FOUND AT LAST
On seeing the pseudonymous gardener speeding down the avenue, Gebb lost no time, but, leaving Mrs. Grix to her rage and lamentation, vaulted over the terrace in his turn, and raced at top speed after the fugitive. The detective was lean and young, and an excellent runner, whereas Dean, alias Martin, was old and scant of breath; so the only thing which equalized the contest was the despair which winged the feet of the wretched quarry. If Dean were caught by the bloodhound of the law, he would be shortly relegated to the prison whence he had escaped; so he flew wildly over the ground, running he knew not whither to escape the fate which awaited him. And Gebb, who personified Nemesis, followed hot-footed in his track.
The road to Norminster ran straight through the fields like a white ribbon laid upon green velvet, and the town itself was distant a mile from Kirkstone Hall. Down this, amid a cloud of white dust, Gebb saw Dean running some way ahead, and setting his elbows to his sides he followed steadily and surely, reserving his wind for the termination of the race, the result of which could only be the capture of the ragged figure now flying for dear life. Carters, and pedestrians, and labourers in the fields stared in amazement at the chase, and some, with that love of sport inherent in every breast, joined Gebb in his man-hunt. After Dean had covered a quarter of a mile he began to fail, and to zigzag in his course, bounding wildly from one side to the other, and wasting his strength in useless ways. Gebb with his shouting train drew steadily nearer, and the miserable, hunted wretch could hear their cries, and the beating of their feet on the hard white road. Still he endeavoured to shake off his pursuers and escape, for by a powerful effort he managed to run another quarter of a mile. Then age and fear and exhaustion told on his failing limbs, and with a wild cry Dean flung up his hands despairingly and fell amid puffs of dust. When Gebb arrived he was lying senseless in the middle of the highroad.
"So!" said the detective to himself, as he knelt beside the ragged creature. "I've found you at last, Mr. Dean. You know the truth of all these matters, at any rate; and in some way or another I'll force you into confessing it."
But at the present moment it seemed as though Dean would never speak again in this world, for he lay as still as any corpse, his white head and whiter face resting on Gebb's knee. The frowning mark between the eyes, by which the detective had known him, was smoothed away, and there was no expression on the blank countenance, no movement in the slack limbs. Gebb, however, knew that this apparent death was only a temporary faintness, and whipping out his brandy-flask, forced some drops of the fiery liquid between the white lips of his prisoner. While engaged in this kindly office, the labourers who had joined in the pursuit came up with much amazement expressed on their honest, sunburnt faces.
"What's the matter with Mad Martin, mister?" asked one, looking at the unconscious Dean.
"He's madder than usual, that's all," said Gebb, "and has nearly killed Mrs. Grix at the Hall yonder. I must take him to Norminster and get a doctor to look after him: he'll die here."
The detective made this artful speech with the intention of enlisting the sympathy of the bystanders, both for himself and Martin, alias Dean, as popular feeling generally inclines towards defiance of law and order. Moreover, a detective is not an admired character with the common people, and Gebb had no desire to render his task of capturing Dean more difficult than was necessary by stating his vocation; so for diplomatic reasons he spoke as above. The result justified his precaution, for the labourers were most anxious that the mad gardener--as they knew him to be--should be taken at once to Norminster and placed in charge of a medical man. A cart was coming along the road, and into this Dean was hoisted by friendly hands. Gebb having taken his seat beside him, the vehicle rolled slowly towards Norminster, while the labourers returned to their work, quite vivacious after the exciting episode which had broken the monotony of the day. Gebb, knowing what was at stake, felt thankful to get rid of them so easily.
As it was but half a mile to Norminster from the spot where Dean had fallen, the cart soon arrived there. The man himself had revived, thanks to Gebb's brandy, and sat staring straight before him in a kind of sullen stupor. He made one effort to escape when he was set down at the door of the gaol; but Gebb, with the assistance of a near policeman, soon overpowered him, and carried him within, while the carter drove off, wondering, in his slow-thinking mind, that a man brought to see a doctor should be taken to the county gaol for care. However, he had received five shillings from Gebb, so did not trouble his head about the matter, and spent most of it at the next public-house, where he narrated the episode with such additions as his drunken humour suggested.
To the governor of the gaol Gebb explained that Dean was an escaped prisoner, for whom the police had long been looking, and mentioned his own name and occupation. The result of this was that Dean was confined in a cell with a warder to watch him lest he should in his despair attempt suicide. Then Gebb repaired to an hotel and wrote to the governor of the gaol whence Dean had escaped, asking him to come down himself or send some responsible person in order to identify the prisoner. The detective also sent an urgent wire to Ferris, requesting him to visit Norminster at once on business connected with Martin; for he shrewdly suspected that the artist knew of the man's identity with Dean, and that the mention of the name would bring both Arthur and Edith immediately to Kirkstone Hall. It was shortly after midday when Gebb sent this telegram, so he quite expected that if matters stood as he imagined Ferris would come down, and not alone; for if Ferris knew that Martin was his father, Edith also must be in the secret, and, no doubt, she would accompany him. Then Gebb, who was really angry with the young couple for their many concealments, determined to have a thorough explanation of their strange behaviour. These important matters having been attended to, Gebb returned to the gaol and saw Dean; but the interview proved to be anything but a success. Whether the man was mad or not Gebb could not decide without evidence; but certainly his present sullen silence formed a strange contrast to his former excitement. He neither talked recklessly nor sang his wild songs. His limbs were at rest, and his eyes looked dull, although formerly they had been bright and glittering. With vacant gaze and a sullen expression, he sat huddled up in a corner of his cell and absolutely refused to speak or even notice his questioner. The man was thoroughly exhausted and worn out; but Gebb left the cell with the firm conviction that Dean was perfectly sane, and that his madness had been feigned to more effectually baffle dangerous inquiries. But, like the fox in the fable, for all his tricks the man had been caught at last, and Gebb wondered if, after all, he had murdered Miss Gilmar.