and people have got accustomed to look upon you as an ordinary lodger,
who has been delayed by illness in Mrs. Potter's rooms. No one here
would ever dream of associating you with what happened ten years ago on
the other side of the world."
Gerald's brow clouded.
"Sunbury is one of the most dangerous spots on earth for me at the
present time," he replied. "Two men only were witnesses of my deed, and
one of them has lately come to live here. If he should happen to come
across me, there is nothing to hinder him from handing me over at once
to the nearest magistrate, in which case the few precious days that
still remain to us would be lost. I heard about him at the inn when I
first arrived, and it was because of this that I so hastily decided to
leave the place. I was on my way to the station when I came upon
Robin's castle, and falling asleep there from sheer exhaustion, was
found by the boys next morning when they came to play. If it had not
been for the illness brought on by exposure and drenching on the night
of the storm, I should have been across the sea by this time, so as to
place as many miles as possible between him and me. When I plead guilty
at the bar, I wish to do so of my own free will, not because force has
been brought to bear upon me from outside."
"Who can it be?" asked Madelaine anxiously. "Surely no one would do you
any harm after all these years."
"I should be utterly helpless in his hands if he chose to lodge an
accusation against me," answered Gerald. "His name is Thomas Field. He
was in Wattie's hut the night on which I killed the old man, and he saw
the whole thing. He was with me when I took my mad plunge into the
river, and therefore imagines me to be dead, but he would certainly
recognize me if I stayed on here. You told me he fulfilled his promise
of writing to tell you of my death. Did he not give you his name when
he wrote?"
"I got a short letter from a man who signed himself, T.A.F.," said
Madelaine. "He sent back your watch and chain at the same time. Why, of
course those are Mr. Thomas Algernon Field's initials! How strange that
I never connected them before! He gave me no address, so I was never
able to write and ask for further details."
"Did he return nothing but the watch?" enquired her husband. "There
were some papers I left for him to forward also."
"He enclosed your diary," replied Madelaine, "but he said your papers
had been lost in the river when you were drowned."
"Surely I could not have been absent-minded enough to put them into my
pocket again!" exclaimed Gerald. "I am certain that I handed them over
to him in the hut, but the truth is that I was in such a state of mind
at the time, that I may have picked them up again without knowing it.
They were documents concerning a piece of land that I had staked out
away up in the wilds as a sort of speculation, and I asked him to advise
you about it. It wasn't worth very much, and probably would have turned
out a failure as most of my ventures have done, but I wanted you to know
it was there, in case you might have made a few pounds on it. I should
like to ask Field about it, only that I dare not face him again."
"Oh, Gerald," rejoined Madelaine, "I would not trust that man! He looks
as if he could be cruel as well as hard. Do not run the risk of putting
your life into his power. Let us fly while we can, for you are liable
to meet him at any moment, and you might be snatched from me almost
before our little time together is begun."
"To tell you the truth, I have met him already," said her husband, "but
he evidently took me for a spirit, believing that I had done away with
myself so long before."
Gerald proceeded to give his wife an account of the unexpected meeting
at the entrance of the little house in the wood, when the flash of
lightning had suddenly revealed the two old acquaintances to each other,
and Field had dashed the supposed apparition to the ground.
"I was barely able to crawl to good Mrs. Potter's," he continued, "but
she took me in, and there I have been until to-day, when I ventured out
for the first time, longing for another glimpse of the little
angel-messenger who had tended me so lovingly in his leafy bower. No
wonder that I loved the lad, seeing he was my own son!"
It was late according to the primitive habits of Sunbury when Gerald at
last rose to leave.
"I must go back now to my worthy landlady," he remarked, "or she will
wonder what has become of me. I will come over early in the morning,
and we can make arrangements to leave for London to-morrow afternoon.
Please God, Madelaine, we shall have some blessed days together, before
we need to part again."
"I shall be thankful when we are off," said his trembling wife. "Do be
careful, Gerald, and keep out of Mr. Field's way. I don't like to think
of you showing your face at all while you are here."
