The Wooden Hand

"You shall have them. I hid them in this room-I don't want them, but that paper-it is mine."

"I know that-signed with your name, isn't it? Well, bring out the diamonds, and, when you hand them over-"

"You'll give me the paper?"

Foxy shook his head as Father Don looked inquiringly at him. "No, we must keep that paper, so as to get away-otherwise you'll be setting the police on our track."

"I swear I won't-I swear-" Hill dropped on his knees, "I swear-"

His wife pulled him to his feet. "Try and be a man, Lawrence," she said. "What is this document?"

"Nothing-nothing-but I must have it," cried Hill jerking himself away. He ran across the room, and fumbled at the lock of a cabinet. "See-see-I have the diamonds! I found them in the hand-I put them into a canvas bag-here-here-" his fingers shook so that he could hardly open the drawer. Foxy came forward and kindly helped him. Between the two, the drawer was opened. Hill flung out a mass of papers, which strewed the floor. Then from beneath these, he hauled a small canvas bag tied at the mouth and sealed. "All the diamonds are here," he said, bringing this to Don and trying to open it. "Forty thousand pounds-forty-for God's sake-" he broke off hysterically-"the paper, the paper I signed!"

Don took possession of the bag and was about to hand over the document, when Foxy snatched it. "We'll send this from the Continent," he said, "while we have this, you won't be able to set the peelers on us."

Hill began to cry and again fell on his knees, but Father Don took no notice of him. He emptied the contents of the bag on the table and there the jewels flashed in the lamp-light, a small pile of very fine stones. While he gloated over them, Mrs. Hill laid her hand on Foxy's arm: "What is in that paper?" she asked sternly.

"Don't tell her-don't tell her!" cried Hill.

"Lawrence!"

But he put his hands to his ears and still cried and grovelled. "I shall go mad if you tell her! I shall-ah-oh-ugh-!" he suddenly clutched at his throat and reeled to the sofa.

Mrs. Hill took little notice of him. "Read me the document," she said.

"I can almost repeat it from memory," said Foxy, putting the paper into his pocket; "it's simply a confession by your husband that he stole a certain necklace belonging to-"

"The Delham heirloom!" cried Mrs. Hill, turning grey, and recoiling.

"Yes, and also a promise to withdraw from seeking to marry Lady Jane Delham, and to marry you."

"Oh!" Mrs. Hill turned such a withering look on her miserable husband, that he shrank back and covered his eyes. "So this is the real reason of your chivalry?"

"Yes," said Father Don, who had placed the diamonds again in his bag, and stood up, "I heard some of the story from Giles Merry, and read the rest in the signed document. It was Hill who stole the necklace. He took the key from the schoolroom, where it had been left by Lady Ipsen. He opened the safe, and collared the necklace. Near the door, he left a handkerchief of yours, Mrs. Hill, so that, if there was danger, you might be accused. Strode found the handkerchief, and knowing Hill had possessed it, made him confess. Then he made Hill sign the confession that he had stolen the necklace, and also made him promise to marry you."

Mrs. Hill sank down with a stern, shamed look, "So this was your chivalry," she said, looking again at her husband, "you stole the necklace-you let me bear the shame-you tried to incriminate me-you pretended to wed me to save me from starvation, and-oh, you-you shameless-creature!" she leaped, and made as though she would have struck Hill; the man cowered with a cry of alarm like a trapped rabbit.

"What became of the necklace?" she asked Don sharply.

"Strode made Hill sell it, and they divided the profits."

"Eva's father also," moaned Mrs. Hill, covering her face, "oh, shame-shame-shall I ever be able to look on this man's face again!"

Hill attempted to excuse himself, "I didn't get much money," he wailed. "I let Strode take the lot. He carried the confession in his wooden hand-that's why I took it. I stole the hand and opened it-but the confession wasn't in it-I found the diamonds, and I have given them to you-let me have the paper!" he bounded to his feet, and snatching a dagger from a trophy of arms on the wall made for Foxy, "I'll kill you if you don't give it to me!"

Father Don dodged behind a chair, while Foxy, who was right in the centre of the room, ran for the window, and, bursting past Jerry, raced down the lawn with Hill after him, the dagger upraised. Round and round they went, while Mrs. Hill stood on the terrace, looking on with a deadly smile. Had Hill been struck down, she would have rejoiced. Don twitched the arm of Jerry.

"Let's cut," he said; "I've got the swag, Foxy can look after himself," and these two gentlemen left the house hurriedly.

