Chapter 8

MISS MAUD TEDDER

Tarhaven, as everyone knows, is a town of recent origin. As it is within a reasonable distance of the metropolis, and the railway fares are not too high, trippers come down every bank-holiday to the number of thousands. Likewise, owing to the facilities for reaching London, many clerks and business men make their abode there, and the town, thanks to improved locomotion, may be called a suburb of the great city. And as the streets of Tarhaven are wide, and the houses comfortable, and there is always plenty of amusement, the place is invariably full of people. There is a floating, as well as a resident population, of no small number, consequently Tarhaven is able to rank as a seaside resort along with Brighton, Bournemouth, and Scarborough.

On the outskirts of the modern town, Sir Simon Tedder had built a palatial mansion, or rather he had added largely to the ancient manor-house, which he had purchased from a decayed family, who were lords of the place long before Tarhaven sprang into notoriety. The town itself grew out of the nucleus of a tiny fishing village below the cliffs, and now spread out far into the country, pushing back the woods, swallowing up the villages, and turning old highways into modern streets with smart shops. The "Moated Hall," Sir Simon kept to the ancient name, because there really was a moat, although the same was devoid of water, stood on a slight eminence, one mile from Tarhaven, in the middle of a well-wooded park, and was as shut in from the world as was the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. Restored and added to by an artist, the place maintained its old-world air, and resembled one of those delightful houses which appear in the middle pages of "Country Life." When Dr. Browne entered the grounds through the scrolled gilt iron gates, and proceeded up the ancient avenue between elms and oaks, and beech-trees and ash-trees, he emerged into the wide space in the centre of which, elevated on its mound, rose the antique fabric of warm-hued red brick. He acknowledged that it was hard on the owner of such magnificence to meet his death in an obscure inn. Sir Simon had sprung from nothing, and by his own unaided endeavours had attained to this splendour, only--as it would seem,--to finally depart this life, in the mire, out of which he had crawled.

"And who knows by what questionable means," mused Browne, as he mounted the shallow steps which led to the terrace, and strolled leisurely towards the huge iron-bound door. "There may be something in Kind's blackmailing idea after all. Pound added to pound in the orthodox way would not have bought this fairy palace. Who knows through what dark and miry ways Sir Simon walked to arrive at such a goal. Well," he pulled the bell, "if the mystery of his death is to be solved, we will have to grope in those same ways."

A stately footman, who looked like a disguised bishop, admitted the doctor into a large and lofty hall paved with black and white tiles, and surrounded with marble copies of celebrated statues. Directly before the visitor, on entering the door, rose the antique staircase, wide and with shallow steps, splendidly carpeted. On the first landing was a huge window of stained glass blazing with crests, resplendent,--to use Keats' gorgeous image,--as the wings of a tiger-moth. The light filtering through this made a kind of coloured ecclesiastical twilight, and accentuated the severe beauty of the architecture. But Browne did not linger here long as he knew the place well and was more anxious to see the daughter of the house than the house itself. The stately footman conducted him to the drawing-room, a long, wide, lofty apartment, crowded with expensive furniture, and here he remained, while the man went to tell his mistress that her visitor was waiting. As the servant was departing, Browne stopped him with a word.

"Parker," he said, looking directly at the man, "I suppose Miss Tedder knows of this terrible affair."

"Meaning Sir Simon's murder? Yes, sir, she does, sir, and has been taking on awful. I doubt if she'll see you, sir."

"Tell her that it is absolutely necessary that I should see her."

Parker bowed his powdered head in a Jovian manner, and made his exit, while Browne walked up and down the magnificent room, wondering how he could begin a very difficult conversation. He could scarcely put the theory of blackmail as crudely as Kind had done, and it was not probable that the girl herself would suggest such a motive for the murder. Maud Tedder, as Browne knew, was not a thoughtful young lady, and he was quite prepared for a scene. He half regretted that he had not asked to see Mrs. Mountford, the girl's former governess and present chaperon, who was a gloomy, self-possessed female given to pessimism, but always perfect mistress of her emotions. However, he had no time to consider what should be his first move in this,--so to speak,--game of chess, for almost at once, the door flew open impetuously, and Maud Tedder ran into the room with outstretched hands.

"Oh! doctor, doctor," she cried, emotionally, "I am so glad you have come. I do want someone to talk to about poor papa's death. If you hadn't come, I should have sent for you,--I should indeed but now that you are here," she dragged him to a Louis Quinze sofa, all carving and brocade, "we can talk over everything, freely."

