by Fergus Hume
CHAPTER IX.
AFTERWARDS.
With amazing and sinister rapidity the news spread that a burglar hadbeen shot dead while trying to raid The Manor. First, the Garvingtonvillagers learned it; then it became the common property of theneighborhood, until it finally reached the nearest county town, and thusbrought the police on the scene. Lord Garvington was not pleased whenthe local inspector arrived, and intimated as much in a somewhatunpleasant fashion. He was never a man who spared those in an inferiorsocial position.
"It is no use your coming over, Darby," he said bluntly to thered-haired police officer, who was of Irish extraction. "I have sent toScotland Yard."
"All in good time, my lord," replied the inspector coolly. "As themurder has taken place in my district I have to look into the matter,and report to the London authorities, if it should be necessary."
"What right have you to class the affair as a murder?" inquiredGarvington.
"I only go by the rumors I have heard, my lord. Some say that you wingedthe man and broke his right arm. Others tell me that a second shot wasfired in the garden, and it was that which killed Ishmael Hearne."
"It is true, Darby. I only fired the first shot, as those who were withme will tell you. I don't know who shot in the garden, and apparently noone else does. It was this unknown individual in the garden that killedHearne. By the way, how did you come to hear the name?"
"Half a dozen people have told me, my lord, along with the information Ihave just given you. Nothing else is talked of far and wide."
"And it is just twelve o'clock," muttered the stout little lord, wipinghis scarlet face pettishly. "Ill news travels fast. However, as you arehere, you may as well take charge of things until the London menarrive."
"The London men aren't going to usurp my privileges, my lord," saidDarby, firmly. "There's no sense in taking matters out of my hands. Andif you will pardon my saying so, I should have been sent for in thefirst instance."
"I daresay," snapped Garvington, coolly. "But the matter is tooimportant to be left in the hands of a local policeman."
Darby was nettled, and his hard eyes grew angry. "I am quite competentto deal with any murder, even if it is that of the highest in England,much less with the death of a common gypsy."
"That's just where it is, Darby. The common gypsy who has been shothappens to be my brother-in-law."
"Sir Hubert Pine?" questioned the inspector, thoroughly taken aback.
"Yes! Of course I didn't know him when I fired, or I should not havedone so, Darby. I understood, and his wife, my sister, understood, thatSir Hubert was in Paris. It passes my comprehension to guess why heshould have come in the dead of night, dressed as a gypsy, to raid myhouse."
"Perhaps it was a bet," said Darby, desperately puzzled.
"Bet, be hanged! Pine could come openly to this place whenever he liked.I never was so astonished in my life as when I saw him lying dead nearthe shrubbery. And the worst of it is, that my sister ran out and sawhim also. She fainted and has been in bed ever since, attended by LadyGarvington."
"You had no idea that the man you shot was Sir Hubert, my lord?"
"Hang it, no! Would I have shot him had I guessed who he was?"
"No, no, my lord! of course not," said the officer hastily. "But asI have come to take charge of the case, you will give me a detailedaccount of what has taken place."
"I would rather wait until the Scotland Yard fellows come," grumbledGarvington, "as I don't wish to repeat my story twice. Still, as you areon the spot, I may as well ask your advice. You may be able to throwsome light on the subject. I'm hanged if I can."
Darby pulled out his notebook. "I am all attention, my lord."
Garvington plunged abruptly into his account, first having looked to seeif the library door was firmly closed. "As there have been manyburglaries lately in this part of the world," he said, speaking withdeliberation, "I got an idea into my head that this house might bebroken into."
"Natural enough, my lord," interposed Darby, glancing round the splendidroom. "A historic house such as this is, would tempt any burglar."
"So I thought," remarked the other, pleased that Darby should agree withhim so promptly. "And I declared several times, within the hearing ofmany people, that if a raid was made, I should shoot the first man whotried to enter. Hang it, an Englishman's house is his castle, and no manhas a right to come in without permission."
