Chapter 4

WHAT HAPPENED NEXT

Mrs. Narby's discovery convinced Inspector Trent that his prisoner was guilty. The razor, the key of the dead man's bedroom, the smeared sleeve, and the pocket-book, all pointed to Herries as the assassin. And to this material evidence could be added several serious admissions. After an early denial, Herries had admitted that he knew the deceased; he had acknowledged him to be a relative with whom he had quarrelled; and he had stated that his temper was fiery; finally, the presumed murderer, arriving at an unknown inn on the particular night on which Sir Simon had slept there, had occupied the room directly adjoining that of his victim. In the face of such strong circumstantial evidence, it was scarcely to be wondered at that Herries looked upon himself as lost. Weaker proofs had hanged men just as innocent.

It was close on five o'clock when Trent came downstairs to see if the doctor had arrived. He locked Herries in the bedroom, intending to take him personally to Tarhaven prison, when the doctor had examined the body. In the meantime there was no chance of Herries escaping. From this solitary house, surrounded by marsh and fog, no one, without being well acquainted with the neighbourhood (and Herries was a stranger), could hope to get away without endangering his life. The two yokels still watched under the window, and three or four policemen were in and around the house. Trent felt that his valuable prisoner was perfectly safe, and went back to the stuffy parlour to examine Narby, and to question the landlady about the man called Michael Gowrie, to whom Herries had alluded.

The heads of the household being thus employed, Elspeth and Pope attended to the many customers who thronged the tap-room. A great number of people had been drawn to the inn by an account of the tragedy, and as some hours had elapsed since the discovery of the body, the news was pretty widely known. Never before in its sordid history had the "Marsh Inn" done such a roaring trade, and Pope put his poetry and dreaming on one side, to deliver pots of frothing beer to thirsty labourers, who lethargically discussed the crime.

Elspeth, looking more miserable and white-faced than ever, moved like an unquiet ghost about the room, fulfilling her duties in a mechanical way, while her thoughts were busy with the prisoner overhead. With the unreasoning affection of a woman, she was sure in her own mind that Herries was innocent, not because of what he said, but for the simple reason that he had been kind to her. That episode of the bucket, at their first meeting, had established a silent understanding between the two unlucky people, and each recognised in the other a kindred spirit. Never before had Elspeth met with an unsolicited act of kindness, and she was prepared to think of the man who rendered it to her trodden-down self, as a god. Moreover, the tones of his voice, the refinement of his face, the kindly look in his eyes, and perhaps his handsome exterior, appealed to her feminine nature. Moving about with steady eyes and firm lips, she was wondering all the time how she could help her hero to prove his innocence. But there is always one who loves and one who is loved. Herries was the latter, for as yet, and very naturally, his heart was untouched.

Shortly a picturesque figure entered the crowded tap-room in the person of a short, thick-set man, dressed in a coster costume of the ornate type. He wore bell-bottomed trousers of grey cloth, a short-tailed jacket of the same hue and texture, a yellow waistcoat, and a flaming red scarf twisted round his brawny throat. The dress was profusedly decorated with buttons, mother-of-pearl buttons, which appeared in every place where a button could be sewn on. His brown bowler hat was trimmed with a large ostrich feather, and his feet were shod with elegant, thin-soled, high-heeled, brown boots, more suited to a London Street than to the mud of the Essex marshes. This unusual figure--unusual at least in the country--attracted much bovine attention, but the man pushed his way towards Elspeth, and saluted her by touching his hat and kicking out his right leg, sailor fashion.

"Sweetlips," said Elspeth, looking surprised at seeing him.

"Sweetlips Kind himself," replied the man in a pleasant and rather cultivated voice, "just come into this smoky engine house, as the fogs make it, with the caravan, and the missus--ill."

"Oh!" Elspeth's voice was full of sympathy, "is Rachel ill?"

"Diphtheria, poor lass, and what's a Cheap-jack like me to do with a sick wife in a caravan?" he drew the sleeve of his jacket across his kind, shrewd, grey eyes, and must have scratched himself with the many buttons. "Is there a doctor about?" he asked huskily.

"The nearest doctor is ten miles away," explained the girl in a sympathetic manner. "He comes to Desleigh only on Saturdays."

"Can't wait till then, my girl, the missus may die at any moment, if the stuff ain't taken from her throat. It's hard to lose her, after all these years of fair and foul weather. I want you to come to her, Elspeth, and I'll ride my horse to that doctor, if you'll tell me where he is to be found."

"I can't leave the inn just now," said Elspeth, thinking of Herries upstairs, depending upon her assistance. "We're in dreadful trouble."

