Third Volume — Chapters 29-30
KERRY.
HAVING, as he considered, prepared the ground by acquainting Claude with the notabilities of the neighborhood, Tait next proceeded to secure an interview with Kerry.
This was by no means an easy matter, as, either by accident or design, Kerry eluded all the young men's attempts to interview him.
Hitherto he had been accustomed to fish daily in the Lax, but now, doubtless by direction of his master, he forsook his customary sport for some considerable time.
His absence speedily roused Tait's suspicions.
"Hilliston has succeeded well," said he, after one of these futile attempts to see the old servant.
"He has put Jeringham on his guard."
"Paynton, you mean," observed Claude, looking up from his plate.
They were at breakfast when this conversation took place.
"I thought you had determined in your own mind that he was Jeringham."
"No," said Claude, coloring a little; "I have come round to your opinion in the matter.
If Paynton were Jeringham, I don't think Denis Bantry would be in his service."
"Ah!"
remarked Tait sarcastically, "is that the result of reflection or of love?"
"Of love?
I don't understand you."
"Yes, you do, Claude.
You are in love with Jenny.
The last week has only deepened your first impressions.
I believe she likes you also, and so I foresee a marriage which will rob me of my friend."
"I am not so certain of that as you are," said Larcher, after a pause.
"Miss Paynton has given me no hint of her feelings, and our acquaintance is yet young.
Even if I did design to make her my wife, I would have to gain her consent, and that of her father.
Judging from Paynton's present attitude that consent would most probably be refused."
Tait did not immediately reply, but stared out of the window with an absent look in his eyes.
The remark changed the current of his ideas.
"I wonder who Paynton can be?"
he said at length, with some hesitation.
"That he is connected with the case I am certain from the way in which he has profited by the warning of Hilliston.
Like yourself, I have my doubts regarding his identity with Jeringham, because of Denis Bantry.
Who is he?
I must go to Horriston to-morrow and find out."
"And what am I to do in the meantime?"
"Hunt out Kerry and learn the truth," said Tait coolly.
"I think, after all, it will be best for you to see him alone.
I am a stranger, and he won't speak before me; but to you, the son of his old master, he may open his heart.
Once he does that you may learn the truth."
"I doubt it."
"Well, there is a chance.
Whatever tie binds Denis to Paynton, you must not forget that he is Irish.
The Irish are an impulsive and excitable race, so it is just possible that his feelings may carry him away in your presence, and he may tell you all we wish to know."
"Do you think he can solve the mystery?"
"Yes.
He was in the house when Jeringham came home with your mother; he picked up the garnet pin, and, it may be, can tell us to whom it belongs.
It may be the property of Hilliston, as is stated in the novel;
on the other hand it may belong to your father or to Jeringham.
Of one point I am sure, the person who owned the pin killed your father.
Kerry, or rather Denis Bantry, knows the owner, and consequently the murderer."
"If so, why did he not denounce him?"
"There you puzzle me," said Tait, rising to his feet; "that is one of the many mysteries of this case.
Only Denis can explain, and he may do so to you.
I shall stay at home this morning, and prepare for my journey to Horriston; but you had better take your fishing rod and go to your post."
The post alluded to was on the banks of the Lax, where for the past week the young men had patiently waited for the appearance of Denis.
On this morning Claude found himself alone for the first time; and sat down with a disconsolate air, for he had little hope that Denis would make his appearance.
In this surmise he was wrong, for scarcely had he been seated half an hour when the Irishman came slowly along on the opposite bank of the river.
He was a little old man, gray as a badger, with stooped shoulders, and a cross-looking face.
Without vouchsafing a look in Claude's direction, he prepared his fishing tackle and began industriously to whip the stream.
Hardly knowing how to break the ice, Larcher silently continued his sport, and the two, divided by the water, stood like statues on opposite banks.
After a time Denis, who had been cunningly taking stock of Claude, and wondering why his letter had not produced the effect intended, moved down to where the stream narrowed itself between large stones.
