THE FIRST ENCOUNTER
Only for a few minutes did the Squire remain unconscious. Before his son had time to lift him, with the butler's aid, upon a convenient sofa, he had opened his eyes in a nervous fashion, and asked where he was. It was with mingled feelings of pity and contempt that Laurence told him he was safe at home. The old gentleman's extraordinary behaviour displeased his son, who regretted that such an incident had occurred in the presence of the ladies (though in his thoughts Mrs. Knox had but a small place), and was especially annoyed, because it seemed to him that his father's sudden embarrassment was the result of some remark of Miss Scott's, though exactly what remark it was that had caused an elderly man, and a magistrate to boot, to faint like a servant girl or a delicate child was as much a mystery to him as the events of the previous night, and the Squire's extraordinary precautions during the last few months.
No sooner had Mr. Carrington recovered, then, than, at his son's suggestion, he retired to his own room, expressing a hope that he would renew his acquaintance with the ladies at dinner.
Mrs. Knox belonged to the noble army of "after-lunch nappers," and she, too, presently disappeared at the conclusion of the meal, leaving Laurence inwardly congratulating himself on the good fortune that removed the worthy old lady to her bedroom, permitting him to do the honours of the house to her niece alone.
At the girl's suggestion, a visit to the conservatories and flower gardens was the first event of the afternoon. But the day was warm, and two easy-chairs placed temptingly on the lawn proved a greater attraction than the walk which had been proposed by good Mrs. Knox.
"Well, and what is your opinion about this fire, Mr. Carrington?" asked Selene Scott, after a pause in the conversation.
"In my opinion it seems very much like a case of incendiarism," replied Laurence.
"So I imagine, and—why do you think your father was so upset when I mentioned the person I saw in the Marquis's garden last night?"
Laurence did not reply for a moment. He was deliberating with himself as to whether he should confide in his fair companion all he knew about the old gentleman's fears, the affair on the moor, and the mysterious inmates of Durley Dene. It was more than possible that a sharp, intelligent girl, like Miss Scott seemed to be, might prove of considerable assistance to him in his efforts to account for the Squire's precautions and the uncanny attempts on his life.
On the other hand, he knew women to be credited with the bump of loquacity, and it was far from his intentions that his father should get to know of the efforts he was making to unravel the mystery surrounding old Mr. Carrington's terrible dread. In a conversation he had had that morning with the Squire, on being pressed by Laurence to confess that his fear was of something more than burglars, Mr. Carrington had begged his son not to allude to the subject at all. He could not, he said, and he would not, explain what the secret of his life was. "Even had I a secret, it were better," he had proceeded to say, "for your own sake, Laurence, that you did not know that secret, and it is useless for you to try and extract an explanation from me of my proceedings. And," he had added, as though fearing he had said too much, "you are wrong in imagining that my fear of burglars is a cloak for something else. I am, indeed, in mortal fear of—a—housebreaker!"
Consequently Laurence knew that it was useless to obtain a solution of the puzzle from his father, and, to the best of his knowledge, no one could supply that solution but—possibly the mysterious bicyclist, and the equally mysterious Major Jones-Farnell, who, Laurence was convinced, were one and the same.
Therefore, it would certainly be easier, he argued, were he to work hand in hand with another person who might be likely to help him in his detective efforts. And the collaboration was likely to be more particularly pleasant when it was with such a companion as the young girl at his side!
Thus it came about that, after a promise of the strictest secrecy, Selene was given a concise "précis" of all the incidents that Laurence deemed to be in any way connected with Squire Carrington's secret and the mystery of Durley Dene.
The girl followed the narrative with the deepest interest.
"Thank you so much for confiding in me," she said at the conclusion. "I hope you will never have cause to regret unbosoming yourself. There is one thing," she went on, "that, it is quite plain, must be done."
"And that is to beard the lion in his den?" suggested Laurence.
"Exactly. We must pay an informal call upon Major Jones-Farnell, and hear what he has to say for himself."
