AT DAWN
It had been Alan’s intention to send Marie back to Belstone by herself,
and ask his father to meet her at Lewes, so that she could sleep at the
vicarage. He had spent a great deal of time over the business connected
with the murder of Grison and the finding of the jewels, therefore his
clients were being neglected, much to their annoyance. His days of
searching could scarcely have said to have been wasted, since they had
ended in the acquisition of a fortune. Certainly it did not belong to
him, but as he was to marry the girl who possessed it, in the end he
would undoubtedly benefit. All the same he decided that he would have
to attend to his own affairs, and it was only the fact that Miss Grison
was not at Thimble Square, which caused him to change his mind. He
therefore returned to the village with Marie, and what is more,
insisted that Dick should return with him.
“We must get to the bottom of these matters,” said Alan late that
afternoon; “and if Marie will not sleep at The Monastery, Dick, you and
I must do so.”
“Oh, Alan,” cried Miss Inderwick nervously, “why need you and Mr.
Latimer do that when there is no need?”
“I think there is every need,” rejoined her lover dryly. “Your remark
as to inexplicable noises has aroused Moon’s suspicions, and I should
not be surprised if he either sent back that detective to keep watch,
or came himself to-night or to-morrow.”
“But how can our sleeping there alter Moon’s intentions?” asked
Latimer.
“I want to learn the meaning of these noises, so you and I, Dicky, can
keep watch, while Marie is safe at the vicarage.”
“If the noises are caused by Sorley,” said Dick leisurely, and rather
uncomfortably, “and we find that he has gone to earth there, you can’t
expect me to hold my tongue.”
“Uncle Ran is innocent,” protested Marie furiously.
“If he is—and I sincerely hope for your sake, that such is the case—it
will be much better for him to come forward and face the worst.
Otherwise, he will remain a hunted fugitive. Believe me, Miss
Inderwick, by refusing to compound a felony—for that is what silence in
this matter amounts to, as Alan will tell you—I am doing Mr. Sorley a
greater service than you think.”
“I agree with Dick,” said Fuller quickly, and before Marie could make
another protest; “it is best to bring matters to a head. If Mr. Sorley
is indeed hiding at The Monastery, he is bound to be discovered some
time, especially after the unconscious hint you gave Inspector Moon, my
dear.”
“I don’t believe Uncle Ran is there,” declared Marie pouting. “If he
were he would look to me to give him food and drink, and he knows—as I
said before, Alan—that he can trust me. It is that horrid woman.”
“If Miss Grison is there, all the more reason Dick and I should sleep
in the house, and learn what she is driving at.”
Latimer nodded. “I’ll come with you, Alan,” he said quickly. “Since
Miss Grison is not in her house, it’s just possible she may be at
Belstone.”
“When did you call to see her?”
“Yesterday afternoon,” explained Dick quietly. “I wished to learn how
she knew that her precious brother had murdered a man outside Chin
Chow’s opium den.”
“Moon told her that, and she swore that Baldwin was incapable of such a
wicked deed,” replied Alan with a shrug; “she seems to have a most
touching belief in the creature, even though he is dead.”
“Well, I learned that Miss Grison had gone away at noon for a few
days.”
“Where has she gone to?” asked Marie sharply.
“Her servants could not tell me, since she has left no address. All she
said was that she would be absent for a few days, and she left her
establishment in charge of the head waiter.”
“That secrecy shows that she is at Belstone,” cried Miss Inderwick
triumphantly; “it is just the kind of underhand thing she would do.”
“Well,” said Alan, settling the question, “she may suspect that Sorley
is hiding in The Monastery and may wish to catch him. If she gets into
the house, Dick and I can compel her to state her reason. But indeed,
Marie, I don’t see how she could enter The Monastery without Henny or
Jenny or Granny Trent seeing her.”
