GRAVE SUSPICIONS
Arthur Shepperton held the position of managing clerk to the firm
of solicitors Dalby & Co., Westsea. He was fully qualified in his
profession, Mr. Dalby having some six years back given him his
articles; and the future held bright prospects of a junior partnership.
He was a business-like young man, and had earned the confidence of his
employer by industry and perseverance; added to which, he had, during
the twenty-eight years of his existence, led a careful and regular
life, if somewhat narrow and confined, and bided fair to become a
highly respected and successful citizen.
From his point of view, life’s outlook was a rosy one, and but for
unforeseen circumstances he would probably have lived the life of a
respectable middle-class person until his death—unconsciously ground
between the millstones of Capital and Labour, as most middle-class
people are.
Now unforeseen circumstances have a nasty knack of upsetting the
quiet trend of people’s lives, particularly those people who least
want their lives interfered with. There is a certain section of the
community—probably the mainstay of the country—which desires nothing
more than to be able to work honestly and live respectably in peace;
and yet it is frequently from this class that “Fate” draws individuals
to play aggressive parts in the world.
The disappearance of Elsie Hobson (his fiancée) had been a great blow
to Arthur Shepperton; indeed it seemed to completely daze him for a
time. Outwardly he had sustained it well enough, but inwardly the
effect was different. It seemed to have awakened some unfortunate trait
in his character, long dormant, which would in all probability never
have manifested under ordinary circumstances.
The humdrum everyday life of the average person does not tend to
bring out true character—rather the reverse; nor does it help to make
character. It is the exceptional and violent incidents in our lives
that mould the real self; whether for good or evil, depends upon
some law about which we know little or nothing; all we can say for
certain is, that one of these exceptional occurrences may strike an
evolutionary note in the individual, or, on the other hand, may develop
an atavistic tendency.
In this particular case the violent incident, instead of encouraging
the nobler tendencies, gave a fillip to the revengeful instinct; and
after the first effects of the shock had passed away, Arthur Shepperton
was left in a rather dangerous state of mind. He bitterly resented the
fact that he should have to suffer as he did for no apparent reason,
and he strongly desired to be revenged on someone or something, though
he was not clear on whom or what. If he had stopped to reason, he would
have seen the futility of such a course; but his mind was distorted and
dominated by the primitive instinct referred to.
Mr. Dalby had shown him generous sympathy in his trouble, and had
released him indefinitely from his business duties. Thus it happened
that the morning after the interview between the Vicar and Brentwood,
related in the last chapter, Arthur Shepperton found himself by the old
priory, after a long and lonely walk.
He felt tired, and was much relieved to see an old rustic seat under a
tree. Making his way to it, he sat down thankfully, resting his elbows
on his knees and his chin on his hands.
He was depressed, in spite of the bright morning and cheerful sunshine,
and stared at the ruined building before him with expressionless eyes.
The whole problem of Elsie’s disappearance baffled him completely; he
had no clue whatever that might lead him to a solution. That was the
worst of it, he was merely groping in the dark, with the faint hope
that he would soon be able to drop on something which might lead to an
explanation. What a relief it would be to his brain if he could only
act, even with but the slightest idea that he was on the right track.
Almost mechanically he once more began to go over the few facts of the
case which were known to him, but his mind would not act normally, and
try as he would to control them, he could not get his thoughts to run
in sequence.
Somehow or other he found himself wondering, in a dreamy sort of way,
what the monks were like who used to inhabit the priory. He was not the
least bit interested, it did not matter to him; but the idea would keep
cropping up just when he was trying to connect one point with another.
Every now and then the question kept coming into his head, “What could
have happened?” He wished he could get rid of that query. It had been
hammered into his brain for the last fortnight and had become wearisome.
Once (and he laughed derisively as he thought of it) the idea had
entered his head that the late Vicar and Elsie had prearranged it all
and gone away together! Eloped!! Why should he think of such a thing?
He should be the last to entertain a theory of that kind. He would
have been ashamed to suggest it to anyone, and as a fact had discarded
the idea as soon as it appeared. Yet he could not help feeling that it
_was_ possible, and he was uncomfortably aware that they had been great
friends.
He sighed wearily; why could he not forget all about it? Why should
he have all this trouble? His face sank into his hands, and he looked
restfully into the blackness caused by the pressure of his fingers on
his eyelids. Tired out, he half dozed, and again began to think about
the monks. After all, it was a relief to let his mind play at random,
after the last two weeks of mental storm and physical exertion.
He fancied he saw several of them walking slowly along, chanting some
mournful air. The prior, a tall gaunt man with raven black curly hair,
brought up the rear of the procession. His hands were crossed on his
breast and he seemed deeply engrossed in some weighty problem. Walking
in double file, they approached a door in the wall, through which
they gradually disappeared. He counted them as they went through, and
was just wondering whether the prior would shut the door after him,
when he was aware that that individual had suddenly turned round and
was looking at him with a pair of fierce dark eyes, that flamed like
fire. Just for a moment and then the vision vanished, and he started
into wakefulness, instinctively sure that he had heard someone cough!
