AN AMAZING DISCOVERY
Owain reached his hotel in the early hours of the morning, and finding
no one about but the sleepy night-porter, who was just leaving, had no
difficulty in getting to his bedroom almost unobserved. Once in that
haven he drew a long breath of relief, and wearied by his long tramp,
threw himself on his bed without undressing. Notwithstanding his
anxiety, which had increased instead of lessening, he speedily fell
fast asleep into a heavy dreamless slumber, which resembled lethargy
rather than natural repose. It was high noon when he woke, feeling
much refreshed and as hungry as the proverbial hunter. Considering the
trouble in which he was involved, it was fortunate that travel had
steadied his nerves to face the worst, if needs be. The result of his
experience of danger led him to prepare for possibilities. He
therefore took a cold bath to brace himself, dressed more carefully
than usual with great deliberation, and went down to make an excellent
breakfast. As yet the hue and cry was not out against him, so he had
ample time to consider his position.
Over a pipe in the smoking-room, he glanced at several of the daily
papers, but naturally found therein nothing about the murder in Parley
Wood at Cookley. It was more than probable that the evening news would
contain an account of the finding of the body, and--for all Hench
knew--a description of himself as the criminal. Of this, however, he
was uncertain, since he had not been noticed closely in the twilight,
and his conversation with the girl of the Bull Inn had taken place in
a darkish and smoky room, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp. Of course
the girl would say that a man had asked her where the Gipsy Stile was
to be found, and the person she had conversed with would be suspected.
But the questioner assuredly could not be described, unless the
serving-wench was sharper than Owain gave her credit for being. Only a
very inquisitive and observant person would have examined him closely
enough to give a fair word-picture of him to the authorities. And
Owain's experience led him to believe that few people ever did observe
with much degree of accuracy. So far as the girl at the inn and the
inhabitants of Cookley were concerned he felt tolerably safe. But
there was another person to consider in connection with his adventure,
and that was Madame Alpenny. The Hungarian lady certainly knew that he
was the man required to meet the advertiser at Cookley, as the use of
the word "Rhaiadr" had enlightened her on that point. Therefore it was
probable that, when the details of the murder were made public, she
would inform the police about the matter. But the woman did not know
that he had kept the appointment, as he had given her to understand
very plainly that he did not intend to do so. Assuredly the feeling
that she was at his elbow had haunted him when he had set forth on his
errand, and he had fancied that she had been lurking about Liverpool
Street Station. But even then he had set down the faint belief to
imagination, so there was no reason why he should conclude that she
actually had been spying on him. In fact he did not see how she
possibly could have done so, since he had not given her his address.
Only Bottles knew that, and Bottles--as Hench felt sure--was to be
thoroughly trusted.
So far the young man could see no cause for alarm, but an hour's
reflection made him resolve to make things doubly sure against
discovery. Thanks to the twilight and the dimly-lighted tap-room,
Hench made sure that any description given of his appearance would be
more or less vague, and was not likely to be recognized by any one in
the hotel when it appeared in the newspapers. Nevertheless, so as to
place the matter beyond all doubt, he paid his bill, packed his
luggage and took his departure late in the afternoon for Victoria
Station. Here he left his box and portmanteau in the cloak-room, and
went down to South Kensington in search of quiet lodgings. But before
venturing to inquire for the same, Owain sought out a barber's shop in
Brampton Road and had his heavy brown beard removed. He would rather
have shaved himself, so as to do away with the possibility of the
barber noticing any description in the newspapers, even though the
same was vague and inaccurate. But to do this was impossible. He could
not change his appearance before leaving the Bloomsbury Hotel without
exciting remark, and he did not wish to present himself at his new
lodgings in any degree like his old self, as it was known to the
paying guests of Mrs. Tesk's establishment. Therefore he was obliged
to risk a barber's razor and a barber's curiosity.
