there are policemen who in their own eyes are wholly estimable. in grimleigh dwelt such a one. he was a lean, solemn, taciturn being, with red hair and moustache, a freckled face, and the coldest of blue eyes, shrewdly observant in proportion to their coldness. the man really possessed capabilities, though for want of opportunity they had grown rusty. but that was not his fault. to arrest drunken sailors and seek out rural malefactors of a half-hearted type, and to see to it that public-houses were not open after prescribed hours--of such order were the duties of jeremiah slade. and the paltriness of them filled his ambitious soul with disgust. for this village constable was an omnivorous reader of the detective novel, and ardently admired the preternatural acuteness and dexterity brought into play by the fictitious miracle-mongers, who therein are depicted as ever able to solve the most impenetrable of mysteries. he longed for a chance to distinguish himself after the same fashion, and he chafed that opportunity was so long withheld. but now his hour had come, as we are told it comes to all men who know how to wait; and the discovery of tera's body in the cornfield seemed to promise a criminal thesis intricate enough even for his most ambitious desires.

now, jeremiah was a married man--married within the last twelve months to a diminutive, albeit not over-shrewd, black-haired tyrant, whose greatest of all desires was to live at poldew. if only slade could be transferred to that centre of gaiety--so different from grimleigh--the little woman would be perfectly happy. at least she thought so. now, if only jeremiah could distinguish himself in the performance of his duties sufficiently to attract the intelligent and ever-watchful eye of inspector chard, it was not beyond the bounds of probability that the much-desired transference might come to pass. therefore was mistress slade ever goading her good man to accomplish the impossible. she was as anxious as--nay, more so than he, that some tragedy of ample dimensions should take place. she, too, saw nothing but promotion and glory in the mysterious murder of tera, and, the morning after the body had been transferred to the dead-house, she chose to attack jeremiah on the subject, while she prepared his breakfast. slade sat over the kitchen fire reading "the moonstone." he hoped therefrom to extract inspiration for the task which he was about to undertake. it is truly an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and the slades looked on the tragic fate of tera as the foundation of their humble fortunes.

"jerry," said mrs. slade, pouring out the tea, "you have your chance now. if you can find out who killed that girl, we'll be sent to poldew, sure."

"i'm goin' to find out, jemima," growled the policeman. "i'm readin' up for the business now."

"bah! your novels ain't no good, jerry. this is real life, this is."

"the chaps that writes takes their ideas from real life, jemima. but i know what i'm goin' to do."

"what is it, jerry? sit in to your tea."

p.o. slade hitched up his chair to the table, and loosened his belt the better to enjoy his breakfast.

"i'm goin' to see that mr. brand, the missionary."

"why, jerry, what's 'e got to do with it?"

"i've been makin' inquiries on my own hook," said slade, nodding; "and i've found out from some of those bethesda folk as mr. brand, was a-goin' to take that nigger girl back to her island. now's she's murdered, he won't like it. 'sides," added jeremiah, his mouth full of bread-and-butter, "mr. brand, he don't like the parson."

"what good does that do?"

"good? you never will read to improve your mind, jemima. why, don't the book say as the detective always gets 'old of the enemy of the cove as done the crime?"

"but mr. johnson ain't done it, you fool! lor'!" suddenly enlightened, "p'r'aps it is 'im!"

jeremiah nodded three times, and drank his cup to the dregs. "and don't you go talkin' about it, neither; or you'll never get to poldew. d'ye 'ear?"

"i'll be as silent as the tomb," said mrs. slade, who was a virago chiefly so far as domestic matters were concerned. "what makes you think as mr. johnson did it, jerry? i've seen 'im myself, and 'e's that pale he couldn't kill a little fly."

"d'yer know mr. mayne?"

at the mention of this name the virago side of mrs. slade obtruded itself.

"yes, i do, and ashamed i am to 'ear you mention it. oh, don't look at me like that, jeremiah. i know how you and 'e used to go on with them gipsy girls."

"that was in the exercise of my dooty."

"zara lovell wasn't your duty, jeremiah. the way as you and mr. mayne be'aved to that girl was disgraceful, it was. if them gipsies 'adn't gone away, her 'usband, pharaoh lee, would 'a knifed you."

"he wasn't her 'usband; only goin' to be. you 'old yer tongue!" cried jeremiah, ferociously. "all that's dead and done with two years ago. i ain't got nothin' to do with zara now. ain't i married to you?"

"that you are; and the best day's work it was you ever did in your life."

"an' i'm goin' to do a better, as 'll get us to poldew, if you'll only 'ear reason. now, if you're a-goin' to weep, i'll get away."

"i ain't crying, jerry," said mrs. slade, hastily, wiping her eyes with her apron. "tell me, lovey, what's this about mr. mayne?"

