The Fall of the House of Heron (Prologue Science Fiction)

by Eden Phillpotts

  He shook hands, as Alfred entered, also attired for the chase, and soon they rode away together; while a little later Faraday started to drive himself to London. Greta was travelling with him as far as Exeter and they talked together while she sat at the wheel beside him. She knew that her brother had something important to say to their father and now hoped all promised as Faraday might desire.

  “Nobody ever had such a parent as we have I should think,” said Greta, “and sometimes I feel we don’t know our luck. He’s tremendously proud of you and I often think we are not half proud enough of him.”

  “I’ve rather dashed his pride in me this morning,” confessed her brother. “We don’t often see alike and I guessed what I had to say might rather bother him. It did, and I drew a blank.”

  “Sorry. Tell me — perhaps you put it badly.”

  “He’ll tell you if you want to know, Greta. I’m not very articulate — never was, but I put my ideas before him as clearly as I could, and he wouldn’t entertain them, so I’m rather cast down for the moment.”

  She laughed but without much amusement.

  “Nobody ever saw you cast down, or lifted up for that matter. You might as well be a machine and Alfred says you are one. I suppose you wanted more fuel to keep going?”

  “Exactly; and the old man won’t provide it for my purpose. He thinks science is in danger of being too uppish and wants keeping in its place. We differ rather hopelessly as to what place in the pattern of future things I am going to fill.”

  “He may be right, Faraday. He’s generally pretty right. He knows the world a good deal better than you do.”

  “He judges the world by his own highly successful experience of it and seldom undervalues the forces that make for progress. I don’t quarrel with him; but I look farther ahead, that’s all.”

  “Tell me where he failed you and where you failed him,” she begged. “He’s so tolerant and ready to see other views and opinions than his own.”

  But Faraday shook his head.

  “I can’t go over all the ground again,” he answered. “I’ve talked more this morning than I have for a month of Sundays and I’m sick of my own voice. Father will tell you all about it if you want to know; and you’ll doubtless agree with him and say he is right.”

  “I always agree with him and always know he’s right,” replied Greta stoutly. “I adore him and so does Alfred.”

  Her brother did not reply, and after a long silence, Greta spoke again.

  “You’ll come to the wedding I suppose?” she asked.

  “What wedding — yours?”

  She flushed under her dark skin and her eyes grew hard.

  “No — neither you nor anybody else will ever come to mine. Which you very well know. I mean Alfred.”

  “He should have told me he was engaged, then I would have congratulated him.”

  “Can you have been here for three days and seen them together when the Stephensons called and not observed that he was in love with Nancy?”

  “I’m afraid I missed it.”

  “He’s going to ask her — to-day I expect, if she’s at the meet and a chance offers. She loves him and General Stephenson thinks the world of Alfred, too. Father expected we should have heard the news a fortnight ago. He likes Nancy and thinks she is just right for Alfred. They love country life and sport and all the same things.”

  “And you approve?”

  “Yes; I like Nancy too.”

  “Where will they live?”

  “At Cliff I expect. Father says she’ll be very welcome in our restricted family circle. But it remains to be seen whether she’s going to second the idea. She may prefer her own home and is far too young really to be married yet.”

  Faraday changed the subject.

  “Are you actually going to the headquarters of the police at Exeter?” he asked. “Was it worth while? I doubt if father would have bothered.”

  “Not for the money, but the principle,” explained Greta. “It’s a case that demands the police. This is what happened, two days before you came down. Alfred sacked the cow-man at the home farm, and had every right to do so. He couldn’t have done less and wasn’t sorry to get the chance, because Abel Frost, the cow-man, is a rank ‘red’ and spends quite as much of his time talking rubbish to the farm people as he does looking after the cattle. So, when he asked for an absurd rise in his wages, Alfred promptly declined. But then Frost made his mistake and was insolent and lost his temper and swore. When he had finished and was going away, Alfred called him back and gave him a month’s notice and, two days after the month was ended and Frost had left Cliff, the big wheat stack — worth I don’t know how much — was burned to the ground.”

  “Did Frost make any appeal or offer any apology, or see father after Alfred had dismissed him?”

  “No. He has got work ten miles away and taken his wife and child there. But there’s not a shadow of doubt he burned the rick.”

  “If there’s not a shadow of doubt, what do you want to go to Exeter for?” asked Faraday. “If arson can be proved against the man, why isn’t he arrested?”

  “Because it hasn’t been proved and our local man cannot prove it. It’s one of those cases that need a little special detective work and a morsel of brain power. But father wanted to see them at Exeter and tell the story better than our local inspector was likely to tell it. So I’m going to do so to-day for him.”

  “Father’s idea? I shouldn’t have thought he’d have troubled.”

  “I made him trouble. It’s the principle. I pointed out to him that, granted Frost did it, then Frost ought to be punished and society at large protected from a scoundrel. He couldn’t deny that.”

  “And Frost, of course, declares he had nothing to do with it?”

  “He’s had no opportunity to declare anything. He hasn’t been approached or charged, and imagines he is safe accordingly.”