Determined to invent some excuse for speaking, Larcher followed after a time, and stepped out on to a bowlder, apparently to throw his line into a likely looking pool.
Being within reach, he flung his line, and the next moment it was entangled in that of Kerry's. "I'm sorry!
Quite an accident," said Claude, noting the wrath on Kerry's face.
"Let me disentangle it."
He jumped into the brown water and, before Kerry could make any objection, was across on the other side, gripping the lines.
Without a word the Irishman let him separate the two lines, and then busied himself with fixing a fly.
Nettled at this determined silence Claude spoke.
"I wish to speak with you," he said, tapping the other on the shoulder.
"Is it to me ye speak?"
replied Kerry, with an admirable look of surprise; "and what has the like of you, sir, to say to me?"
"A great deal.
Do you know who I am?"
"Sure, an' I do, sir.
The friend of Mr. Tait, you are no less."
"But my name.
Do you know it?"
"Bad luck to this stream, there's never a fish in it," grumbled Kerry, with a convenient attack of deafness.
Claude was in nowise angered.
"That is very clever, Kerry," he said; "but----" "An' how do you know my name is Kerry?"
"Are you surprised that I should know it?"
"I am that," replied Kerry sharply.
"I never set eyes on you before."
"Oh, yes, you did--twenty-five years ago."
"Begorra, that's a lie, anyhow!"
muttered Kerry, under his breath, with an uneasy wriggle.
"It is not a lie, and you know it, my man," said Larcher firmly; "it is no use your pretending ignorance.
I know who you are."
"Devil a doubt of it!
Kerry, you called me."
"Yes!
Because you are known by that name here.
But at Horriston----" Claude stopped.
He saw the hands of the old man grip the rod so tight that the knuckles whitened.
The name had produced the effect he intended.
So, almost without a pause, he continued, and aimed another blow at Kerry's imperturbability.
"At Horriston," he resumed, "you were known as Denis Bantry."
"Was I, now?"
said Kerry, prepared for the attack.
"Augh, to think of it!
And where might Horriston be, sir?"
"You ought to know that, Denis."
"Your honor will be after giving me the name of a friend of yours."
"Quite right," rejoined Claude, seizing the opportunity.
"You were--nay, you are--a friend of mine.
I am the little lad you carried in your arms--to whom you told stories, and sang songs.
Children forget a great deal, but I have not forgotten you, Denis."
In dogged silence the old man turned his head away, intently bent on his sport, but suddenly he raised the cuff of his coat and wiped away a betraying tear.
Seeing that he had touched the man's sympathy, Claude followed up his advantage.
"You are not going to deny me, Denis, are you?"
he said entreatingly.
"I am down here on an errand which you must guess.
If Hilliston----" "The curse of Cromwell on him!"
said Kerry, under his breath.
"If Hilliston told you to keep silent," said Claude, affecting to take no notice of the interjection, which confirmed his suspicions, "I, the son of your dead master, want you to speak.
I wish to find out who killed my father.
I wish to punish him, for you know his name."
Kerry turned furiously on the young man, but it seemed to Claude that his anger was feigned to hide a deeper emotion.
"It is a dirty informer you'd have me be," he cried, with a stamp of his foot, "to betray him whose bread I eat.
I'll tell you nothing, for it's that much I know."
"Denis----" "I'm not Denis!
It's Kerry I am.
I know nothing of Horriston, or of you, sir.
Go away with ye, young gentleman, and don't be after disgracing an old servant to play the spy and cheat."
Then, still breathing fury, he rushed away, but paused some distance off to raise his hands to the sky with an appealing gesture.
The impulsive Irish nature had broken through diplomatic reserve, and, fearful of saying too much, Kerry saved himself by flight.
Claude guessed this and forebore to follow him.
"I have broken the ice at all events," he said to himself, when returning to the Manor to tell Tait.
"The next time I may be fortunate enough to force the truth out of him.
He knows it, I am certain.
