REAPING THE WHIRLWIND
The weather was uncommonly hot. For weeks the sun had been blazing in
a cloudless sky, as it did in the tropics, and the earth was parched
for want of rain. Everywhere it was seamed and cracked; everywhere
the grass was brown and the trees were wilted, while the air was like
the thrice-heated breath of a furnace. Animals and human beings went
languidly about their business and longed all day for the cool night
hours. Not that it was particularly cool even when the twilight came,
but it was something to escape the pitiless blue sky and the burning
sun. And on this particular evening a hot wind rose with unexpected
suddenness to make matters worse. It raised clouds of dust, it rattled
the dry foliage in Parley Wood, and brought no sense of relief to the
worn and weary. As people are never really prepared for an unusually
hot season in England, the Cookley villagers found this equatorial
summer excessively trying and disagreeable.
Spruce enjoyed the sultry weather personally, as he loved warmth with
all the affection of a cat, and the worst heat never caused him any
discomfort. After dining excellently at seven o'clock, he now sat by
the open window of his sitting-room at the Bull Inn, enjoying a cup of
fragrant coffee and as many cigarettes as he could get through. Of
course, he was in accurate evening dress, as he always loved to be
clothed appropriately according to the hour of the day. No one was
more of a slave to social observances than the Nut, for he had the
petty soul of a Beau Brummel. A small table stood before him, and he
passed the time in trying new card-tricks, which might be useful some
day, should he again become hard up. Not that Spruce always played
false to make money, since he was a cheat by instinct. To get the
better of any one by trickery was pleasant, as it involved danger,
which was exciting, and gave him an agreeable feeling of superiority
because of his wonderful dexterity. So he shuffled and cut and dealt;
slipped cards up his sleeve and out again; diddled an imaginary
opponent by sleight of hand, and in every way trained himself to
cheating as though it were a fine art. Most card-lovers when alone
play Patience. Spruce preferred to prepare himself for future
campaigns.
Every now and then he cast a disdainful look round the shabby old
room, which was by no means to his taste. Undoubtedly the apartment
was ancient and time-worn, containing too much furniture, and giving
little gratification to the eye. But Time had mellowed the whole into
pleasing, sober colours, and less fastidious people would have been
delighted with the reposeful look of things. The atmosphere was quite
monastic. But Spruce admired spacious chambers filled with gilded
furniture and blazing with lights. He had the tastes of Louis XIV.,
and Versailles was his idea of a dwelling house. When he was in
possession of the two thousand a year, he intended to live in great
luxury, but meanwhile contented himself with this dingy habitation.
The window at which he was seated looked out on to a small garden
surrounded by a low wall beyond which stretched fields right up to the
grey churchyard. The sill of the window was so low that the Nut could
easily have vaulted over it into the pleasant garden. But not having
any love for Nature, he preferred to stay where he was playing cards,
and dreaming of luxurious years, which were as he thought--truly
coming to him.
While Spruce was thus occupied, the landlady of the inn knocked at the
door to announce that Mr. Hench and Mr. Vane wished to see him. The
Nut at once ordered them to be admitted, never doubting but what they
were coming to conclude the matter of his blackmail. He rose to greet
them pleasantly, as if he was the most honest person in the world, and
when the door was closed signed that they should be seated. He resumed
his post near the window, and in that way obtained a good view of
their faces, while his own was in the shadow. As it was only half-past
eight o'clock, the twilight was yet luminous enough to see very
plainly, and although Spruce offered to ring for lights, Hench
signified that it was not necessary. Then the host offered cigarettes
and drinks, both of which were curtly refused.
"You are uncommonly rude," said the Nut, much nettled. "When you look
up a man you might be civil."
"That depends very much on the man," said Vane coolly. "Neither Hench
nor myself were ever friends of yours, Spruce."
"Oh, I don't want your friendship. After all, you are a dull couple."
"But honest," said Hench with emphasis.
"Honesty implies dullness. It takes a clever man to sin."
"What a brilliant person you must be, then."
"That's sarcastic, I suppose." Spruce was not at all offended, but
accepted the observation as a tribute to his powers. "But I don't
mind. On the whole, I am clever enough to get two thousand a year."
"You haven't earned it yet," snapped Vane with a look of dislike.
Spruce started. "Ah, play fair, whatever you do," he protested. "Hench
promised me two thousand a year if I told him about that old woman.
You heard him, Vane."
"I heard Hench promise to give you that income if the crime was
brought home to Madame Alpenny, and his character cleared," said Vane
dryly. "There is a difference between telling a thing and proving a
thing."
