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Lost Parchment

<h4>CHAPTER VIII</h4> <h5>MALLIEN SPEAKS</h5> Anxious to help Rupert, and, at his friend's request, Carrington remained at The Big House until the inquest was over, and the burial of the murdered man took place. Both he and the Squire could do little save watch the course of events, as neither of them wished to say anything about the missing will, and neither could suggest any reason why the crime should have been committed. And, indeed, the police were equally unable to solve the problem, since the murder, on the face of it, appeared to be purposeless and the assassin could not be discovered. Inspector Lawson, of Tarhaven, did his best to find a clue, but from first to last was unsuccessful. He did not even know where to look for one, and when the inquest was held, had absolutely no evidence to place before the Coroner and jury. Leigh's murderer had come out of the night and had gone into the night; but why he had come to commit so dastardly a crime, and whither he had gone after achieving his aim, it was wholly impossible to say. The affair was unpleasant, mysterious and uncanny. Pursuant to the opinion of Dr. Tollart, proceedings in connection with the death were hurried on as speedily as possible. The weather was certainly amazingly hot, as for weeks a powerful sun had been blazing in a cloudless blue sky. The gardens glowed with many-colored flowers, but the growing crops were parched for want of rain, and everywhere in the district people were complaining of the shortage of water. Under the circumstances, and because nothing relevant to the assassin could be discovered, Tollart's advice seemed to be very sensible. Therefore the inquest was held at The Hendle Arms on the day after Mrs. Jabber had discovered her master's corpse, and on that same afternoon the body was placed in the family vault of the Leighs. The trouble had happened so suddenly, the proceedings had been carried through so swiftly, that everything in connection therewith was over and done with before people had time to wholly realize what had taken place. With regard to the inquest, that necessary function was dispatched very quickly. There was little to be done and little to be said, as no new details were forthcoming concerning the dreadful event. The jury inspected the body at the Vicarage, and then went on to The Hendle Arms to hear what could be said about the matter. Several reporters from London journals were present, but the interest in the case was more local than general, as there was nothing in it likely to cause a sensation. The general opinion was that some burglar had entered the ill-guarded Vicarage, and that the parson had been struck down while trying to capture the thief. But, as nothing was missing from the house, many scouted this idea, and ascribed the death to a deeper cause. But what that cause might be, this minority were unable to say. Nor did the evidence procurable tend to lighten the darkness which shrouded the crime. Mrs. Jabber, more respectably dressed than usual, and even more voluble, gave her evidence with many tears and sighs. The old woman had been deeply attached to the vicar, and could not understand why he should have met with so terrible and unexpected a death. She deposed to going to bed at ten o'clock as usual, after taking into the study a glass of milk for her master. "And there I left him, as happy as a trout in a pond," cried Mrs. Jabber, with tears running down her face, "busy with his books as usual; he, enjoying them the more after having been to see Mrs. Patter, as I'm glad to say is getting better, though it's more nor she deserves, her being such a gossip, and----" Here the witness was checked by the Coroner, on the ground that she was dealing with matters irrelevant to the inquiry. "Did Mr. Leigh expect anyone to visit him on that night?" "Lord, bless you, no, sir, and if he did, he wouldn't have mentioned it to me." "You retired at ten o'clock?" "Me and Jabber, yes, sir, both being tired with the heat and the day's work." "And you saw nothing of Mr. Leigh until seven the next morning?" "Not even the nose of him, sir, and I heard no noise, me being a heavy sleeper as Jabber is, although I don't snore, say what he likes." In fact Mrs. Jabber's statement did nothing to solve the mystery. She admitted that the bolts and bars at the Vicarage were not what they should be, considering the lonely position of the house. "But, Lord bless you, sir, there ain't never been no trouble with thieves and robbers nohow, as there wasn't anything to tempt them." "Then you don't think that a burglar----" "No, I don't, sir. There's nothing missing." Mrs. Jabber stuck to her tale, and what she said was corroborated by her husband, a meek, trembling little man, wholly dominated by his stronger-minded wife. He had gone to bed at ten o'clock; he had heard nothing during the night likely to arouse his suspicions, and the first news he had of the murder was from his wife, when she stumbled on the dead body at seven in the morning. "And then I went and told Kensit all about it," finished Mr. Jabber with a very white face, evidently afraid lest he should be accused of committing the crime. Tollart, who was just as red-faced, but much more sober than usual, stated that he had been called in by the village constable within an hour after the body had been discovered. Mr. Leigh had been struck on the right temple by some heavy instrument--probably a bludgeon--and the blow, taken in connection with his weak heart, must have caused death instantaneously. The certificate of death was worded to that effect. Leigh was a patient of his, and had never been very strong, added to which, his mode of life had weakened him considerably. On the whole, the shabby, disreputable doctor, knowing that the eyes of his little world were on him, gave his evidence