ANOTHER VISITOR FOR MRS. SANDERS
A few minutes after his encounter with Jim Sanders, to which interview
Mrs. Chattaway and Nora had been unseen witnesses, Farmer Apperley met
Policeman Dumps, to whom, you may remember, the superintendent had
referred as having been sent after Jim. He came up from the direction of
Barbrook.
"I can't find him nowhere," was his salutation to Mr. Apperley. "I have
been a'most all over Mr. Ryle's land, and in every hole and corner of
Barbrook, and he ain't nowhere. I'm going on now to his own home, just
for form's sake; but that's about the last place he'd hide in."
"Are you speaking of Rupert Trevlyn?" asked Mr. Apperley, who knew
nothing of the man's search for Jim.
"No, sir; Jim Sanders."
"Oh, you need not look after him," replied the farmer. "I have just met
him. Jim's all right. It was not he who did the mischief. He has been
after all the fire-engines on foot, and is just come back, dead-beat. He
was going on to the Hold to help put out the fire, but I told him it was
out, and he could go home. There's not the least necessity to look after
Jim."
Mr. Dumps--whose clearness of vision was certainly not sufficient to set
the Thames on fire--received the news without any doubt. "I thought it
an odd thing for Jim Sanders to do. He haven't daring enough," he
remarked. "That kitchenmaid was right, I'll be bound, as to its being
Mr. Rupert in his passion. Gone in home, did you say, sir?"
"In bed by this time, I should say," replied the farmer. "They have got
Mr. Rupert, Dumps."
"Have they?" returned Dumps. "It's a nasty charge, sir. I shouldn't be
sorry that he got off it."
The farmer continued his road towards Barbrook; the policeman went the
other way. As he came to the cottage inhabited by the Sanders family, it
occurred to him that he might as well ascertain the fact of Jim's
safety, and he went to the door and knocked. Mrs. Sanders opened it
instantly, believing it to be the wanderer. When she saw policeman Dumps
standing there, she thought she should have died with fright.
"Your son has just come in all right, I hear, Madge Sanders. Farmer
Apperley have told me."
"Yes, sir," replied she, dropping a curtsey. The untruthful reply was
spoken in her terror, almost unconsciously; but there may have been some
latent thought in her heart to mislead the policeman.
"Is he gone to bed? I don't want to disturb him if he is."
"Yes, sir," replied she again.
"Well, they have got Mr. Rupert Trevlyn, so the examination will take
place to-morrow morning. Your son had better go right over to Barmester
the first thing after breakfast; tell him to make for the
police-station, and stop there till he sees me. He'll have to give
evidence, you know."
"Very well, sir," repeated the woman, in an agony of fear lest Jim
should make his appearance. "Jim ain't guilty, sir: he wouldn't harm a
fly."
"No, he ain't guilty; but somebody else is, I suppose; and Jim must tell
what he knows. Mind he sets off in time. Or--stop. Perhaps he had better
come to the little station at Barbrook, and go over with us. Yes,
that'll be best."
"To-night, sir?" asked she timidly.
"To-night?--no. What should we do with him to-night? He must be there at
eight o'clock in the morning; or a little before it. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
She watched him off, quite unable to understand the case, for she had
seen nothing of Jim, and Nora Dickson had not long gone. Mr. Dumps made
his way to the headquarters at Barbrook; and when, later on, Bowen came
in with Rupert Trevlyn, Dumps informed him that Jim Sanders was all
right, and would be there by eight o'clock.
"Have you got him--all safe?"
"I haven't got him," replied Dumps. "There wasn't no need for that. He
was a-bed and asleep," he added, improving upon his information. "It was
him that went for all the injines, and he was dead tired."
"Your orders were to take him," curtly returned Bowen, who believed in
Jim's innocence as much as Dumps did, but would not tolerate
disobedience to orders. "He was seen with a lighted torch in the
rick-yard, and that's enough."
Rupert Trevlyn looked round quickly. This conversation had occurred as
Bowen was going through the room with his prisoner to consign the latter
to a more secure one. "Jim Saunders did no harm with the torch, Bowen.
He lighted it to show me a little puppy of his; nothing more. There is
no need to accuse Jim----"
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Trevlyn, but I'd rather not hear anything from
you one way or the other," interrupted Bowen. "Don't as much as open
your mouth about it, sir, unless you're obliged; and I speak in your
interest when I give you this advice. Many a prisoner has brought the
guilt home to himself through his own tongue."
