Turnpike House — Chapters 21-22
CHAPTER XXI. RUTH IS COMFORTED.
Presently Mr. Cass raised his head and looked at Geoffrey with such a woebegone expression that the young man started.
It seemed as if the merchant had grown suddenly old; lines appeared on his face which had never been there before; his eyes were sunken, and his shoulders had bowed themselves as though the whole weight of his misery had been placed upon them.
The transformation was at once startling and painful.
"Don't take it so much to heart," said Heron.
"After all, we may both be wrong about Marshall."
"I hope so.
I trust so."
was the hoarse reply.
"But if he is guilty, what am I to think of myself?
I had a suspicion, on the grounds of which I have told you, yet here I have allowed an innocent woman to spend all these years in gaol, when that scoundrel should have been in her place."
"As to that, you could hardly have accused your sister's husband."
"He was not married to her at the time.
If I had insisted upon an explanation that night when he came in torn and dirty at yonder window I might have prevented the marriage.
I do not think that even the mad love that Inez had for him would have stood such a test.
But Mrs. Jenner held her tongue when she should have spoken out, so I had no clue."
"Even if she had spoken out she could have done nothing.
She was silent because she fancied that Neil, in his madness, had killed his father;
she never suspected Marshall.
But retrospection can do no good; the thing is done, and what we have to consider now is how best to get out of it.
If Marshall is guilty he must give us a written confession and leave the country--without our connivance.
What purpose would it serve to have him suffer at this stage?
Besides, from all I have heard from Mrs. Jenner her scamp of a husband quite deserved his fate.
Marshall's confession would set her free----" "At the cost of publicity!"
burst out Mr. Cass.
"How [*** *** ***] disgrace, Heron?
Think of my sister, of Ruth, of Amy, my married daughter; it would mean ruin to them all.
And you, how could you marry into such a family?"
"Oh, as to that I am not afraid to face the world.
I should be a mean hound if I were to visit Marshall's sins on Ruth.
Whatever happens, you may be certain that Ruth will be my wife, and that she will receive from me all the love and affection due to so charming and honest a girl."
"Thank you, Heron."
He grasped the young man's hand.
"But," exclaimed the younger man, "as to Marshall, when we know the truth for certain we will decide how to act.
Above all we must not be in a hurry.
You say you gave the links to him?"
"I did.
And what is more, he wore them on that night.
I remember his calling my attention to them at dinner."
"Humph!
Then he alone could have lost that one at the Turnpike House.
I suppose you did not notice if one was missing from his cuff when he came into this room?"
"No, I never gave the matter a thought.
There was no reason why I should.
I believed that he had been attacked by gypsies--you know how many there are always about these lonely roads.
An assault of that nature would have been quite enough to account for the mud on his clothes and their torn condition.
I never thought he had met Jenner."
"Was there bad blood between them?"
"Well.
I am not quite sure.
It seems that Marshall had persecuted Mrs. Jenner with his attentions, but her husband was not of the sort to take any trouble about that.
He and Marshall I had been boon companions for a long time.
Whether they parted on account of come row, I don't know;
but one thing is clear, that Jenner saw Marshall again when Marshall called on Julian Roper to discount that bill, and finding that it was a forgery stole it to come down here and blackmail his former friend."
"How could he find out that it was a forgery?"
"Oh, very easily.
Roper might have talked, or Jenner might have listened.
At all events he knew the truth.
I suppose they met that night at the Turnpike House."
"No," said Heron, suddenly recollecting his conversation with the dead man's widow.
"Jenner had seen Marshall before he came to the Turnpike House.
Of course, Marshall might have followed him and watched him through the window; then seeing the pocket-book--which he supposed would contain the bill--he might have killed him and cleared off.
But this Marshall must tell us; that's if he can be made to tell."
"I'll force it out of him," Mr. Cass said, grimly.
"Those sleeve-links, for instance; he has to explain how he came to lose one at the Turnpike House.
I remember after Marshall went away from here the housemaid brought me the pair enamelled the pack of cards and the horse, which she said Mr. Marshall had left in his room.
I thought he must be tired of them, and that he had probably taken the other pair with him by mistake.
So I put those he had left into my desk, and I thought no more about it.
When Mildred wanted a brooch for her doll I separated them and gave one to the child--the one with the horse.
