CHAPTER XXVII
Mr. Jacobs, the detective from Scotland Yard, arrived at the Hall alittle after four. He was a short, comfortable-looking person, with around, almost boyish face, a pleasant smile and a pair of blue eyes,with a frank and innocent expression; in fact, anything more unlike theconventional detective beloved by the fictionist it would be difficultto imagine. The Inspector had met him at the station, and had gone overthe case with meticulous care; and Mr. Jacobs, smoking placidly, hadlistened--well, as you and I, dear reader, would listen to a tale whichhad no very great interest for us. If the truth must be told, the worthyInspector was rather disappointed; he had expected the great man todisplay a hawk-like acuteness and to ask a number of incisive questions;but Mr. Jacobs asked none; he said merely, when the recital wasfinished,
"You have done everything you could, Mr. Smith. Not a very difficultcase, eh?"
"Not difficult!" repeated the Inspector, with surprise. "Have you got aclue already?"
Mr. Jacobs smiled. "Can't say yet," he replied.
As they drove up to the Hall, Heyton was seen standing just within thethreshold, as if waiting for them.
"Lord Heyton, the Marquess's son," whispered the Inspector.
Mr. Jacobs nodded; he did not direct a piercing glance at Heyton's paleface and bloodshot eyes, with their swollen lids; in fact, he did notappear to notice anything, as he went forward, hat in hand.
A few words of commonplace greeting were exchanged; Mr. Jacobs expressedhis sympathy in a low voice, devoid of any acuteness, and Heyton drew abreath of relief, as he led the way into the library; to him it seemedthat the man from Scotland Yard looked rather stupid than otherwise. Mr.Jacobs took a seat, and Heyton, of his own accord, repeated, almost wordfor word, the account he had given to the Inspector.
"It's my opinion," he wound up, "that you'll find the man amongst thoseblackguard gipsies."
"Yes, my lord?" responded the detective, interrogatively. Then he wentupstairs to the dressing-room. "I think I should like to be alone inhere, my lord, if you don't mind," he said.
He took the key from the Inspector, and went in, closing the door afterhim. When he came out, his round, innocent-looking face was grave, butrevealed nothing.
"Has the Marquess recovered consciousness?" he asked.
"Not yet, I am sorry to say," replied Heyton. "They are keeping the roomvery quiet, and my wife will tell me the moment my father comes to."
"I should like to know, when he does so, my lord," said the detective."Is there anyone else with him--I mean, beside the doctor and thenurse?"
"Mrs. Dexter, the housekeeper, and a young lady, Miss Grant, a kind ofsecretary and librarian."
"Just so," said Mr. Jacobs. "Thank you, my lord. I don't use alcohol;but I should like to have a cup of tea, if I may: great tea-drinker."
He took his cup of tea with the Inspector in the morning-room, and whilehe drank it, he talked to the Inspector--of the country and the crops.
"I love the country," he said. "If I had my way, I would never put footin London again. When I retire, Inspector, I'm going to buy a littlefarm--if it will run to it; and London won't see me again in a hurry.Beautiful place, this; and they breed a remarkably good class of cattle.I'm rather an authority on shorthorns; shall go in for some myself, if Ican afford it."
To all this the Inspector listened with amazement.
"Anything you'd like me to do, Mr. Jacobs?" he asked, in a tone thatverged on exasperation. "Is there anything else you'd like to see? Thatwindow in the lower hall, for instance?"
"Thanks; I saw it as we passed through," replied Mr. Jacobs, simply."No; I don't think there's anything I want to see. Yes; this is abeautiful house; quite a show-place. I should like to see something ofit presently; but one doesn't like to intrude at such a time as this."The Inspector stared at him. "But perhaps I might go through what Isuppose you'd call the state rooms--and yes, upstairs."
"I thought you would have liked to examine the whole house without lossof time," remarked the Inspector, with an aggrieved air.
"Oh, presently will do," said Mr. Jacobs; "don't want to make myself anuisance. We might walk round the grounds."
They went out, the Inspector still confused and aggrieved by what heconsidered the detective's lack of business method, and Mr. Jacobs gazedround him with approval and admiration.
"Beautiful! Beautiful!" he murmured. "Where's this lake Lord Heytonspoke of? I should like to see that. In my opinion, every place of thissort ought to have a bit of water: lends such a charm to the scenery,don't you think, Inspector?"
"Oh, yes," assented the Inspector, almost with disgust. "This way."
"Ah, this is the nearest way from the house, across the lawn, ofcourse," said Mr. Jacobs. "I suppose this is the way Lord Heyton comeswhen he goes for his bath. Right across the lawn, eh?"
The Inspector nodded indifferently. It seemed to him that the detectivewas curious about everything unconnected with the case.
They went across the lawn, the detective still dilating on the charms ofa country life, and entered the wood. If they had not followed exactlythe line taken by Heyton in the morning, they had touched it now andagain; and when they reached the edge of the lake, Mr. Jacobs lookedround in a casual way and presently seated himself on the big stone onwhich Heyton had sat while he dressed himself. Mr. Jacobs obviously wasdelighted with the lake and its surroundings; and the Inspector wouldnot have been surprised if the great detective had proposed a swim; buthe stopped short of that eccentricity and they returned to the house.