“You don’t know what a curious house it is, Alan. There are ways of
getting out and in and hiding and spying, which no one would believe. I
know of some myself, but Miss Grison is better acquainted with the
place than I, as Granny always said that she explored the house
thoroughly when she was my mother’s companion. I’m sure you’ll catch
her; and if you do, tell her that we have found the jewels. That will
settle her.”
“Nothing will settle her until Sorley is proved innocent or guilty,”
said Fuller gravely. “The woman is obsessed by one idea, and that is
revenge. I only wish we could find Jotty, for he knows a lot, I am
sure, which could put things straight.”
“Jotty can’t be found,” said Latimer lazily, “although Moon and his
underlings are keeping their eyes open. He hasn’t gone back to Miss
Grison’s or to Mother Slaig, either. He has vanished as completely as
Mr. Sorley has. However, we shall see what can be done by our sleeping
a night in your old family mansion, Miss Inderwick. I’ll come down.”
This being settled, the trio went to the station, and in due time
arrived at Lewes. They talked during the journey about the jewels, and
Dick had again to listen to the account of the solution of the riddle,
in which, after all, he was so deeply interested that he did not object
to the twice-told tale. Then Marie chattered about her good fortune,
quoted the prophecy which certainly now seemed to be fulfilled,
speculated on the amount of money which the sale of the gems would
bring her, and talked of the improvements she would make in her family
mansion. All this may seem rather heartless, when her uncle was under a
cloud of suspicion; but the girl was so thoroughly convinced that the
man was innocent and that her newly-acquired fortune would enable her
to prove his innocence, by employing the best detective talent to hunt
down the true criminal, that she did not worry over the matter so much
as might have been expected. Moreover, her uncle had always behaved
selfishly to her, so she did not think that trouble would harm him for
the time being. Indeed she hoped that it might improve him into
something less egotistical.
On arriving at Lewes, they found Mr. Fuller in person waiting for them
in his pony-chaise, bubbling over with unexpected news.
“I am glad you have returned, Marie,” he said, as he assisted the girl
to get in; “a man has been asking for you.”
“Who is he?”
“An Indian gentleman called——”
“Morad-Bakche,” interrupted Alan breathlessly, and with a glance at
Dick. “What does he want with Marie?”
“Perhaps he has learned that I went to Rotherhithe,” murmured Marie,
but too low for the vicar to hear.
“I don’t know what he wants,” said Mr. Fuller rather irritably, “he is
stopping at The Red Fox, I hear, having come down this morning. He
called at The Monastery to see Marie, and not finding her there, he
came to the vicarage. He declined to believe that Marie was in town,
although Henny told him so. However I convinced him.”
“You didn’t say why Marie had gone up, father,” said Alan, in alarm.
“No no. Why should I? I simply said that Marie would return, and Mr.
Bakche is on the watch.”
“Don’t see him, Marie,” said Alan quickly. “Dick and I can interview
him privately and learn what he has come about. And father, Marie will
sleep to-night at our house, since she is afraid to remain at The
Monastery. I and Latimer stay there.
“Why?” asked the vicar sharply.
“Marie will tell you while you drive back to Belstone, father. We can’t
all get into this small trap, so Dick and I will walk.”
“Very good,” said Mr. Fuller gathering up the reins, “but tell me, both
of you, about the jewels.”
“We have found Yarbury’s Bank and the jewels also,” said Marie gaily,
“I can relate our day’s experience while you drive, dear Mr. Fuller.
And, Alan, do come to the vicarage before you go to sleep at The
Monastery.”
“Yes; Dick and I can spend the evening with you and mother and father.
Afterwards we can walk over to your house to sleep there. I shall call
and tell granny—with your permission—to get a couple of beds ready for
us. Only don’t you speak to Morad-Bakche, my darling; refer him to me.”
