He did not look to be at all the sort of man to be engaged on any nefarious enterprise, and within a very few moments John was satisfied that his farm had not been Henry Stornaway’s objective. He was of a chatty and an expansive disposition, only too pleased to enter into conversation with strangers, of whom he saw very few. He was one of the Squire’s tenants, and shook his head sadly over Sir Peter’s illness, saying that things would be very different when he died. It was an easy matter to get him to expatiate on this theme; and it soon became apparent that although he had a great regard for Miss Nell, he didn’t (as he put it) reckon much to Mr Henry, whom he scarcely knew, and who didn’t (if the half of what he heard tell were true) take any interest in the estate. Yes, he had been told that Mr Henry was staying at Kellands, and a fine London friend with him, but you wouldn’t catch Mr Henry coming in to pass the time of day with his grandpa’s tenants, not he! No, he had never seen the London friend, and he didn’t know as he much wanted to, for he had seen another Londoner that week, and a regular leather-head he was! He was wishful to buy a property in the district, but from the silly questions he asked it was easy to see as he was a chap as would be nailed, sure as check! What was he like? He was a muffin-faced chap, a little on the squat, and precious wide in the boughs.
The Captain, recognizing, from this pungent description, Mr Gabriel Stogumber, rode on his way, a frown knitting his brow. He failed to perceive what object Stogumber could have had in questioning the farmer; and he was still puzzling over this problem when he reached the toll-house. He had been away from it for longer than he had intended, and he found Ben in a mood of considerable disquiet, flatteringly overjoyed to behold him again.
No one visited him from the Manor that day. He spent the morning in the expectation of seeing Nell; but she did not come; and by the time it became apparent that something had prevented her, Mrs Skeffling had gone home, and there was no one in whose charge John could leave the gate, Ben having been engaged by Farmer Huggate for the whole day, to assist in taking livestock to market. Gatekeeping had never been more irksome, for there were certain questions John wished to ask either of Nell, or of Joseph, who, he supposed, must be even more familiar with the district. Thinking over his strange encounter with Henry Stornaway, and cudgelling his brains to hit upon some solution to account for his presence upon a lonely lane at such an unseasonable hour of the morning, there had flashed across his memory an echo of something Nell had talked of during their drive to Tideswell. If her idle words did indeed hold the key to the mystery, he was still far from understanding it, but it might well be within his power to discover it. Then he remembered the look of sick horror in Stornaway’s face, and he thought it might be wiser to address his questions to Joseph rather than to Nell. But Joseph did not come, and a certain anxiety was added to the Captain’s impatience. When Ben returned from Tideswell, pleasantly weary, and full of all that he had seen and done in the town, John made an attempt to convince him that he had no longer anything to fear in being left for an hour to mind the pike after dark. But Ben, who, while he knew his large protector to be at hand, seemed almost to have forgotten his alarms, no sooner realized that he was in danger of being left alone than he became slightly tearful, and with the utmost urgency begged John not to leave him. It was useless to point out to him that his father’s visitor must by this time know that he would no longer find Brean at the toll-house; he merely said, in considerable agitation, that if John went out he himself would run away, and spend the night with Beau in Farmer Huggate’s big barn. It was plainly useless to argue with him, and the Captain, suppressing exasperation, promised not to leave the toll-house, and commanded him to stop whining. As it happened he was forced to realize that he could scarcely have done so, had Ben been never so willing. After the unaccustomed excitement of the day, the boy was so sleepy that he dropped off before he had finished his supper, and could not be roused. When picked up, and carried off to his truckle-bed, he did no more than stir, and murmur something unintelligible: it seemed unlikely that anything less than a coach-horn blown in his ear would waken him.
Scarcely an hour later, John had reason to be glad that he had not, after all, gone to Kellands, for he heard the owl’s hoot, twice repeated, which had previously heralded Jeremy Chirk’s arrival at the toll-house. He walked over to the back-door, and opened it. Chirk’s voice, lowered, but sufficiently penetrating, reached him. ‘Lend a hand here, Soldier!’
John stepped out into the untidy garden, looking towards the wicket-gate. He saw that Chirk, on his feet, was holding it open for Mollie to pass through; and that seated astride the mare was a thick figure which swayed perilously and seemed only to be held in the saddle by Chirk’s hand gripping him. ‘Now what?’ he demanded, striding forward.
