SEEKING TROUBLE
It was for two reasons that Hench left The Home of the Muses and
vanished--so far as the paying guests were concerned--into the
unknown. In the first place, he wished to render Zara's position more
easy; in the second he desired to have nothing more to do with Madame
Alpenny; and also there was a third and less important reason, which
had to do with Cuthbert Spruce. While Owain drove westward in the
taxi, he amused himself by surveying his position.
With regard to the girl, Hench was beginning to grasp the fact that he
really did not love her, or he would have been more moved by her frank
confession of love for Bracken. What she had said was quite true, as
he now acknowledged. He admired her, and being lonely, wished for a
companion, so as to make a centre in life round which he could
revolve. It was an odd comparison but a very true one. Any other
woman, handsome, kind-hearted and affectionate, would have done as
well as Zara to bring about the desired end, and Owain confessed to
himself that to propose such a business-like scheme to a girl was
rather a cold-blooded way of looking at love. She was--he confessed
this also--quite right to refuse him, and to accept the offer of a man
who adored her. This being the case, Hench decided that it only
remained for him to go away, since his presence would more or less
embarrass her, in spite of the brother-and-sister compact. Finally,
being very human, Owain felt that it was impossible to stay, and
witnessing Bracken triumphing where he had failed. On the whole,
therefore, he was well pleased to escape from Bethnal Green, and his
feelings suffered very little from the exile.
The second reason, which had Madame Alpenny for its excuse, was also
connected more or less indirectly with Zara's refusal. Since the idea
of money coming to him had occurred to the Hungarian lady, she had
been more amiably disposed towards Hench with regard to his
half-hearted wooing of her daughter. Yet, as she was still uncertain
that Owain would be rich, she had not--according to the slang
phrase--forced the pace. But if fancy became fact and the mysterious
papers really did place him in possession of a fortune, Hench felt
tolerably convinced that Madame Alpenny would worry him and worry Zara
until she brought about the marriage. Under the circumstances this was
not to be thought of, as apart from the fact of his readjusted
relations with the girl, Madame Alpenny was by no means desirable as a
mother-in-law. She was poor, inquisitive, scheming and decidedly
dangerous; always on the alert to make what she could out of others,
and--as Hench believed--unscrupulous in her methods of gaining what
she desired. Already he had told her more about his private affairs
than was altogether wise, more or less against his will, as it would
seem, since she had wormed her way into his confidence with remarkable
dexterity. It struck him forcibly that he was wise to avoid her by
leaving the boarding-house, and he congratulated himself on his
promptitude in dealing with the situation. And as he had done so
judiciously, it was unlikely that Madame Alpenny would ever trouble
him again.
It was when the taxi was sweeping down a quiet street near the British
Museum that Owain came to the third and minor reason, which concerned
Spruce. The Nut, also, was much too curious about affairs which
nothing to do with him in any way, and seemed to take a pleasure in
meddling. He was just the kind of person to read other people's
letters, give unasked advice and take a thousand liberties out of
pretended good-nature. All the same, Hench firmly believed that all
this interference was intended, in the end, to benefit Spruce himself.
But Owain could not see how his old school-friend could in any way
make capital out of him. Nevertheless, instinct warned him to avoid
the man as something dangerous. By leaving Mrs. Tesk's establishment
he had avoided him, and he was as unlikely to meet him again as he was
to meet with Madame Alpenny. Taking everything into consideration,
Hench alighted at his new abode with the conviction that he had
escaped from some danger--he could not put a name to it--just in time.
Owing to some unexpected good fortune in connection with gold-mining
shares, Hench possessed quite one hundred pounds, which was sufficient
to keep him in comfort and even in luxury until he could call on
Gilberry & Gilberry. That visit he expected would result in throwing
light on his somewhat dark path, and perhaps would bring him wealth.
