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Spider

<h5>IN THE TRAIN.</h5> Within a week of the episode at Isleworth Colonel Towton took Vernon with him to Yorkshire. Inspector Drench was still searching for the fugitives and was still unable to find them. True to his reputation, The Spider had covered up his tracks in a most masterly manner, and there was not the slightest clue to indicate his whereabouts. Presumably Maunders was with him, as he had not returned to his rooms in Planet Street, nor had he been seen in any of his usual haunts about town. This was to be expected, as Maunders had, as the saying goes, "gone under," and the society wherein he had glittered so gaily would henceforth know him no more. It seemed a pity that a young man with talents and good looks and social position should have ruined his life at the very outset of a promising career. But there must have been some criminal strain in Maunders, which came to the surface in prosperity instead of being revealed by poverty. He was, as Coleridge says about people with such natures, "a fool in a circumbendibus." However, it was useless for Vernon to mourn over his old school friend's downfall. He had done his best to keep him in the straight path and had failed to prevent his feet from straying. He therefore, as there was nothing else to be done at this eleventh hour, washed his hands of him and left him, together with Hest, to the tender mercies of the law as represented by the Inspector. Now that Drench had all the threads in his own hands he resented anyone else weaving them into ropes for the necks of the criminals, as he apparently wished to secure all the glory and honour of the capture to himself. Both Towton and Vernon were rather glad that the Inspector took this view, as they wished to have nothing more to do with the matter. And, before leaving London for Bowderstyke, Vernon shut up his Covent Garden office and formally renounced his pseudonym of Nemo. As by this time he was officially recognised as his uncle's heir he could well afford to do so. Sir Edward, however, still lingered between life and death, so it was doubtful when Vernon would enter into his kingdom. While the train was flying through the autumnal landscape Towton and his guest made themselves comfortable in a first-class compartment, which they had secured to themselves, for the purpose of uninterrupted conversation. They were still deeply interested in the case and looked forward anxiously to the capture of The Spider. It was only right that he should suffer for his dastardly crime in murdering an old and inoffensive man. As to Maunders, he was evidently hand in glove with the cleverer rascal, and would undoubtedly be given a long term of imprisonment. Thus society would be rid of two dangerous people, and those with secrets would sleep the easier, knowing that one Asmodeus was dead and the other safely locked up. "But I don't know what poor Mrs. Bedge will do," said Vernon looking dolefully out of the window. "Does she know anything?" asked the Colonel, throwing down the morning paper which he had been reading and settling himself for a talk. Vernon nodded. "I saw her yesterday. She sent to ask me what had become of Constantine. I was obliged to tell her." "Do you think that was kind or wise?" "I think so, decidedly. It was better that Mrs. Bedge should learn the truth from a friend than see it crudely printed in the daily papers. And there it is bound to appear sooner or later." "Drench will have to catch The Spider first," said the Colonel coolly. "No easy task, as we know. What did she say?" "At first she declined to believe it, badly as Maunders has treated her. She kept insisting that it was all a mistake and that Constantine would appear to put matters right." "What wonderful faith these women have, Vernon." "Bless them, yes. They go by their hearts entirely." "In that case," remarked Towton drily, "Mrs. Bedge must have known that Maunders is not the saint she tries to make him out to be." "I did not say that she went by her instinct," replied Vernon equally drily; "there is a difference between that and heart-love. Because Constantine is her sister's child and her adopted son Mrs. Bedge's heart, which he has almost broken, cherishes him fondly; but her instinct must have told her long ago that the fellow is a scamp of the worst sort." "He's a thorough-paced scoundrel," said the Colonel vigorously. "Mrs. Bedge declined to take that view of him. She wailed that he had a tender heart and was led away because he had a weak nature. In fact, her defence was that of a man being his own worst enemy." "Maunders certainly was. He had all the gifts of the gods, yet----" "Yet fell because the greatest gift of honest purpose was not given," finished Vernon. "Hang it all, Towton, scamp as the fellow is, I am sorry for him." "I'm not," growled Towton savagely. "Ah, you did not play with him as a child, nor did you go to school with him, my friend. Although I'm bound to say that Constantine was always a selfish chap--what you would call a rotter." "I would call him nothing of the sort, Vernon. I detest slang." "That's a mistake. Slang frequently hits the nail on the head when the King's English misses it altogether. Slang conveys much in little, and----" "Oh, the deuce take your philology. Go on talking about Mrs. Bedge." "There's