The one with the pack of cards I left on my table, intending to give it to Ethel."
"I have the champagne bottle link which was dropped under the window," Geoffrey said.
"Now, what has become of the other one, the ballet, girl?"
"No doubt that also will be found at the Turnpike House," said Mr. Cass.
"I must tell you that the fastening of the links was somewhat worn, and that a slight tug would have, broken them.
In putting his arm through the window to grasp the knife, which Mrs. Jenner says was on the table, I daresay Marshall's cuff caught in a nail and the links were torn apart.
Both would have fallen to the ground.
One has been found, the other, no doubt, is still on the ground."
"In that case we must make a search to-morrow," said Geoffrey, rising.
"No, we must see Marshall first," Mr. Cass said, very decidedly.
"I would go over with you to-night; but that would make Inez suspicious.
I do not want her to know anything of all this.
And, after all, we may be mistaken; but he must give us an explanation.
I will write a note to him this evening and ask him to come over to-morrow.
You call here, Heron, at eleven o'clock, and we will force the truth out of him."
"Very well, I think that would be best.
I hope he will be able to exculpate himself.
If Mrs. Marshall should get to know----" "She would fight for her husband tooth and nail.
You don't know what a tigress my sister is when she is roused; the Spanish blood, I suppose.
By the way," he went on, looking at Heron with a faint smile.
"I am half Spanish, too, and no doubt I am credited with a fiery temper Confess, now, Heron, you thought from my silence that I had killed this man?"
Geoffrey nodded with some embarrassment.
"I did," he said, frankly.
"But can you blame me?
Appearances were against you."
Mr. Cass shrugged his shoulders.
"No, I don't blame you," he said.
"But you might have given me the benefit of the doubt.
Appearances are against Marshall, too.
Well, we shall see if he is as wrongly suspected as I was.
Are you going now?
It is early."
"I should like to see Ruth for a few minutes."
"Well, she will be quite as glad to see you.
She is dull, poor girl, and the horror of this thing--so much as she knows of it at least--has got on her nerves.
Go and see her, and come here at eleven to-morrow.
Of course, you will tell her nothing."
"Certainly not.
Good-night."
"By the way, I forgot to tell you that Webster is coming down next week.
He is much better, and I think the change will do him good."
"Humph!
Will you tell him of this discovery?"
"I don't know.
What do you think?"
"I should say nothing until we are quite certain.
Let us our own counsel for the honour of the family."
"I think you are right," said Mr. Cass with a sigh.
"Heaven grant, for the happiness of us all, that we are wrong in our suspicions.
Now go, my dear hoy, and leave me to think the matter over.
Ruth is waiting for you."
Heron found Ruth in the winter garden and in tears.
She told him, she was the moat miserable girl in the world, and that nobody cared for her; which last statement Mr. Heron was not inclined to hear without venturing to put forward his own claims.
"My darling, girl, how can you say so?"
he asked, pressing her closely in his arms.
"I love you more than all the world."
"Every man says that when he can think of nothing else to say," replied Ruth, who was too much disturbed to be wholly just.
"And if you really loved me, you wouldn't have neglected me so."
"My dear, I was busy.
You know what took up my time."
"Yes, I know, and I wish I didn't know!
This horrid business has troubled me morn and night.
I wonder my hair hasn't turned grey!"
"Nonsense!"
cried Geoffrey.
"It is as black as ever."
"Black as the outlook of our lives."
Heron could not help a smile at this grandiloquent speech.
It was so unlike Ruth to indulge in what the Americans call "tall talk."
"Leave the wretched affair alone, dear," he said, kissing her.
"You need not trouble your pretty head any more about it."
"But I must," she insisted.
"If my suspicions are not set at rest, I shall go mad.
And the worst of it is, I have promised my father to tell you nothing.
If I could only speak freely to you, it would ease my mind."
"Then ease it and speak freely, Ruth.
Oh, you need not shake your head.
I know what you are talking about--those sleeve-links."
"Yes, that is it!"
she cried hysterically.
"I have nearly killed myself with anxiety over the whole thing.
Oh, what a wicked girl I am!"
"No, my dear; only a very foolish girl.
But you can set your mind at rest once and for all.
Your father is perfectly innocent of what you impute to him.
He had nothing do with the crime; and he believed in all good faith that Mrs. Jenner was the guilty person."
