As We Forgive Them Part 19

"You have not fallen in my estimation at all, Mabel," I a.s.sured her.

"My only regret is that the scoundrel made such an outrageous attempt upon you. But it was fortunate that I followed you, although I suppose I ought to apologise to you for acting the eavesdropper."

"You saved my life," was her whispered answer, as she pressed my hand in thanks. Then she crept swiftly and silently up the big staircase and was lost to view.

Next morning she appeared at the breakfast-table, looking apparently little the worse for her narrow escape, save perhaps that around her eyes were dark rings that told of sleeplessness and terrible anxiety.

But she nevertheless chatted merrily, as though no care weighed upon her mind. While Gibbons was in the room serving us she could not speak confidentially, but as she looked across at me, her glance was full of meaning.

At last, when we had finished and had walked together across the great hall back to the library, I said to her--

"Shall you allow the regrettable incident of last night to pa.s.s unnoticed? If you do, I fear that man may make another attempt upon you. Therefore it will surely be better if he understands once and for all that I was a witness of his dastardly cowardice."

"No," she replied in a low, pained voice. "Please don't let us discuss it. It must pa.s.s."

"Why?"

"Because if I were to seek to punish him he might bring forward something--something that I wish kept secret."

I knew that, I recollected every word of that heated conversation. The blackmailer held some secret of hers which, being detrimental, she dreaded might be revealed.

Surely it was all a strange and most remarkable enigma from beginning to end! From that winter night on the highway near Helpstone, when I had found her fallen at the wayside, until that very moment, mystery had piled upon mystery and secret upon secret until, with Burton Blair's decease and with the pack of tiny cards he had so curiously bequeathed to me, the problem had a.s.sumed gigantic proportions.

"That man would have murdered you, Mabel," I said. "You are is fear of him?"

"I am," she answered simply, her gaze fixed across the lawn and park beyond, and she sighed.

"But ought you not to a.s.sume the defensive now that the fellow has deliberately endeavoured to take your life?" I argued. "His villainous action last night was purely criminal!"

"It was," she said in a blank, hollow voice, turning her eyes upon me.

"I had no idea of his intention. I confess that I came down here because he compelled me to meet him. He has heard of my father's death and now realises that he can obtain money from me; that I shall be forced to yield to his demands."

"You may surely tell me his name," I said.

"Herbert Hales," she replied, not, however, without some hesitation.

Then she added, "But I do wish Mr. Greenwood, you would do me a favour and not mention the painful affair again. You do not know how it upsets me, or how much depends upon that man's silence."

I promised, although before doing so I tried my level best to induce her to give me some clue to the nature of the secret held by the uncouth yokel. But she was still obdurate and refused to tell me anything.

That the secret was something which affected herself or her own honour seemed quite plain, for, at every suggestion of mine to bring the fellow face to face with her, she shrank in fear of the startling revelation he could make.

I wondered whether that doc.u.ment, for her eyes only, which had been written by the man now dead, and which she had destroyed on the previous night, had any connexion with the secret known by Herbert Hales.

Indeed, whatever the nature of that fellow's knowledge, it was potent enough to compel her to travel down from London in order, if possible, I supposed, to arrange terms with him.

Fortunately, however, the household at Mayvill was unaware of the events of the previous night, and when at midday we left again to return to London, Gibbons and his wife stood at the door and wished us both a pleasant journey.

The house steward and his wife of course believed that the object of our flying visit was to search the dead man's effects, and with the natural curiosity of servants, both were eager to know whether we had discovered anything of interest, although they were unable to question us directly.

Inquisitiveness increases with a servant's trustworthiness, until the confidential servant usually knows as much of his master's or mistress'

affairs as they do themselves. Burton Blair had been particularly fond of the Gibbonses, and it almost seemed as though the latter considered themselves slighted by not being informed of every disposition made by their dead master in his will.

As it was, we only told them of one, the legacy of two hundred pounds apiece, which Blair had left them, and this had of course caused them the most profound gratification.

Having deposited Mabel at Grosvenor Square, and taken lingering leave of her, I returned at once to Great Russell Street and found that Reggie had just returned from the warehouse in Cannon Street.

Acting upon my sweet little friend's appeal I told him nothing of the exciting incident of the previous night. All I explained was the searching of Blair's writing-table and what we had discovered there.

"Well, we ought I think to go and see that house by the crossways," he said when he had seen the photograph. "Doncaster is a quick run from King's Cross. We could get there and back to-morrow. I'm interested to see the house to discover which poor Blair tramped all over England.

This must have come into his possession," he added, handling the photograph, "without any name or any clue whatever to its situation."

