THE PATHLESS WOOD
Being very late in the evening when I arrived at Alnwick, I remained
there for that night, and it was not until noon of the next day that I
once more reached Ravensdene Court. Lorrimore was there, he had come
over to lunch, and for the moment I hoped that he had brought some
news from his Chinese servant. But he had heard nothing of Wing since
his departure: it would scarcely be Wing's method, he said, to
communicate with him by letter; when he had anything to tell, he would
either return or act, of his own initiative, upon his acquired
information: the way of the Chinaman, he remarked with a knowing look
at Mr. Raven, was dark, subtle, and not easily understandable to
Western minds.
"And yourself, Middlebrook?" asked Mr. Raven. "What did the detective
want, and what have you found out?"
I told them the whole story as we sat at lunch. They were all deeply
absorbed, but no one so much as Mr. Cazalette, who, true to his
principle of doing no more than crumbling a dry biscuit and sipping a
glass or two of sherry at that hour, gave my tale of the doings at
Blyth and Hull his undivided attention. And when he had heard me out,
he slipped away in silence, evidently very thoughtful, and
disappeared into the library.
"So there it all is," I said in conclusion, "and if anybody can make
head or tail of it and get a definite and dependable theory, I am sure
that Scarterfield, from a professional standpoint, will be glad to
hear whatever can be said."
"It seems to me that Scarterfield is on the high road to a very
respectable theory already," remarked Lorrimore. "So are you! The
thing--to me--appears to be fairly plain. It starts out with the
association of Baxter and the dishonest bank-manager. The
bank-manager, left in charge of this old-fashioned bank at Blyth,
where any supervision of his doings was no doubt pretty slack, and
where he was, of course, fully trusted, examines the nature of the
various matters committed to his care, and finds out the contents of
those Forestburne chests. He then enters into a conspiracy with Baxter
for purloining them and some other valuables--those jewels you
mentioned, Middlebrook. It would not be a difficult thing to get them
away from the bank premises without anyone knowing. Then the two
conspirators secrete them in a safe and unlikely place, easily
accessible, I take it, from the sea. Probably, they meant to remove
them for good and all, just before the dishonest bank-manager's
temporary residence in the town came to an end. But his fatal accident
occurs. Then Master Baxter is placed in a nice fix! He knows that his
fellow-criminal's sudden death will necessarily lead to some
examination, more or less thorough, of the effects at the bank. That
examination, to be sure, was made. But Baxter has gone, cleared out,
vanished, before the result is known. He may have had an idea--we can
only guess at it--that suspicion would fall on him. Anyway, he leaves
the town, and is never seen in or near it again. If this theory is a
true one, things seem pretty clear up to this point."
"Of course," said I, "it is theory! All supposition, you know."
"Right!" assented Lorrimore. "But let us theorise a bit further--I am,
you see, merely following out the train of thought which seems to have
been set up in you and in Scarterfield. Baxter disappears. Nobody
knows where he's gone. There is a veil drawn over a certain
period--pretty thickly. But we, who have had occasion to try to pierce
it, have seen, so we think, through certain tears and rifts in it. We
know that a certain number of years ago there was a trading ship in
the Yellow Sea, the _Elizabeth Robinson_, concerning the fate of which
there is more mystery than is quite in accordance with either safety
or respectability. She was bound from Hong-Kong to Chemulpo, and she
never reached Chemulpo. But we also know that on her, when she left
Hong-Kong there were two men, presumably brothers, whose names were
Noah Quick and Salter Quick, set down, mind you, not as members of the
crew, but as passengers. Also there was a Chinese cook, of the name of
Lo Chuh Fen. And there was another man, who called himself
Netherfield, and who hailed from Blyth, in Northumberland."
He looked round the table, evidently bent on securing our attention to
their particular point. We were all, of course, fully acquainted with
the details he was unfolding, but he was summing things up in quite
judicial fashion, and there was a certain amount of intellectual
satisfaction in listening to a succinct résumé. One of us, at any
rate, was following him with rapt attention--Miss Raven. I fancied I
saw why--Baxter, or Netherfield, had already presented himself to her
as a personage of a dark and romantic, if deeply-wicked and even
blood-stained sort.
