GWEN
Naturally, Gilberry & Gilberry were extremely astonished when the heir
to Cookley Grange refused to enter into his kingdom immediately. Such
a wonderful reluctance to enjoy a large income and a splendid position
had never before come under their notice. Fortunately, however, Mr.
Samuel Gilberry, the senior partner, who attended particularly to the
business of the estate, was of a romantic turn of mind, unusual in a
lawyer, and Owain's suggestion of acting the part of a disguised
prince rather appealed to him. Adopting Vane's suggestion, Hench--as
he persisted in calling himself for the time being--artfully pointed
out that it would be just as well to make the acquaintance of his
cousin as a stranger before revealing himself. He did not wish her, as
he put it, to be biassed by the fact that he was the son of his
father. "For you see, sir," he said to the old gentleman, who was a
white-bearded benevolent person, somewhat like the traditional Father
Christmas, "so far as I can gather from the papers which my father
left behind him, these brothers, who are the parents of Gwen and
myself, were not friends."
"They hated one another fervently, if you don't mind my saying so,"
was the emphatic response of the old lawyer, as he took a pinch of
snuff.
"I don't mind your stating the truth, Mr. Gilberry, which is what I
want to get at," replied Hench readily. "Well then, admitting that the
two hated one another, it is more than likely that Uncle Madoc had no
great love for me."
"He had not, my young friend. I pointed out to him frequently that as
he had never set eyes on you, he could scarcely form any judgment,
good, bad or indifferent. But he declared that you were the son of
your father and that no good could come out of Nazareth."
"Quite so. And doubtless he passed on his opinion to his daughter."
"I think it is extremely likely, although I cannot speak positively,
Mr. Owain," said the solicitor. "By the way, I may as well call you by
that name, since you refuse to take your proper appellation, and I
don't like to call you Mr. Hench."
"I don't mind what you call me," Owain assured him, "so long as you
don't let the cat out of the bag. My cousin is sure to have a bad
opinion of me, since her father was so bitter. This being the case, I
shall have no chance of becoming friendly with her if I present myself
as her cousin. I do not wish to carry on the feud, so it is necessary
for me to gain Gwen's good opinion. Therefore, under the name my
father adopted, I shall make her acquaintance as a stranger, and win
her friendship entirely on my own merits."
"It is rather a fantastical way of acting, and is scarcely
business-like," was Gilberry's reply. "All the same the idea is not
without merit. I am quite ready to help you, and can do so, by saying
that you are abroad."
"I don't think it is even necessary to say as much. Let Gwen know that
I have communicated with you, and have decided to wait for a time
before taking over the estate. She can put it down to eccentricity, or
to my late father's influence, if she likes. Anyhow, I don't suppose
she will trouble to search very deeply into the matter, and will
probably be pleased that I don't take possession of Cookley Grange
immediately. She can continue to live there until I give her notice to
quit."
Gilberry laughed and shook his head. "Miss Evans is a very decided
young lady, Mr. Owain," he remarked in a judicial manner, "and having
her own income of five hundred a year, she has already quitted the
Grange."
"Because she expected me to take possession?"
"Yes."
"There!" cried Hench triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you that she was
biassed by her father. Has she left Cookley?"
"No. She has gone to stay with a very charming old lady in the
neighbourhood, called Mrs. Perage."
"Better and better. That will enable me to make her acquaintance
without unduly forcing myself upon her. My friend, Mr. Vane, who is a
barrister----"
"Yes! Yes! I know the name. I have heard that he is clever. Well?"
"Well, he has given me a letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage, who is
his aunt."
Mr. Samuel Gilberry rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Very good--very
good indeed, my young friend. It is quite a romance. Now, to carry the
same to a proper conclusion, may I suggest that you should fall in
love with Miss Evans?"
Hench shook his head doubtfully. "Private feelings can't be ordered
about like private soldiers," he remarked dryly. "I am not the kind of
man to fall in love, Mr. Gilberry."
"Pooh! Pooh! A handsome young fellow like you is sure to experience
the grand passion. And let me tell you that Miss Evans is a beautiful
girl, both clever and sensible. If you could manage to marry her,"
went on the lawyer coaxingly, "think how delightfully you would end
the family feud. And after all, poor girl, it is rather hard for her
to be reduced to five hundred a year after enjoying, through her
father, ten thousand per annum."
