Dead Man's Love

"I was excited – annoyed," he said. "Of course, my dear boy, I should never have done anything against you – not really, you know. But it was a great shock to me, when that woman came and told me that you were alive and in the neighbourhood – that was a horrible shock. Not but what, Norton, I was glad, in a way – glad to know that you were alive again."

"We'll take that for granted," I said with a laugh. "We have no reason to love each other, you and I, Uncle Zabdiel; and all I ask is that you shall forget that you ever saw me after I disappeared into my prison. To you, and to anyone else in the world who may be interested in the information, I am John New."

"Is that the name you have given yourself?" he asked sharply.

"The name that has been given to me by a certain friend I have found," I replied. "I spoke just now of a second matter about which I wanted to talk to you – a matter of serious moment to myself, and one in which you can do a kindly action."

He looked at me in the old suspicious manner; yet I saw that in his fear of me he was anxious to please me. "What is it?" he demanded. "And why should I do it? I don't believe in kindly actions."

I seated myself on the table beside him, and laid the heavy stick behind me. "Uncle Zabdiel," I began, leaning down so as to look into his eyes, "you're an old man, and, in the ordinary course of things, you can't have very long to live."

"What the devil are you talking about?" he exclaimed angrily. "There's nothing the matter with me; I'm younger and stronger, in my feelings at least, than I ever was. I'm hale and hearty."

"You're a weak and defenceless old man, living all alone, with no one in the world to care for you – with no one to trouble much whether you live or whether you die," I went on persistently. "God knows you might have made something of me, if you'd ever set about it in any other fashion than that you chose to adopt; but you killed Norton Hyde, and he's done with and forgotten. And you're going on in the same hard, grinding fashion for the rest of your days, until some day, if nothing happens to you – "

He looked at me with gaping mouth. "What should happen to me?" he asked in a whisper.

I shrugged my shoulders. "How can I possibly tell?" I answered. "I say that if nothing happens to you, some fine morning you'll be found lying out stark and stiff on that great bed of yours upstairs, with your eyes open or shut, as the case may be; and you'll be just the husk of a poor old creature who couldn't take his gold with him, and has slipped away in the night to meet the God whose laws of humanity and tenderness he had outraged from the beginning. Yes, Uncle Zabdiel, you'll be just a dead old man, leaving behind you certain property, to be squabbled over and fought over. And that will be the end of you."

"You're trying to frighten me," he said, with nervous fingers plucking at his lips. "I'm very well, and I'm very strong."

"I'm not trying to frighten you; I'm telling you facts. It is just left for you to set against all the wrong you have done one little good deed that may help to balance matters at the finish. And you won't do it."

"I never said I wouldn't do it," he pleaded. "You take me up so suddenly, Norton; you've no patience. I am an old man, as you say, and sometimes my health and strength are not what they were; but, then, doctors are so infernally expensive. Tell me what you want me to do, my boy; I'll do it if I can."

I was so certain that I had absolutely subdued him that I did not hesitate to lay my plan before him: it was a plan I had had in my mind all the day before, and for some part at least of that night I had spent in the house.

"There is a young lady whom I have met under curious circumstances," I began earnestly, "and that young lady is in great danger."

"What's that to do with me?" he snapped, with something of his old manner.

"Will you listen?" I asked impatiently. "Just understand that this young lady is nothing to me, and never can be anything; but I want to help her. She hasn't a friend in the world except myself, and I want to find some place to which, in an emergency, I can bring her, and where she will be safe. I tell you frankly I wouldn't suggest this to you if there were any other place on earth to which I could take her; but every other way of escape seems barred. If I can persuade her to trust me, will you give her shelter here?"

He looked up at me for a moment or two. I saw that it was in his mind to refuse flatly to have anything to do with the matter. But he had been more shaken that night even than I suspected, and he was afraid to refuse me anything. Nevertheless, he began to beat round the question, in the hope of evading a direct answer to it.

"What should I do with a girl here?" he asked. "There's only one old woman who comes to the house to look after me. This is no place for a girl; besides, if she's a decent sort of girl, she ought to have a mother or a father, or some sort of relative, to look after her."

