II
It is my experience that places are to be found within twenty miles ofLondon far more rural, far sleepier, far less influenced by the greatcity that lies so near, than places thrice and four times as far away.They are just too far out to be disturbed by suburban traffic, and toonear to feel the influence of the great railway lines. These main linesgo by, carrying their goods and their passengers to places far beyond,and it is only by awkward little branch lines, with slow and raretrains, that any part of this mid-lying belt is reached, and even thenit is odds but that one must drive a good way to his destination.
Throckham was just such a place as I speak of, and that was the reasonwhy we had such ample time to catch the first of the half-dozenleisurely trains by which one might reach the neighbourhood during theday. The station was Redfield, and Throckham was three miles beyond it.
At Redfield a coachman with a dogcart awaited Hewitt--only onegentleman having been expected, as the man explained, in offering togive either of us the reins. But Hewitt wished to talk to the coachman,and I willingly took the back seat, understanding very well that myfriend would get better to work if he first had as many of the facts aspossible from a calm informant before discussing them with the deadman's relations, probably confused and distracted with their naturalemotions.
The coachman was a civil and intelligent fellow, and he gave Hewitt allhe knew of the case with perfect clearness, as I could very well hear.
"It isn't much I can tell you, sir," he said, "beyond what I expect youknow. I suppose you didn't know Mr. Peytral, my master, that's dead?"
"No. But he was a foreigner, I suppose--French, from the name."
"Well, no, sir," the coachman replied, thoughtfully; "not Frenchexactly, I think, though sometimes he talked French to the mistress.They came from somewhere in the West Indies, I believe, and there's atrifle of--well, of dark blood in 'em, sir, I should think; though, ofcourse, it ain't for me to say."
"Yes--there are many such families in the French West Indies. Did youever hear of Alexandre Dumas?"
"No, sir, can't say I did."
"Well, he was a very great Frenchman indeed, but he had as much 'darkblood' as your master had--probably more; and it came from the WestIndies, too. But go on."
"Mr. Peytral, you must understand, sir, has lived here a year ortwo--I've only been with him nine months. He talked English always--asgood as you or me; and he was always called _Mr._ Peytral--not Monsieur,or Signor, or any o' them foreign titles. I think he was naturalised.Mrs. Peytral, she's an invalid--came here an invalid, I'm told. Shenever comes out of her bedroom 'cept on an invalid couch, which iscarried. Miss Claire, she's the daughter, an' the only one, and she washoping you'd ha' been down last night, sir, by the last train. She's inan awful state, as you may expect, sir."
"Naturally, to lose her father in such a terrible way."
"Yes, sir, but it's wuss than that even, for her. You see, this Mr.Bowmore, that they've took up, he's been sort of keepin' company withMiss Claire for some time, an' there's no doubt she was very fond ofhim. That makes it pretty bad for her, takin' it both ways, you see."
"Of course--terrible. But tell me how the thing happened, and why theytook this Mr. Bowmore."
"Well, sir, it ain't exactly for me to say, and, of course, I don't knowthe rights of it, bein' only a servant, but they say there was a suddenquarrel last night between Mr. Peytral and Mr. Bowmore. I think myselfthat Mr. Peytral was getting a bit excitable lately, whatever it was. OnThursday night, just after dinner, he went strolling off in the dusk,alone, and presently Mr. Bowmore--he came down in the afternoon--wentstrolling off after him. It seems they went down toward the Penn'sMeadow barn, Mr. Peytral first, and Mr. Bowmore catching him up frombehind. A man saw them--a gamekeeper. He was lyin' quiet in a littlewood just the other side of Penn's Meadow, an' they didn't see him asthey came along together. They were quarrelling, it seems, thoughGrant--that's the gamekeeper--couldn't hear exactly what about; but heheard Mr. Peytral tell Mr. Bowmore to go away. He 'preferred to bealone' and he'd 'had enough' of Mr. Bowmore, from what Grant could makeout. 'Get out o' my sight, sir, I tell you!' the old gentleman said atlast, stamping his foot, and shaking his fist in the young gentleman'sface. And then Bowmore turned and walked away."
"One moment," Hewitt interposed. "You are telling me what Grant saw andheard. How did it come to your knowledge?"
"Told me hisself, sir--told me every word yesterday. Told me twice, infact. First thing in the morning when they found the body, and thenagain after he'd been to Redfield and had it took down by the police. Itwas because of that they arrested Mr. Bowmore, of course."
"Just so. And is this gamekeeper Grant in the same employ as yourself?"
"Oh, no, sir! Mr. Peytral's is only just an acre or two of garden and apaddock. Grant's master is Colonel White, up at the Hall."
"Very good. You were saying that Mr. Peytral told Mr. Bowmore to get outof his sight, and that Mr. Bowmore walked away. What then?"
