Chapter 9

THE SOLICITOR

Browne surveyed the buccaneer with some curiosity. He had met him twice or thrice, before Sir Simon joined the majority, but beyond a casual glance had not taken much notice of the man. Now that he learned of Maud Tedder's engagement, he was interested in the adventurer, who, by his marriage with the heiress, would become the possessor of immense wealth. Also, it would seem that Kyles had something to do with Herries' fate, since he could, to all appearances, influence that young lady in her judgment. After an exhaustive glance, Browne confessed to himself that the scamp--he believed him to be a scamp--was an extremely good-looking man, and romantic enough to win the heart of an even less sentimental girl than Miss Tedder.

Captain Kyles met the gaze of Dr. Browne serenely enough, and evidently guessed that he was being weighed in the balance of the little doctor's opinion. His personality was perplexing, as he appeared to be a cross between a sailor and a soldier, an amphibious animal of the "jolly" class. His slim figure was very erect and military, yet, when he walked, he had the rolling gait of the quarter-deck. His face was immobile, as though his features had been drilled into a set expression of perfect blankness; yet his gestures were free and easy, as though he possessed the open mind of a jack-tar. In looks and bearing he resembled one of those dare-devil filibusters who dominated the Spanish Main in far-off days, and in his swart complexion, not unlike that of a Spaniard, he proclaimed his Highland blood. With his graceful figure, his sparkling dark eyes, well-moulded features and drooping black moustache, he looked the beau-ideal of a Bow-Bells, Family-Herald hero. That Miss Tedder loved this handsome fellow dearly could be seen from the way in which her colour came and went and her bosom heaved at the mere sight of him. Tragic as had been the circumstances of her father's death--a father who had adored her--she appeared to think more of love than of her irreparable loss.

The doctor, not being a romantic school-miss, did not approve of Captain Kyles, in spite of his alluring exterior. In the smartly-dressed, suave, cool person before him, he saw the typical adventurer who would win Maud and her thousands a year by sheer cajolery mixed with scarcely concealed bullying, and then would probably neglect her when the babyish beauty of her looks was gone. At the same time, to do him justice, he was surprised and pleased to hear Captain Kyles defend the accused, as he was certainly doing in a manner, when he accused Armour.

"I should have thought," remarked the doctor, sarcastically, "that like everyone else, you would judge my friend Herries as guilty."

Kyles shrugged his square shoulders, and brushed some fluff from the breast of his blue serge coat.

"From what Inspector Trent says, it would seem that Herries--that is the name, isn't it?--is the criminal," he drawled, and his voice was not the least attractive thing about him, "but that makes me believe the man to be innocent. Had Herries killed Sir Simon, I fancy he would have arranged things better to secure his own safety."

"Perhaps he lost his head," suggested Maud maliciously. "Criminals do, you know, even the cleverest."

"Dear!" said Kyles, so grimly that the adjective was robbed of its value. "I have told you before, and I tell you again, that your cousin is innocent."

"Oh," said Browne quietly, "then you know that Herries is Miss Tedder's cousin?"

"I know all the family history," replied Kyles lazily. "As I am to marry Miss Tedder, I considered it my duty to learn it.

"It was my place," boomed a heavy, gloomy voice coming from the back of the hall, "to inform Captain Kyles of the Tedder history."

The stout and stately female who approached in this dramatic way, was Mrs. Mountford, the _ci-devant_ governess who had improved Maud's young mind, and who now acted as her somewhat cheerless companion. She was of the fleshly type, with a firm jaw and a heavy jowl, and a pair of cold grey eyes. The face was that of a hanging judge, and she would have looked well in a wig and gown, seated on the Bench. Before that stony eye and impassive countenance the most hopeful prisoner would have collapsed at once. Invariably arrayed in deepest black, she glittered like a starry midnight with jet beads and jet trimmings, with bugles and chains and ornaments. She wore jet bracelets to match a jet brooch, and jet earrings of the Albert period; lengthy earrings, like the jet chain which was wound like a cable round her fat neck. Mrs. Mountford only needed a plume of feathers to resemble a hearse-horse, and her mere presence darkened the none too cheerful hall. Dr. Browne did not like this female mute, for in spite of his cynicism, he could be cheerful on occasions, which Mrs. Mountford, in mourning for her neighbours' faults, never was. How Maud Tedder, light-minded, frivolous and gay, could endure the wet-blanket society of this raven was more than the doctor could understand. And he prided himself on understanding the feminine character.

