AT MERE HALL, HANTS.
Fanks was rather astonished when he learned that Mrs. Boazoph had
contrived the lure which had drawn Fellenger to his death. He had
given the landlady credit for more cleverly concealing her scheme, and
that she should have carried out a plan so compromising, in so open a
manner, seemed to him to be the height of folly. Nevertheless, he was
pleased that he had discovered who had directed the fatal envelope;
and he was still more pleased that Mrs. Boazoph had sent for Hersham.
If possible he intended to learn her reason for seeking an interview,
and to ascertain why she had fainted at the intelligence that Hersham
was likely to be arrested for committing the crime. A true report of
that conversation--and Fanks had no doubt that Hersham would repeat it
faithfully to him--might afford the clue to the mystery. At the
present moment Fanks was convinced that the landlady of the Red Star
could unravel the riddle if she chose, and he was resolved to force
her to do so. But here an element on which Fanks had not calculated
came into play.
As instructed by the detective, Hersham duly called at the Red Star
only to be informed that Mrs. Boazoph was dangerously ill, and could
not see him. This he reported to Fanks, and at first the detective
deemed the illness an excuse to postpone the interview, the more
especially as Dr. Turnor was the medical man in attendance. He
mistrusted Turnor as much as he did Binjoy, and thought that the
former had persuaded Mrs. Boazoph to relinquish the idea of seeing and
confiding in Hersham. Such confidence might prove as fatal to Turnor
as to Binjoy; and if so there was no doubt that Turnor had compelled
Mrs. Boazoph to hold her tongue lest she should compromise him. Thus
Fanks argued out the situation; and he sought Tooley's Alley to
ascertain if Mrs. Boazoph was really ill, or merely feigning at the
order of Turnor.
A view of the sick woman showed him plainly that he was wrong. Mrs.
Boazoph was laid on a bed of sickness, incapable almost of speech, and
Fanks concluded promptly that there was no chance of learning anything
until she recovered. The result of the last interview had shaken her
terribly, and she was thoroughly worn out with nervous prostration.
Turnor, more like a ferret than ever, eyed Fanks complacently, and
seemed relieved that things were going so badly for the case. Fanks
questioned him, but could learn nothing definite, for, if the
detective was clever, the doctor was cleverer, and defeated Fanks on
every point. Indeed, he carried the war into the camp of the enemy.
"I suppose I am right in ascribing this illness to you, sir," he said,
with a sly smile. "It seems that my patient fainted at her last
interview she had with you."
"She did. I said something which startled her."
"That was very wrong of you, Mr. Fanks. Mrs. Boazoph is a woman of
delicate organisation, and a sudden shock might bring about her death.
She has a weak heart."
"I am sorry to hear so, sir," retorted Fanks, gloomily. "I counted on
gaining some information from her. Do you think she will soon
recover?"
"Not for some time," said Turnor, in a satisfied tone. "I presume you
wish to learn something from her, relative to the case you have in
hand?"
"You are quite right. I do wish to learn something relative to the
murder which took place in this hotel. But if Mrs. Boazoph cannot tell
me what I wish to know, you may be able to do so."
Dr. Turnor spread out his hands in a deprecating manner. "I, my dear
friend," he said, "what can I know about the case?"
"As much as Dr. Renshaw could tell you," retorted Fanks, fixing Turnor
with his keen eye.
"Dr. Renshaw told me nothing, because he knew nothing."
"I have my own opinion about that, Dr. Turnor."
"Really; I thought you were satisfied that my friend had nothing to do
with the matter. He went to India, you know."
"Are you sure he went to India, Dr. Turnor?"
"Oh, yes; he will be soon be at Bombay. I got a letter from him at
Aden, where he changed into the 'Clyde.'"
"No doubt," said Fanks, affably, "I expect you will hear from him when
he is settled in Bombay."
"Certainly; Renshaw and I are great friends."
"I am sure of that. You confide your secrets to one another, and work
in unison."
"What do you mean by working in unison, Mr. Fanks?" said Turnor,
drawing himself up.
"I don't think I need afford you any explanation, Dr. Turnor. You are
playing a dangerous game, sir."
"You insult me, sir."
