CHAPTER XX
LURED TO HIS DOOM
Leicester came striding down, apparently unconscious of the scene and the actors.
As he passed the group, who drew back to let him go by, he turned his head slightly, and frowned at Jem, who had suddenly become sober, and stood, with hangdog head, looking upward from the corners of his evil, little eyes.
"Seems cut up about summut," said one of the men.
"Crossed in love," said Job, with a laugh. "But that's no business o' ours, lads."
The men, with Job and Willie at their head, ran down to the beach, and again the captain saw the signal fly out into the night.
"No time to lose," he muttered. "Now, will this drunken fellow get out of the way and let me get to work?"
As if he had heard the unspoken question, Jem stopped suddenly, and, after looking round cunningly, turned off to the right and commenced ascending the steep path which led to the cliffs.
He was following in the immediate wake of Leicester Dodson.
The arch plotter, who had pulled all the wires which had moved the passions of both men, softly and swiftly followed up behind, to make the murderer's task easy and effective!
Panting and breathless, the captain at last descried the thickset figure of Jem crouching on the path. With a stealthy caution, the captain crept up to him, and whispered his name.
With a guilty start, and a smothered oath, the ruffian turned.
"Hush!" said the captain. "I've followed you – "
Before he could proceed, the idea of treachery and capture had taken hold of Jem's mind, and, with a livid face, he sprang upon his late master.
In an instant they were locked in each other's arms, and struggling for dear life, afraid to speak for fear of alarming their joint victim, who stood, or lay, on the grass farther up the cliff, and out of sight.
With a fearful tensity, they rocked to and fro, struggling each to get the upper hand of the other.
Nearer and nearer they approached the edge of the cliff.
The captain's brain grew dizzy – he felt himself falling, but, by an effort gigantic and overwhelming, called up all his strength to play a feint.
With a slight cry, he glared over Jem's shoulder, as if he saw some one or something.
The feint took effect. For half an instant Jem relaxed his hold, and turned his head.
In that stroke of time the captain had freed one arm.
A knife flashed through the night and buried itself in Jem's breast. With a muffled cry and a gasp, he threw up his arms, then fell like a log on the sward.
Instantly the captain bent down, and, opening one thick, clammy hand, pressed into it the white, crushed lily which he wore in his buttonhole.
The dying man's hand closed on the flower, and his eyes opened, with a glare of hate and distrust. Then, as the light died out of them, the captain dragged the body of his accomplice and tool to the edge and hurled it over.
So short, though deadly, had been the struggle for the mastery that nothing, not a coat, or collar, was torn, and, after passing his handkerchief over his brow, he was about to hurry on, when he remembered the knife, which, in the excitement, had slipped from his hand.
He went on his hands and knees and searched carefully, but could not find it.
"It must have gone over with him," he muttered, and he decided, after a still more careful examination of the ground, that it had.
All further search for it was rendered impossible by the sound of footsteps.
Looking up, he saw the stalwart figure of Leicester Dodson coming swiftly down toward him.
Instantly, he called out, and without anxiety:
"Is that you, Mr. Leicester?"
"It is," came back Leicester's deep, stern voice.
"I am so glad," replied the captain. "I have been looking for you everywhere!"
"Were you sent to find me?"
"I should not have come on my own account, much as I esteem your society," said the captain, with a grave laugh. "I have come from the woman to whom you have lost your heart, and whom you have lashed and tortured by your romantic upbraidings and reproaches. Don't be offended with me. I have had my days of romance and sentiment, though I am not much older than you. Why, how much older am I? A few years only, if any."
Leicester moved impatiently.
"For Heaven's sake, do not keep me in suspense!" he cried. "You say that Violet – Miss Mildmay – sent for me? Where is she?"
"Where should she be but in her own house?" said the captain, banteringly. "Come, my dear fellow, you have made yourself and her quite miserable enough for one night, and I have come to make you both happy."
