Poison Island
Page 11
CHAPTER XI.
THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE.
Mrs. Stimcoe, having begged Captain Branscome to take watch for awhile over the invalid, and having helped me to pack a few clothes ina handbag, herself accompanied me to the coach-office, where we foundthe Royal Mail on the point of starting. The outside passengers,four in number, had already taken their seats--two on the box besidethe coachman, and two on the seat immediately behind; and by thelight of the lamp overhanging the entry I perceived that their headswere together in close conversation, in which the coachman himselffrom time to time took a share, slewing round to listen or interjecta word and anon breaking off to direct the stowage of a parcel orcall an order to the stable-boys. Mrs. Stimcoe had stepped into theoffice to book my place, and while I waited for her, watching thepreparations for departure, my curiosity led me forward to take alook at the horses. There, under the lamp, the coachman caught sightof me.
"Whe-ew!" I heard him whistle. "Here's the boy himself! Going alongwi' us, sonny?" he asked, looking down on me and speaking down in avoice which seemed to me unnaturally gentle--for I remembered him asa gruff fellow and irascible. The outside passengers at once brokeoff their talk to lean over and take stock of me; and this againstruck me as queer.
"Jim!" called the coachman (Jim was the guard). "Jim!"
"Ay, ay!" answered Jim, from the back of the roof, where he wasarranging the mail-bags.
"Here's an outside extry." He lowered his voice, so that I caughtonly these words: "The youngster . . . Minden Cottage . . .I reckoned they'd be sending--"
"Hey?"
Jim the guard bent over for a look at me, and scrambled down by thesteps of his dickey, just as Mrs. Stimcoe emerged from the office.She was pale and agitated, and stood for a moment gazing about herdistractedly, when Jim blundered against her, whereat she put out ahand and spoke to him. I saw Jim fall back a step and touch his hat.He was listening, with a very serious face. I could not hear whatshe said.
"Cert'nly, ma'm'," he answered. "Cert'nly, under the circumstances,you may depend on me."
He mounted the coach again, and, climbing forward whispered in theback of the coachman's ear. The passengers bent their heads tolisten. They nodded; the coachman nodded too, and stretched down ahand.
"Can you climb, sonny, or shall we fetch the steps for you?There, I reckoned you was more of a man than to need 'em!"
Mrs. Stimcoe detained me for a moment to fold me in a masculine hug.But her bosom might have been encased in an iron corselet for all thetenderness it conveyed. "God bless you, Harry Brooks, and try to bea man!" Her embrace relaxed, and with a dry-sounding sob she let mego as I caught the coachman's hand and was swung up to my seat; andwith that we were off and up the cobble-paved street at a rattle.
I do not know the names of my fellow-passengers. Now and then onewould bend forward and whisper to his neighbour, who answered with agrunt or a motion of his head; but for the most part, and for mileafter mile, we all sat silent, listening only to the horses' gallop,the chime of the swingle-bars, the hum of the night wind in our ears.The motion and the strong breeze together lulled me little by littleinto a doze. My neighbour on the right wore around his shoulders awoollen shawl, against which after a while I found my cheek resting,and begged his pardon. He entreated me not to mention it, but tomake myself comfortable; and thereupon I must have fallen fastasleep. I awoke as the coach came to a standstill. Were we pullingup to change teams? No; we were on the dark high-road, betweenhedges. Straight ahead of us blazed two carriage-lamps; and a man'svoice was hailing. I recognized the voice at once. It belonged to aMr. Jack Rogers, a rory-tory young squire and justice of the peace ofour neighbourhood, and the lamps must be those of his famous lighttilbury.
"Hallo!" he was shouting. "Royal Mail, ahoy!"
"Royal Mail it is!" shouted back the coachman and Jim the guardtogether.
"Got the boy Brooks aboard?"
"Ay, ay Mr. Rogers! D'ye want him?"
"No; you'll take him along quicker. My mare's fagged, and I drovealong in case the letter missed fire." He came forward at a foot'space, and pulled up under the light of our lamps. "Hallo! is thatyou, Harry Brooks?" He peered up at me out of the night.
"Yes, sir," I answered, my teeth chattering between apprehension andthe chill of the night. I longed desperately to ask what hadhappened at home, but the words would not come.
"Right you are, my lad; and the first thing when you get home, tellMiss Plinlimmon from me to fill you up with vittles and a glass ofhot brandy-and-water. Give her that message, with Jack Rogers'scompliments, and tell her that I'm on the road making inquiries, andmay get so far as Truro. By the way"--he turned to Jim the guard--"you haven't met anything that looked suspicious, eh?"
"Nothing on the road at all," answered Jim.
"Well, so-long! Mustn't delay his Majesty's mails or waste time of myown. Good night, Harry Brooks, and remember to give my message!Good night, gentlemen all!"
