CHAPTER XVI.
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION--THE FLAG AND THE CASHBOX.
"Well, ma'am," resumed Captain Branscome, "so strong was the likenessto old Coffin, and yet so incredible was it he should be in theseparts, that, almost without stopping to consider, I turned down thelane on the chance of another glimpse of the man. This brought me,of course, to the stile leading into the plantation; but the paththere, as you know, takes a turn among the trees almost as soon as itstarts, and runs, moreover, through a pretty thick undergrowth.The fellow, whoever he was, had disappeared.
"I can't say but what I was still puzzled, though the likeliestexplanation--indeed, the only likely one--seemed to be that my eyeshad played me a trick. I had pretty well made up my mind to this whenI turned away from the stile to have a look at the garden gate on theother side of the lane; and over it, across the little stretch ofturf, I caught sight of the summer-house and of Major Brooks standingthere in the doorway with a bundle between his hands-a bundle ofsomething red, which he seemed to be wrapping round with a piece ofcord.
"Here, then, was the very man I had come to see; and here was achance of getting speech with him and without the awkwardness ofasking it through a servant, perhaps of having to invent an excusefor my visit. Without more ado, therefore, I made bold to lift thelatch of the gate and step into the garden.
"At the sound of the latch--I can see him now--Major Brooks liftedhis head with a curious start, and tucked the bundle under his arm.The movement was like that of a man taken at unawares, andstraightening himself up to meet an attack. I cannot describe itprecisely, but that was just the impression it made on me, and ittook me aback for a moment, so that I paused as the gate fell-to andlatched itself behind me.
"'Halt there!' the Major commanded, facing me full across the turf.'Halt, and tell me, please, why you have come back!'
"This puzzled me worse for a moment, for the light was good, thoughdrawing towards sunset, and it seemed impossible that, lookingstraight at me, he could mistake me for the man who had just left thegarden. Then I remembered what Harry had told me of his father'sblindness.
"My silence naturally made him more suspicious.
"'Who is it there? Your name, please?' he demanded sharply.
"' Sir,' I answered, 'I beg your pardon for coming thus unannounced,but my name is Branscome, and I had once the honour to be shipmatewith you on board the _Londonderry_ transport.'
"For a while he continued to stare at me in his blind way.
"'Yes,' he said slowly, at length; 'yes; I remember your voice, sir.But what in the name of wonder brings you to my garden just now?'
"'Your son Harry, sir,' said I, 'some time ago gave me a message fromyou. If ever (he said) I found myself in the neighbourhood of MindenCottage you would be pleased to receive a visit from me.'
"'Yes,' said he, but still with a something in his voice betweenwonder and suspicion; 'that's true enough. I have always retainedthe highest respect for Captain Branscome, and by your voice you arehe. But--but--' He hesitated, and fired another question point-blankat me: 'You come from Falmouth?'
"'I do, sir.'
"'Alone?'
"'Yes, sir. I have walked all the way from Falmouth, and without acompanion.'
"'Look here, my friend,' he said, after seeming to ponder for amoment, 'if you mean ill, you must have altered strangely from theCaptain Branscome I used to know, and if you mean well you have timedyour visit almost as strangely.' He paused again. 'Either you knowwhat I mean, or you do not; if you do not, you will have to forgive agreat deal in this reception; and you will, to begin with, forgive myasking you, on your word of honour, if on your journey hither youhave overtaken or met or recognized any one hailing from Falmouth.You do not answer,' he added, after yet another pause.
"'Why, as to that, sir,' said I, 'since leaving Falmouth I haveneither met nor overtaken any one of my acquaintance. But, since youput it to me precisely, I will not swear that I have not recognizedone. A few minutes ago, standing at the head of the lane here, I sawa man cross it, presumably from this garden, and take the pathleading through the plantation yonder. It certainly strikes me thatI knew the man, and I followed him down the lane here to make sure.'
"'Why?' the Major asked me.