"You came from her?" said Leicester.
"Yes, to tell you that you are mistaken, that your reproaches were groundless, that she is not heartless, and, as from herself, she bade me tell you that she required your forgiveness and good will. The word and the thing needed between you is 'peace' – no more, mind!" he added, as Leicester wiped the perspiration from his brow. "No more! We do not say any warmer word! For the present, it is only peace!"
Leicester held out his hand.
"Captain Murpoint," he said, and his voice struggled for calm, "I have wronged you. You are a good fellow, for no other than an honest, simple-hearted, good-natured gentleman would have taken so much trouble to bring happiness to an obstinate, wooden-headed, conceited young fool – "
"No no," said the captain, disclaimingly, as he shook the hot hand cordially.
"And she sent for me!" continued Leicester, in a rhapsody of gratitude and love. "Bless her gentle heart! What a brute I must have seemed to her! I said more than I meant, captain. I swear I did; I was mad at the time, mad with jealousy and love and wounded vanity. But enough of that. Where is she?"
"I left Violet hiding snugly in the old chapel."
Leicester started, and a slight shadow of suspicion clouded his joy.
"Hiding in the old chapel? Why should she do that?" he asked.
"That she can best tell," said the captain. "Of course, she does not expect to see you, and you are not compelled to come. The fact is, we were out for a walk, and, finding her low-spirited, I drew from her the cause. I left her seated on the old tomb, and there she sits now, depend on it, or I am much out in my estimate of a lover's endurance."
Leicester paused a second.
"You need not come so far," said the captain; "she may have gone on."
"I would go to the end of the world on the chance of seeing her to-night!" said Leicester.
"Come along, then!" exclaimed the captain. "Take my arm."
Leicester raised his arm; the captain at the same moment raised his, and, happening to stumble at the moment over a loose stone, his hand struck Leicester's hat off.
"Tut, tut!" he exclaimed, with annoyance. "How stupid and clumsy of me! I thought you were going to take my arm, and I stumbled over a stone. I wonder whether I can get it?" and he neared the edge.
"No, no!" exclaimed Leicester, impatiently. "Confound the hat! What does it matter? Come away, or you'll stumble again, perhaps, and pop over. It's death if you do."
"Ah, well, I am afraid it has gone over," said the captain, apparently much vexed at his own carelessness. "I wish it had been my hat instead of yours."
"No matter," said Leicester. "Come on; remember that she is waiting there all alone."
Arm in arm, Captain Howard Murpoint and Leicester Dodson descended the cliff.
The heart of the latter was beating fast with joy born of hope.
In a few minutes he should be near his sweet Violet; should, perhaps, clasp her in his arms – for might she not in the excitement of the moment be won to confess that she returned him love for love?
"Come along!" he said. "Every moment – "
"Gently!" replied the captain, cheerily. "Remember, this path is narrow and somewhat dangerous; a false step, and over we should be."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Leicester, who felt fit for any mad thing. "I could run down it blindfolded."
Thus exhorted, the captain quickened his pace.
While going through the village, Leicester nodded toward the "Blue Lion".
"All quiet now," he said. "As I passed this evening they were just coming out. By the way, your old servant still remains at Penruddie; he was drunk, as usual, to-night, and noisy."
"Oh, he is quiet now – I dare say asleep," said the captain, with a sardonic grin in the darkness.
Leicester made some rejoinder, and he walked on until the chapel came in sight.
"Strange," mused Leicester; "an hour ago I was longing for Africa; now I would not exchange England for ten undiscovered worlds."
"The wind shifts rapidly," said the captain, with his soft, treacherous laugh, "and the weathercock obeys it with all cheerfulness."
Leicester was too happy to resent the sneer, and the next moment they entered the chapel.
"Dark as pitch," he said. "Here is the torch. I do not see – where are you?" he broke off to ask, for the captain had suddenly left his side.
"Here," said the captain.
