CHAPTER XXII.
A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN.
Indeed, the longer we weighed the pros and cons the more feasibleappeared the simple adventure. We ran, to be sure, the risk of beingwaylaid on our passage by an American privateer; but this was adanger incident to all who sailed on board his Majesty's Post Officepackets in the year 1814. That anything was to be feared from theman Glass, none of us (I believe) stopped to consider. We thought ofhim only as a foiled criminal, a fugitive from justice, andspeculated only on the chance that, with the hue-and-cry out and thewhole countryside placarded, the Plymouth runners would lay him bythe heels.
Undoubtedly he had made for Plymouth. From Torpoint came news that aman answering to his description had crossed the ferry there on themorning after the murder. The regular ferryman there had steppedinto a public-house for his regular morning glass of rum-and-water;and in his absence the small boy who acted as substitute had taken astranger across. The stranger, who appeared to be in a sweatinghurry, had rewarded the boy with half a crown; and the boy, rowingback to the Torpoint side and finding his master still in the tavern,had kept his own counsel and the money. Now the hue-and-cry hadfrightened him into confessing; and his description left no doubtthat the impatient passenger was Aaron Glass.
Such a man had been observed, about two hours later, mingling in afish auction on the Barbican; and had actually bidden for a boatloadof mackerel, but without purchasing. From the auction he had walkedaway in the direction of Southside Street; and from that point alltrace of him was lost.
Mr. Rogers, who had posted straight to Plymouth from the inquest,spent a couple of days in pushing inquiries here, there andeverywhere. But not even the promise of a clue rewarded him.Two foreign-going vessels and four coasters had sailed from the porton the morning after the murder. The coasters were duly met,boarded, and searched at their ports of arrival--two at Liverpool,one at Milford, and one at Gravesend--but without result. If, asseemed likely, the man had contrived to ship himself on board the_Hussar_ brig, bound for Barcelona, or the _Mary Harvey_ barque, forRio, the chances of bringing him to justice might be considered nil,or almost nil; for Mr. Rogers had some hope of the _Hussar_ beingovertaken and spoken by a frigate which happened to be starting, twodays later, to join our fleet in the Mediterranean.
During the week or two that followed my father's funeral little wassaid of our expedition, although I understood from Plinny that thestart would only be delayed until she and the lawyers had proved thewill and put his estate in order for me. My father's pension had, ofcourse, perished with him; but he left me a small sum in the funds,bearing interest between fifty and sixty pounds per annum, togetherwith the freehold of Minden Cottage. Unfortunately, he had appointedno trustees, and I was a minor; and even more unfortunately his willdirected that Minden Cottage should be sold "within a reasonablybrief time" after his death, and that the sum accruing should beinvested in Government stock for my benefit; and with this littletangle to work upon, our lawyers--Messrs. Harding and Whiteway, ofPlymouth--and the Court of Chancery, soon involved the small estatein complications which (as Miss Belcher put it) were the moreannoying because the fools at both ends were honest men and trying todo the best for me.
Of this business I understood nothing at the time, save that itcaused delay; and I mention it here only to explain the delay andbecause (as will be seen) the sale of Minden Cottage, when at lengththe Lord Chancellor was good enough to authorize it, had a veryimportant bearing on the rest of my story.
Meanwhile, Captain Branscome had, of course, returned to Falmouth,and would book our passages on the Kingston packet as soon as myaffairs allowed. We received letters from him from time to time, andon Saturdays and Mondays a passing call from Mr. Goodfellow, on hisway to and from Plymouth. He had stipulated that, before sailingwith us, he should take his inamorata into his confidence; and thiswas conceded after Miss Belcher had taken the opportunity of a day'smarketing in Plymouth to call at the dairy-shop in Treville Streetand make the lady's acquaintance.
"A very sensible young person," she reported; "and of the two I'dsooner trust her than Goodfellow to keep a still tongue. There's nodanger in _that_ quarter!"
Nor was there, as it proved. Mr. Goodfellow told us that he couldhardly contain himself whenever he thought of his prospects; "for,"said he, "I was born a parish apprentice; in place of which here I beat the age of twenty with two fortunes waiting for me, one at eachend of the world."
At length, in the last week of July, Messrs. Harding and Whitewayannounced that all formalities were complete; and three days later abill appeared on the whitewashed front of Minden Cottage announcingthat this desirable freehold residence with two and a half acres ofland would be sold by public auction on August 6, at 1.30 o'clockp.m., in the Royal Hotel, Plymouth. Any particulars not mentioned inthe bills would be readily furnished on application at the officeof the vendor's solicitors; and parties wishing to inspect thepremises might obtain the keys from Miss Belcher's lodge-keeper,Mr. Polglaze--that is to say, from the nearest dwelling-house downthe road.
