Chapter 16

MR. GOWRIE'S PLOTTING

"Have you found him; have you really, really found him?"

"Aye! He's rin tae earth like a tod, young leddy."

"Oh!" Maud Tedder clapped her hands, and a bright light came into her tired-looking eyes. "I'm so glad--I'm so delighted. Now he's caught the law will hang him for killing poor pa, and I'll--" she was about to add that she would inherit the money, but thought it wiser not to reveal her private business too minutely, and ended differently, "I'll have done my duty," said Maud Tedder virtuously.

"An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," boomed Mrs. Mountford.

The three, two ladies and one gentleman, were seated in the drawing-room of "Moated Hall," enjoying a most interesting conversation. Until Herries fulfilled the conditions of the will, and came forward to claim his inheritance, Mr. Ritson, as the executor, permitted Miss Tedder to dwell in her old home. She had only lately returned from London, in company with Mrs. Mountford, and her jaded looks may be accounted for by the fact that it had been found impossible to upset the will of the late knight. Also there was another reason for Maud's drawn face and lack of colour, but this she did not impart to Mr. Michael Gowrie.

The old reprobate sat comfortably in the most comfortable chair which his eagle eye could have chosen when he entered the room, and he was here with the intention of carrying out the little plot entered into between himself and Kind and Herries. Ritson was also cognisant of the scheme to have Herries arrested after the marriage ceremony, as Kind and Gowrie had called to inform him that Herries was ready to give himself up.

At that interview with the lawyer, a long conversation had taken place, and Ritson had been made acquainted with all that had happened from the time that Angus had set foot in the "Marsh Inn." He could throw no light on the darkness of the case, even after hearing the facts, but approved of Herries surrendering himself to the law, as, until he stood his trial, or at least until he appeared before the magistrate, nothing, in Mr. Ritson's opinion, could be done. He had therefore supplied Gowrie with a trifle of money to procure some new clothes, and pay a proper visit to the disinherited heiress. In the meantime, Herries, still hiding in the caravan, had departed with Kind and Elspeth, chaperoned by Rachel, to a quiet midland town, whereto the details of the crime had not yet penetrated with sufficient publicity to make the name of Herries notorious. Thus all chance of immediate arrest was avoided.

And not only had Ritson, in the interests of his client, the accused man, financed Gowrie, but he had provided the money to procure a special license for the solemnisation of the marriage. It must be confessed that there was some difficulty over the procuring of this latter, or at all events, after it had been procured. The clerk had given the license readily enough, as he never thought that a hunted man would seek to marry. But afterwards it crossed his mind that Angus Herries was wanted by the police in connection with the "Marsh Inn" murder, and he had forthwith informed Scotland Yard. But a description of the man who had procured the license--it was Kind--led to nothing, and as the license was given, it was probable that the marriage would take place. The only thing to do was to keep a look-out throughout England for the church where the ceremony was likely to be performed. Inspector Trent was communicated with, and came up to London to make personal enquiries, but he could learn nothing likely to trace the man who had taken out the license. This was the more difficult, as Kind had disguised himself to procure the same, But the fact remained that Angus Herries, who stood in the shadow of the gallows, was so little impressed by his terrible position that he intended to marry. Trent, who was wanting in imagination, could not understand.

Gowrie had also interviewed Trent at Tarhaven, while Kind was getting the license, and told a very straightforward story. He had been asleep in the tap-room, he said, and had departed at seven in the morning according to his intention, as told to the landlady on the previous night. He had heard nothing, and had seen nothing, and would have come forward before only he had been travelling in the midlands for the last few weeks, and had not seen any paper likely to inform him that he was being asked for. Having told all he knew, that is, all he chose to appear to know, Mr. Gowrie left the Tarhaven police-office stating that he would hold himself at the disposition of the police, and would be found at any time at the "Marsh Inn," where he had again induced Mrs. Narby to take him in. In the face of this plausible story, Inspector Trent, whose intellect was none of the brightest, did not see how he could arrest Gowrie, and the old reprobate won clear of a rather difficult position.

