Lady Mary made a faint moaning sound. The major's face was a study.
"I don't know whether you are a wizard or not, Mr. Cleek," he said,
after a moment; "but you have certainly hit upon the facts of the
matter. It is for that very reason that I have refrained from making
the affair public. It is bad enough that Lady Mary and I should have
our suspicions regarding the identity of the--er--person implicated
without letting others share them. There's Dawson-Blake for one. If
he knew, he'd move heaven and earth to ruin him."
"Dawson-Blake?" repeated Cleek. "Pardon, but will that be the
particular Sir Gregory Dawson-Blake the millionaire brewer who
achieved a knighthood in the last 'Honours List' and whose horse,
Tarantula, is second favourite for the coming Derby?"
"Yes, the very man. He is almost what you might call a neighbour
of ours, Mr. Cleek. His place, Castle Claverdale, is just over the
border line of Northumberland and about five miles distant from
Morcan Abbey. His stables are, if anything, superior to my own; and
we both use the intervening moorland as a training ground. Also, it
was Dawson-Blake's daughter that Lieutenant Chadwick played fast and
loose with. Jilted her, you know--threw her over at the eleventh
hour and married a chorus girl who had nothing to bless herself with
but a pretty face and a long line of lodging-house ancestry. Not
that Miss Dawson-Blake lost anything by getting rid of such a man
before she committed the folly of tying herself to him for life,
but her father never forgave Lieutenant Chadwick and would spend
a million for the satisfaction of putting him behind bars."
"I see. And this Lieutenant Chadwick is--whom may I ask?"
"The only son of my elder and only sister, Mr. Cleek," supplied Lady
Mary with a faint blush. "She committed the folly of marrying
her music master when I was but a little girl, and my father died
without ever looking at her again. Subsequently, her husband deserted
her and went--she never learnt where, to the day of her death.
While she lived, however, both my brother, Lord Chevelmere, and
I saw that she never wanted for anything. We also supplied the
means to put her son through Sandhurst after we had put him
through college, and hoped that he would repay us by achieving
honour and distinction. It was a vain hope. He achieved nothing but
disgrace. Shortly after his deplorable marriage with the theatrical
person for whom he threw over Miss Dawson-Blake--and who in turn
threw him over when she discovered what a useless encumbrance he
was--he was cashiered from the army, and has ever since been a
hanger-on at race meetings--the consort of touts, billiard markers,
card sharpers, and people of that sort. I had not seen him for six
years, when he turned up suddenly in this neighbourhood three days
ago and endeavoured to scrape acquaintance with one of the Abbey
grooms."
"And under an assumed name, Mr. Cleek," supplemented the major
somewhat excitedly. "He was calling himself John Clark and was
trying to wheedle information regarding Highland Lassie out of my
stable-boys. Fortunately, Lady Mary caught sight of him without
being seen, and at once gave orders that he was to be turned off
the premises, and never allowed to come near them again. He was
known, however, to be in this neighbourhood up to dusk on the
following evening, but he has never been seen since Highland
Lassie disappeared. You know now, perhaps, why I have elected to
conduct everything connected with this affair with the utmost
secrecy. Little as we desire to be in any way associated with
such a man, we cannot but remember that he is connected with us
by ties of blood, and unless Farrow dies of his injuries--which God
forbid! we will hush the thing up, cost what it may. All that I
want is to get the animal back--not to punish the man: if, indeed,
he be the guilty party; for there is really no actual proof of that.
But if Dawson-Blake knew, it would be different. He would move
heaven and earth to get the convict's 'broad arrow' on him and to
bring disgrace upon everybody connected with the man."
"H'm, I see!" said Cleek, puckering up his brows and thoughtfully
stroking his chin. "So that, naturally, there is--with this added to
the rivalry of the two horses--no very good blood existing between
Sir Gregory Dawson-Blake and yourself?"
"No, there is not. If, apart from these things, Mr. Cleek, you want
my private opinion of the man, it can be summed up in the word
'Bounder.' There is not one instinct of the gentleman about him.
He is simply a vulgar, money-gilded, low-minded cad, and I wouldn't
put it beyond him to be mixed up in this disappearance of the filly
himself but that I know Chadwick was about the place; and for there
to be anything between Chadwick and him is as impossible as it is for
the two poles to come together, or for oil to assimilate with water.
That is the one thing in this world that Dawson-Blake would not
do under any circumstances whatsoever. Beyond that, I put nothing
beneath the man--nothing too despicable for him to attempt in the
effort to gain his own end and aim. He races not for the sport of
the thing, but for the publicity, the glory of getting talked
about, and of making the vulgar stare. He wants the blue ribbon of
the turf for the simple fame of the thing; and he'd _buy_ it if
buying it were possible, and either bribes or trickery could carry
off the race."
