by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER V
THE DERBY WINNER
As its name denotes, Beorminster was built on a hill, or, to speak moreprecisely, on an eminence elevated slightly above the surrounding plain.In former times it had been surrounded by aguish marshes which hadrendered the town unhealthy, but now that modern enterprise had drainedthe fenlands, Beorminster was as salubrious a town as could be found inEngland. The rich, black mud of the former bogs now yielded luxuriantharvests, and in autumn the city, with its mass of red-roofed housesclimbing upward to the cathedral, was islanded in a golden ocean ofwheat and rye and bearded barley. For the purposes of defence, the townhad been built originally on the slopes of the hill, under the veryshadow of the minster, and round its base the massive old walls yetremained, which had squeezed the city into a huddled mass ofuncomfortable dwellings within its narrow girdle. But now oppidan lifeextended beyond these walls; and houses, streets, villas and gardensspread into the plain on all sides. Broad, white roads ran to SouthberryJunction, ten miles away; to manufacturing Irongrip, the smoke of whosefurnaces could be seen on the horizon; and to many a tiny hamlet andsleepy town buried amid the rich meadowlands and golden cornfields. Andhigh above all lorded the stately cathedral, with its trio of mightytowers, whence, morning and evening, melodious bells pealed through thepeaceful lands.
Beyond the walls the modern town was made up of broad streets andhandsome shops. On its outskirts appeared comfortable villas and statelymanors, gardens and woody parks, in which dwelt the aristocracy ofBeorminster. But the old town, with its tall houses and narrow lanes,was given over to the plebeians, save in the Cathedral Close, wheredwelt the canons, the dean, the archdeacon, and a few old-fashioned folkwho remained by preference in their ancestral dwellings. From thisclose, which surrounded the open space, wherein the cathedral was built,narrow streets trickled down to the walls, and here was the Seven Dials,the Whitechapel, the very worst corner of Beorminster. The Beorminsterpolice declared that this network of lanes and alleys and malodorous_cul-de-sacs_ was as dangerous a neighbourhood as any London slum, andthey were particularly emphatic in denouncing the public-house known asThe Derby Winner, and kept by a certain William Mosk, who was a sportingscoundrel and a horsey scamp. This ill-famed hostel was placed at thefoot of the hill, in what had once been the main street, and being nearthe Eastgate, caught in its web most of the thirsty passers-by whoentered the city proper, either for sight-seeing or business. Itaffected a kind of spurious respectability, which was all on theoutside, for within it was as iniquitous a den as could well beconceived, and was usually filled with horse-copers and sportingcharacters, who made bets, and talked racing, and rode or drove fierysteeds, and who lived on, and swindled through, the noblest of allanimals. Mr Mosk, a lean light-weight, who wore loud check suits, tightin the legs and short in the waist, was the presiding deity of thisInferno, and as the Ormuz to this Ahrimanes, Gabriel Pendle was thecurate of the district, charged with the almost hopeless task ofreforming his sporting parishioners. And all this, with considerableirony, was placed almost in the shadow of the cathedral towers.
Not a neighbourhood for Mr Cargrim to venture into, since many sightstherein must have displeased his exact tastes; yet two days after thereception at the palace the chaplain might have been seen daintilypicking his way over the cobble-stone pavements. As he walked hethought, and his thoughts were busy with the circumstances which had ledhim to venture his saintly person so near the spider's web of The DerbyWinner. The bishop, London, curiosity, Gabriel, this unpleasantneighbourhood--so ran the links of his chain of thought.
The day following his unexpected illness brought no relief to thebishop, at all events to outward seeming, for he was paler and morehaggard than ever in looks, and as dour as a bear in manner. With MrsPendle he strove to be his usual cheerful self, but with small success,as occasionally he would steal an anxious look at her, and heave deepsighs expressive of much inward trouble. All this was noted by Cargrim,who carefully strove, by sympathetic looks and dexterous remarks, tobring his superior to the much-desired point of unburdening his mind.Gabriel had returned to his lodgings near the Eastgate, and to hishopeless task of civilising his degraded centaurs. Lucy, after themanner of maids in love, was building air-castles with Sir Harry'sassistance, and Mrs Pendle kept her usual watch on her weak heart andfluctuating pulse. The bishop thus escaped their particular notice, andit was mainly Cargrim who saw how distraught and anxious he was. As forDr Graham, he had departed after a second unsatisfactory visit, swearingthat he could do nothing with a man who refused to make a confidant ofhis doctor. Bishop Pendle was therefore wholly at the mercy of hissuspicious chaplain, to be spied upon, to be questioned, to be watched,and to be made a prey of in his first weak moment. But the worried man,filled with some unknown anxiety, was quite oblivious to Cargrim'smanoeuvres.