"I suppose that means Madame Alpenny denies her guilt?" said the Nut,
turning to the other man. "It is useless for her to do so, as Simon
can prove it."
"Oh, I have seen Simon and have brought him down with me," said Hench
quietly. "In fact, he is waiting outside to come in when called."
"Then call him at once," said Spruce briskly. "I want to get this
business completed and see the last of you. I hate bores."
"Oh, you'll see the last of us sooner than you expect," said Vane
grimly.
"Good! You will confer a favour on me when you do cut." Spruce looked
round again at Owain. "So you saw Madame Alpenny?"
"Yesterday, at The Home of the Muses. I went up to town especially to
see her, as you know."
"And she----"
"She denies that she was in Cookley on the night when my uncle was
killed. I was given to understand by her that an anonymous letter
summoned her to the Hampstead Ponds to meet some one."
"For what purpose?"
"The letter said that the person who wrote it--there was no name,
remember--declared that information would be given to enable her to
get the money at once from my uncle."
"What money?"
"My property, I presume, for which she was scheming."
"Well, and did Madame Alpenny see this person?"
"No. She went to Hampstead about six and returned home after ten."
"Quite time enough for her to travel to Cookley and back in order to
commit the murder," said Spruce coolly. "Did you see the letter?"
"No. She had torn it up."
"Fudge!" cried the Nut inelegantly. "There never was such a letter.
She invented that yarn so as to account for her presence elsewhere on
the night of the crime. She did murder Squire Evans. You heard what
Peter said?"
"Oh, yes. And I have heard what Simon said. I am bound to say," said
Hench with emphasis, "that his story is much the same."
"Well then, with two witnesses, what more proof do you want of the
woman's guilt?" demanded Spruce indignantly. "I fancy I have earned my
money. What do you say, Vane?"
"I say we had better have Simon in and hear his story," retorted the
barrister dryly. "It is just as well to get everything made quite
plain."
"So I think," declared the Nut briskly. "Call him in, Hench."
With great calmness the young man did so, not at all disturbed by the
imperious tone in which the order was given. This was Spruce's little
hour of triumph, so both the visitors allowed him to control the
situation while he was able. Bottles made his appearance quickly, and
cap in hand stood before the closed door, waiting to be interrogated.
With his freckled face and red hair he looked anything but
prepossessing. At least he did not in the Nut's eyes, who failed to
observe the good-humoured expression and intelligent gaze of the lad,
which were worth much more than mere animal comeliness.
Spruce, in the attitude of an examining judge, surveyed the boy
superciliously and immediately began to question him. "You are to tell
these gentlemen what you told me," he commanded. "Now, on the first of
July you followed Madame Alpenny to the Liverpool Street Station?"
"Yes, sir. She caught the five o'clock train to this place."
"And you followed?"
"I did, sir. I wished to see what her game was."
"One moment," interpolated Hench at this remark. "I may mention that I
also came to Cookley on that night by that train. I had an idea that
Madame Alpenny was at my elbow. In fact, I fancied that I caught a
glimpse of her in the crowd at Liverpool Street Station. But I thought
that I was mistaken."
"You wasn't mistaken, sir," said Bottles calmly.
"She was in the crowd, sure enough, and went down by that train. So
did you, sir, for I saw you, and dodged."
"Good!" said Spruce, rubbing his hands. "This unsolicited testimony of
yours, Hench, emphasizes the fact of the woman's guilt. Go on, Simon."
"The train got here at half-past six. I had already sent a telegram to
my brother saying that Madame was coming, and telling him to meet the
train and watch. He was on the Cookley platform, sure enough, but I
hadn't any time to speak to him, having to keep my eye on Madame
Alpenny. She didn't go through the village street, but across the
fields to the churchyard and then by the path to Parley Wood. I
followed, hiding as often as I could."
"She didn't see you, then?" inquired Vane idly.
"No, sir. I was much too fly. Peter, he came also at a distance, and
hid in the churchyard, while I follered Madame Alpenny into the wood.
She made for the Gipsy Stile."
"How did you know where that was?" inquired Hench.
"Why, sir," said the boy, greatly surprised, "of course I was there
before when she and the old cove talked together about the
advertisement."
"Yes! Yes! I understand."
"And, of course," said Spruce smoothly, "he was following Madame, who
also knew the appointed meeting place. Well, Simon?"
"She didn't stay at the stile, but hid in the wood. I hid near her and
kept my eyes on her, as there was plenty of light."
"Of course. It was not late and the Gipsy Stile is in a clearing,"
explained the Nut, waving his hand. "Go on, boy."
