CHAPTER XIV
THE BLACK DOCTOR
My mail, neatly readdressed by Coates, was awaiting me when I returnedto the Abbey Inn. The postal deliveries in Upper Crossleys wereeccentric and unreliable, but having glanced through the cuttingsenclosed, I partook of a hasty lunch and sat down to the task ofpreparing a column for the _Planet_ which should not deflect publicinterest from the known central figures in the tragedy but which atthe same time should hint at new developments.
Many times in the intervals of writing I glanced through my openwindow across the valley to where the upstanding wing of Friar's Parkjutted above the trees. Strange and terrible ideas flocked to mymind--ideas which must be carefully excluded from the _Planet_article. But at last the manuscript was completed and I determined towalk into the neighboring town, some miles distant, to post it and atthe same time to despatch a code telegram to Inspector Gatton. Thelong walk did me good, helping me to clear my mind of morbid vapors;therefore, my business finished, and immune from suspicion in mycharacter of a London pedestrian, I set out to obtain that vitalinformation which I lacked.
A natural taciturnity rendered mine host of the Abbey Inn a difficultsubject for interrogation. Moreover that patriarchal outlook which hadbeen evidenced in his attitude towards the uncouth Edward Hinesclearly enough deterred him from imparting to me any facts detrimentalto the good name of Upper Crossleys. But on the highroad and justbefore entering the outskirts of the little country town, I hadobserved an inn which had seemed to be well patronized by the localfolks, and since your typical country tap-room is a clearing-house forthe gossip of the neighborhood, to "The Threshers" I made my way.
The doors had only just been opened; nevertheless as I set my footupon the step I met the very gossip that I sought.
"Hope you wasn't caught in the shower, this morning, sir?" said an oldman seated solitary in an armchair in the corner of the bar-parlor."But the country'll be all the better for the rain." He eyed me, and:"There's many a fine walk hereabouts," he averred. "There's lotscomes down from London, especially of a Sunday."
"No doubt," said I encouragingly, stepping up to the counter.
"There's Manton-on-the-Hill," continued the ancient. "You can see thesea from there in clear weather; and many's the time in the war I'veheard the guns in France from Upper Crowbury of a still night. Then,four mile away, there's the old Friar's Park; though nobody's allowedpast the gate. Not as nobody wants to be," he added reflectively.
"How is that? I understood that Friar's Park was of great interest."
"Oh, ah!" murmured my acquaintance. "Oh, ah! Maybe you was thinkin' oflookin' over it like?"
"I was--yes."
"Oh, ah! Well--there's some likes a bit o' danger."
"Danger?" I echoed. "To what danger do you refer?"
He surveyed me with cunning, old rheumy eyes, and:
"What about man-traps?" he inquired. "Ain't man-traps dangerous? Andwhat about shot-guns? Shot-guns can make a party feel sick, can'tthey? Oh, ah!"
"But," I exclaimed, "you surely don't mean that there are traps laidin the grounds of the Park? It isn't legal. And why should any oneshoot at visitors?"
"Maybe 'cause they're told to," he shouted. "Aye--that's the reason aslike as not; 'cause they're told to."
"Who are 'they'?"
"Old Gipsy Hawkins as used to be Sir Burnham's under-keeper. What's hedoin' of up there at Park all day? Layin' traps and such--that's whathe's doin' of. My son Jim knows it, he do. My son Jim found one of'em--and left best part of a pair of trousers in it, too!"
These statements if true would seem to cast an unpleasant sidelightupon the character of my acquaintance of the Abbey Inn. I wondered ifthe "Jim" referred to was that "young Jim Corder" whose name seemedto be a standing joke with the man Hawkins (I learned later that itwas so). And I wondered if Martin's mysterious references to certainpatrons, whose patronage had damaged his business, might not havereferred to the game-keeper. Moreover I now put a new constructionupon Hawkins' sly amusement when I had inquired about the "shooting"in the neighborhood.
I began to grow keenly interested, and:
"Surely you took some steps in the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, ah. My son Jim did. He lay for days for that there GipsyHawkins--but Hawkins was too wise for him."
"But," said I, "you could legally have claimed damages."
"Maybe," was the reply; "but I reckon they'd have asked what my sonJim was doing in the Park. Oh, ah, I reckon they would."
This point of view had not hitherto presented itself to me, but thatit was a just one I did not doubt.
"What is the object of all this?" I asked. "Does Lady Coverly objectto any one entering the grounds?"
"'Tain't Lady Coverly," confided the old man; "it's that there blackdoctor."
"What black doctor?" I exclaimed.
"Him they call Doctor Greefe."