"I'll take good care, dearest," he replied, "so don't you worry. Now I
must just run up and take a peep at little Robin before I go. Oh,
Madelaine, if you only knew how I have hungered for a sight of you and
the child! I can't think how it was that my instinct did not tell me
who he was, when he came to me in the wood. It was the name that put me
off."
"I could not call him 'Gerald,' even though we christened him so,"
explained Madelaine, as she stood beside her husband, looking down at
the sleeping boy. "It was too precious a word to be used for anyone but
you, and I got to speak of him as 'Robin' that first winter after we
came to England, because of his bright eyes and rosy cheeks, and the
name has stuck to him ever since."
The interview next morning was satisfactorily concluded, and Gerald was
on his way back to Mrs. Potter's house.
His heart was lighter than it had been for many a long day, as he walked
through the wood. Although a terribly dark cloud loomed ahead, a
rainbow seemed to have thrown itself across the grey and troubled sky,
and rays of love and hope shone all around.
It was still early, not yet nine o'clock, and he was congratulating
himself on having encountered no one either on his way to or from Sea
View Cottage. One more bend in the woodland path, and Mrs. Potter's
chimneys would be in sight.
He swung round the turn, and almost collided with a man who was walking
briskly in the opposite direction to which he was himself going.
Words of apology rose to his lips, but they died away in dismay before
they were uttered.
He was face to face with Thomas Field.
"So it was you after all, and no ghost!" exclaimed the squire. "How is
it that you have turned up here, Barker? What do you want with me,
dogging my footsteps like this?"
To Gerald's surprise Field's countenance had assumed an expression of
the utmost fear and dislike, as he suddenly realized who it was that had
thus encountered him.
"I must have given him an uncommonly bad shock that night when I came
upon him during the storm," thought Gerald, as his mind took a rapid
survey of the past. "He looks perfectly terrified at the mere sight of
me, though it is I who have cause to be frightened of him, not he of me.
I suppose it's because he has so long accustomed himself to think of me
as dead."
"You were my friend once, Field," he added aloud, "and I must throw
myself on your mercy again. I have no wish to intrude my presence upon
you. Let me disappear, as you did before, to be lost in the waters of
oblivion. I ask no more than to be left to go my way unquestioned and
alone."
A look of relief overspread the millionaire's features, and his
aggressively domineering manner reasserted itself.
"Well, Barker," he said roughly, "many a time have I wondered if I was
right in letting you slip through the fingers of justice as I did that
night. Death by drowning was too easy a way of escape for a man who had
murdered another in the cold-blooded fashion in which you finished off
old Wattie. My duty, no doubt, is to report you, now that I know you
are again at large."
Gerald winced at the coarse cruelty of the words, and his thoughts flew
to Madelaine and the boy. Would the cup be dashed from his lips, just
when he was about to taste the sweetness of life for the last time?
"I have long ago repented of my sin," he replied humbly, "and strong
drink has been put far from me since that day. It brought misery enough
then to make me shun it for ever. I have suffered, Field, and I know I
have been forgiven by my God. I can but ask man to have pity likewise."
"You don't deserve it," was the harsh reply, "but I suppose I can't hit
a fellow when he's down, so I'll give you one more chance. I shall not
hand you over to the law this time, but I tell you plainly if I find you
loafing about here again, you'll have to pay for it. My conscience will
not permit me to let you off so easily a third time, so you had better
keep out of my way. I'll give you a friendly tip, though, before you
go. You have more occasion perhaps than you know to avoid Sunbury. I'm
not the only man here who holds the key to your past. Probably you have
your own reasons for banishing from your mind the fact that you were
ever acquainted with Blustering Ben, the hunter, but he will not so
quickly forget you. He was a chum of old Wattie's too, so he would not
be so lenient as I am, supposing he caught sight of you here. You know
what he saw last time you met, so take my advice and don't run your neck
into the noose sooner than is necessary. The faster you make yourself
scarce the better for everyone."
"Thank you," said Gerald, though his spirit chafed at the insulting
speech. "I had no idea Ben was in Sunbury. I have certainly no wish to
meet him again."