"Is it possible to insult you, Dr. Turnor?" sneered Fanks.
"I'll make you prove your words," said Turnor, with rather a pale
face.
"There will not be much difficulty in doing that--at the proper time."
The ferret of a man eyed Fanks nervously and savagely. "Do you think I
have anything to do with the matter of Sir Gregory's death?" he burst
out.
"I'll tell you that when I return from Mere Hall," was Fank's reply.
"Mere Hall?" repeated Turnor, betraying himself, which was the reason
Fanks had mentioned the name; "what do you know of Mere Hall?"
"That is just what I wish to ask you. What do _you_ know of Mere Hall,
sir?"
"Nothing, nothing. I merely repeated your words."
"In a very singular fashion, doctor."
The little man turned away with a scowl. "I shall defend myself from
your insinuations," he said, in a stifled voice, "if you suspect me,
say so."
"Suspect you of what?" asked Fanks, innocently; "you speak in
riddles."
Turnor pointed to the woman lying on the bed. "Perhaps Mrs. Boazoph
can solve them," he said.
"Perhaps she can," retorted Fanks, with equal coolness; "and I trust
it will not be to your disadvantage when the answers come."
"I can look after myself, Mr. Fanks," said Turnor, and left the room
without the detective making any effort to detain him.
Fanks was suspicious of Turnor, from his connection with the so-called
Renshaw; and this conversation went a long way towards confirming
these suspicions. However, as he wished to go to Mere Hall and follow
up the Binjoy clue, he had no time to attend to the Turnor matter.
Nevertheless, on leaving Tooley's Alley he sought out Crate, and
instructed him to look after the doctor.
"Find out his financial position," said Fanks; "what kind of practice
he has, how he lives, what kind of character he bears, and all about
him."
"Very well, Mr. Fanks," said Crate, noting the instructions down, "and
what about Mrs. Boazoph?"
"Keep an eye on her, and should she recover so far as to see Mr.
Hersham or to journey to Taxton-on-Thames, let me know. You can write
or wire me at the Pretty Maid Inn, Damington."
"That's near Mere Hall, ain't it, sir?"
"A quarter of a mile away. I shall stay there some time to watch
Binjoy and Sir Louis Fellenger."
"Do you suspect him, Mr. Fanks?"
"If you remember the name I mentioned, you would not ask me that,
Crate."
The underling was abashed and said no more, but turned the
conversation to the subject of Garth. "What am I to do about him,
sir?"
"Oh," said Fanks, dryly, "you think he is guilty, so I will leave him
to you. But do not neglect my interests to look after that business. I
tell you, Crate, the man is innocent."
"I have my own opinion about that."
"Then keep to your opinion, but mind my instructions."
"Well, I will tell you one thing, sir," said Crate. "Mr. Garth has
left town."
"You don't say so," said Fanks, frowning, "he did not say that he was
going away. Where has he gone to?"
"I can't tell you that, sir, I lost him. But I'll tell you where he
hasn't gone--and that is to Taxton-on-Thames."
"I didn't expect he would go there, but it does not matter. I have my
hands full without thinking of Garth. I leave him to you. In the
meantime, goodbye; I am off to Hampshire."
Fanks arrived at Damington about five o'clock, and put up at The
Pretty Maid Inn as he had done before when following Binjoy in the
disguise of a parson. But thanks to his cleverness in "making up," no
one at the inn suspected that he was the same man. The landlady--a
genial soul with a plump person and a kindly face, quite an ideal
landlady of the Dickens type--welcomed him without suspicion, as a
gentleman come down for the fishing, and detailed all the gossip of
the neighbourhood. She was especially conversant with the affairs of
Sir Louis Fellenger.
"Such a nice gentleman," said Mrs. Prisom, "rather melancholy and
given to hard study, which ain't good for a young man. But he comes
here and takes a glass with a kind word and a smile always."
"Does Dr. Binjoy come over with him?" said Fanks.
"Oh yes, sir; I am sorry to see that the doctor ain't well lately, he
looks pale and mopey-like. Seems as if he had something on his mind."
"And what do you think he has on his mind, Mrs. Prisom?"
