The Third Volume

by Fergus Hume

  CHAPTER XXXII.

  THE DISCOVERIES OF SPENSER TAIT.

  HORRISTON might fitly be compared to Jonah's gourd; it sprang up in anight, so to speak, and withered in the space of a day. In the earlierpart of the Victorian era a celebrated doctor recommended its mineralsprings, and invalids flocked to be cured at this new pool of Bethesda.Whether the cures were not genuine, or insufficiently rapid to pleasethe sick folk, it is hard to say, but after fifteen or twenty years ofprosperity the crowd of fashionable valetudinarians ceased to occupy thecommodious lodging houses and hotels in Horriston. Other places sprangup with greater attractions and more certain cures, so the erstwhilefashionable town relapsed into its provincial dullness. No one livedthere but a few retired army men, and no one came save a stray neuroticperson in search of absolute quiet. Few failed to get that at Horriston,which was now as sleepy a place as could be found in all England. EvenThorston was more in touch with the nineteenth century than thisdeserted town.

  As Tait drove through the streets on his way to the principal hotel, hecould not help noticing the dreary look of the chief thoroughfare. Manyof the shops were closed, some were unoccupied, and those still opendisplayed wares grimy and flyblown. The shopkeepers came to their doorsin a dazed fashion to look at the new visitor in the single fly whichplied between station and hotel, thereby showing that the event was oneof rare occurrence. There were no vehicles in the street itself save alumbering cart containing market produce, and the doctor's trap whichstood at the doctor's door. A few people sauntered along the pavement ina listless fashion, and the whole aspect of the place was one of decayand desertion. But for the presence of shopkeepers and pedestrians, fewthough they were, Tait could almost have imagined himself in somedeserted mining township on the Californian coast.

  The principal hotel faced one side of a melancholy square, and wascalled "The Royal Victoria," out of compliment to the reigning monarch.It was a large barrack, with staring windows, and a flight of whitesteps leading up to a deserted hall. No busy waiters, no genial landlordor buxom barmaid, not even the sound of cheerful voices. Cats slept onthe steps and fowls clucked in the square, while a melancholy waiter,peering out of the window, put the finishing touch to the lamentabledreariness of the scene. The sign "Royal Victoria" should have beenremoved out of very shame, and the word "Ichabod" written up in itsplace. The landlord was lacking in humor to let things remain as theywere.

  However, Tait, being hungry and dusty and tired, consoled himself withthe reflection that it was at all events an hotel, and speedily foundhimself the sole occupant of the dining room, attended to by themelancholy waiter. The viands provided were by no means bad, and thewine was undeniably good; and small wonder, seeing it had been in thecellars for a quarter of a century for want of someone to drink it. Thisfact was confided to Tait by his sad Ganymede.

  "We used to see a sight of company here," said this elderly person whenhe appeared with the claret, "but, bless you, it's like Babylon thefallen now, sir. You're the first gentleman as I have seen here for aweek."

  "Shouldn't think it would pay to keep the hotel open."

  "It don't, sir," replied the waiter with conviction, "but master is welloff--made his money in the days when Horriston was Horriston, and keepsthis place as a sort of hobby. We have a club here in the evenings, sir,and that makes things a bit lively."

  "Have you been here long?" asked Tait, noticing how gray and wrinkledwas this despondent servitor.

  "Over thirty years, sir," responded Ganymede, with a sigh as though thememory was too much for him; "man and boy I've been here thirty years."

  "I'm glad of that. You're the man I want. Got a good memory?"

  "Pretty good, sir. Not that there's much to remember," and he sighedagain.

  "H'm. Have you any recollection of a murder which took place at TheLaurels twenty-five years ago?"

  "That I have, sir," said the waiter, with faint animation, "it was thetalk of the country. Captain Larcher, wasn't it, sir, and his wife, asweetly pretty woman? She was accused of the murder, I think; but shedidn't do it. No, nor Mr. Jeringham either, though some people think hedid, 'cause he cleared out. And small blame to him when they were afterhim like roaring lions."

  "Do you remember Jeringham?"