Mrs. Hill saw them disappear without anxiety. The blow she had received seemed to have benumbed her faculties. To think that she had been so deceived and tricked. With a stony face she watched Foxy flying round the lawn, with the insane man-for Hill appeared to be mad-after him. Foxy, in deadly terror of his life, seeing his pals disappear, tore the document from his pocket, threw it down, and ran panting towards the wall. While he scaled it, Hill picked up the paper and tore it, with teeth and hands, into a thousand shreds. The three scoundrels had disappeared, and Mrs. Hill looked down coldly on her frantic husband. Hill danced up to the terrace, and held out his hands. "Happiness-happiness, I am safe."

"Coward," she said in a terrible voice. Her husband looked at her, and then began to laugh weirdly. Then with a cry, he dropped.

"I hope he is dead," said Mrs. Hill, looking down on him with scorn.

CHAPTER XXII
BUTSEY'S STORY

There was no excitement in Wargrove next day over the burglars who had entered "The Arabian Nights," for the simple reason that the village knew nothing about the matter. But a rumour was current, that Mr. Hill had gone out of his mind. No one was astonished, as he had always been regarded as queer. Now, it appeared, he was stark, staring mad, and no longer the harmless eccentric the village had known for so long. And the rumour was true.

"It is terrible to think of the punishment which has befallen him, Allen," said Mrs. Hill the next morning; "but can we call it undeserved?"

"I suppose not," answered her son gloomily. "I wish I had remained at home last night, mother."

"Things would have been worse, had you remained. There would have been a fight."

"I would have saved Eva's diamonds, at all events."

"Let the diamonds go, Hill," chimed in Parkins, who formed a third in the conversation, "they were come by dishonestly, and would have brought no luck. You come out to Bolivia, and fix up the mine. Then you can make your own coin, and marry Miss Strode."

"But you forget, Mr. Parkins," said Mrs. Hill, "I am now rich, and Allen need not go to America."

"No, mother," said Allen hastily, "I'll go. You will do much more good with my father's money than I can. Besides-" he hesitated, and looked at Horace. The American interpreted the look.

"Guess you want a little private conversation," he said; "well I'll light out and have a smoke. You can call me when you want me again," and Mr. Parkins, producing his pipe, left the room.

"My poor mother," said Allen, embracing her, "don't look so sad. It is very terrible and-

"You can't console me, Allen," said the poor woman bitterly, "so do not try to. To think that I should have believed in that man all these years. He was a thief-doubly a thief; he not only robbed the Delhams of the necklace, but robbed the dead, and me of my good name."

"I almost think the dead deserved to be robbed," said Allen; "I begin to believe, mother, that Strode was my father's evil genius as he said he was. Why should my father steal this necklace, when he had plenty of money?"

"He had not at the time. I think his father kept him short. He took the necklace, I expect, under the strong temptation of finding the key in the schoolroom."

"I believe Strode urged him to steal it," said Allen, "and at all events Strode was not above profiting by the theft. And it was Strode who brought about the marriage-"

"By threats," said Mrs. Hill grimly, "I expect, Strode swore he would reveal the truth, unless Lawrence married me. And I thought Lawrence acted so, out of chivalry."

"But if Strode had revealed the truth he would have incriminated himself."

"Ah, but, as I learn, he waited till after I was married before he disposed of the necklace. Then he sold it through Father Don, who was his associate in villainy. However, Strode is dead and your father is mad. I wonder what fate will befall Merry and those wretches he associates with?"

"Oh, their sins will come home to them, never fear," said Allen, in a prophetic vein. "I suppose it is best to let the matter rest."

"Certainly. Father Don and his two associates have got away. What about Merry?"

"He went almost at once to Shanton, and did not pay for the char-à-banc.. The owner is in a fine rage and drove back to Shanton at midnight, vowing to summons Merry, who was responsible for its ordering."

"Well, they are out of our life at last," said his mother, "we now know the secret which caused your unhappy father to try and murder Strode, and did make him steal the hand. The confession has been destroyed, so no one can say anything. Merry will not speak-"

"No; that's all right. Merry is going to receive money from old Lady Ipsen, for stopping the marriage of Saltars with Miss Lorry. I expect he will go to Africa as he says. He'll hold his tongue and so will the others. But they have the diamonds, and poor Eva receives nothing."

"I agree with Mr. Parkins," said Mrs. Hill quickly, "the jewels were come by dishonestly, and would have brought no good fortune. Will you tell Eva anything, Allen?"

"No. I'll tell her as little as possible. No one, but you, I, and Parkins, know of the events of last night. My poor father has been reported ill for some time and has always been so eccentric, so it will surprise no one to hear he has gone mad. We will place him in some private asylum, and-"

"No, Allen," said Mrs. Hill firmly, "the poor soul is harmless. After all, wickedly as he has acted, he has been severely punished, and is my husband. I'll keep him here and look after him till the end comes-and that won't be long," sighed Mrs. Hill.

