ANOTHER DISAPPEARANCE
In the course of his investigations Mr. Blair had examined the
servants at the Moat House. From the footman he heard of the West
Indian letter, and of the effect it had produced upon Mr. Marlow.
Search had been made for that letter as likely to throw some light on
the mystery, but without success. Evidently Mr. Marlow had thought it
important enough to destroy. His secret, whatever it might have been,
had gone to the grave with him. It was a strange coincidence that the
man Brown should also have a correspondent in Jamaica. He it was who
had stolen the key of the vault from Alan's desk. Again, Dr.
Warrender--who, as his wife told Alan, had been in Jamaica--had
been murdered. Between these three men, then--Marlow, Brown and
Warrender--there was evidently some connecting-link. Had there not
been, Warrender would not have assisted to remove the body of the
millionaire, and Brown, by stealing the key, would not have helped
him.
"There is no doubt in my mind that Brown was the short man seen by
Gramp," Blair said to Alan. "And he was followed from Mrs. Marry's by
Dr. Warrender, who was bound on the same errand."
"You mean the theft of the body?"
"I think so. Brown had the key and Gramp saw them remove the corpse."
"He saw Warrender," corrected Alan, "not Brown."
"I judge the other was Brown, from the theft of the key and the fact
that Warrender called to see him, and then followed. Again, both men
have disappeared--at least, one has. The other is dead."
"And who murdered him?"
"Brown," said the inspector, with conviction. "I am sure of it."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because something unforeseen happened--the murder, probably. In the
ordinary course of things, I take it, Brown would have come back to
fetch his luggage, and would have gone away in a manner less likely to
arouse suspicion. Probably he and Warrender had a quarrel when they
put the corpse in the cart. Brown killed the doctor, and then drove
away."
"But, Blair," argued Alan, "you forget that the doctor's body was seen
in the hut. Even if Brown had dragged it there--which, I admit, he
might have done--I don't see how he could have brought it back again
to the vault."
"I do, Mr. Thorold. It was Brown who had the key. Most likely he put
the dead body in a place of safety, then came back the following
night, to hide it away in the safest place he knew of--to wit, the
vault. If you recollect, no alarm as to the loss of Marlow's body was
given, or was likely to be given. Warrender's dead body would not have
been searched for in the vault. It is, at least, highly improbable
that the vault would have been opened."
"That is true," assented Alan. "But that Cicero by chance saw the
affair, I dare say we should have remained in ignorance of the
business for many a long day. No one would have gone to the vault. A
very clever man, this Brown."
"Very clever. But for the accident of Cicero having slept in the
churchyard, he would have got off scot-free. As it is, I don't see how
we can hunt him down. His gout, his dumbness, his white hair and beard
may have been assumed. The fact of the linen left at Mrs. Marry's
being unmarked is proof enough that he was disguised."
"Perhaps," said Alan doubtfully. "What I can't make out is, how he
knew I had the key of the vault in my desk."
"Did you mention it to any one?"
"Only to Mr. Phelps."
"Where?"
"In the churchyard after the funeral. We were all round the vault and
the service was just over. Phelps locked the door with his key and
asked me where mine was. I said, 'In my desk in the library.'"
"Was Brown present at the funeral?"
"Yes, I think I caught a glimpse of him."
"Was there a crowd round the vault door when it was closed?"
"There was; but I didn't notice Brown on that occasion."
Blair nodded.
"Very probably. You were too much taken up with the business in hand.
Yet, I'll swear Brown was in the crowd, and heard you say where the
key was. The clever scoundrel made use of the information that same
afternoon."
"I believe you are right," said Alan, clenching his fist. "Oh, I do
wish we could find the villain! But what object could he have had in
stealing the body?"
"I can guess. Mr. Marlow was a millionaire."
"Well, in a small way, yes."
"In a way quite big enough to pay a handsome ransom, Mr. Thorold." The
inspector smiled. "Depend upon it, we shall hear from this so-called
Brown. He will ask a good few thousands for the return of the corpse.
Oh, it is not the first time this game has been played."
"Well, if Brown writes, we'll have him arrested for the murder."
"Humph!" said Blair, shaking his head, "that is easier said than done.
He has been too clever for us so far, he may prove too clever in the
matter of obtaining the reward of his wickedness. Well, Mr. Thorold,
the inquest takes place to-morrow, but I haven't got much evidence for
the jury."