"Oh," said I, "you call him the black doctor. Is he a negro?"
"He's black," was the reply, "black he is although his hair is white.Oh, ah, there's black blood in him all right."
"And what has he to do with the man-traps in the Park?"
"Has 'em put there--has 'em put there, he does."
"But what for? Surely the property belongs not to Dr. Greefe but toLady Coverly."
"Belongs to her! Her own soul don't belong to her!"
I was conscious of a growing excitement. I thought that I was about tolearn the very fact which I was seeking, and accordingly:
"What is the age of Lady Burnham Coverly?" I asked.
"Lady Burnham? Well, let me see; she were not more'n abouttwenty-five, I reckon, when Sir Burnham first brought her to the Park.Them was the days, them was. These parts 'as changed cruel since I wasa young man. Then it was soon after as Sir Burnham went off to Egyptfor government, and eleven years afore he come back again."
"Did Lady Burnham accompany him to Egypt?" I asked, interestedly.
"Oh, ah, for sure she did. Poor Mr. Roger was born in Egypt. It waseight years come October they returned home to Park, and six yearscome September poor young Mr. Roger died."
"Then Lady Coverly must be something over forty years of age," said Imusingly.
One of my theories, a wild one, I must confess, was shattered by thispiece of information. In short I had conceived the idea (and the newsthat Lady Coverly had resided for some years in Egypt had strengthenedit) that the woman in the case was none other than the mistress ofFriar's Park! Her antipathy towards the late baronet had seemed tosuggest a motive for the crime. But it was impossible to reconcile thefigure of this lonely and bereaved woman with that of thesupernormally agile visitant to my cottage in London, in short, withthe possessor of those dreadful green eyes. I determined to try a newtack, and remembering that the real object of my journey to UpperCrossleys was to learn particulars respecting the early death of RogerCoverly:
"Did Mr. Roger Coverly die in England?" I inquired.
"Oh, no, sir; he died in foreign parts, but they brought him home tobury him, they did."
"Do you know of what he died?"
"Oh, ah. I have heard tell it was some foreign fever like--took himoff sudden, and him only a lad. It killed poor Sir Burnham, it did."
"Then Sir Burnham died shortly afterwards?"
"Two years afterwards, and these parts has never been the same since."
"But what has Dr. Greefe to do with all this?"
"Ah, now you're asking. Seven years ago he settled here in the bighouse up by the Park; part of the Park estate it is; and there he'sbeen ever since, him and his black servant."
"Black servant!" I exclaimed.
"Oh, ah, real black he is--not half-and-half like his master, but asblack as a lump o' coal, an' ugly--oh, ah, he's ugly right enough.Goes up to the Abbey Inn of a night he do, him and that there GipsyHawkins, the prettiest pair o' rascals in Upper Crossleys. Drove allthe decent folk away from the place, and Martin keeps the best beerabout here, too. If I was Martin," continued the ancient, tru
culently,"I'd know what to say to them two, I would; aye, and what to do to'em," he added with great ferocity.
"Oh," said I; for this unexpected clearing up of so many minormysteries had rather taken me aback. "Then Dr. Greefe is not popular?"
"Popular!" echoed the old man.
He drained his tankard and set it down on the table with a bang.
"He's been the ruin o' these parts, he has. He's worse than theturnip-fly."
"But in what way is he responsible for these evils of which youcomplain?"
The old man peered into his empty mug with a glance of such eloquencethat I could not mistake its import. Accordingly, I caused it to berefilled, thus preventing any check in the flow of his eloquence, and:
"In what way?" he asked, his voice raised in a high quavering note. Helaughed, and his laughter was pitched in the same time-worn key. "Thatdoctor is a blot on the country. When Sir Burnham was alive--and aforehe went to Egypt--it was different; although, mind you, it's mybelief--oh, ah, it is indeed--that him coming here had as much to dowith Sir Burnham's death as the loss of his son what I told youabout. That's my belief."
I took a sip from my replenished mug, and:
"I cannot understand," I said, "why the presence of Dr. Greefe shouldhave brought about the death of Sir Burnham or the death of anybodyelse."
"No," said the old man, cunningly; "you can't, eh? Well, there bethings none of us can understand and things some of us can. If youever clap eyes on that there black doctor, like enough this'll be oneof the things you'll be able to understand."
With the idea of drawing yet more intimate confidences:
"You suggest that Dr. Greefe had some hold upon the late Sir Burnham?"
"I don't suggest nothing."
"Some hold upon Lady Burnham, then?"
"Oh, ah, like enough."
"Don't think," I added solicitously, "that I doubt the truth of yourstatements in any way, but what could this black doctor, as you callhim, have to gain by persecuting these people?"