"After a long time--I couldn't say how long, as I hadn't a watch--the
old cove came to the stile. Madame Alpenny came to meet him and talked
to him for a time, and----"
"Did she raise her veil?" asked Hench quickly.
"No, sir. She spoke for a few minutes, and I could see as she'd
something in her right hand. What it was I don't know. Then she
suddenly lifted her arm and stabbed the old gentleman, who fell
without a cry. As soon as she made sure he was dead, she cut. My
brother saw her go through the churchyard."
Vane nodded. "On her way to the station. I remember. Then you came out
of the wood, to meet your brother near the church, and made him swear
not to say a single word."
"What else could I do, sir?" protested Bottles, distressed. "I might
have got into a row with the police. That is why I said nothing."
"Very wise of you," said Spruce approvingly, then turned to the
others. "Well, gentlemen, I think the case is clear. Madame Alpenny
murdered Squire Evans, and her guilt is proved by Simon here, who saw
the crime committed, and by Peter, who saw her in the vicinity, even
though she swears that she was at Hampstead. What more proof do you
want?"
"None," said Hench calmly. "Undoubtedly my uncle was murdered by--some
one dressed as Madame Alpenny!"
Spruce gave a gasp and rose as if moved by springs.
"What do you mean by saying that, may I ask?" he demanded in a choked
voice.
"I mean that you murdered Madoc Evans and that Bottles here can prove
it."
"A lie! A wicked, false lie!" gasped the Nut, who became deadly pale.
Vane chuckled; tense as the situation was, he chuckled. "You have been
weaving a rope for your own neck all this time, Spruce," he remarked
grimly.
"Such an accusation is ridiculous!" said the other, with an attempt at
dignity. "Is it likely that I would dress up as a woman to----"
"You were always good in amateur theatricals," said Vane
remorselessly. "And you would do anything to get the two thousand a
year, which, by the way, you are not likely to enjoy."
"My enemy speaks," said Spruce dramatically. "It's one thing to say a
thing and another thing to prove a thing."
"You are quite epigrammatic!" sneered the barrister.
"Hush, Jim, and let the boy speak. He can prove that Spruce is
guilty."
"I just can," said Bottles promptly, and greatly enjoying his _rôle_ of
detective. "For I've watched you, Mr. Spruce, for ever so long. I
watched Madame Alpenny first, thinking she meant harm to Mr. Hench."
"Why should she have meant harm?" asked Vane quickly, for he was not
so well acquainted with the story as his friend.
"Oh, she knew something about him, and said that he was a mystery. I
heard her talking to Miss Zara, and then I heard something of the talk
in the drawingroom, when she said as she knowed Mr. Hench's father.
She asked me for an A.B.C., too, she did, and left it open on the
table. I looked and saw on the page the timetable for Cookley. I
didn't know she was going there, as other time-tables were on the
page, but I thought it was queer seeing Cookley, considering that my
brother was down here with Mrs. Perage."
"It's all rubbish, of course," said Spruce, with a kind of hysterical
cackle. "But what did you do then?"
"I watched. When she went away I got my holiday and follered. She did
go to Cookley, and so did you, Mr. Spruce."
"It's a lie, you imp. I didn't!"
"You did!" insisted the lad. "And it was your follering Madame Alpenny
as made me watch you. I knowed as you wasn't up to any good. Me and
Simon follered you both, and when Madame Alpenny went into the Grange
you hung about in the midst of the trees waiting for her. Then you
follered her when she went into the wood to see the old cove at that
stile, and heard everything."
"Admitting all this," said Spruce, appealing to the two men, "how does
it connect me with the murder and this masquerade, which is so
ridiculous?"
"Oh, I'll connect you, right enough," said Bottles tartly. "Don't you
make any mistake, sir. I ain't read detective stories for nothing.
When you came back I watched you and I watched Madame. Then you made
friends with the manager of the Bijou Music-hall,"
"I was friends with him long before!" declared Spruce angrily, and
hoping against hope that the boy would fail to substantiate his
accusation. "Ah, but you became better friends," said Bottles
persistently, "and got behind the scenes. Then you were agreeable to
mother and asked to look over the theatrical properties. I didn't know
what you was after until mother said as you'd asked her for a red wig
to play in some theatricals. Then I guessed as you wanted to imitate
Madame, who has hair as red as mine. I was sure when you brought
mother some orange-spotted black cloth to make a dress and borrowed a
bead mantle and a flopping hat off her."
"I did not. You are a brazen liar!"
"Liar yourself, sir! Mother can prove the truth of everything I say.