"Oh, as to that," said Owain promptly, "you can allow her two or three
thousand out of my income."
"She wouldn't take it, seeing that your consent is necessary."
"Yet you talk about my marrying her," was Hench's retort. "I have
about as much chance of doing that as the man in the moon. However, I
shall make her acquaintance as Hench, and see what comes of it. By the
way, doesn't she know the name my father took in place of Evans?"
"No. Your late uncle never mentioned it. As Owain Hench you are quite
safe in making her acquaintance. She will never think that you are her
cousin, unless you let her see how you spell your Christian name. The
Welsh spelling may give her a hint, and she is very sharp, remember."
"If I have occasion to write it, I shall spell the name in the English
way. I don't suppose that will be necessary, anyhow. Well, that's all
right. Act as we have decided and I shall go down to Cookley to carry
out my romance, as you call it, Mr. Gilberry. One question I should
like to ask you, however, before leaving."
"And that is, Mr. Owain---?"
"Who murdered my uncle?" Mr. Gilberry took a pinch of snuff and shook
his venerable head. "Really, it is hard to say, unless it was that
tramp who asked the way to the Gipsy Stile, Mr. Owain. I suppose you
saw all about that in the papers?"
Hench winced, but recovered himself immediately. "Yes, I did, Mr.
Gilberry. But what reason could that tramp have had to murder my
uncle. Not robbery, if the report of the inquest is to be believed,
for then it was said that neither the money, nor the watch, nor the
jewellery had been taken."
"Exactly. So far as I can see, there was no reason why this man should
have murdered Mr. Evans." Mr. Gilberry knitted his brows and looked
perplexed. "Maybe it was revenge," he concluded doubtfully.
"Revenge. Then my uncle had enemies?"
"Dozens, I should think," said the lawyer coolly. "Mr. Madoc Evans was
a very cantankerous person. I may say that much ill of the dead. He
quarrelled with many people, and, moreover, was very severe on
poaching both as a magistrate and as a landowner. This tramp, for all
I know, may have been a poacher who had a grudge against him."
"Do the police think so?"
"The police say nothing, because they have no evidence to go upon,"
said the lawyer sharply. "The sole person they suspect is the tramp
who came to the Bull Inn. But he has disappeared, and they can't find
him. However, in the village it is said that the tramp was a poacher,
who murdered the Squire out of revenge. You can take or leave that
opinion, as you like. The whole thing is a mystery to me, Mr. Owain."
"And to me," said Hench, in all good faith. "I shall never be
satisfied until I learn who murdered my uncle."
"That wish does you credit, Mr. Owain," said Mr. Gilberry approvingly,
and again the young man winced. "Considering how unfriendly the late
Squire was towards your father."
"Well, my father was just as unfriendly towards him," returned Hench
with a shrug. "And, as I say, I don't wish to carry on the feud.
Good-bye, Mr. Gilberry. When I am settled in Cookley I shall let you
know my address and will write you if necessary. You are sure that no
one knows my name of Hench as having anything to do with the family at
the Grange?"
"I am quite sure, although I don't call one solitary girl a family,"
chuckled the old man, walking with his client towards the door.
"Good-bye, good-bye. I hope--I sincerely hope--that the feud will be
ended by your marriage to my late friend's daughter."
"You might as well expect water to run up hill," retorted Hench
sceptically, and went on his way, certain that he was not likely to
lose his heart.
Consequent on the necessity of preserving the secret of his identity
carefully, Hench requested Vane to introduce him by letter to Mrs.
Perage as Mr. Hench, suppressing the Christian name, which might have
given Gwen a clue, if only from the oddness of the spelling. Vane, on
learning that the girl had gone to stay with his aunt, quite approved
of this, and both in his letter of introduction and his private
epistle to the old lady made all things safe. As Mr. Hench, the young
man went down to Cookley, and if he was forced to state what his
Christian name was, he resolved to spell it in the English way. That
would provoke no remark from Gwen, as "Owen" was not a particularly
unusual designation. All the same, Hench felt that he was treading on
thin ice. He determined to stay at Cookley as short a time as
possible, and to see no more of his cousin than he could help. After
all he was going down not to meet her, as Mr. Gilberry believed, but
to learn if possible who had murdered the unfortunate Squire.