"That is easier said than done, I am afraid, Miss Scott," said Laurence, shaking his head; "he's a mysterious person in every respect. Why, there are four people living in the house, or supposed to be four, and yet but one of these (an old woman, who won't open her mouth, except to hurl imprecations at the village children when they cry after her) has ever been seen abroad in daytime. Then you must include in your list the creature I saw at the window, and the unknown bicyclist who doesn't wear boots, or, if he does, wears them under his socks, who, presumably, was also the person I saw in the garden; and that's all you know about Durley Dene. I believe the 'hodd man,' as our gardener calls one of the four residents, has been seen at night-time strolling about the grounds and smoking, but no one seems to have caught a glimpse of his face."
"Then," broke in the girl, "how does anybody know that there are four people at all?"
"That's smart of you, Miss Scott," replied Carrington, "but the house-agent's confidential clerk evidently considered it part of his duties to betray the confidence placed in him by passing the news on to a friend. That friend told his friend, and now everyone is aware of the fact."
"Ah! But, on consideration, don't you think there is one course open to us which is better, and perhaps safer, than 'bearding' the Major in his weird den?"
"No, I can't say that I do."
"There now, I'm a better detective than you! Why, we'll get the sour old lady who indulges in profanity to solve the mystery for us."
"But how? She's as silent as the grave!"
"Yes; and so probably will the Major be, but surely you have heard that if a detective knows he has to obtain certain information either from a man or a woman, he first goes for the woman? You know the saying, 'Woman is weak'? Well, perhaps this crusty old lady is no exception to the rule. She may be assailable by bribes, or possibly by threats; but, in any case, it will be easier to attack her, metaphorically speaking, than the men in their own castle, to which it would probably be impossible for us to gain access."
Laurence agreed. The idea, hardly practicable as it seemed to be, was at any rate better than his own of going straight to the seat of the mystery and showing his hand in an interview, which he might or might not be allowed, with Major Jones-Farnell.
Further conversation between the young people decided them that no better means of attempting the solution was possible.
The first question to be decided was where the "tackling," as Laurence called it, of the old woman should take place, how the scheme should be worked, and when it was possible for a start to be made.
For many reasons, the pair argued, it would be as well to set to work as soon as possible, since the first attempt on the Squire's life might at any moment be followed up by a second, and perhaps even more desperate effort.
There could be little doubt but that the position of anyone who attempted to frustrate the hidden enemy's murderous attempts was one of danger, and for this reason Laurence regretted, when too late, that Miss Scott should have elected to share that risk with him. In vain did he suggest that she should not endanger herself in any way, but remain behind the scenes, pulling the strings of the manœuvre by means of her suggestions and ready advice. She would have none of it. She was equally interested in the case as was her companion, and as to any question of endangering her life, she said that she had no fears on that account, since the mere encounter with a harmless old woman was hardly likely to prove a hazardous adventure.
At this stage of the important discussion afternoon tea and Mrs. Knox appeared on the scene, so, for the moment, further conversation on any but ordinary subjects was impossible.
After tea, however, the elder lady, explaining that she had letters to write, again begged to be excused from accompanying the young people. So once more were they at liberty to resume their conversation.
Laurence, in the meantime, had been able, by a judiciously worded question, to learn from the butler that the mysterious woman from the Dene was in the habit of doing her marketing on Tuesday evenings. Since this was a Tuesday, an opportunity would probably arrive very shortly for the proposed encounter with that lady. It was therefore necessary that they should decide their plan of action without delay. And this they proceeded to do, while taking a walk round the orchards, that stretched for half a mile downwards behind the house.
