Miss Arnott's Marriage

"What might you happen to be talking about?"

"I'm talking about what I know, that's what I happen to be talking about, William Granger, and so you'll soon learn. I know who ought to be there instead of him, and if you've a drop of cousinly blood in your veins you'll see that he's out of that vile place, where none of my kith or kin ever was before, and that you know, the first thing to-morrow morning."

"Oh, you know who did ought to be there, do you? This is news, this is. Perhaps you'll mention that party's name. Only let me warn you, Elizabeth Wilson, to be careful what you say, or you may find yourself in worse trouble than you quite like."

"I'll be careful what I say, I don't need you to tell me, William Granger! And I'll tell you who ought to be in Winchester Gaol instead of Jim Baker-why, that there proud, stuck-up young peacock over at Exham Park, that there Miss Arnott!"

"Liz! I've told you already not to be more silly than you can help. What do you know about Miss Arnott?"

"What do I know about Miss Arnott? I'll soon tell you what I know about your fine Miss Arnott. Sarah Ann, tell your uncle what you know about that there Miss Arnott."

Then the tale was unfolded-by Wilson the housemaid-by degrees, with many repetitions, in somewhat garbled form; still, the essential truth, so far as she knew it, was there.

She told how, that eventful Saturday, the young mistress had been out in the woods, as she put it, "till goodness only knows what hours of the night." How, the next morning, the key of the wardrobe drawer was lost; how, after many days, she, Wilson, had found it in the hem of her own skirt, how she had tried the lock, "just to see if it really was the key," of what the drawer contained-the stained clothing, the bloody knife. She narrated, with dramatic force, how first Evans and then Miss Arnott had come upon the scene, how the knife and the camisole had been wrested from her, how she herself had been ejected from the house.

When she had finished Mr Nunn looked up from the pocket-book in which he had been making copious notes of the words as they came from her lips.

"What you've said, Sarah Ann Wilson, you've said of your own free will?"

"Of course I have. Haven't I come here on purpose?"

"And you're prepared to repeat your statement in a court of law, and swear to its truth?"

"I am. I'll swear to it anywhere."

"You don't know what has become of that knife you've mentioned?"

"Haven't I told you that she took it from me? – she and Mrs Evans between them."

"Yes; just so. Well, Mr Granger, all that I want now is a warrant for the arrest of this young lady. And, at the same time, we'll search the house. We'll find the knife of which this young woman speaks, if it's to be found; only we mustn't let her have any longer time than we can help to enable her to get rid of it, which, from all appearances, is the first thing she'll try to do. So perhaps you'll be so good as to tell me where I shall be likely to find the nearest magistrate-now, at once."

"I am a magistrate. What is there I can do for you, Mr Nunn?"

Looking round to see from whom the unexpected answer came, they saw that Mr Hugh Morice was standing in the open doorway. Closing the door behind him he came into the room.

CHAPTER XXXIII

ON HIS OWN CONFESSION

Hugh Morice had been resorting to that medicine-in whose qualifications to minister to a mind diseased he more than half believed-a ride upon his motor car. Of late he had found nothing to clear the cobwebs from his brain so effectually as a whiz through the air. That afternoon, after he had left Exham Park, he had felt that his brain stood very much in need of a clearance. So he had gone for a long run on his car.

He was returning through the shadows, partially cured, when he found what, in that part of the world, might be described as a crowd, obstructing his passage through the village street. Stopping to inquire what was the cause of the unusual concourse, he realised that the crowd was loitering in front of Granger's cottage-the local stronghold of the County Police. As he did so he was conscious that a shiver passed all over him, which he was able neither to account for nor to control. The answers, however, which the villagers gave to his hurried questions, threw a lurid light upon the matter, and inspired him, on the instant, with a great resolve. Dismounting, he entered the cottage, just as Mr Nunn was addressing his remarks to Mr Granger. As he heard he understood that, if what he proposed to do was to be of the slightest effect, he had arrived in the very nick of time.

They, on their part, stared at him half bewildered, half amazed. He had on a long motor coat which shrouded him from head to foot; a cap which covered not only his ears but also part of his face; while his disguise was completed by a pair of huge goggles. It was only when he removed these latter that-in spite of the dust which enveloped him as flour over a miller-they recognised who he was. He repeated his own words in a slightly different form.

