WHAT HAPPENED NEXT
Mrs. Narby's discovery convinced Inspector Trent that his prisoner was
guilty. The razor, the key of the dead man's bedroom, the smeared
sleeve, and the pocket-book, all pointed to Herries as the assassin.
And to this material evidence could be added several serious
admissions. After an early denial, Herries had admitted that he knew
the deceased; he had acknowledged him to be a relative with whom he
had quarrelled; and he had stated that his temper was fiery; finally,
the presumed murderer, arriving at an unknown inn on the particular
night on which Sir Simon had slept there, had occupied the room
directly adjoining that of his victim. In the face of such strong
circumstantial evidence, it was scarcely to be wondered at that
Herries looked upon himself as lost. Weaker proofs had hanged men just
as innocent.
It was close on five o'clock when Trent came downstairs to see if the
doctor had arrived. He locked Herries in the bedroom, intending to
take him personally to Tarhaven prison, when the doctor had examined
the body. In the meantime there was no chance of Herries escaping.
From this solitary house, surrounded by marsh and fog, no one, without
being well acquainted with the neighbourhood (and Herries was a
stranger), could hope to get away without endangering his life. The
two yokels still watched under the window, and three or four policemen
were in and around the house. Trent felt that his valuable prisoner
was perfectly safe, and went back to the stuffy parlour to examine
Narby, and to question the landlady about the man called Michael
Gowrie, to whom Herries had alluded.
The heads of the household being thus employed, Elspeth and Pope
attended to the many customers who thronged the tap-room. A great
number of people had been drawn to the inn by an account of the
tragedy, and as some hours had elapsed since the discovery of the
body, the news was pretty widely known. Never before in its sordid
history had the "Marsh Inn" done such a roaring trade, and Pope put
his poetry and dreaming on one side, to deliver pots of frothing beer
to thirsty labourers, who lethargically discussed the crime.
Elspeth, looking more miserable and white-faced than ever, moved like
an unquiet ghost about the room, fulfilling her duties in a mechanical
way, while her thoughts were busy with the prisoner overhead. With the
unreasoning affection of a woman, she was sure in her own mind that
Herries was innocent, not because of what he said, but for the simple
reason that he had been kind to her. That episode of the bucket, at
their first meeting, had established a silent understanding between
the two unlucky people, and each recognised in the other a kindred
spirit. Never before had Elspeth met with an unsolicited act of
kindness, and she was prepared to think of the man who rendered it to
her trodden-down self, as a god. Moreover, the tones of his voice, the
refinement of his face, the kindly look in his eyes, and perhaps his
handsome exterior, appealed to her feminine nature. Moving about with
steady eyes and firm lips, she was wondering all the time how she
could help her hero to prove his innocence. But there is always one
who loves and one who is loved. Herries was the latter, for as yet,
and very naturally, his heart was untouched.
Shortly a picturesque figure entered the crowded tap-room in the
person of a short, thick-set man, dressed in a coster costume of
the ornate type. He wore bell-bottomed trousers of grey cloth, a
short-tailed jacket of the same hue and texture, a yellow waistcoat,
and a flaming red scarf twisted round his brawny throat. The dress was
profusedly decorated with buttons, mother-of-pearl buttons, which
appeared in every place where a button could be sewn on. His brown
bowler hat was trimmed with a large ostrich feather, and his feet were
shod with elegant, thin-soled, high-heeled, brown boots, more suited
to a London Street than to the mud of the Essex marshes. This unusual
figure--unusual at least in the country--attracted much bovine
attention, but the man pushed his way towards Elspeth, and saluted her
by touching his hat and kicking out his right leg, sailor fashion.
"Sweetlips," said Elspeth, looking surprised at seeing him.
"Sweetlips Kind himself," replied the man in a pleasant and rather
cultivated voice, "just come into this smoky engine house, as the fogs
make it, with the caravan, and the missus--ill."
"Oh!" Elspeth's voice was full of sympathy, "is Rachel ill?"
"Diphtheria, poor lass, and what's a Cheap-jack like me to do with a
sick wife in a caravan?" he drew the sleeve of his jacket across his
kind, shrewd, grey eyes, and must have scratched himself with the many
buttons. "Is there a doctor about?" he asked huskily.
"The nearest doctor is ten miles away," explained the girl in a
sympathetic manner. "He comes to Desleigh only on Saturdays."
"Can't wait till then, my girl, the missus may die at any moment, if
the stuff ain't taken from her throat. It's hard to lose her, after
all these years of fair and foul weather. I want you to come to her,
Elspeth, and I'll ride my horse to that doctor, if you'll tell me
where he is to be found."
"I can't leave the inn just now," said Elspeth, thinking of Herries
upstairs, depending upon her assistance. "We're in dreadful trouble."
