SUSPICIONS
Mr. Alexander Crosby and Colonel Bessington were alone together in
the large, comfortably-furnished smoking-room at the Glen. They had
just had tea and, hearing that the other guests were pairing off for
bridge, and feeling comfortably tired after a day on the river, had
retired in good order where they could rest before rejoining the
party at dinner.
They were both lounging in arm-chairs, both enjoying a well-earned
pipe, and both engaged in reading the papers.
Crosby was--as usual with him--the first to break a long silence.
"I say, Bessington, what's all this clap-trap about smuggling? I see
they've bagged some fellows on the east coast down south somewhere.
Caught 'em in the act, so to speak. Can that be the same lot who are
supposed to be operating up in these parts that John was telling me
about?"
The other laid down his paper and stared for a moment into the
brightly burning log fire.
"I think not," he replied at last, slowly, and as though weighing his
words. "I believe that is another lot altogether. I have been going
rather closely into the matter, as it interests me considerably."
"Yes, I saw you hob-nobbing the other day with that inspector fellow.
I was crossing over a field with Mrs. Leslie, who likes long
walks--deuce take her!--for the sake of what she calls her figure,
and I call her blancmange shape, and I spotted you. The police chap
seemed to have a deuced lot to say for himself."
"He talked. Oh yes, certainly he talked," admitted Bessington.
"And you listened, eh what? Bet you did, and took it all in, too.
Did you glean anything from all the chatter? Or was he just giving a
minimum of information in a maximum of wrapping?"
"N-no. What he told me was quite interesting. I saw him again the
next day. He said that they were taking off the man they had put on
to watch at Ardenmore Tower, as it was considered no longer
necessary. Personally, I think it was a mistake. On the other hand,
when I saw him yesterday--"
"Oh, so you saw him again yesterday, did you? What for? Same
subject, I take it?"
"You may," was the quiet response. "Yes, when I saw him yesterday he
told me that a suggestion had been made to him by--er--well, in point
of fact, by Frank Daneham to the effect that--"
"Ah! Old Frankie! Staying with the lovely widow I suppose. Wonder
if he'll pull it off this time."
"I--er--beg your pardon?" Bessington looked at his companion
sharply. "You mean--what exactly?"
"Oh well, he and she are pretty thick, eh what? Always about
together in the gay city. All that sort of thing, you know. People
will talk, my dear chap. Can't stop 'em."
"They are good friends, I believe, but nothing more," was the cold
reply. "More like brother and sister."
The other exploded in a loud guffaw.
"Oh, come off it!" he said. "You don't put that sort of stuff across
me, my lad. The brother and sister stunt cuts no ice here."
"Well, I'm afraid it will have to, because one day I hope to make the
lady my wife," said Bessington, quietly. And Alexander Crosby, with
crimson face, remembered his newly-acquired gentility and apologized
profusely.
"Take it as unsaid, Colonel. Never a notion of any such thing. Hope
to congratulate you soon, I'm sure."
"Thanks," said Bessington, and a delicate wave of the hand intimated
that the subject was closed. "Well, as I was saying, Daneham
suggested the advisability of calling off the watch in order to see
if the smuggling, which had stopped, would start again, and if it
did, it would mean that a friend on the premises was signalling the
'All clear'."
"Ah, to be sure. Bright idea. And do you know if anything happened?"
"I saw an advertisement a few days later in one of the papers with,
oddly enough, just those words. 'All clear, come again.' So I saw
the inspector and told him about it. He got into touch with the
newspaper and found that it was sent from this part of the country,
though they had no knowledge of who had sent it. It was paid for in
the ordinary way and duly inserted. So I shall be keen to know if
anything happens. Though the inspector, I thought, rather laughed at
the idea."
"Well, I don't, and that's flat. By Jove! This is rather more
interesting than fiction. Why not go over to Ardenmore and
investigate? Incidentally, kill two birds with one stone, eh?"
"I'm afraid I don't get you. How do you mean?"
"Oh well! Hang it all, don't make a fellow call a spade a spade like
that. Don't the lady live at Ardenmore, eh?"
"Oh, I see. Yes, I suppose that would--from your point of view--be
the thing to do. Do you, by the way, know anything of the history of
Ardenmore?"
"Well, just a bit, you know. Old people, last of the name, died in
'18, year after that son of theirs went West. Lucky for him he did,
too. Of course, everyone heard all about that little stunt, at least
the story went round. But I doubt if anyone save those in the know
knew why he murdered his C.O."
"And incidentally my greatest friend," added Bessington. "Colonel
Grimshawe, though few people understood him, was a fine fellow.
Queer tempered, I own, and he had other faults--who has not?"
