The Crowned Skull Page 22

  ‘I am quite certain of it,’ said Anne decisively. ‘Hush!’ and she sank her voice as the lean figure of Polwin glided close to them. ‘Oh,’ she added with a shudder, ‘do you think he overheard?’

  ‘I don’t know, and I don’t care.’

  ‘I do,’ murmured Anne, who again looked uncomfortable. ‘Polwin is a most dangerous man.’

  ‘He looks meek enough,’ muttered the barrister.

  ‘Ah, in his case appearances are deceptive.’

  ‘But how do you happen to know his real character?’

  Anne Stretton was quite ready with a reply:

  ‘Sir Hannibal told me a lot, and then I have been watching Mr. Polwin of late. Of course, you know his real name is—’

  ‘Krent,’ finished Oswald; ‘yes, I know. I believe that Polwin, as he calls himself, is at the bottom of the whole affair.’

  ‘Yes,’ assented Miss Stretton; ‘and yet I did not see him—’

  ‘Where?’ asked Forde when she hesitated.

  ‘Never mind,’ replied Anne abruptly. ‘Later on I may tell you, and may ask for your assistance. I’ll tell you one thing now,’ she added, bringing her mouth close to his ear, ‘Sir Hannibal must leave that mine. It is not safe.’

  ‘Why, who knows where—’

  ‘Hush!’ She placed her finger on her lips as Polwin, in company with Anak, came near and sent stray glances in their direction. ‘Hark! That must be the fire engine.’

  The interruption came very opportunely, for Polwin decidedly was suspicious of her conversation with Forde. Why he should be speaking so earnestly to Anak, with glances towards her, Anne could not think. But she learned that within a very short space of time. Meanwhile her attention, and, indeed, that of everyone was taken up with the fire engine and many traps from St. Ewalds, which dashed up in fine style. A hose was laid on the stream, the pumps were set to work, and in a few minutes a thick spurt of water was dashing against the almost red-hot walls of the doomed mansion. For doomed it was. There seemed to be very little chance of saving the ancestral home of the Trevicks.

  ‘All gone—all gone!’ moaned Mrs. Krent, who stood between Jenny and Morgan holding a hand of each; ‘I’m beggared in my old age.’

  ‘No, no,’ breathed Forde in her ear, ‘remember the will.’

  ‘Ah, that’s all very well, sir, but there’s things lost that can’t be replaced. Family photographs, and my mother’s silver teapot, to say nothing of Jenny’s toys, which I had hoped to keep for her children.’

  Forde shuddered at this last remark when he looked on Morgan, who was dancing and gibbering in his excitement. It would be a sin, he thought, if Jenny became a mother.

  Mrs. Krent continued to moan and wring her hands, Morgan to dance, and Jenny to stand like a statue.

  At the edge of the group hovered Polwin, meek and demure, like an evil shadow. And near him lounged Anak, his eyes fastened, curiously enough, on Miss Stretton, who, however, seemed oblivious of his scrutiny.

  Anne had been joined by a portly matron, well muffled up in furs against the cold of the night. A few words passed between them, and Anne pointed towards Mrs. Krent. The portly gentlewoman thereupon advanced and addressed the unfortunate housekeeper:

  ‘I am Mrs. Penrith, of the Manor,’ she said in a dignified but kindly voice, ‘and I wish you, my good woman and your daughter, to stop for the night, since your own home is burnt.’

  ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ said poor Mrs. Krent, with her eyes fastened on the flaming mass; ‘I’ll come with pleasure, homeless and poor as I am. Oh, dear me, what a crash!’

  The whole of the roof fell in as she spoke, and millions of sparks soared into the windy blackness. The brigade was doing no good with its one hose, although each member did his best. The house was completely gutted, and only the walls were left standing. Between them blazed and flamed and roared a great mass of fire. With the exception of the few articles scattered about the lawn, which had been saved earlier, all the splendours with which John Bowring had filled the house were things of the past. Oswald could not help regretting the loss of the fine old mansion. And as for Mrs. Krent, she appeared to move like one in a dream. At a word from Mrs. Penrith, Jenny led her mother down the avenue. Morgan followed, dancing as usual.