"Very good, mother, you shall act as you think fit. But we know the truth now."

"Yes, save who murdered Mr. Strode."

"I believe Jerry did, or Giles."

"They both deny doing so."

"Of course," said Allen contemptuously, "to save their own skins. I shall go up to London, mother, and tell Mr. Mask what has taken place."

But there was no need for Allen to go to town. That afternoon the lawyer arrived and with him a small boy with one eye. The lad was neatly dressed, he had his hair cut, and his face washed. In spite of his one eye and white cheeks he looked a very smart youngster, and grinned in a friendly manner at Allen and Horace.

"This," said Mr. Mask, leading the lad into the room, where the young men were smoking after luncheon, "is Master Train-"

"Butsey?" said Allen.

"Oh no," replied Mask gravely, "he is a gentleman of property now and is living on his money. You mustn't call him by so low a name as Butsey."

The boy grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "I saiy, how long's this a-goin' on?" he inquired; "you've been shying fun at me all day."

"We won't shy fun any more," said Mr. Mask in his melancholy voice. "I have brought you here to make a clean breast of it."

"About the diamonds?"

"We know about the diamonds," said Horace. "I guess Father Don's got them."

"Saikes! hes he?" said Butsey regretfully; "that comes of me tellin' about the letter I guv to you" – this was to Mask-"if he hadn't opened the hand, he wouldn't have got 'em."

"You are quite wrong, Butsey," said Allen, rising. "Horace, I'll leave the boy in your keeping. Mr. Mask, will you come with me into the next room?"

Rather surprised, Mask did so, and was speedily put in possession of the terrible story. He quite agreed that the matter should be kept quiet. "Though I hope it won't be necessary to rake it up when Butsey is tried for murder."

"What! did that boy shoot Mr. Strode?"

"I think so," said the lawyer, looking puzzled; "but to tell you the truth I'm not sure. I can't get the boy to speak freely. He said he would do so, only in the presence of you and Parkins. That is why I brought him down."

"How did you get hold of him?"

"Through one of the stolen notes. Butsey presented himself at the bank and cashed ten pounds. He was arrested and brought to me. I gave bail for him, and brought him to explain."

"Where did he get the notes?"

"Out of the blue pocket-book, he says-in which case he must have committed the murder. Not for his own sake," added Mask quickly. "I fear the poor little wretch has been made a cat's-paw by the others."

"Well," said Allen, drawing a long breath of astonishment, "wonders will never cease. I never thought Butsey was guilty."

"I can't be sure yet if he is. But, at all events, he certainly knows who is the culprit, and, to save his own neck, he will confess."

"But would the law hang a boy like that even if guilty?"

"I don't think Butsey will give the law the chance of trying the experiment. He's a clever little reptile. But we had better return and examine him. Your mother-?"

"She is with my poor father."

"Is that quite safe?" asked Mask anxiously. "Perfectly. He is harmless."

Mask looked sympathetic, although he privately thought that madness was the best thing which could have befallen Mr. Hill, seeing he had twice brought himself within the clutches of the law. At least there was now no danger of his being punished for theft or attempted murder, whatever might be said by those who had escaped with the diamonds; and certainly Mrs. Hill would be relieved of a very troublesome partner. Had Hill remained sane, she would not have lived with him after discovering how he had tricked her into marriage, and had traded on her deep gratitude all these years. Now, by tending him in his hopeless state, she was heaping coals of fire on his head, and proving herself to be, what Mask always knew she truly was, a good woman.

So, in Allen's company, he returned to the room where Parkins was keeping watch over Master Train, and found that brilliant young gentleman smoking a cigarette. "Produced it from a silver case too," said the amused American. "This is a mighty smart boy. I guess you got rid of a lot of that money, bub?"

"I cashed two notes," said Butsey coolly, "but the third trapped me. But I don't care. I've had a good time!"

"And I expect you'll pass the rest of your life in gaol."

"What's that?" said Butsey, not turning a hair; "in gaol? – not me. I've been in quod once and didn't like it. I ain't a-goin' again. No, sir, you give me some cash, Mr. Hill, and I'll go to the States."

"They'll lynch you there, as sure as a gun," said Horace, grinning.

Allen was quite taken aback by the coolness of the prisoner, for a prisoner Butsey virtually was. Mask leaned back nursing his foot, and did not take much part in the conversation. He listened to Allen examining the culprit, and only put a word in now and then.