He flicked at his mare. Our coachman gathered up his reins, and awaywe went once more at a gallop towards the dawn. The dawn lay coldabout Minden Cottage as we came in sight of it; and at first, notingthat all the blinds were drawn, I thought the household must beasleep. Then I remembered, and shivered as I rose from my seat,cramped and stiff from the long journey, and so numb that Jim theguard had to lift me down to the porch. Miss Plinlimmon, red-eyedand tremulous, opened the door to me, embraced me, and led me to thelittle parlour.
"Is--is my father dead?" I asked, staring vacantly around the room,and upon the table where she had set out a breakfast. She bent overthe urn for a moment, and then, coming to me, took my hand and drewme to the sofa.
"You must be brave, Harry."
"But what has happened? And how did it happen? Was--was it sudden?Please tell me, Plinny!"
She stroked my hand and shivered slightly, turning her face awaytowards the window.
"We found him in the summer-house, dear. He was lying face downward,across the step of the doorway, and at first we supposed he hadfallen forward in a fit. Ann made the discovery, and came running tome in the kitchen, when she had only time to cry out the news beforeshe was overtaken with hysterics. I left her to them," went on MissPlinlimmon, simply, "and ran out to the summer-house, when by-and-by,having pulled herself together, she followed me. By this time it hadfallen dusk--nay, it was almost dark, which accounts for one notseeing at once what dreadful thing had happened. Your poor father,Harry--as you know--used often to sit in the summer-house until quitea late hour, but he had never before dallied quite so late, and inthe end I had sent Ann out to remind him that supper was waiting.Well, as you may suppose, he was heavy to lift; and we two womenbeing alone in the house, I told Ann to run up to the vicarage or toMiss Belcher's, and get word sent for a doctor, and also to bring acouple of men, if possible, to carry him into the house. I hadscarcely bidden her to do this when she cried out, screaming, thather hand was damp, and with blood. 'You silly woman!' said I, thoughtrembling myself from head to foot. But when we fetched a candle, wesaw blood running down the step, and your father--my poor Harry!--lying in a pool of it--a veritable pool of it. Ah, Harry, Harry!"exclaimed Miss Plinlimmon, relapsing into that literary manner whichwas second nature with her, "such a moment occurring in the pages offiction, may stimulate a sympathetic thrill not entirely disagreeableto the reader, but in real life I wouldn't go through it again if youoffered me a fortune."
"Plinny," I cried--"Plinny, what is this you are telling me aboutblood?"
"Your poor father, Harry--But be sure their sins will find them out!Mr. Rogers is setting the runners on track--he is most kind.Already he has had two hundred handbills printed. We are offering ahundred pounds reward--more if necessary--and the whole country isup--"
"Plinny dear"--I tried to steady my voice as I stood and faced her--"are you trying to tell me that--that my father has been murdered?"
She bowed her head and cast her apron over it, sobbing.
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"Excuse me, Harry--but in such moments!--And they have found thecashbox. It had been battered open, presumably by a stone, and flunginto the brook a hundred yards below Miss Belcher's lodge-gate."
"The cashbox?" My brain whirled.
"The key was in your father's pocket. He had fetched the box fromhis room, it appears, about two hours before, and carried it out tothe summer-house. I cannot tell you with what purpose he carried itout there, but it was quite contrary to his routine."
She poured out a cup of tea, and passed it to me with shaking hands.She pressed me to eat, and all the time she kept talking, sometimeslucidly, sometimes quite incoherently; and I listened in a kind ofdream. My father had been well-nigh a stranger to me, and I divinedthat I should never sorrow for his loss as those sorrow who havegenuinely loved. But his death, and the manner of it, shocked medreadfully, and from the shock my brain kept harking away to CaptainCoffin and his pursuer. Could they have reached Minden Cottage?And, if so, had their visit any connection with this crime?Captain Danny had started for Minden Cottage. . . . Had he arrived?And, if so--
I heard Miss Plinlimmon asking: "Would you care to see him--that is,dear, if you feel strong enough? His expression is wonderfullytranquil."
She led me upstairs and opened the door for me. A sheet covered myfather from feet to chin, and above it his head lay back on thepillow, his features, clear-cut and aquiline, keeping that massiverepose which, though it might seem to be deeper now in the shade ofthe darkened room, had always cowed me while he lived. It seemed tome that my father's death, though I ought to feel it more keenly,made strangely little difference to _him_.
"You will need sleep," said Plinny, who had been waiting for me onthe landing.
I told her that she might get my bed ready, but I would first take aturn in the garden. I tiptoed downstairs. The floor of thesummer-house had been washed. The vane on its conical roof sparkledin the sunlight. I stood before it, attempting to picture thetragedy of which, here in the clear morning, it told nothing to helpme. My thoughts were still running on Captain Coffin and the Frenchprisoner. Plinny--for I had questioned her cautiously--plainly knewnothing of any such man. They might, however, have entered by theside-gate. I stepped back under the apple-tree by the flagstaff,measuring with my eye the distance between this side-gate and thesummer-house. As I did so, my foot struck against something in thetall grass under the tree, and I stooped and picked it up--a pair ofgold-rimmed eyeglasses!