"You were saying, Mr Nunn, that you were requiring the services of a magistrate. How can I serve you in that capacity?"

The detective stared at the gigantic figure, towering over his own by no means insignificant inches, still in doubt as to who he was.

"I ought to know you; but, somehow, I don't feel as if I can place you exactly, sir."

Mr Morice smiled.

"Tell him, Granger, who I am."

Mr Granger explained.

"This is Mr Hugh Morice, of Oak Dene, Justice of the Peace for this division of the county. You can't have forgotten him, Mr Nunn; he used to be present at the coroner's inquest."

"Of course; now that Granger reminds me I remember you very well, Mr Morice. You have arrived at a fortunate moment for me, sir. I was just about to start off in search of a magistrate, and that, in the country, at this time of night, sometimes means a long job. I wish to lay an information before you, sir, and ask for a warrant."

Mr Morice glanced at the three women.

"In presence of these persons?"

"I don't know that Mrs Granger need stop, or Mrs Wilson either. Mrs Granger, you'd better take Mrs Wilson with you. It is partly in consequence of a statement which this young woman has just been making that I ask you for a warrant. Now, Mrs Wilson, off you go."

But Mrs Wilson showed reluctance.

"I don't know why I'm to be sent away-especially as it's my own daughter-"

Hugh Morice cut her short brusquely, -

"Leave the room!"

Mrs Wilson showed him something of that deference which she had hitherto declined to show to anyone else. Mrs Granger touched her on the shoulder.

"I'm coming! I'm sure, Susan Granger, there's no need for you to show me. No one can ever say I stop where I am not wanted."

When the two elder women had disappeared, Hugh Morice turned his attention to Wilson the housemaid.

"Who is this young person?"

Mr Nunn informed him. Her story was gone through again. When she had finished Mr Morice dismissed her to join her mother and her aunt.

"Now, Mr Nunn, what do you want from me?"

"A warrant for the arrest of Violet Arnott, of Exham Park."

"On what charge?"

"Wilful murder-the murder of Robert Champion."

"Of whom?"

"I said Robert Champion; but as it's not yet proved that was his name we'd better have it in the warrant-name unknown. I may say, Mr Morice, that that girl's statement is not all I'm going on. Within the hour I've received this anonymous communication."

He handed the communication in question to Mr Morice, who turned it over and over between his fingers.

"Where did you get this from?"

"I can't tell you just at the moment; but I daresay I shall be able to tell you before very long. Of course it's anonymous; but, at the same time, it's suggestive. Also a statement was made to me, of the most positive and specific kind, by James Baker, at present a prisoner in Winchester Gaol. Altogether I'm afraid, Mr Morice, that the case against this young woman is looking very black."

"Are you in the habit, Mr Nunn, of making ex officio statements of that kind on occasions such as the present? If so, let me invite you to break yourself of it. A man of your experience ought to know better-very much better, Mr Nunn. I regret that I am unable to do what you require."

Mr Nunn stared; possibly slightly abashed by the rebuke which had been administered to him in the presence of Mr Granger.

"But, sir, begging your pardon, you've no option in the matter."

"Haven't I? You'll find I have-a very wide option. I shall decline to allow a warrant to be issued for the arrest of the lady you have named."

"But, Mr Morice, sir, on what grounds?"

"Very simple ones. Because I happen to know she's innocent."

"But that's no reason!"

"You'll find it is, since I also happen to know who's guilty."

"You know who's guilty? Mr Morice!"

"Precisely-Mr Morice. It is I who am guilty. Mr Nunn, I surrender myself into your custody as having been guilty of killing a certain man on a certain Saturday night in Cooper's Spinney. Is that in proper form?"

"Are you serious, sir?"

"I mean what I say, if that's what you are asking, Mr Nunn."

"Then what about the tale that girl was telling, and that knife she saw?"

"That knife is mine."

"Yours!"

"Exactly, and I'm afraid that knife is going to hang me."

"How came it in Miss Arnott's possession?"

"That's the simplest part of the whole affair. After I had used it she found it, and has kept it ever since."