Leicester turned, but before he could utter another word he felt his arms pinned to his sides, and a bandage thrown over his mouth.
He struggled hard and furiously to free his arms and mouth, but his unseen assailants were four to one, and, after a few moments, he gave up the ineffectual resistance, and knelt, for he had been forced on to his knees at last, nevertheless glaring impotently round him.
He could see dark figures flitting about, but a dead silence reigned.
It was broken at last by a voice, which he knew well.
It was Job's.
"Maester Leicester, it be of no use to struggle agen too many. Do you give in quietly?"
Leicester thought a moment, then nodded, pointing to the gag.
"If we take it off, will 'e promise not to shout?" asked Job.
Again Leicester hesitated, and again made a motion in the affirmative.
"Take it off; he'll not break his word," said Job, and some one from behind slipped off the gag.
"Now, Maester Leicester," said Job, "we've got your word. Mind ye, you're not to speak till ye get permission."
Leicester nodded.
"Do you know me?" asked Job.
"I do," said Leicester. "You are Job, the carrier, and a scoundrel! Why am I decoyed here and treated thus?"
"For a good reason, to be sure," said Job. "Maester Leicester, you've been prying about too much lately, prying into what don't concern you, and you've discovered summut as you shouldn't a knowed anything of. Don't I speak the truth?"
"I have discovered nothing," said Leicester. "But, trust me, I will unmask the villain who lured me here and the scoundrels in his pay!"
There was a threatening movement behind him, but Leicester's courage did not flinch.
Job shook his head.
"D'ye mean to threaten us, Maester Leicester?" he said. "I'm sorry for it. I'd hoped we'd come to some terms. Suppose you discovered this little game – and you've done it, for a certainty – I puts it to you as a gentleman, what harm can it do to you and yours? Do it matter to you gentlefolk if a cask o' wine and a bundle o' cigars is run in now and then without the customs knowing it?"
"Ah!" said Leicester, the whole secret breaking in upon him. "That's the villainy, is it? So you honest fishermen are a parcel of thieves, with a scoundrel at your head! That's the key to the mystery, is it? What! and you dare to ask me to connive at your rascality! Job, you know me better! You waste time and words; you should know me better. If there are any others round me who can hear me, they, too, should know me better than to hope I would make a paltry villain of myself, even to save myself from their trickery. I repeat it, if I live through to-night, I will bring you to justice, Job, and all your gang."
"Bah! Waste of time, indeed!" said a smooth voice behind Job.
"You still here!" said Leicester. "I knew you for a villain when I first saw your vile face and heard your false voice. You triumph to-night, Captain Murpoint, if that is your name; but, have a care! A rogue's day is a short one! The gallows lies in your path, and every little such paltry triumph as this draws you more swiftly down to it!"
"Bah!" said the soft voice, contemptuously. "Fine words, boys. Better waste no more time. The fool is raving mad with fear, and doesn't know what he says."
Two or three hands slipped the gag over the captive's mouth, and he was raised on two pairs of stout shoulders.
"Good-night," said the captain. "I leave you in good hands, Mr. Leicester Dodson. They'll take care of you. Good-night. I will make your excuse to the person whom you should have met," and, with another mocking grin, the captain, having waited until the crowd of figures were lost in the gloom, turned on his heel and walked rapidly away.
So quietly had the capture and removal of Leicester Dodson been effected that not a dog about the Park had been roused, and the captain, standing on the lawn, waited until he saw the signal which announced the success of the undertaking, then entered the house, and stepped quietly upstairs.
Not so quietly but that a pair of ears heard him.
As he passed Violet's door, it opened, and Violet stepped across the threshold.
"I had hoped that you would not have waited," he said.
Violet knew by his words that he had been unsuccessful in his mission of peace, and a grayer tint came over her face.
"You have seen him?" she said, in a low, strained voice.
The captain inclined his head.
"Yes," he said, "I have seen Mr. Leicester."
