The Adventures of Harry Revel
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Sir Arthur Thomas Quiller Couch >> The Adventures of Harry Revel
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"W'st!" said a voice. "W'st--Whitmore!"
CHAPTER XIX.
CHECKMATE.
Mr. Rogers's attitude stiffened with mock terror. So natural was it
that I cowered back under the bed. He closed the valise with a snap
as a heel grated on the window-ledge and George Leicester dropped
into the room.
"Wh--ew! So _that's_ why you couldn't hear an old friend's signal!
Bolting, were you? No, no, my pretty duck--pay first, if you
please!"
"Take it then!"
Mr. Rogers swung round on him and smote him full on the jaw--a neat
blow and beautifully timed. The man went down like an ox, his head
striking the floor with a second thud close beside my hiding-place.
Miss Belcher ran from her curtain, clapping her hands. But Mr.
Rogers had not finished with his man.
"Shut the window!" he commanded, flinging himself forward and
gripping Leicester's hands as they clutched at the carpet.
"Here, youngster--pass the straps yonder and hold on to his legs!"
The blow had so rattled Leicester--had come so very near to smiting
him senseless--that he scarcely struggled whilst we bound him,
trussing him like a fowl with the aid of Miss Belcher's riding-crop
which she obligingly handed. He was not a pretty object, with his
mouth full of blood and two of his teeth knocked awry, and we made
him a ludicrous one. Towards the end of the operation he began to
spit and curse.
"Gently, my lad!" Mr. Rogers turned him over.
"You came here to settle up and we don't mean to disappoint you.
Let's see what you're worth." He plunged a hand into Leicester's
breeches pocket and drew forth a coin or two.
"Let me alone, you '--' thief!" roared Leicester, his voice coming
back to him in full strength.
"Indeed, Mr. Rogers," the Rector protested, "this is going too far, I
doubt."
"It's funny work for a Justice of the Peace, I'll own," he answered,
with a grin at Miss Belcher. "Lydia, my dear, be so good as to bring
one of those candles: I want to have a look at these coins. . . .
Ah, I thought so!"
"Put that money back where you found it!" snarled Leicester.
"By God! I don't know what you're after, but I'll have the law of you
for this evening's work!"
"All in good time, my friend: you shall have as much law as you like,
and a trifle over. See, Rector?" Mr. Rogers pointed to a scratch on
the face of one of the coins.
Leicester began to smell danger. "What's wrong with the money?" he
demanded. Then as no one answered, "There's nothing wrong with it,
is there?" he asked.
"Depends where you got it, and how," he was answered.
"Look here--you're not treating me fair," urged the rogue, changing
his tune. "If it's over the money you're knocking me about like
this, you're maltreating an innocent man; for I had it from Parson
Whitmore--every penny."
"Ah, if you can prove that"--Mr. Rogers's face was perfectly grave--
"you're a lucky man! The Reverend Mr. Whitmore has disappeared."
The scoundrel's face was a study. Miss Belcher turned to the window,
and even the Rector was forced to pull his lip.
"Disappeared," Mr. Rogers repeated, "and most mysteriously.
The unfortunate part of the business is that before leaving he made
no mention of any money actually paid to you. On the contrary, we
gathered that for some reason or other he owed you a considerable sum
which he found a difficulty in paying. Let me see"--he looked around
on us as if for confirmation--"the sum was fifty pounds, if I mistake
not? We found it difficult to guess how he, a priest in Holy Orders,
came to owe you this substantial amount. But perhaps you met him on
his way, and these guineas in my hand were tendered as part-payment?"
George Leicester blinked. Accustomed to play with the fears of
others, he understood well enough the banter in Mr. Rogers's tone,
and that he was being sauced in his own sauce. He read the menace in
it too. But what could he answer?
"I had the money from Whitmore," he repeated doggedly.
"When?"
"That I'll leave you to find out." He laughed a short laugh, between
rage and derision. "Gad! you've a fair stock of impudence among you!
