The Crowned Skull Page 11

Polwin looked doubtfully at the barrister, and the confidence the latter expressed in the baronet’s innocence did not seem to be shared by the steward. However, he said nothing, but meekly bowed and passed out of the room. Oswald did not try to stop him. For the present he had learned sufficient to advise him as to the next steps to be taken along the doubtful path which led towards the light. In that light Forde expected to see the assassin of John Bowring, and he did not think to find him in Sir Hannibal Trevick. But Polwin, who had known the baronet longer than the barrister, did not seem so certain that Sir Hannibal was innocent. Forde felt uneasy.

  ‘I wonder,’ he thought, warming his hands, ‘if there is anything in Trevick’s past life in Africa which would warrant his killing Bowring. It seems to me that the Death’s Head could clear up a lot, if its significance could be known. Miss Warry also seems to have her knife into Sir Hannibal, seeing what she said. I don’t believe that she read her prophecy in the stars. She knows something, and perhaps can explain the mystery of that crowned skull. Humph! I’ll call and see Miss Warry this very evening.’

  Having made up his mind to this course, Forde sent up a note to Dericka saying that he would call in the morning. He had intended to go up to the Dower House that evening, but thought it as well to postpone his visit until such time as he had seen Miss Warry, and learned exactly what was her attitude towards the baronet. Behind all the evidence which pointed to this person and that, as the enemy who was engineering Sir Hannibal’s destruction, lurked an idea in Oswald’s head that Miss Warry was the moving spirit. Yet he knew that the ex-governess had been kindly treated by the baronet, and had no reason to trouble him. But it might be that Miss Warry was one of those persons who resent kindness, and who would be willing to hurt the person who was kind for the very reason that the person had behaved well. Forde had come across that sort of individual before.

  However, he postponed his decision until he had interviewed the ex-governess, and meanwhile walked up to the boarding house where she was stopping. It was a large granite house overlooking the bay, and as comfortable as any place in St Ewalds, if not more so. Two very charming ladies owned the place, and ministered to the many guests who came to their establishment, for it was wonderfully popular and quite deserved its popularity. Miss Warry, who was fond of her comforts, could not have chosen a more delightful abode.

  Forde sent in his card and was shown into a small room, well furnished and illuminated by a tall lamp in a rose-coloured shade. Consequently, when Miss Warry, gaunt and grey as ever, sailed into the room, swinging her inevitable black velvet bag from her lean wrist, she looked quite presentable in the rose-hued light. She was arrayed in a dark red cashmere dress with a long train, perfectly plain and tightfitting. As Miss Warry had not an elegant figure the excellent fit of her dress showed her angles in an excessively unbecoming manner. Also she wore a paste star in her scanty hair, and assumed a solemn manner. Her mincing ways and meek behaviour and nervous tittering were things of the past. Emancipated from the thraldom of an inferior position, Miss Warry had adopted a severe, imperative manner, which she thought befitted her new role of prophetess.

  She greeted Forde with the air of one welcoming a mourner to a funeral, and scanned him closely with her green eyes before subsiding gracefully into an armchair. Forde could not help thinking that she looked like a problem of Euclid, so angular did she appear. And, like such a problem, Miss Warry, as he guessed, would be hard to solve.

  She began the conversation by giving him a shock.

  ‘This is sad news, Mr. Forde,’ she said in a deep voice, and with a direct gaze.

  ‘To what particular sad news do you allude, Miss Warry?’

  ‘Have you not seen the weekly paper which came out to-day, Mr. Forde?’

  ‘No. I only arrived in St. Ewalds this day.’

  ‘With Miss Quinton and Dericka? I heard as much. But how wise that Sir Hannibal did not come.’

  ‘Really, I don’t see that, Miss Warry.’

  ‘Ah, I forgot you have not read the paper. There is no copy here.’

  ‘In that case, Miss Warry, perhaps you will tell me what is the sad news you allude to.’

  Miss Warry was only too pleased.

