Third Volume — Chapters 35-36

THE ORIGINAL OF THE PORTRAIT.

CLAUDE LARCHER was blessed with the best of tempers, and strongly gifted with self-control.

He found these virtues very necessary in his profession, especially when in command of a body of men in the wilds.

There no trouble ruffled him, no disappointment depressed his spirits;

he was always serene and amiable, so that among his comrades his good temper had become proverbial.

Had they seen him at this moment they would have found reason to alter their opinion.

The case wore out his patience; he saw no end to the complications arising therefrom.

No sooner was one obstacle surmounted than another blocked up the path.

But for Tait he would have taken Hilliston's advice long ago, and let the matter lie; but the little man was bent on solving this particularly tantalizing mystery, and so urged his friend to persevere in what seemed to be futile attempts.

So far Claude had held to his resolve, but this last letter of Tait's with its budget of new complications threw him into a rage.

He vowed that he would throw up the matter as soon as Tait returned.

His father was dead, and there was an end of it; after five-and-twenty years nothing whatever could be discovered; and above all there was Jenny.

Claude was too clear-sighted to disguise from himself the fact that he was in love; and now enlightened by Mrs. Hilliston regarding the feelings of the young lady, he was doubly anxious to make her his wife.

Before he could do so he had to remove an obstacle in the shape of her father, and that was no easy matter.

Who Mr. Paynton was he did not know; whether he was implicated in the Larcher affair he could not guess; but of one thing he was certain: that Mr. Paynton resented his prosecution of the case.

While he continued to investigate the mystery the recluse would continue inimical, and would therefore refuse to permit him to pay attentions to his daughter.

Regarding Linton and his love, Claude had no fears.

He had been assured by Mrs. Hilliston that Jenny liked him best, and taking advantage of the hint he had thrown himself as frequently as possible into the society of his beloved.

Did Jenny go to the vicarage, Claude was there under the pretense of questioning the clergyman concerning the architecture of the church; did she practice on the organ, Claude was always waiting at the door to carry her music-book to Rose Cottage.

A walk in the morning, he was in the vicinity; a stroll in the evening, and he appeared unexpectedly round the nearest corner.

In driving, riding, walking, visiting, this persistent young man was constantly to be found near Miss Jenny Paynton.

All this meant infatuation.

Availing himself of the opportunities thus afforded, he learned her secret, and betrayed his own.

Without a word being said on either side--with the shadow of the case between them--these two young people fell in love with one another.

When Tait returned two days after his last letter, he was confronted by Claude with the intimation that he wished to stop further investigations.

Tait, who was devoured by an unappeasable curiosity to find out the truth, resented this backsliding, and told Claude his opinion very plainly.

But for their long friendship they would have quarreled over the matter; as it was Tait argued out the question, and induced Claude to come round to his way of thinking.

But it was a hard task.

"You are not going to turn back after putting your hand to the plow?"

he said, when Claude first broached the subject of abandoning the case.

"Why not, if the plow won't move?"

returned the young man flippantly.

"The plow will move," returned Tait vehemently.

"You got my last letter?"

"I did.

But I don't see that it contains anything likely to elucidate the mystery.

Your Dick Pental is a madman; your Miss Pike an untrustworthy gossip."

"That is your opinion, not mine.

I have made a discovery since writing my last letter, of which I have not yet had time to inform you."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you later on.

Meanwhile is it on account of this girl that you have decided to abandon the case?"

"Partly, and partly because I think we are wasting time.

Our investigation can lead to no result."

"We may find out who killed your father."

"I doubt that," replied Larcher coolly.

"You suspect Hilliston; you suspect Jeringham; you suspect Mona Bantry.

Why, in your last letter you hinted at the guilt of Denis, simply because a drunken lunatic told you a wild story; yet, so far as I can see, you have not a morsel of evidence against any one of the four."

"You are wrong," said Tait, in an argumentative manner.

"The misfortune is that there is too much evidence against them all.

I could furnish you with a case against each which--so far as circumstantial evidence is concerned--would convince you of their individual guilt."

"Theory, Tait, theory!"

"We'll prove that soon, my boy," said Tait, with exasperating coolness, "if you back out of the case, I at least am determined to see it through.

I suppose you are bent on marrying the young lady."

"If she'll have me--yes."

"Humph!

There's another obstacle which you have overlooked.

The consent of her father--our mysterious friend, Paynton."

