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<h4>CHAPTER XIV</h4> <h5>A CLUE</h5> Needless to say, as it had been agreed to keep the discovery secret for the present, Hendle did not discharge Mrs. Beatson forthwith. Such an action, justifiable though it would have been, might lead to awkward questions being asked, and Carrington, for obvious reasons, advised caution. As things now stood the housekeeper would keep silent for her own sake, so the next day she went about her usual duties as if nothing had happened. None of the servants knew about her excursion, as it was supposed she had remained in her own room, according to her usual custom. So far as the outside world was concerned everything was safe, and the two men had time to look into matters at their leisure. It made Rupert's gorge rise to have the treacherous woman under his roof, but until he was assured of the truth of the will, he did not dare to get rid of her. Driven to bay, Mrs. Beatson being a woman, who would wreck continents for a whim, would ruin herself and everyone else in a whirlwind of rage. Being left alone, she nursed her disappointed anger in secret. Rupert's expressed intention was to take the will up to London and show it to the family lawyer, who would be able to explain matters. He had intended to do this the very next day, but Carrington dissuaded him from being too impulsive. It was no use for the Squire to burn his boats too soon, said the astute barrister, and to make public the document would be to burn his boats with a vengeance. "I think you should take time and turn the matter over in your mind," observed Carrington artfully. "It is just as well to be cautious." "I don't see what I gain by waiting," argued the Squire. "The most honest thing to do is to take the will to the lawyers. I shall have to do that sooner or later, you know." "Will you?" questioned Carrington significantly. "Of course. What do you take me for?" If Carrington had spoken his mind, he would have answered that he took the young man for a superfine fool. To throw away a fine position, a fine house, and a fine income out of sheer honesty, was not Carrington's notion of common sense. But then the barrister's notions of right and wrong had become somewhat warped by a struggling life. A penniless man is always more unscrupulous in dealing with money matters than one who has never been poor, and it seemed to Carrington that his friend's self-sacrificing honor was the result of ignorance. Had Hendle lived from hand to mouth, he would not be so ready to surrender his possessions. Moreover Carrington wanted to pick Rupert's pockets, as Mallien surmised he would. This was the real reason why he urged Hendle not to strip himself of his wealth. But such urging had to be done delicately, for the Squire was by no means a man to be handled easily. With this in his mind the barrister replied carefully, and did not translate his real thoughts into words. "I take you for one of the best fellows in the world," he said warmly; "but there is such a thing as overdoing honesty, you know." "I don't know," retorted the other positively. "One must be one thing or the other. There can be no tampering with honor." "Of course not. I should never suggest such a thing. However, I do suggest that you should wait for a day or so before seeing your lawyer." "Why?" "You forget that the will is mixed up with a crime. If your lawyers decide that Mallien must have the money, the matter is bound to be made public. In that case it will become known to Lawson that Leigh possessed the will. I leave you to guess what complications will ensue." Hendle tugged at his brown moustache moodily. "It's an infernally difficult business," he said after a pause. "What do you suggest?" Carrington, rejoicing that he had succeeded thus far, had his answer ready. "I suggest that you wait for a few days, and meanwhile come with me to the vicarage." "What for?" "To look at the sundial, and see where the will was buried." "What good will that do?" "One never knows," said Carrington sententiously. "Who do you think buried the will?" "The man who murdered Leigh to get it." "And his name?" "Pouf! Ask me another. How do I know?" "Mrs. Beatson?" "Well, why not she as well as another? She had much to gain by possessing the will, and the will was in her possession last night. But for the chance of our stumbling across her when she went to unearth it, we would never have known that." "I can't think that Mrs. Beatson, bad as she is, would commit a murder," mused the Squire reflectively. "After all, if she had the will on the night Leigh was got rid of, and committed the crime, why should she bury it?" "My dear fellow, that is where the woman's artfulness comes in," said Carrington quickly. "She had to give some reason for possessing the will. By hiding it in a hole, and then writing to herself that anonymous letter saying where it was to be found, she does away with all suspicion against her." "Not in your mind apparently," said Hendle, dryly. "Of course not. But a long course of criminal law has opened my eyes to the habits of the animals. I may be unduly suspicious, I grant you, still the fact remains that the story Mrs. Beatson told us last night is too thin. Granting that the woman is innocent, why should the real criminal tell her where to find that which he risked his life to obtain?" "It does seem