THE STRANGER
That Joe Brill had disappeared from Heathton was perfectly true. So
far Cicero was correct; but in stating that the man had vanished
without a sign he was wrong. News--to be precise, gossip--travels more
quickly in a village than in a town; it also gets more quickly
distorted. For the intimacy of villagers is such that they are readier
than less acquainted folk to take away from, or add to, any talk about
those whose everyday life they know so well.
Joe Brill had left a letter for Sophy, who, in much alarm, consulted
Miss Parsh. The consultation was overheard by the footman, who told
the servants, without mentioning the letter, about which he was not
very clear himself, having caught only scraps of the conversation. The
kitchen discussed the news, and retailed it to the baker, who, with
the assistance of his wife, a noted gossip, spread it broadcast over
the village. Thus, in the evening, it came to Cicero's greedy ears;
and so it was that he came to tell his sister that Joe Brill had
disappeared without a sign. Sophy knew better.
"Isn't it dreadful?" she said to Miss Vicky. "Joe is very cruel to
leave me like this in my trouble. He knows that I look upon him as one
of my best friends. To be thirty years with father, and then to leave
me! Oh, dear Vicky, what does it mean?"
For answer, Miss Vicky read the letter aloud. It was badly written,
and badly spelt; but it was short and to the point. Amended it ran as
follows:
"Honored Miss,
"I am called away on business which may turn out well for you. When
I'll come back, miss, I don't know; but wait in hope. Stand by and
nail your colors to the mast. Don't trust no one but Mr. Thorold. Your
prayers, honored miss, are requested for your humble servant,
"Joseph Brill."
"Most extraordinary!" said Miss Vicky, and laid down the letter to
gaze blankly at Sophy.
"I shall go mad with all this worry!" cried the poor girl, taking the
letter. "Oh, dear Vicky, everything has gone wrong since father died."
"Hush! Don't talk of it, Sophia. Your pa's remains have gone, but his
soul is above. Dr. Warrender has been buried, and the verdict of
twelve intelligent men has been given. We must think no more of these
matters. But Joseph's letter----"
"Is more of a mystery than all the rest put together," finished Sophy.
"Just listen to the nonsense Joe writes: 'I'm called away on
business.' What business, Vicky?--and how can it turn out well for me?
He doesn't know when he'll come back; that means he won't come back at
all. 'Wait in hope.' Hope of what, for goodness' sake, Vicky? And
Alan--of course, I'll trust no one but Alan. How absurd to put that
in! Then he finishes by asking my prayers, just as though he were
going to die. Vicky, is Joe mad?"
"No; Joseph is too clear-headed a man to lose his wits. It's my
opinion, Sophia, that he's gone to search for your poor papa's
remains."
This was Alan's opinion also when he read the letter, and heard of
Joe's disappearance. He questioned the servants, but they could give
no details. The page, who slept in the same room, declared that he
woke at six o'clock to find Joe's bed empty; but this did not alarm
him, as Joe was always the first in the house to be up. So Alan went
to the railway-station, and learnt there that the old sailor, carrying
some things tied up in a handkerchief, had taken the 6.30 train to the
junction. A wire to the junction station-master, who knew Joe,
elicited the reply that he had gone on to London by the express.
Beyond this it was hopeless to attempt to trace him; for at Waterloo
Station Joe had vanished into the crowd, and was lost. Alan told the
lamenting Sophy that nothing could now be done but wait for his
return.
"But will he return?" demanded the girl tearfully.
"I think so. I agree with Miss Vicky: Joe has gone to search for your
father's body."
"But he has no idea where it is. If he did, he would surely have told
me or you, Alan, knowing how anxious we are!"
"He may have a clue, and may want to follow it up himself. And I
believe, Sophy, that Joe knows more about the matter than we think. Do
you remember that he gave Cicero a sovereign to leave the Moat House?"
"What of that?"
"Only that a sovereign was a large sum for a servant like Joe to give.
He thought, no doubt, that Cicero knew too much, and he wanted to get
him away before he could be questioned. It was his guilty conscience
which made him so generous."
"Guilty conscience, Alan? What had Joe done?"
"Nothing, so far as I know," replied Thorold readily. "But I am
convinced there is something in your father's past life, Sophy, which
would account for the violation of the vault. Joe knows it, but for
some reason he won't tell. I questioned him about the ridiculous sum
he gave to Cicero, but I could get no satisfactory explanation out of
him--nor could Blair."
"You don't think he was the short man with Dr. Warrender on that
night, Alan?" asked the girl somewhat tremulously.