"I have not overlooked the obstacle.

I will obtain his consent from his own lips."

"And how do you intend to see him?"

"Through the agency of Mr. Hilliston," replied Larcher calmly.

"He has agreed to introduce me to Paynton to-morrow.

Here is his letter."

The little man fairly bounded from his chair, and he took the letter from his friend's hand with an air of bewilderment.

After mastering the contents he returned it with a satisfied nod.

"I congratulate you, Claude," he said, with a good-humored air.

"Though you failed with the man, you may succeed with the matter.

But how in the name of Olympian Jove did you induce Hilliston to do this?"

"Why, he saw that I was in love with Jenny, and for some inexplicable reason has agreed to forward my suit, by introducing me to plead my cause with the father."

"Not so inexplicable as you think," said Tait sagaciously.

"I see his idea.

He thinks you will be so occupied with love-making as to abandon the case."

"I don't know that he isn't right."

"Oh, I see you are bent on getting quit of the matter, Claude.

But," and Tait shook a reproving forefinger, "you will change your mind after this interview with our hermit friend."

"Why so?"

"You will learn something which will astonish you.

I only wish I could be present with you to see what occurs."

"But if I make no reference to the case," said Larcher seriously.

Tait waxed indignant on the instant, and spoke his mind freely.

"Claude, my friend, I went into this matter solely on your account, and you owe it to me to see it through.

If you find further investigation a bar to your marriage I will agree to let the matter drop.

But first," added Tait, with emphasis, "you must make an effort to get the truth out of this man.

Swear to him that you are resolved to push the matter to the end.

Tell him that I have learned something new at Horriston.

Mention the name of Louisa Sinclair.

Then see the result.

After hearing the story of Dicky Pental I am convinced that this man is Jeringham."

"I will do all you say," replied Claude, after some hesitation, "but I am afraid that my pertinacity in this matter will prejudice my wooing."

"If, at the end of the interview, you see that, withdraw your intention to go on with the case.

Then out of gratitude he may give you his daughter.

Bluff him first--yield afterward.

In that way we may discover who Paynton is--what he has to do with the case, and why he is connected with Hilliston.

Do you agree?

Good!

Give me your hand on that."

The two men shook hands, though it was not without a secret qualm that Claude thus sealed the compact.

After a pause he said: "And who is this Louisa Sinclair you make such a point of my mentioning to Paynton?"

"Ah!

That is my discovery," said Tait, rubbing his hands.

"When I interviewed Mrs. Bezel I showed her a portrait of Mrs. Hilliston, whom curiously enough she had never seen--no doubt Hilliston has his reasons therefor.

She seemed startled, but said nothing.

Then she wrote to you about Louisa Sinclair."

"But what has Louisa Sinclair to do with Mrs. Hilliston?"

"Can't you guess?

Miss Pike showed me a portrait of Louisa Sinclair taken twenty-five years ago.

I did not then wonder at Mrs. Bezel's start, or that Hilliston had refrained from letting her see the picture of his wife.

In a word, Louisa Sinclair and Mrs. Hilliston are one and the same woman."

"Ah!"

cried Claude, with a sudden recollection, "it was for that she was so afraid of your going to Horriston."

"Yes.

She thought I might learn too much.

This is the beginning of the end, Claude."

"What!

Do you think Mrs. Hilliston knows anything of the case?"

"According to your mother she knows a good deal.

According to Miss Pike she is in possession of certain facts.

Yes, I think Mrs. Hilliston can help us if she will."

"But, my dear Tait," said Claude quietly, "Mrs. Hilliston is an American."

"Ah!

Louisa Sinclair went to America, and probably became a naturalized subject of the Stars and Stripes."

"But," objected Larcher, "she was a widow when she married Hilliston."

"So I believe.

A Mrs. Derrick.

No doubt she came by all her money through that first marriage.

Oh, I can put the puzzle easily together.

No wonder Hilliston wanted the case dropped, both on his own account and on that of his wife."

"What do you mean, Tait?

Do you suspect that----" "Say no more," said Tait, rising, "I will tell you what I mean after you have seen Paynton.

But then," added he significantly, "I don't think you will need any explanation."

CHAPTER XXXVI. A STRANGE THING HAPPENS.

THE next morning Claude received a second letter from Hilliston, stating that as his wife was ill he would be unable to come over to Thorston, but directing the young man to go to Rose Cottage at noon, when Mr. Paynton would be ready to receive him.

