The Pagan's Cup Read online

  CHAPTER XII

  A SURPRISE

  Raston was astonished when Pratt disappeared so suddenly, and Martonrushed out after him. He went to the door, but his friend was not to beseen. It was little use following, for he did not know which directionthe man had taken, and the fog was so thick that he could hardly see thelength of his hand before him. The whole of the spur upon which Colesterwas built was wrapped in a thick white mist, and those who were abroadin the streets ran every chance of being lost. The village was small,but the alleys and streets were tortuous, so there would be no greatdifficulty in mistaking the way.

  For over an hour the curate waited, yet Marton did not return. He couldonly suppose that the detective had followed Pratt, for what purpose hecould not divine. Evidently Marton knew something not altogether toPratt's advantage, and Pratt was aware of this, else he would hardlyhave disappeared so expeditiously. Moreover, Marton had addressed Prattas "Angel," which hinted that the American was masquerading under afalse name. Still wondering at what was likely to be the outcome of thisadventure, Raston placed himself at the door and waited for the returnof his friend. But, as time passed, he made sure that the detective, astranger in the village, had lost his way.

  "I can't leave him out of doors all night," soliloquised Raston, peeringinto the fog; "yet I do not know where to look for him. However, his owngood sense must have told him not to go too far."

  It was now after ten o'clock, and most of the villagers were in bed. MrRaston then ventured upon a course of which he would have thought twicehad the situation been less desperate. He placed his hands to his mouthand sent an Australian "cooe" through the night. This accomplishment hadbeen taught to him by an Australian cousin. As this especial cry carriedfurther than most shouts, Raston congratulated himself that he knew howto give it. It was the only way of getting into communication withMarton.

  After shouting once or twice, Raston heard a faint cry in response. Itcame from the right. So the curate, feeling his way along the houses,started in that direction, shouting at intervals. Shortly the answeringcry sounded close at hand, and after some difficulty and inarticulateconversation the two men met. With an ejaculation Marton grasped thehand of his friend. "Thank Heaven you have found me," said thedetective. "I have been going round in a circle."

  "Did you catch up with Pratt?" asked Raston.

  "No; the rascal disappeared into the fog, and I lost myself in pursuitof him in about three minutes."

  "Why do you call him a rascal?"

  "Because he is one; I know all about him. But I never thought I shouldhave stumbled on 'Mr Angel' in this locality. I feel like Saul, who wentout to look for his asses and stumbled on a kingdom."

  "Is his name Angel?"

  "That is _one_ of his names; he has at least a dozen. Why he should havechosen one that fitted him so badly I cannot say."

  By this time Raston, holding on to Marton's coat sleeve, had guided thedetective back to his lodgings. The man was shivering with cold, for hehad gone out without coat or hat. He hastily swallowed a glass of port,and began getting his things to go out. "You're not going into that fogagain!" protested Raston. "You'll only get lost."

  "Not under your capable guidance," laughed the detective. "You mustguide me to the house of this Mr Pratt. I intend to arrest him."

  "Arrest him!" echoed the curate, staring. "Dear me, what has he done?"

  "Ask me what he hasn't done," said Marton, with a curl of his lip, "andI'll be better able to tell you. It's a long story, Raston, and time ispassing; I want to go to the man's house. Is it far from here?"

  "Some little distance," replied the curate, wondering at this haste. "Ican find my way to it by guiding myself along the walls. But you can'tarrest him, Marton, whatever he has done, unless you have a warrant."

  "I accept all responsibility on that score," replied Marton, grimly."The police have wanted Mr Angel, _alias_ Pratt, for many a long day.Now the rascal knows that I am here, he will clear out of Colester indouble quick time. I want to act promptly and take him by surprise. Nowdon't ask questions, my dear fellow, but take me to the house. I'll tellyou all about this man later on. By the way, he is the individual whogave your church this celebrated cup?"

  "Yes. I really hope there is nothing wrong."

  "_Everything_ is wrong. I expect the cup was stolen--"

  "It _is_ stolen--"

  "Pshaw! I don't mean this time. Pratt stole it himself. I wonder hedare present his spoils to the Church. The fellow must have very littlereligion to think such an ill-gotten gift could be acceptable."