One thing was certain, that when he emerged from the shop, no one
would have recognized him for the man who had entered. The removal of
his beard altered him wonderfully, making him look years younger, and
improving his good looks in a marked degree. Owain sat in the barber's
chair a bearded colonist of the type dear to penny fiction, he rose
from it looking like the Hermes of the Vatican. Even the hairdresser
exclaimed at the extraordinary transformation and complimented him on
his improved appearance. Hench was rather annoyed that the man should
take so much notice, and paying him hurriedly, departed as swiftly as
he could without exciting suspicion. Then he walked down the Brompton
Road and sought out a quiet side street in South Kensington, where he
knew there were rooms to be let. The place was already known to him,
during the last six months, as under the same roof lived an old
school-friend, with whom Hench had kept up a correspondence. On
returning to England he had looked up this friend, and they had
renewed their acquaintanceship with uncommon fervour. Therefore Owain
deemed it best to live near him, so that he might make use of him
should any trouble ensue from his adventure. It may be remarked that
the friend was a barrister, and as such--so Hench considered--would be
able to attend to legal details if necessary.
The rooms in question were still to be had, as a voluble landlady
assured Mr. Hench, so he engaged them for a month, paying the rent
in advance. Then he left a message for his friend, and returned to
get his luggage from the cloak-room in Victoria Station. By seven
o'clock, Owain was installed in a tolerably comfortable bedroom and
sitting-room, and was dawdling over a hurriedly provided meal. His
friend, he was informed, was not expected back until nine o'clock, so
Hench passed the time in reading the evening papers. These he had
bought at the railway station when getting his luggage, and in two of
them he found what he sought.
The account of the Parley Wood crime was necessarily meagre, as so
short a time had elapsed since the discovery of the body that the
police were not in possession of much information. It appeared, from
the scanty details, that the dead man was--as Hench suspected--Squire
Madoc Evans, the Lord of the Manor and the owner of Cookley Grange. He
had gone for a stroll in the woods shortly after dinner, and not
having returned, search had been made, with the result that the poor
old gentleman was found stabbed to the heart near the Gipsy Stile. The
weapon used to execute the murder was a common carving-knife with a
horn handle, and the medical examination showed that Evans had met
with his violent death about half-past seven. The account ended with
the information that the police were making all inquiries in the hope
of tracing the criminal, but as yet had been unsuccessful.
Owain breathed more freely, as there was no word of the girl at the
Bull Inn or of her conversation with himself. Still, it was early days
yet, and the young man felt very sure that shortly she would speak
out. An account of the man who had inquired where the Gipsy Stile was
to be found would assuredly appear in print; then it would depend
entirely upon the memory and acuteness of the girl whether he would be
traced. And, of course, if Madame Alpenny became suspicious--and Owain
was positive that she would become so--her story to the police would
certainly result in his arrest. Then, when confronted with the girl of
the inn, there would be small chance of denying his identity with the
tramp who had made those fatal inquiries. Hench felt extremely
uncomfortable in spite of his innocence, and longed to have some one
to whom he could talk freely. Later on in the evening, and while
gloomily smoking in an armchair, the young man thought that he could
trust his old school-friend. James Vane was quite a different man to
Spruce, who also had been at the same school, and was as true as the
Nut was false. After much reflection and some hesitation, Hench
decided to unbosom himself to the barrister, since the dangers which
environed him were so great that he could not deal with them unaided.
At nine o'clock precisely, a sharp knock came to the door of the
sitting-room, and Hench sprang up to greet his visitor. Vane was a
tall, slim man, with a lean, hatchet face, keen dark eyes, and thin
dark hair, touched already with grey although he was only thirty years
of age. He was perfectly dressed and perfectly well-groomed, quick in
his movements and a trifle saturnine in his manner. Some people were
rather afraid of him, as he was always cold and cautious. But Owain
knew that this frigid exterior concealed a truly warm heart, and
that--as the saying goes--Vane's bark was worse than his bite. To his
old school-chum he showed himself as he really was, and few would have
recognized the chilly barrister in the smiling friend. It was as
though ice had melted on a mountain-top to reveal a green sward.
"Well, I am glad to see you again, Owain," said Vane, after shaking
hands warmly; "it is quite six months since I set eyes on you. Where
have you been all this time? What have you been doing with yourself?
And where is that patriarchal beard which made you look like Abraham?
H'm! You're in love."