He looked up at the priory, the direction from which the sound came,
and listened. Who could be there at that time of the day? It was
barely seven o’clock. Quietly rising, he stepped noiselessly across
the grass to the doorway in the wall, the one by which he fancied he
saw the monks disappear, and looked through. Seeing no one, he walked
cautiously on until, rounding a corner of a ruined wall, his eyes came
in contact with something which brought him to a halt.... Seated upon
the floor of what once used to be the chapel was a man writing or
drawing something upon the stone flags. So deeply was he engrossed,
that evidently he had not heard anyone approach. Shepperton eyed him
curiously, and his interest all at once increased as he recognised who
it was.
His first thought was to make known his presence; but
something—probably his legal training—caused him to alter his mind. For
one thing, although _he_ knew Mr. Brentwood, the latter did not know
him. Besides, the situation rather appealed to the detective in his
nature, and there was something so out of the ordinary, that Shepperton
was curious to know what was going to happen.
He watched for about a minute, and then withdrawing carefully, silently
retraced his footsteps to the door in the wall; but instead of passing
through to the left, he went on along the path for about six yards and
turned sharply round the chapel wall to the right. Here he would wait
until the gentleman had finished his early mass! When he had gone, it
would be very interesting to go and inspect his handiwork.
If it did occur to Shepperton that it was not quite the thing to spy
upon someone else, that was outweighed by his resentment towards this
man, who, ever since he came to live in the neighbourhood, had shown
quite plainly that he wished to be left alone. That of itself was
sufficient to cause resentment in a nature like Shepperton’s. He judged
the man to be selfish; moreover, he was conscious of the fact that
Brentwood had remained silent all through the little storm caused by
Elsie’s disappearance—apparently unmoved by the tragedy. Yes, it would
be interesting to find out what _did_ have any attraction for this very
reserved person.
He must have stood there quite ten minutes before he heard Brentwood
moving about. Just after, his approaching footsteps resounded on
the hard path; and Shepperton’s heart jumped a little, as it all at
once occurred to him that Brentwood might possibly come to where he
was standing. It would not be pleasant to be found thus; at the very
least it would require some explanation. He breathed more freely as he
heard the door in the wall close, and when the sound of the receding
footsteps had almost died away, he quickly made his way to the chapel.
To his surprise and disappointment he did not discover anything. That
was very strange; surely the man was doing something there, his eyes
did not deceive him about that. Very carefully, he scrutinised the
flagstones round about where Brentwood had been sitting, but could
not make anything of them. It was annoying, for he certainly was
drawing or writing when Shepperton saw him. He was about to go away
unsatisfied, when his eyes alighted on something white, lying on the
floor. Picking it up, he discovered it to be a plain manilla envelope,
neither sealed nor addressed. There was, however, something inside,
which on examination proved to be a photograph. Not an ordinary one by
any means, for it represented what was evidently a human hand, and the
impression of a bird’s foot, but the latter was more than five times
as large as the former! The great difference in the relative sizes was
so apparent, that he could not help at once noticing it. Shepperton
looked at it intently for a minute, then carefully putting it back in
the envelope, slipped it into his breast pocket. He stood for a short
space, thinking earnestly, then, turning sharply round, made his way
home as quickly as he could.
On reaching his apartments he went straight to his sitting-room, and
after locking the door—he was very cautious in some things—took out the
photograph and thoroughly examined it. Having satisfied himself that
there was no name or mark on it, except the initials “H. A. B.,” he got
an inch rule and accurately measured the impression of the foot, which
he found to be nearly four inches long, whereas the hand was barely
one inch! He thought of all the big birds he had heard of, but could
not call to mind one that would have a foot anything like that. It was
a queer sort of thing. The photograph of the hand had evidently been
taken to show the size of the foot; but what the latter represented was
an enigma. He would very much like to know, particularly as there could
be little doubt about it having fallen out of Brentwood’s pocket.
“Yes,” he thought, “still waters run deep,” and perhaps Brentwood had
excellent reasons for not wishing to associate with ordinary human
beings.
Now what could he have been up to in the priory? It certainly looked
as if he were engaged on something out of the way, at least. The more
Shepperton thought it over, the more he became anxious to know what had
happened; and the more he thought of Brentwood, the more his dislike
of him seemed to grow. From his own point of view, he had cause to
know that he was cold, callous, and selfish, and he also felt that a
man who secluded himself from his fellow-beings must have a reason for
it; that, he argued, was not likely to be a good one. Yes, he would
watch the gentleman; it might be that he would find something out very,
_very_ interesting. Meanwhile, the photograph would not come to any
harm in his possession. He went and carefully locked it up in his desk,
and as he turned the key, it struck him that perhaps the Vicar could
enlighten him a little about Mr. Brentwood? Yes, he would go and see
him.