The Simpkins Plot

by George A. Birmingham

  CHAPTER XVI.

  Major Kent, who was at heart a very kindly man, and had besides agenuine affection for Meldon, repented during the night of his fit ofbad temper. He was sorry that he had grumbled about the spoiling ofhis dinner. While he was shaving in the morning he made up his mind toenter as sympathetically as possible into Meldon's plans, whatever theymight be.

  "What are you thinking of doing with yourself to-day?" he asked atbreakfast. "If you want to go into Ballymoy to rag that judge again Ican let you have the cob."

  "Thanks," said Meldon, "but I think the judge may be left alone forthe present. The wisest line for me to take in this case is to allowthe paraffin oil to soak in. I hardly think it will be necessary forme to see him again. He'll probably leave by the mid-day train. Thefact is, I'm thinking of taking a half-holiday."

  "Do," said the Major. "After what you went through yesterday you mustwant--"

  "No, I don't. And I'm not the kind of man who pretends that he takesholidays because he finds them necessary for his health. I take themsimply because I enjoy them."

  "We might," said the Major, "have a day in the _Spindrift_."

  "I said a half-holiday," said Meldon. "In the afternoon I must go inand explain to Simpkins that you don't really mean anything by yourrather pronounced attentions to Miss King."

  The Major sighed. He had no doubt that Meldon would do exactly as hesaid, and he foresaw fresh complications of a most embarrassing kind.Still, a half-holiday was something to be thankful for.

  "We might," he said, "have a sail in the morning and come back forlunch."

  "No," said Meldon, "we can't do that. There's not a breath of wind.But, without actual sailing, we might spend a pleasant and restfulmorning on board the yacht."

  "Do you mean simply to sit on deck while she's at anchor?"

  "I rather contemplated lying down," said Meldon, "with my head on alife-buoy."

  "I don't think I'd care for that. It strikes me as rather waste oftime."

  "It would be for you, Major, and I don't advise you to do it. My timewon't be wasted, for I shall use it profitably. I shall take aquantity of tobacco and a tin of biscuits. You can let me have somebiscuits, I suppose?"

  "Certainly. And you'll find a bottle of beer on board, which Simpkinscouldn't drink at luncheon the other day, but I must say that, ifthat's your idea of a profitable use of your time--"

  "It isn't. The tobacco and the biscuits are mere accessories. What Ireally mean to devote my morning to is meditation. One of the greatestmistakes we make nowadays is not giving sufficient time to quietthought. We go hustling along through life doing things which oughtnot to be done in a hurry, and when physical exhaustion forces us topause for a moment, we run our eyes over printed matter of somekind--newspapers, magazines, or books--and never give a single hourfrom one year's end to another to meditation."

  "What do you intend to meditate about, J. J.? That German philosopherof yours, I suppose."

  "I haven't settled that yet," said Meldon. "If there's any affair ofyours, either practical, or an intellectual difficulty, which you wantto have carefully thought out, now is your time. I'll devote myself toit with pleasure."

  "Thanks," said the Major, "but there isn't."

  "Are you quite sure? A chance like this doesn't occur every day."

  "Quite sure; thanks."

  "In that case I shall first of all meditate on Simpkins, Miss King, andthe judge. Say an hour and a half for them. Then I shall consider thesubject of my little daughter's education. Now that the variousprofessions are opening their doors to women, it's most important tohave a reasoned out scheme of education for a girl, and you can't getat it too soon. These two subjects, I think, will make a tolerablycomplete programme for the morning. If you ring a bell outside thedoor at one o'clock, I shall row in to luncheon. I shall be prettyhungry by that time, I expect, in spite of the biscuits."

  Meldon carried out his plan successfully for the first part of themorning. He arranged the biscuits, his tobacco pouch, and a box ofmatches in convenient places; laid down a life-buoy as a pillow, andstretched himself at full length on the deck. After a time he shut hiseyes, so that no insistent vision of the _Spindrift's_ rigging shouldinterrupt the working of his thought. At half-past eleven he washailed from the shore. He raised himself slightly, and, leaning on hiselbow, looked over the gunwale of the yacht. Major Kent stood on thebeach.

  "Anything wrong?" shouted Meldon.

  "No. Nothing, except that Doyle is up at the house wanting to see you,and he seems to be in an uncommonly bad temper."

  "I'm not going to drag myself all the way up to the house to gratifysome whim of Doyle's. If he thinks he has a grievance, let him comedown to the shore and I'll pacify him."

