A NINE DAYS' WONDER
There was sensation enough and to spare in Heathton next morning.
Jarks lost no time in spreading the news. He spent the greater part of
the day in the taproom of the Good Samaritan, accepting tankards of
beer and relating details of the discovery. Mrs. Timber kept him as
long as she could; for Jarks, possessed of intelligence regarding the
loss of Mr. Marlow's body, attracted customers. These, thirsty for
news or drink, or both, flocked like sheep into the inn.
"To think that a corp of mine should be gone!" creaked he in his aged
voice. "Man and boy, I niver heard tell of such things--niver! Why
Muster Marlow should go beats me--ay, that it does!"
"It doesn't beat me," cried Mrs. Timber in her most acidulated voice.
"I know who took the body."
"That you don't!" contradicted Jarks incoherently; "fur passon, he
don't know, so I don't know as how you'd know, Mrs. Timber."
"It was that fat play-actor out of this very house," snapped the
landlady.
"And how can you prove that, Mrs. Timber?" asked the sexton
contemptuously.
"Why, he had no money for a bed, and he had to sleep in the open. I
dare say he slept in the churchyard, and stole the body to sell it
back again, it being well known as Miss Sophy's a Queen of Sheba for
riches."
"All very well," said Slack the schoolmaster; "but if he took away Mr.
Marlow's body, how did he put Dr. Warrender's in its place? And how
could he without the key of the vault?"
"No," said the stonemason, "he couldn't get into that there vault
without a key. I built him myself, me and my mates. If that fat man
put the doctor there, he must have killed him. There's a hole in his
heart as you could put your fist in. It's murder!" cried the man,
dashing his hand on the table, "sacrilege and murder!"
It took a good many tankards of Mrs. Timber's strong ale to wash down
the sinister word "murder." Every point of the matter was discussed,
but no one could arrive at any decision. Slack voiced the general
sentiment when he rose to go.
"We must wait for the police," said Slack.
But Alan Thorold was of the contrary opinion. He did not wish to wait
for the police, or to have anything to do with the police. The
difficulty was that he could not get the Rector to take this view, and
the next morning Mr. Phelps sent the village constable for the
inspector at Burchester, the big market town twenty miles away across
the heath. Meantime, at an early hour, Alan presented himself at the
Moat House. He broke the news as gently as he could. Both Sophy and
Miss Vicky were horrified.
"To think of such things taking place in a Christian graveyard!" cried
the little woman, wringing her hands. "Sacrilege and murder! It makes
one believe in the existence of atheists and anarchists, and such-like
dreadful people--it does, indeed!"
Contrary to Thorold's expectation, Sophy proved to be the more
composed of the two. She neither wept nor fainted, but, very pale and
very still, listened to all that he had to say. When he had finished,
she had only one question to ask.
"Who did it?" she demanded in the calmest voice.
"I can't say--I don't know," stammered Alan, taken aback by her
attitude generally. "We must find out. If your father had enemies--but
even an enemy would have had no object in doing this."
"What about the man in Bournemouth?"
"Cicero Gramp? I intend to go up to London to-morrow and see him. If
he can tell the truth, it will be well worth the money he demands."
"So I think, Alan. Can't you go to-day?"
He shook his head.
"There is so much to do here, Sophy. The Rector has gone to break the
news of her husband's death to Mrs. Warrender. And he has sent over to
Burchester for the police. The inspector--Blair is his name--will be
here at noon. I did not want the police brought into the matter, but
Mr. Phelps insisted."
"Why did you not want to consult the police?"
"I am afraid if this vagabond gets wind that the law has intervened he
may give us the slip. However, I shall go up to Dixon's Rents first
thing in the morning, before the case gets into the papers."
"Do you think this man Gramp has anything to do with the murder, and
with the removing of poor father's body?"
"No, I don't," replied Alan promptly. "He would not dare to give
evidence if he were. I hear that he was turned out of the Good
Samaritan on the night of the funeral. It is likely enough that he saw
the removal of the body, and possibly the murder. Naturally, such a
creature as that wants to sell his information. He is a blackmailer,
this man, but I don't credit him with murder or bodysnatching."
"Body-snatching!" cried Miss Vicky, who was dabbing her red eyes with
eau-de-Cologne. "Oh, the terrible word!"
