MALLIEN SPEAKS
Anxious to help Rupert, and, at his friend's request, Carrington
remained at The Big House until the inquest was over, and the burial
of the murdered man took place. Both he and the Squire could do little
save watch the course of events, as neither of them wished to say
anything about the missing will, and neither could suggest any reason
why the crime should have been committed. And, indeed, the police were
equally unable to solve the problem, since the murder, on the face of
it, appeared to be purposeless and the assassin could not be
discovered. Inspector Lawson, of Tarhaven, did his best to find a
clue, but from first to last was unsuccessful. He did not even know
where to look for one, and when the inquest was held, had absolutely
no evidence to place before the Coroner and jury. Leigh's murderer had
come out of the night and had gone into the night; but why he had come
to commit so dastardly a crime, and whither he had gone after
achieving his aim, it was wholly impossible to say. The affair was
unpleasant, mysterious and uncanny.
Pursuant to the opinion of Dr. Tollart, proceedings in connection with
the death were hurried on as speedily as possible. The weather was
certainly amazingly hot, as for weeks a powerful sun had been blazing
in a cloudless blue sky. The gardens glowed with many-colored flowers,
but the growing crops were parched for want of rain, and everywhere in
the district people were complaining of the shortage of water. Under
the circumstances, and because nothing relevant to the assassin could
be discovered, Tollart's advice seemed to be very sensible. Therefore
the inquest was held at _The Hendle Arms_ on the day after Mrs. Jabber
had discovered her master's corpse, and on that same afternoon the
body was placed in the family vault of the Leighs. The trouble had
happened so suddenly, the proceedings had been carried through so
swiftly, that everything in connection therewith was over and done
with before people had time to wholly realize what had taken place.
With regard to the inquest, that necessary function was dispatched
very quickly. There was little to be done and little to be said, as no
new details were forthcoming concerning the dreadful event. The jury
inspected the body at the Vicarage, and then went on to _The Hendle
Arms_ to hear what could be said about the matter. Several reporters
from London journals were present, but the interest in the case was
more local than general, as there was nothing in it likely to cause a
sensation. The general opinion was that some burglar had entered the
ill-guarded Vicarage, and that the parson had been struck down while
trying to capture the thief. But, as nothing was missing from the
house, many scouted this idea, and ascribed the death to a deeper
cause. But what that cause might be, this minority were unable to say.
Nor did the evidence procurable tend to lighten the darkness which
shrouded the crime.
Mrs. Jabber, more respectably dressed than usual, and even more
voluble, gave her evidence with many tears and sighs. The old woman
had been deeply attached to the vicar, and could not understand why he
should have met with so terrible and unexpected a death. She deposed
to going to bed at ten o'clock as usual, after taking into the study a
glass of milk for her master.
"And there I left him, as happy as a trout in a pond," cried Mrs.
Jabber, with tears running down her face, "busy with his books as
usual; he, enjoying them the more after having been to see Mrs.
Patter, as I'm glad to say is getting better, though it's more nor she
deserves, her being such a gossip, and----"
Here the witness was checked by the Coroner, on the ground that she
was dealing with matters irrelevant to the inquiry. "Did Mr. Leigh
expect anyone to visit him on that night?"
"Lord, bless you, no, sir, and if he did, he wouldn't have mentioned
it to me."
"You retired at ten o'clock?"
"Me and Jabber, yes, sir, both being tired with the heat and the day's
work."
"And you saw nothing of Mr. Leigh until seven the next morning?"
"Not even the nose of him, sir, and I heard no noise, me being a heavy
sleeper as Jabber is, although I don't snore, say what he likes."
In fact Mrs. Jabber's statement did nothing to solve the mystery. She
admitted that the bolts and bars at the Vicarage were not what they
should be, considering the lonely position of the house. "But, Lord
bless you, sir, there ain't never been no trouble with thieves and
robbers nohow, as there wasn't anything to tempt them."
"Then you don't think that a burglar----"
"No, I don't, sir. There's nothing missing."
