by G. A. Henty
CHAPTER VIII.
Mark was some hours before he went to sleep. The news that he had heardthat evening was strange and startling. Full of health and strength, thefact that he was not, as he had always supposed, the heir to the estatetroubled him not at all. The fact that in four years he would come infor some twelve thousand pounds was sufficient to prevent his feelingany uneasiness as to his future; and indeed in some respects it was notan unpleasant idea that, instead of being tied down to the estate, heshould be able to wander at will, visit foreign countries, and make hisown life.
In one respect he was sorry. His father had in the last year hinted morethan once that it would be a very nice arrangement if he were to makeup a match with his ward; he had laughed, and said that there would beplenty of time for that yet. But the idea had been an agreeable one. Hewas very fond of Millicent--fond, perhaps; in a cousinly way at present;but at any rate he liked her far better than any of the sisters of hisfriends. Of course she was only seventeen yet, and there was plenty oftime to think of marriage in another three years. Still, the thoughtoccurred to him several times that she was budding out into a youngwoman, and every month added to her attractions. It was but the daybefore he had said to himself that there was no reason to wait as longas three years, especially as his father seemed anxious, and wouldevidently be glad were the match to take place. Now, of course, he saidto himself, that was at an end. He had never given her any reason tosuppose that he cared for her, and now that she was the heiress andhe comparatively poor, she would naturally think that it was for theestate, and not for herself, that she was wooed. Then there was thequestion of this curiously lost treasure, with the mysterious clew thatled to nothing. How on earth was he to set about the quest? He puzzledfor a long time over this, till at last he fell asleep. He was roused byRamoo entering the room.
"What is it, Ramoo?"
"Me not know, sahib. Massa Thorndyke's door shut. Me no able to make himhear."
"That is curious, Ramoo," Mark said, jumping hastily out of bed. "I willbe with you in a minute."
He slipped on his trousers, coat, and slippers, and then accompaniedRamoo to his father's door. He knocked again and again, and each timemore loudly, his face growing paler as he did so. Then he threw himselfagainst the door, but it was solid and heavy.
"Fetch me an ax, Ramoo," he said. "There is something wrong here."
Ramoo returned in a short time with two men servants and with the ax inhis hands. Mark took it, and with a few mighty blows split the woodwork,and then hurling himself against the door, it yielded. As he enteredthe room a cry broke from his lips. Within a pace or two of the bed theSquire lay on the ground, on his face, and a deep stain on the carpetat once showed that his death had been a violent one. Mark knelt by hisside now, and touched him. The body was stiff and cold. The Squire musthave been dead for some hours.
"Murdered!" he said in a low voice; "my father has been murdered."
He remained in horror struck silence for a minute or two; then he slowlyrose to his feet.
"Let us lay him on the bed," he said, and with the assistance of thethree men he lifted and laid him there.
"He has been stabbed," he murmured, pointing to a small cut in themiddle of the deep stain, just over the heart.
Ramoo, after helping to lift the Squire onto the bed, had slid down tothe floor, and crouched there, sobbing convulsively. The two servantsstood helpless and aghast. Mark looked round the room: the window wasopen. He walked to it. A garden ladder stood outside, showing how theassassin had obtained entrance. Mark stood rigid and silent, his handstightly clenched, his breath coming slowly and heavily. At last heroused himself.
"Leave things just as they are," he said to the men in a tone ofunnatural calmness, "and fasten the door up again, and turn a table orsomething of that sort against it on the outside so that no one can comein. John, do you tell one of the grooms to saddle a horse and ride downinto the town. Let him tell the head constable to come up at once, andalso Dr. Holloway. Then he is to go on to Sir Charles Harris, tell himwhat has happened, and beg him to ride over at once.
"Come, Ramoo," he said in a softer voice, "you can do no good here, poorfellow, and the room must be closed. It is a heavy loss to you too."
The Hindoo rose slowly, the tears streaming down his face.
"He was a good master," he said, "and I loved him just as I loved theColonel, sahib. Ramoo would have given his life for him."