First you assault me, half kill me, and tie me up here without a
penn'orth of reason given: and now you're inviting me to walk into
another trap-for all I can learn, merely because it amuses you. It
won't do, my fine Justice-fellow; and that you'll discover."
"The question is important, nevertheless. I may tell you that at one
time or another these coins were in the possession of the Jew
Rodriguez, who was found murdered in Southside Street, Plymouth,
yesterday morning. You perceive, therefore, that something depends
on when and how you came by them. Still, since you prefer--and
perhaps wisely--to keep your knowledge to yourself, I'll start by
making out the warrant and we'll have in the constables."
Mr. Rogers stepped towards the bureau.
"Wh--" Leicester attempted a low whistle, but his mouth hurt him and
he desisted. An ugly grin of comprehension spread over his face--of
comprehension and, at the same time, of relief. "That explains," he
muttered. "But where did he find the pluck?"
"Eh?" Mr. Rogers, in the act of seating himself by the bureau, had
caught the tone but not the words. As he slewed round with the query
I heard another sound in the adjoining room.
"Oh, go ahead with your warrant, my Jessamy Justice! It tickles you
and don't hurt me. Shall I help you spell it?"
"I was thinking to ask you that favour," Mr. Rogers replied demurely.
"Your name, now?"
"Letcher--L.e.t.c.h.e.r--Sergeant, North Wilts Regiment."
"Thank you--'Letcher,' you say? Now I was on the point of writing it
'Leicester.'"
In the dead silence that followed he laid down his pen, and with his
hands behind him came slowly across the room and stared into
Leicester's face.
"The game is up, my friend."
Leicester met the stare, but his jaw and throat worked as though he
were choking. I thought he was trying to answer. If so, the words
refused to come.
Someone knocked at the door.
Mr. Rogers stepped to it quickly. "That you, Jim?"
"Yessir."
"Is Miss Brooks with you?" He held the door a very little ajar--not
wide enough to give sight of us behind him.
"Yessir. A gentleman, too, sir: leastways he talks like one, though
dressed like a private soldier. He won't give his name." Jim's tone
was an aggrieved one.
"Thank you: that's quite right. You may go home to bed, if you wish:
but be ready for a call. I may want you later on."
"Be this all you want of me?" Jim was evidently disappointed.
"I fear so."
"P'rhaps you don't know it, sir, but Hodgson's gone. There was
nobody at the gate when we came by."
"Hodgson has a little job on hand. It will certainly occupy him all
night, but I am afraid you cannot help him. Now don't stay asking
questions, my man, but be off to bed. I'll send word if I want you."
Jim grumbled and withdrew. "Best to get him out of the way,"
Mr. Rogers explained to the Rector. "You and I can take this fellow
back to Plymouth at daybreak." He listened for a moment and
announced, "He's gone. Keep an eye on our friend, please, while I
prepare Isabel for it. My word!"--and he heaved a prodigious sigh--
"I'd give something to be through with the next ten minutes!"
He opened the door and, passing through, closed it as quickly behind
him. He was absent for half an hour perhaps. We could hear the
mutter of his voice in the next room and now and again another
masculine voice interrupting--never Isabel's. The Rector had found a
seat for Miss Belcher beside the bureau. He himself took his stand
beside the chimney and fingered a volume of the registers, making
pretence to read but keeping his eye alert for any movement of
Leicester. No one spoke; until the prisoner, intercepting a glance
from Miss Belcher, broke into a sudden brutal laugh.
"Poor old lady!" he jeered, and his eyes travelled wickedly across
the disordered floor. "Whitmore left a lot behind him, eh?"
She rose and turning her back on him, walked to the window.
There she leaned out, seeming to study the night: but I saw that her
shoulders heaved.
