ANOTHER TRAIL
Alan Fuller left The Monastery in a very perplexed state of mind, as
may be guessed, for the revelations, made by Mr. Sorley startled him
considerably. On the hints given by Miss Grison he had suspected that
the man knew something about the Rotherhithe crime, and now the
production of the golden peacock seemed to endorse his suspicions.
According to Jotty—who could not have manufactured such a story—the
deceased had been in possession of the ornament shortly before his
death. Miss Grison also had stated that the same had been given by her
to the man, although she admitted having stolen it from the great
house. How then did it pass into Mr. Sorley’s hands unless that
gentleman had committed the crime? Certainly his explanation, or rather
his belief, that Miss Grison had restored the peacock to the cupboard
when she paid her unexpected visit appeared to be feasible, but before
Fuller could entirely believe this, it was necessary that Sorley’s
suggestion should be supported by the woman’s acknowledgment. And it
must be mentioned as a point in the man’s favor that he did not say
positively Miss Grison had brought back the ornament on that occasion,
but only gave out the idea to account for his own production of the
article.
“And,” considered Alan, while plodding homeward, “Sorley is not aware
that it is known to Moon, Jotty, Dick, and me that the crime on the
face of it was committed for the sake of the peacock. Had he known as
much, he might have accounted for its coming into his possession by
saying that Miss Grison had brought it back. But since he is ignorant,
I don’t see the use of his making such an excuse. He could easily have
said that the ornament had been mislaid, and that he had found it by
chance. Or indeed that Miss Grison had hidden the thing when she stole
it in some room, without troubling to remove it from the place.
Sorley’s explanation certainly seems to point to his complete
innocence.”
But then again, as the young man considered later, Sorley had, within
the last few months, purchased a motor bicycle, and had told an obvious
falsehood as to the time of possession. On such a machine he could
easily cover the fifty miles between London and Belstone twice over in
a night by hard riding, and thus might have been in town about the time
when the crime was committed without anyone being the wiser. The
ownership of the motor bicycle assuredly hinted that the man had acted
in this way, and if so, the chances were that he had murdered Grison to
recover the peacock. But in that case, he would hardly venture to show
his spoil so openly, knowing at what cost he had obtained it, even
though unaware that the police knew how the dead man had been slain on
account of the ornament. Certainly he desired Fuller’s assistance to
unravel the problem connected with the golden bird, but then—as Alan
thought—he could have produced a drawing of the article, saying that it
had been made by himself or someone else before Miss Grison had stolen
the fetish of the Inderwicks. In a correct picture drawn to scale and
colored, there would be quite enough to go upon to guess the riddle
since the mystery of the peacock was evidently on the surface, and not
connected with the interior of the body. Sorley—as he stated, had
opened that to find nothing; and, wanting Fuller to help him, he
assuredly must have spoken the entire truth.
While Alan was thus turning matters over in his bewildered mind, he
heard his name called, and looked round to see Marie flying over the
snowy ground. She caught up with him breathless and crimson with the
race, to seize his arm with a reproachful expression.
“You _are_ mean,” she cried, recovering her breath, “I’ve been waiting
for you to come out and tell me what Uncle Ran said to you. But you
left without a word. I saw you passing down the avenue, so followed as
hard as I was able. Why do you act in this horrid, secret way, you
disagreeable thing?”
Fuller halted and looked at her doubtfully. Since he had imparted to
the girl that knowledge regarding Grison’s possession of the peacock,
which he had obtained from Inspector Moon, through Latimer, he
certainly did not intend to reveal that Sorley had displayed the
ornament in the library. Should he do so, Marie would at once, on what
she knew, jump to the conclusion—and very naturally—that her uncle was
guilty. Being of an emotional nature she would probably refuse to
remain in the house with the man, in which case the truth would have to
be told. If it were, and Sorley learned that he was suspected, he would
probably place obstacles in the way of what really happened coming to
light. That is, assuming he really was the criminal, a fact of which
Alan, after thinking over things was by no means certain. And if the
man was innocent, he might make an outcry to clear himself, which would
be equally prejudicial to the solution of the problem. The more
secretly all operations were conducted until positive knowledge was
forthcoming, the better it would be for the cause of justice. And in
this case, justice consisted in bringing the assassin of Baldwin Grison
to the gallows.
“Oh,” said Alan lightly, and smiling at her inquiring look, “your uncle
only asked me to assist him to learn the riddle of the peacock.”
“But how can that be done when the peacock is missing?”
“Your uncle had drawings of the bird,” replied the young man evasively.