  “He must have enough wits to know he may be suspected.”

  “Probably he does and feels sure he left no clue to incriminate him. That’s where we shall find a professional detective is cleverer than Frost. Father doubts it, but I say that he ought to be and bowl the man out.”

  “He’ll get five years if he’s caught,” said Faraday.

  “And he’ll deserve it,” declared Greta.

  They parted at Exeter and the girl went to the headquarters of the police with a communication from Sir Hector. The name of Heron commanded due attention. One officer summoned another — a younger man — and Greta told her tale with elaboration and full particulars, unaware that this trivial incident was in truth the entrance to events wherein her own destiny would be determined.

  Detective-Inspector Trensham belonged to the new order of the police force. He was highly educated and possessed of those astute and energetic qualities that promised eminence in a difficult walk of life. He had chosen his calling and already justified his choice, being capable and courageous. Police work continued to attract him and he found it sufficed to fill his days and demand his energy and intelligence; but already on the threshold of success and with every confidence in his peculiar attainments, at two and thirty he looked ahead and reminded himself that, at best, his position in life must be subordinate and lie under masters rather than attain to that command, direction and control of others he felt to be his due. Appointed to the West Country, no question as to the future yet challenged him and now for young Ernest Trensham, as he sat and listened to Greta, there also dawned unguessed events to change the story that his opening years might have been supposed to predict.

  He was a handsome man with a fine, lithe figure and upright and soldierly bearing. His face revealed intelligence and apprehension, his voice was educated and decisive, his manners courteous and tactful. He lacked sentiment and was pitiless to evil-doers, being concerned at no time with any issue but their pursuit and condemnation; in which employment his own ingenuity and skill seldom failed. As a hunter he concentrated on the chase, with absolute indiffer
ence to any human aspect of the prey. In some degree the detective mentally resembled Faraday Heron, for while moulded of coarser clay and without high intellectual attainment, he possessed the same fixity of purpose and determination, the like comfort in isolation and freedom from the interests of his fellows. To him a criminal case, until solved, was what the pursuit of hidden truths appeared to be to Faraday, for the young physician also possessed a hunter’s instinct, though his game promised to be found in country more difficult and even more dangerous than man-hunting could promise. Neither knew fear, nor was capable of feeling fear; both were competent to face peril in cold blood if circumstances so required them, and now, from the ashes of a burned corn stack, chance ordained that years to come would bring these men together.

  Tresham listened with due attention to Greta’s narrative and admired her voice while she spoke. He attached no little attention to the human voice and it was one of his theories that, while education perfected diction, it could not conceal certain intonations. He professed to be guided by this quality and find inherent tone of voice often negative verbal oral evidence. “A tone will frequently tell you that men or women are lying,” he would say, and declared that an habitual criminal’s tone could be recognized, while, even though he might hesitate and be a poor witness, the honest man’s speech had different quality. He affirmed that this theory was his own and that it had served him well on more than one occasion; and now he alluded to it apropos of words Greta had spoken. “It’s something a man doesn’t suspect or guard against,” explained Trensham. “A question of vibration only audible to a highly trained ear — a nervous reflex probably. Dogs, which hear a thousand times better than we do, know it. The pitch of a man’s voice is well understood by them, and they can tell instantly what we are really feeling, though, of course, have no notion of what we are saying.”

  His superior officer smiled at the youngster.

  “You and your hobbies!” he said. “Now please return to the matter in hand, Detective-Inspector.”

  The Heron corn rick promised no very interesting challenge and Trensham doubted not that he would quickly forge the needful links; what interested him more was Greta herself and the possibility of seeing Cliff and finding occasion to meet the old iron-master, who occupied a position of some importance in the country. Sir Hector felt it his duty to devote a measure of time to local politics and had long been famous for generous well-doing, so the detective felt interest in a trivial case for its possibilities and, before the visitor had finished, already guessed that Cliff House might furnish an experience and enable him to move for a moment in the novel atmosphere of wealth.

  “A very full and perfect account of the situation, Miss Heron,” he said when she had done, “and everything straightforward and to the point. Nothing could be more satisfactory than the situation as it stands, with Frost unaware that steps are being taken. He’s bound to know himself suspected; but the fact that he has not been approached, or even asked to give an account of his movements on the night, are to the good, and one may be able to go ahead rather well from there. To make a man think nobody suspects him is often the surest way to get the evidence you want against him. I once took a homicide by building up a pretended belief that quite another man was guilty and making him feel I was after nobody else — least of all himself. In this case the simplest way will be for me to come on the scene as a stranger and not connected with the police. I can stop somewhere handy, meet those who know the man and occupy my time ostensibly in painting, or fishing, or something that will prevent any suggestion I am interested in local affairs.”

  “My father had an idea of that sort,” said Greta. “It occurred to him you could come to us as a guest for a night or two and so work unknown.”

