The House 'Round the Corner

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XI

  PREPARATIONS FOR BATTLE

  James Walker, the younger, took thought while his cob paced the eightmiles between Elmdale and Nuttonby. In the result, he changed his plansif not his intent. Pulling up outside the office of Holloway & Dobb, hesignaled a clerk who peered out at him through a dust-laden window. Itis a singular fact that more dust gathers on the windows of officesoccupied by respectable country solicitors than on the windows of allother professional men collectively.

  "Would you mind asking Mr. Dobb to come and see me for a minute onimportant business?" he said when the clerk came out.

  After befitting delay, Mr. Dobb appeared. He was portly andbespectacled, and not inclined to hurry. Moreover, he did not make apractice of holding consultations with clients in the street. It neededa man of county rank to prefer such a request, and Mr. Dobb,Commissioner for Oaths, and leading solicitor in Nuttonby, was very muchastonished when he heard that "young Walker, the auctioneer," hadinvited him to step outside.

  "Well, what is it?" he inquired stiffly, standing in the doorway, andclearly resolved not to budge another inch.

  "Sorry to trouble you, sir," said Walker humbly, "but I can't leave thispony when so near his stable. He'd take off on his own account."

  Dobb, though slightly mollified by an eminently reasonable explanation,did not offer to cross the pavement, so Walker, after glancing up anddown the street to make sure that no passer-by could overhear, continuedin a low tone:

  "I've just come from the Grange, Elmdale, and saw Miss Meg Garth there.She passed a remark which seemed to imply that her father is stillliving, and got very angry when I told her that he was dead and buriedtwo years ago."

  Mr. Dobb descended from the doorway quickly enough then. Resting a fathand on the rail of the dash-board, he looked up into Walker's red face.The scrutiny was not friendly. He was sure that the junior member of thefirm of Walker & Son had been drinking.

  "Do you know what you are talking about?" he said, sternly.

  Walker leaned down, until his ferret eyes peered closely into those ofthe angry solicitor.

  "That's why I'm here, sir," he said, with the utmost deference ofmanner. "Of course, I'm aware that you represent the family--at anyrate, with regard to the Elmdale property--and when Miss Meg herselfsaid that her father was alive, and flew into a rage when I ventured tocorrect her, what was I to think? I admit I was knocked all of a heap,and may have put things rather bluntly, but there cannot be theslightest doubt as to what she meant. More than that, her cousin, Mr.Robert Armathwaite, bore out her statement, and got so mad with me forstickin' to it that Mr. Garth had committed suicide, that we almost cameto blows."

  Walker was quite sober--the solicitor had no doubt on that score now.Perhaps vague memories stirred in the shrewd, legal mind, and recalledcertain curious discrepancies he had noted in events already passinginto the limbo of forgetfulness. He, too, looked to right and left, lestsome keen-eared citizen should have crept up unobserved.

  "Can't you take your trap to the stable and come back here?" he asked,thereby admitting that Walker's breach of decorum was condoned.

  "That's really what I had in mind, sir. I was afraid you might have leftthe office before I was at liberty, as I have a few matters to attend towhen I reach our own place, and I didn't want to intrude by callin' atyour house."

  Dobb was watching him critically, and was evidently becoming morepuzzled each moment.

  "I need hardly tell you that you are bringing a very serious chargeagainst someone," he said at last.

  "No, that I'm not!" cried Walker emphatically. "I'm just telling you theplain facts. It's not my business to bring charges. I thought, inreality, that I was doing someone a good turn by comin' straight to you;but, if you don't agree, Mr. Dobb----"

  "No, no, I didn't mean my remark in that sense," explained the solicitorhastily, not without a disagreeable feeling that this perky youngauctioneer seemed to know exactly what he was about. "I only wanted youto understand that grave issues may be bound up with an extraordinarystory of this nature. Look here! I'm busy now. Will you be free at sixo'clock?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, come to my house, and we'll discuss matters fully. You say yousaw and spoke to Miss Meg herself?"

  "Oh, yes, sir! No mistake. I've known her all my life."

  "Very well, then. Don't be later than six. I have some people coming todinner at seven."