"A pot of beer, please," said Sweetlips, quickly. "What's up?"
"There's been a murder."
"Lor! You don't tell me so."
"Yes. An old gentleman has been killed----"
"And the murderer is shut in a bedroom upstairs," finished Pope with a
leer.
"He is not the murderer," said the girl indignantly, and turning a
shade paler. "I don't know who killed Sir Simon Tedder, but I am quite
sure that Mr. Herries didn't."
"Sir Simon Tedder," said Kind, dropping the pot of beer from his
mouth. "The millionaire cove? Is he a deader?"
"His throat has been cut," said Pope, eagerly.
"Not by Mr. Herries," retorted Elspeth.
"Lor!" said Kind again, "Why, I've got some of his jam stuff, with the
name on the tins. Here's a go. I could do a bit of business on this
here," he went on, his lip trembling, "folk always crowd to places
where a murder's been committed. But I've Rachel to think of. Come,
Elspeth," he ended entreatingly, "come to the missus, and lemme go for
the doctor."
"A doctor will be here soon from Tarhaven to examine the body," said
Pope filling another pewter.
"The Inspector and the police are in the house, and the doctor is to
follow."
"Two doctors will be here," corrected Elspeth, struck with a sudden
thought. "I sent a telegram from the station to Dr. James Browne, who
is a friend of Mr. Herries."
"You'll get into trouble with the police," Pope warned her.
"What do I care for the police, so long as Mr. Herries is proved
innocent?" cried the girl passionately. "But if you will wait for a
short time," she continued, addressing the mournful Cheap-jack, "one
or the other of the doctors will come soon."
"I hope one of 'em will be in time to save my Rachel," said Kind with
a sigh. "Lor, what a go it will be if I lose her. She's been the sun
and the moon to yours truly for years."
Pope sniggered.
"If you're in such a hurry," he said in an unkindly tone, "ask Mr.
Herries to see your wife. Mr. Gowrie told me that he is a doctor, and
he's on the spot."
Elspeth's pale cheeks flamed, and she clasped her hands.
"Oh!" she cried, passionately, "do you think the police would let him
go and see Mrs. Kind."
"Not much," snapped Pope and giggled. "He's got to see Old Ketch."
"Young man," said Sweetlips sternly, "I've knocked down a cove for
speaking more politely than you do. Not so much of it, do you hear?"
Pope did hear, and being a rank coward, changed colour. After an
uneasy attempt to assert his dignity, he was quelled by the
Cheap-jack's stern eye, and moved away hurriedly in response to an
imaginary call. Kind turned to Elspeth, who was thinking.
"If them two doctors don't come," said he slowly, "an' the police
won't let this chap, as is accused, see the missus, she's a deader."
Elspeth covered her face for a moment and thought. "Where is your
caravan?" she asked hurriedly.
Sweetlips pointed a careless thumb over his right shoulder.
"Just outside the village," he replied, "come, an' let us see the
Inspector chap. He might listen to me, and let Mr. Herries come to see
the poor missus."
"I fear not, Sweetlips, you don't know the police."
"Don't I, my girl," Kind gave a conscious laugh. "I know them better
than I do myself, but quite in an honest way, mind you. I've been
other things than a Cheap-jack in my time. But the missus, the
missus," he said impatiently, "while I'm talking, she's dying. Come
and see her, Elspeth."
The girl stood irresolute. She thought of Mrs. Narby's temper, and of
Mrs. Narby's heavy fist, of Herries upstairs in danger of his life,
and finally of the poor woman dying in the caravan. Some angel passing
must have whispered courage to her at the moment, for suddenly her
cheeks flushed a brave red, her eyes sparkled, and her mouth grew
firm.
"I'll come," she said quickly, "but first tell me what you had to do
with the police?"
Kind hesitated, then lowered his lips to the level of her ear--
"I was a detective once," he whispered, hoarsely. "Used to look after
chaps like this Dr. Herries you talk of, and hang 'em if I could."
"You beast," said Elspeth in low tones, drawing back. "Dr. Herries is
quite innocent."
"Then let him save the missus, and I'll save him."
"Can you?" she asked, her breast heaving.
"Yes, if he really and truly is innocent."
"He is. I swear he is," she cried passionately. "Wait till I get my
hat and shawl, and we'll see the Inspector, and afterwards go to Mrs.
Kind."
"Don't tell this police chap of my being a detective," said Kind, in
an anxious tone. "I've cut that business; and if folks knew what I had
been, they wouldn't come and buy things. All the patter in the world
wouldn't help a Cheap-jack who had once hanged criminals."
"You'll save this one, only he isn't a criminal," said Elspeth, and
glided away up the stairs, while Kind boldly went towards the parlour
and knocked. Mrs. Narby opened the door. Sweetlips Kind explained
himself in a few minutes, and asked that the prisoner, guarded, of
course, should be permitted to see Mrs. Kind.