I agreed that we ought to go and see for ourselves, therefore, after spending a quiet evening at the Devonshire, we left by the early train next day for Yorkshire. On arrival at Doncaster station, to which we ran through from London without a stop, we took a fly and drove out upon the broad, snowy highroad through Bentley for about six miles or so, until, after skirting Owston Park we came suddenly upon the crossroads where stood the lonely old house, just as shown in the photograph.

It was a quaint, old place, like one of those old toll-houses one sees in ancient prints, the old bar being of course missing. The gate-post, however, still remained, and snow having fallen in the night the scene presented was truly wintry and picturesque. The antique house with its broad, smoking chimney at the end had apparently been added to since the photograph had been taken, for at right angles was a new wing of red brick, converting it into quite a comfortable abode. Yet, as we approached, the old place rising out of the white, snow-covered plain breathed mutely of those forgotten days when the York and London coaches pa.s.sed it, when masked gentlemen-of-the-road lurked in these dark, fir plantations which stood out beyond the open common at Kirkhouse Green, and when the post-boys were never tired of singing the praises of those wonderful cheeses at the old _Bell_ in Stilton.

Our driver pa.s.sed the place and about a quarter of a mile further on we stopped him, alighted and walked back together, ordering the man to await us.

On knocking at the door an aged old woman in cap and ribbons, opened it, whereupon Reggie, who a.s.sumed the position of spokesman, made excuse that we were pa.s.sing, and, noticing by its exterior that the place was evidently an old toll-house, could not resist the inducement to call and request to be allowed to look within.

"I'm sure you're very welcome, gentlemen," answered the woman, in her broad, Yorkshire dialect. "It's an old place and lots o' folk have been here and looked over it in my time."

Across the room were the black old beams of two centuries before, the old chimney-corner looked warm and cosy with its oaken, well-polished settle, and the big pot simmering upon the fire. The furniture, too, was little changed since the old coaching days, while about the place was a general air of affluence and comfort.

"You've lived here a long time, I suppose?" Reggie inquired, when we had glanced around and noted the little lancet window in the chimney-corner whence the toll-keeper in the old days could obtain a view for miles along the highroad that ran away across the open moorlands.

"I've been here this three-and-twenty years come next Michaelmas."

"And your husband?"

"Oh! he's here," she laughed, then called, "Come here, Henry, where are you?" and then she added, "He's never left here once since he came home from sea eighteen years ago. We're both so very attached to the old place. A bit lonely, folks would call it, but Burghwallis is only a mile away."

At mention of her husband's return from sea we both p.r.i.c.ked up our ears.

Here was evidently the man for whom Burton Blair had searched the length and breadth of England.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

WHICH CONTAINS A CLUE.

A door opened and there came forward a tall, thin, wiry old man with white hair and a pointed grey beard. He had evidently retired on our arrival in order to change his coat, for he wore a blue reefer jacket which had had but little wear, but the collar of which was twisted, showing that he had only that moment a.s.sumed it.

His face was deeply wrinkled with long, straight furrows across the brows; the countenance of a man who for years had been exposed to rigours of wind and weather in varying climates.

Having welcomed us, he laughed lightly when we explained our admiration for old houses. We were Londoners, we explained, and toll-houses and their a.s.sociations with the antiquated locomotion of the past always charmed us.

"Yes," he said, in a rather refined voice for such a rough exterior, "they were exciting days, those. Nowadays the motor car has taken the place of the picturesque coach and team, and they rush past here backwards and forwards, blowing their horns at every hour of the day and night. Half the time we have a constable lying in wait in the back garden ready to time them on to Campsall, and take 'em to the Petty Sessions afterwards!" he laughed; "and fancy this at the very spot where Claude Duval held up the Duke of Northumberland and afterwards gallantly escorted Lady Mary Percy back to Selby."

The old fellow seemed to deplore the pa.s.sing of the good old days, for he was one of what is known as "the old school," full of narrow-minded prejudices against every new-fangled idea, whether it be in medicine, religion or politics, and declaring that when he was a youth men were men and could hold their own successfully against the foreigner, either in the peace of commerce or in the clash of arms.

To my utter surprise he told us that his name was Hales--the same as that of Mabel's secret lover, and as we chatted with him we learned that he had been a good many years at sea, mostly in the Atlantic and Mediterranean trades.

"Well, you seem pretty comfortable now," I remarked, smiling, "a cosy house, a good wife, and everything to make you happy."

"You're right," he answered, taking down a long clay pipe from the rack over the open hearth. "A man wants nowt more. I'm contented enough and I only wish everybody in Yorkshire was as comfortable this hard weather."