"Quite so, my lord. But the punishment of the burglar should be left tothe law," said the inspector softly.
"Oh, the deuce take the law! I prefer to execute my own punishments.However, to make a long story short, I grew more afraid of a raid whenthese gypsies came to camp at Abbot's Wood, as they are just the sort ofscoundrels who would break in and steal."
"Why didn't you order them off your land?" asked the policeman, alertly.
"I did, and then my brother-in-law sent a message through his secretary,who is staying here, asking me to allow them to remain. I did."
"Why did Sir Hubert send that message, my lord?"
"Hang it, man, that's just what I am trying to learn, and I am the morepuzzled because he came last night dressed as a gypsy."
"He must be one," said Darby, who had seen Pine and now recalled hisdark complexion and jetty eyes. "It seems, from what I have been told,that he stopped at the Abbot's Wood camp under the name of IshmaelHearne."
"So Silver informed me."
"Who is he?"
"Pine's secretary, who knows all his confidential affairs. Silverdeclared, when the secret could be kept no longer, that Pine was reallya gypsy, called Ishmael Hearne. Occasionally longing for the old life,he stepped down from his millionaire pedestal and mixed with his ownpeople. When he was supposed to be in Paris, he was really with thegypsies, so you can now understand why he sent the message asking me tolet these vagrants stay."
"You told me a few moments ago, that you could not understand thatmessage, my lord," said Darby quickly, and looking searchingly at theother man. Garvington grew a trifle confused. "Did I? Well, to tell youthe truth, Darby, I'm so mixed up over the business that I can't saywhat I do know, or what I don't know. You'd better take all I tell youwith a grain of salt until I am quite myself again."
"Natural enough, my lord," remarked the inspector again, and quitebelieved what he said. "And the details of the murder?"
"I went to bed as usual," said Garvington, wearily, for the events ofthe night had tired him out, "and everyone else retired some time aboutmidnight. I went round with the footmen and the butler to see thateverything was safe, for I was too anxious to let them look after thingswithout me. Then I heard a noise of footsteps on the gravel outside,just as I was dropping off to sleep--"
"About what time was that, my lord?"
"Half-past one o'clock; I can't be certain as to a minute. I jumped upand laid hold of my revolver, which was handy. I always kept it besideme in case of a burglary. Then I stole downstairs in slippers andpajamas to the passage,--oh, here." Garvington rose quickly. "Come withme and see the place for yourself!"
Inspector Darby put on his cap, and with his notebook still in his hand,followed the stout figure of his guide. Garvington led him through theentrance hall and into a side-passage, which terminated in a narrowdoor. There was no one to spy on them, as the master of the house hadsent all the servants to their own quarters, and the guests werecollected in the drawing-room and smoking-room, although a few of theladies remained in their bedrooms, trying to recover from the night'sexperience.
"I came down here," said Garvington, opening the door, "and heard theburglar, as I thought he was, prowling about on the other side. I threwopen the door in this way and the man plunged forward to enter. I fired,and got him in the right arm, for I saw it swinging uselessly by hisside as he departed."
"Was he in a hurry?" asked Darby, rather needlessly.
"He went off like greased lightning. I didn't follow, as I thought thatothers of his gang might be about, but closing the door again I shoutedblue
murder. In a few minutes everyone came down, and while I waswaiting--it all passed in a flash, remember, Darby--I heard a secondshot. Then the servants and my friends came and we ran out, to find theman lying by that shrubbery quite dead. I turned him over and had justgrasped the fact that he was my brother-in-law, when Lady Agnes ran out.When she learned the news she naturally fainted. The women carried herback to her room, and we took the body of Pine into the house. A doctorcame along this morning--for I sent for a doctor as soon as it wasdawn--and said that Pine had been shot through the heart."
"And who shot him?" asked Darby sagely.
Garvington pointed to the shrubbery. "Someone was concealed there," hedeclared.
"How do you know, that, my lord?"
