Information was of course sent to Miss Parkway's relative who came sometimes to visit her. And the result of all the inquiries made was to make things look so very suspicious against young Lytherly, and so much stress was laid upon his quarrel with Miss Parkway on her refusal to lend him money—which seemed known to everybody—that I was obliged to apprehend him. I didn't want to hurt his feelings; so I went myself with a fly, although his lodgings were not half a mile from the town-hall, so as to spare him from walking in custody through the streets. I found him at home, looking very miserable, and when he saw me he said: 'I have been expecting you all the morning, Mr Robinson; I am very glad you have come.'
'Well, I'm sorry,' I answered. 'But you may as well remember that the least said is soonest mended, Mr Lytherly.'
'Thanks for your caution, old friend,' he says with a very sickly smile; 'but I shan't hurt myself, and I feel sure no one else can do so. Why I said I was glad you had come, was because from Sunday night, when the murder was found out, until now, middle day on Tuesday, everybody has shunned me and avoided me as if I had the plague. I know why, and now it will be over.'
I didn't put handcuffs on him or anything of that; and when we got into the street he saw the fly, round which there had already gathered at least a score of boys and girls, who had, I suppose, seen me go in. He looked round, and said: 'This was very thoughtful of you, Mr Robinson; I shall not forget it.' We drove off, and spoke no more until we arrived at the town-hall. Here the magistrates were sitting; and here I found a tall, dark, grave-looking gentleman talking very earnestly to Mr Wingrave, our chief solicitor. I soon found this was Mr Parkway, the cousin of the murdered lady. He was giving instructions to the lawyer to spare no expense; to offer a reward if he thought it necessary; to have detectives down from London, and goodness knows what. Mr Wingrave introduced me, and was kind enough to say that there was no necessity for detectives to be brought, as they had so eminent a functionary as myself in the town.
It was supposed that this would be merely a preliminary examination, but it turned out differently. A few of Lytherly's companions—although, as it transpired afterwards, they fully believed him guilty—were yet determined he should have a chance, and so subscribed a guinea for old Jemmy Crotton, the most disreputable old fellow in the town, but a very clever lawyer for all that; and Jemmy soon came bustling in. He had a few minutes' conversation with Lytherly, and then asked that the hearing might be put off for an hour. This was of course granted; and by the end of that time he had overwhelming evidence to prove an alibi; for the landlady's son hadn't slept a wink for his toothache, and he was with Lytherly until dinner-time on Sunday; and then the accused went for a walk with a couple of friends, and did not return until after dark, having spent two or three hours at a public-house some miles off, as the landlord, who happened to be in the town, it being market-day, helped to prove; the rest of the time he was in the Bell, as was usual, poor fellow.
There was no getting over this. There was not a shadow of pretence for remanding him, and so—much to Mr Parkway's evident annoyance—Lytherly was discharged. He became more popular than ever among his associates—although the respectable people of the town looked down upon him—and they had a supper in his honour that night, at which old Jemmy Crotton presided. In default of Lytherly, no clue could be found. Not a shilling of Miss Parkway's money was ever discovered in her apartments; so her murderer had got clear away with his booty. Many wiseacres said we should hear of Lytherly quietly disappearing after things had settled down.
Some little excitement was created by Lytherly attempting to get into the sole funeral carriage that attended the hearse; but Mr Parkway would not permit such a thing, and was himself the only follower. It was very clear that the stranger, in common with many others, was not half satisfied with the explanation which had secured Lytherly's escape; and as I was on the ground at the funeral, I saw, as did everybody else who was there, the frown he turned on the young man, who, in spite of his rebuff, had gone on foot to the churchyard.
Mr Parkway left that evening, having placed his business in the hands of Mr Wingrave; for as there was no will, he was the heir-at-law. Now this was a very curious affair about the will, because Miss Parkway had told her landlady not many days before, that she had made her will, and in fact had shewn her the document as it lay, neatly tied up, in her desk. However, it was gone now; and she had either destroyed it, or the person who had killed her had taken that as well as the money; and even if the latter was the case, it was hardly likely to turn up again. So, as I have said, Mr Parkway went home. The solicitor realised the poor lady's property; and all our efforts were in vain to discover the slightest clue to the guilty party. As for Lytherly, he soon found it was of no use to think of remaining in Combestead, for guilty or not, no one of any respectability cared to associate with him; and, as he owned to me, the worst part of it all was that old Crotton the lawyer, whenever they met at any tavern, would laugh and wink and clap him on the shoulder, and call upon every one present to remember how poor old Jemmy Crotton got his young friend off so cleverly, how they 'flummoxed' the magistrates and jockeyed the peelers, when it was any odds against his young friend.
So he went; and a good many declared he had gone off to enjoy his ill-gotten gains; but I never thought so; and one of our men going to Chatham to identify a prisoner, saw Lytherly in the uniform of the Royal Engineers, and in fact had a glass of ale with him. The young fellow said it was his only resource; dig he could not, and to beg where he was known would be in vain. He sent his respects to me; and that was the last we heard for a long time of the Combestead murder.