A Maid of the Silver Sea Part 21

"Yes, dear, I did. Or rather he met me--as you see."

"Did you fight with him?" she panted.

"He was too drunk to fight. He ran at me and gave me this, and my first inclination was to give him a sound thrashing. Then I saw it would be no good, in the condition he was in, so I just kept him at arm's length till he tired of it. He went off at last, and I was so afraid he might tumble off the Coupee that I followed him, and he hurled rocks at me whenever he came to a stand. But he got across all right, and I went back and went to bed. Now, what's all the trouble about?"

"He never came home," she jerked, with a catch in her voice which thought only of Tom had never put there.

"Never came home?"

"And they're all out looking for him."

"I wonder if he went back to Peter Mauger's.... If he tried to cross that Coupee again--in the condition he was in--"

"He didn't go back to Peter's. Julie went there first of all to ask."

"Good Lord, what can have become of him?"

The answer came unexpectedly round the corner of the house--Julie Hamon, in a state of utmost dishevelment and agitation, which turned instantly to venomous fury at the sight of Gard and Nance.

Her black hair seemed all a-bristle. Her black eyes flamed. Her dark face worked like a quicksand. Her skirts were wet to the waist. Her jacket was open at the top, as though she had wrenched at it in a fit of choking. Her strong bare throat throbbed convulsively. Her hands, half closed at her side, looked as though they wanted something to claw.

"Did you do it?" she cried hoa.r.s.ely, stalking up to Gard.

"Do what?"

"Kill him."

"Tom?... You don't mean to say--"

"You ought to know. He's there in the school-house, broken to a jelly and his head staved in. And they say it's you he fought with last night.

The marks of it are on your face"--her voice rose to a scream--"Murderer!

Murderer! Murderer!"

"You wicked--thing!" cried Nance, pale to the lips.

"You--you--you!" foamed Julie. "You're as bad as he is. Because my man tried to save you from that--murderer--"

"Oh, you--wicked!--You're crazy," cried Nance, rushing at her as though to make an end of her.

And Julie, mad with the strain of the night's anxieties and their abrupt and terrible ending, uncurled her claws and struck at her with a snarl--tore off her sun-bonnet, and would have ripped up her face, if Gard had not flung his arms round her from the back and dragged her screaming and kicking towards her own door.

Mrs. Hamon had come running out at sound of the fray. Gard whirled the mad woman into her own house and Mrs. Hamon followed her and closed the door.

Gard turned to look for Nance.

She was nervously trying to tie on her sun-bonnet by one string.

"Nance, dear," he said, "you don't believe I had anything to do with this?"

"Oh no, no! I'm sure you hadn't. But--"

"But?" he asked, looking down into the pale face and bright anxious eyes.

"Oh, they may say you did it. They will think it. They are sure to think it, and they are so--"

"Don't trouble about it, dear. I know no more about it than you do, and they cannot get beyond that. Promise me you won't let it trouble you."

"Oh, I will try. But--"

"Have no fears on my account, Nance. I will go at once and tell them all I know about it."

He pressed her hands rea.s.suringly, and she went into the house with downcast head and a face full of forebodings, and he set off at once for Sark.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW TOM WENT TO SCHOOL FOR THE LAST TIME

Mrs. Tom had had a troubled night. Anxiety at her husband's continued absence had in due time given way to anger, and anger in its turn to anxiety again.

In a state of mind compounded of these wearing emotions, she had set out in the early morning to find out what had become of him; if he was sleeping off a drunken debauch at Peter Mauger's, to give them both a vigorous piece of her mind; if he was not there, to find out where he was; in any case to vent on some one the pent-up feelings of the night.

Vigorous hammering on Peter Mauger's door produced first his old housekeeper, and presently himself, heavy-eyed, dull-witted, and in flagrant dishabille, since Mrs. Guille had but a moment ago shaken him out of the sleep of those who drink not wisely over-night, with the information that a crazy woman wanted him at the door.

"Where's Tom?" demanded Julie, ready to empty the vials of her wrath on the delinquent as soon as he was produced.

But Peter's manner at once dissipated that expectation.

"Tom?" he said vaguely, and gazed at her with a bovine stupidity that jarred her strained nerves like a blow.

"Yes, Tom--my husband, fool! Where is he?" she asked sharply.

"Where is he?" scratching his tousled head to quicken his wits. "I d'n know."

"You don't know? What did you do with him last night, you drunken fool?"--by this time the neighbours had come out to learn the news.

Peter gaped at her in astonishment, his muddled wits and aching head beginning dimly to realize that something was wrong.

"Tom left here ... last night ... t'go home," he nodded emphatically.

"Well, he never got home," snapped Julie. "And you'd best get your clothes on and help me find him. You were both as drunk as pigs, I suppose. If he's lying dead in a ditch it's you that'll have the blame."

"Aw now, Julie!"

"Don't Julie me, you fool! Get dressed and do something."