Mrs. Jabber stuck to her tale, and what she said was corroborated by
her husband, a meek, trembling little man, wholly dominated by his
stronger-minded wife. He had gone to bed at ten o'clock; he had heard
nothing during the night likely to arouse his suspicions, and the
first news he had of the murder was from his wife, when she stumbled
on the dead body at seven in the morning. "And then I went and told
Kensit all about it," finished Mr. Jabber with a very white face,
evidently afraid lest he should be accused of committing the crime.
Tollart, who was just as red-faced, but much more sober than usual,
stated that he had been called in by the village constable within an
hour after the body had been discovered. Mr. Leigh had been struck on
the right temple by some heavy instrument--probably a bludgeon--and
the blow, taken in connection with his weak heart, must have caused
death instantaneously. The certificate of death was worded to that
effect. Leigh was a patient of his, and had never been very strong,
added to which, his mode of life had weakened him considerably. On the
whole, the shabby, disreputable doctor, knowing that the eyes of his
little world were on him, gave his evidence very clearly and
resolutely, so that he created a good impression. There was no
question as to the cause of death after Tollart's statement, even
though his coupling of heart disease and a blow seemed rather muddled.
No one in the village had expected Leigh to live to any considerable
age, owing to his delicate appearance, so it was quite certain that
the violent assault had killed him. It would have been a wonder to
many had he survived the blow.
For no very apparent reason Hendle was called, but all that he could
say brought nothing to light. He related how Leigh had dined with him,
and how he had called at the Vicarage next day while on his way to
London. So far as the witness knew, Leigh was in good health and
spirits. "The announcement of his death came as a shock to me,"
finished Rupert.
"Had he any enemies?" questioned the Coroner.
"Not to my knowledge. A more amiable man never existed."
"Do you know anything of his past life?"
"Only that he had been vicar here ever since I was a child, and was
devoted to books and to archæology. With the exception of his
parishioners, myself and Mr. Mallien and his daughter, I don't think
he ever saw anyone. He was wholly wrapped up in his books."
"Then there was nothing in his past life which suggests any reason why
this crime should have been committed?"
"Certainly not, so far as I know."
Inspector Lawson and Kensit, the village policeman, gave what sparse
evidence they could. The latter declared that while on his rounds on
the night of the murder he had met no one and had seen nothing
suspicious when he passed the gate of the Vicarage. At the hour when
the crime was said by Dr. Tollart to have been committed, witness was
on the other side of the village. Lawson deposed that no weapon had
been found, that no evidence of any intruder had been discovered.
"I understood that the study was in a state of disorder," said the
Coroner.
"I gather from many sources that the study was always in a state of
disorder," retorted the Inspector.
Kensit, recalled, said that he did not think that the study was even
more untidy than usual. Everything was turned upside down--books and
papers, "Just as if some one had been searching for something,"
declared the witness.
"Then you think that the murderer killed the vicar, and then looked
about to find something, which he wished to get, and for the
possession of which he committed the crime?"
Kensit hesitated. "I am not prepared to go that far," he remarked,
after a pause. "All I can say is that I gained some such impression."
When this speech was made, Rupert glanced at Carrington and Carrington
looked at Rupert. The same idea struck them simultaneously, that the
murderer might have been searching for the will of John Hendle. But
then the existence of that document was known only to the dead man, to
the barrister and to the Squire. Rupert had been fast asleep when the
crime was committed, and Carrington had been in London, so, of course,
neither of the two could have had anything to do with the matter.
Still, it seemed strange that the books and papers of the deceased
should have been messed up. If search had not been made for the will
in question, for what had the mysterious murderer been looking? This
question both the young men asked themselves, and asked each other
when the inquest was over.
It came to an end very speedily. The Coroner could only direct the
attention of the jury to the facts laid before them, and did not offer
any opinion, as indeed he could not. The jury brought in a verdict of
"Willful murder against some person or persons unknown," which was all
that could be done. Then the meeting broke up, the reporters slipped
away with their loaded notebooks, grumbling at the dullness of the
matter, and the crowd of villagers dispersed to wonder, for the
hundredth time, who could have killed their amiable and kindly natured
vicar.