"'Because, sir,' said I, 'it did not seem possible to me that theman I mean could have any business here; besides which, an hour ortwo before leaving Falmouth I had passed him in the street, andthough he had, indeed, the use of his legs, he was too far gone inliquor to recognize me.'
"'His name?' the Major asked.
"'Coffin, sir,' said I; 'usually known as Captain Coffin, or CaptainDanny.'
"'A drunkard?' he asked.
"'A man given to liquor,' said I, 'by fits and starts; but mildenough in an ordinary way. You might call him the least bit touchedin the upper story; of a loose, rambling head, at all events, as Ican testify, who have taught him navigation--or tried to.'
"The Major, though he could not see me, seemed to study me with hisblind eyes. He stood erect, with the bundle clipped under his leftarm; and the bundle I made out to be a flag, rolled up and strappedabout with its own lanyard.
"'One more question, Captain Branscome,' said he. 'This CaptainCoffin, as you call him--is he, to the best of your knowledge, anhonest man?'
"I answered that I had heard question of Coffin's sanity, but neverof his honesty.
"'His sanity, eh?' said the Major; and I could see he was hung instays, but he picked up his wind after a second or two, and paid offon another tack. 'Well, well,' he said, 'we'll drop talking of thisCoffin, and turn to the business that brings you here. What is it?For I take it you've walked all the way from Falmouth for somethingmore than the sake of a chat over old times.'
"I remember, ladies, the words he used, though not the tone of them.To tell the truth, though my ears received 'em, I was not listening.I stood there, wishing myself a hundred miles away; but his mannergave me no chance to fob him off with an excuse, or pretend I haddropped in for a passing call. There was nothing for it but to outwith my story, and into it I plunged somehow, my tongue stammeringwith shame. He listened, to be sure, but without offering to help meover the hard places. Indeed, at the first mention of my poverty, Isaw all his first suspicions--whatever they had been--return and showthemselves in his blind eyes. His mouth was set like a closed trap.Yet he heard me out, and, when I had done, his suspicions seemed tohave faded again, for he answered me considerately enough, though notcordially.
"'Captain Branscome,' he said, 'I may tell you at once that I neverlend money; and my reason is partly that good seldom comes of it, andpartly that I am a poor man--if you can call a man poor who is by afew pounds richer than his needs. But I have a great respect foryou'--the ladies will forgive me for repeating his exact words--'andyour voice seems to tell me that you still deserve it; that you havesuffered more than you say before being driven to make this appeal.I can do something--though it be little--to help an old comrade.Will you oblige me by stepping into the summer-house here, and takinga seat while I go to the house? I will not keep you waiting morethan a few minutes.'
"He picked up his walking-stick, which rested against a chair, justwithin the doorway, and stood for a moment while I stepped past himand entered the summer-house; and so, with a nod of the head, turnedand walked towards the house, using his stick very skilfully to feelhis path between the bushes, and still keeping the flag tucked underhis left arm.
"So I sat and waited, ladies, on no good terms with myself. The wayof the borrower was hard, I found, and the harder because the Major'smanner had not been unkindly, but--if you'll understand my meaning--only just kindly enough. In short, I don't know but that I must haveout and run rather than endure his charity, had not my thoughts beendistracted by this mystery over Captain Coffin. For the Major hadsaid too much, and yet not enough. The man I had seen crossing thelane was certainly Coffin, but to connect him with Minden Cottage Ihad no clue at all beyond the faint on
e, Harry, that you and he wereacquaintances. Besides, I had seen him, the morning before, in thecrowd around the prisoners, and could have sworn he was then--savingyour presence, ladies--as drunk as a fiddler. If vehicle had broughthim, it could not be any that had passed me on the road, or forcertain I should have recognized him. Well, here was a riddle, and Ihad come no nearer to guessing it when the Major returned.
