CHAPTER XIII
WHAT GIFFORD SAW IN THE WOOD
During the next day or two Gifford saw next to nothing of Gervase Henshaw. They had parted amicably enough after luncheon at Wynford Place; indeed, the change in Henshaw's demeanour had been something of a puzzle to the two friends, although Kelson did not seem much exercised by it. "The fellow has evidently come to the conclusion that in dealing with people like the Morristons an offensive brow-beating manner does not pay," he remarked casually. Gifford, however, had an idea that the reason for the change lay somewhat deeper than that. He wondered whether in the absence of any other apparent cause, Edith Morriston's attractiveness had had anything to do with it. It was not a pleasant idea; still, if it saved her annoyance that would be something gained, he thought; and that it should have any farther result was out of the question.
He had not had that day an opportunity of any private talk with Miss Morriston, for she had driven out after luncheon to pay a call. But a certain suggestion of warmth in her leave-taking had assured him that she still looked for his help and that the conditions were not changed.
What he had undertaken so eagerly was now, however, not easy of accomplishment. For reasons at which Gifford could only guess, Henshaw seemed to be playing an elusive game; he kept out of sight, or, at any rate, avoided all intercourse with the two friends, and on the rare occasions when they met he was to Gifford tantalizingly uncommunicative. That something was evidently behind his reticence made it all the more unsatisfactory, since the result was that Gifford had no object in going to Wynford Place, for he had nothing to tell. Indeed he learnt more from the Morristons than from Henshaw. The police had concluded their investigations on the premises, much to the relief of the household, who were now left in peace.
"They don't seem to have come to any definite conclusion as to how the tragedy happened," Morriston said. "They have an idea, as I gather from Major Freeman, where to look for the murderer, if murder it was; which I am rather inclined to doubt."
"Is Henshaw likely to give up the search?" Gifford asked.
Morriston looked puzzled. "I can't make out," he answered in a slightly perplexed tone. "Even Freeman does not seem to know what his idea is. He is still about here."
"Yes," Gifford replied. "I caught a glimpse of him this morning."
"Curious," Morriston remarked. "I came across the fellow yesterday afternoon in the big plantation here. He was mooning about and didn't seem best pleased to see me, but he was quite duly apologetic, said he was puzzling over the tragedy and hoped I didn't mind his trespassing on my property. Of course I told him he was free to come and go as he liked, but it did strike me as peculiar that he should be thinking out the case in that plantation which has no possible connexion with the scene of the crime."
"Yes, it was curious," Gifford agreed reflectively. "Did he tell you what he was doing about the business?"
Morriston shook his head. "No; he wasn't communicative; didn't seem to have much to go upon. Of course one can't tell what the fellow has at the back of his mind, but I was rather surprised that a Londoner of his energy and smartness should spend his time loafing about down here with what seems a poor chance of any result; and I nearly told him so."
"Perhaps it is as well you didn't," Gifford replied. "He is suspicious enough to imagine you might have a motive in wanting to get rid of him."
Morriston laughed. "I have. He is not exactly the man one wants to have prowling about the place; but it would not be polite to hint as much."
The episode, trivial as it seemed to Morriston, gave Gifford food for disagreeable reflection. Why, indeed, should Henshaw be hanging about in the grounds of Wynford, and give so unconvincing a reason? What troubled Gifford most was that the man's reticent attitude precluded all hope of his learning anything of his plans which could usefully be imparted to Miss Morriston. Evidently there was nothing to be got out of him; the rather open confidence he had displayed on his first appearance at Branchester had quite disappeared, and if Gifford was to find out anything worth reporting it would assuredly not be due to any communication from the man himself.
He had accordingly to be content with the resolve to keep a wary eye on
Henshaw's movements.
He was now pretty free to do this. The Tredworths had ended their visit at Wynford and had returned home, and naturally Kelson spent much of his time over there, leaving Gifford to his own devices. It had, in view of Gifford's commission from Miss Morriston, been arranged that he should share Kelson's rooms at the Golden Lion, no longer as a guest, so that both men were now independent of each other. The date of Kelson's wedding seemed now likely to be put off for some months, as his friend had suggested. The unpleasant episode of the stains on Muriel Tredworth's dress had, although there was no indication of attaching serious importance to them, nevertheless cast an uncomfortable shadow over the happiness of her betrothal, and without giving any specific reason she had declared for a postponement of the wedding, for which there was, after all, a quite natural reason.
"Perhaps it is just as well," Kelson remarked to his friend. "Although it is absolutely unthinkable that Muriel could have had anything to do with the affair, yet one can quite appreciate her wish to wait till perhaps something crops up to give us the explanation beyond all question. It is rather a blow to me, and I hope if the mysterious Mr. Gervase Henshaw is really on the track of the crime he will produce his solution without much more delay. For a girl like Muriel to have even the faintest suspicion hanging over her is simply hateful."
Meanwhile the mysterious Mr. Henshaw seemed in no hurry to make known his theory, if he had one. Yet he still remained in Branchester, writing all the morning and going out in the afternoon, usually with a handful of letters for post. He always nodded affably to Gifford when they met, but beyond a casual remark on the weather or the events of the day, showed no disposition to chat.
But now while Gifford was in this unsatisfactory state of mind, persevering yet baffled in what he had undertaken to do, a very singular thing came to pass. He strolled out one afternoon, aimlessly, wondering whether the negative result of his efforts justified his remaining in the place, and yet loath to leave it, held there as he was by the attraction of Edith Morriston. He felt he could be making but little way in her favour seeing how he was failing in what he had undertaken to do for her, and as he walked he discussed with himself whether it would not be possible to hit on some more active plan of becoming acquainted with Henshaw's knowledge and intentions. It was obviously a delicate business, and after all, he thought, now that the man's undesirable presence had practically ceased to be an annoyance to the Morristons there scarcely seemed any need to bother about him. On the other hand, however, there was a certain strong curiosity on his own part to know Henshaw's design and what kept him in the town.
Gifford's walk took him over well remembered ground. He was strolling along a path which led through the Wynford property, over a rustic bridge across a stream he had often fished when a boy, and so on into a wood which formed one of the home coverts. Making his way through this familiar haunt of by-gone days he came to one of the long rides which bisected the wood for some quarter of a mile. He turned into this and was just looking out for a comfortable trunk where he might sit and smoke, when he caught sight of two figures in the distance ahead walking slowly just on the fringe of the ride. A man and a woman; their backs were towards him, but his blood gave a leap at the sight as their identity flashed upon him. It was, in its unexpectedness, an almost appalling sight to him, as he realised that the two were none other than Henshaw and Edith Morriston.