CHAPTER XXXII
THE LINK
I knew by one glance at Mr. Lindsey's face that he had news for us; butthere was only one sort of news I was wanting at that moment, and I wasjust as quick to see that, whatever news he had, it was not for me. Andas soon as I heard him say that nothing had been heard of Maisie Dunlopduring our absence, I was for going away, meaning to start inquiries ofmy own in the town, there and then, dead-beat though I was. But before Icould reach the door he had a hand on me.
"You'll just come in, my lad, and sit you down to a hot supper that'swaiting you and Mr. Smeaton there," he said, in that masterful way hehad which took no denial from anybody. "You can do no more good justnow--I've made every arrangement possible with the police, and they'rescouring the countryside. So into that chair with you, and eat anddrink--you'll be all the better for it. Mr. Smeaton," he went on, as hehad us both to the supper-table and began to help us to food, "here'snews for you--for such news as it is affects you, I'm thinking, morethan any man that it has to do with. Mr. Ridley here has found outsomething relating to Michael Carstairs that'll change the whole courseof events!--especially if we prove, as I've no doubt we shall, thatMichael Carstairs was no other than your father, whom you knew asMartin Smeaton."
Smeaton turned in his chair and looked at Mr. Ridley, who--he and Mr.Lindsey having taken their supper before we got in--was sitting in acorner by the fire, eyeing the stranger from Dundee with evident andcurious interest.
"I've heard of you, sir," said he. "You gave some evidence at the inqueston Phillips about Gilverthwaite's searching of your registers, I think?"
"Aye; and it's a fortunate thing--and shows how one thing leads toanother--that Gilverthwaite did go to Mr. Ridley!" explained Mr.Lindsey. "It set Mr. Ridley on a track, and he's been following it up,and--to cut matters short--he's found particulars of the marriage ofMichael Carstairs, who was said to have died unmarried. And I wishPortlethorpe hadn't gone home to Newcastle before Mr. Ridley came to mewith the news."
Tired as I was, and utterly heart-sick about Maisie, I pricked up my earsat that. For at intervals Mr. Lindsey and I had discussed theprobabilities of this affair, and I knew that there was a stronglikelihood of its being found out that the mysterious Martin Smeaton wasno other than the Michael Carstairs who had left Hathercleugh for good asa young man. And if it were established that he was married, and thatGavin Smeaton was his lawful son, why, then--but Mr. Ridley was speaking,and I broke off my own speculations to listen to him.
"You've scarcely got me to thank for this, Mr. Smeaton," he said. "Therewas naturally a good deal of talk in the neighbourhood after that inqueston Phillips--people began wondering what that man Gilverthwaite wanted tofind in the parish registers, of which, I now know, he examined a goodmany, on both sides the Tweed. And in the ordinary course of things--andif some one had made a definite search with a definite object--what hasbeen found now could have been found at once. But I'll tell you how itwas. Up to some thirty years ago there was an old parish church away inthe loneliest part of the Cheviots which had served a village thatgradually went out of existence--though it's still got a name, Walholm,there's but a house or two in it now; and as there was next to nocongregation, and the church itself was becoming ruinous, the old parishwas abolished, and merged in the neighbouring parish of Felside, whoserector, my friend Mr. Longfield, has the old Walholm registers in hispossession. When he read of the Phillips inquest, and what I'd said then,he thought of those registers and turned them up, out of a chest wherethey'd lain for thirty years anyway; and he at once found the entry ofthe marriage of one Michael Carstairs with a Mary Smeaton, which was bylicence, and performed by the last vicar of Walholm--it was, as a matterof fact, the very last marriage which ever took place in the old church.And I should say," concluded Mr. Ridley, "that it was what one would calla secret wedding--secret, at any rate, in so far as this: as it was bylicence, and as the old church was a most lonely and isolated place, faraway from anywhere, even then there'd be no one to know of it beyond theofficiating clergyman and the witnesses, who could, of course, be askedto hold their tongues about the matter, as they probably were. Butthere's the copy of the entry in the old register."
Smeaton and I looked eagerly over the slip of paper which Mr. Ridleyhanded across. And he, to whom it meant such a vast deal, asked butone question:
"I wonder if I can find out anything about Mary Smeaton!"
"Mr. Longfield has already made some quiet inquiries amongst two or threeold people of the neighbourhood on that point," remarked Mr. Ridley. "Thetwo witnesses to the marriage are both dead--years ago. But there arefolk living in the neighbourhood who remember Mary Smeaton. The facts arethese: she was a very handsome young woman, not a native of the district,who came in service to one of the farms on the Cheviots, and who, by acomparison of dates, left her place somewhat suddenly very soon afterthat marriage."
Smeaton turned to Mr. Lindsey in the same quiet fashion.
"What do you make of all this?" he asked.