"My sister, attracted by my shot, jumped out of bed and threw up herwindow. She saw the man--of course she never guessed that he wasPine--running down the path and saw him fall by the shrubbery when thesecond shot was fired."
"Her bedroom is then on this side of the house, my lord?"
"Up there," said Garvington, pointing directly over the narrow door,which was painted a rich blue color, and looked rather bizarre, set inthe puritanic greyness of the walls. "My own bedroom is further alongtowards the right. That is why I heard the footsteps so plainly on thisgravel." And he stamped hard, while with a wave of his hand he invitedthe inspector to examine the surroundings.
Darby did so with keen eyes and an alert brain. The two stood on thewest side of the mansion, where it fronted the three-miles distantAbbot's Wood. The Manor was a heterogeneous-looking sort of place,suggesting the whims and fancies of many generations, for something wastaken away here, and something was taken away there, and this had beenaltered, while that had been left in its original state, until the houseseemed to be made up of all possible architectural styles. It was a tallbuilding of three stories, although the flattish red-tiled roofs tookaway somewhat from its height, and spread over an amazing quantity ofland. As Darby thought, it could have housed a regiment, and must havecost something to keep up. As wind and weather and time had mellowed itsincongruous parts into one neutral tint, it looked odd and attractive.Moss and lichen, ivy and Virginia creeper--this last flaring in crimsonglory--clothed the massive stone walls with a gracious mantle of naturalbeauty. Narrow stone steps, rather chipped, led down from the blue doorto the broad, yellow path, which came round the rear of the house andswept down hill in a wide curve, past the miniature shrubbery, rightinto the bosom of the park.
"This path," explained Garvington, stamping again, "runs right throughthe park to a small wicket gate set in the brick wall, which borders thehigh road, Darby."
"And that runs straightly past Abbot's Wood," mused the inspector. "Ofcourse, Sir Hubert would know of the path and the wicket gate?"
"Certainly; don't be an ass, Darby," cried Garvington petulantly. "Hehas been in this house dozens of times and knows it as well as I domyself. Why do you ask so obvious a question?"
"I was only wondering if Sir Hubert came by the high road to the wicketgate you speak of, Lord Garvington."
"That also is obvious," retorted the other, irritably. "Since he wishedto come here, he naturally would take the easiest way."
"Then why did he not enter by the main avenue gates?"
"Because at that hour they would be shut, and--since it is evident thathis visit was a secret one--he would have had to knock up thelodge-keeper."
"Why was his visit a secret one?" questioned Darby pointedly.
"That is the thing that puzzles me. Anything more?"
"Yes? Why should Sir Hubert come to the blue door?"
"I can't answer that question, either. The whole reason of his beinghere, instead of in Paris, is a mystery to me."
"Oh, as to that last, the reply is easy," remarked the inspector. "SirHubert wished to revert to his free gypsy life, and pretended to be inParis, so that he would follow his fancy without the truth becomingknown. But why he should come on this particular night, and by thisparticular path to this particular door, is the problem I have tosolve!"
"Quite so, and I only hope that you will solve it, for the sake of mysister."
Darby reflected for a moment or so. "Did Lady Agnes ask her husband tocome here to see her privately?"
"Hang it, no man!" cried Garvington, aghast. "She believed, as we alldid, that her husband was in Paris, and certainly never dreamed that hewas masquerading as a gypsy three miles away."
"There was no masquerading about the matter, my lord," said Darby,dryly; "since Sir Hubert really was a gypsy called Ishmael Hearne. Thatfact will come out at the inquest."
"It has come out now: everyone knows the truth. And a nice thing it isfor me and Lady Agnes."
"I don't think you need worry about that, Lord Garvington. The honorableway in which the late Sir Hubert attained rank and gained wealth willreflect credit on his humble origin. When the papers learn the story--"
"Confound the papers!" interrupted Garvington fretfully. "I sincerelyhope that they won't make too great a fuss over the business."