“I have never seen them,” declared Marie rather crossly, “and as the
peacock belongs to me, I should see them.”
“I will show them to you in a few days,” answered Alan quickly, and
made a mental resolve to prepare the drawings himself. And indeed it
was necessary that he should have them, since he could not take the
actual bird to town, and required something tangible upon which to
work. “Don’t you bother your uncle about the matter, Marie, or he may
withdraw his permission.”
“What permission?”
“That I should become engaged to you.”
“Oh Alan! oh Alan! oh Alan!” Marie could only gasp and blush.
“That is,” said Fuller correcting himself, “he does not directly
sanction an official engagement. But he says that if I solve the
problem and find the jewels that he will agree to our marriage.
Meanwhile we can be together as often as we like.”
“That is as good as an engagement,” cried Marie, clapping her hands
with delight, “how good of Uncle Ran. I love him for this.”
“Don’t tell him so,” interposed Fuller hastily; “he’s an odd fish, and
if he knows that I have told you of his yielding so far, he may change
his mind, my dear.”
Marie nodded very wisely and solemnly. “I see; I quite understand. I
shall say nothing to Uncle Ran.”
“And ask no questions?”
“Not one. But you will tell me everything, won’t you?” she said,
pressing up to his side in a coaxing manner.
“Of course,” Alan assured her, “whatever discoveries I make regarding
the riddle you shall know,” and the girl was satisfied with this, not
guessing that her lover was withholding information connected with the
more serious matter of the Rotherhithe murder.
Having—as she now presumed—full permission from Sorley to display her
preference for Alan, Marie boldly took his arm and walked through the
village with him in a most open manner. There was no chance now that
her Uncle Ran would appear to make trouble, and the girl declared as
she clung to her lover that all their troubles were over. “For of
course, such a very clever boy such as you are, dear, will easily solve
the riddle.”
“I hope,” replied Fuller doubtfully, “but it is a hard riddle, Marie,
and has baffled everyone for over one hundred years.”
“Well,” said Miss Inderwick, arguing from a feminine standpoint, “if
anyone had guessed the riddle the jewels would have been sold by this
time, and probably the money would have been spent. So it is just as
well that the truth has not become known. You will guess the riddle,
dear, clever boy that you are, and then we shall become very, very
rich, even though the half of what you find goes to Uncle Ran.”
“Nothing shall go to Uncle Ran,” said Alan grimly, “because Uncle Ran
has no right to ask for a share—unless, of course, he solves the
riddle. The peacock and the treasure it can point out, Marie, both
belong to you, so don’t go making hasty promises to Mr. Sorley; and
above all, dear—mark what I say, little featherhead—don’t sign any
paper if he asks you to.”
Marie nodded meditatively. “I understand what you mean, Alan. Of course
Uncle Ran is fond of jewels, and—well then I shall sign nothing without
consulting you, dear.”
“And don’t tell him that I advised this.”
“Of course not; he would take a dislike to you if I did. Don’t worry,
Alan darling, for I know exactly how to behave.”
“Behave just as you have done, Marie, and do not let Mr. Sorley believe
that anything new is afoot, or that there is any understanding between
us.”
Miss Inderwick nodded vigorously to imply that she knew what she was
about, and the two walked on for some distance in silence, over the
cobblestone pavement of Belstone main street. Occasional smiles and
looks of approval were cast at the young couple by stray villagers, for
Alan was a great favorite in his father’s parish, and Marie was much
more popular than her uncle. The inhabitants of Belstone believed that
if Marie became Mrs. Alan Fuller, that the old day of plenty would
return to The Monastery in which all would share, for they credited the
young man with brains which would enable him to make a great deal of
money. And if he did, seeing that he had a generous nature, it was just
as well that he should marry the last descendant of the ancient family
who had ruled the neighborhood. All public sympathy was on the side of
the lovers.
But to this Marie and Alan paid no attention, since they were wrapped
up in one another. The girl felt quite happy in Fuller’s company and
occasionally glanced at his meditative face. Alan appeared to be
thinking deeply, and apparently of something not connected with
herself. With the natural jealousy of a woman in love, Marie could not
permit this.
“What are you thinking about, dear?” she asked suspiciously.
“About Morad-Bakche!”
Miss Inderwick opened her eyes on hearing this strange name. “Who is
he?”
“He is an Indian gentleman, dear, whom I met at Miss Grison’s.”
“Why should you think about him just now when I am here, Alan?”
Fuller answered the first part of the question, and passed over the
latter. “I am wondering if he has anything to do with the peacock?”