"And you gave him the message? Oh, tell me, please!" and she clasped her hands, with a gesture of despair.
"I know not how to tell you," said the captain, brokenly. "At least, I can assure you this, that Mr. Dodson is not worth another thought of yours. You – and I, also – are utterly mistaken in him. He is neither generous, noble, nor forgiving."
Violet interrupted by a gesture.
"Will you tell me what he said?"
"When I left you," said the captain, "I walked up to the Cedars, hoping to find him at home, but a servant told me he had gone for his walk. I went down to the village, and waited there for some time, and at last looked for him on the beach. I could not find him there, and, as I was determined not to return to you until I had seen him, I made my way back to the village, and waited by the cliff road."
He paused a moment to snuff the candle and to glance at her face.
He could see she was listening attentively, and he wished her to do so.
"I waited some time, and then walked up the hill. There I met him, and – and – oh, that I could spare you the indignity of this moment! – and gave him your message. At first he treated me with a specimen of his incredulity. He was suspicious of I know not what, and it was not until I took your flower and put it in his hand that he considered I had any authority to speak to him concerning you."
"He took the flower?" said Violet, faintly.
"Yes; he thrust it in his coat, with a cynical, mocking laugh. 'Tell her,' said he, 'that I will keep her flower, but will have none of her love.' You would have me tell you," he added, hurriedly as Violet staggered slightly and flushed a hot crimson of shame and indignation.
"I did not give you any such message!" she burst forth, with a wail of wounded pride.
"Nor did I say a word which should call forth such an insult," replied the captain. "Do not think of it. He was mad at the time, I fully believe. Mad, raving mad! What could I say or do when he uttered that insult? I turned and left him. I could have felled him to the ground, but my mission was one of peace."
"And he said no more?" asked Violet, huskily.
"No more," said the captain. "I watched him as he went down the street and past the inn. The men were coming out, and I feared that, perhaps, in his mad, ill-tempered state, he should be so indiscreet as to run against my man, Starling, for he was among the group. But Mr. Dodson passed on, and the men dispersed, Starling alone going in the direction of the cliff."
He paused, to let his words, slowly spoken, carry their full weight, and make their due impression, then continued:
"Then I came on home, but I could not find heart to see you. I determined to wait until you had gone to bed; you would be stronger in the morning to bear the insult."
He paused again.
"With that resolve, I paced up and down the lane, I must confess, with the hope that Mr. Dodson would return, and, his ill-temper vented, give me a more satisfactory answer to your gentle, noble message. But he has not returned – at least, by that road; he may have ascended to the Cedars by the lower road – and, at last, thinking you must by this time have retired to rest, I ventured to come in."
There was a silence, unnatural and ghostly in its intensity, then Violet spoke.
"I thank you," she said. "I thank you from my heart. I did what I thought right, and, though it has won me nothing but insult, I think it right still. Mr. Leicester Dodson misunderstood and misjudged me. He said that I had wronged and injured him. I sent to say that, neither in thought nor deed, had I intended him harm. So far, I am right; the rest let him be answerable for."
"Nobly spoken!" exclaimed the captain, in a voice apparently choked with emotion. "Nobly spoken! Yours is a proud nature, worthy the daughter of my old friend, John Mildmay. Good-night! You are wearied to death. Good-night!"
He took her hand, and bowed over it, and, with a gesture as if he were swallowing tears, hurriedly walked away toward his own room.
CHAPTER XXI
WILLFUL MURDER
The captain slept the sleep of the innocent and just.
He did not even dream of a white, mangled face lying on the jagged rocks.
In the morning he came down, dressed with his usual care, smiling and serene.
The breakfast threatened to go off as quietly and uneventfully as usual.
But suddenly the sound of many voices broke the monotony, and the captain, looking through the window, saw a small crowd approaching up the lane.
Presently, after the lapse of a few moments, the footman entered.