"Now," continued Lorrimore, becoming more judicial than ever, "according
to the official accounts, as shown at Lloyds, the _Elizabeth Robinson_
never reached Chemulpo, and she is--officially--believed to have been
lost, with all hands, during a typhoon, in the Yellow Sea. All hands! But
we know that, whatever happened to the _Elizabeth Robinson_, and to the
rest of the crew, certain men who were on board her when she left
Hong-Kong, for Chemulpo, did escape whatever catastrophe occurred. The
_Elizabeth Robinson_ may be at the bottom of the Yellow Sea, and most of
her folk with her. But in course of time Noah Quick turns up at Devonport
in England, in possession, evidently, of plenty of money. He takes a
licensed house, runs it on highly respectable lines, and comports himself
as a decent member of society; also he prospers, and has a very good
balance at his bankers. So there is one man who certainly did not go down
with the _Elizabeth Robinson_. And now--to keep matters in chronological
order--we hear of another. A Chinaman, undoubtedly Lo Chuh Fen, turns up
at Lloyds and endeavours to find out if this _Elizabeth Robinson_ ever did
reach Chemulpo. There is a strange point here--Lo Chuh Fen certainly
sailed out of Hong-Kong with the _Elizabeth Robinson_, bound for
Chemulpo, yet, some years later, he is inquiring in London, if the
_Elizabeth Robinson_ ever reached her destination. Why? Did the _Elizabeth
Robinson_ touch at any port after leaving Hong-Kong? Did Lo Chuh Fen leave
her at any such port? We don't know--and for the moment it is not
material; what is material is that a second member of the company on board
the _Elizabeth Robinson_ did not go down with her in the Yellow Sea if, as
is said, she did go. So there are two survivors--Noah Quick and Lo Chuh
Fen. And now a third is added in the person of another Quick--Salter, who
turns up at Devonport as the guest of Noah, and who, like his brother, is
evidently in possession of a plenitude of this world's goods. He has money
in the bank, is a gentleman of leisure, and, like Noah, a person of
reserved speech."
Lorrimore was now fairly into his stride, and becoming absorbed in his
summing-up. He pushed aside his glass and other table impediments, and
leaning forward spoke more earnestly, emphasising his words with
equally emphatic gestures.
"A person of reserved speech!" he continued. "But--on one occasion, at
any rate, so eager to get hold of information, that he casts his
habitual reserve aside. On a certain day in March of this year, Salter
Quick, with a handsome amount of ready money in his pocket, leaves
Devonport, saying that he is going away for a few days. We next hear
of him at an hotel in Alnwick, where he is asking for information
about certain churchyards on this Northumbrian coast wherein he will
find the graves of people of the name of Netherfield--the name of a
man, be it remembered, who was with him and his brother Noah Quick,
on board the _Elizabeth Robinson_. Next morning he meets with Mr.
Middlebrook on the headlands between Alnmouth and Ravensdene Court and
taking him for an inhabitant of these parts, he puts the same question
to him. He accompanies Mr. Middlebrook to an inn on the cliffs; he
asks the same question there--and there, evidently to his great
discomfiture, he hears that another man, whose identity did not then
appear, but who, we now know, was only a casual traveller who was
merely repeating Salter Quick's own questions of the previous evening
which he had overheard at Alnwick, had been asking similar questions.
Why had Salter Quick travelled all the way from Devonport to
Northumberland to find the graves of some people named Netherfield? We
don't know--but we do know that on the very night of the day on which
he had asked his questions of Mr. Middlebrook and of Claigue, the
landlord, Salter Quick was murdered. And on that same night, at
Devonport, four hundred miles away, his brother, Noah Quick, met a
similar fate."
Mr. Cazalette came back into the room. He was carrying a couple of fat
quarto books under one arm, and a large folio under the other, and he
looked as if he had many important things to communicate. But Miss
Raven smilingly motioned him to be seated and silent, and Lorrimore,
with a glance at him which a judge might have bestowed on some belated
counsel who came tip-toeing into his court, went on.