So here he was, in the very citadel of the enemy, arrayed in a brand-new broad-cloth suit, with a new tall hat, and a pair of new black gloves, to say nothing of highly polished boots, looking as neat as a new pin, and enjoying himself immensely; and no wonder, since he was telling lies by the yard. Gowrie should certainly have been a novelist, as he had a most lavish imagination, and should have put into print what he uttered by tongue. At the present moment, in his endeavours to entrap Maud Tedder into parting with five hundred pounds, he was wasting marketable stuff in a most prodigal fashion. At the same time, he was keeping a look-out for Captain Kyles, but as yet that buccaneer had not appeared on the scene. The reason of this non-appearance, Gowrie learned later.

"Aye, young leddy, he'll hang as high as Haman, I doot not. And wit ye say, me'em," this to Mrs. Mountford, "is tae be fund in Deuteronomy or the Beuk o' Leviticus, I no mind the which."

"I am glad to see, sir, that you read your Bible."

"It's bread an' life to me," said the sage, lifting his eyes; that is, he lifted one in appeal to heaven and kept the other on Maud, who was pacing the long room in a state of high excitement. She already saw the fortune within her grasp, and was quite prepared to hang her cousin, so that she might secure her rightful inheritance.

"And then he'll come back,--he'll come back," she murmured aloud.

"Eh, what's yon?" inquired Gowrie. "Wha wull come back, young leddy?"

"Captain----," she began unthinkingly, then, warned by an ostentatious cough from the watchful Mrs. Mountford, she stopped short. "I was talking to myself," she said haughtily.

"Hoots, I ken that, but we tell tae oorsel's muckle that we wudna tell tae ithers, ye ken."

"Language," groaned Mrs. Mountford, who looked more like an undertaker's lady than ever, "was given us to conceal our thoughts."

"Aye, aye, me'em. Ye'll have been takin' a wee bit look at the end o' the Dictionary. Jameson's for me," cried the enthusiastic Scotchman, "and nane o' yer Johnson's an' Webster's."

Maud shook her head impatiently and came to sit by the old man for the purpose of gaining information.

"You have merely told us that you have found Mr. Herries," she said, looking at him with her pale blue eyes, and in an inquisitive manner. "Where is he?"

"Aye, yen's a lang story," replied Gowrie folding his hands and settling himself comfortably, "an' maybe a glass of sherry wine wud help me to tell it mair lifelike."

Anxious only to hear the truth, Maud crossed to the bell, and touched the ivory button, but Mrs. Mountford groaned.

"What did Lemuel's mother say to him concerning strong drink?" she inquired.

But Gowrie, for business purposes, knew his Bible as well as she did, if not better.

"Give strong drink unto him that is ready to perish and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts," he quoted.

"Likewise, 'It is not for kings to drink strong wine,'" she snapped.

"Aye, but I'm nae king ye ken, me'em," retorted the old scamp, then added under his breath, "Deil tak' the wurnon, she a parfect Lamentations o' Jeremy the prophet."

Mrs. Mountford worked no more in the cause of temperance, but sat glooming like a thunderstorm in her corner, while Gowrie tasted with approval the hot yellow wine, which had been brought almost immediately. When he had finished two glasses, he began to relate a perfectly mythical story, but none the less interesting, because it was invented out of his own clever head.

"I'm a mon o' letters," he began.

"Would you mind talking English?" interrupted Maud.

"Nae, nae, young leddy, ye canna get the pow'r in English that ye can in homely Scotch. An' I'm like an Eastern story-teller, aboot tae babble o' strange maitters."

"I'll hear them in English, which I know you can speak," said Maud, who was as obstinate as Gowrie himself, "or I won't listen at all."

"Then ye'll nae find the mon ye want."