The Rector looked across with a puzzled frown. Leicester laughed
again: and with that, Miss Belcher came back to him, slipped out the
riding-crop which trussed him, and held it under his nose. Her face
was white, but calm. She lifted the stick slowly to bring it across
his face, paused, and flung it on the floor.
"You tempt me to be as dirty as yourself," she said. "But one woman
has shown you mercy to-night, despising you. Think of that, George
Leicester."
The door opened again and Mr. Rogers nodded to us.
"Hallo!" he exclaimed, perceiving the riding-crop on the floor.
"He can't run," said Miss Belcher nonchalantly. "But he can stand
now, I fancy--and walk, if you loosen his legs a bit. He'll be
wanted for a witness, won't he?"
"You're all wanted." Mr. Rogers helped Leicester to stand and
slackened the bond about his ankles. "We'll tighten it again in the
next room, my friend. Stay a moment, Rector!" He pointed to the
wardrobe. The Rector went to it and unhitching a clean surplice
laid it across his arm. So we filed into the room where Isabel and
Archibald Plinlimmon awaited us.
They stood in the shadow of the window-curtains, talking together in
low tones: and by their attitudes she was vehemently pleading for a
favour which he as vehemently rejected. But when she caught him by
both hands he yielded, and they faced us together--she with her
beautiful face irradiated.
Miss Belcher stepped to her at once and kissed her; and across that
good lady's shoulder she cast one look at the prisoner, now being
shuffled into the room by Mr. Rogers. It was neither vindictive nor
recriminatory, but cheerful and calm with an utter scorn. I looked
nervously at Archibald Plinlimmon. His face was dusky red and sullen
with rage; but I noted with a leap of my heart that he, too, looked
Leicester squarely in the face: and from that moment (if a boy may
say so) I felt there was hope for him.
The Rector unfolded and donned the surplice. Isabel disengaged
herself from Miss Belcher's arms and, drawing off her ring, handed it
to her lover. Their eyes met, and hers were smiling bravely: but
they brimmed on a sudden as the tears sprang into his. And now I
felt that there was strong hope for him.
Thus I came to be present at their wedding. Indeed, the prisoner
claimed so much of Mr. Rogers's attention during the ceremony that
you might almost say I acted as groomsman.
CHAPTER XX.
ISABEL'S REVENGE.
When all was over, and the book signed, Isabel walked across to Mr.
Rogers and held out her hand.
"You have been a good friend to me to-night. God will surely bless
you for what you have done." She paused, with heightened colour.
Mr. Rogers awkwardly stammered that he hoped she wouldn't mention it.
But if the speech was inadequate, his action made up for it. He took
her hand and kissed it respectfully.
It seemed that she had more to say. "I have still another favour to
ask," she went on--I have heard since that a woman always keeps some
tenderness for an honest man who has once wooed her, however
decidedly she may have said "no." Isabel's smile was at once tender
and anxious; but it drew no response from Mr. Rogers, who had let
drop her fingers and stood now with eyes uncomfortably averted.
"I want a wedding gift," said she.
"Eh?" He turned a flushed face and perceived that she was pointing
at Leicester.
"I want this man from you. Will you give him to me?"
"For what?"
"You shall see." She knelt at the prisoner's feet and began to
unbuckle the strap about his ankles; shrinking a little at first at
the touch of him, but resolutely conquering her disgust.
Mr. Rogers put down a hand to prevent her.
"You never mean to set him free?"
"That is what I ask," she answered, with an upturned look of appeal.
"My dear Miss Brooks," he said, inadvertently using her maiden name,
"I am sorry--no, that's a lie--I am jolly glad to say that it can't
be done."
"Why? Against whom else has he sinned, to injure them?"
"Against a good many, even if we put it on that ground only.
Besides, he'll have to answer another charge altogether."
"What charge?"
"Of having murdered the Jew Rodriguez. Did I not tell you that we
found marked money in his pocket?"
"But he never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"
Mr. Rogers shrugged his shoulders. "That's for him to prove."
