HUE AND CRY
"Gone!" cried Trent, both enraged and amazed. "How did he escape?"
"By the window," replied Dr. Browne, who was not ill-pleased to find
the room empty, and he struck a second match to make certain, "yes! by
the window."
"Anyone can see that," retorted the officer, sorely annoyed, for the
position of affairs reflected no credit on his brains. "Holl!
Fairburn! What is the meaning of this?"
The two policemen protested that they were not in fault. Fairburn, on
guard at the door of the death-chamber, exonerated himself by pointing
out that the corpse, which he had been set to watch, was still in the
room, while Holl vehemently stated that he had heard no sound likely
to lead him to believe in an intended escape.
"I did not hear the window being opened," said Holl, decisively.
"Why didn't you station a policeman under the window?" asked Browne,
while the Inspector fretted and fumed, and wondered inwardly what the
authorities would say to his negligence.
"Two men--villagers, were posted there," he said angrily. "I'll see
them at once."
He ran hastily down the stairs, and out of the front door into the
side garden, where the two men had been stationed. Finding no one
there, he returned to the tap-room, and discovered the watchers busy
with pots of beer.
"Why are you not at your posts, men?" he asked in a loud domineering
voice.
"We got tired," said one bovine agriculturalist, explaining on behalf
of himself and his friend, "and the damp was giving we the blamed
rheumatics."
"What the devil does that matter, you fools? You should have remained
where I placed you."
"You bean't our master," grumbled the spokesman, "and there weren't no
money given to we."
Trent stamped, but could not gainsay this speech. It was his own
fault, as he recognised plainly enough, for it was his duty to have
posted official guards.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"Twenty minutes to half an hour," said the yokel, drawing his sleeve
across his mouth, as he set down an empty pewter. "Bill, here, and me
'ull go back, if it be as you'll give we money."
"You can save yourself the trouble," retorted Trent sharply, swinging
round on his heel, "the prisoner has escaped."
Immediately the tap-room was in commotion, and everyone rose in
consternation. It was not pleasant to think that a murderer was at
large and in the neighbourhood. Narby, from force of habit, felt for
his revolver.
"Guess he can't hev gone far," said he, in his nasal American way,
"th' fog 'ud stop him."
"The fog will save him, more like," said Dr. Browne, quickly. "He'll
have time to get away before the mists lift. And I'm glad."
"Oh, you are, mister, and for why, may I ask?"
"Because the man is innocent."
"Innercent," shrieked Mrs. Narby shrilly, "an' me findin' the
pocket-book, and Narby the razor an' key. Wot's yer torkin' of,
anyhow?"
"Here!" cried Trent, impatiently, "while we chatter, the prisoner is
escaping. Twenty pounds to the man who finds him."
The yokels needed no further incentive to action. They made a rush for
the door, and in a few minutes the lands surrounding the village were
dotted with lanterns, each carried by a man eager to earn the reward.
Trent remained behind to ask questions.
"Did anyone see the prisoner?" he asked Holl.
The constable saluted sulkily.
"No, sir. You gave orders that no one was to disturb him, and locked
the door yourself. That girl," he pointed to Elspeth, who was an
attentive spectator, "came up to see him, and went on her knees at the
very door itself, that I should let her in. I told her that I could
not, and that even if I would, the door was locked."
"Did she speak through the door?"
"No, sir, but the prisoner must have heard her asking me to let her
enter," returned Holl smartly; and having saluted was dismissed
abruptly.
"Now then," said Trent, beckoning Elspeth to approach, "why did you
wish to see the prisoner?"
The girl was quite ready with her reply.
"To tell him, that according to his wish I had sent a message to his
friend in Tarhaven."
"Ah!" cried Browne, nodding his thanks, "that was me. _You_ sent the
telegram."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Herries said that you would help him."
"I intend to do all I can, my girl, but matters look black against
him. All the same he is innocent."
"You had no right to send the telegram without telling me," said Trent
to Elspeth in angry tones.
"Mr. Herries was kind to me," she returned, steadily, "and I was quite
right in returning his kindness!"
"And Herries was within his rights in asking to see me," said Browne
sharply. "The poor devil needs a friend, seeing how you have already
judged him."
"I do not judge him," said Trent, very irritated, "the jury will do
that, Dr. Browne."
"You'll have to catch your hare first, Mr. Inspector."
Trent would have made an angry reply, and there is no knowing to what
lengths the quarrel would have proceeded, only that Browne's attitude
was so sturdy, and his blue eyes so unflinching in their gaze, that
the Inspector thought it would be best to leave the fiery little
doctor alone. He was as much in the right, as Trent himself was in the
wrong. However, the Inspector was determined to vent his wrath on
someone, and chose Elspeth, who remained in the room, with himself and
Browne. Everyone else, even Mrs. Narby, was out hunting the miserable
man, whom they insisted was guilty.
"What do you know of this?" asked Trent. "Tell the truth!"
"I never tell lies," replied the girl quietly. "I know nothing. I went
up over an hour ago to inform Mr. Herries that I had sent the
telegram, and the policeman, who has just gone out, would not allow me
to see him. I then put on my cloak and hat, and came down to go with
Sweetlips Kind to his caravan."
