CHAPTER XI
[ALLEN AS A DETECTIVE]
Mr. Hill left no message behind him with the groom. Jacobs returned and said that his master had gone to London; he did not state when he would return. Allen and his mother were much perplexed by this disappearance. It looked very much like a flight from justice, but Mrs. Hill could not be persuaded to think ill of the man to whom she owed so much. Like many women she took too humble an attitude on account of the obligation she had incurred. Yet Mrs. Hill was not humble by nature.
"What will you do now, Allen?" she asked the next morning.
"I intend to learn why Cain sent that parcel to my father. If he can explain I may find out why my father is afraid."
"I don't think he is afraid," insisted Mrs. Hill, much troubled.
"It looks very like it," commented her son; "however, you had better tell the servants that father has gone to London on business. I expect he will come back. He can't stop away indefinitely."
"Of course he'll come back and explain everything. Allen, your father is whimsical--I always admitted that, but he has a heart of gold. All that is strange in his conduct he will explain on his return."
"Even why he took my revolver to the Red Deeps?" said Allen grimly.
"Whatever he took it for, it was for no ill purpose," said Mrs. Hill. "Perhaps he made an appointment to see Strode there. If so I don't wonder, he went armed, for Strode was quite the kind of man who would murder him."
"In that case Mr. Strode has fallen into his own trap. However, I'll see what I can do."
"Be careful, Allen. Your father's good name must not suffer."
"That is why I am undertaking the investigation," replied the young man, rising. "Well, mother, I am going to see Mrs. Merry and ask where Cain is to be found. The circus may have left Colchester."
"You might take the brown paper that was round the box," suggested Mrs. Hill. "Mrs. Merry may be able to say if the address is in her son's writing."
"I don't think it is--the hand is a most illiterate one. Cain knows how to write better. I have seen his letters to Eva."
"What!" cried Mrs. Hill, scandalised, "does she let a lad in that position write to her?"
"Cain is Eva's foster-brother, mother," said Allen drily, "and she is the only one who can manage him."
"He's a bad lot like his father was before him," muttered Mrs. Hill, and then went to explain to the servants that Mr. Hill would be absent for a few days.
Allen walked to Misery Castle, and arrived there just before midday. For some time he had been strolling on the common wondering how to conduct his campaign. He was new to the detective business and did not very well know how to proceed. At first he had been inclined to seek professional assistance; but on second thoughts he decided to take no one into his confidence for the present. He dreaded what he might learn concerning his father's connection with the crime, as he by no means shared his mother's good opinion of Mr. Hill. Allen and his father had never got on well together, as their natures were diametrically opposed to each other. Allen had the steady good sense of his mother, while the father was airy and light and exasperatingly frivolous. Had not Mrs. Hill thought herself bound, out of gratitude, to live with the man who had done so much for her, and because of her son Allen, she certainly would not have put up with such a trying husband for so many years. Allen was always impatient of his father's ways; and absence only confirmed him in the view he took of his evergreen sire. He could scarcely believe that the man was his father, and always felt relieved when out of his presence. However, he determined to do his best to get to the bottom of the matter. He could not believe that Mr. Hill had fired the fatal shot, but fancied the little man had some knowledge of who had done so. And whether he was an accessory before or after the fact was equally unpleasant.
On arriving at Mrs. Merry's abode he was greeted by that good lady with the news that Eva had gone to spend the day with Mrs. Palmer. "To get used to her, as you might say," said Mrs. Merry. "Oh, Mr. Allen, dear," she spoke with the tears streaming down her withered face, "oh, whatever shall I do without my deary?"
"You'll see her often," said Allen soothingly.
"It won't be the same," moaned Mrs. Merry. "It's like marrying a daughter, not that I've got one, thank heaven--it's never the same."
"Well--well--don't cry, there's a good soul. I have come to see you about Cain."
Mrs. Merry gave a screech. "He's in gaol! I see it in your eyes! Oh, well I knew he'd get there!"
"He hasn't got there yet," said the young man impatiently; "come into the drawing-room. I can explain."
"Is it murder or poaching or burglary?" asked Mrs. Merry, still bent on believing Cain was in trouble, "or horse-stealing, seeing he's in a circus?"
