CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPBOARD.
Mr. Jack Rogers, as he pulled up by the porch and directedme to stand by the young mare's head, wore a look of extremeself-satisfaction. Beside him, also beaming, sat Mr. Goodfellow,with the corner cupboard nursed between his knees.
"Capital news, lad!" announced Mr. Rogers, climbing down from thetilbury. "The filly's pretty near dead-beat, though--must see to herand cool her down before telling it. Now, then, Mr. Goodfellow, ifyou'll hand out the cupboard. By the way, sonny, I hope MissPlinlimmon can give us breakfast. I'm as hungry as a hunter, for mypart, and deserve it, too, after a good night's work. With myfol-de-rol, diddledy--" He started to hum, but checked himselfshamefacedly. "There I go again, and I beg your pardon! 'Tis themost difficult thing in the world to me to behave myself in a houseof mourning."
Mr. Goodfellow by this time had clambered down, and was embracing thecorner cupboard as though he had parted from it for an age, insteadof for fifty seconds at the farthest.
"Carry it indoors, but don't open it till I'm ready," commanded Mr.Rogers, stooping under the filly to loosen her belly-band."I'm a magistrate, remember, and these things must be done in order.You come along with me, Harry; that is, if you have the key in yourpocket."
"I have, sir."
"Right! Then come along with me, and you'll be out of harm's way."
So, while Mr. Goodfellow carried the cupboard into the house, Mr.Rogers and I attended to the filly.
This took, maybe, twenty minutes; but Mr. Rogers was a sportsman,and thought of his horse before himself. Not till all was done,and well done, did he announce again that he was devilish peckish;nor did I take the measure of his meaning until, returning to thebreakfast-room where Mr. Goodfellow sat before a plate of bread andcream, he helped himself to a mass of veal pie fit for a giant, andbefore attacking it drained a tankard of cider at a single pull,while he nodded over the rim to Captain Branscome, to whom Plinnyintroduced him.
"Jack," said Miss Belcher, with a jerk of her thumb towards theCaptain, "I'll lay you two to one in guineas, that our news is moreimportant than yours!"
"I take you," said Mr. Rogers.
"It will save time if we tell it while you're eating, and will saveyou the trouble of talking with your mouth full."
Once or twice, while she abridged Captain Branscome's narrative,Mr. Rogers set down knife and fork, and stared at her with roundeyes, his jaws slowly chewing.
"And I reckon," concluded Miss Belcher, "that you won't dispute yourowing me a guinea."
"Wait a bit!" Mr. Rogers pushed his empty plate away, selected aclean one, and helped himself to six slices of ham. "To begin with,I've found scent and laid on the hounds."
"Where?"
"At St. Mawes. Captain Coffin, the murdered man, landed there fromthe ferry on the night of the 11th, at a few minutes before nine, andwalked straight to the Lugger Inn, above the quay. There he borrowedfifteen shillings off the landlord, who knew him well; ordered twoglasses of hot gin-and-water, drank them, paid down sixpence, andtook the road that leads east through Gerrans village. His tale wasthat he had a relative to visit at Plymouth Dock, and meant to pushon that night so far as Probus, and there sleep and wait forRussell's waggon."
"But his road," I objected, "wouldn't lie through Gerrans village,unless he went by the short cut through the field beyond St. Mawes,and took the ferry at Percuil."
"Right, lad; and that is precisely what he did; for--to push ahead abit--we overran his track on the main road, and, learning of thatsame short cut, drove back along the other side of the creek toPercuil, and had a talk with the ferryman. The ferryman told us thatat ten o'clock, or thereabouts, he was going to bed having closed theferry, when a voice on the other shore began bawling 'Over!'He slipped on his boots again, rowed across, and took over a man whowas certainly Captain Coffin."
"He was alone?" I asked.
"He came across the ferry alone," said Mr. Rogers, "and I dare say hehad no idea of being followed. But back at St. Mawes, while he wasdrinking gin-and-water in the taproom, another man came to the doorof the Lugger. This man sent for the landlord--Bogue by name--andasked to be shown into a private room. He was dressed inodds-and-ends of garments, including a soiled regimental coat anddirty linen trousers."
"The French prisoner!" said I.