"Alan," said Sophy, after a pause, "do you believe the man who took my
father's body killed Dr. Warrender?"
"I do. Warrender was out on that night, and might have come across the
man carrying away the body, and the murder might have arisen out of
that."
"How do you know Dr. Warrender was out?" cross-examined Sophy.
"Mrs. Warrender told the Rector so. Warrender went to see the Quiet
Gentleman, but not finding him in, said that he would return. He never
did, and now we know the reason."
"Why don't you make certain whether he saw the Quiet Gentleman?"
"Brown? That's impossible; he also has disappeared."
"Who was he?"
"I don't know," said Alan gloomily.
"Does any one know?"
"Not to my knowledge. Perhaps the police may find out. Sophy, what is
the matter?"
For the girl was clapping her hands and laughing hysterically.
"It was Brown who took my father's body and killed the doctor!" she
cried. "I am certain of it!"
"Why are you certain?"
"I feel it. I can't say why."
"But your father did not know this man. I never heard him allude to
the Quiet Gentleman."
"I dare say not," returned Sophy doggedly; "but if the man had nothing
to do with it, why should he disappear? And Dr. Warrender went to see
him. Oh! I am sure he is the guilty person. He might be an enemy of
father's."
"Sophia, your father did not know him," put in Miss Vicky, who was
listening open-mouthed to all this.
"Oh, I am not so sure of that!" cried the girl impatiently. "If he
did, Joe will know. Ring the bell for him."
"Did Joe know the Quiet Gentleman?" Alan asked when he had rung.
"I do not think that Joseph did," said Miss Vicky. "He told me that he
tried several times to speak to him, but got no reply."
"I don't wonder at that," replied the young man dryly; "the man was
dumb."
"Dumb!" echoed the ladies.
"Didn't you know? Ah, well, perhaps not. I didn't know myself until
the Rector told me last night. Yes, he was dumb--that was why the
village called him the Quiet Gentleman. Oh, here is Joe!"
"Joe," said Sophy, going directly to the point, "have you heard
about----"
"Yes, miss," said Joe, interrupting to save her mentioning so painful
a subject, "I know, and if I find the swab as did it, I'll kill him."
Joe said this in a quietly savage way, which made Miss Vicky shudder.
"Have you any idea who carried off the body, Joe?"
"No, sir, I have not--but," added the man grimly, "I'm going to look
for him."
The old maid shuddered again at the expression in his bloodshot eyes.
"'Vengeance is mine. I will repay, saith the Lord,'" she put in
severely.
"All werry good," said Mr. Brill, "but I guess the Lord needs an
instrument to carry out that text." He spat on his hands and added
slowly, "I'm that instrument!"
"Had my father any enemies that you know of, Joe?"
"No, miss, not that I knowed of. He had rows, as a man should, had the
Cap'n, but I don't know any swab as 'ud have stolen his corpse."
"And murdered Dr. Warrender," said Alan, who was watching the man.
"As you say, sir," replied the sailor calmly, "and murdered Dr.
Warrender. No, I can't rightly call any one to mind."
"Did you know the Quiet Gentleman, Joe?"
"I did not, miss. Brown he called hisself--leastways, Mrs. Marry told
me so, for Brown had no tongue. I tried to pass the time o' day,
meeting him friendly like on the road, but he only put his hand to his
mouth and shook his white head. I don't know nothing about him."
"Do you know a tramp named Cicero Gramp?" asked Alan, after a pause.
"Well, I did in a way." Joe drew his huge hand across his mouth, and
seemed to be considering his reply. "In this way, sir. He comed here
to the kitchen and put 'em all wrong with his lies. I kicked him
out--leastways, I giv 'im something to take 'imself orf."
"What did he come here for?"
Joe clenched his teeth and frowned dreadfully.
"I wish I knowed, I'd ha' broken his cocoanut!" said he. "He was a
liar, miss, savin' your presence. Said 'e knowed your father, the
Cap'n, which," said Joe slowly, "was a d----d lie--beggin' your
pardon, miss."
"Said he knew my father?" echoed Sophy anxiously. "What did he know
about him?"
"Nothin'," replied Joe firmly. "Make your mind easy, miss--nothin'."