"It's none of the three," said Allen, sitting down and taking the brown paper wrapping out of his pocket. "Jane Wasp saw him in Colchester, and he's quite well."
"And what's she been calling on my son there, I'd like to know?" asked Mrs. Merry, bridling. "He shan't marry her, though he says he loves her, which I don't believe. To be united with that meddlesome Wasp policeman. No, Mr. Allen, never, whatever you may say."
"You can settle that yourself. All I wish to know is this," he spread out the paper. "Do you know whose writing this is?"
Mrs. Merry, rather surprised, bent over the paper, and began to spell out the address with one finger. "Lawrence Hill," she said, "ah, they used to call your father that in the old days. I never hear him called so now."
"Never mind. What of the writing?"
Mrs. Merry looked at it at a distance, held it close to her nose, and then tilted it sideways. All the time her face grew paler and paler. Then she took an envelope out of her pocket and glanced from the brown paper to the address. Suddenly she gave a cry, and threw her apron over her head. "Oh, Giles--Giles--whatever have you bin up to!"
"What do you mean?" asked Allen, feeling inclined to shake her.
"It's Giles's writing," sobbed Mrs. Merry, still invisible; "whatever you may say, it's his own writing, he never having been to school and writing pothooks and hangers awful." She tore the apron from her face and pointed, "Look at this Lawrence, and at this, my name on the envelope. He wrote, saying he's coming here to worry me, and I expect he's sent to your pa saying the same. They was thick in the old days, the wicked old days," said Mrs. Merry with emphasis, "I mean your pa and him as is dead and my brute of a Giles."
"So Giles Merry wrote this?" said Allen thoughtfully, looking at the brown paper writing. "I wonder if the cross is a sign between my father and him, which has called my father to London?"
"Have you seen Giles, sir?" asked Mrs. Merry dolefully, "if so, tell him I'll bolt and bar the house and have a gun ready. I won't be struck and bullied and badgered out of my own home."
"I haven't seen your husband," explained Allen, rising, "this parcel was sent to my father by your son through Jane Wasp." Mrs. Merry gave another cry. "He's got hold of Cain--oh, and Cain said he hadn't set eyes on him. He's ruined!" Mrs. Merry flopped into a chair. "My son's ruined--oh, and he was my pride! But that wicked father of his would make Heaven the other place, he would."
"I suppose Cain must have got the parcel from his father?" said Allen.
"He must have. It's in Giles's writing. What was in the parcel, sir?"
"A cross made of two sticks tied with a piece of grass. Do you know what that means?"
"No, I don't, but if it comes from Giles Merry, it means some wicked thing, you may be sure, Mr. Allen, whatever you may say."
"Well, my father was much upset when he got this parcel and he has gone to London."
"To see Giles?" asked Mrs. Merry.
"I don't know. The parcel came from Colchester."
"Then Giles is there, and with my poor boy," cried Mrs. Merry, trembling. "Oh, when will my cup of misery be full? I always expected this."
"Don't be foolish, Mrs. Merry. If your husband comes you can show him the door."
"He'd show me his boot," retorted Mrs. Merry. "I've a good mind to sell up, and clear out. If 'twasn't for Miss Eva, I would. And there, I've had to part from her on account of Giles. If he came and made the house, what he do make it, which is the pit of Tophet, a nice thing it would be for Miss Eva."
"I'll break his head if he worries Eva," said Allen grimly; "I've dealt before with that sort of ruffian. But I want you to tell me where Cain is to be heard of. I expect the circus has left Colchester by this time."
"Cain never writes to me, he being a bad boy," wailed Mrs. Merry, "an' now as his father's got hold of him he'll be worse nor ever. But you can see in the papers where the playactors go, sir."
"To be sure," said Allen, "how stupid I am. Well, good-day, Mrs. Merry, and don't tell Miss Eva anything of this."
"Not if I was tortured into slices," said Mrs. Merry, walking to the door with Allen, "ah, it's a queer world. I hope I'll go to my long home soon, sir, and then I'll be where Merry will never come. You may be sure they won't let him in."