"That's the man. He told Bogue, fair and straight, he was anex-prisoner, and off the _Wellinboro'_ transport, arrived that dayin harbour. He had money in his pocket--in Bogue's presence hepulled out a fistful of gold--and he pitched a tale that he was boundfor his home, a little this side of Saltash, but couldn't face theroad in the clothes he wore. You'll admit that this was reasonablewhen you've seen 'em, for I brought the suit along in the tail of thetilbury. For a pound, Bogue fitted him up with an old suit of hisown--coat and waistcoat of blue sea-cloth, not much the worse forwear, duck trousers, a tarpaulin hat, and a flannel shirt markedJ. B. (Bogue's Christian name is Jeremiah). The fellow had no shirtwhen he presented himself--nothing between the bare buff and theuniform coat that he wore buttoned across his chest. And here ourluck comes in. He was shy of stripping in Bogue's presence, and, onpretence of feeling chilly, sent him out of the room for a glass ofhot grog. As it happened, Bogue met the waiting-maid in the passage,coming out of the bar with a tray and half a dozen hot grogs that hadbeen ordered by customers in the tap-room. He picked up one, and,sending the maid back to fetch another to fill up her order, returnedat once to the private room. My gentleman there was standing withhis back to the door, stripped to the waist, with the shirt in hishand, ready to slip it on. He wasn't expecting Bogue so soon, and heturned about with a jump, but not before Bogue had sight of his backand a great picture tattooed across it--Adam and Eve, with the treebetween 'em, and the serpent coiled around it complete."
"The man Bogue must have quick sight," commented Miss Belcher.
"So I told him, but his answer was that it didn't need more than aglance, because this picture is a favourite with seamen. Bogue hasbeen a seaman himself."
"That is so," Captain Branscome corroborated. "The man must havebeen a seaman, and at one time or another in the Navy. There's asuperstition about that particular picture: tattooed across the backand loins it's supposed to protect them, in a moderate degree,against flogging."
"Well," said Miss Belcher, "his belonging to the Navy seems likelyenough. It accounts, in one way, for his finding himself in a Frenchwar-prison. Go on, Jack."
"The man (said Bogue) faced about with a start, catching his hands--with the shirt in 'em--towards his chest, and half covering it, butnot so as to hide from Bogue that his chest, too, was marked.Bogue hadn't time to make out the design, but his recollection isthere were several small ones--ships, foul-anchors, and the like--besides a large one that seemed to be some sort of a map."
"You haven't done so badly, Jack," Miss Belcher allowed. "If theman hasn't given us the slip at Plymouth you have struck afirst-class scent. Only I doubt 'tis a cold one. You sent word atonce?"
"By express rider, and with orders to leave a description of the manat all the ferries. But there's more to come. The man, that hadseemed at first in a desperate hurry, was no sooner in Bogue'sclothes than he took a seat, made Bogue fetch another glass of grogand drink it with him, and asked him a score of questions about thebest road eastward. It struck Bogue that, for a man whose home wasSaltash, he knew very little about his native county. All this whilehe appeared to have forgotten his hurry, and Bogue was thinking tomake him an excuse to go off and attend to other customers, when of asudden he ups and shakes hands, says good night, and marches out ofthe house. Bogue told me all this in the very room where ithappened. It opens out on the passage leading from the taproom tothe front door. I asked Bogue if he could remember at what timeCoffin left the house, and by what door; also, if the prisoner-fellowheard him leave; but at first he couldn't tell me anything forcertain except that Coffin went out by the front door--he
rememberedhearing him go tapping down the passage. The old man, it seems, hada curious way of tapping with his stick."
Here Mr. Rogers looked at me, and I nodded.
"Where was the landlord when he heard this?" asked Miss Belcher.
"That, my dear Lydia, was naturally the next question I put to him.'Why, in this very room,' said he, 'now I come to think of it.''Well, then,' said I, 'how long did you stay in this room after theprisoner (as we'll call him) had taken his leave?' 'Not a minute,'said he; 'no, nor half a minute. Indeed, I believe we walked outinto the passage together, and then parted, he going out to the door,and I up the passage to the taproom.' 'Was Coffin in the taproomwhen you reached it?' I asked. 'No,' says Bogue; 'to be sure hewasn't.' 'Why, then, you thickhead,' says I, 'he must have leftwhile you were talking with the prisoner; and since you heard him go,the odds are the prisoner heard him, too.' That's the way to get atevidence, Lydia."