  ‘It is stated that the police have found a clue which leads them to believe that Sir Hannibal murdered Mr. Bowring, and he is to be arrested. The warrant has been taken out,’ continued the ex-governess with relish, and passing over Forde’s exclamation, ‘and a detective has gone to London to arrest the assassin. How very sad.’

  ‘You seem to be very certain that Sir Hannibal is guilty,’ said Mr. Forde somewhat tartly, and recovering his self-possession.

  ‘On these facts I am,’ said Miss Warry, serenely.

  ‘What facts?’

  Miss Warry forthwith launched into long explanations, which dealt with the story of Polwin, considerably distorted, with the tale of Anak, and with the marvellous truth of her own prophecy.

  Forde listened in silence, alert to seize on any new point which might help him to solve the mystery of the millionaire’s death. But Miss Warry’s story was only the same as he had learned from the steward. He did not give the ex-governess the satisfaction of seeing what an impression she had made on him, but looked at her serenely when she had finished.

  ‘Of course, I don’t believe all this gossip,’ said Forde.

  ‘Gossip!’ echoed Miss Warry viciously. ‘The police do not take out warrants on gossip.’

  ‘The truth of these tales has yet to be proved, Miss Warry. I am quite sure that Sir Hannibal will willingly face his accusers.’

  ‘In the dock, remember,’ she snapped, annoyed by his coolness; ‘not in the witness box.’

  ‘Quite so. You will probably be there, Miss Warry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ said Forde, rising to give due effect to his words, ‘that I am aware of this conspiracy which has been formed to wreck Sir Hannibal’s good name, and that I have undertaken to learn the truth.’

  ‘It will not be hard to learn,’ said Miss Warry, coolly; ‘my late employer killed Mr. Bowring.’

  ‘There I join issue.’

  ‘I don’t understand law terms, Mr. Forde. But, of course, you believe that Sir Hannibal is innocent since you are to marry Dericka.’

  ‘Ah, but I am not to marry Dericka.’

  ‘What!’ Miss Warry looked profoundly astonished.

  ‘By the will of the late Mr. Bowring it is arranged that Dericka shall marry Morgan Bowring. Sir Hannibal intends that such a marriage shall take place. So you see, Miss Warry, that Sir Hannibal had no reason to kill Mr. Bowring. He simply holds the money in trust, as it were, for the young couple.’

  Miss Warry sniffed and laughed in an artificial manner.

  ‘Pardon me, Mr. Forde, but I was present at the reading of the will. There is no hard and fast assertion that such a marriage shall take place.’

  ‘Sir Hannibal thinks that he should yield to the express wishes of his late friend.’

  ‘His late friend?’ scoffed the lady; ‘his late enemy, you mean.’

  ‘How can you be sure of that?’

  ‘Because I know what I know,’ said Miss Warry in an enigmatic manner. ‘Your story of this possible marriage doesn’t impose on me, Mr. Forde. Sir Hannibal is not the man to give his daughter to a madman, and you are not the lover to surrender a pretty girl such as Dericka is—to say nothing of the fact that Dericka has too much common sense to allow herself to be handed over to anyone. If you think to do away with the motive for the crime by such an explanation, Mr. Forde, you have failed so far as I am concerned. Sir Hannibal needed money, and he killed Mr. Bowring to get it.’

  ‘How can you tell?’

  ‘I’ll tell now,’ said Miss Warry quickly, ‘and if needs be I’ll tell what you are about to hear in the witness box. You know what I wrote in the letter which I gave Mr. Bowring?’

  ‘Yes; but I don’t believe that you read it in his hand.’

 
; ‘I did, and in the crystal,’ snapped the sibyl. ‘But I also had some grounds to go upon.’

  ‘I thought so,’ said Forde sarcastically.

  ‘The crystal and the palm of Mr. Bowring’s hand simply confirmed what I guessed. I went into the house to get something for my fortune-telling on that day of the fete, and about the time Sir Hannibal was talking in the library with Mr. Bowring I was there.’

