THE CHAPLAIN ON THE WARPATH
Miss Whichello's frank admission that she had visited the dead-house
rather disconcerted Mr Cargrim. From the circumstance of the veil, he
had presumed that she wished her errand there to be unknown, in which
case her conduct would have appeared highly suspicious, since she was
supposed to know nothing about Jentham or Jentham's murder. But her
ready acknowledgment of the fact apparently showed that she had nothing
to conceal. Cargrim, for all his acuteness, did not guess that of two
evils Miss Whichello had chosen the least. In truth, she did not wish
her visit to the dead-house to be known, but as Mrs Pansey was cognisant
of it, she judged it wiser to neutralise any possible harm that that
lady could do by admitting the original statement to be a true one. This
honesty would take the wind out of Mrs Pansey's sails, and prevent her
from distorting an admitted fact into a fiction of hinted wickedness.
Furthermore, Miss Whichello was prepared to give Cargrim a sufficient
reason for her visit, so that he might not invent one. Only by so open a
course could she keep the secret of her thirty-year-old acquaintance
with the dead man. As a rule, the little old lady hated subterfuge, but
in this case her only chance of safety lay in beating Pansey, Cargrim
and Company with their own weapons. And who can say that she was acting
wrongly?
'Yes, Mr Cargrim,' she repeated, looking him directly in the face, 'Mrs
Pansey is right. I was at the dead-house and I went to see the corpse of
the man Jentham. I suppose you--and Mrs Pansey--wonder why I did so?'
'Oh, my dear lady!' remonstrated the embarrassed chaplain, 'by no means;
such knowledge is none of our business--that is, none of _my_
business.'
'You have made it your business, however!' observed Miss Whichello,
dryly, 'else you would scarcely have informed me of Mrs Pansey's
unwarrantable remarks on my private affairs. Well, Mr Cargrim, I suppose
you know that this tramp attacked my niece on the high road.'
'Yes, Miss Whichello, I know that.'
'Very good; as I considered that the man was a dangerous character I
thought that he should be compelled to leave Beorminster; so I went to
The Derby Winner on the night that you met me, in order to--'
'To see Mrs Mosk!' interrupted Cargrim, softly, hoping to entrap her.
'In order to see Mrs Mosk, and in order to see Jentham. I intended to
tell him that if he did not leave Beorminster at once that I should
inform the police of his attack on Miss Arden. Also, as I was willing to
give him a chance of reforming his conduct, I intended to supply him
with a small sum for his immediate departure. On that night, however, I
did not see him, as he had gone over to the gipsy camp. When I heard
that he was dead I could scarcely believe it, so, to set my mind at
rest, and to satisfy myself that Mab would be in no further danger from
his insolence when she walked abroad, I visited the dead-house and saw
his body. That, Mr Cargrim, was the sole reason for my visit; and as it
concerned myself alone, I wore a veil so as not to provoke remark. It
seems that I was wrong, since Mrs Pansey has been discussing me.
However, I hope you will set her mind at rest by telling her what I have
told you.'
'Really, my dear Miss Whichello, you are very severe; I assure you all
this explanation is needless.'
'Not while Mrs Pansey has so venomous a tongue, Mr Cargrim. She is quite
capable of twisting my innocent desire to assure myself that Mab was
safe from this man into some extraordinary statement without a word of
truth in it. I shouldn't be surprised if Mrs Pansey had hinted to you
that I had killed this creature.'
As this was precisely what the archdeacon's widow had done, Cargrim felt
horribly uncomfortable under the scorn of Miss Whichello's justifiable
indignation. He grew red, and smiled feebly, and murmured weak
apologies; all of which Miss Whichello saw and heard with supreme
contempt. Mr Cargrim, by his late tittle-tattling conversation, had
fallen in her good opinion; and she was not going to let him off without
a sharp rebuke for his unfounded chatter. Cutting short his murmurs, she
proceeded to nip in the bud any further reports he or Mrs Pansey might
spread in connection with the murder, by explaining much more than was
needful.
'And if Mrs Pansey should hear that Captain Pendle was on Southberry
Heath on Sunday night,' she continued, 'I trust that she will not accuse
him of shooting the man, although as I know, and you know also, Mr
Cargrim, she is quite capable of doing so.'
'Was Captain Pendle on Southberry Heath?' asked Cargrim, who was already
acquainted with this fact, although he did not think it necessary to
tell Miss Whichello so. 'You don't say so?'
'Yes, he was! He rode over to the gipsy camp to purchase an engagement
ring for Miss Arden from Mother Jael. That ring is now on her finger.'
