HAD HENSHAW A CLUE?
Next day Gervase Henshaw made his expected reappearance in Branchester.
He left his luggage at the _Golden Lion_ and then went off to the
police-station where he had a long interview with the chief constable.
Mindful of his promise to Edith Morriston, Hugh Gifford kept about the
town with the object of coming across Henshaw and getting to know, if
possible, something of his intentions. The attraction he had, even from
their first introduction, felt towards Miss Morriston had become quickly
intensified by their strangely confidential talk on the previous
evening. So far she was to him something of a puzzle, but a puzzle of
the most fascinating kind. It was, perhaps, strangely unaccountable that
she should have chosen to invoke his help who was little more than a
casual acquaintance; still, he argued as he reviewed the situation, she
had probably been drawn to him as the one man on the spot who was
likely to be of use to them. Her brother, a good, sensible fellow of
some character, was nevertheless an ordinary country gentleman, given up
to sport of all kinds and naturally quite unversed in the subtleties of
life and character which can be studied only by those who live in the
more intellectual atmosphere of cities. The same judgment would apply to
his friend Kelson, a chivalrous sportsman, who would unselfishly do
anything in his power to be of help, but whose ability and penetration
by no means matched his willingness. And probably these men were types
of the bulk of the Morristons' friends and acquaintances, at any rate of
those who were immediately available. Consequently, Gifford concluded,
it had been to himself she had turned in this trouble, influenced no
doubt by the idea that a Londoner with legal training and experience of
the world in its many aspects would be the best man she could enlist to
help her. That her confidence had been drawn by any particular personal
liking he never for one moment admitted; that unfortunately was so far
all on one side, whatever hopes the future might hold out to him.
Anyhow he blessed his luck that an accident had so quickly broken the
ice and established a state of confidential relationship between them.
As to there being an adequate reason for alarm Gifford was not inclined
to question, since he quite realized that this man Henshaw might easily
constitute himself a grave annoyance to the Morristons. A clever girl
like Edith Morriston, more sensitive than to a casual observer would
appear, had naturally recognized this danger and was anxious to have the
man, with his, perhaps, none too scrupulous methods, held in check; and
to this service Gifford was only too happy to devote himself, glad
beyond measure that the opportunity had been given him by the girl who
had filled his thoughts.
It was not until evening that he came across Henshaw, it being to his
mind essential not to appear anxious or to seek out the criminologist
with the obvious view of getting information as to his plans.
"So you are back again, Mr. Henshaw," he said with a careless nod of
greeting as they encountered in the hall of the hotel. "I hear the
police have not yet arrived at any satisfactory conclusion."
Henshaw drew back his lips in a slight smile. To Gifford the expression
was an ugly one, and he wondered what it portended.
"There is a likelihood of our not being at a loss much longer," Henshaw
replied, speaking through his teeth with a certain grim satisfaction.
"What, you have made a discovery?" Gifford exclaimed.
Henshaw's face hardened. "I am not yet at liberty to say what I have
found," he returned in an uncompromising tone. "But I think you may
take it from me as absolutely certain that my brother did not take his
own life."
With pursed lips Gifford nodded acceptance of the statement. "That makes
the affair look serious, not to say sensational," he responded. "I
suppose one must not ask you whether you have a clue to the perpetrator."
"No, I can hardly say that yet," Henshaw answered with a rather cunning
look. "You, as one of our profession, Mr. Gifford, will understand that
and the unwisdom of premature statements."
"Certainly I do," Gifford agreed promptly. "And am quite content to
restrain my curiosity till I get information from the papers."
Henshaw laughed intriguingly. "There are certain things that don't find
their way into the Press," he said meaningly. "The real story in this
case may turn out to be one of them."
Eager as he was, Gifford resolved to show no further curiosity. "You know
best," he rejoined almost casually. "But I hope for the Morristons' sake
the mystery will be soon satisfactorily cleared up."
There was a peculiar glitter in Henshaw's eyes as he replied, "No doubt
they are anxious."
"Naturally. They are getting rather worried by all this police fuss."
"Naturally." Henshaw repeated Gifford's word with a curious emphasis. "It
is unfortunate for them," he added. "But all the same it is imperative
that the manner of my brother's death should be thoroughly investigated."
He nodded, and as unwilling to discuss the matter further, opened a
newspaper and turned away.
About noon next day Gifford went with Kelson to Wynford Place. They had
seen nothing more of Henshaw who, it seemed, was rather inclined to hold
away from them, possibly with a view to avoiding an opportunity of
discussing the affair, or because he was occupied in following up some
clue he had, or thought he had, got hold of. This was naturally a
disappointment to Gifford, who was anxious, on Miss Morriston's behalf,
to keep himself posted as to Henshaw's intentions.