They went into the state rooms, which received Mr. Jacobs' unstintedadmiration, and were crossing the hall to the little sitting-room whichhad been set apart for him, when Celia met them. She was very pale, andher brows were drawn together by trouble and anxiety; for a great dealof responsibility had fallen suddenly on her shoulders. Though a dulyqualified nurse was in possession of the sick-room, Mrs. Dexter andCelia were assisting her; and Celia had Miriam almost entirely on herhands; for Miriam was almost in a state of collapse. Celia had expectedher to break down; but there was something in Miriam's condition whichpuzzled Celia. She seemed not only overwhelmed by grief and anxiety, butto be possessed of a nervous terror which expressed itself in anavoidance of her husband. Lord Heyton had asked after his wife severaltimes that day; but Miriam had refused to see him, and once, when Celiaventured to plead with her, and to try to persuade her to allow LordHeyton to come into the room, Miriam had sprung at the door and leantwith her back against it, panting, with absolute terror, and with a lookof horror on her face which at once stopped all Celia's attempts atpersuasion.
For a time, Miriam paced up and down the room, like one distraught,continually muttering, "Will he die? Will it be murder?" But at lastCelia had succeeded in getting the hysterical woman to bed, where shelay, exhausted by her emotions. Celia was on her way to ask Doctor Scottfor a sleeping draught, when she was met by the detective and theInspector.
"Miss Grant, the librarian," murmured the Inspector; and Mr. Jacobsbowed politely.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Grant," he said. "Wish it werein happier circumstances. How is the Marquess now?"
"Still the same," replied Celia. "He is not yet conscious."
"Dear me; dear me!" murmured Mr. Jacobs, sympathetically. "Now, my dearyoung lady, may I ask you a favour--I don't want to trouble the doctor,he's got quite enough to do; so have you, no doubt, for that matter; butyou know what doctors are?--What I want you to do, if you will be sokind, and if you should be in the room and the Marquess recoversconsciousness, is to just send to me in the sitting-room here and let meknow."
"I will do so," said Celia, and she passed on to the morning-room, whereDoctor Scott was giving some directions to his assistant.
So suddenly had the terrible blow fallen that she had scarcely time tothink of her lover. It hurt her to imagine him waiting in the wood forher, on the chance of seeing her, and to know that she could not send amessage to him, could not let him know. But sh
e told herself that, nodoubt, by this time, he had heard of the terrible tragedy and wouldunderstand. She could not afford much thought for him; her hands weretoo full; indeed, in addition to her other responsibilities, she had, ina measure, taken Mrs. Dexter's place in the household, and had to givedirections to the still scared servants.
She sent down to the village for the sleeping draught which Doctor Scottprescribed for Miriam, and as soon as she could, went upstairs again. Inthe corridor, she met Lord Heyton, and he looked so ill, so careworn,that, for a moment, her dislike of him was outbalanced by pity. Henodded to her, and she was about to pass on; then she paused and said:
"Have you had anything to eat, my lord? Everyone is so busy and soconfused, there will be no regular meals, I am afraid."
"Oh, that's all right," he said, glancing at her furtively, and thenlowering his eyes. "I'm not much in the humour for meals, as you mayguess. Has my father come to, yet? Look here, that officious fool of anurse has shut me out of the room. I wish you'd--yes, look here, justlet me know when he comes to. I shall be hanging about. I say," headded, with another furtive glance at her pale face, "you're lookingpretty upset yourself. I suppose they've shoved everything on toyou.--And there's Miriam! What's become of her?"
"Lady Heyton is in bed--and asleep, I hope, my lord," said Celia; andreluctantly and with a touch of colour, she added, "I think it would bebetter not to disturb her ladyship; she--she is very much upset; veryill, indeed."
He nodded. "Not to be surprised at!" he said. "I'm feeling pretty seedymyself. Here, will you come with me and have a glass of wine?"
"No, thank you, my lord," replied Celia; and, all her dislike of himactive again, she left him.
About six o'clock the watchers by the sick bed noticed a change in theMarquess. His eyelids flickered a moment, his lips moved. Celia, who wasstanding nearest to him, bent over him and made a sign to Mrs. Dexterand the doctor, and they hastened forward noiselessly. For some time,the stricken man struggled for speech; then one word passed his lips,almost inaudibly,
"Percy!"
Celia looked at the doctor questioningly. He nodded, and she went out.She found Heyton in the smoking-room; there was a decanter of brandy infront of him and his face was flushed; but it went white as she said, ascalmly as she could,
"The Marquess has recovered consciousness; he has asked for you, mylord."
He got up and steadied himself, with one hand on the table, looking ather with a curious expression in his face: in that instant, it remindedher of the expression on that of his wife; it was one of absoluteterror. But it was only momentary; he nodded and went out of the room.Celia was following him, when she caught sight of a small part of thedetective's figure, just inside the sitting-room; she had forgotten him,but as she went towards him he made a sign as if he understood; indeed,he waved her away.