"A pot of beer, please," said Sweetlips, quickly. "What's up?"

"There's been a murder."

"Lor! You don't tell me so."

"Yes. An old gentleman has been killed----"

"And the murderer is shut in a bedroom upstairs," finished Pope with a leer.

"He is not the murderer," said the girl indignantly, and turning a shade paler. "I don't know who killed Sir Simon Tedder, but I am quite sure that Mr. Herries didn't."

"Sir Simon Tedder," said Kind, dropping the pot of beer from his mouth. "The millionaire cove? Is he a deader?"

"His throat has been cut," said Pope, eagerly.

"Not by Mr. Herries," retorted Elspeth.

"Lor!" said Kind again, "Why, I've got some of his jam stuff, with the name on the tins. Here's a go. I could do a bit of business on this here," he went on, his lip trembling, "folk always crowd to places where a murder's been committed. But I've Rachel to think of. Come, Elspeth," he ended entreatingly, "come to the missus, and lemme go for the doctor."

"A doctor will be here soon from Tarhaven to examine the body," said Pope filling another pewter.

"The Inspector and the police are in the house, and the doctor is to follow."

"Two doctors will be here," corrected Elspeth, struck with a sudden thought. "I sent a telegram from the station to Dr. James Browne, who is a friend of Mr. Herries."

"You'll get into trouble with the police," Pope warned her.

"What do I care for the police, so long as Mr. Herries is proved innocent?" cried the girl passionately. "But if you will wait for a short time," she continued, addressing the mournful Cheap-jack, "one or the other of the doctors will come soon."

"I hope one of 'em will be in time to save my Rachel," said Kind with a sigh. "Lor, what a go it will be if I lose her. She's been the sun and the moon to yours truly for years."

Pope sniggered.

"If you're in such a hurry," he said in an unkindly tone, "ask Mr. Herries to see your wife. Mr. Gowrie told me that he is a doctor, and he's on the spot."

Elspeth's pale cheeks flamed, and she clasped her hands.

"Oh!" she cried, passionately, "do you think the police would let him go and see Mrs. Kind."

"Not much," snapped Pope and giggled. "He's got to see Old Ketch."

"Young man," said Sweetlips sternly, "I've knocked down a cove for speaking more politely than you do. Not so much of it, do you hear?"

Pope did hear, and being a rank coward, changed colour. After an uneasy attempt to assert his dignity, he was quelled by the Cheap-jack's stern eye, and moved away hurriedly in response to an imaginary call. Kind turned to Elspeth, who was thinking.

"If them two doctors don't come," said he slowly, "an' the police won't let this chap, as is accused, see the missus, she's a deader."

Elspeth covered her face for a moment and thought. "Where is your caravan?" she asked hurriedly.

Sweetlips pointed a careless thumb over his right shoulder.

"Just outside the village," he replied, "come, an' let us see the Inspector chap. He might listen to me, and let Mr. Herries come to see the poor missus."

"I fear not, Sweetlips, you don't know the police."

"Don't I, my girl," Kind gave a conscious laugh. "I know them better than I do myself, but quite in an honest way, mind you. I've been other things than a Cheap-jack in my time. But the missus, the missus," he said impatiently, "while I'm talking, she's dying. Come and see her, Elspeth."

The girl stood irresolute. She thought of Mrs. Narby's temper, and of Mrs. Narby's heavy fist, of Herries upstairs in danger of his life, and finally of the poor woman dying in the caravan. Some angel passing must have whispered courage to her at the moment, for suddenly her cheeks flushed a brave red, her eyes sparkled, and her mouth grew firm.

"I'll come," she said quickly, "but first tell me what you had to do with the police?"

Kind hesitated, then lowered his lips to the level of her ear--

"I was a detective once," he whispered, hoarsely. "Used to look after chaps like this Dr. Herries you talk of, and hang 'em if I could."

"You beast," said Elspeth in low tones, drawing back. "Dr. Herries is quite innocent."

"Then let him save the missus, and I'll save him."

"Can you?" she asked, her breast heaving.

"Yes, if he really and truly is innocent."

"He is. I swear he is," she cried passionately. "Wait till I get my hat and shawl, and we'll see the Inspector, and afterwards go to Mrs. Kind."

"Don't tell this police chap of my being a detective," said Kind, in an anxious tone. "I've cut that business; and if folks knew what I had been, they wouldn't come and buy things. All the patter in the world wouldn't help a Cheap-jack who had once hanged criminals."

"You'll save this one, only he isn't a criminal," said Elspeth, and glided away up the stairs, while Kind boldly went towards the parlour and knocked. Mrs. Narby opened the door. Sweetlips Kind explained himself in a few minutes, and asked that the prisoner, guarded, of course, should be permitted to see Mrs. Kind.

