Stolen Idols

  CHAPTER III

  Mr. Peter Johnson, on the following morning, was indulging in theharmless occupation of practising mashie shots with a dozen golf ballsover some shrubs upon the front lawn of the Great House, when Morton,his newly engaged butler who had arrived a few days before from aregistry office at Norwich, sallied through the garden door, followed bya young lady. Mr. Johnson promptly abandoned his diversion and cameforward.

  "Miss Besant to see you, sir," the servant announced.

  Mr. Johnson, without committing himself to speech, exhibited a certainmeasure of cordiality. He held out a welcoming hand, which, after amoment's hesitation, the girl accepted.

  "I must apologise for coming in like this, Mr. Johnson," she said."Madame De Fourgenet, the lady to whom I am companion, insisted uponit."

  "I beg that you will not apologise," was the civil reply. "I am veryglad to see you. You are my opposite neighbour then, it seems."

  "We live at the Little House," the young lady assented. "For over ayear--all the time that the place has been empty, in fact--yourgardener, Smith, has been accustomed to assist our one servant for halfan hour each day, cutting wood or something of that sort. Madame has thestrongest objection to having a stranger in the house, or even in thegarden, and she sent me across to ask whether it were possible to makeany arrangement by which we could continue to have the services of Smithfor that time each day."

  Mr. Johnson made no immediate reply. He was exceedingly interested inthe young lady, and he seemed to be carrying out a line of thought withregard to her. From the moment of her appearance her expression had notchanged. Her tone, which was level and indifferent, was the tone of aperson who had no concern in what she said; she spoke mechanically, asthough choosing the readiest words with the sole object of concluding anunavoidable task. She was tall, inclined to be of full figure, palerthan she ought to have been, living in the country, with eyes whichseemed seldom fully open, masses of light brown hair brushed back fromher forehead, and a mouth whose discontented corners gave to herexpression a weary, almost a petulant note. No ordinary person, anadmirer of the sex, studying her as she had crossed the lawn, wouldprobably have troubled to look at her again; Mr. Johnson, however, wasnot an ordinary person. It was one of his gifts to appreciate people forwhat they were, not for what they seemed to be. He realised that therewere certain exceptional characteristics about the young woman who stoodwaiting for his reply.

  "Please don't hesitate to say so," she went on, half turning away, "ifyou think Madame's request unreasonable. I really don't see myself whyyou should consent. I am simply the bearer of a message."

  "My dear young lady, pray sit down," Mr. Johnson invited, pushing awicker chair towards her. "Please assure Madame--I fear that her name isa little beyond me--that I should be very glad indeed for Smith tocontinue to render her the services which he has hitherto performed."

  "As to remuneration," she began----

  Mr. Johnson waved his hand.

  "Pray settle that with the man himself," he begged. "I shall allow himhis half an hour off each day--he has an under gardener and can sparethe time. It is only a neighbourly action. Anything Madame may choose togive him is no concern of mine."

  "You are very kind," she said doubtfully, "but I do not think thatMadame will care to accept the man's services in your time withoutseeing that you are recompensed."

  "Make your own arrangements then," he suggested. "The matter is scarcelyworth serious discussion."

  The young woman rose.

  "You are very kind," she repeated. "You must excuse my having come tosee you in this informal fashion. It was Madame's desire, and I have toobey orders."

  "I will excuse it, my dear young lady," he declared, "on one condition."

  "Condition?"

  "That you sit down and talk to me for a minute or two."

  "Why should I do that?" she asked, with a querulous uplifting of theeyebrows, which he had already noticed were very fine and silky.

  "Because we are neighbours," he replied. "Because I have just returnedto this country after many years spent abroad, and I am at times lonely.Because I am quite sure that Madame can spare you for half an hour, andbecause--here is a great idea--if I let you have my gardener for half anhour, why shouldn't Madame, as you call her, let me have her companionfor the same length of time?"

  She looked at him with mild curiosity. Her self-possession was so markedas to indicate indifference.

  "Is it my fancy," she asked, "or are you rather a strange person?"

  "I like to talk," he confided. "All my life I have had to live amongstsilent people. That is finished. Agreeable society is one of the thingsto which I have looked forward upon my return to England."

  "Then why on earth did you come to Market Ballaston?" she demanded, withunexpected vehemence. "You won't find any society here. Why did youcome? Why did you choose this place?"

