THE MISSING KEY.
So excited was the little parson that Alan feared lest he should take
a fit. The Good Samaritan was no great distance away, so thither he
led him, into Mrs. Timber's private parlor.
"Now, sir," said Alan, when his old tutor seemed somewhat more
composed, "tell me all about Mrs. Warrender."
But before Mr. Phelps could reply, the vixenish landlady made her
appearance. She was highly honored at seeing the Rector within her
doors, and curtsied a hint for orders. And, in truth, the little
clergyman, undone with excitement, was quite ready to stimulate his
jaded nerves.
"Eh, Mrs. Timber?" he said. "Yes; you might get us a little Cognac, I
think. Old; the best you have, Mrs. Timber, and a jug of fresh-drawn
water from the well, please. Alan?"
"I'll join you," said young Thorold promptly.
He, too, felt that he was in nowise beyond reach of a little
stimulant.
Silent for once in her life, Mrs. Timber brought of her best, which,
be it said, was passing good. Mr. Phelps lost no time in brewing his
measure and drank it down with gusto.
"That's good, Alan, my boy; very good," said he, setting down the
tumbler with a sigh of relief. "God forgive me, I fear to think
what my good brethren would say did they see their Rector in a
public-house! though to be sure the Good Samaritan is a most
respectable hostelry. But, Alan, why did you bring me here?"
"Indeed, sir, I feared you would be ill out there in the blazing sun.
I did only what I thought wise. But about Mrs. Warrender--you say she
has disappeared?"
"Eh, yes." Mr. Phelps wiped his bald head vigorously. "I went to break
the news to her after you had gone to see Sophy, and I found she had
left for London."
"London? Why London?"
"That is just what I wanted to know, my dear Alan. It seems she
received last night a letter which threw her into a state of great
excitement. She was bad enough that way, as it was, the servant said;
but this letter, it appears, drove her into a perfect frenzy."
"Do you know what was in the letter?"
"I asked that--oh, trust me, Alan, to be precise about details--but
the servant said she did not know. Mrs. Warrender put it in her
pocket. That spoke volumes from the servant's point of view. All night
long, it appears, she was walking about the room using the most
fearful language--God forgive her!--and this morning at eight o'clock
she started off to catch the 9.30 express at the Junction."
"And is she coming back?"
"That I don't know, my boy."
Mr. Phelps looked round cautiously and lowered his voice to a whisper.
"She took her jewels with her."
"Her jewels?"
"Yes; she had a quantity of jewelry. She put all the money she could
get from her husband into clothes and diamonds--a most extravagant
woman, Alan. Well, she's gone, that's certain, jewels and all. She
left no address, and said no word about returning. What do you think
of it?"
"Upon my word, sir, I don't know what to think. The whole place has
gone mad, it seems to me; the entire village is topsy-turvy. Marlow's
body stolen, Warrender murdered, and his body placed in poor Marlow's
coffin; and now here is Mrs. Warrender cleared out significantly with
her jewels; and the Quiet Gentleman----"
"Brown, the dumb man? What about him? I know he, too, has vanished;
but what else?"
"I'm going to tell you, sir. The key of the vault----"
"Not your key, Alan?"
"Yes, my key, Mr. Phelps; the Quiet Gentleman has it!"
"God bless me--that is, God forgive me, Alan, are you mad too?"
"No, sir, not yet; though I admit I'm fairly on the way, with all
this. Tell me, do you know who this so-called Quiet Gentleman really
is?"
"No, Alan, I don't. I spoke to him, but found he was dumb. Now he too
is gone."
"Yes, with Marlow's body on his hands, and Warrender's death on his
soul!"
"You don't mean that! Are you sure?"
Mr. Phelps was greatly agitated.
"I go only by circumstantial evidence, it is true. You know, of
course, the funeral of Mr. Marlow took place in the morning?"
"Yes, yes; and at two o'clock you took Sophy and Miss Parsh to
Bournemouth."
"I did. Well, about five o'clock, Brown--we'll call him that instead
of the Quiet Gentleman, though I don't believe it really is his
name--well, about that time Brown walked over to Abbey Farm. He
brought a letter purporting to come from me to my housekeeper, Mrs.
Hester."
"From you, Alan?"