strange. And yet----" "Oh, you are full of scruples, Hendle!" cried the barrister pettishly. "What is Mrs. Beatson to you that you should defend her so warmly?" "She is a woman, and I have a great respect for women." Carrington made a grimace. "You answer like a raw boy. My experience of the sex has not led me to respect any single one." "Yet you know Dorinda?" "There speaks the lover. Well then, I do respect her, if that concession will satisfy your chivalrous ideas. But I don't believe this cock-and-bull story of Mrs. Beatson, and I certainly don't respect her." "Neither do I. All the same, I credit her story." Carrington shrugged his shoulders at this persistent optimism. "Then let us agree to consider her innocent until we prove her to be guilty. But you must see that if you interview your lawyers to-day, within the week a whole avalanche of troubles will descend on your thick head." "Well," replied the Squire, wavering, "I shall wait for a few days, as you advise. I wonder what Dorinda will say?" "Don't tell her," said the barrister quickly, for it was difficult enough for him to deal with one honest person without tackling a second. "She will tell her father about the discovered will if you do." "I don't care if she does. Mallien has to know some time, since he is so deeply concerned in the matter." "Hendle," said Carrington seriously, "you are a child. Don't say a word to Mallien, or to his daughter, who might tell him, until you have seen your lawyers. That's common sense." On reflection Rupert was obliged to confess that it was, since his cousin would certainly make trouble straightway. It would be best to have the opinion of the lawyers beforehand, so that the situation might be adjusted so far as possible before the probable inheritor came into the matter. Of course he knew that Dorinda would tell her father nothing if asked to keep silent, but to so ask would be to lay another burden on her. Mallien was suspicious, brooding and pertinacious. If he thought that she was keeping anything from him, he certainly would never rest until he learned what it was. "I shall not tell Dorinda until I have seen the lawyers," said Rupert. "And you will see them----?" "In two or three days. Now let us go out for a walk--to the vicarage if you like. I can't stay indoors worrying over things which at present I cannot remedy. Come!" "Won't it be better for us to have another look at the will before we go?" "I don't think so. I know the will by heart, and have locked it safely away, Carrington. It disinherits Frederick, from whom I am descended, legally enough; and if the lawyers are of the same opinion with their larger knowledge, why then my cousin must enter into his own." "There is the Statute of Limitations, you know," hinted Carrington pointedly. "I shall take advantage of that and of anything else if I can do so consistently with my honor. But what is the use of arguing?" said Hendle with a burst of bitterness, for the position pained him greatly. "We can do nothing just now. Let us go for a walk." Carrington was too politic to press the matter further, as he saw how the Squire winced. But he had by no means given up the hope of inducing Hendle to refrain from publishing the possible loss of his estates, and intended to talk about the affair when the young man was more off his guard. Now with diplomatic skill bred from years of experience of shady doings, he put on his straw hat and sauntered out of doors along with his host, talking of many matters which had nothing to do with the burning question of the disputed inheritance. But as they walked down the avenue Carrington spoke of a matter which really interested him. And that was of a qualm he felt when passing under the spreading branches of the oaks. He had felt that qualm before when he had first visited Barship, and in the same place. "I'm walking over my grave again," he muttered uneasily, and although he would not confess to superstition, the coincidence struck him as disagreeable. "What's that?" asked Rupert absently. He had been busy with his own painful thoughts and had not paid much attention to his companion's light nothings. "You know the saying that when one shivers, or has what the Scotch call a grue, one is walking over one's grave. Well, I had some such uncanny feeling in this very avenue when I came to see you first, and now, hang it all, I have it again. I don't like it." Hendle, now more attentive, laughed. "A lawyer and superstitious?" "Oh, bosh! I am not in the least superstitious. But there are some things which are hard to explain. It's gone!" Carrington wiped his perspiring face and looked round with an air of relief. "What's gone?" "That feeling of walking over my own grave." "Rubbish!" said Hendle, who was much too stolid to believe in such things. "I expect it was only a sudden chill." "I dare say, although it is odd that I should get a chill in this blazing sunshine," muttered the barrister, who was more impressed than he cared to admit. "But there are more things in heaven and earth----" "What a well-worn quotation! You need bucking up. Come into the inn and we will each have a tankard." "I don't like drinking in the morning." "Nor do I. I never do. But all this worry has knocked me out of time and you aren't feeling up to the mark. Come along. Mrs. Pansey has known me all the days of my life and is distinctly a good sort. I