"You don't seem to realise your position," said Hill sharply.

"Oh yuss, I does," said Butsey, calmly blowing a cloud of smoke, "you wants to get the truth out of me. Well, I'll tell it, if you'll let me go. I dessay our friend here" – he nodded to Mask-"can arrange with the peelers about that note."

"It's probable I can," said Mask, tickled at the impudence of the boy; "but wouldn't you rather suffer for stealing, than for murder?"

The boy jumped up and became earnest at once. "See here," he said, wetting his finger, "that's wet," and then he wiped it on his jacket, "that's dry, cut my throat if I tell a lie. I didn't shoot the old bloke. S'elp me, I didn't!"

"Who did, then? Do you know?"

"I might know; but you've got to make it worth my while to split."

Allen took the boy by the collar and shook him. "You young imp," he said, "you'll tell everything you know, or pass some time in gaol."

"Make me tell, then," said Butsey, and put out his tongue.

"Suppose I hand you over to Father Don and your own parent?"

"Can't, sir. Th' gang's broke up. They'll go abroad with them diamonds, and start in some other country. 'Sides, I ain't going in for that business again. I'm going to be respectable, I am. And I did git you out of the den, sir," said Butsey more earnestly.

Allen dropped his hand from the boy's collar. "You certainly did that-at the request of Miss Lorry. What of her?"

"Nothing but good," said Butsey, flushing; "she's the best and kindest laidy in the world. I ain't a-goin' to saiy anything of her."

"I don't want you to talk of people who have nothing to do with the matter in hand," said Hill; "but you must tell us about the murder. If you don't-"

"What am I a-goin' to get fur splitting?" asked Butsey in a businesslike way.

"I'll arrange that you won't go to gaol. You must remember, Master Train," said Mask with deliberation, "that you are in a dangerous position. The note you cashed was taken from a pocket-book which the murdered man had on his person, when he was shot. How did you get it, eh? The presumption is that you shot him."

Butsey whistled between his teeth. "You can't frighten me," said he, his one eye twinkling savagely; "but I'll tell you everything, 'cept who shot the bloke."

"Huh," said Horace. "I guess we can ravel out that, when we know what you have to say. But you speak straight, young man, or I'll hide you proper."

"Lor," said Butsey coolly, "I've bin hided by father and old Don much wuss than you can hammer. But I'll tell-jest you three keep your ears open. Where 'ull I begin?"

"From the beginning," said Allen; "how did the gang come to know that Strode had the diamonds?"

"It wos father told 'em," said Butsey candidly. "Father's Red Jerry, an' a onener at that-my eye! He got into trouble here, and cuts to furrein parts some years ago. In Africay he saw the dead bloke."

"Strode?"

"Well, ain't I a-saiyin' of him?" snapped Butsey; "yuss-Strode. Father comes 'ome in the saime ship es Strode and knows all about 'im having prigged diamonds in Africay."

"What do you mean by prigged?"

"Wot I saiy, in course. Strode got them diamonds wrong-"

"I. D. B.," said Parkins. "I told you so, Hill."

"Well then," went on Butsey, looking mystified at the mention of the letters, "father didn't see why he shouldn't git the diamonds, so he follered the dead bloke to this here country and come to tell old Father Don in the Perry Street ken. Father Don and Foxy both went in with father-"

"To murder Strode?" said Allen.

"Not much. They wanted to rob him, but didn't want to dance on nothink. Father Don's a fly one. I was told about the job, an' sent to watch the dead bloke. I watched him in London, and he wos never out of my sight. He wos coming down to this here plaice on Thursdaiy-"

"How do you know that?" asked Mask.

"Cause I knows the 'all porter at the Guelph Hotel, an' he tells me," said Butsey calmly. "I cuts an' tells Father Don, and him and father an' Foxy all come to Westhaven on Wednesday to see him as is called Merry."

"He's another of the gang?"

"Rather. He's bin in with us fur years, he hes. And he wos doin' the strong man at Stag's circus at Westhaven. Father Don, he come down, knowing Merry 'ated Strode, to try and get him to do the robbin'."

"Did Merry agree?"

"In course he did, only too glad to get a shot at Strode-"

"Do you mean to say Merry shot him?"

"Naow," said Butsey, making a gesture of irritation, "let a cove talk. I'll tell you if he shot him, if you'll let me. I saiy we wos all down to fix things on Wednesdaiy, and I come along with a blessed ragged kids' fresh air fund, so as to maike m'self saife, if the police took a hand. I didn't want to be mixed with no gang, having my good name to think of."