  "Very well," said the Major. "I'll bring him. You row ashore and beready when he comes."

  "I shall do nothing of the sort. I can shout at him from here. Hecan't possibly have any business of a confidential kind. He merelywants to be soothed down about some trifle, and that can be done justas well from a distance."

  A quarter of an hour later Major Kent hailed Meldon again; this time hehad Doyle with him on the shore. Meldon sat up on his life-buoy, andleaned both elbows on the boom.

  "That's right, Major," he shouted. "You've brought him down. Juststay where you are. I won't keep you long. Now then, Doyle! Iunderstand that you are in an abominably bad temper about something,and have come down here with the intention of working it off on me. Imay tell you that I don't at all care for being interrupted while I'mmeditating; and as a general rule I simply refuse to do any businessuntil I've finished. However, as you're an old friend, I'm making anexception in your case. Can you hear what I say?"

  "I cannot," shouted Doyle, "nor nobody could."

  "You can," said Meldon. "If you couldn't, how did you answer me?"

  "We can't," said the Major, shaking his head vigorously.

  Meldon pulled the punt alongside the yacht, got into her and rowedtowards the shore. When he was within about ten yards of it, he swungthe punt round and rested on his oars facing Doyle and Major Kent.

  "Now," he said, "trot out your grievance; but speak briefly and to thepoint. I can't and won't have my morning wasted. If you meander inyour statements, I shall simply row back again to the yacht and leaveyou there."

  "It's a curious thing," said Doyle, "that a gentleman like you wouldfind a pleasure in preventing a poor man from earning his living."

  He spoke truculently. He was evidently very angry indeed.

  "Don't," said Meldon, "wander off into generalities and sillyspeculations about things which aren't facts. So far from taking apleasure in preventing poor men from living, I'm always particularlyanxious to help them when I can."

  "You didn't help me then with your damned tricks, the like of which nogentleman ought to play."

  "If you refer to yourself as a poor man," said Meldon, "you're simplytelling a lie. You're rich, nobody knows how rich, but rich enough tobuy up every other man in the town of Ballymoy."

  "And if I was itself, is that any reason why them that would be stayingin my hotel should be hunted out of it?"

  "Are you talking about Sir Gilbert Hawkesby?"

  "I am," said Doyle. "Who else would I have in my mind?"

  "And is he gone?"

  "He is not gone yet? but he's going without something would be done tostop him."

  "I'm glad to hear it. I hardly hoped it would have happened so soon.I told you, Major, that I was appealing to him in the right way."

  "It's a loss of three pounds a week to me," said Doyle, "withoutreckoning what he might take to drink. I'll be expecting you to makethat good to me--you and the Major between you."

  "It was the cooking did it, I suppose," said Meldon.

  "That and the state his bed was in," said Doyle. "It was close oneleven o'clock last night, and I was sitting smoking quiet and easyalong with the doctor, when there came a noise like as if so
me onewould be ringing a bell, and him in a hurry. It was the doctor drew myattention to it first; but I told him he'd better sit where he was, forit was Sabina's business to go up to any one that would ring a bell.Well, the ringing went on terrible strong, for maybe ten minutes, and--"

  "Sabina funked it, I suppose," said Meldon.

  "She did be in dread," said Doyle, "on account of the way the bell wasgoing, not knowing what there might be at the other end of it. That'swhat she said any way, and I believe her. The doctor spoke to her,encouraging her, the way she'd go and see whatever it might be, andwe'd be at peace again. But for all he said to her she wouldn't movean inch. Then I told the doctor that maybe he'd better go himself, forit could be that the gentleman was ill. 'It's hardly ever,' I said,'that a man would ring a bell the way that one's being rung withoutthere'd be some kind of a sickness on him. It'll be a pound into yourpocket, doctor, and maybe more,' I said, 'if you get at him at oncebefore the pain leaves him.'"

  "I should think O'Donoghue jumped at that," said Meldon.

  "He did not then, but he sat there looking kind of frightened, the sameas Sabina did; like as if there might be something that the judge wouldwant to be blaming on him. At the latter end I had to go myself. Itwas in his bedroom he was, and devil such a state ever you saw as hehad the place in. The sheets and the blankets was off the bed,scattered here and there about the floor, and the pillow along withthem. It was like as if they'd been holding a meeting about the land,and the police were after interfering with it, such a scatteration asthere was. I hadn't the door hardly opened before he was at me. 'Youdetestable villain,' says he, 'what do you mean by asking me to sleepin a bed like that? Isn't it enough for you to have me near poisonedwith paraffin oil without--' 'If there's hell raised on the bed,' saidI, 'and I don't deny but there is, it's yourself riz it. The bed wasnice enough before you started on it. I had the sheets damped with thestuff the doctor give me--'"

  "Did you say that?" asked Meldon, pushing the punt a little nearer tothe shore.