  ‘Oh! Eavesdropping?’

  ‘Nothing of the sort,’ said Miss Warry, flushing all over her sallow face. ‘I wanted a book which was in the library which dealt with fortune-telling, as I had to refresh my memory. I went to the library, and when I heard voices I slipped behind a screen.’

  ‘Why did you conceal yourself so unnecessarily?’

  ‘Just because I didn’t want anyone to think that I had to refer to a book for my Art. You can call it weak, if you like, Mr. Forde, but that is what I did. Well, then, when I was hidden behind the screen Sir Hannibal came in with Mr. Bowring. They were quarrelling.’

  ‘What about, Miss Warry?’

  ‘Really, I cannot say exactly. It had something to do with that skull and with a Zulu witch-doctor. They spoke in low, angry tones, and as my hearing is not very good, and they were some distance away, by the window, I could not hear all. But I did hear Sir Hannibal say he would kill Mr. Bowring sooner than he should disgrace him.’

  ‘Did Sir Hannibal use those words?’

  ‘He did. So when I saw in the crystal and read in Mr. Bowring’s palm that he would die before he reached home, I guessed that Sir Hannibal would fulfil his promise and kill him. And when I found Sir Hannibal absent from the fete, I guessed that he had gone to kill his enemy.’

  Forde pondered. ‘This is all very strange.’

  ‘Meaning that you don’t believe me?’ snapped the lady, rising.

  ‘Oh, yes, but—’

  ‘There is no but. I am very sorry that I told you since you doubt my word. I decline to stay longer in your company.’ And Miss Warry, in the most unexpected manner, swept out of the room before Forde could stretch a hand, or say a word to stop her. It seemed to him that Miss Warry was fearful lest he should question her, and therefore had made his doubts of her story a feeble excuse to get speedily out of the room.

  He sent a message asking her to return, but she refused to appear, and Forde had to return home to bed considerably bewildered by the information she had given him. Whether it was true, or merely the invention of a spiteful woman, he would not say, but undoubtedly it made things look blacker than ever against Sir Hannibal Trevick. And even now he might be arrested.

  Forde passed a bad night, as he foresaw trouble, and could not think how such trouble was to be avoided. Trevick was in danger of being hanged, seeing that the evidence against him was so strong and the public feeling ran so high. Yet never for one moment did the barrister believe his future father-in-law to be guilty. But how to prove his innocence he could not think, and thought it would be best to go to London again and have a conversation with him regarding the crowned skull, which seemed to turn up everywhere in this extraordinary case.

  But there was no need for Forde to leave St Ewalds. Just as he was preparing to go out Polwin appeared and made an abrupt announcement:

  ‘Sir Hannibal has disappeared,’ said Josiah Polwin.

  Chapter XI The Quarryman

  It was as Polwin stated. Sir Hannibal Trevick had disappeared.

  The detectives travelling by the night train had gone to Miss Quinton’s place to arrest him, and found that he had departed bag and baggage on the previous night. On making inquiries it was learned from the butler that the baronet had intended to go to the Guelph Hotel, thinking that he would be less restrained in his movements there than in his sister-in-law’s somewhat prim house. But the Guelph Hotel people had seen nothing of Sir Hannibal from the time he had stopped there with his daughter.

  An inquiry at Sir Hannibal’s club showed that he had not frequented it of late, and the detectives could think of no place where to look for him.

  Later on in the afternoon of the next day they appeared at the Dower House to question Dericka and Miss Quinton. Luckily, Forde had gone to the house and was on the spot to support the two ladies.

  The detective who paid the visit was a dark little man, with a lean face and sharp black eyes. He sent in his card, which bore the name Giles Arkle, and Dericka passed it along to Forde with a bewildered expression. She already knew from Forde that her father had disappeared. Polwin’s information, learned from a friendly policeman who had no business to disclose official secrets, was perfectly correct.