Horace grinned and rubbed his hands, but Allen frowned. "Go on," he said sharply, "and don't play the fool."

"Oh, I'm a-goin' on," was the unruffled reply, "and I don't plaiy th' fool without cause, d'ye see. Well, I wos at the station at Westhaven, an' I sees Strode come. I went off to tell Merry, and he comes to the station and talks to Strode."

"That was on Wednesday?"

"Yuss. Strode sold 'us and come down, though we didn't 'ope to 'ave the pleasure of his company till Thursday. Well, I tried to 'ear what Giles wos a-saiying, but he guves me a clip on the ear and sends me spinnin', so I couldn't 'ear. I goes to complain to Father Don, an' when I gits back, Strode's away and Merry too. He'd started walkin' to Wargrove, a porter tole me. I wos about to foller, when Merry, he comes up and tells me, he'll go himself."

"That's a lie," said Allen; "Merry was doing the strong man that night in the circus."

"No, he wasn't," grinned the boy. "I went to the circus, havin' nothin' to do, and I saw the strong man. It wos Cain Merry, his son, he's like his father, and could do the fakements. No one knew but the circus coves."

"Then Merry-?"

"He went after Strode. I told Father Don an' Foxy, an' they swore awful. They couldn't start after him, as they didn't know what 'ud happen, and Merry's an awful one when put out, so they waited along o' me, d'ye see? Next daiy Merry come back, but said he'd left Strode a-goin' to the Red Deeps."

"What did Father Don do?"

"He went to the Red Deeps an' found the dead bloke. Then he come back and saw Merry. What he said to 'im I don't know: but Father Don sent me with a telegram to send from the St. James's Street orfice, saiying that Strode wouldn't be down till Friday. I think Father Don did that, to give toime to Merry to get awaiy."

"That was the telegram received by Miss Strode after nine on Thursday, I think?" said Mask.

"Yuss," said Butsey. "I sent it early an' the kid es took it to Wargrove forgot it till laite. I comes down again from town, gits back with the fresh air kids, saime night, to sell the peelers, an' nex' mornin' I comes down agin to tell Mrs. Merry es Cain would be over th' nex' daiy."

"Why did you do that? Cain was in the house."

"I knowed he wos. But Merry sent me to see if Miss Eva hed heard o' the death. Then I cuts-"

"One moment," said Allen, "if Father Don saw the man dead, why didn't he take the wooden hand?"

"Cause he didn't know it wos worth anythin' till Mr. Masks here spoke at the inquest."

"About its being delivered to get the diamonds?" said Mask; "quite so. And you saw Mr. Hill bury it?"

"Yuss. I wos told to watch him, es Merry said he knew a lot about Strode, and if the wust come he might be accused-"

"A clever plot. Well?"

"I follered him and saw him bury something. I digs it up and takes the cross es he put over it to mark it. Then I gives the 'and to Father Don an' the cross to Merry. He sends it to Hill to frighten him, and sends it through Cain. Then Father Don sees Mr. Mask, and you knows the rest."

"Not all, I guess," said Horace, stretching a long arm and shaking the boy, "say straight, you-you imp. Did Merry shoot?"

"Of course he did," replied Butsey cheerfully, "he hated Strode, an' wanted to git them diamonds. Merry hed the blue pocket-book, fur when I come down to see Miss Lorry at Shanton, I took the book from Merry's box which wos in his room. He found me with it and took it back, hammerin' me fur stealin'. But I got the notes," added Butsey with satisfaction, "and I spent three."

"Merry seems to be guilty," said Mr. Mask; "he was absent from the circus on that night and let his son-who resembles, him closely-take his place. He had the pocket-book and-"

"Got the diamonds? No, he didn't," said Butsey briskly, "he didn't know es the hand would open. I found that out from a letter I guv you, Mr. Mask, and tole ole Father Don. He opened the hand-that wos arter he saw you, Mr. Mask-but he foun' nothin'. Then he guessed es Hill-your father, Mr. Allen-had got the diamonds, seein' he had the han', while looking fur some paiper. An' Merry got the paiper out of the pocket-book," said Butsey, "an' showed it to Don. Wot Don did with it I dunno."

"He got the diamonds with it," said Allen grimly, "and has escaped. But I don't think Merry will. He's at Shanton now, as the circus is again there by particular request of the townsfolk. We'll go over to-night, Parkins, and see him perform: then we'll catch him and make him confess."

"Will you have him arrested?" asked Horace coolly.

"We'll see when the time comes," said Allen shortly. "Mask-?"

"I'll remain here and look after this boy, Master Train."

Butsey made a grimace, but so the matter was arranged.