With his hand upon Ramoo's shoulder, Mark left the room; he passed agroup of women huddled together with blanched faces, at a short distancedown the passage, the news that the Squire's door could not be openedand the sounds made by its being broken in having called them together.Mark could not speak. He silently shook his head and passed on. Ashe reached his room he heard shrieks and cries behind him, as the meninformed them of what had taken place. On reaching his door, the oneopposite opened, and Mrs. Cunningham in a dressing gown came out.
"What is the matter, Mark, and what are these cries about?"
"A dreadful thing has happened, Mrs. Cunningham; my father has beenmurdered in the night. Please tell Millicent."
Then he closed the door behind him, threw himself on his bed, and burstinto a passion of tears. The Squire had been a good father to him, andhad made him his friend and companion--a treatment rare indeed at a timewhen few sons would think of sitting down in their father's presenceuntil told to do so. Since he had left school, eight years before, theyhad been very much together. For the last two or three years Mark hadbeen a good deal out, but in this his father had encouraged him.
"I like to see you make your own friends, Mark, and go your own way," heused to say; "it is as bad for a lad to be tied to his father's coattailas at his mother's apron string. Get fresh ideas and form your ownopinions. It will do for you what a public school would have done; makeyou self reliant, and independent."
Still, of course, a great portion of his time had been with his father,and they often would ride round the estate together and talk to thetenants, or walk in the gardens and forcing houses. Generally Mark wouldbe driven by his father to the meet if it took place within reasonabledistance, his horse being sent on beforehand by a groom, while of anevening they would sit in the library, smoke their long pipes, and talkover politics or the American and French wars.
All this was over. There was but one thing now that he could do for hisfather, and that was to revenge his death, and at the thought he rosefrom his bed impatiently and paced up and down the room. He must waitfor a week, wait till the funeral was over, and then he would be onBastow's track. If all other plans failed he would spend his time incoaches until at last the villain should try to stop one; but there mustbe other ways. Could he find no other he would apply for employment asa Bow Street runner, serve for a year to find out their methods, andacquaint himself with the places where criminals were harbored. It wouldbe the one object of his life, until he succeeded in laying his hand onBastow's shoulder. He would not shoot him if he could help it. He shouldprefer to see him in the dock, to hear the sentence passed on him, andto see it carried out. As to the treasure, it was not worth a thoughttill his first duty was discharged.
Presently a servant brought him a cup of tea. He drank it mechanically,and then proceeded to dress himself. Sir Charles Harris would be heresoon and the others; indeed, he had scarcely finished when he was toldthat the doctor from Reigate had just arrived, and that the constablehad come up half an hour before. He at once went down to the library,into which the doctor had been shown.
"You have heard what has happened," he said, as he shook hands silently."I expect Sir Charles Harris here in half an hour. I suppose you willnot go up till then?"
"No, I think it will be best that no one should go in until he comes. Ihave been speaking to Simeox; he was going in, but I told him I thoughtit was better to wait. I may as well take the opportunity of goingupstairs to see Mr. Bastow. I hear that he fainted when he heard thenews, and that he is completely prostrate."
; "Two such shocks might well prove fatal to him," Mark said; "he has beenweak and ailing for some time."
"Two shocks?" the doctor repeated interrogatively.
"Ah, I forgot you had not heard about the affair yesterday evening: aman fired at us through the window when we were sitting round the fire,before the candles were lit. The ball passed between my father's headand Mr. Bastow's; both had a narrow escape; the bullet is imbedded inthe mantelpiece. I will have it cut out; it may be a useful item ofevidence some day."
"But what could have been the man's motive? Your father was universallypopular."
"Except with ill doers," Mark said. "I ran out and chased the fellowfor half a mile, and should have caught him if he had not had a horsewaiting for him in a lane, and he got off by the skin of his teeth. Ihope that next time I meet him he will not be so lucky. Mr. Bastow wasvery much shaken, and went to bed soon afterwards. I am not surprisedthat this second shock should be too much for him. Will you go up andsee him? I will speak to Simeox."
