"I hope you think I've acted rightly, Mr. Hill," said the widow.
"I think you are most kind," said Allen, "and I hope you will make Eva happy."
"I'll do my best. She shall be a sister to me. But I think," said Mrs. Palmer archly, "that some one else may make her happier."
"That is not to be my fate at present," said Allen a little sadly. "Good-bye, Mrs. Palmer. I'll come and see you and Eva before I go to town."
"You'll always be welcome, Mr. Hill, and I can play the part of gooseberry." So they parted laughing.
Allen, thinking of this turn in Eva's affairs which had given her a home and a kind woman to look after her, walked towards the common to get a breath of fresh air before returning to "The Arabian Nights." Also he wished to think over his plans regarding meeting Horace Parkins and searching for Butsey, on whom seemed to hang the whole matter of the discovery of Strode's assassin. At the end of the road the young man was stopped by a tall, fresh-coloured girl neatly dressed, who dropped a curtsey.
"Well, Jane, and how are you?" asked Allen kindly, recognising the girl as Wasp's eldest daughter.
"I'm quite well, and, please, I was to give you this," said Jane.
Allen took a brown paper parcel and looked at it with surprise. It was directed to 'Lawrence Hill.' "My father," said Allen. "Why don't you take it to the house?"
"I saw you coming, sir, and I thought I'd give it to you. I've just walked from Westhaven, and father will be expecting me home. I won't have time to take the parcel to 'The Arabian Nights.'"
"Where did this come from?" asked Allen, tucking the parcel under his arm.
"I got it from Cain, sir, at Colchester."
"Have you been there?" asked Hill, noting the girl's blush. He knew that Cain and Jane Wasp admired one another, though the policeman was not at all in favour of Cain, whom he regarded, and with some right to do so, as a vagabond.
"Yes, sir. Mother sent me over with a message to a friend of hers. I walked to Westhaven and took the train to Colchester. Stag's Circus is there, and I met Cain. He brought that parcel and asked me to take it to Mr. Hill."
"But why should Cain send parcels to my father?" asked Allen.
"I don't know, sir. But I must get home, or father will be angry."
When the girl marched off-which she did in a military way suggestive of her father's training-Allen proceeded homeward. The parcel was very light and he could not conjecture what was inside it. He noted that the address had been written by some one to whom writing was a pain, for the caligraphy sprawled and wavered lamentably. Cain had been to a board school and could write very well, so apparently it was not his writing. Allen wondered who could be corresponding with his father, but as the matter was really none of his business, he took the parcel home. At the gate of "The Arabian Nights" he met his father.
Mr. Hill was as gay and as airy as ever, and wore his usual brown velvet coat and white trousers. Also he had on the large straw hat, and a rose bloomed in his buttonhole. He saluted his son in an offhand manner. "I've been walking, Allen," he said lightly, "to get inspiration for a poem on the fall of Jerusalem."
"I think some Italian poet has written on that subject, sir."
"But not as it should be written, Allen. However, I can't waste time now in enlightening your ignorance. What have you here?"
"A parcel for you," and Allen gave it.
"For me, really." Mr. Hill was like a child with a new toy, and sat down on the grass by the gate to open it. The removal of the brown paper revealed a cardboard box. Hill lifted the lid, and there were two dry sticks tied in the form of a cross with a piece of grass. But Allen looked at this only for a moment. His father had turned white, and after a moment quietly fainted away. The young man looked down with a haggard face. "Am I right after all?" he asked himself.
CHAPTER X
MRS. HILL EXPLAINS
An hour later Allen was conversing with his mother. Mr. Hill, carried into the house by Allen, had been revived; but he steadfastly refused to speak as to the cause of his fainting; and put it down to the heat of the weather and to his having taken too long a walk. These excuses were so feeble that the son could not help his lip curling at their manifest untruth. Hill saw this and told Allen he would lie down for an hour or so. "When I rise I may tell you something," he said feebly.
"I think we may as well understand one another," said Allen coldly.
"Bring in here those things which came in the parcel," said Hill.
"Only one thing came," replied his son-"a rough cross-"
"Yes-yes-I know. Bring it in-paper and box and all. Where did you get it?"