*CHAPTER XVIII*
*Judge Simmons Again*
Mr. Field turned to go, but he was arrested by a question from Gerald,
which made him pause once more.
"There is one thing I should like to ask before we part," he said. "Did
I not leave some papers with you that dreadful night? I remember
speaking to you about them before I went down to the river."
"You babbled to me about some claim which you had patented," answered
Mr. Field, "and told me what you meant to do with it, but I can't say
your head was exactly clear that evening; and all papers, if there were
any, went the same way as yourself, plump into the water. You left
nothing with me. I took the trouble, however, to ask some fellows who
came from that part of the country, and they told me you had been
regularly taken in about it--the whole property was not worth a cent.
So you need not cry over spilt milk. By the way, they know all about
old Wattie up there, so it would be wiser not to make too many enquiries
in that quarter."
It was on the tip of Gerald's tongue to ask why Mr. Field had not even
mentioned the matter to Madelaine when he wrote, but he checked himself
in time. If the land was really of no value, it was not worth bringing
his wife's name into the conversation. Better to let the matter drop,
and leave well alone.
"I have no wish to rake up old stories," he said. "Only I thought there
was no harm in asking you about the papers, seeing I had mentioned them
to you before. I pass now out of your life for ever."
So saying he turned abruptly and continued his interrupted course
towards the edge of the wood.
Mr. Field watched him until he disappeared behind the trees, then, with
knit brow and a preoccupied look he slowly made his way back to
Farncourt. He was met by Julius at the lodge gates.
"You are late for breakfast, father," said the boy. "Why did you go out
before you had had anything to eat?"
"I could not sleep last night," was the answer, "and I thought half an
hour's stroll might give me an appetite, as I am not feeling very fit.
I was longer than I meant to be."
"It seems a day for early walks," said Julius. "Robin has been up to see
me already. Oh, father, isn't it dreadful? He and Mrs. Power are going
away this afternoon by the four o'clock train. He said they had to meet
someone in London, I think it was, so they were leaving a few days
sooner than they meant to do. I shall miss them awfully, especially
Robin. It will be just horrid without him."
The boy's lips quivered as he spoke, and he tried manfully to keep back
the tears which would well up in his eyes. The last month or two had
been the happiest that the lonely child had ever spent, in the
companionship of his cheery little friend and the protecting tenderness
with which Madelaine had welcomed him into her large and loving heart.
Even in the midst of his own conflicting thoughts, Mr. Field felt
touched by the lad's evident distress, and endeavoured to comfort him as
best he could.
"Never mind, Julius," he said. "I'm going to make some changes before
long, so perhaps you won't miss Robin so much as you think. This place
doesn't seem to suit me very well. I believe it is too near the sea, so
I am going to try how I get on further inland. I have seen a very good
estate advertised for sale about which I intend to enquire, and you may
find other friends there who may make up to you for your loss. Besides,
I have quite made up my mind that it is full time to send you to school.
I can't stand any more tutors, and it is not good for you going moping
about here by yourself. How would you like to go to Eton or Harrow, or
some other first-class place like that? I'll see that you don't want
for pocket-money, my boy, so that you can foot it with the best of them,
and lord it over the lords if so you will."
Mr. Field chuckled over his joke, but though for a moment a gleam of
comfort lightened the gloomy horizon of the lad, the thought of losing
Robin settled again upon him like a cloud.
"It would be simply ripping to go to school if only Robin could come
too," he said. "I wish Mrs. Power would send him with me, but I'm
afraid they're rather poor, so perhaps they couldn't afford it. They
asked me to spend the morning with them at Sea View Cottage, father,
that's why Robin came up so soon, in case I should be going out in the
motor, and they would not be able to say good-bye."
"You may certainly go, Julius," replied Mr. Field. "Mrs. Power has been
a good friend to us, and contrary to my custom I shall call on her
myself to thank her for all her kindness to you."