"Certainly not," said Trent, sternly, "the prisoner is in his bedroom,
and there he must remain until he is lodged in gaol."
"But my wife will die," said Kind, faintly.
"I am sorry," replied Trent blandly and uneasily, for his own
inclination was to permit the visit. "But I cannot exceed my powers."
"Then you won't, sir?"
"If you knew the police, my man, you wouldn't ask that."
"I know the police for the biggest set of fools on earth," cried the
Cheap-jack passionately. "You'll never hang this man, if I can clear
his character. I'll save him to spite you, that would let my poor wife
die, for your cursed red-tape business," and before the astonished
Trent could express the indignation he felt, Kind was out of the inn,
waiting in the foggy street for Elspeth. She joined him shortly in a
state of intense excitement, and heard Kind's openly expressed wrath
against Trent and his minions.
"Then you'll help Mr. Herries," she said, squeezing his arm.
"_Won't_ I, you bet, I just will," said Kind heartily. "Let us get the
missus out of danger first, and I'll remember enough of my old
business to hunt down the real murderer. Always provided," added the
ex-detective cautiously, "that this man is innocent."
"He is--he is. I'll tell you all about it as we walk to the caravan."
"No, my dear," said Sweetlips gently, "until Rachel is safe, I can't
think of anything else. Come quickly," he dragged her along into the
fog, "she may be dead, poor soul. Come!" and the two figures vanished
in the mist, which was thicker and darker and colder than ever.
The Cheap-jack's evil star must have been in the ascendant at the
moment, for twenty minutes after he had turned his back on the inn,
Dr. James Browne of Tarhaven arrived, hotfooted. He came by train to
the local station, a quarter of a mile distant, and had walked to the
inn through the fogs. At once, he asked for his friend, and Inspector
Trent was informed of the fact. He immediately terminated his
examination of Mr. and Mrs. Narby--from whom he had learned nothing
new--and had the new-comer shown into the stuffy parlour, to be
questioned.
"Your name?" demanded the Inspector, curtly official.
"Dr. Browne. I have come from Tarhaven, and wish to see my friend, Mr.
Herries, who is, I understand, accused of murder."
"Who told you so?"
Browne took a telegram from his breast-pocket, and passed it in
silence to the officer. It was unsigned and contained but a few words,
which were as follows: "Angus Herries accused of murder, Marsh Inn,
Desleigh. Come immediately." When Trent read this, he laid it on the
table, and scrutinised the doctor, carefully.
Browne was short and stout, and imperative. His hair was red, so was
his moustache, and short beard, and he had choleric blue eyes.
Apparently he had a temper, but, recognising the majesty of the law,
and knowing that it would be needful, for Herries' sake, to stand well
with its representative, he kept himself in hand. Experience had
taught him the necessity of being cool at critical moments, and the
present was critical, if not for himself at least for his friend.
"What do you know of this?" asked Trent, when he had taken in the
exterior of his visitor.
"As much as you see in that telegram," retorted Browne, pointing to
the table. "I was a fellow-student of Mr. Herries in Edinburgh, and
have not seen him for quite two years. I know him well enough to say
that he is not guilty of murder."
"The evidence is strongly against him."
"Circumstantial evidence has hanged an innocent man before now."
"It will not hang Mr. Herries if he can prove his innocence.
By-the-way, did you see Dr. Harkness in the train?"
"No. Why do you ask?"
"I sent for him to come here, and examine the body. If he does not
arrive soon, perhaps you will take his place."
"Certainly, I'll do anything to help Herries."
"I don't see how a post-mortem can help him," retorted Trent. "Sir
Simon Tedder's throat has been cut."
"Sir Simon Tedder!" Browne started, and looked dismayed.
"You know him?"
"Yes. He is Herries' uncle. I attended him at Tarhaven, where he has a
house, for an attack of influenza, and tried to make peace between him
and his nephew."
"Ah!" Trent assumed an air of satisfaction, "then you know that the
two had quarrelled?"
"I see no reason to conceal the fact that I do know," snapped the
doctor sharply. "But that was two years ago. Herries went to sea, and
it is incredible that he should return to murder his uncle."
"Yet you must admit that it is strange, uncle and nephew should both
have been at this inn?"
"I admit nothing, until I know the facts, Mr. Inspector."
"Here they are. Between ourselves, doctor, I should like to save Mr.
Herries, who seems to have had a hard time."
"He has, poor soul."
"But," added Trent, cautiously, "it will be difficult to save him in
the face of the evidence."
"What is it?"
Inspector Trent detailed all that he had learned from the people of
the inn, and from the prisoner himself. Dr. Browne, with his keen blue
eyes fastened on the official, listened intently, weighing the
evidence in silence. Only when Trent ended, did he speak, and then
curtly.
