IN THE TRAIN.
Within a week of the episode at Isleworth Colonel Towton took Vernon
with him to Yorkshire. Inspector Drench was still searching for the
fugitives and was still unable to find them. True to his reputation,
The Spider had covered up his tracks in a most masterly manner, and
there was not the slightest clue to indicate his whereabouts.
Presumably Maunders was with him, as he had not returned to his rooms
in Planet Street, nor had he been seen in any of his usual haunts
about town. This was to be expected, as Maunders had, as the saying
goes, "gone under," and the society wherein he had glittered so gaily
would henceforth know him no more. It seemed a pity that a young man
with talents and good looks and social position should have ruined his
life at the very outset of a promising career. But there must have
been some criminal strain in Maunders, which came to the surface in
prosperity instead of being revealed by poverty. He was, as Coleridge
says about people with such natures, "a fool in a circumbendibus."
However, it was useless for Vernon to mourn over his old school
friend's downfall. He had done his best to keep him in the straight
path and had failed to prevent his feet from straying. He therefore,
as there was nothing else to be done at this eleventh hour, washed his
hands of him and left him, together with Hest, to the tender mercies
of the law as represented by the Inspector. Now that Drench had all
the threads in his own hands he resented anyone else weaving them into
ropes for the necks of the criminals, as he apparently wished to
secure all the glory and honour of the capture to himself. Both Towton
and Vernon were rather glad that the Inspector took this view, as they
wished to have nothing more to do with the matter. And, before leaving
London for Bowderstyke, Vernon shut up his Covent Garden office and
formally renounced his pseudonym of Nemo. As by this time he was
officially recognised as his uncle's heir he could well afford to do
so. Sir Edward, however, still lingered between life and death, so it
was doubtful when Vernon would enter into his kingdom.
While the train was flying through the autumnal landscape Towton and
his guest made themselves comfortable in a first-class compartment,
which they had secured to themselves, for the purpose of uninterrupted
conversation. They were still deeply interested in the case and looked
forward anxiously to the capture of The Spider. It was only right that
he should suffer for his dastardly crime in murdering an old and
inoffensive man. As to Maunders, he was evidently hand in glove with
the cleverer rascal, and would undoubtedly be given a long term of
imprisonment. Thus society would be rid of two dangerous people, and
those with secrets would sleep the easier, knowing that one Asmodeus
was dead and the other safely locked up.
"But I don't know what poor Mrs. Bedge will do," said Vernon looking
dolefully out of the window.
"Does she know anything?" asked the Colonel, throwing down the morning
paper which he had been reading and settling himself for a talk.
Vernon nodded. "I saw her yesterday. She sent to ask me what had
become of Constantine. I was obliged to tell her."
"Do you think that was kind or wise?"
"I think so, decidedly. It was better that Mrs. Bedge should learn the
truth from a friend than see it crudely printed in the daily papers.
And there it is bound to appear sooner or later."
"Drench will have to catch The Spider first," said the Colonel coolly.
"No easy task, as we know. What did she say?"
"At first she declined to believe it, badly as Maunders has treated
her. She kept insisting that it was all a mistake and that Constantine
would appear to put matters right."
"What wonderful faith these women have, Vernon."
"Bless them, yes. They go by their hearts entirely."
"In that case," remarked Towton drily, "Mrs. Bedge must have known
that Maunders is not the saint she tries to make him out to be."
"I did not say that she went by her instinct," replied Vernon equally
drily; "there is a difference between that and heart-love. Because
Constantine is her sister's child and her adopted son Mrs. Bedge's
heart, which he has almost broken, cherishes him fondly; but her
instinct must have told her long ago that the fellow is a scamp of the
worst sort."
"He's a thorough-paced scoundrel," said the Colonel vigorously.
"Mrs. Bedge declined to take that view of him. She wailed that he had
a tender heart and was led away because he had a weak nature. In fact,
her defence was that of a man being his own worst enemy."
"Maunders certainly was. He had all the gifts of the gods, yet----"
"Yet fell because the greatest gift of honest purpose was not given,"
finished Vernon. "Hang it all, Towton, scamp as the fellow is, I am
sorry for him."
"I'm not," growled Towton savagely.
"Ah, you did not play with him as a child, nor did you go to school
with him, my friend. Although I'm bound to say that Constantine was
always a selfish chap--what you would call a rotter."
"I would call him nothing of the sort, Vernon. I detest slang."
"That's a mistake. Slang frequently hits the nail on the head when the
King's English misses it altogether. Slang conveys much in little,
and----"
"Oh, the deuce take your philology. Go on talking about Mrs. Bedge."
