British Murder Mysteries: J. S. Fletcher Edition (40+ Titles in One Volume). J. S. Fletcher

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СКАЧАТЬ a butter-brained fool! How do I know wheer he lives i' London, or wheer he's gone?"

      A little exercise of Yorkshire shrewdness and Mallins recovered his equanimity. He could, at any rate, assure himself as to whether Perris really went off to Yorkshire or not. He was well acquainted with King's Cross Station, and he proceeded there, and after eating and drinking, posted himself at the third-class ticket office to wait, if need be, till midnight. And at three o'clock up came Perris, carrying his ashplant, unconcerned and lackadaisical as ever. He seemed to attach no particular importance to the fact of Mallins's presence. They drank together at the refreshment-bar, and Mallins accompanied Perris to the train. They shook hands through the window.

      "Well, I hope ye'll be able to put matters reight," said Mallins.

      "Aye!" replied Perris curtly. "Aye!—I hope so."

      Mallins walked away when the train was gone. He was still musing, still puzzled. But at last he lifted his head and nodded at the grey London sky.

      "Yon man hed nowt to do wi' it!" he said, with firm decision. "Nowt! I'd tak' mi solemn 'davy o' that—he'd nowt to do wi' it at all!"

Chapter XXI

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      That afternoon, while Abel Perris was being carried on the final dreary stages of his journey northward, Taffendale rode into the market-town, and leaving his horse at his accustomed house of call, strode off to his solicitor's office. Every mile that he covered of the dull December landscape increased the anger, the resentment, the hopelessness of fighting against Fate. which ever since the episode of the stang-riding had been making his life a misery. He knew what was being said; he knew that there were many folk of the countryside who would not say, never would say, being wise, what they thought. He knew that men had changed to him personally, that those who had once been only too proud to get a nod of his head, a shake of his hand, were now quick to turn down a by-lane or to cross the street in order to get out of his way. Ever since the discovery of Pippany Webster's body he had ceased attendance at market, at auction, at the various committees on which he sat; it was not that he was afraid of showing himself, but that he was too proud to go where suspicion and covert looks awaited him. Now, as he strode out of the inn yard he could not avoid the bitter reflection that all was changed with him. Before this came to be he would have flung his bridle to the stable lads and have turned within the house, to pass the time of day in cheery fashion with the landlady behind her well-provisioned bar, maybe to have spent half-an-hour in friendly gossip over a glass and a cigar with such of the local worthies as might be gathered there. He had no heart for such things now; he already felt a pariah; it seemed to him that in every face he met he read the question, "What do you and that woman know of this mystery?"

      Taffendale knew that he himself knew nothing, and it was not from mere chivalry or loyalty that he believed Rhoda to be as innocent as himself. He it was who had carried to her the news of the discovery of Pippany Webster's body, and he knew with the knowledge of absolute conviction that her blanching cheeks and dilating eyes meant innocence. He felt, with invincible certainty, that that was the first she had ever heard of the matter; she had been keeping no secret. And he knew, too, that she had told him the truth when she had sent for him to tell him that Perris had disappeared and that she never set eyes on him since the hour in which he set out from Cherry-trees to sell his wheat. And yet, certain as he was of the innocence of both of them, Taffendale was just as certain that all around them all over the countryside folk were putting heads together and whispering in corners, and some declaring openly, and some only saying to themselves that Perris's wife was a murderess, and that he, Taffendale, was in some fashion her accomplice.

      He strode into his old schoolmate's private office and threw his gloves and his riding-whip on the solicitor's desk with the gesture of a man who is being hunted to desperation.

      "Look here, Wroxdale," he said, as he dropped into a chair; "this has got to stop. Understand me—it's got to be stopped!"

      Wroxdale shifted the papers before him with a gesture which signified helplessness.

      "How, Mark?" he asked quietly. "How?"

      "That's for you," replied Taffendale brusquely.

      You re a lawyer. Isn't there any law for me? Isn't there any for this poor woman? D'ye think we're both made of stone? I tell you the air's full of this poison. God—I seem to smell the very stink of it wherever I go!"

      "You can't go to law with a rumour, Mark. You can't tackle suspicion as you'd tackle a man in the flesh," said Wroxdale.

      "D'ye mean to tell me the law won't help me to make some of these lying scoundrels eat their own words?" demanded Taffendale. "Won't the law help me to crush down a damned lie?"

      "Let anybody make a definite libel or slander on you, Mark, and the law will be there," answered Wroxdale. "But you can't put law into action against whisperings, gossipings, abstract things. As you say, the whole air is charged with this. Very well—you can't fight the air. This thing, Mark, is like all things of the same nature—it will have to pursue its natural course until its natural event is reached."

      "And that?" growled Mark. "That?"

      "The truth will come out," answered Wroxdale. "That's all."

      Taffendale smote the desk at his side.

      "Will? Aye, but when?" he exclaimed. "When? Are we to be under this vile suspicion for ever? I'm conscious that there's something going on all round us that I don't know of, that

      Wroxdale lifted a finger.

      "Stop, Mark," he said. "I'll tell you all I know. I get to hear things, you understand. I believe matters are coming to a head. Mark, you needn't be surprised if Mrs. Perris is arrested before long."

      Taffendale's anger suddenly cooled. He made an effort to keep himself within strict control, and after a moment's thought he spoke quietly.

      "Now, then, Wroxdale," he said, "just tell me, between ourselves, what, in your mind, they can have against her? Speak straight. Straight!"

      The solicitor looked searchingly at his old schoolmate.

      "Very well, Mark," he answered. "Quite straight, mind. Nothing, then, I think, that is direct. But try to be dispassionate and to consider plain facts. It is matter of common knowledge that Mrs. Perris did not care for her husband. They had frequent scenesquarrels—or, perhaps, one should say, she, to use countryside parlance, often let him hear her tongue. She was ill-advised enough, foolish enough, to let other people know that she despised him—she said more than she should have said about him to the woman who went to work there—Mrs. Graddige. She came across you—she made your acquaintance. She was known to spend some time with you in your house when the rest of your household had retired—this happened on two occasions. It is known that on the second of these occasions you left the house with her late at night, and were absent nearly two hours. It is known—by the curious piecing together of things by that gamekeeper, Justice—that you and she used to meet in Badger's Hollow, and that the man Pippany Webster became cognisant of the fact. Now, consider—Pippany Webster is seen to enter the premises at Cherry-trees and he is never seen again. Shortly afterwards Perris leaves his house one day, tells his wife he is coming here to town to sell his spring wheat. He does that, and he also sells some stock. He tells the people to whom he sells these things that he may not be at home next day, and gives them written authority to take away their purchases. Next day his wife sends for you and shows surprise, genuine or affected—"

      "It СКАЧАТЬ