THE CARAVAN
All search for the escaped criminal proved vain. Herries had vanished
as completely as though the earth had swallowed him up, after the
fashion of Korah, Dathan and Abiram. Apparently, he had noted the
departure of the amateur guards from their post below the window, and
had seized the chance of getting away unobserved. Certainly he did not
know the neighbourhood and, in that treacherous marsh-land, ran every
chance of missing his way in the fogs, to fall into some water-hole.
But it was better--at least the accused man appeared to have thought
so--to risk even so stifling a death, rather than face the more
judicial and merciful one of the gallows. Herries had chosen to fall
into the hands of God, who knew his innocence, rather than into the
hands of man, who judged him guilty before trial.
But be this as it may, it was certain that he was gone, for although
every square inch of land in and around Desleigh village was minutely
examined, nothing could be found likely to afford a clue to his
hiding-place--perhaps to his grave. Many of the rustics returned to
the "Marsh Inn" swearing that the man must be dead.
"In them fogs, and with them dratted water-holes, and him knawing
nothing," said the yokels, each and severally, "he be dead, surely."
Trent did not agree with popular opinion.
"Herries was half a sailor, and accustomed to fogs," he argued to
Browne, "in some way he could take care of his skin, and would not run
away to meet death."
"He ran away to escape death," replied Browne dryly. "However, should
he come to me, I shall certainly persuade him to surrender."
"The man would be doubly a fool to come to you, and then give himself
up," said the Inspector energetically.
"Not if he is innocent."
"His flight looks like innocence."
Browne shrugged his shoulders.
"Herries evidently lost his head for the moment. When he thinks over
things he will return to prove that he has nothing to do with the
crime."
"I doubt his being such a fool," said Trent gloomily. "You have no
idea of his whereabouts, I suppose?" he ended anxiously.
The irascible little man clenched his ready fists, and answered in a
voice choked with anger.
"I have been with you all the time, and I told you that I had not seen
Herries for two years. How then can you ask me, of all people, where
he has gone? Inspector Trent, are you a clever man, or a----?"
"There! There!" interrupted the other, before the odious word could be
pronounced. "I made a slight mistake."
"Your mistakes, as you call them, may send Herries to the gallows."
"We have to catch him first," retorted Trent snappishly, and the
conversation ended for the time being.
Decidedly the Inspector was in the wrong, and no amount of raging or
arguing on his part would prove him to be right. He had failed to take
proper precautions to guard the prisoner, and the bird had escaped the
snare. Thinking again of the social importance of the victim, Trent
cursed himself for having missed such a chance of improving his
position. He knew well that the authorities would take no excuse, and
at the moment, he could do nothing to repair his error. Herries was
missing, and the whole police force would not be able to find him. Of
course there might be a chance when the mists lifted, but the question
was, when would they lift? Not for days perhaps, if the weather-wise
rustics were to be believed, and thus Herries would have ample time to
make his way to Pierside, or even into the jaws of the lion at
Tarhaven, and get on board some outward-bound tramp. Once out of
England, and Trent's chance of making a sensation, and of getting a
rise in his salary, would be gone.
He did the best that he could under the circumstances--that is, he
left a policeman in charge of the cage whence the bird had flown, and
stationed several in the village itself. The local constable, Armour,
had not yet shown his face, and Trent was puzzled, as the man was
bound, during the day, to come to Desleigh. But Armour was not
visible, so the Inspector did what he could with the men he had
brought from Tarhaven, judiciously disposing them about the place. It
might be, he hopefully thought, that one of them might chance upon
Herries wandering lost and miserable in the fogs. Then he placed the
written depositions of Mrs. Narby and other witnesses in his pocket
and started for Tarhaven. Before leaving the inn, however, he inquired
if Browne was coming also.
"No," said that gentleman shortly. "I shall stop here, and see that
poor woman in the caravan."
"Not your friend Herries then," asked Trent artfully.
"If Herries returns, I'll send a wire to you at once."
"I can't believe you."