The constable was out in the garden.
"This is a terrible business, Mr. Thorndyke. I suppose, after what youtold me, you have your suspicions?"
"They are not suspicions at all--they are certainties. Did you hear thathe tried to shoot my father yesterday evening?"
"No, sir, I have heard nothing about it."
Mark repeated the story of the attempt and pursuit.
"Could you swear to him,' Mr. Thorndyke?"
"No, there was not much light left; besides, as I have not seen him forthe last eight years, I should certainly not be able to recognize himunless I had time to have a good look at him. Had it only been lastnight's affair it might have been anyone; but the shooting through thewindow was not the act of a thief, but of an assassin, who could onlyhave been influenced by private enmity. I quite see that at present Ihave no legal evidence against Bastow; I am not even in a position toprove that he is in the country, for it cannot be said that my father'sbelief that he recognized the voice of the man who said 'Stand anddeliver!' is proof. I doubt if anyone could swear that, when he onlyheard three words, he was absolutely sure that it was the voice of a manhe had not seen for some years. However, fortunately, that will make nodifference; the man is, as I told you, wanted for his heading the mutinyin the convict prison at Sydney, which will be quite sufficient to hanghim without this business. But I own that I should prefer that he werehung for my father's murder if we could secure sufficient evidence.Moreover, there is the attack upon us three or four months ago, and withthe evidence of the surgeon who attended him as to his wound, that wouldbe enough to hang him. But we have first got to catch him, and that Imean to make my business, however long the search may take me."
"Was anything taken last night, sir?"
"I don't know; I did not look. We shall see to that when we go upstairs.We may as well go indoors now; Sir Charles may be here in a few minutes,and I want to hear Dr. Holloway's report as to Mr. Bastow."
"He does not suspect, I hope, sir?"
"No, thank God; my father never mentioned to him anything he heard abouthis son, or his suspicions, therefore he has no reason to believe thatthe fellow is not still in the convict prison at Sydney. We shall keepit from him now, whatever happens; but it would, for his sake, be bestthat this shock should prove too much for him. He has had a very hardtime of it altogether."
"He is terribly prostrate," the doctor reported when Mark joined him. "Idon't think that he will get over it. He is scarcely conscious now. Yousee, he is an old man, and has no reserve of strength to fall back upon.Your father has been such a good friend to him that it is not surprisingthe news should have been too much for him. I examined him at theSquire's request some months ago as to his heart's action, which was soweak that I told the Squire then that he might go off at any time, and Irather wonder that he recovered even temporarily from the shock."
In a few minutes Sir Charles Harris drove up.
"This is terrible news, my dear Mark," he said, as he leaped from hisgig and wrung Mark's hand--"terrible. I don't know when I have hadsuch a shock; he was a noble fellow in all respects, a warm friend, anexcellent magistrate, a kind landlord, good all round. I can scarcelybelieve it yet. A burglar, of course. I suppose he entered the house forthe purpose of robbery, when your father awoke and jumped out of bed,there was a tussle, and the scoundrel killed him; at least, that is whatI gather from the story that the groom told me."
"That is near it, Sir Charles, but I firmly believe that robbery was notthe object, but murder; for murder was attempted yesterday evening," andhe informed the magistrate of the shot fired through the window.
"Bless me, you don't say so!" the magistrate exclaimed. "That altersthe case altogether, and certainly would seem to make the act one ofpremeditated murder; and yet, surely, the Squire could not have had anenemy. Some of the men whom we have sentenced may have felt a grudgeagainst him, but surely not sufficient to lead them to a crime likethis."
"I will talk of it with you afterwards, Sir Charles. I have the verystrongest suspicions, although no absolute proofs. Now, will you firstcome upstairs? Doctor Holloway is here and Simeox, but no one hasentered the room since I left it; I thought it better that it should beleft undisturbed until you came."
"Quite so; we will go up at once."
An examination of the room showed nothing whatever that would afford theslightest clew. The Squire's watch was still in the watch pocket at thehead of the bed, his purse was on a small table beside him; apparentlynothing had been touched in the room.