"I've told you that she's absolutely alone in the world," I replied to that.

"And what's her danger?" he asked. "We live in the twentieth century, and there are the police – "

"Can I apply to the police?" I asked him.

"No, I suppose you can't," he acknowledged. "Well, at any rate, let me know what you want me to do, and how long the girl will stop – and I'll do the best I can. After all, perhaps what you said about me being an old man, and being found dead, and all that sort of thing – perhaps it may have some truth in it. And I've not been so very hard on people, and even if I have, you seem to think that this kindness to the young lady will make it all right for me. Because, you know," he added, with a shake of the head, "it's a great deal to ask anyone to do. Girls are more nuisance than they're worth. Boys are bad enough – but girls!" He held up his hands in horror at the mere thought of them.

I felt very grateful to him, and quite elated at my success. I took one of his feeble old hands, which he yielded with reluctance, and shook it warmly. "You're doing a greater kindness than you can imagine," I said. "I'll let you know if I can persuade the girl to come here; I won't take you by surprise again."

"I'm glad to know that, at least," he said. "You've given me an awful shock as it is. Now I suppose you'll go away again quietly?"

"Yes," I said, getting down from the table, "I'll go away again. But let me give you a word of warning, Uncle Zabdiel: even the best of us are inclined to forget promises in this world. You have sworn that you will not tell any one my secret."

"My dear boy," he whined, "do you seriously think that I should betray you?"

"No," I answered, "I don't think you would. It would be bad for you if you did; my vengeance would reach quite a long way."

"All right, my boy," he replied hastily, as he got to his feet and moved away from me. "No threats; no threats; they are quite unnecessary."

When I left him it was fully daylight. I came out of the house into the narrow, high-walled garden, and left him standing at the door in his black skull-cap and dressing-gown, peering out at me; then the door was closed, and the dark house swallowed him up.

I was now quite determined that I would go back to the house of Bardolph Just, and would find out for myself what was happening there. I had no real hope of meeting Debora, save by accident; I knew that since my disclosure I was less to her than any common tramp she might meet upon the roadside. But when I thought of her, without a friend, in that great house, and with one man and one woman at least bent upon her death, I felt that private considerations must be tossed aside, and that I must swallow my pride and my sense of injury, and must go to her help. If by some good fortune I could persuade her that the jail-bird she knew me to be was swallowed up in the man who hopelessly loved her, and was eager to help her, I might yet be able to perform that miracle of saving her. I felt that I had conquered the man I had least hope of conquering – Uncle Zabdiel; I was less afraid of others than I had been of him.

The thought of Martha Leach troubled me most; there was something so implacable about her enmity. That she meant to destroy the girl, I knew; and I felt certain, from what I had heard, that she was equally bent on destroying me. I chuckled to myself at the thought that in that second business I had defeated her; I was equally confident that I should defeat her in the first. For in defeating her I knew that my surest weapon would be the doctor himself, because anything that happened to me in the way of exposure must bring that dead man from his grave, and must revive that scandal he was so anxious to cover up. I made a shrewd guess that the woman, in rushing full tilt against me, was doing so blindly, and without consulting Bardolph Just. Knowing the power of that man over her, I thought that I could stop her even more easily than I had stopped my uncle.

However, I had blundered badly once or twice by plunging headlong into matters that required careful consideration; with a new wisdom that was coming to me, I determined to reform that trait in my character, and to weigh what I purposed doing for a few hours before setting about it. I would marshal my facts, and so have them ready at my tongue's end when I wanted them.

Thus it happened that I spent a large part of the day wandering about, and striving to arrive at some definite plan of action. It was late in the afternoon when I went at last to the house of Bardolph Just, and opened the outer gate and walked into the grounds. I will confess that my heart was beating a little heavily, because I knew that I might at any moment meet Debora, and I could guess what her attitude would be. However, I came to the house, and rang the bell, and waited to be admitted.

The servant who came to the door at last looked at me in some little surprise, I thought, but greeted me civilly enough. I enquired for the doctor as I stood in the hall; I thought the man seemed astonished that I should ask the question.