  "Stolen!" murmured Raston, putting on his coat. "But why--who is Pratt?"

  "Simply the cleverest thief in the three kingdoms. Come along!"

  Raston gasped, but he had no time to ask further questions. Thedetective had him by the arm and was hurrying him to the door. Whenoutside he made the curate lead, and followed close on his heels.Raston, rather dazed by this experience, turned in the direction of TheNun's House, and, guiding himself along the walls and houses, managed toget into the street in which it stood--that is, he and Marton foundthemselves on the highroad which led down to King's-meadows. It wasfully an hour before they got as far as this, for the fog grew denserevery moment. Finally, Raston stumbled on the gate, drew his friendinside with an ejaculation of satisfaction, and walked swiftly up thepath that led to the house. On the ground floor all was dark, but in thecentre window of the second storey a light was burning. Marton did notwait for the curate, but ran up the steps and knocked at the door; healso rang, and he did both violently. For a time there was no response,then the light disappeared from the window above.

  In a few minutes the noise of the bolts being withdrawn was heard, andthe rattle of the chain. The door opened to show Leo in hisdressing-gown standing on the threshold with a lighted candle in hishand. He looked bewildered and angry, as though he had just been arousedfrom his first sleep, which indeed was the case. "What the devil is thematter?" he asked crossly, peering out into the night. "You make enoughnoise to wake the dead! Who is it?"

  "It is I, and a friend, Haverleigh," said the curate, pushed forward bythe detective. "Is Mr Pratt within?"

  "I suppose so," replied Leo, much astonished at this nocturnalvisitation; "he is no doubt in bed. I can't understand why he did nothear the noise you made. Has he left anything at your place, Raston?"

  "Ah! You knew he was going to see Mr Raston?" put in Marton, sharply.

  "He left here over two hours ago, and I went to bed. Then I heard himcome back just as I was falling asleep, but he did not come up to myroom. If you will tell me what is the matter, I'll rouse him.

  "Let us enter, Haverleigh," said the curate, who was shivering. "We havemuch to tell you."

  Still much puzzled, Leo led the way to the library after shutting thedoor, and the two men followed him. He lighted the gas--Colester was notsufficiently civilised for electric light--and then turned to ask oncemore what was the matter. Raston thought the best way to bring about anexplanation was to introduce his friend, who was already looking keenlyround the well-furnished room. "This is Mr Marton," he said. "He is aLondon detective."

  With a bitter laugh Leo set down the candle on the table. "What," hesaid, "are you the man with the bow-string, Raston? Scarcely worthy ofyour cloth! If you wanted to arrest me, you might have waited untilmorning!"

  "Who is this young gentleman?" asked Marton, suddenly.

  "I am Leo Haverleigh, Mr Detective," replied the young man, sharply;"and I suppose you have come here at the instance of Mr Tempest toarrest me!"

  Marton snatched up the candle, and held it close to Leo's face. He wasapparently quite satisfied, for he spoke in a more friendly tone.

  "You need not be afraid, Mr Haverleigh," he said soothingly. "I have notcome to arrest you--but to investigate the case. I don't think there isany chance of your being arrested. Your face is enough for me. But thisis all very well," he added impatiently; "I want Pratt!"

  "I will go and wake him," said Leo, who
could make neither top nor tailof all this, but who was relieved to find that he was not in danger ofarrest. He retired from the room, while Marton darted about here there,and everywhere. He was like a bloodhound nosing a trail. Suddenly hestopped before a cabinet, a drawer of which was open.

  "Too late!" said Marton in a tone of disgust. "He's bolted."

  "How could he bolt in this fog?" asked Raston, dubiously.

  "Oh, he'll find his way somehow. Tony Angel is the cleverest of men forgetting out of a difficulty. He has evaded the police for years. See, mydear chap, this drawer is open. That means he has taken money orvaluables from it, and is now on his way to Heaven knows whathiding-place.

  "Can you be sure of that? The open drawer may be an accident. Besides,he would not think you would act so promptly."

