Cursing his own ill-luck and the deftness and fleetness of foot of his
antagonist, the detective hurried down the stairs and dashed out by
the back door, just as he heard the voice of George Claris from above
calling out to know what was the matter.
Now, there was by this time enough daylight for the detective to
flatter himself that the chase would be a short one when once he got
out of doors. He was surprised to find, therefore, that the mysterious
creature he was pursuing had vanished altogether, leaving no trace.
Dashing out among the cabbage-stumps he had a wide view over the
fields and across the little river. But there was not a sound, not
the flutter of a skirt, to help him in his search. He went carefully
around the house, in the first place, trying the doors of the outhouses
and peering about for nooks and corners in which the thief might lie
hidden. As for the house itself, the lower windows were secured by
shutters and bore no sign of having been tampered with, while the
front door was securely fastened from the inside. He then made his way
to the group of cottages which stood near, and questioned a laborer,
who was just leaving one of them to go to his work, as to whether he
had seen any person about within the last few minutes. The man answered
in the negative.
Returning to the back of the inn, the detective was struck by the
circumstance that a punt which had been moored at the inn side of the
river before he made his tour of the house, was now fastened to a post
by the opposite bank. He had just noted this circumstance, when the
innkeeper came out. He looked very surly, and he went up to the sham
commercial traveller in a threatening manner.
“So it’s you that’s been turnin’ the place upside down, is it? An’ all
for what? That’s what I’d like to know. All for what?”
“You’ll know all in good time,” said the detective, dryly. “I want to
see the women folk in your house, if you please, ladies and all. I
dare say you know what I’ve come about. I don’t want to be of any more
trouble than I can help, but I’ve got to clear this business up.”
“Well, you may ferret it out your own way, then,” said Claris,
sullenly. “I’m not going to have nobody disturbed by you.”
“Well,” returned the other, in a conciliatory tone, “I don’t want to
put the ladies to any inconvenience, I’m sure. But if they’ll answer a
few questions, they’ll help me, and you, too. For I’m sure, sir, it’s
by no wish of yours that these tales have got about, and that you’ll be
very glad to hear the last of them.”
“That’s as it may be,” said George. “But I’ll not stand any
inquisitor’s work to set them all in hysterics. And anyhow, by this
time they’re all out an’ about, and if you want to talk to them, you
may find ’em.”
The detective took Claris’s insolence very quietly. Remembering the
incident of the fusee, he was able to chuckle to himself with the
thought that he held the clue of which George Claris knew nothing.
“There’ll be a burn on her hand,” he thought to himself, “for many a
day.”
Returning to the house by the door through which he had left it, he
noticed, now in the broader daylight, that there was a large cupboard
immediately opposite, under the stairs. Opening the door of this
cupboard, which he found unfastened, he saw that the contents were in
some disorder, and he waited about until Meg, the servant, came to it
to fetch her brooms.
The woman started with a gruff exclamation at his appearance.
“There is nothing for you to be frightened about,” said he, quietly. “I
only want you to tell me whether that is exactly the state in which you
left the cupboard when you went to it last.”
It had needed only a very few moments for him to decide that this
was not the woman of whom he was in search. Stout, broad, clumsy of
movement and heavy of tread, the robust figure before him had certainly
none of the nimbleness of the thief of whom he was in search. He had
had experience enough to know how to assume an entirely reassuring
manner with persons of her stamp, and it took her only a few minutes to
recover her self-possession and to answer him intelligently.
“Why, no, it ain’t,” she said, with robust surprise and vehemence. “The
things ’as been knocked down an’ trampled on, an’ all my cloths mixed
up. Why do you think, sir,” she went on with round eyes, “that the
thief ’isself has been in here?”
And she looked back at her brooms, her pails and her cloths with a
mixture of amazement, fear and respect.
“Well, somebody’s been in there, that’s evident, isn’t it?” said he,
good-humoredly.
And he decided in his own mind that the clever thief had opened and
shut the back door loudly as a blind, and had secreted herself in this
cupboard until he was safely out of the house.
“I suppose you don’t happen to have seen him about this morning?” he
went on, in a jocular tone.
“Seen the thief! Lor, no, sir. If he’s been in the house, he must have
got out again pretty quick, for I got down pretty near as soon as the
master himself; an’ there was nobody about then, for sure, but ’im and
me and Miss Nell.”
“The poor young lady was frightened, I’m afraid, by the commotion?”
“Oh, well, we’re used to these set-outs by this time,” replied Meg,
philosophically. “Miss Nell did look very white an’ faint-like, an’ she
was all of a tremble, poor thing, when she heard about the fuss. So
master packed her off to the colonel’s, and told her as she was to stop
there till he sent for her.”
“The colonel’s! And who is the colonel?”
“Oh, an old gentleman as lives a little way from here along the
Courtstairs road. Miss Nell takes them their milk there fresh from the
cow every morning and evening.”