"well, i knowed 'e was at the findin' of the body, which i wasn't," said the mollified jeremiah; "so i arsk'd him a few questions, seein' as we was always of a friendly turn with one another."

"them gipsies was----"

"look 'ere; d'yer want me to go? 'cos i'll go, sure enough, if you don't stop rakin' up them gipsies."

dearly would mrs. slade have liked to develop her embryo quarrel, for she loved a few high words, "just to clear the air," as she put it. but an indulgence to this extent meant that her curiosity might not be gratified--it might possibly even jeopardize the contemplated transfer to poldew; so with great and praiseworthy self-denial she curbed her tongue, and nodded to her husband to continue.

"mr. mayne," said slade, with a scowl at her, "told me as 'ow mr. johnson was in love with this girl, and she ran away from 'im, not forgettin' to take three thousand pounds' worth of pearls with 'er."

"lor'! you don't say?" screeched mrs. slade, her eyes starting out of her head.

"mr. johnson says she run away," added jeremiah; "but i ain't read my books for nothin'. them as does the deed always tells lies." his voice was veritably tragic now. "if she did run away, jemima, she only got as far as that there cornfield. there, in the dark night, the villain strangled 'er in all her youthful beauty" (this was clearly the influence of the detective novelist), "an' stole the jewels to pay 'is debts."

"lor'!" cried mrs. slade again, "you don't say as mr. johnson has debts?"

"all grimleigh couldn't pay what he owes. oh! 'e is the murderer, right enough, jemima; so i'm a-goin' to see mr. brand, and find out what 'e knows about this parson chap. then i'll call on 'im, and 'ave a squint round 'is parlour."

"you ain't likely to find nothing there."

"don't you be so mighty sure about that, missus; i might find them pearls!"

"lor', jeremiah, what a great man you are! and will you tell all this to mr. chard?"

"not till i have a complete case against mr. johnson. when i 'ave, then i'll go to him, and i'll say, 'thou art the man!' and run 'im in. then we'll go to poldew."

"oh, can't i help, jeremiah?"

"well," said the policeman, in a patronizing tone, "you might see mrs. johnson, and pick up what yer can. she's an old lady as talks freely; so find out if the nigger girl and johnson 'ad a row. that'll be strong circumstanshal evidence, any'ow."

"i'll do it, jeremiah; i'll do it! i can easy take up some fish as a gift to mrs. johnson. i've met her two or three times, and she's got a friendly side to me."

"mind you're careful, jemima--and, above all, 'old your tongue."

enunciating these words in his most majestic manner, the new vidocq put on his helmet, and left jemima doing her best to cork up the information she had received. no easy task for a lady with a tongue excessively developed longitudinally.

in the mean time, grimleigh was in a great state of excitement. it was rarely that a murder occurred in their quiet neighbourhood, and this fact, coupled with their intimate knowledge of the victim, roused their interest in an extraordinary degree. the inquest was to take place in the afternoon, at "the fisherman's rest"--a hostel near the shed in which the body had been laid out. the town was on tiptoe of excitement. amongst the witnesses whom chard intended to call was mr. johnson; and he sent up the astute slade to serve the minister with a subp[oe]na. jeremiah was delighted at this chance, which, as likely as not, would bring him into the study of the man he suspected. he resolved to use his eyes sharply. fortune often acts generously when she acts at all, and as slade was climbing the hill, he met korah brand. this was the very man he wanted to see, and he at once saluted him.

"what is it?" asked brand, impatiently. he looked older than usual, and a trifle pale. it was evident that the loss of tera had affected him in an unusual degree, as in truth it had; for without tera, brand did not care to return to koiau. if he did, it would be at the risk of his life; for, on learning of his daughter's death, buli would as likely as not sacrifice the luckless missionary on the altar of his god. it was therefore with no very great good will that he submitted to be stopped by this raw-boned goliath.

"who are you?" asked korah, with a growl.

"jeremiah slade," replied the officer. "i am a police-constable in this town. i am on my way to serve mr. johnson with a subp[oe]na."

"oh, the shame, the shame that has fallen on bethgamul!" said brand, in tones of deep grief. "our dear sister is taken, and our pastor has to bow down in the temple of rimmon!"

"he's got to appear at the inquest, if that's what you mean, sir; but this subp[oe]na"--slade looked round anxiously, then approached his mouth to the missionary's ear, "why shouldn't it be a warrant?"

brand turned a shade paler, and fixed a keen eye on slade, whose meaning he at once seized.

"do you know any reason why it should be a warrant?" he asked sharply.

"i have my own idea, sir."

"what is your idea?"

slade took time to consider, and pulled his red moustache. "see here, mr. brand," he said softly, "do you want disgrace to fall on that chapel of yours?"