"If robbery was the object," Sir Charles said gravely, "it has evidentlynot been carried out, and it is probable that Mr. Thorndyke was partlywoke by the opening of the window, and that he was not thoroughlyaroused until the man was close to his bed; then he leapt out and seizedhim. Probably the stab was, as Dr. Holloway assures us, instantly fatal,and he may have fallen so heavily that the man, fearing that the housewould be alarmed at the sound, at once fled, without even waiting tosnatch up the purse. The whole thing is so clear that it is scarcelynecessary to ask any further questions. Of course, there must be aninquest tomorrow. I should like when I go down to ask the gardenerwhere he left the ladder yesterday. Have you examined the ground forfootmarks?"
"Yes, Sir Charles, but you see it was a pretty hard frost last night,and I cannot find any marks at all. The ground must have been like ironabout the time when the ladder was placed there."
The gardener, on being called in, said that the ladder was always hungup outside the shed at the back of the house; there was a chain roundit, and he had found that morning that one of the links had been filedthrough.
"The Squire was most particular about its being locked, as Mr. Markknows, so that it could not be used by any ill disposed chaps who mightcome along at night. The key of the padlock was always hung on a nailround the other side of the shed. The Squire knew of it, and so did Mr.Mark and me; so that while it was out of the way of the eyes of a thief,any of us could run and get it and undo the padlock in a minute in caseof fire or anything of that sort. I have not used the ladder, maybe,for a fortnight, but I know that it was hanging in its place yesterdayafternoon."
"I expect the fellow was prowling about here for some time," Mark said."I was chatting with my father in the library when I thought I heard anoise, and I threw open the window, which had by some carelessness beenleft a little open, and went out, and listened for nearly an hour, but Icould hear nothing, and put it down to the fact that I was nervous owingto what had happened early in the evening, and that the noise was simplyfancy, or that the frost had caused a dry branch of one of the shrubs tocrack."
"How was it you did not notice the window was open as you went in?"
"The curtains were drawn, sir. I glanced at that when I went into theroom with my father. After being shot at once from outside, it waspossible that we might be again; though I own that I did not for amoment think that the fellow would return after the hot chase thatI gave him. I suppose after I went in he looked abou
t and found theladder; it is likely enough that he would have had a file with him incase he had any bars to cut through to get into the house, but to mymind it is more likely that he knew where to find the ladder without anylooking for it; it has hung there as long as I can remember."
"Yes, sir," the gardener said, "I have worked for the Squire ever sincehe came here, and the ladder was bought a week or two after he took meon, and the Squire settled where it should be hung, so that it might behandy either in case of fire or if wanted for a painting job. This aintthe first ladder; we got a new one four years ago."
"It is singular that the man should have known which was the window ofyour father's room."
"Very singular," Mark said.
Shortly after the doctor left, and Mark had a long talk with themagistrate in the library, and told him his reasons for suspecting thatthe murderer was Arthur Bastow.
"It certainly looks like it," the magistrate said thoughtfully, afterhe had heard Mark's story, "though of course it is only a case of strongsuspicion, and not of legal proof. Your father's recognition of thevoice could have scarcely been accepted as final when he heard but threewords, still the whole thing hangs together. The fellow was, I shouldsay, capable of anything. I don't know that I ever had a prisoner beforeme whose demeanor was so offensive and insolent, and if it can be provedthat Bastow is in England I should certainly accept your view of thecase. He would probably have known both where the ladder was to be foundand which was the window of your father's bedroom."
"I should certainly think that he would know it, sir. The bedroom wasthe same that my grandfather used to sleep in, and probably during theyears before we came here young Bastow would have often been over thehouse. The first year or two after we came he was often up here withhis father, but I know that my father took such an objection to him, hismanner and language were so offensive, that he would not have me, boy asI was--I was only about eleven when he came here--associate with him inthe smallest degree. But during those two years he may very well havenoticed where the ladder was."
"Do you intend to say anything about all this tomorrow at the inquest,Mark?"
