CHAPTER III.
DETECTION
Afternoon school was over. Mr. Wilberforce had been some time at home, and was bestowing a sharp lecture on his son Edwin for some delinquency, when he was told that Lawyer Fauntleroy waited in his study. The master brought his anger to a summary conclusion, and went into the presence of his visitor.
"My business is not of a pleasant nature," he premised. "I must tell you in confidence, Mr. Wilberforce, that after all the doubt and discredit cast upon the affair, Robert Carr was discovered to have married that girl at St. James's—your church now—and the entry was found there."
"I know it," said Mr. Wilberforce. "I saw it in the register."
The lawyer stared. "Just repeat that, will you?" said he, putting his hand to his ear as if he were deaf.
"I heard it was to be found there, and the first time afterwards that I had occasion to make an entry in the register, I turned back to the date, out of curiosity, and read it."
"Now I am as pleased to hear you say that as if you had put me down a five-hundred pound note," cried Mr. Fauntleroy. "I daresay you'll not object, if called upon, to bear testimony that the marriage was registered there."
"The register itself will be the best testimony," observed Mr. Wilberforce.
"It would have been," said the lawyer; "but that entry has been taken out of the register."
"Taken out!" repeated Mr. Wilberforce.
"Taken out. It is not in now."
"Stuff and nonsense!" cried the master.
"So I said, when my clerks brought me word to-day that it was not in. The first sent, Green—you know the young dandy; it's but the other day he was in the college school—came back and said it was not there. Kenneth gave him a rowing for carelessness, and went himself. He came back and said it was not there. Then I thought it was time to go; and I went, and took Omer with me, who saw the entry in the book last November, and copied part of it. Green was right, and Kenneth was right; there is no such entry there."
"This is an incredible tale," exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce.
The old lawyer drew forward his chair, and peered into the rector's face. "There has been some devilry at work—saving your calling."
"Not saving it at all," retorted Mr. Wilberforce, as hot as when he had been practically demonstrating of what birch is made in the college schoolroom. "Devilry has been at work, in one sense or another, and nothing short of devilry, if it be as you say."
"It has not only gone, but there's no trace of it's going, or how it went. The register looks as smooth and complete as though it had never been in any hands but honest ones. But now," added the lawyer, "there's another thing that is puzzling me almost as much as the disappearance itself; and that is, how you got to know of it."
"I heard of it from Travice Arkell."
"From Travice Arkell!"
"Yes, I did. And the way I came to hear of it was rather curious," continued the master. "One of my parishioners was thought to be dying, and I was sent for in a hurry, out of early school. Mr. Prattleton generally attends these calls for me, but this poor man had expressed a wish that I myself should go to him. It was between eight and nine o'clock, and Travice Arkell was standing at their gates as I passed, reading a letter which the postman had just delivered to him. It was from Mrs. Dundyke, with whom the Carrs were stopping–"
"When was this?" interrupted Mr. Fauntleroy.
"The beginning of November. Travice Arkell stopped me to tell of the strange news that the letter conveyed to him; that a paper had been found in Robert Carr the elder's writing, stating that the marriage had taken place at St. James the Less, the morning he and Miss Hughes left Westerbury, and it would be found duly entered in the register. The news appeared to me so excessively improbable, that I cautioned Travice Arkell against speaking of it, and recommended him to keep it to himself until the truth or falsehood of it should be ascertained."
"What made you give him this caution?"
"I tell you; I thought it so improbable that any such marriage should have taken place. I thought it a hoax, set afloat out of mischief, probably by the Carrs of Eckford; and I did not choose that my church, or anything in it, should be made a jest of publicly. Travice Arkell agreed with my view, and gave me his promise not to mention it. His father was away at the time."
"Where?"
"I really forget. I know he had come home only the day before from a short visit to London, and went out again, somewhere the same day. Travice said he did not expect him back that second time for some days."
"Well?" said Mr. Fauntleroy, in his blunt manner, for the master had stopped, in thought.