Yet, being cautious, he husbanded his resources lest his expectations
should be disappointed. Therefore the hotel he came to was a quiet and
cheap hostel in Burney Street, Bloomsbury, chiefly patronized by
country people. It was a much better class establishment than that of
Mrs. Tesk, and Hench found it very comfortable. He had been there on a
former occasion when in England, and found very little change. The
manageress was the same, the staff had not been altered, and on the
whole Owain felt that the place was more home-like than any he had
been in. Also, having risen out of the submerged tenth, the young man
brushed up his apparel, had his hair cut and his beard trimmed, and
got out his scarcely-worn suit of dress clothes. For the next week he
amused himself in a quiet way, generally sauntering in the Park,
exploring the Museum, enjoying the theatres and music-halls, and
taking what quiet inexpensive pleasures came in his way. All he wished
to do was to pass the time pleasantly until his twenty-fifth birthday,
when he intended to call on Gilberry & Gilberry. Then he would learn
his fate, and his future career would be ordained by the contents of
the papers.
But all the time Hench was haunted by an uneasy feeling regarding the
advertisement brought to his notice by Madame Alpenny. Had he stayed
at the boarding-house, he assuredly would not have obeyed the request
for a meeting, as the woman would have become aware that he had done
so. This he did not wish her to do, since he regarded her as
dangerous, and did not know what the result of his errand to Cookley
would be. But now that Madame Alpenny belonged to the past, Owain was
inclined out of sheer curiosity to keep the appointment for the 1st of
July, and learn why the word "Rhaiadr" had been used. Of course, as he
had already recognized, the papers at Gilberry & Gilberry's might
place him in possession of details which would enable him to deal more
openly with the person who wished to meet him at the Gipsy Stile. But
it wanted ten days to his birthday, and by brooding over the
advertisement Hench became so curious that he finally decided to take
the journey into Essex. There was a spice of adventure about the
matter, which appealed to his pioneering spirit, and, moreover, as he
had nothing to do, he thought that he might as well employ his mind
and time in satisfying his curiosity. According to Dr. Watts, "Satan
finds some mischief still, for idle hands to do," and never was the
line so exemplified as by Hench's action. Although he did not know it,
he was going out to seek trouble, when he left the hotel for Liverpool
Street Station.
Besides being haunted by the advertisement, Hench during his week in
Bloomsbury had been also haunted by a feeling that Madame Alpenny was
somewhere in his vicinity. Twice or thrice he had fancied she was at
his elbow, and had as many times made sure that he had caught a
glimpse in the distance of her orange-spotted frock, her bead mantle
and picture hat. As he walked to the railway station this feeling was
insistently strong, and Hench found himself searching the crowds here,
there and everywhere for the sinister face and red hair of the old
woman. But he saw no one who resembled her, until he was descending
the stairs after taking his ticket to Cookley. Then he was positive
that in the throng moving below he recognized her shabby garb. Of
course, he did not find her when he mingled with the mob, and laughed
at the trick which his eyesight had played him. Why he should be so
haunted by the woman--in his thoughts that is, as he did not believe
that there was any ground for his suspicions--he could not say. But it
was not until he was seated in a third-class smoking compartment that
he shook off the feeling of her near presence. It was all a case of
nerves, he assured himself, and by the time he was well on his journey
he thoroughly convinced himself of this fact. At all events, as the
train gradually left London behind, Owain quite got rid of his
nightmare.
Cookley is slightly over thirty miles from the metropolis, so Hench,
having left the latter at five o'clock, arrived at his destination
somewhere about half-past six o'clock. The appointment at the Gipsy
Stile was precisely at eight, So he had an hour and a half to wait.
This time he employed in learning the whereabouts of the rendezvous,
as he had not the least idea of the direction in which it lay. As
there was no hurry, he took things easy and sauntered leisurely out of
the local station and down the long road which led to the village.
After a lengthy period spent in a smoky city, the pure air and rural
sights of the country were exceedingly pleasant.
The village was not large, but decidedly picturesque, being one of
those somnolent old-world hamlets beloved of artists and wondered at
by tourists. Formerly no strangers came near it, but since the advent
of the ubiquitous motor-car it had become quite a centre of interest.
This was mainly owing to its squared-towered Norman church, a
venerable and stately structure, which was much too large for so small
a place. Also there was a Saxon cross on the village green and sundry
Roman remains in an adjacent field. Archæologists and antiquarians,
together with tourists, chiefly American, frequently came to inspect
these objects of interest, and artists often took up their quarters in
the Bull Inn to paint the church, the ancient cottages and the
surrounding country. It was quite the nook which a student would have
loved, but much too quiet for a restless young man such as Owain Hench
assuredly was. The quicksilver in his veins never allowed him to
remain long in one place, yet even he confessed to feeling the charm
of Cookley.