‘Bear a bob, Soldier!’ Chirk adjured him. ‘I’ve got a cove here as is as sick as a horse. Lift him down, will you? If I was to let go of him, he’d fall, and he’s had one ding on the canister already.’
‘Good God, is it Brean?’ John exclaimed, hoisting the burly figure out of the saddle.
‘Lord love you, no! I dunno who it is. I found him trying to mill his way out of a row, couple o’ miles back – and a well-plucked ’un he seems to be! Else I wouldn’t have meddled. I doubt I’ll regret it yet: it don’t become a man of my calling to meddle in other folks’ business. But I don’t like to see a game fighter set on from behind, and that’s the truth!’
‘Stable the mare!’ said John briefly.
A few minutes later, Chirk entered the kitchen to find the victim of the late assault slumped in a chair, with the Captain, a somewhat grim look in his face, forcing brandy down his throat.
‘Not hopped the twig, has he?’ Chirk asked, shutting the door.
‘Oh, no!’
‘I didn’t think he had. He cast up his accounts, back there along the road, but he didn’t swoon off till a minute or two before I got him to the gate. Someone knifed him in the back.’
‘I know that. Help me to strip off his coat!’ John said, withdrawing his arm from behind the inert form, and showing his shirt-sleeve stained with blood. ‘He’s lost a good deal of blood, from the look of things, but I should say it’s not serious.’
Coat and waistcoat were expeditiously removed, and tossed aside. The Captain then ripped up the shirt, and disclosed a long gash down one shoulder, which was still sluggishly bleeding.
‘Nothing but a cut. I’ve seen many worse,’ said John, going over to the sink, and pouring some water from the pail that stood under it into a tin bowl.
‘Ah!’ said Chirk, with satisfaction. ‘I rather suspicioned I spoilt the cull’s aim! I saw the chive he had in his famble flash in the moonlight, so I loosed off one of my barking-irons over his head, because chives I don’t hold with! They showed their shapes quick then! – him and the other cove.’
‘Who were they? Did you see their faces?’
‘It would have queered me to do that, Soldier: they were muffled up to the eyes. Well, I was wearing a mask myself, but I don’t go winding scarves round my phiz!’ He shifted the heavy body he was supporting so that John could more easily bathe the gash. ‘If they were foot-scamperers, I don’t know what they were doing on this road, nor what they hoped to prig, nor why they set on a chap like this, that wouldn’t have anything in his pockets worth the taking. Sticking a chive into a cove for the sake of a coachwheel or two, and maybe a silver tatler, is nasty work, Soldier, and I don’t hold with it. Blubberheaded, too,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘That’s the way to get snabbled, sure as a gun! I wonder who this cove is?’
‘So do I wonder!’ replied John, competently swabbing the wound. ‘I can tell you his name, however: it’s Stogumber – and I should say he has come by his deserts!’
As though the sound of his own name had penetrated to his consciousness, Mr Stogumber stirred, and opened his eyes.
‘Keep still!’ John said, as he winced.
Mr Stogumber surveyed him vaguely. His dulled gaze then travelled to Chirk’s face. He blinked several times, as though in an effort to clear his sight; and then, the colour beginning to come back into his face, struggled to sit upright. ‘Thank ’ee!’ he uttered.
‘Take a candle, and go and fetch the basilicum powder from my room,’ John said to Chirk. ‘You’ll see it amongst my shavingtackle: it’ll do as well as anything else to put on the wound.’
‘Stuck me in the back, did they?’ remarked Stogumber, trying to squint over his own shoulder.
‘Be still, will you?’ said John. ‘It’s no more than a graze. A case of rogues falling out, eh, Mr Stogumber?’
A faint, wan smile crossed Stogumber’s face. He sat leaning his elbows on his knees, his head propped in his hands. ‘I wouldn’t say it was that, not exactly. I’m mortified: that’s what I am – fair mortified! However, I’m obliged to you, Mr Staple, mortal obliged to you!’
‘You’d better keep your gratitude for the man who brought you here,’ replied John, pulling some cloths out of a chest, and beginning to rip them up. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, you’d be dead.’