"Oh yes. I'll tell Inspector Trent that you know where he is."

Gowrie did not relish this speech, as Trent entertained some suspicions of his honesty, notwithstanding the plausible story he had related. Also, he might lose the reward. Therefore he made a virtue of necessity, and turned his glib tongue to English.

"I am a man of letters, Miss Tedder," he said smoothly, "and have fallen on evil days. To be precise, I have not earned that reputation which my talents deserve, consequently my emoluments are not large. At one time I was tutor to Angus Herries, your unfortunate cousin, but evil-speaking people drove me from the metropolis of the North to wander on the earth."

"Proceed," said Mrs. Mountford heavily, and thinking, from the looks of the narrator, that strong drink had much to do with his wandering on the face of the earth.

"I have wandered far and wide," said this modern Ulysses, "and the records of my travels may be found in various journals. I have been but badly paid for the same," said the sage sighing, "and it behoves me to gain money in some other way," he cast a cunning look at Miss Tedder. "I hear there is a reward offered for the man who can find Angus Herries?"

"Yes! I am not rich," said Maud coolly, "but I'll willingly pay five hundred pounds, which I can do through Mr. Ritson, the lawyer, as soon as Mr. Herries is in gaol."

"Aye," murmured Gowrie, maintaining a bland face, "a sprat tae catch a mack'ril."

"What's that?" asked Maud, hearing indistinctly.

"Naething--a blessing--a blessing. But to continue," he added, reverting to English, "I chanced upon the 'Marsh Inn' while I wandered, and there I have stopped frequently. Indeed, my daughter, Elspeth, remained at the inn, as a companion to the landlady."

"I was told about her," said Miss Tedder abruptly, "she was a servant, I believe."

"Nae, nae, a companion, young leddy. But that's neither here nor there, ye ken. Weel--I mean, well, young lady, I stopped at the inn on the night your father was murdered, and----"

"We know all about that, sir," boomed Mrs. Mountford, "Inspector Trent informed us of what you had told him. In the interests of justice, he is keeping Miss Tedder advised of all matters likely to lead to a detection of her father's murderer."

"Then I need not go over the same ground again," said Gowrie readily, and laughing in his sleeve at the way in which he was deceiving these women, who doubtless thought themselves extremely clever, "sufficient it is to say, that I was asleep all the night, and departed early in the morning ignorant that a crime had been committed. When I returned many days later, I found that my daughter, whom I had left in the charge of Mrs. Narby----"

"As a servant," interpolated Maud spitefully.

"As a companion," persisted Gowrie obstinately. "I found that she had fled with Angus Herries!"

"With my cousin," Maud rose excitedly, "did she know where he was?"

"No," lied the reprobate skilfully, "she saw him at the inn, and then he escaped. Afterwards she received a letter from him, written from a Buckinghamshire village, asking her to join him."

"And why?" asked Mrs. Mountford curiously.

"Because, it seems, the two loved one another."

"Absurd," cried Maud, her small face working with anger, "why, she only saw him once."

"Quite long enough to enable her to love him, and he to love her," said Gowrie, rather pleased to witness this disgust.

"But it's impossible, Angus loved me," she insisted, and a look of wounded pride passed over her face.

"So he told me," responded Gowrie dryly, "but that was two years ago. He said that he never really loved until he met Elspeth."

"Oh, did he?" cried Miss Tedder in disgust. "Then she won't have him for long. He'll be in gaol before many hours pass."

"I hope so," said Gowrie, playing his part extremely well. "I do not want my child to become the bride of a criminal."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Exactly what I say, Miss Tedder. When I found that my daughter had fled to Herries in Buckinghamshire----"

"How did you know she was there?"

"I found a letter waiting for me at a London address, telling me that she was going to marry Herries."

"Why was not the letter waiting at the inn?"

It was not, for the simple reason that Gowrie was too clever to give himself away. Mrs. Narby certainly would not depose that such a letter was waiting at the inn, therefore he placed the address at a safe distance where the police could not find it.