"why, no. i would do anything to avert that."

"well then, sir, don't ask me questions about your parson."

the missionary bent his shaggy brows on the man, and stroked his beard. "do you suspect mr. johnson?"

"yes, i do; but nobody else does, except--yourself."

"i!" brand started back in dismay. "'get thee behind me, satan!' why should i suspect him?"

jeremiah tapped him on the chest. "if you hold your tongue, i can hold mine," said he, and turned away.

in a moment brand was after him, clutching his arm.

"man, what do you mean?"

"gammon! you know. johnson killed that girl."

"oh!" brand withdrew his arm with a moan. "i feared so, i greatly feared so. how do you know?"

"i'll tell you, if you'll answer my questions and work with me."

"any questions i can answer, i will; but work with you--why should i do that?"

"to get that parson chap arrested."

"no, no! think of the disgrace to bethgamul. i want him saved from the consequences of his sin."

"we'll think about that when we prove his guilt," said slade, dryly. "but see here, it's a chance of his escape i'm offering you. if i tell chard all i know, you won't get your parson off, i can tell you. i want to find out the truth of this mystery to get promotion. help me to find out who killed the girl, and i'll perhaps make things safe for the man as done it."

this was purely a treacherous offer, as slade knew that he could not get promotion unless the murderer of tera was discovered and hanged. however, korah brand did not know this, and hoping to save johnson--which for the sake of the chapel he really wished to do--he at once decided to accept slade's offer.

"i'll help you all i can," he said, "on condition that you don't tell the inspector, should we find out the truth."

"it's a bargain, then!" slade was delighted with the result of this diplomacy. already he felt worthy to rank with the heroes of any of his favourite novels. "now then, mr. johnson's in debt, isn't he?"

"yes, deeply in debt--the follies of his youth. he now knows how true is the text, 'be sure thy sin will find thee out.'"

"he'll find it truer when i've done with him," said jeremiah, grimly. "well, sir, these pearls the girl had with her?"

"yes. she took away some pearls. johnson said so."

"very good. then johnson murdered her for those pearls, so that he might sell them and pay his debts."

"how do you know?"

"it's a theory."

"a very bad one," said brand, a worldly nature appearing through his religious veneer, "the girl left the house with the pearls during johnson's absence."

"yes, but johnson followed her."

"what of that? he did not see her. he says he did not."

"oh," cried slade, contemptuously, "he'd say anything to save his neck! why, mr. herbert mayne met him coming from the cornfield in which the body was found, that very night. you believe me, mr. brand; johnson met the girl there, strangled her, sold the pearls, and hid her body in the corn."

"you can't prove that."

"we can prove it between us, mr. brand. you can prove as johnson was sweet on the girl, and she'd have nothing to do with him. you can swear as 'e 'ad the pearls. his servant, by them bills and letters she picked up, can show that he was in debt, and mr. mayne can declare as mr. johnson left the cornfield on the night the girl ran away."

"but all this is merely circumstantial evidence," argued the missionary.

"men have been hanged on as much before now. but i dare say we can make the case stronger. i'm going to serve this on mr. johnson, so in his study maybe i'll see something of them pearls."

"if he had the pearls, you may be sure he has disposed of them by this time," said brand, with a sudden thought. "after bithiah disappeared he went up to london, and was away for a week. he said it was to search for her; but i dare say it was to sell the pearls."

"might be, sir. but if he's got the money for them, he'll have paid his debts."

"we must find out if he has."

"very good. i leave that part of it to you; and now, sir, i'll get to business. you wait for me here, and i'll come back after i have had a squint round that room, and tell yer my impressions."

"you can't do much in so short a time."

"i can watch his face any'ow, as i serve this subp[oe]na. if 'e's guilty, guess i'll twig it--trust me. i ain't read detective stories for nothin'." with a complacent nod slade made off, and brand watched him enter the minister's house. he was absent for some ten minutes, during which time korah stood staring at the sea, and wondered how he could return to his mission work at koiau without tera. absorbed in these thoughts, he failed to hear slade's returning footsteps, and it was only when he felt a touch on his shoulder that he turned to see the triumphant face of the man.

"what have you found?" he asked, guessing that slade had made some discovery.

"well, i saw johnson, and he took the subp[oe]na, turning as pale as all villains. then i looked about me a bit. i noticed the curtains on the winder."

"i know, i know," groaned brand, "vanity and vexation and gauds of the world. gay curtains they are, tied back with red, white, and blue cords."

"yes, but one of them cords is gone, mr. brand," cried slade, exultingly. "we've got 'im. that girl was strangled with a red, white, and blue cord. it ain't drawing back the curtain now. no, sir, it's round her throat."