Chapter 13

JOB, THE SAPENGRO.

In another week Ruth took leave of the delights of Brighton, much to the regret of Mrs. Presser. A letter from Hollyoaks had advised her that Mrs. Chisel and her three children were down on a visit, and that Jennie Brawn, in the capacity of governess, was with them. Mr. Cass, it appeared, had gone to Bordeaux on business, so Ruth was wanted to represent him at the paternal mansion. And anxious to start hunting for evidence likely to reveal the truth about the Jenner case, she willingly returned.

Mrs. Chisel was a tall and somewhat stout woman of the Junoesque type, with a high opinion of herself, her children, her position, her money, and, indeed, of everything which belonged to her, with the one exception of her husband. When Mrs. Marshall heard that Amy Chisel was at Hollyoaks she sent word that she would not enter her brother's house until it was purged of the presence of his elder daughter. In reply to this amiable message Mrs. Chisel hoped her aunt Inez would not spoil her visit by coming over. Upon which Mrs. Marshall made a point of calling every other day and remarking openly and unfavourably upon her niece's management of her children.

These comments were really quite undeserved; for the three children whom Mrs. Chisel--on sufficiently obvious authority--called "her jewels" were nice little people, pretty and well-behaved. The two girls, aged respectively seven and ten, were demure and even a trifle prim. They were always smartly dressed and never made a mess of their clothes. And, moreover, they stood in great awe of their mother, who, as she frequently told them, was a woman in a thousand. It was as well, perhaps, for the peace of the world that such was the case.

Needless to say, Ruth did not present Neil's gift to her little nephew. Mrs. Garvey must see it; and meanwhile she kept it stowed away; for had her sister known that it was intended for George, she would have had it out of her at all costs.

It was on the morning after her arrival that Ruth and Amy had their first little encounter; the subject of it being Mr. Geoffrey Heron.

"What a fool you have made of yourself falling in love with that violin creature!" cried Mrs. Chisel in her high rasping voice. "He is no fit husband for you!"

"He would, after all, make a more sensible husband than Julian," retorted Ruth, who shared her sister's opinion of the unhappy Chisel. "And, thank you, Amy, I have a right to choose a husband for myself.

"You are not fit to do so," remarked Mrs. Chisel, with her customary tact. "If you were a sensible girl you would marry Geoffrey Heron, and take a good position in the county."

"I would not marry Mr. Heron if there were not another man in the world" cried the girl, mendaciously. "Why are you so disagreeable, Amy?"

"Disagreeable?" echoed the matron. "I am the most agreeable woman in existence when I am properly treated. No one but my own family thinks me disagreeable."

"Ah! they know you so well," said Ruth.

"That's just it; you none of you know me. If I were like Aunt Inez, now, you might talk; she is disagreeable, if you like."

"Well, Amy," said Ruth, who had more important things to discuss, "do not let us quarrel."

"Do I ever quarrel? I ask you that!"

"No; you never do," replied the girl, knowing well what answer was expected. "But do leave my marriage prospects alone, my dear!"

"I'm the last person in the world to interfere," cried Mrs. Chisel. "I think a girl should settle those things for herself. But I must say I should be happy if I saw you married to Geoffrey Heron."

"In that case you'll live for many a long day yet." And Ruth made a hurried exit.

This was one of many tiffs they had. In spite of Ruth's diplomacy, Amy would make trouble; so, in despair, Miss Cass asked Aunt Inez to come as often as possible--and the amiable lady, knowing Amy did not want her, took good care to come. So Ruth was left in peace; for when the battles were raging, she generally took refuge with Jennie.

One of the first things she did on meeting Miss Brawn was to tell her all about Neil's troubles; that she had promised Geoffrey to say nothing about them did not matter to her. For she was a woman, and found it difficult enough to keep a secret; besides which, she knew that Jennie could be trusted, being a girl who could hold her tongue when necessary. And Ruth wanted someone with whom she could discuss the case, and any new facts which came to light. So there and then she told Jennie everything.

"Isn't it terrible, dear?" she said when Miss Brawn was in possession of the whole sad story. "What do you think of it?"

"I think Mrs. Jenner would be the last person in the world to kill her husband, from what you say of her. But, oh, the poor Master! How he must suffer! Ruth, was it because of this you gave him up?" And she looked volumes of reproach.

"No, my dear, it was not. If I had really loved him this would only have made me cling closer; but I merely admired him--as you said. And I find that I like Geoffrey Heron better."

