Chapter 27

A DOUBTFUL WITNESS.

His sister's attitude puzzled Mr. Cass less than might have been expected.

On leaving her he went straight to the Turnpike House to interview the gypsy.

The first thing was to get the truth out of Job; then he would try to arrive at some settlement of the question which would be satisfactory to the world, to justice, and to his conscience.

The door of the house was closed when he rode up. He dismounted, gave his horse to his groom, and told the man to take him home.

"I have to see this gypsy," he explained. "I find he is here without Mr. Heron's permission. I shall probably remain some time, and I don't want Sultan to get cold. Go home."

"Yes, sir," said the man, and then ventured to add a few words on his own account. "Shan't I wait, sir? Joe Lovel is a rough customer."

"I know," Mr. Cass said, calmly. "I am prepared for that. I shall return in an hour, more or less. If Mr. Heron should come to Hollyoaks, ask him to wait for me."

The man rode off, leading his master's horse. Mr. Cass waited until they were out of sight, then knocked vigorously at the door. There was no response.

A third knock, or, rather, a perfect battery of knocks, proved that Job was at home. From within came the growl of a waking beast--a beast angry at being disturbed; and shortly afterwards the door was wrenched open by no very gentle hand. The gypsy, with his red-rimmed eyes blinking from under a thatch of disordered hair, stood on the threshold. Mr. Cass took in his condition at a glance.

"Are you not ashamed to be drunk at this time of day?" he asked. "What do you mean by it?"

"It is none of your business," growled Job, who had slept off the worst effects of his debauch.

"It is my business. I am Mr. Cass."

"I know you are," retorted the man, still blocking the doorway. "But that doesn't give you the right to come knocking at my door. 'Tisn't your house."

"It is Mr. Heron's house." Mr. Cass said, sharply; "and I have sufficient influence with Mr. Heron to have you kicked out into the cold if you do not behave yourself."

"I shouldn't do that if I were you," said the ruffian, with a sinister smile. "Others may find themselves out in the cold too. Aye, my gorgeous Gentile--bigger folk nor the poor Romany."

This was plainly a threat levelled at Mrs. Marshall, as her brother clearly saw. However, it was not his intention to quarrel with the man until he had got the truth out of him. "You speak in riddles," he said, "but perhaps you will stand aside and let me enter."

"What for?" asked Job, suspiciously.

"You shall hear my business when I am within."

The gypsy began to cough, and the paroxysm was so violent that he had to hold on to the door-post.

"Well, sir," said Job, at length, somewhat sobered by a fit of coughing; "come in. I ain't the one to keep a Romany Rye out of my tent."

Mr. Cass entered, and followed the man into the sitting-room in which Jenner had been murdered by--so far as Mr. Cass knew--its present occupant. As he entered he became conscious of a strong smell of petroleum, and, making a sudden pause, "Have you upset your lamp?" he asked.

"No, I ain't upset anything," said Job, sulkily. "The smell, is it? Oh, that's my business. I've got an idea that ain't nothing to do with you. Sit down and tell me what's the row. I know, though. It's your young lady. Well, I haven't done her no harm; she's a sister to me, because she patters the black lingo. Has she been setting your back up, Rye?"

"My visit has nothing to do with Miss Cass," said her father, sharply. "Leave her name out of the question. I know all about her visit to you and how you behaved. I am not blaming you. But my business here has to do with a very serious matter. Perhaps you can guess my errand when I tell you that I come from Mrs. Marshall."

The mere mention of that name drove the remaining fumes of drink from the gypsy's head, and he cast a sharp glance at his visitor. Mr. Cass sustained this scrutiny with the greatest calmness, and, finding the smell of the petroleum quite unbearable, threw open the window and placed his chair close beside it so that he could breathe freely. Then he turned round and looked again at the man. Job, open-mouthed at these liberties taken with his domestic arrangements, stared insolently at Mr. Cass; but at length he found his tongue. "You'll give me my death," he grumbled. "I want that window shut."

"You shall not have it shut, then," said Mr. Cass, coolly. "The air here is horrible with the smell of that petroleum, whatever you are doing with it. Sit down over there, and you will be out of the draught. I have something serious to say to you."

"So you said before," growled Job, surrendering the point of the window and pitching himself on to a broken-backed chair. "What's she up to now?"

"If you are speaking of Mrs. Marshall, be more respectful," Mr. Cass said, angrily. "However you may have intimidated her, you ruffian, you cannot deal with me in the same way. I'll make an example of you!"

"Ha! ha! You touch me at your peril!" retorted Job, who was getting exasperated.

"At your peril, you mean! Now, then, my man, no equivocation, but a plain confession. Out with it!"