"Well, the next morning Travice Arkell called upon me here. He had had a second letter from Mrs. Dundyke, begging him not to mention to anyone what she had said about the marriage, for Mrs. Carr had received a hasty letter from Mr. Fauntleroy, forbidding her to speak of it to anyone. So, after all, that caution that I gave to Travice might have been an instinct."
"And do you think he had not mentioned it?"
"I feel sure that he has never allowed it to escape his lips. He has too great a regard for his aunt, Mrs. Dundyke. She feared she had done mischief, and was most anxious. On the following Sunday, when I was marrying a couple in my church before service, and had got the register out, I looked back to the date, and there, sure enough, was the marriage duly entered."
"And you have not spoken of it?"
"I have not. If, as you say, the marriage is no longer there, it is a most strange thing; an incredible thing. But I'll see into it."
"Somebody must see into it," returned the lawyer, as he departed. "A parish register ought to be kept as sacred as the crown jewels."
Mr. Wilberforce—a restless man when anything troubled him—started off to Clark Hunt's, disturbing that gentleman at his tea. "Hunt, follow me," said he, as he took the key from its niche, "and bring some matches and a candle with you. I want to examine the register."
"If ever I met with the like o' this!" cried Hunt, when the master had walked on. "Register, register, register! my legs is aching with the tramping back'ards and for'ards, to that vestry to-day."
He walked after Mr. Wilberforce as quickly as his lameness would allow. The latter was already in the vestry. He procured the key of the safe (kept in a secret place which no one knew of save himself, the clerk, and the Reverend Mr. Prattleton) opened it, and laid the book before him. Mr. Wilberforce knew, by the date, where the entry ought to be, where it had been, and he was not many minutes ascertaining that it was no longer there.
"Gone and left no trace, as Fauntleroy said," he whispered to himself. "How can it have been done? The leaf must have been taken out! oh yes, it's as complete a thing as ever I saw accomplished: and how is it to be proved that it's gone? This comes of their careless habit of not paging their leaves in those old days: had they been paged, the theft would have been evident. Hunt," cried he, aloud, raising his head, "this register has been tampered with."
"Law, sir, that's just what that great lawyer, Fauntleroy, wanted to persuade me on. He has been a-putting it into your head, maybe; but don't you be frighted with any such notion, sir. 'Rob the register!' says I to him; 'no, not unless they robs me of my eyesight first. It's never touched, nor looked at,' says I, 'but when I'm here to take care on it.'"
"A leaf has been taken out. Who has had access here?"
"Not a soul has never had access to this vestry, sir, unless I have been with 'em, except yourself or Mr. Prattleton," persisted the old register keeper. "It's not possible, sir, that the book has been touched."
"Now don't argue like that, Hunt," testily returned Mr. Wilberforce, "I tell you that the register has been rifled, and it could not have been done without access being obtained to it. To whom have you entrusted the key of the church?"
"Never to nobody, save the two young college gents, what comes to play the organ," said the clerk, stoutly.
"And they could not get access to the register. Some one else must have had the key."
The old man sat down on a chair, opposite Mr. Wilberforce; placing his two hands on his knees, he stared very fixedly on vacancy. Mr. Wilberforce, who knew his countenance, fancied he was trying to recal something.
"I remember a morning, some time ago," cried he, slowly, "that one of them senior college gents—but that couldn't have had nothing to do with the register."
"What do you remember?" questioned Mr. Wilberforce.
"Your asking if anybody had had the key, put me in mind of it, sir. One of them college seniors; Lewis, it was; came to my house soon after I got up. A rare taking he seemed to be in; with fright, or something like it; and wanted me to lend him the key of the church. 'No, no, young gent,' says I, 'not without the master's orders.' He was a panting like anything, and looked as resolute as a bear, and when he heard that, he snatched the key, and tore off with it. Presently, back he comes, saying it was the wrong key and wouldn't undo the door. Mr. George Prattleton had come round then: Mr. Prattleton had told him to ask about the time fixed for a funeral—which, by token, I remember was Dame Furbery's—and he took the key from Mr. Lewis, and hung it up, and railed off at me for trusting it to the college gents. Lewis finding he couldn't get it from me, went after Mr. George Prattleton, and they came back, and Mr. George took the key from the hook to go to the church with Lewis. What it was Lewis had said to him, I don't pertend to guess, but they was both as white as corpses—as white I know, as ever was dead Dame Furbery in her coffin: which was just about then a being screwed down. After all, they hung the key up again, and didn't go into the church."