often look in and have a chat." "As an Olympian descending among mortals," said Carrington smiling, for by this time his odd feeling had passed away. Mrs. Pansey, who was a rosy-faced, stout old dame, received her landlord with respectful joy, and soon supplied them with tankards of cool beer acceptable to the thirst on a hot day. Carrington noted how popular Rupert was with the villagers, who came and went, passed and repassed, each with a curtsey, or a touch of the forelock. And Hendle greeted one and all by name with kindly inquiries and genial smiles. A feeling of envy stirred the barrister's selfish heart, but he cynically consoled himself with the reflection that very soon Rupert would be ousted in favor of Mallien. Out of sheer annoyance with this favorite of Fortune, he would have liked to see such a toppling down, but nevertheless, for the gaining of his own ends, he was determined to prevent such a change of landlords. Meanwhile, he listened to the incessant chatter of Mrs. Pansey, which was mostly concerned with the new vicar. "Such a nice gentleman they say he is," she observed, beaming, "and will be here in a fortnight lodging with Mrs. Jones while the Vicarage is being put to rights. His family come later. Have you seen him, sir?" "No," answered Rupert promptly; "but my friend and I are now on our way to the Vicarage to see what's doing. We may meet him there." "I don't think so, sir. He came yesterday to set the men to work and won't come to-day. The workmen are painting and papering the house and digging up the garden and making a nice place of it. Mrs. Jabber remains on as caretaker until the family arrive. She'd like to stay on altogether, but Lord bless you, sir, what would the vicar do with such a slut? He's a much more particular gentleman than Mr. Leigh, I do hear." Hendle put an end to the landlady's babble by finishing his beer and departing, although the commonplace gossip had distracted his worrying mind for a few moments. As Carrington crossed the square beside his host he ventured a remark. "Let us hurry on, Hendle, and have a look at the hole by the sundial before the workmen turn up the ground." "What good will that do?" snapped the Squire sharply. "One never knows. It is just as well to look round. Who knows but what the assassin may not have left some clue?" Hendle stared. "What clue could he, or would he, possibly leave?" Carrington laughed. "Oh, it's only an idea--a silly one, maybe. But I have an idea that we will stumble upon some clue." "You and your ideas, Carrington. First your walking over your confounded grave business and now the chance of picking up some impossible clue. It's all imagination." The barrister laughed again, but said no more. Hendle was less amiable than usual, which was scarcely to be wondered at considering what was in his mind. He walked fast enough toward their destination, as if he wished to rid himself of disagreeable thoughts by swift movement. Shortly they came to the rickety gate, and passed up the grass-grown avenue, dank and unwholesome, and not to be warmed even by the blazing summer sun. The surroundings were the same, but the place had lost its uncanny isolating atmosphere, and there was a stir of life in house and grounds, which showed that the place was waking up. Many men were moving in and out of the open doors; there was the noise of conversation and cheerful whistling, and scaffolding was being erected against the ivy-draped walls. Even in the jungle two gardeners were at work cutting down the tall tangled forest of weeds, and opening out the spaces between the trees. Most of the men employed were strangers, but some of the village workers had been pressed into service and these greeted the Squire and his friend respectfully. Hendle nodded absently in return, then strolled through the bare house, watching the ancient paper being stripped off the walls, and the replacing of mouldering boards. Afterward he and Carrington walked into the jungle and, at the far end of a winding path, found the lichen-covered sundial, half buried among luxuriant weeds. It had not yet been disturbed. "I say, Hendle," remarked Carrington, as they crushed the lush grasses under foot, "this dial is pretty well hidden in this jungle." "Yes?" "I gather from that," continued the barrister musingly, "that it would not be easy to find." Rupert nodded. "Not unless a person knew where to find it," he answered. "Exactly. Well then, if the assassin of Leigh was a stranger, he would never have buried the will in a place of which he knew nothing." "You infer that the assassin of Leigh was not a stranger?" "I do. And that makes me believe still more that Mrs. Beatson is the guilty person. She knew where to find the sundial in this tangle of greenery and in the darkness of night. Therefore she must have----" "Oh, let us give her the benefit of the doubt," retorted the Squire, cutting short this theorizing and walking forward to peer among the weeds. "I say, here is the hole--not a very deep one." It certainly was but a shallow hole. The earth had simply been scraped away for a few inches, the document deposited and the loose mold heaped up in a kind of miniature mound. At least the two presumed so as Mrs. Beatson had swept aside a small quantity of earth when uncovering the parchment. There was nothing much to see, and after staring for a moment or so, Hendle turned