"There's no more to say. Maunders has pretty well drained her, but she
has enough to live on, and the Hampstead house is her own. Towards the
end of our conversation, however, she let out that she was not
surprised at Conny's behaviour, as she rather expected it."
"H'm! Somewhat contradictory. Why?"
"Well, it seems that Maunders' father, the Greek, Mavrocordato, you
know, was rather a bad egg himself. He worried his wife--Mrs. Bedge's
sister, that is--into her grave, and swindled his partner before he
committed suicide."
"I never heard that before."
"No. Mrs. Bedge always kept it quiet for the boy's sake until she let
it out to me in her grief yesterday. Mavrocordato--he took the English
name of Maunders--bolted with a heap of his partner's money, and shot
himself at Corfu, whither he was traced by detectives. Mrs. Bedge
adopted the son, and did her best to train him up as an honest man.
She tried her hardest, I'm certain, but what's bred in the bone, you
know."
Colonel Towton folded his arms and stared straightly before him. "Poor
devil. He was considerably handicapped by such a father. I wonder,
Vernon, for how many of our deeds we are responsible, when you take
heredity into consideration. Some sin because they like it, but many
because they can't help it."
"Let us give Maunders the benefit of the doubt, and say that the sins
of his father were visited on him. And, of course, we must not forget
that Hest is an extremely clever and strong-minded man, who could, and
did, easily control Maunders' weaker nature."
"There's something to be said there," assented the Colonel
thoughtfully. "I daresay Hest entangled the poor wretch in crime
before he well knew what he was about, and once committed he would be
compelled to remain in the mud. But Hest himself, Vernon. What do you
make of him?"
"I don't know enough about him to give an opinion. Perhaps when we see
the sister she may tell us something."
"Oh, by the way, I received a letter from her two days ago, about
which I intended to speak to you, Vernon. All this bother and worry
put it out of my head. I left it at home, unfortunately, but I can
tell you the gist of it."
Vernon looked interested. "What did she write about, and why to you?"
"She wrote to me because she wants me to marry Ida."
"I really don't see what she has to do with that," remarked Vernon
with a shrug; "for Ida is surely of an age to choose for herself."
"I always told you, Vernon," said Towton, deliberately crossing one
leg over the other, "that Ida, being less masterful than Miss Hest, is
usually guided by her, and that I objected to the guidance. Ida liked
me more than anyone else before that handsome scamp came along. Then
she became infatuated with him, and Miss Hest did her best to induce
her to marry him. But the sad death of Dimsdale took Ida's thoughts
off Maunders, and--as I judge from the letter Ida wrote me from Gerby
Hall--Miss Hest tried to get her to love the man again. Failing that,
she attempted to get Ida to marry her brother, only he came up to
London, not feeling disposed to fall in with his sister's views. You
can therefore see that Miss Hest sways Ida a great deal, and for that
reason I have come to get her away from such dangerous company--doubly
dangerous now that we know Francis Hest is The Spider."
Vernon shrugged his shoulders. "It's rather hard to blame the sister
for the brother's delinquencies," he said judicially. "And now that he
and Maunders are out of the running she will place her weight in your
scale. In fact, from your late observation, she has already done so.
You should be very pleased, Colonel, whereas you seem to me to be
ungrateful."
"I don't want Ida to be induced to marry me by Miss Hest's
representations, Vernon," said Towton hotly. "It's a liberty on her
part to interfere with my wooing. Lady Corsoon comes down to-morrow
with her daughter, and I shall ask her to go to Gerby Hall and bring
Ida back with her. Then we will have finished with these shady people,
and Ida will marry me of her own free will."
"Well, Colonel," replied Vernon pacifically, "I hope things will turn
out as you expect. But what did Miss Hest write about?"
"About her brother. She asked me if I had seen him, and what was the
matter with him." Vernon looked puzzled. "I don't understand. Does she
suspect----"
"She suspects nothing," broke in Towton impetuously. "But she stated
that she had received a letter from her brother four or five days ago
saying that he intended to leave England for ever, as he was tired of
civilisation. He enclosed a Deed of Gift, making over Gerby Hall and
its acres to her, as he intended--so he said--to earn his own living
when abroad. Naturally, Miss Hest could not understand this, and wrote
asking me what was the matter."
"Did you explain?"
"No. I wrote saying that I was coming down to my own place, and would
tell her all I knew when I arrived. But you can see, Vernon, that Hest
is still in London."
"He was, six or seven days ago, but he may have gone away since," said
Vernon cautiously. "Who drew up the Deed of Gift?"
"I can't say. Miss Hest did not explain that. Why?"
"Because if it was some lawyer we might be able to question him
regarding Hest's latest movements. Humph! So Hest has bolted. Well,
I'm not surprised at that. But I am rather astonished he should
surrender his property."