"Well, it ain't for me to say, sir; but I should think as he was sorry
he and Sir Louis did not get on so well as they might."
"What makes you think they do not get on well?" said Fanks, pricking
up his ears.
"It is the way they look at one another," said Mrs. Prisom,
reflectively. "And they say Dr. Binjoy is going away; though what Sir
Louis will do without him, I don't know."
"Dr. Binjoy going away," murmured Fanks, rather startled, "now what is
that for?"
Mrs. Prisom could not tell him; she could only say that the doctor was
departing from Mere Hall that day week; and that it was reported in
the village that he had quarrelled seriously with Sir Louis. "Though
of course," added Mrs. Prisom, "it may not be true."
"I must see to this," thought Fanks. "I wonder if this sudden
departure has anything to do with the murder. Is it a case of thieves
falling out; I must keep my eyes open." After which resolution, he
asked the landlady if she was well acquainted with the Fellenger
family.
"I should think so," said Mrs. Prisom, with pride, "I knew that poor,
young man who was murdered in that wicked London, as well as I know
myself. A noble gentleman, but wild; ah me!" sighed Mrs. Prisom, "just
like his father."
"Did you know Sir Gregory's father?"
"Did I know Sir Gregory's father," echoed Mrs. Prisom, contemptuously,
"do I know the nose on my face, sir? The late Sir Francis and myself
were playmates. Yes, you may well look astonished, sir, but it is the
truth. I was the daughter of the steward at Mere Hall, and I was
brought up with the late Sir Francis almost like brother and sister. I
could tell you many a good story of him," finished Mrs. Prisom, with a
nod and a smile.
"You must do so," said Fanks, returning the smile, "I am fond of
stories."
The fact is, he was wondering if he could find the motive for the
murder in the family history of the Fellengers. Many great families
had secrets, which, if divulged, might lead to trouble; and it might
be that the Mere Hall folk's secret had to do with the tattooed cross.
If it proved to be so, then Fanks thought there might be a chance of
penetrating the mystery of Sir Gregory's death. The family secret and
the death in Tooley's Alley were widely apart; but there might be a
connecting link between them, at present hidden from his gaze. At all
events, it was worth while examining Mrs. Prisom, and hearing her
story.
This Fanks resolved to do that evening; but in the meantime he left
the garrulous landlady, and went out for a stroll in the direction of
Mere Hall. It was not his intention to see Sir Louis on that evening
but rather to wait till the morning. Nevertheless, he had a desire to
look again at the splendid mansion of the Fellengers, more to pass
away the time than with any ulterior motive. In the calm twilight he
strolled along, and soon left the village behind him. His way lay
through flowery hedges, bright with the blossoms of summer; and, under
the influence of the hour and the beauty of the landscape, Fanks quite
forgot that he was at Damington for the purpose of unmasking a
murderer. From his dreams he was rudely awakened, and brought back to
real life.
As he sauntered along, swinging his stick, he saw a man ahead, whose
figure and gait seemed to be familiar. In the clear, brown twilight he
could see fairly well; and so it appeared could the man he was looking
at; for the figure made a pause and jumped over the hedge. Fanks
wondered at this, for he had noted that the figure was that of a
gentleman, or, at all events, someone other than a labourer. With his
usual suspicion, and as much out of curiosity as anything else, Fanks
jumped over the hedge also; whereupon the stranger began to run across
the fields. By this time, Fanks was thoroughly convinced that
something was wrong; so he gave chase at once, with a chuckle of
delight at the excitement of the adventure.
Across the green meadow they raced, and Fanks saw the man fading into
the dim twilight. He redoubled his sped; so did the fellow, but in the
next field Fanks found that he was gaining. The fugitive sprang over
another hedge; with Fanks close on his heels. But when the detective
landed he could see nothing of the stranger. A backward glance showed
him that the man had doubled, and was running along beside the hedge.
The next instant, Fanks was following on his trail; and, although the
mysterious figure made the greatest efforts to escape, Fanks drew
closer. Then an accident brought the race to an end, for the man
stumbled over a clod, and rolled on the grass. The next moment Fanks,
panting for breath, stood over him.
The detective peered down, to see who it was he had caught, and, to
his surprise, he recognised Garth.