"No, I do not; I asked the boy who sleeps in the same room. He said
that Joe went to bed as usual, and that he never heard him go out.
Besides, Sophy, I am certain the accomplice of Warrender was Brown."
"The Quiet Gentleman?"
"Yes; he had the key of the vault. And also, by the evidence of the
stamp, he had something to do with Jamaica. Perhaps he knew your
father there."
"Perhaps he did. Joe would know."
"Joe will not speak, and, at all events, he has gone. We must wait
until he comes back."
"Are you not going to make any more search for the body, Alan?"
"My dearest, I have not the slightest idea where to begin. The case
has baffled the police, and it baffles me. I have made inquiries all
round the country, and I can find no one who saw Brown with your
father's dead body, or, indeed, anything else which might have aroused
suspicion. There is only one hope that we may get it back."
"The reward?"
"No; although Blair, and, I believe, Cicero, intend to work for that.
The hope lies in the chance that Brown, whoever he is, may have taken
away the body for blackmail. In that case we may get a letter
demanding money--probably a large sum. We must pay it, and have your
father's remains brought back."
"And the murder, Alan?"
"Ah! that is a difficult part. When Brown stole the body he did not
intend to commit murder; that came about in some unforeseen way. The
danger that he may be arrested for the murder may keep Brown from
applying for blackmail, always supposing, Sophy, that such is his
object."
"In that case we may never recover poor father."
"I am afraid not. However, we must live in hope."
This conversation ended in the usual unsatisfactory way. On the face
of it there was nothing to be done, for Alan could obtain no clue.
Brown, if Brown were indeed the guilty person, had managed so cleverly
that he had completely cut his trail. Even the offer of the reward
brought forth no fresh information. The mystery was more a mystery
than ever.
In his capacity of trustee, Alan had looked through the papers of the
dead man. He found no documents or letters whatever relating to his
life in Jamaica, yet there were plenty dealing with his doings in
South Africa. Twenty years before he had left Kingston with the child
Sophy. He brought her to England, and placed her in the Hampstead
convent. Then he sailed for the Cape, and had made his fortune there.
Fifteen years after he returned, to buy the Moat House, and settled.
Sophy came to live with him, and he had passed a quiet, peaceful time
until his sudden death. So far all was clear; but the Jamaica life
still remained a mystery. When he died he was over sixty. What had he
done with himself during the forty years he had lived in the West
Indies? Joe could have told; but Joe, as mysterious as his master, had
disappeared, and even if he had remained, Alan could have got nothing
out of him. The old sailor, as had been proved both by Thorold and the
inspector, was as dumb as an oyster.
"Did Marlow ever mention Jamaica?" Alan asked Mr. Phelps, when next
they met.
"Once or twice, in a casual sort of way. He said he had sailed a good
deal amongst the islands."
"And Joe was a sailor. I wonder if Marlow went in for trading there?"
"It's not impossible," said the Rector; "but that fact, even if we
knew it to be true, could throw no light on the disappearance of his
body."
"I don't know. I have a good mind to go to Jamaica--to Kingston--to
make inquiries. The West Indian Island area is not so very large. If
Marlow had been a trader there twenty years ago, he would still be
remembered amongst them. I might come across some one who knew of his
past life."
"You might," assented Phelps, with an amount of sarcasm surprising in
so mild a man, "if Marlow were his real name."
The two were sitting over their wine in the twilight amid the glimmer
of shaded candles. This last remark of the Rector's so surprised Alan,
that he turned suddenly, and knocked his glass off the table. After he
had apologized for the accident, and after the débris had been
collected by the scandalized butler, the Squire asked Mr. Phelps what
he meant.
"It is hard to say what I mean." The Rector sipped his port
meditatively. "Marlow was always a mystery to me. Undeniably a
millionaire and a gentleman, Alan, and while here a man of clean life.
And I have met people in London"--the worthy parson dabbled a little
in shares--"who knew him in South Africa. He was highly respected
there, and he made his millions honestly, so far as millions can be
made honestly in these gambling days. But I always felt that there was
some mystery about the man. It was Warrender who gave me the clue."
"Ah! Warrender came with Marlow to Heathton."
"Yes, but there was no mystery about that. Warrender told me that he
had met Marlow at Kingston, Jamaica. Afterwards the doctor settled in
New Orleans. There he met his wife, who was on the stage. He did not
do very well, so Mrs. Warrender urged him to return to England. He did
so, and met Marlow by chance in London, where they renewed their
acquaintance. Sorry to see that Warrender was so unfortunate, Marlow
brought him down here, where he did very well."