"Granted. I should hate to let anyone into my confession box, if I
ever thought fit to tell a few things," agreed the other with a
chuckle. "This is news to me, though. I hadn't realized you were in
it."
"Not in it exactly. I came in directly after it happened. Or, at
least, I was informed that it was directly after." A slow smile
widened the thin-lipped mouth, and Alec Crosby, seeing the shining
teeth, understood what his brother meant when he referred to Old Nick.
"Was there a doubt of that, then?"
"There may have been in my mind at the time. There may be still.
For it seems that there was sufficient time between the blow--or
rather the murder--and the summons for help, to enable young Arden to
get away. And get away he did. Had he been caught, he would have
been shot, of course. Had he lived and returned to this country, he
would have been taken and hanged for murder."
"Really? But was it actually murder? I mean, you weren't there to
see, only the other fellow, the witness--I don't even know his name."
"I know. But remember it was done in a tumble-down cottage in
Flanders, and loud voices carry through thin walls. In the room next
to the scene of the crime were two witnesses--both alive to-day--who
swore to what they heard. They didn't hear much. They were both, as
a matter of fact, sick men, just brought in and waiting to be taken
elsewhere, and they both heard young Arden, when accused of having
killed someone--for, of course, they didn't know who it was who had
been killed--say--'I know, I meant to kill him.' Therefore, had
young Arden lived and been taken, their evidence alone, almost, would
have hanged him. Whereas we also have the eye-witness to the scene
who admitted the crime, and was--so he said--though I have my doubts
as to that--himself threatened with a revolver by young Arden."
"But who was the fellow?"
"That, I fear, I am not at liberty to tell you. You see, it is all
over and nine years have gone by since it happened. But neither nine
nor yet twenty-nine--nor ninety-nine years will lessen my horror of
the deed, nor my grief for the loss of a good friend, nor yet my
hatred of the man who did it, and who escaped the death that was his
due."
And Crosby, glancing at his companion's face, was aware of a
sensation of intense relief that he was a friend of this man and not
an enemy.
"But, surely to goodness, you had your revenge, in the fact that the
young fellow was killed," he expostulated, for though lacking in blue
blood, he had not an ounce of vindictiveness in his nature.
"He died an honourable death on the field, not a felon's death on the
gallows," was the reply.
"Well, well, and come, come, death is death when all's said and done,
in whatever guise it comes. Hang it all, man, he was young, a mere
kid, a baby, and wasn't there some woman? Why! Bless my heart and
soul! I'm going dotty on the crumpet. It was a Mrs. Arden the South
African married. Young Arden's wife! Goo lor! What a damned mix-up
it all is."
"You may well say so," was the grim reply.
"And she bought back the old place when her millionaire hubby died,
too. Now that was a bit rummy, wasn't it?"
"No. Sentiment, I suppose. Most nice women are full of it. There
is no reason, as far as I can see, why she should not have bought it."
"But Lord bless my heart! Isn't the place a ruin? And she goes and
lives in it. What for? Tell me that? I suppose, by the way," he
went on, a sudden thought striking him, "there was no doubt about
young Arden being killed, was there? I mean, did she believe it?
But of course she must have, or she wouldn't have married old
Rodenberg and committed bigamy. Besides, if the young chap was
alive, I suppose the lawyer chaps would dispute her right to the
money Rodenberg left his wife. Couldn't touch it if she weren't his
wife, could she?"
"I don't think anyone would dispute that," replied Bessington.
"Rodenberg had no relations. And besides, what do you mean exactly
by your suggestion of the doubt as to Arden's death?" Bessington
glanced at him sharply as he put the question.
"Oh well, nothing particular, only one has heard some rum things
about people's husbands turning up again--generally at the most
inconvenient times, by the way--" here he chuckled. "After all, in
that almighty hell over there, it would be some job to get a line on
to every chap who was killed, and mistakes have been made, you know."
"That's true," admitted the other, "mistakes, as you say, have been
made."
No one, as a matter of fact, knew better than he that the evidence of
Dominic Arden's death was very far from conclusive, and the
information the inspector had given him concerning that mysterious
date written on the scrap of paper had reawakened all his former, and
nearly half-dead, suspicions, and had made him determined to
investigate into the mysterious occurrences at the tower.
Not for a moment did he believe that it was from pure sentiment and
devotion to the memory of Dominic Arden that Hermione held out
against his entreaties that she should marry him. He thought that in
time he could break down the absurd barrier between them. But,
seeing that he had always had a suspicion concerning the actual death
of this first husband, he wanted to be quite sure that there would be
no returning Enoch Arden to spoil their lives when the consummation
so devoutly to be wished had come to pass.