‘I’m much beholden to him,’ agreed Stogumber, speaking with a perceptible effort. ‘And a rare set-out that is! Loosed off his pop, didn’t he? I remember seeing him, a-sitting on his horse like a damned statue. What I thought was that the cat was in the cream-pot proper, but I see I was mistook. I dunno what the world’s coming to! Me being beholden to a bridle-cull!’
‘Stubble it!’ said John, borrowing from Chirk’s vocabulary.
Mr Stogumber gave a chuckle, which changed to a groan. ‘Oh, my head! I dunno when I’ve took such a wisty crack on it! I ain’t unmindful, Mr Staple. I’m precious hard to kill, but I don’t deny I was shook up.’
At that moment, Chirk came back into the kitchen with the basilicum powder. Between them, he and John applied it to the wound, placed a pad over it, and bound it in place with the knotted strips of cloth.
‘That’s the dandy!’ said Chirk encouragingly. ‘In a brace o’ snaps you’ll be in prime twig, covey!’
‘Take and put my noddle under the pump!’ begged Stogumber. ‘It’s going round like a whirligig! What’s more, I’m a-going to shoot the cat again!’
He made a great effort, and hoisted himself to his feet. With commendable promptness Chirk guided his wavering steps to the sink, and held his head over it while this prophecy was fulfilled. The Captain, taking only a cursory and quite unsympathetic interest in his agony, threw the bloodstained water from his bowl out into the garden, and turned to pick up his patient’s coat and waistcoat from the floor. As he stooped to pick up the coat, he saw that a small notebook had fallen out of one of its pockets, and lay open, face downwards, on the floor. He shot one quick glance towards the sink, satisfied himself that Mr Stogumber’s attention was fully occupied with his stomach’s revolt, and picked up the notebook. Standing with his back to the sink, he inspected it. Rather more than half its pages had been inscribed in an illiterate hand; and a great many entries had been made in some kind of primitive cipher. But on the fly-leaf its owner’s name was written; and, under it, the revealing words: Occurrence Book.
Captain Staple, putting the book back on the floor as he had found it, now knew what Mr Stogumber’s real profession was. He knew also that Mr Stogumber was a far more dangerous man than he had supposed him to be, and one whom it might be hard to outwit. He regarded his heaving shoulders thoughtfully, glanced at Chirk’s profile, and turned away, his lips twitching. Captain Staple, faced with a desperate problem, found one aspect at least of the situation irresistibly amusing.
Eleven
Chirk, supporting Mr Stogumber’s wilting frame back to the chair beside the fire, gave it as his opinion that what was needed to put him to rights was another nip of brandy.
‘You’re mistaken,’ replied John, restoring the bottle to the cupboard. ‘If he didn’t cast it up again, it would very likely throw him into a fever. Put a wet cloth round his head, and leave him alone! I’ll make him some strong coffee presently.’
He went away to his bedroom, and came back in a minute with one of the pillows from his bed. With this, and a soaking towel bound tenderly about his brow, Mr Stogumber was made moderately comfortable. He opened his eyes, achieving a lopsided smile. ‘Damme, if I remember when I was so crop-sick!’ he muttered. ‘Fair shook up I must have been! Me!’
‘Now, don’t you go falling into a fit of the dismals, covey!’ said Chirk, in a heartening tone. ‘There’s no call for you to be hipped. They tapped your claret, and you lost a lot of it, see? It’s my blame. The thing was, while you was playing at singlestick with one of them Captain Hackums it didn’t seem as I’d any call to interfere; and when t’other jumped out from behind the hedge I was took by surprise, same as you was.’
‘I’m in your debt,’ Stogumber said, closing his eyes again. ‘I’ve been near to cocking up my toes afore this, but I doubt it’s the closest-run thing I ever stepped into. I take it very kind in you. What’s more, I shan’t forget it.’
The Captain, who was standing by the door leading into the office, made an imperative sign with his head, and, upon Chirk’s going to him, led him out of the room, and softly shut the door. ‘He’ll go to sleep, if we let him alone,’ he said. ‘Now then, Jerry! What news?’