'So Miss Arden is engaged to Captain Pendle,' cried Cargrim, in a
gushing manner. 'I congratulate you, and her, and him.'
'Thank you, Mr Cargrim,' said Miss Whichello, stiffly.
'I suppose Captain Pendle saw nothing of Jentham at the gipsy camp?'
'No! he never saw the man at all that evening.'
'Did he hear the shot fired?'
'Of course he did not!' cried Miss Whichello, wrathfully. 'How could he
hear with the noise of the storm? You might as well ask if the bishop
did; he was on Southberry Heath on that night.'
'Oh, yes, but he heard nothing, dear lady; he told me so.'
'You seem to be very interested in this murder, Mr Cargrim,' said the
little lady, with a keen look.
'Naturally, everyone in Beorminster is interested in it. I hope the
criminal will be captured.'
'I hope so too; do you know who he is?'
'I? my dear lady, how should I know?'
'I thought Mrs Pansey might have told you!' said Miss Whichello, coolly.
'She knows all that goes on, and a good deal that doesn't. But you can
tell her that both I and Captain Pendle are innocent, although I _did_
visit the dead-house, and although he _was_ on Southberry Heath when the
crime was committed.'
'You are very severe, dear lady!' said Cargrim, rising to take his
leave, for he was anxious to extricate himself from his very
uncomfortable and undignified position.
'Solomon was even more severe, Mr Cargrim. He said, "Burning lips and a
wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross." I fancy
there were Mrs Panseys in those days, Mr Cargrim.'
In the face of this choice proverb Mr Cargrim beat a hasty retreat.
Altogether Miss Whichello was too much for him; and for once in his life
he was at a loss how to gloss over his defeat. Not until he was in
Tinkler's office did he recover his feeling of superiority. With a
man--especially with a social inferior--he felt that he could deal; but
who can contend with a woman's tongue? It is her sword and shield; her
mouth is her bow; her words are the arrows; and the man who hopes to
withstand such an armoury of deadly weapons is a superfine idiot.
Cargrim, not being one, had run away; but in his rage at being compelled
to take flight, he almost exceeded Mrs Pansey in hating the cause of it.
Miss Whichello had certainly gained a victory, but she had also made an
enemy.
'So the inquest is over, Mr Inspector,' said the ruffled Cargrim,
smoothing his plumes.
'Over and done with, sir; and the corpse is now six feet under earth.'
'A sad end, Mr Inspector, and a sad life. To be a wanderer on the face
of the earth; to be violently removed when sinning; to be buried at the
expense of an alien parish; what a fate for a baptised Christian.'
'Don't you take on so, Mr Cargrim, sir!' said Tinkler, grimly. 'There
was precious little religion about Jentham, and he was buried in a much
better fashion than he deserved, and not by the parish either.'
Cargrim looked up suddenly. 'Who paid for his funeral then?'
'A charitable la--person, sir, whose name I am not at liberty to tell
anyone, at her own request.'
'At her own request,' said the chaplain, noting Tinkler's slips and
putting two and two together with wondrous rapidity. 'Ah, Miss Whichello
is indeed a good lady.'
'Did you--do you know--are you aware that Miss Whichello buried him,
sir?' stammered the inspector, considerably astonished.
'I have just come from her house,' replied Cargrim, answering the
question in the affirmative by implication.
'Well, she asked me not to tell anyone, sir; but as she told you, I
s'pose I can say as she buried that corpse with a good deal of expense.'
'It is not to be wondered at, seeing that she took an interest in the
wretched creature,' said Cargrim, delicately feeling his way. 'I trust
that the sight of his body in the dead-house didn't shock her nerves.'
'Did she tell you she visited the dead-house?' asked Tinkler, his eyes
growing larger at the extent of the chaplain's information.
'Of course she did,' replied Cargrim, and this was truer than most of
his remarks.
Tinkler brought down a heavy fist with a bang on his desk. 'Then I'm
blest, Mr Cargrim, sir, if I can understand what she meant by asking me
to hold my tongue.'
'Ah, Mr Inspector, the good lady is one of those rare spirits who "do
good by stealth and blush to find it fame."'
'Seems a kind of silly to go on like that, sir!'
'We are not all rare spirits, Tinkler.'
'I don't know what the world would be if we were, Mr Cargrim, sir. But
Miss Whichello seemed so anxious that I should hold my tongue about the
visit and the burial that I can't make out why she talked about them to
you or to anybody.'
'I cannot myself fathom her reason for such unnecessary secrecy, Mr
Inspector; unless it is that she wishes the murderer to be discovered.'
'Well, she can't spot him,' said Tinkler, emphatically, 'for all she
knows about Jentham is thirty years old.'
