A Coin of Edward VII Part 22

Giles went at once to the churchyard to view Daisy's grave. He found everything in good order. The gra.s.s was shorn, the flowers were blooming, and the white marble of the stone had been cleansed carefully.

Wondering who had performed this labor of love, he returned to get his horse. At the gate of the churchyard a tall man pa.s.sed him with bent head. As he brushed past the young squire he raised it suddenly. Giles saw a clean-shaven face, large black eyes, and a sallow complexion. He stood aside to let him pa.s.s.

"Rather a nice day," said Ware pleasantly.

"Very," responded the man, and continued his walk.

Giles knew very well that he was the new tenant of the Priory. It was in his mind to speak to him, but on second thoughts he decided to do so on a more propitious occasion. Standing at the gate, he looked thoughtfully after the retiring figure. There was something familiar about it and about the face of the man. His eyes especially aroused a vague recollection in his mind, but he could not, as the saying goes, "put a name to it." But while walking to the inn it suddenly flashed into his brain that this was the man whom he had seen in church on that fatal New Year's Eve.

"It's the clerk," he said breathlessly. "He has shaved his beard. He is Wilson, the man who fled with Anne, who murdered poor Daisy!"

CHAPTER XIII

MRS. BENKER REAPPEARS

The more Giles thought about Franklin, the more he was certain that he was the man for whom search was being made. To be sure there was no distinguishing mark of identification; the evidence that he was one and the same amounted to the facts that he had large black eyes, and that his height and figure resembled the so-called Wilson. Moreover, although other people in the village had seen the clerk, no one but Giles seemed to recognize him. In fact, this recognition was rather due to an instinct than to any tangible reason. But in his own mind he was convinced. He recalled how the man had suddenly removed his scarf as though he were stifling on that night. He remembered the wan face, the dark, anxious face, and the rough red beard and hair.

To be sure Franklin was dark-haired and sallow in complexion; also he was clean-shaved, and even when not--according to Mrs. Parry--had worn a full black beard. But the red hair and whiskers might have been a.s.sumed as a disguise. Giles did not know very well how to verify his suspicions. Then he determined to confide in Morley. Steel had told him that the proprietor of The Elms was an ex-detective, and Giles thought that for the sake of avenging Daisy's death he might be induced to take up his old trade. With this idea he called at The Elms.

Morley was delighted to see him and welcomed him in the most cheerful manner. He and Giles were always good friends, and the only subject of contention between them was the question of Anne's guilt. Morley still believed that the governess had committed the crime and asked after her at the outset of the interview.

"Have you found her?" he asked, just as Mrs. Parry had done.

Giles knew quite well of whom he was speaking. "No, I have not," he answered; "and if I had I certainly should not tell you."

"As you please," replied the little man complacently; "you will never see the truth."

"It is not the truth. But see here, Morley, what is the use of our discussing this matter? You believe Miss Denham to be guilty. I am certain that she is innocent. Let the difference between us rest there.

Still, if I could prove the innocence of Miss Denham----"

"I should be more than delighted," responded Morley quickly, "and would make all the amends in my power for my unjust suspicions. But you have first to prove them unjust. Believe me, Ware, I admired Miss Denham as much as my wife did, and thought much of her. I defended her from poor Daisy's aspersions, and would have stood her friend all through but for this last act of hers. Well! Well, don't get angry. I am willing to be shown that I am wrong. Show me."

Giles reflected for a moment, then went straight to the point.

"I have been with Steel," he said abruptly, "and he tells me that you have been in the detective line yourself."

Morley nodded. "Quite so," he answered, "although I asked Steel to say nothing about it. I am a private gentleman now, and I don't want my former occupation to be known in Rickwell. A prejudice exists against detectives, Ware. People don't like them, because every one has something to conceal, and with a trained man he or she is afraid lest some secret sin should come to light."

"It may be so, although that is rather a cynical way of looking at the matter. But you are really Joe Bart?"

"Yes. And quite at your service. Only keep this quiet."

"Certainly. I quite appreciate your reasons for wanting the matter kept quiet. But see here, Mr. Morley--I shall call you so."

"It will be better," replied the ex-detective cheerfully, "and I have a sort of right to the name. It was my mother's."

"Very good. Then as Morley why should you not exercise your old skill and help me to find out who killed Daisy?"

"I should be delighted, and what skill remains to me is at your service.

But I am rusty now, and cannot follow a trail with my old persistence or talent. Besides, my mind is made up as to the guilt----"

"Yes, yes," interposed Giles hastily, "you think so, but I don't agree with you. Now listen to what I have to tell you, and I am sure you will think that it was the man who killed Daisy."

"But he had no motive."

"Yes, he had. I'll tell it to you concisely."

Morley looked surprised at Giles' insistence, but nodded without a word and waited for an explanation. Giles related all that he had learned about Wilson, and how Steel had connected him with the supposed clerk who had served the summons on Morley. Then he proceeded to detail Steel's belief that the so-called Wilson was a burglar, and mentioned the fact of the yacht with the strange name. Morley listened in silence, but interrupted the recital with a laugh, when the scarlet cross was mentioned in connection with the robbery at Lady Summersdale's house.

"Steel has found a mare's nest this time," he said coolly. "He knew better than to come to me with such a c.o.c.k and bull story, although he has imposed very successfully on you and on that Hungarian Princess you talk of. I had the Summersdale case in hand."

"I know. Steel said that you carried it through successfully."

Morley demurred. "I don't know if you can say that I was successful, Ware. It was not one of my lucky cases. I certainly got back the jewels.

I found them in their London hiding-place, but I did not catch one of the thieves. They all bolted."

"In _The Red Cross_ yacht."

"Oh, that's all rubbish," said Morley frankly; "there were a great many yachts at Bexleigh on that occasion. I don't remember one called _The Red Cross_. And even if one of that name was there, it does not say that it is the same that was off Gravesend the other day."

"Six months ago," corrected Giles gravely; "but how do you account for the fact that wherever that yacht has been burglaries have taken place?"

"I can't account for it, and Steel has yet to prove that there is any connection between the yacht and the robberies. He thinks it a kind of pirate ship evidently. Not a bad idea, though," added Morley musingly; "the goods could be removed easily without suspicion on board a good-looking yacht."

"And that is what has been done."

"It wasn't in the matter of Lady Summersdale's jewels," retorted the ex-detective. "I found those in London, and have reason to believe that they were taken there by train. Besides, there was no connection between the yacht and that robbery."

"Steel said that a scarlet cross was found in the safe, and----"

"And," interrupted Morley, "there you have the long arm of coincidence, Ware. That cross belonged to Lady Summersdale, and was one of the trinkets left behind. If you want proof on this point, you have only to ask Lady----no, I forgot, she is dead. However, I daresay her son or daughter will be able to prove that the cross was hers."

Giles was much disappointed by this explanation, which seemed clear enough. And if any one should know the truth, it would be the man who had taken charge of the case. Failing on this point, Giles shifted his ground.

"Well, Morley," he said, "I am not very anxious to prove this man Wilson a burglar. He is a murderer, I am sure, and the greater crime swallows up the lesser."

"That sounds law," said Morley, lighting a cigar.

"Well, Ware, I don't see how I can help you. This man Wilson, whether he is innocent or guilty, has vanished; and, moreover, his connection, if any, with the Summersdale robbery of ten years ago won't prove him guilty of my poor ward's death."

"I only mentioned that to show his connection with the yacht at Gravesend. But as to this Wilson, I know where he is."

Morley wheeled round with an eager light in his eyes. "The devil you do.

Where is he?"