While reading a newspaper entitled _The Setting Sun_ in the train,
Hench received a distinct shock, although by this time he was growing
accustomed to being startled. Some amateur detective had written a
letter to the editor of this halfpenny evening journal, drawing
attention to the advertisement in _The Express_ with reference to the
meeting at the Gipsy Stile. Of the name "Rhaiadr" nothing was said, as
such was Greek to the writer of the letter. But the fact that some one
was invited to meet Squire Evans at the very place and on the very
evening when he was murdered was largely commented upon. The very
officious person who wrote suggested that the police should try
and learn to whom the advertisement was addressed, "when without
doubt"--the letter went on to say--"the assassin will be captured."
Although it was rather like asking the authorities to look for a
needle in a bottle of hay, seeing that there were eight million people
in London to any one of whom the advertisement might have been
addressed, Owain felt cold water running down his spine. Not on
account of the Hungarian lady, because he agreed with Vane that she
would not give information to the police until she learned if he was
prepared to marry her daughter. It was Spruce he feared--the little
rat who was meddlesome and secretive, and unscrupulous, and who could
do much mischief once he got on the trail. From what Vane had said, it
was plain that the Nut had rendered his position in the West End
untenable owing to his cheating, and the sole chance he had of
becoming even tolerable to his former associates--and perhaps not even
then--was to return with his pockets full of money. Then, for the sake
of winning the same, they might overlook his fault. Probably they
would not, but Hench was quite sure that Spruce believed that money
would do anything. Naturally, he would do much to get money, being
anything but an honourable man as had been ample proved. In Bethnal
Green there were few opportunities of making a fortune, and Spruce was
not sufficiently clever to take advantage even of what chances there
were. Consequently, he would be quite prepared--Hench was certain of
this--to get what he could by blackmail. Already he believed that
there was some mystery about Hench, and if he saw the advertisement,
or the letter which had drawn attention to the same, he would be
certain to get at the truth. Having been present at the conversation
between Hench and Madame Alpenny when the woman's meeting with his
father--Hench's father that is--had been discussed, the word "Rhaiadr"
would certainly come again into his mind. Connecting the same with
Hench, the young man was convinced that Spruce would venture to accuse
him of keeping the appointment and murdering the advertiser. Then if
it came out that the dead man was Hench's uncle, so strong a motive
was provided that arrest would certainly follow.
It was a very uncomfortable journey for Owain, and he alighted at
Cookley Station with the firm idea that he was about to have a trying
time. Madame Alpenny was dangerous and so was Spruce, as both wanted
cash and both were wholly unscrupulous. However, if either went to the
police they were not likely to get what they wanted, so Hench
comforted himself with the idea that before taking any action they
would find him out and offer to treat. On what he discovered at
Cookley would depend his attitude, as if he could only get at the
truth he could place the matter in the hands of the police without
danger to himself. On the other hand, if he made no discovery likely
to prove who was the assassin, it would be necessary to come to some
arrangement or risk the consequence. And Hench could not disguise from
himself that on the face of it his defence was weak, since the
strongest point--that of being a stranger to the dead man--was
removed. Certainly, as he had never met Squire Evans, the deceased
_was_ a stranger to him, but the fact that the dead man was his uncle,
whose demise would give him ten thousand five hundred a year,
assuredly provided a strong motive for the commission of the crime. It
was all puzzling and difficult, and dangerous and highly unpleasant.
All that Hench could do was to wait and see what Madame Alpenny, and
possibly Spruce, would do. Any one who has experienced suspense will
understand what agonies this unfortunate young man underwent. It
required all his courage and all his nerve to endure the anxiety of
the next few days. And to make matters worse, Vane was not at hand to
relieve the tension by listening to Owain's fears.