"But we know he did not," Isabel insisted, and turned to me.
"He never took that money from Mr. Rodriguez?"
"No," said I; "it was given him last night by Mr. Whitmore in Miss
Belcher's shrubbery."
"He is not guilty of this murder?"
"No," said I again, "I think not: indeed, I am sure he is not."
I glanced at Archibald Plinlimmon who had been standing with eyes
downcast and gloomy, studying the dim pattern of the carpet at his
feet. He looked up now: his face had grown resolute.
"No," he echoed in a strained voice; "he had nothing to do with the
murder."
"Why, what on earth do _you_ know?" cried Mr. Rogers, and Isabel,
too, bent back on her knees and gazed on him amazedly.
"I was there."
"_Where_, in Heaven's name?"
"On the roof outside the garret. I looked in and saw the body
lying."
"You were on the roof--you looked in and saw the body--" Mr. Rogers
repeated the words stupidly, automatically, searching for speech of
his own. "Man alive, how came you on the roof? What were you doing
there?"
"We were billeted three doors away," said Archibald, and paused.
"I can tell you no more just now."
"'We'?"
"That man and I." He pointed at Leicester.
"And you looked in. What else did you see?" Mr. Rogers's voice was
sharp.
"That I cannot tell you."
"The murderer?"
"No: not the murderer," he answered slowly.
"Then what? Whom?"
"I have said that I cannot tell you."
"But he can, sir!" I cried recklessly. "He saw _me_! I had just
found the body and was standing beside it when he looked in."
I stopped, panting. It seemed as if all the breath in me had escaped
for the moment with my confession.
Mr. Rogers turned from me to Archibald. "I think I see. You
supposed the boy to be guilty, and helped him to get away."
"No," answered Archibald, "I did not think him guilty. I did not
know what to think. And it was he who helped me to get away."
"Why should he help you to get away?"
"I will tell that--but not to you. I will tell it to my wife."
Isabel had risen from her knees. She went to him and would have
taken his hand. "Not yet," he said hoarsely, and turned from her.
Mr. Rogers eyed the Rector in despair. But the Rector merely shook
his head.
"But confound it all! Where's the murderer, in all this?"
"Sakes alive! Isn't that as clear as daylight?" interjected Miss
Belcher. "Didn't I let him out of the window more than an hour ago?
And isn't Hodgson foundering my mare at this moment in chase of him?
See here, Jack," she went on judicially, "you've played one or two
neat strokes to-night: but one or two neat strokes don't make a
professional. You'll have to give up this justicing. You've no head
for it."
"Indeed?" retorted Mr. Rogers. "Then since it seems you see deeper
into this business than most of us, perhaps you'll favour us with
your advice."
"With all the pleasure in life, my son," said the lady. "I can see
holes in a ladder: but I don't look deep into a brick wall, for the
reason that I don't try. There's some secret between Mr. Plinlimmon
and this boy. What it is I don't know, and you don't know: and I've
yet to discover that 'tis any business of ours. All I care to hear
about it is that Mr. Plinlimmon means to tell his wife, for which I
commend him. Now you don't propose to make out a warrant against
_him_, I take it? As for the boy, he's done us more services
to-night than we can count on our fingers. He's saved more than one,
and more than two, of us here, let alone five couples married by
Whitmore in the four months he was curate. Reckon them in, please,
and their children to come. Ah, my dear," she laid a hand on
Isabel's shoulder. "I know what I'm speaking of! He has ended a
scandal for the Rector, and in time for the mischief to be repaired.
He has even saved that dirty scoundrel there, if it helps a man on
Judgment Day that his villainies have miscarried. Well then, what
about the boy? There's a hue-and-cry after him; but you can't give
him up. Let alone the manner of your meeting him--that business of
the bonfire--and a pretty tale 'twould make against a Justice of the
Peace--"
"I never gave that a thought, Lydia," Mr. Rogers protested.