Mr. Jacobs waited until Celia had gone; then he went upstairs softly; inthe corridor, near the Marquess's door, he met the doctor, followed byMrs. Dexter and the nurse, coming out.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I was just going up to have another lookat the dressing-room."
The doctor inclined his head. "Don't make any more noise than you canhelp," he said. "We have left the Marquess alone with Lord Heyton; youmust do nothing to disturb them."
"Quite so; I'll go up presently," said Mr. Jacobs; and he walked downthe corridor. But when the others had disappeared, he turned quickly andsoftly, and entered the dressing-room.
With the outer door open an inch, he watched and waited; and in a veryfew minutes Heyton came out of the sick-room. He was white as death, andhe was shaking in every limb. The detective waited until he had heardHeyton's slow and heavy steps descend the stairs, then Mr. Jacobs wentdown, by the back stairs, to his sitting-room. He dined there, with theInspector, and entertained--though that is scarcely the word--the amazedand disgusted Mr. Brown by an account of a visit Mr. Jacobs had paid toa big agricultural show in the north.
After dinner, he smoked a cigar with an air of quiet and subduedenjoyment proper to the circumstances; and a little later on, he wentfor a stroll. The night was hot, and Heyton had gone on to the terrace;he had had some more brandy, and was trying to smoke; but his throat andlips were too parched to permit of his doing so, and with an oath, heflung the cigar away. It fell very nearly on Mr. Jacobs' Homburg hat.
"All right, my lord," he said, as Heyton muttered a sullen apology. "Iwas just taking a stroll." He went up the steps, and stood besideHeyton, looking at the view with obvious admiration; then presently, hesaid, "I was going to ask you if you'd mind signing a paper for me, mylord. It's just a little report for Scotland Yard; scarcely necessaryperhaps, but still----"
"All right," said Heyton, dully. "Here, come in here!" They entered thelibrary by the French door.
"A beautiful room: magnificent!" murmured Mr. Jacobs. He drew a paperfrom his pocket and spread it out on the writing-slope. "Just here, mylord, if you please; it's a kind of authorization from you to takecharge of the case."
He handed Heyton a pen, and Heyton looked at the paper hazily and wasabout to sign, when Mr. Jacobs, in drawing the inkstand nearer, had themisfortune to upset it. The ink ran over the paper, and over Heyton'sfingers.
"What the devil!" he exclaimed, angrily.
"I beg your pardon, my lord! I'm very sorry; very sorry; it wasdreadfully clumsy of me. Dear, dear; it's all over your lordship's hand!Here, wipe it on this, my lord!"
In his agitation and embarrassment, Mr. Jacobs actually caught hold ofHeyton's hand and pressed it on a sheet of paper.
"Tut, tut," he said. "I thought it was blotting-paper! Here it is! Ireally am so sorry--never did such a thing in my life before!"
"Damned clumsy of you!" growled Heyton. "I'm in a beast of a mess!Where's a cloth?"
"Pray take my handkerchief, my lord," said Mr. Jacobs, offering it.
At this moment, Celia entered the room. She would have drawn back atsight of the two men; but Heyton called to her over his shoulder.
"Hi! Have you got a cloth? The ink's upset----"
She ran to a drawer and took out a clean duster; and Heyton, swearingunder his breath, wiped the remainder of the ink from his fingers.
"I'd better go and wash it," he said; and he went out of the room.
"Tut, tut!" said Mr. Jacobs. "It was my fault, Miss Grant. I wasreaching for the ink, to bring it nearer his lordship, when my sleeve orsomething caught the corner of the desk here and, before you could say'Jack Robinson,' the mischief was done."
He seemed so greatly distressed and upset by the accident, that Celiaquite felt for him.
"Oh, it is not a very great matter," she said, soothingly. "There hasbeen no harm done."
Indeed, it did seem to her a very trivial affair, compared with theawful tragedy in which they were moving. "I will get a cloth and wipe upthe ink; fortunately, it hasn't run on to the carpet."
As she spoke, she took up the sheets of writing-paper and blotting paperbetween her finger and thumb, intending to put them in the waste-paperbasket; but, with a kind of apologetic laugh, Mr. Jacobs laid his handon her arm, and said:
"No, don't throw them away! Give them to me, if you will. I should liketo keep them as a kind of memento, as a sort of warning for the futurenot to be so clumsy."
With a shadow of a smile, she gave the two pieces of paper to him, andas he took them he said,
"I've got my own fingers inked. Serve me right. I'll go and wash myhands. Really, I shall never forgive myself! No wonder his lordship wasangry."
"Was he?" said Celia, absently. "Yes; he was. But you must remember LordHeyton is very much upset; when one's nerves are on the rack, the leastthing, trifling though it may be----"
"Quite so; quite so," said Mr. Jacobs, with a nod of comprehension.
He was still so much upset by the accident, that he forgot to wash hishands and went straight to his sitting-room, still carrying the twosheets of paper, the evidences of his inexcusable clumsiness.