"Well, Grant saw Mr. Bowmore walk away, but it was only a feint--adodge, you see, sir. He walked away to the corner of the little woodwhere Grant was, and then he took a turn into the wood and beganfollowing Mr. Peytral up, watching him from among the trees. Came closeby where Grant was sitting, following up Mr. Peytral and watching him;and so Grant lost sight of 'em."
"Did Grant say what he was doing in the wood?"
"He said he'd found marks of rabbit-snares there, and he was watching tosee if anybody came to set any more."
"Yes--quite an ordinary part of his duty, of course. What next?"
"Well, Grant didn't see any more. He waited a bit, and then moved off toanother part of the wood, and he didn't notice anything else particulartill the barn was on fire. It was dark, then, of course."
"Yes--you must tell me about the fire. Who discovered it?"
"Oh, a man going home along the lane. He ran and called some people, andthey fetched the fire-engine from the village and pumped out of thehorse-pond just close by. It was pretty much of a wreck by the time theygot the fire out, but it wasn't all gone, as you might have expected.You see, it had been out of use for some time, sir, and there was mostlynothing but old broken ploughs and lumber there; and what's more, therewas a deal of rain early in the week, as you may remember, sir, so thethatch was pretty sodden, being out o' repair and all--and so was thetimber, for the matter o' that, for there's no telling when it was lastpainted. So the fire didn't go quite so fierce as it might, you see;else I should expect it had been all over before they got to work onit."
"Not at all a likely sort of place to catch fire, it would seem,either," Hewitt commented. "Old ploughs and such lumber are not verycombustible."
"Quite so, sir; that's what makes 'em think it so odd, I suppose. Butthere _was_ a bundle or two of old pea-straw there, shied in lastsummer, they say, being over bundles from the last load, and thereleft."
"And when was Mr. Bowmore seen next?"
"He came strolling back, sir, and told the young lady he'd left herfather outside, or something of that sort, I think; said nothing of thequarrel, I believe. But he said the barn was on fire--which he must haveknown pretty early, sir, for 'tis a mile from the house off that way;"and the coachman pointed with his whip.
"Nothing was suspected of the murder, it seems, till yesterday morning?"
"No, sir. Miss Claire got frightful worried when her father didn't comehome, as you would expect, and specially at him not coming home allnight. But when the fire was quite put out, o' course the people wentaway home to bed, and it wasn't till the morning that anybody went in toturn the place over. Then they found the body."
"Badly burnt, I believe?"
"Horrid burnt, sir. If it wasn't for Mr. Peytral's being missing, Idoubt if they'd have known it was him at all. It took a doctor'sexamination to see clear that the throat had been cut. But cut it hadbeen, and deep, so the doctor said. And now the body's gone over toRedfield mortuary."
Hewitt asked a few questions more, a
nd got equally direct answers,except where the coachman had to confess ignorance. But presently wewere at the house to which Hewitt had been summoned.
It was a pleasant house enough, standing alone, apart from the village,a little way back from a loop of road that skirted a patch of opengreen. As we came in at the front gate, I caught an instant's glimpse ofa pale face at an upper window, and before we could reach thedrawing-room door Miss Claire Peytral had met us.
She was a young lady of singular beauty, which the plain signs ofviolent grief and anxiety very little obscured. Her complexion, of avery delicate ivory tinge, was scarcely marred by the traces ofsleeplessness and tears that were nevertheless clear to see. Her eyeswere large and black, and her jetty hair had a slight waviness that wasthe only distinct sign about her of the remote blend of blood from aninferior race.
"Oh, Mr. Hewitt," she cried, "I am so glad you have come at last! I havebeen waiting--waiting so long! And my poor mother is beginning tosuspect!"
"You have not told her, then?"
"No, it will kill her when she knows, I'm sure--kill her on the spot. Ihave only said that father is ill at--at Redfield. Oh, what shall I do?"
The poor girl seemed on the point of breakdown, and Hewitt spoke sharplyand distinctly.
"What you must do is this," he said. "You must attend to me, and tell meall I want to know as accurately and as tersely as you can. In that caseI will do whatever I can, but if you give way you will cripple me. Itall depends on you, remember. This is my intimate friend, Mr. Brett, whois good enough to offer to help us. Now, first, I think I know the headsof the case, from the newspapers, and, more especially, from yourcoachman. But when you sent for me, no doubt you had some definite ideaor intention in your mind. What was it?"
"Oh, he is innocent, Mr. Hewitt--he is, really! The only friend I havein the world--the only friend we all have!"
"Steady--steady," Hewitt said, pressing her kindly and firmly into aseat. "You _must_ keep steady, you know, if I am to do anything. Iexpected that would be your belief. Now tell me why you are so sure."