No one took much notice of him, for which slight he was thankful. In
his shabby suit of blue serge, his woollen shirt and ragged Panama
hat, he looked like an ordinary tramp, and those gentry of the road
were much too common in Cookley to be even glanced at. Also the night
was closing in, and in the soft warm twilight the young man passed
almost unheeded, a fact upon which he afterwards had reason to
congratulate himself. After wandering through several crooked streets,
he emerged into the gracious spaces of the village green and made for
the Bull Inn--easily recognized by its gigantic sign--where he treated
himself to a tankard of beer in the tap-room. Owain really did not
require the drink, but ordered it so as to give some excuse for his
questions. The ancients of the village were already gathered for their
evening symposium, and the room was filled with the blue haze of
tobacco-smoke. It was none too well lighted by a solitary oil lamp,
and Hench sat down in a secluded corner to enjoy his briar and sip his
ale. Also, when occasion served, he asked the buxom wench who attended
to thirsty customers where the Gipsy Stile was to be found. She looked
at him in surprise.
"Why, every one hereabouts knows where that be."
"I am a stranger here."
"One of them tramps, ain't you?" said the girl, tossing her head.
"Well, you can't miss the Gipsy Stile. There's a path leading out of
the churchyard, across the meadows, and that takes you into the heart
of the wood, where you'll find it right in your way."
"Oh, it's in a wood, is it?" questioned Owain, secretly wondering
again, as he had wondered before, why such a rendezvous had been
chosen.
"Why, yes. Parley Wood, it is called, and lies long-side Squire Evans'
old house. There's only a red brick wall divides the wood from the
park."
"Thank you," said Hench politely, and attended to his beer and pipe,
while the villagers talked politics and crops and local gossip, and he
amused himself by listening to their crude views.
In the old days and before Cookley had been brought into near contact
with the outer world, the stranger would have been more closely
observed and the conversation would have been listened to. But so many
tourists now came to the village that the inhabitants paid little
attention to them. In his dark corner Owain sat for close upon an
hour, wondering at the narrow limits of the Cookley intellect. Still,
he was interested in the old-fashioned views of the labourers, and
time passed quicker than he noticed. A glance at his watch showed him
to his surprise that it was a few minutes to eight, so he rose hastily
to seek his destination. As he had already paid for his beer, there
was nothing to detain him, and he was speedily passing through the
green on his way to the square tower of the church, which stood up
blackly in the luminous twilight. So far as Owain could guess there
was no danger of his losing his way.
A narrow lane, sloping slightly upward to the lychgate, conducted him
to the churchyard, and he soon found himself surrounded by tombstones
old and new, dotted irregularly amongst the long grass of the
enclosure. Keeping to the gravelled path, he made a circuit of the
vast church, and finally came to a stile set in the stone wall
girdling the place. On climbing over this, he found his feet treading
a well-defined path, which meandered across a wide meadow to enter
into Parley Wood, which was visible some distance away. Owain, with
the aid of a match, found that it was eight o'clock, and the chimes of
the church again assured him of the fact. Fearing lest he should be
late, he hurried quickly, and his long legs soon took him under the
shade of ancient trees. Here it was somewhat dark, but Hench had eyes
like a cat, and could very easily follow the path, which wound
deviously through the woodland. Around him, in the fragrant dark, life
was stirring, and he heard the piercing song of the nightingale, the
occasional hoot of an owl, and became aware that sundry creatures were
moving more or less noiselessly amongst the undergrowth. At times he
moved across a dell where the light was stronger, and then again he
would plunge into the gloom of the trees. The young man enjoyed the
adventure apart from the reason which had led him to undertake it, as
he had a great love of Nature, and enjoyed her beauty.
At length he emerged into a wide clearing across which ran a ragged
fence of time-stained wood overgrown with woodbine and more or less
buried in nettles, darnels, shrubs and young trees. In the centre of
this there was an old-fashioned stile, which Owain took to be the
place of meeting. Beyond the open ground stretched for some distance,
and faintly in the warm twilight he could see a tall wall and beyond
it the thick foliage of oaks, beeches and elms. This was undoubtedly
the place, as he remembered how the girl at the Bull Inn had assured
him that the wood lay long-side the park of the squire, and no great
distance from a red brick wall. Therefore Owain walked briskly up to
the stile, taking off his straw hat for the sake of coolness, and
looked all round the place to see if the person who had advertised was
waiting. He saw no one.