By the time they returned to the Manse it was within an hour of dinner-time, so each hurried away to dress for a long and formal meal, that proved to be somewhat tedious to the young people, very agreeable, owing to its sumptuousness, to good Mrs. Knox, and evidently a mere matter of form to the Squire, who sat motionless in his chair almost from the beginning to the end of dinner, hardly addressing a single word to his guests, or partaking of so much as a taste of the numerous delicacies placed, one after another, before him. It will have already been noticed that Mrs. Knox was not an exemplary chaperon, or perhaps she considered that Selene, or Lena, as the old lady called her, was sufficiently sensible to be able to take care of herself; or it is even possible that she was an expert match-maker. At any rate, she either did not notice, or did not mind, when, at the conclusion of the stately repast, and on the departure of the Squire to his own room, her charge, hurriedly donning a hat and cloak, left the house with Laurence Carrington. Had she known the intentions of the pair, she might have raised some objections, though anything that did not conduce to peace and quiet was hardly to Matilda Knox's liking!
On leaving the grounds of the Manse, taking as they did so a casual glance at the tumble-down, ivy-coated walls of the dingy neighbouring house, the two excited young people turned off towards the lower part of the village, where the few shops that the place boasted were to be found.
It was after nine o'clock, and beginning to grow dark. On the village green one or two stalls, surmounted by glaring "flames," were to be seen.
Country women in picturesque costumes, and accompanied by a varied number of small children, roamed about the street, gossiping loudly and unceasingly, and laughing heartily, when, in their opinion, occasion required.
Laurence and his interested companion quickly intermingled with this motley throng, eagerly on the alert, the one to catch a glimpse of the woman whom he had already seen on such occasions as this, the other depending upon her keen intuition to pick out from the rest of the crowd the person of whom they were in search.
For some time they sought in vain, and Laurence was beginning to fear that the woman had already returned to the Dene with her purchases of frugal provisions, when a harsh voice at his elbow caused him to turn sharply, and confront none other than the cloaked and closely hooded servant from the mysterious house.
"Keep close to her," he whispered to Selene. "We must follow her about, so that she doesn't give us the slip, but it will be impossible to speak to her until we get out of this crowd and into the quiet road."
They had not long to wait. After making a few purchases at the grocer's and butcher's shops (in both of which she was received with rude stares and uncomplimentary remarks, made aside), she entered the saddler's, emerging a moment later with a stout dog-whip.
What was the meaning of this last purchase? Laurence wondered. To the best of his knowledge they kept no animals about the Dene, certainly no dogs, which would surely have made their presence known very quickly by howls, or wanderings into the adjoining estate. Here there seemed to be yet another mystery.
The woman had evidently finished her shopping for the day. She turned and hurried off in the direction of her destination, closely followed by Laurence and Lena. Already they had left the shops behind them, and reached a quiet turn of the road, almost within sight of the Manse, when the woman, who was stout and tall, and carried a market-basket, deliberately turned round and faced them.
"What do you want with me?" she asked, in a hoarse voice.
Her sudden action caused Laurence to forget the carefully worded denunciation he had decided upon. For a moment the young man could not reply.
"When the children come a-following of me I box their ears for them," the woman went on in a loud, sneering tone; "take care I don't do the same to you!"
Her sarcastic words enraged young Carrington beyond measure. He took one step towards the scowling creature.
"Be careful," he said, suggestively raising a warning finger, "or I'll put the police on your track. There's something underhand going on at Durley Dene, and, if you don't tell me what it is, I will obtain a search-warrant, and then we will see who is going to be punished."
The woman started at his opening words, but as he went on, heedlessly confessing in his anger his ignorance of what actually was the secret of the Dene, she recovered herself, and sprang forward suddenly at the young man.
"Take that for your impertinence," she hissed, striking him a savage blow on the chest with the clenched fist of her left hand. Then, turning sharply round, she clutched at her print skirts, and fled precipitately down the road, disappearing in quick time into the grounds of Durley Dene. But in her activity, and when she had made the sudden attack upon him, Laurence noticed that the dark hood which had covered her head and effectually shrouded her face had been thrust aside. He almost gasped with astonishment when he perceived that the villainous countenance he was now at liberty to scrutinise was that which he had seen on the previous night pressed against one of the windows of the Dene.
He had hardly recovered from his surprise when Lena, after satisfying herself that he was in no way hurt, turned to him.
"Mr. Carrington," she said, "the mystery deepens. It was a man in disguise, and no woman, that struck you so determined a blow."