"Confession? What have I to confess, my Gentile cove?"

"Be respectful, I tell you, or I'll lay my whip across your shoulders! 'What have you to confess about,' you ask? If the walls of this shambles could speak they might tell you, not but what you know well enough what I mean."

"Ah!" cried the man, his eyes glittering. "She's blown the gaff."

"Precisely. And it should have been blown long ago. You blackmailing beast! Now, then, I'm here to learn the truth."

"Oh, she's not told it to you, then?"

"Yes, she has. But I want it confirmed by you."

"What am I to confirm?" asked the gypsy, with a savage oath.

"The story of how you murdered Jenner in this room!"

He started from his seat with a howl, and flung himself towards Mr. Cass. But the merchant was ready for this, and pushing back his chair sprang to his feet. Job found himself recoiling before the barrel of a revolver. "You get back to your seat, or I'll blow your brains out!" said Mr. Cass, and said it with such ferocity that the ruffian crawled back like a whipped dog. But, then, Mr. Cass had the blood of many a slave-owning Spaniard in his veins, and was much more savage than an ordinary Anglo-Saxon. "Do you think I would trust myself here without protection, you wretch?" he asked, resuming his seat. "No; you move, and I shoot. I am less English than Spanish, let me tell you; and perhaps I do not consider my actions so carefully as the people of this country."

"You re a fierce one, you are, anyway," grumbled the man, climbing up to his seat with an uneasy eye on the weapon which still covered him. "My sister is just like you, plucky as a bantam, she is."

"Which sister do you mean, Mrs. Marshall or Miss Cass? You have two, you know, adopted sisters?"

"Oh, she told you that, did she?" said Job, rubbing his head, and evidently perplexed at the extent of his visitor's knowledge. "Well, it seems you know a lot, you do!"

"Enough to hang you," was the curt reply.

"That's a lie!" shouted Job. "I didn't lay a finger on him."

"Then how did you become possessed of the red pocket-book?"

The gypsy started, and gave Mr. Cass another of his keen glances. He did not reply immediately, but seemed to be reflecting. At length, "How do I know you are not laying a trap for me? The business I had with the high-born Gentile lady concerns her only. She has not told me to speak of hidden things to you."

"If you don't tell me--and tell me quickly too--you will have to reply to a magistrate."

"What magistrate, rye?"

"The one before whom I will bring you," was a the quiet answer. "Understand that I have sufficient evidence in my possession to have you arrested on suspicion of having murdered the man Jenner. For reasons which you will doubtless appreciate, I am willing to deal gently with you. But," he raised a threatening finger, "only on condition that you make a clean breast of all to me--and at once."

"Anything you do to me, rye, will harm your sister. I hold something which can break her heart."

"The bill of exchange you heard Marshall talking about to Jenner?"

Job fell back in amazement. "You do know all! Yes; I hold the bill--the forged bill--which can put in prison----"

"No one. That is quite enough; you need tell no more lies. You got possession of the pocket-book----"

"Yes; and I took the bill out before I gave it to the lady."

"I see," said Mr. Cass tranquilly, although he marvelled at the daring of the man. "And you made use of your assertion that you had possession of the bill to blackmail Mrs. Marshall?"

"I only got a little money out of her, my Gentile. She has been kind to me, and she has given me this house to die in."

"Then the sooner you die the better. You are no good to anyone, so far as I can see. You scoundrel!--to blackmail a lady! She believed you--I do not.

"You don't believe I have the bill?" asked Job, incredulously.

"No; for if you had you would shew it to me."

"I will not. Why should I?"

"You cannot shew it to me! I thought as much."

"Hey! You think so, rye! Then if I haven't the bill, who has?"

"Mrs. Marshall; for I gave it to her to-day."

"It is--a lie! a lie!" Job was quite pale now; he saw that his last card was played, and that he had now very little hold--but still some--over Mrs. Marshall.

"It the truth. The bill was taken out of that pocket-book by Jenner in this room, and placed in hiding. I need not explain where. It is sufficient for you to know that the bill came into my possession, and that I gave it to my sister. Your teeth are drawn, tiger!"

The gypsy saw--that he was beaten, and began to whine. Although he already bore the impress of death, he did not want to be turned out to die in the open fields. "What do you want to know, honourable rye?" he asked, in fawning tones, for he wanted to propitiate the man who could make a tramp of him. "I will tell you all--all. You know so much that--"

"Now, then," interrupted Mr. Cass, impatiently, "where did you get the red pocket-book? Did you snatch it through this window at which I am sitting and kill Jenner to get it?"