Rupert took the hint, and subsided into silence. He was consigned to his
quarters for the night, and no doubt passed it as agreeably as was
consistent with the circumstances.
The fire had not spread beyond a rick or two. It was quite out before
midnight; and the engines, which had done effectual service, were on
their way home again. At eight o'clock the following morning a fly was
at the door to convey Rupert Trevlyn to Barmester. Bowen, a cautious
man, deemed it well that the chief witness--it may be said, the only
witness to any purpose--should be transported there by the same
conveyance. But that witness, Mr. Jim Sanders, delayed his appearance
unwarrantably, and Dumps, in much wrath, started in search of him. Back
he came--it was not more than a quarter-of-a-mile to the mother's
cottage.
"He has gone on, the stupid blunderer," cried he to Bowen; "Mrs. Sanders
says he's at Barmester by this time. He'll be at the station there, no
doubt."
So the party started in state: Bowen, Dumps, and Rupert Trevlyn inside;
and Chigwell, who had been sent to capture him, on the box. There was
just as much necessity for the presence of the two men as for yours or
mine; but they would not have missed the day's excitement for the world:
and Bowen did not interpose his veto.
The noise and bustle at the fire had been great, but it was scarcely
greater than that which prevailed that morning at Barmester. As a matter
of course, various contradictory versions were afloat; it is invariably
the case. All that was certainly known were the bare facts; Mr.
Chattaway had horsewhipped Rupert Trevlyn; a fire had almost immediately
broken out in the rick-yard; and Rupert was in custody on the charge of
causing it.
Belief in Rupert's guilt was accorded a very limited degree. People
could not forget the ill-feeling supposed to exist towards him in the
breast of Mr. Chattaway; and the flying reports that it was Jim Sanders
who had been the culprit, accidentally, if not wilfully, obtained far
more credence than the other. The curious populace would have subscribed
a good round sum to be allowed to question Jim to their hearts' content.
But a growing rumour, freezing the very marrow in the bones of their
curiosity, had come abroad. It was said that Jim had disappeared: was
not to be found under the local skies; and it was this caused the chief
portion of the public excitement. For in point of fact, when Bowen and
the rest arrived at Barmester, Jim Sanders could not be seen or heard
of. Dumps was despatched back to Barbrook in search of him.
The hearing was fixed for ten o'clock; and before that hour struck, the
magistrates--a full bench of them--had taken their places. Many familiar
faces were to be seen in the crowded court--familiar to you, my readers;
for the local world was astir with interest and curiosity. In one part
of the crowd might be seen the face of George Ryle, grave and subdued;
in another, the dark flashing eyes of Nora Dickson; yonder the red
cheeks of Mr. Apperley; nearer, the pale concerned countenance of Mr.
Freeman. Just before the commencement of the proceedings, the carriage
from Trevlyn Hold drove up, and there descended from it Mr. and Madam
Chattaway, and Miss Diana Trevlyn. A strange proceeding, you will say,
that the ladies should appear; but it was not deemed strange in the
locality. Miss Diana had asserted her determination to be present in
tones quite beyond the power of Mr. Chattaway to contradict, even had he
wished to do so; and thus he had no plea for refusing his wife. How ill
she looked! Scarcely a heart but ached for her. The two ladies sat in a
retired spot, and Mr. Chattaway--who was in the commission of the peace,
but did not exercise the privilege once in a dozen years--took his place
on the bench.
Then the prisoner was brought in, civilly conducted by Superintendent
Bowen. He looked pale, subdued, gentlemanly--not in the least like one
who would set fire to a hay-rick.
"Have you all your witnesses, Bowen?" inquired the presiding magistrate.
"All but one, sir, and I expect him here directly; I have sent after
him," was the reply. "In fact, I'm not sure but he is here," added the
man, standing on tiptoe, and stretching his neck upwards; "the crowd's
so great one can't see who's here and who isn't. If he can be heard
first, his evidence may be conclusive, and save the trouble of examining
the others."
"You can call him," observed the magistrate. "If he is here, he will
answer. What's the name?"
"James Sanders, your worship."
"Call James Sanders," returned his worship, exalting his voice.
The call was made in obedience, and "James Sanders!" went ringing
through the court; and walls and roof echoed the cry.
But there was no other answer.