Tait regretted that he had not been included in the invitation, and carefully instructed Claude how to act during the interview.

"I believe Paynton can settle the matter," were his parting words, "so put love out of your head for the time being, and do your best to extract the truth."

Anxious to oblige one who took so much interest in his private affairs, Larcher promised to do what he could, and shortly after eleven started for Rose Cottage.

As a matter of fact, he need not have gone so soon, but he did so in the hope of meeting with Jenny.

Well acquainted as he was with her movements, his surmise proved correct, for he met the young lady at the end of Nightingale Lane.

She blushed, and expressed surprise at the meeting.

But such feigning is part of love's comedy.

"I did not expect to see you here, Mr. Larcher," she said, after the first greetings had passed between them.

"Where are you going?"

"I am about to call on your father."

"Really!"

said Jenny, with some perplexity and more doubt.

"I am afraid you go on a useless errand.

My father sees no one."

"He will see me," replied Claude quietly.

"I come by appointment.

Mr. Hilliston spoke to your father, with the result that he has agreed to see me."

"Has your visit anything to do with--with that novel?"

"It has everything to do with it.

I wish to ask Mr. Paynton some questions in connection with my father's death."

"But he knows nothing--nothing!"

cried Jenny vehemently; "he can tell you nothing!

It is worse than useless for you to speak to him on the subject.

You will only make him ill."

"But I have to speak to him on another subject," said Claude artfully.

Jenny looked up inquiringly, remarked the passion in his gaze, and turned away her face with a blush.

Much as she would have liked to, she found it impossible to appear ignorant of his meaning.

"It seems to me that I am the person to be first consulted," she said, with a pout.

"Jenny, I----" "Hush!

Here is Kerry.

See my father first, and then see me.

Till then good-by."

She flitted rapidly away, and turned the corner of the lane as Kerry, more crabbed-looking than ever, came up to where Claude was standing.

It was then that Larcher saw that the old servant was suffering under some strong emotion.

His eyes were brighter than usual, his lips quivered, and he was so nervous that he could keep neither limbs nor body at rest.

Rightly connecting this agitation with his visit, Claude wisely held his peace, and waited to hear what Kerry had to say.

"You'll be after seeing the master, sir," said Kerry, in breathless anxiety.

"He is waiting for you, sir, in the garden."

"I was just on my way there, Kerry, and stopped to speak for a few minutes to Miss Jenny.

I am very glad that Mr. Paynton has consented to see me."

"And you may well be glad, Master Claude."

"Master Claude!"

echoed the young man, stopping short.

"Oh, blazes!

'twas a slip of the tongue, sir," cried Kerry anxiously.

"Don't notice it, sir.

Sure, it's old I am, and my mind wanders."

"Then you deny that you are Denis Bantry?"

"Say nothing of that, sir.

Let the master speak his own mind to you.

You'll know soon enough who I am, and that's a fact, anyhow."

"I am convinced in my own mind that you are my father's old servant," said Larcher, as he resumed his walk, "but who your master is I am not so clear."

Kerry shook his head, and pursed up his lips, as though determined to let no information escape him.

They walked along in silence, and it was only when he unlocked the gate in the red brick wall that Kerry again opened his mouth.

"Keep silent, sir, if you love me," he said, in a low tone.

"Don't agitate the master.

He'll do the speaking, and tell ye all ye wish to know.

Begad, and more too."

Larcher nodded, and passed into the garden.

The morning was warm and sunny, and the colors of the flowers were dazzling in the warm glow, against the white walls of the cottage.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Paynton paced meditatively up and down the path before the house, but stopped as he caught sight of his visitor.

Taking off his hat in tribute to the venerable looks of the old gentleman, Claude bowed, and waited to be addressed.

For some moments Paynton looked at him in silence, with much emotion, then controlling himself with some difficulty held out his hand.

"I am glad to see you, Mr. --Mr. ----" "Larcher," suggested Claude, seeing his host at a loss for the name.

"Larcher!"

gasped Paynton, with an effort, "yes--yes!

My friend, Mr. Hilliston, advised me of your coming.

Let us enter the house.

We will have more privacy there."

As Claude knew no one was about in that walled place but Kerry and the deaf old housekeeper, he wondered what further privacy was necessary;

but considering that Paynton had doubtless good reason for his action, he bowed silently and followed him within, as requested.