  "Indeed, that is just why he has bolted so expeditiously," said Marton,with something of admiration in his tones. "Angel has experienced mypromptitude before, and several times I have been on the point ofcapturing him. He has taken French leave within the last two hours. Butfor that infernal fog I should have stuck to him till I ran him down.Or, at all events, I might have disabled him with a shot."

  The curate looked at his friend aghast. "A shot!" he stammered.

  Marton produced a neat little revolver. "I should have used that had Ibeen able," he said quietly. "It does not do to adopt half measures withour mutual friend. Besides, if hard pressed he would have returned thecompliment. Your Haverleigh fellow is a long time!"

  "He'll be back soon. You can trust Leo. Surely, Marton, you do not thinkhe knew anything of Pratt's doings?"

  "With such a face as that he knows precious little," retorted Marton;"he is a good fellow, but not sharp. He did not steal that cup, nor didhe help Pratt to get away. No, Raston. Our criminal friend came backhere while I was blundering in the fog, and after taking some moneycleared out without loss of time. I sha'n't catch him now. I suppose thetelegraph-office is closed?"

  "Yes. It closes here at nine o'clock. And even if you sent a wire, itwould not be delivered at Portfront to-night."

  "No, I suppose not. You are all so slow in these country places! It isclever of you to mention Portfront, Raston. You think that Tony Angelwill go there?"

  "How else can he get away?"

  "I don't know. You know the country better than I do. But I tell youwhat, our friend will not go to Portfront or anywhere near it."

  "Why not?" asked the curate, bewildered.

  "Because you expect him to go there. Angel always does the thing that isnot expected. I wish I had caught him! I've been years trying to hunthim down. And the beast has made himself comfortable here!" said Marton,with a glance round. "I bet you, Raston, that the greater part of thesethings have been stolen."

  "Stolen, Marton! How terrible. And the cup?"

  "He stole that also," replied Marton, promptly, lighting one of hiscigarettes. "Oh, he is a clever man, is Angel. Ah! here is our young andenterprising friend. Well, Mr Haverleigh, so Pratt has gone?"

  "Yes," said Leo, looking puzzled. "I went to his room and found that hisbed had not been slept in. The back door is open, although closed--thatis, it has not been locked. How do you know Pratt has gone?"

  "I'll tell you later. Throw a few logs on that fire, Raston. It willsoon burn up. Here is a bottle of whisky, too, and some soda."

  "I left that for Pratt," said Leo, somewhat surprised at the cool way inwhich this man was behaving.

  "And Pratt was too clever to muddle his head when he needed all his witsabout him. By the way, has his jackall gone also?"

  "Adam is not in, if that is what you--"

  "Yes, Mr Haverleigh, that is exactly what I do mean. Ha! Clever manPratt! He came back here straight, and, warning his pal, walked off,leaving the empty house to me and to you, Mr Haverleigh. Did you hearhim leave?"

  "I heard nothing until you knocked at the door. Then I wondered why Adamdid not hear you. The other servants are asleep at the back of thehouse, and I suppose they also expected Adam to answer the bell."

  "That is extremely probable. Well, let us hope the remaining servantswill sleep well. To-morrow they must leave this house!"

  "Why, in Heaven's name?" asked Leo, starting up.

  "For the very simple reason that the police will be put into possessionhere by me to-morrow."

  "What? Did Pratt steal the--I don't understand. Raston, what does thisman mean? Who is he? What are--"

  "Wait a bit, Mr Haverleigh," interrupted Marton, motioning the curate tohold his tongue, "all in good time. I am Horace Marton, a detective. Iwas asked by Mr Raston to investigate this robbery, and he was tellingme about it at his lodgings. Your friend Mr Pratt arrived, and when hesaw me he bolted out into the fog. I followed and lost him. Then I gotback to Raston here, and we have been over two hours looking for thisconfounded place. During that time Pratt and Adam have made themselvesscarce."

  "But why should they do that?" asked Leo, still puzzled.

  "Because this man who calls himself Pratt, and poses as a giver of giftsto the Church, is a well-known London thief, and his man Adam is what hewould call a pal. 'Tony Angel,' that is the real name of Mr Pratt, buthe had half-a-dozen others beside. I congratulate you on your friend, MrHaverleigh!"