Plinny, with the help of half a dozen of Miss Belcher's men and acouple of waggons, had employed these three days in removing ourfurniture to the great cricket pavilion above the hill; an excellentstorehouse, where, for the time, it would remain in charge of Mr.Saunders, the head keeper. We ourselves removed to the shelter ofMiss Belcher's lordly roof, as her guests; and Ann, the cook, to acottage on the home farm, where that lady--who usually superintendedher own dairy--had offered her the post of _locum tenens_ until ourreturn from foreign travel. By the morning when the bill-poster cameand affixed the notice of sale, Minden Cottage stood dismantled--amelancholy shell, inhabited only by memories for us, and for ourcountry neighbours by mysterious ghostly terrors.
This was one of the many grounds on which we agreed that the LordChancellor had acted foolishly in insisting upon a public auction.His lordship, to be sure, could not be expected to know that recentevents had utterly depreciated the selling value of Minden Cottageover the whole of the south and east of Cornwall; that thehomeward-trudging labourer would breathe a prayer as he neared italong the high-road in the dark, and would shut his eyes and run byit, nor draw breath until he reached the lodge, down the road; thatquite a number of Christian folk who had been used to envy my fatherthe snuggest little retreat within twenty miles would now haverefused a hundred pounds to spend one night in it. So it was,however; and the chance of an "out"-bidder might be passed over asnegligible. On the other hand, Miss Belcher had offered Messrs.Harding and Whiteway a handsome and more than sufficient price forthe property. She wanted it to round off her estate, out of which,at present, it cut a small cantle and at an awkward corner.Moreover, if Miss Belcher had not come forward, Plinny was preparedto purchase. That Miss Belcher would acquire the place no onedoubted. Still, a public sale it had to be.
Early in the afternoon of the 5th, she left us for Plymouth, to makearrangements for the bidding. I did not see her depart, having beenoccupied since five in the morning in a glorious otter-hunt, forwhich Mr. Rogers had brought over his hounds. The heat of the dayfound us far up-stream, and a good ten miles from home; and by thetime Mr. Rogers had returned his pack to Miss Belcher's hospitablekennels the sun was low in the west. I know nothing that will make aman more honestly dirty than a long otter-hunt, followed by aperspiring tramp along a dusty road. From feet to waist I was a cakeof dried mud overlaid with dust. I had dust in my hair, in thecreases of my clothes, in the pores of my skin. I needed ablutionfar beyond the resources of Miss Belcher's establishment, which, totell the truth, left a good deal to seek in the apparatus of personalcleanliness; and, snatching up the clean shirt and suit of clotheswhich the ever-provident Plinny had laid out on the bed for me, I randown across the park to the stream under the plantation.
Little rain had fallen for a month past, and, arriving at the pool onwhich I had counted for a bath, I found it almost dry. While I stoodthere, in two minds whether to retur
n or to strip and make the bestof it, I bethought me that--although I had never bathed there in mylife, the stream would be better worth trying where it ran throughthe now deserted garden of Minden Cottage, below the summer-house.The bottom might be muddy, but the dam which my father had builtthere secured a sufficiency of water in the hottest months.I picked up my clothes again, and, following the stream up to thelittle door in the garden wall, pushed open the rusty latch, andentered the garden.
The hour, as I have said, was drawing on to dusk; and though, perhapsI ought to say, I am by nature not inclined to nervousness (or I hadnot ventured so near that particular spot), yet scared enough I was,as I stepped on to the little foot-bridge, to see a man standing bythe doorway of the summer-house.
For an instant a terror seized me that it might be a ghost--or,worse, the man himself, Aaron Glass. But a second glance, as Ihalted on a hair-trigger--so to speak--to turn and run for my life,assured me that the man was a stranger.
He wore a suit of black, and a soft hat of Panama straw with a broadbrim, and held in his hand a something strange to me, and, indeed, asyet almost unknown in England--an umbrella. It had a dusky whitecovering, and he held it by the middle, as though he had been engagedin taking measurements with it when my entrance surprised him.
It appeared to me for the moment that I had not only surprised himbut frightened him, for the face he turned to me wore a yellowishpallor like that of old ivory. Yet when he drew himself up andspoke, I seemed to know in an instant that this was his naturalcolour. The face itself was large and fleshy, with bold, commandingfeatures: a face, on second thoughts, impossible to connect withterror.
"Hallo, little boy! What are you doing in this garden?"
I answered him, stammering, that I was come to bathe; and while Ianswered I was still in two minds about running; for his voice,appearance, bearing, all alike puzzled me. He spoke genially, withsomething foreign in his accent. I could not determine his age atall. At first glance he seemed to be quite an old man, and not onlyold but weary; yet he walked without a stoop, and as he came slowlyacross the turf to the bridge-end I saw that his hair was black andglossy, and his large face unwrinkled as a child's.
"Not after the plums, eh?"
"No, sir; and besides," said I, picking up my courage, "there's noharm if I am. The garden belongs to me."