"Why did you go there?"
"To see his wife, who is dying. If you remember, Mr. Trent----"
"Yes, yes," snapped the Inspector rather ashamed of himself, and
addressed Browne. "A Cheap-jack came here over an hour ago asking that
a doctor should be sent to his wife. Your friend Herries is a medical
man, but of course I could not let him go, and there was no one else."
"Is the woman very ill?" asked Browne, sharply.
"She was, but she is better now," replied Elspeth, "I looked after
her. It is not a matter of life and death, now."
"In that case, I may as well see the corpse upstairs," said the
doctor, briskly. "Will you come with me, Mr. Inspector?"
Trent agreed, readily enough, as there was nothing else left for him
to do. His men and the villagers were out hunting the mists for the
escaped criminal, and it was useless for him to join in, since his
presence was required in the death-chamber. He went upstairs with the
doctor, and Elspeth was left alone. She heaved a sigh of relief when
they departed, and sat down before the fire to snatch a few moments of
quiet before her tyrant returned, and to think over the position of
affairs.
There could be no doubt that she loved this fugitive, for her heart
ached to think of the peril he was in. The poor girl's life had been a
hard one, and now at the age of twenty, there did not seem much chance
of improvement. Overhearing somewhat of the story told by Herries to
Gowrie, she thought that his bad luck was very much like her own.
Since her cradle, she had been the victim of misfortune, and nothing
had gone well with her. Yet, had Elspeth been better fed and better
dressed, and loved as a girl of her age should be loved, she would
undoubtedly have bloomed into a pretty damsel. But cares had aged her,
and want of good food rendered her lean. If Herries was Jonah, she was
Mrs. Jonah. As this quaint thought came into her mind, she smiled and
blushed. Much as she would have liked to be Mrs. Jonah, there was
small chance of her achieving her desire. The man she loved was a
supposed criminal, flying from justice, and even had his case been
less desperate, he could not marry her for lack of money. And again,
even had he possessed money, he would not have made her his wife, as
he was not in love with her, as she was with him. The future looked
very dark to this poor Cinderella seated by the fire; and thinking of
her sorrows, the tears ran down her cheeks, although she had plenty of
pluck. But the most plucky person gives way at times.
She was aroused from her musings by the entrance of Pope in a state of
excitement. He carried a lantern, and was covered with mud, his face
was red, and his eyes flashed brightly. Elspeth started up in alarm
fearing the worst.
"Have they caught him?" she asked, laying her hand on her breast to
still the loud beating of her heart.
"Not yet, but they soon will," said the poet. "Everyone is searching
the marshes all around, and the lanterns are dancing like
will-o'-the-wisps in the foggy air. I have tried to find him, but I
cannot. Oh, I hope mother or father will, and then I'll have the
twenty pounds to publish my poems."
"Would you sell that poor man for twenty pounds, Pope?"
"Why not, Elspeth, if he is guilty?"
"But he is not," declared the girl, vehemently. "You and everyone else
have made up your minds that Mr. Herries killed Sir Simon. I don't
believe that he did, and I hope that he has escaped."
"Then if he is innocent, Mr. Gowrie must be guilty."
Elspeth rose angrily, and darting forward, shook the long shambling
lad furiously.
"How dare you say that?" she cried. "Why should Mr. Gowrie kill Sir
Simon?"
"Sir Simon had money," stuttered Pope, much ruffled, and backing
before the small fury who faced him. "He slept in this room, and could
easily have gone upstairs, when everyone was quiet, to kill Sir Simon.
"He did nothing of the sort, Pope. I know Mr. Gowrie better than you
do, and he is incapable of such wickedness."
"It was Mr. Gowrie who brought you here, wasn't it, Elspeth?"
"Yes," said the girl listlessly, and all the light died out of her
eyes, "a year ago."
"I was away at that time," chattered Pope setting down his lantern,
and producing a cheap cigarette. "Mother placed me in an office; but I
could not stand so sordid a life," he added with an affected shudder.
"It was not the life for a poet, so I came back, and here I can write
glorious verse."
"So you think," said Elspeth, who had read Pope's productions, and
thought very little of them. "But you would be much better earning
your own bread and butter, than living on your mother."
"They have brought a genius into the world, and it is their glorious
duty to support him," said Pope grandiloquently. "When I am Poet
Laureate, I'll make it up to them."
Elspeth shrugged her spare shoulders and went resignedly about her
work. It was impossible to make Pope think himself any other but the
most famous poet in the world, and his conceit amounted to a positive
mania. Even as Elspeth moved away, the young man commenced to mouth
one of his bombastic poems, devoid of grammar or sense, and Elspeth
felt inclined to stop her ears, so vile was the rhythm. This she did
not do, having a vivid recollection of having suffered at Pope's
hands, when she had once betrayed disgust. The poet was mild enough
usually, but when his vanity was touched he grew positively dangerous,
and went--as the saying goes--baresark. Knowing his eccentricities,
Elspeth, therefore, paid no attention to the verses, but worked on
quietly, while Pope, fancying himself a Homer at the least, walked up
and down declaiming turgid blank verse. Finally, finding that Elspeth
did not applaud, he stopped and looked at her spitefully.
