
"I only want one of them," said the judge; "but I want him rather
badly. The man I mean can't be a Roman Catholic priest. He has a
bright red moustache. I wonder if you've come across him."
"That must be Mr. Meldon. He has a parish somewhere in England, I
believe. He's over here on his holiday. I travelled in the carriage
with him from Dublin. He is staying with a Major Kent."
"He's apparently quite mad," said the judge, "and ought to be shut up.
He's dangerous to society."
"He's certainly eccentric. We had a long talk in the train, and he
told me a lot about his baby, which had been keeping him awake at
night. I was out yachting one day with him and Major Kent."
"Don't go again," said the judge. "Your life wouldn't be safe. Is
Major Kent mad too?"
"Not at all. He struck me as a very pleasant man, most considerate and
kind."
"He must be very unusually kind if he tolerates Meldon. Of all the
objectionable lunatics I ever met, that parson is out and away the
worst."
"I shouldn't have said he was actually mad. In some ways I think he's
rather clever. He preached quite a remarkable sermon last Sunday, the
sort of sermon you can't help listening to."
"I can easily believe that," said the judge. "He preached me a sermon
yesterday which I'm not at all likely to forget."
"Where did you meet him, Uncle Gilbert?"
"I didn't meet him. He met me. I shouldn't have dreamed of meeting
him. He met me at the railway station at Donard, and invited himself
to luncheon with me. He also brought a doctor whom he had along with
him. Then he warned me that my life wouldn't be safe in Ballymoy. I
thought he was the usual sort of fool with scare ideas about leagues
and boycotting. But it wasn't that at all. He thought he'd frighten
me off with stories about bad drains; said I'd be sure to die if I
stayed at the hotel. He was quite right there, I must say. I should
have died if I hadn't left at once."
"Were they very bad?"
"Were what very bad? Oh, the drains. Not at all. At least I daresay
they were bad enough. I wasn't there long enough to find out. But I
shouldn't have died of the drains in any case. I'm not the kind of man
who catches diseases."
Sir Gilbert's chest swelled a little as he spoke, and he slowly puffed
out a large cloud of smoke. He was justly proud of his physical
health, and was accustomed to hurl defiance at microbes and to heap
contempt on the doctor's art.
"I'm sure you're not," said Miss King dutifully.
"What I should have died of," said the judge, "if I had died, would
have been starvation. You'll hardly believe me when I tell you that
every scrap of food I got, even the boiled egg which I ordered for
breakfast, thinking it would be safe--"
Miss King had heard all about the paraffin oil before. She had indeed
heard about it more than once. She did not want to hear of it again,
because she feared that a repetition of the story might put her uncle
into another bad temper.
"I can't understand it," she said. "How any one could be so careless
as--"
"It wasn't carelessness," said the judge. "If it had been I might have
given the place another trial. It was done on purpose."
"Surely not."
"I pursued the cook," said the judge, "into the fastnesses of her
kitchen. She fled before me, but I ran her to earth at last in the
scullery. A filthier hole I never saw. I went for her straight, and
expected to be told a story about somebody or other upsetting a lamp
over all her pots and pans. Instead of that, she answered me, without
a sign of hesitation and said-- Now what do you think she said?"
"I can't guess. Not that she thought you'd like the flavour?"
"No. She hadn't quite the effrontery to say that. She told me that
Mr. Meldon, this parson of yours who takes you out yachting, had given
orders before I came that all my food was to be soaked with paraffin
oil."
"Oh! But that's too absurd."
"So you'd think. So I thought at the moment. I didn't believe her. I
thought that she was putting up an unusual line of defence to excuse
her own gross carelessness. But I was evidently wrong. The girl seems
to have been telling the truth. I think I mentioned to you the state
in which I found my bed last night."
"You said it was damp."
"Damp! I never said damp. Soaking is the word I used; or at all
events ought to have used. It was soaking with Condy's Fluid, as it
turned out, though I didn't know at the time what the stuff was. I had
an interview with the hotelkeeper himself, a ruffian of the name of
Doyle, about that. I had very nearly to break the bell before I could
get any one to come to me. It's a very odd thing, but he told me
practically the same story; said that this man Meldon, whoever he is,
had given orders to have Condy's Fluid poured all over my bed and
chloride of lime shovelled on to the floor. I did not believe him at
the time any more than I believed that miserable slut of a cook the
next morning. I was in such a temper when I left that I didn't think
of putting their two stories together; but going over the whole thing
this afternoon in my mind it struck me as rather peculiar that they
should both have hit on such a grotesque sort of a lie, if it was a
lie."
"Surely you don't think that Mr. Meldon--he's rather eccentric, I know,
but I can scarcely believe that he'd--"
"I'm not at all sure what I ought to think. It seems unlikely that any
clergyman, unless he is quite mad, and you say he's not mad--"
"No; he's not mad. He's peculiar. But he is certainly not mad. Major
Kent has the highest opinion of him, and Major Kent is quite sane."