  The young man approved her suggestion and thus it came about that Ernest Trensham entered into the circle of the Herons, dwelt under their roof for two days and won their goodwill. Sir Hector knew some of Ernest’s family and found him well mannered, clever and obviously destined to prosper in the business he had chosen; while Alfred Heron also took to the policeman and admired his physical strength. For Greta he came in a shape more formidable. Her brief and unhappy love-story had left her frozen to any further experience in that field and for two years she had remained impervious; but, during their exceedingly slight acquaintance, Greta found this stranger capable of wakening a sort of pallid interest in the male once more — a revival sufficient to create reflection after he had come and gone. But it persisted, and Greta was not uninterested to observe that her father and her brother were attracted by Trensham. They spoke of his quick mind: Sir Hector declared him good company and Alfred found him a sportsman.

  “A face shining with intellegence,” said the iron-master, “and an attitude to his elders that speaks of sound values. With his tactful approach, good spirits and respectable opinions one might have expected him to choose a more promising profession than the police force; but, after all, his success in such a doleful theatre of work may be said to justify his choice. Not one’s idea of a detective officer, yet obviously very capable.”

  “He’s a good-looking bloke,” commented Alfred. “Perhaps he’ll marry a rich wife some day and chuck his present job.”

  But it was more Trensham’s way of looking at things and opinions and general joy of life that quickened Greta’s heart-beat a little while he remained. As for him, he found no difficulty in pleasuring them all. He much admired them and their simple, straightforward approach to life; he appreciated their friendly attitude and perceived that it would be easy to fall in love with Greta. But no thought of any enterprise so absurd troubled him. though he was conscious that she felt not unkindly and treated him with needless friendship.

  Bringing his own, modern methods to the case and working largely with those who knew Abel Frost but did not know him, the detective came to the root of the matter, collected useful evidence, discovered one conclusive clue in the desolate theatre of the burnt stack and completed a task of small difficulty within a few days. What interested him far more was an invitation to return to Cliff for a week-end’s shooting if opportunity allowed him to do so.

  CHAPTER III

  THAT the events now approaching and the opposed natures of those responsible for them can be understood, certain further particulars are yet demanded and must receive pride of place for thus only shall a story so unlike any other story be set upon sound foundations. Few are concerned in it, yet with its culmination arose international problems and a demand for such international understandings as civilization had not, until now, felt any need. Europe was yet to face the phenomenon of a single human will creating the purpose and guiding the false hope of an empire; had yet to experience the world-wide chaos, agony and loss before that purpose and that hope went down to ruin against united powers capable of destroying them.

  The Herons jogged on their way. Nancy Stephenson accepted Alfred with joy and both families approved the match; but the lovers found crumpled rose-leaves awaiting them and became ruefully aware that a dreary hiatus must precede their union. Nancy was as yet within two months of her seventeenth birthday and her parents, having decided views on the subject, set an interval of two years between her and marriage. As for Faraday, he concentrated upon his dreams and achieved a remarkable success six months after his Christmas interview with Sir Hector. He still worked at his hospital though the end of his term approached, but it was in connection with his future ambitions that honour came to him. The achievement awakened renewed hopes of winning his father and gaining the massive financial grant that he desired, so with that purpose he arrived once more at Cliff during the following July and saw its manifold beauties as he had not seen them since boyhood. Ernest Trensham, the policeman, visited his new friends before the winter ended and established himself as a welcome acquaintance; while more to him than his host’s good willing centred in the fact of Greta’s amiable reception. Indeed, dreams concerning her took shadowy shape, for he perceived that, given his peculi
ar gifts, it might lay in his power to win something more than friendship. For her part she found him possessed of a delicate understanding and the type of mind she approved. Apart from his good looks and native bearing, a certain reserve appealed to Greta and sympathetic evidence that he could look at life through her eyes. She opened out to him, perceived that even within the limits of his brief visit, he made time to companion her and showed deep interest in what she might choose to say. His forthright manner of looking at things pleased her, for Ernest repaid her friendship with great frankness concerning himself. He took occasion to mention what was true enough: that he had never been in love; but he added that, in his profession, it was better to keep single.

  “Fighting crime is a perpetual battle,” he said. “A man doing my work stands always in the firing line and may be called upon to risk his life at any moment. But to marry somebody with danger hanging over him day and night would be putting an unfair strain on a girl, and if I found myself loving a woman, the more I loved her, the less should I feel disposed to tell her so, just for that reason.”

  Greta approved these distinguished sentiments and they parted in great amity. Having displayed interest in her reading and other occupations, he promised to seek literature that might be welcome to her. He was now in sight of a metropolitan appointment of greater promise than any the provinces could furnish and, before he saw Greta again in the late autumn of that year, Trensham had left Exeter and established a channel of correspondence with her from London. His letters were welcome and his gifts of books always accurate and well chosen. Ernest wrote to Alfred also and, when young Heron went to town, contrived to see him there and entertain him. It was through the policeman, too, that news of Faraday’s achievement first reached Sir Hector, for his son kept it until he should himself visit Cliff and did not guess his news likely to reach home from any other source.