  Walker saluted with the switch he carried instead of a whip, clicked histongue at the cob, and rattled away down the High Street. Dobb lookedafter him dubiously. He had been friendly with the Garths, and JamesWalker, junior, was almost the last person in Nuttonby he would haveentrusted with any scandal or secret which affected them. However, inanother hour, he would endeavor to gauge the true value of Walker'sinformation. It might be a cock and bull yarn, in which case it would bea pleasure to sit on Walker heavily. Meanwhile, he would avail himselfof the opportunity to go through certain papers in his possession, andcome to the forthcoming interview primed with the facts.

  Every Thursday evening, at half-past five, the proprietor, editor, andmanager of the _Nuttonby Gazette_--a journalistic trinity comprised inone fussy little man named Banks--looked in at Walker and Son's officefor the "copy" of the week's advertisements, Mr. Banks being then on hisway back to the printing-works after tea. Thus, he killed two birds withone stone, since the Walkers not only controlled a good deal ofmiscellaneous advertising, but, moving about the countryside as they didin the course of their business, often gave him news paragraphs nototherwise available.

  Young Walker, of course, was prepared for this visit. Indeed, it loomedlarge in the scheme he had embarked on. Hurrying home, he changed intoa suit of clothes calculated to impress Gwendoline Dobb, the solicitor'sonly unmarried daughter, if he met her, and then strolled to the HighStreet sanctum of the firm. Not a word did he say to his father as tohappenings at Elmdale. The old man was altogether too cautious, hethought, and would assuredly tell him to shut his mouth, which was thelast thing he meant to do where Meg Garth and her "bounder of a cousin"were concerned.

  Thus, when Banks hurried in, and asked the usual question: "Anythingfresh, gentlemen?" Walker, senior, was by no means prepared for thethunderbolt which his son was about to launch.

  The older man told the journalist that Lady Hutton was giving a specialprize for honey at the next agricultural show; that hay had been abumper crop in the district; and that mangel wurzel was distinctlyfalling out of favor, items of an interest to Nuttonby readers that fartranscended the clash of empires in the Balkans. Banks was going, whenthe son said quietly:

  "By the way, you might like to mention that a Mr. Robert Armathwaite, arelative of the former occupants, has rented the Grange, Elmdale,probably for a period of twelve months."

  "A relative of the Garths, Jim--I didn't know that!" exclaimed hisfather.

  "It's right enough. Meg Garth herself told me."

  "Meg Garth! Is _she_ here?"

  "She's at the Grange. Tom Bland told me she was there, so, after callingabout those cattle at Bellerby to-day, I drove on to Elmdale and sawher."

  "Well, of all the surprising things! Then, Mr. Armathwaite must haveknown about the house when he came in yesterday?"

  Yesterday! While the three men were gazing at each other in the Walkers'office, Armathwaite and Marguerite Ogilvey were escorting PercyWhittaker down the moor road, and even wily James Walker, junior, littleguessed what a whirlwind had enwrapped the new tenant of the Grangesince, as the older Walker had put it, "he came in yesterday."

  "No, I'm jiggered if he did!" cried the younger man viciously."Armathwaite had never heard the name of the place before we mentionedit. I'll swear that in any court of law in the land."

  "And I'd bear you out," agreed his father. "Not that I can see anyreason why it should come into court. He paid up promptly, and we havenothing to bother about until the next quarter is due."

  "I'm not so sure of that," was the well-calculated answ
er.

  "What are you driving at, Jim?"

  "This. He's no more Meg Garth's cousin than I am. There's some queergame bein' played, and I'm a Dutchman if there isn't a row about it. Itell you, Meg Garth is there, alone, and, when I met her, she calmlyinformed me that her father was alive. She nearly jumped down my throatbecause I said he wasn't, and that fellow, Armathwaite, took her part.The Jacksons, too, mother and daughter, are mixed up in it somehow. IfStephen Garth is living, who is the man that was found hanged in theGrange two years ago, and why is he buried in Bellerby churchyard inStephen Garth's name?"

  "I say, Jim, you should be careful what you're saying."

  Walker, senior, was troubled. He, like Dobb, fancied that strong liquorwas inducing this fantasy, yet his son seldom erred in that respect;to-day his manner and appearance gave no other signs of intemperance.

  "I'm tellin' you just what took place. Who should know Meg Garth if _I_didn't? She called Armathwaite 'Bob,' and he called her 'Meg,' and theywere as thick as thieves; but they left me in no doubt as to old Garthbein' still on the map. In fact, we had a regular row about it."

  "By Jove!" cried Banks, moistening his thin lips with his tongue. "Thispromises to be a sensation with a vengeance. Have you told the police?"