Marie nodded and waved her hand as the vicar—who was rather bewildered
by all this mystery—drove the pony-chaise out of the station yard. The
two young men braced their muscles and started on the five miles’ tramp
to Belstone in very good spirits. Alan fancied, and communicated his
fancy to his friend, that the presence of Bakche augured good, since
the man undoubtedly knew something, and would be willing to impart it
if he shared the fortune.
“But why should he?” objected Dick, lighting his pipe; “the assignment
of the gems to George Inderwick puts him out of court.”
“Marie wants to use some of the money to clear her uncle’s name,”
explained Alan gravely, “and although I don’t like Sorley, I am willing
that she should do so. It will be worth the money.”
“That depends if Bakche can say anything useful,” growled Dick
doubtfully.
“I am certain that he can, since he hinted something of the sort to me.
He knew Grison at Rotherhithe also, and knew that he had the peacock.”
“No!” said Latimer, greatly surprised.
“Yes, indeed,” and Alan related Marie’s daring visit to Mother Slaig,
and what she had discovered regarding the movements of the Indian.
“She’s a plucky girl,” said Dick, referring to Marie; “fancy her
tackling that horrible old woman. Hum! So Bakche was in the swim also,
was he? I wonder if he murdered the man himself?”
“I don’t think so; but we can ask him, for here he is.”
Fuller’s sharp eyes had seen the tall figure of the Indian almost
running along the high road, and as the atmosphere was very clear he
saw at some distance the brown tint of his face. Bakche met them quite
breathless, and explained his haste. “I came down to see Miss
Inderwick,” he said, rather short of wind. “I met her—in the
carriage—with—the—the clergyman. She refers me to you—Mr.—Mr. Fuller.”
“I am conducting all business on Miss Inderwick’s account,” said Alan
in a quiet tone; “but why are you in such a hurry, Mr. Bakche?”
“I thought that I might lose you. I stay at the village inn to-night,
as I stayed last July; but I wish to see Miss Inderwick this evening,
or you as her representative,” he looked hesitatingly at Latimer.
“My friend knows all about the matter of the Rotherhithe crime,” said
Alan quickly, “you can speak frankly before him.”
“How do you know that I came down to speak of the crime?” asked Bakche
in a haughty tone.
“Because you know more about it than you have hitherto chosen to
confess.”
Bakche replied, still haughty, “I object to the word ‘confess,’ Mr.
Fuller; I have no feeling of guilt in the matter.”
“I don’t say that you murdered the man yourself, but you know who did.”
“Perhaps I do,” answered the man significantly; “but you can’t expect
me to give you that information without payment.”
“Oh, if you want money——”
Bakche flushed through the clear brown of his skin. “I do not want
money, Mr. Fuller; a gentleman of my rank does not take money. I only
desire a share of the jewels which rightfully belong to me—the whole of
them.”
“I think not,” said Alan, while Latimer kept step beside him in
silence, leaving his friend to adjust matters. “There was a proper
assignment of the jewels made by the Rajah of Kam, the Begum and their
vizier. All is in order, Mr. Bakche, and you have not a leg to stand
on.”
The man was silent for a few moments in sheer surprise at this very
authoritative statement. “How do you know this, Mr. Fuller?”
“I read the statement myself, and saw the jewels of——”
“You saw the jewels,” almost shrieked Bakche, clenching and unclenching
his hands; “then you have—you have——” he could speak no further.
“Yes,” growled Dick, breaking his self-imposed silence, “Fuller and
Miss Inderwick have solved the riddle of the peacock, and have found
the jewels.”
“Where are they? where are they?”
“In a certain bank in London,” said Alan quickly; “they are there now
in Miss Inderwick’s name along with the peacock.”
“So if you intended to burgle The Monastery,” growled Dick grimly, “you
only waste your time.”
Bakche drew himself up proudly. “You speak to an Indian gentleman,
sir.”
“I speak to a man who wants certain jewels, and who will stick at
nothing to get them,” retorted Latimer bluntly; “how do we know but
what you may have murdered Grison?”
