In Queer Street

by Fergus Hume

Starting to his feet, the young man remembered how the girl at the inn had talked of Squire Evans' estate lying long-side the wood and divided therefrom by a brick wall. Here was the wood, yonder the wall in question; so it came strongly into Hench's mind that the dead man was Squire Evans. But who had killed him and why had he been killed? Hench looked round searchingly into the shadow of the trees, but could see no lurking form. Whosoever had struck the blow had done so shortly before Hench arrived, as the body was still warm and still supple. After all, the man was dead, sure enough, and it would be useless to run to the village for succour. In fact it would be dangerous, as Owain thought with fear knocking at his heart, for how could he prove his innocence of the crime. There was no motive for him to kill this unknown man, certainly; not even the motive of robbery, as the studs and sleeve-links had not been taken by the assassin. Hench wavered between a desire to consult his own safety by flight and a wish to rouse the village and hunt hot-footed for the murderer. For two long, long minutes he pondered over the horrible situation, then, without a backward glance, raced at top speed along the unknown path leading into the further recesses of the wood. And while he ran his heart beat tumultuously, the perspiration beaded his forehead, and his body shivered with cold, in spite of the warm night. Safety was what he made for, and he tore onward as if the officers of justice were already on his track. An innocent man--yes, he was an innocent man--yet the circumstantial evidence might hang him in spite of that same innocence.

Instinct led Hench to avoid returning to London by passing through the village and boarding the train at Cookley Station. Already--and he thought of the possibility with terror--his face and figure might be remembered by some keen-sighted yokel. There was the conversation with the girl in the tap-room. He had talked long enough with her to be remembered, even though the atmosphere, hazy with smoke, had only been illuminated by one dingy lamp. Then, again, he had spoken about the Gipsy Stile; he had asked where it was, and at the Gipsy Stile the murder had taken place. Then there was the advertisement; the police would be sure to find that out, and if there was any reward offered, Madame Alpenny might speak to the authorities about the same. Then he would be linked with the crime, and run the risk of arrest. When confronted with the girl at the inn, she would probably recognize him. Then what possible defence could he make to an accusation of murder?

These and many other thoughts buzzed like distracting bees through Owain's brain as he fled from that awful place. All his idea was to get away, to reach some other railway station, to hide in London, and remain quiet until he saw what the police would do. But on the face of it, he would be safe nowhere; yet with the instinct of self-preservation he plunged onward through the wood in the hope of escape. Hench was a brave man, and had faced many dangers, but to be hanged for a crime which he had not committed, to be entangled in circumstances over which he had no control, made him choose the least of two evils. Once or twice he halted in his headlong flight wondering if it would not be best to return and give himself up to the village policeman, as, after all, he had no motive to kill the man and moreover could produce the advertisement. But the resolution was momentary. He simply could not face the trouble, even though he did his best to screw up his courage to the sticking point. Wiping his forehead, he drew a long breath and strode onward. It was too late now to think of returning, as the body might already have been found. All he could do was to walk on and on and on, in the hope of leaving terror behind.

After leaving the wood, Hench found himself traversing other meadows similar to that near Cookley church, These bordered a narrow lane, into which a stile afforded him access. From this lane he gained the high-road, and from a sign-post learned that it would conduct him to London. At first Owain intended to walk on until he arrived at the nearest railway station, for there was yet time to catch a late train to town. But on reflection he decided to use his legs, as there would be less danger in solitary pedestrianism than in venturing to ask for a ticket at a local station, where his appearance might be observed. Also the night was warm, the moon gave her full light, and the journey to London would be more pleasurable on foot than it would be were he cooped up in a train. Besides, he was much too agitated by what he had gone through to sit quiet under the gaze of fellow-travellers. Innocent though he was, conscience made a coward of him, and he knew that every careless eye cast upon him would make him wince. He was safer to walk, so walk he did.

Owain never forgot that thirty odd miles tramp through the lovely summer night, when--as the saying goes--he saw a bird in every bush. Certainly he was guiltless of any crime, yet fate had connected him with one, and he felt like Cain, so strong was the power of his imagination. Again and again he asked himself if it would not have been wiser to dare the worst, trusting in God's justice and his own innocence. But again and again came the reply that innocent men have been hanged ere now on purely circumstantial evidence, and that he had done right to fly the danger of a judicial death. Hench cursed himself for not having waited until his twenty-fifth birthday. Had he taken no notice of the advertisement, as he originally intended to do, he would not now be in this plight. But it was too late to blame himself now. He had come to the rendezvous, he had found a dead body, he had fled like a true criminal from the spot, so it was no use crying over spilt milk. Whatever was in store for him he would have to face it. As he had sown, so would he have to reap.

[CHAPTER VII]

AN AMAZING DISCOVERY

Owain reached his hotel in the early hours of the morning, and finding no one about but the sleepy night-porter, who was just leaving, had no difficulty in getting to his bedroom almost unobserved. Once in that haven he drew a long breath of relief, and wearied by his long tramp, threw himself on his bed without undressing. Notwithstanding his anxiety, which had increased instead of lessening, he speedily fell fast asleep into a heavy dreamless slumber, which resembled lethargy rather than natural repose. It was high noon when he woke, feeling much refreshed and as hungry as the proverbial hunter. Considering the trouble in which he was involved, it was fortunate that travel had steadied his nerves to face the worst, if needs be. The result of his experience of danger led him to prepare for possibilities. He therefore took a cold bath to brace himself, dressed more carefully than usual with great deliberation, and went down to make an excellent breakfast. As yet the hue and cry was not out against him, so he had ample time to consider his position.

Over a pipe in the smoking-room, he glanced at several of the daily papers, but naturally found therein nothing about the murder in Parley Wood at Cookley. It was more than probable that the evening news would contain an account of the finding of the body, and--for all Hench knew--a description of himself as the criminal. Of this, however, he was uncertain, since he had not been noticed closely in the twilight, and his conversation with the girl of the Bull Inn had taken place in a darkish and smoky room, dimly lighted by a solitary lamp. Of course the girl would say that a man had asked her where the Gipsy Stile was to be found, and the person she had conversed with would be suspected. But the questioner assuredly could not be described, unless the serving-wench was sharper than Owain gave her credit for being. Only a very inquisitive and observant person would have examined him closely enough to give a fair word-picture of him to the authorities. And Owain's experience led him to believe that few people ever did observe with much degree of accuracy. So far as the girl at the inn and the inhabitants of Cookley were concerned he felt tolerably safe. But there was another person to consider in connection with his adventure, and that was Madame Alpenny. The Hungarian lady certainly knew that he was the man required to meet the advertiser at Cookley, as the use of the word "Rhaiadr" had enlightened her on that point. Therefore it was probable that, when the details of the murder were made public, she would inform the police about the matter. But the woman did not know that he had kept the appointment, as he had given her to understand very plainly that he did not intend to do so. Assuredly the feeling that she was at his elbow had haunted him when he had set forth on his errand, and he had fancied that she had been lurking about Liverpool Street Station. But even then he had set down the faint belief to imagination, so there was no reason why he should conclude that she actually had been spying on him. In fact he did not see how she possibly could have done so, since he had not given her his address. Only Bottles knew that, and Bottles--as Hench felt sure--was to be thoroughly trusted.