ANOTHER SURPRISE
Heathton was only an hour's run by rail from Bournemouth, so that it
was easy enough to get back on the same evening. On his return from
his futile search for Cicero, Alan determined to go at once to the
Moat House. He found Sophy recovered from her faint, and on hearing of
his decision, she insisted upon accompanying him. She had told Miss
Vicky the contents of the mysterious letter, and that lady agreed that
they should leave as soon as their boxes could be packed.
"Don't talk to me, Alan!" cried Sophy, when her lover objected to this
sudden move. "It would drive me mad to stay here doing nothing, with
that on my mind."
"But, my dear girl, it may not be true."
"If it is not, why should that man have written? Did you see him?"
"No. He has left the parade, and no one seems to know anything about
him. It is quite likely that when he saw us returning to the hotel he
cleared out. By this time I dare say he is on his way to London."
"Did you see the police?" she asked anxiously.
"No," said Alan, taking out the letter which had caused all this
trouble; "it would not be wise. Remember what he says here: If the
police are called in he will vanish, and we shall lose the information
he seems willing to supply."
"I don't think that, Mr. Thorold," said Miss Vicky. "This man
evidently wants money, and is willing to tell the truth for the matter
of a hundred pounds."
"On account," remarked Thorold grimly; "as plain a case of blackmail
as I ever heard of. Well, I suppose it is best to wait until we can
communicate with this--what does he call himself?--Cicero Gramp, at
Dixon's Rents, Lambeth. He can be arrested there, if necessary. What I
want to do now is to find out if his story is true. To do this I must
go at once to Heathton, see the Rector, and get the coffin opened."
"I will come," insisted Sophy. "Oh, it is terrible to think that poor
father was not allowed to rest quietly even in his grave."
"Of course, it may not be true," urged Alan again. "I don't see how
this tramp could have got to know of it."
"Perhaps he helped to violate the secrets of the tomb?" suggested Miss
Vicky.
"In that case he would hardly put himself within reach of the law,"
Alan said, after a pause. "Besides, if the vault had been broken into
we should have heard of it from Joe."
"Why should it be broken into, Alan? The key----"
"I have one key, and the Rector has the other. My key is in my desk at
the Abbey Farm, and no doubt Phelps has his safe enough."
"Your key may have been stolen."
"It might have been," admitted Alan. "That is one reason why I am so
anxious to get back to-night. We must find out also if the coffin is
empty."
"Yes, yes; let us go at once!" Sophy cried feverishly. "I shall never
rest until I learn the truth. Come, Vicky, let us pack. When can we
leave, Alan?"
Thorold glanced at his watch.
"In half an hour," he said. "We can catch the half-past six train. Can
you be ready?"
"Yes, yes!" cried she, and rushed out of the room.
Miss Vicky was about to follow, but Alan detained her.
"Give her a sedative or something," he said, "or she will be ill."
"I will at once. Have a carriage at the door in a quarter of an hour,
Mr. Thorold. We can be ready by then. I suppose it is best she should
go?"
"Much better than to leave her here. We must set her mind at rest. At
this rate she will work herself into a fever."
"But if this story should really be true?"
"I don't believe it for a moment," replied Alan. But he was evidently
uneasy, and could not disguise the feeling. "Wait till we get to
Heathton--wait," and he hastily left the room.
Miss Vicky was surprised at his agitation, for hitherto she had
credited Alan with a will strong enough to conceal his emotions. The
old lady hurried away to the packing, and shook her head as she went.
Shortly they were settled in a first-class carriage on the way to
Heathton. Sophy was suffering acutely, but did all in her power to
hide her feelings, and, contrary to Alan's expectations, hardly a word
was spoken about the strange letter, and the greater part of the
journey was passed in silence. At Heathton he put Sophy and Miss Vicky
into a fly.
"Drive at once to the Moat House," he said. "To-morrow we shall
consider what is to be done."
"And you, Alan?"
"I am going to see Mr. Phelps. He, if any one, will know what value to
put upon that letter. Try and sleep, Sophy. I shall see you in the
morning."
"Sleep?" echoed the poor girl, in a tone of anguish. "I feel as though
I should never sleep again!"
