WHAT GIFFORD SAW IN THE WOOD
During the next day or two Gifford saw next to nothing of Gervase
Henshaw. They had parted amicably enough after luncheon at Wynford Place;
indeed, the change in Henshaw's demeanour had been something of a puzzle
to the two friends, although Kelson did not seem much exercised by it.
"The fellow has evidently come to the conclusion that in dealing with
people like the Morristons an offensive brow-beating manner does not
pay," he remarked casually. Gifford, however, had an idea that the reason
for the change lay somewhat deeper than that. He wondered whether in the
absence of any other apparent cause, Edith Morriston's attractiveness had
had anything to do with it. It was not a pleasant idea; still, if it
saved her annoyance that would be something gained, he thought; and that
it should have any farther result was out of the question.
He had not had that day an opportunity of any private talk with Miss
Morriston, for she had driven out after luncheon to pay a call. But a
certain suggestion of warmth in her leave-taking had assured him that she
still looked for his help and that the conditions were not changed.
What he had undertaken so eagerly was now, however, not easy of
accomplishment. For reasons at which Gifford could only guess, Henshaw
seemed to be playing an elusive game; he kept out of sight, or, at any
rate, avoided all intercourse with the two friends, and on the rare
occasions when they met he was to Gifford tantalizingly uncommunicative.
That something was evidently behind his reticence made it all the more
unsatisfactory, since the result was that Gifford had no object in going
to Wynford Place, for he had nothing to tell. Indeed he learnt more from
the Morristons than from Henshaw. The police had concluded their
investigations on the premises, much to the relief of the household, who
were now left in peace.
"They don't seem to have come to any definite conclusion as to how the
tragedy happened," Morriston said. "They have an idea, as I gather from
Major Freeman, where to look for the murderer, if murder it was; which I
am rather inclined to doubt."
"Is Henshaw likely to give up the search?" Gifford asked.
Morriston looked puzzled. "I can't make out," he answered in a slightly
perplexed tone. "Even Freeman does not seem to know what his idea is. He
is still about here."
"Yes," Gifford replied. "I caught a glimpse of him this morning."
"Curious," Morriston remarked. "I came across the fellow yesterday
afternoon in the big plantation here. He was mooning about and didn't
seem best pleased to see me, but he was quite duly apologetic, said he
was puzzling over the tragedy and hoped I didn't mind his trespassing on
my property. Of course I told him he was free to come and go as he
liked, but it did strike me as peculiar that he should be thinking out
the case in that plantation which has no possible connexion with the
scene of the crime."
"Yes, it was curious," Gifford agreed reflectively. "Did he tell you
what he was doing about the business?"
Morriston shook his head. "No; he wasn't communicative; didn't seem to
have much to go upon. Of course one can't tell what the fellow has at the
back of his mind, but I was rather surprised that a Londoner of his
energy and smartness should spend his time loafing about down here with
what seems a poor chance of any result; and I nearly told him so."
"Perhaps it is as well you didn't," Gifford replied. "He is suspicious
enough to imagine you might have a motive in wanting to get rid of him."
Morriston laughed. "I have. He is not exactly the man one wants to have
prowling about the place; but it would not be polite to hint as much."
The episode, trivial as it seemed to Morriston, gave Gifford food for
disagreeable reflection. Why, indeed, should Henshaw be hanging about in
the grounds of Wynford, and give so unconvincing a reason? What troubled
Gifford most was that the man's reticent attitude precluded all hope of
his learning anything of his plans which could usefully be imparted to
Miss Morriston. Evidently there was nothing to be got out of him; the
rather open confidence he had displayed on his first appearance at
Branchester had quite disappeared, and if Gifford was to find out
anything worth reporting it would assuredly not be due to any
communication from the man himself.
He had accordingly to be content with the resolve to keep a wary eye on
Henshaw's movements.
He was now pretty free to do this. The Tredworths had ended their visit
at Wynford and had returned home, and naturally Kelson spent much of his
time over there, leaving Gifford to his own devices. It had, in view of
Gifford's commission from Miss Morriston, been arranged that he should
share Kelson's rooms at the _Golden Lion_, no longer as a guest, so that
both men were now independent of each other. The date of Kelson's wedding
seemed now likely to be put off for some months, as his friend had
suggested. The unpleasant episode of the stains on Muriel Tredworth's
dress had, although there was no indication of attaching serious
importance to them, nevertheless cast an uncomfortable shadow over the
happiness of her betrothal, and without giving any specific reason she
had declared for a postponement of the wedding, for which there was,
after all, a quite natural reason.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Kelson remarked to his friend. "Although it
is absolutely unthinkable that Muriel could have had anything to do with
the affair, yet one can quite appreciate her wish to wait till perhaps
something crops up to give us the explanation beyond all question. It is
rather a blow to me, and I hope if the mysterious Mr. Gervase Henshaw is
really on the track of the crime he will produce his solution without
much more delay. For a girl like Muriel to have even the faintest
suspicion hanging over her is simply hateful."
Meanwhile the mysterious Mr. Henshaw seemed in no hurry to make known his
theory, if he had one. Yet he still remained in Branchester, writing all
the morning and going out in the afternoon, usually with a handful of
letters for post. He always nodded affably to Gifford when they met, but
beyond a casual remark on the weather or the events of the day, showed no
disposition to chat.
But now while Gifford was in this unsatisfactory state of mind,
persevering yet baffled in what he had undertaken to do, a very singular
thing came to pass. He strolled out one afternoon, aimlessly, wondering
whether the negative result of his efforts justified his remaining in the
place, and yet loath to leave it, held there as he was by the attraction
of Edith Morriston. He felt he could be making but little way in her
favour seeing how he was failing in what he had undertaken to do for her,
and as he walked he discussed with himself whether it would not be
possible to hit on some more active plan of becoming acquainted with
Henshaw's knowledge and intentions. It was obviously a delicate business,
and after all, he thought, now that the man's undesirable presence had
practically ceased to be an annoyance to the Morristons there scarcely
seemed any need to bother about him. On the other hand, however, there
was a certain strong curiosity on his own part to know Henshaw's design
and what kept him in the town.
Gifford's walk took him over well remembered ground. He was strolling
along a path which led through the Wynford property, over a rustic bridge
across a stream he had often fished when a boy, and so on into a wood
which formed one of the home coverts. Making his way through this
familiar haunt of by-gone days he came to one of the long rides which
bisected the wood for some quarter of a mile. He turned into this and was
just looking out for a comfortable trunk where he might sit and smoke,
when he caught sight of two figures in the distance ahead walking slowly
just on the fringe of the ride. A man and a woman; their backs were
towards him, but his blood gave a leap at the sight as their identity
flashed upon him. It was, in its unexpectedness, an almost appalling
sight to him, as he realised that the two were none other than Henshaw
and Edith Morriston.