Allen explained how Jane Wasp received it from Cain at Colchester, and Mr. Hill listened attentively. "I understand now," he said at length. "Put the things in my study. I'll see you later-say in two hours."
The young man, wondering what it all meant, departed and left his father to take-on the face of it-a much needed sleep. He went outside and picked up the cross, the box, and the paper, which still remained on the grassy bank near the gate. These he brought into the study, and examined them. But nothing was revealed to his intelligence. The box was an ordinary cardboard one; he did not recognise the ill-formed writing, and the cross was simply two sticks tied together by a wisp of dry grass. Why the contents of the box should have terrified his father Allen could not say. And that the sight of the symbol did terrify him, he was well assured, since Mr. Hill was not a man given to fainting. The box came from some one who knew Mr. Hill well, as the name Lawrence was on it, and this was his father's second name rarely used. Mr. Hill usually called himself Harold, and suppressed the Lawrence. But Allen had seen the middle name inscribed in an old book, which had been given by Strode to Hill in their college days. This coincidence made Allen wonder if the sending of the cross and the use of the rarely used name had anything to do with the murder.
While he thus thought, with his face growing darker and darker, the door opened and Mrs. Hill entered. She had been working in her own room, and knew nothing of the affair. But some instinct made her aware that Allen was in the house, and she never failed to be with him when he was at home. Indeed, she was hardly able to bear him out of her sight, and seized every opportunity to be in his presence. With this love it was strange that Mrs. Hill should be content that Allen should remain in South America for so long, and pay only flying visits to the paternal roof.
"You are back, Allen," she said softly, and came forward to lay her hand on his wrinkled forehead. "My dear boy, why that frown? Has Eva been unkind?"
"Oh no," said Allen, taking his mother's hand and kissing it, "she will not marry me yet."
"Foolish girl. What does she intend to do-stop with Mrs. Merry, I suppose, which is a dull life for her? Far better if she came to me, even if she will not marry you at once."
"She has accepted the position of companion to Mrs. Palmer."
"Indeed," said Mrs. Hill, looking surprised; "I should have thought her pride would have prevented her placing herself under an obligation."
Allen shrugged his shoulders. "There is no obligation," he said; "Eva is to be paid a salary. Besides, she likes Mrs. Palmer, and so do I."
"She is not a lady," said Mrs. Hill, pursing up her lips.
"Nevertheless she has a kind heart, and will make Eva very happy. I think, mother, it is the best that can be done. Eva doesn't want to come here, and she will not marry me until the murderer of her father is discovered."
"Why won't she come to me?" asked Mrs. Hill sharply.
Allen looked down. "She doesn't like my father," he said.
"Very rude of her to tell you that. But I know my poor Harold is not popular."
"He is whimsical," said Allen, "and, somehow, Eva can't get on with him. She was not rude, mother, but simply stated a fact. She likes my father well enough to meet him occasionally, but she would not care to live with him. And if it comes to that," added Allen frowning, "no more should I. He is too eccentric for me, mother, and I should think for you, mother."
"I am fond of your father in my own way," said Mrs. Hill, looking down and speaking in a low voice, as though she made an effort to confess as much. "But does Eva expect to find out who murdered Mr. Strode?"
"Yes. She refuses to marry me until the assassin is found and punished. As she was bent on searching for the man herself, I offered to search for her."
Mrs. Hill frowned. "Why did you do that?" she asked sharply; "Strode is nothing to you, and you have to return to America. Far better find that capitalist you want, than waste your time in avenging the death of that man."
"You don't seem to like Mr. Strode, mother."
"I hate him," said the woman harshly and clenching her fist: "I have cause to hate him."
"Had my father cause also?" asked Allen pointedly.
She looked away. "I don't know," she answered gloomily. "Strode and your father were very intimate all their lives, till both married. Then we saw very little of him. He was not a good man-Strode, I mean, Allen. If my word has any weight with you, stop this search."
The young man rose and began to pace the library. "Mother, I must take up the search," he said in an agitated voice, "for my father's sake. No one but myself must search for the assassin."
"What do you mean by that?" questioned Mrs. Hill, sitting very upright and frowning darker than ever.
