THE UNEXPECTED OCCURS
Gebb found it impossible to discover the owner of that third-class
railway ticket. He went himself to Norminster to find out, if
possible, to whom it had been issued, but all in vain. The
station-master had taken another situation in Scotland, the ticket
clerk was absent on his annual holidays, and none of the porters could
remember any particular person who had gone up to London on that
particular day. On the whole, circumstances seemed to be against Gebb
in following this clue, and after several vain attempts he gave it up,
at all events for the present This he confessed to Parge, who at once
reproved him for faint-heartedness, and preached a lengthy sermon on
the folly of being discouraged.
"You don't expect roast ducks to fly into your mouth, do you?" said
Parge, indignantly. "Of course, it is no easy task to hunt down a
criminal. We'd have all the bad 'uns in gaol if such was the case.
You've only been a week looking after this ticket business, yet you
shy off just because you can't find out about it straight away. You
never were a detective, Absalom, and you never will be!"
"But just look here," cried the badgered Absalom. "What can I do? I've
been----"
"I know where you've been--to Norminster," growled Parge, "and I know
what you've done--nothing. You think I'm past work. I saw that the
other day. Well, from nat'ral infirmity, or too much fat, so I am; but
in nowise else, Absalom, so don't you believe it. If I was in your
shoes, which I ain't, I'd write up to that station-master in Scotland,
and ask him if he knows of any partic'ler person as left Norminster on
that day. It ain't a big place, and if he's a sharp one he might
remember."
"I've written to the station-master," cried Gebb, crossly.
"Oh, have you?" returned Parge, rather disappointed. "Then I'll be
bound you don't know what you're going to do about that ticket clerk."
"Yes, I do. I'm going to wait till he comes back, and then question
him at once. In about a week I'll know all those two know, though I
dare say it won't be much. And look you here, Simon," cried Gebb,
warming up, "it's all very well your pitching into me over this case;
but is it an easy one? 'Cause if you say it is, it ain't. I never in
my born days came across such a corker of a case as this one. Who
would have thought that Ferris and the girl would be mixed up in
it?--yet they were. And who would have thought them guilty? Everybody!
And were they guilty? You know they weren't. Can you find Dean? No,
you can't, though you tried yourself when his trail was still fresh.
Then how the devil do you expect me to find him after all these years?
It's very easy to sit in your chair and pick holes, Simon, but when
you come to work the case for yourself, you'll be as up a tree as I am
at this blessed moment."
"I don't deny that the case is hard, Absalom."
"Hard!" echoed Gebb, with scorn; "it's the most unnat'ral case as ever
was. I've only got one blessed clue after all my hard work, and that's
the railway ticket; which, so far as I can see, is about as much good
as a clock would be to a baby."
"Why don't you question Mrs. Presk?"
"I have questioned her, and the servant too; and beyond the ticket,
she don't know a blessed thing."
"Can't Basson help you, or Mr. Alder, or Mr. Ferris?"
"No, none of the three; they don't know who killed Miss Gilmar, and if
it comes to a point, Simon, I don't see why they should know."
"It is queer that the lot of them, including the girl, should have
been in Grangebury on the very night of the murder," said Parge, with
a musing air.
"It's a coincidence, that's all," retorted Gebb, "and you know very
well in our profession there's no end of coincidences, though if you
write them in a book people tell you they're impossible. You can't
accuse any one of the three of killing the old woman, as they were all
in the lecture hall the whole evening. You know all about Ferris, and
Miss Wedderburn; well, it couldn't have been them. Mr. Basson was
lecturing; it couldn't have been him. Mr. Alder was looking after the
money and the house, so as to get plenty of cash in for his friend; so
it couldn't have been him. If not them, who is guilty?"
"Well, Dean must be the criminal."
"I don't believe it," replied Gebb, obstinately. "And if he is, he'll
not be hanged; for old Nick himself couldn't hunt him out. By the way,
Simon, what kind of a man was he to look at--to the naked eye, so to
speak?"
"I don't know what he'll be like now," replied Parge, briskly; "but he
was uncommonly good-looking in the dock, I can tell you. Just the man
to take a woman's fancy: tall, and dark and smiling."
"Any particular mark?" asked Gebb, professionally.
"Well, he wasn't scarred or scratched in any way that I know of,"
replied Parge, reflectively, "but he had a frown."
"Get along! Every one's got a frown," said Gebb, in a disgusted tone.
"Not of his sort," was Parge's answer. "Since sitting here, Absalom,
I've been reading a heap of books I never read before. Amongst others
one called 'Redgauntlet,' by a baronet, Sir Walter Scott. Know it?"
"No, I don't. What has it got to do with Dean?"
"There was a fellow in it," said Parge, following his own reflections,
"as had a horseshoe mark over his nose when he frowned. Quite queer it
was."
"Must have been," said Gebb, derisively. "And has Dean a horseshoe?"
"No. But when he scowls, or frowns, like this"--here Parge made a
hideous face--"he's got a queer mark, deep as a well and quite
straight, between his eyebrows. I'd know him from among a thousand by
it. Seems to cut his forehead in two like. If you see a man with a
mark like that when he's in a rage, Absalom, just you nab him, for
that's Dean."
"Stuff!" said Gebb, impatiently. "Lots of men wrinkle up into lines
when they get out of temper. I've seen foreheads like Clapham Junction
for lines."