"When was this?" asked Mr. Wilberforce.
"It was the very day, sir, after our cat's chaney saucer was done for; and that was done for the day after the grand audit dinner at the deanery. Master Henry Arkell, after going into the church to practise, couldn't be contented to bring the key back and hang it up, like a Christian, but must dash it on to the kitchen floor, where it split the cat's chaney saucer to pieces, and scattered the milk, a-frighting the cat, who had just got her nose in it, a'most into fits, and my missis too. Well, sir, when I opened my shutters the next morning, who should be a standing at the gate but Arkell, so I fetched him in to see the damage he had done; and it was while he was in the kitchen, a-counting the pieces, that Lewis came to the door."
"But this must have been early morning," cried Mr. Wilberforce.
"Somewhere about half after six, sir: it was half moonlight and half twilight. I remember what a bright clear morning it was for November."
"Why, at that hour both Lewis and Arkell must have been in their beds, asleep, at my house."
"Law, sir, who can answer for schoolboys, especially them big college gents? When they ought to be a-bed, they're up; and when they ought to be up, they're a-bed. They was both at my house that morning."
Mr. Wilberforce could not make much of the tale, except that two of his boarders were out when he had deemed them safe in bed; and he left the church. It was dusk then. As he was striding along, in an irascible mood, he met Henry Arkell. He touched his cap to the master, and was passing on.
"Not so fast, Mr. Arkell. I want a word with you."
Arkell stopped and stood before Mr. Wilberforce, his truthful eye and open countenance raised fearlessly.
"I gave you credit for behaving honourably, and as a gentleman ought, during the time you were residing in my house, but I find I was deceived. Who gave you leave, pray, to sneak out of it at early morning, when everybody else was in bed?"
"I never did, sir," replied Henry.
"Take care, Arkell. If there's one fault I punish more than another, it is a falsehood; and that you know. I say that you did sneak out of my house at untoward and improper hours."
"Indeed, sir, I never did," he replied with respectful earnestness.
The master raised his forefinger, and shook it at his pupil. "You were down at Hunt's one morning last November, by half-past six, perhaps earlier; you must have gone down by moonlight–Ah, I see," added the master, in an altered tone, for a change flashed over Henry Arkell's features, "conscience is accusing you of the falsehood."
"No, sir, I told no falsehood. I don't deny that I was at Hunt's one morning."
"Then how can you deny that you stole out of my house to get there? Perhaps you will explain, sir."
What was Henry Arkell to do? Explain, in the full sense of the word, he could not; but explain, in a degree, he must, for Mr. Wilberforce was not one to be trifled with. He was a perfectly ingenuous boy, both in manner and character, and Mr. Wilberforce had hitherto known him for a truthful one: indeed, he put more faith in Arkell than in all the rest of the thirty-nine king's scholars.
"Perhaps you will dare to tell me that you stopped out all night, instead of sneaking out in the morning?" pursued the master.
"Yes, sir, I did; but it was not my fault: I was kept out."
"Where were you, and who kept you out?"
"Oh, sir, if you would be so kind as not to press me—for indeed I cannot tell. I was kept out, and I could not help myself."
"I never heard so impudent an avowal from any boy in my life," proceeded Mr. Wilberforce, when he recovered his astonishment. "What was the nature of the mischief you were in? Come; I will know it."
"I was not in any mischief, sir. If I might tell the truth, you would say that I was not.'"
"This is most extraordinary behaviour," returned the master. "What reason have you for not telling the truth?"
"Because—because—well, sir, the reason is, that I could not speak without getting others into trouble. Indeed, sir," he earnestly added, "though I did stop out from your house all night, I did no wrong; I was in no mischief, and it was no fault of mine."
Strange perhaps to say, the master believed him: from his long experience of the boy, he could believe nothing but good of Harry Arkell, and if ever words bore the stamp of truth, his did now.