"H'm! That's a sweeping assertion, Major."
"But made upon a basis of absolute fact, Mr. Cleek. He has twice
endeavoured to buy Farrow to desert me by an offer of double wages
and a pension; and, failing that, only last week he offered my
jockey L10,000 cash on the nail to slip off over to France on the
night before Derby Day, and promised him a further five thousand
if Tarantula carried off the race."
"Oho!" said Cleek, in two different tones; and with a look of
supremest contempt. "So our Tinplate Knight is that sort of a
sportsman, is he, the cad? And having failed to get hold of the
_rider_----H'm! Yes. It is possible--perhaps. Chadwick's turning up
at such a time might be a mere coincidence--a mere tout's trick to
get inside information beforehand, or----Well, you never can tell.
Suppose, Major, you give me the facts from the beginning. When
was the animal's loss discovered--and how? Let me have the full
particulars, please."
The major sighed and dropped heavily into a chair.
"For an affair of such far-reaching consequences, Mr. Cleek," he said
gloomily, "it is singularly bald of what might be called details, I
am afraid; and beyond what I have already told you there is really
very little more to tell. When or how the deed was committed, it
is impossible to decide beyond the indefinite statement that it
happened the night before last, at some time after half-past nine
in the evening, when the stable-boy, Dewlish, before going home,
carried a pail of water at Farrow's request into the building where
Highland Lassie's stall is located, and five o'clock the next
morning when Captain MacTavish strolled into the stables and found
the mare missing."
"A moment, please. Who is Captain MacTavish? And why should the
gentleman be strolling about the Abbey stable-yard at five o'clock in
the morning?"
"Both questions can be answered in a few words. Captain MacTavish
is a friend who is stopping with us. He is a somewhat famous
naturalist. Writes articles and stories on bird and animal life
for the magazines. It is his habit to be up and out hunting for
'specimens' and things of that sort every morning just about dawn.
At five he always crosses the stable yard on his way to the dairy
where he goes for a glass of fresh milk before breakfast."
"I see. Captain a young man or an old one?"
"Oh, young, of course. About two or three and thirty, I should say.
Brother of a deceased army pal of mine. Been stopping with us for
the past two months. Very brilliant and very handsome chap--universal
favourite wherever he goes."
"Thanks. Now just one more question before you proceed, please:
About the trainer Farrow getting the stable-boy to carry in that
pail of water. Would not that be a trifle unusual at such a time
of the night?"
"I don't know. Yes--perhaps it would. I never looked at it in that
light before."
"Very likely not. Stables would be closed and all the grooms, et
cetera, off duty for the night at that hour, would they not?"
"Yes. That is, unless Farrow had reason for asking one of them to
help him with something. That's what he did, by the way, with the
boy, Dewlish."
"Just so. Any idea what he wanted with that pail of water at that
hour of the night? He couldn't be going to 'water' one of the horses,
of course, and it is hardly likely that he intended to take on a
stableman's duties and wash up the place."
"Oh, gravy--no! He's a trainer, not a slosh-bucket. I pay him
eighteen hundred a year and give him a cottage besides."
"Married man or a single one?"
"Single. A widower. About forty. Lost his wife two years ago. Rather
thought he was going to take another one shortly, from the way things
looked. But of late he and Maggie McFarland don't seem, for some
reason or another, to be hitting it off together so well as they did."
"Who's Maggie McFarland, please?"
"One of the dairymaids. A little Scotch girl from Nairn who came into
service at the Abbey about a twelvemonth ago."
"H'm! I see. Then the filly isn't the only 'Highland Lassie' in the
case, it would seem. Pardon? Oh, nothing. Merely a weak attempt to
say something smart, that's all. Don't suppose that Maggie McFarland
could by any possibility throw light upon the subject of that pail
of water, do you, Major?"
"Good lud, no! Of course she couldn't. What utter rot. But see
here--come to think of it now, perhaps _I_ can. It's as like as
not that he wanted it to wash himself with before he went over to
the shoer's at Shepperton Old Cross with Chocolate Maid. I forgot
to tell you, Mr. Cleek, that ever since Dawson-Blake made that
attempt to buy him off, Farrow became convinced that it wouldn't
be safe to leave Highland Lassie unguarded night or day for fear
of that cad's hirelings getting at her in some way or another, so he
closed up his cottage and came to live in the rooms over the filly's
stable, so as to be on the spot for whatever might or might not
happen at any hour. He also bought a yapping little Scotch terrier
that would bark if a match fell, and kept it chained up in the place
with him. When the discovery of the filly's disappearance was made
that dog was found still attached to its chain, but as dead as
Maria Martin. It had been poisoned. There was a bit of meat lying
beside the body and it was literally smothered in strychnine."
