GRAN JIMBOY.
Lovel flushed angrily at the ironical tone in which his visitor made
his last remark, but kept his temper in a way wonderful for so
passionate a man, and replied with all calmness: "As I told you
before, Mr. Mexton, a few personal details about myself are necessary
to make you understand my position; otherwise you will never
comprehend how Mother Jimboy consented to perjure herself for my sake
at the inquest."
"I beg your pardon," said Paul, feeling ashamed of his rude speech; "I
should not have spoken as I did. Pray continue."
"When gran had related my family history," resumed Lovel, quietly,
"she told me that she had come to Barnstead specially to watch over
me. She knew that I was not rich, and having discovered--how, I know
not--that Miss Clyde was in love with me, she implored me to marry
that lady. I refused."
"Because of Milly?"
"Yes," assented Lovel, "because of Milly; and I told gran the cause of
my refusal in plain words. She was angry with what she termed my
folly, and said that if I met Milly again the consequences might be
fatal."
"Oh! she said that, did she?"
"Yes; but only to insist upon her foolish prophecy earlier in the day.
As I told you, she declared that Milly would meet with a violent
death, and she urged that such death might take place at our next
meeting, so as to induce me not to see the girl again. In a word,
Mexton, the artful old woman was trying to frighten me with false
fire; and I replied to her warning by telling her that I was to meet
Milly the next evening in the Winding Lane. Mother Jimboy warned me
once more that evil might come of it----"
"Might come, or would come?" questioned Paul.
"Might come," replied Lovel. "I don't think she anticipated any evil,
but simply tried to put me off the meeting with words of warning.
Well, Mexton, of course I did not believe in the nonsense she talked,
and laughed at her; whereat she left me in anger, and swore that I
should have reason to remember her prophecy. God knows I have now!"
added the young man, bitterly.
"H'm!" said Paul, thoughtfully. "Do you believe in palmistry, Lovel?"
"No," said the other, promptly; "in spite of my gipsy blood, I am no
believer in the influence of star, or cards, or lines on the palm.
Yet, in Milly's case, it is very strange that Gran Jimboy's
prognostication of evil should come to pass."
"Bah! In my opinion she contributed to the fulfillment of her own
prophecy."
"Mexton! surely you don't believe that a feeble old woman like gran
killed Milly?"
"No, I do not," replied Paul, decisively; "but I believe that she
brought about the death by her arts. Tell me when it was you saw her?"
"About three o'clock in the afternoon."
"Very good; then you told her of your intended meeting with Milly? No
one else knew of that."
"No," said Lovel, thoughtfully. "I told only Gran Jimboy; but Milly
might have informed her sister."
"That is improbable," said Paul, drily. "Milly knew well enough that
her sister Iris did not approve of her flirtation with you, and
assuredly would have stopped the meeting had she known of it. Or would
have formed an inconvenient third at such a meeting," concluded Paul.
"Well, well," cried Lovel, impatiently, "assuming that my grandmother
was the only person who knew that I was to meet Milly on that Sunday
night--what then?"
"Simply this: that I firmly believe Gran Jimboy wrote the letter which
brought Herne down to witness your meeting."
Lovel started from his seat in surprise. "How do you know Herne was
there? I did not tell you that."
"No; but I know. You are aware that he saw your meeting."
"Yes; I saw him."
"You--saw--him!" repeated Paul, slowly.
"You confuse me!" said Lovel, impatiently, striding up and down the
room. "I'll tell you how and where I saw Herne later. Just now inform
me why you think Gran Jimboy wrote those letters?"
"Because I learnt from Catinka----"
"You have seen Catinka?" interrupted Lovel, stopping.
"Yes, yes! Allow me to proceed. She told me that the letters were
written on dirty scraps of paper, by an uneducated person."
"But my grandmother would do nothing to harm me.
"My dear Lovel," said Paul, coolly, "no doubt by informing Herne of
your meetings she thought that she was acting in your interests.