"So?" He regarded me for some seconds, his hands clasping theumbrella behind his back. The sight of the bundle of black clothes Icarried apparently satisfied him. "Then you have right to askwhat brings me here. I answer, curiosity. What became of the manwho did it?" he asked, with a glance over his shoulder towards thesummer-house.
"Nobody knows, sir," I answered, recovering myself.
"Disappeared, hey?"
"Yes, sir."
"I fancy I could put my hand on him," he said very coolly, after apause. And I began to think I had to deal with a madman.
"Suppose, now, that I do catch him," he went on after a pause."What shall I do with him? In my country--for I live a great wayoff--we either choke a murderer or cut off his head with a knife."
I told him--since he waited for me to say something--how in Englandwe disposed of our worst criminals.
"No, you don't," said he quietly. "You let some of the worst go, andthe very worst (as you believe) you banish to an island, treatingthem as the old Romans treated theirs. Now, I'm a traveller; andwhere do you suppose I spent this day month?"
I could not give a guess.
"Why, on the island of Elba. I'm curious, you know, especially inthe matter of criminals, so I came--oh, a tremendous way--to have alook at Napoleon Bonaparte, there. Now I'll tell you another thing,he's going to escape in a month or two, when his plans are ready.I had that from his own lips; and, what's more, I heard it again inParis a week later. From Paris I came across to London, and fromLondon down to Plymouth, and from Plymouth I was to have travelledstraight to Falmouth, to take my passage home, when I heard of whathad happened here, and that the house was for sale. So I stopped tohave a look at it; for I am curious, I tell you."
He went on to prove his curiosity by asking me a score of questionsabout myself: my age, my choice of a profession, my relatives (I toldhim I had none), and my schooling. He drew me (I cannot rememberhow) into a description of Plinny, and agreed with me that she mustbe a woman in a thousand; asked where she lived at present, andregretted--pulling out his watch--that he had not time to make heracquaintance. Oddly enough, I felt when he said it that this was noidle speech, but that only time prevented him from walking up thehill and paying his respects. I felt also, the longer we talked, Iwill not say a fear of him, for his manner was too urbane to permitit, but an increasing respect. Crazed he might be, as his questionswere disconnected and now and again bewildering, as when he asked ifmy father had travelled much abroad, and again it I really preferredto remain idle at home instead of returning to finish my educationwith Mr. Stimcoe; but his manner of asking compelled an answer.I could not tell myself if I liked or disliked the man, he differedso entirely from any one I had ever seen in my life. His questionswere intimate, yet without offence. I answered them all, with asense of talking to some one either immensely old or divided from meby hundreds of miles.
In the midst of our talk, and while he was pressing me with questionsabout Mr. and Mrs. Stimcoe, he suddenly lifted his head, and stoodlistening.
"Hallo!" said he. "Here's the coach!"
I had heard nothing, though my ears are pretty sharp. But sureenough, though not until a couple of minutes had passed, the wheelsof the _Highflyer_, our evening coach to Plymouth, sounded far alongthe road.
The stranger pulled out a bunch of keys from his pocket.
"I will ask you as a favour," said he, "to return these to thelodge-keeper, from whom I borrowed them. Will you be so kind?"
I said that I would do so with pleasure.
"I have been over the house. It appears--the lodge-keeper tells me--that I have been almost the only visitor to inspect it.That's queer, for I should have thought that to an amateur in crime--with a taste for discovery--it offered great possibilities.But never mind, child," said this strange man, and shook hands."I have great hopes of finding the scoundrel, and of dealing withhim. Eh? 'How?' Well, if we get him upon an island, he shan't getaway, like Napoleon."
With these words, which I did not understand in the least, he turnedand left me, passing out into the lane by the side-gate. A minutelater I heard the coach pull up, and yet a minute later roll onagain, conveying him towards Plymouth. I stole a glance at thewater, at the summer-house, at the tree behind it. Somehow in thetwilight they all wore an uncanny look. On my way home--for Idecided to return and take my bath in the house, after all--my mindkept running on a story of Ann the cook's, about a man (a relative ofhers, she said) who had once seen the devil. And yet the strangerhad tipped me a guinea at parting, nor was it (except metaphorically)red hot in my pocket.
Next evening Miss Belcher rode back to us from Plymouth with theannouncement that Minden Cottage was hers. She had not attended thesale in person, but Maddicombe, her lawyer, had started the bidding(under her instruction) at precisely the sum which she had privatelyoffered Messrs. Harding and Whiteway. There was no competition.In fact, Maddicombe reported that, apart from the auctioneers andhimself, but six persons attended the sale. Of these, five werelocal acquaintances of his whom he knew to be attracted only bycuriosity. Of the sixth, a stranger, he had been afraid at first,but the man appeared to be a visitor, who had wandered into the saleby mistake. At any rate, he made no bid.
"What sort of man?" I asked.
"As to that, Maddicombe had no very precise recollection, or couldn'tput it into words. A tall man, he said, and dressed in black; anoticeable man--that was as far as he could get--and, he believed, aforeigner."
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