He was right. All his talk had been built up upon theory, and on the
slenderest of circumstantial evidence. The fact that Brown, the
mysterious, had stolen the key--and even that was not absolutely
proved--did not show that he had stolen the body. Cicero could not
swear to his identity, and, even presuming that he had committed the
sacrilege, there was no evidence that it was he who had murdered
Warrender.
And so the inquest on the body of the ill-fated doctor was held, the
theft of the millionaire's corpse being merely a side-issue. Can it be
wondered that the jury were puzzled? All that could be scraped
together by Blair was put before them. Cicero related his midnight
experience; Mrs. Warrender told how her husband went out to see a
patient; Mrs. Marry how the doctor called at her house, and afterwards
followed Brown. Finally, Alan and his housekeeper gave evidence as to
the loss of the key, and the forged letter was produced. Out of this
sparse detail little could be made, and after some deliberation, the
jury brought in the only verdict possible under the circumstances:
"The deceased has been murdered by some person or persons unknown."
"Most unsatisfactory," said Blair grimly; "but there is no more to be
said."
"What can you do now?" asked Alan. "Shall you give up the case?"
"That depends upon you, sir, or, rather, upon Miss Marlow."
"In what way?"
"In the money way, Mr. Thorold. I'm a poor man, and must attend to my
duties. All the same, if Miss Marlow will offer a reward, I will do my
utmost to find out who stole her father's body and who murdered the
doctor."
"Why couple the two crimes?"
"Because, sir, in my opinion, Brown committed both. Give a reward, Mr.
Thorold, and I'll do my best; otherwise, as I have other urgent
matters on hand, I must drop the business. But I don't deny,"
continued the inspector, stroking his chin, "that if I were a moneyed
man I'd work at this business for the sheer love of it. It is a kind
of criminal mystery which does not happen every day."
"The reward shall be offered," said Alan. "Miss Marlow will be guided
by me."
Needless to say, Sophy was guided by him. Indeed, so eager was she
that the remains of her father should be recovered that, had not Alan
suggested it, she would have offered a reward herself. Also, she was
anxious to assist Mrs. Warrender, who in spite of her vulgarity and
somewhat covetous disposition, was really a well-meaning woman.
The result of this was that two rewards were offered--one thousand for
the detection of the person who had stolen the body, and a like sum
for any information likely to lead to the arrest of Warrender's
murderer. So here were two thousand pounds going a-begging, and
hundreds of people hoped to have a chance of gaining the money. The
case was so strange and mysterious that it had attracted not a little
attention, and the fact that the missing body was that of a
millionaire added to the interest excited by the fact of its
disappearance. The London papers were full of leaders and letters
suggesting solutions of the mystery. The provincial press took up the
cry, and throughout the three kingdoms every one was talking of the
case. It was even said that Miss Marlow, the present possessor of all
this wealth, would marry the person who secured the thief and the
murderer.
"I won't marry you, Alan dear, until my father's body is back in the
vault," said Sophy; "but at the same time, I won't marry any one
else."
"But suppose I fail to find the body, Sophy?"
"Then I must remain a spinster for the rest of my life."
"In that case you condemn me to be a crusty old bachelor."
"Never mind. We can still be friends and lovers."
"I'd rather we were man and wife," sighed Alan.
But he did not believe that she would cling to this idea of perpetual
spinsterhood for any length of time. As for Miss Vicky, she thought
Sophy mad to have thought of such a thing, and took her roundly to
task.
"A woman ought to marry," she said, breaking through the barriers of
her ordinary primness. "Do you think, if my darling had lived, I
should now be a wretched old maid? No, indeed! It would have been my
delight to have been an obedient and loving wife to Edward."
"I'm sure I wish he had lived!" cried Sophy, embracing her; "and I
won't have you call yourself crabbed. You are the sweetest, dearest
woman in the world!"
"So poor Edward thought," sighed Miss Vicky, fingering the precious
brooch which always decorated some portion of her small person. "Alas
the day! How often he told me so! But he died for his country on the
field of glory," she cried, with a thrill of pride; "and in spite of
my lonely old age, I don't grudge his precious blood. Noble--noble
Edward!" and she wept.
"Don't cry any more, Vicky."
"It's your obstinacy I'm crying at, Sophia. If your poor dear pa's
remains are not found within a certain time, marry Mr. Thorold and be
happy."
"I can't--I won't. How can I be happy knowing poor father isn't at
rest?"