Hench stared and made his friend comfortable in an armchair. "What on
earth makes you say that?" he inquired with a puzzled look.
"No girl could possibly love a man with a beard which made him look
one hundred and ten years old. You have met with a girl--with _the_
girl--and are in love. Therefore have you shaved your chin, reduced
your age, and made yourself look like a young Greek god."
"I don't feel like a Greek god, Jim," said Hench, taking a seat and
glancing round to see that windows and doors were closed. "I'm
worried."
"Poor old chap," said Vane with quick sympathy; "rely on me to help.
We always were pals at school, you know. Is it money?"
"No. I have enough to keep me going. By the way, your mention of our
being pals at school reminds me that I met another chap who was with
us at Winchester ages ago."
"Don't make us out to be as old as the hills, Owain. We're young yet,
and the wine of life still sparkles in the bowl. Who is this chap?"
"Spruce. He is----"
"Oh Lord!" Vane removed his cigarette from his thin lips with an air
of disgust. "I know what he is; you needn't tell me anything about
him. You don't mean to say that you look upon him as a pal?"
"No! He wanted me to but I couldn't stomach him and his dandified
airs. If you want my opinion of him," continued Hench frankly, "he's a
sickening little beast, as arrogant as they make them."
"He's all that and more--one of the Gadarene swine. Where did you meet
him?"
"At a boarding-house in Bethnal Green."
"Oh! That's the fox's hole, is it. I thought he would go further
afield."
"Has he any reason to go afield at all?" asked Hench, staring. "You
bet he has, old fellow. Mr. Cuthbert Spruce has been a man on the
market for quite a long time."
"What is a man on the market?"
"A chap who gets his living by his wits," explained the barrister
leisurely, "and Spruce has been at that sort of game for ever so long.
He started with a decent income but got rid of it at cards. Cards
queered his pitch ultimately, as he was caught cheating and had to
clear out. H'm! He's ruralizing at Bethnal Green, is he? I expect he
will stay there until his little bad wind blows away. Then he'll try
and return. But it's all of no use, Owain, as no one will have the
little beast at any price."
"He told me quite a different story."
"Oh, he would, naturally. Spruce is very good at telling stories. He
ought to be a novelist by rights."
"That's exactly what he claims to be," retorted Owain, opening his
eyes widely. "He said that he had come to Bethnal Green to gather
material for a yarn."
"Pretty thin," commented Vane, with a shrug, "considering he can't
write a single paragraph of King's English without a dozen mistakes. I
credited him with sufficient imagination to manufacture a better lie.
However, it's useless for us to waste time over Spruce and his shady
doings. Cheating at cards has finished him, and now he'll go under
altogether. R.I.P. and be hanged to him. But what were you doing at
Bethnal Green, old son?"
"I thought that a cheap boarding-house down there would suit my
pocket."
"H'm! You explained that much before, even though I offered to share
my pennies with you."
"Very good of you, Jim," said Hench hastily and colouring, "but I
don't care about shoving my burden on to another man's shoulders.
However, a gold mine I had a few shares in turned up trumps, and I
have a hundred pounds more or less at my back."
"And for that reason you have come West?"
"Well, not exactly. If you don't mind being bored with my----"
"Nothing you tell me will ever bore me, Owain," interrupted Vane
quickly. "It's a girl, I swear. Come, be honest."
"Well, there was a girl, but there isn't now," confessed Owain, and
while Vane chuckled at his own perspicuity he related what had taken
place at The Home of the Muses in connection with Zara, Bracken,
Madame Alpenny and Spruce. Vane listened intently, and when Hench
ended made his first remark in connection with the Nut, for whom he
seemed to have no great love.
"The sordid little animal wished to make money out of you, Owain," he
said in his shrewd way, "and for that reason made up to you and kept
his eye on you."
"But he knew that I had no money," protested Hench, puzzled.
"These papers at the lawyers' may mean money," retorted the barrister.
"I am inclined to agree with that old lady you mention so far. Well,
it's only about nine days until your birthday, so you haven't long to
wait. And now that you've cut the place--very wisely, I think--Spruce
won't be able to line his pockets at your expense. As to the girl--you
never did love her."