  "No. It's not my business."

  "I'm not so sure of that. Why, man, Stephen Garth left a letter for thecoroner. Dr. Scaife was inclined to question the cause of death, but Mr.Hill closed him up like an oyster. Don't you see what it means? IfStephen Garth is living now, some unknown man was murdered in theGrange. He could neither have killed himself nor died from naturalcauses, since no one in their senses would have tried to conceal hisdeath by letting it appear that they themselves were dead."

  Mr. Banks expressed himself awkwardly, but his deduction was not atfault, and left his hearers under no doubt as to its significance. Hiseyes glistened. He could see the circulation of the _Nuttonby Gazette_rising by thousands during the next few weeks, and at a time, too, whenpeople were generally too busy to read newspapers, or buy extra copiesfor dispatch to friends in other parts of the country. What a thricehappy chance that this thing should have come to light on a Thursdayevening! There was nothing in it yet that he dared telegraph to themorning newspapers in York and Leeds, but, by skillful manipulation, hecould make plenty of it for his own sheet.

  "But it simply can't be true!" bleated Walker, senior, in a voice thatquavered with sheer distress.

  "What isn't true?" demanded his son. "You don't doubt what I'm tellin'you, do you? Ask Tom Bland if Meg Garth isn't in Elmdale. He saw her,and she nodded at him through a window, but, when he asked about her,that pup, Armathwaite, swore she wasn't there, and that Bland had seensome other young lady. He couldn't take that line with me, because hewas out when I called, and Meg and I were at it, hammer and tongs, whenhe came in."

  "At what, hammer and tongs?" gasped his father distractedly.

  "Arguin' about old Garth, she sayin' he was alive and well, and makin'out I was lyin' when I said he was dead."

  "Excuse me, gentlemen, I must be off," said Banks, and the man who wasstill sore from the grip of Armathwaite's hands and the thrust ofArmathwaite's boot knew that the first direct assault on the strongholdof Meg Garth's pride had begun.

  "Look here, young fellow," said Walker, senior, recovering his wits withan effort, "you've set in motion more mischief than you reckon on. Iwish to goodness you hadn't blurted out everything before Banks. Youknow what he is. He'll make a mountain out of a molehill."

  "I've found no molehill at Elmdale--don't you believe it," came theangry retort. "Why, you ought to have seen my face when Meg sprang thattale on me about her father. I just laughed at it. 'Tell that to themarines,' I said. By jing, it's no make-believe, though. Between you andme, it's as clear as a whistle that Stephen Garth committed a murder,and humbugged the whole countryside into thinkin' he had killed himself.Just throw your mind back a bit, and you'll see how the pieces of thepuzzle fit. Mother and daughter get out of the way; servants aredischarged; the man is brought to the house over the moor from Leyburn,just as old Garth escaped and Meg returned, for I'll swear she nevercame through Nuttonby station. Dr. Scaife was the only man who halfguessed at the truth, but fussy Hill squelched him, all because of theletter. Then, neither Holloway & Dobb, nor ourselves were given a freehand to deal with the house. Mrs. Garth didn't mean to part withit--twig? Of course, Garth daren't show his nose there, but, when hepegs out in reality, the other two can come back. It's all plain as awhite gate when you see through it, and, when we get hold ofArmathwaite's connection with it, we'll know every move in the game.He's in it, somehow, and up to the neck, too. You want to blame me forspeakin' before Banks, but you've forgotten that Tom Bland told me thisafternoon he had seen Miss Meg, and that lots of people knew I was therelater. If she goes round tellin' folk her father isn't dead it wouldsoon come out that she and I quarreled about it. Where would I be then?When you're not quite so rattled you'll admit that I was bound to speak,and that I've chosen just the right way to do it. If the police want menow as a witness they'll have to come to me, and that's a jolly sightbetter than that I should go to them. Do, for goodness' sake, give mecredit for a little common sense!"