"You are wanted, sir," he said, addressing the captain.
"Very well," said the captain, airily. "I will come out."
After a few minutes, the captain re-entered.
His face was very grave, almost solemn.
Mrs. Mildmay, looking at it, felt a vague alarm.
"What is the matter?" she asked.
"Oh – not much," hesitated the captain, glancing at Violet. "An accident has happened."
"An accident?" repeated Violet, looking up with her white face. "To whom?"
"To my man, Starling," he said, gravely. "He has fallen over the cliffs."
"Fallen over the cliffs!" echoed Mrs. Mildmay. "How dreadful!"
"Is it not?" he exclaimed. "Terrible! Poor fellow! I saw him last night," and here he glanced at Violet.
"And he has fallen over!" exclaimed Mrs. Mildmay. "And where did they find him?"
"That I have scarcely learned," said the captain. "It seems that they have taken the body to the coastguard station, and that they require me to identify it."
"You will go at once?" said Mrs. Mildmay.
"At once," he said, and rang the bell for his hat.
Violet sat quite alone, her head leaning upon her hand.
The captain gravely sipped his coffee until his hat came; then he put it on, and prepared to accompany the men.
"There is great excitement," he said. "This sort of men rush to a conclusion directly."
"What conclusion have they rushed to?" asked Mrs. Mildmay.
"They think he met his death by foul play," replied the captain. "But," he added, quickly, "that is only ignorant fishermen's supposition. I will go down to the coastguard station and see him," and he left the room.
Outside the house was a small knot of men.
The captain went out to them, and touched his hat.
"Which is the nearest way?" he asked.
A dozen voices answered him; and, thus guided and accompanied, he set off.
In silence, followed by the crowd, he made his way to the coastguard station.
The door was closed, and another small crowd surrounded them.
The captain knocked, and a coastguardian opened the door, admitted him, and closed it upon the crowd.
Upon a table lay stretched out the mangled form of the escaped convict, Jem Starling.
The captain approached, and uncovered his head.
"Dreadful!" he said, turning away. "Dreadful!"
"You recognize him?" asked the coastguard.
"Oh, yes," replied the captain. "It is Starling, my old servant. I recognized him at once."
The coastguard nodded.
"Where did you find him?" asked the captain, gravely.
"Under the cliff – about a quarter of a mile before you come to the guardbox. Ben Bolt found him."
"Where is Ben Bolt?" asked the captain.
The coastguard opened a side door, and called the man by his name.
A short, weather-beaten figure entered, and, seeing the captain, touched his hat.
"The captain wants to know where you found this unfortunate body, Ben," said the man.
"On the rocks below the cliff," replied the man.
"Ah," said the captain, "just where the path is narrowest. The poor fellow fell over, no doubt. I saw him last night, and he was very intoxicated."
The two coastguards exchanged glances.
"What course do you intend taking?" asked the captain.
"We've telegraphed to the inspector of police at Tenby," said the coastguard. "He'll be over here directly, and we can tell him what we know, and give the things we've found."
"What things?" inquired the captain.
"Fetch 'em here, Ben," said the man, and Ben Bolt, touching his hat, went to a cupboard, from which he brought a light felt hat and a withered lily.
"There!" said the captain. "This is his hat, is it not?"
"No," said Ben Bolt; "it bean't, and everybody knows it. There be his hat," and he pointed to the hat which lay beside the body. "There be his hat, which he allus used to wear. This 'un was found near him – close beside him, as you may say, just as if it had fell off with him."
"And the flower?" asked the captain.
"Was tight in his hand – tight as if a vise held it," replied Ben Bolt.
"Let me see the hat," said the captain.
The coastguard handed the hat, and the captain examined it.
"I have seen this hat before," he said, looking at it with a puzzled air. "I am sure I have seen it before. Ah!" he exclaimed, suddenly.
"What's the matter?" inquired the coastguard.