  "I did, and if he was mad before he was madder after. I offered tofetch the doctor up to him, but he wouldn't listen to a word I said.It was twelve o'clock and more before I got him quietened down, and Iwouldn't say he was what you'd call properly pacified then. He wasgrowling like a dog would when I left him, and saying he'd have it outwith me in the morning."

  "I daresay," said Meldon, "he was worse after he got his breakfast."

  "He was," said Doyle. "It was Sabina he got a hold of then; for,thanks be to God, I was out in the yard seeing after the car that wasto drive him up to the liver. He went down into the kitchen afterSabina, and he asked her what the devil she meant by upsetting one lampover his dinner and another over his breakfast. Sabina up and told himstraight to his face that it was you done it."

  "What a liar that girl is!" said Meldon.

  "J. J." said the Major, "did you do it?"

  "No. I didn't. How could I possibly have been upsetting lamps inDoyle's hotel when I was sitting in your house talking to you? Don'tlose your head, Major."

  "Sabina told me after," said Doyle, "that it was by your orders she didit."

  "That's more like the truth," said Meldon. "If she'd confined herselfto that statement when she was talking to the judge, I shouldn't havecomplained. I didn't exactly tell her that she was to upset the lamp,but I did say that she was to flavour everything the judge got to eatwith paraffin oil."

  "It's a queer thing that you'd do the like," said Doyle, "knowing wellall the time that no man would stay where he couldn't get a bite toeat, and that I'd be losing three pounds a week by his going."

  "If you understood the circumstances thoroughly," said Meldon, "youwould joyfully sacrifice not only three pounds, but if necessary thirtypounds, a week to get rid of that judge."

  "I would not," said Doyle confidently. "I wouldn't turn away any manthat was paying me, not if he was down here with orders from theGovernment to put me in jail on account of some meeting that the Leaguewould be having."

  "Do you or do you not," said Meldon, "want to get rid of Simpkins?"

  "I do, of course. Sure, everybody does."

  "Very well. In order to secure the death of Simpkins it was necessaryto hunt away that judge. I can't explain the whole ins-and-outs of thebusiness to you. It's rather complicated, and I doubt if you'dunderstand it. In any case, I can't go into it without betraying alady's confidence, and that's a thing I never do. But you may take myword for it that it's absolutely necessary to remove the judge if youare to have the pleasure of burying Simpkins. If you don't believewhat I say ask the Major. He knows all about it."

  "No; I don't," said Major Kent.

  "You do," said Meldon. "What's the use of denying it when I told youthe whole plan myself?"

  "Any way," said the Major, "I won't be dragged into it. I've nothingwhatever to do with it, and I've always disapproved of it from thestart. You and Doyle must settle it between you without appealing tome."

  "You can see from the way he speaks," said Meldon to Doyle, "that heknows just as well as I do that we must get the judge out of Ballymoy."

  "Out of Ballymoy?" said Doyle.

  "Yes," said Meldon, "clear away from the place altogether. Back toEngland if possible."

  "Well, then, he's not gone," said Doyle. "So if it's that you wantyou're as badly off this minute as I am myself. He's not gone, andwhat's more he won't go."

  "You told me this minute that he was gone. What on earth do you meanby coming up here and pouring out lamentations in gallons about theloss of your three pounds a week if he hasn't gone? What do you meanby representing to me that the judge used bad language about his foodif he didn't? I don't see what you're at, Doyle; and, to be quitecandid, I don't think you know yourself. Go home and think the wholebusiness over, and I'll see you about it in the afternoon."

  "Every word I told you is the truth."

  "Either the judge is gone," said Meldon, "or he isn't gone. What doyou mean?"

  "What I said was, that he isn't gone yet but he's going, withoutsomething's done to stop him."

  "That's the same thing," said Meldon, "for nothing will be done."

  "But he'll not go from Ballymoy? Why would he when he has the fishingtook?"

  "He'll have to go out of Ballymoy if he leaves your hotel. He maythink he'll get lodgings somewhere else, but he won't. Or he mayexpect to find some other hotel, but there isn't one. If he has leftyou it's the same thing as leaving Ballymoy."