For some time the chaplain, in spite of all his watchfulness, failed tocome upon anything tangible likely to explain what was in the bishop'smind. He walked about restlessly, he brooded continuously, and insteadof devoting himself to his work in his usual regular way, occupiedhimself for long hours in scribbling figures on his blotting-paper, andmuttering at times in anxious tones. Cargrim examined theblotting-paper, and strained his ears to gather the sense of themutterings, but in neither case could he gain any clue to the bishop'sactual trouble. At length--it was on the morning of the second day afterthe reception--Dr Pendle abruptly announced that he was going up toLondon that very afternoon, and would go alone. The emphasis he laid onthis last statement still further roused Cargrim's curiosity.
'Shall I not accompany your lordship?' he asked, as the bishoprestlessly paced the library.
'No, Mr Cargrim, why should you?' said the bishop, abruptly and testily.
'Your lordship seems ill, and I thought--'
'There is no need for you to think, sir. I am not well, and my visit toLondon is in connection with my health.'
'Or with your secret!' thought the chaplain, deferentially bowing.
'I have every confidence in Dr Graham,' continued Pendle, 'but it is myintention to consult a specialist. I need not go into details, MrCargrim, as they will not interest you.'
'Oh, your lordship, your health is my constant thought.'
'Your anxiety is commendable, but needless,' responded the bishop,dryly. 'I am due at Southberry this Sunday, I believe.'
'There is a confirmation at St Mark's, your lordship.'
'Very good; you can make the necessary arrangements, Mr Cargrim. To-dayis Thursday. I shall return to-morrow night, and shall rest on Saturdayuntil the evening, when I shall ride over to Southberry, attend at StMark's, and return on Sunday night.'
'Does not your lordship desire my attendance?' asked Cargrim, althoughhe knew that he was the morning preacher in the cathedral on Sunday.
'No,' answered Dr Pendle, curtly, 'I shall go and return alone.'
The bishop looked at Cargrim, and Cargrim looked at the bishop, eachstriving to read the other's thoughts, then the latter turned away witha frown, and the former, much exercised in his mind, advanced towardsthe door of the library. Dr Pendle called him back.
'Not a word about my health to Mrs Pendle,' he said sharply.
'Certainly not, your lordship; you can rely upon my discretion in everyway,' replied the chaplain, with emphasis, and glided away assoft-footed as any panther, and as dangerous.
'I wonder what the fellow suspects,' thought the bishop when alone. 'Ican see that he is filled with curiosity, but he can never find out thetruth, or even guess at it. I am safe enough from him. All the same,I'll have a fool for my next chaplain. Fools are easier to deal with.'
Cargrim would have given much to have overheard this speech, but as thedoor and several passages were between him and the talker, he wasignorant of the incriminating remarks the bishop had let slip. Stillbaffled, but still curious, he busied himself with attending to somebusiness of the See which did not require the personal supervision of DrPendle, and when that prelate took his departure fo
r London by the threeo'clock train, Cargrim attended him to the station, full of meekness andirritating attentions. It was with a feeling of relief that the bishopsaw his officious chaplain left behind on the platform. He had a secret,and with the uneasiness of a loaded conscience, fancied that everyonesaw that he had something to conceal--particularly Cargrim. In thepresence of that good young man, this spiritual lord, high-placed andpowerful, felt that he resembled an insect under a microscope, and thatCargrim had his eye to the instrument. Conscience made a coward of thebishop, but in the case of his chaplain his uneasy feelings were in somedegree justified.
