Colonel Thorndyke's Secret Part 32

"Which way, Malcolm?"

"Tooting way."

"That is all right. I have been a little nervous lest if he came the other way our horse might make some slight noise and attract his attention; that was our only weak point."

They had already ascertained that the front door was locked and bolted, and that he must therefore enter through the kitchen. They heard the horse stop in front, a moment later the gate was opened, and through the window they could just make out the figure of a man leading a horse; then the stable door opened, and they heard a movement, and knew that the horse was being unsaddled; they heard it walk into the stable, the door was shut behind it, and a step approached the back door. It was opened, and a voice said with an oath, "The old fool has forgotten to leave a candle burning;" then he stepped into the kitchen.

In an instant there was a sound of a violent struggle, deep oaths and curses, two sharp clicks, then all was quiet except heavy breathing and the striking of flint on a tinderbox; there was the blue glare of the sulphur match, and a candle was lighted. Mark then turned to the man who was standing still grasped in the hands of his two captors.

"Arthur Bastow," he said, producing his staff, "I arrest you in the King's name, as an escaped convict, as a notorious highwayman and house breaker."

As his name was spoken the man started, then he said quietly:

"You have made a mistake this time, my men; my name is William Johnson; I am well known here, and have been a quiet resident in this house for upwards of a year."

"A resident, but not a quiet resident, Bastow. I don't think we are mistaken; but even if you can prove that you are not Bastow, but William Johnson, a man of means and family, we have evidence enough upon the other charges. We have been in search of you for a long time, and have got you at last. You don't remember me, though it is but eighteen months since we met; but I fancy that I then left a mark upon you that still remains on your shoulder. I am Mark Thornd.y.k.e, and you will understand now why I have hunted you down."

"The game is not finished yet," the man said recklessly. "The hunting down will be the other way next time, Mark Thornd.y.k.e."

"I don't think so. Now, Chester, you may as well tie his feet together, and then search him. When that is done I will look after him while you fetch the trap round."

In his pockets were found two gold watches, forty-eight pounds in gold, and a hundred pounds in bank notes.

"We shall hear where this comes from tomorrow," Malcolm said, as he laid them on the table; "it will save us the trouble of getting evidence from Australia."

The prisoner was placed in a chair, and then the two officers went out to fetch the trap round.

"So you have turned thief catcher, have you?" he said in a sneering tone, that recalled him to Mark's memory far more than his face had done, "and you carry a Bow Street staff about with you, and pretend to belong to the force: that is a punishable offense, you know."

"Yes, it would be if I had no right to use it," Mark said quietly; "but it happens that I have a right, having been for a year and a half in the force. I joined it solely to hunt you down, and now that I have done so my resignation will be sent in tomorrow."

"And how is the worthy squire?"

Mark started to his feet, and seized one of the pistols lying before him.

"You villain!" he exclaimed, "I wonder you dare mention his name--you, his murderer."

"It was but t.i.t for tat," the man said coolly; "he murdered me, body and soul, when he sent me to the hulks. I told him I would be even with him.

I did not think I had hit him at the time, for I thought that if I had you would have stopped with him, and would not have chased me across the fields."

"You scoundrel!" Mark said. "You know well enough that you came back, stole into his room, and stabbed him."

Bastow looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"I don't know what you are talking about," he said. "I fired at him through the window--I don't mind saying so to you, because there are no witnesses--and saw him jump up, but I fancied I had missed him. I saw you bolt out of the room, and thought it better to be off at once instead of taking another shot. You gave me a hard chase. It was lucky for you that you did not come up with me, for if you had done so I should have shot you; I owed you one for having killed as good a comrade as man ever had, and for that bullet you put in my shoulder before. If I had not been so out of breath that I could not feel sure of my aim I should have stopped for you, but I rode straight to town."

"A likely story," Mark said shortly. "What, you will pretend that there were two murderers hanging round the house that night?--a likely tale indeed."

"I tell you that if your father was killed by a knife or dagger, I had nothing to do with it," the man said. "I am obliged to the man, whoever he was. I had intended to go down again to Reigate to finish the job myself; I should scarcely have missed a second time. So it is for that you hunted me down? Well, I don't blame you; I never forgive an injury, and I see your sentiments are mine. Whether I killed your father or not makes no difference; he was killed, that is the princ.i.p.al point; if I was going to be put on my trial for that I could prove that at eight o'clock I was in a coffee house in Covent Garden. I purposely kicked up a row there, and was turned out, so that if I were charged with that shooting affair I could prove that I was in London that evening."

"I can't quite believe that," Mark said; "a fast horse would have brought you up to town in an hour and a half, and another fast horse would have taken you back again as quickly; so you might have been in London at eight and back again at Crowswood by half past twelve or one, even if you stopped a couple of hours at a coffee house. However, you won't be tried for that. Those things on the table and the contents of that corn bin are enough to hang you a dozen times."

"Curse you! have you found that out?" Bastow exclaimed furiously.

"We have," Mark replied. "It would have been wiser if you had got rid of your things sooner. It was a clever hiding place, but it is always dangerous to keep such things by you, Bastow."

The man said no more, but sat quietly in his chair until they heard the vehicle stop outside the gate. Then the two constables came in, and lifting Bastow, carried him out and placed him in the bottom of the cart.

"You can loose the old woman now, Malcolm," Mark said as he took his seat and gathered the reins in his hand. "By eleven o'clock, no doubt, one of the others will be down with the gig again, and you can empty out the contents of that hole, and bring them up with you. I don't think that it will be of any use searching further. You might have a good look all round before you come away. There may be some notes stowed away, though it is likely enough that they have been sent away by post to some receiver abroad."

For some time after starting they could hear the prisoner moving about uneasily in the straw.

"I suppose there is no fear of his slipping out of those handcuffs, Chester?"

"Not a bit; they are full tight for him. I expect that that is what is making him uncomfortable."

Presently the movement ceased.

"He is still enough now, Mr. Thornd.y.k.e. I should not be at all surprised if he has dropped off to sleep. He is hardened enough to sleep while the gibbet was waiting for him."

It was four o'clock in the morning when they drove up at Bow Street. Two constables on duty came out to the cart.

"We have got a prisoner, Inspector," Chester said. "He is the man we have been looking for so long. I fancy we have got all the swag that has been stolen for the last eighteen months--bags of jewels and watches, and sacks of silver. He is handcuffed, and his legs are tied, so we must carry him in."

The officer fetched out a lantern. The other constable helped him to let down the backboard of the cart.

"Now, Bastow, wake up," Chester said. "Here we are."

But there was no movement!

"He is mighty sound asleep," the constable said.

"Well, haul him out;" and, taking the man by the shoulders, they pulled him out from the cart.

"There is something rum about him," the constable said; and as they lowered his feet to the pavement his head fell forward, and he would have sunk down if they had not supported him.

The Inspector raised the lantern to his face.

"Why, the man is dead," he said.

"Dead!" Chester repeated incredulously.

"Aye, that he is. Look here;" and he pointed to a slim steel handle some three inches long, projecting over the region of the heart. "You must have searched him very carelessly, Chester. Well, bring him in now."

They carried him into the room, where two candles were burning. Mark followed them. The inspector pulled out the dagger. It was but four inches long, with a very thin blade. The handle was little thicker than the blade itself. Mark took it and examined it.

"I have not a shadow of doubt that this is the dagger with which he murdered my father. The wound was very narrow, about this width, and the doctor said that the weapon that had been used was certainly a foreign dagger."