  ‘What does this man want to see me about?’ asked Dericka, puzzled.

  ‘I can’t say,’ said Forde smoothly, and not guessing for the moment that the visitor was a detective. ‘Would you like me to see him for you, dearest?’

  ‘It will be best for Dericka to see him herself,’ said Miss Lavinia, who was knitting near the window.

  ‘Very well,’ replied the girl with a shrug and left the sitting-room to go to the drawing-room, where the man awaited her.

  Forde looked uneasily at Miss Quinton, and she became aware of his scrutiny.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, without raising her eyes.

  ‘I am wondering if this Arkle is from Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Probably,’ replied Miss Quinton, unmoved.

  ‘You do not appear astonished or annoyed.’

  ‘I am neither one nor the other,’ replied the old lady, quite calmly. ‘If Hannibal will mix himself up with shady people he must take the consequences.’

  ‘But you don’t think he is guilty, Miss Quinton?’

  ‘No, I certainly do not. But from the rumours I have heard, and from what you repeated of Miss Warry’s information, I think that Hannibal will have a difficult task to clear himself. He did right to hide.’

  ‘I don’t agree with you,’ said Forde quickly; ‘that looks as though he was unwilling to face his accusers.’

  ‘Probably he is,’ said Miss Lavinia picking up a stitch. ‘Hannibal never can face the consequences of his own folly.’

  ‘I believe that there is a conspiracy against him.’

  ‘So do I, and it has to do with his doings in Africa.’

  ‘Miss Quinton, do you know—’

  ‘Nothing; absolutely nothing. All the same, I have conversed with Mr. Bowring, and from what I read in his face, and the few words he let fall, I suspect that both himself and my brother-in-law were engaged in dealings which would not bear the light of day.’

  ‘I think Bowring was too clever a man to give himself away in such a manner,’ said Forde dryly.

  Miss Lavinia looked at him with her shrewd old eyes.

  ‘I can see through a brick wall as well as most people,’ she said quietly, ‘and I don’t say that I know of anything against either my brother-in-law or this dead man. Nevertheless, I guess that things are somewhat queer with both of them. But, of course, Bowring being dead, Hannibal has to bear the burden of both.’

  ‘Do you know of anything about the Death’s Head?’

  ‘Not a thing,’ retorted Miss Lavinia, and would have said more, but that the footman entered at the moment to request that Forde would come into the drawing-room. With a swift glance at Miss Quinton, who continued quietly to knit, Oswald followed the man, and found Dericka pale with anger standing before the dapper little man.

  ‘This is a detective,’ she said, as soon as Forde closed the door, ‘and he wants to know if my father is hidden here. I have told him that there is no need for my father to hide, but he does not believe me.’

  ‘I am very sorry, Miss,’ said Arkle apologetically, ‘but business is business, and we want Sir Hannibal.’

  ‘An innocent man.’

  ‘Why, yes, Miss. Every man is presumed to be innocent until he is proved guilty.’

  ‘How dare you mention guilt in the same breath with my father?’ flashed out the girl. ‘Oswald, make this man see sense.’

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nbsp; ‘My dear Dericka, he is only doing his duty, and we must place no obstacle in the way,’ said Oswald calmly. Then he addressed Arkle directly: ‘Sir Hannibal Trevick is not here, I assure you.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ asked the detective doubtfully.

  ‘No. If I did I should go to him and advise him to submit to the law. Sir Hannibal is as innocent as you or I, Mr. Arkle, and can easily defend himself against the calumny which pursues him.’

  ‘Then why did he fly, sir?’

  Dericka interposed, still angry. ‘You have no right to assume that he has fled.’

  Arkle looked sceptical. ‘Sir Hannibal is not at Miss Quinton’s house in Kensington, nor at his club, nor has he returned to the Guelph Hotel. Since he cannot be found, and there is a serious charge for him to meet, I think, young lady, that I am right in believing he is unwilling to face his accusers.’