The Chestermarke Instinct Part 8

Neale raised his stick again and began to point.

"All this in front of us is called Ellersdeane Hollow," he remarked.

"It's not just one depression, you see--it's a tract of unenclosed land.

It's dangerous to cross, except by the paths--it's honeycombed all over with disused lead-mines--some of the old shafts are a tremendous depth.

All the same, you see, there's some tinker chap, or some gipsies, camped out down there and got a fire. That old ruin, up on the crag there, is called Ellersdeane Tower--one of Lord Ellersdeane's ancestors built it for an observatory--this path'll lead us right beneath it."

"Is this the path he would have taken if he'd gone to Ellersdeane on Sat.u.r.day night?" asked Betty.

"Precisely--straight ahead, past the Tower," answered Neale. "And there is Ellersdeane itself, right away in the distance, amongst its trees.

There!--where the moonlight catches it. Now let your eye follow that far line of wood, over the tops of the trees about Ellersdeane village--do you see where the moonlight shines on another high roof? That's Gabriel Chestermarke's place--the Warren."

"So--he and Lord Ellersdeane are neighbours!" remarked Betty.

"Neighbours at a distance of a mile--and who do no more than nod to each other," answered Neale. "Lord Ellersdeane and Mr. Horbury were what you might call friends, but I don't believe his lordship ever spoke ten words with either of the Chestermarkes until this morning. I tell you the Chestermarkes are regular hermits!--when they're at home or about Scarnham, anyhow. Now let's go as far as the Tower--you can see all over the country from that point."

Betty followed her guide down a narrow path which led in and out through the undulations of the Hollow until it reached the foot of the promontory on which stood the old ruin that made such a prominent landmark. Seen at close quarters Ellersdeane Tower was a place of much greater size and proportion than it had appeared from the edge of the wood, and the path to its base was steep and rocky. And here the loneliness in which she and Neale had so far walked came to an end--on the edge of the promontory, outlined against the moonlit sky, two men stood, talking in low tones.

CHAPTER VII

THE TRAVELLING TINKER

Neale's eye caught the gleam of silver braid on the clothing of one of the two men, and he hastened his steps a little as he and Betty emerged on the level ground at the top of the steep path.

"That's a policeman," he said. "It'll be the constable from Ellersdeane.

The other man looks like a gamekeeper. Let's see if they've heard anything."

The two figures turned at the sound of footsteps, and came slowly in Neale's direction. Both recognized him and touched their hats.

"I suppose you're looking round in search of anything about Mr.

Horbury?" suggested Neale. "Heard any news or found any trace?"

"Well, we're what you might call taking a preliminary observation, Mr.

Neale," answered the policeman. "His lordship's sent men out all over the neighbourhood. No, we've heard nothing, nor seen anything, either.

But, then, there's not much chance of hearing anything hereabouts. The others have gone round asking at houses, and such-like--to find out if he was seen to pa.s.s anywhere. Of course, his lordship was figuring on the chance that Mr. Horbury might have had a fit, or something of that sort, and fallen somewhere along this path, between the town and Ellersdeane House--it's not much followed, this path. But we've seen nothing--up to now."

Neale turned to the keeper.

"Were none of your people about here on Sat.u.r.day night?" he asked.

"You've a good many watchers on the estate, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir--a dozen or more," answered the keeper. "But we don't come this way--this isn't our land. Our beats lie the other way--t'other side of the village. We never come on to this part at all."

"This, you know, Mr. Neale," remarked the policeman, jerking his thumb over the Hollow, "this, in a manner of speaking, belongs to n.o.body. Some say it belongs to the Crown--I don't know. All I know is that n.o.body has any rights over it--it's been what you might term common land ever since anybody can remember. This here Mr. Horbury that's missing--your governor, sir--I once met him out here, and had a bit of talk with him, and he told me that it isn't even known who worked them old lead-mines down there, nor who has any rights over all this waste. That, of course," concluded the policeman, pointing to the glowing fire which Neale and Betty had seen from the edge of the wood, "that's why chaps like yonder man come and camp here just as they like--there's n.o.body to stop 'em."