"Do you mean that she's been screening you?"

"Something like it. That is, I don't know that she was sure of anything; but, I fancy, she has had her doubts. I daresay she'll tell you all about it if you ask her. You see, Mr Nunn, I've been in rather an awkward position. So long as it was only a question of Jim Baker it didn't so much matter; it's quite on the cards that in the course of his sinful career he's done plenty of things for which he deserves to be hung. When it comes to Miss Arnott, knowing that she knows what she does know, and especially that she has that accursed knife of mine, that's a horse of a different colour. Since she has only to open her mouth to make an end of me, I may as well make as graceful an exit as possible, and own the game is up. I don't quite know what is the usual course in a matter of this sort, Mr Nunn. My motor is outside. If it is possible I should like to run over to my house. You may come with me, if you please, and Mr Granger also. There are one or two trifles which require my personal attention, and then you may do with me as you please. In fact, if you could manage to let me have an hour or two I should be happy to place at your disposal quite a little fortune, Mr Nunn and Mr Granger."

"You ought to know better than to talk to me like that, Mr Morice. After what you've just now said it's my duty to tell you that you're my prisoner."

CHAPTER XXXIV

MR DAY WALKS HOME

It chanced that night that Mr Day, the highly respected butler at Exham Park, paid a visit to a friend. It was rather late when he returned. The friend offered to put him into a trap and drive him home, but Mr Day declined.

"It's a fine night," he observed, "and a walk will do me good. I don't get enough exercise out of doors. I like to take advantage of any that comes my way. I'm not so young as I was-we none of us are; but a five-mile walk won't do me any harm. On a night like this I'll enjoy it. Thank you, Hardy, all the same."

So he walked.

It was just after eleven when he reached the village. Considering the hour he was surprised to find how many people there were about. Mr Jenkins had just turned his customers out of the "Rose and Crown." A roaring trade he seemed to have been doing. A couple of dozen people were gathered together in clusters in front of the inn, exchanging final greetings before departing homewards. For the most part they were talking together at the top of their voices, as yokels on such occasions have a trick of doing. Mr Day stopped to speak to a man, with whom he had some acquaintance, in the drily sarcastic fashion for which he was locally famed.

"What's the excitement? Parish pump got burned?"

"Why, Mr Day, haven't you heard the news?"

"That Saturday comes before Sunday? Haven't heard anything newer."

"Why, Mr Day, don't you know that Sarah Ann Wilson, from up at your place, has been over to Granger's, trying to get him to give her a warrant for your young lady?"

"There's several kinds of fools about, but Sarah Ann Wilson's all kinds of them together."

"So it seems that Granger thinks. Anyhow he ain't given it her. He's locked up Mr Morice instead."

"What's that?"

Another man chimed in.

"Why, Mr Day, where are you been not to have heard that they've locked up Mr Morice for murdering o' that there chap in Cooper's Spinney."

"What nonsense are you men talking about?"

"It ain't nonsense, Mr Day; no, that it ain't. You go over to Granger's and you'll soon hear."

"Who locked him up?"

"Granger and Mr Nunn, that's the detective over from London. They locked him up between them. It seems he gave himself up."

"Gave himself up?"

"So Mrs Wilson and her daughter says. They was in the kitchen, at the other side of the door, and they heard him giving of himself up. Seems as how they're going to take him over to Doverham in the morning and bring him before the magistrates. My word! won't all the countryside be there to see! To think of its having been Mr Morice after all. Me, I never shouldn't have believed it, if he hadn't let it out himself."

Mr Day waited to hear no more. Making his way through the little crowd he strode on alone. That moon-lit walk was spoilt for him. As he went some curious reflections were taking shape in his mind.