"I don't think I shall do so," Mark said moodily. "I am certain of itmyself, but I don't think any man would convict him without strongerevidence than I could give. However, that business in Australia will besufficient to hang him."
"I think you are right, Mark. Of course, if you do light upon anyevidence, we can bring this matter up in another court; if not, therewill be no occasion for you to appear in it at all, but leave italtogether for the authorities to prove the Sydney case against him;it will only be necessary for the constables who got up the other caseagainst him to prove his sentence, and for the reports of the Governorof the jail to be read. There will be no getting over that, and hewill be hung as a matter of course. It will be a terrible thing for hisunhappy father."
"I do not think that he is likely to come to know it, sir; the shock ofthe affair yesterday and that of this morning have completely prostratedhim, and Dr. Holloway, who was up with him before you arrived, thinksthat there is very little chance of his recovery."
When the magistrate had left, Mark sent a request to Mrs. Cunninghamthat she would come down for a few minutes. She joined him in thedrawing room.
"Thank you for coming down," he said quietly. "I wanted to ask how youwere, and how Millicent is."
"She is terribly upset. You see, the Squire was the only father she hadever known; and had he been really so he could not have been kinder. Itis a grievous loss to me also, after ten years of happiness here; butI have had but little time to think of my own loss yet, I have been toooccupied in soothing the poor girl. How are you feeling yourself, Mark?"
"I don't understand myself," he said. "I don't think that anyone couldhave loved his father better than I have done; but since I broke downwhen I first went to my room I seem to have no inclination to give wayto sorrow. I feel frozen up; my voice does not sound to me as if it weremy own; I am able to discuss matters as calmly as if I were speaking ofa stranger. The one thing that I feel passionately anxious about is toset out on the track of the assassin."
"There is nothing unusual in your state of feeling, Mark. Such a thingas this is like a wound in battle; the shock is so great that for a timeit numbs all pain. I have heard my husband say that a soldier who hashad his arm carried off by a cannon ball will fall from the shock, andwhen he recovers consciousness will be ignorant where he has been hit.It is so with you; probably the sense of pain and loss will increaseevery day as you take it in more and more. As for what you say about themurderer, it will undoubtedly be a good thing for you to have somethingto employ your thoughts and engage all your faculties as soon as this isall over. Is there anything that I can do?"
"No, thank you; the inquest will be held tomorrow. I have sent down toChatterton to come up this afternoon to make the necessary preparationsfor the funeral. Let me see, today is Wednesday, is it not? I seem tohave lost all account of the time."
"Yes, Wednesday."
"Then I suppose the funeral will be on Monday or Tuesday. If there isany message that you want sent down to the town, one of the grooms willcarry it whenever you wish."
"Thank you; 'tis not worth sending particularly, any time will do, butI shall want to send a note to Mrs. Wilson presently, asking her to comeup the first thing tomorrow morning."
"He can take it whenever, you like, Mrs. Cunningham. I have nothingto send down for, as far as I know. I suppose you have heard that thedoctor thinks very badly of Mr. Bastow?"
"Yes. Ramoo is sitting with him now."
"Then I think, if you will write your note at once, Mrs. Cunningham, Iwill send one down to Dr. Holloway, asking him to send an experiencednurse. He said he should call again this afternoon, but the sooner anurse comes the better."
That afternoon Mark wrote a letter to the family solicitors, tellingthem of what had taken place, and stating that the funeral would be onthe following Tuesday, and asking them to send down a clerk with hisfather's will, or if one of the partners could manage to come down,he should greatly prefer it, in view of the explanations that would benecessary. He had already sent off a letter to the head of the DetectiveDepartment, asking him to send down one of his best men as soon aspossible. Then he went out into the garden, and walked backwards andforwards for about two hours, and then returned to what he thoughtwould be a solitary meal. Mrs. Cunningham, however, came down. She hadthoughtfully had the large dining table pushed on one side, and a smallone placed near the fire.
"I thought it would be more comfortable," she said, "as there are onlyour two selves, just to sit here."