"My dear Jack," said Miss Belcher, "you're an Argus!"
"Well, I flatter myself it was pretty neat," resumed Mr. Rogers,speaking with his mouth full; "but, as it happens, we don't need it.For when, as I've told you, we drove around to the ferry at Percuil,and the ferryman described Coffin and how he'd put him across, thefirst question I asked was 'Did you put any one else across thatnight?' He said, 'Yes; and not twenty minutes later.' 'Man orwoman?' I asked. 'Man,' said he, 'and a d--d drunk one'--saving yourpresence, ladies. I pricked up my ears. 'Drunk?' I asked. Howdrunk?' 'Drunk enough to near-upon drown himself,' said theferryman. 'It was this way, sir: I'd scarcely finished mooring theboat again, and was turning to go indoors, when I heard a splash,t'other side of the creek, where; the path comes down under the loomof the trees, and, next moment, a voice as if some person wasdrowning and guggling for help. So I fit and unmoored again, andpushed across for dear life, just in time to see a man scramblingashore. He was as drunk as a fly, sir, even after his wetting.Said he was a retired seaman living at Penzance, had come round toFalmouth on a lime-barge bound for the Truro river, and must getalong to St. Austell in time to attend his sister's wedding therenext morning. Told me his sister's name, but I forget it. Said he'dfallen in with some brave fellows at Falmouth just returned from theFrench war-prisons, and had taken a glass or two. Gave me half acrown when I brought him over and landed him,' said the ferryman,'and too far gone in liquor to understand the mistake if I'dexplained it to him, which I didn't.' He was dressed in whatappeared to be a dark cloth jacket, duck trousers of sea-going cut,and a tarpaulin hat. 'There was just moon enough,' said theferry-man, 'to let a man take notice of his trousers, they beingwhite; and maybe I took particular notice of his legs, because theywere dripping wet. As for his face, by the glimpse I had of it hewas a middle-aged man that had seen trouble.' I asked if he wouldknow the man again. He said, 'Yes,' he was pretty sure he would.So there, Lydia, you have the villain dogging Coffin, tracking him toPercuil, and shamming drunk to get carried over the ferry in pursuit.On Bogue's testimony he was as sober as a judge at St. Mawes, anddrank but one glass of grog there, and from St. Mawes to Percuil isbut a step, mainly by footpath over the fields, with no public-houseon the way."
"H'm," said Miss Belcher; "and yet he couldn't have been followingthe man to murder him, or he must have taken more care to cover uphis traces. All his concern seems to have been to follow Coffinwithout being seen by him. Is that all?"
"My dear Lydia, consider the amount of time I've had! Almost beforeI'd finished with Bogue, and certainly before the filly was wellrested, Mr. Goodfellow here had crossed to Falmouth and was backagain, bringing the cupboard--"
"Yes, Jack; you have done very well--surprisingly well. But I'll nothand over my guinea until we've examined the cupboard. Here, Mr.Goodfellow"--she cleared a space amid the breakfast things--"be sogood as to lift it on to the table. Harry, where's the key?"
I produced it.
"A nice bit of work--and Dutch, by the look of it," she commented,pausing to admire the inlaid pattern as she inserted the key.She turned it, and the door fell back, askew on its broken hinges.
Mr. Goodfellow had carried the cupboard with infinite care, but thecontents, I need not say, had mixed themselves up in wild disorder,though nothing was broken--not even the pot of guava-jelly.They included a superannuated watch in a loose silver case, a medal(in bronze) struck to commemorate Lord Howe's famous victory of theFirst of June, two pieces-of-eight and a spade guinea (much clipped);a small china mug painted with libellous portraits of King GeorgeIII. and his consort; a printed pamphlet on Admiral Byng; two stringsof shells; a mourning-ring with a lock of hair set between two pearlsunder glass; another ring with a tiny picture of a fountain and urn,and a weeping willow; a paper containing a baby's caul and a samplerworked with the A.B.C. and the Lord's Prayer and signed "A.C.,1785;" a gourd, a few glass beads, and a Chinese opium-pipe; andlastly, a thick paper roll bound in yellow-stained parchment.The roll was tied about with string, and the string was sealed, incoarse wax without imprint.
Miss Belcher dived a hand into a fold of her skirt, and drew forth amost unladylike clasp-knife.
"Now for it!" said Miss Belcher.
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