"Quite so. Keep strychnine about the place for killing rats, I
suppose?"
"Yes, of course. They are a perfect pest about the granary and the
fodder bins. But of course it wouldn't be lying round loose--a
deadly thing like that. Besides, there never was any kept in that
particular section of the stables, so the dog couldn't have got
hold of it by accident. Then there's another thing I ought to tell
you, Mr. Cleek: Highland Lassie never was stabled with the rest of
the stud. We have always kept her in one especial stable. There
are just two whacking big box stalls in the place. She occupies
one and Chocolate Maid the other. Chocolate Maid is Lady Mary's
personal property--a fine, blooded filly that will make a name
for herself one of these days, I fancy. Dark-coated and smooth as a
piece of sealskin, the beauty. To-day she is the only animal in
that unlucky place. Yes, come to think of it, Mr. Cleek," he added
with a sort of sigh, "that is probably what the poor fellow wanted
the pail of water for: to wash up and ride her over to the forge
at Shepperton Old Cross."
"Singular time to choose for such a proceeding, wasn't it, Major?
After half-past nine o'clock at night."
"It would be if it were any other man and under any other
circumstances. But remember! It is but three weeks to Derby Day and
every hour of daylight is worth so much gold to us. Farrow knew
that he could not spare a moment of it for any purpose; and he is
most particular over the shoeing. Will see it done himself and
direct the operation personally. Sort of mania with him. Wouldn't
let the best man that ever lived take one of the horses over for
him. Go himself, no matter what inconvenience it put him to. Farrier
at Shepperton Old Cross knows his little 'fads and fancies' and
humours them at all times. Would open the forge and fire up for him
if it were two o'clock in the morning."
"I see. And did he take Chocolate Maid over there on that night,
after all?"
"Yes. Lady Mary and I attended a whist drive at Farmingdale Priory
that evening; but her ladyship was taken with a violent headache
and we had to excuse ourselves and leave early. It would be about
a quarter to eleven o'clock when we returned to the Abbey and met
Farrow riding out through the gates on Chocolate Maid. We stopped and
spoke to him. He was then going over to the shoer's with the mare."
"How long would it take him to make the journey?"
"Oh, about five-and-twenty minutes--maybe half an hour: certainly
not more."
"So then it would be about quarter-past eleven when he arrived at
the farrier's? I see. Any idea at what time he got back?"
"Not the ghost of one. In fact, we should never have known that he
ever did get back--for nobody heard a sound of his return the whole
night long--were it not that when Captain MacTavish crossed the
stable-yard at five o'clock in the morning and, seeing the door ajar,
looked in, he found Chocolate Maid standing in her stall, the dog
dead, and Highland Lassie gone. Of course, Chocolate Maid being
there after we had passed Farrow on the road with her was proof
that he did return at some hour of the night, you know: though when
it was, or why he should have gone out again, heaven alone knows.
Personally, you know, I am of the opinion that Highland Lassie
was stolen while he was absent; that, on returning he discovered the
robbery and, following the trail, went out after the robbers, and,
coming up with them, got his terrible injuries that way."
"H'm! Yes! I don't think! What 'trail' was he to find, please, when
you just now told me that there wasn't so much as a hoofprint to
tell the tale? Or was that an error?"
"No, it wasn't. The entire stable-yard is paved with red tiles, and
we've had such an uncommon spell of dry weather lately that the
earth of the surrounding country is baked as hard as a brickbat.
An elephant couldn't make a footmark upon it, much less a horse.
But, gravy, man! instead of making the thing clearer, I'm blest if
you're not adding gloom to darkness, and rendering it more mysterious
than ever. What under the four corners of heaven could Farrow have
followed, then, if the 'trail' is to be eliminated entirely?"
"Maybe his own inclination, Major--maybe nothing at all," said Cleek,
enigmatically. "If your little theory of his returning and finding
Highland Lassie stolen were a thing that would hold water I am
inclined to think that Mr. Tom Farrow would have raised an alarm
that you could hear for half a mile, and that if he had started out
after the robbers he would have done so with a goodly force of
followers at his heels and with all the lanterns and torches that
could be raked and scraped together."
"Good lud, yes! of course he would. I never thought of that. Did
you, Mary? His whole heart and soul were bound up in the animal. If
he had thought that anything had happened to her, if he had known
that she was gone, a pitful of raging devils would have been spirits
of meekness beside him. Man alive, you make my head whiz. For him
to go off over the moor without word or cry at such a time----I say,
Mr. Cleek! For God's sake, what do you make of such a thing as that
at such a time, eh?"