“I did not; and,” added the man superciliously, “you will have some
difficulty in proving that I did.”
“I am not so sure of that, Mr. Bakche,” put in Fuller; “after all,
Mother Slaig can prove that you frequently saw Grison at her house.”
Bakche looked startled and turned gray. “How can she prove that?”
“By means of that tattooed snake you have on your right arm.”
“Ah-r-r-r! So you have been making inquiries? No,” Bakche threw up his
hand with a haughty gesture. “I don’t want to hear what you have to
say, for I admit that I often visited the house you mention. I knew
that Grison had the peacock through his sister. She told me. I tried to
get it from him, but he refused to surrender it. But I did not murder
him.”
“But you know who did?”
“Perhaps,” said the Indian ambiguously, “only I shall not tell unless
Miss Inderwick—as you suggested yourself, Mr. Fuller—gives me a portion
of the jewels. If they did not belong to me rightfully I should not ask
for even a part. I am,” he drew himself up again, “an Indian
gentleman.”
“Well,” said Fuller, who wished to be fair, “I don’t deny but what your
family jewels being given away is hard on you. Miss Inderwick wishes to
clear the character of her uncle, and will be willing to give you some
of your own back—I expect you put it in that way to yourself—if you can
denounce the true murderer.”
“I think I can.”
“Are you not sure.”
“I shall be sure if you can bring me face to face with that boy.”
“Jotty?” cried Latimer, taking his pipe from his mouth. “I always said
that the brat knew a lot.”
“Yes. He knows a lot, and so do I,” answered Bakche smiling dryly.
“However you must give me a night to think over matters. To-morrow I
shall call at The Monastery early in the day, and if we can come to an
arrangement you shall have your minds set at rest. Always,” ended the
Indian taking off his cap, “always presuming that the boy is confronted
with me.”
“Do you hint that Jotty is guilty?” asked Fuller suddenly.
Bakche, who was turning away, looked back with an enigmatic smile. “A
weak arm can drive a stiletto into a sleeping man, as easily as can a
strong one, sir,” and, still smiling, he walked off rapidly in the
direction of Lewes, evidently objecting to further questions.
“By heaven!” muttered Alan aghast, “he knows the truth.”
“It seems so,” observed Dick with a thoughtful frown, “don’t go after
him, Alan. He will tell us all to-morrow, and you needn’t be afraid of
his running away, since his revelations mean that he gets a share of
the gems.”
“But we have to confront him with Jotty; and where is the boy?”
Dick shrugged his shoulders as they resumed their walk to Belstone.
“Who knows? But even if he doesn’t appear Bakche won’t keep silent, for
in that case he will lose his reward. Hum! I wonder if Jotty—as he
infers—murdered Grison?”
“Well, Jotty is a greedy little beast, and admired the peacock. As he
was a protégé of Grison and could run in and out of his room at will,
it might be that he stole in when the man was sleeping and killed him.
Bakche seems to hint at that. And then,” added Fuller, warming to his
theme, “remember how Miss Grison took charge of the lad. Perhaps he
gave her the peacock and the stiletto, which she took down to The
Monastery to implicate Sorley and revenge herself on him.”
“She denied plainly enough that she took the bird to Belstone,” replied
Latimer, shaking his head, “and if Jotty had the peacock she would have
guessed that he had murdered her brother. Seeing how she loved the man
she would not have condoned Jotty’s crime in any way. No, Alan, I don’t
agree with your theory. Better wait and hear what Bakche has to say and
then we can be certain. But the stiletto? I thought that was missing?”
“From Mother Slaig’s house,” said Alan quickly, “but Marie and I found
it in the secret cupboard where Sorley keeps his own private collection
of jewels. Either he is guilty, and concealed it there, or Jotty—who
came to warn him—did so; or Miss Grison did in some way manage to get
the weapon and hide it. But then her possession of it would certainly
entail her knowing the truth, and she would not—as you said
before—spare the murderer of the brother whom she loved so dearly.”