The judge threw the end of his cigar into the fire and sat silent for a
minute or two. His mind was working on the curious series of events
which had followed his arrival in Ballymoy. He became very much
interested.
"Milly," he said at last, "I'll take your word for it that the man's
not mad. But how on earth am I to explain his actions? For I really
have no doubt that he's at the bottom of all I've been through. First
of all, he met me at the station at Donard, having travelled twenty
miles for the express purpose of trying to prevent my coming on here.
Now why did he do that?"
"Perhaps he really thought you'd be uncomfortable at the hotel."
"He seems to have done his best to make me uncomfortable, anyhow."
"And succeeded," said Miss King with a smile.
"And succeeded brilliantly. I don't in the least wish to deny that. I
never was more uncomfortable in my life. But what I want to know is,
what possible motive he had for doing it. Unless he's an absolute
lunatic, and you say he's not that--"
"No. He's sane, though I think he's decidedly eccentric."
"Then he must have had a motive of some sort. He plainly doesn't want
to have me here in Ballymoy. Now why not? That's what's puzzling me.
Why not? I never saw the man in my life till yesterday. I never heard
of him. What on earth can it matter to him whether I spend a fortnight
here or not?"
"There was some dispute about the fishing before you came," said Miss
King. "I heard about it from Callaghan the gardener. Mr. Meldon's
friend, Major Kent, thought he had a right to fish in some part of the
river--"
"But what difference would my being here make? I'm not the owner of
the fishing. Major Kent may be right or wrong. But there's no use his
disputing with me. He wouldn't be in a bit better position if I had
turned round and gone home."
"I suppose not."
"So we may rule that explanation out of court. And yet the man must
have had a motive of some sort. No one would take all the trouble that
he has taken unless he saw his way to gain something by it." The judge
paused again, thinking deeply. Then he smiled suddenly. "Look here,
Milly. You don't mind my asking you rather a personal question, do
you?"
"Not a bit. My conscience is quite easy. I didn't bribe the cook to
put paraffin oil in your dinner, and I should never have thought of
pouring Condy's Fluid over your bed."
"Has that curate, Meldon, I mean--"
"He's not a curate," said Miss King. "He's a vicar at least."
"I shouldn't wonder if he turned out to be an archdeacon. But has he--
It's rather an awkward question to ask; but you're not a child, Milly.
You know that you're a very attractive young woman, and you have what
would seem to some people quite a good fortune, besides what you earn
by your writing. Has this man been trying to make love to you?"
Miss King laughed aloud. The cheerful ring of her obviously
spontaneous mirth shattered the theory which the judge was building up.
"No," she said; "he has not. Quite the contrary. Oh, Uncle Gilbert, I
must tell you. It's too funny. He warned me in the most solemn way
that I wasn't to attempt to make love to him."
"In spite of all you say, Milly, he must be stark mad."
"No. He thought, he really did think, that I wanted to flirt with him,
and he told me not to. He said he couldn't have it. I was awfully
angry with him at the time. No one ever said such a thing to me
before. It was the first day he called here."
"Does he often call here?"
"Nearly every day. He was here this afternoon while we were up the
river. He said he wanted to see me on most important business."
"I wish I'd seen him."
"You will soon. He's sure to come to-morrow."
"If he does," said the judge, "I'll take the opportunity of having a
talk with him. But tell me more about that curious incident, Milly.
Are you sure he doesn't want to make love to you?"
"Quite. I couldn't possibly be mistaken. Besides, he's married. He
told me that in the most insulting way, so as to prevent my making any
attempt to marry him myself."
"Of course that settles it," said the judge. "I thought for a moment
that he might possibly have some wild idea of marrying you. That would
account for his making the desperate efforts he has made to keep me out
of the place. He'd know that I wouldn't like you to marry a mad
parson. But if it wasn't that, Milly, and after all you've told me it
clearly can't be, what on earth is the idea at the back of his mind?
Why has he arranged for this systematic persecution of me?"
"Are you sure the fishing dispute has nothing to do with it. I can't
think of anything else."
"Unless he's a fool," said the judge, "he can't suppose that my giving
up the fishing would make it any easier for his friend to poach."
"Major Kent wouldn't poach," said Miss King warmly. "He's a gentleman.
If you knew him, Uncle Gilbert, you wouldn't say such things about him."
"You seem to know him very well," said the judge. "Oh yes! You told
me you had been out yachting. Does _he_ often call here?"
"He was here on Sunday afternoon. Yes, and on Tuesday, now I come to
think of it."
"And you were out yachting with him on the Monday in between. That's
not bad for three days, eh, Milly?"
He looked at her keenly as he spoke, and a half smile flickered on his
lips. Miss King blushed slightly, and then, being very angry with
herself for blushing, grew quite red in the face. The judge's smile
broadened.
"From what you've seen of this man Meldon," he said, "would you suppose
that he's a very altruistic sort of person?"
"What do you mean?"