"That is both rude and unnecessary," retorted Browne, the veins
swelling in his high forehead. "But I quite see that you cannot grasp
my meaning. It is useless to explain. Good-day," and Browne turned on
his heel sharply, leaving Trent furious at being thus addressed. The
hide of your Jack-in-Office is extremely thin.
Left behind, Dr. Browne turned his attention to a meal, after which he
decided to visit the sick woman in the caravan. In spite of Mrs.
Narby's masculine exterior, she was feminine enough to have an attack
of nerves, owing to recent events. Dr. Browne won her gratitude, as
much as she was able to spare, by prescribing for her, and as he
announced his intention of stopping at the inn for the night, on the
chance of meeting again with Herries, the landlady, before retiring to
bed, gave him the stuffy parlour to eat in, the bedroom of Herries to
sleep in, and ordered Elspeth to attend on him. Consequently Dr.
Browne found himself devouring a badly cooked meal in the parlour
somewhere about six o'clock, and within half an hour of Trent's
departure.
Elspeth waited on him, and cast furtive glances at him, as she was
aware that he was her hero's friend, and indeed had heard the doctor
champion the accused man. Browne, sensitive as a woman to occult
influences, became aware that she wanted to speak to him, but feared
to do so, by reason, as he thought, of shyness.
"Well," he said abruptly, when she brought him a cup of coffee.
"Yes, sir," said Elspeth, with a start.
"You wish to speak to me."
"I don't know why you----"
"But I know. You have been watching me closely. You sent the telegram,
and know that I am Herries' friend. You are his friend likewise, why I
don't know, and you wish to speak about him."
"I am his friend," said the girl steadily, "because he is the first
human being who has been kind to me. There is nothing I would not do
for him."
"Save his life then," said Browne caustically.
"I intend to," retorted Elspeth quickly.
The doctor turned in his chair and looked at her keenly. She was not
exactly pretty, but there was a delicate and fascinating air about
her, which meant more than mere physical beauty. Elspeth had "a way
with her," as the saying goes, and Browne, sensitive, as has been
said, felt her influence at once.
"Are you a lady masquerading as a servant?" he asked, bending his
shaggy brows.
"I am a drudge left in pawn by a relation," said the girl, simply.
"What do you mean?"
"A year ago, I came here with a relative. He had not enough to pay for
his bed and board, and moreover, wanting to get to London, he did not
wish to be encumbered with a girl. To settle his bill and get rid of
me, he left me behind to be Mrs. Narby's servant. She pays me nothing,
and I do all the work."
"And how long is this slavery to last?"
Elspeth made a gesture of despair.
"I do not know. Until my relative makes sufficient money to take me
away. I cannot go myself, as I have no money, and only these clothes I
wear now. Here, at least, I have a bed and food, hard though the
situation is, so I have made up my mind to stay."
"Who is your relative?"
"I decline to say, just now."
"What is your name?"
"Elspeth!"
"A Scotch name. Elspeth what?"
"I cannot tell you at present," said the girl haughtily.
"Humph!" said Browne, quite puzzled, and also fascinated by this
odd creature, who was a kind of Titania in domestic service. "You
are a mystery. Well, it's none of my business. I have always kept
clear of women, thank God, as they complicate life too much for a
plain-thinking man. But Herries--what about him?"
"He is innocent."
"I know that, but how do you propose to prove his innocence?"
"Sweetlips Kind can do that--so he says."
"And who is Sweetlips Kind?"
"A Cheap-jack, whom I know very well. He was a----" here Elspeth
paused and looked hard at the red-faced doctor.
"Go on. I am Herries' friend."
"Well then, Sweetlips Kind was a detective, and says that he will try
and find the real murderer."
"Why should he take this trouble over Herries?"
"For my sake, because I have been waiting on Mrs. Kind--poor Rachel."
"And why should _you_ take the trouble?"
Elspeth flushed.
"Mr. Herries was kind to me," and she related the incident of the
bucket.
Browne hemmed and hawed.
"I shall never understand the reason why women exaggerate," said he
with a shrug, and finishing his coffee. "Herries only did what any man
would do for a woman."