"Hasn't Mrs. Mountford----?"

"No, Mrs. Mountford hasn't," interrupted the girl, producing a flimsy lace handkerchief, which was more for show than for use. "She does nothing but groan. Poor papa dead, oh," she shuddered, "isn't it too awful for words? Inspector Trent,--a horrid stiff thing, I think,--came last night and told me. I wondered that papa hadn't come home, and I fancied that something might have happened, but I never, never, never," she was emphatic, "never dreamt that anything so terrible as murder had taken place."

So she ran on, not allowing Browne to get a word in edgeways. He sat looking at her while she chattered, and acknowledged that although this feminine butterfly was extremely pretty, she was scarcely the girl to gain the love of a serious-minded young fellow such as he knew his old school-friend to be. Maud Tedder was slight and fair-haired and delicate, and resembled nothing so much as one of those Dresden-china shepherdess ornaments, which are dear to china-maniacs. Her complexion was pink and white, her features insignificant, her hair insipidly golden, and her eyes pale blue. A very pretty doll to come out of a bonbon box, but scarcely the daughter for stern-faced, grasping, bullying Sir Simon Tedder, who had won his wealth and knighthood by sheer brain-strength.

"What is to be done?" asked Browne, when she gave him a chance of asking a question.

"Oh, Mr. Trent said that the inquest would take place to-morrow at the 'Marsh Inn.' Then poor papa will be buried, and the lawyer--Mr. Ritson you know--will tell me what I am to do with the money. As soon as everything is settled, I shall go away to Switzerland with Mrs. Mountford, and stop there for a few months. I'm a foolish little thing and never know what to do, but it seems that I must act in this way. Poor papa," and she wiped her eyes with the flimsy handkerchief, and shivered.

Browne was surprised at the sensible way in which she talked, and the cut and dried programme she had sketched out. He would not have credited her with such foresight, as Miss Tedder decidedly took after her mother, a frail, brainless beauty of old descent, who had died three year previously. But perhaps she had more of her father's brains than he had believed, and now that she was in a position to use them, had summoned them to her aid. The programme was sufficiently reasonable, but Browne noted that she did not say a word about the accused man, and with him she had been supposed to be in love over two years ago, before he had taken to the sea. At once, Browne, who was nothing if not blunt, reminded her of this oversight in his gruff way.

"What about your cousin?"

Maud gave a little scream, and flung herself back into an angle of the sofa to cover her eyes with the handkerchief.

"Angus, oh, don't talk about that wretch," she said sobbing, "that he should have killed poor papa; it's too terrible."

"He did not kill him," said Browne, rather disgusted by the speech. She seemed to judge him without evidence.

"But he is," said Maud sitting up, and flushing a violent red, "I'm sure I wish he wasn't, as he really was a nice boy, and I liked him very much two years ago. Inspector Trent told me that the razor----"

"I know all about that," interrupted the doctor quickly, "the evidence is against Herries. All the same he is innocent."

"I'm sure I hope so. It would be so horrid to have a cousin hanged for murder. I don't know that Bruce would marry me if that took place."

"Bruce! Who is Bruce?"

"I thought you had met him," said Miss Tedder, opening her pale blue eyes to their widest extent. "Captain Bruce Kyles, who was such a great friend of papa's."

"Oh yes," Browne suddenly remembered, "that was the fellow who commanded a war-ship belonging to one of those tin-pot South American Republics.

"He is an officer in the Indiana Navy, replied Maud, much offended.

"So I believe," rejoined Browne, not at all disturbed. "That shabby little Republic down Patagonia way. They've got about five second and third-rate ships, I believe, and the Germans propose to wipe them out, or annex them."

"I don't know why you should talk of the Indiana Republic as 'them,' doctor. It's an 'it' and the Germans won't annex it. Bruce has come home to get more war-ships, and papa intended to do business with him."

"Did papa intend you should marry him?" asked Browne shrewdly.

Miss Tedder drew up her small person to its full height, which was not much.

"I don't know why you should be so familiar, doctor. Of course I look on you as a friend, as papa did. All the same, we are not such friends as to warrant you----"

"I see, I see," broke in the medical man impatiently. "I am less a friend than a doctor: yet I thought that your greeting was a warm one, and so perhaps have trespassed unduly. I beg your pardon. Sir Simon," he emphasised the title, "approved of your marrying this--this--Captain Kyles?

