The Childerbridge Mystery

by Guy Boothby

  CHAPTER V

  The inquest on the body of William Standerton was held next morning atthe George and Dragon Inn in the village, and was attended by more thanhalf the Neighbourhood. The affair had naturally caused an immensesensation in all ranks of Society, and, as the Coroner observed in hisopening remarks, universal sympathy was felt for the bereaved family.Wilkins, who had not altogether recovered from the fright he hadreceived on the night before, was the first witness. He stated that hehad been the first to discover the murder, and then informed the coronerof the steps he had immediately taken. Questioned as to the visit paidto the Squire by Murbridge, he said that the latter was in a great ragewhen turned away from the house, and on being asked to do so, repeatedthe words he had made use of. In conclusion, he said that he was quitecertain that no door or window in the house had been left unfastened onthe night in question, and that he was equally certain that none werefound either open, or showing signs of having been tampered with in themorning. Jim followed next, and corroborated what the butler had said. Asensation was caused when he informed the Coroner that Murbridge hadthreatened his father in his hearing in Australia. He described hismeeting with the man in the park before dinner, and added that he hadforbidden him to approach the house. Examined by the Coroner, he wasunable to say anything concerning the nature of the quarrel between thetwo men. The doctor was next called, and gave evidence as to beingsummoned to the Manor House. He described the body, and gave it as hisopinion that death was due to strangulation. Then followed the policeofficer. The landlord was the next witness, and he gave evidence to theeffect that the man Murbridge had stayed at the inn, had been absent onthe evening in question from eight o'clock until half-past twelve, andthat he had departed for London by the first train on the followingmorning. The driver of the mail-cart, who had seen him standing besidethe stile, was next called. He was quite sure that he had made nomistake as to the man's identity, for the reason that he had had aconversation with him at the George and Dragon Inn earlier in theevening. This completing the evidence, the jury, without leaving theroom, brought in a verdict of "Wilful murder against some person orpersons unknown," and for the time being the case was at an end.

  "You must not be disappointed, my dear sir," said Robins, afterwards;"it is all you can possibly expect. The jury could do no more on suchevidence. But we've got our warrant for the arrest of Murbridge, and, assoon as we are able to lay our hands upon him, we may be able to advanceanother and more important step. I am going up to London this afternoon,and I give you my assurance I shall not waste a moment in getting uponhis track."

  "And you will let me know how you succeed?"

  "I will be sure to do so," Robins replied.

  "In the meantime, there can be no harm in my putting an advertisement inthe papers, offering a reward of five hundred pounds to anyone who willgive such information as may lead to the discovery of the murderer."

  "It is a large sum to offer, sir, and will be sure to bring you a lot ofuseless correspondence. Still, it may be of some use, and I wouldsuggest that you send it to the daily papers without delay."

  "It shall be done at once."

  Jim thereupon bade the detective good-bye, and returned to the house toinform his sister of what had taken place at the inquest. She quiteagreed with him on the matter of the reward, and an advertisement wasaccordingly despatched to the London newspapers, together with a chequeto cover the cost of the insertions.

  Next day the mortal remains of William Standerton were conveyed to theirlast resting-place in the graveyard of the little village church. Afterthe funeral Jim drove back to the Manor House, accompanied by hisfather's solicitor, who had travelled down from London for the ceremony.He was already aware that, by his father's death, he had become a richman, but he had no idea how wealthy he would really be, until the willwas read to him. When this had been done he was informed that he wasworth upwards of half-a-million sterling. He shook his head sadly:

  "I'd give it all up willingly, every penny of it," he answered, "to havemy father alive. Even now I can scarcely believe that I shall never seehim again. It seems an extraordinary thing to me that the police have,so far, not been able to obtain any clue as to the whereabouts ofMurbridge. Look at this heap of letters," he continued, pointing to apile of correspondence lying upon the writing table, "each one hailsfrom somebody who has either seen Murbridge or professes to know wherehe is to be found. One knows just such a man working in a baker's shopin Shoreditch; another has lately returned with him on board a linerfrom America, and on receipt of the reward will give me his presentaddress; a third says that he is a waiter in a popular restaurant inOxford Street; a fourth avers that he is hiding near the Docks, andintends leaving England this week. So the tale goes on, and willincrease, I suppose, every day."