"There be things," replied my aged friend, "what none of us canunderstand, but there be things that all of us do. Oh, ah, there be;and all of us in these parts knows as Upper Crossleys ain't been thesame since that black doctor settled here. Besides, first Mr. Rogerwent, then Sir Burnham went. Now I do read in this 'ere paper asanother of 'em is gone."
He held up two gnarled and twitching fingers crossed before him.
"Did you ever hear tell of the evil eye?" he asked, and peered at mecunningly. He took a long drink from his mug. "But maybe you'll laughat _that_," he added.
"I am in no way disposed to laugh at anything you have told me," Iassured him; "and as to the evil eye, I have certainly heard of such athing, although I must admit, and I am glad to admit, that I havenever met with it."
"I do trust, sir," responded the ancient, "that such a kind-heartedgent may never meet with it. Ah, I do trust that you never may, whichis to say, so to speak, as I do trust as you'll never meet that blackdoctor. If ever a man, had the evil eye, that black doctor's got it,and old Mother Shale what lives in the cottage on the heath downagainst the windmill, she warned me, she did, three days after he comehere. 'Mr. Corder,' she says, 'that black doctor has the evil eye!'And never was a truer word spoke. He's been the bane and blight ofthis 'ere place, he has."
He paused from sheer lack of breath, and having allowed him somelittle interval of repose:
"But what has the evil eye to do with the laying of man-traps and theshooting of visitors who may chance to cross the estate?" I inquired.
"Ah, that's it! But the evil eye, I'm told, goes with the evil heart,and that man's heart's as black as his face. Blacker," he added, onsecond thoughts.
"Yet you have no positive evidence that Dr. Greefe is responsible forthe setting of these man-traps and the attitude of Hawkins?"
"Nobody has," declared my acquaintance earnestly. "If anybody had,we'd have had the law on him long ago."
"And is Lady Burnham often seen about?" I inquired.
"Never!" was the reply. "She ain't passed the gates of the Park thistwelve months and more."
He looked about him covertly, and:
"It's my belief," he affirmed, lowering his quavering voice almost toa whisper, "that she'll never pass them gates again alive."
"Oh," said I. "This seems to be a very cheerful neighborhood. Yet inspite of your wishes on my behalf, I must confess I should like aglimpse of this black doctor. Does he practice about here?"
"Practice? Is it likely?"
"Then he has private means?"
"His house belongs to the estate," was the reply; "and you can't tellme he ever pays any rent. As to his means I don't know nothing aboutthat."
I gathered little more of interest from my acquaintance of "TheThreshers," but indeed I had gathered enough, and as I wended my wayback to the Abbey Inn, I was turning over in my mind the extraordinarystory that he had related to me concerning Dr. Damar Greefe.
Clearly the man lived the life of a pariah and I knew not whether topity him or otherwise. In an ignorant community it is a dreadful thingto earn such a reputation as that which evidently attached to theEurasian doctor; and this talk of the evil eye took me backautomatically to the early days of this quaint spot, where, cut offfrom the larger things of life, the simple folk continued to hold thesame beliefs which had stirred their forefathers. In those remotetimes when the white brethren from the neighboring Abbey had heldabsolute sway in that country-side, the life history of one accused, asDr. Damar Greefe was now accused, of possessing the evil eye, wouldvery probably have terminated upon a pile of faggots, by order ofMother Church. It was all very strange, and apart from its importancein the eyes of the ignorant country folk, seemed to contain a nucleusof something more germane to the object of my mission than theimaginings of ancient sorcery which still lingered in the minds of thepeople of Upper Crossleys.
I thought how I had looked out of my window and had found in themoon-bathed landscape something which had translated my ideas to thatstrange picture of Wiertz. Then I had known nothing of this nebula ofwitchcraft which, according to popular tradition, rested upon thevicinity; yet I had pictured the night as "a curtain 'broidered withluminous eyes"--and I could only suppose that my mind had becomeimpressed by a picture conjured up by this focusing of local thought.In short, the people of the neighborhood had created this atmosphereof desolation and of something more sinister, which I had observed inthe very hour of my arrival at the little village.
So my thoughts ran as I proceeded back to the Abbey Inn; and as I hadcollected much new and valuable information, I determined to embody itin a long report to Gatton. Furthermore, I was doubtful as to my nextstep, the bold move which I made later not having yet presented itselfto my mind.
Twice during the evening, however, I looked into the bar-parlor, butneither "Gipsy" Hawkins nor the black servant appeared. But when atlast I turned in, I closed my windows and drew the curtains. I desiredno repetition of the dreams which had made hideous my first night atthe Abbey Inn.