"Dr. Just is away, sir. Everybody's away, sir," he said.

"Away?" I stared at the man in a dazed fashion, wondering what he meant. "Everybody?"

"Yes, sir. Dr. Just, and Mr. Scoffold, and Miss Debora. They've all gone down to Green Barn, in Essex, sir. Quite a large party, sir," went on the man garrulously. "Mrs. Leach has gone with them."

I kept my head lowered, that the man might not see the expression on my face. "When did they go?" I asked slowly.

"Yesterday, sir. Dr. Just said they would go down for some shooting."

The man spoke glibly enough as he told his news, and I stood awkwardly in front of him, wondering what I should do. After a long pause I looked up, and asked, "Is there no one here at all, except yourself and the other servants?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I quite forgot," said the man. "Old Capper is here, and another party that the doctor left behind to look after him. Rather a rough sort of party, sir – name of Rabbit."

"Where are they?" I asked quickly. "I want to see them."

The man told me that they were in a little room at the back of the house, and I went there at once. I was more disturbed in my mind about this than about anything else; filled with perplexity that Capper should have been brought back to that house, as I guessed he must have been by Harvey Scoffold; still more puzzled to know why George Rabbit had appeared on the scene, and what the purpose could be in putting him in charge of that amiable old madman, Capper. I opened the door of the room and walked in.

George Rabbit was lounging on a window-seat by an open window, smoking a pipe; Capper sat upright on a chair, looking at the other man with that curious half-wistful, half-puzzled expression that I had seen on his face before. Mr. Rabbit did not take the trouble to move when I entered; he merely waved a hand nonchalantly, and went on smoking.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded of him.

"Got a noo job – an' a rummy sort o' job at that," he replied, with a jerk of his head in the direction of Capper. "Plenty to eat an' drink, 'an a nice fevver bed to sleep in, 'an on'y him to keep a eye on. Rum ole cove, ain't 'e?"

"I thought I warned you to keep away from this place, and to keep away from me," I said sternly.

"You did, 'an you wasn't too nice about the language you put it in," he said complacently, as he puffed out a huge volume of smoke. "But, yer see, I wasn't goin' to be ordered abaht by the likes o' you, an' so I jist made up my mind I'd come along, an' 'ave a little talk wiv the doctor. Nice man, the doctor – real tip-top gent."

"But Dr. Just warned you to keep away from here," I reminded him.

"Yus, but, yer see, I put it plain to the doctor that I might be a bit useful to 'is nibs – a deal more useful inside, w'ere I couldn't talk, than outside, w'ere I could. The doctor seemed to see it in the same way, an' so 'e left me in charge of this ole chap, wot seems to 'ave a tile loose; an' 'e's gorn orf into the country to 'ave a pot at the dicky birds, an' the rabbits an' fings."

"And are you to stop here until he comes back?" I asked.

"That's the ticket," he replied. "An' wot's yer 'ighness goin' to do?"

"I don't know; at all events, nothing that concerns you," I answered.

"Perlite and haffable as ever!" commented Mr. Rabbit. "By the way, I unnerstood that you'd gorn, an' that we wasn't goin' to see any more of yer. You might let me know w'ere you're goin' to live – fer the sake of ole times."

I guessed why he wanted to know my movements. I shrewdly suspected that the woman Martha Leach had already given him Zabdiel Blowfield's message. Therefore, although my mind was pretty firmly made up as to what I must do, I determined to put him off the scent.

"Oh, in all probability, I shall remain here for the present," I said.

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Rabbit heartily. "Then I shall 'ave company. Between you an' me, I'm a little tired of ole waxworks 'ere, wot sits smilin' an' never syin' a word, except to ask about 'is young master. I tell yer, 'e fair gits on my nerves."

"I'll go and see if my room's ready," I said; and walked out of the room.

Going into the dining-room, I rang the bell, and waited until the servant who had admitted me put in an appearance; then I asked a question quite casually.

"By the way, what place did you say the doctor had gone to? Was it Green Barn?"

"Yes, sir. I was down there myself last year. Very pretty place, sir. Comerford is the station. Essex, sir."