"Well, perhaps you are right. But I admired her."
"That's nothing. I admire scores of girls, but that doesn't mean
matrimony, my son. You are at that age, Owain, when any woman could
collar you. I'm glad that this Zara girl had enough sense to cotton to
the other man. Madame Alpenny----"
Hench rose restlessly. "I'm afraid of her," he interrupted bluntly.
"Pooh! Why should you be? She can't force you to marry her daughter."
"No." Owain spoke slowly. "It's not that. But the advertisement----"
"Well, it had to do with you, certainly, going by the mention of the
place where your father passed his youth. But you told her that you
did not intend to keep the appointment."
"Yes. All the same, I did keep the appointment."
"The deuce!" Vane looked surprised. "Well?"
"I'm coming to my trouble now," said Hench, picking up one of the
newspapers nervously; "read that paragraph."
Vane looked at his friend in surprise, and then swiftly made himself
acquainted with the information about the Parley Wood murder. He
started when he first grasped what the paragraph was about, but
afterwards read on slowly to the end. When he knew all about the
matter he threw aside the newspaper and looked inquiringly at Hench.
"Well?"
"Well," repeated Owain, sitting down with his hands in his pockets,
"can't you see, Jim? I went to the Gipsy Stile and----"
"And murdered this man," finished Vane derisively. "Do you expect me
to believe that, you fool?"
"No. I'm not given to behaving in that way. But I kept the appointment
and I found the corpse."
"Oh, the devil!" Vane sat up.
"So I said at the time," remarked Hench dryly.
"And when Madame Alpenny reads about the crime, she will put two and
two together."
"They won't make four in her calculations," said Vane swiftly. "After
all, you are innocent. She can't prove you to be guilty."
"Well, I don't know. The circumstantial evidence is rather strong."
"The circumstantial evidence!" Vane stared and reflected. "You had a
beard when I saw you last, now----"
"I shaved to-day, so that there might be no chance of my being
discovered by any description that girl at the Bull Inn might give."
"Girl at the Bull Inn? What do you mean?"
Hench lost no time but promptly gave a full account of his adventures
from the time he left Liverpool Street Station to the moment that he
sat down to dinner in the very room in which the two were speaking.
Vane interrupted him frequently, and his face grew grave as he
recognized that Hench was in a woeful plight. "Of course, I've acted
like an ass," confessed Owain in a rueful manner; "but how would you
have acted, Jim?"
"Sitting in this chair and being wise after the event, I should have
faced the thing out," said Vane slowly. "But had I been in your shoes
in that wood I should probably have run away as you did." He paused,
shook his head, stared at the carpet. "Damn!" he muttered
emphatically.
"I thought it best to speak to you," murmured Owain anxiously.
Vane nodded. "Quite right. What's the use of a pal if he doesn't rise
to the occasion. After all, if Madame Alpenny does speak to the police
she can't prove you to be guilty. You had no motive to murder this
Evans. He was quite a stranger to you."
"Quite. All the same----"
"All the same, hold your confounded tongue!" insisted the barrister.
"My advice to you is to sit tight and wait events."
"Madame Alpenny?"
"Exactly. If she is the old adventuress you think she is, and which
from your description she certainly appears to be, I don't think you
need have any fear for the moment."
"Why not?"
"Because she will wait until you are in possession of those papers on
your twenty-fifth birthday. If they place you in possession of money
she will be silent on condition that you marry her daughter."
"I won't. Nothing would induce me to marry a girl who loves another
man."
"Oh, I don't say that you would marry her, but that Madame Alpenny
would try and make you marry her. Until all hope fails in that
direction she'll say nothing about the advertisement. Of course, if
there is no money the old hag will split, especially if there is a
reward. As this Squire Evans seems to be a landowner and a rich man, I
expect there will be a reward."
"I see. Then the best thing for me to do is to wait."
"Exactly. I'll support you, and you can talk your heart out to me."
"You're a good fellow, Jim. Why, I half believed you would think
me----"
"Don't talk bosh!" Vane jumped up irritably. "Why, you're the whitest
man I know, and my old school-pal. I'd as soon believe myself guilty
as you. Now I'm off to bed; go thou and do likewise and don't worry."