You paid her well for the things, I don't deny. But mother wouldn't
have taken a penny if she knowed what you was after. She never did
know, as there was no mention of Madame Alpenny's dress, or of Madame,
in the papers reporting the murder. Only when Mr. Hench come yesterday
did I take him to mother and tell her all. She was horrified, for
mother is a good sort, and told him what I am telling you. I knowed it
all before."
"The woman is a liar, as the boy is," said Spruce, licking his lips,
which were very white and dry.
"Shut up, Bottles!" said Hench, as the boy was about to make an angry
response. "Let me say the rest. Bottles watched you leave the house
dressed as Madame Alpenny, Spruce----"
"It was Madame Alpenny!" insisted the Nut, fighting desperately.
"It wasn't!" cried Simon, who could not be suppressed. "She'd gone to
Hampstead later, after you went, and I let her out. No, I'm talking
wrong. I saw her leave the house after four, and she said as she'd an
appointment at Hampstead, and wouldn't be back till late. She come
back very late, and so did I, because I was follering you."
"The boy equivocates, you see," mumbled Spruce.
"First one thing, then another."
"I think his evidence is very clear, on the whole," declared Vane
calmly.
"So do I," said Hench. "And after Madame Alpenny went, you came out,
Spruce, dressed in the same way. Bottles, knowing how you got the
clothes from his mother, the wardrobe mistress at the Bijou, and
knowing that Madame Alpenny had already left the house, guessed it was
you in disguise. He snatched up his cap and followed, catching the
five o'clock train, as you did. The rest you know. You are the guilty
man."
"He is!" said Bottles with relish. "And he gave back the things to
mother saying as the amateur theatricals had been quite a success."
"As he hoped to make two thousand a year, I presume they were!" said
Vane in a cruel voice. "Well, Spruce, what have you to say before
being arrested?"
"Arrested!" Spruce gave a scream like a woman, and he dropped limply
into his chair, white-faced and aghast. "What for?"
"For the murder of Squire Evans."
"No! No!" He thrust out his hands as if warding off a blow. "I did not
kill him. You cannot bring the crime home to me."
"The evidence you have heard brings the crime home to you only too
positively," said Hench, with a certain pity in his voice, for the
sudden collapse of the man was dreadful. "Peter can prove that you
were mixed up in the matter, and Mrs. Jedd can prove that you borrowed
the clothes, having the orange-spotted dress made after the style of
that worn by Madame Alpenny. And Simon can prove the murder. He saw
you kill the man."
"No! No! No!"
"May I die if I didn't!" swore Bottles, who was looking nervous, for
the scene shook him considerably, since he was only a boy.
"It was a mean, sordid murder, committed for the sake of gain," said
Vane.
"Don't kick the man when he is down, Jim," said Hench, pityingly.
"Why not? He was insolent enough while he was up. And to kill an old
man of whom he knew nothing! Owain, it was beastly. I hope I'm as
decent a chap as any, but my gorge rises at the sight of this
creature."
What little pride remained in Spruce rose at these words. He sprang to
his feet and shook his fist wildly in the air. "I shall get off!" he
screamed. "I can prove my innocence!"
"Do so to the detective," said Hench, wishing to end the scene.
"A detective! a detective!" Spruce clutched his throat as if to tear
away the rope he was doomed to. "You won't--you won't----" His voice
failed.
"I saw the authorities and procured a warrant before leaving London.
Every moment I expect the detective in to execute it."
"No! No! No!" Spruce flung himself on his knees. "Dear Hench, good
Hench, you won't allow me to be hanged? I don't want the money; I'll
give it up. Let me get away; let me hide."
"Did you murder my uncle?"
"Yes! Yes!" Spruce's cheeks were streaming with tears and his teeth
were chattering. "It's all true. I acknowledge that I killed him to
get the money. But I am sorry--really and truly I am sorry. Don't give
me up--don't----"
"Get up," cried Vane in disgust, "and take your gruel like a man."
"Bottles, see if the policeman is there," ordered Hench, and Bottles,
glad to escape from the scene, fled willingly.
"No!" Spruce rose from grovelling on the ground, and from a tearful
martyr was suddenly changed into a wild beast. His lips curled,
showing his teeth. He drew back towards the window, and his eyes
flashed fire. If he had had a weapon in his hand there is no doubt he
would have killed both the men. "You shan't catch me, hounds that you
are. I shall escape; I shall----"
"Look out, Owain, he's trying for the window!"