On leaving the railway station, which was on the outskirts of the moderntown, Cargrim took his way through the brisk population which throngedthe streets, and wondered in what manner he could benefit by the absenceof his superior. As he could not learn the truth from Dr Pendle himself,he thought that he might discover it from an investigation of thebishop's desk. For this purpose he returned to the palace forthwith, andon the plea of business, shut himself up in the library. Dr Pendle was acareless man, and never locked up any drawers, even those whichcontained his private papers. Cargrim, who was too much of a sneak tofeel honourable scruples, went through these carefully, but in spite ofall his predisposition to malignity was unable to find any grounds forsuspecting Dr Pendle to be in any serious trouble. At the end of an hourhe found himself as ignorant as ever, and made only one discovery of anynote, which was that the bishop had taken his cheque-book with him toLondon.
To many people this would have seemed a natural circumstance, as mostmen with banking accounts take their cheque-books with them when goingon a journey. But Cargrim knew that the bishop usually preferred tofill his pockets with loose cash when absent for a short time, and thisdeviation from his ordinary habits appeared to be suspicious.
'Hum!' thought the chaplain, rubbing his chin, 'I wonder if thatso-called clergyman wanted money. If he had wished for a small sum, thebishop could easily have given it to him out of the cash-box. Going bythis reasoning, he must have wanted a lot of money, which arguesblackmail. Hum! Has he taken both cheque-books, or only one?'
The reason of this last query was that Bishop Pendle had accounts in twodifferent banks. One in Beorminster, as became the bishop of the See,the other in London, in accordance with the dignity of a spiritual lordof Parliament. A further search showed Mr Cargrim that the Beorminstercheque-book had been left behind.
'Hum!' said the chaplain again, 'that man must have gone back to London.Dr Pendle is going to meet him there and draw money from his Town bankto pay what he demands. I'll have a look at the butts of thatcheque-book when it comes back; the amount of the cheque may prove much.I may even find out the name of this stranger.'
But all this, as Cargrim very well knew, was pure theory. The bishopmight have taken his cheque-book to London for other reasons than payingblackmail to the stranger, for it was not even certain that there wasany such extortion in the question. Dr Pendle was worried, it was true,and after the departure of his strange visitor he had been taken ill,but these facts proved nothing; and after twisting and turning them inevery way, and connecting and disconnecting them with the absence of theLondon cheque-book, Mr Cargrim was forced to acknowledge that he wasbeaten for the time being. Then he fancied he might extract someinformation from Gabriel relative to his father's departure for London,for Mr Cargrim was too astute to believe in the 'consulting aspecialist' excuse. Still, this might serve as a peg whereon to hang hisinquiries and develop further information, so the chaplain, aftermeditating over his five-o'clock cup of tea, took his way to theEastgate, in order to put Gabriel unawares into the witness-box. Yet,for all these doings and suspicions Cargrim had no very good reason,save his own desire to get Dr Pendle under his thumb. He was groping inthe dark, he had not a shred of evidence to suppose that the uneasinessof the bishop was connected with anything criminal; nevertheless, thechaplain put himself so far out of his usual habits as to venture intothe unsavoury neighbourhood wherein stood The Derby Winner. Truly thisman's cobweb spinning was of a very dangerous character when he took somuch trouble to weave the web.
As in Excelsior, the shades of night were falling fast, when Cargrimfound himself at the door of the curate's lodging. Here he met with acheck, for Gabriel's landlady informed him that Mr Pendle was not athome, and she did not know where he was or when he would be back.Cargrim made the sweetest excuses for troubling the good lady, left amessage that he would call again, and returned along Monk Street on hisway back to the palace through the new town. By going in this directionhe passed The Derby Winner--not without intention--for it was this youngman's belief that Gabriel might be haunting the public-house to see MrsMosk or--as was more probable to the malignant chaplain--her handsomedaughter.
As he came abreast of The Derby Winner it was not too dark but that hecould see a tall man standing in the doorway. Cargrim at first fanciedthat this might be Gabriel, and paced slowly along so as to seize anopportunity of addressing him. But when he came almost within touchingdistance, he found himself face to face with a dark-looking gipsy,fiery-eyed and dangerous in appearance. He had a lean, cruel face, ahawk's beak for a nose, and black, black hair streaked with grey; butwhat mostly attracted Cargrim's attention was a red streak whichtraversed the right cheek of the man from ear to mouth. At once herecalled John's description--'A military-looking gentleman with a scaron the right cheek.' He thought, 'Hum! this, then, is the bishop'svisitor.'