"Well, Major," replied Cleek, "I hate to destroy any man's illusions
and to besmirch any man's reputation, but--_que voulez vous_? If Mr.
Tom Farrow went out upon that moor after the mare was stolen, and
went without giving an alarm or saying a word to anybody, then in my
private opinion your precious trainer is nothing in the world but a
precious double-faced, double-dealing, dishonourable blackguard, who
treacherously sold you to the enemy and got just what he deserved
by way of payment."
Major Norcross made no reply. He simply screwed up his lips until
they were a mere pucker of little creases, and looked round at his
wife with something of the pain and hopeless bewilderment of an
unjustly scolded child.
"You know, Seton, it was what Captain MacTavish suggested," ventured
she, gently and regretfully. "And when two men of intellect----" Then
she sighed and let the rest go by default.
"Demmit, Mary, you don't mean to suggest that I haven't any, do you?"
"No, dear; but----"
"Buts be blowed! Don't you think I know a man when I run foul of
him? And if ever there was a square-dealing, honest chap on this
earth----Look here, Mr. Cleek. Gad! you may be a bright chap and all
that, but you'll have to give me something a blessed sight stronger
than mere suspicion before you can make me believe a thing like that
about Tom Farrow."
"I am not endeavouring to make you believe it, Major. I am merely
showing you what would certainly be the absolute truth of the matter
_if_ Tom Farrow had done what you suggested, and gone out on that
moor alone and without a word or a cry when he discovered that
the animal was stolen. But, my dear sir, I incline to the belief that
he never did go out there after any person or any living thing
whatsoever."
"Then, dash it, sir, how in thunder are you going to explain his
being there at all?"
"By the simple process, Major, of suggesting that he was on his way
back to the Abbey at the time he encountered his unknown assailant.
In other words, that he had not only never returned to the place
after you and her ladyship saw him leaving it at a quarter to eleven,
but was never permitted to do so."
"Oh, come, I say! That's laying it on too thick. How the dickens can
you be sure of such a thing as that?"
"I'm not. I am merely laying before you the only two things possible
to explain his presence there. One or the other of them is the plain
and absolute truth. If the man went out there _after_ the filly was
stolen he is a scoundrel and a liar. If he is innocent, he met with
his injuries on the way back to his quarters above Highland Lassie's
stall."
"But the other animal? But Chocolate Maid? How could she have got
back to the stable, then? She couldn't have found her way back alone
after Farrow was assaulted--at least, she could, of course, but
not in the condition she was in when found next morning. She had no
harness of any sort upon her. Her saddle was on its peg. She was in
her box--tied up, b'gad! and the door of the box was closed and
bolted; so that if by any chance----Hullo! I say! What on earth are
you smiling in that queer way for? Hang it, man! do you believe
that I don't know what I'm talking about?"
"Oh, yes, Major. It isn't that kind of a smile. I have just
discovered that four and four make eight when you add them up
properly; and the smile is one of consequent satisfaction. A last
question, please. At what time in the morning was Farrow found
lying unconscious upon the moor?"
"Somewhere between six and seven o'clock. Why?"----
"Oh, nothing in particular. Who found him? Captain MacTavish?"
"No. Maggie McFarland. She was just coming back from milking
when----Hang it, man! I wish you wouldn't smile all up one side of
your face in that confounded manner. It makes me think that you
must have something up your sleeve."
"Well, if I have, Major, suppose you drive me over to the stables
and give me a chance to take it out?" suggested Cleek, serenely. "A
little 'poking about' sometimes does wonders, and a half hour in
Highland Lassie's quarters may pick the puzzle to pieces a great deal
sooner than you'd believe. Or, stop! Perhaps, on second thought, it
will be better for you and her ladyship to go on ahead, as I shall
want to have a look at Tom Farrow's injuries as well, so it will be
best to have everything prepared in advance, in order to save time.
No doubt Mr. Narkom and I can get a conveyance of some sort here.
At any rate--h'm! it is now a quarter to three, I see--at any
rate, you may certainly expect us at quarter-past five. You and
her ladyship may go back quite openly, Major. There will be no
need to attempt to throw dust in Sir Gregory Dawson-Blake's eyes
any longer by keeping the disappearance of the animal a secret.
If he's had a hand in her spiriting away, he knows, of course, that
she's gone; but if he hasn't--oh, well, I fancy I know who did, and
that she will be in the running on Derby Day after all. A few
minutes in Highland Lassie's stable will settle that, I feel sure.
Your ladyship, my compliments. Major, good afternoon. I hope if
night overtakes us before we get at the bottom of the thing you can
manage to put us up at the Abbey until to-morrow that we may be
on the spot to the last?"
"With pleasure, Mr. Cleek," said Lady Mary; and bowed him out of the
room.