"Yes, the letter was forged," said Alan with emphasis. "It directed
Mrs. Hester to allow Brown to remain at the farm until I returned. It
was in my handwriting, and signed with my name. She knew nothing about
Brown, save that he was staying at Mrs. Marry's, and she thought it
somewhat strange he should come to stop at the farm during my absence.
But as the instructions in the letter were quite plain, and she knew
my handwriting well--that shows how expert the forgery was--she gave
Brown the run of the place. In the meantime she wrote to me at
Bournemouth asking me if all was right, and inclosed the forged
letter. Here it is!"
As he saw the handwriting, Mr. Phelps started.
"Upon my word, Alan, I don't wonder Mrs. Hester was deceived,
especially when you consider her sight is not good! Why, I myself
with my eyes should certainly take it for yours." (Mr. Phelps wore
pince-nez, but nevertheless resented any aspersion on his optical
powers.) "But why on earth didn't she telegraph to you?"
"Well, you know how old-fashioned and conservative she is, sir. She
makes out through the Scriptures--how, I cannot tell you--that the
telegraph is a sinful institution. Therefore it is not to be wondered
at that she trusted to the post. I got her letter only this morn as,
of course, it followed me on from Bournemouth. Nevertheless, I knew
about the loss of the key last night."
"Ah! the loss of the key. Yes, go Alan."
"Very well. Brown, being allowed to remain in my house, proceeded to
make him quite at home in the library. Mrs. Hester writing her
letter--no easy task for her--took no further heed of him. He was in
the room for quite an hour, and amused himself, appears, in breaking
open my desk. Having forced several of the drawers, he found at last
the one he wanted--the one containing the key of the vault. Then he
made all things beautifully smooth, so that Mrs. Hester should not see
they had been tampered with, and leaving a message that he would
return to dinner, went out ostensibly for a walk. He returned,
appears, to his lodging, and left there again about nine o'clock in
the evening. Since then nothing has been seen or heard of him."
"God bless me, Alan! are you sure he has the key?"
"Positive. I looked in my desk last night and it was not there. But
everything was done so nicely that I am strongly of the opinion that
Mr. Brown has served his apprenticeship as a cracksman, and that under
a pretty good master too. No one but he could have stolen that key.
Besides, the forged letter shows plainly that he came to the farm with
no honest intentions. But what I can't understand," continued Alan,
biting his mustache, "is how the man came to know where the key was."
"Extraordinary--yes, that is extraordinary. Undoubtedly he it was who
stole the body and gained access to the vault with your key. But the
murder of Dr. Warrender----"
"He committed that too; I am convinced of it. Warrender called to see
him, found he was out, and I have no doubt followed him. He probably
saw Brown remove the body, and of course interfered, upon which the
villain made short work of him. That is my theory, sir."
"And a very sound one, too, in many respects," said the Rector. "But
Brown could not have removed the body alone. He must have had an
accomplice."
"True; and it is for that very reason I am going to town this
afternoon. Cicero Gramp may be able to supply some information on that
point. It is quite possible he slept in the churchyard and saw the
whole business--murder and all."
"Alan! Alan!" cried Mr. Phelps, horrified. "Do you believe this murder
was committed on the sacred soil of the churchyard, in God's own acre,
Alan? No one, surely, could be so vile!"
"I do, sir; and at the door of the vault. Brown, as you say yourself,
cleverly concealed the body in Marlow's coffin. He had no time to
screw it down again, apparently. He must have had a pretty tough job
to cut through that lead. He had to trust to chance, of course, that
the vault would not be visited until he had got a safe distance away
with his booty. And, indeed, but for Gramp's letter, no one would ever
have thought of going there. In fact, this Brown is a most ingenious
and dangerous criminal."
"He is; indeed he is. But what could he possibly want the body for?"
"Ha! that's just it! I fancy this is a case of blackmail. If you
remember, a millionaire's body was stolen in America some few years
ago, and only restored to the family on payment by them of a very
large sum of money."
"Oh, that is what you think he is after?"
"Yes, I do. It is highly probable, I think, that in a few weeks, or
perhaps even in less time, we shall receive a letter demanding some
thousands for the return of the body."
"But surely the police----"
"Oh, Mr. Brown will look after all that. You may depend upon it he'll
make himself quite safe before he goes that far. So talented a
gentleman as he would not be likely to omit all necessary precautions
of that kind."