This view of the case appeared to afford Mrs. Merry much satisfaction, and she chuckled as Allen walked away. He went along the road wondering at the situation. His father was not a good husband to his mother--at least Allen did not think so. Giles was a brute to his wife, and the late Mr. Strode from all accounts had been a neglectful spouse. "And they were all three boon companions," said Allen to himself; "I wonder what I'll find out about the three? Perhaps Giles has a hand in the death of Strode. At all events the death has been caused by some trouble of the past. God forgive me for doubting my father, but I dread to think of what I may learn if I go on with the case. But for my mother's sake I must go on."
Allen now directed his steps to Wasp's abode, as he knew at this hour the little policeman would be at home. It struck Allen that it would be just as well to see the bullet which had pierced the heart of Mr. Strode. If it was one from his own revolver--and Allen knew the shape of its bullets well--there would be no doubt as to his father's guilt. But Allen fancied, that from the feeble nature of the wound on the arm, it was just the kind of shaky aim which would be taken by a timid man like his father. Perhaps (this was Allen's theory) the three companions of old met at the Red Deeps--Mr. Strode, Giles, and his father. Mr. Hill, in a fit of rage, might have fired the shot which ripped the arm, but Giles must have been the one who shot Strode through the heart. Of course Allen had no grounds to think in this way, and it all depended on the sight of the bullet in the possession of Wasp as to the truth of the theory. Allen intended to get Wasp out of the room on some pretext and then fit the bullet into his weapon. He had it in his pocket for the purpose. This was the only way in which he could think of solving the question as to his father's guilt or innocence.
Wasp was at home partaking of a substantial dinner. Some of the children sat round, and Mrs. Wasp, a grenadier of a woman, was at the head of the table. But three children sat out with weekly journals on their laps, and paper and pencil in hand. They all three looked worried. After greeting Allen, Wasp explained.
"There's a prize for guessing the names of European capitals," he said; "it's given in the Weekly Star., and I've set them to work to win the prize. They're working at it now, and don't get food till each gets at least two capitals. They must earn money somehow, sir."
"And they've been all the morning without getting one, sir," said Mrs. Wasp plaintively. Apparently her heart yearned over her three children, who looked very hungry. "Don't you think they might eat now in honour of the gentleman's visit?"
"Silence," cried Wasp, "sit down. No talking in the ranks. Wellington, Kitchener, and Boadicea"--these were the names of the unhappy children--"must do their duty. Named after generals, sir," added Wasp with pride.
"Was Boadicea a general?" asked Allen, sorry for the unfortunate trio, who were very eagerly searching for the capitals in a school atlas.
"A very good one for a woman, sir, as I'm informed by Marlborough, my eldest, sir, as is at a board school. Boadicea, if you don't know the capital of Bulgaria you get no dinner."
Boadicea whimpered, and Allen went over to the three, his kind heart aching for their hungry looks. "Sofia is the capital. Put it down."
"Right, sir," said Wasp in a military fashion, "put down Sofia."
"What capital are you trying to find, Wellington?" asked Allen.
"Spain, sir, and Kitchener is looking for Victoria."
"The Australian country, sir, not Her late Majesty," said Wasp smartly.
"Madrid is the capital of Spain, and Melbourne that of Victoria."
The children put these down hastily and simply leaped for the table.
"Silence," cried the policeman, horrified at this hurry; "say grace."
The three stood up and recited grace like a drill sergeant shouting the standing orders for the day. Shortly, their jaws were at work. Wasp surveyed the family grimly, saw they were orderly, and then turned to his visitor.
"Now, Mr. Allen, sir, I am at your disposal. Come into the parlour."
He led the way with a military step, and chuckles broke out amongst the family relieved of his presence. When in the small room and the door closed, Allen came artfully to the subject of his call. It would not do to let Wasp suspect his errand. Certainly the policeman had overcome his suspicion that Allen was concerned in the matter, but a pointed request for the bullet might reawaken them. Wasp was one of those hasty people who jump to conclusions, unsupported by facts.
"Wasp," said Allen, sitting down under a portrait of Lord Roberts, "Miss Strode and myself are engaged, as you know."
"Yes, sir." Wasp standing stiffly saluted. "I give you joy."