"Robin is going to give Peter his liberty before he goes," remarked
Julius. "You know he was only a baby wild rabbit that old Timothy
caught in his garden, so he will be quite pleased to live a free life
again. We are first going to give him a feast of everything that he
likes best, and then we shall take him to our hut in the wood and let
him loose there. Robin says that if we tunnel out a little hole in the
wall, Peter may perhaps believe it is a real rabbit's burrow and make a
home there. Of course the roof is all tumbled in now, so it is no use
as a house for us, but it makes it all the better for Peter, as he can
hide so easily under the fallen branches. Robin does think of such
delightful things!"
Breakfast was over and Mr. Field had gone into his study to write some
letters. He had not been there many minutes when the footman entered
and informed him that two gentlemen were waiting to see him in the
drawing-room.
"Who are they?" he asked impatiently.
"I don't know, sir," replied the man. "They did not give any names."
"As Julius said, this seems a day on which people are early astir,"
muttered Mr. Field to himself. "I wish callers would not come bothering
round at this time of day. I wonder who they can be."
The visitors were admiring the view from the window when he entered the
room, and he was almost at their side before they realized he was there.
"Judge Simmons and Elihu Pratt!" he exclaimed as they turned towards
him. "Whatever brings you here together at this hour?"
"We should be glad of a little conversation with you, Mr. Field,"
replied the judge. "There is a certain matter about which my friend and
I have been making enquiries, and we believe that you may be able to
throw some light upon it."
"What is the subject under consideration?" asked Mr. Field, nervously
requesting his guests to be seated. "Is it your young ward's
speculations in Mexico? I remember you were doubtful as regards his
ventures in the silver line last time you were here."
"I am glad to say he is doing well," replied Judge Simmons, "but it is
not about him that we came. You may not perhaps have heard that Mr.
Elihu Pratt has lately been appointed District Attorney for the locality
in which the Good Hope mine lies. He is now engaged in investigating
the titles of the various mining claims about there, and he finds some
difficulty in connection with the deeds to your property. It so chanced
that I was interesting myself concerning the bit of land acquired by my
former acquaintance, Gerald Barker, and not being able to reconcile
several conflicting facts, we determined to call upon you together, both
of us happening to be over in England just now. No doubt you will be
able to make it clear, but we shall be much obliged if you will kindly
do so."
Mr. Field moistened his lips before he spoke, and hastily mopped his
forehead with his handkerchief.
"I have my title deeds all right," he said. "I can show them to you if
you like, but there is nothing conflicting about them, so far as I
know."
"You remember, sir," continued the judge, "that when I called upon you
before, you were at some pains to convince me that Gerald Barker's claim
was in quite another valley to yours--a valley possessing the same
strange geological features as that in which your mine is
situated--although your little boy gave contrary evidence, much to your
displeasure. Now, Mr. Field, I was with Barker when he staked his
claim, and I have just returned from a visit to the 'Good Hope.'"
"Well, what of that?" was the blunt rejoinder.
"They are one and the self-same place," answered Judge Simmons gravely,
casting a penetrating glance upon the man before him.
"I never said they were not," snapped Mr. Field. "I only told you there
were lots of cliffs of that formation about there. It was simply my
boy's rude way of contradicting that made me so angry with him."
"There is no rock anywhere in the countryside similar to that which
overlooks the Good Hope mine," broke in Mr. Pratt, speaking for the
first time. "I find, moreover, that the land on which you, as reputed
owner, pay taxes, is identical with the claim patented some ten years
back by Gerald Barker. The Registrar's books fail to record any
transfer of the property. How did it happen to come into your
possession?"
"Barker sold it to me, if you want to know," answered Mr. Field,
indignantly. "It is really intolerable to be cross-questioned in this
fashion. If you were not a government official I would kick you out of
the house for daring to insult me by your dastardly insinuations. You
may examine the patent for yourself, if that will satisfy you, and also
the transfer which Barker signed with his own hand, in which he gave up
all his rights to me."
"I should like to see them," was Mr. Pratt's only reply.
The millionaire hesitated for a moment and the colour fled from his
cheeks, but recovering himself quickly he invited them to accompany him
into the study, where he proceeded to unlock his safe and spread out
some documents before them on the table.
"There is no doubt that this is Barker's patent," remarked Mr. Pratt.