But Vane's warning came too late. With a surprising spring, the
miserable little creature flung himself through the window into the
garden. Before the two men could recover from their surprise he was
over the low garden wall and racing for the churchyard. Terror winged
his feet, and he flew onward like an arrow from the bow. Hench leaped
after him immediately, and followed close behind him, while Vane
rushed out to see if the police had arrived with the warrant. Two men
were there in plain clothes, with a village constable, and in a few
hurried words the barrister related how the man wanted had escaped.
With the rapidity of lightning the news spread, and in a wonderfully
short space of time half the village, headed by the police, Vane and
Bottles, were making for the churchyard. Far ahead they could see
Hench running swiftly through the twilight, but of the fugitive they
could see no trace.
It was no wonder that the pursuers could not gain a glimpse of their
wretched quarry, for Spruce flew on with amazing speed. Behind him
were the dogs of justice, and he knew that once they pulled him down
all that remained for him to do was to face the death he had earned by
his cowardly crime. But he was not a man, only a creeping crawling
thing saturated with evil, a bird of prey, a snarling tiger--and he
did not wish to receive the reward of his wickedness. Instinctively he
made for the wood wherein his crime had been committed. Once in its
dark recesses he hoped to remain hidden until he could escape over
seas. Behind him he caught sight of Hench, and longed to have a knife
or revolver to shoot or stab the man he hated. Gasping, and streaming
with perspiration, he plunged into the wood, broke from the path which
led to the Gipsy Stile, and struggled through the dry, rustling
undergrowth. They would never catch him, he swore, and even as he did
the miserable creature heard the beat of Owain's feet in pursuit.
A thought struck him. The wood was dry, and would burn like tinder.
Hench, being in the wood and unprepared, would be probably burnt to
death. Without thinking of the danger to himself in his mad fury--only
resolved to make an end to Owain and to place a blazing screen between
himself and his pursuers---Spruce took out a silver box and struck a
match. Then another, and another, until all round him, in the grass
and the moss and the undergrowth, were stars of fire. The stars grew
into blazing suns, as the flames caught the tall, dry trees and roared
upward. With inconceivable rapidity the fire spread, and now it was
time for Spruce to fly from the death he had created. As he plunged
onward he came suddenly into the open, and fell, catching his foot in
a fallen tree-trunk. He tried to rise and could not, as his ankle was
twisted. So he lay shrieking on the verge of a fiery furnace, unable
to move, and condemned by his own evil act to a far more terrible
death than that which he would have suffered at the hands of the law.
Shouting for help, and only anxious now to escape the immediate doom,
Spruce heard the cries of the villagers, when they saw the tall
columns of flame rising from the wood. Hench was lunging here and
there amidst the undergrowth seeking for Spruce, and continued to do
so until a barrier of flame cut him off from further search. Before
that terrible heat he was forced to retreat, and made for the pathway
so as to get back into the open. Vane's voice, high, clamorous and
clear, could be heard shouting for him, and in the roar of the flames
Hench heard the shrieking of the wretched creature who had lighted the
funeral pyre of himself. He made for the direction whence the cries
came, as they appeared to be near at hand. Fighting the flames, he
stumbled into the open space round the Gipsy Stile and saw Spruce
writhing on the edge of the clearing under a canopy of fire. It blazed
overhead; it ran along the moss and grass, licking up everything with
greedy avidity; and all round the wood was like a seven-times heated
furnace.
"Save me; save me!" yelled Spruce, seeing his enemy.
Wicked as the creature was, Owain did his best. He ran towards the
spot where Spruce lay in agony, and tried to reach him. But the flames
came out with a gust of the hot dry wind, which now was blowing
furiously, and the young man fell back, shielding his face with his
arms. When he removed them he heard a wild cry of agony, and saw a
tall bulky tree falling slowly down. Spruce was beneath it, and saw
its gradual descent. He cried to Hench for help; he cried to God for
pardon; but the tree dropped inch by inch in the midst of that hell
until it suddenly crashed down on the doomed man. Then there was
silence, save for the roar of the flames rejoicing over their prey.
Hench turned and fled, skirting the flaming trees and getting round to
where the police and villagers were by slipping along the park wall.
Blackened and burnt, dizzy and faint, he staggered into the open
space, where all watched the great bonfire. Vane rushed forward and
caught him in his arms.
"Are you hurt--are you hurt?"
"No. I'm all right. But Spruce----!" He gasped at the memory of the
horror.
"My man," said the police officer. "What of him?"
"Dead!" breathed Hench faintly, and then fell unconscious to the
ground, while Parley Wood, with a noise like the roaring of many
waters, vanished for ever in flames and smoke.