Cargrim could scarcely suppress a start at this unexpected information.
So Miss Whichello did know something about the dead man after all; and
doubtless her connection with Jentham had to do with the secret of the
bishop. Cargrim felt that he was on the eve of an important discovery;
for Tinkler, thinking that Miss Whichello had made a confidant of the
chaplain, babbled on innocently, without guessing that his attentive
listener was making a base use of him. The shrug of the shoulders with
which Cargrim commented on his last remark made Tinkler talk further.
'Besides!' said he, expansively, 'what does Miss Whichello know? Only
that the man was a violinist thirty years ago, and that he called
himself Amaru. Those details don't throw any light on the murder, Mr
Cargrim, sir.'
The chaplain mentally noted the former name and former profession of
Jentham and shook his head. 'Such information is utterly useless,' he
said gravely, 'and the people with whom Amaru _alias_ Jentham associated
then are doubtless all dead by this time.'
'Well, Miss Whichello didn't mention any of his friends, sir, but I
daresay it wouldn't be much use if she did. Beyond the man's former name
and business as a fiddler she told me nothing. I suppose, sir, she
didn't tell you anything likely to help us?'
'No! I don't think the past can help the present, Mr Tinkler. But what
is your candid opinion about this case?'
'I think it is a mystery, Mr Cargrim, sir, and is likely to remain one.'
'You don't anticipate that the murderer will be found?'
'No!' replied Mr Inspector, gruffly. 'I don't.'
'Cannot Mosk, with whom Jentham was lodging, enlighten you?'
Tinkler shook his head. 'Mosk said that Jentham owed him money, and
promised to pay him this week; but that I believe was all moonshine.'
'But Jentham might have expected to receive money, Mr Inspector?'
'Not he, Mr Cargrim, sir. He knew no one here who would lend or give him
a farthing. He had no money on him when his corpse was found!'
'Yet the body had been robbed!'
'Oh, yes, the body was robbed sure enough, for we found the pockets
turned inside out. But the murderer only took the rubbish a vagabond was
likely to have on him.'
'Were any papers taken, do you think, Mr Inspector?'
'Papers!' echoed Tinkler, scratching his head. 'What papers?'
'Well!' said Cargrim, shirking a true explanation, 'papers likely to
reveal his real name and the reason of his haunting Beorminster.'
'I don't think there could have been any papers, Mr Cargrim, sir. If
there had been, we'd ha' found 'em. The murderer wouldn't have taken
rubbish like that.'
'But why was the man killed?' persisted the chaplain.
'He was killed in a row,' said Tinkler, decisively, 'that's my theory.
Mother Jael says that he was half seas over when he left the camp, so I
daresay he met some labourer who quarrelled with him and used his
pistol.'
'But is it likely that a labourer would have a pistol?'
'Why not? Those harvesters don't trust one another, and it's just as
likely as not that one of them would keep a pistol to protect his
property from the other.'
'Was search made for the pistol?'
'Yes, it was, and no pistol was found. I tell you what, Mr Cargrim,'
said Tinkler, rising in rigid military fashion, 'it's my opinion that
there is too much tall talk about this case. Jentham was shot in a
drunken row, and the murderer has cleared out of the district. That is
the whole explanation of the matter.'
'I daresay you are right, Mr Inspector,' sighed Cargrim, putting on his
hat. 'We are all apt to elevate the commonplace into the romantic.'
'Or make a mountain out of a mole hill, which is plain English,' said
Tinkler. 'Good-day, Mr Cargrim.'
'Good-day, Tinkler, and many thanks for your lucid statement of the
case. I have no doubt that his lordship, the bishop, will take your very
sensible view of the matter.'
As it was now late, Mr Cargrim returned to the palace, not ill pleased
with his afternoon's work. He had learned that Miss Whichello had
visited the dead-house, that she had known the dead man as a violinist
under the name of Amaru, and had buried him for old acquaintance sake at
her own expense. Also he had been informed that Captain Pendle and his
brother Gabriel had been on Southberry Heath on the very night, and
about the very time, when the man had been shot; so, with all these
materials, Mr Cargrim hoped sooner or later to build up a very pretty
case against the bishop. If Miss Whichello was mixed up with the matter,
so much the better. At this moment Mr Cargrim's meditation was broken in
upon by the voice of Dr Graham.
'You are the very man I want, Cargrim. The bishop has written asking me
to call to-night and see him. Just tell him that I am engaged this
evening, but that I will attend on him to-morrow morning at ten
o'clock.'
'Oh! ho!' soliloquised Cargrim, when the doctor, evidently in a great
hurry, went off, 'so his lordship wants to see Dr Graham. I wonder what
that is for?'