The Rainbow Feather

by Fergus Hume

[AT THE VICARAGE.]

From Poverty Villa, with its guilty occupant, Paul wandered through the village, into the neighbourhood of The Herne Arms. A crowd of people, more or less excited, filled the tap-room of the inn, and the space before it. Many were drinking ale at the bar, others idled outside in the street, and all were vigorously discussing the tragedy and surmising as to who was the criminal. Some hinted at Lovel, a known admirer of the dead girl; others boldly accused a nameless tramp of the crime, and declared that robbery was the motive for its committal; but no one had the courage or the fancy to hint at the possible guilt of the drunken father. Such an idea, owing to the relationship, was too monstrous to be entertained even by the most imaginative.

Paul, with unusual caution--for ordinarily he was an impulsive man--said nothing, but wandered from group to group, gathering opinions but offering none in exchange. There was no need for him to conjecture the name of the assassin. He knew that Dr. Lester had committed the crime, and that before twelve hours elapsed he would be arraigned on circumstantial evidence; perhaps, if his conscience proved trustworthy, on his own confession. Great as had been the horror inspired by the murder, the arrest of the wretched father of the victim would enhance that horror four-fold. Mexton knew this, but out of sheer humanity for the miserable criminal he held his peace.

The crowd babbled on, discussed the affair over their tankards, and looked up with awe at the windows, the drawn curtains of which notified that the dead body of Milly Lester was lying within. Policemen guarded the door of the room and the approach to the stairs, so that no one could enter. Paul Mexton had little desire to do so; he did not wish to see the still white face, which he had last beheld full of life and beauty and girlish vanity. Sick at heart, he turned away from inn and crowd and all the chatter of the market-place, to take his way to the Vicarage. On arriving there he inquired for Mr. Chaskin.

So far as his journal was concerned, Paul had collected sufficient "copy" for a long and interesting article; therefore it was with no zeal for his profession that he sought the clergyman. But the theory of the idlers before the inn, that a tramp might have killed Milly in order to rob her, inspired him with a faint hope that Lester might be innocent. All the evidence, that of Eliza, that of the mud-stained clothes, that of the pistol, pointed to the guilt of the unhappy father. Nevertheless, a man has been hanged before on circumstantial evidence and afterwards has proved guiltless of the crime for which he suffered; so it might be, thought Paul, that Dr. Lester was not guilty of this monstrous act of criminality. If the body had been robbed of jewellery and purse, these facts might hint at a vulgar murder by a tramp. Chaskin had found the corpse of the girl; therefore Chaskin was the necessary witness to prove the theory of a robbery. In the character of Dr. Lester's friend and well-wisher, Paul presented himself at the Vicarage to question Mr. Chaskin. Upon the result of the interview hung the question of Lester's guilt or innocence. The chances were greatly in favour of the former.

At first the servant who opened the door refused to admit Mexton. She declared that Mr. Chaskin was within, but stated that he was particularly engaged, and had given orders not to be disturbed. Paul scribbled a line on his card to the effect that his business was important with regard to the discovery of the assassin, and told the girl to ask Mr. Chaskin to afford him an interview on these grounds. After some hesitation the servant conveyed the message and shortly afterwards showed Mexton into the presence of the clergyman.

Mr. Chaskin was in his study, a comfortable room, which had somewhat of a sacerdotal atmosphere in its appointments and furnishing. There were many books lining the walls in bare and unpretentious bookshelves; a small altar in one corner with a bronze crucifix thereon; and several pictures of Catholic saints here and there. On the desk before the window another crucifix was standing amid a litter of papers, and beside the desk itself a chair was placed, hinting to the ready mind of Paul that Mr. Chaskin had been engaged with a visitor when he accorded him the interview.

Evidently the visitor had vanished through a small door on the right, wishing to escape unseen. Paul wondered who this unknown person might be, and why he or she had departed with such unnecessary haste and mystery. At the very door Paul felt that an uncomfortable and uneasy atmosphere pervaded the apartment.

The Vicar rose to his feet with an agitated air as Paul entered, and looked at the young man with the card in his hand. He seemed much moved, for his lean, ascetic face was white and drawn, his breathing quick and hurried. Not till the servant had closed the door did he speak, and then he addressed his visitor with a tremour in his strong voice.

"You come at an inconvenient time, Mr. Mexton," he said, hurriedly. "I was engaged with a friend; but your writing here"--he touched the card--"hinted at a matter of such importance that I decided to see you."