"So far as this woman is concerned, no man ever did as much," said
Elspeth dryly.
"Hum! Hum. I say; you are educated."
"Yes. I was at a very good girls' school eighteen months ago."
"What is your age?"
"Nineteen."
"You might be fifty by the way you talk. Well then, you want to help
Herries, and so do I. Between us, we may best that fool, Trent."
"Sweetlips Kind will do that."
"Where is he?"
"In the caravan, attending to Rachel."
Browne rose quickly.
"By the way, I nearly forgot that woman, and she needed immediate
attention, judging from what you said. I----" he made as to move to
the door. Elspeth intercepted him.
"Not just now," she said hurriedly, "Rachel is better, and is now
asleep. I attended to her."
"Pooh, you are not a medical man. I must go, if only out of charity."
What Elspeth would have said must remain a mystery, but she
apparently was not anxious for the doctor to go on his errand of
mercy. At all events she did not move away from the door. Just as she
was about to speak, the door opened slightly, and a head topped by an
ostrich-feather-trimmed bowler hat was thrust cautiously in.
"Elspeth!"
She turned at the cautious whisper, and opened the door wide.
"Come in, Sweetlips. Dr. Browne was just thinking of seeing your
wife."
"Dr. Browne," repeated the Cheap-Jack, with a shrewd glance, "and who
may he be?"
"I am Mr. Herries' friend," explained Browne, rather taken with the
man's lean, clever face. "He wanted me to come and help him."
"He needs help," muttered Kind, rubbing his bristly chin. "He's in a
hole if ever a man was."
"Can you get him out of it?"
"I," the Cheap-Jack feigned surprise, "pore cove like me?"
"I told him you were a detective," put in Elspeth.
"Oh my gal, and arter wot I said to----"
"Pooh, pooh," broke in the little doctor good-humouredly, "what is the
use of doing things by halves? We three want to help an innocent man,
so it is just as well we should understand one another."
"You are Mr. Herries' friend?" asked Kind, cautiously.
"I'm sure he is," said Elspeth fervently.
"Well then," Kind rolled his hat round and round in his large hands.
"'Spose we get to business. If you mean well by the cove as is under
suspicion, take me up to see the corpse's bedroom."
"Why?" asked Browne, somewhat startled by this blunt request.
"I want to have a look at the room, before the peelers disarrange
things. If the cove in the fur-coat killed Sir Simon, he might have
left some evidence behind him, which the police overlooked. Now,"
added Kind, measuring Browne with a keen glance, "you've seen the
corpse, I've heard, and can get into that room again, by saying as you
want to do some doctor's work with me to assist. Once let me get in,
and I'll look round."
Browne made a cup of his hand for his chin, and pondered.
"I can do it," he said at last in a brisk manner, "but will we not go
and see your wife first?"
"Not just now, Rachel's asleep."
"Alone?"
"In course," said Kind stolidly, "only me and she lives in the cart."
"I'll go and see after her, while you search the bedroom," said
Elspeth about to leave the room.
"But your missus, my gal?"
"She's in bed, and won't know. Pope will attend to the customers, and
I'm too useful to him to be betrayed to his mother."
This plan was agreed upon, and Elspeth with a shawl over her head
slipped out of the inn, with a hasty excuse to Pope. Browne sought out
the constable left in charge, who had the key of the death-chamber and
madetapta his request. The man,--Fairburn it was,--knowing that Browne was
in the confidence of his Inspector, as he thought, made no objection,
and readily accompanied the two to the room. But he allowed them to
enter alone, and thought that he was doing his duty by yawning at the
door, looking up and down the dark passage in a listless manner. Kind
carried the sole candle which the officer allowed to be taken into the
room.
The corpse lay quiet and rigid under the sheet, and the feeble candle
light made the room look quite funereal. To keep up appearances, as
Fairburn was casting occasional glances from the doorway, Browne
turned back the sheet and examined the corpse, telling Kind to bring
water, and towels, and various other things, so as to give him a
chance of moving unsuspected round the chamber. In this way,
Sweetlips, by using the keen eyesight with which Nature had endowed
him, to say nothing of his clever brain, saw a great deal.