Ruth rose to her feet, and a smile of relief dispelled her tears.
"Oh, how delighted I am!"
she said, excitedly.
"I shan't worry any more.
Oh, how thankful I am!
What a weight is off my mind!
But why didn't he tell me before?"
"He had his reasons--reasons, which he has explained to me.
They need not trouble you, my dear.
I think you had better put the whole affair out of your mind."
"I will, now that papa is free from the stigma; he does not know that I thought he was seriously mixed up in the case.
He would never forgive me if he did!
Don't ever tell him, Geoffrey."
"No, I won't. Now, don't worry any more."
"But, Geoffrey, if Mrs. Jenner is not guilty, who is?"
"Ah, we must find that out," replied Heron, thinking it best not to reveal anything about Mr. Marshall--an explanation which would only have caused fresh trouble.
"If you are wise, Ruth, you will leave the matter alone."
"I intend to," she said.
"But there is one thing I want to tell you, Geoffrey--Job Lovel."
"Who is he?"
"The gypsy.
Didn't I tell you about him?"
"Yes; I think you did say something about having met him at the Turnpike House.
Well, what has he been doing?"
"Nothing, except that he has taken up his abode at the Turnpike House."
"Like his impudence!"
cried the young man.
"Why, that house is mine, and if he wanted to live in the wretched hovel, he should have come to me.
Besides, I do not wish anyone to live in that shamble.
I intend to have it pulled down, and so get rid of all the legends which haunt the neighbourhood."
"I wish you would pull it down; it is an ill-omened place--a blot on the landscape; and the sooner it is removed the better it will be for the countryside.
The people round here think it is haunted, you know, and that keeps up the memory of the murder.
If the house were pulled down, there would be an end of it all--and the sooner the better.
But I do not know what Aunt Inez will say!"
"Mrs. Marshall?"
cried Geoffrey, looking at her sharply.
"What has she got to do with it?"
"That is what I want to tell you, it seems that Aunt Inez has taken an interest in Job; she suggested that he should patch up the house and live in it; and she has arranged to allow him so much a week to live on."
"Humph!
That is strange.
Mrs. Marshall is not usually so philanthropic."
"That's exactly what I thought; and that made me think that papa had something to do with the murder, and that Aunt Inez was shielding him."
"Shielding him--how?"
"By assisting Job.
I went to see him the other day, and I found Aunt Inez there; she was very angry with me for having gone.
I saw Job afterwards, and he would tell me nothing, but he hinted at a secret between him and Aunt Inez; now I think----" "Don't think anything about it," Heron said, with a forced laugh.
"Your aunt is getting charitable in her old age.
Believe me, there is nothing between her and the gypsy, relative to the murder, whatever he may say."
"But he talked, Geoffrey----" "I daresay; I wonder he did not threaten!
I will this for myself and if he knows anything--which I very much doubt--I will get it out of him.
My dear, how can you think your aunt knows anything about the matter?
Now, Ruth, you must promise me to leave it all alone, and think no more about it."
"Very well," she said, with unusual meekness.
"Then you don't think Aunt Inez has anything to do--any knowledge, I mean?"
"I am quite sure she has not.
She is kind to Job out of pure charity.
Now I must say good-night and, once more, don't worry."
But as he drove home he came to the conclusion that Mrs. Marshall's kindness to the gypsy was meant, in some way, to shield her husband.
"And that complicates matters,"--thought Heron.
CHAPTER XXII. AT BAY.
On the following morning, Geoffrey arrived precisely at the time appointed by Mr. Cass, and was shewn at once into the library.
His host was there alone; for Marshall, with his usual want of punctuality, had not yet appeared.
Geoffrey was informed of the sudden change in Ruth.
"Your visit did her good last night," said her father with a smile.
"I told her not to worry herself--that all was quite right; and she seemed comforted.
But she told me something which seems to hint that Mrs. Marshall knows of her husband's guilt."
And he, repeated Ruth's tale about the gypsy and Mrs. Marshall's kindness to him--her extraordinary kindness, he termed it.
Mr. Cass listened attentively, but shook his head.
"I don't agree with you," he said.
"You do not know Inez as I do."
While they were still speaking--in whispers like two guilty people--Marshall bustled into the room in what he would have called his breezy fashion.