  She had without warning adopted an almost inquisitive tone, but his eyesmet hers steadily. He seemed to be trying to divine her sudden access ofinterest.

  "I came," he explained, "because I like a large house and gardens, whenI can afford them, and this place is very cheap. I had to settle downsomewhere, and this neighbourhood is as good as any other. As to thepeople--well, if there is no one here who wants to be friendly, I mustmake the best of it. I have been abroad for a great many years, but Ihave a few friends left who will find me out in time."

  The little spark of interest seemed to have entirely died out of hermanner.

  "I see," she murmured. "The house certainly is a pleasant one. Wescarcely expected, though, to see it let so soon."

  "Why not?"

  "People have ideas. You know the story of the last tenant here?"

  "I heard it after I had taken the house," he confided.

  She pointed to the library window on the ground floor.

  "He was shot one night in the study there," she told him.

  "Terrible! And what seems more terrible still, I understand that themurderer was never caught. Surely some one must have been suspected."

  The girl shrugged her shoulders. She had accepted one of her companion'scigarettes and was smoking lazily and with a certain measure of content.

  "I think," she said, "that every one in the village has been suspected,including Mr. Wilkinson the clergyman, myself, every one up at the Halland all the servants. The hard thing, however, has always been todiscover any possible motive."

  "Nothing was taken from the room then, I suppose?" he enquired.

  "Nothing that could be traced. Nothing apparently of any value. Mr.Endacott had been occupied in the translation of some wonderful Chinesemanuscripts at the time the affair happened. The box containing them wasupset and the manuscripts were all over the place, but no one could tellif any were missing, or if they were of any real value. Even his niece,Miss Endacott, who ought to have known, had nothing whatever to say."

  "What sort of a man was this predecessor of mine?" he asked.

  "He had been a great scholar in his day," she answered, a littledoubtfully, "but really I only saw him once or twice. Some of the paperscalled him the greatest living authority on Chinese art and antiquities.He had spent nearly all his life out there."

  "Of cheerful disposition?"

  "Not very. He was exceedingly reserved and seemed all the time engrossedin his work. He chose this part of the world, I think, to be nearMadame, but, considering that they were brother and sister, he saw verylittle of her."

  "And the young lady--his niece?"

  "She was very attractive--I suppose you might say beautiful," was thesomewhat cold reply. "She left soon after the inquest and hasn'treturned yet. She is coming to stay with Madame, I believe, veryshortly."

  "A most mysterious affair!" Mr. Johnson reflected. "Yet I dare say, ifone knew where to start, the solution would be very simple. Now,supposing, Miss Besant, any one were to offer you the thing you mostdesired in life to discover who fired that shot, where should you start
your investigations?"

  She turned her head and looked at him. The sleepy droop of her eyelidshad for a moment gone, and he saw that her eyes themselves werebeautiful.

  "I have not the faintest idea," she assured him. "Nature never meant mefor a detective. I have too little imagination."

  There was a brief silence. The young lady began to make preparations fordeparture.

  "Tell me," her companion ventured; "now that I am settling down here, Ishould like to be neighbourly. It is, of course, impossible for Madameto come and see me--would it be possible for me to call upon her?"

  "In a general way," she replied, after a moment's hesitation, "I shouldhave told you at once that it was altogether impossible. Madame detestsvisitors--the outer gate is generally kept locked as a hint--butcuriously enough, she has shown the utmost interest in your coming. Shewill bombard me with questions when I return. Unless what I saysatisfies her, it is very possible that she may consent to receive yourvisit. Although," she added, "you won't get much amusement out of it."

  "In any case," he said, "I hope before long that Madame may require someother trifling service and that you will again be her ambassadress."

  She left him, vouchsafing only the most casual of farewells, and passinground the corner of the house without a backward glance. Mr. Johnsonwatched her every step. An ordinary young woman without a doubt, wearingordinary clothes, saying ordinary things, and with an unusual gift forconcealment. Yet there was something in her very reticence which had itsallurement. Mr. Johnson, who was not a profound psychologist, althoughhe had always understood the men with whom he had had to deal, had aflash of inspiration. She was ordinary, just as she wasreticent--because she was, by temperament, or circumstance, intenselyself-possessive. He came to the conclusion, as he returned to hisunaccustomed pursuit, and fluffed mashie shot after mashie shot, thatthere existed a Miss Besant at present entirely unrevealed.