no more to say. Maunders has pretty well drained her, but she has enough to live on, and the Hampstead house is her own. Towards the end of our conversation, however, she let out that she was not surprised at Conny's behaviour, as she rather expected it." "H'm! Somewhat contradictory. Why?" "Well, it seems that Maunders' father, the Greek, Mavrocordato, you know, was rather a bad egg himself. He worried his wife--Mrs. Bedge's sister, that is--into her grave, and swindled his partner before he committed suicide." "I never heard that before." "No. Mrs. Bedge always kept it quiet for the boy's sake until she let it out to me in her grief yesterday. Mavrocordato--he took the English name of Maunders--bolted with a heap of his partner's money, and shot himself at Corfu, whither he was traced by detectives. Mrs. Bedge adopted the son, and did her best to train him up as an honest man. She tried her hardest, I'm certain, but what's bred in the bone, you know." Colonel Towton folded his arms and stared straightly before him. "Poor devil. He was considerably handicapped by such a father. I wonder, Vernon, for how many of our deeds we are responsible, when you take heredity into consideration. Some sin because they like it, but many because they can't help it." "Let us give Maunders the benefit of the doubt, and say that the sins of his father were visited on him. And, of course, we must not forget that Hest is an extremely clever and strong-minded man, who could, and did, easily control Maunders' weaker nature." "There's something to be said there," assented the Colonel thoughtfully. "I daresay Hest entangled the poor wretch in crime before he well knew what he was about, and once committed he would be compelled to remain in the mud. But Hest himself, Vernon. What do you make of him?" "I don't know enough about him to give an opinion. Perhaps when we see the sister she may tell us something." "Oh, by the way, I received a letter from her two days ago, about which I intended to speak to you, Vernon. All this bother and worry put it out of my head. I left it at home, unfortunately, but I can tell you the gist of it." Vernon looked interested. "What did she write about, and why to you?" "She wrote to me because she wants me to marry Ida." "I really don't see what she has to do with that," remarked Vernon with a shrug; "for Ida is surely of an age to choose for herself." "I always told you, Vernon," said Towton, deliberately crossing one leg over the other, "that Ida, being less masterful than Miss Hest, is usually guided by her, and that I objected to the guidance. Ida liked me more than anyone else before that handsome scamp came along. Then she became infatuated with him, and Miss Hest did her best to induce her to marry him. But the sad death of Dimsdale took Ida's thoughts off Maunders, and--as I judge from the letter Ida wrote me from Gerby Hall--Miss Hest tried to get her to love the man again. Failing that, she attempted to get Ida to marry her brother, only he came up to London, not feeling disposed to fall in with his sister's views. You can therefore see that Miss Hest sways Ida a great deal, and for that reason I have come to get her away from such dangerous company--doubly dangerous now that we know Francis Hest is The Spider." Vernon shrugged his shoulders. "It's rather hard to blame the sister for the brother's delinquencies," he said judicially. "And now that he and Maunders are out of the running she will place her weight in your scale. In fact, from your late observation, she has already done so. You should be very pleased, Colonel, whereas you seem to me to be ungrateful." "I don't want Ida to be induced to marry me by Miss Hest's representations, Vernon," said Towton hotly. "It's a liberty on her part to interfere with my wooing. Lady Corsoon comes down to-morrow with her daughter, and I shall ask her to go to Gerby Hall and bring Ida back with her. Then we will have finished with these shady people, and Ida will marry me of her own free will." "Well, Colonel," replied Vernon pacifically, "I hope things will turn out as you expect. But what did Miss Hest write about?" "About her brother. She asked me if I had seen him, and what was the matter with him." Vernon looked puzzled. "I don't understand. Does she suspect----" "She suspects nothing," broke in Towton impetuously. "But she stated that she had received a letter from her brother four or five days ago saying that he intended to leave England for ever, as he was tired of civilisation. He enclosed a Deed of Gift, making over Gerby Hall and its acres to her, as he intended--so he said--to earn his own living when abroad. Naturally, Miss Hest could not understand this, and wrote asking me what was the matter." "Did you explain?" "No. I wrote saying that I was coming down to my own place, and would tell her all I knew when I arrived. But you can see, Vernon, that Hest is still in London." "He was, six or seven days ago, but he may have gone away since," said Vernon cautiously. "Who drew up the Deed of Gift?" "I can't say. Miss Hest did not explain that. Why?" "Because if it was some lawyer we might be able to question him regarding Hest's latest movements. Humph! So Hest has bolted. Well, I'm not surprised at that. But I am rather astonished he should surrender his property." "Oh, well. I expect his