“Perhaps Bakche is guilty and is using Jotty as a screen,” suggested
Dick with a shrug; “however it is no use speculating, Alan. What we
have to do is to watch to-night in The Monastery in the hope that
Sorley has returned there, and to-morrow hear what the Indian has to
say.”
This was very good advice under the circumstances, and the young men
took this very natural course. They arrived at the vicarage in time for
dinner after calling at the big house to arrange with Granny Trent
about sleeping there for the night. All the evening the vicar and his
wife asked questions about the gems, and built castles in the air along
with Marie as to the best use to be made of the money. Mention was made
in the course of the evening by Mrs. Fuller that Miss Grison was
staying with her dressmaker friend, and when Alan and Dick left to take
up their quarters at The Monastery, they felt convinced that the woman
had some idea of the whereabouts of her enemy.
“She’s on the watch,” said Fuller, as they walked to the big hole, “and
if Sorley really has returned to hide, she will smell him out. I
daresay he treated her and her brother badly, Dick, for Sorley is an
utterly selfish creature, and perhaps deserves what he has endured. But
what a vindictive person Miss Grison is.”
“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” quoted Latimer sententiously,
“and since Sorley scorned his true wife by making love to another
woman, and used her love for her brother to free himself, you can
scarcely wonder that she hates him as the devil hates holy water. She
would be more than human if she did not. I am sorry for Miss Grison, or
rather, as we should call her, Mrs. Sorley.”
“She doesn’t want to take that name,” said Alan, shaking his head; “but
if her husband gets off through Bakche’s evidence, she may do so in
order to show him up and spite him. As long as Sorley lives he will
have to pay for his behavior.”
“Serve him jolly well right,” said Latimer grimly, and the conversation
ended on the steps of the great house, where Henny Trent stood to
receive them.
Granny was annoyed that her young mistress was sleeping at the
vicarage, as she maintained that the noises were only due to ghosts,
and that there was nothing to be feared. She scouted the idea that
Sorley had returned, although she admitted that the old mansion was
full of hiding-places where he could conceal himself. Her point was the
same as Marie had mentioned, that the fugitive would require food, and
knowing that all in the house would be loyal to him, he would not have
hesitated to reveal himself had he actually sought refuge at The
Monastery. The young men heard all these arguments passively, without
seeking to contradict them, and then retired to bed wondering if granny
was right and they were wrong, or if the reverse was the case.
It is not quite precise to say that they retired to bed, for they did
not remove their clothes, and simply lay down, ready to spring up when
the noises called their attention. They wore slippers, however, instead
of boots so as to move softly about the place, and thus pounce unawares
on anyone—Miss Grison or Sorley—who might be haunting the place. “But
if it is a ghost, Alan, all our dodging and preparations won’t be of
much use.”
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Alan curtly.
“I do,” said Dick with equal terseness, but was too tired to argue the
knotty point, and then they lay down, clothed as they were, to snatch a
few moments of sleep.
Latimer certainly fell into a deep slumber, but his friend was too
excited to follow his example. It occurred to him that if Sorley really
were in the house and given to explorations by night, that he would
assuredly haunt the library, if only to look at his beloved jewels.
Hour after hour the young man dwelt on this point, and by the small
hours of the morning had worked himself up to such a pitch of
excitement that he could no longer endure inaction. Without disturbing
Dick, who was sleeping in an adjoining chamber, he rose and stole down
the stairs cautiously, making scarcely any sound, since he carried his
slippers in his hand and walked in his socks. Also he had a revolver in
his hip-pocket, lest the intruder should prove to be Bakche, admitted
by Miss Grison through one of the numerous secret entrances. The Indian
would be certain to show fight even if the woman did not. But of
course, as yet Alan had heard no sounds, and was beginning to think
that Marie’s report was due to imagination.