This remark put an end to Marie’s egotism for the time being. “Why
should he have anything to do with it?” she demanded, astonished.
“Well,” exclaimed the young man quietly, “he has come to England, so he
told me to search for some mislaid family property. He is descended
from that Rajah of Kam to whom George Inderwick was sent by the
H.E.I.C., my dear.”
Marie, having read and re-read the story of Ferrier grasped the
connection at once. “Then he knows about the peacock?” she cried in
dismay.
“That is what I wish to learn. The Begum of Kam certainly gave the
jewels we are looking for to George Inderwick, from whom they descend
to you, so as Morad-Bakche represents the Kam family it is just
possible that he has come to get back the gems if he can.”
“He sha’n’t have them,” cried Marie, becoming flushed, “don’t let him
take them, Alan.”
Fuller laughed. “We have to find them first,” he remarked coolly. “When
we have them in our possession, then we can talk over Morad-Bakche’s
claim.”
“He sha’n’t have them,” murmured Marie, much disturbed; “they are mine.
And after all, Alan, he may not have come for the Begum’s treasure.”
“He may, or he may not. I am unprepared to give an opinion. Only it is
so strange that he should live at Miss Grison’s boarding-house,
considering that she knows about the peacock, which is to reveal the
whereabouts of what the man probably desires. He didn’t get to that
boarding-house by chance, I am certain. And Dick fancies also—by his
sixth sense, as he declares—that Morad-Bakche may have designs on the
treasure.”
“It is very strange,” said Miss Inderwick, pondering over this speech;
“but how could he find out that Miss Grison knew about the peacock?”
“We must learn. Have you ever seen an Indian gentleman in the village,
my dear, or haunting The Monastery?”
“No. If I had I should have told you, or would have written about it.
We see so few people about here, Alan—strangers that is—that anyone new
is quickly noticed.”
“Well, you may not have seen the man, but others may have. Who is the
greatest gossip in the village?”
“Oh, Alan, as if you didn’t know, when your mother is always talking
about her. It’s Mrs. Verwin, of course.”
“Ah yes! and she keeps The Red Fox, our one and only inn. Marie, she is
the very person to know, for besides being a gossip, she is the
landlady of an inn to which a stranger would go even if he only came
for the day. Come and let us interview Mrs. Verwin.”
Marie assented eagerly, for the search was like a game, and interested
her greatly. The pair simply retraced their steps and entered the green
space in the centre of Belstone, whence streets and lanes diverged, to
behold the shabby old inn facing them directly. It was an ancient
Georgian building, ugly without, and comfortable within, and had been
more notable in the day of stage-coaches than it was now. Its walls
sadly needed a coat of paint, its roof required patching, while both
doors and windows would have been the better for a little attention. In
fact, there was a half-hearted look about The Red Fox, which showed
that the good lady who owned it had given up any idea of making her
fortune, and was content to exist for the day without troubling about
the morrow. Sometimes tourists stayed in the old place, more frequently
artists, attracted by the romantic beauties of The Monastery, for the
shabby rooms were fairly comfortable, and the cooking, within limits,
was tolerably good. Mrs. Verwin’s money mostly came from the pockets of
laborers and yokels, who drank the very inferior beer she supplied
while they talked over the news of the countryside in the smoky taproom
with the sawdust floor, and cumbersome settles. In the evening when the
day’s work was ended, that taproom was the meeting-place of gossips
both male and female.
And Mrs. Verwin was the greatest and most famous gossip of the lot. How
she gathered all the news she did was a mystery to everyone, since she
never left her abode, and worked from morning until night in order to
keep things going. But somehow she managed to hear all that was going
on both near and far, and used her long tongue freely in discussing
what she heard. But that the villagers were so somnolent Mrs. Verwin
would many and many a time have been in danger of a libel action, but
reigning as a kind of rural queen, no one was bold enough to bring her
to book. If anyone had dared to venture on such a course, he or she
would have been excluded for ever from the taproom, and such
excommunication was not to be thought of by anyone who desired to see
life. And life was nowhere to be seen in Belstone save under the noisy
roof of The Red Fox.
Mrs. Verwin herself welcomed the young couple the moment they set foot
on the threshold, as she had already espied them from the window. Being
a very stout woman, she could scarcely curtsey, but did her best, and
invited her visitors into the best parlor. It was a great honor that
the vicar’s son and the leading lady of the neighborhood—for that Marie
was by virtue of descent if not of money—and Mrs. Verwin was quite
overwhelmed. As the inn was quite respectable and well-conducted, Alan
had no hesitation in taking Marie into the place, although Mrs. Fuller
would scarcely have been pleased, because she disliked the landlady’s
too ready tongue. But as that lively, black-eyed dame was a good
churchwoman and really kind-hearted, the vicar had a better opinion of
her.