"Certainly not," said Trent, sternly, "the prisoner is in his bedroom, and there he must remain until he is lodged in gaol."

"But my wife will die," said Kind, faintly.

"I am sorry," replied Trent blandly and uneasily, for his own inclination was to permit the visit. "But I cannot exceed my powers."

"Then you won't, sir?"

"If you knew the police, my man, you wouldn't ask that."

"I know the police for the biggest set of fools on earth," cried the Cheap-jack passionately. "You'll never hang this man, if I can clear his character. I'll save him to spite you, that would let my poor wife die, for your cursed red-tape business," and before the astonished Trent could express the indignation he felt, Kind was out of the inn, waiting in the foggy street for Elspeth. She joined him shortly in a state of intense excitement, and heard Kind's openly expressed wrath against Trent and his minions.

"Then you'll help Mr. Herries," she said, squeezing his arm.

"_Won't_ I, you bet, I just will," said Kind heartily. "Let us get the missus out of danger first, and I'll remember enough of my old business to hunt down the real murderer. Always provided," added the ex-detective cautiously, "that this man is innocent."

"He is--he is. I'll tell you all about it as we walk to the caravan."

"No, my dear," said Sweetlips gently, "until Rachel is safe, I can't think of anything else. Come quickly," he dragged her along into the fog, "she may be dead, poor soul. Come!" and the two figures vanished in the mist, which was thicker and darker and colder than ever.

The Cheap-jack's evil star must have been in the ascendant at the moment, for twenty minutes after he had turned his back on the inn, Dr. James Browne of Tarhaven arrived, hotfooted. He came by train to the local station, a quarter of a mile distant, and had walked to the inn through the fogs. At once, he asked for his friend, and Inspector Trent was informed of the fact. He immediately terminated his examination of Mr. and Mrs. Narby--from whom he had learned nothing new--and had the new-comer shown into the stuffy parlour, to be questioned.

"Your name?" demanded the Inspector, curtly official.

"Dr. Browne. I have come from Tarhaven, and wish to see my friend, Mr. Herries, who is, I understand, accused of murder."

"Who told you so?"

Browne took a telegram from his breast-pocket, and passed it in silence to the officer. It was unsigned and contained but a few words, which were as follows: "Angus Herries accused of murder, Marsh Inn, Desleigh. Come immediately." When Trent read this, he laid it on the table, and scrutinised the doctor, carefully.

Browne was short and stout, and imperative. His hair was red, so was his moustache, and short beard, and he had choleric blue eyes. Apparently he had a temper, but, recognising the majesty of the law, and knowing that it would be needful, for Herries' sake, to stand well with its representative, he kept himself in hand. Experience had taught him the necessity of being cool at critical moments, and the present was critical, if not for himself at least for his friend.

"What do you know of this?" asked Trent, when he had taken in the exterior of his visitor.

"As much as you see in that telegram," retorted Browne, pointing to the table. "I was a fellow-student of Mr. Herries in Edinburgh, and have not seen him for quite two years. I know him well enough to say that he is not guilty of murder."

"The evidence is strongly against him."

"Circumstantial evidence has hanged an innocent man before now."

"It will not hang Mr. Herries if he can prove his innocence. By-the-way, did you see Dr. Harkness in the train?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"I sent for him to come here, and examine the body. If he does not arrive soon, perhaps you will take his place."

"Certainly, I'll do anything to help Herries."

"I don't see how a post-mortem can help him," retorted Trent. "Sir Simon Tedder's throat has been cut."

"Sir Simon Tedder!" Browne started, and looked dismayed.

"You know him?"

"Yes. He is Herries' uncle. I attended him at Tarhaven, where he has a house, for an attack of influenza, and tried to make peace between him and his nephew."

"Ah!" Trent assumed an air of satisfaction, "then you know that the two had quarrelled?"

"I see no reason to conceal the fact that I do know," snapped the doctor sharply. "But that was two years ago. Herries went to sea, and it is incredible that he should return to murder his uncle."

"Yet you must admit that it is strange, uncle and nephew should both have been at this inn?"

"I admit nothing, until I know the facts, Mr. Inspector."

"Here they are. Between ourselves, doctor, I should like to save Mr. Herries, who seems to have had a hard time."

"He has, poor soul."

"But," added Trent, cautiously, "it will be difficult to save him in the face of the evidence."

"What is it?"

Inspector Trent detailed all that he had learned from the people of the inn, and from the prisoner himself. Dr. Browne, with his keen blue eyes fastened on the official, listened intently, weighing the evidence in silence. Only when Trent ended, did he speak, and then curtly.

