THE CROW'S INN TRAGEDY (Murder Mystery Classic). Annie Haynes

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      Chapter II

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      The Settlement of the Confraternity of St. Philip was situated in one of the most unsavoury districts in South London. It faced the river, but between it and the water lay a dreary waste of debatable land, strewn with the wreckage and rubbish thrown out by the small boat-building firms that existed on either side.

      Originally the Settlement had been two or three tenement houses that had remained as a relic of the days when some better class folk had lived there to be near the river, then one of London's great highways. At the back the Settlement had annexed a big barnlike building formerly used as a storehouse. It made a capital room for the meetings that Aubrey Todmarsh and his assistants were continually organizing. In the matter of cleanliness, even externally, the Settlement set an example to the neighbourhood. No dingy paint or glass there. The windows literally shone, the front was washed over as soon as there was the faintest suspicion of grime by some of Todmarsh's numerous protégés. The door plate, inscribed "South London Settlement of the Confraternity of St. Philip," was as bright as polish and willing hands could make it.

      The Rev. James Collyer looked at it approvingly as he stood on the doorstep.

      "Just the sort of work I should have loved when I was young," he soliloquized as he rang the door bell.

      It was answered at once by a man who wore the dark blue serge short coat and plus fours with blue bone buttons, which was the uniform of the Confraternity. In addition he had on the white overall which was de rigueur for those members of the Community who did the housework. This was generally understood to be undertaken by all the members in turn.

      But Mr. Collyer did not feel much impressed with this particular member. He was a rather short man with coal-black hair contrasting oddly with his unhealthily white face, deep-set dark eyes that seemed to look away from the rector and yet to give him a quick, furtive glance every now and then from beneath his lowered lids. He was clean-shaven, showing an abnormally large chin, and he had a curious habit of opening and shutting his mouth silently in fish-like fashion.

      "Mr. Todmarsh?" the rector inquired.

      The man held the door wider open and stood aside. Interpreting this as an invitation to enter, Mr. Collyer walked in. The man closed the door and with a silent gesture invited the clergyman to follow him.

      The Community House of St. Philip was just as conspicuously clean inside as out. Mr. Collyer had time to note that the stone floor of the hall had just been cleaned, that the scanty furniture, consisting of a big oak chest under the window and a couple of Windsor chairs at the ends, was as clean as furniture polish and elbow-grease could make them. His guide opened a door at the side and motioned him in.

      A man who was writing at the long centre table got up quickly to meet him and came forward with outstretched hands.

      "My dear uncle, this is a pleasure!"

      "One to which I have long been looking forward," Mr. Collyer responded warmly. "My dear Aubrey, the reports I have heard of the Settlement have been in no way exaggerated. And so far as I can see this is an ideal Community house."

      Todmarsh held his uncle's hand for a minute in his firm clasp, looking the elder man squarely in the eyes the while.

      "There is nothing ideal about us, Uncle James. We are just a handful of very ordinary men, all trying to make our own bit of the world brighter and happier. It sounds very simple, but it isn't always easy to do things. Sometimes life is nothing but disappointments. But I know you realize just how it feels when one spends everything in striving to cleanse one's own bit of this great Augean mass that is called London--and fails."

      His voice dropped as he spoke, and the bright look of enthusiasm faded from his face, leaving it prematurely old and tired. For it was above all things his enthusiasm, a sort of exalted look as of one who dreamed dreams and saw visions not vouchsafed to ordinary men, that made Aubrey Todmarsh's face attractive. Momentarily stripped of its bright expression it was merely a thin rather overjowled face, with deep-set, dark eyes, noticeably low forehead, and thick dark hair brushed sleekly backwards, hair that was worn rather longer than most men's.

      The clergyman looked at him pityingly.

      "Oh, my dear Aubrey, this is only nerves, a very natural depression. We parsons know it only too well. It is especially liable to recur when we are beginning work. Later one learns that all one can do is to sow in faith, and then be content to wait the issue in patience, leaving everything to Him whose gracious powers can alone give the increase." Todmarsh did not speak for a moment, then he drew a long breath and, laying his hand on the rector's shoulder, looked at him with the bright smile with which his friends were familiar.

      "You always give me comfort, Uncle James. Somehow you always know just what to say to heal when one has been stricken sorely. That idea of sowing and waiting--somehow one gets hold of that."

      "It isn't original, dear Aubrey," his uncle said modestly. "But for all Christian work I have found it most helpful. But you, my dear Aubrey, the founder of this--er--splendid effort--might rather have cause for--er--spiritual exaltation than depression."

      "There is cause enough for depression sometimes, I assure you," Aubrey returned gloomily. "Much of our work is done among the discharged prisoners, you know, Uncle James. Different members of our Community look after those bound over under the First Offenders' Act, and those undergoing terms of imprisonment. With those who have had longer sentences and the habitual offenders I try to deal as much as possible myself with the valuable help of my second-in-command."

      "I know. I have heard how you attend at police courts and meet the prisoners when they come out. I can hardly imagine a more saintly work or one more certain to carry with it a blessing."

      "It doesn't seem to," Todmarsh said, his face clouding over again. "There is this man, Michael Farmore, the case I was speaking of. He was convicted of burglary and served his five years. We got hold of him when he came out and brought him here. In time he became one of our most trusted members. If ever there was a case of genuine conversion I believed his to be one. Yet--"

      "Yes?" Mr. Collyer prompted as he paused.

      "Yet last night he was arrested attempting to break into General Craven's house in Mortimer Square."

      Todmarsh blew his nose vigorously. His voice was distinctly shaky as he broke off. His uncle glanced at him sympathetically.

      "You must not take it too much to heart, my dear Aubrey. Think of your many successes, and even in this case that seems so terrible I feel sure that your labour has not really been wasted. You have cast your bread upon the waters, and you will assuredly find it again. You are fighting against the forces of the arch-enemy, remember."

      "We are fighting against a gang of criminals," Aubrey said shortly. "We hear of them every now and then in our work. The Yellow Gang they call them in the underworld--they form regular organizations of their own, working on a system, and appear to carry out the orders of one man. Sometimes I think he is the arch-fiend himself, for it seems impossible to circumvent him."

      "But who is he?" the rector inquired innocently.

      Aubrey СКАЧАТЬ