  "I never knew anything of this," cried Leo, utterly taken aback.

  "I am quite sure of that, Haverleigh," said the curate, heartily.

  Marton chuckled. "Wait a bit, Harold," he said; "do not be in such ahurry. How do we know that Mr Haverleigh has not been working togetherwith Tony Angel? He may know all about him and may have been employed byhim to steal the very cup which was given by Pratt as an evidence of hisrespectability."

  Leo jumped up and would have flung himself on Marton; but Raston heldhim back. "How dare you make such as accusation against me?" cried theyoung man, furiously. "Let me go, Raston; don't you hear what he says?"

  "Wait a bit, Haverleigh," urged the curate. "Marton does nothing withouta motive. He can explain if you will remain quiet."

  Thus advised, Leo sat down again, but in rather a sulky humour. "I am atrifle tired of being called a blackguard," he said, frowning at Marton,who regarded him with a friendly smile. "I know absolutely nothing aboutMr Pratt, save that he was a friend of Mrs Gabriel's, and that he hasbeen very good to me. I always thought he was what he representedhimself to be."

  "Small wonder you did," said Marton, coolly. "Angel would deceive a muchcleverer man than you appear to be, Mr Haverleigh! And look here, I mayas well tell you at once that I am certain you knew nothing about him.Also I am equally certain that you have had nothing to do with thisrobbery. I cannot say yet whether Pratt--as I may continue to call himfor clearness' sake--stole the cup. But you are innocent, MrHaverleigh; and I intend to do my best to get you out of your trouble.Shake hands."

  At first Leo hesitated, for he was still sore about the accusation. Butthe detective regarded him in a friendly manner, and his smile was soirresistible, that in the end he shook hands heartily. He felt that theman who spoke thus would be a good friend. "You know all about thecase?"

  "All that Mr Raston could tell me," said the detective, "even to thefact that you borrowed the money for which you are accused of stealingthe cup from Sir Frank Hale."

  "Then I wish you would make him acknowledge the loan," said Leo,petulantly.

  Marton started and looked at the young man. "Does he not do so?"

  "No. He is in love with Miss Tempest, who is engaged to me, and he sayshe will deny the loan if I do not give her up."

  "And marry his sister, I suppose!" interposed the curate, whereat Leonodded.

  "Humph!" said Marton, thoughtfully, caressing his chin. "It seems to me,Mr Haverleigh, that you have been made a tool of by unscrupulous people.But I'll give my attention to this to-morrow. I'll get the truth out ofthis Hale! He don't dare to palter with me. Leave yourself and yourreputation in my hands, Haverleigh."

  "Very gladly," said Leo, heartily; "but what about Pratt?"

  Marton reflect
ed, and took a sip of whisky and water. "He's gone. I donot think he will appear again in Colester."

  "But he has left his house and all these beautiful things behind him,"put in Raston, with a glance around.

  "I see he has made himself comfortable," said Marton, with a shrug; "itwas always his way! This is not the first time he has furnished a house,settled down. He has been driven out of every burrow, however. This timeI discovered his hiding-place by accident. Colester was about the bestplace in the whole of England he could have chosen. No one would havethought of looking for him here. I daresay he expected to settled downand die in the odour of sanctity, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains.But he has not gone empty-handed, Haverleigh. He is too clever for that,and is always prepared for an emergency."

  "But _who_ is Pratt?"

  "Well; you are asking me a hard question. I understand he is a workhousebrat of sorts. He himself claims to be the illegitimate son of anobleman. Certainly, he has a very gentlemanly appearance. He has beenworking for at least thirty years, and has always contrived to evade theEnglish police. I believe he was laid by the heels in America."

  "He has travelled a great deal."

  "I believe you! He knows the whole world and all the scoundrels in it. Aking of crime! That is what Pratt is. The generality of thieves adorehim, for he has his good points, and he is generous. Well, we havetalked enough for to-night. I'll sleep here, Haverleigh. Raston?"

  "I'll return to my own place," said the curate, rising to go.

  And this he did, but Marton, having found the burrow of Pratt, _alias_Angel, did not intend to leave it. He was quite as clever as the man hewas hunting.