by James Payn
CHAPTER XIV.
THE FALSE SCENT.
I am now drawing near the end of this strange eventful narrative, and myreaders will learn in a chapter or two what has in reality become ofLost Sir Massingberd: whether he lies dead in Fairburn Chase,notwithstanding that strict search of ours, or somewhere else, conveyedby foemen's hands; or if, alive, he keeps in hiding nigh, for some evilend, or has even left British soil for a time, to return, according tohis threat, on a day when he is least expected. If his real whereaboutsand true position have been guessed, then is he who hit upon it a wiserman, not only than I was at that time (which might easily be), butwiser than that genius of Bow Street, whose eye was reported to seefurther into very millstones than any man alive of his time. He arrivedat Fairburn with his handcuffs and his suspicions, and would, I verilybelieve, have made me his stalking-horse whereby to come down upon theguileless Farmer Arabel, and extract what might be tantamount to aconfession.
"You know him, Mr. Meredith," he had observed to me in his frankesttone, as we walked out together after breakfast, on the morning afterour arrival; "and I look to you to make the matter easy. We will stepover to the farm at once, if you please, and have a glass of home-brewedwith the good man, when, I dare say, he will tell us what we want toknow, and exculpate himself at the same time."
"Mr. Townshend," I replied, gravely, "I have been made a catspaw ofalready, within a few weeks, and until the remembrance of that event hasworn off very considerably, I shall not act that part again."
"Very good, sir," responded the Runner, cheerfully. "I only thought,that being a well-wisher to the person in question, you might have madethe thing less unpleasant for him. If you went with me, introducing meas a gentleman from London, anxious to see good farming, forinstance--that 'ud tickle him--I could bring the subject of the noteinto conversation; then, if he explained to my satisfaction, as he willdoubtless be able to do, how he got possession of it, it will not benecessary to inquire further. He need never know as a police-officer hadbeen down here with darbies in his pocket, upon the chance of having tofit them on his wrists upon the charge of Wilful Murder."
"There is certainly something in that," said I, musingly.
"There is everything in it," returned Mr. Townshend, stepping carelesslyover the style, on the other side of which ran the pathway to Mr.Arabel's residence. "The idea of this man's guilt being, as you say,quite preposterous, it would only be a kindness on your part to sparehis feelings. That's a fine stout old fellow looking at those men atwork in yonder field, a sort of man that carries his years better thanone sees people do in London: I should say, now, that might be thefarmer himself."
"Really," said I, stopping short, "I think you had better do thisbusiness of yours alone, Mr. Townshend. I have eaten and drunk in Mr.Arabel's house, and to be concerned in any such errand as this seems buta poor return for his hospitality."
"Ah, it _is_ him, is it? Very good, sir. Well, you may just pleaseyourself as to accompanying me now. When I have once set eyes on my manit is not my habit to lose sight of him. Still, you might have made iteasier--for _him_, that is. It is no matter to me whether the thing isdone soft or hard." And the Bow Street runner stepped along as he spoke,like a diligent man who sees his work cut out before him.
After a moment's indecision, I followed upon Mr. Townshend's heels.
"That's right, young gentleman," observed he, approvingly, but withouteven turning his head. "Those is turnips, I suppose, and very good theyare with capers and a leg of mutton; as to wheat, I am not acquaintedwith it, at least, so as to know it from oats and barley, unless whenit's in ear. Agriculture is one of them things to which I have not yetgiven my attention; but I means to do so, and I have come here forwrinkles concerning it, remember that, if you please."
"Very well," said I, sheepishly, for I was obliged to confess to myselfthat Mr. Townshend had got the better of me; and in a few more strideswe had got within earshot of the farmer. This was not indeed very near,but Mr. Arabel had excellent lungs, and bade me welcome as soon as hehad recognized me.
"Glad to see you, as likewise any friend of yours, Master Meredith. Sothe rector is back, I hear; and the wise folks in London can tell nomore what has become of Sir Massingberd than we poor folks."
"No, Mr. Arabel, they cannot; on the contrary," said I, determined thatthere should be no hypocrisy upon my part at least, "here is one ofthem, who is come down to Fairburn for information, and relies upon youto give it to him too."
"I should like to know when you saw Sir Massingberd last," observed theBow Street runner quietly, "and under what circumstances?"
"That is soon told," returned the farmer simply; "but perhaps you wouldrather step in out of the cold, and take a drop of something while youhear it."
"No, I thank you," said I, firmly, determined that the laws ofhospitality should not be thus infringed with my consent, "I must returnto the Rectory at once."
"Then I will walk with you," observed the farmer civilly, "and tell youall I know in a few words. The fact is, the squire and I had not been ongood terms for a length of time before his disappearance. He was a badlandlord, and did not know how to behave to a tenant as would have donehis duty by him. He wanted his own rent paid to the day, and never hadto ask it from me, for that matter; but when he owed a little moneyhimself, it was dreadful hard to get it out of him. There happened to besomething due from him to me--it was a small matter, made up of littlethings--corn for that horse he bought for Master Marmaduke, amongothers, but the thing had been owing for a year or more. I had notdeducted it from the rent, and therefore he ought to have been thereadier to pay it; but he was not; and at last I cut up rough about it,and went to the Hall myself on the 15th of last month, and then werather fell out together, the Squire and me."
"You quarrelled, did you?" remarked Mr. Townshend, carelessly.
"Well, yes, we did quarrel; leastways, _I_ did. Sir Massingberd alwaysquarrelled with whoever asked him for payment, so that was nothing. Isaid that I would not leave the house without the money; but at last Idid leave upon his solemn promise to pay me the next day, that was thevery day of his disappearance, and he did pay me, with as many oaths asone-pound notes into the bargain."
"He paid you these on the 15th of November, then," observed thedetective.
"On the 16th," replied the farmer. "I've got a memorandum of it in mypocket-book; here it is, and the number of the notes 82977 to 80; therewas four in all."
"And those notes you sent to your London agent along with more, and yougot some foreign stuff back from Hamburg in exchange for them."
"And how the deuce come you to know that?" exclaimed the farmer inextreme astonishment.
"Well, it is my business to know a good many things," returned the BowStreet runner, getting over the stile rather sulkily, for he was wellaware by this time that there would be no employment for his favouritebracelets.
"Well, that may be your friend's business," quoth Mr. Arabel, lookingafter his retreating form, "but I'm gormed if he looks like it. I shouldhave said he was an individual in the same line as myself, only fatter,and though I say it as shouldn't say it, a sight more foolish."
"Nay," said I, "he is not a foolish man, Mr. Arabel, far from it;although I think he has come down to Fairburn upon a fool's errand."