"Not so deep," answered Parge, shaking his head, "and not straight
down between the eyes. Most men frown in lines which run across the
forehead when they raise their eyebrows like; but Dean draws
everything up to a deep mark as dips just between the eyebrows and on
to the nose. It's the queerest mark I ever saw; and whatever disguise
he puts on he can't smooth that furrow out. A baby could tell him by
it."
"Hum!" said Gebb, who had been thinking. "Now you come to talk of it,
Simon, that young Ferris has a mark like that, but not very deep."
"He's young yet, Absalom; but I dare say he takes after his father.
Well, all I say is that there's no other way in which you'll spot
Dean. He may grow old, and white, and shaky, or he may disguise
himself in all kinds of ways, but he can't rub out that brand of Cain
as Nature has set on him. I said it before, and I say it again."
"I'll look round for a man of that sort," said Gebb, rising to take
his leave, "but I can't say I've much hope of finding him. Dean's been
lost for so long that I dare say he's lost for ever. Well, good-bye,
Simon. I won't see you for a day or two. There's heaps for me to do."
"Where are you going?" grunted the fat man.
"I'm off to ask Mr. Alder to let me search in Kirkstone Hall for that
confession of Miss Gilmar's. Then I'm going down there to look it up."
"That won't do any good towards finding out who killed her," said
Parge, shaking his head.
"I don't know so much about that, Simon," replied Gebb, coolly. "I
wouldn't be a bit surprised to find as the person who killed Kirkstone
was some one quite different from those we suspect."
"It must be either Miss G. or Miss K.," said Parge, "and knowing the
truth about them won't help you to spot the assassin. You look for
Dean first, Absalom, and leave the confession alone for a while."
"No!" replied Gebb, obstinately. "I'll look for the confession, and
fly round afterwards for Dean. You let me negotiate the job in my own
way, Simon."
With this determination, of which Parge by no means approved, but was
unable to hinder, Gebb went off to make his last venture in solving
the mystery. By this time he was in a furious rage at his many
failures, and swore under his breath that come what might he would
hunt down and punish the unknown assassin of the wretched old woman
who had been strangled in Paradise Row. He had three designs in his
head, one of which he hoped might serve to attain the much-desired
end. Firstly, he intended to search for the confession of Miss Gilmar,
in the belief that it might throw some light on the later case.
Secondly, he resolved to follow the clue of the railway ticket, and
learn who had come up from Norminster on that fatal night to visit
Miss Gilmar, since such person--on the evidence of the ticket found in
the Yellow Boudoir--was undoubtedly her murderer. Thirdly, he was bent
upon making another search round the pawnshops to see if any of the
other jewels taken from the body had been turned into money. The
appearance of the necklace was accounted for by Edith, as she had
received it from the old woman before the assassin had arrived; but
the rings, bracelets, and hair ornaments were still missing. Sooner or
later, in order to benefit by his crime, the murderer would seek to
turn them into cash when he thought the storm had blown over. Then was
the time to trace and capture him.
The French have a proverb which runs in English, "that nothing is
certain but the unforeseen," and certainly Gebb proved the truth of
this when he arrived at Alder's lodgings. As yet the barrister,
pending the administration of the estate, had not moved from his rooms
in the Temple; but he intended to do so shortly, and already had
engaged handsome chambers in Half-moon Street. These, however, he was
never destined to occupy, for on the very day Gebb called to see him
he met with an accident which seemed likely to result in his death. As
one pleasure to be gained from his riches, Alder had purchased a
horse, shortly after coming into his fortune, and every morning went
riding in the Row. He was a good rider, but not having indulged in the
exercise for some years, by reason of his impecuniosity, he had lost a
portion of his skill, with the result that the horse, a fiery animal
with tricks of which Alder was ignorant, bolted unexpectedly, and
threw his rider against the rails. Alder fell across them with such
force that he had injured his spine, and now was lying in his rooms in
a crippled condition.
"Do you think he'll get over it?" asked Gebb, when Alder's servant was
relating the occurrence.
"No, sir," answered the man, shaking his head. "The doctor says he's
bound to die sooner or later. The spine is injured, and my poor master
can't feel anything below his waist. It's death in life already, and
the end is sure to come."
"Can I see him?" asked the detective, after some thought.
"No, sir; the doctor left word that he was to see no one."
With this Gebb was forced to be content; and as already he had
obtained Alder's permission to search the Hall, he went away rather
low-spirited. It seemed hard that the man should come to an untimely
end, just when he inherited his kingdom. Moreover, he had behaved very
well in defending Ferris in the face of all evidence, and releasing
him from prison; therefore Gebb thought it just as well to send a line
to the artist and Edith, so that they might come forward in their turn
to do what they could for the man who had acted so generously towards
them both.
"It's hard lines," said Gebb to himself, when he had posted his
letter. "I do call it hard. Alder gained a fortune, it is true; but he
lost the woman he wished to marry, and now he loses his life. It's a
queer world, that gives a man a pleasure only to take it away from him
again. I don't understand the workings of Providence nohow."
With this philosophical reflection, Gebb went home to make his plans
before going down to Norminster the next day. He had little hope of
success, however, and now that Alder was dying, he wondered, if he did
capture the murderer, if the reward would be paid to him.
"Of course it will," he said to himself on reflection, "for if Alder
dies. Miss Wedderburn becomes mistress of the Hall."