"He had left his bundle in the house, and in place of it he carried acashbox, which he set on the table between us, but did not at onceopen. Instead, he turned to me with a complete change of manner, andheld out his hand very frankly.
"'I owe you an apology, Captain,' said he. 'To be plain with you, atthe moment you appeared, I was half expecting a different kind ofvisitor, and I fear you received some of the welcome prepared forhim. Overlook it, please, and shake hands; and, to get our businessover,'--he unlocked the cashbox--'here are ten guineas, which I willask you to accept from me. We won't call it a gift; we will call itan acknowledgement for the extra pains you have put into teaching myson. Tut, man!' said he, as I protested. 'Harry has told us allabout that. I assure you the youngster came near to wearying us,last holiday, with praise of you.'"
"And so he did," Plinny here interrupted. "That is to say, sir--I--Imean we were only too glad to listen to him."
"I thank you, ma'am." Captain Branscome bowed to her gravely."I will not deny that the Major's words gave me pleasure for themoment. He, for his part, appeared to be quite another man.'Twas as if between leaving me and returning to the summer-house aload had been lifted from his mind. He counted out the guineas,locked the cashbox again, lit his pipe, and then, seeming torecollect himself, reached down a clean one from a stack above thedoorway, and insisted upon my filling and smoking with him.'Twas a long while since I had tasted the luxury of tobacco.We talked of old days on the _Londonderry_, of Sir John Moore's lastcampaign, of Falmouth and the packets, of the peace and the overthrowof Bonaparte's ambitions; or, rather, 'twas he that talked andquestioned, while for me 'twas pleasure enough, and a pleasure longdenied me, to sit on terms with a well-read gentleman and listen totalk of a quality which--"
"Which differed from that of the Rev. Philip Stimcoe's," suggestedMiss Belcher, as he hesitated. "Proceed, sir."
"I shall add, madam, that the Major very kindly invited me to sleepthat night under his roof. I could pick up the coach in the morning(he said). But this I declined, professing that I preferred thenight for travelling, and maybe, before tiring myself, wouldovertake one of Russell's waggons and obtain a lift; the fact beingthat, grateful though I found it to sit and converse with him, myconscience was accusing me all the while.
"Towards the end of our talk he had let slip by accident that he wasby no means a rich man. The money from that moment began to burn inmy pockets, and I had scarcely shaken hands with him and taken myleave--which I did just as the sun was sinking behind the plantationacross the lane--before his guineas fairly scorched me. I held on myway for a mile or more. You may have observed, ladies, that I limpin my walk? It is the effect of an old wound. But, I declare toyou, my limp was nothing to the thought I dragged with me--therecollection of the Major's face and the expression that had comeover it when I had first confessed my errand. All his subsequentkindness, his sympathy, his hospitality, his frank and easy talk,could not wipe out that recollection. I had sold something which foryears it had been my pride to keep. I had forced it on an unwillingbuyer. I had taken the money of a poor man, and had given him inexchange--what? You remember, ladies, those words of Shakespeare--good words, although he puts them into the mouth of a villain--that:
"' . . . He who filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him And makes me poor indeed.'
"No one had filched my honour--I had sold it to a good man, but yetwithout enriching him, while in the loss of it I knew myself poorindeed. At the second milestone I turned back, more eager now tofind the Major and get rid of the money than ever I had been toobtain it.
"My face was no sooner turned again towards the cottage than I brokeinto a run, and so good pace I made between running and walking thatit cannot have been more than an hour from my leaving the gardenbefore I arrived back at the head of the lane. The evening wasdusking in, but by no means dark as yet, even though a dark cloud hadcrept up from the west and overhung the plantation to the right.I looked down the lane as I entered it, and again--yes, ladies, assurely as before--I saw a man cross it from the garden gate and stepinto the plantation!