He hates Hilliston and loves me.
I can easily guess with whom he sympathizes, in spite of his master.
He is Denis, sure enough, but who is Paynton?"
It was impossible to say.
CHAPTER XXX. MRS.
BEZEL AGAIN.
ON returning home Claude found that Tait, contrary to his expressed intention, had gone out.
Dormer, who was packing a portmanteau for the Horriston journey, could not inform Larcher when his master would be back, but ventured an opinion that he would certainly return to luncheon.
Meanwhile, he handed to Claude some letters which had just arrived, and with these the young man managed to pass a fairly uncomfortable hour.
Uncomfortable, because one of the letters was from Mrs. Bezel, and proved of so puzzling a character that Larcher was in a fever of impatience to discuss it with Tait.
The little man returned to luncheon, as was surmised by Dormer, and was met in the hall by Claude with the open letter of Mrs. Bezel in his hand.
"My dear fellow, why did you go out?"
said Larcher complainingly.
"I have so much to tell you.
I have seen Kerry, and now here is a letter from Mrs. Bezel."
"What!
is she on the stage again?"
said Tait eagerly.
"Let me see the letter."
"Not yet," replied Claude, putting it promptly behind his back.
"You must first tell me why you left the house, when you ought to be packing up for Horriston."
Tait shrugged his shoulders, bowed to the inevitable, and went into the dining room.
Here he sat at the table and began to carve some cold beef, thereby throwing Claude into a rage.
"You cold-blooded little monster," he cried, tapping on the table, "will you satisfy my curiosity?"
"Why should I?"
said Tait, grinning.
"You won't satisfy mine."
"Then read the letter," retorted Claude, throwing it across the table.
To his surprise Tait placed it on one side.
"Not yet!"
he said, resuming his carving.
"We must have a talk first.
Have some beef."
"I don't want beef, but information."
"You shall have both," said Tait calmly.
"Do you prefer beer or claret?"
"Beer!"
replied Larcher resignedly, falling in with the tricksey humor of his friend.
Tait was a man with whom it was impossible to quarrel.
"Dormer, fill Mr. Larcher's glass; put the claret jug beside me, and leave the room.
We will wait on ourselves."
As stolid as a wooden image Dormer obeyed these instructions, and wheeled out of the room.
Tait ate a few mouthfuls of beef, drank a glass of claret, and prepared to talk.
His first remark was a bombshell.
"I have seen Paynton," said he slowly.
"The deuce you have!"
cried Claude, in surprise; "and how did you manage to take his castle by storm?"
"Easily enough, by the help of a lie and a little strategy.
I went out to see if you were at your post, and caught sight of Kerry crossing the fields.
As I knew Jenny would be at the Lintons',--for she goes there to see the old lady every morning,--I guessed that Rose Cottage would be undefended; so back I ran to the house, picked up a book which I had promised to lend the young lady, and went to pay my visit."
"How did you get inside the gate?
It is generally locked."
"It wasn't on this occasion," replied Tait complacently.
"I opened it and walked in, to find old Paynton strolling in the garden.
Catching sight of me, he turned back to re-enter the house, but, luckily, I was between him and the door, so we met face to face."
"What kind of a man is he to look at?"
"Oh, a fine-looking old chap, with white hair and beard, a skullcap, and a dressing gown.
Quite the get up of a necromancer."
"Did he speak to you," asked Claude, having considered this description.
"He asked me politely what my business was; whereupon I presented the book, and mentioned that it was for his daughter.
He replied that she was at the Lintons', and would be back soon, when he would give her the book himself.
Then he asked me to excuse him, and bowed me out of the gate.
But," added Tait, with emphasis, "not before I had mentioned that Mr. Claude Larcher was staying with me."
"Did my name produce any effect?"
"Rather!
Paynton changed color, and mumbled something unintelligible.
Then he turned his back and walked quickly into the house, leaving me to close the gate myself.
Depend upon it, he knows something, Claude."