"Now for the transfer. I see we have here the signatures of two
witnesses, Benjamin Green and Walter Long, as well as that of Gerald
Barker. It is also signed by Caleb Denham, who describes himself as a
Notary Public, and whose seal, according to custom, is appended here.
Have you any idea where the witnesses are now?"
"Benjamin Green is a rolling stone, always knocking about the world,"
was the reply, "and old Walter or Wattie, as he was called, is dead."
Mr. Pratt glanced across at Judge Simmons.
"This transfer is dated the day after that on which Barker was drowned,"
he said quietly.
"How do you know so exactly when that took place?" questioned Mr. Field.
"His wife has supplied us with the information," answered the judge. "I
have here a copy of your own letter to her."
"Ass that I was!" muttered Mr. Field under his breath. Aloud he added,
"It is easy to make a mistake like that in the backwoods, where every
day is alike."
"These little mistakes sometimes need to be enquired into," rejoined
Judge Simmons. "We shall have to look up this same Benjamin Green and
find out what he has to say about it. It is fortunate that we have an
independent witness in this case, although it is unusual to have other
names besides that of a lawyer subscribed to a similar deed."
Mr. Field bit his lip with vexation. "I have over-reached myself
there," was the thought which passed rapidly through his mind. "I
believed it would make it all the safer if I had those two signatures as
well as Caleb's, but they may prove my undoing. All the same, I don't
think I could have got the old shyster to put his seal to it if their
names hadn't been there, so they served my turn after all."
In an injured voice he next addressed the judge.
"Surely," he exclaimed, "you can rely on the statement of a Notary
Public without having to get proofs of his veracity."
"I happen to know that this particular Caleb Denham has just been
convicted as an unprincipled and dishonest scoundrel," answered Judge
Simmons. "He is now undergoing a well-merited term in jail because of
his illicit practices. I would not give a button for his word."
"By the way," he added, turning again to the letter before him, "when I
saw you last you gave me to understand that it was only a report of
Barker's death which had reached you, but it is mentioned here that you
yourself saw him swept away by the river. These statements seem rather
conflicting. Was anyone else there at the time?"
"No," replied Mr. Field. "We were quite alone when the accident
happened."
"Are you prepared to swear that you have given a strictly accurate
account of the whole incident?" asked the judge, his keen eyes fixed on
Mr. Field's agitated face. "I cannot deny that appearances are very
much against you. It is a queer thing that Barker should have
disappeared in this mysterious manner just at the very time that you
became possessed of his papers. When we questioned Mrs. Power about it
this morning, I thought she seemed rather to hesitate when I asked her
if she had any reason to doubt the truth of your report."
"Mrs. Power!" ejaculated Mr. Field. "Whatever has she got to do with
it?"
"You are evidently ignorant of the fact that she is Gerald Barker's
widow, she having changed her name on account of some stipulation in a
will," replied Judge Simmons. "We traced her by the information given
to us by a servant of the old gentleman who left her the money. Finding
that she was at present staying in Sunbury, we had an interview with her
this morning before we came on to you."
"It is apparent that Mrs. Power has not let out to them that Barker is
alive," was the thought that flashed across Mr. Field's mind. "She has
evidently been in touch with her husband all along, but is terrified at
the idea of him being taken up for the crime. I never should have
believed that she could be so cunning as to hoodwink me like this. I
suppose she has set these men to catch me out. I'll be even with her
though, and with Barker too!"
"Look here," he said in a bullying tone, "this Mrs. Power, or Barker, or
whatever she chooses to call herself--does she mean to make a fuss about
these papers which there is no doubt her husband signed? Because, if
so, will you please go back to her with a message. Tell her from me
that silence is the price of silence. If she wants me to hold my tongue
she had better not provoke me too far. I put myself unreservedly into
her hands. If after giving her this message she still wants you to take
up the cudgels for her, I confess I shall be surprised. She is more
likely to go down on her knees, begging me not to disclose her secret to
the world. You think perhaps you are doing her a service, but she may
end by crying, 'Save me from my friends!'"
"This is a most extraordinary threat!" exclaimed the judge. "You had
better explain yourself more fully."