A glance at his watch after lighting a match showed him that he had
been fifteen minutes walking from the church to the stile, so he
wondered if the person had grown tired of waiting. But that was
unlikely, since he was not so very much behind his time. The man--he
presumed that it was a man--who had advertised would certainly wait
longer when he had taken so much trouble to bring about the meeting.
Hench therefore believed that something had detained the person in
question, and sat down on the stile to wait. Already the moon was well
up in the cloudless sky and her silver radiance flooded the whole
solemn woodland. Owain admired the mingled beauty of light and shade,
listened to the distant nightingale singing triumphantly, and stared
every now and then round about to make sure that he would not miss his
man, since he did not know from which quarter he would appear. Then
came a surprise, and a highly unpleasant one.
In the course of his glancing here, there and everywhere, he became
aware that in the long grass some distance beyond the stile, and some
distance away from the meandering path, lay a dark object. At first
Hench thought it was merely the trunk of a tree, but as the moonlight
grew stronger and the outlines of the object more distinct, he began
to believe that it was a man. Doubtless, as he concluded hastily, some
tramp had thrown himself down to sleep in the safe cover of the wood,
where no policeman would rouse him from his slumbers. But Hench knew
that it was scarcely wise to sleep in the moonbeams, so clambered over
the stile and walked towards the man with the intention of awakening
him. Shortly he was bending over the presumably sleeping tramp, and
then became aware with a shock of surprise that the man was clothed in
evening-dress, over which a dark, loose cloak had been thrown. With a
vivid feeling of fear Hench turned the man over--he was lying on his
face--and started back with an ejaculation of horror. The stiff white
shirt-front was red with blood, and in the man's heart was buried a
knife with a horn handle. Owain struck a match to assure himself of
the truth, although the moonlight was so strong that he scarcely
needed to take such trouble. But while he held the match with shaking
hand over the dead face, its wavering light showed him very plainly
that he was right. The man was dead--the man had been murdered--and
there he lay mysteriously done to death in the heart of a lonely wood.
Of course, Hench's first impulse, which was the impulse of an ordinary
human being when brought face to face with crime, was to run back to
Cookley village and give the alarm. But even as he turned to fly, he
halted, struck with a sudden thought which made the blood freeze in
his young veins. He had been lured to this place by means of the
advertisement, and here he found the dead body of a man not long
stabbed to the heart. Was it a trap? Had he been brought to this
solitary spot to be entangled in a crime? It seemed very like it, and
swiftly thinking over the matter, Hench did not see how he could
exonerate himself should he give the alarm. With a feeling of absolute
terror, he bent over the dead so as to make himself acquainted with
the appearance of the poor creature. There was no doubt that the man
was a gentleman, since he was in evening-dress and was wearing studs
and sleeve-links of gold, together with a silk-lined overcoat, or
rather cloak. His face was clean-shaven, with an aquiline nose and
thin compressed lips, decidedly that of a handsome man. From his
lined countenance and white hair, Owain took him to be about sixty
years of age, although being dead there was an astonishing look of
youth about him. Even as Hench stared, the lines on the old face
seemed to fade away and leave it young and smooth. Yes, he was a
gentleman, as was apparent from the well-bred, disdainful face. It did
not need the evening-dress, the silk-lined cloak, the silk socks or
the patent-leather shoes to show the man's station in the world. Here,
as it occurred to Owain, was a gentleman, who had strolled into the
wood after dinner, there to meet with a terrible death at the hands of
some unknown person.
Starting to his feet, the young man remembered how the girl at the inn
had talked of Squire Evans' estate lying long-side the wood and
divided therefrom by a brick wall. Here was the wood, yonder the wall
in question; so it came strongly into Hench's mind that the dead man
was Squire Evans. But who had killed him and why had he been killed?
Hench looked round searchingly into the shadow of the trees, but could
see no lurking form. Whosoever had struck the blow had done so shortly
before Hench arrived, as the body was still warm and still supple.