Remember, she wanted you to marry Miss Clyde; well, if she could have
got Herne to stop your meetings with Milly, she no doubt fancied you
would cease loving the poor girl, and consent to make Miss Clyde your
wife."
"Admitting that, what about the prophecy?"
"Oh, knowing that Milly was deceiving Herne, the old gipsy fancied she
might take the law into her own hands, and kill her; hence the
prophecy about a violent death."
"My dear Mexton, all this is pure theory."
"True. I am waiting to hear you state the facts of the case."
"You shall," said Lovel, resuming his seat. "And, pray, attention,
please! You may be able to make more out of the matter than I. On that
night I met Milly in the Winding Lane about a quarter past eight. We
walked up to the stile at the end where the lane goes out into the
common. While walking I saw Brent, and bribed him to say nothing."
"You paid him well," interjected Paul--"five pounds."
"I did not pay him at all on that night," replied Lovel, gloomily,
"but next day, after the murder. I told him that I was innocent, but
in peril, and gave him five pounds, with the promise of more when he
wanted it."
"You bribed him lest he should inculpate you in the murder?"
"That's about it," confessed Lovel. "But if Brent hadn't thought me
innocent he would not have taken the money. I'll do him that justice."
"I think you do him too much justice," said Paul, coolly. "Brent is a
scamp, and would accept your money even though it were blood-stained.
Go on, please, Mr. Lovel."
"I was talking to Milly, standing by the stile," continued the young
man, "and there I was telling her about Herne's flirtation with
Catinka. Of course, I knew that there was no flirtation, but I wanted
to make Milly jealous, so that she should break off the match with
Herne and marry me. Well, while we were talking the clock in St.
Dunstan's Church began to strike nine, and Milly, saying she must go
home, stepped away a short distance. At that moment a shot was fired,
and with a cry the poor girl fell. If you only knew what I felt when I
saw her fall!" cried Lovel, clasping his hands. "I did not see from
what direction the shot came, but bent over Milly. She moved a little,
and then died."
"And you?" asked Mexton, who was following this narrative with intense
interest.
"I rose from my knees when she was dead and rushed into the bushes to
see who had killed her. I could see no one at first, but I heard the
sound as if some one was retreating. I followed quickly, and in the
shadow of the trees some distance away I saw--Darcy Herne!"
"He had killed her!" cried Paul, rising.
"No," denied Lovel, with vehemence; "he was in one of his trances. I
expect he had seen me kissing Milly when we parted, and that the sight
had excited his nervous system to such a degree that he went into the
cataleptic state. I touched him, I shook him, I spoke in his ear; but
all to no purpose; he was quite senseless, and blind to all external
things. Then I became aware of my own peril, and was afraid lest I
should be accused of killing Milly. I had met her; I was in love with
her; and I saw that on all sides I was in danger of being accused of
the crime. Mexton," cried Lovel, "I was not master of myself; I felt
like a madman, and rushed away. Where I went I don't know; but when I
grew calmer I found myself on the high road. Then I thought I would
protect myself by an alibi, and swear that I had not met Milly. I went
to Mother Jimboy's tent and told her all. She said she would help me,
and made me lie down. That is all I know of the crime, Mexton. I did
not kill the girl, I swear; and I swear also that Herne is innocent."
"Are you so sure of that?" said Paul doubtfully.
"Sure! Of course I am. The man was in a trance, and had no pistol in
his hand."
"It might have fallen," suggested Paul.
"No; I looked before I went."
"Why did you return after midnight?"
"Who told you that I returned?" asked Lovel, curiously.
"Iris Link. She thought that her step-father had committed the crime;
and, to save him, she went to the spot to look for the pistol she
fancied he might have dropped. But we know now that Miss Clyde took
away his pistol before the crime was committed."
"I heard that story," said Lovel, thoughtfully; "but, of course, I
never thought that Dr. Lester was guilty. Did Iris see me?"
"Yes; and you ran away?"
