The Solitary Farm

CHAPTER XX

THE MASTER MAGICIAN

Next morning, Dora being at school as usual, Bella received Cyril and Durgo in Miss Ankers' tiny drawing-room to discuss the position of affairs with regard to the Huxham mystery. In the negro's opinion it was no longer a mystery, for after hearing Bella's account of Granny Tunks' utterances while in the trance he unhesitatingly pronounced Henry Vand guilty.

"But on what evidence?" asked Cyril, who, like Bella, had small belief in the manifestation of the unseen.

"The evidence that Granny said that she did say," returned Durgo quietly.

"That evidence would not be accepted in a court of law," remarked Bella.

"I am aware of that. I have not been to Oxford for nothing, missy. But it gives me a clue, which I shall follow up. This afternoon I shall see Mrs. Tunks and question her."

"But if she really knows anything," said Cyril, after a pause, "it will prove that her trance statements were by design and from practical knowledge."

"I am sure they were," said Bella emphatically. "I fancied that as Granny did not see the second set of papers, which Durgo got from Mr. Pence, that she did not know the name of Maxwell Faith, my father. But now I remember that in the first set, which she found and delivered to you, Durgo, my father's name was also mentioned; also the number and the value of the jewels. All her talk was of the jewels."

"And of the murder of your real father by Huxham," said Durgo drily; "that was not in the first set of papers, and was only lightly referred to in the second set."

"That is strange," said Cyril reflectively.

"You no doubt think so," said the negro calmly, "as you disbelieve all that you can't see or prove. I know otherwise."

"But, Durgo," argued Cyril, surprised at this assumption, "you have been to Oxford, and surely must have rid yourself of these barbarous African superstitions."

"You call them superstitions because you don't know their esoteric meaning. But there is such a thing as magic, white and black."

"Magic! Pshaw!"

Durgo shrugged his shoulders. "Of course I never argue with an unbeliever, Cyril Lister," he said indifferently, "but the Wise Men came from the East, remember, and Europe is indebted to the East for most of her civilisation."

"But not to Africa."

"Africa has had her ancient civilisations also. In the time of the Atlanteans – but it's useless talking of such matters. All I say is, that there are certain natural laws which, when known, can enable anyone to part what you call the spirit from the body. When the spiritual eyes are open, much can be seen that it is difficult to prove on the physical plane."

"I don't understand what you mean by these planes," grumbled Lister.

"Quite so, and it would be useless for me to explain. But facts beyond your imagining exist, and had I the time I could prove much to you. Mrs. Tunks is what we call clairvoyant, and when in a trance state can see – well, you heard her say what she saw, Miss Huxham."

Bella was also sceptical. "She must have read the first set of papers?"

"Probably she did, since woman is an animal filled with curiosity," said Durgo good-humouredly. "I don't mean to say that Granny Tunks is entirely genuine. There is a good deal of humbug about her, as there is about all the Romany tribes. She may have known about the jewels, and even your real father's name, but she did not know about his murder. Mrs. Tunks has a small portion of clairvoyant power, which does not act at all times. When that fails her she resorts to trickery."

"Like spiritualists?" suggested Cyril.

"Exactly," assented the negro with decision. "In all phenomena connected with the unseen there is a great measure of truth, but charlatans spoil the whole business by resorting to trickery when their powers fail. And I may say that the spiritual powers do not act always, since in a great measure we are ignorant of the laws which govern them. But enough of this discussion. I do not seek to convince you. I shall see Mrs. Tunks this afternoon and gain from her actual proof of Vand's guilt."

"But I fancied that you believed my father to be guilty," said Cyril.

"So I did, and if he were I would not mind, since Huxham was a rogue. But from what Miss Faith – "

"Miss Huxham," interposed Bella hastily, "until this mystery is cleared up."

"Very good. Well, from what Miss Huxham overheard I am inclined to think that Vand murdered the old sailor, aided by his wife."

"For what reason?"

"You supplied it yourself, Miss Huxham; so that they might get his money."

"But what about Pence's confession?" said Cyril. "He might have committed the deed himself."

"No; he had no reason to kill the old man, who was on his side in the matter of the marriage with Miss Huxham here. Besides, if Pence was guilty he certainly would not have composed what he did, and assuredly would not have produced the one hundred pounds he stole. Now that his madness for Miss Huxham is past, Pence has behaved like a rational being, and will do his best to assist us in solving this mystery." Durgo paused, then turned to the white man. "Cyril Lister, you put an advertisement into several London papers a week ago?"