business as The Spider has made him quite a rich man. Remember, the blackguard has been blackmailing successfully for three or four years. He knows that his sister has nothing save what she makes by her reciting, so perhaps his conscience smote him, and so he made his Deed of Gift. It's a lucky thing for her, as Gerby Hall is a fine old place, although rather gloomy, and there is a decent income of one thousand a year attached to it, farms, village rents, and all that sort of thing, you know." "It's queer Hest should have behaved so well, when he is such a scoundrel, Towton. You told me that he quarrelled with his sister, and certainly from the remarks she made about him to me, she did not seem over fond of him." "Blood is thicker than water," said the Colonel sententiously, "and dog does not eat dog." "I agree with your first proverb, but not with the second, Towton. Miss Hest is not of the same breed, morally speaking, as her brother, and no doubt will be horrified when she learns of his wickedness." "Probably. You always defend her." "I am just," said Vernon coldly. "So far as I can see, she is a clever woman of good principles, although, I admit, rather masterful. Her brother has done a wise thing in handing her over the property, whatever his reasons may be. She will be an admirable mistress." "Oh, as to that, Hest was a great benefactor to all the villages around, and the people swear by them. If he has bolted with Maunders, Drench will have to let the matter drop. But, if he is captured, no one here will believe that he is a murderer and a blackmailer. They know him only as a good landlord and a kind friend." "And we know him as a criminal. Strange that two such diverse natures can exist side by side." "I daresay Hest hoped that his good deeds would pay for his bad ones," said the Colonel carelessly. "I shall be glad if he escapes, richly as he deserves to be hanged for murdering Dimsdale. It will be just as well if the whole thing is buried in oblivion. Then I shall marry Ida, you Miss Corsoon, and Miss Hest can play the lady of the manor here, as she pleases." "What about the Dimsdale property?" "If it belongs to Lady Corsoon she must have it; if Maunders' story is a lie, which it may be, I shall stick to it on behalf of my wife. However, we may hear from Venery of Singapore in a few weeks. My letter must have nearly reached him by this time." "You can learn the truth of the story nearer home," said Vernon after a pause. "Miss Jewin, the housekeeper at Gerby Hall, told the story to Maunders, according to his own account." "I shall question her, you may be sure," said the Colonel grimly; "but I want to hear from Venery also. Oh, I'm sick of talking about these things," he added with a yawn. "It's time for forty winks." And forthwith he closed his eyes, after settling himself comfortably in his seat. Vernon, not inclined to rest, lighted a fresh cigar and buried himself in a book. It was five o'clock when the travellers reached Bradmoor, the nearest station to Bowderstyke. It was ten miles to the valley, but the road was excellent, and Towton's motor-car awaited them. In ten minutes the baggage was packed away, and Vernon with his host was safely ensconced in the back part of the machine, which was covered with a hood. Towton asked Vernon if he would care to drive, but as the offer was refused and the Colonel himself did not feel in a sporting humour, the conduct of the journey was left to the smart chauffeur. He appeared to be well acquainted with the country, and as the road was somewhat lonely, the motor travelled towards Bowderstyke at a great rate of speed. The motion was exhilarating, and the view on either side of the roadway extremely picturesque, so Vernon enjoyed himself greatly in the fresh air, after the close atmosphere and the monotony of the train. With the wind blowing in his face and the smooth, easy gliding motion, he felt like a flying bird, or at all events as though mounted on one. The country was wild and barren, consisting mainly of interminable stretches of moorland, mounting up on either side of the road to considerable heights. Occasionally there was a dip covered with green grass and trees, already beginning to shed their leaves, but for the most part the sombre moors, darkening in the failing light, spread solemnly to right and left. It was rarely that a house or a village was passed, and only every now and then could Vernon catch a glimpse of cattle or human beings. "This country would get on my nerves," he said to his companion. "It is like the weird landscape described by Browning in his Childe Roland poem. Those telegraph poles are the sole signs of civilisation." "Oh, we'll come to a more cheery aspect shortly," said Towton smiling; "for my part, I love the gloom and the loneliness of our moors. Many a time in the garish Indian days, with a burning sun in the hateful blue sky, have I longed for dear old Yorkshire." "Everyone to his taste," said Vernon with a shrug. "I prefer something much more cheerful." "You are a cockney at heart, Vernon." "I daresay. London is good enough for me." Towards the end of the ten mile stretch from the station signs of civilisation became more frequent. Here and there was a village with cultivated fields around it. Cattle were pastured in enclosed paddocks, and men and women with laughing children