"I have a home in London, to which my child always writes," said he evasively, "and she wrote to me there, after I had found the inn empty of my jewel."

"Oh, go on," said Maud, impatient of this high-flown language.

"I then went to Buckinghamshire----"

"To what village do you say?"

"I'll not tell you that until I have your promise in writing to pay me the five hundred."

"You shall have it before you leave this room. But you will only get the money if Herries, I mean my cousin, is arrested."

"I ask no more," said Gowrie rubbing his hands and chuckling. "If Inspector Trent will come with me we can interrupt the marriage ceremony, which takes place to-morrow in the village church."

"So soon. And the village?"

"Wait till I have your handwriting," said Gowrie, smartly, "but to proceed with the epic. I went to this village, and saw Herries, and my daughter. He told me that he was innocent, and that he had procured a special license to marry my child. I objected, as I wanted him first to clear his name. He says he cannot do that----"

"And no wonder," said Miss Tedder scornfully, "seeing that he is guilty of the crime."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Of course I do. Would I want him hanged if I did not believe him guilty?"

"Weel," said Gowrie scratching his head, and applying himself again to a now nearly empty decanter, "wumen are kittle cattle."

"Not Miss Tedder," chimed in Mrs. Mountford, "she is not one to bear false witness."

"Well, then, to make a long story short," said Gowrie beginning to feel weary, and finding there was no chance of further strong drink, "my pride objected to my daughter wedding a criminal, and I came to ask you, Miss Tedder, to pay me the reward and come with me to Inspector Trent. To-morrow we can go to this village, and arrest this man. And heaven grant," added Gowrie piously, "that we may be in time to prevent the marriage."

"Whether Angus is married or not matters very little," said his amiable cousin. "I want him tried by jury."

"Weel," chuckled Gowrie becoming Scotch again, now that his story was ended. "Ye canna have him tried ony ither way, ye ken. But are ye sure that the mon is guilty?"

"Certain. He was at the inn, and so was my father."

"I wis there also, yet I'm innocent," said Gowrie, dryly.

"You had no reason to kill my father, Angus had."

"And what may that be?"

"He knew that he would inherit the money if my father died."

"How did he know that?"

"Captain Kyles told me that he knew."

"An' hoo did Captain Kyles ken?"

"You had better ask him," snapped Maud, who seemed to regret having admitted as much, and who had been frowned upon by Mrs. Mountford.

"Is he in the hoose?"

"No. He is in London."

"Nae, nae," chuckled the old man, prepared to throw a bombshell, "I ken weel where he is; a chield ca'd Sweetlips Kind tauld me, having been to the bit ship of him."

"To the 'Tarabacca?'"

"Aye,--at Pierside. The Captain's on board her, wi' the leddy he's gaun tae marry."

Maud jumped up wrathfully.

"He's engaged to me," she cried, and her baby face became convulsed with anger.

"Nae, nae, young leddy, Kind tell't me, he wis tae be the joe o' a Mexican lady,---o'----"

"Of Donna Maria Guzman," said Miss Tedder angrily; "that is untrue, Captain Kyles is to be my husband. Donna Maria is simply the daughter of the ex-President of Indiana, and came in the yacht to Pierside to do business with my father, and----"

"Maud, Maud," warned Mrs. Mountford, rising quickly, "do not say more than is wise."

"I shall say what I think,--that is,--no matter. But it's a lie, a lie, Mr. Gowrie. Captain Kyles is engaged to me."

"Aye," said Gowrie presumably to himself, "Angus Herries wull be glad. He wantit tae see ye marrit an' oot o' his way."

Maud uttered a cry of anger, which was precisely what Gowrie wanted her to do, since his object in making the speech was to inflame her against her cousin, as perhaps, as he thought, in her rage she might let out what she knew of the crime. But Mrs. Mountford laid her hand on the girl's arm as she was about to burst forth into furious speech, and after a moment's struggle with herself Miss Tedder rushed from the room followed by her governess.