"I am in a hurry at present," said the master, "but don't flatter yourself this matter will rest."
Henry touched his cap again, and the master strode on to the residence of the Reverend Mr. Prattleton, and entered it without ceremony. Mr. Prattleton was seated with his two sons, and with George.
"Send the boys away for a minute, will you?" cried the master to his brother clergyman.
The boys went away, exceedingly glad to be sent. "You can go on with your Greek in the other room," said their father. But to that suggestion they were conveniently deaf, preferring to take an evening gallop through some of the more obscure streets, where they knocked furiously at all the doors, and pulled out a few of the bell-wires.
"An unpleasant affair has happened, Prattleton," began the master. "The register at St. James's has been robbed."
"The register robbed!" echoed Mr. Prattleton. "Not the book taken?"
"Not the book itself. A leaf has been taken out of it."
"How?"
"We must endeavour to find out how. Hunt protests that nobody has had access to it but ourselves, save in his presence."
"I do not suppose they have," returned Mr. Prattleton. "How could they? When was it taken?"
"Sometime since the beginning of November. And there'll be a tremendous stir over it, as sure as that we are sitting here: it was wanted for—for—some trial at the next assizes," concluded the master, recollecting that Mr. Fauntleroy had cautioned him still not to speak of it. "Fauntleroy's people went to-day to take a copy of it, and found it gone; so Fauntleroy came on to me."
"You are sure it is gone?" continued Mr. Prattleton. "An entry is so easily overlooked."
"I am sure it is not in the book now: and I read it there last November."
"Well, this is an awkward thing. Have you no suspicion?—no clue?"
"Not any. Hunt was telling a tale–By the way," added Mr. Wilberforce, turning to George Prattleton, who had moved himself to a polite distance, as if not caring to hear, "you were mixed up in that. He says, that last November you and Lewis had some secret between you, about the church. Lewis went down to his house one morning by moonlight, got the key by stratagem, and brought it back, saying it was the wrong one: and you then went to the church with him, and both of you were agitated. What was it all about? What did he want in the church?"
"Oh—something had been left there, I think he said, when one of the college boys had gone in to practise. That was nothing, Mr. Wilberforce. We did not go into the church, after all."
George Prattleton spoke with eagerness, and then hastened from the room, but not before Mr. Wilberforce had caught a glimpse of his countenance.
"What is the matter with George?" whispered he.
Mr. Prattleton turned, and looked at the door by which he had gone out. "With George?" he repeated: "nothing that I know of. Why?"
"He turned as pale as my cravat: just as Hunt describes him to have been when he went into the church with Lewis. I shall begin to think there is a mystery in this."
"But not one that touches the register," said Mr. Prattleton. "I'll tell you what that mystery was, but you must not bring in me as your informant; and don't punish the boy, now it's over, Wilberforce; though it was a disgraceful and dangerous act. It seems that young Arkell—what a nice lad that is! but he comes of a good stock—went into St. James's one evening to practise, and Lewis, who owed him a grudge, stole after him and locked him in, and took back the key to Hunt's, where he broke some heirloom of the dame's, in the shape of a china saucer, Hunt and his wife taking it to be Arkell. Arkell was locked in the church all night."
"Locked in the church all night!" repeated the amazed Sir. Wilberforce. "Why the fright might have turned him—turned him—stone blind!"
"It might have turned him stone dead," rejoined Mr. Prattleton. "Lewis, it appears, got terrified for the consequences, and as soon as your servants were up, he went to Hunt's to get the key and let Arkell out. Hunt would not give it him, and Lewis appealed to George. That's what has sent George out of the room, pale, as you call it; he was afraid lest you should question him too closely, and he passed his word to Lewis not to betray him."
"What a villanous rascal!" uttered the master. "I never liked Lewis, but I would not have given him credit for this. Did George tell you?"
"Not he; he is not aware I know it. Lewis, some days afterwards, imparted the exploit to my boy, Joe. Joe, in his turn, imparted it to his brother, under a formidable injunction of secrecy, and I happened to overhear them, and became as wise as they were."
"You ought to have told me this," remarked Mr. Wilberforce, his countenance bearing its most severe expression.