  And, having an eye on the clock, Walker, junior, bounced out, apparentlyin high dudgeon; but really well pleased with his own Machiavellianskill. Indeed, judged solely from a standard of evil-doing, he had beenmost successful. He knew well that Banks would go straight to the localsuperintendent of police, ostensibly for further information, but inreality to carry the great news, and set in motion the official millwhich would grind out additional installments. But Walker's masterstrokelay with Dobb, who, in a sense, represented Mrs. Garth and her daughter.If Dobb could be brought to appreciate the gravity of the girl'sstatements anent her father--and his reception of Walker's story showedthat he was prepared to treat it seriously--he would either write toMeg, asking her to visit Nuttonby, or go himself to Elmdale. In eitherevent, she would be crushed into the dust. The elderly and trustworthysolicitor's testimony would carry weight. She could no longer deny thatStephen Garth was reputedly in his grave; she would be faced with thealternative that her father was an adroit criminal of the worst type,because public opinion invariably condemns a smug rogue far more heavilythan the ne'er-do-well, who seems to be branded for the gallows frombirth.

  Yet, by operation of the law that it is the unexpected that happens,James Walker, the second, was fated not to retire for a night'swell-earned and much-needed repose with a mind wholly freed fromanxiety.

  This came about in a peculiar way. By Mrs. Garth's request, soon afterher departure from Elmdale, the solicitor invariably addressed her asMrs. Ogilvey. At last, the notion got embedded in Mr. Dobb's mind thatshe had undoubtedly quarreled with her husband long before the lattercommitted suicide, and that the outcome of Garth's death was her speedyremarriage! From his recollection of her, she was certainly not the sortof woman whom he would credit with such a callous proceeding, but noman can spend a lifetime in a lawyer's office without gaining an insightinto strange by-ways of human nature. The profession necessitates aclose knowledge of the hidden lives and recondite actions of scores ofone's fellow-creatures. Mr. Dobb knew a vicar who had committed bigamy,and a county magistrate who had been a petty thief for years before hewas caught. That Mrs. Garth should marry again within a few weeks of herhusband's burial might indeed be strange, but it sank into a commonplacecategory in comparison with other queer events he could name.

  Behold, then, young James arriving at The Beeches--a charming old housesituated on the outskirts of Nuttonby; the "nut," as was becoming, wasattired in a nut-brown suit, black shoes, a brown Homburg hat, socks andtie to match a shirt with heliotrope stripes, and yellow gloves.

  He had passed in at the gate in full view of a couple of girls of hisacquaintance, and knew that they were glancing over a yew hedge when thefront door opened and he was admitted. He was shown into a library,where Mr. Dobb awaited him. The lawyer motio
ned him to a chair.

  "Now, Mr. Walker," he said curtly, "would you mind telling me exactlywhat happened at Elmdale this afternoon?"

  James sat down. Unfortunately, the furniture provided a placid harmonyin oak, so the seat of the chair was hard, even though it shone with thesubdued polish of a hundred years of careful use and elbow greaseapplied by many generations of vigorous housemaids.

  "With your permission, sir, I--er--think I'd better begin--er--a littleearlier."

  "What's the matter? Isn't that chair comfortable?"

  Mr. Dobb was clerk to the magistrates in the Nuttonby Petty Sessions;his pet abhorrence was a fidgety witness, and Walker was obviously illat ease.

  "The fact is, sir, I'm a bit saddle-galled. If you don't mind----"

  "Certainly. Take that easy chair. What occurred 'a little earlier' whichyou think I ought to know?"

  Walker had been disagreeably reminded of Armathwaite, but he kept avenomous tongue well under control. He told the lawyer the circumstancesunder which Armathwaite, confessedly a complete stranger, had enteredinto the tenancy of the Grange, and described the journey to Elmdale,together with the curious behavior of the Jackson family. He wasscrupulously accurate in his account of the cause and extent of hisvisit that day, even going so far as to admit that there was "a sort ofa scuffle" between Armathwaite and himself.

  Mr. Dobb listened in silence. At the end, he fixed a singularlypenetrating glance on the narrator.

  "In plain English, I suppose," he said, "this man, Armathwaite, bundledyou out neck and crop?"

  "No, sir. Not exactly that. But I couldn't fight him in Miss Meg'spresence."

  "Yet, from what you have told me, I gather that Mr. Armathwaite is agentleman?"

  "He has all the airs of one," said Walker.

  "And he must have thought you had behaved discourteously to his cousinbefore he would use actual violence towards you!"

  "Nothing of the sort, sir. Miss Meg jumped down my throat for no reasonwhatever. Of course, Mr. Armathwaite hadn't heard the beginning of it,and may have imagined I was to blame, but I wasn't."

  "Perhaps there is an explanation that may be news to you. You are notaware, I take it, that Mrs. Garth is now Mrs. Ogilvey?"

  "By jing!" cried Walker, rather forgetting himself, "that's the name TomBland tried to tell me, but he couldn't rightly get his tongue roundit."