When they had driven away, Alan took the nearest way to the
Rectory. It was some way from the station, but Alan was a vigorous
walker, and soon covered the distance. He arrived at the door with a
beating heart and dry lips, feeling, he knew not why, that he was
about to hear bad news. The gray-haired butler ushered him into his
master's presence, and immediately the young man felt that his fears
were confirmed. Phelps looked worried.
He was a plump little man, neat in his dress and cheerful in manner.
He was a bachelor, and somewhat of a cynic. Alan had known him all his
life, and could have found no better adviser in the dilemma in which
he now found himself. Phelps came forward with outstretched hands.
"My dear boy, I am indeed glad! What good fairy sent you here? A glass
of port? You look pale. I am delighted to see you. If you had not come
I should have had to send for you."
"What do you wish to see me about, sir? asked Alan.
"About the disappearance of these two people."
"What two people?" asked the young man, suddenly alert. "You forget
that I have been away from Heathton for the last three days."
"Of course, of course. Well, one is Brown, the stranger who stayed
with Mrs. Marry."
"The Quiet Gentleman?"
"Yes. I heard them call him so in the village. A very doubtful
character. He never came to church," said the Rector sadly. "However,
it seems he has disappeared. Two nights ago--in fact, upon the evening
of the day upon which poor Marlow's funeral took place, he left his
lodgings for a walk. Since then," added the Rector impressively, "he
has not returned."
"In plain words, he has taken French leave," said Thorold, filling his
glass.
"Oh, I should not say that, Alan. He paid his weekly account the day
before he vanished. He left his baggage behind him. No, I don't think
he intended to run away. Mrs. Marry says he was a good lodger,
although she knew very little about him. However, he has gone, and his
box remains. No one saw him after he left the village about eight
o'clock. He was last seen by Giles Hale passing the church in the
direction of the moor. To-day we searched the moor, but could find no
trace of him. Most mysterious," finished the Rector, and took some
port.
"Who is the other man?" asked Alan abruptly.
"Ah! Now you must be prepared for a shock, Alan. Dr. Warrender!"
Thorold bounded out of his seat.
"Is he lost too?"
"Strangely enough, he is," answered Phelps gravely. "On the night of
the funeral he went out at nine o'clock in the evening to see a
patient. He never came back."
"Who was the patient?"
"That is the strangest part of it. Brown, the Quiet Gentleman, was the
patient. Mrs. Warrender, who, as you may guess, is quite distracted,
says that her husband told her so. Mrs. Marry declares that the doctor
called after nine, and found Brown was absent."
"What happened then?" demanded Alan, who had been listening eagerly to
this tale.
"Dr. Warrender, according to Mrs. Marry, asked in what direction her
lodger had gone. She could not tell him, so, saying he would call
again in an hour or so, he went. And, of course, he never returned."
"Did Brown send for him?"
"Mrs. Marry could not say. Certainly no message was sent through her."
"Was Brown ill?"
"Not at all, according to his landlady. We have been searching for
both Brown and Warrender, but have found no traces of either."
"Humph!" said Thorold, after a pause. "I wonder if they met and went
away together?"
"My dear lad, where would they go to?" objected the Rector.
"I don't know; I can't say. The whole business is most mysterious."
Alan stopped, and looked sharply at Mr. Phelps. "Have you the key of
the Marlow vault in your possession?"
"Yes, of course, locked in my safe. Your question is most
extraordinary."
The other smiled grimly.
"My explanation is more extraordinary still." He took out Mr. Gramp's
letter and handed it to the Rector. "What do you think of that, sir?"
"Most elegant caligraphy," said the good man. "Why, bless me!" He read
on hurriedly, and finally dropped the letter with a bewildered air.
"Bless me, Alan!" he stammered. "What--what--what----"
Thorold picked it up and smoothed it out on the table.
"You see, this man says the body has been stolen. Do you know if the
door of the vault has been broken open?"
"No, no, certainly not!" cried the Rector, rising fussily. "Come to my
study, Alan; we must see if it is all right. It must be," he added
emphatically. "The key of the safe is on my watch-chain. No one can
open it. Oh dear! Bless me!"
He bustled out of the room, followed by Alan.
A search into the interior of the safe resulted in the production of
the key.
"You see," cried Phelps, waving it triumphantly, "it is safe. The door
could not have been opened with this. Now your key."
