The Turnpike House

by Fergus Hume

"That is just what we must find out, both to release you from an unjust imprisonment and to set his mind at rest. Now tell me the whole story and especially the events of that night. Then I may be in a position to account for the crime."

Cheered somewhat by the view he took, Mrs. Jenner told him all she knew with full details. Two points struck Mr. Heron--one that the window had been open and that Mrs. Jenner had left her husband standing near it; the other that he had had in his possession a red pocket-book which had afterwards disappeared. Beyond this he gathered that her account of the boasts her husband had made on that night that he had had somebody in his power, somebody from whom he intended to extort money.

"And I quite believe that is true," finished the unhappy woman, bitterly. "He had the instincts of a blackmailer."

"Well, said Geoffrey, preparing to take his departure. I think the motive for the crime will be found in that pocket-book. Whoever took it murdered your husband. The window was open, the book, as you say, on the table, and near the window your husband was standing. Also," he added with emphasis, "you say the knife was lying beside the pocket-book. Now, if your son had used it he would have had to pass his father to get it and so would have put him on his guard, even if he had not been prevented from taking it. No, Mrs. Jenner, your son is innocent, as innocent as yourself. The assassin seized that knife through the open window and struck the blow in order to get possession of that pocket-book, which contained--of that I am sure--some document which would have been used as a lever to extort money. That is my theory, and I will make it my business to prove that it is the right one. Meanwhile, I must nurse Neil."

"You are a good man," said Mrs. Jenner shewing emotion for the first time, "and what you say seems feasible enough. Go, and do the best you can. Heaven will reward you. But my son, my darling boy--he may die!"

"Not if I can help it. I'll pull him round somehow. Keep up your spirits. You have had a long night, but I believe the dawn is at hand."

"Heaven bless you!" she said. Then Geoffrey took his leave, to return to the bedside of Neil Webster.

While all this was taking place Ruth had not been idle. She had been annoyed by Heron's letter, and much alarmed at his determination to stay away. She was beginning to find out that her feeling for him was stronger than anything the young violinist had inspired in her; but a streak of obstinacy, inherited from her Spanish grandmother, kept her, in a manner, true to the man for whom she cared least. Besides this she was possessed of more than her share of feminine curiosity, and never faltered in her determination to learn the real cause of Webster's mysterious departure. She was well aware that her love for him was not genuine, that it had been founded--as Jennie had very truly told her--on admiration for the artist, not on love for the man and she was equally certain that she would never marry him. But all the same she was resolved to learn his secret, and for many a weary week she plotted for the achievement of her ends. As far as she knew, both Neil and Geoffrey were abroad, so she had a fair field.

After much thought she concluded that her best plan was to make the attempt through Mrs. Jent, who had been her nurse, and who had always retained an affection, almost motherly, for her. And the old woman was a trustful soul, easy enough to manage by the exercise of a little diplomacy. Ruth's plan was to act as she had done with her father--to assume that she knew more than she would admit. In this way, taking into account the simplicity of Mrs. Jent, it was likely that the old woman would let something slip which would put her on the track. And Ruth considered that if she had succeeded with a man like her father she would certainly have no difficulty with a person of Mrs. Jent's calibre. So she made up her mind as to her best course of action.

To see Mrs. Jent without arousing suspicion it was necessary that she should go down to Bognor without her father's knowledge. He would think it odd that she should, at this juncture, wish to see one who was so closely connected with her former lover. To avert suspicion, the girl wrote to an old schoolfellow at Brighton asking her for an invitation. "I am tired of a dull country life," wrote Miss Cass, "and I should be so glad of a little amusement. Do ask me down for a week or so."