Chirk shook his head. ‘I’ve got nothing to tell you, Soldier. They ain’t seen nor heard anything of Ned in the kens where he might be looked for.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘What do ye make of this set-out? Queer fetch, ain’t it? What’s he been up to?’
‘Making enemies, apparently,’ John replied. ‘Never mind him for the moment! I want you to go up to the Manor. Try if you can see Rose, and find out from her if there are any caverns in the hills immediately north of Kellands! If she knows of any, get her to tell you where they are; but particularly warn her to say nothing of this to Miss Nell! Or, indeed, to anyone! But she won’t! You may tell her also, if you please, that I fancy I may have chanced upon what concerns Henry Stornaway and Coate nearly, but that I do not wish to add to Miss Nell’s anxieties, and so would prefer she should know nothing about it.’
Chirk’s bright, keen eyes were fixed on his face. ‘And have you, Soldier?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, but I believe it to be possible. Do you know the lane that leads up to the moors, half a mile to the east of the gate?’ Chirk nodded. ‘Very well! I rode up it, soon after dawn today – exercising my horse. I met Henry Stornaway on it. If he could have hidden from me, he would have done so, but there’s no cover: I saw him as plainly as I see you! Whether he knew that I had recognized him, I can’t say. He was making his way back to Kellands on foot: I was cantering up the lane, Beau has a long stride, and there was too much mist for either of us to see the other until we were almost abreast. For one instant I saw his face, and I can tell you this, Jerry Chirk! – he had the look of a man who had seen a ghost! Also – and mark this! – he carried a lantern! It was not alight, and for a time I supposed he must have used it only to show him the road, hours earlier. To be sure, the sky was overcast last night, but there was light enough for one to see one’s way! It had me in a puzzle to know what he should have wanted with a lantern until I remembered suddenly something Miss Nell said to me once, about the caverns that are to be found amongst these limestone hills. If you meant to penetrate into one of those, you would need a lantern, of course.’
‘I daresay you would,’ agreed Chirk. ‘But – lor’ bless you, Soldier, what kind of a rig do you think a couple of flash coves like Stornaway and that Coate have got on hand?’
‘I can’t tell that, but I’ve reason to suspect that whatever it is, it’s a damned serious business! Be a good fellow, now, and go up to Kellands! And discover, if you can, if all’s well there!’
‘What about that cove?’ Chirk asked, with another jerk of his thumb towards the kitchen.
‘He’s putting up at the Blue Boar. I’ll get rid of him somehow. There’s nothing much amiss with him but a splitting head, but if necessary, I’ll mount him on the mare, and lead him to the village. You be off to Kellands before Rose has gone to bed!’
‘You won’t be satisfied till you see me in York Gaol, will you, Soldier?’ said Chirk, with a wry smile. ‘What with one thing and another, it seems to me I’m getting out of my depth – and I was never much of a swimmer. It’s to be hoped that cove in there didn’t twig what my lay is.’
‘He knows that well enough, but he don’t know your name, and in any event I believe he wouldn’t cry rope on you. If it hadn’t been for you, he’d be cold meat now, and that he knows too! You go to Kellands!’
Mr Chirk, not as loth to obey this command as he chose to pretend, allowed himself to be thrust out of the toll-house; and the Captain, first satisfying himself that Ben was still sunk in the heavy sleep of weary youth, softly opened the door into the kitchen. Mr Stogumber, his head fallen a little sideways, was breathing stertorously, his legs stretched out before him, and one arm hanging limply outside the chair, its hand almost touching the floor. The Captain shut the door again, and went to sit on the bench outside the house. Heavy snores presently assailed his ears. He got up, and went to collect a cigarillo from his bedroom, and, having kindled it at the lamp burning on the table in the office, retired again to the bench, and for a long time sat smoking, and gazing with slightly knit brows at the star-scattered sky.
It must have been three-quarters of an hour later when the snores ceased; and the Captain had twice struck a light from his tinderbox to enable him to read his watch. He waited for a minute, for once or twice the snores had stopped with a choking snort, only to start again almost immediately, but this time there was no recurrence of the rhythmic sounds. He went back into the kitchen, and found Stogumber yawning, and tenderly feeling his head.
The Toll-Gate Page 17
