THE OLD HAND
Half-an-hour later, when Vickers regained the top of the cliff and once
more looked across the island towards the far-off point, the figure which
he had previously seen making for it had turned back, and was plodding
steadily across the coarse grass and rock-strewn moorland in his own
direction. Chatfield had evidently taken a bird's eye view of the
situation from the vantage point of the slope and had come to the
conclusion that the higher part of the island was the most likely point
from which to attract attention. He came steadily forward, a big,
lumbering figure in the light mist, and Vickers as he went on to meet him
eyed him with a lively curiosity, wondering what secrets lay carefully
locked up in the man's heart and what happened on the _Pike_ that made
its captain or its owner bundle Chatfield out of it like a box of bad
goods for which there was no more use. And as he speculated, they met,
and Vickers saw at once that the old fellow's mood had changed during the
night. An atmosphere of smug oiliness sat upon Chatfield in the freshness
of the morning, and he greeted the young solicitor in tones which were
suggestive of a chastened spirit.
"Morning, Mr. Vickers," he said. "A sweetly pretty spot it is that we
find ourselves in, sir--nevertheless, one's affairs sometimes makes us
long to quit the side of beauty, however much we would tarry by it! In
plain words, Mr. Vickers, I want to get out o' this. And I've been
looking round, and my opinion is that the best thing we can do is to
start as big a fire as we can find stuff for on yon bluff and keep
a-feeding on it. In the meantime, while you're considering of that, I'll
burn something of my own--I'm weary."
He dropped down on a convenient boulder of limestone, settled his big
frame comfortably, and producing a pipe and a tobacco pouch, proceeded to
smoke. Vickers himself took another boulder and looked inquisitively at
his strange companion. He felt sure that Chatfield was up to something.
"You say 'we' now," he remarked suddenly. "Last night you said you didn't
want to have anything to do with us. We were to keep to ourselves, and--"
"Well, well, Mr. Vickers," broke in Chatfield. "One says things at one
time that one wouldn't say at another, you know. Facts is facts, sir, and
Providence has made us companions in distress. I've naught against
you--nor against the girl--as for t'other young man, he's of a
interfering nature--but I forgive him--he's young. I don't bear no ill
will--things being as they are. I've had time to reflect since last
night--and I don't see no reason why Miss Greyle and me shouldn't come to
terms--through you."
Vickers lighted his own pipe, and took some time over it.
"What are you after, Chatfield?" he asked at length. "Something, of
course. You say you want to come to terms with Miss Greyle. That, of
course, is because you know very well that Miss Greyle is the legal owner
of Scarhaven, and that--"
Chatfield waved his pipe.
"I don't!" he answered, with what seemed genuine eagerness. "I don't know
naught of the sort. I tell you, Mr. Vickers, I do _not_ know that the man
what we've known as the Squire of Scarhaven for a year gone by is _not_
the rightful Squire--I do not! Fact, sir! But"--he lowered his voice, and
his sly eyes became slyer and craftier--"but I won't deny that during
this last week or two I may have had my suspicions aroused, that there
was something wrong--I don't deny that, Mr. Vickers."
Vickers heard this with amazement. Young as he was, he had had various
dealings with Peter Chatfield, and he had an idea that he knew something
of him, subtle old fellow though he was, and he believed that Chatfield
was now speaking the truth. But, in that case, what of Copplestone's
revelation about the Falmouth and Bristol affair and the dead man? He
thought rapidly, and then determined to take a strong line.
"Chatfield!" he said. "You're trying to bluff me. It won't do. Things
are known. I know 'em! I'll be candid with you--the time's come for
that. I'll tell you what I know--it'll all have to come out. You know
very well that the real Marston Greyle's dead. You were with him when he
died. What's more, you buried him at Bristol under the name of Mark
Grey. Hang it all, man, what's the use of lying about it?--you know
that's all true!"
He was watching Chatfield's big face keenly, and he was astonished to see
that his dramatic impeachment produced no more effect than a slightly
superior smile. Instead of being floored, Chatfield was distinctly
unimpressed.
"Aye!" he said, reflectively. "Aye, I expected to hear that. That's
Copplestone's work, of course--I knew he was some sort of detective as
soon as I got speech with him. His work and that there Sir Cresswell
Oliver's as is making a mountain out of a molehill about his brother,
who, of course, broke his neck quite accidental, poor man, and of that
London lawyer--Petherton. Aye--aye--but all the same, Mr. Vickers, it
don't alter matters--no-how!"