"N – nothing," said the captain, who seemed visibly affected.
"I know what's took you so sudden like," said the coastguard. "You caught sight o' these two letters," and he turned up the hat and pointed to "L. D.," which were marked in the inside brim.
The captain nodded, gravely.
"I confess it," he said. "I did see them."
And he turned to leave the station.
Presently he turned back again, suddenly.
"Has Mr. Leicester Dodson been to identify the body?" he asked.
The two men looked at each other.
"No, he haven't," said the coastguard.
And the captain, after a moment's pause, left the station, and walked down the cliffs, with the small crowd at his heels again.
Very slowly he walked home.
When he came to the lawn wicket, he hesitated a moment, and turned back again.
He ascended the path leading to the Cedars, and rang the bell at the lodge.
The lodge-keeper came out to him.
"Is Mr. Dodson at home?" he asked.
"I believe he be, sir," said the man, opening the gates.
The captain passed through, and reached the house.
A footman ushered him into the drawing-room.
"Will you tell Mr. Dodson I wish to see him?" he asked. "And, if you see Mr. Leicester, say that I am here," he added.
The man bowed, and left the room.
Presently, Mrs. Dodson entered.
"Oh, good-morning, captain," she said, holding out her hand. "Neither Mr. Dodson nor my son is at home. Mr. Dodson has gone to London, with Mr. Lennox, and Leicester I have not seen yet."
"Oh, it is of no consequence," said the captain. "I stepped up to tell them of an accident which has occurred in the village."
"An accident? I am sorry for that! What is it?"
"A man fell over the cliff," said the captain.
"One of the fishermen?" asked Mrs. Dodson.
"No," said the captain, rising, and he told her who it was.
She looked very much shocked, but certainly displayed no extraordinary feminine alarm; and the captain, being convinced that neither Mr. Dodson nor Leicester was at home, took his leave.
When he entered the breakfast-room at the Park, he did not notice, or pretended that he did not notice, Violet, who was sitting at the window, half hidden by the curtain; but advancing to Mrs. Mildmay, he said, in a tone of grave concern:
"It is as I feared, my dear madam. The man is Starling, my late valet."
"Dear me!" said Mrs. Mildmay.
"And he was found lying on the rocks below the cliffs. He had suddenly fallen over, or been thrown over."
"Thrown over!" repeated Mrs. Mildmay, with a look of horror. "Oh, who could be guilty of such a horrible crime?"
"I do not know – I cannot say," said the captain, who seemed much agitated. "Has Mr. Leicester Dodson been here this morning?"
"No," said Mrs. Mildmay. "Did you expect him?"
"Oh, no," said the captain. "I should like to see him; indeed, I went up to the Cedars, hoping to see him, but I could not find either him or Mr. Dodson at home."
"Why did you want to see him?" asked the simple lady.
"I should have liked him to see the body, and to ask him a few questions," said the captain, who knew that the white-muslined figure in the window seat was listening attentively.
"But why?" asked Mrs. Mildmay. "You identified the poor fellow sufficiently, I should think, and what questions could you have to ask?"
The captain drew nearer, with an expression of troubled perplexity.
Suddenly he laid his hand upon Mrs. Mildmay's arm, and, with a grave look, said:
"I had better tell you. I had better tell you, so that you may be on your guard, and keep the news from Violet. I have seen the man, and something else – a hat which was found lying beside him."
Mrs. Mildmay glanced at the window, but the captain did not seem to notice.
"The hat was Leicester Dodson's – I knew it by the initials marked inside it – and the flower was one which I gave him late last night."
Mrs. Mildmay uttered a cry of horror, and it was echoed by a voice behind the curtain.
The next moment Violet confronted him.
"What!" she breathed, her eyes distended and her face white.
"You here!" exclaimed the captain, in a tone of self-reproach. "Nothing, my dear young lady!"