  Polwin remained behind with Anak. Forde could not help thinking from the persistent way in which these two haunted the steps of Miss Stretton that they meant harm to the lady.

  Shortly Ralph Penrith came out of the crowd round the fire engine, looking dirty and dishevelled with his exertions. But the exercise had done him good, along with the excitement. He did not look nearly so sulky as he had done, and appeared to be more amiable.

  ‘All’s gone,’ he growled, waving his hand towards the house; ‘I’m off to get a whisky and soda. Will you come, Forde?’

  ‘No, thank you. I’ll have to be getting back to St. Ewalds. I came to see Mrs. Krent, but she has gone at your mother’s invitation to the Manor along with her son-in-law and daughter.’

  ‘All the more reason that you should come,’ said Penrith briskly.

  ‘Yes, do come, Mr. Forde,’ urged Miss Stretton, and from the expression on her face he saw that she had an object in asking him.

  While Forde hesitated the rain-clouds, which had gathered rapidly, discharged themselves of their ever-growing burden. Down came the rain as the wind died away, and in a few minutes the crowd was drenched. Consequently it melted rapidly away, since nothing cools the courage and enthusiasm of people like a good shower. And this was more than a shower, it was a fierce, tropical downpour, and speedily the blazing mass of the Grange was hissing savagely as water tried to quench the fire. The brigade gave over working, put the horses to the engine and rattled away, followed by the many people who had come out to see the sight. The lawn was rapidly deserted, and save for the still flickering flames fighting against the steady rain all signs of anything untoward vanished. Anne shivered and drew her cloak round her shoulders. She was moving away with Penrith and Forde, when Anak suddenly threw himself in her way.

  ‘Stop!’ cried the big man, ‘I’ve got summat to say.’

  ‘Then say it quickly,’ snarled Penrith, who had a short temper; ‘we can’t stop in the rain all night.’

  ‘Don’t you talk to me, you jack-a-dandy,’ bellowed Anak, and the few people remaining drew near to listen, ‘you’re as bad as she.’

  ‘What are you talking about, man?’ asked Anne, drawing herself up.

  ‘Ah, you know well enough what I’m talking about,’ said Anak. ‘I thought Sir Hannibal had killed master, but now I know—’

  ‘Stop!’ cried Forde, looking around for Polwin, who was nowhere to be seen; ‘are you bringing an accusation against Miss Stretton?’

  ‘Yes, I am, sir,’ said Anak, more respectfully, as he recognised the antagonist who had brought him to his knees, ‘and against Mr. Penrith, also. They’re both in it.’

  Penrith took a step forward with clenched fists. ‘Take care, Carney.’

  ‘Take care yourself,’ said Anak, bluffly; ‘I say now, and I’d say it with my dying breath, that you and that lass,’ he pointed to Anne, who was standing straight, pale and defiant; ‘yes, you and she killed Mr. Bowring and laid the blame on Sir Hannibal.’

  ‘It’s a damned lie.’

  ‘It’s a damned truth,’ retorted Anak, ‘you’re the guilty ones. I saw you at the business myself.’

  Chapter XXI Anne’s Defence

  After that amazing accusation there ensued a silence. The few people who remained stood open-mouthed, looking from Miss Stretton to Penrith and from him to Anak, the accuser. Forde did not know how much to believe, and could gather no intelligence at all from the set expression of Miss Stretton’s face.

  Penrith growled and cursed and swore under his breath, but he seemed to be somewhat cowed. And in the silence that was deep could be heard the spluttering of the dying fire and the murmuring drench of the steady rain.

  But the situation had to end
ed somehow, and Forde rose to the occasion since no one else seemed to take the initiative.