  "I should think so, sir. Why he stopped in this very hotel, he did. Askind and affable a gentleman as I ever met, sir. He kill CaptainLarcher? Not he! no more than did the wife, poor thing! Now I have myown opinion," said this wise person significantly, "but I didn't take toit for five years after the murder. As you might say twenty years ago,sir."

  "Who do you think committed the crime, then?" asked Tait, ratherimpressed by the man's manner.

  The waiter looked around, with the enjoyable air of a man about toimpart a piece of startling information, and bent across the table tocommunicate it to Tait. "Denis Bantry was the man, sir," he saidsolemnly; "Captain Larcher's valet."

  "Nonsense! What makes you think that?"

  "I don't think it, sir. I know it. If you don't believe me, go to TheLaurels and ask the old gardener, Dick Pental. He saw it," finished thewaiter, in a tragic whisper.

  "Saw what? The murder?" said Tait, with a startled look.

  "Yes, sir. He saw the murder. I heard it all from him, I did; I forgetthe exact story he told me. But Denis Bantry should have been hanged,sir. Oh, there isn't the least doubt about it, sir."

  "But if this Dick Pental saw the crime committed, why didn't he comeforward and tell about it?"

  "Well, sir, it was this way," said Ganymede, dusting the table with hisnapkin, "Dick aint all there. Not to be too delicate, sir, Dick's mad.He was always a softy from a boy, not that he's old now, sir.Forty-five, I believe, and he was twenty years of age when he was inCaptain Larcher's service."

  "And is he at The Laurels still?"

  "Why, yes, sir. You see, after the murder, no one would take the house.They thought it haunted maybe, so Dick was put in as caretaker. Helooked after it for twenty years, and then it was taken by a gentlemanwho didn't care for murders or ghosts. He's there now, sir, and so isDick, who still looks after the garden."

  "But why didn't Dick relate what he saw?"

  "Because of his softness, sir," said the waiter deliberately. "You seeDick had been put into a lunatic asylum, he had, just before he came ofage. Captain Larcher--a kind gentleman, sir--took him out, and made himgardener at The Laurels, so when Dick saw the murder done, he was afraidto speak, in case he should be locked up again. No head, you see, sir.So he held his tongue, he did, and only told me five years after themurder. Then it was too late, for all those who were at The Laurels onthat night had disappeared. You don't happen to know where Denis Bantryis, sir, do you? For he ought to hang, sir; indeed he ought."

  Tait did not think it wise to take this bloodthirsty waiter into hisconfidence, but rewarded him with half a sovereign for his information,and retired to bed to think the matter over. He was startled by this newdiscovery, which seemed to indicate Denis Bantry, alias Kerry, as theassassin, and wondered if he had been wrong all through in suspectingHilliston. Yet if Kerry had committed the crime, Tait saw no reason whyHilliston should protect him, as he was evidently doing. Assuming thatthe waiter had spoken correctly, the only ground on which Tait couldexplain Hilliston's conduct was that Mrs. Larcher was implicated withthe old servant in the murder. If Kerry were arrested he might confesssufficient to entangle Mrs. Larcher; and as Hilliston loved the woman, afact of which Tait was certain, he would not like to run so great a riskto her liberty. But this reasoning was upset by the remembrance thatMrs. Larcher had already been tried and acquitted of the crime; and asaccording to law she could not be tried twice on the same charge, shewas safe in any case. Tait was bewildered by his own thoughts. Thekaleidoscope had shifted again; the combinations were different, but thecomponent parts were the same; and argue as he might there seemed nosolution of the mystery. Mrs. Larcher, Denis Bantry, his sister,Hilliston, and Mark Jeringham; w
ho had killed the unfortunate husband?Tait could find no answer to this perplexing question.

  In the morning he walked to The Laurels, which he had no difficulty infinding, owing to the explicit directions of his friend the waiter. Itwas a pretty, low-roofed house on a slight rise near the river, andbuilt somewhat after the fashion of a bungalow. The gardens sloped tothe river bank on one side, and on the other were sheltered from inlandwinds by a belt of sycamore trees; in front a light iron railing dividedthem from the road, which ran past the house on its way to the ferry.The gardens were some three acres in extent, very pretty andpicturesque, showing at every turn that whatever might be the mentalstate of Dick Pental, he was thorough master of his business. Tait cameinto contact with him in a short space of time through the medium of thehousekeeper.