"Now," he said, "there were certain similarities in these two murders
which lead to the supposition that, far apart as they were, they were
the work of a gang, working with common purpose. There was no robbery
from the person in either instance, though each victim had money and
valuables on him to a considerable amount. But each man had been
searched. Pockets had been turned out--clothing ripped up. In the case
of Salter Quick, we are familiar with the details of the tobacco-box,
on the inner lid of which there was a roughly-scratched plan of some
place, and of the handkerchief bearing a monogram which Mr. Cazalette
discovered near the scene of the murder. These are details--of great
importance--the true significance of which does not yet appear. But
the real, prime detail is the curious, mysterious connection between
the name Netherfield, which Salter Quick was so anxious to find on
gravestones in some Northumbrian churchyard or other, and the man of
that name who was with him on the _Elizabeth Robinson_. And we are at
once faced with the question--was the man, Netherfield Baxter, who
left Blyth some years ago, the man Netherfield, described as of Blyth,
whose name was on the _Elizabeth Robinson's_ list?"
Mr. Raven treated us to one of his characteristic sniffs. He had a
way, when he was stating what he considered to be a dead certainty, or
when he was assenting to one, of throwing up his head and sniffing,
with a somewhat cynical smile as accompaniment. He sniffed now, and
Lorrimore went on--to a peroration.
"There can be no doubt about it!" he said with emphasis. "A Blyth man,
a seafarer, named Solomon Fish, chances to be in Hull and, in a tavern
there which is evidently the resort of seafaring folk, sees a man whom
he instantly recognizes as Netherfield Baxter, whom he had known as
child, boy and young man. He accosts him--the man denies it. We need
pay no attention whatever to that denial: we may be quite sure from
the testimony of Fish that the man is Baxter. Now then, what is Baxter
doing? He is evidently in possession of ample funds--he and his
companions buy a small vessel, a twenty-ton yawl, in which, they said,
they want to cross the North Sea to the Norwegian fiords. And who are
his companions? One is a Chinaman. Probably Lo Chuh Fen. The other is
a Frenchman, who, says Mr. Jallanby, the Hull ship-broker, was
addressed as Vicomte. He, probably, is an adventurer, and a criminous
one, like Baxter, and--he is also probably the owner of the
handkerchief which Mr. Cazalette found, stained with Salter Quick's
blood!"
Lorrimore paused a moment, looking round to see how this impressed us.
The last suggestion was new to me, but I saw its reasonableness and
nodded. Lorrimore nodded back, and continued.
"Now a last word," he said. "I, personally, haven't a doubt that these
three, one or other of 'em, murdered the Quicks, and that they're now
going to take up that swag which Baxter and the dishonest bank-manager
safely planted somewhere. But--I don't believe it's buried or secreted
in any out-of-the-way place on the coast. I know where I should look
for it, and where Scarterfield ought to search for it."
"Where, then?" I exclaimed.
"Well," he answered, "the thing is--to consider what those fellows
were likely to do with the old monastic plate and the jewels and so on
when they'd got them. They probably knew that the ancient chalices,
reliquaries, and that sort of thing would fetch big prices, sold
privately to collectors--especially to American collectors, who, as
everybody knows, are not at all squeamish or particular about the
antecedents of property so long as they secure it. I should say that
Baxter, acting for his partner in crime, stored these things, and has
waited for a favourable opportunity to resume possession of them. I
incline to the opinion that he stored them at Hartlepool, or at
Newcastle, or at South-Shields--at any place whence they could easily
be transferred by ship. He may, indeed, have stored them at Liverpool,
for easy transit across the Atlantic. I don't believe in the theory
that they're planted in some hole-and-corner of the coast."
"In that case, what becomes of Salter Quick's search for the graves of
the Netherfields?" I suggested.
"Can't say," replied Lorrimore, with a shrug of his shoulders. "But
Salter Quick may have got hold of the wrong tale, or half a tale, or
mixed things up. Anyway, that's my opinion--that this stolen property
is not cached anywhere, but is somewhere within four respectable
walls, and if I were Scarterfield, I should communicate with stores
and repositories asking for information about goods left with them
some time ago and not yet reclaimed."
"Good idea!" agreed Mr. Raven. "Much more likely than the buried
treasure notion."
"To which, however, I incline," I said stubbornly. "When Salter Quick
sought for the graves of the Netherfields, he had a purpose."
Mr. Cazalette came nearer the table with his big volumes. It was very
evident that he had made some discovery and was anxious to tell us of
it.