"I'll open the window," he said aloud, and went to the dressing-table
which was immediately before the casement. Here he remained for a
little time, examining the position of the glass, and the table, both
of which he noted had been moved. Then he moved round the room,
apparently still under the doctor's orders to quell the suspicions of
Fairburn, and when the constable was not looking, stooped to pick
something off the floor. Near the bed was a small table covered with a
red cloth, and on this were writing materials, which Kind also
examined. Finally, he came to the bed, and looked at the corpse, at
the crimsoned pillow and sheets, and at the heavy rep-curtain which
draped the couch. A nudge told Browne that Sweetlips had seen all that
he wished to see, and the two departed.
"It's all right, constable," said Browne, giving the key to the man,
who yawned on receiving it. "The regular doctor will come to-morrow,
and you can tell him, if I am not here, that I have seen the corpse
twice."
"Yes, sir," said Fairburn saluting, and tramped down the passage after
locking the door, still yawning. Kind was perfectly satisfied that the
inattentive policeman had guessed nothing of the real reason for the
visit to the death-chamber. He turned to Browne, who was holding the
candle.
"What of the room Herries slept in?" he asked in a low voice, and with
more of the detective's peremptory manner than the Cheap-jack's
careless ease.
"It is mine to-night," replied the doctor, and opened the door of the
adjacent room. "Why do you wish to----?"
"I might find something here also. Wait!"
Taking the candle, he entered the room, and Browne, marvelling at the
sudden assumption of authority by the man, waited in the passage. He
was impressed by Kind's resolution, and careful handling of the
situation, and began to think that here indeed was an ally worth
having. Even the Cheap-jack's language had changed, and he spoke a
tongue considerably removed from the slang vernacular which he
affected as the proprietor of the caravan. When he came out, Browne,
on fire with curiosity, asked him what discoveries he had made.
"I've found much, but much remains to be found," said Kind, shaking
his head. "When we reach the caravan, I'll tell you what I think. That
is----?" he hesitated, looked anxiously at Browne's open face, and
then abruptly descended the stairs. Elspeth was already in the
tap-room, and apparently had just returned. On seeing Kind she glided
up to him, and said something in a low voice. He nodded.
"Rachel is awake," he remarked aloud, turning to the doctor, "'praps
you'll come along and see her."
"Willingly," answered Browne, starting with alacrity for the door, "so
long as you'll help my friend, I'll do anything."
"That's all right," said Kind meditatively, and refused to speak
further. Nor did the doctor worry him with questions. The man seemed
to be sunk in deep thought, and tramped along the muddy village
street, apparently turning over his late discoveries,--whatever they
might be--in his own mind.
It was still misty, and the stars were veiled by the thick white fog,
so that the night was as dark as the pit. But Kind seemed to know his
way as well as a swallow flying south, and unhesitatingly steered the
doctor down the street, and into the outskirts of the village. Here,
in a sloppy meadow, stood the caravan,--at least Kind by a gesture
intimated that it was there, for in the pitchy darkness Browne could
see nothing. The Cheap-jack kept well alongside the fence, and began
to whistle "Garryowen" in a lively manner. This was evidently a signal
to warn his wife that he was approaching, so that she might not be
scared by footsteps. Suddenly Kind turned abruptly away from the
fence, and Browne, following close at his heels, almost ran his nose
against the vehicle, which which was Kind's migratory home. It loomed
up unexpectedly, blacker than the blackness, if that were possible,
out of the fogs, and the doctor stumbled up the steps, which could be
discerned by the thread of light which formed a brilliantly bright
line at the foot of the door. When the door itself opened, which it
did in response to a triple knock by the Cheap-jack, such a flood of
light poured out into the foggy gloom, that Browne was dazzled for the
moment. When he entered, blinking his eyes, and the door was closed,
he glanced round the interior of the caravan, and his gaze rested
first on the sick woman, who was lying in a narrow bed at one end.
Then Browne looked at the person who had opened the door, and
beheld--Angus Herries.