"Good heavens, man, what do you mean?" exclaimed Vickers, who was
becoming more and more mystified. "Do you mean to tell me--come, come,
Chatfield, I'm not a fool! Why--Copplestone has found it all out--there's
no need to keep it secret, now. You were with Marston Greyle when he
died--you registered his death as Marston Greyle--and--"
Chatfield laughed softly and gave his companion a swift glance out of one
corner of his right eye.
"And put another name on a bit of a tombstone--six months afterwards,
what?" he said quietly. "Mr. Vickers, when you're as old as I am,
you'll know that this here world is as full o' puzzles as yon sea's
full o'fish!"
Vickers could only stare at his companion in speechless silence after
that. He felt that there was some mystery about which Chatfield
evidently knew a great deal while he knew nothing. The old fellow's
coolness, his ready acceptance of the Bristol facts, his almost
contemptuous brushing aside of them, reduced Vickers to a feeling of
helplessness. And Chatfield saw it, and laughed, and drawing a
pocket-flask out of his garments, helped himself to a tot of
spirits--after which he good-naturedly offered like refreshment to
Vickers. But Vickers shook his head.
"No, thanks," he said. He continued to stare at Chatfield much as he
might have, stared at the Sphinx if she had been present--and in the end
he could only think of one word. "Well?" he asked lamely. "Well?"
"As to what, now?" inquired Chatfield with a sly smile.
"About what you said," replied Vickers. "Miss Greyle, you know. I'm
about thoroughly tied up with all this. You evidently know a lot. Of
course you won't tell! You're devilish deep, Chatfield. But, between you
and me--what do you mean when you say that you don't see why you and Miss
Greyle shouldn't come to terms?"
"Didn't I say that during this last week or two I'd had my suspicions
about the Squire?" answered Chatfield. "I did. I have had them
suspicions--got 'em stronger than ever since last night. So--what I say
is this. If things should turn out that Miss Greyle's the rightful owner
of Scarhaven, and if I help her to establish her claim, and if I help,
too, to recover them valuables that are on the _Pike_--there's a good
sixty to eighty thousand pounds worth of stuff, silver, china, paintings,
books, tapestry, on that there craft, Mr. Vickers!--if, I say, I do all
that, what will Miss Greyle give me? That's it--in a plain way of
speaking."
"I thought it was," said Vickers dryly. "Of course! Very well--you'd
better come and talk to Miss Greyle. Come on--now!"
Copplestone and Audrey, having made a breakfast from the box of
provisions which Andrius had been good enough to send ashore with them,
had climbed to the head of the cliff after Vickers, and they were
presently astonished beyond measure to see him returning with Chatfield
under outward signs which suggested amity if not friendship. They paused
by a convenient nook in the rocks and silently awaited the approach of
these two strangely assorted companions. Vickers, coming near, gave them
a queer and a knowing look.
"Mr. Chatfield," he said gravely, "has had the night in which to reflect.
Mr. Chatfield desires peaceable relations. Mr. Chatfield doesn't
see--now, having reflected--why he and Miss Greyle shouldn't be on good
terms. Mr. Chatfield desires to discuss these terms. Is that right,
Chatfield?"
"Quite right, sir," assented the agent. He had been regarding the couple
who faced him benevolently and indulgently, and he now raised his hat to
them. "Servant, ma'am," he said with a bow to Audrey. "Servant, sir," he
continued, with another bow to Copplestone. "Ah--it's far better to be at
peace one with another than to let misunderstandings exist for ever. Mr.
Copplestone, sir, you and me's had words in times past--I brush 'em away,
sir, like that there--the memory's departed! I desire naught but better
feelings. Happen Mr. Vickers'll repeat what's passed between him and me."
Copplestone stood rooted to the spot with amazement while Vickers hastily
epitomized the recent conversation; his mouth opened and his speech
failed him. But Audrey laughed and looked at Vickers as if Chatfield were
a new sort of entertainment.
"What do you say to this, Mr. Vickers?" she asked.
"Well, if you want to know," replied Vickers, "I believe Chatfield when
he says that he does _not_ know that the Squire is _not_ the Squire. May
seem strange, but I do! As a solicitor, I do."
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Copplestone, finding his tongue.
"You--believe that!"