He opened the library door cautiously, shading the candle he carried
with his hand, after thrusting the slippers into the pocket of his
tweed coat. The room was in complete darkness, as the shutters were
closed, and there was no sign that anyone was about. However, as Alan
assured himself once more, Sorley, if on the spot, would certainly come
to the library, so the young man extinguished his candle, and concealed
himself behind an Indian screen near the middle French window. Here he
lay down on the carpet and waited patiently.
An hour passed and then another, and the night wore on to dawn. Still
the room was quiet and Alan at length began to feel drowsy, for his
long vigil was telling on his tired body. Through the shutters he saw a
thread of cold light, which showed that day was breaking, and heard the
early outburst of song with which the birds greeted the dawn. He
shifted himself into a more comfortable position, and closed his eyes,
when suddenly he opened them again widely, and every sense intensified
its power. There was certainly a noise—that of shuffling footsteps,
hesitating, dragging, doubtful, as though the individual was in deadly
terror of discovery. Then after a pause came the cautious opening of
the library door, and Alan peering round the corner of the screen, saw
a gleam of light. It came from a candle held in a man’s hand, and the
glimmer shone faintly on the haggard face. The newcomer was Randolph
Vernon Sorley, and he looked like a ghost of his former self,
bowed-down, white-faced, and lean.
Closing the door he went to the cupboard where the golden bird had been
found by him, and opened the same. In a moment or so Alan heard the
sound of eating, and saw that Sorley was eagerly devouring food.
Apparently in his prosperous days he had established a larder in the
cupboard against the time when he might be hunted down. The sight gave
Alan the idea that the man might be guilty after all, since otherwise
he would not have prepared for such a contingency. However, there was
small time to consider this reason and that, for Sorley having eaten,
might slip away to his hiding-place, and then in the rambling old
mansion it would be impossible to discover him. When the man left the
cupboard and came to the table, he placed his candle thereon, took a
long drink from a flask—it probably contained whisky and water—and then
shuffled to the panel marked with a cross. Slipping this aside he held
the candle so that he might admire his jewels. Alan thought it was now
time to make his presence known in the least startling way possible.
“Mr. Sorley!” he said softly, and rising with caution.
“Oh God!” gasped the man, dropping the light, and suppressing a scream.
In the darkness Alan groped his way forward. “Don’t be afraid. It is
Alan Fuller. I am your friend.
“Alan,” the young man heard the click of the door, and knew that the
fugitive was making for his hiding-place. But he halted when hearing
the voice and the name. “Alan,” said Sorley in the darkness, and his
quavering voice hinted at relief. “Oh thank heaven you have come! How
did you guess——”
“Marie and granny heard certain noises,” said Alan quickly.
“Yes,” muttered Sorley, lighting another candle which he apparently
took out of his pocket, since the fallen one was lying near the panel.
“I was not so careful as I should have been. But it could not go on for
ever, so I am glad you have come, Alan. I want help,” his voice
trembled piteously, “yes I want help to escape.”
In this turn the young man lighted the candle he had kept beside him,
and in the radiance of the two tapers surveyed the broken-down creature
before him, who looked quite his age, if not more. His face and hands
were black with dust and dirt, his clothes were stained and torn, while
his beard had grown considerably, and despair lurked in his sunken
eyes. In place of the alert, soldierly man of yore, Alan beheld a
trembling, shivering, cringing thing, wincing at every sound, shrinking
from every shadow. Guilty or not, Sorley was surely paying in full for
his sins, since the agony and terror of his soul was made manifest in
his body. “And I am innocent,” he muttered again and again.
“If you are innocent why do you wish me to help you to escape?” asked
Mr. Fuller gravely.
“Because I can’t prove my innocence,” said Sorley with sudden energy.
“I am in a net woven by that infernal woman.”
“Your wife?”
