The expression of the two faces was a study. The withered face of the old woman was scarcely stirred—it showed interest indeed, but merely that of a passing curiosity. The face of the invalid girl, on the contrary, was full of changes and fluttering emotions, as her own mind was evidently full of tumult. She questioned me rapidly, and I answered her as guardedly as possible, but her features as I proceeded became slowly blanched with a kind of rigid horror. That strange look—so full of far-reaching thought and deep anguish—I could not at the moment understand. To say that suspicion was hovering over her father did not account for all that was pictured in her face—there was something behind all that, and I am afraid my words became somewhat incoherent in trying to fathom what that secret was. I never saw a face which told so much, if I had but had the key to those flitting expressions.
Her horror, and anguish, and deadly despair, and the tears which would force themselves into her eyes to make them more pitifully beautiful, arose from something I had said, which had evidently more meaning to her than to me, and I cudgelled my brains in vain to recall anything which should so affect her.
I did not remain long after this queer change had come over the invalid, for with that change had come reticence, thoughtfulness, and silence. Her brightness and loquacity were gone, and the gossipy old woman had all the talking to herself. My impression of the whole case, when I had left the cottage, was that there was guilt behind all I had seen, and that the best plan would be to arrest the old gardener, and have his house thoroughly searched.
That was the substance of my report; but against this was brought the strenuous request of the Arthurlies, and the arrest was delayed that I might have the suspected man watched, and, if possible, accumulate stronger evidence of his guilt. I was not sorry for the delay in the light of the curious incident which followed. Two days after my visit to the cottage a parcel was handed in at the Central Office, which on being opened was found to contain bank-notes to the amount of £70, and the following brief note:—
“One of those concerned in the robbery at Mr Arthurlie’s returns his share of the proceeds, which his conscience will not allow him to keep.”
It needed but one reading of these lines to convince one that no professional thief ever composed or penned them. The diction was too correct, to say nothing of the spelling; and whoever heard of a professional housebreaker having a conscience, or returning entire his share of a robbery on that account? Then in looking over the note it was evident that there was a painful effort to disguise the handwriting—to make it heavy and lumpy, and strong like that of an unlettered man, while the verdict of all who looked upon it was that the writing was that of a woman. Who could that woman be, and how could she have accomplished the robbery? If she had got only a fair share of the proceeds, there must have been at least seven or eight more in the robbery. The parcel had been handed to one of our men outside the Office by a boy, who had walked off the moment he got rid of it. He had spoken enough, however, to reveal that he was of that class of country folks living outside the city proper—the accent of these being strong and broad, and easily distinguishable from that of the city.
The moment these facts were made known to me I had a cab brought, and drove rapidly over to the Dean, taking the man with me. When we got to the place we dismissed the cab and took up our station near the cottage of the gardener. I was in hope that if the boy had been sent from that place he would return to report, but I was mistaken. We waited about for fully an hour, and then gave up the task in despair, and wandered through the little village to have a look at the faces. In doing so my companion spotted a boy at play, and collared him sharply with the words—
“It was you who gave me the parcel at the Police Office, wasn’t it?”
The boy denied it stoutly, but in a tone which left no doubt on our minds that he was lying. When threatened with the cells he admitted that he had got sixpence to deliver it, from old Marjory, the gardener’s housekeeper! Taking the boy with us, we went to the gardener’s cottage. Old Marjory was outside cutting vegetables in the garden, and the moment her eye fell upon us I felt convinced that we would have no easy task in getting information from her.
“You sent this boy with a parcel to the office, Marjory?” I began. “Where did you get it?”