A PORTION OF THE TRUTH
Joe was not in the least changed. Wherever he had been, in whatever
nefarious transactions he had been engaged, he was still the
mahogany-colored, tough old sailor whom nothing could surprise or
alarm. After having greeted Lestrange he hitched up his trousers in
true nautical style and touched his forehead.
"You wished to see me, sir," he said to Alan, and took a sidelong
glance at the Captain. That polished scoundrel had, for once, lost his
coolness, and, colorless with rage, was glaring at the seaman like a
devil.
"Joe," said the squire, as soon as he could take in the situation,
"you are making a mistake."
"Not me, sir! I knows a shark when I sees one."
"But this is Captain Achille Lestrange."
"Curse me if he is!" cried Joe vigorously. "Achille weren't no
captain. This one's a captain right enough, and a blazing fine lobster
he is! Jean's his name, sir, but he ain't a Scotch girl, for all that.
No, it's the French lingo for John."
"I am Achille Lestrange," persisted the Captain, very shrill and very
short of breath. "This man is a liar!"
"Say that again, and I'll knock the teeth down your throat!" growled
Joe, like an angry mastiff. "Achille be blowed! I know'd you twenty
year ago in the islands, I did, and a bad lot you were then. Jean
Lestrange--why, there never was a wuss lot! I never did think much of
Achille, for all his money; but you----"
Joe spat to show his disgust.
"Then this man is not Sophy's father?" gasped Alan.
"Oh, he sez that, does he, the lubber? Missy's father! Why, he ain't
fit to be her shoeblack!"
"Achille was the girl's father," said Lestrange sullenly. He saw that
it was useless to lie in face of Joe's positive knowledge. "And if I'm
not her father, I'm her uncle."
"That's a d----d lie!" put in Joe. "You weren't no more nor Achille's
cousin. What you are to missy, I don't know. But she won't have
nothing to do with you, you landshark!"
"Joe, do you mean to say your late master is not Sophy's father?"
"I do, sir. It's got to come out somehow, if only to put a stop to
that devil's pranks. She's the daughter of Achille Lestrange."
"Who was murdered by Marlow!" finished the Captain savagely. "Ah, my
friends, I have still some cards left."
"You'll have no teeth left!" growled Joe, making a step forward.
"You're a liar, Captain Jean--you always was! Mr. Marlow----"
"Beauchamp," corrected Lestrange, with a glance at Alan.
"Beauchamp it is," continued Brill coolly. "Oh, you needn't be afeared
that I'm going to lie! But Mr. Beauchamp never stabbed Munseer
Achille, and you know it, you lubber! Let me get at him, Mr. Thorold!"
"No, no, Joe!" Alan kept the irate seaman back. "We'll deal with this
gentleman in a better fashion. Sit down, Joe, while we talk it over."
Joe nodded, and sat down on a chair, which he placed directly before
the door.
With a glare that showed he noticed and resented this action,
Lestrange resumed his seat. He was too clever a man not to recognize
that Joe's cunning would dislocate his plans. But he was evidently
determined to fight to the last. At present he held his tongue, for he
wanted to hear what Joe would say. He preferred, for the moment, to
remain strictly on the defensive.
It was with a thankful heart that Alan Thorold realized the value of
Joe as an ally. At one time he had really believed that Lestrange was
truly Sophy's father, and although she would never have admitted the
relationship, still it was satisfactory to know that the man had no
claim on her obedience. The knowledge of Lestrange's falsehood cleared
the air somewhat. For one thing, it proved conclusively that the
Captain had come to blackmail the girl. His claim to be her father was
doubtless made in the hope that she would accompany him back to
Jamaica, and would give him control of her money. Failing this--and
Lestrange had long since realized that there was no doing anything
with Sophy in a paternal way--there remained the chance that, to
preserve Marlow's memory from stain, she might buy his silence.
Thus Lestrange argued, and Alan, with his eyes on the man's expressive
face, guessed his thoughts and answered them.
"No, Lestrange," he said, with decision, "you won't get one penny."
"We shall see about that," was the rejoinder.
"Of course. We are going to see about it now. You will be brought to
your bearings, sir. Joe, you say that this man is Jean Lestrange?"
"Yes, sir. But may I ask, Mr. Thorold, how you know about the shark?"
"I have heard the story from his own lips, Joe. He claimed to be
Achille Lestrange and Miss Sophy's father."
"Did he, now, the swab! and you know, sir, how Mrs. Lestrange ran away
to Mr. Beauchamp from the way her husband treated her?"
"I know----"
"Achille treated Zelia well," interrupted the Captain; "only too
well."
"That's another lie!" retorted Joe. "He was fond-like of her the first
year they were married, but it was you, Captain Jean, who made a mess
of them. You made him jealous of Mr. Beauchamp, and he treated her
crool. No wonder she ran away, poor lass!"
"Did the way Achille treated Zelia give Beauchamp any right to murder
him?"
"He didn't murder him. You know he didn't."
"He did, I say. Achille was found stabbed to the heart on the veranda
of Beauchamp's house. Zelia was dead, and your master took the child
away to his yacht at Falmouth. You were on board."
"Yes," said Joe coolly, "I wos; and it wos well for you, Captain Jean,
that I wasn't near the house that same evening. I'd ha' wrung your
neck, I would! Anyhow, master didn't kill Munseer Achille."
"There was a warrant out for his arrest, however."
"I know that, Captain Jean, and it was you who got it out. And I know
as you came over here after master from seeing his picter in the
papers. We both knowed you were coming, Captain Jean."
Alan interposed:
"Was that the West Indian letter, Joe?"
"Yes, sir, it was. Master got a letter from a friend of his in Jamaica
telling him this swab was after him to say as he'd murdered Munseer
Achille, which," added Joe, deliberately eyeing Lestrange, "is a
d----d lie!"