He thanked her with a look. It was a nice little dinner, and Mark, tohis surprise, ate it with an appetite. Except the cup of tea that hehad taken in the morning, and a glass of wine at midday, he had touchednothing. Mrs. Cunningham was a woman of great tact, and by making himtalk of the steps that he intended to take to hunt down the assassin,kept him from thinking.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Cunningham," he said, when the dinner wasover. "I feel very much better."
"I have brought down my work," she said, "and will sit here while youdrink your wine and smoke a pipe. Millicent has gone to bed, completelyworn out, and it will be pleasanter for us both to sit here than to bealone."
Mark gladly agreed to the proposal. She turned the conversation now toIndia, and talked of her life there.
"I was not out there very long," she said. "I was engaged to my husbandwhen he first went out, and six years afterwards joined him there, andwe were married. Your uncle, who was a major of his regiment, gave meaway. My husband got his company six months afterwards, and was killedthree years later. My pension as his widow was not a large one, andwhen your uncle offered me the charge of his daughter I was very glad toaccept it. He gave some idea of his plans for her. I thought they werevery foolish, but when I saw that his mind was thoroughly made up I didnot attempt to dissuade him. He said that when he came home to England(and he had no idea
when that would be) he should have me here, as headof his establishment, and it would be given out that the child was hisward. I hoped that he would alter his mind later on, but, as you know,he never did."
"Well, of course, she will have to be told now," Mark said.
"Do you think so? It seems to me that it were better that she would goas she is, at any rate, until she is twenty-one."
"That would be quite impossible," Mark said decidedly. "How could Iassume the position of master here? And even if I could, it would be astrange thing indeed for me to be here with a girl the age of my cousin,even with you as chaperon. You must see yourself that it would be quiteimpossible."
"But how could she live here by herself?"
"I don't think she could live here by herself," Mark said, "especiallyafter what has happened. Of course, it has all got to be talked over,but my idea is that the place had better be shut up, and that you shouldtake, in your own name, a house in London. I suppose she will wantmasters for the harp, and so on. For a time, at any rate, that would bethe best plan, unless you would prefer some other place to London. Wehave done our best to carry out my uncle's wishes, but circumstanceshave been too strong for us, and it cannot be kept up any longer; butthere is no reason, if you and she prefer it, why she should not beknown, until you return here, by her present name. Of course the affairwill create a great deal of talk down here, but in London no one willknow that Millicent is an heiress, though it is hardly likely that youwill make many acquaintances for a time."
"Have you known it long, Mark? I thought that you were kept in ignoranceof it."
"I only heard it yesterday evening, Mrs. Cunningham; after that shotthrough the window my father thought I ought to know all about it, forthe attempt might be repeated more successfully. He told me all abouther, and about the treasure."
"What treasure?" Mrs. Cunningham said. "I don't know what you mean."
He then told her of the story his uncle had related, and how he had beenprevented from giving full instructions for its discovery, the only clewbeing a gold coin and the word Masulipatam, and that this treasure hadbeen left equally divided between him and Millicent by his will.
"He told me that he should provide for you," Mrs. Cunningham remarked,"when I said that it would be unfair that you should be brought upbelieving yourself the heir. I never heard any more about it, but I amglad that it is so."
"I fancy the chance of its coming to either of us is very small," Marksaid; "a coin and a word are not much to go upon. I have not the mostremote idea what they mean, and whether the treasure is in England or inIndia, Heaven only knows."
"Possibly, when he made the will, he may have told the solicitorswhere it was, and instructed them to keep it secret until the time thatMillicent came into possession of the estate."
"It is just possible he did so, Mrs. Cunningham, but the efforts he madeto speak at the last moment would almost seem to show that he hadnot told them, for, if he had, the matter would have been of no vitalimportance one way or the other. Will Millicent be well enough to comedown in the morning?"
"I hope so."
"I hope so, too; but, at any rate, keep her up in her room till theafternoon. The inquest will be at eleven o'clock, and it is better thatshe should not come down until everyone has gone away."