"Oh, well. I expect his business as The Spider has made him quite a
rich man. Remember, the blackguard has been blackmailing successfully
for three or four years. He knows that his sister has nothing save
what she makes by her reciting, so perhaps his conscience smote him,
and so he made his Deed of Gift. It's a lucky thing for her, as Gerby
Hall is a fine old place, although rather gloomy, and there is a
decent income of one thousand a year attached to it, farms, village
rents, and all that sort of thing, you know."
"It's queer Hest should have behaved so well, when he is such a
scoundrel, Towton. You told me that he quarrelled with his sister, and
certainly from the remarks she made about him to me, she did not seem
over fond of him."
"Blood is thicker than water," said the Colonel sententiously, "and
dog does not eat dog."
"I agree with your first proverb, but not with the second, Towton.
Miss Hest is not of the same breed, morally speaking, as her brother,
and no doubt will be horrified when she learns of his wickedness."
"Probably. You always defend her."
"I am just," said Vernon coldly. "So far as I can see, she is a clever
woman of good principles, although, I admit, rather masterful. Her
brother has done a wise thing in handing her over the property,
whatever his reasons may be. She will be an admirable mistress."
"Oh, as to that, Hest was a great benefactor to all the villages
around, and the people swear by them. If he has bolted with Maunders,
Drench will have to let the matter drop. But, if he is captured, no
one here will believe that he is a murderer and a blackmailer. They
know him only as a good landlord and a kind friend."
"And we know him as a criminal. Strange that two such diverse natures
can exist side by side."
"I daresay Hest hoped that his good deeds would pay for his bad ones,"
said the Colonel carelessly. "I shall be glad if he escapes, richly as
he deserves to be hanged for murdering Dimsdale. It will be just as
well if the whole thing is buried in oblivion. Then I shall marry Ida,
you Miss Corsoon, and Miss Hest can play the lady of the manor here,
as she pleases."
"What about the Dimsdale property?"
"If it belongs to Lady Corsoon she must have it; if Maunders' story is
a lie, which it may be, I shall stick to it on behalf of my wife.
However, we may hear from Venery of Singapore in a few weeks. My
letter must have nearly reached him by this time."
"You can learn the truth of the story nearer home," said Vernon after
a pause. "Miss Jewin, the housekeeper at Gerby Hall, told the story to
Maunders, according to his own account."
"I shall question her, you may be sure," said the Colonel grimly; "but
I want to hear from Venery also. Oh, I'm sick of talking about these
things," he added with a yawn. "It's time for forty winks." And
forthwith he closed his eyes, after settling himself comfortably in
his seat. Vernon, not inclined to rest, lighted a fresh cigar and
buried himself in a book.
It was five o'clock when the travellers reached Bradmoor, the nearest
station to Bowderstyke. It was ten miles to the valley, but the road
was excellent, and Towton's motor-car awaited them. In ten minutes the
baggage was packed away, and Vernon with his host was safely ensconced
in the back part of the machine, which was covered with a hood. Towton
asked Vernon if he would care to drive, but as the offer was refused
and the Colonel himself did not feel in a sporting humour, the conduct
of the journey was left to the smart chauffeur. He appeared to be well
acquainted with the country, and as the road was somewhat lonely, the
motor travelled towards Bowderstyke at a great rate of speed. The
motion was exhilarating, and the view on either side of the roadway
extremely picturesque, so Vernon enjoyed himself greatly in the fresh
air, after the close atmosphere and the monotony of the train. With
the wind blowing in his face and the smooth, easy gliding motion, he
felt like a flying bird, or at all events as though mounted on one.
The country was wild and barren, consisting mainly of interminable
stretches of moorland, mounting up on either side of the road to
considerable heights. Occasionally there was a dip covered with green
grass and trees, already beginning to shed their leaves, but for the
most part the sombre moors, darkening in the failing light, spread
solemnly to right and left. It was rarely that a house or a village
was passed, and only every now and then could Vernon catch a glimpse
of cattle or human beings.
"This country would get on my nerves," he said to his companion. "It
is like the weird landscape described by Browning in his Childe Roland
poem. Those telegraph poles are the sole signs of civilisation."
"Oh, we'll come to a more cheery aspect shortly," said Towton smiling;
"for my part, I love the gloom and the loneliness of our moors. Many a
time in the garish Indian days, with a burning sun in the hateful blue
sky, have I longed for dear old Yorkshire."
"Everyone to his taste," said Vernon with a shrug. "I prefer something
much more cheerful."
"You are a cockney at heart, Vernon."
"I daresay. London is good enough for me."