  * * * * *

  At precisely half-past three o'clock that afternoon there occurred whatwas looked upon almost as a pageant in the village. With great ceremonythe very fine gates leading to the Hall were thrown open by the lodgekeeper, and, in the small old-fashioned brougham which only left theBallaston stables three or four times a year, drawn by a couple of darkbay horses, whose sides shone like satin and whose harness glitteredfrom every point of view in iridescent splendour, Mr. Henry Ballaston,on behalf of the family, came to call upon the newcomer at the GreatHouse. From the lodge gates onward the progress of the seldom seenlesser autocrat of the village and neighbourhood was something like aroyal procession. The tradesmen hastened to their shop windows toperform their salutes, the roadmender stood, bare-headed, lookingdownward as one receiving a blessing. The solitary occupant of thebrougham sat with expressionless face, his hand raised all the time tohis hat. It was impressive and distinctly a survival.

  Arrived at the somewhat inhospitable-looking gates of solid oak whichformed the entrance to the Great House, the footman sprang to the groundand drew from its resting place amongst the ivy the knob of theseldom-used bell. The gates were thrown open. Morton received thevisitor at the front door and escorted him to where his master laystretched in a basket chair under a cedar tree at the farthest corner ofthe lawn.

  "Mr. Henry Ballaston, sir," he announced.

  Peter Johnson stumbled to his feet and Henry Ballaston removed his hatin courtly and formal salute. He was strangely dressed for the country,in a black cut away coat and grey checked trousers. The shape of hiscollar belonged to a past generation. He wore a black satin tie foldedover and secured by a pearl pin, a bowler hat carried now in his hand,and grey suede gloves.

  "You are, I presume," he said, withdrawing the glove from his right handbefore extending it, "our new neighbour, Mr. Johnson. I have called onbehalf of my brother and myself for the purpose of welcoming you to thisneighbourhood."

  Mr. Johnson took the outstretched hand and released it almost at once.Here was a man, he decided, after his own heart--a man difficult toread, of immense reticences.

  "It is very kind of you to come," he said. "I am sure I scarcelyexpected it. I have been given to understand that neither you nor yourbrother pay many visits."

  "I am afraid," Henry Ballaston assented, accepting the chair whichMorton had brought out, "that we are both a little neglectful of ourduties in that respect. You are so near a neighbour, however, that Ipermitted myself the pleasure of devoting a spare half-hour to makingyour acquaintance."

  "Very kind of you, I am sure," Mr. Johnson repeated. "Fine old property,yours."

  "Ballaston Hall has many points of interest," the other admitted. "Itrust that we may soon have the pleasure of seeing you there. Mybrother," he added, with a little sigh, "finds many calls upon his time.He is Chairman of the Quarter Sessions, Lord Lieutenant of the County,and he takes some interest in the political activities of our Member. Heis, furthermore, Master of the Hounds here, as I dare say you know. Hedesired me to say, however, that he should look forward to the pleasureof making your acquaintance.--You yourself are agreeably housed here."

  "I like the place," its tenant admitted. "In many respects it suits meadmirably."

  "I find it interesting and also laudable," Henry Ballaston observed--"asno doubt do many other of your neighbours--that you were not deterredfrom taking up your residence here on account of the tragedy--theunfortunate accident--which befell the late owner of the house."

  Mr. Johnson looked for a moment steadily across the iron fence close towhich they were seated. It was a typically restful summer afternoon.From the distance came the soothing sound of a grass-cutting machine.There was a murmur of bees amongst the roses, the faintest rustle ofwest wind amongst the shrubs. All the time those cold blue eyes watchedhim. There was no sign of anxiety or even of interest in HenryBallaston's expressionless face. His attitude remained stiff and formal.His eyes never wavered in their steadfast gaze.

  "I was not told of the incident to which you refer," Mr. Johnsonconfided, "until after I had signed the contract. But, in any case, Idon't know that it would have made any difference. The quiet of thisplace soothes me. To one who has lived a busy life in foreign cities,there is a great attraction in the peaceful outlook of a village likethis."

  "That is easily comprehensible," Henry Ballaston admitted judicially."Still there are many country places with attractions more obvious thanMarket Ballaston can offer. Golf links in the immediate vicinity, forinstance; shooting or hunting."

  "That may be so," the other agreed. "My life, however, has been too busya one to cultivate any taste for such things. I understand there areexcellent golf links in the neighbourhood, if later on I find itnecessary to seek amusement outside my gardens. Shooting, after afashion, I have at times indulged in. I gather, however, that there isnone to let within reasonable distance."