"His soul is at rest--the earthly tabernacle is nothing. Come, Sophia,
don't break with your life's happiness!"
"Alan and I understand one another, Vicky. I dare say we shall marry
some day. But the body must be found."
"Lord grant it!" ejaculated Miss Vicky piously, and said no more. For
she found that the more she argued the more obstinate Sophy grew.
Amongst those who had hopes of gaining the reward was Cicero. He had
come out of the ordeal of a public examination unscathed, and was now
in the possession of his well-earned fifty pounds. Being anxious to
remain in Heathton for the purpose of prosecuting his inquiries, he
magnanimously forgave Mrs. Timber, and took up his quarters at the
Good Samaritan. Now that he had money and paid his bill regularly, the
good lady considered it politic to treat him with more civility,
although, after the manner of women, she felt constrained to remind
him, every now and again, of his former poverty. But these remarks did
not affect Mr. Gramp in the least. He regarded her no more than if she
had been a fly, and sailed about the village in a suit of new
broadcloth and the best of tall hats, airing his eloquence. He became
an attraction at the inn, and discoursed there every evening in fine
style.
Mrs. Warrender was much averse to his staying on at Heathton. She
lived in constant dread lest the relationship between them should be
discovered. But Cicero never mentioned it--nor did he ever mention
her. Still, she felt doubtful, and one evening, on the plea that she
wished to hear more of what he knew about her husband's murder, she
sent for him. He arrived to find her in a low evening dress,
glittering with diamonds, and looking very handsome--so handsome,
indeed, that even he could not refrain from giving vent to his
admiration.
"Upon my word, you are a Juno, Clara Maria!" he said, when they were
alone. "There is money in you yet!"
"I know what you mean, Billy," replied the doctor's widow coldly, "but
I'm not going on the stage again in burlesque or anything else."
"How are you going to live?" he asked with brutal candor.
"That's my business," retorted Mrs. Warrender. "I have enough to live
on, even without selling my jewels. Perhaps I shall marry again."
"I'm sure you will, Clara Maria. You always were a determined woman."
"Hold your tongue, and tell me how much longer do you intend to
disgrace me here?"
"How can I tell you, if I am to hold my tongue?" said Cicero coolly.
"As to staying here, I'm not disgracing you that I know of. No one
knows you are my ungrateful sister."
"Billy, if I wasn't a lady, I'd---- Ungrateful, indeed, you brute! Go
away at once!"
"No, Clara Maria, not till I find out who killed my brother-in-law. I
never knew him," said Cicero, wiping away a tear; "but as his nearest
relative, I must avenge him."
"That won't do, Billy," said his sister sourly; "you only want the
reward."
"Both rewards, Clara Maria. With two thousand pounds I could be a
gentleman for the rest of my life."
"That you will never be."
"I would do nothing----"
"You never have, you lazy vagabond!"
"Don't interrupt and insult me, Clara Maria, but work with me."
"Work with you?" gasped Mrs. Warrender. "At what?"
"At this case, Clara Maria. I believe that the secret of this mystery
is to be found in the island of Jamaica--in the past life of Mr.
Marlow. Now, your husband knew the late lamented millionaire in
Jamaica, and he might have left some papers relative to the
acquaintance. If so, let me see them, and I'll get on the track of the
assassin. We will share the reward."
"My husband did leave papers," Mrs. Warrender said thoughtfully, "but
I won't show them to you, Billy. You'd take all the money. No, I'll
read his papers myself, and if I can find anything likely to reveal
the name of the person who stole the body and murdered Julian, I shall
tell Mr. Thorold."
"You won't get the reward!" cried Cicero in an agony.
"Oh yes, I will; I'm as clever as you are, Billy. Thank you for the
idea!"
"You won't work with me?"
"No," said she firmly, "I won't; I know you of old, and I want you to
keep out of my way. Leave this village and I'll give you twenty
pounds."
"What! when there is a chance to make two thousand! No, Clara Maria."
"Then earn the reward yourself. There's Joe Brill, he might tell you
what you want to know," mocked Mrs. Warrender. "My husband said he was
with Marlow for thirty years."
"I wish I could ask Joe Brill," said Cicero gloomily. "Ever since he
tipped me the sovereign I have suspected Joe Brill; but he's gone!"
"Gone! Gone where?"
"I don't know. I only heard the news to-night. He's gone away without a
word, and vanished!" And Cicero groaned.