"Oh yes. He saw that I loved him, and Bruce comes of a very old Scotch family,--quite as good as our own"--the doctor suppressed a smile. "Bruce has rank in Indiana, and some day he might become the President of the Republic. Papa intended to announce our engagement shortly, but now he is dead and----" she began to sob again.

"Humph! You love this man?"

"With all my heart, although I don't see why you should ask me."

"I beg your pardon once more," said Browne dryly, "but I am the most intimate friend of Angus Herries, who is in dire peril, and I understood that you loved him."

Miss Tedder let fall her handkerchief to accentuate her denial with hard, indignant eyes.

"I never, never did," she said almost shrilly. "Of course I met him in Edinburgh, and thought he was good-looking, over two years ago; then he was my cousin, and clever. But papa did not approve, and Angus was poor, so I----"

"Obeyed your father and threw him over. Eh?"

"It was only a girlish fancy, doctor. I love Bruce, and Bruce is the man I intend to marry."

"So as to be Madame la President, I suppose. Well, with your fifty thousand a year, I have no doubt that Captain Kyles will be able to buy your Republic right out. However, this is none of my business."

"I should think not," said Maud, who looked cross.

"But the peril of Herries is my business. He has escaped, but may be captured at any moment. What do you intend to do?"

"Offer one hundred pounds reward!"

Browne jumped up.

"For his capture?"

"Oh!" Maud stuck her fingers in her ears, "I wish you wouldn't shout when I'm in such grief. Inspector Trent advised me to offer----"

"One hundred pounds. I wonder he didn't suggest a thousand, as no doubt he hopes that the money will go into his pocket. But surely you don't want your cousin hanged?"

"No,--of course I don't. But if he is guilty----"

"He is not, I tell you."

"Then who killed papa?"

"A man with whom Sir Simon had an appointment at the 'Marsh Inn,' on the night of his death. Listen," and Browne detailed all that he had learned, suppressing certain facts that bore on the escape of Herries. Seeing that Maud believed her cousin guilty and was in close communication with Trent, it would not do to place the safety of Herries in her untrustworthy hands.

"Oh! I do hope that what you say is true, and that Angus is not a murderer," cried Maud clasping her hands.

"Would I tell a lie?" asked the doctor angrily.

"No. But then you are such a friend of my cousin's that you might colour the thing a little."

"And you, who loved the man, who are a relative of the man, ought to colour likewise. Instead of that, you offer a reward to hang him."

Terrified by the good doctor's vehemence, Maud broke down sobbing----

"I am sure I want to do what is right," she cried, from behind the flimsy handkerchief. "No one would be better pleased than I to think that Angus was guiltless."

"You ought to clear his character, and marry him."

"Marry him." Maud's handkerchief dropped in amazement.

"Yes. He is your cousin, and should share in this wealth, which is too much for you alone. And then he would make you a much better husband than this man Kyles, who comes from no one knows where, and is a rank adventurer, if ever I saw one."

"You had better not let Bruce hear you say that," threatened Maud. "He is in the house now, With Mrs. Mountford."

"Ah, where the carcass is, there the vultures gather. I would say to him what I say to you with the utmost confidence, Miss Tedder. I wish to be your friend, and as I am not a marrying man, you can see that I have no eye to your money. But you are a young girl and have no one to counsel you but Mrs. Mountford, who does not always give good advice. You should believe in the innocence of your cousin against all evidence, and clear his character, and----"

"And marry him," finished Miss Tedder, tapping her small foot. "No, I certainly will not. Anything I can do to save him from the consequence of his wickedness----"

"He is not wicked. He is innocent."

"Then let him prove his innocence," she rose with a dignified air as if to intimate that the interview was terminated. "But I must do what Inspector Trent says. Even though Angus is my cousin, my papa is,--rather was,--my papa, and I must offer a reward for the apprehension of the murderer."

"Who is Herries?"

"Inspector Trent says so."

"And you believe it. Well," Browne shrugged his shoulders, "if this is woman's love, give me man's hate. Did you know that your father had an appointment with anyone two nights ago?"

"No. Papa never said anything about it. He went away in the afternoon, and said he would return next day. I knew nothing of his whereabouts until Inspector Trent came and told me that Angus had killed papa."