"I should have thought that Sir Simon could best have informed Captain Kyles of all that there was to be known," he said in reply to the gloomy lady, "that is," he added pointedly, "if Sir Simon approved of the engagement."

"Of course papa approved," broke in Maud smartly. "Though, as I have already said, I don't see what business it is of yours. Did you come here to make yourself disagreeable?"

"My child," croaked Mrs. Mountford, in her bass voice, "this is not the time or place to say such truths."

"Nor the time for Dr. Browne to make remarks about things which do not concern him," snapped the younger lady pertly.

"I beg your pardon," said the doctor ceremoniously, "I have no right to interfere----"

"I should think not," cried the irrepressible Maud, and was again frowned down by Mrs. Mountford, who seemed to be the mistress of all the proprieties.

"I merely came to assure Miss Tedder that her cousin is innocent," finished Dr. Browne, and moved towards the front door.

"So I think," observed the captain, who had taken no part in the war of words, "and anything I can do----"

"You can do nothing," cried Miss Tedder, who seemed anxious to place her cousin in the dock. "If Angus is to be hanged, he will have to be hanged, though it is hard that I should suffer from such a disgrace. But papa's murderer must be punished."

"I tell you Herries had nothing to do with the murder," said Dr. Browne, violently, and his face becoming suffused with blood. "I wonder at your persistence in accusing him."

"I go by what Inspector Trent says, and----"

"See here," remarked the sailor in his lazy drawl, "I don't like to see a fellow go to the wall, if I can help him. Miss Tedder," he bowed to Maud, "has consented to be my wife, but I do not think that either one of us would care to have a relative hanged for a capital offence. Besides, to my mind, the evidence is so clear that I believe Herries to be guiltless. I shall therefore go along with this gentleman, and learn what I can likely to help the poor fellow. Dr. Browne," he bowed to the medical man, and in a somewhat foreign fashion by clicking his heels together, "I understand, also wishes to prove Mr. Herries' innocence."

"I do," said the doctor doggedly, and wondering why the Captain was so anxious to assist, "and I intend to."

"In that case," Kyles extended a small and shapely hand, "we may as well work together."

Browne took the hand. Indeed, he could do nothing else.

"But I should like to know why you are so certain that Herries is innocent?"

"Are _you_ not certain?" inquired Kyles gravely. "Yes, but then I know Herries well, and although appearances are dead against him, I----"

"Hold on," remarked the sailor in a somewhat American fashion, "it is because appearances are dead against him that I assist. Both in the States out West and in Mexico, I was nearly lynched for horse-stealing. The evidence was plumb against me, and but that good-luck came my way at the eleventh hour, I should have been a goner. Can you wonder then that my sympathies are with Herries?"

"I see, you have a fellow feeling."

"You might put it that way."

"The hall," boomed Mrs. Mountford once more, "is scarcely the place to discuss these matters."

"I entirely agree with you," said the doctor, with emphasis, "so I take my leave. If you have any influence with Miss Tedder, ma'am, I advise you to induce her to be less bloodthirsty."

"Me," cried Maud, in a shrill and angry tone, like an infuriated mosquito, "me, bloodthirsty?"

"None the worse for that," said her lover genially. "We don't stock a cotton-wool civilisation in Indiana."

Browne laughed. He rather liked Kyles, and his abrupt way of dealing with Miss Tedder. When they were married, it was easy seen who would rule the house, for all Maud's airs and graces and feminine wiles seemed to make very little impression on the rover. No doubt, so good-looking a fellow had been much run after by the fair sex, and had learned how to govern women.

"Good-day, Captain," said the doctor heartily, "I am glad you can see further than your nose in this case. I presume I'll meet you at the inquest to-morrow?"

"Bruce will take me," said Maud hastily.

"And I," chimed in the mistress of the proprieties, with the toll of Big Ben, "will be there to chaperon Miss Tedder."