"Had one of my own boys been guilty of it, I would have brought him to you and had him punished in the face of the school; but as no harm had come of it, I did not care to inform against Lewis: though I don't excuse him; it was a dastardly action."
"Well, this explains what Lewis wanted in the church, but it brings us no nearer the affair of the register. I think I shall offer a reward for the discovery."
Mr. Wilberforce proceeded home, and into the study where his boarders were assembled, some half dozen of the head boys. One of them, a great tall fellow, stood on his head on a table, his feet touching the wall. "Who's that?" uttered the master. "Is that the way you prepare your lessons, sir?"
Down clattered the head and the feet, and the gentleman stood upright on the floor. It was Lewis senior. Mr. Wilberforce took a seat, and the boys held their breath: they saw something was wrong.
"Vaughan."
"Yes, sir."
"Did you lock Henry Arkell up in St. James's Church, and compel him to pass a night there?"
Mr. Vaughan opened all the eyes he possessed.
"I, sir! I have not locked him up, sir. I don't think Arkell is locked up," added Vaughan, in the confusion of his ideas. "I saw him talking to you, sir, just now, in Wage-street."
Lewis pricked up his ears, which had turned of a fiery red; then Arkell had been locked in! Mr. Wilberforce sharply seized upon Vaughan's words.
"What brought you in Wage-street, pray?"
"If you please, sir," coughed Vaughan, feeling he had betrayed himself, "I only went out for an exercise book. I finished mine last night, sir, and forgot it till I went to do my Latin just now. I didn't stop anywhere a minute, sir; I ran there and back as quick as lightning. Here's the book, sir."
Believing as much of this as he chose, Mr. Wilberforce did not pursue the subject. "Then which of you gentlemen was it who did shut up Arkell?" asked he, gazing round. "Lewis, senior, what is the matter with you, that you are skulking behind? Did you do it?"
Lewis saw that all was up. "That canting hound has been peaching at last," quoth he to himself. "I laid a bet with Prattleton he'd do it."
"It is the most wicked and cowardly action that I believe ever disgraced the college school," continued Mr. Wilberforce, "and it depends upon how you meet it, Lewis, whether or not I shall expel you. Equivocate to me now, if you dare. Had it come to my knowledge at the time, you should have been flogged till you could not stand, and ignominiously expelled. Flogged you will be, as it is. Do you know, sir, that he might have died through it?"
Lewis hung his head, wishing Arkell had died; and then he could not have told the master.
"I think the best punishment will be, to lock you up in St. James's all the night, and see how you will like it," continued Mr. Wilberforce.
Lewis wondered whether he was serious; and the perspiration ran down him at the thought. "He was not locked in all night," he said, sullenly, by way of propitiating the master. "When we went to open the church, he was gone."
"Gone! What do you mean now?"
"He had got out somehow, sir, for Hunt said he had just seen him, and when I ran back to morning school, he was in the college hall. Mr. George Prattleton advised me not to make a stir, to know how he had got out, but to let it drop."
As Lewis spoke, Mr. Wilberforce suddenly remembered that Hunt said Henry Arkell was in his kitchen, when Lewis came, frightened, and thumping for the key. It occurred to him now, for the first time, to wonder how that could have been.
"When you locked Arkell in, what did you do with the key?"
"I took it to Hunt's, sir."
"And gave it to Hunt?"
"Yes, sir. That is," added Lewis, thinking it might be as well to be correct, "I pushed it into the kitchen, where Hunt was."
"And broke Dame Hunt's saucer," retorted Mr. Wilberforce. "When did you have the key again. Speak up, sir?"
"I didn't have it again, sir," returned Lewis. "The key I took from the hook, next morning, would not fit into the lock, and I took it back. Hunt said it was the right key, and George Prattleton said it was the key; but I am sure it was not, although George Prattleton called me a fool for thinking so."
The master revolved all this in his mind, and thought it very strange. He was determined to come to the bottom of it, and despatched Vaughan to Arkell's house to fetch him. The two boys came back together, and Mr. Wilberforce, without circumlocution, addressed the latter.