trudged along the high road, looking after the motor with great curiosity, for the machine was yet a novelty in that lonely district. Twice the road ran directly through a village, and Vernon had an opportunity of seeing the solid grey stone houses, which were suited to the Calvinistic looks of the country. And the people themselves appeared to be what the Scotch call "dour." And now the moors began to grow higher and to close in on the white road with a gradual menace. Leaving the comparatively broad lands, the motor glided into a valley, which grew even more narrow as they proceeded. A babbling stream prattled down the centre of this, over a stony bed, and beside it the road twisted along like a white serpent, protected by a parapet of rough stones. Already the crimson light of the sunset had died out of the western sky, but the moon was full, and, soaring high in the dark blue dome of the firmament, poured floods of light into the gully, to use a Colonial expression--for by this time it was little else. And looking upward, Vernon could see star after star peep out to attend on the majestic orb. "What do you call this place?" he asked abruptly. Towton glanced at him in surprise. "Didn't I tell you? It's Bowderstyke." "Great Scott, Colonel, is your house situated in this isolated, damp spot. I should think you never saw the sun from one year's end to the other, save when it was directly overhead." "Oh, the valley broadens out further on. This is merely the entrance." "What the deuce do the inhabitants live on? It's like living in a drain." "Oh, confound you, Vernon," said the Colonel half annoyed. "It's one of the most beautiful places in the world. If you were a Yorkshire tyke you would admit that. There is only the village of Bowderstyke a mile away, and the inhabitants live by pasturing their cattle on the moors on the heights above. Also there is a weaving and spinning industry, the mills being driven by water power, of which there is no lack." "This stream doesn't seem to have much water," said Vernon disdainfully. "You should see it in winter when the snows melt on the moors," advised the Colonel. "Besides, the water from the mills comes from Hest's new reservoir, and there is a never-failing supply. This stream used to be much broader, and its bed contained much more water, but when the Bolly Dam was constructed, of course the supply dwindled. Pipes run under this road to supply the several villages you saw just before we entered the valley." "Where is the dam which our criminal friend built?" Towton pointed straight ahead. "Round the next corner you could see it, but we do not go so far. There was a small lake there up on the moors which fed this stream. Hest simply got engineers to dam the lake and prevent too much water going to waste down the bed of this torrent. The dam runs right across the valley a mile and a half beyond my house." "But isn't that dangerous. If it burst this valley would be flooded from end to end, and everybody would be drowned, to say nothing of the way in which the village would be smashed up." "Well, yes." Towton pinched his nether lip uneasily. "I've thought of that myself many a time. But I was abroad when the dam was constructed. There certainly--as I have often said--should be an outlet for the water other than the pipes which supply Bowderstyke and the villages outside the valley, capacious as those same pipes undoubtedly are. Assuredly, if the reservoir burst there would be great loss of life and destruction of property. But the Bolly Dam is very strongly built, so I have no fear of anything happening. You can see it from my house, and we'll pay it a visit in a day or two. Meantime, this is Bowderstyke village." By this time they were passing through quite a number of small houses, from the windows of which lights gleamed cheerfully. The motor soon left these behind, then swerved to the right--looking up from the entrance to the valley--and shortly began to climb a winding road. At this point, as the Colonel had foretold, the vale broadened abruptly, and the high moors stood away so as to form a kind of deep cup. Up the side of this, the road along which they were travelling sloped upward for some distance, then turned on itself and sloped still higher. Shortly the motor attained the highest level, and in the moonlight Vernon could see the moors stretching for miles, lonely and romantic. A straight road ran parallel with the upper portion of the valley for close upon half a mile. Then appeared a miniature forest, encircled by a high stone wall. This was undoubtedly artificial, as the moorlands were treeless, and the unexpected woodland looked out of place amidst its bleak surroundings. The motor soon arrived at two tall stone pillars crested with heraldic monsters, and passing through these, spun up a short avenue to stop before a large white house, brilliantly lighted up. Spacious lawns opened up before the mansion, interspersed with flowerbeds, now bloomless, and the whole was shut in by the fairy forest, as Vernon called it in his own mind. "Here we are," said Colonel Towton jumping from the car. "Allow me to welcome you to The Grange, my friend." "Thank heaven the journey's at an end," said Vernon. <h4>CHAPTER XVIII.</h4> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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