This upstart fellow, Crosby, had been right when he said that
husbands had an inconvenient way of turning up. Moreover, there was
the coincidence of the name Arden in connection with these same
resurrecting husbands, and there was a vein of superstition in
Richard Bessington's make-up.
No. If Dominic Arden was alive, then Dominic Arden must be found and
dealt with, and Bessington had no doubts as to his own capabilities
of dealing with him when once found. Nothing and no one should stand
between him and the ultimate goal of his existence--marriage with
Hermione Rodenberg.
He even dared to believe that it would be a relief to Hermione to
know conclusively that her first husband was dead, for he had
wondered many times if her constant refusal of him was based upon
that very fear which he, himself, admitted, and which would prevent
her from again tying herself to a man who might not, in the end,
prove to be her husband at all.
Was it, therefore, possible, that she had bought this place,
believing that, if he was alive, it would be the one place in all the
world to which he would come back? And was it for love of him that
she did this or merely out of a desire to know once and for all? In
fact, to make herself secure?
Though he believed most women to be selfish and self-seekers, he
could not tell, for Hermione never allowed the name of her first
husband to pass her lips, and would remain frostily silent if
he--Bessington--had ever touched upon the subject.
Well, it was on the knees of the gods, and in the meantime he would
cultivate this fellow, Alec Crosby, who, though a fool, might be a
useful fool, and Bessington had made use of fools before, much to his
own advantage.
On the following day he received a message from Inspector Mackay
asking him if, when he was in Locharbie again, he would call at his
office.
Alec Crosby and his own particular car being always at Bessington's
disposal, he was driven in that same day to Locharbie and paid the
desired visit.
"You see, sir, it's like this," said Mackay, after he had greeted his
visitor and thanked him for coming. "Seeing that you are interested
in this affair at the tower, and seeing that I can get no
satisfaction from Headquarters, who think there's naething in it, I
wondered if you would like to do some investigating yoursel'. We
pollis are handicapped, seeing that we are all known by sight, and
that civilian clothes would make no matter--Do you follow me, now?"
"I think so. Headquarters think they've got the gang farther south,
and that you are after a mare's nest, I take it, so they won't send
anyone along to help you. Is that it?"
"You have the case in a nutshell, sir," was the reply. "I asked for
a mon who was not known in the deestrict to make a few inquiries, for
it's no easy matter to make a body speak around these pairts, if that
body thinks it's the pollis who are pumping him. If someone is
giving information to these smugglers, it must be done for money, and
money talks round here, I'm telling you, and what a body would not
tell the pollis he might be willing to tell someone who he knew was
not a policeman in civilian clothes."
"I get you, Inspector. You mean, in plain English, that the person
who has been bribed to help these criminals will help the other side
if offered a heavier bribe to do it, but that if they suspected the
police in the transaction there would be nothing doing?"
"That's something of what I was meaning," replied Mackay. "I can do
naething mysel', for if a watch was kept they'd not return, and the
same thing would happen if my men were seen in the deestrict. But as
you are known to Mistress Rodenberg you could get her to give you
some information concerning the folk there, and you might even be
able to find the indiveedual who is aiding and abetting these
creeminals. You would pass the worrd to me, and mebbe we could set a
trap that would catch them. At present I am handicapped on account
of the fact that some of my superiors are wanting in imagination."
"Quite, and I will gladly undertake to help you, Inspector," replied
Bessington, with a smile. "After all, it is the duty of every loyal
subject of His Majesty to help in the frustration of crime in his
dominions. Therefore I will gladly undertake to find out what I can,
and if I succeed, to let you know. If, on the other hand, nothing
further occurs, then we may take it that your fellows at Headquarters
are right and the gang who have been caught are the same who have
been operating from the tower base."
"That's juist my way of thinking," was the reply. "It's not often
that we pollis ask for outside help, except, maybe, from the Press at
times. But in this instance I have no alternative, for I believe
there is something that wants looking into still."
"I agree. Very well, Inspector, I shall get over there as soon as
possible, and acquaint Mrs. Rodenberg of the reason for my visit. I
am sure she will help in any way she can."
"Weel, pairhaps," was the guarded reply. "But I'm no' sae sure o'
that. Women are queer cattle to deal with, and there's no accounting
for tastes. After all, it was a queer place for a rich body to buy
unless she had a braw reason for the purchase."
"You are surely not suggesting that Mrs. Rodenberg herself is in
league with the smugglers, are you?" asked Bessington, smiling.
"I'd be a clever mon if I could suggest a reason for what any woman
does, Colonel," was the reply.
"Well, at any rate, you can bank on its not being that, Inspector."
"I'm glad to hear it and I wish you the best of luck, sir," was all
he got in answer.
And on the following morning Bessington dispatched his telegram to
Ardenmore.