Browne shrugged his shoulders again. It seemed impossible to impress this butterfly with the fact Herries was innocent. She seemed a heartless sort of creature. He took no further trouble to contradict her, but went on with his questions.

"Do you know why your father took so large a sum of money with him?"

"No. I did not know that he had taken any money. How much was it?"

"I can't say; but the landlady's son at the 'Marsh Inn' saw a considerable sum in gold and notes on the table. That has disappeared."

"Along with Angus," sneered Maud.

"I think not. You make out your cousin to be a thief as well as a murderer. He is neither. So you know nothing of the reason of your father's visit to the 'Marsh Inn?'"

"I didn't even know that he was going there."

"Good-day, then," and Browne turned on his heel. "Stop, doctor," Maud ran after him and laid a detaining hand on his arm. "I don't want you to think badly of me. I do hope that Angus is not guilty, indeed I do. If you know where he is----"

"How should I know?" asked Browne warily.

"Well, I thought you might, as you were at the inn."

"I went there in response to a telegram calling me. I arrived to find that Herries had escaped. But presuming that he did communicate with me," Browne put it this way to see what she would say, and at the same time, to guard Herries, "what do you wish me to tell him?"

"That I will give him a sum of money to leave England."

"And so confess that he is guilty. Thank you for nothing."

Maud clenched her hands and bit her lip.

"I don't mean what you mean," she declared angrily. "If I can prove his innocence I should be glad to do so, but I know nothing of my father's affairs or what led to his death. Mr. Ritson, the lawyer, may know. Ask him, and perhaps he will help you to prove my cousin's innocence. But things look black against Angus. Inspector Trent says so. It would be wiser if he went away."

"Why do you wish him to go away?"

Maud stamped her foot, "I don't want a cousin of mine to be hanged for the murder of my father," she said irritably. "Can't you see how unpleasant that would be for me? I am engaged to Bruce, but he is proud and haughty. If Angus was hanged, Bruce might refuse to become my husband."

"Not while you have fifty thousand a year," said Browne, grimly.

"You don't know Bruce----"

"Not well, as I have only met him once. But at the first glance I saw that he was an adventurer. He is the very model of those soldiers of fortune who abounded in Europe in the Middle Ages."

"And like them he may carve out a kingdom for himself."

"Doubtless, since money now-a-days is more necessary than a sword to procure such a kingdom," retorted Browne. "However, that is your affair. What sum will you give Herries, always presuming that he will communicate with me?"

"One thousand pounds."

"Did Inspector Trent advise that sum?"

"He advised nothing because he knows nothing. And he says," added the girl decisively, "that when the policeman is found, he may be able to prove my cousin's guilt."

"What policeman?"

"The constable called Armour, who looks after Desleigh and two other villages in the Marshes. He has disappeared."

"Humph! I heard something of that. Trent was expecting him every minute, but he never turned up. But I dare say he is on his rounds, as his beat is a wide one."

"No, doctor. The Inspector declares that Armour has to visit Desleigh village at least once a day. For two days he has been absent, so Mr. Trent thinks that----"

"That Herries murdered the policeman as well as your father," Browne laughed. "What a mare's nest he has found. Well, Miss Tedder, I wish you every joy as the wife of the future president of the Indiana Republic!" and he bowed good-day.

This time, the girl did not attempt to stop him, and Browne opened the door himself. However, she followed him into the hall.

"I really wish to help Angus," she repeated, "and I am sure Bruce will do his best for my sake."

"What has Captain Kyles got to do with the matter?"

"I have asked him to help me to find out who killed my father."

"That is, Captain Kyles is hunting for poor Herries."

"Oh, I don't mean that, but--why, here is Bruce," she turned towards the passage that ran beside the stairs, and smiled. "Bruce!"

In response, a tall dark man, with deep-set eyes and a reckless bearing, advanced into the hall. He held out a telegram to Miss Tedder.

"It has just come from the Inspector," he said, with a stealthy glance at the commonplace looks of Dr. Browne.

Maud ran her eye over the paper, and passed it to her visitor.

"That may help either to save or condemn my cousin," she said, quickly.

"Armour the policeman has been found, bound hand and foot, in a ditch near the river," read Browne. "Humph! What does that mean?"

"I take it to mean that Armour killed Sir Simon," said Kyles in a deep voice, and very composedly.