  This individual was a sour old maid, who informed him with some acerbitythat Mr. Deemer, the present occupant of The Laurels, was away fromhome, and without his permission she could not show him the house.Perhaps she suspected Tait's errand, for she looked suspiciously at him,and resolutely refused to let him cross the threshold. However, as aconcession she said he could inspect the grounds, which were well worthseeing; and called Dick Pental to show him round. As Tait had really nogreat desire to see the interior of the house, where he would learnnothing likely to be of service, and a great desire to speak alone withthe mad gardener, he thankfully accepted the offer, and was then throwninto the company of the very man whom he most desired to see.

  Dick Pental was a slender, bright-eyed man, with a dreamy-looking face;alert in his movements, and restless with his hands and feet. He did notseem unintelligent; but the germs of madness were plainly discernible,and Tait guessed that only his constant life in the open air kept himfrom returning to the asylum whence he had been taken by CaptainLarcher. With justifiable pride this queer creature showed Tait over thegrounds, but never by word or deed did he hint at the story which he hadtold the waiter. Still hopeful, Tait led the conversation on thatdirection, and finally succeeded in touching the spring in the man'sbrain which made him relate the whole matter. The opportunity occurredwhen the two men were standing on a slight rise overlooking the river.Here Tait made a remark concerning the view.

  "What a peaceful scene," he said, waving his stick toward the prospect."Corn lands, farmhouses, the square-towered church, and the ferrycrossing the placid river. I can imagine nothing more homely, or socharged with pleasant memories. Here all is peace and quiet, no trouble,no danger, no crimes."

  Dick thoughtfully rubbed the half crown given him by Tait, and lookeddreamily at river and sky and opposite shore. To his abnormally activebrain the scene looked different to what it did to this stranger; and hecould not forbear alluding to the fact. Moreover, the gentleman hadgiven him money, and Dick was greedy, so in the expectation ofextracting another coin, he hinted that he could tell a startling storyabout this very place.

  "Aint you fond of murders, sir?" he asked abruptly, turning his brighteyes on Tait.

  "No, I don't think I am," replied the other, delighted to think he hadsucceeded in rousing the man's dormant intelligence. "Why do you ask?Murder is an ugly word, and can have nothing to do with so peaceful ascene as this."

  "That's all you know, sir," said Dick eagerly. "Why, I could tell you ofa murder as I seed myself in this very spot where we are now--or only afew yards from it, sir."

  Tait glanced at his watch with an affectation of hurry, and shook hishead. "I am afraid I can't wait," he said artfully. "I must return toHorriston in a few minutes."

  "It won't take longer nor that to tell. Why, I've told it in tenminutes, I have. It's freezer to the blood. A murder at night, too,"added Dick, in an agony lest Tait should go away, "with a lantern and acorpse--just like you read in novels."

  "Hm!" observed Tait skeptically, not yet being sure of the man. "Is ittrue?"

  "True as gospel, sir. I wouldn't tell a lie, I wouldn't. I've beenbrought up Methody, you know, sir, and scorn a falsehood as a snare ofthe Old 'Un. You make it worth Dicky's while, sir, and he'll give yougoose flesh. Oh, that he will."

  "Very good," said Tait, throwing himself on the sward. "I don't mindhearing the legend of this place. If it is as good as you say I'll giveyou half a sovereign."

  "In gold?" asked Dick, with a grasping eagerness.

  "In bright gold. See! here is the half sovereign. You tell the story andit is yours. Now, then, what is it all about?"

  Dick Pental sat down beside Tait, but at some distance away, andchuckled as he rubbed his hands. He had a chance of makingtwelve-and-sixpence that morning, and was overjoyed at his good fortune.Resolved to begin with a startling remark, he glanced down to see thatthey were alone, and then brought it out.

  "I could hang a man, I could," he said cheerfully. "I could hang himtill he was a deader."