  "The effect of offering so large a reward," replied the lawyer. "My onlyhope is that it will not have the effect of driving him out of England.In which case the difficulty of laying hands upon him will be more thandoubled."

  "He need not think that flight will save him," Jim replied. "Let him gowhere he pleases, I will run him to earth."

  * * * * *

  Helen had spent the day at the Manor House, trying to comfort Alice inher distress. At nine o'clock she decided to return to her own home, andJim determined to accompany her. They accordingly set off together. Sooccupied were they by their own thoughts, that for some time neither ofthem spoke. Jim was the first to break the silence.

  "Helen," he said, "I cannot thank you sufficiently for your goodness toAlice during this awful time. But for you I do not know how she wouldhave come through it."

  "Poor girl," Helen answered, "my heart aches for her."

  "She was so fond of our father," James answered.

  "Not more than you were, dear," Helen replied; "but you have borne yourtrouble so bravely--never once thinking of yourself."

  The night was dark, and there was no one about, so why should he nothave slipped his arm round her waist.

  "Helen," he said, "the time has come for me to ask what our future is tobe. Will you wait for Mr. Bursfield's death before you become my wife,or will you court his displeasure and trust yourself to me?"

  "I would trust myself to you at any time," she answered. "But do you notsee how I am situated? I owe everything to my Guardian. But for his careof me in all probability I should now be a governess, a music-mistress,or something of that sort. He has fed me, clothed me, and loved me,after his own fashion, for a number of years. Would it not, therefore,seem like an act of the basest ingratitude to leave him desolate, merelyto promote my own happiness?"

  "And does my happiness count for nothing?" Jim returned. "But let ustalk the matter over dispassionately, and see what can be done. Don'tthink me heartless, Helen, when I say, that you must realise that Mr.Bursfield is a very old man. It is just possible, therefore, that theevent we referred to a few moments ago may take place in the nearfuture. Now, owing to my father's death, I ought not to be married forsome time to come. I propose, therefore, that we wait until, say, theend of six months, and then make another appeal to your guardian? It isjust possible he may be more inclined to listen to reason then. What doyou say?

  "I will do whatever you wish," she answered simply. "I fear, however,that, while Mr. Bursfield lives, he will take no other view of thecase."

  "We must hope that he will," Jim replied. "In the meantime, as long as Iknow that you are true to me, and love me as I love you, I shall bequite happy."

  "You do believe that I love you, don't you, Jim?" she asked, looking upat her lover in the starlight.

  "Of course I do," he answered. "God knows what a lucky man I deem myselffor having been permitted to win your love. I am supremely thankful forone thing, and that is, the fact that my father learnt to know and loveyou before his death."

  "As I had learnt to love him," she replied. "But there, who could helpdoing so?"

  "One man at least," Jim replied. "Unhappily, we have the wors
t ofreasons for knowing that there was one person in the world who bore hima mortal hatred."

  "Have you heard anything yet from the police regarding Murbridge?"

  "Not a word," Jim answered. "They have given me their most positiveassurance that they are leaving no stone unturned to find the man, but,so far, they appear to have been entirely unsuccessful. If they do notsoon run him down I shall take up the case myself, and see what I can dowith it. And now here we are at the gate. You do not know how hard it isfor me to let you go, even for so short a time. With the closing of thatdoor the light seems to go out of my life."

  "I hope and pray that you will always be able to say that," she answeredsolemnly.