"Then who killed Achille?" sneered the Captain, quivering with rage.
"I dunno rightly," replied Mr. Brill stolidly. "I wasn't in the house
that night, or I'd ha' found out. But master ran away, because he knew
you'd accuse him out of spite. But Mr. Barkham, of Falmouth, believed
master was innocent, and know'd where he was, and what was his new
name. 'Twas he wrote the letter saying as Captain Jean was on his way
to England to make trouble."
"Barkham!" muttered Lestrange. "Ah! he was always my enemy."
"A shark like you, Captain Jean, ain't got no friends," remarked Joe
sententiously.
"Do you think that Barkham's letter caused Mr. Marlow's death?" asked
Alan.
"Do I think it, sir? Why, I knows it! After twenty years of hearing
nothing, the shock, as you might say, killed my master."
"Then he was guilty, and my accusation was a righteous one to make,"
chimed in Lestrange. "A clean conscience fears nothing."
"Mr. Beauchamp's conscience was a darned sight cleaner nor yourn,
Captain Jean, but you had the whip-hand of him, as all those in
Jamaica thought he'd murdered Munseer Achille, from them quarreling
about him coming after his wife. But master didn't do it--I swear he
didn't! More like you did it yourself," added Joe, with a look of
contempt, "though I dare say you ain't man enough to stick a knife
into any one."
Alan thought for a few minutes, then turned to Lestrange.
"I think you must see that you have failed all round," he said
quietly. "Your plot to pass as Miss Marlow's father is of no use now.
The accusation against me is not worth considering, as I have shown.
If necessary, I can defend myself. On the whole, Captain Lestrange,
you had better go back to Jamaica."
"Not without my price," said the adventurer.
"Ah, blackmail! Well, I always thought that was at the bottom of it
all. A man with clean hands and honorable intentions would not have
joined hands with a confessed rogue like Cicero Gramp. But may I ask
on what grounds you demand money?"
"I can prove that Beauchamp killed my cousin."
"What good will that do? Beauchamp is dead, and beyond your malice."
"Ay, that he is," said Joe approvingly. "He's gone where you won't get
him. I reckon you'll go the other way when your time comes, you
blasted swab!"
Lestrange, writhing under these insults, jumped up and poured out a
volley of abuse, which the seaman bore quite unmoved.
"I'll not go without my money," he raged, "and a good sum, too,
otherwise I shall see the girl----"
"If you annoy Miss Marlow again, I'll have you arrested," said Alan
sharply. "We don't permit this sort of thing in England."
"I shall put the story of Beauchamp's wickedness in all the papers."
"As you please. It cannot harm the dead."
"And will that girl stand by and see her father's memory disgraced?"
"You seem to forget," said Thorold, with quiet irony, "that he was not
Miss Marlow's father. Well, there is no more to be said. If you make
yourself a nuisance, the law shall deal with you."
"And I'll deal with him myself," said Joe. "I'll make them eyes of
yours blacker than they are by nature."
"Leave him alone, Joe. He'll go now."
"I won't go!" cried the man. "I'll have my price."
Alan shrugged his shoulders.
"I shall have to give you that thrashing, after all."
"Let me do it, sir," put in Mr. Brill, who was simply spoiling for a
row, and he stepped towards Lestrange.
The man's courage, genuine enough of its kind, suddenly gave way
before the ferocity of the sailor. He sprang up, ran into an inner
room and bolted the door.
Joe uttered the roar of a baffled tiger.
"Never mind, Joe; we're quit of him now. He will leave Heathton."
"I'll wait for him at the station," muttered Joe, following the young
Squire out of doors. "'Tain't right that the swab should get off
scot-free."
Outside the rain had ceased. Alan looked at his watch, and finding
that it was late, turned his face towards home. Suddenly he
recollected that Joe had not explained his absence.
"Well, Joe, where have you been?" he asked sharply.
"After him." Joe pointed his thumb over his shoulder. "When master's
body was carried away, I thought that shark might have done it. I
know'd he was coming from Jamaica, so I went to Southampton to see
when he arrived."
"You did not see him?"
"No," was the gloomy reply. "But I seed the list of passengers in one
of them boats, and his name wos on it. He couldn't have done it!"
"I found that out myself. No; Lestrange is innocent."
"If I'd know'd he wos on his way here to make trouble with missy, I'd
have waited," said the sailor; "but I thought if I dropped across him
I'd keep him off."
"He stole a march on you, Joe. And you have been at Southampton all
this time?"
"I have, sir--there and in London. But it's all right now, Mr. Alan.
He won't worry Miss Sophy any more. But now you know, sir, why I gave
a sov. to that tramp. He talked about one as sent him, and I thought
he wos talking of Captain Jean, so I hurried him away as soon as I
could, lest Miss Sophy should hear."
"I understand, Joe. But Cicero knew nothing at that time."
"Ah!" Joe clenched his fist. "He's another as needs a beating. Beg
pardon, sir, but I suppose you ain't found out who killed the doctor?"
"No; I believe myself it was that man Brown, who was called the Quiet
Gentleman. Do you know who he was, Joe?"
"No, sir, I do not," replied Joe doggedly. "Good-night, Mr. Alan," and
he walked off in great haste.
The young Squire pursued his way to the Abbey Farm, and all the way
wondered if Joe's sudden departure hinted at an unwillingness to talk
of Brown.
"I'll ask him about the man to-morrow," muttered Alan.
But on the morrow he had other matters to attend to. While he was at
breakfast a card was brought to him and he jumped up with a joyful
cry.
"Inspector Blair!" he said, throwing down the card. "Show him up, Mrs.
Hester. Ah! I wonder what he has found out."