  "No Ballaston shooting has been let for many years," was the somewhatstiff reply. "From what part of the world, might I ask, Mr. Johnson, doyou come?"

  "From all quarters of it. I am by birth an American, but I havetravelled a great deal of recent years. The English life is almostunknown to me. It is, perhaps, for that reason that I appreciate thesesurroundings."

  Henry Ballaston nodded gravely.

  "I trust," he said, "that you will find all your expectations realised.It is a surprise to me," he added, "to learn that you are of Americanbirth. Your accent would not betray the fact."

  "I left America," Mr. Johnson explained, "when I was nineteen years old,and I have only once returned to New York. Since then I have learned tospeak many languages. My business has required it. As regards thetragedy to which you have alluded," he went on, after a momentary pause,"although having settled here I shall not allow myself to be disturbedby it, I will confess that the story I was told last evening of themurder in my library was rather a shock. Abroad we have always had avery high opinion of the British detective service. It seems incrediblethat in a small place like this such a crime should remain undetected."


  "It is, I believe," was the cold admission, "a circumstance withoutprecedent."

  "I gather that no clue or motive of any sort has been discovered?" Mr.Johnson persisted. "From all that one can hear, the murdered man appearsto have been an entirely harmless individual and his belongings not inthe least likely to attract the ordinary type of criminal."

  "There are other of your neighbours," Henry Ballaston surmised, withmarked aloofness, "who can tell you much more of the affair. So far as Iam concerned, it remains only an unpleasant memory.--We hope verymuch--my brother and I--Mr. Johnson, that you will give us the pleasureof your company at luncheon at the Hall."

  "You are very kind, I am sure."

  "If agreeable to you, and if you will pardon the short notice, we willsay to-morrow at one o'clock," the visitor suggested, rising. "My nephewis at home for a short time before proceeding abroad. Otherwise we shallbe alone.--Once more, Mr. Johnson, I bid you welcome and trust that youwill derive all the pleasure you anticipate from your residence here."

  The tenant of the Great House, a little speechless, escorted his visitorto the front entrance before which the carriage was waiting. At theirapproach a footman threw open the door of the brougham, the coachman satup in his seat, the horses, fretted from the flies, pawed the gravel.Henry Ballaston, with a formal bow of farewell, took his seat and, withthe sun glittering upon the silver of the harness and the brightlypolished, shiny top of the brougham, this visit of ceremony was broughtto an end.

  Back through the village street, with eyes looking this time neither tothe right nor to the left, through the lodge gates, where his handsought the brim of his hat in mechanical salute to the curtseyingdoorkeeper, along the winding avenue, and through the iron gates up tothe great front of the Hall, Henry Ballaston passed on his returnjourney and finally reached his destination. He entered the cool, loftyhall, handed his hat and gloves to the footman who was waiting, andhesitated for a moment. The door of the library was unexpectedly opened.Sir Bertram strolled out as though by accident.

  "Well, my dutiful brother?" he asked, his tone, though apparentlycareless, betraying an underlying anxiety.

  Henry waited until he had reached his brother's side.

  "The man appears to be perfectly harmless," he confided. "He will takelunch with us to-morrow."

  "Good!" Sir Bertram approved. "I shall go and change now. I am going tohave a few sets of tennis with Gregory."

  Henry Ballaston crossed the hall and, passing through the library,entered the smaller room which had been devoted to his use. Gregory inflannels and with a tennis racket under his arm, was apparently engagedin examining one of the catalogues. He turned around as his uncleentered.

  "Hullo!" he exclaimed. "You back already!"

  "My call I thought was of suitable length," was the measured rejoinder.

  "What sort of a fellow is this new tenant of ours?" Gregory demanded.

  His uncle paused for a moment. Gregory's fingers were nervously tappingthe vellum-bound manuscript which he held.

  "A very ordinary sort of person," he pronounced, "who appears to havefound his way here entirely by accident."

  Gregory replaced on the shelf the catalogue which he had been studying.He failed to notice that he had been holding the volume upside down.

  "Good of you to do the duty stunt, Uncle Henry," he observed.

  "It has always been one of my few obligations," was the quiet reply."Mr. Johnson is lunching with us to-morrow."

  "I sha'n't go over to Cromer until the afternoon then," Gregoryannounced. "One may as well be civil, and I have rather a fancy to seewhat the fellow is like."