  Then they bade each other good-night, and she disappeared into thehouse, leaving Jim free to resume his walk. He had not gone many steps,however, before he heard his name called, and, turning round, beheld noless a person than Mr. Bursfield hurrying after him. He waited for theold gentleman to come up. It was the first time that Jim had known himto venture beyond the limits of his own grounds. The circumstance was aspuzzling as it was unusual.

  "Will you permit me a short conversation with you, Mr. Standerton?" Mr.Bursfield began. "I recognised your voice as you bade Miss Deciegood-bye, and hurried after you in the hope of being able to see you."

  For a moment Jim hoped that Mr. Bursfield had come after him in order tomake amends, and to withdraw his decision regarding his marriage withHelen. This hope, however, was soon extinguished.

  "Mr. Standerton," the old gentleman continued, "you may remember what Itold you a few evenings since concerning the proposal you did me thehonour of making on behalf of my ward, Miss Decie?"

  "I remember it perfectly," Jim replied; "it is scarcely likely that Ishould forget."

  "Since then I have given the matter careful consideration, and I may saythat I have found no reason for deviating from my previous decision."

  "I am sorry indeed to hear that. The more so as your ward and myself arequite convinced that our affections are such as will not change or growweaker with time. Indeed, Mr. Bursfield, I have had another idea in mymind which I fancied might possibly commend itself to you, and induceyou to reconsider your decision. You have already told me that MissDecie's presence is necessary to your happiness. As a proof of what agood girl she is I might inform you that, only a few moments since, shetold me that she could not consent to leave you, for the reason that shefelt that she owed all she possessed to you."

  "I am glad that Helen has at least a spark of gratitude," the otheranswered with a sneer. "It is a fact that she does owe everything to me.And now for this idea of yours."

  "What I was going to propose is," said Jim, "that in six months' time,or so, you should permit me to marry your ward, and from that dayforward should take up your residence with us."

  The old man looked at him in astonishment. Then he burst into a torrentof speech.

  "Such a thing is not to be thought of," he cried. "I could not considerit for a moment; it would be little short of madness. I am a recluse. Icare less than nothing for society. My books are my only companions; Iwant, and will have, no others. Besides, I could not live in that houseof yours, were you to offer me all the gold in the world."

  Here he grasped Jim's arm so tightly that the young man almost winced.

  "I have, of course, heard of your father's death," he continued. "It issaid that he was murdered. But, surely, knowing what you do, you are notgoing to be foolish enough to believe that?"

  "And why not?" Jim enquired in great surprise. "I can do nothing else,for every circumstance of the case points to murder. Good heavens! Mr.Bursfield, if my father were not murdered, how did he meet his death?"

  The other was silent for a moment before he replied. Then he drew a stepnearer, and, looking up at Jim, asked in a low voice:

  "Have you forgotten what I said to you concerning the mystery of thehouse? Did I not tell you that one of the former owners was found deadin bed, having met his fate in identically the same manner as yourfather did? Does not this appear significant to you? If not, yourunderstanding must indeed be dull."

  The new explanation of the mystery was so extraordinary, that Jim didnot know what to say or think about it. That his father's death hadresulted from any supernatural agency had never crossed his mind.

  "I fear I am not inclined to agree with you, Mr. Bursfield," he saidsomewhat coldly. "Even if one went so far as to believe in such things,the evidence given by the doctor at the inquest would be sufficient torefute the idea."

  "In that case let us drop the subject," Bursfield answered. "My onlydesire was to warn you. It is rumoured in the village that on the nightof your father's death one of your domestics was confronted by thespectre known as the Black Dwarf, and fainted in consequence. My oldman-servant also told me this morning that your butler had seen it onanother occasion. I believe the late Lord Childerbridge also saw it, andin consequence determined to be rid of the place at any cost. No one hasbeen able to live there, and I ask you to be warned in time, Mr.Standerton. For my own part, as I have said before, though it is thehome of my ancestors, I would not pass a night at Childerbridge for thewealth of all the Indies."