After which speech he shook hands with Hench and the two parted for
the night.
For the next nine days they had many such talks, and kept themselves
well informed of the progress which the case was making so far as they
could learn in print. Of course, the girl at the Bull Inn _did_ tell
the police about the interview in the tap-room, and of course great
capital was made out of this. But as Owain had suspected, the girl
being inobservant, and not having seen him very clearly in the smoky
dimly-lighted atmosphere, gave a most incoherent account of his
appearance. All she could say was that the questioner was a
rough-looking tramp with a bushy black beard, who spoke civilly
enough, but who was not a gentleman. Vane chuckled when he read this
unflattering description, which was sufficiently wrong and vague to
preserve Hench from suspicions. And, indeed, if the girl had been
confronted with Hench she would never have recognized in this handsome
clean-shaven young gentleman, fashionably dressed, the rough tramp who
had drank his beer in the tap-room. It was Vane who made Owain dress
fashionably, so as to make him look as unlike his old bearded self as
possible. He took him to his tailor, to his haberdasher, to his
bootmaker, and to various other tradesmen, with the result that
Owain's new wardrobe did full justice to his handsome looks. Hench,
being of the pioneering legion, rather kicked against being thus
civilized, but he recognized that Vane was right to insist upon the
transformation.
Whatever Madame Alpenny might have thought she did not put her
thoughts into action, for nothing appeared in the papers likely to
show that Hench was suspected by the police. The inquest on Squire
Madoc Evans' body was duly held, and the verdict was brought in of
"Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," although every
one was pretty certain that the shabby tramp who had inquired the way
to the Gipsy Stile was the culprit. But he had vanished, and--thanks
to Madame Alpenny's silence--no word came to the police suggesting his
identity with Owain Hench. The funeral took place in due time, and it
gave Owain a thrill when he read that the body had been taken to
Rhaiadr in Wales for burial. It was said that Evans came from that
place, and that all his ancestors were buried there. Incidentally, it
was mentioned that the dead man had left a daughter who inherited
Cookley Grange, and by her father's death became the Lady of the
Manor.
"I think it's all right now," said Vane when matters reached this
pitch. "After the nine days' wonder the excitement will gradually die
away. And, by Jupiter!" cried the barrister, "it is exactly nine days.
Owain, old son, this is your birthday. Off with you and call on
Gilberry & Gilberry."
"Won't you come also, Jim?"
"No, I won't. You can't get into trouble in a respectable legal
office, and you are so changed that no one is likely to spot you as
the man who is wanted for Squire Madoc Evans' death."
Owain was content to go alone, although he felt slightly nervous. His
strongest card, should anything come out, was that he had not known
Evans, and therefore had no reason to kill him. And by this time he
was growing used to the situation, since Madame Alpenny was holding
her tongue. Why she acted in this kind way he could not understand,
but accepted the explanation provided by Vane. However, if he came
into money she probably would find him out and move in the matter.
Therefore it was with some reluctance that Hench went to Gilberry &
Gilberry's office in Lincoln's Inn Fields. He wanted to let sleeping
dogs lie, and was unwilling to become rich, as by doing so he would
certainly bring Madame Alpenny down on his head. All the same, Hench
felt very curious when he faced the white-headed old gentleman who was
the head of the firm, and was rather astonished by the warmth of the
greeting he received.
"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gilberry heartily. "You come in the
nick of time, my dear young friend."
"To do what, sir?"
"To inherit ten thousand a year."
"What?" Owain became pale with amazement.
Gilberry chuckled. "Oh yes. It is as I say, Mr. Evans."
"What?" cried Owain again, and this time louder, with a quavering
voice.
"Of course; of course," the old man chuckled once more. "You think
that your name is Hench. Not so; not so. You are Owain Evans of
Rhaiadr, the heir of Squire Madoc Evans, of Cookley Grange, in Essex."
"And--and--what relation am I to--to--to----"
"Oh, yes. You don't know. Why, my dear sir, Madoc Evans was your
uncle."
Owain gasped, and turned as white as the corpse he had seen in Parley
Wood.