"That finishes it. Now something will have to be done. I wish I'd done as I said I would, and taken myself off long ago. And yet I don't know that I should have been any more comfortable if I had. Wherever I might have gone I should have been on tenterhooks. If I'd been on the other side of the world and heard of this about Mr Morice, I should have had to come back and make a clean breast of it. Yet it's hard on me at my time of life!" He sighed, striking at the ground with the ferule of his stick. "All my days I've made it my special care to have nothing to do with the police-courts. I've seen too much trouble come of it to everyone concerned, and never any good, and now to be dragged into a thing like this. And all through her! If, after all, I've got to speak, I don't know that I wouldn't rather have spoken at first. It would have been better perhaps; it would have saved a lot of bother, not to speak of all the worry I've had. I feel sure it's aged me. I could see by the way Mrs Hardy looked at me to-night that she thought I was looking older. Goodness knows that I'm getting old fast enough in the ordinary course of nature." Again sighing, he struck at the ground with his stick. "It would have served her right if I had spoken-anything would have served her right. She's a nice sort, she is. And yet I don't know, poor devil! She's not happy, that's sure and certain. I never saw anyone so changed. What beats me is that no one seems to have noticed, except me. I don't like to look her way: it's written so plain all over her. It just shows how people can have eyes in their heads, and yet not use them. From the remarks I've heard exchanged, I don't believe a creature has noticed anything, yet I daresay if you were to ask them they'd tell you they always notice everything. Blind worms!"

Perhaps for the purpose of relieving his feelings Mr Day stood still in the centre of the road, tucked his stick under his arm, took out his pipe, loaded it with tobacco and proceeded to smoke. Having got his pipe into going order he continued his way and his reflections.

"I knew it was her from the first; never doubted for a moment. Directly I saw her come into the house that night in the way she did, I knew that she'd been up to something queer, and it wasn't very long before I knew what it was. And I don't know that I was surprised when I heard how bad it really was. All I wanted was to get out of the way before I was dragged into the trouble that I saw was coming. If I hadn't known from the first I should have found out afterwards. She's given herself away a hundred times-ah, and more. If I'd been a detective put upon the job I should have had her over and over again, unless I'd been as stupid as some of those detectives do seem to be. Look at that Nunn now! There's a precious fool! Locking up Mr Morice! I wonder he doesn't lock himself up! Bah!"

This time Mr Day took his pipe out of his mouth with one hand, while he struck at the vacant air with the stick in the other. Perhaps in imagination he was striking at Mr Nunn.

"Poor devil! it must have been something pretty strong which made her do a thing like that. I wonder who that chap was, and what he'd done to her. Not that I want to know-the less I know the better. I know too much as it is. I know that she's haunted, that never since has she had a moment's peace of mind, either by day or night. I've the best of reasons for knowing that she starts pretty nearly out of her skin at every shadow. I shouldn't be surprised to hear at any moment that she's committed suicide. I lay a thousand pounds to a penny that if I was to touch her on the shoulder with the tip of my finger, and say, 'You killed that man in the Cooper's Spinney, and he's looking over your shoulder now,' she'd tumble straight off into a heap on the floor and scream for mercy-What's that?"

He had reached a very lonely part of the road. The Exham Park woods were on either side of him. A long line of giant beeches bordered the road both on the right and left. Beyond again, on both sides, were acres of pines. A charming spot on a summer's day; but, to some minds, just then a little too much in shadow to be altogether pleasant. The high beeches on his left obscured the moon. Here and there it found a passage between their leaves; but for the most part the road was all in darkness. Mr Day was well on in years, but his hearing was as keen as ever, and his nerves as well under control. The ordinary wayfarer would have heard nothing, or, not relishing his surroundings, would have preferred to hear nothing, till he had reached a point where the moon's illumination was again plainly visible. It is odd how many persons, born and bred in the heart of the country, object strenuously to be out among the scenes they know so well, alone in the darkness at night.

But the Exham Park butler was not a person of that kidney. When he heard twigs snapping and the swishing of brushwood, as of someone passing quickly through it, he was immediately desirous of learning what might be the cause of such unwonted midnight sounds. Slipping his pipe into his pocket he moved both rapidly and quietly towards the side of the road from which the sounds proceeded. Just there the long line of hedge was momentarily interrupted by a stile. Leaning over it he peered as best he could into the glancing lights and shadows among the pines. The sounds continued.

"Who is it? Hullo! Good lord! it's her!"

As he spoke to himself a figure suddenly appeared in a shaft of moonlight which had found its way along an alley of pines-the figure of a woman. She was clad in white-in some long, flowing garment which trailed behind her as she went, and which must have seriously impeded her progress, especially in view of the fact that she seemed to be pressing forward at the top of her speed. The keen-eyed observer watched her as she went.