Allen replied by asking a question. "Who knows that my father is called Lawrence, mother?"
Mrs. Hill uttered an ejaculation of surprise and grew pale. "Who told you he was called so?"
"I found the name in an old book of Cowper's poems given by Mr. Strode to my father in their college days. It was presented to Harold Lawrence Hill."
"I remember the book," said Mrs. Hill, recovering her composure. "But what is odd about your father having two names? He certainly has dropped the Lawrence and calls himself simply, Harold Hill-but that is for the sake of convenience. Only those who knew him in his young days would know the name of Lawrence."
"Ah!" said Allen, thoughtfully turning over the brown paper, "then this was sent by some one who knew him in his young days."
Mrs. Hill looked at the brown paper covering, at the box, and at the roughly-formed cross. "What are these?" she asked carelessly.
"That is what I should like to know," said her son; "at least I should like to know why the sight of this cross made my father faint."
Mrs. Hill gasped, and laid her hand on her heart as though she felt a sudden pain. "Did he faint?" she asked-"did Lawrence faint?" The young man noticed the slip. Usually his mother called his father Mr. Hill or Harold, but never till this moment had he heard her call him Lawrence. Apparently the memory of old events was working in her breast. But she seemed genuinely perplexed as to the reason of Hill's behaviour at the sight of the cross. "Where did he faint?"
"Outside the gate," said Allen quickly, and explained how he had received the parcel from Jane Wasp, and the circumstance of its delivery, ending with the query: "Why did he faint?"
"I can't say," said Mrs. Hill, pushing back the cross and box pettishly; "there is no reason so far as I know. We'll ask your father when he awakens."
"He said he would explain," said Allen sadly; "and between you and me, mother, we must have an explanation."
"Your father won't like the use of the word 'must,' Allen."
"I can't help that," said the young man doggedly, and went to the door of the library. He opened it, looked out, and then closed it again. His mother saw all this with surprise, and was still more surprised when Allen spoke again. "Do you know, mother, why I say I must undertake this investigation?"
"No," said Mrs. Hill calmly; "I don't know."
"It is because I wish to save my father's good name."
"Is it in danger?" asked the woman, turning pale again.
"It might be-if any one knew he met Mr. Strode at the Red Deeps on the night of the murder."
Mrs. Hill leaped to her feet and clutched her son's arm. "Allen," she gasped, and the ashen colour of her face alarmed him, "how dare you say that-it is not possible-it cannot-cannot-"
"It is possible," said Allen firmly. "Sit down, mother, and let me explain. I held my tongue as long as I could, but now my father and I must have an explanation. The fact of his fainting at the sight of this cross makes me suspicious, and the fact that Eva wants to investigate the case makes me afraid of what may come out."
"Has the cross anything to do with the affair?"
"Heaven, whose symbol it is, only knows," said the young man gloomily. Mother, "I am moving in the darkness, and I dread to come into the light. If I undertake this search I may be able to save my father."
"From what-from-from-"
Allen nodded and sank his voice. "It may even come to that. Listen, mother, I'll tell you what I know. On that night I went to the Red Deeps to prove the falsity of Eva's dream, I found it only too true."
"But you never got to the Red Deeps," said Mrs. Hill, looking steadily into her son's face, "you sprained your ankle."
"So I did, but that was after I knew the truth."
"What truth?"
"That Eva's dream was true; that her father was lying dead by the spring of the Red Deeps."
Mrs. Hill looked still more searchingly at him. "You saw that?"
"I did-in the twilight. I reached there before it grew very dark. I found the body, and, as in Eva's dream, I recognised it by the gloved right hand-"
"The wooden hand," moaned Mrs. Hill, rocking herself. "Oh, heavens!"
"Yes! The whiteness of the glove caught my eyes. From what Eva had told me, I had no need to guess who was the dead man. The wooden hand explained all. The corpse was that of Strode, shot through the heart."
"But there was a slight flesh wound on the arm, remember," said Mrs. Hill.