  ‘We can’t stop here,’ he said sharply, offering his arm to the lady; ‘Miss Stretton, you come with me, and we will go to the Manor; Mr. Penrith can follow, and Carney.’

  ‘What do you want me for?’ asked Anak sulkily, and, as it seemed to Forde, looked round for a supporter, probably Polwin.

  ‘You must give your reasons for bringing this accusation. And you people,’ Forde turned to the gaping few, ‘can go home. Think nothing of what Carney says; it may not be true.’

  ‘It is true,’ roared the giant, clenching his fist.

  ‘It is a lie,’ growled Penrith again, ‘and,’ he also turned to the knot of watchers, ‘if I hear a single word against Miss Stretton or myself I’ll bring the scandal-monger into court. Come along, Forde, we’ll thrash this matter out.’

  Those who remained shook their heads, and, despite Penrith’s threat, went to their several homes to discuss the matter. With Anne, the barrister took the path to Penrith Manor, and the young squire followed, with Anak slouching some yards behind him. For some time they walked on in silence, Anne clutching at Forde’s arm with the grip of a woman who is deeply moved. Presently, and strangely enough in so usually self-possessed a woman, her lips began to move, and she murmured to herself.

  Forde, wishing to get to the bottom of things, had no compunction in listening.

  ‘I knew it would come to this,’ murmured Miss Stretton almost voicelessly, but Forde, keen-eared and observant, overheard.

  ‘Are you talking abou the accusation?’ he asked softly.

  Anne started.

  ‘What did I say?’ she asked. Then, when he told her, she nodded. ‘Yes. It’s just as well that things have come to this pass. I can now speak out.’

  ‘Then there is some truth in what Anak says?’

  ‘Yes and no. He saw—well, I will leave Mr. Penrith to explain.’

  ‘What has he got to do with it?’

  ‘Much, and yet nothing.’

  ‘You speak paradoxically.’

  ‘Everything connected with this murder case in paradoxical and mysterious, Mr. Forde.’ She paused and walked on more rapidly, almost dragging her companion after her, then spoke again. ‘I tell you one thing, Mr. Forde, when a man is in love he loses all sense of honour.’

  ‘Are you speaking of Penrith?’

  ‘Of whom else? The man worships me, and I—I can’t return his love, unfortunately for him, and for myself, too, perhaps. However, if I have been weak, I am now strong, and you will know all soon.’

  ‘I don’t think you have been weak seeing how you helped Sir Hannibal,’ said Forde quietly; ‘I presume I am right in saying that you warned him of the warrant and aided him to escape.’

  ‘Yes. I heard in St. Ewalds that Sir Hannibal was likely to be arrested, and knowing that he was innocent I wired to him that there was danger, and I advised him to meet me at Gwynne Station. He came, and then I took him to the Pengelly mine. He must leave that place of refuge now; there is a chance of his being found there.’

  ‘Who knows about it?’

  Anne cast a glance over her shoulder. ‘Mr. Penrith.’

  ‘How did he find out?’

  ‘He followed me one day when I went to take food to Sir Hannibal.’

  Forde turned this matter over in his own mind.

  ‘Miss Stretton,’ said he at length, ‘will you answer me one question?’

  ‘Yes, a dozen if you like. What is it?’

  ‘You believe Sir Hannibal to be innocent?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Yet you declared to me that you saw him on the bank and—’

  ‘And asked money in order to hold my tongue,’ she finished rapidly. ‘Quite so, and a nice opinion you must have had of me for, so to speak, attempting blackmail. But as you will learn shortly, Mr. Forde, I am, like the devil, not quite as black as I have painted myself.’

  The lawyer heaved a weary sigh. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Miss Stretton shrugged her shoulders as they halted before the porch of Penrith Manor. ‘I can explain briefly, Mr. Forde. I love Sir Hannibal with all my heart, and I am sticking at nothing to save him.’

  ‘Yet you practically accused him—’

  ‘To you, Mr. Forde, remember—to no one else, and it was necessary for me to do so for reasons which you will soon learn.’