"What's she got on? It's a tea-gown or a dressing-gown or something of that. It's strange to me. I've never seen her in it before. So, after all, there is something in the tales those gowks have been telling, and she does walk the woods of nights. But she can't be asleep; she couldn't go at that rate, through country of this sort, if she were, and with all that drapery trailing out behind her. But asleep or not I'll tackle her and have it out with her once and for all."

Mr Day climbed over the stile with an agility which did credit to his years. As he reached the other side the woman in the distance either became conscious of his presence and his malevolent designs or fortune favoured her; because, coming to a part of the forest from which the moon was barred, she suddenly vanished from his vision like a figure in a shadow pantomime. When he gained the spot at which she had last been visible, there was still nothing of her to be seen, but he fancied that he caught a sound which suggested that, not very far away, someone was pressing forward among the trees.

"She did that very neatly. Don't talk to me about her being asleep. She both heard and saw me coming, so she's given me the slip. But she's not done it so completely as she perhaps thinks. I'll have her yet. I'll show her that I'm pretty nearly as good at trapesing through the woods at night as she is. I don't want to be hard on a woman, and I wouldn't be if it could be helped, but when it comes to be a question of Mr Morice or her, it'll have to be her, and that's all about it. I don't mean to let her go scot-free at his expense-not much, I don't, as I'll soon show her!"

He plunged into the pitch blackness of the forest, towards where he fancied he had heard a sound in the distance.

CHAPTER XXXV

IN THE LADY'S CHAMBER

Miss Arnott was restless. She had to entertain her two self-invited guests-Mr Stacey and Mr Gilbert, and she was conscious that while she was entertaining them, each, in his own fashion, was examining her still. It was a curious dinner which they had together, their hostess feeling, rightly or wrongly, that the most dire significance was being read into the most commonplace remarks. If she smiled, she feared they might think her laughter forced; if she was grave, she was convinced that they were of opinion that it was because she had something frightful on her mind. Mr Stacey made occasional attempts to lighten the atmosphere, but, at the best of times, his touch was inclined to be a heavy one; then all his little outbursts of gaiety-or what he meant for gaiety-seemed to be weighted with lead. Mr Gilbert was frankly saturnine. He seemed determined to say as little as he possibly could, and to wing every word he did utter with a shaft of malice or of irony. Especially was he severe on Mr Stacey's spasmodic efforts at the promotion of geniality.

Miss Arnott arrived at two conclusions; one being that he didn't like her, and the other that she didn't like him. How correct she was in the first instance may be judged from some remarks which were exchanged when-after the old fashion-she had left them alone together to enjoy a cigarette over their cups of coffee, the truth being that she felt she must be relieved from the burden of their society for, at anyrate, some minutes.

Mr Stacey commenced by looking at his companion as if he were half-doubtful, half-amused.

"Gilbert, you don't seem disposed to be talkative."

The reply was curt and to the point.

"I'm not."

"Nor, if you will forgive my saying so, do you seem inclined to make yourself peculiarly agreeable to our hostess."

Mr Gilbert surveyed the ash which was on the tip of his cigar. His words were pregnant with meaning.

"Stacey, I can't stand women."

With Mr Stacey amusement was getting the upper hand.

"Does that apply to women in general or to this one in particular?"

"Yes to both your questions. I don't wish to be rude to your ward or to my hostess, but the girl's a fool."

"Gilbert!"

"So she is, like the other representatives of her sex. She's another illustration of the eternal truth that a woman can't walk alone; she can't. In consequence she's got herself into the infernal muddle she has done. The first male who, so to speak, got within reach of her, took her by the scruff of the neck, and made her keep step with him. He happened to be a scamp, so there's all this to do. It constantly is like that. Most women are like mirrors-mere surfaces on which to reflect their owners; and when their owners take it into their heads to smash the mirrors, why, they're smashed. When I think of what an ass this young woman has made of herself and others, merely because she's a woman, and therefore couldn't help it, something sticks in my throat. I can't be civil to her; it's no use trying. I want to get in touch with something vertebrate: I can't stand molluscs."