“Oh, so she told you that, did she? Yes, I admit she is my wife, and a
bitter one she has been to me. But this is not the time or place to
talk of these things. I could defend myself on that score if necessary,
but there is no need. Place me in safety, Alan, and I can explain
everything. You do not believe that I, am guilty; surely you don’t?”
and he looked piteously at the young man, shaking like a leaf.
“No, I can’t say that I am absolutely convinced of your guilt,”
admitted Alan cautiously, “but when you gave yourself up why did you
run away again?”
“I can explain that,” replied Sorley with a cunning look, “only give me
time, and all will be explained. I got away in the fog and came down
here on my motor bicycle which I had kept ready in town. Now I am
hiding here in a secret place below the earth—down in the cellars.
There are ranges and ranges of cellars here, you know, Alan. I come up
here at night to get food which long ago I placed in that cupboard”—he
pointed to the recess with a trembling hand—“biscuits and potted meat,
whisky and claret.”
“That storage looks as though you expected to be accused,” said Alan
dryly.
Sorley nodded. “I was never sure of Louisa,” he muttered shuffling with
his feet. “I knew she would get me into trouble some day, and she has
done so. She is here now. Yes, I know that, for I saw her from a
peephole yesterday evening wandering round the house. I daresay she
entered it, for she knows all its secrets as well as I do. And if she
finds me”—he gripped Alan’s coat—“she will give me up. I must get away;
help me to fly beyond the seas until such time as I can prove my
innocence. I won’t take the peacock with me,” he went on eagerly, “you
can have that, and you can find the treasure. I shall only take my own
jewels,” and he glanced at the panel which was still open.
“The treasure has been found, Mr. Sorley.”
“What—what—what!” the man would have fallen had not Fuller held him up.
“Marie and I solved the riddle!” and to quieten the babbling creature
Alan hurriedly related everything in as few words as possible. “The
peacock and the jewels are now at Yarbury’s Bank, so things are all
right in that respect, and Marie is now wealthy.”
“She has the jewels,” muttered the old man jealously. “Oh, the
beautiful jewels. They are beautiful, are they not, Alan?”
“Don’t trouble about what is not yours,” said Fuller sharply, “what we
have to do is to come to an understanding. Miss Grison is here, staying
with Mrs. Millington, while Morad-Bakche is at The Red Fox, and I
shrewdly suspect that Inspector Moon will come down this very day,
since he guesses that you are here, because Marie let drop a word or so
about the noises she heard.”
Sorley staggered to the door. “I am surrounded by my enemies,” he
gasped, “but I sha’n’t give in. I shall go back to the cellars and hide
myself.”
Alan ran forward and grasped his arm. “No,” he said strongly, “you must
act like a man, Mr. Sorley, and give yourself up. If you are innocent
you need fear nothing, and I shall stand by you throughout the trial.”
“The trial! the trial!” wailed Sorley; “no, no, I cannot, I dare not.
Louisa is too strong for me, indeed she is. Unless he knows the truth.
“He. To whom do you refer?”
“He—I mean—I mean—ah, you asked me why I ran away again after giving
myself up. Stop here and you shall see, you shall see with your own
eyes, Alan, I swear you shall see,” and wrenching himself free, Sorley
flung open the door and passed hastily out of the room.
Alan had half a mind to follow, since once hidden again, it would be
difficult to discover the old creature. But then Sorley believed that
he would help him, so Fuller was satisfied that he would return,
although he could not conjecture the reason why he had gone away. It
seemed impossible for him to produce any proof to show why he had fled
in the fog. Fuller determined to wait, and meanwhile opened the
shutters. The cold searching light of the morning penetrated the large
room in a chill manner, and Alan shivered in the keen air when he
opened the middle French window. But he did not shiver when the sound
of Sorley’s returning footsteps was heard and when the door re-opened
to show the old man dragging a miserable object forward by the arm.
“Jotty!” cried Alan with a bewildered stare.
“Yes, Jotty,” echoed Sorley; “and now you know why I bolted.”