"No, rye, I swear I did not. I was not near this house; I got the pocket-book from Jenner."

"You liar! The bill was in the book when Jenner came to this house, and if you had stolen it, the bill would have remained there. Jenner did not leave the house again; he died here."

Job scratched his head; he was puzzled. "Well, I thought it was Jenner, rye; if it wasn't him, then who was it?"

"Marshall--you attacked Marshall on that night. Oh, I know! You tore his cuff and stole his sleeve-links; and one was found under this very window. You dropped it there, you murderer!"

"I ain't a murderer, I tell you," growled the man, getting angry. "I did try to get some tin out of that Marshall cove; but that was afore I met Mrs. Marshall. I was sleeping behind a hedge, and I heard Marshall and Jenner jawing; I listened, and heard all. When they parted I thought I'd drop on Marshall, rye, and get some money. I was poor and he was rich. He put out his arms to fight, and I did grab his wrist; but I didn't steal his links, I swear! Then I heard someone coming, and I ran away, while he went home. I came back to the Waggoner's Pond and then followed the lady. I knew she was hiding not far from me in the hedge."

"How could you tell that, in the mist and darkness?"

"I've eyes like a cat, and can see through stones," said Job, in a sulky tone. "Black don't make no difference to me. I knew her, I tell you rye and thought she go after Jenner and get that bill for Marshall's sake."

"Why for Marshall's sake?" asked Mr. Cass, coldly.

"'Cause I heard she was going to be his rani--marry him, as you Gentiles call it. I went after her, and caught her up. I offered to do the job for money. She said she'd give me lots if I got her the pocket-book. I said I'd give it her next day. Then I came to this house where we are now and waited in the hedge on the other side of the road. I saw the winder was open, but nothing more. There was a cry and a yell, and a cove comes dashing down the road, I after him and caught him up, though he run like the wind. I fell on him, and I said: 'Give us the red pocket-book!' He fought, but said nothing. I thought he was Jenner."

"Oh, but you could see in the dark!" remarked Mr. Cass, sarcastically.

"What did that matter?" Job said, surlily. "I didn't know Jenner when I saw him; he was a stranger to me."

"True enough," said Mr. Cass. "Go on."

"Well, he fought and twisted, and I grabbed on to his throat then he half gave in, and pushed the pocket-book further into his pocket. I held him down and got it out. I didn't know he'd been knifing Jenner. I took the pocket-book to an old barn where I was going to sleep for the night, and looked through it; I couldn't find no bill, and thought I'd had all my trouble for nothing. So thinking she'd give me no money, I made up my mind as I'd tell her I'd got the bill and would keep it till she paid up; she believed the yarn, and I saw she was afraid. She asked me to shew her the bill; but I said I wouldn't, as she might put it in the burning fire. In one way or another I made her think I could do her husband harm with the bill, so she paid up well. Oh, yes," said the scoundrel, generously, "I will say she was a real gentle lady."

"And all the time you hadn't the bill, you beast!"

Job slapped his thigh. "That's the joke of it," he said, and began to cough again. Mr. Cass watched him with an expression of contempt.

The secret of the murder seemed as far off as ever Like an elusive phantom it flitted just within reach, but when the seer hoped to grasp it, it was still the same distance ahead. Twice or thrice had Mr. Cass been on the verge of solving the mystery, and now again it was impenetrable as always before. He saw no reason to doubt this man's story; yet he was doubtful. He made one more attempt to get at the truth. "Who was this man you struggled with?" he asked.

"I don't know--I could not see much of him because we were fighting hard, my rye. But I've often thought he was the same cove as I heard the steps of when I tusselled with Marshall."

"How could you tell that?"

"I can't tell, rye," was the candid response, "but I feel it was the same. When I heard of the murder next morning, I knew he'd killed Jenner to get that pocket-book; but the lady she said she didn't know. I told her it was Jenner, and she thought I'd tackled him going to the house; but it was when the man had left the house, and then Jenner was inside--dead."

Mr. Cass had by this time learnt as much as he was capable of taking in; and the mystery of the murder was deeper than ever. He resolved that he would go away and think the matter over quietly. "I will go now," he said.

"And give me up to the peelers?" asked Job, with a scowl.

"No, I am doubtful now if you are guilty. I cannot say; but I shall not tell the police just now; I will see you again. One thing, don't go near Mrs. Marshall." And he left, his brain in a perfect whirl.

"Won't I just!" growled Job. "I'll get some more money out of her and cut the country. No, I won't." Here he sniffed the petroleum. "I'll try that game first. The Gentiles chuck me; the Romany won't have me! There ain't nothing but that," he sniffed again, "for poor Job!" And he swore.