Towards the end of the ten mile stretch from the station signs of
civilisation became more frequent. Here and there was a village with
cultivated fields around it. Cattle were pastured in enclosed
paddocks, and men and women with laughing children trudged along the
high road, looking after the motor with great curiosity, for the
machine was yet a novelty in that lonely district. Twice the road ran
directly through a village, and Vernon had an opportunity of seeing
the solid grey stone houses, which were suited to the Calvinistic
looks of the country. And the people themselves appeared to be what
the Scotch call "dour."
And now the moors began to grow higher and to close in on the white
road with a gradual menace. Leaving the comparatively broad lands, the
motor glided into a valley, which grew even more narrow as they
proceeded. A babbling stream prattled down the centre of this, over a
stony bed, and beside it the road twisted along like a white serpent,
protected by a parapet of rough stones. Already the crimson light of
the sunset had died out of the western sky, but the moon was full,
and, soaring high in the dark blue dome of the firmament, poured
floods of light into the gully, to use a Colonial expression--for by
this time it was little else. And looking upward, Vernon could see
star after star peep out to attend on the majestic orb.
"What do you call this place?" he asked abruptly. Towton glanced at
him in surprise. "Didn't I tell you? It's Bowderstyke."
"Great Scott, Colonel, is your house situated in this isolated, damp
spot. I should think you never saw the sun from one year's end to the
other, save when it was directly overhead."
"Oh, the valley broadens out further on. This is merely the entrance."
"What the deuce do the inhabitants live on? It's like living in a
drain."
"Oh, confound you, Vernon," said the Colonel half annoyed. "It's one
of the most beautiful places in the world. If you were a Yorkshire
tyke you would admit that. There is only the village of Bowderstyke a
mile away, and the inhabitants live by pasturing their cattle on the
moors on the heights above. Also there is a weaving and spinning
industry, the mills being driven by water power, of which there is no
lack."
"This stream doesn't seem to have much water," said Vernon
disdainfully.
"You should see it in winter when the snows melt on the moors,"
advised the Colonel. "Besides, the water from the mills comes from
Hest's new reservoir, and there is a never-failing supply. This stream
used to be much broader, and its bed contained much more water, but
when the Bolly Dam was constructed, of course the supply dwindled.
Pipes run under this road to supply the several villages you saw just
before we entered the valley."
"Where is the dam which our criminal friend built?"
Towton pointed straight ahead. "Round the next corner you could see
it, but we do not go so far. There was a small lake there up on the
moors which fed this stream. Hest simply got engineers to dam the lake
and prevent too much water going to waste down the bed of this
torrent. The dam runs right across the valley a mile and a half beyond
my house."
"But isn't that dangerous. If it burst this valley would be flooded
from end to end, and everybody would be drowned, to say nothing of the
way in which the village would be smashed up."
"Well, yes." Towton pinched his nether lip uneasily. "I've thought of
that myself many a time. But I was abroad when the dam was
constructed. There certainly--as I have often said--should be an
outlet for the water other than the pipes which supply Bowderstyke and
the villages outside the valley, capacious as those same pipes
undoubtedly are. Assuredly, if the reservoir burst there would be
great loss of life and destruction of property. But the Bolly Dam is
very strongly built, so I have no fear of anything happening. You can
see it from my house, and we'll pay it a visit in a day or two.
Meantime, this is Bowderstyke village."
By this time they were passing through quite a number of small houses,
from the windows of which lights gleamed cheerfully. The motor soon
left these behind, then swerved to the right--looking up from the
entrance to the valley--and shortly began to climb a winding road. At
this point, as the Colonel had foretold, the vale broadened abruptly,
and the high moors stood away so as to form a kind of deep cup. Up the
side of this, the road along which they were travelling sloped upward
for some distance, then turned on itself and sloped still higher.
Shortly the motor attained the highest level, and in the moonlight
Vernon could see the moors stretching for miles, lonely and romantic.
A straight road ran parallel with the upper portion of the valley for
close upon half a mile. Then appeared a miniature forest, encircled by
a high stone wall. This was undoubtedly artificial, as the moorlands
were treeless, and the unexpected woodland looked out of place amidst
its bleak surroundings.
The motor soon arrived at two tall stone pillars crested with heraldic
monsters, and passing through these, spun up a short avenue to stop
before a large white house, brilliantly lighted up. Spacious lawns
opened up before the mansion, interspersed with flowerbeds, now
bloomless, and the whole was shut in by the fairy forest, as Vernon
called it in his own mind.
"Here we are," said Colonel Towton jumping from the car. "Allow me to
welcome you to The Grange, my friend."
"Thank heaven the journey's at an end," said Vernon.