very clearly and resolutely, so that he created a good impression. There was no question as to the cause of death after Tollart's statement, even though his coupling of heart disease and a blow seemed rather muddled. No one in the village had expected Leigh to live to any considerable age, owing to his delicate appearance, so it was quite certain that the violent assault had killed him. It would have been a wonder to many had he survived the blow. For no very apparent reason Hendle was called, but all that he could say brought nothing to light. He related how Leigh had dined with him, and how he had called at the Vicarage next day while on his way to London. So far as the witness knew, Leigh was in good health and spirits. "The announcement of his death came as a shock to me," finished Rupert. "Had he any enemies?" questioned the Coroner. "Not to my knowledge. A more amiable man never existed." "Do you know anything of his past life?" "Only that he had been vicar here ever since I was a child, and was devoted to books and to archæology. With the exception of his parishioners, myself and Mr. Mallien and his daughter, I don't think he ever saw anyone. He was wholly wrapped up in his books." "Then there was nothing in his past life which suggests any reason why this crime should have been committed?" "Certainly not, so far as I know." Inspector Lawson and Kensit, the village policeman, gave what sparse evidence they could. The latter declared that while on his rounds on the night of the murder he had met no one and had seen nothing suspicious when he passed the gate of the Vicarage. At the hour when the crime was said by Dr. Tollart to have been committed, witness was on the other side of the village. Lawson deposed that no weapon had been found, that no evidence of any intruder had been discovered. "I understood that the study was in a state of disorder," said the Coroner. "I gather from many sources that the study was always in a state of disorder," retorted the Inspector. Kensit, recalled, said that he did not think that the study was even more untidy than usual. Everything was turned upside down--books and papers, "Just as if some one had been searching for something," declared the witness. "Then you think that the murderer killed the vicar, and then looked about to find something, which he wished to get, and for the possession of which he committed the crime?" Kensit hesitated. "I am not prepared to go that far," he remarked, after a pause. "All I can say is that I gained some such impression." When this speech was made, Rupert glanced at Carrington and Carrington looked at Rupert. The same idea struck them simultaneously, that the murderer might have been searching for the will of John Hendle. But then the existence of that document was known only to the dead man, to the barrister and to the Squire. Rupert had been fast asleep when the crime was committed, and Carrington had been in London, so, of course, neither of the two could have had anything to do with the matter. Still, it seemed strange that the books and papers of the deceased should have been messed up. If search had not been made for the will in question, for what had the mysterious murderer been looking? This question both the young men asked themselves, and asked each other when the inquest was over. It came to an end very speedily. The Coroner could only direct the attention of the jury to the facts laid before them, and did not offer any opinion, as indeed he could not. The jury brought in a verdict of "Willful murder against some person or persons unknown," which was all that could be done. Then the meeting broke up, the reporters slipped away with their loaded notebooks, grumbling at the dullness of the matter, and the crowd of villagers dispersed to wonder, for the hundredth time, who could have killed their amiable and kindly natured vicar. "The beast who murdered Leigh could not have been looking for that will." It was Hendle who spoke, as he walked back to The Big House with Carrington. The barrister shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I had the same idea when that policeman made his statement, and I saw you look at me. I agree with you, although it is strange that the books and papers should have been turned upside down. But only you and I know of----" "Of course, of course," broke in the Squire quickly, "and, as I was in bed, and you in London, of course we had nothing to do with the matter." "Did you tell anyone else about the will?" "No. I never mentioned it to a soul." "Good. I shouldn't if I were you." Carrington's tone was so significant that the Squire turned on him in a sharp, inquiring way. "What do you mean?" "I mean that if anyone knew about the existence of John Hendle's will, and what it meant to you, it is possible that on you suspicion might rest." "What rubbish!" said Rupert uncomfortably. "I was in bed and asleep at the time the crime was committed." "How can you prove that?" Rupert looked surprised. "Why, I saw that the butler locked up as usual, and he knew that I went to bed earlier than usual." "Quite so. But when all the house was asleep, you might have risen from your bed and have gone through the sleeping village to see Leigh." "Why should I do that?" "I don't say you did," persisted Carrington. "I am only suggesting what people would say if the existence of the will were known." "Hang it, Carrington," fumed the big man, "you don't mean to insinuate that I had anything to do with so cowardly a crime." "No! No! No! I don't insinuate anything of the sort, as I know that you are incapable of such a thing. But other people have nasty, suspicious minds." Hendle looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I understand," he murmured, after a pause; "it is just as well to say nothing about the will. I dare say I shall find it among Leigh's papers when his lawyer writes to me about