It was with an odd feeling, and not one of safety, that Hench again
set foot in Cookley. As he walked down the crooked street he noted how
many eyes of both men and women followed his movements, and for the
moment believed that he was recognized. But that was impossible,
considering the contrast between the rough-bearded tramp who had
visited the Bull Inn and the smart, fashionable, clean-shaven young
gentleman now strolling complacently through the little town. What the
people looked at, especially the women, were his handsome face and
distinguished appearance. From a muttered remark or so which his ear
caught, Owain understood that they took him for a tourist, who had
come to see the lions of the place. Therefore, in this character the
young man asked one or two where he could find lodgings. Of course he
was at once directed to the inn, but here, for obvious reasons, he did
not wish to go. With the idea of finding quiet rooms he had left his
portmanteau at the railway station, so as to seek the same unhampered
by luggage. For some time he was unsuccessful in his search, until on
the outskirts of the village and no great distance from the church he
saw a notice in a cottage window of "Apartments to Let." At once he
knocked at the door, since the place seemed clean and quiet. A
delicate, slender little woman answered his inquiries by stating that
she was called Mrs. Bell and had rooms to let. An inspection of these
satisfied the young man, although they were rather poorly furnished
and decidedly small. At once he took them at the very moderate sum
demanded, and Mrs. Bell at his request sent her nephew to the station
to get her new lodger's portmanteau. The little woman, who was meek
and fragile, at once took a great interest in Hench, as he had kind
eyes and a gentle manner. In a short time the two were good friends,
and Mrs. Bell congratulated herself that for one month she had such a
pleasant-spoken gentleman under her homely roof. She said as much to
her big burly nephew when he returned with the portmanteau on his
shoulder, and her nephew thoroughly agreed with her, which was
natural, seeing that the new lodger had given him half a crown for his
trouble. So Hench was made very comfortable by the two, who approved
of him more and more every day. Mrs. Bell was a busy bee in the way of
looking after household affairs, and Giles her nephew, who was a
labourer, brushed Owain's boots and clothes for him. Also--and this
was a great point--Mrs. Bell was no gossip and kept very much to
herself, so the neighbours heard little about Hench from her. On the
whole, the young man decided that he was very well placed.
Hench did not present his letter of introduction to Mrs. Perage
straight away, but busied himself in learning what he could of
the geography of Cookley. He examined the church, explored the
village,--never going into the Bull Inn, by the way,--and even
ventured to look at the Gipsy Stile. It gave him a qualm when he
found himself on the well-remembered spot, and saw beyond the old
brick wall the picturesque Grange, which was now his property. Mrs.
Bell, who knew everything about the place and talked freely enough
when asked, although she was no scandal-monger, told him how Miss
Evans had gone to stay with Mrs. Perage since the death of her
father.
"And they do say," said Mrs. Bell, who always prefaced her remarks
with this phrase, "that she ain't going to rest until she finds out
who killed him."
"Is there any clue?" asked Owain, keeping his face turned away.
"No, there ain't, sir, unless you can call that tramp a clue. He did
ask Betsy Jane at the Bull where the Gipsy Stile was, and the old
Squire was found there some hours later as dead as mutton. But since
then no one's clapped eyes on him, and I don't suppose, sir, as any
one ever will."
"Do you think the tramp murdered the Squire?"
"Lord, sir, how do I know!" cried Mrs. Bell in a panic. "I hev enough
to do in the house without thinking of murders. But they do say as
Squire Evans was a hard man on poachers, as Giles knows, he having got
into trouble over a pheasant. It might be, sir, as that tramp was one
of them poachers, and done for the Squire. Though to be sure," added
the woman, rubbing her nose in a perplexed way, "if he was a poacher
hereabouts some one would hev knowed him, and he wouldn't hev had to
ask Betsy Jane of the Bull where the stile was. It's my opinion, that
for all Miss Gwen's trying she'll never find out who killed her
father. And they do say as if the murderer ain't found it won't be any
great grief to them as knowed old Mr. Evans."
"What kind of a girl is Miss Evans?" asked Hench irrelevantly.
"Ah!" cried Mrs. Bell, nursing her hands under her apron. "Now they do
say, sir, as I knows myself, as she's as nice a young lady as you ever
set eyes on. Lovely I call her, and small like me, though quite a
lady, which I ain't. She's as loved as her father was hated, and they
do say as that's saying a great deal. I do assure you, sir, as we'd
rather hev Miss Gwen for the head of the place than this new young
Squire, as comes from no one knows where!"