"Of course," said Kelson, "the fellow will have heard of the stains found
on Muriel's dress, and will set himself to make the most of that
discovery. I only hope he won't take to worrying her. She is quite enough
upset about it without that."
"Doubtless that is why he is keeping away from us," Gifford observed. "He
probably has heard of your engagement."
"And has the decency to see that he cannot very well discuss the matter
with us," Kelson added.
On their arrival at Wynford Place Morriston told them that Gervase
Henshaw was there with a detective in the room of the tragedy. "There is
a decided improvement in his manner to-day," he said with a laugh. "He
has been quite considerate and apologetic; so much so that I think I
shall have to ask him to stay to luncheon; it seems rather churlish in
the circumstances not to do so when the man is actually in the house on
what should be to him a very sad business. But you fellows must stay too,
to take off some of the strain."
They accepted; Gifford not sorry, for more reasons than one, to stay.
He presently took an opportunity of joining Edith Morriston in the
garden.
"I have been keeping a look-out for Mr. Henshaw," he said, as they
strolled off down a secluded walk, "but so far have had a chance of
speaking to him only once, when I ran across him in the hotel."
"Yes?" she responded, with a scarcely concealed curiosity to hear what
had passed.
"He has evidently got hold of some clue, or at least thinks he has,"
Gifford proceeded. "But what it is he did not tell me. In fact he rather
declined to discuss the affair. I fancy he had had a long consultation
with the police authorities."
"And he would tell you nothing?"
"Nothing. I rather expected he might have come, as before, to discuss the
case with us, but he has made a point of keeping away. I hear, however,
from your brother that he seems far less objectionable this time."
Somewhat to Gifford's surprise, she gave a rather grudging assent. "Yes,
I suppose he is. I happened to see him on his arrival, and he certainly
was polite enough, but it is possible to be even objectionably polite."
Gifford glanced at her curiously, wondering what had taken place to call
forth the remark. "I know that," he said. "I do hope the man has not
annoyed you. From what your brother told us--"
"Oh, no," she interrupted, "I can't say he has annoyed me--from his
point of view." She laughed. "The man tried to be particularly
agreeable, I think."
"And succeeded in being the reverse," Gifford added. "I can quite
understand. Still, it might be worse."
"Oh, yes," she agreed in a tone which did nothing to abate his curiosity.
The luncheon bell rang out and they turned.
"I haven't thanked you for looking after our interests, Mr. Gifford," the
girl said.
"I have unfortunately been able to do nothing," he replied deprecatingly.
"But you have tried," she rejoined graciously, "and it is not your fault
if you have not succeeded. It is a comfort to think that we have a friend
at hand ready to help us if need be, and I am most grateful."
The unusual feeling in her tone thrilled him.
"I should love to do something worthy of your gratitude," he responded,
in a subdued tone.
"You take a lower view of your service than I do," she rejoined as they
reached the house, and no more could be said.
At luncheon the improvement which their host had mentioned in Henshaw's
attitude was strikingly apparent. His dogmatic self-assertiveness which
had before been found so irritating was laid aside; his manner was
subdued, his tone was sympathetic as he apologized for all the annoyance
to which his host and hostess were being put. Gifford, watching him
alertly, wondered at the change, and more particularly at its cause,
which set him speculating. What did it portend? It seemed as though the
complete alteration in the man's attitude and manner might indicate that
he had got the solution of the mystery, and no longer had that problem to
worry him. Certainly there was little to find fault with in him to-day.
One thing, however, Gifford did not like, and that was Henshaw's rather
obvious admiration for Edith Morriston. When they took their places at
table, she had motioned to Gifford to sit beside her, and from that
position it gradually forced itself upon his notice that Henshaw
scarcely took his eyes off his hostess, addressing most of his
conversation, and he was a fluent talker, to her. It was, of course,
scarcely to be wondered at that this handsome, capable girl should call
forth any man's admiration. Gifford himself was indeed beginning to fall
desperately in love with her, but this naturally made Henshaw's rather
obvious prepossession none the less disagreeable to him. This, then, he
reflected, was the explanation of what Miss Morriston had hinted at,
what she had described as his objectionable excess of politeness at
their meeting that morning. Happily, however, Gifford felt secure in his
position as her accredited ally and in her expressed dislike to the man
whom it seemed she had unwittingly fascinated. It was indeed unthinkable
that this splendid, high-bred girl could ever be responsive to the
advances of this unpleasantly sharp, rather underbred man, and he was a
little surprised that she could respond to his remarks quite so
genially, with more graciousness indeed than even her position as
hostess called forth.
He could not quite reconcile it with the way she had spoken of him
previously; but then he told himself that he was making too much of the
business, and saw what was mere politeness through the magnifying glasses
of jealousy. And so, secure in his position, he proceeded to view
Henshaw's attempts to ingratiate himself with an amused equanimity.