my being the executor." "And if you do not?" Rupert shrugged his big shoulders. "Then there's nothing more to be said or done," he remarked with resignation. "There is this to be said," observed Carrington, thoughtfully, "that if the assassin really was looking for the will, and turned over the books and papers to obtain the reward of his crime, the will is sure to turn up sooner or later." "I don't follow you," said Hendle, both perturbed and puzzled. "Think for a moment. That will is of the greatest value to you, and the man who murdered Leigh must have stolen it to--shall we say--blackmail you. When everything has blown over, he will certainly make some attempt to gain the reward he risked his neck for, by taking the will to you or to Mallien." "If he comes to me I shall hand him over to the police," said Rupert vigorously. "And Mallien, in spite of his misanthropic ways, would do the same. I don't see, however, how anyone can have killed Leigh for the sake of that will, as no one but you and I knew about it." "True enough. Did you tell Miss Mallien about it?" "No, I told no one. And if I had told Dorinda----" "She might have told her father, to whom the will was of importance, seeing that it might possibly place him in possession of four thousand a year." "Good Lord, Carrington, you don't infer that Mallien murdered the vicar?" "No, I don't, because I have no grounds to go upon. But if you told Miss----" "Confound it, man, I didn't. Haven't I been saying for the last half hour that I told no one but you. Even if I had told Dorinda she would never have spoken to her father without my permission. And even if she had done so, her father would never have murdered Leigh to get the will, as he would know very well that I am not the sort of man to conceal such a document." "H'm! I'm not so sure of that," said Carrington doubtfully. "Mallien is not a particularly scrupulous man, from what I have seen of him. He may judge you by himself." "I don't care if he did judge me to be a scoundrel," retorted Rupert, "that would not make me one. But aren't we twisting ropes of sand, Carrington? I tell you solemnly that I told no one about John Hendle's will, save you." "Oh, I'm only suggesting what people might say about you and Mallien, did the existence of the will become known. After all," added Carrington cheerfully, "there may not be any will at all. You have never seen it, and have only the word of a dead man to go upon. It may not exist." Rupert shook his head seriously. "I think it does exist, and that I shall probably find it among Leigh's papers." "And if you do?" "I shall take it to our family lawyers and call in Mallien to talk the matter over." "It's a risk, considering that Leigh has been murdered." "I don't see it. Even if anyone was crazy enough to suggest that I killed the poor old man, the mere fact of my producing the will would show that I had no reason to murder him. Pouf!" ended Rupert contemptuously, "it is all froth and foam. Don't talk rubbish and make mountains out of molehills." Carrington shrugged his shoulders and said no more, since on the face of it he was, as Rupert stated, twisting ropes of sand. No more was said on this particular phase of the case, but during luncheon the young men discussed the matter freely. Naturally, on what had been set forth in the evidence, they could arrive at no conclusion, and went to the funeral of the vicar as much in the dark as anyone in the great crowd that gathered in the churchyard. Mallien was there, but beyond scowling at Carrington, for whom he had little love, and nodding curtly to his cousin, he took no notice of the two men. Titus Ark was there and mumbled every now and then something to the effect that the vicar could not possibly be dead. But no one took notice of so crazy a statement, since the doctor had given the certificate of death. It was known how Ark idolized the parson, and how constantly he had been with Leigh, therefore everyone thought that it was simply the senile weakness of age on the sexton's part, to disbelieve that his only friend was gone. And, finding that no one heeded his protests and mutterings, Titus became stolidly silent, attending to his part of the burial sullenly. So far as Ark's duties were concerned, he had little to do, not even having had to dig a grave. The family vault in a quiet corner of the churchyard was duly opened, and the coffin was carried down the damp, worn steps. For a few centuries the Leighs had been buried here, as formerly--before the Hendles came on the scene--they had been the Lords of the Manor. Now, save the seafaring cousin, who was on the distaff side, the last of the race had been laid to rest. A neighboring clergyman read the service, which was listened to with reverent attention, and when the door of the vault was closed again, the crowd of mourners slowly dispersed. Judging from the observations made, it was widely believed that the mystery of the death was hidden away with the dead man in that dreary vault. "I can't see, sir," said Inspector Lawson to Rupert, "how anything is to be discovered. I looked over the poor gentleman's papers, but could find nothing in his past life to suggest that anyone would kill him." "Yet, according to Kensit, the papers were searched through," hinted Hendle, relieved that the officer made no mention of the lost parchment. Lawson shrugged his square shoulders. "Oh, these young constables always see more than need be seen," he observed slightly, "they are so eager for promotion you see, sir. My opinion is that some tramp on the prowl walked in at that invitingly open gate on the chance of stealing. Finding some door or window unbolted--he probably tried them on the chance, as I say--he got into the study and, while tumbling over the contents of the room and with the idea of finding something worth taking, was surprised by Mr. Leigh. Naturally, the