"I've said so," retorted Vickers.
"Thank you, sir," said Chatfield. "I'm obliged to you. Mr. Copplestone,
sir, doesn't yet understand that there's a deal of conundrum in life.
He'll know better--some day. He'll know, too, that the poet spoke
truthful when he said that things isn't what they seem."
Copplestone turned angrily on Vickers.
"Is this a farce?" he demanded. "Good heavens, man! you know what I
told you!"
"Mr. Chatfield has a version," answered Vickers. "Why not hear it?"
"On terms, Mr. Vickers," remarked Chatfield. "On terms, sir."
"What terms?" asked Audrey. "To Mr. Chatfield's personal advantage,
of course."
Chatfield, who was still the most unconcerned of the group, seated
himself on the rocks and looked at his audience.
"I've said to Mr. Vickers here that if I help Miss Greyle to the estate,
I ought to be rewarded--handsome," he said. "Mind you, I don't know that
I can, for as I say, I do not know, as a matter of strict fact, that this
man as we've called the Squire, isn't the Squire. But recent events--very
recent events!--has made me suspicious that he isn't, and happen I can do
a good bit--a very good bit--to turning him out. Now, if I help in that
there work, will Miss Greyle continue me in my post of estate agent at
Scarhaven?"
"Not for any longer than it will take to turn you out of it, Mr.
Chatfield," replied Audrey with an energy and promptitude which
surprised her companions. "So we need not discuss that. You will never
be my agent!"
"Very good, ma'am--that's quite according to my expectations," said
Chatfield, meekly. "I was always a misunderstood man. However, this here
proposition will perhaps be more welcome. It's always been understood
that I was to have a retiring pension of five hundred pounds per annum.
The family has always promised it--I've letters to prove it. Will Miss
Greyle stand to that if she comes in? I've been a faithful servant for
nigh on to fifty years, Mr. Vickers, as all the neighbourhood is aware."
"If I come in, as you call it, you shall have your pension," said Audrey.
Chatfield slowly felt in a capacious inner pocket and produced a large
notebook and a fountain pen. He passed them to Vickers.
"We'll have that there in writing, signed and witnessed," he said. "Put,
if you please, Mr. Vickers, 'I agree that if I come into the Scarhaven
estate, Peter Chatfield shall at once be pensioned off with five hundred
pounds a year, to be paid quarterly. Same to be properly assured to him
for his life.' And then if Miss Greyle'll sign that document, and you
gentlemen'll witness it, I shall consider that henceforth I'm in Miss
Greyle's service. And," he added, with a significant glance all round, "I
shall be a deal more use as a friend nor what I should be as what you
might term an enemy--Mr. Vickers knows that."
Vickers held a short consultation with Audrey, the result of which was
that the paper was duly signed, Witnessed, and deposited in Chatfield's
pocket. And Chatfield nodded his satisfaction.
"All right," he said. "Now then, ma'am, and gentlemen, the next thing is
to get away out o' this, and get on the track of them as put us here.
We'd better start a big fire out o' this dry stuff--"
"But what about these revelations you were going to make?" said Vickers.
"I understood you were to tell us--"
"Sir," replied Chatfield, "I'll tell and I'll reveal in due course, and
in good order. Events, sir, is the thing! Let me get to the nearest
telegraph office, and we'll have some events, right smart. Let me
attract attention. I've sailed in these seas before. There's steamers
goes out of Kirkwall yonder frequent--we must get hold of one. A
telegraph office!--that's what I want. I'm a-going to set up a
blaze--and I'll set up a blaze elsewhere as soon as I can lay hands on a
bundle o' telegraph forms!"
He leisurely took off his shawl and overcoat, laid them on a shelf of
rock, and moved away to collect the dry stuff which lay to hand. The
three young people exchanged glances.
"What's this new mystery?" asked Audrey.
"All bluff!--some deep game of his own," growled Copplestone. "He's the
most consummate old liar I ever--"
"You're wrong this time, old chap!" interrupted Vickers. "He's a bad
'un--but he's on our side now--I'm convinced. It is a game he's playing,
and a deep one, and I don't know what it is, but it's for our
benefit--Chatfield's simply transferred his interest and influence to
us--that's all. For his own purposes, of course. And"--he suddenly
paused, gazed seaward, and then jumped to his feet. "Chatfield!" he
called quietly. "You needn't light any fire. Here's a steamer!"