The little man's hope was vain, as he might have guessed that it wouldbe, for when the news became known in Fleet Street, the newspapers wereonly too glad to discover an original sensation for the dead season.Every day journalists and special correspondents were sent down in suchnumbers that the platform of Wanbury Railway Station was crowded withthem. As the town--it was the chief town of Hengishire--was five milesaway from the village of Garvington, every possible kind of vehicle wasused to reach the scene of the crime, and The Manor became a rendezvousfor all the morbid people, both in the neighborhood and out of it. Thereporters in particular poked and pried all over the place, passing fromthe great house to the village, and thence to the gypsy camp on theborders of Abbot's Wood. From one person and another they learned facts,which were published with such fanciful additions that they read likefiction. On the authority of Mother Cockleshell--who was not averse toearning a few shillings--a kind of Gil Blas tale was put into print, andthe wanderings of Ishmael Hearne were set forth in the picturesque styleof a picarooning romance. But of the time when the adventurous gypsyassumed his Gentile name, the Romany could tell nothing, for obviousreasons. Until the truth became known, because of the man's tragic andunforeseen death, those in the camp were not aware that he was a Gorgiomillionaire. But where the story of Mother Cockleshell left off, that ofMark Silver began, for the secretary had been connected with hisemployer almost from the days of Hearne's first exploits as Pine inLondon. And Silver--who also charged for the blended fact and fictionwhich he supplied--freely related all he knew.
"Hearne came to London and called himself Hubert Pine," he statedfrankly, and not hesitating to confess his own lowly origin. "We metwhen I was starving as a toymaker in Whitechapel. I invented some pennytoys, which Pine put on the market for me. They were successful and hemade money. I am bound to confess that he paid me tolerably well,although he certainly took the lion's share. With the money he made inthis way, he speculated in South African shares, and, as the boom wasthen on, he simply coined gold. Everything he touched turned into cash,and however deeply he plunged into the money market, he always came outtop in the end. By turning over his money and re-investing it, and byfresh speculations, he became a millionaire in a wonderfully short spaceof time. Then he made me his secretary and afterwards took up politics.The Government gave him a knighthood for services rendered to his party,and he became a well-known figure in the world of finance. He marriedLady Agnes Lambert, and--and--that's all."
"You were aware that he was a gypsy, Mr. Silver?" asked the reporter.
"Oh, yes. I knew all about his origin from the first days of ouracquaintanceship. He asked me to keep his true name and rank secret. Asit was none of my business, I did so. At times Hearne--or rather Pine,as I know him best by that name--grew weary of civilization, and thenwould return to his own life of the tent and road. No one suspectedamongst the Romany that he was anything else but a horse-coper. Healways pretended to be in Paris, or Berlin
, on financial affairs, whenhe went back to his people, and I transacted all business during hisabsence."
"You knew that he was at the Abbot's Wood camp?"
"Certainly. I saw him there once or twice to receive instructions aboutbusiness. I expostulated with him for being so near the house where hisbrother-in-law and wife were living, as I pointed out that the truthmight easily become known. But Pine merely said that his safety inkeeping his secret lay in his daring to run the risk."
"Have you any idea that Sir Hubert intended to come by night to LordGarvington's house?"
"Not the slightest. In fact, I told him that Lord Garvington was afraidof burglars, and had threatened to shoot any man who tried to enter thehouse."
All this Silver said in a perfectly frank, free-and-easy manner, andalso related how the dead man had instructed him to ask Garvington toallow the gypsies to remain in the wood. The reporter published theinterview with sundry comments of his own, and it was read with greatavidity by the public at large and by the many friends of themillionaire, who were surprised to learn of the double life led by theman. Of course, there was nothing disgraceful in Pine's past as IshmaelHearne, and all attempts to discover something shady about hisantecedents were vain. Yet--as was pointed out--there must have beensomething wrong, else the adventurer, as he plainly was, would not havemet so terrible a death. But in spite of every one's desire to find fireto account for the smoke, nothing to Pine's disadvantage could belearned. Even at the inquest, and when the matter was thoroughlythreshed out, the dead man's character proved to be honorable, and--savein the innocent concealment of his real name and origin--his public andprivate life was all that could be desired. The whole story was notcriminal, but truly romantic, and the final tragedy gave a grim touch towhat was regarded, even by the most censorious, as a picturesquenarrative.