Hench had many conversations about these matters with Mrs. Bell, and
gradually came to know a great deal during the next few days. His
uncle, it appeared, had been very unpopular, while Gwen was the
reverse. Generally, it was quite believed amongst the ancients of the
village that the Squire had been murdered by the unknown tramp, who
was a poacher, and the verdict was that it served the dead man right,
because he was always so hard on the poor. Owain was tolerably sure
that the Cookley people would have been quite sorry had the presumed
criminal been arrested. But as he was the person in question, he was
glad that they had not been troubled to mourn in this way. All the
same, in spite of all his questioning, he was unable to learn anything
likely to show who had met Squire Evans in Parley Wood. So far his
mission to Cookley had proved a complete failure.
Then Destiny intervened to conduct him a step further on the dark
path, which was leading him he knew not where. Towards the end of
the week, and when he was beginning to feel safer and more at home
in the village, he had an adventure, the consequences of which were
far-reaching. Owain had gone for a long walk into the surrounding
country, and was returning leisurely under the many-coloured glories
of the sunset. The weather was warm, the road was dusty, and he paused
by a stile to remove his straw hat and allow the breeze to cool his
heated brow. Before him was the church, round the square ivy-clothed
tower of which the jackdaws were flying; to the right was the road,
melting almost imperceptibly into the narrow village street, while to
the left ran the same road curving abruptly round a corner into the
agricultural lands. So dangerous was this bend in the highway that it
was marked with one of those red triangles elevated on a post to warn
motorists and cyclists not to move at too great a pace. The injunction
was very much needed, and never more so than in the present instance.
Hench leaned idling against the stile enjoying the beauty of the
evening and the picturesque character of the landscape. He could not
see very far, as the place was muffled with hawthorn hedges and tall
trees, but there was a quiet domestic loveliness about the prospect
which soothed his tormented soul. Suddenly his eye was caught by a
moving figure in the porch of the church, which was under the west
window. It was that of a slender girl, not very tall, but singularly
graceful. As she came down the path towards the lychgate, he saw that
she had a beautiful face, aristocratic in its looks and rather pensive
in its expression. Arrayed in white, and with a white sunshade, she
stepped daintily through the gate and out on to the dusty road,
turning her face towards the village, whither she was evidently going.
But scarcely had she taken three steps when a motor-car, without
warning, swept swiftly round the dangerous corner. The girl was
directly in his path, and although Hench shouted at once, she did not
step aside. In fact she seemed to be puzzled by his cry, until the
noise of the approaching machine struck her ear. Then she wheeled
suddenly and stood where she was, paralysed with fright. Hench saw
that in a second she would be cut down and be crushed under those
cruel wheels, so plunged suddenly forward and dashed across the
roadway to thrust her out of the way. So impetuous was his onset that
she was tumbled back into the hedge girdling the churchyard, and Hench
himself fell sprawling in the dust. With a whirr, the motor passed and
he felt a sharp pain in his ankle. The next moment the car was buzzing
at top-speed through the village, its driver evidently afraid of
prosecution for neglecting to sound his horn. Meanwhile the girl
gathered herself up out of the hedge, and Owain lay still on the
highway. The whole event lasted less than a minute--the girl being
saved, the man being hurt in the twinkling of an eye. And in the same
twinkling of an eye the car had vanished into the unknown.
"Oh!" The young lady hurried towards her preserver. "Are you hurt?"
"My ankle," gasped Hench, sitting up with an effort; "it's giving me a
warm time--a wheel went over it, I think--probably it is broken!" and
he winced with the pain.
"You have saved my life!"
"Oh, that's all right," replied the young man, speaking with
difficulty, for the suffering was great. "You can repay me by helping
me home, or by getting assistance. I can't walk by myself."
"Give me your hand," said the girl quickly, quite cool and mistress of
herself. "There! Can you get on to your feet?"
"On to one foot, anyhow," gasped Hench, smiling to reassure her, and
managed to stand upright. "But my ankle is not so very bad. I don't
think it is broken--only crushed."
"That's bad enough. Lean on me. Where do you live?"
"At Mrs. Bell's."
"That's not far away. Come. What a hero you are to save me. My name is
Evans."
"Evans!" repeated Owain, and then knew that he had at last met his
cousin.