“Of course, I said I knew nothing about forgery, and was pretty rude, too, I’m afraid, as I was angry. But the inspector laughed drily, and said he had a very clear case against me. I was not quite such a clever fellow as I thought. In a moment there would be some very pretty evidence, so I had better leave off arguing. ‘Lead the way, Mr. Crale,’ he added, turning to the ‘wicked uncle,’ who thereupon produced a bunch of skeleton keys and led the way through my kitchen, followed by the inspector and two constables.
“I told the two bobbies who were left to guard me exactly what I thought of Mr. Crale; but they grinned at my remarks, and one of them said: ‘’E’s done a good turn to us police, anyway. A long time we’ve been searching for the ringleader of your gang, and we shouldn’t never have found you if it ’adn’t ’a’ been for Mr. Crale. A clever gentleman he is.’
“Just then the party came back. I had heard them stumping down my cellar stairs. They carried three great chests which Mr. Crale unlocked with his skeleton keys. One contained an enormous number of bank notes. Another a curious set of instruments I could not understand. A third was full of letters and papers. ‘A very pretty little press you’ve got down there,’ said the inspector. ‘We’ll come back for that, later.’
“Well, to make a long story short, I was taken away in a motor car. I begged to be allowed to see Mariette, but Mr. Crale told the inspector I had sent Mariette away the day before to stay with some friend in London, and was only trying to find a way to escape by asking to see her now. I was tried, and the case against me was extraordinarily clever. There were papers and letters and documents all pointing to my guilt; and when I pleaded not guilty, and accused Crale of being the forger himself, and of using me to cover his own guilt, they only smiled, as much as to say what a fool I was to go on denying what was so obvious.
“When I said I must see Mariette and Mrs. Binks they told me it was no use talking like that, as they had my letter in their possession making over my daughter to one of my accomplices, who had unfortunately managed to escape, and had my daughter with him. And so I was cast into prison, and all that I had—not much—was taken to pay my supposed debts.
“There were no fairies in prison, nor Mariette. But the worst—the worst thing of all was that I did not know what had become of her. I nearly went mad. Before long I became very ill. Nearly a year I spent in the prison infirmary. Then I served six long years in the cells. Three months ago I was set free.”
The tramp’s clear, sad voice ceased. Danny was breathing hard. Bitter rage filled his soul. He dared not speak, for he felt the words he would utter would not be Scout-like. Then he remembered that the man had said he wanted sympathy. He did not know what to say—no words could possibly express the sympathy he felt. He gripped the tramp’s cold hand. “No one can know how ghastly it must be for you, sir,” he said huskily; “no one, except God.”
Silence fell between them. The fire had burned very low. At last Danny spoke. “Why are you a tramp?” he said.
“Because,” said the man slowly, “I have a quest—two quests. The first is to find my little Mariette. Day and night in prison I dreamed of finding her. When I came out I just started walking and walking, looking for her. I have no money to travel in any other way. I know no trade. All I could do was to paint, and I can’t paint now. You must have a happy heart to paint pictures of woods and fairies. And so I tramp and tramp, and pray every day that God will guide me to where my little Mariette is waiting for her daddy to find her in this long game of hide-and-seek.
“Do you know, whenever I come to a cross-road I kneel down and pray with all my heart to God to make me take the right road that will lead me to her at last. Then I turn round three times with my eyes shut and take the road I face. When I came down that little path towards your fire it was because when I opened my eyes I was not facing any road but the stile into the wood. I took the path, somehow feeling that something was going to happen.”