a surprise awaited collins on his arrival at wilton-on-sea. eric sanders was on the platform, and came forward with a pleasant smile. he was a changed being. the sulky petulance was gone, and he seemed like a man from whom a load of care has been removed. his manner was friendly without being effusive.
collins surveyed him keenly.
he was too used to studying human nature not to notice the change, and too clever to show that he saw it.
they drove to the vale among the autumn trees and over the hills from whence magnificent views stretched out beneath them. eric opened the conversation.
“you people have done a smart bit of work capturing the murderer of sir james so quickly,” he said. “the papers were full of it this morning.”
“yes,” said collins, dryly. “i read them on the way down.”
“he seems to be a desperate ruffian. i didn’t quite make out how it was he was actually caught.”
“he wasn’t,” said collins, “he gave himself up.”
“oh, i see. it was not clear in the account,” he looked at collins doubtfully wondering how far it was right to ask him questions without breach of etiquette.
“this is a wonderful piece of country,” said collins. “it’s one of the finest views i know just before we go down again into the valley. it’s like the view from the delectable mountains.”
“you’ve read the ‘pilgrim’s progress’?” said the other in surprise.
collins gave a laugh. “oh, i don’t spend all my time in bones and blood, though problems do interest me.”
at the risk of courting a snub eric said, “i expect you are sorry this one is over so quickly?”
“oh, there will be plenty more,” said he lightly.
on their arrival mabel met them at the door and greeted collins warmly—a trifle too warmly—there was just a touch of over effusiveness, which his quick eye noticed.
“we're quite a party,” she said. “it is really too big so shortly after⸺” she hesitated: “while we are in mourning. mr. allery is here, with his wife and daughter.”
when they sat down to dinner that night there was indeed an atmosphere of quiet enjoyment far removed from the horror of the past days. mr. allery had had a word with collins.
“i came as a duty. i was so much afraid that the poor little girl would mope. it’s no earthly good crying over spilt milk. she has all her life before her. besides,” he added with a smile, “i think her old aunt is far from an ideal chaperon. my wife is used to all occasions.”
“you mean?”
“you'll see, my boy,” said the old lawyer with a chuckle, “the course of true love is running smoother.”
then the ladies had come in.
the dinner was a merry one; allery had a fund of humour culled from his long experience, and he found an able supporter in collins. sanders was no fool, and now that he was absolutely happy he took his part. he had taken miss allery in, but collins noted that he was sitting next to mabel. collins had taken in the aunt, who was only a cousin of sir james. he was sitting with his back to the windows from which the setting sun still shone into the room, for they had dined early. in front of him was a great fire-place, and over the mantel was a large portrait of sir james in court dress.
“fancy,” sanders was saying, “i find mr. collins spends his spare time reading the ‘pilgrim’s progress.’ ”
“and very good taste, too,” said allery. “it contains some of the most glorious pieces of english ever written.
“not one of our modern writers can touch it.”
it was getting dark in the room.
“i think,” said the aunt, “we might have a light, my dear?”
“certainly,” said mabel. “john, turn on the electric light.”
at that moment a last ray, almost blood-red, came from the dying sun through the window, and shone full on the portrait over the fire-place. collins was idly looking at it, when his face suddenly became rigid and fixed. an intent look came into his eyes, and he stared hard at the portrait. then the brilliant light came on. at that moment he felt rather than saw that mabel was watching him. he turned to her and she looked down in confusion, and a red pervaded her face. they both recovered and their eyes met. he read in them a certain uneasiness or dread.
instantly he composed his features and said, “that’s better, but the sunset was very beautiful.”
“we've missed the first news bulletin,” said allery, “but we must get the second. i always feel lost in the country when there’s no wireless. miss watson has a splendid receiving set.”
while conversation was general collins leant over to allery.
“better not say too much about the news,” he said. “there will be something about the murder, certain to be, and it may distress her.”