"But his name isn't mentioned in connection with the case."
"Of course not.
Paynton is a feigned one.
And, as I have said before, there are, no doubt, actors in the tragedy of whom we know nothing."
"There is one of that sort mentioned here," said Larcher, picking up Mrs. Bezel's letter.
"Read that, Tait, and see what you make of it."
It proved to be a short note, hastily written, and ran as follows: "MY DEAR CLAUDE: "If you are still in doubt as to who murdered your father, ask Mr. Hilliston to tell you about Louisa Sinclair, who lived at Horriston twenty-five years ago.
She knows.
"Your affectionate mother, "MARGARET BEZEL."
"Louisa Sinclair," repeated Tait slowly, having mastered the contents of this letter.
"No, I never heard of her.
It is strange that Hilliston has never mentioned her name."
"No doubt he had good reasons for not doing so," said Claude bitterly.
"You need not look so astonished, Tait.
I have long ago come round to your opinion of my old guardian.
His intimacy with Paynton and the effect of his visit on Kerry would convince me--not to speak of that 'anonymous letter.'
" "Ah!
Kerry refused to speak."
"He would not say a word, and, moreover, stated that he was not Denis Bantry; that he had never heard of Horriston.
In fact, he acted his part excellently well till the last.
Then he broke down, and, afraid of letting the cat out of the bag, he ran away."
"Exactly what his master did," said Tait thoughtfully.
"Depend upon it, Claude, we will learn the truth from one of those two."
"If you think so, why go to Horriston?"
"Because I want to learn the real name of Paynton, and, moreover, here is an additional reason.
I must find out Louisa Sinclair."
"There is no mention of her in the case."
"Quite true.
And there is no mention of Paynton; but for all that he knows about it.
Oh, you may be sure there are circumstances to be discovered at Horriston which never came to light at the trial."
"My mother is anxious for the mystery to be cleared up."
"So I see, and I am glad of it," said Tait, with an affectation of carelessness.
"I thought she was too ill to take an interest in the matter."
"Am I to ask Hilliston about this woman?"
said Claude, looking up in some doubt.
"No," replied his friend, after a few moments' deliberation.
"Our success in this depends on keeping Hilliston in the dark concerning our movements.
If we tell him too much he may thwart us, as he has done already in this Paynton business.
Say nothing about Louisa Sinclair, or about my visit to Horriston.
Tell him I have gone to town, and let him figure out the reason for himself.
By the way, when do you see him?"
"On Friday evening.
Both he and his wife are coming to dine, and stop all night at the vicarage.
You may be sure Hilliston will put me through a thorough cross-examination regarding your absence."
"Refer him to Mr. Linton," said Tait coolly.
"I am writing to that gentleman, telling him I am unexpectedly called to town on particular business.
What that business is Hilliston will be anxious to know.
I
don't think he'll enjoy his evening at all.
A guilty conscience mars all pleasure."
"When do you leave?"
"By the 4. 20 train this afternoon.
I'll write you about my discoveries as soon as I find out anything worth scribbling about."
"You'll find nothing," said Claude dolefully; "after five-and-twenty years."
"I'll find out who Louisa Sinclair is, and then astonish Hilliston with the extent of my information.
Regarding Paynton, I am not so certain.
That discovery rests between you and Denis Bantry."
"I'll do my best, but I am doubtful," replied Claude, and so the conversation terminated for the time being.
It left a lasting impression on the two who took part in it.
Tait duly took his departure with Dormer, leaving Claude in possession of the house.
As he leaned out of the window of the smoking carriage, he said a last word to his friend: "Don't tell Hilliston about my going to Horriston," he said significantly; "but if you get a chance inform his wife of the fact."
"Why?"
"I'll tell you that when I come back," said Tait, as the train moved slowly off.
"Give her the information, and observe the effect; it will astonish you."
But Tait counted without his host; he was ignorant of Mrs. Hilliston's powers of self-control.
CHAPTER XXXI.
