FOUND AT LAST
On seeing the pseudonymous gardener speeding down the avenue, Gebb
lost no time, but, leaving Mrs. Grix to her rage and lamentation,
vaulted over the terrace in his turn, and raced at top speed after the
fugitive. The detective was lean and young, and an excellent runner,
whereas Dean, _alias_ Martin, was old and scant of breath; so the only
thing which equalized the contest was the despair which winged the
feet of the wretched quarry. If Dean were caught by the bloodhound of
the law, he would be shortly relegated to the prison whence he had
escaped; so he flew wildly over the ground, running he knew not
whither to escape the fate which awaited him. And Gebb, who
personified Nemesis, followed hot-footed in his track.
The road to Norminster ran straight through the fields like a white
ribbon laid upon green velvet, and the town itself was distant a mile
from Kirkstone Hall. Down this, amid a cloud of white dust, Gebb saw
Dean running some way ahead, and setting his elbows to his sides he
followed steadily and surely, reserving his wind for the termination
of the race, the result of which could only be the capture of the
ragged figure now flying for dear life. Carters, and pedestrians, and
labourers in the fields stared in amazement at the chase, and some,
with that love of sport inherent in every breast, joined Gebb in his
man-hunt. After Dean had covered a quarter of a mile he began to fail,
and to zigzag in his course, bounding wildly from one side to the
other, and wasting his strength in useless ways. Gebb with his
shouting train drew steadily nearer, and the miserable, hunted wretch
could hear their cries, and the beating of their feet on the hard
white road. Still he endeavoured to shake off his pursuers and escape,
for by a powerful effort he managed to run another quarter of a mile.
Then age and fear and exhaustion told on his failing limbs, and with a
wild cry Dean flung up his hands despairingly and fell amid puffs of
dust. When Gebb arrived he was lying senseless in the middle of the
highroad.
"So!" said the detective to himself, as he knelt beside the ragged
creature. "I've found you at last, Mr. Dean. You know the truth of all
these matters, at any rate; and in some way or another I'll force you
into confessing it."
But at the present moment it seemed as though Dean would never speak
again in this world, for he lay as still as any corpse, his white head
and whiter face resting on Gebb's knee. The frowning mark between the
eyes, by which the detective had known him, was smoothed away, and
there was no expression on the blank countenance, no movement in the
slack limbs. Gebb, however, knew that this apparent death was only a
temporary faintness, and whipping out his brandy-flask, forced some
drops of the fiery liquid between the white lips of his prisoner.
While engaged in this kindly office, the labourers who had joined in
the pursuit came up with much amazement expressed on their honest,
sunburnt faces.
"What's the matter with Mad Martin, mister?" asked one, looking at the
unconscious Dean.
"He's madder than usual, that's all," said Gebb, "and has nearly
killed Mrs. Grix at the Hall yonder. I must take him to Norminster and
get a doctor to look after him: he'll die here."
The detective made this artful speech with the intention of enlisting
the sympathy of the bystanders, both for himself and Martin, _alias_
Dean, as popular feeling generally inclines towards defiance of law
and order. Moreover, a detective is not an admired character with the
common people, and Gebb had no desire to render his task of capturing
Dean more difficult than was necessary by stating his vocation; so for
diplomatic reasons he spoke as above. The result justified his
precaution, for the labourers were most anxious that the mad
gardener--as they knew him to be--should be taken at once to
Norminster and placed in charge of a medical man. A cart was coming
along the road, and into this Dean was hoisted by friendly hands. Gebb
having taken his seat beside him, the vehicle rolled slowly towards
Norminster, while the labourers returned to their work, quite
vivacious after the exciting episode which had broken the monotony of
the day. Gebb, knowing what was at stake, felt thankful to get rid of
them so easily.
As it was but half a mile to Norminster from the spot where Dean had
fallen, the cart soon arrived there. The man himself had revived,
thanks to Gebb's brandy, and sat staring straight before him in a kind
of sullen stupor. He made one effort to escape when he was set down at
the door of the gaol; but Gebb, with the assistance of a near
policeman, soon overpowered him, and carried him within, while the
carter drove off, wondering, in his slow-thinking mind, that a man
brought to see a doctor should be taken to the county gaol for
care. However, he had received five shillings from Gebb, so did not
trouble his head about the matter, and spent most of it at the next
public-house, where he narrated the episode with such additions as his
drunken humour suggested.
To the governor of the gaol Gebb explained that Dean was an escaped
prisoner, for whom the police had long been looking, and mentioned his
own name and occupation. The result of this was that Dean was confined
in a cell with a warder to watch him lest he should in his despair
attempt suicide. Then Gebb repaired to an hotel and wrote to the
governor of the gaol whence Dean had escaped, asking him to come down
himself or send some responsible person in order to identify the
prisoner. The detective also sent an urgent wire to Ferris, requesting
him to visit Norminster at once on business connected with Martin; for
he shrewdly suspected that the artist knew of the man's identity with
Dean, and that the mention of the name would bring both Arthur and
Edith immediately to Kirkstone Hall. It was shortly after midday when
Gebb sent this telegram, so he quite expected that if matters stood as
he imagined Ferris would come down, and not alone; for if Ferris knew
that Martin was his father, Edith also must be in the secret, and, no
doubt, she would accompany him. Then Gebb, who was really angry with
the young couple for their many concealments, determined to have a
thorough explanation of their strange behaviour. These important
matters having been attended to, Gebb returned to the gaol and saw
Dean; but the interview proved to be anything but a success. Whether
the man was mad or not Gebb could not decide without evidence; but
certainly his present sullen silence formed a strange contrast to his
former excitement. He neither talked recklessly nor sang his wild
songs. His limbs were at rest, and his eyes looked dull, although
formerly they had been bright and glittering. With vacant gaze and a
sullen expression, he sat huddled up in a corner of his cell and
absolutely refused to speak or even notice his questioner. The man was
thoroughly exhausted and worn out; but Gebb left the cell with the
firm conviction that Dean was perfectly sane, and that his madness had
been feigned to more effectually baffle dangerous inquiries. But, like
the fox in the fable, for all his tricks the man had been caught at
last, and Gebb wondered if, after all, he had murdered Miss Gilmar.