“perhaps you are right, but as a matter of fact, she has been much more cheerful since she heard that they had got the man.”
the receiving set was in the old oak-pannelled hall in a neat cabinet. the company foregathered here at ten o’clock for the news. eric was the operator. after the hundred and fortieth chess move between two scotsmen, and the usual dismal forecast of the weather, an account was given of the preliminary examination of jackson, who was being kept under observation by home office doctors. two facts emerged, that the home office was satisfied in a guarded way that he was the man, with plenty of the cautious word ‘alleged,’ and that he was hopelessly mad. collins smiled as he listened. he had seated himself on a cushion in the shadow where he could watch mabel’s expressive face. he saw a look of relief, and something more, a puzzled look on her face.
after the news an announcement was broadcasted, as had been done for the past few days, asking for information as to the whereabouts of ronald, now sir ronald watson, last heard of at monte video, etc.
as the loud speaker announced this, collins saw a swift glance pass between mabel and allery.
when the savoy bands were in full blast, sanders and allery departed to finish an interrupted game of billiards. the four ladies continued a game of bridge. collins had joined with neither party, but watched each in turn. when mabel was “dummy” she came across to him. “i wish you were not out of things like this,” she said, “i feel i am not doing my duty as hostess.”
“not a bit of it,” he replied. “i am enjoying myself.”
“i suppose you are feeling more at rest now that this horrible affair has been cleared up?”
“of course it ends the matter as far as i am concerned—for the present,” he said. “and you?”
“oh, i told you,” she said. “i would much rather it turned out to be a man who was not responsible. there will be nothing done to him, i suppose?”
“he will be confined to broadmoor for life, now. he has been there before, you know. they won’t let him out again.”
“how sad,” she said; “but it’s better than a man being hanged, isn’t it?”
“if he’s guilty,” said collins.
“of course they will have to prove their case, won’t they?” she said.
he gave a scornful laugh. “oh, they will do that all right,” he said.
“do you mean whether he is guilty or not? but that is too dreadful.”
“if a man once gets into the clutches of the law it doesn’t matter much whether he’s guilty or not. he’s about as much chance as a fly in a spider’s net.”
“what an awful thing. but you were a barrister once yourself?”
“that’s why i say that,” he answered with meaning.
“but we must not keep on talking about this, it will make you morbid.”
“come on, mabel, we are waiting for you,” came from the table.
collins strolled out into the garden where a bright moon was shining. what should he do? let things slide altogether, and the law take its course? that was best, but a curious streak of vanity and desire for mystery goaded him on to fresh research. there were other problems beside the main plot which called for solution.
there was the curious disappearance of lewis. and what about eric sanders? besides he grudged an easy triumph for the oily boyce. he would like to upset his apple-cart.
the scent of the flowers and a cool breeze were delightful after london. he wandered round the house like a nocturnal cat, and came to the dining-room window. he stopped dead. yes; he would have another look, while the others were busy.
returning to the house he went to the dining-room and turned on the electric light. sir james was staring down at him from over the mantelpiece. he lit a cigarette and sat on the edge of the table, gazing keenly at the portrait. he sat there motionless, in thought. he had an unusually keen sense and he felt, rather than saw, that someone had come into the room. he made no sign. a quiet voice at his elbow said, “it’s a very good likeness, and cleverly painted, isn’t it?” he turned without haste. allery was standing beside him with an inscrutable smile on his face.
“i came to look for you as we have finished, and i thought you might like a nightcap before turning in.”
“thanks, i will come along,” said collins. “i never saw sir james to speak to. he had a remarkable face. a strange mixture of hardness and sympathy. the mouth is hard as a rock, but the eyes are sympathetic.”
“you are a student of these things, of course,” said the lawyer. “but you are quite right. he was a contradiction, but his intellect always ruled his emotions.”
“was his son anything like him?”
“in character, yes; in face he was too young to say. he was undeveloped.”
collins turned out the light and they went to join the others.