"Thank you. We have been talking over the death of her father, and she is anxious to learn who killed him."
"Natural enough," said the policeman, scratching his chin, "but it is not easy to do that, especially"--Wasp looked sly--"as there is no reward."
"Miss Strode is not in a position to offer a reward," replied Allen, "so, for her sake, I am undertaking the search. I may want your assistance, Wasp, and I am prepared to pay you for the same. I am not rich, but if ten pounds would be of any use----"
"If you'd a family of ten, sir, you'd know as it would," said Wasp, looking gratified. "I'm not a haggler, Mr. Allen, but with bread so dear, and my children being large eaters, I'm willing to give you information for twenty pounds."
"I can't afford that," said Allen decidedly.
"I can tell you something about Butsey," said Wasp eagerly.
"Ten pounds will pay you for your trouble," replied Allen, "and remember, Wasp, if you don't accept the offer and find the culprit on your own, there will be no money coming from the Government."
"There will be promotion, though, Mr. Allen," said Wasp, drawing himself up, "and that means a larger salary. Let us say fifteen."
"Very good, though you drive a hard bargain. When the murderer is laid by the heels I'll pay you fifteen pounds. No, Wasp," he added, seeing what the policeman was about to say, "I can't give you anything on account. Well, is it a bargain?"
"It must be, as you won't do otherwise," said Wasp ruefully. "What do you want to know?"
"Tell me about this boy."
"Butsey?" Wasp produced a large note-book. "I went to Westhaven to see if there was truth in that Sunday school business he told me about when I met him. Mr. Allen, there's no Sunday school; but there was a treat arranged for children from London."
"Something of the Fresh Air Fund business?"
"That's it, sir. This was a private business, from some folk as do kindnesses in Whitechapel. A lot of children came down on Wednesday----"
Allen interrupted. "That was the day Mr. Strode came down?"
"Yes, sir, and on that night he was shot at the Red Deeps. Well, sir, Butsey must have been with the ragged children as he looks like that style of urchin. But I can't be sure of this. The children slept at Westhaven and went back on Thursday night."
"And Butsey saw Mrs. Merry in the morning of Thursday?"
"He did, sir, and me later. Butsey I fancy didn't go back till Saturday. But I can't be sure of this."
"You don't seem to be sure of anything," said Allen tartly. "Well, I can't say your information is worth much, Wasp."
"Hold on, sir. I've got the address of the folk in Whitechapel who brought the children down. If you look them up, they may know something of Butsey."
"True enough. Give me the address."
Wasp consented, and wrote it out in a stiff military hand, while Allen went on artfully, "Was any weapon found at the Red Deeps?"
"No, sir," said Wasp, handing his visitor the address of the Whitechapel Mission, which Allen put in his pocket-book. "I wish the revolver had been found, then we'd see if the bullet fitted."
"Only one bullet was found."
"Only one, sir. Dr. Grace got it out of the body. It is the bullet which caused the death, and I got Inspector Garrit to leave it with me. Perhaps you'd like to see it, sir?"
"Oh, don't trouble," said Allen carelessly. "I can't say anything about it, Wasp."
"Being a gentleman as has travelled you might know something, Mr. Allen," said Wasp, and went to a large tin box, which was inscribed with his name and the number of his former regiment, in white letters. From this he took out a packet, and opening it, extracted a small twist of paper. Then he placed the bullet in Allen's hand.
"I should think it came from a Derringer," said Wasp.
Allen's heart leaped, for his revolver was not a Derringer. He turned the bullet in his hand carelessly. "It might," he said with a shrug. "Pity the other bullet wasn't found."
"The one as ripped the arm, sir? It's buried in some tree trunk, I guess, Mr. Allen. But it would be the same size as this. Both were fired from the same barrel. First shot missed, but the second did the business. Hold on, sir, I've got a drawing of the Red Deeps, and I'll show you where we found the corpse," and Wasp left the room.
Allen waited till the door was closed, then hastily took the revolver from his breast-pocket. He tried the bullet, but it proved to be much too large for the revolving barrel, and could not have been fired therefrom. "Thank heaven," said Allen, with a sigh of relief, "my father is innocent."