"Did that return third-class ticket dropped in the room at Paradise
Row belong to Dean?" the detective asked himself. "I should not be
surprised if it did. As Miss Wedderburn denies that it is hers, Dean,
under the name of Martin, is the only person who could have used it.
In that case he must have remained in London all night; for, as the
crime was committed at ten o'clock, he could not have caught a return
train so late to Norminster. Now, Mrs. Grix lives in the Hall, so she
is the most likely person to let me know if Dean was absent on the
twenty-fourth of July. I'll see her at once and get to know all I can,
pending the arrival of Ferris and Miss Wedderburn. They may deny
Dean's complicity in the crime, so I must be prepared to baffle them."
Having made up his mind to question Mrs. Grix, the detective, making a
hurried meal, walked out to Kirkstone Hall, and arrived to find the
old woman solacing herself with gin-and-water after the fatigues of
the morning. She was excessively nervous when Gebb reappeared, as she
was conscious she had said too much in her rage with Martin, and now
guessed that she was about to be thoroughly examined touching all she
knew concerning him. Mrs. Grix, to save her own skin, was quite
prepared to equivocate, and Gebb guessed as much, for he went to work
with her in a severe official way which frightened her considerably.
"Now, Mrs. Grix," said he, when they were comfortably established in
the kitchen, "I've come to ask you a few questions."
"I don't know nothin', I don't," protested Mrs. Grix, beginning her
tactics.
"You know a great deal," replied Gebb, sharply. "And if you don't
answer me truthfully, I'll arrest you on suspicion and put you in gaol
'longside of Dean; so now you know."
"Lawk-a-mussy!" squealed Mrs. Grix, "have you put him in prison?"
"Yes, I have; so you tell me the truth, or I'll put you in also!"
"I'll speak out, sir," cried the old wretch, much terrified. "I don't
want to go to prison. I've done nothing."
"You have spied and listened and searched," retorted Gebb, "all for
the sake of gaining possession of other people's secrets and
extracting blackmail when possible. Now you answer my questions, or it
will be the worse for you."
"I'm willing, sir," said Mrs. Grix, meekly; "but I don't know as much
as you think. I only suspects like."
"Can you tell me who killed Kirkstone?" asked the detective.
"That's one thing I don't know for certain," replied the dame; "but
if you arsk me, sir, I bel've as Miss Gilmar did."
"On what grounds do you suspect her?"
"Becose she wrote out summat telling the truth and hid it; and she
wouldn't have done that, unless she were guilty. Then she were in love
with Mr. Dean, and Mr. Kirkstone wanted him to marry Miss Laura; so I
thinks as Miss Ellen got 'em both out of the way. She was a clever
one, was Miss Ellen."
"Do you know where the confession is?"
"No, I don't. Martin was always hunting for it to clear himself, but
if he found it he didn't tell me."
"And Martin is Dean?"
"Yes, he is. It ain't no good tellin' lies, lovey! He is Dean!"
"I thought there was a gardener here at the time of the murder called
Martin?"
"There was," replied Mrs. Grix, coolly. "And he was queer, too, I tell
you; but not as queer as this Martin. I knowed he was Dean as soon as
I clapped eyes on him, though he was sorely altered from the 'andsome
man he was."
"Then he impersonated Martin to save himself from the police?"
"He did; he's no more mad than I am; but he thought it was safer to
pretend being crazy. His songs was awful," said Mrs. Grix, shuddering.
"Did Miss Wedderburn know the truth?"
"Of course, sir! And when she knowed as I knowed, she tole me to 'old
my tongue, and paid me for doing it; but she didn't give much, lovey!"
"Did Mr. Ferris know?"
"Seeing as Mr. Dean's his own born father--which I knowed fro'
listening to 'm talking--he did."
"Did Dean kill Miss Gilmar?"
Mrs. Grix did not reply to this question with her former glibness. "I
don't rightly know of that," she said slowly. "If he did, it wasn't
here, for Miss Ellen was in London this long time."
"Was Dean ever in London while he stayed here under the name of
Martin?"
"Yes, he was. And just about the time of the murder. It was in July
Miss Ellen died, wasn't it?"
"It was," replied Gebb, eagerly, "on the twenty-fourth of July."
"Ah, well, I shouldn't be surprised if Dean did kill her. He was
always talking of punishing her," continued Mrs. Grix, with relish;
"but I didn't think he'd go so far as murder."
"What makes you think that he did?" asked Gebb.
"Why," said Mrs. Grix, nodding, "he was up in London in July, and he
stayed there all night."
"On the twenty-fourth?"
"I can't be sure, sir, but it was at the end of the month. And when he
came back he was queerer than ever. Oh, I dessay he went up to kill
Miss Ellen," said Mrs. Grix, with conviction. "I can't swear to it,
but I'm sure he did; and serve her right, too."