It seemed to Alan as though the old sailor wished to intimate that
there really was something in Marlow's past which might be known, but
that the tramp was ignorant of it. He evidently wanted to reassure the
girl, yet Alan was well aware that Sophy knew practically nothing of
her father's life. He resolved to try the effect of a surprise.
"Joe," said he slowly, "it was this tramp who told me the body had
been stolen."
Joe's hard, shiny hat, which he had been twisting nervously in his
hands, fell to the ground. His face was a dark crimson when he stooped
to pick it up, and he stammered:
"Hi, sir! that--that lubber. How did he know?"
"That I have to find out. He offers to sell the information for a
hundred pounds."
Joe rubbed his hands and looked ferocious.
"What I want to know, sir, is, where is the swab?"
"In London. I'm going up to see him to-morrow."
"This afternoon," put in Sophy sharply. "You are going this afternoon,
Alan."
"Certainly, my dear," Alan said promptly; "I'll go this afternoon--if
the police don't want me."
"The police!" gasped Joe, shifting nervously from one leg to the
other.
"Yes." Alan darted a keen glance at him. "Mr. Phelps has sent for the
police to investigate this murder of Dr. Warrender."
"Well, I hope they'll find him, sir," said Joe, recovering his
stolidity, "for I make no doubt that the swab as killed the doctor
carried off the Cap'n's body."
"So I think, Joe, and I am going to London to find out from Cicero
Gramp."
"You'll find he'll tell you that the Quiet Gentleman killed Dr.
Warrender," put in Sophy.
The old sailor choked, and looked at her with absolute terror.
"How do you know that, miss?" he asked.
"I only think so. The Quiet Gentleman has disappeared. Probably he
killed the doctor, and then took my father's body."
"It might be so, miss. If I find him----"
Joe repeated his former savage declaration, and Miss Vicky duly
shuddered.
"Then you can't help us in any way, Joe?" said Alan, eying him
thoughtfully.
"No, sir, I can't. I don't know who carried off the Cap'n, and I don't
know who stabbed the doctor. If I did, I'd kill him. When you find
him, sir, let me know."
After which speech the old sailor again pulled his forelock, scraped
his foot, and rolled out of the room. He appeared somewhat relieved to
get away.
Alan did not quite know what to make of Joe. The man was so nervous
that it seemed as though he knew something and was afraid of
committing himself. On the other hand, this sailor was devoted to
Sophy, and had been in Marlow's service for thirty years. It was only
reasonable to conclude, therefore, that he would wish her to benefit
by any knowledge he might possess. On the whole, Alan was perplexed,
but he kept it to himself, determining, nevertheless, to keep an eye
on Joe. When the door was closed, Sophy turned to Alan.
"Alan," she said slowly, "I love you dearly, as you know, and I wish
to become your wife. But I swear by the memory of my father that until
you find out who has done this wicked thing and bring the man to
justice, I will not marry you!"
"Sophy!" cried Thorold entreatingly.
"I mean what I say," repeated the girl, in a low, fierce voice. "We
must avenge my father. When the wretch is caught and hanged, then I'll
marry you, Alan."
"Sophia, a marriage under such circumstances----"
"Miss Parsh," cried Sophy, turning on the meek old maid, "do you think
I can sit down tamely under this insult to the dead? My father's body
has been carried off. It must be found again before I marry--before I
can think of marriage, Alan."
"Sophy is right," cried Thorold, drawing the girl to him and kissing
her. "She is right, Miss Parsh. I swear also that I will devote my
life to solving this mystery. Your father's body shall be brought
back, Sophy, and the murderer of Dr. Warrender shall hang. Good-bye,
dear. To-day I go to London. The first step towards the discovery of
this crime will be to see Cicero Gramp. He may supply the clue."
"Yes, yes. Bribe him; pay him anything, so long as you get at the
truth."
Alan kissed the girl again, and then left the room. Before he started,
he intended to see the Rector and the local inspector of police. As he
stepped out on to the road, he noticed Phelps coming along in the hot
sunshine. The little parson was puffing and blowing and wiping his
forehead.
"Alan! Alan!" he called out in short gasps as he came within speaking
distance. "She's gone! She's gone to----"
"She! Gone! Who's gone? Where?"
"Why, Mrs. Warrender! She's disappeared. Oh, dear me; how terrible all
this is! Whew!"