"Before you go any further into that matter," said he, laying down his
burdens, "there are one or two things I should like to draw your
attention to in connection with what Middlebrook told us before I left
the room just a while since. Now about that monastic plate,
Middlebrook, of which you've seen the inventories--you may not be
aware of it, but there's a reference to that matter in Dryman's
'History of the Religious Foundations of Northumberland' which I will
now read to you. Hear you this, now:
"_Abbey of Forestburne._--It is well known that the altar
vessels, plate, and jewels of this house were considerable
in number and in value, but were never handed over to the
custodians of the King's Treasury House in London. They were
duly inventoried by the receivers in these parts, and there
are letters extant recording their dispatch to London. But
they never reached their destination, and it is commonly
believed that like a great deal more of the monastic
property of the Northern districts these valuables were
appropriated by high-placed persons of the neighbourhood who
employed their underlings, marked and disguised, to waylay
and despoil the messengers entrusted to carry them
Southward. N. B.--These foregoing remarks apply to the plate
and jewels which appertained to the adjacent Priory of
Mellerton, which were also of great value."
"So," continued Mr. Cazalette, "there's no doubt, in my mind, anyway,
that the plate of which Middlebrook saw the inventories is just what
they describe it to be, and that it came, in course of time, into the
hands of the Lord Forestburne who deposited it in yon bank. And now,"
he went on, opening the biggest of his volumes, "here's the file of a
local paper which your respected predecessor, Mr. Raven, had the good
sense to keep, and I've turned up the account of the inquest that was
held at Blyth on yon dishonest bank-manager. And there's a bit of
evidence here that nobody seems to have drawn Scarterfield's attention
to. 'The deceased gentleman,' it reads, 'was very fond of the sea, and
frequently made excursions along our beautiful coast in a small yacht
which he hired from Messrs. Capsticks, the well-known boat-builders of
the town. It will be remembered that he had a particular liking for
night-sailing, and would often sail his yacht out of harbour late of
an evening in order, as he said, to enjoy the wonderful effects of
moonlight on sea and coast.' That, you'll bear in mind," concluded Mr.
Cazalette, with a more than usually sardonic grin, "was penned by some
fatuous reporter before they knew that the deceased gentleman had
robbed the bank. And no doubt it was on those night excursions that
he, and this man Baxter that we've heard of, carried away the stolen
valuables, and safely hid them in some quiet spot on this coast--and
there you'll see, they'll be found all in good time. And as sure as my
name is what it is, Dr. Lorrimore, it was that spot that Salter Quick
was after--only he wasn't exactly certain where it was, and had
somehow got mixed about the graves of the Netherfields. Man alive! yon
plate of the old monks is buried under some Netherfield headstone at
this minute!"
"Don't believe it, sir!" said Lorrimore. "It's much more likely to be
stored in some handy seaport where it can be easily called for without
attracting attention. And if Middlebrook'll give me Scarterfield's
address that's what I'm going to suggest to him."
I suppose Lorrimore wrote to the detective. But during the next few
days I heard nothing from Scarterfield; indeed nobody heard anything
new from anywhere. I believe that Scarterfield from Blyth, gave some
hints to the coastguard people about keeping a look-out for the
_Blanchflower_, but I am not sure of it. However, two of us at
Ravensdene Court took a mutual liking for walks along the loneliest
stretches of the coast--myself and Miss Raven. Before my journey to
Blyth and Hull, she and I had already taken to going for afternoon
excursions together; now we lengthened them, going out after lunch and
remaining away until we had only just time to return home by the
dinner-hour. I think we had some vague idea that we might possibly
discover something--perhaps find some trace, we knew not of what. Then
we were led, unexpectedly, as such things always do happen, to the
threshold of our great and perilous adventure. Going further afield
than usual one day, and, about five o'clock of a spring afternoon,
straying into a solitary ravine that opened up before us on the moors
that stretched to the very edge of the coast, we came upon an ancient
wood of dwarf oak, so venerable and time-worn in appearance that it
looked like a survival of the Druid age. There was not an opening to
be seen in its thick undergrowth, nor any sign of path or track
through it, but it was with a mutual consent and understanding that we
made our way into its intense silence.