"The beast who murdered Leigh could not have been looking for that
will."
It was Hendle who spoke, as he walked back to The Big House with
Carrington. The barrister shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I had
the same idea when that policeman made his statement, and I saw you
look at me. I agree with you, although it is strange that the books
and papers should have been turned upside down. But only you and I
know of----"
"Of course, of course," broke in the Squire quickly, "and, as I was in
bed, and you in London, of course we had nothing to do with the
matter."
"Did you tell anyone else about the will?"
"No. I never mentioned it to a soul."
"Good. I shouldn't if I were you."
Carrington's tone was so significant that the Squire turned on him in
a sharp, inquiring way. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that if anyone knew about the existence of John Hendle's will,
and what it meant to you, it is possible that on you suspicion might
rest."
"What rubbish!" said Rupert uncomfortably. "I was in bed and asleep at
the time the crime was committed."
"How can you prove that?"
Rupert looked surprised. "Why, I saw that the butler locked up as
usual, and he knew that I went to bed earlier than usual."
"Quite so. But when all the house was asleep, you might have risen
from your bed and have gone through the sleeping village to see
Leigh."
"Why should I do that?"
"I don't say you did," persisted Carrington. "I am only suggesting
what people would say if the existence of the will were known."
"Hang it, Carrington," fumed the big man, "you don't mean to insinuate
that I had anything to do with so cowardly a crime."
"No! No! No! I don't insinuate anything of the sort, as I know that
you are incapable of such a thing. But other people have nasty,
suspicious minds."
Hendle looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I understand," he
murmured, after a pause; "it is just as well to say nothing about the
will. I dare say I shall find it among Leigh's papers when his lawyer
writes to me about my being the executor."
"And if you do not?"
Rupert shrugged his big shoulders. "Then there's nothing more to be
said or done," he remarked with resignation.
"There is this to be said," observed Carrington, thoughtfully, "that
if the assassin really was looking for the will, and turned over the
books and papers to obtain the reward of his crime, the will is sure
to turn up sooner or later."
"I don't follow you," said Hendle, both perturbed and puzzled.
"Think for a moment. That will is of the greatest value to you,
and the man who murdered Leigh must have stolen it to--shall we
say--blackmail you. When everything has blown over, he will certainly
make some attempt to gain the reward he risked his neck for, by taking
the will to you or to Mallien."
"If he comes to me I shall hand him over to the police," said Rupert
vigorously. "And Mallien, in spite of his misanthropic ways, would do
the same. I don't see, however, how anyone can have killed Leigh for
the sake of that will, as no one but you and I knew about it."
"True enough. Did you tell Miss Mallien about it?"
"No, I told no one. And if I had told Dorinda----"
"She might have told her father, to whom the will was of importance,
seeing that it might possibly place him in possession of four thousand
a year."
"Good Lord, Carrington, you don't infer that Mallien murdered the
vicar?"
"No, I don't, because I have no grounds to go upon. But if you told
Miss----"
"Confound it, man, I didn't. Haven't I been saying for the last half
hour that I told no one but you. Even if I had told Dorinda she would
never have spoken to her father without my permission. And even if she
had done so, her father would never have murdered Leigh to get the
will, as he would know very well that I am not the sort of man to
conceal such a document."
"H'm! I'm not so sure of that," said Carrington doubtfully. "Mallien
is not a particularly scrupulous man, from what I have seen of him. He
may judge you by himself."
"I don't care if he did judge me to be a scoundrel," retorted Rupert,
"that would not make me one. But aren't we twisting ropes of sand,
Carrington? I tell you solemnly that I told no one about John Hendle's
will, save you."
"Oh, I'm only suggesting what people might say about you and Mallien,
did the existence of the will become known. After all," added
Carrington cheerfully, "there may not be any will at all. You have
never seen it, and have only the word of a dead man to go upon. It may
not exist."