In reality his manner was simply aggressive and noisy, but it gave him the air of being--what he wanted to be thought--a creature too guileless and unconventional to conceal his feelings.
"Good-day, Cass," he cried loudly to his former partner, and nodding to Heron.
"Well, here I am!
What's the matter?
Got into any trouble?"
"No, I have not got into any trouble," was Mr. Cass's emphatic reply.
"This boy, then?"
and Marshall turned smilingly to Geoffrey, upon whom he looked as a possible member of the family.
"You're in trouble--eh, eh?
Ah, well, young men will be young men!"
"I am sure you speak from experience, Marshall, said Mr. Cass, while Heron contented himself with a shake of the head.
But there is nothing wrong with Heron."
"Very glad, I'm sure," Marshall said insolently; it seemed as though he scented some trouble in the air and thought to meet it with bluff.
As yet he had not the faintest idea that the coming conversation was to be serious for him personally.
"Well," he went on, "as you are all right and Heron is a good boy, why have you asked me to come over?"
"Can't you guess?"
asked Geoffrey, angered by the man's manner.
He lifted his eyebrows.
"No," he said, tranquilly.
"I really am at a loss to understand why----" "Cast your thoughts back twelve years," interrupted Mr. Cass, sharply, "and then perhaps you will understand why----" "What do you mean?"
asked his brother-in-law, a thrill running through him.
He saw now that this was going to be serious for him.
"Do you remember the night when you came in at yonder window, muddy and ragged?"
Mr. Cass said, slowly.
"When you told me a lie--that you had been attacked by footpads and----" "It was no lie!"
cried the man, moistening his dry lips.
"I told you what had actually happened."
"Oh, no, you didn't. For instance, you never told me that you had seen Jenner."
He uttered a faint cry, and flung himself back in his chair with a startled look.
"I did not see Jenner!"
he said.
"Nor did you tell me that you had been at the Turnpike House," continued Mr. Cass, not noticing the interruption.
"That I deny.
I was not near the Turnpike House."
With a look of scorn Mr. Cass picked up an object which was lying on the table, and held it out.
"Do you know what this is?"
"A piece of gold, so far as I can see.
What is that to me?"
"Evidence that you were at the Turnpike House on that night."
"I tell you I was not there!"
he cried, desperately.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself to tell lies," Mr. Cass said, wearily.
"They will avail you nothing in the end.
Since you do not choose to recognise this object, let me tell you that it is a part of the set of links I gave you shortly before that murder."
"Links--I--I--only wore them--once."
"I know you did, and on that night.
You lost one pair and left the other in your bedroom, where they were found by the housemaid and returned to me.
You would have been better advised had you destroyed them, Marshall."
"Why should I have destroyed them?
I lost one pair, it is true.
The catch between the ovals was worn, and the links broke."
"Not of their own accord," Mr. Cass said, quickly.
"Your cuff caught on a nail when you put your arm through the window to kill Jenner."
Marshall uttered a loud cry and started to his feet his face crimson with rage, and shaking with what looked very much like terror.
"I deny that," he cried.
"I deny that I was at the Turnpike House--that I killed----" "This link was found under the window," interrupted Mr. Cass.
"The man who wore it was the man who killed Jenner; you are the man!"
"I kill Jenner?
It is a lie!"
Marshall continued to stare at the piece of gold which his brother-in-law continued to hold up as though he were fascinated.
He drew his hand across his brow as he uttered his denial in a weak voice, and seemed to be trying to recall something.
"Why should I have killed him?"
he asked.
It was now Heron's turn.
He drew from his pocket the bill of exchange.
"Perhaps this will supply the motive," he said, coldly; "this forgery, discounted by Julian Roper."
With a face now positively purple and eyes almost staring out of his head, Marshall craned forward his head to look at the fatal evidence of his past.
He recognised it only too well.
For years he had been dreading this moment, and now that it had arrived the sight of the document proved too much for him.
With a strangled cry he tugged at his collar, then fell like a log on the floor.
The strong man, the guilty man, had fainted.
And, neither Mr. Cass nor Heron were moved by the catastrophe.
It was to them decisive evidence of his guilt; and when they recalled the lifelong imprisonment of Mrs. Jenner they could find no pity in their hearts for the detected rogue.
Rather were they full of pity for those unhappy people with whom he was connected by marriage.