"You have captured the wrong man."

"Indeed," said Trent sarcastically, "perhaps you can tell me the name of the right one."

"Not being omniscient, I cannot. It is for you, Mr. Inspector, to learn the name of the man who passed through the tap-room at eight."

"You accuse him?"

"Of course. He is the assassin, and has implicated Herries by placing in his room, the razor, the key and the pocket-book. This unknown man must have been the one whom Sir Simon expected on the previous night."

"How do you know that?"

"Because, by your own showing, Sir Simon could not have known of his nephew's presence here. The unknown man did not arrive at the time he was expected, but when the inn was closed, he must either have been admitted by Sir Simon, and taken to the bedroom, or he must have got in by the window."

"The window is on the first floor!"

Browne cast a look upward at the low ceiling.

"I don't think an active man would have any difficulty in climbing."

"There is certainly some trellis work outside, against the window of the room Sir Simon occupied," said Trent half to himself, "but this is all theoretical."

"So is the evidence against Herries."

"Do you call a razor, a stained shirt, the dead man's pocket-book and the key of the dead man's room, theoretical?"

"These things were placed in Herries' room by the assassin to implicate him in the crime," said Browne obstinately.

"Why should the unknown man take that trouble?" argued Trent. "He could not have known that my prisoner was the nephew of Sir Simon, and it would have been easy for him to have left as he did, after--as you say--committing the crime, without taking the trouble to throw the blame on an innocent man. I don't see what the assassin gains by taking such trouble."

"He provided for his own safety, in case his name was discovered."

"But," went on the Inspector, "how do we know that this unknown man saw Sir Simon at all?"

"The landlady's evidence makes that clear," replied Browne in a decisive way, "she saw him wearing the fur coat of the deceased."

"It might have been the man's own. Fur coats are very much alike."

"There I disagree with you. But presuming this to be the case, have you found the fur coat of Sir Simon in his room?"

"No. The landlady searched and could not find it."

"Then its disappearance proves what I say to be true," said Browne in a triumphant manner. "What happened is this. The assassin could not arrive at the appointed time, and Sir Simon retired to bed. Later the man came, and either obtained admittance through the front door opened by Sir Simon when all were in bed, or climbed up by the trellis to which you allude. The two had a talk and a quarrel, and the visitor cut the old man's throat. Then he waited until the morning. Knowing how his victim was to leave the inn, he boldly walked out, leaving strong evidence against Herries."

"But why?" asked Trent, persistently.

"Oh, I cannot tell you the motive for the commission of the crime, Mr. Inspector. You must learn that from the man who passed through the tap-room in Sir Simon's fur coat. And I think," added Browne shrewdly, "that you will learn, that the assassin implicated Herries to save himself, in the event of his being suspected."

"I don't agree with you," said Trent, doggedly, and rose to show that the interview was at an end. "Herries is guilty."

"I should have been surprised if you had agreed," retorted Browne. "Herries is innocent."

"Question the man yourself then," snapped the Inspector, not in the best of tempers. "His suspicious behaviour and lame explanations will shake your belief."

"Never," retorted the loyal friend, "I would as soon suspect myself as Herries, who is the best, as he is the most unfortunate, fellow in the world. What infernal luck he has had."

Trent stiffened his erect figure, and still obstinate, strode out of the room, followed by Browne, who looked like a very pugnacious bull-terrier. The two proceeded up the narrow stairs, and into the passage leading to the two rooms, round which all interest in the little hostel centred, since one contained a corpse, and the other, the presumed criminal. Policemen guarded each door, and both of them reported to Trent, that everything was going well. Taking the key of Herries' room from his pocket, Trent opened the door, and entered abruptly, as though to catch the prisoner unawares. The room was naturally in darkness, as it was now late, and no candle had been allowed the suspected man, in case he should set the inn on fire. Trent expected to find darkness, but he did not expect to experience a chilly clammy feeling, as though he were without, and not within. To be plain the bedroom was filled with mist, and a sudden suspicion struck the officer.

"Herries--Mr. Herries," he called, and when there was no reply, he turned towards Browne in the darkness of the passage. "Bring a light--bring a light."

The constable who had guarded the door, more ready than his chief, instantly struck a match, and the blue glimmer served somewhat to dispel the gloom. As the lucifer flamed up, Trent darted into the room, with an oath, and a cry of rage.

"The prisoner has escaped!" It was true. The window was open, the room was empty. As he had come out of the mist to that unfortunate inn, so had Herries vanished again behind the grey veil, which still hung over the marshes.