"Who is the man?" asked Neale, glancing at the fire, whose flames made a red spot amongst the bushes.

"Most likely a travelling tinker chap, sir, that comes this way now and again," answered the policeman. "Name of Creasy--Tinner Creasy, the folks call him. He's come here for many a year, at odd times. Camps out with his pony and cart, and goes round the villages and farmsteads, seeing if there's aught to mend, and selling 'em pots and pans and such-like. Stops a week or two--sometimes longer."

"And poaches all he can lay hands on," added the gamekeeper. "Only he takes good care never to go off this Hollow to do it."

"Have you made any inquiry of him?" asked Neale.

"We were just thinking of doing that, sir," replied the policeman. "He roams up and down about here at nights, when he is here. But I don't know how long he's been camping this time--it's very seldom I ever come round this way myself--there's naught to come for."

"Let's go across there and speak to him," said Neale.

He and Betty followed the two men down the side of the promontory and across the ups and downs of the Hollow, until they came to a deeper depression fringed about by a natural palisading of hawthorn. And as they drew near and could see into the dingle-like recess which the tinker had selected for his camping-ground they became aware of a savoury and appetizing odour, and the gamekeeper laughed.

"Cooking his supper, is Tinner Creasy!" he remarked. "And good stuff he has in his pot, too!"

The tinker, now in full view, sat on a log near a tripod, beneath which crackled a bright fire, burning under a black pot. The leaping flames revealed a shrewd, weather-beaten face which turned sharply towards the bushes as the visitors appeared; they also lighted up the tinker's cart in the background, the browsing pony close by, the implements of the tinner's trade strewn around on the gra.s.s. It was an alluring picture of vagabond life, and Neale suddenly compared it with the dull existence of folk who, like himself, were chained to a desk. He would have liked to sit down by Tinner Creasy and ask him about his doings--but the policeman had less poetical ideas.

"Hullo, Tinner!" said he, with easy familiarity. "Here again, what? I thought we should be seeing your fire some night this spring. Been here long?"

The tinker, who had remained seated on his log until he saw that a lady was of the party, rose and touched the edge of his fur cap to Betty in a way which indicated that his politeness was entirely for her.

"Since yesterday," he answered laconically.

"Only since yesterday!" exclaimed the policeman. "Ah! that's a pity, now. You wasn't here Sat.u.r.day night, then?"

The tinker turned a quizzical eye on the four inquiring faces.

"How would I be here Sat.u.r.day night when I only came yesterday?" he retorted. "You're the sort of chap that wants two answers to one question! What about Sat.u.r.day night?"

The policeman took off his helmet and rubbed the top of his head as if to encourage his faculties.

"Nay!" he said. "There's a gentleman missing from Scarnham yonder, and it's thought he came out this way after dark, Sat.u.r.day night, and something happened. But, of course, if you wasn't in these parts then----"

"I wasn't, nor within ten miles of 'em," said Creasy. "Who is the gentleman?"

"Mr. Horbury, the bank manager," answered the policeman.

"I know Mr. Horbury," remarked Creasy, with a glance at Neale and Betty.

"I've talked to him a hundred-and-one times on this waste. So it's him, is it? Well, there's one thing you can be certain about."

"What?" asked Betty eagerly.

"Mr. Horbury wouldn't happen aught by accident, hereabouts," answered the tinker significantly. "He knew every inch of this Hollow. Some folks, now, might take a header into one o' them old lead-mines. He wouldn't. He could ha' gone blind-fold over this spot."

"Well--he's disappeared," observed the policeman. "There's a search being made, all round. You heard naught last night, I suppose?"

Creasy gave Neale and Betty a look.

"Heard plenty of owls, and night-jars, and such-like," he answered, "and foxes, and weasels, and stoats, and beetles creeping in the gra.s.s.

Naught human!"