  "Probably. But don't you see the bearing this important fact has onto-day's proceedings? I have reason to believe that Mrs. Garth and herdaughter disagreed with Mr. Garth before his death. At any rate, sheseems to have married again within a very short time, and Miss Meg mayhave fancied that you were trying purposely to insult and annoy her byreferring to a bygone tragedy. The mere presence of this Mr.Armathwaite, who is wholly unknown here, lends color to that assumption.He may be a 'cousin' by the second marriage. It is even conceivable thatMrs. Ogilvey, as Mrs. Garth now is, did not wish her second husband'srelatives to know of the way in which her first husband met his death.The fact that Mr. Armathwaite rented the Grange can be regarded asnothing more than an ordinary coincidence. Isn't it possible, Mr.Walker, that you blundered very seriously in thrusting yourself intoMiss Meg's presence, and forcing an unpalatable revelation on her?"

  Walker's red face positively blanched. For one instant his nerve failedhim.

  "I never thought of that," he muttered, in dire confusion.

  "It strikes me as a perfectly tenable theory," said Dobb, rising, andthereby showing that the interview was at an end. "You took me rather bysurprise when you called me out of my office this afternoon, but I havegiven the matter some calm reflection in the interim, and have come tothe conclusion that you found in Elmdale what is vulgarly known as amare's nest."

  Walker stood up, too. He realized that he was being dismissed withignominy, and resented it. Thumping an oak table with his clenched fist,he cried passionately:

  "Not me! You'll see in a day or two, Mr. Dobb, who's makin' the mistake.If I'm wrong I'll eat humble pie, but I'm not eatin' any now, thank you.I came to you, meanin' to do a good turn to all parties----"

  "Restrain yourself, please," broke in the solicitor, speaking with colddignity. "What kind of 'good turn' is it that rakes up bygone troubles,and spreads scandalous gossip?"

  "You've missed my point entirely, Mr. Dobb," protested Walker. "Ithought that you, being a friend of the Garths, could drop a quiet hintto Miss Meg not to talk about her dead-and-gone father as though hemight arrive here by the next train--that's all."

  "But it is not all. If it were, your attitude would be understandable,even praiseworthy. What you are saying indirectly is that Mr. StephenGarth is alive, and that some unknown person lies in Bellerbychurchyard."

  Thus cornered, Walker floundered badly.

  "I'm not able to argue with you, sir, and that's the truth," he said."Neither do I want to be drawn into a squabble of this sort. Of course,I know nothing of any second marriage; but, even if I did, Miss Megisn't a little girl, who might have forgotten her real father. Lookhere! I stick to my notion, and that's the long and the short of it.There's a mystery at Elmdale, and it's bound to come out, no matter whatdifference of opinion there may be between you and me."

  A parlormaid entered with a telegram.

  "Excuse me one moment," said Mr. Dobb; "that is, unless you wish to go!"he added.

  Walker was constrained to put on a bold front before the servant.

  "I can wait another couple of minutes," he said off-handedly. The lawyersmiled; but, for his own purposes, he did not wish to quarrel outrightwith his visitor. He opened the buff envelope, and read, and not eventhe experience of a lifetime served to mask the incredulous dismay whichleaped to his face.

  For the message ran:

  "Have reason to believe that a gentleman passing under the name of Robert Armathwaite is in or near Nuttonby. Kindly make guarded inquiries and wire result.--SIGMATIC."

  Now, "Sigmatic" was the code address of a department of the India Officein which Mr. Dobb's eldest son held a responsible position. Thatphrase, "passing under the name of," suggested many possibilities to thelegal mind. Moreover, the fact that a Government department wasinterested, and that the ordinary official channel for investigation wasnot employed, gave him furiously to think. In any event, he had beensaved from the exceeding unwisdom of treating James Walker toocavalierly.

  "I'll just answer this, as the messenger is waiting," he saidpleasantly. "If you're not in a hurry, Mr. Walker, sit down again. I'llsend in a decanter of sherry and some cigarettes. Help yourself, willyou?"

  He went out. James Walker grinned, and plunged his clenched fists intohis trousers pockets.

  "That telegram knocked old Dobb into a cocked hat," he mused. "Wonderwhat was in it? Something to do with the Garths, I'll bet! Keep a steadyhand on the reins, Jimmy, my boy, and you'll finish with the best of 'emyet!"