"Is he the sort of man who'd put himself about a great deal and take a
lot of trouble for the sake of doing a good turn to a friend? Do you
think, for instance, that he'd indulge in all sorts of elaborate
practical jokes with a view to frightening me out of Ballymoy, if he
thought my presence here was likely to interfere with any plan that his
friend Major Kent might have very much at heart?"
Miss King looked at the judge in some surprise. Then she suddenly
blushed again.
"Uncle Gilbert," she said, "you're too bad. I know what you're
thinking about. But why do you suppose that any of these men should
want to marry me?"
"You're a very attractive young woman, my dear," said the judge. "I
can quite understand-- What sort of a man is this Major Kent?"
"I won't talk about him," said Miss King. "It's not nice of you to
cross-question me in that way. I hate being treated as if I did
nothing but go about hunting for a husband; as if I never spoke to a
man without wondering in my own mind whether he'd be likely to marry
me. That's the way you always treat us, and I won't stand it. If
there are such women, and I don't think there are many, I'm not one of
them."
"No," said the judge; "you're not. If you had been you'd have been
married long ago. But in this case it seems that the possible husband
is hunting you with some vigour. He has certainly done his best to get
rid of me, regarding me, no doubt, as a possible obstacle in his way."
"I'm sure Major Kent had nothing to do with that. He's not at all the
kind of man who'd make plans and schemes. But the whole thing is
utterly absurd. What's the good of talking about it?"
"It is utterly absurd. It's the most absurd thing I ever heard of in
my life. I simply wouldn't have believed it possible if it hadn't
actually happened, that this red-haired parson--the man has a perfectly
diabolical imagination. I wonder what he'll do next. I feel certain
he won't give up. Could he possibly get at your cook, Milly?"
"I'm sure he couldn't. Hodge has the greatest contempt for all the
Irish. She regards them as savages, and is rather surprised to find
that they wear clothes."
"That's a comfort. I can face almost anything if I get my food
properly. But I must keep a careful look out. Meldon seems to me the
kind of man who wouldn't stick at a trifle, and he's evidently
determined to get rid of me."
"Perhaps he'll ask you out yachting and--"
"And maroon me on a desert island?"
"No, but make you-- Oh! I forgot, you don't get sea-sick."
"No. There's not a bit of use his trying to get the better of me in
that way. I should simply laugh at the worst ground swell he can
produce. I hope he will ask me out yachting. I should like to have a
nice long day alone with Mr. Meldon. He's a man worth knowing."
The conversation drifted on to other topics. The judge, after the
manner of fishermen, rehearsed the capture of his two salmon, compared
them to similar fish caught elsewhere, and made enquiries about the
netting at the mouth of the river. At about ten o'clock he lit a fresh
cigar and returned to the subject of Meldon.
"You say," he said, "that he's likely to call here to-morrow morning."
"He's almost certain to. Except the day when he went to meet you at
Donard he has never missed paying me a visit."
"About four o'clock, I suppose, is his regular hour?"
"He has no regular hour," said Miss King. "He's quite unconventional.
He may drop in for breakfast, or he may turn up suddenly while we're
dressing for dinner."
"I hope he'll do one or the other. I don't want to sit waiting for him
all day. If he comes while I'm fishing you must bring him up the river
after me. By the way, how is your novel getting on, Milly? Have you
finished it off?"
"I've hardly done a stroke of work since I came here. I'm dissatisfied
with the whole thing. I'm thinking of beginning it again."
"If you do," said the judge, "put Meldon into it."
"I should like to."
"Do. Tell the story of his bribing the cook to poison me, and I'll buy
two hundred copies straight away. I've always wanted to be put into a
novel, and I should like to go down to posterity side by side with
Meldon."
"I wish I could."
"There's no difficulty that I can see. He'll do equally well for a
hero or a villain."
"I'm afraid all the other characters would look like fools. That's the
difficulty."
"They would," said the judge. "I'm very much afraid they would.
Perhaps after all you'd better not put me in. Let him poison some one
else. I shouldn't be an attractive figure if I were posed as one of
Meldon's victims."
"Perhaps," said Miss King, "I might work out the plot in such a way
that you'd get the better of him in the end."
"I fully intend to. I shall see him to-morrow, and if the thing is
possible at all, I shall make him thoroughly ashamed of himself."
"Then I'll wait till after to-morrow," said Miss King, "before I decide
on my plot. It will be much easier for me if I get the whole thing
ready-made."
Sir Gilbert Hawkesby finished his cigar and went to bed. He was
tolerably well satisfied with himself. He understood, so he believed,
the motives which had induced Meldon to make his life in Ballymoy
uncomfortable. He was sure that Miss King was able to manage her own
affairs, and he was not anxious to make objections to her marrying
Major Kent, or any other tolerably respectable man whom she happened to
like. He knew, too, that Lady Hawkesby would be pleased to have her
niece settled in life in any way which would put a stop to the growing
notoriety of the novels she wrote.