This being settled, Browne took his departure, and walked down the avenue wondering why Maud should be so vindictive towards the man to whom she had once been engaged, and that man her very own cousin. He could not understand, for there seemed to be no reason that she should desire Herries' death, which she certainly seemed to do. Browne asked himself whether she dreaded lest Herries should insist upon renewing the engagement, when Maud became possessed of her millions, or perhaps--as he again thought--the engagement had never been broken. In that latter case, since Maud desired to marry Kyles, she might think to cut the Gordian knot of an entanglement by sending her cousin to the scaffold. But even in such a case, it seemed incredible that she should behave so wickedly. Browne had always deemed Maud to be a butterfly; now it seemed that she was a tigress. He resolved to lay the case before Herries, when next he visited the caravan, and see what his opinion was of her behaviour.

The thought of the caravan brought up the image of Kind, who was sheltering the fugitive, and, as is often the case, scarcely had the name passed through Browne's brain, when he ran up against the man himself at the gates of the park. Kind, in his odd dress and chewing a blade of grass, was seated on a stone, with his hands in his pockets and a pondering expression on his shrewd face.

"Mornin'," he said, rising, as soon as the doctor emerged from the park, "beastly weather, ain't it?"

"Did you come here to tell me that?" asked Browne, looking up at the leaden-coloured sky in a humorous manner.

"No. I came to see you about this man, Armour, the policeman, who----"

"Yes," interrupted the doctor, strolling towards Tarhaven beside the Cheap-jack, "I know all about that."

"Who told you?"

"Well, to be precise, I don't know everything. But while I was talking to Miss Tedder, a telegram came from Trent saying that Armour had been found, bound, in a ditch."

"Yes, Trent's there, and is making more mistakes than ever. He is still hunting for Mr. Herries," ended Kind, with a grin.

"He hasn't found him, I hope?" asked Browne hastily.

Kind turned the blade of grass in his mouth.

"Not much chance of that," said he contemptuously. "Mr. Herries' hiding-place is too easy found for Trent to find it. Were I in his place," added Kind, wagging his head until the ostrich feather shook in his bowler, "the first thing I should do, would be to search the caravan."

"Why?" asked Browne puzzled.

"Because it's a likely place. If a man bolted, and came across a caravan, he would ask its owner to hide him. But Trent doesn't believe that Mr. Herries would be fool enough to hide in so suspicious a place. It sounds rum, I know, doctor, but that's human nature."

"You argue something like Captain Bruce Kyles."

"And who may he be?"

"He is a Captain in the Indiana Navy, and that's a Republic in South America. I understand that he has come to England to arrange about buying new war-ships for the Republic, so in this way he was brought into contact with Sir Simon, who speculated in other things beside jam and pickles. Consequently, Captain Kyles, who is a romantic-looking scoundrel, has induced Miss Tedder to fall in love with him, and will undoubtedly become the master of her money."

"And he argued in the same way as I do, doctor?"

"Yes. He declares that the evidence is so plain against Herries that he believes the man to be guiltless."

"Oh." Kind gave a shrewd glance at his companion, and became meditative. "He argues in that way, does he? It does him credit: no fool, I should say. But why," asked Kind, wheeling round, "does he take the trouble to defend Mr. Herries?"

"That's what I have been asking myself," said the doctor, dryly.

"Does he know Mr. Herries?"

"No. He has never set eyes on him."

"Queer," murmured the Cheap-jack with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. "I must have a look at this Captain."

"You will see him at the inquest to-morrow, along with Miss Tedder and Mrs. Mountford, who is the young lady's companion."

Kind nodded absently, being still occupied with the problem of Kyles' unsolicited defence of the accused man.

"Where are you going now, doctor?" he asked, as they neared the town.

"To see Mr. Ritson, the solicitor of Sir Simon. I wish to ask him if he has any knowledge of what took Sir Simon to the inn."

"He won't know," rejoined Kind, shaking his head decisively. "If Sir Simon had intended to let Mr. Ritson know, he would have made the appointment at his office. The 'Marsh Inn,' and his giving no name, and carrying a large sum of money, and the kidnapping of Armour, all hint at blackmailing."

"The kidnapping of Armour," echoed Browne, stopping short, amazed.

"I forgot, you only know that Armour was found in the ditch," said Kind. "A railway porter on the way home this morning found him. He was taken to Desleigh where he lives, and Trent was sent for. But I know Mrs. Armour, who is an old friend of mine, and I saw Armour before the Inspector saw him. Then Trent arrived, and sent that telegram to Miss Tedder."

"And what explanation does Armour give?"