In spite of all his efforts, Inspector Darby, of Wanbury, could produceno evidence likely to show who had shot the deceased. Lord Garvington,under the natural impression that Pine was a burglar, had certainlywounded him in the right arm, but it was the second shot, fired by someone outside the house, which had pierced the heart. This was positivelyproved by the distinct evidence of Lady Agnes herself. She rose from hersick-bed to depose how she had opened her window, and had seen theactual death of the unfortunate man, whom she little guessed was herhusband. The burglar--as she reasonably took him to be--was running downthe path when she first caught sight of him, and after the first shothad been fired. It was the second shot, which came from theshrubbery--marked on the plan placed before the Coroner and jury--whichhad laid the fugitive low. Also various guests and servants stated thatthey had arrived in the passage in answer to Lord Garvington's outcries,to find that he had closed the door pending their coming. Some had evenheard the second shot while descending the stairs. It was proved,therefore, in a very positive manner, that the master of the house hadnot murdered the supposed robber.
"I never intended to kill him," declared Garvington when his evidencewas taken. "All I intended to do, and all I did do, was to wing him, sothat he might be captured on the spot, or traced later. I closed thedoor after firing the shot, as I fancied that he might have had someaccomplices with him, and I wished to make myself safe until assistancearrived."
"You had no idea that the man was Sir Hubert Pine?" asked a juryman.
"Certainly not. I should not have fired had I recognized him. The momentI opened the door he flung himself upon me. I fired and he ran away. Itwas not until we all went out and found him dead by the shrubbery thatI recognized my brother-in-law. I thought he was in Paris."
Inspector Darby deposed that he had examined the shrubbery, and hadnoted broken twigs here and there, which showed that some one must havebeen concealed behind the screen of laurels. The grass--somewhat long inthe thicket--had been trampled. But nothing had been discovered likelyto lead to the discovery of the assassin who had been ambushed in thismanner.
"Are there no footmarks?" questioned the Coroner.
"There has been no rain for weeks to soften the ground," explained thewitness, "therefore it is impossible to discover any footmarks. Thebroken twigs and trampled grass show that some one was hidden in theshrubbery, but when this person left the screen of laurels, there isnothing to show in which direction the escape was made."
And indeed all the evidence was useless to trace the criminal. The Manorhad been bolted and barred by Lord Garvington himself, along with somefootmen and his butler, so no one within could have fired the secondshot. The evidence of Mother Cockleshell, of Chaldea, and of variousother gypsies, went to show that no one had left the camp on that nightwith the exception of Hearne, and even his absence had not been madeknown until the fact of the death was made public next morning. Hearne,as several of the gypsies stated, had retired about eleven to his tentand had said nothing about going to The Manor, much less about leavingthe camp. Silver's statements revealed nothing, since, far from seekinghis brother-in-law's house, Pine, had pointedly declared that in orderto keep his secret he would be careful not to go near the place.
"And Pine had no enemies to my knowledge who desired his death,"declared the secretary. "We were so intimate that had his life been indanger he certainly would have spoken about it to me."
"You can throw no light on the darkness?" asked the Coroner hopelessly.
"None," said the witness. "Nor, so far as I can see, is any one elseable to throw any light on the subject. Pine's secret was not adishonorable one, as he was such an upright man that no one could havedesired to kill him."
Apparently there was no solution to the mystery, as every one concluded,when the evidence was fully threshed out. An open verdict was broughtin, and the proceedings ended in this unsatisfactory manner.
"Wilful murder against some person or persons unknown," said Lambert,when he read the report of the inquest in his St. James's Street rooms."Strange. I wonder who cut the Gordian knot of the rope which boundAgnes to Pine?"
He could find no reply to this question, nor could any one else.