"My key is in my desk at the Abbey Farm--locked up also," said the
young man hastily. "I'll see about it to-night. In the meantime, sir,
bring that key with you, and we will go into the vault."
"What for?" demanded the Rector sharply. "Why should we go there?"
"Can't you understand?" said Alan impatiently. "I want to find out if
this letter is true or false--if the body of Mr. Marlow has been
removed."
"But I--I--can't!" gasped the Rector. "I must apply to the bishop
for----"
"Nonsense, sir! We are not going to exhume the body. It's not like
digging up a grave. All that is necessary is to look at the coffin
resting in its niche. We can tell from the screws and general
appearance if it has been tampered with."
The clergyman sat down and wiped his bald head.
"I don't like it," he said. "I don't like it at all. Still, I don't
suppose a look at the coffin can harm any one. We'll go, Alan, we'll
go; but I must take Jarks."
"The sexton?"
"Yes. I want a witness--two witnesses; you are one, Jarks the other.
It is a gruesome task that we have before us." He shuddered again. "I
don't like it. Profanation!"
"If this letter is to be believed, the profanation has already been
committed."
"Cicero Gramp," repeated Mr. Phelps as they went out. "Who is he?"
"A fat man--a tramp--a reciter. I saw him at Bournemouth. He delivered
that letter at the hotel himself; the waiter described him, and as the
creature is a perfect Falstaff, I recalled his face--I had seen him on
the parade. I went at once to see if I could find him, but he was
gone."
"A fat man," said the Rector. "Humph! He was at the Good Samaritan the
other night. I'll tell you about him later."
The two trudged along in silence and knocked up Jarks, the sexton, on
the way. They had no difficulty in rousing him. He came down at once
with a lantern, and was much surprised to learn the errand of Rector
and squire.
"Want to have a look at Muster Marlow's vault," said he in creaking
tones. "Well, it ain't a bad night for a visit, I do say. But quiet
comp'ny, Muster Phelps and Muster Thorold, very quiet. What do ye want
to see Muster Marlow for?"
"We want to see if his body is in the vault," said Alan.
"Why, for sure it's there, sir. Muster Marlow don't go visiting."
"I had a letter at Bournemouth, Jarks, to say the body had been
stolen."
Jarks stared.
"It ain't true!" he cried in a voice cracked with passion. "It's
casting mud on my 'arning my bread. I've bin sexton here fifty year,
man and boy--I never had no corp as was stolen. They all lies
comfortable arter my tucking them in. Only Gabriel's trump will wake
'em."
By this time they were round the Lady Chapel, and within sight of the
tomb. Phelps, too much agitated to speak, beckoned to Jarks to hold up
the lantern, which he did, gram bling and muttering the while.
"I've buried hundreds of corps," he growled, "and not one of 'em's
goed away. What 'ud they go for? I make 'em comfortable, I do."
"Hold the light steady, Jarks," said the Rector, whose own hand was
just as unsteady. He could hardly get the key into the lock.
At last the door was open, and headed by Jarks with the lantern, they
entered. The cold, earthy smell, the charnel-house feeling shook the
nerves of both men. Jarks, accustomed as he was to the presence of the
dead, hobbled along without showing any emotion other than wrath, and
triumphantly swung the lantern towards a niche wherein reposed a
coffin.
"Ain't he there quite comfortable?" wheezed he. "Don't I tell you they
never goes from here! It's a lovely vault; no corp 'ud need a finer."
"Wait a bit!" said Alan, stepping forward. "Turn the light along the
top of the coffin, Jarks. Hullo! the lid's loose!"
"An' unscrewed!" gasped the sexton. "He's bin getting out."
"Unscrewed--loose!" gasped the Rector in his turn. The poor man felt
deadly sick. "There must be some mistake."
"No mistake," said Alan, slipping back the lid. "The body has been
stolen."
"No 't'ain't!" cried Jarks, showering the light on the interior of the
coffin. "There he is, quiet an'--why," the old man broke off with a
cry, "the corp ain't in his winding-sheet!"
Phelps looked, Alan looked. The light shone on the face of the dead.
Phelps groaned.
"Merciful God!" he groaned, "it is Dr. Warrender's body!"