Left alone, Gowrie rang the bell, and ordered another decanter of sherry, which was brought, since the servant fancied that Miss Tedder must have left instructions. It never struck the man that Gowrie would have the impudence to give an order on his own authority. But then he did not know the sage. Gowrie sipped the sherry, and chuckled over the success of his plot. But he was puzzled to think why Maud should be so angered against Angus Herries.

"A wumon scorned, I'm theenking," said Gowrie, meditatively, "she's wants tae marry the Captain, and yet hae her cousin deeing for her luve. But ye canna hae yer cake and eat it, young madam; nae, nae, I ken fine ye canna. I doot this Captain's playing the deil wi' ye, as ye played the jade wi' Herries. Weel, Herries wull marry my child, and the Captain his Mexican fly-away, and ye'll be left greeting, the which is nae mair nor ye deserve."

His meditations were interrupted by the return of Mrs. Mountford with a sheet of note-paper. On this Miss Tedder had written a promise that she would pay Michael Gowrie five hundred pounds when Herries was safe in gaol.

"I'm obleeged tae ye, me'em," said the sage, folding up the precious document, "awa' wi' this tae the poleece station, and invite yon Jack-in-office tae gang wi' me tae the salubrious village o' Anderfield in Bucks."

"Is that the name of the village, sir?"

"Aye. That's the name. Noo I hae the promise o' the siller, ye may ken the place where the marriage wull tak place. An' noo," he caught up his brand new silk hat, "I mau' be ganging ma ways."

"One moment," said Mrs. Mountford, laying her hand on his arm, "are you sure that Captain Kyles is engaged to this Mexican lady?"

"I am as sure as sure, me'em."

"Then he's a villain," cried Mrs. Mountford heavily, "for he told Miss Tedder that he loved her alone. But he had better take care, for Maud can--she can--"

"Can what?" asked Gowrie, struck by the significance of her tone.

"She can ruin him," said Mrs. Mountford coldly.

"The deil she can."

"If Captain Kyles marries this Donna Maria," said Mrs. Mountford in a quiet and deadly tone, "you tell Mr. Herries that I can save him."

Gowrie was so astonished by this speech that he would have asked for further information. But Mrs. Mountford, conscious perhaps that she had said too much, pushed him out of the room, and shortly he was hurrying towards the police-station as fast as his wicked old legs could carry him, sorely puzzled as to her meaning.

"Maybe the Captain killed the auld mon," thought Gowrie, "but for why? Hoots! there's a deal o' deevilry in this case. Yon lassie wi' the bairn's face kens mair aboot the death o' her faither nor she'll say. But if this Don Giovanny--and that Kyles is, no less--plays her false, a' the fat wull be on the fire. Weel, the mair necessity for me tae hurry up wi' the arrest, and get the siller."

Meanwhile, Maud Tedder was shut up in her room, lying on her bed and raging as only a woman scorned can rage. Of late she had noted, and especially since the death of her father, that Kyles was not so attentive as he had been. Now she learned that he was engaged to Donna Maria Guzman, when he had explicitly stated to her that he did not care for that lady. Apparently it was the money he was after, and this thought made the jealous heart of Maud burn within her. She loved Kyles, and would have sacrificed a thousand cousins to make him her husband. That could be done, she thought, if she recovered her fortune by getting Herries hanged. And if he was arrested he certainly would be hanged, therefore she was quite willing to give half a year's income to bring about this result.

All that day and the next she lay in bed, denying herself to everyone, longing for news. Late in the afternoon of the day following Gowrie's visit, she received a wire from Anderfield, sent by the old man.

"Herries arrested," ran the wire, "he was already married."

"Married," said Maud to herself, smiling cruelly, "his honeymoon will be spent in gaol, and will end on the gallows."