“Lor’ sir and miss,” cried Mrs. Verwin, energetically dusting a chair
for Marie to sit down on. “Who’d ha’ thought of you an’ Mr. Alan coming
to see me, friendly like. And very well you’re looking miss, though Mr.
Alan there could do with a little red in them pale cheeks of his.
London smoke,” added Mrs. Verwin in disgust, “and London food, and the
milk that blue with watering as the sky is gray to it. Now do have a
cup of tea, sir, and——”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Verwin,” interrupted Alan quickly, for there was
no chance of getting a word in edgeways save by cutting short the good
lady’s voluble speech; “we have only come for five minutes. I want to
ask you a question, if you don’t mind.”
“Mind, Mr. Alan, and why should I mind, me being all straight and above
the sky-line, respectable as my parents were before me, as anyone who
can read is able to see on their tombstones in the right-hand corner of
the churchyard looking from the porch. Ask me what you like, sir,
whether it means weddings or funerals, or all that goes between in——”
“I simply wish to know if during the last year you have seen an Indian
gentleman in the village,” interrupted Fuller again, and with a look at
Marie to show that he desired to conduct the conversation himself.
“Well, I never, and to think as you didn’t hear of him, stopping here
as he was in July last for one night, and saying as the rice he ate was
boiled in a way he admired.”
“Oh, so there was an Indian here?”
Mrs. Verwin nodded and placed her stout arms akimbo, with curiosity in
her snapping black eyes.
“Quite the gentleman he was, though I hope there’s nothing wrong with
him, meaning courts and docks and lawyers, as is all the sons of Old
Nick, asking your pardon, Mr. Alan, for saying so, and yours, miss, for
talking about him, as shouldn’t be spoke of, nohow. Now if——”
“There’s nothing wrong about him,” said Alan, again stopping the flow
of the landlady’s conversation, or rather monologue; “but I happened to
meet him at Miss Grison’s boarding-house in London and——”
“Lor’ sir,” said Mrs. Verwin again, and taking her turn to interrupt,
“may I never speak another word, if she don’t owe me a good turn for
having told him to go there, where he’d be comfortable, though I never
could see as Miss Grison, and Louisa’s her name, was much of a
housekeeper.”
“You told Mr. Bakche to go,” said Alan, remembering how the Indian had
mentioned to Miss Grison that someone in Ceylon had sent him to Thimble
Square, “and why?”
“Batch. Yes sir, Batch was the name, and he was a very dark gentleman
with eyes like gimblets for boring a person through and through,
haughty like and grand in his manners, speaking English like a native
in spite of his having been reared in a country where they chatter
French and German, the last a language I never could abide, since a
waiter of that sort went away when the house was full, and I needed all
the hands I’d got besides a few more. Oh, Mr. Batch was a gent sure
enough, though a son of Ham as we are told in the Bible, your pa, Mr.
Alan, having read about them children of Noah only three Sundays back,
and then he——”
“Why did you send Mr. Bakche to Miss Grison’s?” asked Alan impatiently.
“Well, I didn’t in a way, sir, because it was the peacock as sent him
to——”
“The peacock,” repeated Marie, and looked at Alan anxiously.
“And well do you know all about it, miss,” cried the voluble Mrs.
Verwin, turning to face the speaker, “it being the luck of your family
as will never have no fortune till it’s brought back again. And that
Grison person as was your uncle’s clerk took it over twenty years back,
as I’m a living woman, which we all said when we heard as he was gone
and it was missing. I said and others said as Mr. Sorley should have
persecuted——”
“Did you tell all this to Mr. Bakche?” questioned Fuller quickly.
“And why shouldn’t I tell him, Mr. Alan?” inquired Mrs. Verwin, wiping
her heated face with a corner of her apron and bridling. “He asked if
there wasn’t people called Inderwick hereabouts, and I up and told him
all about the family. Mr. Batch says, as his father knew some of ’em in
his own land, and said as how him he met—not mentioning names, though
it was an Inderwick as spoke, and perhaps, miss, a cousin of your very
own—well, him as he met mentioned a peacock. So I tells Mr. Batch all
about the story of the peacock being the luck of the family, as all the
countryside knows, and says as how we believed that Grison person had
took it. He said he’d like to ask him or her about the peacock—meaning
them Grisons—since he liked to hear them sort of stories, so I
recommended her house to him as being comfortable, and heaven forgive
me for the lie, seeing Miss Grison—and Louisa’s her name—ain’t got no
more idea of cooking than a cat.”