tramp's first idea would be to escape, and, being prevented, he naturally would strike down the man who strove to detain him." "You appear to have the case, quite cut and dried," remarked Carrington, smiling. "It is all theory, I admit," retorted Lawson, rather nettled. "But if you can find a better explanation on what is known, sir, I should be glad to hear it." "Oh, I dare say that your theory is as good as any other, Inspector. I suppose you will search for more evidence on those lines?" "Search? In what direction am I to search?" "Oh, don't ask me," replied the barrister lightly. "I am as much in the dark as you are, Inspector. Still, it will be just as well to order Kensit to keep his weather eye open on the chance of something unexpected turning up." "I have told Kensit to do so, Mr. Carrington, but I don't hope for any result." Everyone was of much the same opinion as the worthy official, and his theory was finally accepted by all, even by those who had hinted at a deeper reason for the commission of the crime. A stray tramp, moving from one town to another under cover of night, had probably killed the vicar, so as to escape arrest for burglary. And it might be that he did not even mean to murder Leigh, but only intended to stun him, so as to get away. The heart disease, as much as the blow, was the cause of death, according to Tollart, and the presumed tramp could not have been expected to know that the parson suffered in this way. At all events, the explanation of Lawson seemed likely to prove the sole explanation which would be forthcoming. Carrington stayed for the night, but his consultations with Rupert led to nothing. Then he took his departure, on the understanding that if Hendle, as Leigh's executor, did find the will, or did not find it, he would call down to Barship again to give his help. "I don't say that I am rich enough to do so for nothing, Hendle," confessed the barrister frankly, "but I'm not greedy, and you can give me what you consider fair." "Oh, I don't mind," answered Rupert, rather contemptuously, for he thought that Carrington might have behaved more as a friend and less as a professional adviser. "You shall name your own price, if the will proves illegal, and I am left in possession of the property. Otherwise, you will have to get your fees from the new heir." "Mallien. H'm! He is too avaricious a man to pay if he can help. I want to work for you and not for him, Hendle. However, I understand the position, and you can depend upon my doing my best to pull you through." "I shall expect that, if I am to retain your services professionally," said the Squire rather dryly, and then, mindful of the obligations of hospitality, he drove Carrington to the station in his motor to catch the midday express. Nevertheless, he was disappointed that his old school chum should bring pounds, shillings and pence into the matter. It imported a sordid element into their friendship, and when Rupert reached The Big House again, he came to the conclusion that perhaps Dorinda was not far wrong in her estimate of the lawyer's character; or Mallien either, for Mallien also mistrusted the man. And now it appeared that there were grounds for a certain amount of mistrust, as Hendle ruefully confessed to himself. In a short time, Leigh's lawyer, having seen the report of the murder, inquest and burial in the newspapers, made his appearance and intimated to Hendle that he was the dead man's executor. Besides his income as a parson, Leigh only had a few hundred pounds invested in Consols, so it was evident that the sea captain in Australia would not benefit overmuch. The solicitor arranged to write to the legatee in Australia, and promised to send some one down to value the books with a view to selling them. Mrs. Jabber remained on at the Vicarage along with her husband pending the arrival of the new parson, who was to be appointed immediately by the Bishop. Rupert, as executor, went to the untidy house, after the solicitor departed for London, to look over all papers belonging to Leigh, and to put affairs shipshape. The lawyer had no time to attend to the matter, since the estate was hardly worthy of his professional attention, and when Hendle explained that certain documents had to be restored to the Muniment Room, and that a search for them would be necessary, the attorney allowed him to attend to the matter wholly by himself. Thus it came about that Rupert found himself three days after the burial digging among the bookish rubbish in the study. Of course, his chief aim was to find the will, which Leigh had so positively asserted existed. But, although the young man turned over every paper and parchment, hunted through various boxes, and even examined many of the books, on the chance that it might have been slipped into one of them, he was unable to find what he wanted. At the end of three or four hours, and when the afternoon was waning, Hendle began to think that the will was a myth. It probably had never existed save in Leigh's dreamy imagination. On the other hand, it might have existed, and the assassin might have taken it. But this was too fantastical an idea for Hendle to accept for one moment. Seeing that only himself and Carrington knew about the will, whether it was real or fictitious, it was impossible to believe that the crime had been committed for its sake. By the time five o'clock came, Rupert, working, for the sake of coolness, in his shirt sleeves, was hot and dusty and weary. Looking for a needle in a bundle of hay did not appeal to him as an amusing task, and he was about to abandon the search for the day, when a quick, firm step was heard, and Mallien, looking like a thunder cloud, entered to scowl a greeting. "Well?" he asked disagreeably, "have you found John Hendle's will?" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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