"Yes; I did so without telling you, as I hoped to surprise you with a letter from my father telling us of his whereabouts. How do you know?"

"I saw the Telegraph yesterday and also the Daily Mail," said Durgo, nodding approvingly; "you did well. Have you had any answer?"

"If I had you should have seen it," said Cyril, wrinkling his brows as he always did when he was perplexed. "What can have become of him?"

Durgo struck his large hands together in despair. "I fear my master Edwin Lister is dead," he said mournfully.

"Why?" asked Bella and her lover simultaneously.

"Miss Huxham, you repeated to me that Granny Tunks in her trance said that the knife lying on the floor when the cripple entered to kill Huxham, was already bloody. Can't you see?"

"See what?"

"That if the knife were already bloody, Huxham must have killed my master Edwin Lister, and then was killed in turn by Vand the cripple."

Cyril looked impatient. "That is all the black magic rubbish you talk of."

"Well, then, if my master, your father, is alive and has the jewels, why does he not write to me or to you? He knows he can trust us both. Even the advertisements have failed. No" – Durgo looked gloomy – "my heart misgives me sadly!" He arose abruptly. "Meet me at the 'Chequers,' Cyril Lister, and I shall tell you what I learn from Mrs. Tunks."

"Can't I come also to see her?"

"Yes, if you like. Perhaps I shall be able to dispel your disbelief regarding these occult powers which she and I possess."

"Is that why Mrs. Tunks calls you master?"

"Yes. She recognised that I had higher powers than she, when we first met, and so I was enabled to make her get those papers. Do you think she would have done so unless I had controlled her? No. Not even for the fifty pounds which I am taking to her to-day. She can make a better market out of Vand and his wife. She knows their guilt."

"But cannot prove their guilt."

"Perhaps," said the negro indifferently. "Good-day", and he departed in his usual abrupt style, after bidding Cyril meet him at three o'clock at the hut of the so-called witch. The lovers looked at one another.

"What do you think of it all, Cyril?" asked Bella timidly.

"I really don't know. We seem to be involved in a web through which we cannot break? Durgo certainly seems to be a very strange being, and in spite of my disbelief in the existence of occult powers I am inclined to think that he knows some strange things. He looks like a negro, and talks and acts like a white man. Indeed, no white man would be so unselfish as to surrender those jewels to you as Durgo has done."

"He puzzles me," said Bella thoughtfully.

"And me also. However, the best thing to be done will be to leave matters in his hands. In one way or another he will learn the truth, and then we can get back the jewels and marry."

"Do you think your father has the jewels, Cyril?"

"My dear," he said frowning, "I can't be sure now that my father is alive. I begin to believe that there may be something in Granny's trances, after all, since she hinted at my father's death at Huxham's hands. And terrible as it may seem," added Lister, turning slightly pale with emotion, "I would rather think that he was dead than live to be called the murderer of Jabez Huxham. I would like to come to you," he said, folding Bella in his strong young arms, "as the son of a man whose hands are free from blood. Better for my father to be dead than a criminal."

The two talked on this matter for some time, until their confidences were ended by the entrance of Dora, hungry for her dinner. Then Cyril took his leave, promising to return and tell Bella all that took place in Mrs. Tunks' hut. Being anxious, the girl made a very poor meal, and was scolded by Dora, who little knew what was at stake. But Dora supplied one unconscious piece of information which surprised her friend.

"I think Mr. and Mrs. Vand are going away for a trip," she said carelessly.

"What do you mean?" asked Bella, starting so violently that she upset the water-jug.

Dora looked surprised. "My dear, you are not so fond of your aunt as to display such emotion. I merely say that the Vands are going away."

"When? Where? How do you know?"

"Very soon, I believe, as they are packing, but where they are going I don't know. Sarah Jope, the servant, whose sister is at the school, came flying home last night to her mother with a cock and bull story about a ghost at the Manor. This morning she went to get her belongings, as she insists upon leaving the house. She found Mrs. Vand and her husband packing for immediate departure and was bundled out by her indignant mistress, boxes and all, with a flea in her ear. Sarah Jope's sister told me this just before I came home to dinner."