"You have captured the wrong man."
"Indeed," said Trent sarcastically, "perhaps you can tell me the name
of the right one."
"Not being omniscient, I cannot. It is for you, Mr. Inspector, to
learn the name of the man who passed through the tap-room at eight."
"You accuse him?"
"Of course. He is the assassin, and has implicated Herries by placing
in his room, the razor, the key and the pocket-book. This unknown man
must have been the one whom Sir Simon expected on the previous night."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, by your own showing, Sir Simon could not have known of his
nephew's presence here. The unknown man did not arrive at the time he
was expected, but when the inn was closed, he must either have been
admitted by Sir Simon, and taken to the bedroom, or he must have got
in by the window."
"The window is on the first floor!"
Browne cast a look upward at the low ceiling.
"I don't think an active man would have any difficulty in climbing."
"There is certainly some trellis work outside,
against the window of the room Sir Simon occupied," said Trent half to
himself, "but this is all theoretical."
"So is the evidence against Herries."
"Do you call a razor, a stained shirt, the dead man's pocket-book and
the key of the dead man's room, theoretical?"
"These things were placed in Herries' room by the assassin to
implicate him in the crime," said Browne obstinately.
"Why should the unknown man take that trouble?" argued Trent. "He
could not have known that my prisoner was the nephew of Sir Simon, and
it would have been easy for him to have left as he did, after--as you
say--committing the crime, without taking the trouble to throw the
blame on an innocent man. I don't see what the assassin gains by
taking such trouble."
"He provided for his own safety, in case his name was discovered."
"But," went on the Inspector, "how do we know that this unknown man
saw Sir Simon at all?"
"The landlady's evidence makes that clear," replied Browne in a
decisive way, "she saw him wearing the fur coat of the deceased."
"It might have been the man's own. Fur coats are very much alike."
"There I disagree with you. But presuming this to be the case, have
you found the fur coat of Sir Simon in his room?"
"No. The landlady searched and could not find it."
"Then its disappearance proves what I say to be true," said Browne in
a triumphant manner. "What happened is this. The assassin could not
arrive at the appointed time, and Sir Simon retired to bed. Later the
man came, and either obtained admittance through the front door opened
by Sir Simon when all were in bed, or climbed up by the trellis to
which you allude. The two had a talk and a quarrel, and the visitor
cut the old man's throat. Then he waited until the morning. Knowing
how his victim was to leave the inn, he boldly walked out, leaving
strong evidence against Herries."
"But why?" asked Trent, persistently.
"Oh, I cannot tell you the motive for the commission of the crime, Mr.
Inspector. You must learn that from the man who passed through the
tap-room in Sir Simon's fur coat. And I think," added Browne shrewdly,
"that you will learn, that the assassin implicated Herries to save
himself, in the event of his being suspected."
"I don't agree with you," said Trent, doggedly, and rose to show that
the interview was at an end. "Herries is guilty."
"I should have been surprised if you had agreed," retorted Browne.
"Herries is innocent."
"Question the man yourself then," snapped the Inspector, not in the
best of tempers. "His suspicious behaviour and lame explanations will
shake your belief."
"Never," retorted the loyal friend, "I would as soon suspect myself as
Herries, who is the best, as he is the most unfortunate, fellow in the
world. What infernal luck he has had."
Trent stiffened his erect figure, and still obstinate, strode out
of the room, followed by Browne, who looked like a very pugnacious
bull-terrier. The two proceeded up the narrow stairs, and into the
passage leading to the two rooms, round which all interest in the
little hostel centred, since one contained a corpse, and the other,
the presumed criminal. Policemen guarded each door, and both of them
reported to Trent, that everything was going well. Taking the key of
Herries' room from his pocket, Trent opened the door, and entered
abruptly, as though to catch the prisoner unawares. The room was
naturally in darkness, as it was now late, and no candle had been
allowed the suspected man, in case he should set the inn on fire.
Trent expected to find darkness, but he did not expect to experience a
chilly clammy feeling, as though he were without, and not within. To
be plain the bedroom was filled with mist, and a sudden suspicion
struck the officer.
"Herries--Mr. Herries," he called, and when there was no reply,
he turned towards Browne in the darkness of the passage. "Bring a
light--bring a light."
The constable who had guarded the door, more ready than his chief,
instantly struck a match, and the blue glimmer served somewhat to
dispel the gloom. As the lucifer flamed up, Trent darted into the
room, with an oath, and a cry of rage.
"The prisoner has escaped!" It was true. The window was open, the room
was empty. As he had come out of the mist to that unfortunate inn, so
had Herries vanished again behind the grey veil, which still hung over
the marshes.