“Oh,” remarked the detective, highly satisfied at having tapped the
fount of Meg’s loquacity, “I should have thought she was too much of a
fine lady for that, your Miss Nell.”
“Ah, but she wouldn’t do it for anybody else,” replied Meg, anxious
to defend her mistress. “You see, the colonel an’ his daughter are
real gentlefolks, only they’re poor--very poor. An’ they don’t keep no
servant, an’ Miss Theodora does all the work herself. So, you see, as
she’s been kind to Miss Nell, an’ got the master to give Miss Nell her
fine eddication, and French an’ the pianner, why, Miss Nell don’t seem
to know how to do enough for her. That’s how it is, sir. I’d be glad to
take the milk myself, or we could easy get the boy to do it, only Miss
Nell likes to do it herself like.”
The detective was about to interrogate Meg further, when the voice of
the innkeeper, shouting to her to know why breakfast was not ready,
prevented his hearing any more. And, much to his regret, he found,
on his next meeting with her, that the poison of suspicion had been
instilled into her mind by her master, and that she was communicative
no longer.
Finding this source of information dry, therefore, the detective, who
shrewdly concluded that Nell would not return until he had taken his
departure, sent a boy off toward Stroan with his luggage on a barrow,
and paid his bill and went away.
But he did not go very far. Overtaking the boy, he made him leave his
luggage at Stroan station, and as soon as the lad was out of sight, he
had it taken to one of the inns of the place.
This done, he had his luncheon and walked back to the Blue Lion.
He did not want to put in an appearance until he knew whether Miss Nell
had returned from her visit to her friend. But it was a slack time
of day at the inn, and there was nobody about of whom he could ask a
question. He managed to get a peep into the bar as he walked past the
house, but there was no one there, either in front or behind. When
he had hung about the place some time, keeping as much out of view
of possible watchers as he could, he saw the robust figure of Meg at
the side-door. She was shaking out a cloth. She started and uttered a
little gasp at sight of him.
“Why,” said he, getting, by a dexterous movement, between her and the
door, “what’s the matter? You look scared at the sight of me.”
“Well, I don’t want to have any more to say to you, and that’s the
fact,” replied stalwart Meg, with her hands on her hips. “It seems
you’re nothing better than a detective chap, what’s come ferreting
about the place, asking questions and trying to get us all into
trouble. Ugh! I’m ashamed to be seen talking to you!”
“Well, now, can’t you see that it is for the good of all of you that
this affair should be cleared up, and that it should be known who it
is that has brought the bad name on the house?” said the detective,
persuasively. “I’m very sure you ladies must be frightened out of your
lives to hear the things that are said. It’ll end by your all going
away from the place like Miss Nell has done.”
“Oh, but she’s come back!” replied Meg, quickly, with the idea that
there was reproach to her young mistress implied in the suggestion that
she had been frightened away. “She didn’t wait long after the master
sent for her, I can tell you!”
“And she’s in the house now?” asked the detective, with interest.
“Yes, but not for you to see,” retorted Meg, rudely. “You can worry me
with your questions, if you like, but you don’t get at her, if I can
help it!”
At that moment, a window was opened above their heads, and the
detective, without answering the servant, looked quickly up. He saw
Nell standing at the casement, crumbling a piece of bread which she put
on the ledge for the birds. Noticing something with a quick eye, he
stared up silently, until Nell, whose head was turned away, moved and
perceived him. She blushed crimson, and was about to shut the window
hastily, when he stopped her by an imperious gesture.
“Beg pardon, Miss, but could I speak to you a minute?”
For an instant she seemed to hesitate; and in that instant he could see
that she grew deadly pale. At last, however, she made a movement to
signify assent, closed the window, and disappeared.
The detective, who thought he had reason to fear that she would again
attempt to escape him, pushed brusquely past Meg, and opened the
side-door.
“What are you going in like that for, without so much as ‘with your
leave, or by your leave’?” asked she promptly.
“You heard the young lady say she’d see me,” replied the detective, as,
without further ceremony, he passed into the house.
At the foot of the stairs he met Nell.
“What do you wish to say to me?” she asked, in a very tranquil tone.
It was now so dark in the passage that they could hardly see each
other’s face.
“Well, in the first place, Miss, I should like to speak to you in a
better light,” replied the man.
“In here, then,” said she, leading the way, after another moment of
apparent hesitation, into the little sitting-room at the back of the
house.
There was a fire, and there was a lamp. The detective turned up the
wick.
“You’ll excuse me, Miss, but I want very particularly to see you while
I speak.”
She had gone round the little table, and was standing at the other side
of it. With a sudden movement, the detective swooped round upon her,
and seizing her by the wrist in a firm grip, pointed to the back of her
right hand.
On the soft, white skin there was a little blister freshly made, with a
pink line of inflammation round the base.