"The Vands going away!" said Bella in dismay. This seemed to prove that they were guilty, and wished to escape. "I thought they were going to wait for the harvest home."

"I daresay they will be back in a month, and the Bleacres corn won't be reaped until then. I only wish they would remain away altogether. Your aunt is a horrid woman, Bella, though her husband is a dear."

Bella did not echo the compliment, for, after what she had seen on the previous night, she was inclined to think that Henry Vand was the worse of the two, evil as his wife might be. At all events, he was the stronger, and Rosamund Vand was a mere tool in his hands. She was on the point of going to Cyril's lodgings to warn him and Durgo of this projected departure of the Manor-house inhabitants, but on reflection she concluded to wait until he returned from Mrs. Tunks' hut. After all, the Vands could not leave Marshely before night-fall, and would have to pass through the village on their way to the far-distant railway station. If necessary they could thus be intercepted at the eleventh hour.

Mrs. Tunks was seated by the fire in her dingy hut, absorbed in her own thoughts, which she assisted by smoking a dirty black pipe. In the next room her grandson still turned and tossed, watched by a bright-eyed gipsy girl, whom the old woman had engaged from a passing family of her kinsfolk. But the man no longer raved, as the worst of the delirium had passed. He was sensible enough, but weak, and looked the mere shadow of his former stalwart self. Mrs. Tunks feared lest he should die, and was much disturbed in consequence, as he was her sole support. Without her grandson's earnings she could not hope to keep a roof above her head, as her fees for consultations as a wise woman were woefully small. She did not dare to make them larger in case her visitors should warn the police of her doings. And Mrs. Tunks, for obvious reasons, did not wish for an interview with Dutton, the village constable.

Smoking her pipe, crouching over the smouldering fire, and wondering how she could obtain money, the old woman did not hear the door open and shut. Not until a black hand was laid on her shoulder did she turn, to see that Durgo was in the hut with Cyril behind him. Paying no attention to the white man, she rose and fawned like a dog on the black.

"He's ill, master," she whimpered, clawing Durgo's rough tweed sleeve, "and if he goes there's no one to help me. Give him something to make him well; set him on his legs again."

"Do you think I can do so?" asked Durgo, with a grave smile.

Mrs. Tunks peered at him with her bleared eyes and struck her skinny hands together. "I can swear to it, master. You know much I don't know, and I know heaps as the Gorgios – my curse on them! – would give their ears to learn. Come, lovey – I mean master – help me in this and I'll help you in other ways."

"Such as by telling us who murdered Huxham," put in Cyril injudiciously.

"Me, deary! Lor', I don't know who killed the poor gentleman," and Mrs. Tunk's face became perfectly vacant of all expression.

Durgo turned frowning on the white man. "I said that I would let you come if you did not speak," he remarked in a firm whisper; "you have broken your promise already."

Cyril apologised in low tones. "I won't say another word," he said, and took a seat on a broken chair near the window.

Mrs. Tunks cringed and bent before Durgo, evidently regarding him with awe, as might her sister-witches the Evil One, when he appeared at festivals. The negro glanced towards the closed door of the other room. "Who is watching your grandson?" he asked sharply.

"A Romany gal, as I found – "

"That will do. I want no listeners. Call her out and turn her out."

The old woman entered the other room, and soon returned driving before her a black-eyed slip of a child about thirteen years of age. This brat protested that Tunks was restless and could not be left.

"I shall quieten him," said the negro quickly; "get out, you!" and he fixed so fierce a glance on the small girl that she fled rapidly. And Cyril saw that the girl was not one easily frightened.

"Now to put your grandson to sleep," said Durgo, passing into the next room, and Cyril saw his great hands hover over the restless man on the bed. He made strange passes and spoke strange words, while Mrs. Tunks looked on, shaking and trembling. In two minutes the sick man lay perfectly still, and to all appearances was sound asleep. Durgo returned to the outer room.

"You'll cure him, master, won't you?" coaxed Mrs. Tunks.

"Yes. I'll cure him if you tell me what you know of this murder."

"I don't know anything, master."

Mrs. Tunks looked obstinate yet terrified. Durgo stared at her in a mesmeric sort of way, and threw out his hand. The woman crouched and writhed in evident agony. "Oh, deary me, I'm all burnt up and aching, and shrivelled cruel. Don't – oh, don't! I'll be good. I'll be good;" and she wriggled.