"Oh, it's not a case of keeping anything back," replied Hill. "You're too clever for me, and I've made up my mind to tell you everything, but I thought I might be able to cut the first part short, so as to save your time. But so that you'll understand everything I've got to go a long way back—shortly after I entered Sir Horace Fewbanks's service. In fact, I hadn't been long with him before I began to see he was leading a strange life—a double life, if I may say so. A servant in a gentleman's house—particularly one in my position—sees a good deal he is not meant to see; in fact, he couldn't close his eyes to it if he wanted to, as no doubt you, from your experience, sir, know very well. A confidential servant sees and hears a lot of things, sir."
Inspector Chippenfield nodded his head sharply, but he did not speak.
"I think Sir Horace trusted me, too," continued Hill humbly, "more than he would have trusted most servants, on account of my—my past. I fancy, if I may say so, that he counted on my gratitude because he had given me a fresh start in life. And he was quite right—at first." Hill dropped his voice and looked down as he uttered the last two words. "I'd have done anything for him. But as I was saying, sir, I hadn't been long in his house before I found out that he had a—a weakness—" Hill timidly bowed his head as though apologising to the dead judge for assailing his character—"a weakness for—for the ladies. Sometimes Sir Horace went off for the week-end without saying where he was going and sometimes he went out late at night and didn't return till after breakfast. Then he had ladies visiting him at Riversbrook—not real ladies, if you understand, sir. Sometimes there was a small party of them, and then they made a noise singing music-hall songs and drinking wine, but generally they came alone. Towards the end there was one who came a lot oftener than the others. I found out afterwards that her name was Fanning—Doris Fanning. She was a very pretty young woman, and Sir Horace seemed very fond of her. I knew that because I've heard him talking to her in the library. Sir Horace had rather a loud voice, and I couldn't help overhearing him sometimes, when I took things to his rooms.
"One night,—it was before Sir Horace left for Scotland—a rainy gusty night, this young woman came. I forgot to mention that when Sir Horace expected visitors he used to tell me to send the servants to bed early. He told me to do so this night, saying as usual, 'You understand, Hill?' and I replied, 'Yes, Sir Horace,' The young woman came about half-past ten o'clock, and I let her in the side door and showed her up to the library on the first floor, where he used to sit and work and read. Half an hour afterwards I took up some refreshments—some sandwiches and a small bottle of champagne for the young lady—and then went back downstairs till Sir Horace rang for me to let the lady out, which was generally about midnight. But this night, I'd hardly been downstairs more than a quarter of an hour, when I heard a loud crash, followed by a sort of scream. Before I could get out of my chair to go upstairs I heard the study door open, and Sir Horace called out, 'Hill, come here!'
"I went upstairs as quick as I could, and the door of the study being wide open, I could see inside. Sir Horace and the young lady had evidently been having a quarrel. They were standing up facing each other, and the table at which they had been sitting was knocked over, and the refreshments I had taken up had been scattered all about. The young woman had been crying—I could see that at a glance—but Sir Horace looked dignified and the perfect gentleman—like he always was. He turned to me when he saw me, and said, 'Hill, kindly show this young lady out,' I bowed and waited for her to follow me, which she did, after giving Sir Horace an angry look. I let her out the same way as I let her in, and took her through the plantation to the front gate, which I locked after her. When I got inside the house again, and was beginning to bolt up things for the night Sir Horace called me again and I went upstairs. 'Hill,' he said, in the same calm and collected voice, 'if that young lady calls again you're to deny her admittance. That is all, Hill,' And he turned back into his room again.
"I didn't see her again until the morning after Sir Horace left for Scotland. I had arranged for the female servants to go to Sir Horace's estate in the country during his absence, as he instructed before his departure, and they and I were very busy on this morning getting the house in order to be closed up—putting covers on the furniture and locking up the valuables.
"It was Sir Horace's custom to have this done when he was away every year instead of keeping the servants idling about the house on board wages, and the house was then left in my charge, as I told you, sir, and after the servants went to the country it was my custom to live at home till Sir Horace returned, coming over two or three times a week to look over the place and make sure that everything was all right. On this morning, sir, after superintending the servants clearing up things, I went outside the house to have a final look round, and to see that the locks of the front and back gates were in good working order. I was going to the back first, sir, but happening to glance about me as I walked round the house, I saw the young woman that Sir Horace had ordered me to show out of the house the night before he went to Scotland, peering out from behind one of the fir trees of the plantation in front of the house. As soon as she saw that I saw her she beckoned to me.
"I would not have taken any notice of her, only I didn't want the women servants to see her. Sir Horace, I knew, would not have liked that. So I went across to her. I asked her what she wanted, and I told her it was no use her wanting to see Sir Horace, for he had gone to Scotland. 'I don't want to see him,' she said, as impudent as brass. 'It's you I want to see, Field or Hill or whatever you call yourself now.' It gave me quite a turn, I assure you, to find that this young woman knew my secret, and I turned round apprehensive-like, to make sure that none of the servants had heard her. She noticed me and she laughed. 'It's all right, Hill,' she said. 'I'm not going to tell on you. I've just brought you a message from an old friend—Fred Birchill—he wants to see you to-night at this address.' And with that she put a bit of paper into my hand. I was so upset and excited that I said I'd be there, and she went away.
"This Fred Birchill was a man I'd met in prison, and he was in the cell next to me. How he'd got on my tracks I had no idea, but I seemed to see all my new life falling to pieces now he knew. I'd tried to run straight since I served my sentence, and I knew Sir Horace would stand to me, but he couldn't afford to have any scandal about it, and I knew that if there was any possibility of my past becoming known I should have to leave his employ. And then there was my poor wife and child, and this little business, sir. Nothing was known about my past here. So I determined to go and see this Birchill, sir. The address she had given me was in Westminster, and, as my time was practically my own when Sir Horace wasn't home, I went down that same evening, and when I got up the flight of stairs and knocked at the door it was a woman's voice that said 'Come in,' I thought I recognised the voice. When I opened the door, you can imagine my surprise when I saw the young woman to be Doris Fanning, who had had the quarrel with Sir Horace that night and had brought me the note that morning. Birchill was sitting in a corner of the room, with his feet on another chair, smoking a pipe. 'Come in, No. 21,' he says, with an unpleasant smile, 'come in and see an old friend. Put a chair for him, Doris, and leave the room.'
"The girl did so, and as soon as the door was closed behind her Birchill turned round to me and burst out, 'Hill, that damned employer of yours has served me a nasty trick, but I'm going to get even with him, and you're going to help me!' I was taken back at his words, but I wanted to hear more before I spoke. Then he told me that the young woman I had seen had been brutally treated by Sir Horace. She had been living in a little flat in Westminster on a monthly allowance which Sir Horace made her, but he'd suddenly cut off her allowance and she'd have to be turned out in the street to starve because she couldn't pay her rent. 'A nice thing,' said Birchill fiercely, 'for this high-placed loose liver to carry on like this with a poor innocent girl whose only fault was that she loved him too well. If I could show him up and pull him down, I would. But I've done time, like you, Hill. He was the judge who sentenced me, and if I tried to injure him that way my word would carry no weight; but I'll put up a job on him that'll make him sorry the longest day he lives, and you'll help me. Sir Horace is in Scotland, Hill, and you're in charge of his place. Get rid of the servants, Hill, and we'll burgle his house. We can easily do it between us.'"