"I know you didn't, my lad: that's why I mentioned it. Well, letting
that alone, how are you to give the child up? You can't. You know
you can't. We've to hide him now, though it cost your commission.
Eh? to be sure we must. Give him up? Pretty gratitude indeed, and
what next, I wonder!"
"I never thought of giving him up."
"I know you didn't, again: but I'm combing out your brains for you,
if you'll only stand quiet and not interrupt. Keep your mind fixed
on Whitmore. Whitmore's your man. If Hodgson catches him--"
"If Hodgson catches him, he'll be charged with the murder. I've the
warrant in my pocket. Then how are we to hide the boy, or keep any
silence on what has happened here to-night?"
"Ye dunderhead!" Miss Belcher stamped her foot. "What in the name of
fortune have we to do with the murder? If Hodgson catches him, he'll
be charged with forging the Bishop of Exeter's licence: that's to say
with a crime he's already confessed to you. If you want to hang him,
that'll do it. You don't want to hang him twice over, do you? And I
don't reckon he'll be so anxious to be hanged twice that he'll
confess to a murder for the fun of the thing. If you say nothing,
he'll say nothing. Upon my word you seem to have that Jew on the
brain! Who made out the warrant?"
"I, of course."
"Then keep it in your pocket: and when you get home, burn it.
It beats me to think why you can't let that murder alone. Rodriguez
was no friend of yours, was he? You can't bring him to life again,
can you? And what's your evidence? A couple of marked coins?
Barring us few here, who knows of them? Nobody. Barring us few
here, who knows a whisper beside, to connect Whitmore with the
murder? Nobody again. Very well, then: you came here to-night to
expose Whitmore as a false priest and a forger. You took the villain
on the hop, and he confessed: so the boy's evidence is not needed.
Having confessed, he made his escape. You can say, if you will, that
I helped him. That's all you need remember, and what more d'ye want?
It's odds against Hodgson catching him. It's all Lombard Street to a
china orange against his bothering you, if caught, with any plea but
Guilty." She ceased, panting with her flow of words.
"Well, but about this Leicester?" Mr. Rogers objected.
"What about him? Let him go. Isabel was right in begging him off--
though you did it, my dear, for other reasons than mine: but when the
heart's right, God bless you, it usually speaks common sense.
Let him go. D'ye want to hang him? He's ugly enough, but I don't
see how you're to do it, unless first of all you catch Whitmore and
then force him to turn cat-in-the-pan, at the risk of his talking too
much and with the certainty of dragging Isabel into the exposure.
Even so, I doubt you'll get evidence. This man is a deal too shrewd
to have done any of the forging himself. If Whitmore had known
enough to hang him, Whitmore wouldn't have gone in awe of him.
And what Whitmore don't know, Whitmore can't tell."
All this while the prisoner had kept absolute silence; had stood
motionless, except that his eyes turned from one speaker to another,
and now and then seemed to seek Archibald Plinlimmon's--who, however,
refused to return the look. But now he twisted his battered mouth
into something like an appreciative grin.
"Bravo, Madam!" said he. "You've the wits of the company, if you'll
take my compliments."
"I misdoubt they're interested ones," she answered drily, and so
addressed herself again to Mr. Rogers. "Let the man go: you've drawn
his sting. If ever he opens his mouth on to-night's work, we've a
plum or two to pop into it. If Mr. Plinlimmon chooses to take him at
the door and horsewhip him, I say nothing against it. Indeed he's
welcome to the loan of my hunting-crop."
"But no," put in Isabel quickly, and knelt again; "my husband will
not hurt where I have pardoned!" Rapidly she unloosed the strap
about Leicester's ankles and stood up. "Now hold out your hands,"
she said.
He held them out. She looked him in the face, and a sudden tide of
shame forced her to cover her own. In the silence her husband
stepped to her side. His eyes were steady upon Leicester now.
"How could you? How could you?" she murmured.