"But you told your sister----"

"I know what I told her!" snapped Ruth. "I am not going to give her the satisfaction of thinking she has biassed my judgment in any way. You must keep my secret, Jennie, until I have told my father. When he has consented, which I know he will do very willingly, Geoffrey and I can arrange our future. But I do not want our engagement to be known until this mystery has been cleared up.

"It may never be cleared up."

"Oh yes, it will. I have taken the matter in hand," said the girl, grandly. "If the truth is to be found out, I shall be the one to find it. And I am going to the Turnpike House to make a search."

"What do you expect to find?"

"I don't know," she said, vaguely. "I may discover something--I don't exactly know what; but, at all events," she broke off, "it will do no harm to make a search on the very scene of the tragedy. As to Neil--now that he won't marry me--you can make love to him, Jennie dear!"

Miss Brawn coloured. "I shall do nothing of the sort," she declared. "I love him, it is true; but I am not going to hunt after him, or after any man, for that matter."

"My dear," Ruth said, and there was a world of pity in her voice, "you can't live with Amy all your life--she will wear you out!"

Jennie laughed in her quiet way. "I am not so easily worn out," she said; "and, indeed, I am very comfortable with Mrs. Chisel; she is most kind. I daresay some people would think her trying, but, after all, her heart is in the right place."

"Ah, that is always said about people who have nothing else to recommend them," Ruth said, with a grimace. "Well, I am going out now to make my grand discovery at the Turnpike House--and you, Jennie?"

"Oh, I have my teaching. Mildred and Ethel must have their lessons."

"It is not as nice as writing poetry."

"No, of course not. But we can't have all we want in this world."

"You shall have Neil, if I can get him for you."

"Don't--don't! I should die of shame it you said a word to him. Now, promise me, Ruth, that you will not interfere."

"Not without telling you. Oh, you stupid dear, there are ways of managing a man without speaking. But have no fear," she added, "Neil is far enough away just now, and won't be well, poor fellow, for many a long day. You are safe from my match-making for a time, Jennie."

"I'm glad of that. You are so impetuous, you know."

Miss Cass laughed, and, with a nod, took her departure. Mrs. Chisel saw her from the drawing-room window and frowned. "There she goes all alone, to walk by herself," she said, tautologically. "It is positively indecent to see a young girl without a chaperon. But, then, Ruth is so headstrong." And Mrs. Chisel sighed to think how foolish the girl was not to take her for a model.

But Ruth's beauty was well protected by Ruth's temper; and she would have travelled through Thibet as fearlessly as she now walked through the lonely country towards the old Turnpike House.

With her usual perversity Miss Cass did not keep to the high road as an ordinary young lady should and would have done; she made a bee-line for her destination right across country, She passed through fields, and clambered over hedges; she slipped along by paths, until in a remarkably short space of time she saw the dilapidated house nested in its green jungle. It looked haggard and evil even in the cheerful light of the morning sun.

"Well, here I am!" she said, tempting Fate with her usual bold speech. "What is going to happen next?"

As if in answer to her call, a face suddenly appeared at the window--the very window, as she believed through which the assassin had struck at his unhappy victim. It was a swarthy, cunning face with coal-black eyes, having over them the kind of film which veils the eyes of birds. The tangled black hair crowned a sallow, lean, Oriental countenance; and the un-English look of the man--for it was a man--was accentuated by a red scarf twisted round a sinewy throat. It was not his foreign appearance that startled Ruth, but the look of death on the face. He was far gone in consumption. Seeing a pretty girl he leered, and cast a sly glance of admiration at her.

"Duvel! My beauty," he croaked, hoarsely. "What's to do here?"

"Nothing that can possibly matter to you," retorted Miss Cass, who was not to be daunted by a gypsy. "Are you living here?"

"I live here at times," said the man, evidently surprised at the boldness of her address, "but mostly I'm on the road and in the tent of the Romany. I'm no Gorgio to care for a roof-tree; but it's cruel work in this England."

"I see the climate is killing you," replied Ruth, for she was sorry to see so fine a man suffering from an incurable disease. "You should get a doctor to see you."

"Oh, my gorgeous angel, what things you say!" whined the man. "Where am I to get the tizzy to pay? Give me a shilling, Miss."

The girl took a half-crown from her pocket and gave it to him. He disappeared from the window and came outside. Man and girl surveyed each other in silence.

"What is your name?" Ruth asked coolly.

"Job," he said. "I belong to the Lovels, I do. And I'm a Sapengro, I am."

"What's that?"

Job slipped his hand into his breast and brought out a small viper with gleaming eyes, and a yellow body which glittered like gold. "This is a sap," he said, and held the reptile towards Ruth.