In a few minutes they were in the bookroom.

Paynton seated himself in such a position as to place his back to the strong light shining through the window, and asked Claude to be seated in a chair which lacked this advantage.

In this way Paynton could observe every change in the face of his visitor, while his own, being in the shadow, was more difficult to read.

Larcher saw the maneuver, but did not think it necessary to make any objection.

In his place Tait would have acted differently.

"I am greatly obliged that you have consented to see me," said Claude, breaking the silence, "for I am informed that you live a very secluded life."

"That is true.

I accord you this interview at the request of my friend, Mr. Hilliston, but at the same time I may tell you that I have my own reasons for granting it."

"I think I can guess your reasons, Mr. Paynton."

"No doubt," replied Paynton, touching a book on the table; "they are not unconnected with this novel.

You know, of course, that my daughter--that Jenny supplied young Linton with the material for his plot."

"I do.

She found the report of my father's murder in some old newspapers in this house."

"Did you not think it strange that I should be in possession of such a report?"

"Naturally I did," answered Claude, replying to this direct question with marked embarrassment, "and it is on that account that I ask you to help me."

"Do you think I can do so?"

"I am sure of it."

"Why?"

asked Paynton, in an unsteady voice.

"Because you know about the matter.

You retained the report of the trial.

Denis Bantry is in your service under the name of Kerry, and----" "How do you know that?"

"Why, in the third volume of that book there is an episode of a scarfpin which is not mentioned in the report of the trial, but which was told to Miss Paynton by the man you call Kerry.

Now, only two persons knew that a scarfpin was picked up in the grounds of The Laurels after the murder.

One was Hilliston, the other Denis Bantry.

You must see, Mr. Paynton, that I can only come to one conclusion."

"I presume you got this information from Hilliston," said Paynton, in an altered voice.

"Mr. Hilliston spoke of it," replied Claude cautiously.

He did not intend to reveal that he had heard it from his mother, or indeed to reveal the existence of Mrs. Larcher until he was sure of his ground, and positive of Paynton's identity.

Accepting his diplomatic answer in the affirmative, Paynton nodded, and went on with his questioning.

"You spoke to Kerry on the subject?"

"I did.

But, as you may guess, I failed."

"Naturally.

Kerry is a faithful servant.

I owe more to him than I can ever repay.

But here we are talking about the murder," added Paynton irrelevantly, "when you wish to speak about Jenny, at least so Hilliston informed me."

"I do wish to speak of your daughter later on," said Claude, with a flushed cheek; "but in the meantime I am anxious to come to an understanding about this crime."

"Why?"

said Paynton, rather disconcerted at his failure to turn the conversation.

"Because I have sworn to avenge the death of my father."

"That is what a good son should do," said Paynton thoughtfully.

"But after twenty-five years the chances are small.

You wish to find the murderer--so do I." "You!"

"Yes.

I am more deeply interested in this matter than you suppose.

Who do you think I am?"

he asked.

"I cannot say, unless you are Jeringham."

"Jeringham?"

said Paynton in a faltering tone.

"No, I am not Jeringham, poor soul!

Do you think him guilty of the crime?"

"I do and I don't. Sometimes it seems so, at others I fancy Hilliston to be guilty."

"Hilliston guilty!"

said Paynton, rising.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, it is only a theory," said Claude hastily.

"But my friend Tait, who was at Horriston a few days ago, found out all kinds of things which implicated one person and another.

He found----" "Don't tell me--don't tell me," said Paynton hastily.

"I cannot talk to you longer or else I shall be ill.

This interview has already tried me too much.

Here," he added, unlocking a drawer in his desk, "take these papers.

You will find in them a full account of all I know of the matter."

"You were, then, an eye-witness?"

said Claude, joyfully slipping the roll of manuscript into his pocket.

He had been more successful than he had hoped to be.

Paynton pressed his hands together, and looked eagerly at Claude.

"I can bear it no longer," he said impatiently, laying his hands on the shoulders of the astonished young man.

"Boy--boy, can you not guess who I am?"

"No," replied Larcher, rising to his feet in some wonder, "I do not know who you can be, unless you are Jeringham."

"I am not Jeringham.

He is dead."

"Dead!"

"Aye, murdered.

Can you not see--can you not guess?

Claude, the man who was killed at Horriston was not George Larcher, it was Mark Jeringham!"

"But you--you----" "I am your father!"

CHAPTER XXXVII.