"I know, but I did not notice that at the time," said Allen quickly. "At first, mother, I intended to give the alarm, and I was hurrying back to Wargrove to tell Wasp and Jackson, when I caught sight of a revolver lying in the mud. I took it up-there was a name on the silver plate on the butt. It was-" Allen sank his voice still lower. "It was my own name."
"The revolver was yours?"
"Yes. I brought it with me from South America, and kept it in my portmanteau, since a weapon is not needed in England. But one day I took it out to shoot some birds and left it in this library. I never thought about it again, or I should have put it away. The next sight I got of it was in the Red Deeps, and I thought-"
"That your father took it to shoot Strode!" burst out Mrs. Hill. "You can't be certain of that-you can't be certain. No, no, Lawrence!" again she used the unaccustomed name. "Lawrence would never commit a murder-so good-so kind-no, no."
Allen looked surprised. He never expected his mother to stand up for his father in this way. Hill, so far as the son had seen, was not kind to any one, and he certainly was not good. Why Mrs. Hill, who seemed to have no particular affection for him, should defend him in this way puzzled the young man. She saw the effect her speech had produced and beckoned Allen to sit down. "You must know all," she said-"you must know how I came to marry your father; and then you will know why I speak as I do, Allen." She laid a trembling hand on his shoulder. "You never thought I was fond of your father?"
Allen looked embarrassed. "Well, no, mother. I thought you tolerated him. You have strength to rule the house and the whole county if you chose to exert it, but you let my father indulge in his whims and fancies, and allow him to speak to you, as he certainly should not do. Oftentimes I have been inclined to interfere when hearing how disrespectfully he speaks, but you have always either touched me, or have given me a look."
"I would let no one lay a finger on your father, Allen, no one-let alone his son. I don't love your father, I never did, but" – she drew herself up-"I respect him."
The young man looked aghast. "I don't see how any one can respect him," he said. "Heaven only knows I should like to be proud of my father, but with his eccentricities-"
"They cover a good heart."
"Well, mother, you know best," said Allen soothingly. He did not think his father possessed a good heart by any manner of means. The young fellow was affectionate, but he was also keen sighted, and Mr. Hill had never commanded his respect in any way.
"I do know best," said Mrs. Hill in a strong tone, and looked quite commanding. "Allen, are you aware why I am so fond of Eva?"
"Because she is the most charming girl in the world," said the lover fondly. "Who could help being fond of Eva?"
"Women are not usually fond of one another to that extent," said Mrs. Hill drily; "and a mother does not always love the girl who is likely to take her son away. No, Allen, I don't love Eva so much for her own sake as because she is the daughter of Robert Strode."
"I thought you disliked him-you said he was not a good man."
"Neither he was, Allen. He was the worst of men-but I loved him all the same. I should have married him, but for a trouble that came. I have never told any one what I am about to tell you, but you must know. I don't believe your father killed Strode, and you must do your best to keep him out of the investigation. With your father's sensitive nature he would go mad if he were accused of such a crime."
"But my revolver being found in-"
"That can be explained," said Mrs. Hill imperiously. "I shall ask Harold" – she went back to the old name being calmer. "I shall ask him myself to explain. He is innocent. He is whimsical and strange, but he would not kill a fly. He is too goodhearted."
Allen wondered more and more that his mother should be so blind. "I am waiting to hear," he said resignedly.
"You will not repeat what I say to Eva?"
"To no one, mother. Great heavens, do you think I would?"
"If you took after your father, poor, babbling soul, you would."
"Ah," Allen kissed her hand, "but I am your own son, and know how to hold my tongue. Come, mother, tell me all."
"Then don't interrupt till I end; then you can make your comments, Allen." She settled herself and began to speak slowly. "Both my parents died when I was a young girl, and like Eva Strode I was left without a penny. I was taken into the house of Lord Ipsen as a nursery governess-"
"What! Eva's mother-"
"I did not teach her, as she was my own age, but I taught her younger brother, who afterwards died. You promised not to interrupt, Allen. Well, I was comparatively happy there, but Lady Ipsen did not like me. We got on badly. There was a large house-party at the family seat in Buckinghamshire, and I was there with my charge. Amongst the guests were Mr. Strode and your father. They were both in love with Lady Jane Delham."