Rupert shook his head seriously. "I think it does exist, and that I
shall probably find it among Leigh's papers."
"And if you do?"
"I shall take it to our family lawyers and call in Mallien to talk the
matter over."
"It's a risk, considering that Leigh has been murdered."
"I don't see it. Even if anyone was crazy enough to suggest that I
killed the poor old man, the mere fact of my producing the will would
show that I had no reason to murder him. Pouf!" ended Rupert
contemptuously, "it is all froth and foam. Don't talk rubbish and make
mountains out of molehills."
Carrington shrugged his shoulders and said no more, since on the face
of it he was, as Rupert stated, twisting ropes of sand. No more was
said on this particular phase of the case, but during luncheon the
young men discussed the matter freely. Naturally, on what had been set
forth in the evidence, they could arrive at no conclusion, and went to
the funeral of the vicar as much in the dark as anyone in the great
crowd that gathered in the churchyard. Mallien was there, but beyond
scowling at Carrington, for whom he had little love, and nodding
curtly to his cousin, he took no notice of the two men. Titus Ark was
there and mumbled every now and then something to the effect that the
vicar could not possibly be dead. But no one took notice of so crazy a
statement, since the doctor had given the certificate of death. It was
known how Ark idolized the parson, and how constantly he had been with
Leigh, therefore everyone thought that it was simply the senile
weakness of age on the sexton's part, to disbelieve that his only
friend was gone. And, finding that no one heeded his protests and
mutterings, Titus became stolidly silent, attending to his part of the
burial sullenly.
So far as Ark's duties were concerned, he had little to do, not even
having had to dig a grave. The family vault in a quiet corner of the
churchyard was duly opened, and the coffin was carried down the damp,
worn steps. For a few centuries the Leighs had been buried here, as
formerly--before the Hendles came on the scene--they had been the
Lords of the Manor. Now, save the seafaring cousin, who was on the
distaff side, the last of the race had been laid to rest. A
neighboring clergyman read the service, which was listened to with
reverent attention, and when the door of the vault was closed again,
the crowd of mourners slowly dispersed. Judging from the observations
made, it was widely believed that the mystery of the death was hidden
away with the dead man in that dreary vault.
"I can't see, sir," said Inspector Lawson to Rupert, "how anything is
to be discovered. I looked over the poor gentleman's papers, but could
find nothing in his past life to suggest that anyone would kill him."
"Yet, according to Kensit, the papers were searched through," hinted
Hendle, relieved that the officer made no mention of the lost
parchment.
Lawson shrugged his square shoulders. "Oh, these young constables
always see more than need be seen," he observed slightly, "they are so
eager for promotion you see, sir. My opinion is that some tramp on the
prowl walked in at that invitingly open gate on the chance of
stealing. Finding some door or window unbolted--he probably tried them
on the chance, as I say--he got into the study and, while tumbling
over the contents of the room and with the idea of finding something
worth taking, was surprised by Mr. Leigh. Naturally, the tramp's first
idea would be to escape, and, being prevented, he naturally would
strike down the man who strove to detain him."
"You appear to have the case, quite cut and dried," remarked
Carrington, smiling.
"It is all theory, I admit," retorted Lawson, rather nettled. "But if
you can find a better explanation on what is known, sir, I should be
glad to hear it."
"Oh, I dare say that your theory is as good as any other, Inspector. I
suppose you will search for more evidence on those lines?"
"Search? In what direction am I to search?"
"Oh, don't ask me," replied the barrister lightly. "I am as much in
the dark as you are, Inspector. Still, it will be just as well to
order Kensit to keep his weather eye open on the chance of something
unexpected turning up."
"I have told Kensit to do so, Mr. Carrington, but I don't hope for any
result."