  At this moment Penrith, who was jealous of their prolonged conversation, came up behind them and walked into the porch. When the door was opened he addressed a few words to the servant, then turned to his three companions. ‘Come into the library,’ he said softly, ‘we shall be undisturbed there. No need to let my mother know of what this man says,’ he indicated Anak with his chin.

  Forde obeyed in silence, but released his hold of Anne. She walked into the study through the door held open by her lover and sank into a chair near the fire, loosening her cloak with an air of weariness. Anak came in after Forde, heavy-footed, and sullen, taking off his cap with a degree of breeding scarcely to be expected from so lowly-born a man. Then Penrith closed the door and faced the quarryman with a dogged look in his eyes and with his bulldog jaw protruding dangerously.

  ‘Now, then, Carney,’ he said in his heavy voice, which sounded like that of a bear with a cold, ‘you can explain what you mean by bringing such an accusation against me and Miss Stretton.’

  ‘Oh, I’m only too glad,’ retorted Anak, leaning his huge form against the wall, and looking a fine animal, if somewhat bovine.

  ‘One moment before you begin,’ said Forde, looking up from his seat; ‘did not Polwin put you up to this?’

  Anak started and looked quite taken aback. ‘I don’t see why you should say that, sir,’ he grumbled.

  ‘I believe that Polwin overheard what Miss Stretton was saying to me, Carney, and to get her into trouble made you accuse her at so very inopportune a moment.’

  ‘Why should Mr. Polwin wish to get the lady into trouble?’

  ‘Because Mr. Polwin, as you call him, is mixed up in this matter of the murder, and Miss Stretton—as Polwin thought from the few words he caught—knows more about him than he thinks safe. Polwin, to put it plainly, wishes to be first in the field with an accusation in case he should be accused himself.’

  ‘Do you say, then, Forde, that Polwin killed Mr. Bowring?’ asked Penrith.

  ‘I say nothing,’ rejoined the barrister swiftly, ‘because I am practically in the dark. Let Anak speak. Then Miss Stretton can explain.’

  ‘There is nothing for Miss Stretton to explain,’ snarled the squire, and stared at her steadily.

  Anne looked up, her fine face white and drawn. ‘I shall tell everything I know, Ralph,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You know what will happen if you do?’ he warned her.

  She bowed her head and turned to Anak. ‘Go on,’ she said steadily.

  The big quarryman looked sheepish, and his eyes fell before those of the beautiful woman he threatened. Standing on one leg and then on the other, he twisted his cap in his hands, turning over a blade of grass in his mouth, as though he did not quite know how to begin. At length he burst out unexpectedly:

  ‘Well, then, it was Mr. Polwin who asked me to speak out,’ he declared defiantly. ‘I told Mr. Polwin what I saw, and he told me to hold my tongue till the time came to be free with my speech. While I was working at the fire he pointed out the lady and the squire, saying that now the two were together it would be the best time to say what they had been doing.’

  ‘Well,’ said Forde coldly, ‘and what have they been doing; murdering John Bowring?’

  ‘Oh, no, I can’t say that,’ said Anak gruffly; ‘I only saw them about the place just before the motor-car arrived.’

  ‘Perhaps you will explain more fully,’ said Forde icily. He felt sure that the big man was but the mouthpiece of Polwin, who was the arch-demon of the whole terrible business.

  Anak gave his blade of grass another tu
rn. ‘I was working at the quarry on that day,’ he said heavily, ‘and had to go to mother’s place to get some dynamite I’d left behind. I was coming down the path, and a mist was dropping over the moor. Just a stone-throw from the bank where the granite mass was I heard a crash—’

  ‘The mass falling?’ said Penrith, sarcastically.

  ‘Yes, though I didn’t know it at the time. You can leave it to an old quarryman like me to tell the sound of falling rocks. But I heard the crash and didn’t pay much attention to it, thinking it had to do with the quarry.’