Then, dragging--as it were--her hands down to the task, she unbuckled
the strap around his wrist and pointed to the door.
Said Miss Belcher, "So two women have shown you mercy to-night,
George Leicester!"
He went, without any swagger. His face was white. Miss Belcher and
the Rector drew back as though he carried a disease, and let him
pass. At the door he turned and his eyes, with a kind of miserable
raillery in them, challenged Archibald Plinlimmon.
"Yes, you are right." The young man took a step towards him.
"Between us two there is a word to be said." He turned on us
abruptly. "I have been afraid of that man--yes, afraid. To say this
out, and before Isabel, costs me more courage than to thrash him.
Through fear of him I have been a villain. Worse wrong than I did to
my wife--worse in its consequences--I could not do: you know it, all
of you; and I must go now and tell it to her father. I did it
unknowingly, by this man's contrivance; but not in any fear of him.
What I did in fear, and knowingly, was worse in another way--worse in
intention. I tell you that but for an accident I might--I might
have--" He stammered and came to a halt. "No, I cannot tell it
yet," he muttered half defiantly, with a shy look at the Rector.
"But this I can tell"--and his voice rose--"that no fear of _him_
stays me. You? I have your secret now. You have none of mine I
dare not meet. You may go: you have my wife's pardon, it seems.
I do not understand it, but you have mine--with this caution.
You are my superior officer. If to-morrow, outside of the ranks, you
dare to say a word to me, I promise to strike you on the mouth
before the regiment, and afterwards to tell the whole truth of us
both, and take what punishment may befall."
So he too pointed towards the door. Leicester bowed and went from us
into the night.
"That's all very well," groaned Mr. Rogers, "but I'll have to resign
my commission of the peace."
"If it's retiring from active service you mean," said Miss Belcher
cheerfully, "that's what I began by advising. But stick to the
title, Jack: you adorn it--indeed you do. And for my part," she
wound up, "I think you've done mighty well to-night, considering."
"I've let one villain escape, you mean, and t'other go scot free."
"And the nuisance of it is," said she with a broadening smile,
"I shan't be able to congratulate you in public."
"Well"--Mr. Rogers regained his cheerfulness as he eyed his
knuckles--"we've let a deal of villainy loose on the world: but I got
in once with the left, and that must be my consolation. What are we
to do with this boy?"
"Hide him."
"Easier said than done."
"Not a bit." Miss Belcher turned to me. "Have you any friends, boy,
who will be worrying if we keep you a few days?"
"None, ma'am," said I, and thereby in my haste did much injustice to
the excellent Mr. and Mrs. Trapp.
"Eh? You have the world before you? Then maybe you're luckier
than you think, my lad. What would you like to be? A sailor, now?
I can get you shipped across to Guernsey to-morrow, if you say the
word."
"That would do very well, ma'am: but if you ask me to choose--"
"I do."
"Then I'll choose to be a soldier," said I stoutly.
"H'm! You'll have to grow to it."
"I could start as a drummer, ma'am." The drum in Major Brooks's
summer-house had put that into my head.
"My father can manage it, I am sure!" cried Isabel. "And meanwhile
let him come back to the Cottage. No one will think of searching for
him there: and to-night, when I have spoken to my father--"
"You will speak to your father to-night?"
Isabel glanced at her bridegroom, who nodded. "To-night," said he
firmly. "We sail to-morrow."
Miss Belcher wagged her head at him. "I had my doubts of you, young
man. You've been a fool: but I've a notion you'll do, yet."
"Good-night, then!" Isabel went to her and held up her cheek to be
kissed.
"Eh? Not a bit of it! I'm coming with you. Don't stare at me now--
I've a word to say, and I think maybe 'twill help."
We left the Rector and Mr. Rogers to their task of overhauling the
house while they sat up on the chance of Hodgson's returning with
Whitmore or with news of him: and trooped up the lane and down across
the park to Minden Cottage.
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