"Oh, I see. You are the master of the snake."

"Duvel!" The gypsy stared at her in astonishment, and the film seemed to peel off his eyes. "Do you know the black language?"

"I know that 'engro' means a 'master,'" the girl said, carelessly, "and you tell me that 'sap' is 'snake' so I put the two together. Master of the Snake, Job Lovel--that's what you are."

"Hang me if I ever heard a Gentile lady so bold!" cried the man, with another stare, slipping the hissing viper back into his breast. "But I say, lady, have you more coin--a mere sovereign now?"

"I have not; and if I had, you would not get it."

"But if I were to make you!" Job took a step forward.

"I would run this through you!" And the gypsy found a shining steel weapon at his breast. He started back with an oath. Ruth laughed; and there was a merciless ring in her mirth which did more to terrify the man than the sight of the weapon itself. "You are a brave Sapengro, brother, to try and terrify a woman!" she said, in the Romany tongue.

"Duvel!" cried Job again, and his expression changed to one of friendliness and admiration. "Why didn't you say you were a Romany?"

"Because I am a Gentile, brother," Ruth said, still in the calo jib. "I took a fancy to learn your tongue, and I learnt it from a gypsy. I knew Lurien, Dukkeripen, Hakkeripen, and all the rest. Well, can I put up my dagger?"

"You are a sacred sister to me," said Job, with deep respect; and she saw from his manner that she had nothing further to fear. Indeed, he offered her the half-a-crown which she had already given him. "Take it, sister," he said. "You are a true gypsy to me, and I take nothing from you."

She laughed, and slipped her dagger into its sheath. "Keep it, Job," she said, reverting to the English tongue. "I see you are poor and ill."

"I am dying," replied the man in a sombre tone, still looking at her. "Ah, soon I shall be in the earth with my sap--my only friend."

"You had better go to Hollyoaks and get some food.

"Hollyoaks?" he repeated, fixing his shining eyes on this--to him--very extraordinary Gentile lady. "Do you live there? Is your name Cass?"

"Yes; I am the daughter of Mr. Cass, of Hollyoaks."

"Duvel! and you come here!" he said, under his breath, and casting a glance at the cottage behind him.

"Why shouldn't I come here?" she asked, sharply. She fancied she saw an uneasy look on his face.

"Oh, nothing, my sister--nothing. You have an aunt--she is not Romany?"

"Mrs. Marshall? No. She knows nothing of the calo jib. Why do you ask?"

Job burst out laughing, and nodded. "I go to her house for food sometimes. She won't see me die for want of a crust. But you are her niece," there was a puzzled look in his eyes. "Can I help you?"

"No. I only came to look at the place. There was a murder committed here."

"Yes; but that was before I came into this part of the country. Well, sister, what of that?"

"Nothing. You can go; I want to look round here for a time.

"I go, sister," he said, significantly. He held out the viper. "Will you take the sap, my gorgeous Gentile lady?"

"Ugh! No." She recoiled with a shriek from the wriggling reptile. "Take the nasty thing away!"

He stared and thrust it again into his bosom.

"Ho!" he said. "You are a queer Gentile, you--like a man for boldness; yet you fear a sap! Oh, rare." And he slapped his knee with a chuckle.

"Go away," repeated Ruth. "Go to Hollyoaks and get some food."

"Duvel!" he cried, quickly. "I'm for the road. My hunger is great. Farewell, sister, I shall see you again," and he swung off with a hacking cough tearing him, and smiling his careless smile.

His tall form passed into the sunlight and vanished round a curve of the road. Ruth watched him till he was out of sight, then took her cane and began poking about the rubbish under the window where, as Geoffrey surmised, the murderer had stood watching his intended victim. On bending down to examine the ground more carefully, she saw something glittering dimly. Almost without thinking she picked it up, and found to her surprise and joy that it was an oval piece of gold with a champagne bottle enamelled thereon with exquisite art. On the other side was a catch which proved that the oval had formed part of a cuff-link. Holding it in her small pink palm, Ruth looked now on this treasure with the greatest delight.

"This was dropped by the murderer," she said to herself. "It was torn from his shirt cuff as he struck the blow, or there might have been a quick struggle. Fancying my finding it after all these years! The rain from the eaves has laid it bare. Ah! then the assassin was a gentleman. Well, I ought to be satisfied with my day's work, but I shall come again. What good fortune to have found this the very first time."

She was so excited that she almost danced along the road as she took her way home. But after a while she sobered down somewhat and glanced suspiciously around for there had come upon her an undefinable feeling of being watched.