"What! my father also? I never knew-"
"You never shall know if you interrupt," said his mother imperiously; "wait and listen. I loved Mr. Strode, but as he was favoured by Lady Jane I saw there was no chance for me. Your father then had not come in for his money, and his father, ambitious and rich, was anxious that he should make an aristocratic match. That was why he asked Lady Jane to be his wife. She refused, as she loved Robert Strode. I felt very miserable, Allen, and as your father was miserable also, he used to console me. He was much appreciated for his talents in the house, and as he was a great friend of Mr. Strode's his lack of birth was overlooked. Not that I think Lord Ipsen would have allowed him to marry Lady Jane. But he never guessed that Harold lifted his eyes so high. Well, things were in this position when the necklace was lost-yes, the necklace belonging to Lady Ipsen, a family heirloom valued at ten thousand pounds. It was taken out of the safe." Mrs. Hill dropped her eyes and added in a low voice, "I was accused."
Allen could hardly believe his ears, and rose, filled with indignation: "Do you mean to say that any one dared to accuse you?"
"Lady Ipsen did. She never liked me, and made the accusation. She declared that she left the key of the safe in the school-room. As I was very poor, she insisted that I had taken it. As it happened I did go to London shortly after the robbery and before it was found out. Lady Ispen said that I went to pawn the necklace. I could not prove my innocence, but the Earl interfered and stood by me. He insisted that the charge was ridiculous, and made the detectives which Lady Ipsen had called in, drop the investigation. I was considered innocent by all save Lady Ipsen. The necklace was never found, and has not been to this day. I was discharged with hardly a penny in my pocket and certainly with no friend. In spite of people saying I was innocent I could not get another situation. I should have starved, Allen, and was starving in London when your father came like an angel of light and-married me."
"Married you? Did he love you?"
"No, he loved Lady Jane, but she married Mr. Strode. But your father was so angered at what he considered an unjust charge being made against me, that he risked his father's wrath and made me his wife."
"It was noble of him," said Allen, "but-"
"It was the act of a saint!" cried Mrs. Hill, rising. "His father cut him off with a shilling for what he did. I was penniless, deserted, alone. I would have died but for Lawrence. He came-I did not love him, nor he me, but I respect him for having saved a broken-hearted woman from a doom worse than death. Allen, Allen, can I ever repay your father for his noble act? Can you wonder that I tolerate his whims-that I let him do what he likes? He saved me-he surrendered all for me."
"He did act well," admitted Allen, puzzled to think that his whimsical, frivolous father should act so nobly, "but you made him happy, mother. There is something to be said on your side."
"Nothing! nothing!" cried Mrs. Hill with the martyr instinct of a noble woman; "he gave up all for me. His father relented after a time, and he inherited a fortune, but for a year we almost starved together. He married me when I was under a cloud. I can never repay him; never, never, I tell you, Allen," she said, facing him with clenched fists, "if I thought that he committed this crime, I would take the blame on myself rather than let him suffer. He saved me. Shall I not save him?"
"Was the person who stole the necklace ever discovered, mother?"
"No, the necklace vanished and has never been found to this day. I met Lady Jane Strode when she came here. She did not believe me to be guilty, and we were good friends. So you see, Allen, it is small wonder that I let your father do what he likes. Why should I cross the desires of a man who behaved so nobly? Sometimes I do interfere, as you know, for at times Harold needs guidance-but only rarely."
"Well, mother, I understand now, and can say nothing. But as to how the revolver came to the Red Deeps-"
"Your father shall explain," said Mrs. Hill, moving to the door; "come with me."
The two went to the room at the back of the house where Hill had lain down. It was one of the Greek apartments where the little man sometimes took his siesta. But the graceful couch upon which Allen had left him lying an hour previous was empty, and the window was open on to the Roman colonnade. There was no sign of Mr. Hill.
"He must have gone into the garden," said the wife, and stepped out.
But there was no sign of him there. The gardener was working in the distance, and Mrs. Hill asked him where his master was.
"Gone to London, ma'am," was the unexpected answer; "Jacobs drove him to the Westhaven Station."
Allen and his mother looked at one another with dread in their eyes. This sudden departure was ominous in the extreme.