  "It is not," said Doyle, "and I'll tell you why it's not."

  "Has he a tent with him?" said Meldon. "He doesn't look like a man whowould care for camping out, but of course he might try it."

  "He has no tent that I seen," said Doyle. "But I'll tell you whathappened. As soon as ever he'd finished cursing Sabina he said the carwas to come round, because he was going off out. Well, it came; for Iwas in the yard myself, as I told you this minute, and I seen to itthat it came round in double quick time, hoping that maybe I'd pacifyhim that way."

  "With my cushions on it?" said the Major.

  "He took no notice of the cushions. In the temper he was in at thetime he wouldn't have said a civil word if you'd set him down oncushions stuffed full of golden sovereigns. He just took a lep on tothe car--I was watching him from round the corner of the yard gate tosee how he would conduct himself--and--"

  "Wait a minute," said Meldon. "Had he his luggage with him?"

  "He had not."

  "Well then he can't have been going to the train."

  "He was not. But--"

  "Had he his rod?"

  "He had not. But--"

  "He'd hardly have gone fishing without his rod, however bad his temperwas. I wonder now where on earth he did go."

  "It's what I'm trying to tell you," said Doyle, "if you'd let me speak."

  "If you know where he went," said Meldon, "say so at once. What's theuse of leaving me to waste time and energy trying to discover byinductive re
asoning a thing that you know perfectly well all the time?"

  "It's what I'm trying to do is to tell you."

  "Stop trying then," said Meldon, "and do it."

  "He took a lep on the car," said Doyle, "the same as it might be a manthat was in a mighty hurry to be off, and says he to the driver, 'Isthere a place here called Ballymoy House?' 'There is, of course,' saidPatsy Flaherty, for it was him that was driving the car."

  "Ballymoy House!" said Meldon. "Nonsense. He couldn't have asked forBallymoy House."

  "It's what he said. And what's more: 'Is it there that a young ladystops by the name of Miss King?' said he. 'It is,' said PatsyFlaherty, 'and a fine young lady she is, thanks be to God.' 'Thendrive there,' says he, 'as fast as ever you can go, and if you havesuch a thing as a bottle of paraffin oil in the well of the car,' sayshe, 'throw it out before you start.' Well, of course, there was no oilin the car. Why would there?"

  "If Mr. Meldon had seen Patsy Flaherty last night," said the Major,"there probably would have been."

  "Do you mean to say," said Meldon, "that he drove straight off to seeMiss King?"

  "It's where he told the driver to go, any way," said Doyle, "and it'sthere he went without he changed his mind on the way. What I wasthinking was that maybe he's acquainted with Miss King."

  "He is," said Meldon. "I know that. I don't believe that he's everspoken to her except in public, but he certainly knows who she is."

  "What I'm thinking," said Doyle, "is that he intended asking if hemight go up to the big house and stay there along with her for suchtime as he might be in Ballymoy."

  "He can't have done that," said Meldon. "There are reasons which theMajor understands, though you don't, which render that idea quiteimpossible. Speaking on the spur of the moment, and without thinkingthe matter out thoroughly, I am inclined to suppose that he connectsMiss King with the condition of his bed last night and the persistentflavour of paraffin oil in his food. He's probably gone up to speak toher about that."

  "He couldn't," said Doyle, "for Sabina Gallagher told him it was you."

  "He wouldn't believe Sabina," said Meldon, "and he has every reason tosuspect Miss King of wanting to score off him. I think I may tell you,Doyle, without any breach of confidence, that Miss King has a stone upher sleeve to throw at that judge. He tried to do her a bad turn someweeks ago, and she's just the woman to resent it."

  "But the young lady was never in the inside of my house, and never seteyes on Sabina. How could it be that she--"

  "I know what you're going to say," said Meldon. "She couldn't have hadanything to do with the Condy's Fluid or the paraffin oil. That'strue, of course. But my point is that the judge, puzzled by anextraordinary combination of circumstances, all tending to make himuncomfortable, would naturally think Miss King was at the bottom ofthem. The one thing I don't quite understand is how he came to knowshe was in Ballymoy. I'll find that out later on. In the meanwhile Ithink I'd better go into Ballymoy after all. It's a nuisance, for Iwas extremely comfortable on the yacht, but I can't leave things in themuddle they're in now, and there's nobody else about the place I couldtrust to clear them up."