"I did," said Lovel, flushing. "I went to see if Herne was still
there; and hearing footsteps--those of Iris, no doubt--I went away
lest I should be implicated in the murder. What else could I do in
such a position? Well, Mexton, I have told you all I know. What do you
make of my story?"
Paul rose. "You come with me, Lovel, and see Mother Jimboy," said he,
putting on his hat, "and we'll see what she knows of the matter."
"She knows nothing; she was not out of her tent."
"I am not so certain of that," said Mexton, quickly. "If she wrote
those letters, as I suspect, I am certain she would go to see if Herne
was watching you."
"She did not say so to me," replied, Lovel, rising in his turn; "but
it may be as well to question her. I am as anxious to secure the
assassin as you are. Let us go. I only hope that gran is well enough
to speak."
"Is she ill?" asked Paul, as they left The Herne Arms.
"She had an accident yesterday--was run over by a baker's cart, and
has suffered some internal injury. Dr. Lester saw her this morning."
"I have not seen him, so that is the first I have heard about the
accident."
The two young men walked through the village, and turned off to the
high road. The shortest way to gran's tent was through the Winding
Lane and across the common; but for obvious reasons, connected with
the memory of the dead, they were unwilling to pass the fatal spot
where Milly had come by her timely end. They walked smartly along the
high road, and when well on their way Paul produced and showed to
Lucas the handkerchief of Herne found by Iris.
"It is spotted with blood, you see," he said earnestly; "that looks as
though Herne had something to do with the murder."
"I dare say when he came out of his trance he examined the body," said
Lucas, "and dropped the handkerchief in the blood--Milly's blood, poor
girl! Ugh!" and he shuddered.
"We'll see what Herne says about it," said Paul, taking back the
handkerchief. "I expect him back from London to-morrow."
"He believes me guilty, Mexton, and I quite see how. He saw me with
Milly, and then fell into his trance. When he came out of it he
discovered that I was gone and the girl dead. I don't wonder he
suspects me."
"But, if so, why did he not raise the alarm on the moment?"
"Afraid to inculpate himself, no doubt," replied Lucas. "But here we
are."
Mother Jimboy's tent stood on the verge of the common, all by itself.
She was with none of her kinsfolk, and camped alone in quite a hermit
fashion. Since her illness a long lean girl with sharp black eyes had
come forward in some mysterious fashion to take charge of her, and it
was this damsel who appeared round a corner of the tent when the young
men approached. Evidently the girl knew Lovel, for she nodded to him
in a familiar fashion and addressed him directly.
"Gran's better, rye," said she, "and wants to see you. I was just
going for you."
"I wonder what she wants to see me about," speculated Lovel, as the
girl lifted up the flap of the tent. "We'll soon learn. Come, Mexton!"
and they crept into the dwelling of the old gipsy.
Gran was lying on the ground amid a pile of dingy blankets, over which
was thrown a gaily striped quilt. Her face was leaner and more
wrinkled than ever, and her eyes were sunken. Still, they glittered
with intelligence, and she seemed to have all her faculties about her,
as she bent forward and clutched the hand of her grandson.
"Eh, dearie, I be main glad to see 'ee, for sure. An' t'other rye--who
be he?"
"I am Paul Mexton," said that gentleman, "and I have come with Mr.
Lovel to hear what you have to say about the murder."
Gran began a cackling laugh, and choked in the middle of it. "Oh, 'tis
gran as knows the pure truth o' that," she said, when her breath came
back. "I wanted to tell mun to you, dearie, so that you may be cliver
and save yourself."
"To me?" cried Lucas, bending forward. "Do you know who killed Milly?"
"Ees, for sure. I was at the stile when mun fired wi' pistol."
"Who fired the pistol?" asked Paul, much excited. "Herne?"
"No; nor Miss Clyde, nor Brent, nor my grandson here. Bend, dearie,
and I'll whisper who killed the good maid."
Both men bent forward and held their breath.
"It was t'passon," said Gran Jimboy. "Master Chaskin--'e killed t'
lass!"