Everyone was of much the same opinion as the worthy official, and his
theory was finally accepted by all, even by those who had hinted at a
deeper reason for the commission of the crime. A stray tramp, moving
from one town to another under cover of night, had probably killed the
vicar, so as to escape arrest for burglary. And it might be that he
did not even mean to murder Leigh, but only intended to stun him, so
as to get away. The heart disease, as much as the blow, was the cause
of death, according to Tollart, and the presumed tramp could not have
been expected to know that the parson suffered in this way. At all
events, the explanation of Lawson seemed likely to prove the sole
explanation which would be forthcoming.
Carrington stayed for the night, but his consultations with Rupert led
to nothing. Then he took his departure, on the understanding that if
Hendle, as Leigh's executor, did find the will, or did not find it, he
would call down to Barship again to give his help.
"I don't say that I am rich enough to do so for nothing, Hendle,"
confessed the barrister frankly, "but I'm not greedy, and you can give
me what you consider fair."
"Oh, I don't mind," answered Rupert, rather contemptuously, for he
thought that Carrington might have behaved more as a friend and less
as a professional adviser. "You shall name your own price, if the will
proves illegal, and I am left in possession of the property.
Otherwise, you will have to get your fees from the new heir."
"Mallien. H'm! He is too avaricious a man to pay if he can help. I
want to work for you and not for him, Hendle. However, I understand
the position, and you can depend upon my doing my best to pull you
through."
"I shall expect that, if I am to retain your services professionally,"
said the Squire rather dryly, and then, mindful of the obligations of
hospitality, he drove Carrington to the station in his motor to catch
the midday express.
Nevertheless, he was disappointed that his old school chum should
bring pounds, shillings and pence into the matter. It imported a
sordid element into their friendship, and when Rupert reached The Big
House again, he came to the conclusion that perhaps Dorinda was not
far wrong in her estimate of the lawyer's character; or Mallien
either, for Mallien also mistrusted the man. And now it appeared that
there were grounds for a certain amount of mistrust, as Hendle
ruefully confessed to himself.
In a short time, Leigh's lawyer, having seen the report of the murder,
inquest and burial in the newspapers, made his appearance and
intimated to Hendle that he was the dead man's executor. Besides his
income as a parson, Leigh only had a few hundred pounds invested in
Consols, so it was evident that the sea captain in Australia would not
benefit overmuch. The solicitor arranged to write to the legatee in
Australia, and promised to send some one down to value the books with
a view to selling them. Mrs. Jabber remained on at the Vicarage along
with her husband pending the arrival of the new parson, who was to be
appointed immediately by the Bishop. Rupert, as executor, went to the
untidy house, after the solicitor departed for London, to look over
all papers belonging to Leigh, and to put affairs shipshape. The
lawyer had no time to attend to the matter, since the estate was
hardly worthy of his professional attention, and when Hendle explained
that certain documents had to be restored to the Muniment Room, and
that a search for them would be necessary, the attorney allowed him to
attend to the matter wholly by himself. Thus it came about that Rupert
found himself three days after the burial digging among the bookish
rubbish in the study.
Of course, his chief aim was to find the will, which Leigh had so
positively asserted existed. But, although the young man turned over
every paper and parchment, hunted through various boxes, and even
examined many of the books, on the chance that it might have been
slipped into one of them, he was unable to find what he wanted. At the
end of three or four hours, and when the afternoon was waning, Hendle
began to think that the will was a myth. It probably had never existed
save in Leigh's dreamy imagination. On the other hand, it might have
existed, and the assassin might have taken it. But this was too
fantastical an idea for Hendle to accept for one moment. Seeing that
only himself and Carrington knew about the will, whether it was real
or fictitious, it was impossible to believe that the crime had been
committed for its sake.
By the time five o'clock came, Rupert, working, for the sake of
coolness, in his shirt sleeves, was hot and dusty and weary. Looking
for a needle in a bundle of hay did not appeal to him as an amusing
task, and he was about to abandon the search for the day, when a
quick, firm step was heard, and Mallien, looking like a thunder cloud,
entered to scowl a greeting.
"Well?" he asked disagreeably, "have you found John Hendle's will?"