After all, the man was dead, sure enough, and it would be useless to
run to the village for succour. In fact it would be dangerous, as
Owain thought with fear knocking at his heart, for how could he prove
his innocence of the crime. There was no motive for him to kill this
unknown man, certainly; not even the motive of robbery, as the studs
and sleeve-links had not been taken by the assassin. Hench wavered
between a desire to consult his own safety by flight and a wish to
rouse the village and hunt hot-footed for the murderer. For two long,
long minutes he pondered over the horrible situation, then, without a
backward glance, raced at top speed along the unknown path leading
into the further recesses of the wood. And while he ran his heart beat
tumultuously, the perspiration beaded his forehead, and his body
shivered with cold, in spite of the warm night. Safety was what he
made for, and he tore onward as if the officers of justice were
already on his track. An innocent man--yes, he was an innocent
man--yet the circumstantial evidence might hang him in spite of that
same innocence.
Instinct led Hench to avoid returning to London by passing through the
village and boarding the train at Cookley Station. Already--and he
thought of the possibility with terror--his face and figure might be
remembered by some keen-sighted yokel. There was the conversation with
the girl in the tap-room. He had talked long enough with her to be
remembered, even though the atmosphere, hazy with smoke, had only been
illuminated by one dingy lamp. Then, again, he had spoken about the
Gipsy Stile; he had asked where it was, and at the Gipsy Stile the
murder had taken place. Then there was the advertisement; the police
would be sure to find that out, and if there was any reward offered,
Madame Alpenny might speak to the authorities about the same. Then he
would be linked with the crime, and run the risk of arrest. When
confronted with the girl at the inn, she would probably recognize him.
Then what possible defence could he make to an accusation of murder?
These and many other thoughts buzzed like distracting bees through
Owain's brain as he fled from that awful place. All his idea was to
get away, to reach some other railway station, to hide in London,
and remain quiet until he saw what the police would do. But on the
face of it, he would be safe nowhere; yet with the instinct of
self-preservation he plunged onward through the wood in the hope of
escape. Hench was a brave man, and had faced many dangers, but to be
hanged for a crime which he had not committed, to be entangled in
circumstances over which he had no control, made him choose the least
of two evils. Once or twice he halted in his headlong flight wondering
if it would not be best to return and give himself up to the village
policeman, as, after all, he had no motive to kill the man and
moreover could produce the advertisement. But the resolution was
momentary. He simply could not face the trouble, even though he did
his best to screw up his courage to the sticking point. Wiping his
forehead, he drew a long breath and strode onward. It was too late now
to think of returning, as the body might already have been found. All
he could do was to walk on and on and on, in the hope of leaving
terror behind.
After leaving the wood, Hench found himself traversing other meadows
similar to that near Cookley church, These bordered a narrow lane,
into which a stile afforded him access. From this lane he gained the
high-road, and from a sign-post learned that it would conduct him to
London. At first Owain intended to walk on until he arrived at the
nearest railway station, for there was yet time to catch a late train
to town. But on reflection he decided to use his legs, as there would
be less danger in solitary pedestrianism than in venturing to ask for
a ticket at a local station, where his appearance might be observed.
Also the night was warm, the moon gave her full light, and the journey
to London would be more pleasurable on foot than it would be were he
cooped up in a train. Besides, he was much too agitated by what he had
gone through to sit quiet under the gaze of fellow-travellers.
Innocent though he was, conscience made a coward of him, and he knew
that every careless eye cast upon him would make him wince. He was
safer to walk, so walk he did.
Owain never forgot that thirty odd miles tramp through the lovely
summer night, when--as the saying goes--he saw a bird in every bush.
Certainly he was guiltless of any crime, yet fate had connected him
with one, and he felt like Cain, so strong was the power of his
imagination. Again and again he asked himself if it would not have
been wiser to dare the worst, trusting in God's justice and his own
innocence. But again and again came the reply that innocent men have
been hanged ere now on purely circumstantial evidence, and that he had
done right to fly the danger of a judicial death. Hench cursed himself
for not having waited until his twenty-fifth birthday. Had he taken no
notice of the advertisement, as he originally intended to do, he would
not now be in this plight. But it was too late to blame himself now.
He had come to the rendezvous, he had found a dead body, he had fled
like a true criminal from the spot, so it was no use crying over spilt
milk. Whatever was in store for him he would have to face it. As he
had sown, so would he have to reap.