"Oh, I see!" I answered with a yawn. "By the way, I shall stay here to-night. Is my room ready?"

"Just as you left it, sir," said the man.

I dismissed him, and then proceeded to empty my pockets, to discover what money I had. I knew that I must get to Comerford that night; I began to be oppressed with dreadful fears of what might happen in a lonely country house, with the girl at the mercy of these three people, all conspiring against her. For by this time I reckoned Harvey Scoffold as being shoulder to shoulder with the other two in the business.

I found that I had exactly two shillings and threepence, and there seemed no prospect of my getting any more. I was desperate by this time, and I knew that every moment was precious; if I missed the last train I might as well not go at all. I determined that in such a cause as this any scruples of conscience I might have must go to the winds; I must resume my old trade which had once brought me into disaster.

I looked about for the most valuable article I could discover, and presently found it, in a beautiful old-fashioned watch, lying upon a cabinet merely as an ornament; it was a wonderful piece of workmanship, in three exquisitely engraved and pierced cases. I slipped it into my pocket, and got my cap and a walking-stick from the hall, and slipped unobserved out of the house.

In an old curiosity shop in Heath Street, Hampstead, I sold the watch – after some haggling I got six pounds for it. Coming out of the place the richer by that sum, I found a cab, and drove at once to Liverpool Street Station. There I found, by great good fortune, that a train was to leave for Comerford in less than a quarter of an hour. I took my seat, and in due course alighted without further adventure at the little out-of-the-way station bearing that name. Not wishing to attract attention in a place where, doubtless, the doctor was well known, I strolled out of the station into the quiet dusk of the summer evening, and took my way down into the village.

You may be sure that I kept a sharp look-out, lest by any chance I should stumble upon anyone from Green Barn; and I determined that when I made enquiries for the place it should be from someone not likely to pay much attention to me or to note my appearance. I meant to move slowly but steadily, making as few false steps as possible; and I knew that the first thing to be done was to get to the house and find out what was happening there.

In the first place, however, I made up my mind that I would procure a bed for the night. I chose a little clean inn in a back street, and for a matter of a shilling or two settled to keep the room as long as I wanted it. Lounging in the doorway of it with the landlord, I made a casual enquiry as to what places of interest there were in the neighbourhood; and the man, after reeling off a long catalogue of places about which I cared nothing, came at last to Green Barn, and told me where it lay. I stored that information in my mind, and a little later strolled out to find the place.

I found that it lay some little distance from the village, and was surrounded by very considerable grounds and fields, and a great growth of trees that might, perhaps, by a stretch be called a wood. In the twilight I saw rabbits hopping about, and heard the cries of birds among the trees and bushes. I gathered that there would be there what I believe is known as "good mixed shooting."

The house itself stood in a hollow, and I set it down at once as being decidedly lonely and damp. It had unwholesome-looking green lichens stuck about it here and there, and the outhouses were in a bad state of repair. As I moved cautiously round it, keeping well within shelter, I saw no dogs, nor did I observe any stir of life about it, as one might expect to see about the country house of a prosperous man. A few lights were showing in the windows, and when presently I came to the front of the house, I saw that the great hall door was standing wide open. Once or twice I saw a servant cross this, and disappear, as though going from one room to the other. Presently, as I lay hidden, I saw Harvey Scoffold come out with a big cigar between his lips, and his arms swaying about lazily above his head, as he stretched himself. He seated himself in a creaking wicker chair on the porch, and I lay watching the glowing end of his cigar for a long time.

Bardolph Just came out presently, and joined him. They sat knee to knee for a while, with their heads bent forward, talking in low tones; I could not distinguish what was said. Presently both the heads turned, and the men glanced towards the lighted hall behind them; then the doctor sprang up, and pushed back his chair.

Then I saw Debora come slowly down the hall to the porch. The doctor spoke to her, and I saw her shake her head. My heart was thumping so that I had a foolish feeling that they must hear it, and discover me where I lay hidden.