"Mr. Hewitt, if you knew him you wouldn't ask. He would never injure mypoor father--he went out after him purely out of kindness, because I wasuneasy. He would never hurt him, Mr. Hewitt, never, never! I can't sayit strongly enough--he never would! Oh! my poor father, and now----"
"Steady again!" cried Hewitt, more sharply still. I could see that hefeared the hysterical breakdown that might come at any moment after thelengthened suspense Miss Peytral had suffered. "Listen, now--you mustn'tfrighten yourself too much. If Mr. Bowmore is innocent--and you say youare so certain of it--then I've no doubt of finding a way to prove it ifonly you'll make your best effort to help me, and keep your wits aboutyou. As far as I can see at present there's nothing against him that weneed be afraid of if we tackle it properly, and, of course, the policemake arrests of this sort by way of precaution in a case like this, onthe merest hint. Come now, you say you were uneasy when your father wentout after dinner on Thursday night. Why?"
"I don't know, quite, Mr. Hewitt. It was my mother that was uneasy,really, about something she never explained to me. My father had takento going out in the evening after dinner, just in the way he did onThursday night. I don't know why, but I think it had something to dowith my mother's anxiety."
"Did he dress for dinner?"
"No, not lately. He used to dress always, but he has dropped it oflate."
Hewitt paused for a moment, thoughtfully. Then he said, "Mrs. Peytral isan invalid, I know, and no doubt none the better for her anxiety. But ifit could be managed I should like to ask her a few questions. What doyou think?"
But this Miss Peytral was altogether against. Her mother was sufferingfrom spinal complaint, it appeared, with very serious nervouscomplications, and there was no answering for the result of the smallestexcitement. She never saw strangers, and, if it could possibly beavoided, it must be avoided now.
"Very well, Miss Peytral, I will first go and look at some things I mustsee, and I will do without your mother's help as long as I possibly can.But now you must answer a few more questions yourself, please."
Hewitt's questions produced little more substantial information, itseemed to me, than he had already received. Mr. Peytral had taken thehouse in which we were sitting--it was called "The Lodge" simply--twoyears ago. Before that the family had lived in Surrey, but they had notmoved direct from there; there was a journey to America between, on somebusiness of Mr. Peytral's, and it was on the return voyage that they hadmet Mr. Percy Bowmore. Mr. Bowmore had no friends nearer than Canada,and he was reading for the Bar--in a very desultory way, as I gathered.Miss Peytral's childhood had been passed in the West Indies, at the townof San Domingo, in fact, where her father had been a merchant. Hermother had been a helpless invalid ever since Miss Peytral couldremember. As to the engagement with Bowmore, it would seem to have hadthe full approval of both parents all along. But a rather curious changehad come over her father, she thought, a few months ago. What it wasthat had caused it she could not say, but he grew nervous and moody,often absent-minded, and sometimes even short-tempered and snappish, athing she had never known before. Also he read the daily papers withmuch care and eagerness. It was plain that Miss Peytral had no idea ofany cause which might have led to a quarrel between Bowmore and herfather, and Hewitt's most cunning questions failed to elicit thesmallest suggestion of reason for such an occurrence.
Ten days or so ago, Mr. Peytral had returned from a short walk afterdinner, very much agitated; and from that day he had made a practice ofgoing out immediately after dinner every evening regularly, walking offacross the paddock, and so away in the direction of Penn's Meadow. Thefirst visit of Percy Bowmore after this practice had begun was onThursday, but the presence of the visitor made no difference, as MissPeytral had expected it would. Her father rose abruptly after dinner andwent off as before; and this time Mrs. Peytral, who had been broughtdown to dinner, displayed a singular uneasiness about him. She hadexperienced the same feeling, curiously enough, on other occasions, MissPeytral remarked, when her husband had been unwell or in difficulties,even at some considerable distance. This time the feeling was so strongthat she begged Bowmore to hurry after Mr. Peytral and accompany him inhis walk. This the young man had done; but he returned alone after awhile, saying simply that he had lost sight of Mr. Peytral, whom he hadsupposed might have come home by some other way; and mentioning alsothat he had been told that Penn's Meadow barn was on fire.
When it grew late, and Mr. Peytral failed to return, Bowmore went outagain and made inquiry in all directions. It grew necessary to concoct astory to appease Mrs. Peytral, who had been taken back to her bedroom.Bowmore spent the whole night in fruitless search and inquiry, andthen, with the morning, came the terrible news of the discovery in theburnt barn; and late in the afternoon Bowmore was arrested.
The poor girl had a great struggle to restrain her feelings during theconversation, and, at its close, Hewitt had to use all his tact to keepher going. Physical exhaustion, as well as mental trouble, were againsther, and stimulus was needed. So Hewitt said, "Now you must try yourbest, and if you will keep up as well as you have done a little longer,perhaps I may have good news for you soon. I must go at once and examinethings. First, I should like to have brought to me every single pair ofboots or shoes belonging to your father. Send them, and then go and lookafter your mother. Remember, you are helping all the time."