"When this worthy companion of yours," waving his hand contemptuously towards Lewis, "locked you in the church, how did you get out?"
Henry Arkell glanced at Lewis, and hesitated in his answer. "I can't tell, sir."
"You can't tell!" exclaimed Mr. Wilberforce. "Did you walk out of it in your sleep? Did you get down from a window?—or through the locked door? How did you get out, I ask?"
Before there was time for any reply, the master's servant entered, and said the Rev. Mr. Prattleton was waiting to speak to the master immediately. Mr. Wilberforce, leaving the study door open, went into the opposite room. Mr. Prattleton, who stood there, came forward eagerly.
"Wilberforce, a thought has struck me, and I came in to suggest it. When the boy passed the night in the church, did he get playing with the register?"
"He would not do it; Arkell would not," spoke the master, in the first flush of thought.
"Not mischievously; but he may have got fingering anything he could lay his hands upon—and it is the most natural thing he would do, to while away the long hours. A spark may have fallen on the leaf, and–"
"How could he get a light?—or find the key of the safe?" interrupted Mr. Wilberforce.
"Schoolboys can ferret out anything, and he may have found its hiding-place. As to a light, half the boys keep matches in their pockets."
Mr. Wilberforce mused upon the suggestion till it grew into a probability. He called in Arkell, and shut the door.
"Now," said he, confronting him, "will you speak the truth to me, or will you not?"
"I have hitherto spoken the truth to you, sir," answered Arkell, in a tone of pain.
"Well; I believe you have: it would be bad for you now, if you had not. It is about that register, you know," added Mr. Wilberforce, speaking slowly, and staring at him.
There was but one candle on the table, and Henry Arkell pulled out his handkerchief and rubbed it over his face: between the handkerchief and the dim light, the master failed to detect any signs of emotion.
"Did you get fingering the register-book in St. James's, the night you were in the church?"
"No, sir, that I did not," he readily answered.
"Had you a light in the church?"
"You boys have a propensity for concealing matches in your clothes, in defiance of the risk you run," interrupted Mr. Prattleton. "Had you any that night?"
"I had no matches, and I had no light," replied Henry. "None of the boys keep matches about them except those who"—smoke, was the ominous word which had all but escaped his lips—"who are careless."
"Pray what did you do with yourself all the time?" resumed the master.
"I played the organ for a long while, and then I lay down on the singers' seat, and went to sleep."
"Now comes the point: how did you get out?"
"I can't say anything about it, sir, except that I found the door open towards morning, and I walked out."
"You must have been dreaming, and fancied it," said the master.
"No, sir, I was awake. The door was open, and I went out."
"Is that the best tale you have got to tell?"
"It is all I can tell, sir. I did get out that way."
"You may go home for the present," said Mr. Wilberforce, in anger.
"Are you satisfied?" asked Mr. Prattleton, as Arkell retired.
"I am satisfied that he is innocent as to the register; but not as to how he escaped from the church. Allowing it to be as he says—and I have always found him so strictly truthful—that he found the door open in the middle of the night, how did it come open? Who opened it? For what purpose?"
"It is an incomprehensible affair altogether," said the Rev. Mr. Prattleton. "Let us sit down and talk it over."
As Arkell left the room, Lewis, senior, appeared at the opposite door, propelling forth the fire-tongs, a note held between them.
"This is for you," cried he, rudely, to Arkell, who took the note. Lewis flung the tongs back in their place. "My hands shouldn't soil themselves by touching yours," said he.
When Arkell got out, he opened the letter under a gas-lamp, and read it as well as he could for the blots. The penmanship was Lewis, junior's.
"Mr. Arkell,—Has you have chozen to peech to the master, like a retch has you ar, we give you notise that from this nite you will find the skool has hot has the Inphernal Regeons, a deal to hot for you. And my brother don't care a phether for the oisting he is to get, for he'll serve you worce. And if you show this dockiment to any sole, you'l be a dowble-died sneek, and we will thresh your life out of you, and then duck you in the rivor."
Henry Arkell tore the paper to bits, and ran home, laughing at the spelling. But it was a very fair specimen of the orthography of Westerbury collegiate school.