The girl came down the few steps from the porch, and turned off into the grounds. Bardolph Just, after standing looking after her for a long minute, sat down again, and went on talking to Scoffold. So far as Debora was concerned, she confined her walk to an avenue among the trees, up and down which she paced for half an hour, with her hands hanging loosely at her sides, and with an air of utter desolation and dejection upon her. During all that time she only stopped once.

It was at the end of the avenue furthest from the house, and nearest to where I lay among the bushes. She stopped, and laid an arm against the trunk of a tree, and put her head against the arm; and so stood for a long time, as I felt sure, weeping softly. What I suffered in that time I will not try to explain; I would have given anything and everything to be able to steal up to her, and to put my arms about her, and to comfort her. But that was, of course, clearly impossible.

She went back into the house at last, passing between the two men and leaving them together on the porch. I determined that I would keep my vigil as long as they did, even though I could not overhear what was said. I could see that the doctor was laying down the law upon some matter to Harvey Scoffold. I could see every now and then first one and then the other turn sharply and glance into the lighted hall, as though fearing to be overheard. At last Scoffold, with a gesture of impatience, got up and came down the steps; the great bulk of him blotted out the other man for a moment.

Immediately afterwards the doctor rose, and marched down the steps also, until he came to where Harvey Scoffold was standing. They moved off arm-in-arm into that avenue in which but a little time before the girl had walked so long; and now I strained my ears, in the hope that I might catch what they said. But only scraps of conversation floated to me.

"Don't be a fool, Harvey," I heard the doctor say, "there is absolutely no danger … the merest accident."

"I can't say I like it at all; it may seem suspicious. Lonely country place, and you with an interest in the girl's death. I consider it much too risky."

They passed me, and came slowly back again. And what I heard then was startling enough, in all conscience. It was the doctor who spoke.

"Gun accidents have happened before to-day, and will happen again, especially over such land as this."

I remembered then what I had been told about this shooting party that had been organised; I wondered what they meant to do. I could only shrewdly guess that in some fashion the girl was to be drawn into the matter, and that the doctor had plotted with Harvey Scoffold that an apparent accident of some sort should take place. I did not need to be told who the victim was to be. I lay there, long after they had gone into the house and the door had been closed, wondering what I should do, and realising more and more with every minute how utterly helpless I was. To warn the girl was impossible, because, even if I got speech with her, she would in all probability refuse to believe anything I said. To set myself face to face with Harvey Scoffold and the doctor would be absurd, because they would, of course, deny that any such conversation had taken place, or at least deny the construction I had put upon their words. I lay there until very late, debating the matter, and at last came to a desperate resolve.

If they meant murder, then I determined that murder should be met with murder. In some way that was at present vague in my mind I determined that I would follow the party on the morrow, if that was the time arranged, and if I could only secure some weapon, even if I were not in time to save her, her death should be avenged. I went home with my head singing, and with, as it seemed, the sky blood-red above me.

I thought at first that I would borrow a gun from the landlord of the inn, but as I looked a peaceful sort of fellow, I came to the conclusion that that must at once throw suspicion upon me. I determined, just before I went to bed, that I would go very early to Green Barn in the morning, and there would let Fate decide for me at the last moment. I undressed and went to bed, but it was long before my eyes closed in sleep.

I was abroad early, and was actually in the grounds before the house was astir. I guessed that if this was the date on which they meant to put their plan into execution, they would make for that more secluded wood I had observed the night before, and I determined that when the time came I would take my station there. But first I made up my mind that I must have a weapon, and boldly enough I decided that I would get that, if the worst came to the worst, from the house itself. With that purpose in mind, I crept as near to the house as I could, with a view to observing how the rooms were placed, and in the hope that I might discover the gun-room, if such a place existed.

Fortune favoured me. I worked my way gradually round towards the back of the house, and judged that the party were at breakfast, by the fact that now and then a servant crossed a small paved yard, bearing dishes. I counted the number of times she went, and I reckoned my chances on two things. First, I guessed that some of the servants would be in the dining-room, and the others in the kitchens, which were detached from the house; the servant I saw pass to and fro was the messenger between both. And while I noted that fact, I saw that the gun-room was just off the small hall into which she went each time she carried anything across. I could see the shining barrels against the walls distinctly.