"You say his hat and the flower were lying beside the dead man?" she breathed. "What do you mean? What do they all mean? They do not say he killed him!" and, with a faint cry, she fell back.
The captain caught her, with a cry of alarm.
Mrs. Mildmay rushed to the bell.
The door opened, and the footman appeared.
"Did you ring, ma'am? Mr. Thaxton has arrived."
At his name, Violet seemed relieved.
She drew herself upright from the captain's arms, and, pushing her hair from her white forehead, said, with unnatural calm:
"Mr. Thaxton, the lawyer? Show him in!"
There entered a short, wiry, old gentleman, with a pleasant, but shrewd, face, crowned by smoothly parted white hair.
It was Mr. Thaxton, the lawyer. He looked from one to the other, with inquiring and acute attention.
Mrs. Mildmay came forward, and held out her hand.
"Oh, Mr. Thaxton," she exclaimed, with agitated earnestness, "I am so glad you have come!"
"So am I, if I am needed," said Mr. Thaxton, bowing over her hand and glancing at the captain.
"This is Captain Murpoint."
The captain bowed, but, as he was pouring some eau de cologne upon Violet's handkerchief, he could not shake hands.
"Something dreadful has happened," continued Mrs. Mildmay, hurriedly; "we have only just heard of it; we did not know that Violet was in the room, and – and – oh, dear, oh, dear!"
And the simple, good-hearted lady burst into tears.
Violet rose, calm and terribly quiet.
"Do not cry, aunt," she said. "Mr. Thaxton, I am glad you have come; some terrible accident has happened."
Then she turned to the captain, and, with a gesture almost of command, said:
"Will you tell Mr. Thaxton?"
Mr. Thaxton took her hand.
"Wait a while," he said. "You distress yourself, Miss Violet, perhaps without adequate cause. What has happened? Come, come!"
And the old man patted her hand, soothingly, though nothing of his acuteness abated.
Then he led Violet to a seat, and himself drew a little apart, with the captain, who had all this time been, so to speak, measuring his man.
"What has happened?" asked Mr. Thaxton. "Nothing nearly concerning the family, I hope?"
"N – o," said the captain, gravely, and then he placed Mr. Thaxton in possession of the facts which were generally known.
A body had been found at the foot of the cliff.
The corpse had been identified as the body of the captain's late valet, Jem Starling.
Near the body a hat had been found.
That hat belonged to one Leicester Dodson.
At the name, Mr. Thaxton's sharp eyes shot a swift glance at Violet.
She saw the glance, but did not flinch.
Mr. Thaxton nodded once or twice, thoughtfully.
"Where is the body?" he asked.
"Lying at the coastguard station," replied the captain.
"I think," said Mr. Thaxton, "that I should like to walk up there."
"You will take some refreshment first?" said Mrs. Mildmay.
"No, thank you," said the lawyer. "I will wait until I return." And he took up his hat.
"Is there nothing but the discovery of the hat near the body to direct suspicion against Mr. Dodson?" he asked.
"I do not know," said the captain. "I should think not. It is ridiculous to suppose that he was capable of committing such a crime."
"Exactly," said the lawyer.
And he remained quiet until they had reached the guardhouse.
Once more the captain looked down upon the dead body and distorted face with calm, grave complaisance.
The lawyer asked a few questions.
"Can I see the hat?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said the coastguard, approaching the cupboard.
While he was unlocking it, a thin, cadaverous looking man entered, in a quiet, careless sort of fashion, and went up close behind the lawyer.
"There's the hat, sir," said the guard. "It was found close near the corpse, and – Hello! Who are you?"
This was addressed to the intrusive stranger, who had suddenly pushed closer and stretched out his hand.
"What's that?" he said, pointing to a flower in the cupboard.
"That's a flower," returned the coastguard. "P'r'aps you didn't hear me ask you who you was?"
"Yes, I did," retorted the stranger, mildly. "Where did you find that flower?"
The coastguard stared.