"He had gone his rounds and arrived at Desleigh about one in the morning. He rested on the bench outside the tap-room door until two o'clock, or rather between two and three. Then he says that some men,--he could not guess how many,--suddenly came out of the mist and gagged him and bound him and wrapped his head in a shawl. They carried him to a ditch some distance from the railway station and left him there. The poor chap was nearly stifled when he was found, as all the time his head was tied up in the shawl."

"But why was he kidnapped?"

"Ah, that is what I want to find out," Kind looked at Browne. "You have given me a clue."

"What is the clue?"

"I'll tell you after the inquest," said Kind, turning away: then when he was some distance off, he called back. "See Mr. Ritson, doctor, and come to the caravan after the inquest."

"But you wanted to see me about----"

"I have seen you," called back Kind, "and have said what I wanted to say about Armour."

Browne ran after the man, who still walked on.

"We have come to no conclusion," he panted, for the doctor was plethoric.

"I have," said the Cheap-jack. "You have given me a clue, I tell you, and I'll explain when we are together with Mr. Herries," and so saying, he walked off quickly. Browne, although anxious to question him further, had not the breath to follow him, and moreover, saw that Kind would answer no more questions at the moment. This being the case, he went to seek out Mr. Ritson, wondering greatly why Armour had been kidnapped, and wondering still more what clue Kind had obtained from him. Browne could recall nothing in his conversation likely to afford such a clue.

Mr. Ritson had an office in the High Street of Tarhaven, a most imposing office, next door to a bank. There was nothing of the pettifogging lawyer about Mr. Ritson's office, as it was all mahogany and brass plates and plate-glass windows. Ritson was well-known as the legal adviser of half the county, and was supposed to be extremely wealthy. He was a tall, thin, severe old gentleman, with silvery white hair, and a parchment-hued face, and a dry manner. As a rule, he was not given to speaking much, but usually waited to hear what his clients had to say, that they might commit themselves. But when Dr. Browne, who knew him very well, was admitted into the lofty, airy apartment, which was Mr. Ritson's sanctum, he was surprised by the warmth and volubility with which the usually silent lawyer greeted him.

"I am very glad to see you, doctor," said he, advancing with outstretched hands. "Had you not come, I should have sent for you."

"Humph!" said Browne, the cynic, "I seem to have become a person of importance. Miss Tedder greeted me in the same way."

"You have seen Miss Tedder?"

"Yes. I should have thought that you would have seen her also."

"About what?" asked Ritson quickly, and returning to his desk.

"About her father's death, and the will and----"

"The will," interrupted Ritson, vehemently, "that is exactly what I fear to see her about."

"You fear?"

"Yes, doctor," he caught Browne's button-hole, "some time ago, when we were talking of Sir Simon's wealth, you mentioned that you knew his nephew."

"Yes. Poor Herries, who is accused of the murder."

"Ah!" Ritson wiped his high bald forehead, although he was usually a cold-blooded man, "that's the difficulty. I must speak."

"Speak away," said Browne, more and more surprised.

"In confidence."

"Of course, in confidence," assented the other.

Ritson sat down suddenly, and began to fiddle with his papers, and Browne, straddling his legs with his hands behind him, watched. It was strange that so quiet a lawyer should be so moved. Certainly the death of Sir Simon was very terrible, and naturally Ritson, who had known him for years, was startled by the tragedy. But it seemed to the doctor that there was something more behind the mere fact of the murder,--something having to do with the dead man's will.

"Well?" he said impatiently, while Ritson kept shifting pens and sealing-wax, and paperweights, as though he were playing chess.

"Yes, yes," Ritson threw himself back, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. "I never speak of my clients' affairs to anyone."

"No," nodded Browne, "everyone is aware that you are trustworthy."

"Then you will be surprised that I am about to betray--no, that is not the word,--that I am about to forestall the reading of the will made last week by the late Sir Simon Tedder."

"Is it necessary?"

"To ease my mind, it is."

"What do you mean?"

"Why should Sir Simon make such a will?" said Ritson, almost to himself. "I thought that it was strange at the time, but now, when this nephew has murdered him, and----"

"Herries did not," cried Browne growing red. "Yes, he did," said Ritson determinedly, "and to get the money."

"The money?" Browne leaned forward his hands on the desk, and stared into the agitated face of the solicitor.

"The money. Sir Simon has disinherited his daughter in favour of Angus Herries, who now has fifty thousand a year."