In the Churchyard
Ena Sefton was on her way to the village church on Sunday morning. It
was the old church which had stood there for centuries, long before
such a thing as a bungalow town was heard of. She was rather late and
the bell was already ringing, so she quickened her pace. A long avenue
of trees led up to the old churchyard, and as she rounded the corner
she saw Halley walking slowly in front of her, and somehow it came as
a shock to her, for she had not associated him with church-going. He
turned and when he saw her he raised his hat with a smile of welcome.
“I did not know that you usually patronised our village church,” she
said.
“I am afraid I cannot claim to do much in that line,” he answered “but
I really came here for another object; I am interested in old
inscriptions, and I am told there are some in this churchyard.”
They walked along together, and passed through the Lych Gate. “Are you
coming in?” she asked.
“I hardly think so, if you will not think it rude of me, but I will
wait in the churchyard for you if I may.”
When the simple service was over, she found him standing at the corner
of the churchyard where the Reckavile family vault was situated. He
was deep in thought and did not look up until she touched him lightly,
then he gave a start.
“You were looking at the graves of the past Lord Reckaviles?” she
asked.
His face clouded over. “It is an ugly record,” he said. In front of
them was the tomb of the last Lord Reckavile, a simple stone tablet
giving his name, and age, and the date of his death, and beneath, the
sombre words “Vengeance is mine and I will repay.” Beyond that was the
tomb of his father drowned at sea, whose body had been washed ashore.
“Age thirty-two,” he said in a puzzled tone, “it is strange.” And he
turned with her and walked by her side without speaking.
“Mr. Halley,” she said to break the silence, “you will please forgive
me asking this question, but you seem so entirely alone, I have often
wondered whether you have any relations living. You don’t mind, do
you?”
“Not in the least, Miss Sefton,” he replied with that peculiar sad
smile of his “I can answer the question very simply. I have no
relations, and no friends.”
“That is unkind of you,” she said “surely you count us as friends.”
“I would like to think so,” he said “but we have only known each other
a short time.”
“Do you think friendship must necessarily be a growth of years?” she
asked.
“On the contrary,” he replied, “I believe that when people meet for
the first time they are either friends or not, there is a sort of
instinctive affinity or repulsion, although it may not be felt at the
moment.”
She looked at him with a roguish smile. “And which was it in my case?”
she said.
He did not answer to her mood. “You are on dangerous ground, you do
not know who you are taking as a friend.” There was almost a note of
warning in his voice. He had always been reserved and self-contained,
but of a sudden he stopped and said with emotion:
“Would to God I had never come to England!”
She was startled, for it was the first revelation of what had been
dimly at the back of her mind, that he was not entirely English.
He collected himself, and then walked on.
“I am sorry, for forgetting myself, perhaps I ought to tell you I was
born in Italy and my mother was Italian, although my father was
English. I shall be going back soon, when my work is over.”
“Your work!” she said.
“I have a task to accomplish,” he said in a solemn tone “and I cannot
allow my thoughts to stray to—other things. What am I to do with love
or the lighter side of life?” It was almost as though he was talking
to himself, but a deep blush spread over Ena’s face, and she turned
her head away.
As they emerged from the churchyard avenue the village was spread out
below them in all its hideousness, like some great Fair, when the show
is over. As they came to the foreshore, a figure rose over the bank
from the beach. It was Fletcher, and a look of annoyance crossed his
face when he saw Halley, although he tried to hide it.
“Good morning, Miss Sefton, I suppose you have been to church. I
should hardly have thought that was in Mr. Halley’s line,” he said
with a sneer.
“Right,” said Halley. “I did not go to church, but I met Miss Sefton
there. I have been looking at your interesting graveyard.”
“What a cheerful subject,” said the other. “I am not much interested
in tombstones myself.”
Halley darted a keen glance at him. “They say,” he said, “there are
sermons in stones, there may be also stories on tombstones of even
greater interest and value.”
“Well, I prefer something a little more amusing,” said Fletcher, and
there was something in his tone which seemed to anger Halley.
Very quietly he said, “I suppose the investigation of crime is an
amusing subject.”
Fletcher stopped dead, and his face went white. “Crime!” he said “what
on earth do you mean?”
Ena was looking from one to the other of the two men.
“Only this,” said Halley lighting a cigarette, “that as you are a
Scotland Yard detective, I suppose most of your life is spent in that
way.”
“A Scotland Yard detective,” blurted out Fletcher.
Halley held up his hand. “Please do not take the trouble to deny it. I
know you were sent down by Scotland Yard to investigate the murder.”
Fletcher’s mind was in a whirl, it was obviously impossible to deny
the statement made in such an emphatic tone.
“How on earth do you know anything about me?” said he unguardedly.
Halley shrugged his shoulders.
“What about you?” said Fletcher angrily. “Who and what are you? You
have come here from no one knows where, and have no apparent
occupation except loafing about and enquiring into other people’s
business, and imposing on trusting girls.”
A look of contempt was on Ena’s face.
“Is it true, Mr. Fletcher? Are you really a detective?”
“It is quite true, Miss Sefton, though how your friend became
acquainted with this, I do not know.” There was an unpleasant emphasis
on the word “friend.” “I suppose you have no objection to detectives?”
“A man’s business is his own,” she replied with spirit, “but I do not
like anyone who goes under false pretences.”
Fletcher’s usual self-control was deserting him. He saw the interest
which this girl might have had in him gone for ever.
“False pretences,” he repeated “and what about him? Who is he? For all
you know he may be the criminal we are after.”
“If you are going to say things like that,” she replied, “perhaps we
had better say good-day,” and she turned away without another word.
Halley gave one glance at the angry detective and then followed her.
“All right, my boy!” said Fletcher to the departing couple. “You’ve
scored one point, but wait until I have got a little more information
and then we will see what opinion Miss Ena will hold of you!”
Ena walked in silence for a while.
“How horrible,” she said at length. “That man came down with me by the
same train, and scratched up an acquaintance. I suppose he was trying
to ‘pump’ me, as they say; that is why he came the other night, with
the police sergeant. I will never trust anyone again.”
Halley looked at her for a moment.
“Did I not tell you not to make friends at sight?” he said bitterly,
but she turned quickly to him.
“Oh! I am so sorry, I did not mean that, of course I was not referring
to you.”
“But why not? You know as little about me as you did about Fletcher.”
She was confused, and took refuge in his own words.
“But then you said friendship was an instinctive thing. I never took
to Mr. Fletcher, though I knew nothing against him, and he was a
stranger.”
The lunch at the Sefton’s bungalow was cheerful, in spite of the cloud
hanging over the affairs of all three. Jack was a changed being now
that he had taken his resolve, and listened with interest to the tales
of foreign travel with which Halley regaled them, for Halley was in a
mood they had never seen before. His usual gravity was gone, and they
realised what a wonderful talker he could be when he liked, and in the
days which followed they looked back on this meal with especial
pleasure. The men had just settled to smoke, when there came a hasty
knock at the door. Southgate was standing outside panting, for he had
walked fast, and his face was red, but there was an anxious look in
his eyes.
“Come away at once, Mr. Halley,” he said urgently. “I have something
to tell you.”
With apologies Halley went outside.
“I am sorry,” he said when he returned to the others “I must go with
Southgate, and I am afraid I shall have to go to London to-morrow. I
will get back as soon as I can.”