  "In that case you must be more easily frightened than I am," said Jim."On the two occasions you mention, the only evidence we have to relyupon is the word of a hysterical maid-servant, and the assurance of abutler, who, for all we know to the contrary, may have treated himselfmore liberally than usual, on that particular evening, to my father'sport."

  "Scoff as you will," Bursfield returned, "but so far as you areconcerned I have done my duty. I have given you your warning, and if youdo not care to profit by it, that has nothing to do with me. And now toreturn to the matter upon which I hastened after you this evening. Irefer to your proposed marriage with my ward."

  Jim said nothing, but waited for Mr. Bursfield to continue. He had avague feeling that what he was about to hear would mean unhappiness forhimself.

  "I informed you the other day," the latter continued, "that it wasimpossible for me to sanction your proposal. I regret that I am stillcompelled to adhere to this decision. In point of fact, I feel that itis necessary for me to go even further, and to say that I must for thefuture ask you to refrain from addressing yourself to Miss Decie atall."

  "Do you mean that you refuse me permission to see her or to speak withher?" Jim asked in amazement.

  "If, by seeing her, you mean holding personal intercourse with her, Imust confess that you have judged the situation correctly. I am desirousof preventing Miss Decie from falling into the error of believing thatshe will ever be your wife."

  "But, my dear sir, this is an unheard-of proceeding. Why should youobject to me in this way? You know nothing against me, and you are awarethat I love your ward. You admitted, on the last occasion that Idiscussed the matter with you, that Miss Decie might expect little ornothing from you at your death. Why, therefore, in the name ofCommonsense, are you so anxious to prevent her marrying the man sheloves, and who is in a position to give her all the comfort andhappiness wealth and love can bestow?"

  "You have heard my decision," the other replied quietly. "I repeat thaton no consideration will I consent to a marriage between my ward andyourself. And, as I said just now, I will go even further, and forbidyou most positively for the future either to see or to communicate withher."

  "And you will not give me your reasons for taking this extraordinarystep?"

  "I will not. That is all I have to say to you, and I have the honour towish you a good evening."

  "But I have not finished yet," said Jim, whose anger by this time hadgot the better of him. "Once and for all, let me tell you this, Mr.Bursfield: I have already informed you that I am determined, at anycost, to make Miss Decie my wife. I might add now, that your tyrannicalbehaviour will only make me the more anxious to do so. If the young ladydeems it incumbent upon her to await your consent before marrying me, Iwill listen to her and not force the matter; but give her up I certainlywill not
so long as I live."

  "Beware, sir, I warn you, beware!" the other almost shrieked.

  "If that is all you have to say to me I will bid you good evening."

  But Bursfield did not answer; he merely turned on his heel and strodeback in the direction of the Dower House. Jim stood for a moment lookingafter his retreating figure, and when he could no longer distinguish it,turned and made his way homewards.

  On reaching the Manor House he informed his sister of what had takenplace between himself and Helen's guardian.

  "He must be mad to treat you so," said Alice, when her brother hadfinished. "He knows that Helen loves you, and surely he cannot be soselfish as to prefer his own comfort to her happiness."

  "I am afraid that is exactly what he does do," said Jim. "However, Isuppose I must make allowances. Old age is apt to be selfish. Besides,we have to remember, as Helen says, that she owes much to him. No! wewill do as we proposed, and wait six months, and see what happens then!"

  But though he spoke so calmly he was by no means at ease in his ownmind. He was made much happier, however, by a note which was brought tohim as he was in the act of retiring to rest.

  It was in Helen's handwriting, and he tore it open eagerly.

  "My own dear love," it ran, "Mr. Bursfield has just informed me of what took place between you this evening. It is needless for me to say how sorry I am that such a thing should have occurred. I cannot understand his behaviour in this matter. That something more than any thought of his own personal comfort makes him withhold his consent, I feel certain. Whatever happens, however, you know that I will be true to you; and if I cannot be your wife, I will be wife to no other man.

  "Your loving Helen."