"Who the man was I could not tell, the light being so uncertain.Although he crossed the lane just where Coffin had crossed it anddisappeared in just the same manner, I had an impression that he wasnot Coffin, and that his gait, for one thing, differed from Coffin's.But I tell you this for what it is worth: I was startled, you may besure, and hurried down the lane after him even quicker than I hadhurried after the first man; but when I came to the stile, he, likethe first man, had vanished, and within the plantation it wasimpossible by this time to see more than twenty yards deep.
"Again I turned and crossed the lane to the garden gate. A sort oftwilight lay over the turf between me and the summer-house, andbeneath the apple-trees skirting my path to it on the left you mightsay that it was night; but the water at the foot of the garden threwup a sort of glimmer, and there was a glimmer, too, on the vane abovethe flagstaff. I noted this and that, though my eyes were searchingfor Major Brooks in the dark shadow under the pent of thesummer-house.
"Towards this I stepped; but in the dark I must have walked a fewfeet wide of the straight line, for I remember brushing against alow-growing branch of one of the apple-trees, and this must havecaught in my eyeglass-ribbon and torn it, for when I came to fumblefor them a few seconds later to help my sight, the glasses were gone.
"By this time I had reached the summer-house and come to a halt,three paces, maybe, from the doorstep. 'Major Brooks!' I calledsoftly, and then again, but a thought louder, 'Major Brooks!'
"There was no answer, ladies, and I turned myself half about,uncertain whether to go back up the lane and knock at the front dooror to seek my way to the house through the garden. Just then my boottouched something soft, and I bent and saw the Major's body stretchedacross the step close beside my ankles. I stooped lower and put downa hand. It touched his shoulder, and then the ground beneath hisshoulder, and the ground was moist. I drew my hand back with ashiver, and just at that moment, as I stared at my fingers, the heavycloud beyond the plantation lifted itself clear of the trees and letthe last of the daylight through--enough to show me a dark stainrunning from my finger-tips and trickling towards the palm.
"And then, ladies--at first I thought of no danger to myself, but ranfor the gate, still groping as I went, for my eyeglasses; stumbledacross the lane somehow, and over the stile in vain chase of the manI had glimpsed two minutes before. I say a vain chase, for I had notplunged twenty yards into the plantation before--short-sighted molethat I am--I had lost the track. I pulled up, on the point ofshouting for help, and with that there flashed on me the thought ofthe Major's guineas in my pocket. If I called for help I called downsuspicion on myself, and suspicion enough to damn me. How could Iexplain my presence in the garden? How could I account for themoney--straight from the Major's cashbox?"
Captain Branscome paused and gazed around upon us as if caught oncemore in that terrible moment of choice. Miss Belcher met his gazeand nodded.
"So the upshot was that you ran for it? Well, I can't say that Iblame you. But, as it happens, if you had stood still the cashboxmight have helped to clear you; for it was found next morning, half amile away in the brook, below my lodge-gate."
"And there's one thing," said Plinny, "we may thank God for, if it ispossible to be thankful for anything in this dreadful business.The murderer, whoever he was, got little profit from his crime, for Iknow pretty well the state of your poor father's finances, Harry; andif, as Captain Branscome tells us, he had taken ten guineas from theb
ox, there must have been very few left in it."
"My good soul," said Miss Belcher, "the man wasn't after money!He wanted the map this Captain Coffin had left in the Major'skeeping. That's as plain as the nose on your good, dear face.If the map happened to be in the cashbox, and I'll bet ten to one itwasn't--"
"You may bet ten thousand to one!" I cried. "It was never in thecashbox at all. It was wrapped up in the flag my father carried intothe house."
"Bless the boy," said Miss Belcher; "he's not half a fool, after all!Yes, yes--where is the flag?"
"On the flagstaff," said I. "I hoisted it there this morning."
"Eh?"
"And here," I panted, jumping up in my excitement, "here is CaptainCoffin's map!"
I heard Miss Belcher breathing hard as I lugged out the oilskinpacket, tore open the knotted string which bound it, and, drawingforth the parchment, spread it, with shaking fingers, on the table.
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