away moodily. Scarcely had he done so when Carrington touched him on the shoulder, and drew his attention to a small object which glittered in the long grass near the edge of the hole. "What's that?" he asked, pointing with his finger. Rupert said nothing, but stooped and picked up the object. "Why," he said, in a tone of surprise, "it's the jewel which Mallien wears on his watch chain." The barrister exclaimed also, as he stared at the gleam in Hendle's hand. It certainly was the opal in the matrix, to which Mallien had drawn his attention at their first meeting. Such a distinctive ornament was not easily forgotten. After a look and an exclamation he drew back and pondered. "Surely Mallien never----" "Nonsense! Nonsense!" interrupted the Squire sharply. "What can Mallien have to do with the matter?" "That is what I am trying to think out," said Carrington dryly. "You must admit that it is strange." "What is strange?" asked Rupert, determined not to commit himself. "Finding this ornament here, near where the will was hidden. If we had found it on the high road now----" "Yes! Yes! It is odd, I admit," interrupted the Squire again; "but that does not prove Mallien's implication in this sorry business." "It proves that he was here in this secluded spot at one time or another, since he lost the opal among those grasses." "Mallien may have wandered round the garden as we are doing." "We came deliberately here because the will was found in this place by Mrs. Beatson. But what took Mallien to the sundial?" Rupert slipped the ornament into his waistcoat pocket. "You will find it difficult to fasten the guilt of the crime on Mallien," he said dryly. "You say that because the man is Miss Mallien's father and you wish to shield her," returned the barrister coolly. "All the same, if Lawson, for instance, knew the circumstances, he would build up a very pretty case against our disagreeable friend." "As how?" "Mallien knew about the will before Leigh was murdered, as you know from the story of Mrs. Beatson. The will meant much to him, so it is just possible that he came to the Vicarage to get it from Leigh. Failing to get it given to him freely, he struck----" "No! No! I can't believe that." "What else can you believe when the ornament, which we both know belongs to Mallien, is found on the edge of the hole where the will was buried?" "Mallien may be able to explain." "Oh, undoubtedly. And the more precisely he explains the less I shall believe his explanation. He has missed this ornament, you may be sure, long ago, and has had plenty of time to make up a story accounting for the loss. However, whether he is guilty or innocent, the finding of this opal in the matrix will settle him." "In what way?" "Hang it, Hendle, you are slow in the uptake," cried Carrington exasperated. "Why, a child could understand. All you have to do is to go to Mallien and threaten to show this jewel to Lawson, calling me as a witness, and accusing him of murdering the vicar. Then he'll climb down and you won't need to consider him with regard to the fortune." Rupert said nothing for the moment, but turned on his heel and forced his way through the tangled path back to the rickety gate. When he and the barrister were well on the road home, he spoke again and very dryly. "It seems to me, Carrington, that you regard me as a man who will do anything for money. I think I told you that my honor was dearer to me than money. I intend to give up the property to Mallien, if it is legally his, even if it leaves me, as it will, a pauper. The finding of this jewel will make no difference. You understand?" "Yes. But if the man is guilty he should be punished." "We can't be sure if he is guilty." Carrington laughed grimly. "It seems to me that what we have discovered is an excellent proof of his guilt when taken in connection with the known facts of the case." "I don't want to think about it." "But you must. For the sake of justice, if not for your own sake. Confound it, Hendle, take advantage of the chance which Providence has placed in your hands to save your skin. Only you and I and Mrs. Beatson know about the will being discovered; only you and I know about this jewel which brings Mallien perilously near the gallows. For your sake I shall hold my tongue, and you can have this Timon on toast." "There is something in that, Carrington. But I can't expect you to hold your tongue for nothing." "Oh, my terms won't be exorbitant. And, of course," added the barrister, making light of his knavery, "as a poor man I must make hay while the sun shines." "Oh, that is your opinion, is it?" asked Rupert dryly, and, on receiving a smiling nod, walked on rapidly in silence. He had laid a trap for Carrington and the man had fallen into it. He was little more than a blackmailer, who was prepared to make use of his power to enrich himself. To prevent such a thing Rupert temporized, although he could scarcely stop himself from catching Carrington by the throat and hurling him into the ditch. "You must give me time to think over the matter," said Hendle at last. "Oh, there's no hurry. We are both on the same string, you know. We can make Mallien squeal now." "Yes," assented Rupert, wondering that the man should think him capable of such baseness, "we can make him squeal!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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