"Genius is wasted on you, Elspeth."
"Entirely," she answered coolly. "Why didn't you wipe your boots
before you come in, Pope. They are covered with red mud. You have been
to the creek at the back of the house."
"Why shouldn't I have gone there?" asked Pope, with a snarl, and his
freckled face grew red.
"I don't think Mr. Herries would try to escape in that way."
Pope cooled down, and re-lighted his cheap cigarette.
"Well, he didn't go that way, although I hunted all along the banks,"
he said. "Have you any idea of where he has gone, Elspeth?"
"If I had, I shouldn't tell you, Pope."
"You must, you are only my mother's servant."
"That is not true, Pope," said the girl, but her eyes flashed angrily
as she turned on him sharply. "Mr. Gowrie brought me here a year ago,
and as he could not pay for his board and lodging he left me in pawn,
so to speak, to your mother. I have been a drudge ever since."
"Well, and what is a drudge but a servant," snapped Pope, cowering
over the fire to warm his lean hands. "Is Mr. Gowrie any relation to
you, Elspeth?"
"Yes," she replied with an averted face, "don't ask questions."
"I want to know what your last name is?"
"Then you won't."
"Does my mother know?"
"She does not. She knows me as Elspeth, and that must content her, and
you together. Why do you wish to know about me?"
Pope leered at her, and his eyes flashed.
"I thought that if you were washed that you might be pretty."
"Well," said Elspeth, unmoved.
"And that I might marry you."
The girl flushed.
"I would sooner kill myself," she cried in a spirited tone. "My life
is hard enough, but marriage with you"--she shuddered and cast a look
of loathing at this creature, who dared to present himself as her
lover.
"Oh, very well, miss," said Pope shrilly, his voice invariably grew
shrill when he became angry, "I'll tell mother about you, and she'll
make it hot for you. You piggish drudge," he raged, stamping up and
down the tap-room, "you ugly cat--you nasty beast, I wouldn't marry
you, if you were set with diamonds like--like----" he stopped,
abruptly.
"Like what?" inquired Elspeth sarcastically.
"Like the king's crown," ended the poet lamely, and then his wrath
died down, as suddenly as it had arisen. "I say, Elspeth, I didn't
mean what I said. Make me a cup of tea! Do! Do! Do!"
The creature was like a naughty child, and Elspeth made every
allowance for his nerves. Quarrels of this sort were frequent between
them, yet Pope in his own half-mad way was in love with Elspeth, and
when things went awry with him, would always come to be comforted by
her. This did not make her position any the more easy with Mrs. Narby,
who was like a tigress with her cub, when Pope was in the question.
Mean as was the inn, and lowly as was the position of herself and her
husband, Mrs. Narby would have gone out of her mind with rage at the
idea of her darling marrying Elspeth. That the girl was indubitably a
lady, Mrs. Narby never recognised. She looked on Elspeth as a drudge,
and would have broken her neck sooner than call her daughter-in-law.
To keep Pope quiet, Elspeth made some tea, and the poet retired to his
favourite settle, there to compose poetry. In a few moments Trent came
down with Browne, and they went into the parlour. When the poet was
busy with his verses, and abstractedly sipping the tea, Elspeth crept
to the door of the parlour, and listened. She blushed at the idea of
eavesdropping, but in the cause of Herries, she would have dared to do
a deal more. Unlucky as the hunted man was, he had at least two
friends, Dr. Browne, and Elspeth, who had no surname.
"Until I make a proper examination I cannot be quite certain," she
heard the doctor say, "but I think the old man was killed somewhere
about twelve o'clock last night. Was no cry heard?"
"None," replied Trent. "At least the landlady told me so. And, as the
bed is covered with blood, I expect that he was attacked when he was
asleep."
"Probable enough," mused the doctor. "Well, Mr. Inspector, you had
better get your doctor from Tarhaven, and have the body officially
examined. I suppose the inquest will take place here?"
"I think it will be best, doctor. I'll send to Sir Simon's house, and
break the news to his daughter."
"Let me go," urged Browne, "I know her well, and will be able to tell
her the tragedy in a more gentle way than you would."
"I am not exactly wanting in tact," said Trent annoyed, "and----"
He stopped at hearing a shout outside the inn, and Elspeth had only
time to glide away from the door and back to the tap-room, before the
alert Inspector was at the front door. Just as he was about to open
it, Mrs. Narby entered with a rush, hugging in her arms a bundle of
cloth.
"I've got it--I've got it," she shouted.
"Got Herries?" asked Trent sharply.
"The fur coat," shouted Mrs. Narby, who was red and perspiring, and
threw down the coat on the floor. "See--the fur coat--sables, as I'm a
living woman. That cove es parsed out wore it."
"Sir Simon's coat," said Trent. "What do you think of this, doctor?"
"Much the same as I did before," replied Browne, tartly. "The assassin
wore this coat to facilitate his escape, and flung it away to prevent
discovery!"