“Oh, Mr. Bakche is very comfortable there,” said Alan easily, and very
glad that he had learned so much; “did Mr. Bakche say nothing about any
treasure connected with the peacock?”
“No,” cried Mrs. Verwin, her face alive with curiosity, “never a word
did he mention of a treasure, and where——”
Fuller saw that he had made a mistake in hinting a thing which was
known only to the Inderwicks to this gossip, and hastened to repair his
error. “I am talking of the peacock itself, which is a treasure,” he
said quickly, “for it is made of gold with precious stones——”
“I know, Mr. Alan, of course I know, sir, for didn’t I see it on my
wedding-day forty years ago, when your dear ma, miss, was alive and
well along with your late pa. My husband—poor Verwin as is dead and
gone—said as he give me a wedding treat, and he takes me to see The
Monastery and asked Squire Inderwick to show that blessed peacock. Oh,”
Mrs. Verwin raised her fat hands and closed her eyes in ecstasy, “well
may you call it a treasure, Mr. Alan, for such glitter I never did see.
It was like the New Jerusalem for shine and——”
“Well that is the treasure I meant, Mrs. Verwin.”
“And you never spoke a truer word, Mr. Alan. But I hope sir, and you,
miss, as I didn’t do wrong in telling Mr. Batch—and a pleasant
gentleman, though dark, he was too—about the peacock, for it’s a story
as we all know for years and years and years. The luck of the
Inderwicks! Why I heard my dear, dear pa as is dead these fifty years
tell all about the blessed idol, so I thought t’was no harm to let Mr.
Batch know as we’d something in Belstone he hadn’t got in his own
country, wherever that may be, though they do say as it’s across
channel somehow, and, if he——”
“You didn’t do wrong, Mrs. Verwin,” said Alan, striking in hastily, as
he was anxious to get away with Marie, “and I merely asked about Mr.
Bakche because he seemed to know something of Belstone.”
“He know. Now I ask you, sir, what can he know, staying but for one
day, and only giving an eyewink at The Monastery where he——”
“Oh, he went there, did he?” asked Fuller, turning back at the door.
“Yes sir, he did, saying he’d like to see such a lovely place about
which I’d told him such a queer story, for queer he said was the name
for the luck of the peacock. I think Mr. Batch was one of them gents
who write and who ask others for things as they can’t think of
themselves, to——”
“Yes! Yes. Very probably, Mrs. Verwin. Thanks for answering my
questions. I just did so because I chanced to meet this gentleman at
Miss Grison’s.”
Alan, and Marie, who had taken scarcely any part in the conversation,
managed to get outside the door, but were followed into the open by
Mrs. Verwin, talking all the time, and curtseying at intervals with
difficulty as she said good-bye. “For I do hope miss, and Mr. Alan,
sir, as you’ll come in again, you not forgetting, miss, as I was
kitchen-maid at The Monastery before Verwin came along to make me a
happy bride; and so have the interest of the family at heart. Sitting
on a throne is where you should be, miss, with all under your pretty
feet as you will be when the peacock comes again to its own. And if
that Grison person is dead, murdered they say with much blood, and
serve him right, I hope as he’s sent back the peacock by post, if his
sister—Louisa’s her name—ain’t got it, which is just as likely as not,
taking into—— Well good-day, sir—good-day, miss—and bless you both for
a nice-looking couple,” and Mrs. Verwin’s voice arose to a perfect
scream, as the distance between her and the visitors increased. Not
until they were on the verge of the green entering the lane which led
to the vicarage, did the sound of her adieux die away.
“Marie,” said Alan seriously, “if you ever talk so much, I shall
divorce you at once. Poor Verwin. He must have been glad to leave the
world.”
“She always makes my head ache,” said Marie laughing.
“And other people’s hearts ache, owing to her gossip. However, she
can’t make any mischief about what we have been talking, since I
explained exactly what I meant. So Bakche came down here to ask after
the peacock. That shows, as I thought long ago, that he is after the
Begum’s gems.”
“What will you do, Alan?” asked Marie anxiously.
“Consult Dick, and tell him what I have found out. Meanwhile Marie, you
need not tell your uncle what we have discovered.”
“Mrs. Verwin will probably do that,” said Marie darkly.
Alan frowned. “We can’t stop her tongue, worse luck,” he said with a
sigh.