"Plain as a pikestaff," answered Mr. Lindsey in his most confidentmanner. "Michael Carstairs fell in love with this girl and married her,quietly--as Mr. Ridley says, seeing that the marriage was by licence,it's probable, nay, certain, that nobody but the parson and the witnessesever knew anything about it. I take it that immediately after themarriage Michael Carstairs and his wife went off to America, and that he,for reasons of his own, dropped his own proper patronymic and adoptedhers. And," he ended, slapping his knee, "I've no doubt that you're thechild of that marriage, that your real name is Gavin Carstairs, and thatyou're the successor to the baronetcy, and--the real owner ofHathercleugh,--as I shall have pleasure in proving."
"We shall see," said Smeaton, quietly as ever. "But--there's a good dealto do before we get to that, Mr. Lindsey! The present holder, orclaimant, for example? What of him?"
"I've insisted on the police setting every bit of available machinery towork in an effort to lay hands on him," replied Mr. Lindsey. "Murray notonly communicated all that Hollins told us last night to the Glasgowpolice this morning, first thing, but he's sent a man over there withthe fullest news; he's wired the London authorities, and he's askedfor special detective help. He's got a couple of detectives fromNewcastle--all's being done that can be done. And for you too, Hugh, mylad!" he added, turning suddenly to me. "Whatever the police are doing inthe other direction, they're doing in yours. For, ugly as it may soundand seem, there's nothing like facing facts, and I'm afraid, I'm verymuch afraid, that this disappearance of Maisie Dunlop is all of a piecewith the rest of the villainy that's been going on--I am indeed!"
I pushed my plate away at that, and got on my feet. I had been dreadingas much myself, all day, but I had never dared put it into words.
"You mean, Mr. Lindsey, that she's somehow got into the handsof--what?--who?" I asked him.
"Something and somebody that's at the bottom of all this!" he answered,shaking his head. "I'm afraid, lad, I'm afraid!"
I went away from all of them then, and nobody made any attempt to stopme, that time--maybe they saw in my face that it was useless. I left thehouse, and went--unconsciously, I think--away through the town to mymother's, driving my nails into the palms of my hands, and cursing SirGilbert Carstairs--if that was the devil's name!--between my teeth. Andfrom cursing him, I fell to cursing myself, that I hadn't told at once ofmy seeing him at those crossroads on the night I went the errand forGilverthwaite.
It had been late when Smeaton and I had got to Mr. Lindsey's, and thenight was now fallen on the town--a black, sultry night, with greatclouds overhead that threatened a thunderstorm. Our house was in abadly-lighted part of the street, and it was gloomy enough about it as Idrew near, debating in myself what further I could do--sleep I knew Ishould not until I had news of Maisie. And in the middle of myspeculations a man came out of the corner of a narrow lane that ran fromthe angle of our house, and touched me on the elbow. There was a shaft oflight just there from a neighbour's window; in it I recogniz
ed the man asa fellow named Scott that did odd gardening jobs here and there in theneighbourhood.
"Wisht, Mr. Hugh!" said he, drawing me into the shadows of the lane;"I've been waiting your coming; there's a word I have for you--betweenourselves."
"Well?" said I.
"I hear you're promising ten pounds--cash on the spot--to the man thatcan give you some news of your young lady?" he went on eagerly. "Is itright, now?"
"Can you?" I asked. "For if you can, you'll soon see that it's right."
"You'd be reasonable about it?" he urged, again taking the liberty togrip my arm. "If I couldn't just exactly give what you'd call exact anddefinite news, you'd consider it the same thing if I made a suggestion,wouldn't you, now, Mr. Hugh?--a suggestion that would lead to something?"
"Aye, would I!" I exclaimed. "And if you've got any suggestions, Scott,out with them, and don't beat about! Tell me anything that'll lead todiscovery, and you'll see your ten pound quickly."
"Well," he answered, "I have to be certain, for I'm a poor man, as youknow, with a young family, and it would be a poor thing for me to hint ataught that would take the bread out of their mouths--and my own. And Ihave the chance of a fine, regular job now at Hathercleugh yonder, and Iwouldn't like to be putting it in peril."
"It's Hathercleugh you're talking of, then?" I asked him eagerly. "ForGod's sake, man, out with it! What is it you can tell me?"
"Not a word to a soul of what I say, then, at any time, present orfuture, Mr. Hugh?" he urged.
"Oh, man, not a word!" I cried impatiently. "I'll never let on that I hadspeech of you in the matter!"
"Well, then," he whispered, getting himself still closer: "mind you, Ican't say anything for certain--it's only a hint I'm giving you; but if Iwere in your shoes, I'd take a quiet look round yon old part ofHathercleugh House--I would so! It's never used, as you'll know--nobodyever goes near it; but, Mr. Hugh, whoever and however it is, there'ssomebody in it now!"
"The old part!" I exclaimed. "The Tower part?"
"Aye, surely!" he answered. "If you could get quietly to it--"
I gave his arm a grip that might have told him volumes.
"I'll see you privately tomorrow, Scott," I said. "And if your news isany good--man! there'll be your ten pound in your hand as soon as I seteyes on you!"
And therewith I darted away from him and headlong into our house doorway.