"I don't think he did well enough to have supplied Mrs. Warrender with
her diamonds, sir."
"Alan, don't speak evil of the dead. She did not get the diamonds from
Marlow, but legitimately, my dear boy, from her husband."
"And where did he get them? His practice must have brought him in
little enough."
"No, I won't say that. The fact, I think, is that there was some
understanding between the two men, and that Marlow gave Warrender
money."
"He must have given him a good deal, then. Those jewels represent a
lot. Seems like a kind of blackmail, sir."
"On that point, Alan, I would prefer not to give an opinion."
"And Warrender helped to steal the body of his patron," mused Alan.
"Strange. But about this idea of a false name."
"Well, it was at dinner one evening. The ladies had retired, and I was
alone with Marlow and Warrender, talking over our wine, just as you
and I might be now, Alan. The doctor had taken a little too much, and
on one occasion he addressed the other man as Beauchamp. Marlow
flashed one fierce glance at him, which sobered him at once. I made no
remark on the incident at the time, but it stuck in my memory."
"Then you think that Mr. Marlow was called Beauchamp in Jamaica?"
"Warrender's slip gave me that impression," said the Rector
cautiously.
"How very strange!" murmured Alan, toying with his glass. "Do you know
the will? Of course, I am trustee."
"Sophy's trustee--why, yes. All the money goes to her, doesn't it?"
"Most of it. There are legacies to myself, Joe Brill, and Miss Parsh.
Sophy gets the rest, on conditions."
"What conditions?"
"One is that she marries me, the other that she pays two thousand a
year to a man called Herbert Beauchamp."
It was the Rector's turn to be startled.
"Bless me, the same name!"
"It would appear so. Perhaps this Herbert Beauchamp is a relative of
the so-called Marlow. The money is to be paid into the Occidental Bank
of London for transmission to him."
"Where is he?"
"I don't know. But now that you have told me so much, I shall take the
first instalment myself to the Occidental Bank and make inquiries
about the man. The manager may be able in some measure to account for
all this."
"I hope so, I hope so," cried the bewildered Rector, "for the
mysteries seem to me to deepen."
"Meanwhile," went on Alan calmly, "I shall see Mrs. Warrender. She may
know something that will be useful to us."
"I don't think so," the Rector said doubtfully. "Bless me, why should
she? It was long afterwards that she met the doctor in New Orleans."
"Well, he might have told her about Marlow. At all events, I'll see
her. You know," added Alan, curling his lip, "Mrs. Warrender is fond
of money, and amenable to bribery."
Thorold was usually correct in his forecasts of what would happen, but
this time he was quite wrong. The widow received him kindly, and told
him absolutely nothing. Acting on the advice given her by Cicero, she
had been searching through the papers of her late husband. She had not
found what she sought, but she had found quite enough to show that
there was a mystery in Mr. Marlow's past life--a mystery which was
sufficiently important to be worth money. It was the intention of this
astute woman to play her own game, a game which had for stake a goodly
portion of Sophy's millions, and she had no desire for a partner. To
Cicero and to his wish to join her she soon gave the go-by. And when
Alan came upon the scene, she gave him to understand that she knew
nothing. Her intention was to prepare her bombshell alone, and when it
was ready, to explode it in Sophy's presence. That her knowledge would
be profitable to her from a financial point of view she felt pretty
secure, for the same blood ran in the veins of Clara Maria Warrender
and of Cicero Gramp.
"I wish I could help you, Mr. Thorold," she said; "but I knew nothing
of Mr. Marlow. My husband never spoke to me about his life in
Jamaica."
"Did he leave any papers?"
"Lots of rubbish, but nothing that could enlighten us as to Mr.
Marlow's past."
"Can I see them?"
"Oh, I am so sorry, but I burnt them."
He did not believe her, and went away with the conviction that she was
playing a deep game. Meanwhile a new personage had come upon the
scene--a man who told an astonishing story, and who made a no less
astonishing claim--a slight, dark, bright-eyed man, accurately
dressed, but foreign looking. He presented his card at the Moat House,
with a request to see Miss Marlow.
"Captain Lestrange!" exclaimed Sophy. "Who is he, Thomas?"
"Looks like a foreigner, miss. Shall I show him in?"
"Yes," she said; and the visitor was announced almost immediately.
He started theatrically when he saw the girl. Sophy, annoyed by his
manner, drew back.
"Captain Lestrange?" she queried coldly.
"Captain Lestrange," was the reply, "and your father."