"Humph!" muttered Mr. Phelps, considering, "and of Mrs. Warrender's
suspicious flight, what think you?"
"I confess I don't know quite what to make of that. I have no great
opinion of her as a woman; still, I should hardly credit her with
being in league with this ruffian."
"No, indeed; for that, she must needs be the worst of women," said Mr.
Phelps with warmth. "Why, Alan, poor Warrender was simply crazy about
her. He worked day and night to provide her with the finery she craved
for. Besides, she seemed really fond of him."
"Who was she?" asked Alan bluntly.
"Well, I shouldn't like to say it to every one, Alan, but Mrs.
Warrender had been an actress."
"An actress! Under what name?"
"That I cannot tell you. I called there one day and I heard her
reciting Shakespeare. Her elocution seemed to me so fine that I
complimented her upon it. Then she told me that she had been on the
stage, and had retired when she married Warrender."
"That's very strange! I always thought she had somewhat of a
professional manner about her."
"And her hair, Alan! _Flava coma_--yellow hair; not that I mean, for
one moment, she was what the Romans referred to by these words. Well,
my boy, what is to be done now?"
"I am going up to London in an hour's time."
Alan glanced at his watch while speaking.
"But you'll miss seeing Blair, the inspector," remonstrated Mr.
Phelps.
"I'll see him when I return: you can explain the case as well as I,
sir. I shall bring Gramp back with me if I can manage it."
"And Mrs. Warrender--shall I tell Blair about her?"
"I fear you must. But let him be circumspect. It is not necessary to
take any steps against her until we are tolerably sure of the reason
for her sudden flight. When do they hold the inquest on Warrender?"
"To-morrow."
"Well, I'll be back to-night and tell you what I've done." And Alan
rose to go.
"One moment, my dear boy. What about Sophy?"
"I've seen her, and, of course, I was judicious in what I told her.
She knows nothing about the loss of the key and my suspicions of
Brown, although, funnily enough, she herself suspects him."
"Bless me! on what grounds can she do that?"
"Oh, on the purely feminine grounds that she suspects him. She
declares she will not marry me until her father's body is discovered."
"Very right; very proper. I quite agree with her. You should start
your married life with an absolutely clean sheet, Alan."
The young man nodded, and as he left the inn he delivered himself of
one warning.
"Whatever you do, keep your eye on Joe Brill," he said significantly.
"Why--why? What for?"
"Because I fancy he knows a good deal more than he is inclined to
tell," replied Alan.
Then, without further comment, he drove off, leaving the Rector
considerably bewildered at this abrupt interpolation of a fresh name
into the persons of the drama.
Meanwhile, Alan caught his train, and in due time, or a very fair
approach to it, arrived in London. He took a hasty lunch at Waterloo,
and drove to Westminster Bridge. Here he dismissed his cab, and set
about inquiring for Dixon's Rents. The slum--its name was highly
suggestive of its being such--appeared to be well known. The first
constable he asked was both familiar with and communicative about it.
"It's within easy distance of Lambeth Palace, sir," he said. "A bit
rough by night, but you'll be all right there in the daytime. Ask any
constable near by the Palace, sir, and he'll put you right. Thank you,
sir."
Alan left the officer of the law well pleased with his unlooked-for
half-crown, and walked on towards the Palace. The second constable
could not leave his beat, but the bestowal of another half-crown
elicited from him the practical suggestion that a certain young
shoeblack of repute should act as guide. The shoeblack was quite near
at hand, and very shortly was enrolled as guide for the occasion.
Together he and Alan started off, leaving the constable well content,
though withal a trifle mystified, not to say curious.
The shoeblack led the way, and Alan followed closely. They turned away
from the river into a mass of houses, where the streets became more
and more squalid, and the population more and more ragged and unkempt.
At length, after many twistings and turnings, they arrived at the
entrance to a narrow cul-de-sac, and he was informed that this was his
destination. He rewarded and dismissed the shoeblack, and proceeded
down the dirty lane. Almost the first person he saw was a tall woman
standing at the entrance of the court, closely veiled. She seemed to
be hesitating whether she would come on or not. Then, suddenly, she
threw up her veil. As she did so Alan uttered an exclamation of
surprise.
It was Mrs. Warrender!